#and the staff was like… they raise awareness they’re so threat

[jinglejanglemornings]

LMAOOOO NEDA is union busting and replacing the hotline workers with AI. hell world but this is so funny to me sorry i’ve been a NEDA hater for years

[muffinsin]

can you please write HCs of the girls when their lover hides behind them? not like, fully? but like.

eg. its still fairly early in the relationship, s/o and dimi gf just made themselves exclusive- they’re in a scenario where fem s/o is on edge, so they step closer/behind their dimi gf, or hold on to their bicep because s/o trusts her with their safety. how would the girls react to this big show of trust?

This is such an adorable prompt! I’m glad I’m finally getting to it :)

Masterlists

Bela

Your life at the castle is good, for the most part, certainly

Being this close to your girlfriend is beautiful, something you wouldn’t trade for the world

You love Bela above all else

Even your work can be quite enjoyable

Freed from the worry that comes with the constant threat of being sent to the infamous Dimitrescu cellar at any small mistake, you find your work relaxing, even

Early on, Bela pulled strings to have you assigned as hers. Her personal maid, so to speak, in charge of all tasks for and from her

She allows you much freedom, only ever tasks you with bringing her food and preparing her baths. At times, you are to dress her, too

All of this is not work, but pampering to you

And you do so love to pamper her

Your work and Bela’s independence leaves you with a lot of spare time, by far more so than one that any other maid gets

This, of course, is not happily seen, and while most maidens know to stay away from you, others are outright cruel

Despite your lovely work and the beautiful home you share with your girlfriend and her family, you feel almost lonely, with rarely a maid to talk to

And then, there is another group of maidens

They’re bolder, meaner

Know you likely won’t go to Bela with your problems, too embarrassed to be an outsider among the staff

You’ve come to fear them, almost, and their harsh words and mean pushes that nearly have you lose your balance

You try to avoid them, always

One day, you can’t

Again, their words sting. Their accusations, their jealousy

They insist, you slept your way to your job

They insist, Bela doesn’t even love you

You want nothing more than the blonde now, to hide behind her and hide from the situation entirely

You aren’t sure whether it’s because of your quickened heartbeat, but you quickly hear the sound of buzzing becoming louder and louder

Something they don’t seem entirely aware of, their laughter too loud

And still, Bela is with you in an instant, materialising in front of you

Instinctively, you move closer to her, tucked behind her with only your side poking out and your eyes finding the wide ones of the now quiet maidens in front of you

Bela shivers as she feels you move behind her, your heartbeat fast, slowly calming

Her eyes, usually quite bored and uninterested, now hold a glare and anger to them as she scans the women in front of her

Never has she felt this possessiveness

The women try to avoid her eyes, looking as suspicious and worried as her younger sisters after Bela’s caught them misbehaving

You look down as you feel something, then find her hand as she reaches down to her sickle

Pleadingly, almost, your hand shoots out to cover hers

You don’t want her to kill them all, only want them to stop

And Bela? She seems to understand

She doesn’t move from the spot as she demands to know what happened, her eyes piercing them

Her body is perfectly shielding you, her hand unmoving from yours

Despite her only mildly raised voice and her still position, Bela is incredibly intimidating to the women, you realise

They tremble and shake, trying to please her and explain, while also weaselling their way out of the situation

Eventually, they begin to turn on one another

Bela clicks her tongue, demanding their attention again

No blood is spilled that day per your request and you’re brought back to her room

She kisses you gently, her eyes so impossibly soft as they’re set on you

You almost can’t imagine how they held hatred just minutes ago, aimed at those who dared make you uncomfortable

As she holds you, you know you are safe, and loved

You know she will always keep you safe, and will always shield you

She stays with you the remaining day, watches you work and has you rest in her office as she works

It’s almost like she doesn’t want others near you now, even going so far as to dismiss her sisters when they try to get her attention. You know, she will make it up to them and join them on their hunts soon enough

Today, is only for the two of you

The next day, you hear the four women have been transferred to other parts of the castle, far away from the ones you usually find yourself working in

The leader, the fourth women they all had turned on, was brought down to the basements

A present for Cassandra Dimitrescu

5

Cassandra

While not dating for very long yet, Cassandra has grown incredibly fond of you in only a short amount of time

And you?

You’re feeling the exact same way

While she easily inflicts fear and pain upon people, usually even so with a happy, wide smile on her face, you can’t bring yourself to fear her

While you haven’t dared say or display it yet, Cassandra has become your safe place

Her strong arms and frame are quickly the foundation of the home you have found in her heart

You feel calmer with her around you, feel happier when you hear her voice and low chuckles

Even when she feeds from you whenever you allow it, your skin feels on fire and while pain shoots through you, a large smile is set on your face

At times, it feels surreal that she’s yours, and that you are hers

You quickly become one of the most important people in her life

She feels immense happiness and comfort when in your presence, and with this though, comes possessiveness

Possessiveness, which she still tries to contain and hide away as much as she can

She just, doesn’t want to scare you away

This changes one day, though, when she fails to hold back entirely

The day is marked as “hunting day”, and, as everyone knows, Cassandra’s favorite day in the year

Making it somewhat a winter present for all three daughters, Alcina Dimitrescu hosts this event once every winter

A day in which up to fifty maidens and prisoners are released within the castle, their purpose only being prey to be hunted

Like every year, Cassandra is beyond excited

You’re helping her prepare in her room, tightly fastening her belt and the straps along her body, holding multiple knives and such in place for her hunt

She’s crackling in delight already, flexing her muscles for you

A scream and cries are heard in the castle. Some prey is already out, it seems

Suddenly, you feel yourself tense up

You can’t help but think…you don’t want her to go

You don’t want her to leave you here

What if one somehow finds you?

What if she is hurt?

What if something happens?

What if one finds a way to open the door to her room?

You know the plan, technically. To stay in her room, locked in until it’s safe…still, you can’t help the uneasy feeling

Cassandra’s about to head out when your hand suddenly shoots out

You’re squeezing her bicep before you know it, a quiet whimper passing her lips that she unfortunately hears

You see the worry in her eyes, as she sees the one in yours

“Don’t go”, you whisper

You can’t help but think how selfish you’re being. How tormented she feels locked inside all winter, how very excited she was

You feel her arms around you and suddenly notice the tears running down your cheeks

You can’t help it. You’re so scared, you don’t want to be locked away alone while so many potentially dangerous prisoners and such are out

You voice your worries as the silence stretches on, and again you find yourself squeezing her bicep and pushing yourself closer to her

Suddenly, her arms tighten around you more

You only feel and smell her, nothing else, it’s like not even your fear can reach you now

“I’ll never let anything hurt you”, she promises, her voice so low you could almost mistake it for a growl

You feel her possessiveness this time, for the first time, like a thick blanket keeping you safe

You try to protest when she moves you to the bed, content on staying with you, it seems

“What about the hunt?”, you whimper as you melt against her

She’s so..safe. You secretly don’t want her to go, and she seems to have no intention to do so

“I will have my share”, she simply promises

And she does

As she spends the night with you, content with keeping you safe and tucked to her, her hunt starts the following day

Protected by Daniela and Bela, you hear Cassandra’s laughter as she chases the many leftover prisoners

You smile a little. She’s all yours. And you’re all hers

Daniela

Within the castle, it’s not uncommon for Daniela to find herself someone she “loves”

Someone she will spend her time with, someone she will expect to shower her with love

Often, this is fake love, maidens hoping to stay alive, or worse yet; hoping to use her naivety against her to flee the castle or hurt the inhabitants

You’re different

Despite the little time you’ve really known her, you’re already very attached

Daniela makes you so happy, and you want nothing more than to make her happy in return

At last, you’re announcing it

You’re official, and while you’re over the moon, there is a factor that has you a little worried

Meeting her family, properly, as her girlfriend rather than a staff member

What will they think?

You trust they won’t hurt you

You’re Daniela’s, after all

And yet, as the day approaches, you feel more and more nervous

You stick up her side as you follow her, your hand clasped in her gloved one

A simple dinner, that’s all it should be, really

And Daniela assured you Alcina will like you, mildly surprised that someone stuck around this long and truly cares for her youngest daughter

You’re hoping her approval will make this easier, but the anxious feeling in your stomach doesn’t seem to agree

At dinner, you feel nearly all eyes on you

And still, as nerve wrecking as it is, no one is hostile towards you

Alcina seems intrigued, if a little suspicious

They all seem suspicious, as though they’re making sure no one hurts the precious youngest

You gulp whenever they squint lightly, as if analysing something

Bela, much like her mother, is quiet and kind, though her eyes hide the suspicion and protectiveness in them

Cassandra is less subtle

She’s asking questions here and there, making threats that she will personally drag skin from bone from you should you hurt her little sister

You can only nod shakily, thankful when Daniela steps in and has her back off

“Stop scaring her away!”

When Cassandra returns to her seat and turns to her food, you think that’s it

And in a way, it is

Until Cassandra steals from Bela, playful laughter all that comes from her when her sister demands she return her food

You don’t yet know the hierarchy between them, but sense whatever piece the brunette took must have been Bela’s favorite, or Bela’s by right

You watch Cassandra as she eats it slowly, as if tormenting and teasing her sister

You hear Alcina sigh, as if anticipating what happens next. Only you can’t prepare for it

Bela lunges, taking Cassandra with her to the ground

You gasp and flinch back, the pair entirely too close for comfort

Yells and laughter comes from the pile of black clothing, flies, and blonde and brunette hair

Their sickles swing wildly, almost catching you even as you stand

You whimper, shooting a look towards Daniela

She stands, her back turned to her sisters as though this was perfectly normal

Perhaps she’d even join in, if it wasn’t for you

Either way, another fling of the sickle that is entirely too close and smashes the vase next to you has you jump and move behind your girlfriend

Daniela feels your hand around her waist, your body held close behind her, shielding yourself

Asking for protection

Protection, which she easily provides

She feels stronger, possessive, protective

She doesn’t feel the urge to join her sisters as they fight, instead, when the sickle is raised again, she promptly stretches out her hand and grips it tightly

Cassandra shrieks when her sister pulls, effectively pulling her with the weapon away from her sister

She snarls as she’s yanked against the table

You notice, Daniela makes sure neither sister is close to you

“Stop acting like this!”, she demands

You can only view Bela and Cassandra’s expression as “that’s rich, coming from you”

Eventually though, Alcina does seem to get tired of the antics, having finished her glass just as she beckons the two sisters back to the table, now on either side of her

You smile a little at that, seeing how they nuzzle her side and both calm when a hand is set on their heads

Despite their fight, they don’t seem hostile anymore, as if it was perfectly normal for them and it was nothing more than playing

Still, you can’t unhook your arms from Daniela. You don’t want to let go of her just yet

And she doesn’t make you

To your surprise, no one bats you an eye when Daniela pulls you to the table and on top of her lap, her arm wrapped around you protectively

[galaxyshine24-7]

Just thought of something angsty, so how would the NRC staff + the overblot crew react to MC overblotting themself? Now they didnt use any of the drugs (why would they? They’re already strong themself without it) it’s more like they were forced to overblot. Like a sniper shotting the drug to them, but the drug isnt any normal drug. The drug instantly cause the user to overblot and become monster like, something akin to mara struck from HSR. And correct me if im wrong but when someone overblotted they’re aware on what they are doing right? Let’s have the MC be mindless :) again something similar to mara struck.

Since we have already establish that MC is honestly much stronger than all of the mafia, their teachers are going to have to fight them because with the overblot making them much stronger, they’re a damn powerhouse. Wonder how that would turn out..

Also you can decide if MC dies or simply just in a brink of death ;)

Hope you like the idea ^_^

(I honestly think that at the end of the Twisted Wonderland game, Yuu overblots some way somehow.)

Silver Bullet Yuu would overblot in a self-sacrificing sort of way. Things are going down in Grim Court and Yuu takes the most drastic measure to get everyone out alive. Someone shooting Yuu with a gun would be very interesting maybe they jump in front of it to stop the big bad from powering up and Yuu overblots instead.

Also, I wouldn't say Yuu is more powerful than the other mafia leaders, but they do know how to give people a run for their money.

Thank you for this ask it's going to be so much fun.💖💖💖💖

Overblot Silver Bullet Yuu

Ash falls from the sky as the gangs raise their weapons at the threat. Everyone has undergone a beating, but nothing like the wounds the threat has pouring down their body. The ruins of NRC have become a battleground, small fights break out over the campus, but the main one is soon to come to an end.

The threat backs away as the current gang leaders and leaders of old old close in. Yuu stands to the side clutching their wounded arm as Grim hisses beside them. Sweat rolls down their brow looking back and forth from the two forces. It's finally coming to an end all the bloodshed and pain is finally over. What was this all for? Power? Fame? Is the cost of lives this insignificant? Yuu's stomach twists in knots anger and sadness fill their being. One thing is for sure this life can never be for them, but seeing the eyes of their friends fill with determination to protect this broken home is something they can't turn away from.

That is when the notice a glim in the distance.

A sniper.

The threat smiles wickedly as wisps of magic surround them. They open up their arms like an embrace, proclaiming the end of all those who stand in their path. Yuu's body moves before they can think, jumping in front of the line of fire as they feel something pierce their chest.

"Y/N!" Crowley cries, It's been years since he has called them by their real name but before they can take it in the world turns black.

Overblot Crew Reaction

Riddle Rosehearts🌹

It happened so fast that the Heartslaybul leader didn't even get time to blink as he watched Yuu's form get covered in black ooze. For once the dorm leader was speechless. He takes a step back feeling fear creep up inside him. Yuu's cries of pain ring through his mind. Ace and Deuce yell for the bartender, but Riddle orders Trey and Cater to hold them back. Yuu's form grows as he watches it towering over the threat. There is no rule on how to handle this situation, but Riddle is determined to do anything to get Yuu back.

Leona Kingscholar🦁

Leona sees Yuu race across his field of vision already knowing what will happen. Jack yells over the noise trying to tell Yuu to hold on.

"Herbivore!" he cries knowing a person who has never interacted with the magic drug can't handle an overblot. By that point, Leona is sweating trying to figure out what to do. It will only take seconds for Yuu to lose control and he doesn't know what will become of them after. Leona readies himself and his members for anything. He can tell the real fight is about to start.

Azul Ashengrotto🐙

Azul is always one step ahead of his opponents, but to think the threat would try to cause themselves to overblot is something he never would have imagined, and Yuu jumping in front of the bullet is something he can't even fathom as he stands in terror. Azul doesn't even care that he heard the bartender's real name. At this point he could learn all about Yuu, but he could lose them altogether, and that is something he won't allow.

Jamil Viper🐍

Jamil raises his weapon jaw clenched. Kalim stands by his side eyes full of tears as Yuu starts to overblot. He can't let it end this way, he still hasn't thanked them for all they did for him. He won't let it end this way, he will use every power he has to see Yuu alive at the end of the day. He owes them that much.

Vil Schoenheit👑

It takes Vil so much strength to hold Epel back watching his friend forced to overblot. His experience with it is the worst he could ever feel, and he can't imagine what it must be like for Yuu. The potato he has watched and grown with writhing in pain and anguish does something to Vil. He knows Yuu will lose control and he won't stand watching his precious potato become rotten.

Idia Shroud🎮

Idia will not let another person he cares about fall to an overblot. He gets his weapons ready telling everyone to prepare themselves for what's to come. Ortho stands next to him holding his hand tightly. Back then he had no power, but now he knows what he can do. Whatever it takes he will cure Yuu once this is all over.

Malleus Draconia🐉

He wasn't fast enough. He should've seen through the threats plan. How can he lose one of his only friends? His anger is unimaginable, a lighting strike hits the sniper burning them to a crisp. Nothing will stop Malleus from destroying all those that hurt Yuu. They have given him nothing, but kindness, and he can't imagine losing them ever. For once in his life they treated him like a regular person even after finding out who he is. He owes Yuu a life debt as he steps forward in front of Yuu's overblot form as he hears the sound of Sebek screaming behind him. Till the very end, he will never turn his back on his friend.

NRC Staff Reactions

Dire Crowley🎩

He falls to his knees. He has failed again to protect those he cares about. His poor friends and now their dear child. Tears stream down his cheeks watching Yuu succumb to the overblot. How dare he call himself a headmaster when he can't even protect his dear students. It takes Crewel to get him to snap out of it. He at least needs to see this all through. He owes his friends and he owes Yuu that much.

Divus Crewel🩸

No, this can't be happening, not his puppy. That he helped raise, it was like yesterday when Crowley introduced them and how small they were. He will not lose them! He almost kicks Crowley for falling to his knees. Right now they need to snap Yuu out of this overblot whatever it takes. It is time for these stray pups to prove themselves worthy.

Mozus Trein📚

It pains Mozus to see the small child he taught how to play piano, and to dance, and sing become a beast from overblot. He stands his ground trembling, he sees Yuu just like he did his daughters. He helps Crowley off the ground encouraging him to continue fighting. He knows they are the only people Yuu can call family and it is their responsibility to help their child in times of trouble.

Ashton Vargas🧤

He isn't one to dwell on emotions, but seeing Yuu sacrifice themselves stirs something unimaginable in him. He cracks his knuckles clutching his fist as he steps up to overblot Yuu.

"You better give me a challenge kiddo. Otherwise, we are going to have some serious training after this."

Vargas was always a man of action not words.

Sam💀

He always knew his little imp was full of surprises. Now it is time for him to get serious. He supplies the group with his arsenal of gadgets. Even getting help from his friends on the other side. He made a deal with his little imp long ago and he plans to keep his end of the bargain.

[sadderbutwisergirrl]

Jim Hightower is an old pro at populist grass roots mobilization. We need to listen to this political elder!

“We’re collecting actions that grassroots people can take, and are collaborating with longtime friends and allies to light a fire under the butts of Democratic Party leaders. We’ll keep you updated on those efforts, but to start, here are two groups to join up with.

Demand Justice has been advocating for the Judiciary Act, which would expand the court by four seats. They’re asking people to call their representatives, and to join their rapid response team. https://demandjustice.org/

We’ve long been a fan of Lisa Graves (you can watch our 2022 Chat ‘n’ Chew episode with her here), and she’s teamed up with the folks at Court Accountability for a new round of intense actions called Justice Can’t Wait.

They’ve shared with us a list of things you can do:

Share the Justice Can’t Wait updated website. https://justicecantwait.org/#

Raise awareness of the seeds being planted by Trump and his allies to deny the results of the 2024 election if it doesn’t go their way. Trump has refused to commit to accepting legitimate election results if he does not win, and his allies are laying the groundwork for election denial through lawsuits and false claims about election fraud.

Urge Congress to pass reforms clarifying the Insurrection Act, which Trump plans to invoke to deploy the military against the American people, on his first day in office. https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/analysis-opinion/trumps-insurrection-act-threat

Share Stand Up America’s Supreme Court Voter website, which aims to educate and mobilize voters on the impact the next president will have on the future of the U.S. Supreme Court. https://www.courtvoter.com/

Educate Americans on the economic threats that the extremist Project 2025 poses. Economic concerns “consistently rank as top issues among likely voters,” and people need to understand the likely consequences and chaos for our economy and American families if Project 2025 affiliates are able to carry out their dangerous agenda. (The NYT article was behind a paywall so I replaced it with this link) https://www.democracydocket.com/analysis/what-is-project-2025-and-why-is-it-alarming/

Join United for Democracy in calling on Congress to rein in the out-of-control Supreme Court. https://unitedfordemocracy.us/get-involved/

Drive home that this is Trump’s Supreme Court. Trump installed the corporatist majority that has taken away women’s fundamental freedoms and stripped away protections for Americans’ health and safety. Even after Trump led an insurrection, the Court that Trump built is now tipping the scales to help him win again in November and protect him from accountability for his actions.

From the Hightower staff: And let’s not forget how the Supremes view actual bribery: as nothing more than a tip or a token of thanks for a job well done. They’re basically creating loopholes to legalize their own corruption!

Stay tuned for more, and let us know what other concrete actions and organizations you’re hearing about—the comments on this post are open to all subscribers. Let’s do this!”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 6)

Summary: The reader and Jensen discuss their relationship moving forward while Jensen learns more about the reader’s family situation. He still has a bad feeling about something though and his gut may prove to be right...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 5,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of prior suicide attempt, minor violence

A/N: Enjoy!

_________

You woke up to Jensen bundled up in bed, covers tugged to his chin as he sleepily watched you stretching in bed. You giggled at him and his bed head, rolling closer and kissing him good morning.

“That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you said.

“Obviously you don’t look at the mirror much,” he said. You smiled and he reached his arm under the covers, putting a hand on your waist. You scooted over, Jensen blinking slowly. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” you asked. He bopped your nose and you smiled, tucking down into the sheets. 

“Do you want a relationship?” he asked.

“Do you?”

“It would make my job...difficult.”

“Oh.”

“Not impossible. Just difficult.”

“Is it any more difficult than it was? I mean honestly. What’ll have changed? You still keep me safe and I still hide and run if you say so.”

“That part hasn’t changed. But there is something that has. A wildcard factor. Wildcard factors aren’t great in this job.”

“What’s a wildcard?”

“In a dangerous situation, if we were in a relationship, there’s the potential that you would do something to put yourself in harm’s way to protect me.”

“If that happened, regardless of us being in a relationship, if your ass is on the line, I can’t guarantee I do as told.”

“I don’t like that answer.”

“Jensen, if we do this, you need to trust me. I will do what you tell me when it comes to threats but I can’t say for sure that I won’t try to help you if I can.”

“So if it comes down to it, you’ll do whatever you want in the end.”

“Exactly.”

“If when I’m in bodyguard mode, you do what I say...I will learn to be okay with that very small possibility.”

“Good choice,” you said. You slid a hand around his back and traced up and down his spine, feeling a thin line raised on the skin. “What happened there?”

“Not advised to jump from of a speeding vehicle,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he chuckled. “I was four wheeling once. Went off trail accidentally. Had to ditch my ride in a hurry. A bit of gravel-”

“Liar,” you said quietly. You smiled and he looked over your head.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m pretty good at knowing when people are acting,” you said. “You get it in combat?”

“Shrapnel got my vest.”

“You’re still lying.”

“It’s not pleasant. I’d rather not...scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you said.

“I was held captive once. Very, very briefly. I got a little beat up,” he said. 

“You?” you asked, Jensen nodding, sliding his hand up and playing with the end of your hair. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“Thanks. I don’t like to talk about that stuff a lot,” he said. 

“If you ever change your mind, I’m a good listener,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said. “You like scrambled eggs?”

“Who doesn’t?” you asked. He smirked and kissed your cheek before he popped out of bed. 

“Well I’m about to blow your mind with the Ackles special,” he said. He walked around the bed and picked up his underwear, turning when he noticed you watching him. You looked him up and down, Jensen laughing to himself. “I saw you checking me out when I was swimming you know.”

You groaned and pulled the sheets over your head. He moved around for a moment and you felt the sheets come down, Jensen leaning over you.

“I had to tease a bit, make sure things were mutual,” he said. 

“Of course you did.” You stretched and yawned, closing your eyes.

“Doing anything fun with your family today?”

“Shopping with my mom will be fun. I’m not the biggest shopper but she likes it. We’ll get lunch, hit a few stores, get a massage after. I think Chuck and the guys are going looking at houses for the boys. Sounds like they might get a place together again.”

“Would you like your brothers to live closer?” he asked. You sat up and held the covers to your chest, Jensen handing you his shirt. You pulled it on over yourself, shrugging as you sat on your knees. “Why do you interact with them if you don’t like them?”

“How long have your parents been married?”

“All my life. Before that,” he said.

“No step siblings, half siblings?”

“My brother and sister share the same parents I do,” he said. “I don’t quite know what it’s like to live in a family like that I guess.”

“My mom went to a very dark place after my dad died. I didn’t know how to fix it. Chuck made her laugh for the first time in six months. He made her smile. He helped her and she helped him too. His wife died earlier on that year. He made her so happy, makes her so happy. I will put up with a few mean step-brothers to never see her go to that place again.”

“I would understand if they resented your mom but it’s you it seems they don’t like.”

“I was the youngest by quite a bit. Chuck would spend time with me. I think the boys were jealous and they probably could have done with more time with their father back then. They’d lost their mom that year too. But I needed him, mom needed him, he was mourning himself...he did the best job he could considering how fucked up we all were. They’re both successful. I just don’t think they liked having a little sister honestly.”

“Sucks for them. Little sisters are cool,” he said with a smile. “My big brother loves to mess with me but he doesn’t treat me the way those two do.”

“Well, even if they move here, I don’t have to hang out with them,” you said. You crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I heard someone’s a little cocky about their scrambled eggs.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he said. He stood up with you before letting you get your feet under you. You pulled on your underwear and followed him downstairs, whistling as you took in his backside. “Y/N…”

“My bodyguard is hot and he should know it,” you said. He shook his head and headed into the kitchen humming to himself as he started to make up some breakfast for the two of you. The doorbell rang and you groaned. “I bet that’s my mom, early as always. I’ll get her out of here.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I plan on doing things to you after breakfast and I do not want her around for that,” you said. He laughed as you padded down the hall and to the front door. You cracked it open a smidge and saw a man in a suit standing there, his back to you. He spun around with a smile and you nodded. “Oh, hi Jake.”

“Good morning!” he said. “I apologize for being late this morning, my car-”

“The meeting,” you said, slapping yourself in the face. “I totally blanked on it.”

“That’s alright. Is now a good time?” he asked. You looked down at yourself and peeked back around the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! It’s perfect, all perfect,” you said.

“You’re not...are you sure-” he said before Jensen was suddenly stepping into view and pushing you behind the door. “Good morning, Mr. Ackles. You uh, appear to be missing most of your clothes.”

“It seems I am,” said Jensen. “Ms. Y/L/N is very well. She would like to reschedule for ten am if that’s possible.”

“Uh…” he said before you rolled your eyes and opened the door all the way. You stared at him and he looked between you both. “Oh. Gotcha. You two…”

“Mhm,” hummed Jensen, crossing his arms.

“Jake would you mind setting up in my office? It’s just down the hall. Jensen and I were about to eat breakfast. We’ll only be fifteen or so minutes,” you said. He stepped inside and you pointed the way, Jensen pouting as you headed back into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m still gonna do things to you. Just tonight, pouty boy.”

“Alright. You told me David was going to be your manager I thought,” he said, going back to the fridge to get the eggs.

“Well I went with Jake. Is that a problem?

“No. I need to be made aware of decisions like that though. I’m going to have to work with him quite a bit for events, your work schedule, that stuff,” he said. 

“I thought you’d be happy. You said you liked him.”

“I do. I am happy. I’m just not happy that you didn’t tell me.”

“He’s been my manager for like a day, calm down,” you said. He put his hands on the counter and you saw him drop his head, his back to you. “Jensen, no evil person is out there looking to snatch me away the second you turn your head. It was one day.”

“In the future, please make me aware of staff changes when they happen?” he asked. He looked back at you, his face softer than you were expecting.

“Okay,” you said. While he whisked some eggs in a bowl, you walked over beside him, watching over his arm. “Looks good.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” he chuckled. You rested your head against his arm, Jensen adding in some spices to the mixture. You scooted up on the counter as he went to the stove, watching him scramble them on low, pouring in a dash of cream.

“Can I ask why the Jake thing bothered you?” you said quietly. He scrambled the eggs for a minute before sliding them onto a few plates.

“Because I have a bad feeling that there is someone out there that wants to hurt you and I have nothing to go off of besides a gut feeling and trusting that you’ll be honest with me, always. You didn’t do anything. I overreacted.”

He got out a pair of forks from the drawer, handing you one along with a plate.

“Your gut feelings are normally right?” you asked, taking a bite of the eggs.

“Normally. They were at the restaurant,” he said. You nodded, putting a hand on your arm where a barely there bruise was. “I’m sorry if I hurt you that night.”

“I get hurt worse walking into a wall cause I’m dumb. You had me on the ground before I even knew what was going on and stopped that guy from doing who knows what to everyone. I’m not sorry about that.” He was quiet but gave you a nod. “Your eggs are great. Permission to brag granted.”

“Thanks,” he said, the doorbell ringing again. “I better get dressed. We’re gonna talk about getting a gate at the end of the driveway too by the way.”

“I second that,” you said as you heard the front door open. “Oh my God, my mother, just walks wherever she wants.”

He took off upstairs, ducking down the hall just as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hi mom,” you said. “You are...three hours early.”

“I know, you have work things. I wanted to make you some food you can have for leftovers the next few days. You have hardly any food in your house,” she said.

“Ma, I can barely cook and most of the time, I don’t have the actual time,” you said. She rolled her eyes and you hopped off the counter.

“Well I’m here so might as well,” she said. You glanced up to the balcony and saw Jensen pop into view wearing some jeans and a long sleeve henley. His holster was clipped on under his shirt and you smiled as he came down. “Oh, good morning, Jensen.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said.

“Any particular reason my daughter is wearing your shirt and no pants?”

“Uh,” he said, opening his mouth when she made a face.

“Two plates of eggs? You think I was born yesterday?”

“No mam. Your observational skills are impressive,” he said. 

“Mom, could you lay off. We like, just started dating,” you said.

“Can you cook?” she asked him.

“A bit,” he said.

“Bodyguard, he can cook and he’s handsome. He’s fine by me,” she said. You put your head in your hands, your mom whacking your shoulder. “You’re so overdramatic. Now get out of my kitchen. We’ll get lunch and shop later. I assume Jensen is coming with us?”

“I would love to spend the day with you ladies but I trust you two will be okay on your own. I’d like to go over some things with Y/N’s new manager if Y/N’s okay with that,” said Jensen.

“You will join us for dinner though, won’t you? We’re going out with Chuck and the boys. Our treat,” she said.

“Mom,” you said, getting a look from her. “Jensen always goes out with me at night, that’s our rule. I’ll pay for his meal.”

“But we’re taking you kids-”

“He is my employee. You don’t-”

“He’s your boyfriend who happens to work for you. I’m paying for his dinner, alright?” she said. You held up your hands and padded out of the kitchen, Jensen following you upstairs. 

“I’m sorry about her,” you said back in your bedroom as you started to pick up last night’s clothes. “She’s-”

“She misses her daughter. She’s happy I’m here. It helps her sleep better at night,” he said. “Told me herself.”

“I love her. I love her to death but I was a kid when my dad died. I know it was hard for her but for six months, until she met Chuck, she acted like I didn’t exist. She likes to forget that sometimes.”

“People grieve differently,” he said. “Still, it wasn’t on you to do that.”

He took the dirty clothes from your hand and cupped your cheek, kissing your temple quickly. 

“Don’t know how anyone could not notice you. Good thing I get paid to stare at you all day,” he smirked. You lightly smacked his chest, Jensen giggling. “As much as it pains me to say it, get that tush dressed. We’ve got a very long meeting with your manager this morning.”

That Afternoon

“What about this one?” asked your mom, holding up a dress.

“You know I hate award shows,” you said.

“I mean for tonight. Or a date with Jensen sometime,” she said. You did your best to keep your face neutral but she caught the slight down turn of your lips. She slammed the dress back on the rack and put her hands on her hips. “What? All morning you have been short with me.”

“Mom I just started dating him like half an hour before you got to the house. You are going way too fast. I have dresses and I honestly wasn’t even going to say anything until it got more serious.”

“You pay him to protect your life. How much serious does it need to get?” she asked. You rolled your eyes and she made a face. “You barely pick up the phone and talk to me anymore.”

“Cause you changed after dad and not in a good way. For a little while, I lost both my parents. Even after Chuck, you two were so involved with each other you didn’t spend as much time as me as you did before dad died. When I was a teenager, when I really needed my mom, you weren’t there all the time. I’m sorry I grew up to be independent. But-”

“Do you think I don’t realize that? I know I made mistakes,” she said. She sighed and took a seat on a bench outside a waiting room. “I just want you to be happy and Jensen...I haven’t seen a smile on your face like that since before Brian died. He makes you happy, even when you two looked so annoyed with one another earlier in the week, he would stare and you would stare. I feel good about this one. I just want you to enjoy falling in love, if you do end up going that route with him.”

You sat down next to her and shrugged, crossing your arms. You leaned back against the wall and rubbed your sneaker against the floor.

“How do you know that’s your guy,” you asked quietly. “I mean, you’ve done it twice. How do you know?”

“It was different with Chuck. I was slower to admit to myself that I was in love with him. Your father was very quickly. I didn’t share that information with him until much later but I knew, a part of me, the part you don’t justify with logic or facts or details, that part always knew. It knew with them both. Nowhere does it say you only have to have one soulmate. I know you don’t want to hear that but I love them both equally, Y/N.”

“Mom, I love Chuck. It’s not the same as dad but I do. He makes you happy and he tries to be a dad to me but he gives me the space I need too. I’m happy you have him. I’m happy we both do.”

“Why do ask how you know the man you’re with is the one?” she asked. “Or are you asking because that part you can’t explain already told you something you’re not even willing to think yet.”

“I was curious was all,” you said as you stood.

“You’re a horrible actor,” she said. You pushed on her shoulder and she laughed. “Fine, fine. No more boy talk. Let’s try another store. I’m at the very least not letting you walk out of this mall without a new pair of heels.”

Later That Night

“Y/N?” asked Jensen outside your bedroom as he knocked on the door. You checked the back of your fancy bun one last time in the mirror before you walked out and into the room.

“One sec,” you said, bending down and putting on the five inch heels, zipping them up in the back. After a moment of looking yourself over in the mirror in a sleek, mostly backless black dress, you opened up the door. Jensen was in a tailored black suit with a deep navy tie. “You look-”

“Wow,” he said, looking you up and down. “You look so fancy.”

“Fancy?” you laughed. “Is this because you hardly ever catch me out of my sweats?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the sweats and the leggings. I love all of it,” he said. 

“You look very handsome,” you said, skirting past him and hearing a quiet whistle. “Knew you’d appreciate that.”

“Damn right I do,” he said as he caught up. “Ready to head out?”

“After you.”

“That’s great you guys found a house,” you said an hour later at the restaurant, mouth full of some cheese fries. Nick rolled his eyes at you and you licked your lips. “Wha? I’m hungry.”

“Actually it’s for mom and me,” said Chuck. You raised an eyebrow and he smiled. “I’m a writer so I can work from anywhere and your mom got offered a great position at a clinic here.”

“That’s great guys. I’d love to get to see you more,” you said. You looked at Michael and he had a curious smile on his face. “Did you get a house too?”

“Penthouse apartment hopefully. We’re looking at some tomorrow. Gonna be on my own for the first time. Nick and I talked and he’s not sure if he really wants to move out here yet. We decided we’d see what it’s like living apart for the first time,” he said. 

“Worst case I can always get a professor job at one of the colleges if I change my mind while I try to get into a school district,” said Nick while he played with the remnants of some crust on his plate. 

“You’ll come eventually,” said Chuck. “Get everyone living in the same timezone again. It’ll be good.”

“So are you two like a thing now?” asked Michael to you, looking as innocent as could be while he hid his shit eating grin.

“Yes,” you deadpanned. Jensen looked up from his salad but you went back to eating. For the most part the evening was what you were expecting. Your step-brothers acting oh so pleasant in front of your parents and Jensen getting a few questions about his job. You did smile though when Jensen was able to upstage Michael about some law usage. You were pretty sure even Michael was impressed with him at that point.

“That went well,” said Jensen an hour later after you’d parted ways with your family and were walking back to your car. “Michael’s growing on me. He seemed better tonight. Nick not so much.”

“I’m actually really proud of him for getting his own place. I get that they’re twins but they’re in their thirties. Neither one of them has had a girlfriend in years.”

“Michael’s like a workaholic though,” said Jensen, holding your hand when you walked past a guy in a jacket with his hood up.

“True. Maybe he’ll cut back some out here.”

“How do you think Nick will handle that?” he asked. You stopped walking and pulled out your phone. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t particularly like Nick most of the time, don’t get me wrong. But he might do something stupid,” you said as you dialed your brother. It rang a few times before he answered.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Hey Nick. You want to come over tomorrow while Michael apartment hunts?”

“Uh, sure,” he said and you knew he must have been around your parents still.

“Great. Come over around noon. We’ll have lunch and a swim or something.”

“Okay. See ya.”

You shook your head before you were walking again, Jensen bumping your shoulder.

“Something I need to know about?” he asked.

“The file you did on Nick, what’d you find.”

“Arrest record for when he was young. A few drunk and disorderlies, nothing Michael couldn’t ever get cleared up for him. Hospital stay for a few days in his twenties when he fell down some wet stairs. I’m going to go ahead and guess out of all of that he didn’t fall, did he.”

“No,” you said as you stopped outside your car.

“What happened?”

“I came home from school early and Nick had tried to kill himself,” you said. Jensen blinked a few times and you let out a dry laugh. “It’s hard to surprise you but I think that took the cake.”

“You need to tell me everything.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a threat to you. You can’t see it but I can. He doesn’t like you and if he’s tried that before, it means-”

“Can we talk about this at home?” you said when you saw someone down the street recognize you. He nodded and they wandered up, asking for a few pictures. You posed and put on a smile, Jensen watching careful with a hard look in his eye.

“Woah, woah,” said Jensen half an hour later as you sat in the family room at one end of the couch in some sweats and an oversized tee, Jensen sporting a similar look but wearing the hoodie you’d given him. He had a notebook by his side but he’d put it on the coffee table in favor of throwing his hands up. “He tried to do it in your bedroom? He left a note on your bed?”

“My closet,” you said. “My closet had attic access so he’d tied a rope up on a beam. He had just kicked the chair away when I walked in. I was skipping last period. Senior year and all.”

“What’d you do?”

“It was very obvious that Nick knew he’d made a mistake. I grabbed him and held him up as best I could until he could untie himself. He fell down pretty hard cause I couldn’t hold him anymore and landed on all the junk lying on my closet floor. He told me we were gonna lie and say he fell down some stairs to account for all the bruises.”

“Why’d you help him lie?”

“Cause I thought he tried to kill himself because of me. I thought he hated me that much. He was in my bedroom after all,” you said.

“You read the note?”

“Jensen-”

“I need to know, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“Because my job is to protect you from threats. If your step-brother doesn’t like you and now his whole family is moving away from him to be closer to you, depending on a lot of things, this could get messy.”

“Jensen-”

“Did you read it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And?” For a moment you looked past him and outside, Jensen’s foot nudging yours. “I’m sorry but I gotta know.”

“He felt like a failure. He was in the car with his mom when she died. He saw how well Michael did and I did and he felt distant from his dad and he felt like his life was crumbling around him and honestly, he wanted to go be with his mom again. He felt like he didn’t belong. I fucking bawled reading it.”

“You guys ever talk about it or was it over like that?”

“I slapped him in the face and told him he was pathetic. His mom, my dad, they didn’t get a choice to live or die. I was so angry at him. He apologized and he promised me that if he ever felt like that again, he’d tell me. A few years later, he came to me and thought he might do something stupid.”

“His teaching sabbatical he went on.”

“He got some professional help. I paid for it all. He stayed out here, nearby. I visited him everyday on the way into work. He got better. He learned a lot about himself, how to cope, how to deal with things in his life. He still sees a therapist every week I pay for on the down low.”

“He’s no threat to you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he loves you and you love him, even if you don’t like one another or act like you care. If something bad were to happen, he would help you and you’re gonna do it right back.”

“How do-”

“Because your step-brothers who are assholes to you at times, they wanted to ensure that I would protect you when I first met them. I think it’s finally all clicking into place,” he said. “Hence why you never say a word about their behavior to your mom.”

“I will take prickly siblings over dead ones, even if I didn’t pick them,” you said.

“Are you worried Nick will take a bad turn with everyone else moving here?”

“I don’t know. I know he associates this place with bad memories, some of his darkest memories. I don’t blame him for not wanting to live here,” you said. Jensen nodded and ran his thumb over his lips. He propped his elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head in it.

“I’ve always thought you were kind. But helping your brother like that, in secret when I’m sure you want to tell your family, that’s not easy.”

“Yes, it is. There was never really a decision to be made though. The only one was to tell my parents and Michael and as long as Nick is honest with me, I will keep his secrets from them.”

“You’re more loyal than some of the people I served with,” he said, looking out the back windows. “It’s only an easy decision if you’re a good person. I wish I’d worked with more of those.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. He smiled and ruffled his hair, frowning after a moment.

“Jared saved my life you know. After I healed up, I transferred to his unit.”

“He’s a good guy to call your friend,” you said. He hummed and you crawled over to him, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad we’re finally friends.”

“Me too,” he said. He pulled you into his lap and rested his head on your shoulder. Your fingers ran through his hair, eyes drawn down to how his back flexed and relaxed. “Sorry for playing twenty questions with Nick. I won’t say a word to anyone, including him.”

“S’okay. Just doing your job.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine. Why?”

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“Counter offer. We make out in my hot tub and then go to bed.”

“Counter counter offer. I make ice cream sundaes we eat in said hot tub and then make out and then go to bed.”

“I’ve always had a thing for intelligent men,” you said. You kissed his cheek and he chuckled. “You’ve never seen me in a bikini before, have you.”

“I’m in for a treat then, aren’t I?” he said. “Go on and change.”

“I’ll meet you out there,” you said. You departed from him and headed upstairs, poking around in your closet for the perfect one to put on. You spotted him come out of the hall in his orange and blue striped shorts, a whistle on his lips as he jogged downstairs. In your closet you took a seat on the small bench, holding up your black teeny tiny bikini and your aqua blue that honestly made your butt look great.

You opted for the black top and blue bottoms to get the best of both worlds. You were midway through pulling your shirt off when you heard Jensen come in the room.

“Oh come on-” you said, something whacking you in the back of the head. Instantly you fell down, strong arms catching you. You looked up wearily, someone in a black mask looking down at you. The eyes weren’t green and you kneed him, putting an elbow to the back of the guy’s neck and making him groan. You got to your feet as fast as possible and sprinted out of the room. “Jensen!”

You knew you weren’t going to make it to the stairs without the guy catching you so you grabbed the railing and vaulted over the balcony to the ground below. You rolled when you hit the ground, spotting Jensen by the base of the stairs. Your eyes spun upwards, Jensen following your gaze and seeing the man standing there. You turned and saw Jensen running towards you, a loud thud right beside you. The man was on the first floor now and you ducked down, missing his arms as you dove into the dining room. By the time you had your head up, you saw Jensen tackling the guy, a gun going flying out of the intruder’s hands.

You stood up, watching the two of them wrestle, the intruder getting a good hit on Jensen’s face. 

“Y/N, go!” you heard Jensen yelling at you, the pounding in your ears finally growing a little quieter. Jensen told you when you were going over his book of rules that was the adrenaline in your system, trying to get your body to only focus on survival. The gun was laying fairly close to you and you heard Jensen shout, eyes darting over to see he had a cut on the back of his shoulder. 

He had Jensen pinned face down and was working on restraining him. He was still shouting at you and the man looked up the second he had pulled the tie taut. You ran over and picked up the gun, the man revealing a knife.

“Put that down or I kill him,” he said. You swallowed, Jensen yelling a frenzy of things at you, all of which involved you running away as fast as possible. Instead you aimed the gun and fired, the man falling backwards as it hit his vest. 

You ran over and kicked the knife he dropped away, keeping the gun on him as Jensen rolled over to it and cut himself free. He gave you a dirty look but searched the guys pockets and found more restraints, slipping some on the intruder before taking the gun out of your hands.

“Call the police. Now,” said Jensen. 

________

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

[aswiya]

Zeynab Serekaniye, a Kurdish woman with a gap-toothed smile and a warm demeanor, never imagined she’d join a militia.

The 26-year-old grew up in Ras al-Ayn, a town in north-east Syria. The only girl in a family of five, she liked to fight and wear boys’ clothing. But when her brothers got to attend school and she did not, Serekaniye did not challenge the decision. She knew it was the reality for girls in the region. Ras al-Ayn, Arabic for “head of the spring”, was a green and placid place, so Serekaniye settled down to a life of farming vegetables with her mother.

That changed on 9 October 2019, days after former US president Donald Trump announced that US troops would pull out of north-east Syria, where they had allied with Kurdish-led forces for years. A newly empowered Turkey, which sees the stateless Kurds as an existential threat, and whose affiliated groups it has been at war with for decades, immediately launched an offensive on border towns held by Kurdish forces in north-east Syria, including Ras al-Ayn.

Just after 4pm that day, Serekaniye says, the bombs began to fall, followed by the dull plink and thud of mortar fire. By evening, Serekaniye and her family had fled to the desert, where they watched their town go up in smoke. “We didn’t take anything with us,” she says. “We had a small car, so how can we take our stuff and leave the people?” As they fled, she saw dead bodies in the street. She soon learned that an uncle and cousin were among them. Their house would become rubble.

After Serekaniye’s family was forced to resettle farther south, she surprised her mother in late 2020 by saying she wanted to join the Women’s Protection Units (YPJ). The all-female, Kurdish-led militia was established in 2013 not long after their male counterparts, the People’s Protection Units (YPG), ostensibly to defend their territory against numerous groups, which would come to include the Islamic State (Isis). The YPG have also been linked to systematic human rights abuses including the use of child soldiers.

Serekaniye’s mother argued against her decision, because two of her brothers were already risking their lives in the YPG.

But Serekaniye was unmoved. “We’ve been pushed outside of our land, so now we should go and defend our land,” she says. “Before, I was not thinking like this. But now I have a purpose – and a target.”

Serekaniye is one of approximately 1,000 women across Syria to have enlisted in the militia in the past two years. Many joined in anger over Turkey’s incursions, but ended up staying.

“In discussions [growing up], it was always, ‘if something happens, a man will solve it, not a woman’,” says Serekaniye. “Now women can fight and protect her society . This, I like.”

According to the YPG, a surge in recruitment has also been aided by growing pushback against and awareness of entrenched gender inequality and violence over recent years. In 2019 the Kurds’ Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria passed a series of laws to protect women, including banning polygamy, child marriages, forced marriages and so-called “honour” killings, although many of these practices continue. About a third of Asayish officers in the Kurdish security services in the region are now women and 40% female representation is required in the autonomous government. A village of only women, where female residents can live safe from violence, was built, evacuated after nearby bombings, and resettled again.

Yet evidence of the widespread violence that women continue to face is abundant at the local Mala Jin, or “women’s house”, which provide a refuge and also a form of local arbitration for women in need across Syria. Since 2014, 69 of these houses have opened, with staff helping any woman or man who come in with problems they’re facing including issues of domestic violence, sexual harassment and rape, and so-called “honour” crimes, often liaising with local courts and the female units of the Asayish intelligence agency to solve cases.

On a sun-scorched day in May, three distraught women arrive in quick succession at a Mala Jin centre in the north-eastern city of Qamishli. The first woman, who wears a heavy green abaya, tells staff that her husband has barely come home since she’s given birth. The second woman arrives with her husband in tow, demanding a divorce; her long ponytail and hands shake as she describes how he’d once beaten her until she had to get an abortion.

The third woman shuffles in pale-faced and in a loose dress, with rags wrapped around her hands. Her skin is raw pink and black from burns that cover much of her face and body. The woman describes to staff how her husband has beaten her for years and threatened to kill a member of her family if she left him. After he poured paraffin on her one day, she says, she fled his house; he then hired men to kill her brother. After her brother’s murder, she set herself on fire. “I got tired,” she says.

The Mala Jin staff, all women, tut in disapproval as she speaks. They carefully write down the details of her account, tell her they need to take photographs, and explain they plan to send the documents to the court to help secure his arrest. The woman nods then lies down on a couch in exhaustion.

Behia Murad, the director of the Qamishli Mala Jin, an older, kind-eyed woman in a pink hijab, says the Mala Jin centres have handled thousands of cases since they started, and, though both men and women come in with complaints, “always the woman is the victim”.

A growing number of women visit the Mala Jin centres. Staff say that this doesn’t represent increased violence against women in the region, but that more women are demanding equality and justice.

The YPJ is very aware of this shift and its potential as a recruitment tool. “Our aim is not to just have her hold her gun, but to be aware,” says Newroz Ahmed, general commander of the YPJ.

For Serekaniye it was not just that she got to fight, it was also the way of life the YPJ seemed to offer. Instead of working in the fields, or getting married and having children, women who join the YPJ talk about women’s rights while training to use a rocket-​propelled grenade. They are discouraged, though not banned, from using phones or dating and instead are told that comradeship with other women is now the focus of their day to day lives.

Commander Ahmed, soft-spoken but with an imposing stare, estimates the female militia’s current size is about 5,000. This is the same size the YPJ was at the height of its battle against Isis in 2014 (though the media have previously reported an inflated number). If the YPJ’s continued strength is any indication, she adds, the Kurdish-led experiment is still blooming.

The number remains high despite the fact that the YPJ has lost hundreds, if not more, of its members in battle and no longer accepts married women (the pressure to both fight and raise a family is too intense, Ahmed says). The YPJ also claim it no longer accepts women under 18 after intense pressure from the UN and human rights groups to stop the use of child soldiers; although many of the women I met had joined below that age, though years ago.

Driving through north-east Syria, it is no wonder that so many women continue to join, given the ubiquitous images of smiling female shahids, or martyrs. Fallen female fighters are commemorated on colourful billboards or with statues standing proudly at roundabouts. Sprawling cemeteries are filled with shahids, lush plants and roses growing from their graves.

The fight against Turkey is one reason to maintain the YPJ, says Ahmed, who spoke from a military base in al-Hasakah, the north-east governorate where US troops returned after Joe Biden was elected. She claims that gender equality is the other. “We continue to see a lot of breaches [of law] and violations against women” in the region, she says. “We still have the battle against the mentality, and this is even harder than the military one.”

Tal Tamr, the YPJ base where Serekaniye is stationed, is a historically Christian and somewhat sleepy town. Bedouins herd sheep through fields, children walk arm-in-arm through village lanes, and slow, gathering dust storms are a regular afternoon occurrence. Yet Kurdish, US and Russian interests are all present here. Sosin Birhat, Serekaniye’s commander, says that before 2019 the YPJ base in Tal Tamr was tiny; now, with more women joining, she describes it as a full regiment.

The base is a one-storey, tan-coloured stucco building once occupied by the Syrian regime. The women grow flowers and vegetables in the rugged land at the back. They do not have a signal for their phones or power to use a fan, even in the sweltering heat, so they pass the time on their days off, away from the frontline, having water fights, chain smoking and drinking sugary coffee and tea.

Yet battle is always on their minds. Viyan Rojava, a more seasoned fighter than Serekaniye, talks of taking back Afrin. In March 2018, Turkey and the Free Syrian Army rebels it backed, launched Operation Olive Branch to capture the north-eastern district beloved for its fields of olive trees.

Since the Turkish occupation of Afrin, tens of thousands of people have been displaced – Rojava’s family among them – and more than 135 women remain missing, according to media reports and human rights groups. “If these people come here, they will do the same to us,” says Rojava, as other female fighters nod in agreement. “We will not accept that, so we will hold our weapons and stand against them.”

Serekaniye listens intently as Rojava speaks. In the five months since she joined the YPJ, Serekaniye has transformed. During military training in January, she broke a leg trying to scale a wall; now, she can easily handle her gun.

As Rojava speaks, the walkie-talkie sitting beside her crackles. The women at the base were being called to the frontline, not far from Ras al-Ayn. There is little active fighting these days, yet they maintain their positions in case of a surprise attack. Serekaniye dons her flak jacket, grabs her Kalashnikov and a belt of bullets. Then she gets into an SUV headed north, and speeds away.

By Elizabeth Flock. Additional reporting by Kamiran Sadoun and Solin Mohamed Amin. 

[whump-a-la-mode]

A Rather Odd Heist AKA The Trophy Room

Hi! I don’t know what this is and I have (at the time of writing) work in four hours! I had this idea in a daydream and just had to get it down in writing.

I apologize if the formatting is weird. I usually write in the tumblr text editor but this was written in docs.

CW//Threats, talk of injury, talk of disease, poison, death threats, descriptions of pain, restraints, medical emergencies, collars, chains, dehumanization, being kept as a trophy

    The wound felt like disease.

    It was a long slash, started at the front of Hero’s chest, just below the clavicle, and extending to the middle of their shoulder blade. The pain was white hot, tearing through skin and into sensitive flesh below, but more than that, even as the wound was carved, the feeling of infection, of poison, seeping in was overwhelming. 

    They lost the balance from the pain alone, slamming into the worn tile floor of the subway platform with a crack from their cheekbone. 

    Their assailant, on the other hand, landed with far more grace, on their feet. Hibou’s claws, wicked constructions of metal that had clearly recently been to the whetting stone, curled inwards towards their palm. Not far, though. The twelve inch long weapons constricted their movement, not that they minded. The aluminum feathers attached to their rust-painted goggles twitched with amusement.

    “I really thought they’d sent someone with a little more skill in… standing.” They smirked, though it stretched their mouth far too wide, enough to make Hero uncomfortable. “Do they not teach you that at HQ?”

    Hero grumbled out a half-hearted reply that even they were unable to make out. After a moment of catching their breath, they scrambled to their feet; every movement of their shoulder sending a new wave of agony through the marred flesh. 

    They met Hibou’s gaze (or, at least, the black lenses of their goggles), holding it for a long moment. The world around them took a shuddering breath as a weak gust of wind managed to find its way into the abandoned subway tunnel. 

    Through Hero’s mind ran half a dozen half-baked plans. Diversions and threats they could carry out, attacks they could make. None would work, certainly, but it occupied their panic-addled mind until the footsteps sounded behind them.

    They dared not spin around and let Hibou out of their sight, but they were acutely aware of the two pairs of feet, one on either side, approaching to surround them.

    “This one was spying.” Hibou glanced to one of the unseen figures, the one on Hero’s right. “And you know what they thought would be a good hiding spot? You wanna know?”

    “Course we wanna know.” The voice had a snakelike quality to it, hissed out between fangs.

    “The catwalk! The broken down catwalk. You always said that if anyone ever walked up there it’d fall, and guess what! You were right.”

    A barrier of cackling penned Hero in on all sides for a moment. The slash on their shoulder didn’t seem to be bleeding, but the pinpricks of disease refused to stop.

    “So, that begs the question.” Hibou continued. “What are we going to do with them?”

    Hero felt as though a wire was tightened around their neck. In a motion that surprised even themself, they leapt onto the tracks, running along the rusty metal for a moment before attempting to struggle their way out of the other side.

    The cold, scaly hand gripped them before they had any chance to do so. With a horrifying strength, and a bold show of it, the hand threw them up, slamming them onto their back. A clawed hand pressed to their chest, foot-long blades threatening to prick into their skin. Those rusty goggles stared down at them in a way that seemed almost playful.

    It was supposed to be a simple mission, they couldn’t help but recall as they lay there, well-sharpened blades likely only a few inches of flesh away from their rapidly beating heart. 

    Despite their seniority within the Heroes’ Organization, the amount of solo missions they were assigned to was low. Extremely so. Even lower than that of some of the recruits and cadets. Most would have been bothered by the fact-- fearing that their superiors thought them to be worthless or not good enough. That fear didn’t apply to Hero, however.

    No. They knew exactly why they spent most of their days stalking around base, chatting with the medical staff or the engineers.

    After all, healing powers wouldn’t get you very far in a fight.

    Hell, they hadn’t even been supposed to go on this particular spying mission in the first place. Yet, of course, the cadet who was meant to take the simple job had broken their leg in a training accident. 

    It had sounded simple. Almost deceptively so-- as if there should have been something more to the whole thing. But, no. It was exactly as easy as it had been drawn out to be. Sneak into the villains’ temporary base, find out their numbers and exactly what kind of weaponry they possessed, and report back.

    They could have done it in an afternoon. But they just had to have taken the chance with the catwalk. They could have run, they’d had the chance, but…

    They’d been too scared. That was the other reason they were always stuck at base. They were a coward. The mission directors knew it.

    “What, hey, don’t die on me yet. That’d be boring.”

    Hibou’s voice cut through their swirling thoughts. Their eyes focused on the empty goggles looming above them.

    “And I hate when things are boring. So, answer my question.”

    “I- w- wh-”

    “Ugh. I said, what should we do with you?”

    “L- L-”

    “Come on, use your words.”

    “Let me go.” It croaked out of their parched throat like a forced tear. “Please.”

    “Oh, well, since you said please…” They rolled their eyes. “How about this. Let’s put it to a vote. This is a democracy, after all.”

    Next to Hibou’s goggled face appeared two more. One sharp and scaled around the eyes, the other with hair that hung down in wet mats. Akula and Zema. 

    “So, guys, what do you think? What should we do with them?”

    Hero felt to be a rabbit surrounded by cats.

    “Hey, boss?” Zema-- the scaled one-- spoke up. “What’s that on their shoulder?”

    “Hm?” Though their eyes could not be seen, Hero just knew that, in that moment, they lit up. “Oh, that. Now that is a good idea, Zema.”

    “Wh- What did you do to me!” Hero fought to jerk upwards, but was only met with a sharp hand forcing them back down. 

    “Oh, you know…” Hibou raised their other hand, the one not holding their captive down. The claws curled into as close to a fist as they could get. “When you came in to interrupt me and my work, I was just finishing up a special batch of… hm… what would a layman call it. A biopoison, I believe.”

    Hero choked.

    “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that, huh? That’s what you get for interrupting my work.”

    “So… they’re just gonna die?” Akula questioned.

    “Hm? Oh, I mean, without intervention, yes. Not immediately, though I could arrange that.” Ever so slightly, the claws moved towards Hero’s neck. “I guess we should probably just do that.”

    “W- Wait!” Hero gasped. “If it’s going to, uh, if it’s going to kill me anyways, then why not just let me go? It doesn’t matter either way, right?”

    Hibou smiled that horrible, wide smile.

    “You know, the little coward has a point. That’d be a lot more fun. You don’t want to die, though, do you?”

    One of those claws curled beneath Hero’s chin, forcing it upwards with the blunt end. It didn’t cut, but they knew that with any false move, it would.

    “No.” They managed to croak out.

    “So… hm. There’s something you want, and you can only get it from me. And, well, now that I think about it, there might just be something that you have that I want. Now, that sounds like a fair trade, doesn’t it?”

    “What is it? Please, anything. A- anything.”

    “That’s what I’d hoped you’d say. Hero, I think you know exactly what I want.”

    “N- No. I don’t.”

    “Of course you do.” The claw pushed their chin up even further, pressing the back of their head against the tile. “I want my kid back.”

    Hero’s eyes widened. They felt bile rise in their throat.

    “I can’t.”

    “Well, then, you’ll die. Easy as that.”

    “W- Wait-”

    “To me, it sounds like a very fair trade, Hero. We’ve had to spend so long watching our friend suffer… slowly rot away. And now, your friends will have to do the same. It’ll be easier for you, though. Your eyes will melt out of your skull far before the real gross stuff happens.”

    Hero gulped, feeling their throat press far too close to Hibou’s claws.

    “Is there any other way?”

    “Hmm… No. I don’t think so. Here’s my final offer, right now: You bring me my kid back. They’ll know where to find me. Then, I give you the antidote. Either that, or I cut your head off, here and now. I’ll even mail it back to your HQ, just as a little gift.”

    “I-”

    Hero felt their chest shudder. The sweat dripping from their forehead had long since dampened their hair. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Just some recon. Just a simple mission.

    But…

    “Okay. I accept.”

    “Good.”

    The pressure lifted almost immediately, finally allowing Hero to once again breathe. They scrambled to their feet, and were almost halfway out of the abandoned platform when they heard Hibou yell from behind:

    “The rash should start in about twelve hours! Just so you know!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

    It was the nature of a hunter to keep trophies of those that they had killed.

    Of course, not in the wild. In the wild, animals were simply content to fill their bellies. The only trophy needed of their hunting was the fact that they were still well and alive.

    Humans, however, did not have such a luxury. Survival was not a prize to be shown off. So, other methods had to be found. Trophies had to be taken. 

    Taken and displayed.

    No one questioned the scarf that Hero had wrapped tightly about their neck, despite the fact that it was the dead of summer. They had no time to question it. The other inhabitants of the Headquarters of the Heroes’ Organization had their own duties to complete, and not a second to spare in completing them.

    So, Hero found no difficulty in walking through the front doors, every step they took threatening to aggravate the already agonizing wound on their shoulder. 

    After a few steps, they found themself in the center of the entrance lobby, legs stiffened. Hibou’s words echoed in their mind, sharper than their blades, as their head tipped upwards. Their gaze raised to the trophy room.

    That was what everyone called it, anyways. It wasn’t so much of a room as much as it was a glass cylinder, sticking out from the railing of the upper floor. On first seeing it, cadets often panicked, fearing that it would fall at any moment. It appeared simply that precarious, even though it was, supposedly, practically indestructible. Even the glass itself was rated to withstand nuclear attack.

    There was a reason for that.

    The cylinder was rather large, maybe 20 feet in diameter. However, the vast majority of it was taken up by chains-- four of them, one from each side. Heavy iron things, each link likely too heavy to be lifted on its own. The four chains all converged at one point in the center.

    The trophy.

    Villain wasn’t a particular strong person. They may have been before their capture, but any strength they had had been long since drained away. They weren’t particularly tall, to begin with, but from the angle, they looked miniscule.

    The iron collar around their neck, resting heavily on their shoulders and collarbone, was the center point of the chains. Each hooked onto one side of the collar.

    Villain’s seated position pulled the chains practically completely taut, the weight of iron resting completely and totally on their neck. The pressure would have been less had they stood, but they had stopped doing that a long time ago.

    The grey cotton prisoner uniform had about as much color to it as their face.

    Hero couldn’t say they knew the story of Villain’s capture, nor what had warranted it. The trophy room had been there as long as they had been part of the organization. They supposed it was odd, just how quickly they had gotten used to it. The trophy room and the trophy it held were simply a part of HQ.

    If Villain were to disappear for a second, everyone in the building could and would notice it. 

    Hibou’s kid… Of course, they were truly related. They seemed about the same age. But the fondness with which those horrid villains spoke about their friend…

    Hero shook their head. If they kept acting like this, they’d get dragged to the infirmary with a thermometer shoved in their mouth in an instant. They began forward again, headed towards the staging room.

    They didn’t have any missions scheduled for the day, not that they knew of at least, and they were glad for that. Still, they had their unofficial duty, preparing the other heroes for their missions. 

    The staging room sat behind a pair of steel doors, requiring a retina scan to pass through, which Hero passed easily. The doors slid open as they stepped through, already feeling a dozen pairs of eyes lock to them. 

    Colloquially, the place was often referred to as the locker room, both literally and as a joke. Lockers lined the walls, while benches filled the rest, except for at the very front, where a pair of tables were well stocked with snacks, drinks, and basic medical supplies.

    After a second, most of the heroes looked down, having been satisfied that there was no threat. The only one that kept their head up was Teammate, who quickly waved Hero over. They obliged without thinking, sitting next to them on their bench. 

    “What’s up?” Hero questioned. Teammate didn’t respond for a moment, as they were pulling a sweater off over their head. When they were finished, they replied:

    “Eh, I’m good. What’s with the scarf?”

    “‘Tis called fashion.”

    “Fair enough.”

    “Where are you headed out to?”

    “Patrolling a hospital, they had a threat or something. You?”

    “I don’t do missions.” They did their best to accompany it with a smile.

    “You did yesterday, didn’t you?”

    “Yeah.”

    “How’d that go?’

    “Eh, it was fine. Spying missions are boring.”

    “There’s no lie there. Anyways, um, when I was fighting yesterday I kinda got this cut-”

    “Where?”

    “Right here, on my leg.”

    Teammate leaned down, rolling up one of their pant legs to knee height. Sure enough, across their shin, a wicked scar carved its red mark. Hero hardly thought about it as they placed a hand on the wound.

    A green glow emanated from their palm, flowing and wrapping around the injured leg. The wound’s ragged edges solidified with scar tissue, before knitting themselves together.

    It was so simple. A grievous wound, dealt with in an instant.

    Of course, that was all they could do. Healing powers weren’t magic, not really. They couldn’t bring back the dead. They could only accelerate what the body already had the ability to do. A cold? Gone in a second? A biopoison?

    Well, they couldn’t bring back the dead.

    The wound finished its knitting, and Hero withdrew their hand. Teammate offered a quick smile, speaking:

    “Thanks so much, see ya’ later!”

    Before running off. Off on a mission. Off doing something important.

    Something good.

    Hero slumped forward on the bench, feeling a horrible exhaustion overtake them. When the call for their help came, they weren’t exactly surprised. It was quick, short, simply:

    “Is Hero here? I need Hero.”

    They raised their head, expecting to see a cadet who had hit their arm or something.

    Instead, standing halfway in the doorway, face a mask of panic, stood a person in a lab coat. They clutched themself, arms around their chest, trembling visible from halfway across the room. They met Hero’s gaze.

    “Come on, come on. Quickly, please.”

    There was nothing in their voice but panic. Even urgence was drowned out by sheer fear. Hero was on their feet in an instant, on the heels of the doctor who was moving at the same speed. They ran, together, all the way to the medical wing, on the other side of the floor.

    From there, they moved along a small catwalk, leading to-

    Hero didn’t even look up to realize the destination until they were already there.

    The only access to the trophy room was a small, horribly narrow catwalk. A horde of doctors was already flooding it, but they moved out of Hero’s way without question. The first doctor stopped in front of the door to the glass cylinder, which was sealed with just about every type of lock known to man.

    “They’re unresponsive.” The explanation was quick, curt. “Do you know how to put on a hazmat suit?”

    “What?”

    “Do you know how to put on a hazmat suit?”

    “I-”

    “Here, here, I-”

    “Why do I need a hazmat suit!”

    “It’s not safe in there, you can’t go in without one.”

    Hero’s gaze darted to the interior of the cylinder. Half of the chain had gone taut, while the other two were slack, on account of the fact that Villain had slumped over, all their weight supported only by the collar around their neck. In the little visible skin that the collar revealed, horrible red marks could be gleaned.

    “They look like they’re dead.” They whispered in horror. “Why do I need a hazmat suit?”

    “Their powers, they’ll hurt you.”

    “Even when they’re unconscious?”

    “Well, no, but-”

    Hero’s hands latched onto one of the padlocks, straining against it, trying to pull the metal apart. It did nothing, of course. They didn’t have superstrength. But it simply felt like the right thing to do.

    Eventually, someone handed them a key, then another, and another after that, until every lock on the door was opened. They swung it open, leaping inside, heart in their ears. Every panicked beat sent a new shock of diseased pain through their shoulder.

    Ducking and stepping over chains, they maneuvered until they were at Villain’s side. Their first thought was to check for a pulse-- it was weak, but there.

    They gritted their teeth.

    Hero was going to save Hibou’s kid, and by god, neither of them were going to die.

[timerainseternal]

This AU idea absolutely will not leave me alone unless I write it down, so here it is: Dolores is not a mannequin, but instead one of the 43, and is adopted by the Handler along with Lila.

Dolores is not a hard baby to get, since she’s abandoned the moment she’s born by a nearby orphanage. The only thing the Handler needs to do is be quicker than Reginald in her baby-snatching, and she has the power of time travel on her side. Dolores is gone before a single member of the orphanage staff even notices that she’s there.

Unfortunately, the Handler is not good at childcare, especially not for a child that cries almost constantly. She pawns Dolores off to extremely awkward agents, and this does not help matters at all.

It turns out that this is because Dolores.

a) is deaf

b) her power is to read minds/emotions.

(This power does not mix well with time-travelling assassins.)

So the Handler...well, she doesn’t give up on Dolores, because that is still a useful power, but she leaves her to her own devices as much as possible while also still retaining the title of mother for the purpose of loyalty. It wouldn’t do to have Dolores go and read her mind, now would it? And the poor dear does it automatically, with no way to turn it off. A pity.

I’m going to put a read more, because this will get long!

So, Dolores grows up a little, and keeps out of the way of the agents when she can. Their thoughts are all dark and swirling and confusing, and they make her want to hide. Dolores can’t turn it off, but she learns how to keep it to the surface thoughts, and then how to turn them to background noise, easily ignorable. She also learns how to read and do sign language, and spends much of her time doing that in her room or other out-of-the-way places.

(Her favorite book is The Secret Garden, which I have not read (or if I did it was when I was like 8), but the vibes I get from it are perfect, so I’m including this factoid.)

When she does run into people, they’re often angry or dismissive, and so she learns how to be sweet and disarming. She can see people’s thoughts, after all, and she can see both the way that she can hurt the people who do interact with her, which feels bad, and what they want to hear from her. She still mostly stays away from people, and still is mostly ignored, but the people she does interact with think she’s the most kind and positive person they’ve met. The Handler especially likes to hear what she wants to hear.

Then, when she’s six, the Handler brings home another child. Lila is four years old when she comes to the Commission, and when they’re introduced, she copies Dolores’ power and immediately begins crying.

(Dolores doesn’t notice it much, but something is slightly off about the way her sister comes into her life. Her mother’s thoughts are a little different than usual, her outfit isn’t what she was wearing just a little earlier, and when she sees Lila again later in her office, the feeling is not one of a newly formed familiarity, but of meeting for the first time, and of surprise.)

Their introduction and siblinghood is therefore a slow sort of thing, where Lila learns how to not automatically copy Dolores’ power, but instead do it on command (the Handler’s command).

Once they get over the initial hurdles, though, they become fast friends and sisters. Lila is the Handler’s favorite, and in a sense only needs Dolores as something for her to copy. This actually works well for everyone, since Dolores was always acutely aware of the disappointment she was to the Handler, and both wanted to do better and wanted the attention taken off of her. Lila and Dolores spend their days separately, with Lila doing training and other activities while Dolores continues to spend time alone, but they spend evenings together sharing stories about their days. After an argument escalates to a week of silence, they promise each other to never read each other’s mind, not in the deep way.

(This is kind of like a Luther and Vanya friendship, if it was just the two of them and Luther was more excitable and Vanya was happier being left alone.)

(Also, Dolores knows that the Handler is a bad person, but everyone she’s met has been a bad (and/or deeply hurt) person except for Lila, and she doesn’t want to dash Lila’s hopes by telling her. Lila, on her part, isn’t supposed to read minds except on missions, and definitely isn’t allowed to read the Handler’s mind, at least not without express permission.)

Then, when Dolores is thirteen, she feels Dot ping something unusual. Something--no, someone--just landed in the Apocalypse.

Nobody notices as little Dolores, quiet in every way, sneaks into the Infinite Switchboard room. She knows how to use it, she grew up in the Commission and can read minds, of course she does. She pulls up a day about a year into the Apocalypse, not too close to the day itself, since she doesn’t know exactly when they land.

And there’s a boy.

He’s in a school uniform, and he's writing something on a wall in chalk. Math. Complicated equations, ones she doesn’t understand. His hands begin to shake as she watches, and he drops the chalk and hugs himself, trying to stop the trembling that has taken over his body. He looks sad, looks desperate in a way that Dolores both does and does not recognize.

She feels someone coming back, so she returns the Switchboard to its previous position and leaves, still thinking about this mysterious, sad boy.

From then on, they grow up some, all three of them. Lila becomes more skilled, more confident, and begins to go on missions, just some small ones. She glows when she gets back from these intelligence-gathering missions, giving Dolores a step-by-step reenactment. Dolores still sneaks into the Infinite Switchboard when she can, watching this boy grow up, admiring his perseverance when he can’t know there’s anyone else watching him, cheering him on. And Dolores adds math and science textbooks to her reading material, teaches herself what this boy already seems to know, wanting to reach through the screen to help, to catch the errors in his math that slip by him that he only catches days later and leave him to tear his work down and scream.

And it isn’t like Dolores knows him, really. He doesn’t know her. She doesn’t spend every day thinking about him, not even when he jumps in a blue warp that reminds her of the briefcases and realizes that he’s like Lila and her, he’s special. It’s just that she looks at him and sees something of herself, something the same achingly sort of lonely even though their situations are so different, and unlike with every other point in history, she knows that just her being there would help. She wants to help.

And, when they’re in their early twenties, when she catches a glimpse in the Handler’s mind about his potential, about what a wonderful killer he’ll be once he’s broken enough to accept a deal without question, ready to be molded to obedience, Dolores asks for him personally.

Dolores has never asked for much, and she knows the Handler has written her off as a mouse in a hawk’s den, a soft little cuckoo bird in an unfit environment. She doesn’t know that Dolores is a hawk too. She writes it off as a voyeuristic sort of crush from a quiet little girl, and moves up her timetable. After all, even if Dolores is harmless, she still knows enough to be a threat in the wrong hands, so it’s better to keep her close and content.

So the Handler brings Five to the Commission, and when the Handler finally leaves him to himself, when he’s clean and in fresh clothes for the first time in a decade, there’s a knock at the door.

Dolores has written a pre-prepared speech for him to read, about how she’s been watching him--in a not-creepy way, she promises--how she wanted to save him from the Apocalypse, how she had powers like him, how she can’t hear him, and how he had added the wrong columns in his last equation and he was now powers of magnitude off.

And as he reads it, brow furrowed in concentration and surprise, Dolores is overwhelmed by his emotions. His thoughts are whirling, and he’s definitely smart--maybe even as smart as her--but it’s the depth of his love and loyalty and determination for his family that gets to her. She loves Lila, and Lila loves her, but she’s never felt anything quite this strong, and strongly positive. Maybe it was the isolation or the survivor’s guilt or the need for a mission, or maybe it’s just all him, but she’s captivated.

When he reaches the end, he raises his eyebrows at her and mentally runs through his calculations, huffing in surprise when he realizes that she’s right, and that she noticed.

So, Five still becomes an assassin, but he also becomes Dolores’ friend.

Five learns sign language, and when he gets back from missions or takes a (probably medically necessary) break, they talk about math or books or the Commission or nothing at all. Sometimes they talk about his family, and Dolores gains all the blackmail available on his siblings from the first thirteen years of his life.

There are also times that he comes back from a mission looking haunted, and Dolores does what she can to make him feel better, to prevent him from falling the way so many other Commission recruits had into cruelty or depression or apathy. He has his darkness, and she knows it, can see it, but it doesn’t bother her. Why would it?

Five also doesn’t stop working on finding his own time travel equations. He hasn’t said much on the topic, and Dolores knows that if he has to leave her to save his family, he will. She also knows that he doesn’t want to leave her either.

It’s on one of their nights of math, one where they’re arguing about which model to use for some calculation or other, and he’s just not getting it, and she just sort of pushes at him, to make him understand, and he pauses mid-rant. He never does that.

He had heard her voice in his head, he tells her.

After that they work on mental communication when they can, use sign language other times, and things move on. Sometimes they sit together and read, making little mental comments to another as something interesting or stupid happens in their novel.

Dolores also begins to question the Commission, something she had never really done before. She had never really thought to question it, despite knowing that there was a whole world she had never been to that didn’t even know the Commission existed. What if...the timeline didn’t need to be fixed, didn’t need to lead to the Apocalypse? If the Commission wasn’t all-powerful, which Dolores knew it wasn’t, then what if she could do something about it?

So one night after Five gets back from a mission, tired and withdrawn and covered in blood, Dolores tells him that she’s coming with him. He smiles like sunshine, and she knows she chose right. The Handler could never look at her that way, she could never love something so truly, so deeply.

And Dolores knows then that she loves him, asks him a few nights later if he’d be interested in going out with her--no pressure if he doesn’t, she values his friendship more than anything, won’t leave him to himself or tell the Handler about his equations if he doesn’t want to--and his smile then is shy, and he doesn’t look at her as he accepts.

Lila does not like Five, never has, and does even less when she finds out that they’re dating. She says Five is stealing Dolores away, that he’s not good enough for her, that he’s not special even though he has powers like them.

(The Handler has the same opinion. Dolores is becoming too independent. She can see a secret rebellion in her eyes, can see the way Dolores is pulling away from her and towards Five, that pet project that kept going a bit wrong. It’s not hard to show Lila the same thing.)

(It’s also not hard to give Five a special assignment, a secret mission watched over directly by her. There’s a child that’s now an orphan, poor thing, it wouldn’t do to leave her. She takes the girl back, not only to the Commission, but two decades in the past as well. She smiles a shark grin when she leaves the child in the office of her past self, only just restraining the urge to break its bones, to go find herself and break her own bones. This girl, Lila, is and will be the perfect weapon in every way.)

Dolores tries to build bridges between Lila and Five, but it doesn’t work, and since she knows that Lila is loyal to the Commission, wouldn’t stand the plan they’re hatching, she pulls away from Lila.

Also I like to think they take an actual vacation (Five, waiting for your flesh wounds to heal does not count) and get married at some point in history. Who knows when! I don’t, but I know it’s very cute. They  call each other “husband” and “wife” for a full month afterwards without ever using their spouse’s given name(/number). I love them so much.

And then, one day, they crack the code. They can’t travel with the briefcases, since those leave traces for a few days that can be tracked. Also, when an agent is in the field disrupting the time stream, the Infinite Switchboard gets a bit hazy and fuzzy because it needs to recalibrate and calculate about the new timeline that’s being created, so they won’t be able to be tracked for a while that way either.

(Me, answering the plot hole that the show didn’t bother to cover of why they needed to put a tracker on Five when they had the Infinite Switchboard, and also why they lost them ever???)

(Also this is why they go to 2019 like a week before the Apocalypse, because that’s about how long the Infinite Switchboard will cover their tracks and the Commission has to go in blind. Also also that’s when Harry Janky shows up and if they just stop him from meeting Vanya things should be mostly okay, and then after the Apocalypse doesn’t happen things should be more or less set (maybe, time travel in this show is weird).)

It is now that they gather information on the Apocalypse, stealing the file from Dot. Though Dolores had been able to use the Switchboard to view the aftermath of the Apocalypse, the event itself was locked, only accessible to a higher management that was never around. The Handler had access, of course, but she had used her time training Lila to train her own thoughts as well, and the probing necessary to find the information, either the codes or the details of the event, would have alerted her and ended their plan there.

Five learns that his favorite sister causes the Apocalypse :(

This is actually a real blow, but seeing the way that Harold Jenkins and the Commission manipulated the situation helps him reckon with it, and while it’s still a lot on Vanya, it’s not like it’s just her at fault. And besides, when he messed with his powers he ended up stranded in a post-apocalyptic future and then ended up working as an assassin, so he understands about the unintended consequences of their powers and also committing mass violence. He can also get therapy about it after the world is saved, which he won’t, but he could.

They have the information they need, they’ve got the equations worked out, and Five is opening the portal when Lila walks in on them. (I guess Dolores either took another briefcase to the Kennedy assassination or just hopped a ride on Five’s, or maybe they went somewhere else completely. It’s not really relevant.)

Lila Is Not Happy.

There’s a bit of a fight, and Lila is too late to stop them from going through the portal, but she’s been practicing with Dolores’ power, and though she hadn’t realized about the mental communication, she had found another aspect of the power: removing/suppressing memories.

So, as they go through, Lila erases their memories of what causes the Apocalypse: Vanya, her powers, Harold. She doesn’t get the eye or Five’s time in the Apocalypse because she’s just erasing those recent memories, not those old, cemented, formative ones. She also messes up the equations, just by a decimal or two. Later, she couldn’t tell you if that was an accident or not.

(Then she gets beaned in the head with a fire extinguisher, just for the fun of it)

(Also all of this is because I realized that if Dolores could find Five with the Switchboard she could see the Apocalypse and they could just avoid the whole mystery mess of season 1, which I did not want. I just wanted season 1 + Dolores, so I had to scramble to fix that, lol)

So, the Hargreeves siblings, all 5.5 of them, run outside to see a glowing blue portal, and their thirteen-year-old brother who had been missing for seventeen years falls through, looking the same and accompanied by a thirteen-year-old-girl who, after a minute of confusion and frustration, he introduces as his wife. Also there’s going to be an Apocalypse

(I have just realized that I have capitalized “apocalypse” the whole time and I don’t think that’s right, but I’ve been writing this for a while and I don’t wanna go back and fix it)

So yeah, then it’s season 1 + Dolores and maybe Lila!

I 0% have it in me to write anything about that right now, and my idea has mostly been on what I’ve already written, so that’s where this ends for now.

So, yeah! That idea just would not leave me alone, so I had to write it out. I always have more to say about it, and I’d love to see other people’s thoughts!

Oh, and one final thought that didn’t fit in to the narrative but I desperately have to include it:

As adults or as children, everyone looks at Five and Dolores, sees the annoyed and blunt boy and the kind and positive girl, and they think they know which one of them is the pessimist and which one is the optimist. They are wrong.

Listen, Dolores heard the thoughts of assassins for her whole life and saw the hurt or the cruelty that came with it, and intimately knows the worst things about humanity. Five lasted in the Apocalypse (for like ten years in this, but we know in canon he had it in him to go to forty and beyond) on nothing but willpower, a love for his siblings, and a belief that he could make things better.

It’s one of Dolores’ favorite things about him

She brings this up in conversation at a family dinner one night after things are all settled and the siblings all lose their goddamn minds

Five is very embarrassed by this

It’s lovely

And another actually final unrelated thing, Dolores gets him in his twenties because of the line in the show about them being together for “thirty years” when he was in the Apocalypse for forty, meaning they “got together” in his twenties. In this case it’s a more literal, physical “getting together” (aka meeting in person) than a romantic one

(This also means, depending on how you skew the timeline of this, that Dolores and Five are around the same age as the other Hargreeves when they go to 2019)

(Well, physically they’re thirteen, but still. I just think it’s funny that they could go down such different time paths and end up in pretty much the same relative spot)

Anyway, thanks for reading this far (an impressive feat), and I hope you enjoyed it!

[eolewyn1010]

Warning: This is a rant.

So, there’s someone in the Charité fandom with a few, eh, interesting(?) ships. Namely, Anni/de Crinis as a romantic ship or, more recently, Anni/Christel. Which, whatever. I don’t shit on your ship, you leave my boats alone and all that; I guess the person in question is just into villain/protagonist ships. You do you. But I do have an opinion and I’m gonna elaborate on it now. (It’s a history- and canon-oriented breakdown; feel free to ignore.)

First of all, Max de Crinis was a Nazi. I’m not sure inhowfar the person in question is aware of that because they only ever seem to be talking about the character de Crinis in the Charité show (more on that later) and I don’t think they’re German; thus they might not have the cultural background to take this with the same queasy feeling I do, but yes, we’re talking a real-life Nazi who gave his expert reports on which people were to be “sorted out” in Aktion T4. Meaning, he actively participated in the mass murder of disabled people, adults and children alike. And no one can tell me he didn’t know what he was having part in. That man was influencial, way up in the hierarchy. He lived the superiority ideology of the Nazis, he preached it. We are shown that in the series. We hear the way he talks about people, about the Dohnanyis, about a traumatized woman who thinks she has lost her child, about homosexuals, and I think it’s not far-off from what we know of historical de Crinis. He was a monster, responsible for the deaths of hundreds or thousands and not sorry about it. He’s not shown as a redeemable antagonist in the series, and I don’t see him at all with Anni, a character who is very much shown to be redeemable. Anni is passive and complacent, which is another category of bad, but she is, to some degree, unaware. It is at least partially a willful unawareness, admittedly, but she is young enough to have been raised unaware. And once she overcomes this, she realizes that what happens around her, what her highly adored mentor preaches and practices, is nothing she can morally justify. That’s when her redemption begins. With her breaking down crying eventually as she can’t cling to her worldview anymore, we know it’s a painful process, and it’s supposed to be.

De Crinis is at no point unaware. He is a Nazi, and we’re never shown at any time that he wants to change that. We’re never shown him in pain, up until it’s about his own life. Because there was never any indication for that in the historical person and this is a historical show.

Secondly, the character we are shown in the series. He’s married, y’know? Admittedly, his wife is extremely non-present, showing up only to die by his side, but it’s one of the things that make de Crinis behave in that condescending mentorly way toward Anni instead of being actually flirty with her. So, the ship would have to do away with the wife. Then, it’d have to away with Artur because - oh, right, Anni already has an irredeemable Nazi asshole she’s married to. From what we’re shown, she and Artur are very much in love initially. It’s not an easy separation for her. Easiest solution? Make them both single from the get-go, I guess, have de Crinis be Karin’s father; he’d conveniently be protective of his own child and stuff... and wind up as Artur, basically. Who’s all, “yeah, other people’s children, but not mine, of course”. To overcome that, de Crinis would have to realize that all human life has inherent value. Which means, he’d have to renounce his work, his loyalty to the Nazi realm, everything his life and ego consists of. All the things he’s built his reputation on, might I note. There are others who watch him. He’d be dead in no time. And if we say he was like that from the get-go, then he never gets into a position of power in the first place. Scientist? Even several of his contemporaries thought his work was worthless. (We’re shown that in series-canon, too, with Sauerbruch and Jung grinning at his self-adulation.) His hostility with the Dohnanyis / Bonhoeffers? Wouldn’t be there; he’d be fighting for their cause. His psychological torture and persecution of Martin and Otto? Why would he hunt down homosexuals if he had internalized that all human life has value and Nazi ideology is wrong?

There would be nothing left of his character. What point is there in shipping Anni with de Crinis when the latter isn’t de Crinis anymore? Just make a new character then? 

Third, his points of redemption potential? ...there are none. His favorism of Anni? Based on her being a good little sheep who looks up at him with her wide, Aryan eyes and admires him. His soft spot for kids, shown in his disgust with Magda Goebbels’ planned murder of her children? He’s appalled that the virtuous paragon of the Nazi model family is shredding yet another bit of his pretty, pretty worldview; that’s all. He doesn’t give a shit about children. He doesn’t try to stop her or talk her out if it. He tells her where she can get poison to go through with it. When Anni mentions that “Karin has been evacuated”, he doesn’t even blink. And he knows what “evacuating” means for a disabled child. He doesn’t care. He has the point of view of Nurse Käthe, of Prof. Bessau: That child’s no good; make new ones. His taking flight, knowing that he has committed crimes he will be prosecuted for? Yeah - but he doesn’t seem to suffer from it. When Anni acknowledges herself as guilty, she breaks down and lashes out, realizing what she might have been and was capable of. De Crinis? Takes flight. He’s not a bit shaken, not a bit surprised by what he has been up to. He has always known that what he participated in is wrong; he just didn’t care so long as there were no consequences for him personally. The one and only thing that made de Crinis watch-worthy in the series is that Lukas Miko is a damn fine actor who gives one hell of a chilling performance. That doesn’t make his character any less of a piece of shit, nor does it diminish my urge to go take a shower after the de Crinis scenes. I wouldn’t mind watching Miko play a de Crinis anthithesis, but that definitely wouldn’t be de Crinis.

To make this ship work, there are exactly two possibilities: Give up all of de Crinis’ character - or roll with him being the evil bastard that he is and that we are shown he is, and give up all of Anni’s character. That’s it. Just... don’t act like there’s canonically anything good about de Crinis.

Same goes for the Anni/Christel ship, btw. “Everything is the same, but Christel is not in love with Otto but with Anni”. That... means nothing is the same. It means everything changes thoroughly. Christel was always the only real threat for Otto and Martin - if she isn’t, there’s not much for them to fear in their own ranks. They’re careful; they wouldn’t have been found out without a denunciation. Means, they don’t get arrested, Otto doesn’t have to save Martin, Otto goes out to war, Otto dies before the war is over because those last months of battling were desperate and ugly (even more so than the earlier, I mean). So, we’d get a new gay at the cost of killing another? Eh. A Nazi accepting homosexuality, coming to terms with herself as an adversary of her own creeds and abandoning Nazi ideology to Do The Right Thing is not “missing dramatic content”, either. It’s Anni’s arc. And it’s a character arc that Christel, with the way she’s written, with “too much compassion is a sign of weakness”, is not capable of.

The scenario doesn’t only include Christel accepting herself as a lesbian; it also includes her helping Anni with Karin. Which brings us back to the same problem as with de Crinis: She’d have to abandon everything she’s convinced of. Accept the value of all human life. And I think her definition of a “worthy life” is even narrower than that of de Crinis; that’s why he recruits her in the first place: Because Christel is a very passionate Nazi. Much more so than de Crinis. She has a backbone, he’s an opportunistic chickenshit. He takes flight. She fights. To the very last second, she clings to her idea of the Nazi realm. When she breaks down, it isn’t for realizing that what she believes in is wrong; it is because what she believes in is lost. That’s one of the things that make me be more shaken with her than with de Crinis, even more in awe of Frida-Lovisa Hamann than of Lukas Miko: Christel never knows that she’s in the wrong. Like Anni, she’s young enough to have been raised unaware, and different than Anni, she very decidedly declines the chance to break out of this. If she’d been brought to court for her deeds, she wouldn’t have been able to defend herself, and she wouldn’t have denied anything, because in her worldview, she never did anything wrong. Realizing that would be, again, an extremely painful process and, again, it wouldn’t leave anything of her character. Why would she go on a date with Otto and propose to him? Why would she tattle on little Emil? On Hans von Dohnanyi? On Martin? Why would she be in conflict with the Sauerbruchs? Why would she lead Volkssturm kids into the hospital if she wants to protect Anni? Why are there any conflicts at all instead of all of the Charité staff being morally upright and good and a united front against the Nazis?

They aren’t. There’s a story being told, and if they’d change out these chilling, well-written antagonists for lukewarm knock-off protagonists, they’d have to make up new antagonists to make any of the story work. It’s a historical series, dealing with living amidst Nazis; inside this framework, the characters won’t function as theirselves if their core values are flipped.

Conclusion? There’s only one legit ship in there, and it’s de Crinis/Christel. I can totally see that; it’d leave both their characters intact. He could rush back to tragically die by her side - BAM, there you’ve got your Nazi-apologetic drama. Or make it Magda Goebbels/Christel, if one wants to go for psycho lesbians. Personally, I don’t care much for finding a happy end for obvious Nazis that were written as Nazis and have absolutely nothing that would turn them away from being Nazis. And I don’t see Anni being either’s romantic partner. Why on earth would she want to? Isn’t Artur punishment enough?

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [91]

vii. the queen’s gambit

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: anxiety, fighting, death, mentions of blood, mentions of self inflicted violence (not in the traditional sense??? if you need clarification, let me know), torture, injuries.

Summary: after a failed escape attempt from bardo, you discover that you are more valuable to them than you could have ever imagined.

a/n: i literally can’t believe we’re in the 90s!!! we don’t have many episodes left which is very weird bc i feel like I just started sharing sub rosa with yall! i’m so excited to share the ending, but so sad that it’s nearing the end! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You wake slowly, your mind trying to catch up to the events of the last few hours. 

Bellamy’s death hits you before anything else, just as painful as the first time. Then Gabriel’s betrayal follows, and as you start to open your eyes and comprehend what’s happening, you feel someone lifting up your shirt. Your eyes fly open and your gaze lands on someone from Bardo, who is staring down at the scar that the Azgeda assassin gave you in Mount Weather. They look up at you in surprise as you sit up, their hand dropping your shirt as they step away from you, hands lifted in surrender. “I’m sorry, I was changing you and I just noticed your scars.”

You ignore the person and look down, your clothes different than the ones you were wearing before. Your disciple suit is gone, your clothes from Skyring too. In their place is a shirt from Bardo, their symbol on the front, and a pair of pants to match. You’re barefoot, and the knife that usually sits strapped to your thigh is missing too. In a state of panic, you reach up to your neck, relieved to find your necklace still with you, and one glance at your finger reveals your ring hasn’t been taken either. Your eyes search the room quickly, finding your clothes in a pile nearby, your boots beside the pile, your knife on top. You quickly jump off the examination table and cross the room, running over and grabbing your weapon. You pull it from its holster before you spin around, facing the person in the room, taking in the fear in their expression before you snap, “Where are my friends?”

“They’re being examined by the medical team in the rooms nearby.”

“Examined? Why?”

They look terrified of you, their voice shaking slightly as they glance down at the knife in your hand. “Standard protocol for new arrivals.”

Your brain is running at a million miles a minute, trying to process information as fast as it can, but ultimately you know you need to get out of here. Your friends are in rooms around you and you are trapped on an unfamiliar planet, with no access to the Anomaly Stone. But maybe if you can cause a distraction, your friends can get to the Stone Room and go for help. You’ll be trapped here, but it’ll be worth it if the others can escape and bring an army back for you. You have the layout of Bardo memorized, and you have a general idea of how to cause enough chaos to get them out of Bardo, you just need to free one of your people so they can free the rest. You look back to the Bardoan in the room, noticing for the first time that they’re young, probably a few years younger than you. They're part of the medical staff in some capacity, and they look terrified, clearly not a fighter. Something about them reminds you of Clarke, back before she became Wanheda, when she was young and naive and just wanted to save lives. But that similarity is the reason you decide to spare the person from the distraction that’s forming in your mind. “Where is Octavia Blake?”

“Across the hall. But you can't get out of here, they have Bardo on lockdown.”

“Who’s gonna stop me, you?” They shake their head and you nod once. “Good, because I don't want to kill you, but I will if you get in my way.”

They say nothing, keeping silent and backing up against the wall, clearly believing your threat and more than willing to allow your escape. You reach for the button that activates the door, but stop when the medical aid calls out, “Wait, there are guards!”

You pause, turning to look at them. “How many?”

“One outside each door.” You run the math, figuring there are at least 6 guards outside. You're sure that you can take them, but it'll only raise suspicions earlier than you can afford. You’re trying to figure out a plan when the aid mutters, “I can help you.”

You give them a skeptical look. “And why would you do that?”

“To prevent any more killings.”

You watch them closely, looking for any signs of deceit, but you find none. They seem genuine in their pursuit to prevent any more disciple deaths, and though you don’t care about the disciples dying, you do care about staying under the radar for as long as you can. Which is why you nod at the aid, accepting their help. “Fine. What do you have in mind?”

They cross the room slowly, both of you suspicious of the other, before opening the door to a supply closet. They dig around for a second before pulling out a small canister, holding it up for you to see. “Knockout gas. We’ve been perfecting it in preparation for the Last War, so there’s always some laying around in here.”

They hesitantly walk closer to you, reaching out to hand you the canister, and you take it with a nod of thanks. But you’re well aware that you can’t leave them conscious, so you look at them with regret and mutter “sorry” before swiftly knocking them out. It’s probably safer for them this way anyways. You cross the room again, back to the door button, and you hit the switch. As the door slides open, you pull the pin from the canister and toss it down the hall. You hear a yelp of surprise followed by the thudding of bodies, and you wait a solid minute before pulling your shirt up over your mouth and nose and venturing out into the hall. All six guards are unconscious and taken care of, so you cross the hall to the other door, hitting the button that opens the door to Octavia’s room. 

Your eyes find her quickly, falling on Octavia, who is sitting in the middle of the room, looking at you in surprise. Beside her, a doctor looks at you in fear before tuning and running towards a panic button on the wall. You grab your knife and throw it towards him, the blade going clean through his hand and stopping him in place. He lets out a cry of pain as he stares at the knife, and you cross the room in record time, knocking him out and grabbing your knife before turning towards Octavia. She’s looking at you in confusion, trying to figure out what’s going on. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of here. Can you stand?” She nods and stands with no issues, and you continue, “Good. You need to get the others and get to the Stone Room. They should know how to get there if you don’t.”

She shakes her head, immediately disagreeing with your plan. “What about you?”

“I'm going to cause a distraction so you can get to the Stone Room and then back to Sanctum with no resistance. Tell Clarke what’s going on, and bring back our army.”

You don't wait for her to accept your plan before you start to turn away, your mind thinking of the limited time you have to pull this off. Octavia grabs your arm and stops you, pulling you to look at her. “La lune, you can’t.”

“I have to. Bellamy would want me to keep you safe.”

“He’d want me to keep you safe.”

You counter, “Then get the others and get out of here. You can come back for me.”

“There’s so much you don’t know. You’re not safe here.”

You shake your head, pulling your arm from her grip, already backing away. “Octavia, there’s no time. None of us are safe here. You can catch me up on everything else later, but for now, I need you to get the others and get back to Sanctum, please.”

She hesitates, clearly wanting to tell you now, but she understands the limited time you have so she nods. You turn and run from the room, snatching a few grenades off the fallen disciples as you jog down the hall. You mentally pull out the map of Bardo that you have memorized, just in case something like this happened, thinking that the oxygen farm might be your best bet for a distraction. It’s far enough away from the Stone Room, and it’s an important resource, so they’ll be eager to protect it. You run towards the farm, passing no one on the way, confirming that they really have locked down Bardo. You reach the farm with ease, hitting the button to open the door and stepping inside. 

It’s raining, the drops of water landing on your face and running down your cheeks like tears as you look to the sky. It’s easy to imagine that this is Earth and you are home and Bellamy is just around the corner, waiting to dance in the rain with you. But the weight of the grenades in your hands reminds you that this isn't Earth, and Bellamy is dead, and you are on a mission. You immediately pull the pin from one of the grenades and toss it into the trees nearby, taking off running as fast as you can to put distance between you and the explosion. An alarm immediately goes off, likely thanks to some sort of fire alert system, and you throw more grenades as you run through the woods, keeping your path random and erratic. You toss the last of your grenades into a clearing before you slip into the trees and turn to face the door.

You hear the doors to the farm slide open and you duck down behind some brush, hiding yourself completely from view and watching as a large group of disciples files into the farm. “Spread out and find her before she gets us all killed.”

You back away and slink into the shadows as the disciples break up into pairs and start to search for you, starting at the grenade explosion sites. You situate yourself behind a few large trees and hold your knife tight in your hand, crouching and waiting for a disciple to come your way. Your anxiety grows with each passing second that you spend hidden, the anticipation of an impending attack starting to wear you down, but just when you think you can't take it anymore, you hear a twig snap nearby. You peer around the tree, watching two disciples walking your way, scanning the brush around them. One is walking slightly ahead of the other, giving you the perfect advantage, and when the disciple steps within arms length of you, you step out from the trees and grab him, quickly shoving your knife into the space between his suit and his helmet, right into his neck. You feel blood rush over your hand as you pull the knife out, the other disciple turning towards you in shock. 

They have enough time to process their partner's body hitting the ground before you close the space between you and kill them too. You look around, searching for any other nearby disciples, but with none of them close by, you use the moment to quickly strip down the disciple closest to your size and slip into their suit. From there, you walk off in search of the other disciples, not bothering with ghost mode since they’d be able to see you anyways. It doesn't take long for you to come across another pair, both of them turning towards you as you approach. “Any sign of her?”

You use your mind to activate your weapons system, lifting both of your arms towards them as you mutter, “Yeah, I am her.”

And then you kill them both.

You’re able to do this for 6 more disciples, taking them out before they even realize what’s going on. Unfortunately for you, someone stumbles onto the first pair of dead bodies, one of them stripped from their suit, and they announce, “She has a suit! Everyone gather in the clearing!”

You’re about to slink back in the shadows and rid yourself of the suit in question when a pair of disciples appears from the woods behind you, grabbing your arm as they walk past. “Come on, newbie, clearing’s this way.”

Your anxiety spikes as you wonder how you're going to get out of this, your body being led into a group of disciples that all seem to want you dead. As soon as you arrive in the circle, a disciple in the middle of the group, clearly the leader, looks over everyone gathered around. “Is this it? Where are the others?”

Someone answers, “Dead.”

The man practically growls with anger, “Helmets off, I want to find her.”

There’s no way for you to avoid unmasking as everyone pulls off their helmets, because if you don't do it, they'll know it's you. If you do it, they'll know it's you. With no other options, you pull off your helmet too. Everyone is looking around, trying to find a face they don't recognize, a face devoid of tattoos, and it only takes seconds for them to realize you’re the imposter. The remaining 12 disciples all turn towards you, lifting their arms and training their weapons on you. “You! Drop the knife!”

You shake your head and bite back, “Not a chance.”

“Fine, any last words?”

You feel a flash of fear as you start to wonder, is this it? Is this where you die? But then you think of Bellamy, killed on the same planet, waiting for you in the stars, and you get a sense of peace. You can die knowing you did whatever you could to save your friends and get them home. That’s your tribute to Bellamy. You couldn't save him, but you could damn well save the rest of your family. You tip your chin in defiance, glaring at the leader of the group, anger written all over your face. “Yeah, go float yourself.”

His glare deepens, a sneer contorting his mouth as his arm takes aim at your chest. You close your eyes, waiting for the blow, waiting for death, waiting to join Bellamy, but it never comes. Instead, the moment is interrupted by someone yelling, “Wait! We need her!”

Your eyes pull open in surprise and confusion, your gaze landing on a man in a long white cloak with white hair, walking quickly towards you. Anders. All around you, weapons start to lower as Anders yells, “She is Clarke Griffin's twin! If we want to get the Key, we need her alive.”

Clarke? Your mind latches onto a memory that’s flying past, a snippet of conversation from Bellamy’s death video. Let him go, and I'll tell you everything you want to know about Clarke. You turn your gaze towards Anders, noting his excitement as he says your twin’s name, and you spit, “Clarke? What the hell do you want with Clarke?”

“She’s the Key to everything.”

His tone is reverent, serious, hopeful, and your stomach flips in fear. You know something is wrong, something about this isn’t okay. You know that if it comes down to it, Clarke will do anything to keep you safe, including putting herself in danger. She's all you have left in the world, your only blood family left, and you can’t let her do that. Which is why you lift the knife still gripped in your hand and hold it to your throat. A dozen disciples lift their weapons towards you in alarm, but Anders freaks out and yells, “Weapons down!”

You glare at him, “I won't let you use me to get to her.”

“Miss Griffin, please. You don't understand.”

“And I don't care to. You already took the love of my life from me, I won't let you take my twin too. If this is how I have to keep her safe, then so be it.”

As your grip on the knife tightens and you prepare to slit your own throat, Anders interrupts once again. “Wait. Before you do something reckless, consider this.”

On cue, a group of disciples marches your way, your friends held in their grip. Gabriel, Echo, Octavia, Hope, Diyoza, all captured and held at gunpoint. You pause, your grip loosening slightly as you look at them in alarm. Octavia mouths an apology to you before Anders mutters, “Interesting. We thought your friends might be your weakness. Put the knife down, or we kill them all.”

You look at him in shock before turning to look at your friends. Octavia is nodding her head, encouraging you to drop your knife, and Gabriel is too. But beside him, Echo is shaking her head, a glare on her face, telling you to follow through with your plan, silently telling you to protect your sister over the rest of them. But you love all of them too, and you can't stomach knowing that you’d be the reason they all die. You fight back a sob as you turn back to Anders, resigning yourself to your fate. “Fine.”

You drop the knife, and no less than six disciples descend on you before it even hits the dirt. As you watch Anders, your expression one of defeat, he smiles a little. You can't interpret it, unsure if it's meant to be smug or genuine happiness or what, but you don't get long to think about it before the disciple leader mutters, “Lights out.”

You turn towards him just as someone hits you in the back of the head, hard, darkness quickly swirling at the edges of your vision. His smirk is the last thing you see before the darkness swallows you whole. 

-

The next time you wake, it’s with a groan.

Someone mutters your name as soon as they hear you stir, and you hear them shift towards you as you slowly pull your eyes open, fighting against the pain radiating from the back of your head. 

Your eyes fall on Gabriel, who is staring down at you with worry. “Cielito, are you okay?”

You look at him in confusion before you abruptly sit up, looking around the room, suddenly remembering the danger all of you were in the last time you were conscious. “Where are the others?”

“I don't know. They took them to a different cell block.”

“Are they okay?”

“They were the last time I saw them. We’re being taken care of, meals and beds and supplies, so I’m assuming we’re worth something to them.”

You nod, taking the information in, already aware of your worth to them. A worth that stems from their fascination with Clarke, though you don’t understand why they’re so enamored with her. You open your mouth to ask Gabriel if he’s heard anything, but as you do, you’re suddenly cut off by the doors to your cell opening and a swarm of disciples moving inside. Two men grab Gabriel and pull him away from you as two other guards grab you, both of you sharing a look of alarm. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“Let me go!” You kick and fight against them, but they hold you tight in their grip, practically dragging you down the hall behind Gabriel. “Where are my friends?”

“Doubt they'd call either of you a friend after what you’ve put them through.” His words make you panic, your mind imagining the worst. Your friends tied up and tortured, all because you failed in your mission to save them. You start to fight harder, slipping from the guard’s grip slightly, but they readjust their hold on you and grab you tighter, their fingers squeezing bruises into your arm. Gabriel yells back towards the other cell blocks as you are dragged away, clearly in just as much turmoil as you are. “No, no, no! Echo! Hope! I'm sorry!”

You and Gabriel fight the entire time you are led down the hall, and you only stop when the guards pause outside of a door, waiting for it to open. You freeze as you realize where you are, you and Gabriel exchanging a worried look as the doors to the Stone Room slide open. The guards release Gabriel and step back, but they keep their grip firmly on you as a white clothed figure steps into view.

Anders.

He smiles at Gabriel before turning to extend you the same greeting, but his smile drops into a frown when he sees the guards at your side, still holding you tight. “Release her.”

“Sir, with all due respect, she is dangerous. I don't think we should-”

He cuts the guard off with a raised hand. “I didn't ask what you thought. Release her.”

The guards let you go, though they still seem hesitant to do so, despite the demand by their leader. Once you're free, Anders again smiles, greeting you both. “Dr. Santiago, Miss Griffin.”

You and Gabriel stand frozen in the doorway, and he motions you closer. “Come, please.”

The two of you move hesitantly closer, and your eyes fall on the only other person in the room, the conductor. Gabriel’s gaze shifts to the Anomaly Stone, which Anders quickly takes note of. “Miraculous, isn't it? A gift from those who have transcended, or so we believe.”

Gabriel questions, “Transcended?”

“The Shepherd teaches us that winning the Last War brings upon the final evolution of a species. I thought Orlando would have taught you that.” You turn towards Anders at the mention of Orlando, and Anders watches you and Gabriel carefully as he continues, “He hanged himself in the cabin.”

He turns and motions to what appears to be a body, covered in a sheet, your eyes missing it earlier. But they don't miss it now, because your gaze is locked on the form as your brain struggles to process the words. He hanged himself. He hanged himself. He hanged himself. Gabriel shifts beside you, uncomfortable, but Anders continues speaking, ignoring the heavy feeling of grief in the air. “It appears we need to rethink our penal system. We lost 35 disciples thanks to you and yours, 10 from Miss Griffin just in the last day. I sent the others off to Nakara, but I thought that you both might like to say goodbye.”

Gabriel mutters, “I'm sure Hope and Echo would too.”

“We have different plans for them.” 

He motions towards the body again, encouraging the two of you to move closer. You glance up at Gabriel, and he reaches out for your hand and pulls you closer to Orlando's waiting body. You both kneel on his right side, and Gabriel whispers, “La muerte es la vida.”

“May we meet again.” Tears well up in your eyes as you look down at the covered body, imagining what Orlando must have felt as the four of you left him behind on Skyring. Clearly it was painful enough that he hanged himself because of it, and you feel guilt start to press heavy on your chest. Another person led to Death, thanks to Wanlida. Her presence is beginning to feel like a curse again, the way it used to, no longer offering you the comfort it did on Skyring. She doesn't care that Orlando is dead, but you do. Because he was your friend, and this is your fault. You reach out tentatively and rest a hand on what you think is his chest, your voice barely a whisper when you say, “Please forgive me.”

You feel tears tighten your throat and attempt to choke you, and Gabriel squeezes your hand, which is still held tightly in his own. You look at him with tear stained cheeks and nod, letting him know you’re okay, and he nods back before turning his attention back to Anders. “Is Nakara your heaven?”

The Anomaly powers up nearby, and you and Gabriel stand, stepping away from the body of your fallen friend as the green glow quickly grows and takes Orlando’s body before receding again. At Gabriel’s question, Anders turns to look at the two of you in surprise. “He left that out too, did he?”

You and Gabriel exchange a look, suddenly realizing that Echo really was right. Orlando was your friend, but you were never his people. Five years on a planet with him and he only ever told you what you needed to know, despite all of you telling him everything about your lives before him. Anders takes in your shared look before he continues, “No, we don't believe in heaven, doctor. Like I said, we believe in transcendence.”

“Transcendence through the stone?”

You look away from the two men, your mind blocking out whatever they're saying, uninterested in transcendence or the mystery of the Anomaly Stones. And as you look away, your eyes lad on an imperfection on the floor behind Anders. Black and charred, in the exact place where your fiance last stood before he was killed by one of the disciples. And now you think that the 35 dead disciples aren't enough, because you want to burn Bardo to the ground. Its existence has brought you nothing but trouble from day one. You feel tears prick your eyes, but you work hard to keep them at bay, not wanting Anders to see you crying, not wanting the people of Bardo to know that this is something bothering you, because when you destroy them, you want them to be surprised. You don't want them to suspect the anger hidden deep inside of you, or the anguish that you're keeping buried, so you work hard to keep your mind off of the spot on the floor.

Anders aids in your distraction techniques when he says a word that makes your blood run cold. “Because you don't want to be executed.”

You look over at him in alarm, digging through your subconscious memory to figure out why he’d say that. You finally find Gabriel’s question that prompted the response, something along the lines of why should he help the Bardoans with the stone. Gabriel senses your rising tension and squeezes the hand that is still in his own, before he levels a serious look at Anders. “I don't want my friends to be executed either.”

“Well, that's up to them.” He walks around the stone before stopping on the other side and watching Gabriel closely. “Given your history with the stone, I would like you to help us unlock it. We'll share our knowledge, you'll share yours, and all you have to do is say, ‘yes’.”

Gabriel turns to look at you, his gaze asking what you think. Your mind runs through the information you have. Clearly, you know next to nothing about Bardo and the disciples, thanks to Orlando. And if you want to destroy this place, having an inside man, with loyalty to you, is the best way to do it. Which is why you look at Gabriel and nod once, letting him know you think he should do it. Gabriel turns back to Anders and jokes, “Do I get a robe?”

Anders cuts him a look, so Gabriel adds, “Yes, I’ll join your cipher team.”

Satisfied, Anders nods once and smiles, but you start to realize that things aren't adding up. You and Gabriel were separated from the others for a reason. Because you serve a greater purpose to them. But you know next to nothing about the stones and have little to offer them for scientific advancements, so what use do you have to Anders and his people? “I don't know anything about the Anomaly, and you clearly know that, so why am I here?”

“We need you to tell us everything about Clarke Griffin.”

“Clarke?” Your brows furrow, just as confused as the first few times they mentioned Clarke, not understanding why she’s so important to them. “What does Clarke have to do with any of this?”

“She's the Key to everything.”

You shake your head, growing frustrated. “But what does that mean?”

“Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll do the same for you.”

You feel a wave of realization pass over you when you catch on to what he really wants. Sure, he wants to know about Clarke, but it’s more than that. “You want my memories.” 

“Yes.” The door to the room slides open on cue, and a group of disciples walk in, moving towards you. “We’d prefer if you went willingly, but we’ll take you by force if necessary.”

You remember your earlier desire to destroy Bardo, and your need to stay cool and calm. And despite the fact that you want to scream and cry and fight every Bardoan in this room, you put on a brave face, tip your chin in defiance, and mutter, “The guards aren't necessary.”

Gabriel looks at you in alarm, not expecting your willingness, turning his gaze to Anders. “No. No way, she isn't going to M-Cap. That thing is torture.”

“Only if you fight it.” Anders turns to you, waiting to see your reaction to the same thing Hope said to you 5 years ago. You stay calm and shrug, “I won't.”

You turn to look at Gabriel, this time squeezing his hand in reassurance. “I’ll be fine. Have a good first day, doctor.”

He must sense something in your gaze, and because he trusts you, he drops it. You let go of his hand and turn to follow the disciples and Anders from the Stone Room and down to M-Cap, your mind remembering the path easily, thanks to your years of studying the map that Orlando drew. As you step into the room, the disciples stay outside and motion you inside, towards a man in white, his back turned to you as he sets up the machine, which has clearly been fixed since Echo used it to kill a man. The man in the room turns towards you when he hears you approach, and you're surprised to see Levitt standing there, watching you with a blank expression. You almost react, but then you remember that you aren't supposed to know each other, so you copy the same blank expression on his face, and follow Anders inside of the room tentatively. He looks at the other disciples over your shoulder. “We’ll be done in an hour.”

They nod and close the door behind them, leaving you, Anders, and Levitt alone, and he motions towards the M-Cap chair. “Please, take a seat Miss Griffin.”

You do as he asks, sliding into the seat, the leather cool against your arms. You lean back a little, resting comfortably, as Levitt begins to attach straps around your wrists and your torso. You look at them warily, and Levitt catches sight of the look. “Don't worry, these are more to help you than hurt you.”

You give him an unconvinced nod, and he finishes up with the restraints, turning away from you and pulling a pair of glasses down onto his face. He begins fiddling with a hologram that only he can see before Anders looks over at him. “I want to see what she sees.”

Levitt spreads his arms wide and a large holographic screen expands in front of them both, big enough for Anders to see everything that Levitt can. He turns and tugs a weird helmet over your head, pinning you in place, and he gives you a look before turning away again. You don't have time to interpret what it means, because Levitt asks, “You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

A million faces flash through your mind on hyperdrive. Your brain thinks of the deep blues and purples of the sky overhead, dotted with stars, and you turn your head to see Bellamy. His hand lifts and points back to the sky, and you follow his finger to see the Ark in the sky overhead, your dad’s hand reaching out for yours. He takes it and turns you around, turning you to face your mother, who smiles and offers you a flower. As you look down at the flower, it transforms into the ones around Shallow Valley, that Clarke used to sit and sketch for hours. You look at your twin, a vast purple sky behind her, the desert of the dead zone stretched around you both, and Anders exclaims, “There! The Key!”

Levitt grabs onto Clarke’s photo from the stream of passing faces, and you grunt a little as the M-Cap machine connects with your mind. It’s not painful, but it’s uncomfortable, like someone’s hand is in your head and holding your brain, their grip tight enough to put pressure on your entire skull. You decided instantly that you hate the sensation, and you want to fight and disengage the link, but that’s not the part you should be playing. But then you remember that you shouldn't be thinking about the part you're playing while your brain is hooked up to a machine designed to read the memories in your head, so you switch to thoughts of Bellamy, his lips on yours, hoping the intimacy is enough to get the two men out of your head. 

“Bring back Clarke. We need to know everything we can about her.”

Levitt turns back to you, his voice soft when he asks, “What’s your earliest memory of Clarke?”

Your brain starts moving backwards, landing on a memory from age 10, until you remember one even younger, age 8. But then another memory pops into your head, back to 6, then 5, before finally settling on 4. Your father is holding your hand tight in his own, leading you towards your shared room with Clarke, his expression frantic. He takes you to the hiding spot in the closet, moving the false door aside to motion you inside, but you plant your feet and refuse to be pushed inside. “No, dad, I don't want to hide!”

Your father kneels down to get into your line of sight, trying hard to hide the anxiety in his expression, though he does a poor job of it. “La lune, I know you don't, but the Chancellor is on his way right now, and he can't know about you. We talked about this, remember?”

“I remember, but I don't want to.”

Suddenly there's movement to your left, and Clarke steps into the room. She looks over at you, just as upset that you have to stay hidden, her expression identical to your own, in more ways than one. She crosses the room to you, something held tight in her grip, and she lifts her hand to offer it to you. It’s a bear, crudely stitched together, almost creepy, but it’s Clarke’s favorite, the one she sleeps with every night. “You take it, Mr. Stuffings will keep you safe.”

You shake your head, not wanting to take your twin’s most prized possession. “Clarke, that's yours.”

She pushes it towards you again, into your hands. “But when you have to hide, he’ll be yours.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, and you step forward to hug her, wrapping your small arms around her. “Thank you, Clarke.”

She hugs you back before you step back, turning to your father, “Okay, I'm ready.”

He nods and you step into the hidden location, watching as he puts the false wall into its place, plunging you into darkness.

When the memory ends, your brain comes back to reality shockingly fast, suddenly conscious of your surroundings again. You're covered in a thin layer of sweat, already exhausted after one memory, and you already want to cry at the thought of how many more memories they’re going to want from you. Levitt turns to you, a proud smile on his face. “You’re doing great.”

But across the room, Anders disagrees. “That memory gave us nothing. We don’t know anymore about the Key than we did before it.”

“Sir, all due respect, sifting through memories takes time. There could be information about the Key that we need from the early memories, we can't rush through these.”

“She must have thousands of memories of Clarke. It’ll take weeks to go through all of them.”

“Probably.”

Anders sighs and steps away from the hologram, “I want everything in the report, and I want reports daily. Anything urgent or important comes to me immediately, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Anders turns and exits the room without another word, leaving you and Levitt alone. He lets out an audible sigh once it’s just you two, turning to look at you in relief. “I’m glad all of you are okay.”

You counter, “Why did you tell us to go to the surface if it's not survivable? That man Echo killed said we’d need rebreathers.”

“You’d survive for at least a few hours. Long enough for me to figure out how to get all of you out of here. Though, you got pretty close with your plan. The others made it to the door of the Stone Room before a disciple stumbled upon them by accident. They knocked her out, but she had already alerted the others.”

“Great.” You don't know what else to say. Almost freeing your friends is not enough. They're still here, half of them god knows where, and a reminder of your failure isn't helpful. “Where are they? Are they okay?”

“They’re okay.”

“When can I see them?”

“You can’t.”

You give Levitt a skeptical look. “Why not?”

“Because all of you play different roles in Bardo now. The others will be prepped for something different, and any fraternization between you is discouraged.”

“Just discouraged? Not banned.”

“For you, consider it banned. Anders values your memories and the information about the Key that you can offer us.”

You give him another look. “Which means that I can use my status to negotiate a visit with them.”

Levitt shakes his head, stopping any ideas before they have a chance to form. “It means that you will be kept away from the others, with the exception of Gabriel. There is a consensus that you’ll get reckless in an attempt to protect your friends, and that you may cause more trouble if given the opportunity to see them. Anders doesn't want to risk that.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at the situation you’re in. “Yeah, imagine getting separated from nearly everyone you love, on a strange planet where your fiance was murdered months before, and then trying to escape. Can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing.”

Levitt ignores your sarcasm, his expression softening. “I’m sorry about what happened to Bellamy. We never wanted anyone to get hurt. But your ways are strange to us. We don’t love individuals, we value the collective. Your constant attempts at escape, which often result in a myriad of disciple deaths in the process, set us back further and further in our preparations for the Last War. We need your information and we need every disciple on Bardo to fight, so we can’t risk you seeing your friends and attempting another escape.”

“Then it seems we’re at a crossroads, because I don’t understand why I should help you.”

Levitt gets a fearful look on his face, and he leans closer to you, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You can’t say things like that. If they hear you, they’ll start killing your friends to get you to comply. I know you don’t want that.”

You look at Levitt and the fear he has, and you start to think that maybe the Bardoans aren’t as advanced as they think they are. You’ve only ever killed people to survive or save the people you love, but they’re willing to kill people, your family, just to break you. And after losing Bellamy, you can’t stomach the idea of losing anyone else. Which Levitt must know, because he takes your softening demeanor as a sign to continue. He does offer you an apologetic look though. “I don’t like digging in your head any more than you like being here. But it’s something we both have to do. And if there aren't at least five memories in the report, Anders will get suspicious. I don't want him to kick me off your case the way they did with Octavia.”

You sigh, knowing you don't have much of a choice. Better that Levitt is sorting through your memories than someone else. For the rest of your time that day, and every day after that, Levitt sorts through your memories of Clarke. He starts as far back as he can and works through the memories in your head, skipping the ones that aren't relevant, though he does tend to sit through some of your memories with Bellamy, the concept of love unfamiliar to him. And every day the disciples have to practically carry you back to your shared room with Gabriel, M-Cap draining your energy even when you're not fighting the machine. And every day Gabriel worries about you the second you are unceremoniously delivered to your room. He keeps you awake long enough to eat whatever meal is provided to you and then he watches over you as you sleep. You know he does, because the bags under his eyes are dark and visible, and he always looks worried. You try to encourage him to worry about you less, not wanting your mental torture to torture him too, but he never listens and he continues to worry.

Still, all things considered, your time in Bardo is not bad. At least, not until your 6th day of M-Cap. Levitt has now made it to your memories in Polis, when Clarke put the Flame in her head to stop Alie. Clarke has just pulled the kill switch and everyone is coming to. Bellamy has just appeared at your side and the two of you are kissing, but as the memory plays out, Levitt mutters, “Wait, stop.”

The sound of his voice pulls you back to the present, and you turn to look at him in confusion, but he doesn't look your way as he rewinds the memory that just played out in your head, zooming in on something in the background. As you and Bellamy pull away and your eyes open, they catch sight of something on the throne, despite it not being your focus. There, Clarke sits, your mother now removing the Flame from your twin’s head and pressing it into her hand. Levitt spins around to look at you in complete shock. “Clarke doesn't have the Flame anymore?”

You look at him in confusion. “No, why would she?”

“In Octavia’s memories...I never saw…”

He trails off, and you put the pieces together quickly. “Wait, you’re telling me that Clarke is the Key because of the tech in her head?”

Levitt nods slightly, stunned, and you continue, ”And you never looked in Octavia’s memories beyond this to know that Clarke took it out?”

You're careful not to mention Madi, realizing that if the Flame is this important to them, Madi could become a target next since she had the Flame most recently. Levitt nods again, confirming that the Bardoans obsession with Clarke stems from something that hasn't been relevant in years. You can't help yourself, but you laugh. Loud, deep, full of disbelief. Everything you've been through, the days of M-Cap that have drained you, all for nothing. Levitt turns to look at you when he hears your amusement, his expression worried. “No, you don't understand. The reason you've been safe until now is because we thought Clarke had the Key. But if she doesn't, then all of you, you and your friends, are useless to us.”

The laughter dies in your throat as you look at him with fear. “Levitt, you can't tell them.”

He turns back to the screen, already moving things aside, shifting, editing, deleting. “Trust me, I did not allow Octavia to punch me twice just to throw it all away now. I’m erasing this from the report, but from now on, you can’t let me into your head.”

“You’re saying that I have to fight the machine?”

He turns to you, shaking his head. “You can't fight the machine, because your brain will hemorrhage. But you can beat the machine by repeating a single phrase over and over, like the one that Bellamy used to say to you.”

“Tell me about the stars.”

“Right, good. We’ll begin tomorrow, but for now, get some rest.”

He walks to the door and lets the disciples in so they can carry you back to your room, back to Gabriel, your anxiety higher than usual after an M-Cap session. Because now you are hyper aware that your survival, the survival of your friends, and the survival of the people you love, all depends on your ability to beat a machine designed to dig through your memories or kill you trying. 

-

The next morning, the disciples lead you back to M-Cap, your hands damp with sweat as you think of the task ahead of you. Beat the machine, save those you love. Easy, right? Except it’s not, because when the door opens, Levitt is in the room waiting for you, like usual, but a second figure clothed in white is in there too. Anders turns towards you with a smile, some of your previous memories playing out on the screen behind him. “Miss Griffin, nice to see you again.”

You nod at him awkwardly, not sure you can trust your voice to stay strong as you face the prospect of beating the machine in front of Anders. You cross the room on shaky legs and plop down into the chair you’ve sat in for the last 7 days now, and Levitt turns to face you and prep you. He senses your fear and gives you a reassuring smile, but through his teeth, he whispers, “Pain.”

You look at him in confusion, but he just shakes his head, letting you know he can't say anything else, leaving you to mull over his words. Once the machine is ready, he begins with the same question he always does. “You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

And just like every other day, your brain cycles through a scroll of faces, and Levitt picks one to begin. This time, it’s your father, his smile bright and happy. Beside you, Levitt mutters, “Good. Neural link is engaged.”

Anders moves closer to you. “I’m curious, some of the reports mention that you call Clarke ‘shining star’. Why is that?”

You glance at Levitt from the corner of your eye, and he gives you a look, reminding you of your conversation the day before. So you fight against the memory that threatens to rise to the surface, you, your mother, and Clarke all on your couch, your father standing across from you, and you start to repeat, “Tell me about the stars. Tell me about the stars. Tell me about the stars. Tell me about the stars.”

The memory playing on the screen nearby stutters, before disappearing, and through your repeated words, you can hear Anders ask, “What is she doing? Bring the memory back!”

“She's trying to block the machine.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, sir.”

Anders glares at Levitt, “Turn it up.”

“But sir-”

He cuts off Levitt’s disagreement. “Do it. Now.”

You glance at Levitt as he dials up the machine, and he flashes you another look, his mouth moving over a silent word, unseen by Anders. Pain.

Pain? It must mean something because Levitt wouldn't risk telling you twice if it didn't. But you are pulled from your thoughts by Anders' voice once again muttering, “The shining star.”

Again, a memory starts to take shape in your mind, your family together, three perfectly wrapped boxes held tightly in your father's hands, and you attempt to use the phrase to resist the memory. But you know which one it is, the allure of it too strong to resist, wanting to relive the moment again. A small box held in your small hands, your dad’s grin is wide and bright, and it makes you feel happy too. But your conscious mind still fights. This memory is meaningless, pointless in the quest for information on Clarke. But if you can't resist this, what will happen when the important memories come into play? You again remember Levitt’s words, the pieces finally falling into place as you realize why he is repeating the word pain. He wants you to hurt yourself.

After countless days spent in this chair, you know there are sensor spikes situated all around the helmet. They serve a dual purpose of relaying information while also keeping the helmet steady in one place over your head. But these sensors are sharp enough to injure someone, because you watched Levitt accidentally cut himself on one a few days ago. Which is why you quickly tip your head to the side and scratch the spike along the side of your head, something warm and wet dripping down the side of your face as you cry out in pain. But you don't stop there. You lift your head and move again, dragging the spike through the already open wound, injuring yourself further, repeating the process over and over again until Anders finally growls in frustration, “Enough. Send her back to her cell.”

Levitt nods and retrieves the disciples, and when he broaches the subject of bandaging the cut on your head, Anders says something about letting Gabriel do it before he storms out of the room. Levitt gives you an apologetic look as two disciples lift you and half carry you from the room, your feet dragging beneath you, but you don't have the energy to care, already drained from your fight against the machine and the pain you had to cause yourself. You are escorted back to your room quickly, Gabriel standing as you are pulled into the room. His eyes find the black blood on the side of your face with ease, his expression shifting to one of horror. “What happened to her?”

The two guards plop you onto your mattress and attempt to leave again, but Gabriel grabs the closest one and spins around, pushing them against the wall. “What did you do to her?”

The second disciple grabs Gabriel and pulls him away from his partner harshly, Gabriel stumbling in an attempt to keep his balance, and the disciple snaps, “She did it to herself, doctor. First disciple Anders said you can clean her up.”

He reaches into a pouch at his side and grabs a small first aid kit, which he tosses at Gabriel before both men turn and leave the room. Gabriel scoops it up and closes the space between you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You wave your hand, trying to push away his concern. But his worry persists as he reaches out to gently grasp your chin, tilting your head so he can get a look at the cut down the side of your face. “Did you do this to yourself?”

“Yes.” He cuts you a look, so you add, “I had a reason.”

“What reason could there possibly be to do this?”

He reaches into the first aid kit and begins pulling out supplies, including a suture kit. Your eyes dart from his busy hands to the cameras in the corners of the room, wondering how much you can say. You tilt your head down, keeping it low so they can’t see your lips moving, and you drop your voice to a nearly inaudible level. “They’re watching, but Clarke isn't the Key.”

“What do you mean?”

“They think she's important because she has the Flame in her head, but they never went far enough into Octavia’s memories to see that it was for a couple of hours on one day over a hundred years ago. If they find out the truth, we’re all dead.”

Gabriel looks at you in alarm, careful to keep his head low too as he preps the sutures. “And the cut…”

“Was to beat the machine. Anders was in the room today and I couldn't keep him out of my head. This was the only way to do it.”

Gabriel nods once, letting you know he understands, before tipping your head back into the light, giving him a better look at your wound. As he begins to stitch you up, the cut starting near your temple and dragging back and down into your hairline, he mutters, “How long can you keep this up before they realize you’re no use to them and kill you?”

“As long as they think Clarke is the Key, they won't risk losing me.”

“I don't like this.”

“I don't either, but it's the only way for me to keep all of us safe. We have to figure out how to get off of Bardo before it’s too late.”

Gabriel nods, lost in thought, probably working on a plan to get all of you out of here. He finishes up your stitches, checks over the wound and cleans it up a little more before nodding with satisfaction. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

He glances at you, a smile on his face as he repacks the first aid kit. “No thank yous needed, cielito.”

You smile at the nickname and lean back into your bed, the drama of the day starting to catch up to you. You feel exhaustion weighing heavy on your lids, dragging them down, and before Gabriel can say another word, you’re already fast asleep.

-

The next morning, you are dragged right back into M-Cap, this time a little harsher than before. Anders is in the room, and Levitt is gone, replaced by a different man, but you know better than to ask why. You can only hope they haven't done something to him. As you are led over to the M-Cap chair, you work hard to keep your expression neutral and hide the fear that you feel creeping up your spine. They lock you down in the chair, attaching every restraint, which they have never done before. 

Once you are held down and the machine is up and running, the new man turns to you, his expression blank, and asks the same question Levitt used to ask you. “You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

Your mind starts to cycle through faces and memories, and you feel your anxiety spike, not even wanting Anders to get the neural link engaged. Which is why you jam your head wound into the sensor spike again, dragging down the wound and breaking Gabriel’s stitches, just like Clarke did years ago in Mount Weather. Your pain levels rise, blocking the machine from engaging with your mind, and Anders breaks his calm nature long enough to growl, “Try again.”

With your pain levels on the rise, you decide to combine the two methods to beat the machine, and you scrape the sensor over your wound as you repeat, “Tell me about the stars, tell me about the stars, tell me about the stars.”

Anders keeps you in the room for hours, trying to get through to your brain, before he finally gives up and sends you back to your room with a group of angry disciples. Gabriel stitches your wound again when you return, his look disapproving, though you know he doesn't mean it. He just hates that you have to bear the weight of this on your own. Just like Clarke, you are now bearing it so they don't have to. 

That night, when you’re laying in bed and Gabriel is asleep, you start to realize that maybe the reason the phrase doesn't work well for you is because you aren't concentrating on it enough. But the problem with concentrating on it is the slew of memories associated with the phrase, memories that Anders can use to link you to the machine and forcefully dig through your mind. But maybe, if you use the same phrase in Trigedasleng, your mind will have to focus on it and the translation more. There’s only one memory associated with the Trigedasleng translation, when you and Bellamy were watching a brewing civil war from the windows of a tower in Polis. But fighting one memory is much easier than fighting the countless others you have of Bellamy asking you to tell him about the stars.

The next day, as soon as the disciples come to take you, you begin your chanting. “Tel ai hashta skaifaya. Tel ai hashta skaifaya.Tel ai hashta skaifaya.Tel ai hashta skaifaya.”

You focus on the words, the translation, making sure it’s correct each time you say it, which gives Wanlida time to close the door to your memories, locking them away where Anders and the others can't reach them. You repeat the words the whole way to M-Cap, you repeat them as they strap you down, you repeat them as they try to probe your mind again. And after another long day of attempts, you come out on the other side successful. Your memories are safe, your stitches in tact, and the knowledge of the Flame is still safely tucked away. 

The process repeats for the next few days as they try to break you and get back into your head, but with a combination of pain and your mantra, they never even successfully link the machine to your mind. By day 3, you’re feeling pretty proud of yourself when you are delivered back to your shared room with Gabriel, a smile on your face, which he quickly takes note of. “I have seen you smile like that since Skyring.”

You feel a wave of guilt when you realize that you’re smiling so soon after losing Bellamy, your brain temporarily forgetting that he isn't back on Sanctum with Clarke. He’s dead and gone, and you’re smiling like nothing happened. Your expression quickly drops, and Gabriel seems to regret saying anything. You don't want him to think it's his fault, because it's not, which is why you answer his question anyways. “I beat the machine again.”

“And you didn’t rip out your stitches to do it.”

You nod and he smiles, just as proud. He’s about to ask you something when the door to the room pulls open and no less than 10 guards file into the room, walking towards you. The air in the room is menacing, and you get a sudden thought that this is it. You were wrong about them needing you. You outlived your usefulness, and now they’re here to kill you. At least your memories will die safely along with you. Gabriel must have the same fear that you're about to die, because as soon as they reach for you, he starts to yell and fight. “Leave her alone!”

You watch him knock two guards aside, and you do the same, hitting the man to your left in the throat, choking him. You twist your arm out of the other man’s grip before grabbing his helmet and curling our fingers beneath the seam, grasping at the safety latch that keeps the helmet in place. You find it easily, removing the helmet from the man’s head and using it as a weapon to knock him out. 

You can hear the grunt of fighting behind you, and you turn around to see Gabriel struggling with a circle of guards around him, all of them tugging, pulling, and grabbing at him. You start to attack them from behind, knocking them back one by one, but just as you start to get the upper hand, more disciples flood into the room. You feel someone yank on your arm hard, and someone else’s fist connects with your face, knocking you off balance. You manage to catch yourself at the last second, only to be tackled to the floor, someone pressing down on your back and pushing your face into the floor as they work to restrain you. 

You feel a pair of cuffs latch around your wrists before you are harshly yanked back to your feet, gravity making you realize that blood is now dripping from your stitched up cut. The black liquid runs down the side of your face and neck, disappearing beneath your shirt, as you turn to face the door. There Anders stands, looking over you and Gabriel both, a disapproving look on his face. “See? Their bonds need to be broken, otherwise they will never be like us.”

You look at Gabriel in alarm, blood dripping from his nose, a bruise already blooming around his eye, both of you sharing a look of fear. Anders motions to the guards holding you, pointing them towards the door. “One day, you will both understand. As will the others.”

You are being led towards the door, and at the mention of your friends, you start to fight. “The others? What about them? What do you mean?”

You've heard no mention of them in ages, and both you and Gabriel know that asking about them is useless, because they'll never tell you anything. Anders shakes his head in disappointment at the frantic tone of your voice at the mention of your friends. “You are all so attached. That is not our way. We have to break your bonds, and there's only way to do that.”

And then he motions for your guards to take you out the door. You start fighting against them, trying to get back to Gabriel and the safety of your cell, but they hold you and him tight, both of you fighting uselessly to escape. “Gabriel! Don't let them kill me! Gabriel!”

He screams back, his voice just as desperate, “Cielito! I'll find you! Just don't fight them!”

You heed his words, letting some of the fight drain from your body, suddenly aware that you’re wasting your energy on them. It’s useless to try to escape in this moment, and you could need your energy later if things get worse, which you are starting to suspect they will. So you drop your fighting down to a milder level, mostly allowing the disciples to carry you off, your mind and eyes taking in everything around you. They lead you to the elevator and direct it to the sixth floor, one that you haven't been to before. You rack the map in your brain, trying to figure out where they're taking you, but the only thing you can remember on this floor is the adolescent training, and you’re sure that can't be where you’re going.

But sure enough, they lead you to a door labeled “training” and hit the button, the door sliding open to reveal a large room, a gray mat stretched across the floor. Inside of the room is a group of people, and they all turn towards you at the sound of the door opening, the disciple on your left announcing, “Sorry to interrupt. First Disciple Anders wanted her to join the other trainees.”

Your brows pull together in confusion, your mind convinced ten seconds ago that you were being led to death. But instead they brought you to training? You shift your gaze over to the trainees, and the crowd parts a little, revealing four familiar faces that you haven’t seen in a couple of weeks. Your jaw drops in shock as your eyes move over the four women: Octavia, Echo, Diyoza, and Hope, all of them staring back at you in happy surprise. Octavia is the first to break the silence, her voice full of happiness as she looks at you and whispers, “La lune.”

-

next chapter

[nxrthmizu]

| snakes | Suna Rintarou

»»——⍟——««

song | Trust Fund Baby - Why Don’t We 

pairing | Suna Rintarou x Reader 

words | 1.8k 

warning(s) | The reader has undertones of someone who’s sort of mean and sadistic? The story also relates the reader to a snake. I like snakes. I think they’re cool. But if you’re scared of snakes and you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being referenced to a snake,,, don’t read, I guess?  

author’s note | I rewrote this five fricking times and I still hate it but I’m not writing this again so have this 

»»——⍟——«« 

Confidence. 

He could feel it radiating off you in waves. Your presence diffused into the gym, alerting every person in the room of your arrival. Attention was drawn to you like moths were drawn to the light, every pair of eyes magnetised to your form by the gym door. 

Kita instantly rushed over to greet you politely, the details of your conversation too far away to be heard. For a brief moment, Suna registered just how well the two of you looked together. 

L/N Y/N, the representative and top student of his class, the newly-elected second-year secretary of the student council. No one doubted that you would take the president position in your third year, not with the ‘perfect student’ image you had going on. 

Kita Shinsuke, also top in grades, captain of the volleyball club, well-liked by the staff and students alike due to his politeness and nature. 

The two of you looked like a perfect imitation of what a modern royalty would be like. A combination of grace, elegance, and a face that was hardly fazed by anything. Something similar to bitterness ate away in the bottom of Suna’s heart as he turned away, muttering about putting more practice into his blocks. 

“What was she looking for you for?” He overheard Aran asking. 

“Oh, she’s filling in some missing information for our club. She came over to clarify some details.” Kita answered easily. 

Suna wasn’t really surprised when a couple third years, belonging to the student council committee- Showed up on the doorsteps of your shared class, asking to see you. Later on, he learned that the entire council body had brought up your name when asked which second-year should be elected as the secretary. You were well-known, even among the third years, as someone who possessed high intellect and organisation abilities, so it wasn’t a shock that your name was the one that nearly everyone suggested. 

If only they knew. 

If only they knew that you weren’t completely that ‘perfect student’ act that you’d put up. 

If only they knew just how cunning, sly, and sarcastic you really were. 

»»——⍟——««

If Suna had to describe you in one word, it would be snake. 

You were the definition of elegance, grace, and beauty. Every movement you made was meticulously calculated and not a single joule of energy was wasted or passed off as inefficiently used. There was never a hair out of place, and your skirt was never creased, no matter how long you had been sitting at your seat. 

Of course, Suna hadn’t always thought of you as a snake. It was only after that one fine summer day in his first year that his perception of you took a 180 turn, revealing to him what you truly were like. 

He had been on his way home, bag slung over his shoulder, when he caught the slight noise that seemed like a whimper. Never one to leave his nose out of someone else’s business, Suna slunk around, careful to stick to the shadows until the shocking sight befell his eyes. 

“So, you’re the one who’s been bullying [your brother’s name]?” The voice that dripped from your lips was distasteful, as if the junior high student that you had cornered in the alley was a filthy peasant compared to your royal status. “You don’t look very fierce now, do you?” 

If sarcasm was an art, then you’d probably be a DaVinci-level expert. He would even go as far as calling you a prodigy. And if there was a championship for the world’s most sarcastic human being, he would instantly sign you up. There was no doubt that you’d take home the no.1 trophy in that category (not that you weren’t already taking home trophies in other competitions, of course, he overheard that you recently dominated an advanced maths competition). 

“I— I’m sorry!” The student shivered under your piercing gaze. “I— I won’t touch him again, I promise—!” 

The laugh you responded with was overly sweet, combined with something from a Disney movie villain. If the movie also, by chance, happened to have ‘horror’ as its’ genre. Your eyes carried a maniacal threat that Suna believed wholeheartedly that you were capable of carrying out. “Bold of you to assume I’d even let you do it again.” You whispered, just loud enough for Suna to catch your words. 

The junior high student scrambled off, too busy getting away to notice Suna by the entrance of the alley. He slipped away before you reappeared at the beginning of the alley, having fixed your hair and flattened your skirt. 

You looked like a snake that had just finished a very satisfying meal. Suna could hardly believe that he had just heard you— the pride and joy of every teacher, the ‘perfect student’— spitting insults and threats at 200 words per minute, all while maintaining a ‘polite’ and ‘sweet’ tone. 

He was a little breathless after the whole ordeal. He could barely imagine what you would say to him if you’d caught him listening— But damn, part of him wanted to find out if he could withstand your literature-form venom. Truly, you were a snake— A creature that could hold its’ elegance even as your tore your prey apart (verbally). 

Suna always liked snakes. 

»»——⍟——««

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with L/N, Kita.” Aran teased, Suna overhearing as he stepped into the locker room for morning practice. Freezing in his tracks, the middle blocker curved right round the bend, staying out of sight. “There’s been a lot of rumours about how nice the two of you look together.” 

The volleyball captain only hummed in response, which, for some reason, pissed the hell out of Suna. 

“Come on, tell me something.” The other third-year complained. “She’s really pretty, I’d totally see why you’d go for her.” 

Something about the situation made Suna’s blood boil. He bit back his rising anger, setting aside the cause for the moment. Why was he getting so riled up? He never cared much about things in general, anyway, so... So why was the image of you and Kita, matching polite smiles on your lips— Why did it make him so furious he had to physically resist the urge to punch a wall? 

“The two of you do look nice together, though.” Aran continued as Suna pushed down the urge to strangle his upperclass-man. “Gives me the vibes of—” 

Before Aran could finish his sentence, the dark-haired middle blocker marched into the locker room, apologising for how loudly he had slammed the door open. “Sorry.” He drawled lazily, restraining the lava-hot anger in his blood. “I pushed too hard.” 

»»——⍟——««

You didn’t even blink, much less jump when Suna appeared abruptly by your desk. Instead, you simply set down your pencil and gave him a warm smile. “Can I help you with something?” 

Ever the helpful class president, Suna bit back to himself. No, no, he wanted you to like him. Not get a bad impression of him. “Do you... Think you could help me with the physics homework?” 

“It’s due tomorrow.” You said slowly, both of you aware that the assignment was well over forty pages. “Have you... Tried it?” 

“Yes.” He answered. “I’ve got a few questions I need help with. Are you free to stay back today?” 

This raised a tentative eyebrow from you. “Don’t you have volleyball practice?” 

Dammit, why did you have to have such a good memory. 

“Academics are more important than the club sometimes.” He shrugged. “I’ve got permission to skip.” No, he didn’t. 

“Alright then. I’ll meet you in the library after school.” 

»»——⍟——««

He watched you through hooded eyes as you reviewed his work. So you did know how to let loose, Suna murmured to himself in amusement, eyeing your untucked blouse and the beige sweater you’d thrown on in a defence against the library’s air-conditioning. 

“You’ve got most of the parts down, which bits do you need help with?” 

The rest of the time was spent going over the questions, your patience filling the silence along with his occasional ‘ohs’. Your handwriting flooded through his homework in neat rows, providing an easy-to-follow, step-by-step guide on how to work through the questions, for revision purposes. 

“So.” 

You broke the silence, the two of you walking side by side, leaving the school together because he offered to buy you some food as a payment for the tutoring. 

“Are you going to tell me why you faked confusion and asked me to tutor you?” 

He winced. How could he forget that you were always straight to the point? 

“What do you mean?” The look on your face clearly said ‘feigning ignorance, eh?’. 

“I’m going to be frank with you,” You deadpanned. “You’re among the best at physics in our class. Some of the questions you asked me to help you through were ones that had been discussed in classes, and I know that you are listening even though you have your head on the table.” 

Alright, so he had under-predicted exactly how observant and attentive you were. 

“Then why did you agree to help me?” 

“You saw me that day, didn’t you?” 

He stopped walking. “Which day?” 

“That day. In our first year. When I threatened that junior high kid in the alley.” You stopped too, to turn your expressionless gaze on him. “You’ve looked at me differently since that day. I heard someone else’s breathing at the alley, but I didn’t see anyone so I figured they’d ran. I guessed it was you.” 

“... Yeah.” 

“You don’t seem to mind.” 

“Mind what?” 

“The fact that this...” You gestured to yourself. “Is a lie. This whole ‘perfect student’ image is an act that I put up to please my parents. I’m actually someone who has really mean thoughts. I could be a really toxic friend. I’m also probably a sadist.” 

Suna blinked quietly at you, running your words through his head a couple more times for good measure. “You remind me of a snake.”

In that one sentence, you realised that if there was one person in the world that was going to be fine with your personality the way it was, that person would probably be Suna Rintarou. The two of you continued your walk to the takoyaki shop Suna offered to buy you food from, continuing meaningless chatter on the journey. 

“Is that a good or bad thing?” 

“I like snakes.” 

“That’s cool. Me too.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know, I think they’re pretty cool. They’re like spiders, except they’re not insects. I don’t like insects very much.” 

“Hmm. I like snakes cause I think they’re really elegant. And pretty.” He paused for a moment. “Like you.” 

»»——⍟——««

taglist. @mrs-kuroojinguji @procrastination-lady @miel-meraki @shoyosun @aka-a-shii @shibayamasbae @churochuu @seijohlogy @dearsukuna @whootwhoot

Haikyuu!! gen taglist. @owlywrites @hikari-writes @whootwhoot @folkloeren @our-tall-slytherin-queen

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 14

Link to previous part:

https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638547377817550848/odins-ward-chapter-13

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 3943

Warnings: Mentions of violence (non-graphic)

True age: Y/n: 1449 // Loki: 1575 // Thor: 1827 // Audunn 3213

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 23 // Loki: 25 // Thor: 29// Audunn: 51

Loki’s POV

“He planted his seeds in my half of the land,” the farmer spits, red in the face with anger. Odin’s expression is calm, but I, as much as this annoys me, know him well enough to tell when he is putting on a facade.

“I should get what’s sown! It’s my land!”

“But they’re my seeds,” the other farmer counters, face equally splotchy.

I sigh deeply, unfathomably bored with these trivial exchanges. It’s the third Thursday of the month, a time when peasants and nobles alike can bring their concerns before the Royal Family. We occupy the throne room, an intricate chair for us each placed in an intimidating line. I sit to my mother’s left, Thor to Odin’s right. A familiar anger boils within me. Of course the Golden Child sits at the King’s right. Not that I want to be any closer to Odin, but Thor’s position clearly communicates his status: he is next in line for the throne. The bitterness builds. Really, was there ever any contest?

Without warning, Farmer One lunges at Farmer Two, knocking him over the head with a sharp punch. I keep my calm exterior, but internally, my interest piques. Maybe this won’t be a completely wasted day after all.

But to my disappointment, four guards quickly put the skirmish to an end. Both men are taken to the dungeons.

Problem solved, I guess.

The interest I felt only seconds ago abandons me as I see a nearly identical pair to the last come forward.

I slouch.

“Stop her!”

The shout, which comes from a guard outside the throne room, is followed by a loud clamoring as armored guards chase after an unknown offender. And although I logically know it’s probably just some widow trying to cut in line, my hand inches towards my mother, ready to take her to safety if need be. Thor stands, putting on quite the show of a dutiful son. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Against all odds, the noises don’t subside—they get closer to our location. Mother shoots Odin an alarmed look.

But when the intruder enters the throne room, my stomach drops to my feet.

I straighten, back stiff with tension and I can do nothing but stare on in complete shock. I feel my fingers straining with the grip they have on the throne’s arms, but I barely take notice. All I can notice is the shaking, muddy, tear-stained and windblown woman standing in front of me.

It’s Y/n.

A messy, frightened version of Y/n, to be sure, but it’s still her.

My heart aches with a feeling I thought I had long-ago purged.

Thor is the first to break from the shock and hurries down to Y/n, waving away the guards who have attached themselves to her arms. Noticing her tattered dress and shivering form, he takes off his red cloak and wraps it around her, looking at her with the concern and surprise I’m sure we all wear on our faces.

In a hoarse but firm voice, Y/n addresses us. “May I approach the King?”

In a pinched voice, Odin responds. “You may.”

Y/n curtsies as best as she can and takes two wobbly steps forward. Thor hovers near her uncertainly, obviously wondering if she’s about to collapse.

Y/n gives me a fleeting look and my mouth runs dry.

She turns her attention back to Odin. “I’ve come to request aid from Asgard. Two days ago, my husband raised an army against my father. Since then, the realm has been thrown into chaos. Brother murders brother and citizens switch sides as the tides of the battle change. It’s civil war.” She swallows, finding it difficult to continue. “Casualties are estimated at three thousand so far, but I have been gone for several hours. That number has likely risen.”

Odin has the nerve to sound dubious when he speaks. “And just how did you end up here if the realm is indeed engulfed in chaos as you say?”

Through my shock, I still find room to be annoyed by Odin.

Y/n seems to steel herself and looks him right in the eye. “My husband locked me in the dungeon with others deemed to be a threat to his reign. I believe he would have killed me if it were not that his claim to power dies with me. He’s been so preoccupied with trying to overthrow my father that those loyal to me were able to take advantage and help me and my maidservant escape. It took a long time but we were finally able to sneak through the castle and into the observatory, where we took the Bifrost to Asgard.

Odin purses his lips, seeming unaffected by Y/n’s story. “And this maidservant. Can she corroborate your tale?”

Y/n’s face flushes. “It’s not a tale! Your Highness, people are being slaughtered. Look at my shoes!” She kicks one off and holds it up for us to see. Mother stifles a gasp. Y/n’s shoe is caked with blood. Dark, clotted blood sticks all over the bottom and side of her shoe. Upon further inspection, I see that it continues over her ankles and the lower parts of her dress. “Blood like this is running through the castle halls. I can only hope the fighting is confined to the castle and that the carnage has not yet reached the lower town.” Y/n takes another step forward, stronger this time. “Your Majesty, please. They may live far away, but they are still your people. I fear that if we wait much longer, Audunn will take control and anyone loyal to me or my father will be executed.”

Odin squints, mulling over his options. “My help does not come freely.”

Oh how I hate this man.

Y/n grits her teeth but nods. “Then let us negotiate quickly.”

“Asgard’s army will step in and restore your father to the throne. Your husband and his supporters will be put to death or imprisoned.”

Y/n’s lack of reaction is noticeable.

“Your husband’s death does not trouble you?” Odin’s voice seeps with judgement.

“Audunn has made his choices. He must suffer the consequences.” Knowing Y/n so well allows me to detect the malice in her voice. I stifle a mirthless chuckle. So it seems we’ve both been hardened by the world.

Odin nods. “Very well. Since you will be without a husband and my son is still unmarried, I propose the obvious solution.”

My heart stops.

No.

“You and Thor will wed.”

“Father!” Thor’s explosion is the loudest, but Y/n provides her own objections as well. I swallow mine down, retreating into myself. He will get everything that was ever dear to me. I really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, nor feel the hurt, but still, it stabs deep into my chest. I put a lot of effort towards not letting my pain show.

“Father, you are well aware of my intentions to wed Jane. I love her! Y/n is like a sister to me, I would never consent to be her husband.”

“I will not have the next Queen of Asgard be human!” Odin slams his staff into the ground. “For all I care, you can take Y/n as your wife and keep Jane as your mistress. But make no mistake, Jane will never be your wife, nor will her children be heirs to my throne.”

Odin’s proposal clearly sickens Thor, but Y/n just looks blankly at the ground, noticeably quiet now. The two men continue in their argument, each getting louder than the other with every new point.

“Thor please,” Y/n interjects, her voice breaking on the last word.

Silence rings through the room as all eyes turn to her.

She addresses Thor directly, desperation evident in every inch of her body. “My people are dying. An entire realm will be condemned to slaughter and chaos if we cannot reach an agreement today. I am familiar with a husband who keeps mistresses and am very good at being discrete.”

The heart that I thought had long ago hardened breaks a little.

“I promise our marriage will not interfere with any more aspects of your life than absolutely necessary. We can work out the specifics later but for now, I beg for your cooperation.”

Her earnestness is clear and, with a defeated nod, Thor agrees to make my once lover his wife.

Unable to stand it any longer, I stalk from the room.

Y/n’s POV

Loki strides out of the room, looking bored. That’s it?

It’s not like I expected loud objections and an offer to marry me himself,—it has been over two hundred years and all—but I did expect, at the very least, some recognition. Loki gave no indication that he knew or cared who I was. Even through the shock and exhaustion and fear, hurt still manages to find its way into my heart. I try to shake it off. The task at hand is much more important than my feelings.

“If you are ready, Your Majesty, my people will be eagerly awaiting Asgard’s aid.”

Odin doesn’t look at me. Instead, he gestures to a guard. “Have the warriors gathered and ready within the hour. Thor and I will accompany them to Alfheim.”

Frigga interjects before I can. “What about Loki?”

If he stays in Asgard with me and Frigga, the people might view him as cowardly for not going to fight with the men.

Odin purses his lips unpleasantly. “He has not yet regained my trust.”

What?

Frigga looks away, her mouth set in a hard line. Odin exits the throne room, sparing no one any further glances. As Thor passes me, he gives what I think he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“All will soon be well, Lady Y/n.”

I nod, hoping he’s right. When he’s nearly exited the room, I remember his cloak.

“Wait,” I call, hurrying to him. He drops slightly so I can throw the cloak over his massive shoulders and secure it under his chin. Shame keeps me from looking him in the eyes. After all, if he dies, it will be my fault. I don’t want to marry Thor, but he was a dear friend to me at one point, much like a brother. I don’t want to lose him. “Be safe.”

He nods and gives my shoulder a hesitant squeeze. Then, without another word, he follows Odin out of the room. I can tell it will take him a long time to accept our eventual marriage.

Not like it will be any faster for you.

“Come, sweet Y/n.” Frigga’s voice startles me and pulls me from my thoughts. “I believe you need a hot bath, some supper, and a change of clothes.”

I let out a noise that sounds scarily similar to a heaving sob. “Yes, please.”

{***}

The water is hot and the steam curls the ends of my hair. One servant scrubs the dirt from my nails and another, my back. I sigh, feeling some of the tension finally beginning to leave my body.

Then, comes the guilt.

I’m here in Castle Asgard being pampered by servants, sitting in the company of the Queen, while my people are dying. To distract myself from the strong desire to wallow in guilt and despair, I decide to question Frigga about something that’s been bothering me deeply since my arrival.

“Is Prince Loki alright?” I try to sound casual but don’t quite pull it off. “He seemed…not like himself.”

Frigga exhales heavily, and heartbreak settles in her expression. My stomach clenches in anticipation. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. “It is not really my story to tell…but you have a right to know and I doubt he plans on telling you himself.”

I dare not breathe as I wait for her to continue.

“Odin and I have never been the perfect parents. We’ve made many mistakes over the years, but one has stood out amongst them as the most damaging. And my poor son bore the brunt of the hurt from something that isn’t even his fault.” Frigga takes a moment to fiddle with her hands, not meeting my eyes. “Loki is adopted.”

What? I feel my brows furrow as I try to make sense of this. How is someone just adopted into the monarchy? Royalty is based on blood and marriage, not adoption.

“During the last major war with the Frost Giants, Odin came across a baby. A Frost Giant baby — a son of Laufey, no less.”

I heave a sharp intake of breath. “What?”

She continues, giving me a teary-eyed look. “The baby had magic and unknowingly used its abilities to capture the likeness of an Asgardian child. Odin felt for him and brought him home. You have to understand, Odin and I had been trying for another child for over two hundred years, without success. It had seemed Thor would be our only child, but then the gods dropped this blessing into our laps.” The tears fall then, and she cuts me off as I try to interject with questions. “Because Loki is a blessing, you see. He is my son just as much as Thor is, and I would not trade him for a biological child.” Her voice takes on a desperate, scratchy quality that I’ve never heard from her. “I love Loki. He is my child. And he is part of this family!” Frigga sniffles pitifully and, if I were not naked and soaking with suds and water, I would jump up and hug her. “Unfortunately, Loki does not see it this way. He did not find out the truth from us, but by accident.” A pained look crosses her face. “He thought he was a monster. He still thinks that. And yes, some of his recent actions have been like those of a monster, but I know he isn’t. My poor child is hurting, and he does not know how to handle it.” She takes a steadying breath and turns her eyes to the ceiling. “Odin has essentially sworn Loki off, and Loki has done the same for the rest of us. He still holds some affection for me, but all is lost for his father and brother. He even tried to kill Thor and Jane. Thankfully, the attempt was unsuccessful, but that makes it no less terrifying. It’s a horrible thing to have your sons on opposing sides. After that, Loki—” she shudders violently. “He—he fell off the Bifrost. Well, he was going to fall, and Thor tried to pull him back up, but-but Loki let go.” Her voice breaks and the tears fall freely now.

He…tried to kill himself? I feel a lump rise in my own throat and my breath stops all together. The bath water seems to turn ice cold. My mind races to try and draw the connection between the Loki I knew and the Loki in Frigga’s story.

What happened to him?

“He fell for who knows how long. It was many months before he resurfaced again, though he was not the same person. Not at all. My poor son! He had been brutally tortured and his anger only amplified during his time of isolation.”

I feel my muscles tense and lock into place. Someone tortured Loki? The fury I feel surprises me, scares me even. Never have I wanted to hurt someone like I want to hurt the person who caused Loki pain.

“Loki had grown up his whole life to believe he was destined to be a king. When he realized his true parentage, Loki knew Odin would never allow him to rule.” She frowns. “Odin should not have encouraged him so during his childhood only to rip the possibility away later. But the entity who tortured him—he still won’t tell us who—made Loki believe that he could be king of Midgard. Loki used the Chitarui to attack a Midguardian city and try to force the realm into submission to him. Many people died.”

My heart beats so loudly that I’m sure everyone in the room can hear it. I’m surprised the vibrations aren’t causing waves in my bathwater. As much as I want to cover my ears or run out of the room and denounce Frigga’s words as lies, I can’t. Because no matter how horrifying and outlandish this story sounds, I can’t ignore the fact that the Loki I saw an hour ago was not the same Loki I knew two hundred and fifty years ago. Yes, people change, but not like that. Something really, really awful must have happened to bring about this new Loki.

Frigga continues, sounding weary. “A Midgardian fighting group Thor associates with defeated Loki and the Chitauri. Loki was brought back to Asgard in chains. Odin sentenced him to a five hundred years of imprisonment. There was nothing I could do to lessen the sentence and, of course, Loki has too much pride and hatred for his father to try and lessen it himself. But not long after his imprisonment, the Dark Elves launched an attack on the Nine Realms.”

I furrow my brow. I hadn’t heard of this. How had Alfheim not been aware?

“Loki broke out of prison and aided Thor in the fight against the Dark Elves.” Frigga gives a tearful smile. “Finally, they were on the same side! Loki nearly died in the fight. He protected Jane with his life. Thankfully, Thor was able to bring him back to Asgard in time and the Healers and I saved him with our magic. At mine and Thor’s behest, Odin begrudgingly ended Loki’s imprisonment. We all agreed that Loki’s sacrifice and willingness to protect the Nine Realms atoned for his crimes. I truly thought that was the turning point and that my Loki would be back.”

She sighs, looking at her hands once more. “But Loki is still a changed man. The lies, betrayals, hurt, and anger penetrated too deeply into his soul. Now he is cold, distant, spiteful, and he always wears a mask. No one can ever guess what he is feeling, because he refuses to give any indication of it! I worry he is not letting himself heal. And he is trying to push away the people he loves most.” Her voice softens, and she places a tender hand on my soapy cheek. “Do not be surprised if he does the same to you.”

{***}

Since my most immediate needs have been taken care of, I have ample energy to worry.

My stomach, in a near-constant state of unease since my escape from the dungeons, churns. My mind darts from thought to thought as I try to cope with fears for my people and my father, my anger at Audunn, shock at all I’ve experienced, pain and frustration at my engagement to Thor, and deep, deep hurt for Loki. There’s some anger there, too. Maybe more than some.

I huff.

Definitely more than some.

How could he be so stupid?! Yes, it’s absolutely terrible what he went through, but resorting to realm-domination and murder? Uh-uh. No way. Unacceptable. And the attitude on him! What the Hel is that?

“Ugh!” Some of my frustration leaves me at the spot where my foot kicks the table.

It immediately returns upon registering the pain.

“My Lady, please sit down!” Ragna worries over me, trying to pull me into a plush, high-backed chair. “You have been through so much, you need to rest.”

I scoff, yanking my arm from her grip. “There’s too much going on to allow time for rest, Ragna. And yet there’s nothing I can do about any of it!” I drop my arms to my side, defeated. “I hate that there’s nothing I can do.”

She frowns, unsure of how to help me. It’s then that I notice how tired she looks herself. A deep scratch runs from her temple to her hairline—she got that from a rogue guard when we were escaping Alfheim. She’s been through just as much as you have.

I give her a weak smile, hoping I look reassuring. “You and I both have been through a great ordeal. Please, let me call a servant to show you to your quarters. Take as long as you need to bathe, eat, rest, whatever you need.”

Ragna hesitates, but she’s so tired that she’s swaying on her feet. I nod encouragingly. “Al-alright, My Lady. Thank you.”

“Of course.” I go to the wall and pull on the string that will ring a bell in the Servant’s Quarters. Within minutes, a young serving maid enters the room with a knock and a curtsey. I send Ragna away with instructions not to come back until she is fully fed, cleaned, and rested.

But once I’m alone, the thoughts come racing back. While there’s nothing I can do right now to help Alfheim, there is something I can do to help myself.

I let out a loud, guttural groan, knowing what I have to do.

{***}

I haven’t been in the palace in over three centuries, but little has changed. Queen Frigga insisted I retake my old living quarters, so the path is one I know well.

He doesn’t seem surprised when I bypass a servant and enter his chambers without knocking.

“Leave us.” While my throat feels tight, the command is clear, and the five servants hurry from the room.

Loki doesn’t look up from his book when he says his first words to me in two hundred and fifty years. “Well, that was rude. What a terrible first impression the future queen of Asgard has given them.”

I scoff, crossing my arms, trying not to let the jab at my imminent marriage to Thor hurt me. “You want to talk to me about manners? All you do is scowl and stalk out of rooms.”

He gives an unaffected shrug. “Think what you like.”

The silence weighs on me and I can feel my heartbeat echoing through my body.

“Stand up.”

Now it’s his turn to scoff. “Why? Planning on impaling me with your dagger?”

Tempting. “Stand. Up.”

He sighs but humors me, setting down his book to stand with his arms spread mockingly wide. “Happy?” He fixes me with a hard, emotionless look.

I steel myself and barrel forward, throwing my arms around him in a tight hug.

He stiffens. “Lady Y/n, whatever you hope to achieve—”

“Shut up.” I squeeze tighter, turning my face so my cheek is against his chest. He sighs again and lets his arms hang, refusing to hug me back. I press on, forcing myself to say what I came here to say. “Listen. You’ve done some really bad things and turned yourself into a pretty awful person to be around.” I swallow, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “But regardless of where we stand or what is in the past or future, you need to know that I am always on your side. I want you to get better. I don’t want you to feel pain or be sad or hurt or anything bad. But you have got to stop self-sabotaging. You need to let yourself heal. The people who love you can only protect you from so much.”

I push away from him and leave the room without another look.

A/n Happy New Year! My requests are open so message me if there’s something you would like for me to write :) Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639618035738607616/odins-ward-chapter-15

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Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki @jooordanharrrop

[geirskogull]

Moments of Calm - Part 2

+ Notes: 5.5 Spoilers Present in This Fic, Warrior of Light Danica Voss takes a moment to herself to perfect that strong silent type look by letting her brain get the better of her.

Archive Link

Warnings: This is DIRECTLY The Mega Horny Part so uh NSFW But Beyond that, warning for praise kink i guess? I need to relearn how to tag things

Word Count: 6.5k

 He had almost forgotten about how fast she walked. Like wind almost. Moving with a grace and speed she lacked while dancing but made her one of the most formidable combatants he had ever had the luck to spare with. Maybe that was where his softness originated. The times she kicked his ass. The thought made him chuckle and painted confusion on her own face.

 “Something Funny ‘Stinien?” She asked her voice low now not out of sadness, but concern for those already sleeping. Though she had to guess the workaholics that were Riol and Thancred were already up.

 “No, no, just reflecting.” The look she gave him in turn was one filled with doubt. But she didn’t raise the question again. He was a bit thankful for that. Instead focusing on opening the heavy wooden door of her large room with only moderate creaking.

 Her room was some kind of strangely organized mess. Like A dragon’s horde in a way, really, if he was to go about and make poetic comparisons. Though he imagined a Dragon’s Horde was less plush stuffed animals scattered about and more golden coins and rare magical arms and armor, but if there was such a thing as a Danica Dragon well this would be a wonderful horde to suit them just fine.

 Danica wove her way through the hazardous maze of assorted fluffy friends towards her bed. Her Movements he could only describe as sluggish and exhausted. He followed behind, though unsure of any particular reason why. Perhaps to make sure she actually lay in her bed and rest? Perhaps because her hands still held one of his captive? Either way, he found himself uniquely aware of when she stopped and turned towards the large window that overlooked the now stirring streets of the town.

 "Hells, and here I was hoping to get a reasonable amount of sleep for once." She whispered, probably more to herself than to him. A weak chuckle shaking her form all the while. He felt some sort of relief knowing that it was a real one and she did actually seem to be doing better.

 "You're turning into me, Voss." He added in his own whisper, causing her to look from the window to him in surprise. She hadn't forgotten he was there, no, but perhaps she let herself get too lost among thoughts again. This time she was swiftly dragged back to consciousness though, the fragile little smile that sat upon his face proved thus.

 "Oh what a crime, I'll be too handsome" She joked in turn, scrunching up her nose in mock disgust. Yes she would be ok. Even if more of these bouts of melancholy and deep fear hit her, she would still be ok. Good. He would raise blades against the star itself if otherwise, for what else caused her such pains. He reached out for the hand he didn't yet hold, which she gladly gave to his grasp.

 "Oh stop it you." He huffed, a look of total exasperation taking his face. None of it true of course. He pulled at their joined hands, pulling her closer towards him, his smile losing any hint of exhaustion as her form ran into his chest.

 "Fine, fine." She laughed in turn, looking up at him with sleepy eyes filled with such gentle fondness it caused him to pause. Perhaps someday he’d get use to that look. A potential someday where they would get their rest and perhaps in that someday he’d get to wake up to such it in her eyes every morning.

 "I can tell them to leave you be if you want, let you sleep in." He offered, his voice a gentle whisper as he let go of her hands only to wrap his newly freed ones around her tight. She shook her head no vigorously.  

 "You need your rest too. I've kept you up all night." Ah, there was her normal gentle chastising he knew her for. The amount of times even early into their travels together that she sent such worried mother henning towards Alphinaud, himself, and others was countless. It was a static familiar thing and it felt like home.

 "Believe me, Dee, I don't mind." The nickname so omnipresent upon lips that felt uniquely intimate between them. Something he never called her in front of others. It was always Voss. Or Danica if he was feeling particularly testy. But never Dee, never in front of others. He couldn’t tell you why.

 "Then would you mind...staying?" Her request was simple and honestly should have been expected. He’d been gone for some time and he couldn’t imagine how much longer it felt when she was worlds away. Sure she wasn’t there for years like the others but - He shook his head and the look in her eyes told him she took that as a no and that was far from his answer.  

 “I don’t see why not.” He whispered, holding her tight so she wouldn’t step back in some sort of miscommunicated hurt. “Get comfortable, I’ll join you soon. It’s not like they’ve got a room ready for me yet anyway.” The smile on her face was one filled with relief and she nodded. Slipping from his arms with that same ferocious grace she was known for and dipping behind a screen to finally relieve herself of the days grime, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 “I love you...” He whispered to empty air, like he had back in Azys Lla what felt like years ago now. And like all those years ago, his hands closed around empty air and he felt...lonely. Even if she was only a washroom away.

 But he couldn’t sit there wallowing in strange loneliness. Not while she was off doing whatever she needed to do to sleep and he was still there in thankfully cleaner than they had been traveling clothes. He couldn’t say the same for his armor. The ancient artifact he’d yet to have a chance to service since Ul’dah. He had doffed it and went to find her almost immediately, given she had disappeared so readily after the scions split ways in the main hall and it had concerned him. Not that he’d say that to any of the others. The looks some of them, especially her cousin, gave him told him they probably well enough knew why.

 He pulled at his top, yanking it roughly above his head and throwing it in some distance corner. Knocking over a strange cat-like plushie that once toppled over seemed to judge him with large beady eyes, its tiny golden crown slightly off kilter.

 “What something to say?” He hissed at the inanimate object, like somehow its plastic eyes were judging him. It, of course, did not respond. And could not be judging him. He sighed loudly, kicking off boot after boot towards the same corner, knocking over the doll and covering the judgemental plastic.

 “Oh gods, I’m losing my damn mind.” He shook his head meandering towards the mountain of blankets and pillows Voss called a bed and almost throwing himself upon it. Good, she still had a love for very soft things. He’d fall asleep in no time.

 “And still dressed. Here I was thinking I was taking too long.” Her voice from a distant doorway drew his eye, and to her form in but a large shirt that he was about 90% sure was his own. Seemingly lost long ago but actually just owned by a new soul. Not that he minded. It look good on her, slipping gently off her left shoulder as she navigated the wasteland of stuffed animals. He chuckled.

 “Got distracted by all the prying eyes.” He motioned wide with one of his hands while untying the offending garment with the other. She scoffed, taking a seat next to him upon the bed and drawing her legs up to her chest. Almost like she was nesting among the fabric.

 “Oh please.” She chimed, throwing her legs over his lap as soon as he was undressed and bed ready. “They’re just stuffed animals after all.” Laughter lit her voice and he found himself once more enchanted by his fellow Dragoon, much the same as he was when they first met. When she looked at him, staff in hand, with mostly confusion and probably a bit offense on her face, given that his first words to her were something akin to threats.

  Gingerly he reached out for her waist, to shift their position and pull her upon his lap.She did not resist, nor pull him down upon the bed to actually rest like was the goal but smiled at him. Wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace that brought a smile to his dour face once more. She had this unique skill really, to get him to smile so easily.

 “Well, perhaps they are to you. But to me they are terribly judgy little eyes that I want no part of.” In a burst of confidence, he continued. “ At the moment the only eyes I want on me are yours.” He hummed, watching and enjoying the gentle flush that took to her cheeks moments after. She yawned, a loud over dramatic thing that had her removing her arms from him in some cruel bit of acting. She was relatively good at acting, all things considered.

 “And they are, though they want to be closed.” Recovering from the yawn, she tapped his nose gently, all the while scrunching up her own and before hiding another yawn he wasn’t sure was true or not. Either way she was beautiful, present and most importantly in his arms.  

 “Hm... I find myself not too sleepy anymore.” He whispered, his voice lowering to that place between a growl and a purr that he knew would draw her attention and wake her right up. The smirk that took her face told him it was successful. Her hands dropped from his face to cradle first the sides of his face, and then down to rest upon his open chest.

 “Oh really?” She asked, raising a brow. It was her turn to be exasperated.  “I thought after how long I’ve kept you up and how busy a day we’ve had you’d be dead exhausted.” Though her words said otherwise, the gentle swirling patterns she now drew upon her chest said she didn’t mind staying up a bit longer if it meant this closeness.  

 “Aye, tis’ not every day one can say they’ve a Warrior of Light in their lap.” Almost on queue she adjusted herself there, so she was looking directly at him without having to turn her head. So she was straddling his lap with a growing cheshire grin upon her face. He smiled, his own hands taken to cradling her rear, pulling her closer. Their chests sat plastered against each other now, and this was a closeness he had missed.

 “Yes but you can say you’ve got a Danica Voss in yours whenever you want.” she chimed in, her smile losing its edge only to have it replaced with warmth she showed very few others. In response he brought up a single hand to her face and brushed some of the errant strands of her hair behind the slight point of her ear.

 “Well then, I would very much like her to stay there a while at least.” He leaned forward, making the already small gap between the two infinitesimally smaller, their lips but breaths away from one anothers.

 “She’ll -” A laugh shook her form, here she was talking like she was some other person recalling vague information about herself. “I’ll be sure to try,” It was her turn to brush unruly strands of white from his face, fingers lingering longer than they need be upon his cheek.

 “You say that like you’ve a choice,      my lady.”    And gone was the purr, leaving but the growl. His hands dug in hard to where he held her, and he couldn’t help himself but enjoy the faint near imperceivable gasp that escaped her lips. It morphed quickly into a chuckle that tickled his cheeks.

 “Oh, are you going to try to stop me, Wyrmblood?” She whispered in turn, ever so slightly tilting her head, and stopping those idle little circles upon his exposed chest. Punctuating really, her words with but one final poke square where his heart was.

 “Not unless you want me to.” He warned, and asked, in equal measure, as scarred hands moved up her back and lost themselves among her hair to keep her eyes locked on his.

 “I’d love to see you try.” Affirmation that opened a thousand flood gates, bursting at the seams with months of distance, closed finally with those words and a lean to both their heads. Lips interlocking with a ferocity behind them, and not a gentleness. A desperation that spoke of their time on the road.

 Her lips were chapped, and coarse, bit by the sandy winds they had experienced that day. His own were not much better, but yet neither seemed to truly mind. His mouth opened faintly against hers as air grew thin, though he felt no need to part yet. His tongue ran across the rough flesh, and when she would not grant him entrance he brought his teeth to bear.

 Teeth biting down hard enough to draw blood to the surface, but not spill it. Swelling her lips under affectionate abuse and causing her to gasp just enough through gritted teeth that his tongue could slip in. A grumbling laugh echoed in his chest, it was like the Churning Mists all over again. At least this time they had walls about them.

       Before air forced them apart, and allowed her to make any little snips about his manhandling, he pulled her close and flipped upon the bed. Dropping her with an unceremonious Ooph upon the mound of blankets. A giggle shook her form, as she looked up at him with wide mismatched eyes and smiled very much like a cat that had gotten into some cream.

       She opened her mouth to tease. He did not give her such a chance, slamming his lips roughly against hers again to silence her fiery tongue. Her spine curved up at the touch, hungering for yet more of his rough manhandling, she was notoriously impatient. He wasn’t surprised once more, given their months apart that must have felt so much longer for her. But he would have his fun, and her impatience wouldn’t stop his teasing.

       Payback for many a time before.

       His hands wandered up her form, catching on the stolen oversized shirt with ease and slipping beneath its ragged body. His scarred palms chartered familiar terrain, divots where blades fell, rivers of ink, the rise and fall of her hips and chest like a sailor looking over a beloved map.

       She whined against his lips, twisted beneath his touch, like a storm raging on open seas, and he once more the sailor gripping hard to his beloved ship with rough bruising hands. Her legs wrapped tight around his hips in turn, trying to drag him under. But he wouldn’t give up so easily. No matter how part of him wished to drown.

       Air once more drove them apart, but not very far as his lips crashed like lazy waves against her face, drawing back further and further till he dropped down to her neck. Eyes warry in watching the impetuous storm of a woman he called a lover as she twisted under his touch. When it looked like she might open her mouth to complain that he was taking too long, he’d allow his kisses to grow less gentle upon their slow trek down her form. Teeth once more would join the equation, first dragging down the flesh and then biting hard when she grew bold. Hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough to draw blood, metallic in his mouth.

       Her gasps were music to his ears. As were the growing sharp pains in his back, as her nails dug into his bare flesh. Digging deep pathways into his flesh that would rise red in her absence. Marks he’d gladly bear, of course. They urged him on, really, like her heels digging into his ass in turn and though he was sure she’d love if he gave heed to the growing inferno around his heart that demanded he rip and tear and take her as his own, he wanted to savor this.

       And he did so by dragging his lips further down her chest, slowly undoing the string upon his former shirt and pulling it over her head to make that beloved swath of skin he had mapped so well visible in the residual darkness of the waning hours of night. Something akin to a purr echoed out of his chest, but was cut short the moment he felt her hands bunch around his undergarments.

       “Oh no you don’t.” He growled, hands snapping from her hips and grabbing her wrists roughly. Her desire to move things along he had to admit was understandable. They’d been apart for quite some time, but this was to be savored and he was going to take his time. She’d challenge him there, but for once he would not bow to her precious whims. If he could maintain the strength. She squirmed, trying to wring her hands free but to no avail. He held them fast.

       She pouted, the kind of wide overdramatic pout that she did when she’d didn’t get her way that would pluck at his heart strings and had won her many a stuffed animal or other little gift she so desired. Though he held the command here...she held command over his heart. Either way, they wouldn’t win her a victory here today.

 Slowly he forced her arms up above her head, before collecting both wrists in one hand and holding them there. Restraining her, and painting a proud smirk on his face. “Patience, Dee, Patience.” He chastised, using his free hand to gently touch her face, enjoying the draw of her eyes when she could not match it with a caress of her own.

 “I don’t want to be patient, ‘Stinien.” She whined, once more trying to free herself from his grasp. He could do naught but chuckle at the act, truely. If he was a cruel man he’d sit there and just watch her try time and again to take what she so well wanted, only to steal it away from her with this simple little grasp upon her wrists. But he wasn’t, and she would get her reward in time but first -

 “You don’t have to be patient long,” He purred, leaning down right near the slight point of her left ear. “Just keep your arms right there, allow me to taste what I missed and then you’ll be rewarded, Dee.” He leaned back a bit, tilting his head and raising a brow. “Can you do that for me?”

 He smiled when  her eyes zeroed in on him and his words with laser like precision as she felt her heart pound in her chest. A war seemed be raging behind her eyes, knowing what words waited on the tip of his tongue but were not said. Words she wanted to hear just so badly. Her pride lost, and he waited till she gave the faintest nod of her head before releasing her hands which remained held above her towards the head of the bed of her own volition.

 “      Good Girl.”  

 She froze, stock still, barely breathing now as he returned to his languid teasing pace. Dragging his lips back down his minefield of marks upon her gently, reminding them with faint little nips that they were there to stay a while. In case they were apart again for any extended period of time.

 When his lips dragged over her breasts, and his languid tongue traced circles over her raised nipple she made her first sound since he released her arms. A sharp intake of breath as the cold bitter night air was replaced by the warmth of his mouth. His eyes flicked up, and a smile grew upon his face when he saw the palm of one of her hands digging into the others. A self inflicted point of pain to keep her focused on where they must remain.

 He’d have to test her resolve.

 When he removed his lips from one raised mound, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. He was being cruel, she had decided, cruel and mean and making her wait as he was torturing her by taking his sweet time, and not just bending her over upon the bed and having her preferred way. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stopped digging her nails into the palm of her hand as he stalled, oh so tyrannous, only to regret it immediately as he took the other in his mouth and grabbed the first between two strong fingers and pinched.

 “Ah- AAH” A gasp into the air that was much louder than intended. Poor Thancred next door, she prayed he was a really REALLY early riser and not currently in his room. Though... perhaps this would be pay back for all the times in the Waking Sands.

 Yet, she did not move. Nails once more digging hard into her palm, leaving deep gashes upon the flesh that would bruise on the morrow. She held her breath now, as he bit down and pinched in equal measure, just enough to hurt and just enough for her nerves to feel on edge and alive.

 When he raised his head, eyes lidded with some amount of pride, and released his hold upon her chest he let out a low chuckle. “Hm, seems you’ve passed the first test.” He gave the raised nubs one final flick before dropping his head below them, slowly continuing his brutally languid and sharp toothed descent.

 “I didn’t sign up for Exams Estinien.” She whined, twisting under his touch as if trying to actively avoid it but still not moving her hands. He leaned down towards her head once more, and left a lingering kiss on her swollen lips and smiled when he looked into her eyes once again and saw them red and cloudy.

 “Are you afraid to lose Voss?” He purred into her ear, before once more descending, tongue now tracing lazy circles down her toned stomach, enjoying the faint twitch of her every movement.

 “We both know I can out last you.” False bravado rang through her tone as each word was a struggle against her desires and her pride and he knew this well. It’s like he knew exactly where to poke holes to make her deflate into something manageable. The purr in his next words confirmed it.

 “So sure, so proud.” His free hand wandered and walked spider like up her torso and across her chest towards her chin, gripping it tight and forcing it up. “Very good. Now don’t distract me Dee, I’ve work to do. So look away.” He didn’t need to apply much force to get her to look at the ceiling and away from him. Damn him to all the hells.

 She took to biting at her lip to maintain some focus, to draw the nervous feeling away from the slow angel light touch of his lips upon her hips. He was being gentle. It was a heartless cold gentleness that had her parched for more violent and vibrant touch. It was calculated, as was his slow descent from the outside of her tattooed form towards the core of pulsing need that sat soaking the top most layer of her mound of blankets she called a bed.

 And she hoped to save laundry for another day.

 And he planned on making sure it had to be done tomorrow. Or whenever the two of them roused from bed, the world could deal without it’s heroes for a bit.

 As his lips danced around the edge of her old and frayed undergarments he stopped, fingers hooking around its hemline and pulling hard, but not off. His grey eyes lingered and examined the growing wet stain upon its dull fabric and found pride once more welling in his chest. She hungered and it was his fault. Good.

 "Gorgeous...” He whispered, and her resolve faltered at the sound of his words,drawing her eyes just barely to him without moving her head. “Look at you, so ready and I’ve only just begun.”  She whined, drawing his ire and attention in equal measure as her small movement no longer went unnoticed.

 “Hm, what did I say?” She stuck her tongue out in one vain hopeful act of defiance that she immediately regretted as the touch upon her jaw grew harsh, dragging her face back to look into his cool grey eyes.

 “Look.” He growled his voice dropping at least an octave.   “Away.” She could not stop her eyes from widened, nor how instantaneously she looked out the window, noting the sky growing light and the sound of souls milling the streets setting up their stalls. She hoped they couldn’t hear either of them.

 “F-Fine.” She would not beg. She would NOT beg. She was too proud to ever beg but she could hunger like a primal summoned off the lifesblood of it’s followers and he the sickly sweet aether that would keep her material.

 “Patience, patience.” A virtue neither had, as illustrated when he removed his hands from her form and returned them to the pathetic fabric that dared separate the two of them. She had plenty, and could mend whatever he broke. Right?

 He didn’t voice the question so he didn’t get an answer, forgoing his fingers to dig his hungry teeth into the fabric and yank his head back, animalistic joy welling in his chest and mixing with that pride at the loud screeching sound of ripping fabric.

 Air stung her sopping core and she gasped, the slips of fabric that survived his onslaught did not to help save tickle her skin. The gashes in her hand grew deeper as she tried to restrain herself yet that resolve to follow his command, to be that so called      good girl    that deserved the reward that had been kept from them both for months now remained.

 He chuckled darkly, seeing the pink glow to her battered form. All the way from her cheeks to his prize. A smirk to his lips as he considered his options. Torment her more, or claim their prize?

 He decided he would do both.

 He lowered his head once more, kissing along where fabric had once hid. Slowly but surely driving inward towards the pleasant sopping mess that was her core. She squirmed, the sensation too much even with the sharp bites of pain to anchor her. A short whine escaped her lips as the fraying strings of her resolve began to break into splintered ends.

 The entire rope shattered the moment he reached his goal, a loud moan punctuating it’s brutal end the moment his lips first pressed upon his prize. The taste of her viscous fluids coating his tongue instantly, sweet as a honey made just for him.  

 "That feels good doesn't it?" He asked, raising his head after his first assault, “but you want more” He paused, a wild grin taking his face as he considered very carefully whether it was worth the fun she’d poke at him later for his next words. “But you want to ride the Dragon.”

 If she poked fun at him, he could always shoot back that her nod of yes was near instant.

 “Just a bit longer then.” He cooed, before laughing at her whimper of frustration, using the act to hide his second attack. He rubbed a hand down the length of her slit, fingers growing slick with the same essence that now dripped from his face, her spin arched at the pressure and once more one of those magnificent melodic screeches of pleasure hit his ears. He smirked then, not giving her a second to recover before sliding a single one of those coated digits into her fiery core.

 Her legs grew taunt and her back remained arched off the blankets surface like she was a living breathing cathedral. He didn’t hold enough fervor in his ishgardian body to be above sacking it though. And soon the plunder would be his.

 His finger was immediately greeted by the warm tightening embrace of her insides that only pulsed faster with a fiery life as he curled it at the knuckle. She gasped, throwing her head back at the sensation, snapping her final bits of pride into broken little shards of self.

 “P-please!” Her voice was an echoy ghost of what it normally was, weakened by the dryness at the back of her throat, and the thirst that rested within. He answered her with a knowing smirk and the addition of another of his thin fingers to her core. She nearly threw herself upward off the bed, the dragoons' well trained legs a danger here.

 “Please what?”  He whispered, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles around the bundle of nerves that would drive her mad. She bit at her lip until she feared it might start to bleed. The corpse of pride still trying to save itself like some vain dying god.

 “P-p-lease.” She whispered this time, shaking faintly, using the last of her resolve to still yet comply with his demands. Yet how she wanted to look him in the eyes and plead with their mismatched colors, saving what little pride she had left by silencing her words.

 “Please.” He paused his movements, stilling the constant pulsing action of his fingers. “What?” He asked again, leaning forward and watching now how her entire body twisted against the stillness now. Starved with twitching euphoria just out of reach. His free hand rested upon her hips now, to prevent her from actually manging to reach that, from actually managing to fuck herself upon his hand.

 Though admittedly he would have been impressed, it was he who was growing impatient now. The ever growing strain against his undergarments was a pointed reminder of that. He could see her tremble slightly, bite her lip and fight against her will still. Part of him was proud, that will power of hers was legendary in      all    things it seemed but -

 He released his grip upon her hip and grasped her chin firmly again, drawing their eyes together. Leaving nothing in the air save the loud beating of her heart and the shallow breaths they both mustered.

 “Please...” She whispered again, he met her words with the faint trace of his fingers down her parched lips. “Please, I’m yours just -” The words were almost there, perhaps it he just flexed his hand slightly they would -

 “Stop! Stop Teasing me!” She squirmed, the inside of her growing tight around his two fingers. “Just Please!” She exhaled, her words more a strangled gasp than a proper moan. Tears now edged at the rim of her eyes now, and his smirk faltered. No matter what she managed to stutter out, she was at her limits and he would not push her beyond them.      

 “Take me, Estinien! I-i can stand this no longer!” And this time, she’d admit it too. Good, good. He had been worried for a spell, that she was too proud to admit when something was too much but then again, she hadn’t been earlier under different circumstances.

 He removed his fingers, tips dripping with her essence staining the top covers a deeper color then they started. She exhaled, and then whined for the absence and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

 “Do you want my spear or not?” He raised a brow, she responded with nothing but heavy eyed silence as her body relaxed from the precipice it had been upon. The cliff she had been so close to crossing. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out but a gasp for air.

 He took a step back, unhooking her feet from around him to shimmy out of the one remaining bit of clothing stopping her reward. That which she so nicely asked for, that which they both hungered for in equal measure now as he was sprung free.

 “Are you ready?” He returned to her form, gently running his hands down her warm body as he wrapped her legs back around him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t helping, but her attention was elsewhere now, eyes lingering upon what pressed hard into her thigh, mouth slightly agape in expectation.

 He’d never get tired of that look. Nor of the one he knew awaited them both at the end of this brutal joining.

 She nodded faintly, though, to answer his question as words now were beyond her hazy eyes. He voiced the question again, raising a hand to move some of the hair from her face, and then unwind her hands from above her head. Placing each palm gently upon his shoulder, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way they relaxed at his touch. Melted upon his skin till they almost became as one.

 She exhaled a shuddering breath as her eyes cleared and but one tear escaped them, one he quickly wiped away. Cradling her cheek in his hand with a reverence he did not even afford the divine. Leaning down, their lips met once again but it lacked any of the ferocity their earlier joinings held. Only pure gentleness, a reassurance to both their souls that they knew their bonds and boundaries.

 And then, still with his lips just hovering above hers, he closed that final gap and connected them. The sign of their joining the arch of her back into his chest and the low groan that left his own lips. Why had he kept her waiting all this? Why had he kept either of them waiting?

 Perhaps it was the sweetness of this exact moment, the jolt of electric sensation through both their bodies that was made more wondrous by the wait. But he could philosophise about this meeting later, when he wasn’t so focused on the shock of his starting pace.

 Slow, but increasing at a speed that could only be described as breakneck. Or perhaps, he would chuckle later, spine shattering. The resounding slap of their bodies together and the creak of the rickety frame holding up the mountain of blankets muffled the thought however, and the low frantic gasps of his name drowned it outright.

 Her fingers lost their way among the tangles of his white hair, grasping at anything to ground herself from the onslaught she had dreamed of. Wrapped in the knots, she inadvertently pulled, snapping his head back and issuing a deep growl from his lips that set her already sensitive nerves alight.

 “Again.” His voice was all rough edges, a husky depth with no end, but she wasn’t about to leave a request like that unanswered. She wrapped a strand around a set of fingers when she could and gave it a firm tug, once more drawing a sharp inhale from her lover and a noticeable increase to his speed. And to think she thought he had reached his peak, she gasped, near yelped in surprise, but she would not complain.

 If anything she’d keep her hands wound right where they were, tugging upon his white wisps he called hair every time he pulled from her even slightly. He grinned, teeth barred in rabid devotion,  though she could not see it, as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. It was his turn to beg.

 “Harder.” He urged her, lips pleading against his pathways along her neck. She gladly complied, grasping a full handful and tugging his head from its hidden perch, eyes heavy and hazy with a new found feral lust that had been hidden for but moments too long.

 What passed through his lips then wasn't the common tongue, of this Voss was sure, but even more sure was she of the meaning behind the strange moaned guttural sounds.

     "Good girl,"  

 Those sounds alone would have left her mewling, but in addition to the punishing pace he had set, one she kept egging on with ever faint tug it set her dangerously close to an edge she knew she'd quickly topple over. Red hot coils building into blinding infernos in her gut, breaths becoming ragged and short and constant, the outline of him, her fellow dragoon nothing but stars. She knew the snap would come soon and she'd be nothing but faintly twitching putty in his hands, at his mercy.

 "Mine. My Girl."  

 Sounds she hadn't expected to be the final push beyond electric oblivion. Panted words of ownership punctuated by frantic thrusts and growls, as he himself was not too far behind. She couldn't tell how far, of course, as her eyes grew blinded by the stars of euphoric absolution that took her senses far and told the world through one final moan of but a single conformation.

 "Yes!"  

 Her mind was alive in sensations, too many for her to comprehend. The press of his body, the erratic pulsing of her core, the blooming bruises upon her skin, the stuttering irregularity of his brutal pace that stalled and near stopped with a low wheeze and whispered echoing of her name as well as a plastering of her inner walls with a material reminder of the joining and its cataclysmic end.

 Perception spun out of control, and as she felt his form near collapse on top of her in one final wheezing flurry of friction, the only sound remaining in the cool room their ragged breaths frantically trying to catch up, and the pounding of their hearts in their ears. Before he crushed her, he rolled across the bed eyes focusing finally upon the crisscrossing beams that made up the ceiling. He didn’t doubt that she could realistically hold the weight of one adult elezen man, but that felt somewhat rude and at least here, he actually cared about that.

 Long moments passed in silence, words and language long beyond either of them. The sky grew brighter as night slowly passed into day. Slowly, as sentience returned to them both, and a dull ache across all of their bodies, Voss crawled close to him. Slinging a leg over his own and nuzzling her face into his side with lazy exhaustion.

 “Love you...” She whispered, shivering faintly as the thin layer of sweat the two of them had acquired during their act cooled them in the Mor Dhona morning chill. He reached far, pulling one of the hundreds of blankets she kept there over the two of them, fighting off the worst of it.

 “I love you too, Dee.” He whispered back, noting that even now her eyes fluttered shut. Soon, he yawned, his would follow and then.

 Well, they could face their morning later.

[anthropwashere]

Phic Phight: set the self upon the shelf

Prompt from @five-rivers: Jack and Maddie acquire the pieces of Freakshow's staff.   

@currentlylurking @phicphight

Word count: 3,841

=

In hindsight, Danny should have expected something like this to happen. He'd been on a good streak; a really good streak. No catastrophes, no explosions, no be-all, end-all ultimatums with terrible creatures trying to squeeze the life out of some poor schmuck trying to go about their day. Heck, aside from a few toothy Day-Glo bright beasties waking him up just shy of his alarm and the usual irritation of the Box Ghost haranguing the nearest postal office, things have been easy. There hasn't even been any test to stress out over. So with how his luck usually is, he's overdue for a bad day. 

Today's that day, turns out. It's just not so obvious as bad days usually go for him anymore. It's insidious, creeping, sly. 

Worst of all, his parents are the ones to blame, and they're not even trying to take Phantom apart molecule by molecule this time.

It's a Wednesday, as dull as any other Wednesday can be, when he unlocks the front door of FentonWorks, leaving it open for Sam and Tucker to come in after him. They're all in the middle of another round of friendly bickering, some he-said she-said I-read-this-article goofing with no stakes or real anger in any of their threats to shut the others up. They're just goofing. Danny locks the door once they're in, punches in the pass code on the panel his parents had installed a couple months back so the trigger-happy security system doesn't take umbrage with whatever-the-hell just strolled in through the front door. Tucker's managed to bamboozle the security somehow—Danny can almost follow along with the concept of coding if Tucker's in the mood to skip the jargon, but sit him in front of a command prompt with nary a word of English to be found and his whole brain just fritzes out in self-defense—and point is, the security recognizes Danny's not very human, but it does the software equivalent of a shrug and dumps the notifications into a hidden folder his parents would need to get real creative finding. 

He means to lead them to the stairs to dump their backpacks off in his bedroom before raiding the kitchen. The Box Ghost had decided to ruin lunch today instead of Algebra, like a jerk, and Danny's starving as a consequence of his sandwich ending up on the floor and burning up a ton of energy chasing the idiot around the entire school six times. He's trying not to laugh as Sam keeps up her rant on how unreliable sad nerds on forums are for relaying what cocaine-addled movie producers in LA may or may not have agreed to, when Tucker says, "Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Where you going?"

Danny blinks. He's halfway down the stairs to his parents' lab. He didn't even notice. "Uh," he says, turning around. Sam and Tucker are still on the top step, raising identical eyebrows at him. "Sorry. Habit."

"BG can wait, dude. I didn't get to eat either."

"Ha. Right."

They go upstairs, Sam picking up her rant again on the second-floor landing. They drop their bags off in his room and tromp downstairs again. Danny flicks the light switch on as he passes through the doorway to the—

"Danny?"

He blinks. Halfway down to the lab again, and he'd been sure he was in the kitchen this time. He swallows, putting on a sheepish grin for his friends as he trots back up to them again. Tucker looks amused so he almost thinks he's gotten away without worrying them, but one look at Sam tells him to dump that hope in the trash and forget about it. Her painted mouth is downturned and distinctly worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says. The funny thing is, it's not even a lie. "Why?"

She hesitates, then shakes her head. So he's not worrying her enough that she needs to make a parade of it. That's good. That's great. All he wants to focus on right now is microwaving the entire box of taquitos his Dad snuck into the grocery cart the last time his parents went shopping, and then eating it as fast as half-humanly as possible. 

Jazz comes home while they're all splayed out in the kitchen, poking her head in to say hi and ask if he needs any cover stories drummed up with lunch having been so chaotic. "Nah," he assures her, "I'll just dump the Box Ghost into the Portal after Mom and Dad go to bed. Thanks, though."

"Patrol tonight?"

"Always."

"Let me know when you head out?"

"Sure."

She smiles at him warmly, and not for the first time is Danny glad to have her in on his secret. She's overbearing and controlling and way, way too worried about rule-breaking, but still. It's nice. He trusts her, he loves her, and he gets no small amount of delight at having her in on all the ridiculous excuses he concocts for his parents. He has no idea how he managed so long without her helping him keep his secret. 

"Don't let him do anything stupid," she tells Sam and Tucker. Tucker gives her a mock-salute without looking up from his phone. 

"That's a tall order," Sam says with a roll of her eyes. Danny elbows her. She elbows him right back, and hers are sharp.

Jazz laughs so hard she snorts. It's a sure sign she's comfortable around Danny's friends, which is a lovely relief all on its own. For all that they don't talk much about not-ghost stuff, Danny knows she's struggled to make friends for a long time, knows she's lonely, knows she's just as happy to be included in all the Phantom business as he is to have her there beside him. She waves a touch sarcastically at them and goes off to her own room, presumably to be a good straight-A student and do all her homework for the rest of the month somehow. 

Whatever. Danny's got a full-sized mountain of taquitos to plough through and nothing the least bit life-threatening on his radar for the foreseeable future. That's as sure to change in the next five minutes as it always is. He's used to having a tight knot of panic clenched around his heart and/or the funny little cold spot where his ghostly core leaks through to his human side. He's always on edge, always ready for something. It's half the reason he can't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep, too stressed to do more than toss restlessly in his bed until the wee hours, and the proper ghosts all seemed to have unanimously decided that five a.m. is the best time ever to come charging through the Portal to cause a little pre-dawn havoc.

"Danny?"

He blinks, and he's halfway down the stairs to the lab again.

He licks his lips, swallowing nervousness. He... he doesn't even remember leaving the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder to find Sam and Tucker up on the top step again, equal amounts of concern furrowing their brow. Down in the lab he hears his parents' voices, just low enough that he can't make out individual words over the heady thrum of the Ghost Portal. "Uh," he says.

"Something's wrong," Sam says. it's not a question.

"I'm okay," he says automatically. "Really. Not lying. Just... I dunno. Let's go upstairs."

They go upstairs. Danny plows through his taquitos as originally intended, relaying through rude mouthfuls that he really does feel fine, totally normal (for him, shut up Tucker). He doesn't think he's losing time or anything as worrying as that. He's just... going through the motions so much that he doesn't even notice when he misses his mark.

Sam and Tucker do not like the sound of that, but he convinces them to let it lie. His parents are probably just working on some new gadget. He'll take a look at the lab later tonight. It's not like it feels evil or anything. It doesn't even hurt, which considering the trend of ghost hunting gizmos they've drummed up the last few months is a welcome change of pace. It's fine, really. He's fine, really.

"If you're sure," Tucker says, doubtful.

"I am. Give it a rest, will ya?"

They do, and they reluctantly bunker down to make a decent dent in their homework so they won't have to worry about it in that anxious gray waiting after dinner with their families and before they can sneak out for patrol. Normal kids do their homework after dinner. Not them. They're halfway between valedictorian and delinquent in their habits, toeing the line between abandoning homework entirely and only keeping up with it as best they can to avoid any unnecessary eyes. Danny can't afford the extra attention. 

The afternoon wanes, evening looming like an executioner's axe—Sam and Tucker are all too aware of how long they've gone without a proper catastrophe too—and sooner than they'd prefer it's time to part ways. Sam and Tucker gather up their things and hide away their patrol schedules and the like in the hollow space in Danny's ceiling as per usual. Then the three of them tromp down the stairs again to dump their plates in the sink and pay lip service to a goodnight until tomorrow in case Danny's parents are around. They're not at first glance, or at second glance for that matter, but better safe than sorry. Danny starts to follow them to the door, uneasy of the doorway down the lab yawning like a mouth, and this time he feels it—

(come here)

—but there's nothing for it. Knowing he's being bidden down the basement doesn't stop him from swiveling on his heel to start down the polished stairs. It's only Sam's quick reaction that stops him only two steps down, her hand a firm vice on his bent elbow. 

"Yeah," he says, a little breathless with surprise. "Felt it that time."

"Only that time?" Tucker asks in a tone firmly detailing how little he likes the sound of that. 

Danny looks over his shoulder to nod at them both. "It doesn't hurt," he reminds them. "It's okay. I can handle—whatever it is they're doing down there."

"Tell Jazz," Sam says, which is surprising enough that Tucker gawks at her too. It's not like she and Jazz get along, after all. Danny promises, too surprised to scoff or tease her for worrying over nothing. Maybe that should've been a warning sign too.

He waves them off at the door, locking it and punching in the code again with a habit so well-honed he doesn't even think about it, and before he knows it he's blinking harsh neon green light out of his eyes. Down in the basement, and he only remembers walking down the stairs after the fact.

"Danny-boy!" His dad shouts with his usual boisterous energy from over near one of the examination tables. His mom's off at one of the far counters, bent over a heavily modified microscope. Both of them have their hoods up, and Danny has to swallow a shiver when his dad looms too close. Something about the goggles always reminds him of how a praying mantis' eyes bulge; charmingly goofy right up until it snatches its prey up in its scythe-like forearms. 

"H-hey, Dad."

"Whoa, is it that late already? Baby cakes, it's almost six!"

His mom straightens up with a murmured groan as her back pops audibly. Her red-lipped smile ratchets right up into something uncanny and wrong without her eyes visible to soften the bright flash of teeth. "Is it? Oh, hell, I completely forgot to take the hamburgers out to thaw. Danny—hi, sweetie—do you mind calling in take-out? Your choice." 

"Uh. Sure, no problem." Funny. Never mind the taquitos he devoured an hour ago, he's always on the cusp of starving. Ghost powers or puberty, or both. He doesn't know and it doesn't really matter so long as nobody notices how much he puts away without gaining an ounce. He casts a wide glance around the lab, feigning bored curiosity, hoping to find some strange new device with his dad's face stickered all over it that will explain this weird urge demanding he be down here—

—and feels his heart and core both stutter at the sight of what's laid beneath his dad's broad hands.

"What," he chokes out. It's all he can manage. His usual anxiety—something's coming, something will come for him, any moment now, any moment, soon soon soon—transmogrifies into a full-blown panic attack so fast he feels the air in his lungs literally, genuinely freeze. He clenches his jaw against the coughing fit threatening to expose him as wrong, pointing at the long black staff laid on the table instead.

"Oh, this? You're never gonna believe it, Dann-o." His dad beams at him, proud of his work and glad his son's taking an interest in it. "We got a call yesterday on the 800 number. Some hiker found this thing absolutely covered in little ghosts down in Little Grand Canyon and figured this thing oughta have a proper once over from us instead of being left to lie where the river'd dumped it."

"It appears to generate a frequency too high for humans to perceive," his mom chimes in, walking over to join them at the table. She shoos a small sparrow-looking ghost away with naked disgust curling her mouth; it goes sailing on stiff wings off to settle on a sturdy crate off in one corner, red eyes leaving streaking after-images as it twists and ducks its little head, taking in all the strangeness of the lab. Danny pretends as hard as he can that he can't hear it asking, where am i? where am i? 

"That's right," his dad confirms, plucking the staff up with a frivolous little twirl that has his mom swatting his shoulder with a laugh. "There must have been thirty birds and snakes and the like swarming all over this thing when we got there this morning. We had to melt the lot of them to get our hands on this thing, and we've got no idea yet what got them so interested in this thing."

"At first glance it's only a simple iron-wrought staff," his mom says, tugging it free from his dad's hands to display the detailed bat at its top and the glittering shards of crimson-colored glass running down its back. "But see this glass? There's a tremendous amount of energy emitting from it—harmless to humans, don't worry. But that bird's the seventh ghost we've seen since we brought this thing down here. Something about the frequency is compelling to ghosts. They have to come see what's going on. Although why they feel such a compunction or what this thing's original purpose was is beyond me...." 

In the back of Danny's mind he hears an echo of an echo of Freakshow's voice urging him on. (take it. bring it back to me. come home. come home to me.)

"Yeah," he manages thinly. "Weird."

They ramble on for a while, too giddy to have him showing an interest in their work to recognize that his interest stems from something adjacent to terror. He musters a rictus grin, nodding like some wall-eyed bobblehead toy when they look to him for input. All the while the beady red eyes of the bat on the staff burn his skin like lit cigarettes, like brands, like red-hot manacles he might not be able to shake this time.

(come here,) the staff bids him, its voice so gentle it could his own mind assuring him that this is the best idea he's ever had. (take me. bring me home. bring me to him. it will all be so much better once we're his again.) 

"Dinner," he chokes out eventually, backing away toward the stairs. "I should—order. Order. Dinner. Pizza?"

"Sounds good to me," his dad says cheerfully. "You know what I like."

"My wallet's in the kitchen," his mom adds.

(stay,) the staff says. (take me. bring me home.)

"Nngh," he says, nodding dutifully. He doesn't know who to. It takes far more effort to climb the stairs this time, his grip white-knuckled on the banister, his gaze reluctantly dragged away from the basement and up to the living room. Once there he blinks, feeling the tug of the staff fade to something slight again. He can ignore it up here, but now that he knows what it is he can't stop hearing-feeling it. 

(come here,) it urges. (downstairs. i'm here. take me back. take me home. come home with me—)

He slaps his hands over his ears (for all the good it does), and stomps over to the kitchen where the landline is. Pizza. He. He's gotta order dinner. His parents will suspect him if he doesn't do this one perfectly normal thing. 

He dials. He orders. He fumbles around his mom's wallet for her debit card. He manages a stammered apology to the person on the line, who laughs indulgently and tells him "No worries!" in a tone that says she knows how young he is just by his voice. Underestimating him. Simple human. Stupid human. He could show her how wrong she is. He should show her. Scare her. Make her scream. Hurt her—

He drops the phone, breathing heavily.

Shit. 

Shit.

"Hello?" The girl's tinny voice asks uncertainly, a hundred miles away at his feet.

He picks the phone up. "S-sorry. Anyway, the number's...."

He finishes the order. The girl on the phone tells him to expect the driver to arrive in about 45 minutes. He makes a few incomprehensible noises that might translate to something like a thank you if the girl happens to feel real generous. He's never calling this pizza place again.

Once the phone's back on the receiver he bolts up through the ceiling, straight up to the roof, past the Ops Center, up up up until he feels the final sticky thread of the staff let him go, until he's skirting the scraggly cloud cover and thinking clearly enough to realize he really ought to ditch visibility while he's up here trying to figure out what the fuck he's gonna do next.

Freakshow's in jail.

Freakshow doesn't have the staff.

Freakshow can't control him now. He can't. He can't.

It's the staff. Just the staff down there, and whatever about it that makes it so—intoxicating? Smothering? Comforting?

He's far enough away that it's easy to recoil from that. It's not a comfort. It's not. It's not easy, or gentle, or good. It's piano wire tugging on his joints, turning his mind to so much waterlogged cotton. There's no knowing what the staff would do to him without someone at the metaphorical wheel. Just because what he remembers from when Freakshow controlled him is a warm, soft cocoon doesn't make it right. He put humans—people—in the hospital. He stole thousands of dollars worth of jewelry from eight different stores in six days. He nearly killed Sam. 

These are things he knows because he was told them secondhand. He read articles, watched news reports, listened to Sam shakily try to convince him that she was okay, really, just as he'd done to her a hundred times before. 

But the truth of the matter is this: he has no concrete memories of that week spent under Freakshow's thumb. He remembers warmth, and rightness, and glee. He remembers feeling a good so giddy it might be better than any description of any drug he's ever heard of. He knows the comedown was hard, and disorienting, and cold, and that he couldn't shake the ring of Freakshow's laughter in his ears for weeks. He knows that the majority of him hated every minute of not being himself. He knows that nine-tenths of him still feels a touch unclean in a way he doesn't know how to voice to Sam and Tucker, to know that he did those things without any semblance of self, and that last little part of him reveled in just... letting go. Running wild. In doing things for the fun of it and not caring at all about consequences, because what did consequences matter to a ghost?

There's a very, very tiny part of himself that wishes for the freedom of that feeling. Yoked and manacled in the sticky, impossible-to-resist way of magic, but free from the burdens of Danny Fenton. No expectations, no future, no what-ifs, no curfews, no algebra. Just Phantom. Just free to do whatever he pleases.

Skittishly he looks down at FentonWorks a thousand feet below, unsure if he's put enough distance between himself and the staff, unsure if he can trust his own thoughts yet. He doesn't know. He doesn't think there's any way to know for sure.

What should he do?

What can he do?

Just being within easy reach of the staff puts prickles all down his spine, numbs his hands and feet and tongue. He broke it. That's how he got free of Freakshow. He dropped it to save Sam because she was more important, and it broke, and now he's free. He's free. He is.

Maybe the orb-thing wasn't the source.

Maybe....

He doesn't know.

He can't let his parents keep it. That much he does know. If they figure out how to utilize it, even at a fraction of what Freakshow was capable of, then there'd be no winning. Phantom could barely fight it with Sam begging for her life right in front of him, and that was with a stranger at the reins. If his mom or dad told him to come down to the lab and lay down on an examination table....

He can't.

He can't.

What can he do?

His hip buzzes, so unexpected he drops twenty feet before catching himself with a yelp. His first instinct is that it's an attack, and he switches to Phantom and throws up a shield faster than thought, twisting around in the dark trying to find the source, trying to see who's coming for his throat next—

It's his phone. A text. That's all. No more, no less.

He changes back, not trusting his shaky hands with gloves on. It's from Jazz, asking where he's at. He calls her back, and she answers on the third ring.

"Hey, Danny," she says, relief audible in her voice. "Was there a ghost?"

"Uh-uh," he says. "Worse. Jazz, I—I need a favor."

"What was that? You broke up."

"Oh. Uh. Hang on." He drops hundreds and hundred of feet in free fall, watching the Ops Center racing up to meet him, all its floodlights swiveling round and round on automated patterns. He halts on a dime, far faster than any human could endure, and feels only an irritating tug on his bones as he swivels to find balance again. "Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, that's better. What's up?"

He takes a deep breath. "I need a favor. A really, really big one."

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 8

All Aboard.

The countryside was a wonderful time and a refreshing getaway, but I have been drawn back to reality and it has been nothing short of horrible from the moment I stepped foot back on the grounds of the palace. I’m starting to resent Buckingham, I can’t wait to move to Windsor or one of the other palaces; I’d be more than pleased to travel to the private palaces, we all know my love for Hillsborough Castle. I’m at the point where I want to get away from my father. I would like to have more space between us. Buckingham, although has 775 rooms, isn’t large enough for his temper and narcissism. My father doesn’t appear like my father, he is furious, all of the time. Nobody wants to be around him, and I am not quite sure how my mother deals with him. I don’t know whether or not she sees what the rest of us see, she is silent and using her time to do her duties. 

I heavily sigh as my ladies maid opens my bedroom door and steps inside my room, a small indication I have overstayed my welcome in my bed. I sit up as I gaze over at her, surprised that I have managed to stay this long in bed without being interrupted. “It is quiet,” I point out, cocking my head to the side while she steps closer and begins to adjust the covers of my bed. 

Since I got home a few weeks ago, the Palace has been far from placid, from my father firing and yelling at people to him throwing things around, today is the first morning I haven’t woken up to him on some sort of rampage. “Where’s my father? He is still alive, right?” I half chuckle. 

“He is in town, Anastasia, I’m not meant to talk to you.” 

I roll my eyes as I get out of bed and I shuffle closer to her, “That is nonsense, I don’t care what my father says, he is being a prick right now. You can talk to me, Eleanor.” I assure Eleanor, a little bothered that my father has decided to take his wrath out on the staff, they shouldn’t be frightened to speak to anyone, no matter the status. “What happened?” I prompt Eleanor, beginning to help her with making the bed. 

At first, she is hesitant, but I continue to probe her, eager to get an understanding of what is happening with the staff. “He doesn’t want anybody speaking… May I speak out of term?” 

“Go ahead.” 

As I have gotten older, I have been the one to listen to what the staff have to say, I don’t take much offence to their opinions or even their advice. I may be in line for a crown, but I am no better than they are, I still see them as equals. Sometimes, they are a better companion and support than my parents’. Don’t get me wrong, my parents’ have been excellent with raising me and shaping me into who I am. I have never had much of an issue with them, but when my parents’ were gone, it was the staff who also contributed to who I am, they helped me when I was at my whits ends, they encouraged me when I felt down, and they have stepped up as a friend when I have had nobody to turn to. There are somethings outside the castle that can’t be understood to most people. I haven’t had the privilege to have numerous friends’, they have all twisted into snakes, therefore, my circle is extremely small. To be honest, my circle consists essentially of Harry and the staff assigned to me who I have formed relationships with. My father doesn’t get to tell them they aren’t allowed to talk to me when they have done nothing wrong. 

“Princess,” Eleanor whispers, “I think-, I think he is scared the palace staff will rat him out.” 

“Rat him out?” I immediately question, my mind driving to race with the possible things that could be happening behind the scenes.

Eleanor looks around my room, scared that someone may overhear us, “I’m not sure, but nobody is allowed to speak and we aren’t allowed to clean his office, it is now off-limits.” 

I frown for a moment, unsure of what is going on, but I can’t help but remember what Harry told me over the weekend about how there are theories that all the staff have. I can only assume he knows a little something about what is going on. He has to know things, he is constantly watching and kept in the loop of things. 

“Where is Mr Styles?” I challenge, noticing how I have yet to see him this morning. He usually makes it a routine to at least stop by if he has other things to do. Usually, Harry steps in the room, kisses me goodbye and leaves or he will send me a text, but today, not a word.  

“He is escorting your father, he insisted on having the best of the best. I was told I need to have your suitcases packed, is there anything specific you would like to wear?” 

“Anything is fine, Eleanor, I have a few meetings and things to attend to, I trust your judgment of clothes.” … “The best of the best?” I raise a brow. 

Eleanor nods her head, “Mr Styles is the best, the entire palace knows it. Always on the move, assertive and knows what’s happening. His looks are also a bonus,” Eleanor chuckles. 

“Is it common knowledge that he is good at his job? Is this what the ladies maids do? Swoon over him?” I question with a laugh, rather intrigued. I have heard a few sly comments about Harry that the ladies have made before. 

“I don’t think he is aware of how good he is at his job, quite humble.”

“Mhm, let’s keep it that way. Too many compliments and he might gain an ego,” I playfully wink and Eleanor nods her head. “Does he have a girlfriend?” 

Eleanor shrugs her shoulders, “Nobody knows, he doesn’t talk much on personal matters when we are off the clock… He’s never really around. We have our speculations that he has a lady. We joke that he meets her in the underground tunnels around town.” 

“Everyone loves a mystery man,” I respond, “I will leave you alone now, I have to prepare for Greece.” I politely excuse myself from Eleanor and I’s conversation, discreetly moving to my closet to get dressed.

When I was rambling to Harry about running away to Greece or something, I did not mean I wanted to go to Greece because of royal duties. I guess the universe got my requests confused. I’m not sure why my father has decided a prompt royal visit is to happen. I am sure we will find out what the reason is. We don’t do significant business with Greece, in fact, I don’t remember my father ever having much collaboration with Greece. We have been to several countries on official state visits, but not Greece. There isn’t diplomatic sensitivity, at least, not in my opinion, so I can only assume it’s mainly because there is no monarchy in Greece. 

♔♔♔

I pace the aisle of the private plane, my nails tapping against my phone screen anxiously. I haven’t heard from Harry all day, no text or call, and here I am on a plane with no clue what’s happening. I have no clue why I am even on the plane, I don’t foresee there is any logical reason for us to be going to Greece. There are no foreign affairs for Greece that need our attention. If I had my way, I would be using this time and the taxpayers’ money to be going somewhere beneficial to the monarch, I would be doing a small trip to bring light to the monarch since Henry has created a turmoil of issues and slammed me with the press. But, I am not Queen, I do not have the say, it all lays in my father’s hands-on where we go as royals. 

I’m not entirely certain what the itinerary has me doing, I have a gut feeling that it will change one-hundred times before I get to the hotel, but with the way Eleanor packed my suitcase I can only assume this is going to entail five outfit changes in a day and consists of lunches or formal dinners’ with diplomats or god knows who. 

I gasp as I hear the plane door open and I immediately settle when I see Harry with his suitcase right behind him, “I’m sorry, just know I’m sorry,” Harry immediately begins as he gives me a quick kiss to the cheek before walking to place his suitcase at the back of the aircraft. “It has been a long and rough day, my phone is dead in one of my pockets and Matthew is probably going to strangle me for being late but it wasn’t my fault. Your Father almost missed his flight with British Airways and I don’t know why we can’t all just fly together and save me some time. Had to run to opposite ends of Heathrow.” Harry mutters, not too amused with his journey for the day. 

My parents are flying British Airways, meanwhile, I have the privilege of the private plane, mainly because my meetings ended later than my parents’ flight. “Yes, I know heirs can’t fly together, I’m just tired. Did Matthew already check the plane?” Harry glances over towards me before he shakes his head, not giving me a chance to respond, “Nevermind, I’ll check it myself. Before you ask one hundred questions, we have a full team of security, I’m on your service, there’s a new kid I have to train but that’s beside the point, high security, which means Matthew is concerned there’s a threat, so don’t stray.” Harry begins informing me of what he knows without me having to ask.

I guess he’s used to the questions by now.

Harry settles his hands between each seat, tugging at seatbelts and eyeing every inch of the plane he possibly can, “We should be taking off in a few minutes, it’s a clear flight plan. Matthew will sweep the hotel first. It’s a three and a half hour flight, we should be arriving at four in the morning since they’re two hours ahead of us.” 

“Harry,” I step in front of him as he’s manoeuvring his way around the plane, “You can relax. You’re like spitting out information.” 

Harry pauses for a moment and takes a breath, “Been a long day, I’m ready for bed, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, 

“Why is the royal family going to Greece? Do they even have a king?” Harry questions. 

I shake my head, “The Constitution of Greece, which describes Greece as a "presidential-parliamentary republic"-“ I begin but I’m promptly cut off. 

“Darling, I’m tired, can you dumb it down or say it in English, please?” Harry offers me a petite smile, stopping me from rambling and explaining things thoroughly to him. 

“There’s no monarchy. In July 1973 the Greek military called a 'referendum', which abolished the Monarchy for the second time in Greek history.” 

“It failed, twice?” Harry curiously inquires. 

I nod my head, “The Greek monarchy existed from 1832 to 1924, and again from 1935 to 1974.” 

Harry grows withdrawn for a moment. “So, tell me again why we are being dragged to Greece?” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d have the answer to that.” 

“Why would I?” 

“You were with the king all day.” 

Harry heavily sighs and nods his head, “And it was a long day. But he didn’t tell me why we are all going to Greece, in fact, he barely spoke to me. Which, I’m fine with, I’ve heard he has been an ass to everybody.” 

“He didn’t mention anything?” 

Harry shakes his head, “No, nothing that could point to why we are going to Greece. Are they bringing back their monarchy?” 

It appears as though we are both at a loss as to why this trip is happening. There has to be someone who knows the exact reasons. The itinerary doesn’t reveal much. For the most part, it is my father doing most of the obligations solo and at unusual hours. 

“I highly doubt it. Maybe we have finally been invited by the Greek president to make a state visit? Maybe he wants to boost ties in the region? I don’t know. Nobody wants to be around him, nobody knows what the hell he is doing. I think he’s going to end up turning the monarch to shit.” I inform Hary of my opinions. Up until recently, he has done a standup job with handling things and with keeping the monarch up to high standards, but for some reason, he has flipped a switch. 

He wants me to get married and to take over for no real reason. There is no reason for him to abdicate and I don’t see why he would want me to stand in for him. This isn’t a situation where he is handing me his legacy because he thinks I am fit for the job because let’s be real, he doesn’t think I am ready yet. I’m not ready for the responsibility,  but everyone wants to bestow it upon me. It is all anybody talks about since it was announced. 

“I don’t think he’ll ruin the monarchy, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” 

“Yeah, burning it to the ground,” I grumble. 

Harry grows reserved for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking, “Would that be such a bad thing?” …. “I mean, I’m just asking as a future king, ya know?” Harry immediately adjusts his tone, regarding my glare and the fact I’m not amused by the concept of the monarchy burning to the ground. 

I hum, “Mhm, I’m sure the future king is very concerned about the monarchy.” 

“Of course, I am. I mean, the people’s lives are in my hands.” 

“Steady there, don’t get too far ahead,” I chuckle, “There’s no way my people's lives are in your hands.” 

“Wouldn't they be our people?” Harry emphasises ‘our.’

I roll my eyes playfully, a chuckle escaping between my lips. This is why I love this man. “Uhm, do you know how the monarch works, darling? You’re lucky if they honour you as king consort, and at this rate, you aren’t being honoured at all, did you forget? Nobody knows we are engaged because everything will fall apart.” 

“I don’t care if I don’t have an honour title as long as I’m your husband.” 

“You can claim that title when we get married.” 

Harry nods his head before slumping down in a seat, his hands rubbing his eyes while his elbows rest on his knees. 

While Harry takes a minute to decompress and relax, I begin to rethink everything that has been packed, the feeling of forgetting something sinking into my thoughts. 

I mentally check off the things that I’m aware have been handled, passport, black outfit (mourning attire), skincare, makeup, jewellery. “I feel like I’m forgetting something,” I murmur, watching as Harry leans back and closes his eyes, “The luggage has all been counted for, right?” I ask Harry, aware that he has probably double-checked everything as well. 

“It is hard to ignore the colour-coded luggage system. It’s all perfect, monograms and all,” Harry responds with a petite grin, “I know you’re staring at me, stop,” Harry chuckles. 

“Harry, I’m forgetting something… luggage, passport..” I begin to think out loud. 

I can’t wholly think of what it is, but there is a deep-rooted sense in the pit of my stomach that I can’t shake. It is either my gut telling me I have forgotten something or my intuition is screaming at me for some reason. I can’t assume it is a bad feeling,  but whatever it is, I can’t seem to shake it. Whatever it is, it worries me.

“Did you forget your ring?” Harry opens an eye and glances at me with droopy, grey eyes. 

I shake my head, drawing my necklace out and showing him my ring on the chain, “It’s here… oh no… Harry…” 

“What?” He softly challenges, still wanting to doze off. 

“My briefcase, it has all my documents and work in it, correspondents and—“ I begin to fret. 

“I got it.” Harry cuts me off with a heavy sigh, “I saw it when I had to grab your father’s luggage because he fired his damn valets.” 

I let out a breath of relief and smile at him while I carefully decide to rest in his lap, straddling his hips.

He opens his eyes, blinking at me. I don’t say a word, instead, I lean down and leave a trail of sugary kisses on his neck and jawline. His hands move and rest to the small of my back as he lets out a heavy breath. “Anna,” Harry whispers. “Darling, I can’t, I’m tired. I love you, but the next four hours are the only hours I get to sleep, as soon as we land I have to work, can we finish this later?” 

“Later? We won’t have time, I have my duties.” I huff, a little irritated that he is turning me down. We have been too busy and constantly surrounded by people that we have not had many moments to be intimate. 

“I promise there will be time, I’ll make sure of it.” 

“What do you even have to do when we land? Can’t you come to the hotel with me?” I ask Harry, batting my eyes at him in an attempt to get my way.

“I have to make sure the itinerary is being kept secret by the palace. I have to do my job, Anna, so many things to do before your family meets with the public officials, or the world leaders, I don’t know what the hell your Dad has fully planned. What I know is that I have a lot to do. I have a new guy to train, I’ll be jumping from your service to the kings—“ Harry begins to somewhat ramble about things, his thoughts running at one-hundred different things. “You need to do your SAS training, you have a refresher course to do.” 

“Just go to sleep, you need to turn your thoughts off. Turned down again.” I mutter unhappily, getting off of him and sitting in the seat beside his. 

Harry sighs heavily and places his hand on my thigh, trying to inch towards my hand, “Come on, don’t be like this.”

“No,” I shift his hand away. 

“Anna—” 

“Don’t ‘Anna’ me.” 

“Princess.” Harry is purposely attempting to irritate me now. 

I glare at him and huff. “Don’t, you know how I feel about being called a princess by you.” 

“Darling,” Harry sighs, “I’m tired, I am. I love you and I’m not turning you down. I know it has been a while but I promise we will find the time.”

I understand he is exhausted, he has been working without much sleep for the last few weeks. I am not solely sure what he has been working on. Harry hasn’t had to watch over me; I have kept to myself at the palace and been in the office doing paperwork, responding to letters and over the phone conferences.  “Go to sleep.”

“Tell me you love me, too,” Harry sleepily requests. 

I rest my head on his shoulder, allowing my fingers to slip between his, “I love you, too.” I respond.

♔♔♔

 Harry's pov 

Since landing at four this morning, I haven’t slept or stopped working, I feel as though it has been one thing after another that has necessitated my direct attention. 

It’s times like this that I wonder why I agreed to become a royal bodyguard, life would be more peaceful if I had stayed in the countryside with my mother, but then I wouldn’t have met Anna.  

I’m on the Kings service for most of the day, and I already despise it. He’s not the most straightforward man to look after at the moment. He can’t give me a full list of the men and women he desires to meet today, therefore not permitting me to do a fitting background check to ensure the safety of the family. He won’t cooperate at all, and I’ve already had to play hide and seek with him twice. By the time I’m off his service, I’m going to require a stiff drink, perhaps even the bottle. I’m not sure what has shifted with the king, but he is not acting like himself. Well, he’s acting shadier than usual, and it doesn’t settle well with me. Matthew has noticed a few red flags but not enough to take too much action, not that he can do anything, he is hired by the king, who is Matthew to confront the king? 

I take a sip of my third coffee of the morning and stroll down the hallway of the hotel room, checking each door handle in the corner of my eye, making sure they all still have the do-not-disturb sign on them. We’ve managed to clear the floor so only the royals and the staff are on it. If any sign is disrupted, I know we aren’t the only ones using certain rooms. I reach the end of the hallway where I meet the trainee, Oliver. 

I give him a nod and he clears his throat, “The princess hasn’t come out.” 

“Mhm, I was requested to go over protocol for today with her. While I explain it to her, I expect you’re already aware of the procedures and the itinerary?” I challenge, taking another sip of my coffee— I need something stronger. If it wasn’t immoral I would add a shot of liquor to this coffee.

Oliver nods his head, “Yes. Do I ride in the car with her?” 

“Yes, and you never let her open or close her car door. Don’t let anyone touch her, today isn’t about hugs.” I inform Oliver. “Do you know where the nearest A&E in case of a medical emergency?” I question, making sure he has the basics covered. 

I don’t assume a trip to A&E is on the cards but there is no telling what will happen. 

Oliver nods his head, “Twelve minutes from where we will be at. And twenty-five minutes from this hotel.” 

“Correct.” I swipe the key to her room. “Put your tie on before you leave for the event,” I instruct firmly. I know wearing a tie is irritating and an insignificant thing, but we have to fit in with everyone else, which means dressing the part as well. If photos are taken, we don’t want to look like the odd ones out in the background. Also, it is part of our attire when diplomats and possible other royals are around. 

I walk into Anastasia’s room and close the door behind me. I step closer towards her as she remains at the edge of the bed in her coat-dress, “Good morning, sweetheart.” I softly beam, leaning down and kissing her cheek. 

She looks beautiful. I am one lucky man. 

“Good morning. You never came to bed last night.” Anastasia gazes up at me while I take a step back. 

“Your father has had me working since we landed. Already done two meetings and I’m on my third? Cup of coffee. Could it be my fourth?” I challenge myself, unsure of what number I am on. 

Anastasia beams up at me, “I’m sorry, will you be on my service today?” 

She’s hopeful, I can recognise it in her eyes, but we both know the answer. “I’m leaving you in the hands of my trainee, but I’ll keep a close eye on him and you. Your father wants me. Not sure why.” I inform Anastasia, placing my cup of coffee down before I kneel before her, “Maybe tonight I’ll make it to bed,” I smile up at her, taking one of her heeled shoes and sliding it on her foot. 

Anastasia sighs, “I hope so, I’m tired of sleeping alone.” 

I fiddle with the clasp of her shoe, struggling to clip the damn thing securely around her ankle, “At least you’re sleeping,” I mutter under my breath, not meaning to sound like a prick. Once the words slip from my mouth, I know she didn’t deserve the comment. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” 

Anastasia shakes her head as she leans back on her elbows, waiting for me to clasp her other shoe for her, “I’d be irritated too if I was you.” 

“Well, doesn’t mean I’m entitled to snarky comments with you.” I point out my own mistake. 

“I’ll remind you the next time we argue and you throw me snarky comments.” Anastasia chuckles. 

I roll my eyes before I stand to my feet. I tower over her before I place a hand on either side of her on the bed, gingerly lowering myself closer to her. “That doesn’t count,” I whisper, kissing her lips slowly and sweetly. 

My lips proceed to brush themselves against the delicacy of hers, teasing her for a brief moment. I take possession of her mouth, my lips syncing with hers, tongues colliding while her shameless hands investigate my body, one hand pressed to the back of my neck, the other travelling up and down my body, cunningly, undecided on what part she wants to devour more. 

I can’t help myself as I drag my lips from hers and begin to leave kisses down her neck, loving the sensation of her fevered skin and her breaths accelerating. Amid audacious hands striving to seize every inch she concedes, my own hands working their way to the hem of her dress, delicately gliding my warm hand gradually up the side of her leg, my fingers resting when I touch the lace hidden under her dress. I leisurely creep my agile fingers to fondle the lace line, delicately dipping my fingers around them, the bold caress of her tongue becoming further filled with passion, my fingers mildly teasing her with every graze over the lace. 

I move them to the side and before I can do anything, a knock at the door sounds. “Fuck,” I murmur with a heavy breath. 

“Harry,” she breathes, “Please.” 

“I can’t explain this to the King on why I am late, I need my job.” 

Anastasia huffs and sits up, adjusting her dress as I move away from her, “You can afford racehorses, I think you’d be fine.” 

“Without a job, I could never afford your lifestyle,” I respond. 

I might be able to afford racehorses and a few other things; I am not grappling for money, but it doesn’t mean I can leave my job. I make great money with what I do, I know it won’t ever be enough to buy some of the things Anastasia has, but I can afford to look after both of us with what I have… As long as I have a job. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

 I roll my eyes with a sigh, “I have to go, start looking for a wedding dress.” 

“I spent most of the flight over here looking while you were asleep. You know, we aren’t too far from Skopelos.” Anastasia points out, reminding me of her comment in my mother’s garden when she wanted to elope and move to Skopelos.

“We are very far,” I chuckle.

“So we aren’t eloping to Skopelos?” Anastasia grins while I adjust my shirt and tie. 

I shake my head, “Sorry, can’t make it happen.”

I can’t make it happen, it did cross my mind to endeavour to take a few hours to go elope, but the itinerary doesn’t give us enough time. 

“Can we talk about our wedding?” 

“We aren’t eloping in Skopelos, but yes, when I’m not on your father’s service, goodbye before he kills me.” I step to where I left my coffee, cupping it in my hand as I wander towards the hotel door. I need to walk out before I end up hovering over her again. 

I step out of Anna’s room where Oliver and Matthew stare at me with their pockets in their hands, “She is well aware of the protocol,” I inform them both, keeping up the charade. Matthew hides his smirk as he clears his throat and nods. I should probably be more careful about how I handle things with the new guy, I’m not sure whether he can be trusted or not, and since he’s on my service, I need to have excuses for why I’m around Anna when I technically don’t need to be. I’ll be glad when we aren’t having to hide and tiptoe around everybody, but I have this feeling that things won’t change soon. 

“Harry, the King is ready for you to escort him to the car. Oliver, you’re with the Princess. I’ll be watching you both and scouring the boat.” Matthew informs Oliver and me, keeping a stern glare towards Oliver. It’s not the easiest to train someone when I’m having to be on someone else’s service, but I’ll do my best to watch him from afar and keep an eye on him. Surely, he can manage a few hours while we are all together. 

I nod my head and begin to wander down the carpeted hallway, enjoying my last few moments of silence and coffee before I’m thrown into the hectic world of watching over the King. 

♔♔♔

I stand beside the King, examining each person who shakes his hand, one immediately catching my attention. I take note as his eyes shift from the king to me, following my suit jacket and resting at my waistband. He can be gazing at one of two things, and I sure as hope he’s looking at, or for, the pistol that I have hidden in my waistband but not where it can be seen. I stare the man down and he pretends to stare innocently in another direction. I continue to stare him down until the King decides to move forward, moving to another area of the boat with one of the few men he has been talking to. 

I accompany the king around on the tour of this navy boat, not impressed with the boat itself, more so interested in why there’s a meeting with leaders on a retired navy boat. This has to be the most pointless and uninteresting reveal that I have had to attend. I don’t understand why this was on the itinerary or even why Anastasia came but the Queen was able to stay at the hotel.  

The King’s conversations have been kept very hushed, not even I can listen in too much, for some reason, the King doesn’t want me hearing and he is doing everything possible to keep me in the dark when it comes to the conversations taking place. At least he isn’t running off on me like he has a few times. I am surprised he hasn’t forced me to stay in a corner while he discusses affairs with these men. I chew on the corner of my mouth, noticing that Anna and Oliver are nowhere around me. I side-eye towards Matthew, looking towards him for instructions or some sort of update. He knows my look when I want an update on Anastasia. It takes Matthew a moment to catch my stare before I hear him come through my earpiece. 

“You have a relentless stare. She is fine, Oliver is downstairs with her. Watch the man in front of you, he’s pacing,” Matthew instructs, forcing my attention to go towards the man who already has an eye on me. I mentally sigh, reminding myself that deep down, I love my job. 

With a swift moment to spare, I glance at my phone— no signal. It hits me. This meeting is happening off the grid, there’s nothing to track us besides the tender boats that we took out here and it also means no unwanted people can listen in on conversations. 

“Harry.” The king grasps my attention, pulling me to the side once one of his conversations is dismissed. “This isn’t the unveiling of an old boat like I thought, get Anna out. Leave my service and take her to the hotel.” The King instructs, catching me off guard for a moment.

Just a little ago, Matthew informed me Anastasia was fine. I am not sure what has altered, I can only imagine that the King has picked up on how these men he is engaging with don’t appear to have great intentions. No government officials or royals have ever looked me up and down in search of any weapon I may have on my person. I have never been watched by multiple people as I have today. Things don’t add up, things haven’t added up from the start.

I waste no time following my orders. I discreetly leave the king and radio into Matthew, attempting to explain the orders in code in case anyone is listening to me and observing me. 

I weave in and out of areas of the boat, thanking god for my photographic memory, this ship is a maze in itself.

I discover Oliver who is guarding Anastasia. I stand beside him, “Go to Matthew, don’t speak to anyone, understand?” I mutter loud enough for the two of us to hear. He glances over at me with furrowed brows, confused and wanting to question me. I don’t blame him, he’s new and has no clue what’s happening, he needs an explanation but not right now. “Go,” I instruct firmly. I trump him, and if he can’t listen to me and take my instructions in situations, he doesn’t need to be apart of our travel team. I don’t need anyone to question my authority or my instructions when on duty. I despise travelling as it is, I don’t need others to make it more difficult. Matthew and I have a system, we know what to do in situations and we know how to communicate; Matthew trusts me and knows me. I require Oliver to listen and learn. 

Oliver steps away and walks off, leaving me with Anna who has three officials talking with her. I heavily sigh as I think for a moment, needing a way to lure her away from her conversation. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I begin with half a smile as the men stare me down like I have interrupted a presidential speech. “But I was asked to check on you, your father knows how you are on boats.” 

“Uh— not the best.” 

“Princess, would you like to get some air?” I suggest, trying my best not to tip anyone off that she’s getting off the boat. I don’t trust anyone on this damn thing and her father shouldn’t have put any of us in this position. 

Anastasia nods and excuses herself from the three men. 

Without a word, I begin to escort Anna through the boat. I don’t say a word and she continues to walk beside me, allowing me to lead the way. This will be the last time I work on a damn boat that has too many areas to keep track of. I can’t watch my back and lead her to an exit at the same time. I need a damn map. We are stopped by two men, one of them being the one that was searching for my pistol. “Princess Anastasia, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you,” he grins ear to ear, “I hear you’ll be taking over the monarchy soon, or is it all rumour?” 

Anastasia politely smiles and shakes her head, “That’s not up to me to decide. It was nice seeing you.” 

“Where are you going?” He questions, blocking us from walking further.

Nosy. I see. I don’t like him. There’s something about him that is far from charming. Before Anastasia can answer, I begin to speak. “She needs some air.” 

“I’ll join you.�� 

“No need to join, just a bit of motion sickness.” 

The man stares at for a moment, testing my patients. “You can barely feel the boat move.” 

I clench my jaw with icy content, taking a breath and stopping myself from escalating matters and shoving him against the wall. One step closer and I might just have to put my hands on him. “She’s sensitive,” I respond, placing an arm around her, forcing my way between the two men and leading her away. 

I finally make it to the outside and onto the deck of the boat, relieved more than ever.

I tenderly tug on Anastasia, stopping her from walking. I can’t turn around to see if we are being watched, it would be too obvious. Anna turns to gaze at me, “Anna, look discreetly over to my left, is anyone watching?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fuck,” I mutter before letting out a heavy sigh. “One person?” 

“Yes.” 

I tilt my head to my left, “Eagle, I’m being watched. Be Careful. Send me Eaglet.” I radio into Matthew in code. If we are being watched, we are being listened to as well. It’s a no brainer. 

Getting Anastasia out of here without issues is proving harder than I had anticipated, the slightest tip-off to anyone that we know something is happening could potentially make things worse. We need to get Anastasia and her father off this boat promptly and subtly.

“Harry, what’s happening?” 

I shake my head, not wanting to answer her question, signalling for her to stay quiet for a moment as I listen to what Matthew is striving to tell me. 

“I can’t hear you, I have interference,” I respond, carefully peering over my shoulder to see where the watchers are. “Eagle, come in?” 

Matthew responds but I can’t understand him, it’s like static on an old radio, and pierces my ears. It’s the sickening screech of an AM radio where it gives you a headache for a split second and makes you reconsider ever wanting to listen to the radio again. Matthew attempts again to get through to me, but the screeching pitch causes me to take my earpiece out. 

Something's not right. 

I check my pockets and subtly pet myself down, looking to feel for any sort of difference within my suit jacket, although highly unlikely I’m to discover anything. 

Anastasia stares at me, her hand pressed to the railing of the boat while I take my jacket off and shake it out. Nothing. 

I take notice of her for a moment, taking my attention away from my search, “You okay? Motion sickness isn’t kicking in is it?” 

Anastasia shakes her head, “I’m fine, you’re making me anxious here.”

I slide my jacket back up my arm and I step forward, closing the space between Anastasia and I. “Don’t say a word, I’m just checking something,” I whisper in her ear as softly as I possibly can, gently pressing my hands behind her, feeling every inch of her back— nothing. There’s nothing on her back. I carefully slip my hand into her jacket pocket, grasping the small circular device between my fingers. 

I discreetly remove the small device from her pocket and I lean over her to drop it into the water. “You were bugged,” I inform her, not too pleased with how the events of the day are taking place. Oliver shouldn’t have let anyone close enough to her for her to be bugged. “I’m trying to get you off the boat, this was meant to be some unveiling of an old ship, but it has turned into… how do I put this…” I begin, unsure of how to explain to her that some shady things are happening, “Just... just know I need to get you off the boat, okay?” I mutter, glancing around in an attempt to find something to help me figure out what the hell I’m meant to do. 

There’s a reason why I sought to tell the King being on a boat with foreign leaders and God knows who, was a dangerous idea, but he refused to listen to me. 

Sometimes I wonder why I stay in my position of job, life would be simpler if I quit my job. I could find something less bothersome. Special intelligence is only riveting when the king listens or when Anastasia isn’t in harm's way. 

“Protocol?” She whispers, her voice breaking as her eyes grow wide, the sensation of danger settling in. 

I nod my head, “Don’t panic, I’ll think of something.” 

“How? We’re stuck on a boat and—“ She’s spiralling, I can see it in her eyes that she’s beginning to panic and mentally think of scenarios that could occur. 

This is the part I loathe. 

“Anna, darling,” I kindly cut off her, “Let me do my job and worry, just trust me. I’m trained for this.” I remind her of my duty, at the moment I’m not her fiancée, I’m her bodyguard that has her life in his hands. I’m the one who is trained to take a bullet for her, I do it because it’s my job, but also because I’m madly in love with her. 

“Trained to get me off a boat in the middle of a volcano?” Anastasia questions, pointing out the location of the boat. 

“Actually, a water-filled caldera is what it’s called.” I correct her, not knowing how to handle the situation besides using a sense of humour. 

“Harry.” 

I heavily sigh and my eyes catch a glimpse of the distance between the boat and the shoreline, “You can swim, right?” 

“Yes?” 

“You might have to.” I flick my head towards the water, causing Anastasia to stare at me. 

“This isn’t funny.” 

She’s going to kill me. But if it comes down to it, I need to know that she understands that she might have to take the plunge. 

“It’s the last resort, but uh… it might have to happen,” I respond, “I’ll get you off, one way or another.” 

“Why can’t we just keep the peace and stay until we’re meant to get off?” 

“Because this doesn’t seem like a peaceful ending, just stay with me, okay?” 

“What do these people want?” 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. I don’t have many answers. Come with me.” I mutter, beginning to get frustrated, but not with her. I’m frustrated that we are put in this situation, I’m frustrated that the king ignored the red flags that Matthew and I expressed, I’m frustrated that because of the King's ignorance and determination, we are in a mess that I’m not sure we can get everyone out of. 

The people on this boat are not here for a grand tour of an old navy boat that has come back to life, this isn’t a celebration or a coming of a union, this is a nightmare, a nightmare that could have been prevented. 

I should have listened to my instincts and told Anna to stay at the hotel, I should have done the thorough background check on each member, but the King had me occupied running errands with him and meeting with other leaders. He managed to direct my attention away from where it needed to be, he created his destiny with this mess and he’ll have to reap what he has sowed. 

I follow the edge of the railing and Oliver finally comes into view, stepping out of one of the doors. Anna and I make our way towards him and I waste no time with barking orders. 

“Get her off the boat,” I instruct, gesturing towards Anna.

Oliver shakes his head, “I can’t, there is no way off, we are all being watched. The next Tender isn’t for another hour.” Oliver responds, looking at me for answers that I don’t have. Part of me feels bad for him, his first trip and attempt at being a part of our team and he has been thrown into this monstrosity. 

“Get her off the boat or keep her safe for an hour.” 

“How?” 

“Get creative, I don’t care if you go through the galley, keep her safe.” 

“What’s the galley?” Oliver questions. 

“For christ sake,” I shake my head, surely he isn’t this dense. “Either get her off the boat or keep her safe for an hour. Keep her safe. If anything happens to her, I will personally kill you, got it?”

Oliver nods his head, his eyes wide as he nervously peers around. I can’t believe I am leaving her with him, but I have no choice, I know I need to get back to the King, he is my priority at the moment, I am on his service, I have Anna somewhat safe, I have to do this. 

I turn towards Anastasia and I lean closer to her, “I love you, take my jacket, there’s a spare in the inside breast pocket.” I whisper in her ear before I slide my jacket down my arms. Anastasia takes her jacket off and I take her jacket and give her a small smile before I throw it overboard. 

She stares at me with the eyes of daggers, and as much as I wish I could laugh, now is not the time to let my guard down. There was already one bug in her jacket, there could be more. I slide my jacket up her arms while she huffs, a clear indication that she is far from pleased with me. Right now, pleasing her isn’t a part of my job description, she will have to get over it.

I kiss her on the cheek before I look towards Oliver, “I’m serious, if anything happens to her—“ 

“I get it, you’ll kill me,” Oliver nods his head. 

I don’t want to leave her with him, but I know I’ve given her enough hints and tips over the years for her to figure out ways to keep safe if Oliver fails. All I can do is pray that nothing happens to her. 

I march away from the two of them and I begin to make my way to the men who have been watching. I climb the stairs and disregard them as I walk past them. I feel their eyes burn into my back but I don’t dare turn around. I keep moving forward. I have bigger fish to fry. 

I walk the different passageways of the ship, striving to locate Matthew and the King. I can’t get any response from the radio and there’s no cell service for me to track any phones, all I can do is rely on memory for how the ship is built. 

“Where’s the princess?” I’m distracted from my search and I stop in my tracks. I turn around to face the same man who was trying to look for my concealed pistol. 

“Why?” 

“She’s meant to be in a meeting.” 

“She’s unwell and won’t be attending the meeting,” I respond. 

“Where is she?” He’s determined to get his hands on her from the sounds of things, and I’m not okay with it. 

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “Don’t know, but do you know where the King is? I assume his meeting is where hers is meant to be as well?” I’m somewhat being a smartass. There’s no way in hell anyone is going to tell me where the king is, everyone is shady. The man stares at me in an attempt to assert dominance. 

I heavily sigh and reach behind my hip where my pistol is. I use my left arm to push the man against the wall before my right-hand holds the barrel of my pistol to his neck. “Tell me where the king is and don’t cat and mouse me. I’m not in the mood.” 

The man gulps, his life perhaps flashing before his eyes as he begins to stutter, “I-I—“ 

“Spit it out. Where are they?” I demand.

“Upper deck near the upper deck escape hatch, there’s a room, they’re there.” 

With my pistol in position against his skin, I use my other hand to promptly search him, finding his pistol and shoving it where I keep mine when it isn’t in my hand. 

“Lead the way.” I instruct, pulling him away from the side of the wall and pushing him in front of me, keeping the gun to his back, “Don’t try any funny business.” I forewarn, pushing him to start leading to where I need to go. 

♔♔♔

I cough out the portion of seawater I managed to inhale as I eventually manage to get to the shore, pushing myself to get a little further before I give myself a break, collapsing to the sand. I glance to my side and Matthew and the King are doing the same, all of us coughing out salty water. My lungs burn from the salty intake and my body aches from the long-drawn swim and the bitter coldness of the Aegean sea.

I take a few deep breaths, “Everyone okay?” I cough while the King assists me to my feet. 

“Ye’ a fuckin’ asshole,” The King murmurs.

I glance at him, moving my arm into an L formation and holding it with my other hand, “I guess that is code for thankyou,” I respond, trying not to lean on the King as we both move away from the water but I can’t help it. 

All three of us sit on the sand and take the moment to fully catch our breath back and rest what little strength we have left from fighting the currents. We sit in silence, nothing but the crashing of the waves echoing between us. I stare out into the water, keeping an eye on the navy ship we left behind, all we can see of it is the lights of the boat. We left the vessel at dusk and at nightfall, we have made it. 

With heavy breaths, I think about the events that have transpired. 

I stared at the king as he scowled at me, not wanting to take my instructions for the hundredth time since we landed here in Greece. “Sir, if you do not jump, they will kill all three of us, jump.” I raised my voice towards the King who was contemplating whether jumping was the best option. At that point, it was the only option. 

When I was lead to the king and Matthew, I encountered Matthew being held at gunpoint and the King tied up. I don’t know what lead the two of them to that point, but I do know that everyone on this boat is against us. No amount of training can prepare you for the moment you have to fire your pistol to save not just the King but also the head of security. No amount of training prepares you for the sight I walked into and created. Untying the king was easy, getting all of us out and away from the other members on the boat, not so much. I heard a gunshot and my eyes widened, but none of us was hit, the shot came from another area of the boat. I held my breath for a moment, hoping and praying that Anastasia managed to get off the boat. “Get up, let’s go!” I commanded, hauling the King to his feet and shooting a glare towards Matthew, requiring his direction. From that moment, it is mostly a blur. Everything happened quickly. 

I glanced around, taking note that nobody had yet to follow us to the point in the boat where we were at, but it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. “Sir, you have to jump, we need to get off,” I commanded again, driving him closer to the edge. 

A gunshot fired and for a split second, my world froze, my breath hitched in my throat and I looked behind me. I disregarded the King and pushed him into the water, giving him no option. It was and still is my job to take a bullet for him and keep him safe, no matter what it takes. 

“They were going to kill us, weren’t they?” The King questions, taking me from my thoughts and breaking the silence between us, the realisation of what happened finally settling in with him. 

I nod my head, “Anna,” I breathe out, suddenly becoming alert with the fact I have no earthly idea on where she is. 

The King punches my shoulder, causing extreme pain to shoot through me so severely that it makes me want to throw up. “You were in charge of her, don’t you dare tell me you don’t know where the fuck she is.” 

I wince, slamming my eyes shut and I bow my head, trying to catch my breath back as it feels like I have had the wind knocked out of me, “Matthew,” I cough, “Where’s Anna?” 

“Fuck mate, I didn’t put a full swing behind the punch.” The King positions himself in front of me, Matthew inching closer. The king wastes no time with unbuttoning my button-down, trying to move the material to get a look at my shoulder. 

I look past him and glance towards Matthew, “Find, Anna,” I instruct. 

“Harry, how the fuck did you swim?” The King questions with wide eyes. 

I shake my head, not concerned about myself, I did my job, I got us all to safety. “Find your daughter, I left her with Oliver.” She wasn’t on my service, I did my job as security but I failed as her fiancee. “Everything is wet, we can’t call,” I mutter, using my good hand in an attempt to reach into my pocket, unfortunately realising that there is no way my phone or radio will work. 

“Harry, she is fine. She got off,” Matthew informs me while the King runs his finger over my collarbone, causing me to flinch once he reaches the corner of my shoulder. 

Thank God she is okay. I don’t think I could have ever forgiven myself if I had of left a dangerous situation meanwhile she was still on the boat. I should have stopped to think before following Matthew and the King with swimming to shore. I should have double-checked. I a notorious for double-checking but this time, I failed. I failed on many levels. 

“What did you do?” I look at the King, wanting answers in an attempt to ignore the throbbing pain I am feeling and have been feeling since the boat. 

The King stares at me for a moment, his lips curling into icy contempt. He wants to lie to me, but he can’t think of anything plausible. “Don’t lie to me,” I continue with a heavy breath, my eyes and body burning. I know I am overstepping my job description, but if I can dodge bullets and swim for my life, I can ask for an explanation for what the hell is happening. 

The King nods his head, bowing it in defeat, “Ever love someone so much you’d do anything for them?”

I nod my head, knowing all too well what it is like to love someone so much you would do anything for them. I would walk to the ends of the earth for Anastasia, I would wholeheartedly do anything for her, no matter the cost. Of course, I cannot tell the King that that ‘someone’ is his daughter, although, I wish I could. 

“They saved my wife. When I first married my wife, a terrible accident happened, Harry, she was dying in my arms. They saved her, I vowed to do anything in return, and from that night, I have had a debt to pay.” 

“Who is they?” Matthew quickly questions. 

“The Ace’s,” The King whispers the name, almost too scared to speak of the name too loudly. 

I grow withdrawn for a moment, trying to figure out who he is talking about, then it hits me. “No,” I breathe out, putting the pieces together. 

“Henry’s family saved my wife. When Henry was born, they forced my hand and made me promise he would one day be King and have a higher royal title than what he was born with. I paid them for years but the money isn’t enough. They want his title, they want the estates, everything, they want it all to cover their debts. I can’t give them what they want if Anastasia doesn’t marry him.” 

“So, they orchestrated all of this?” I ask, needing to understand things. 

The King nods his head, “A life for a life. They saved my wife and I haven’t kept up to my end of the deal so they want my life in return. The Ace’s have to be behind what happened, they are a big influence with who was on the boat, turned them against me.”

“All of this for a fucking crown?” I mutter. 

“Harry!” Matthew scolds. 

“It’s fine,” The King sighs, “Things were fine until that family started their ‘life for a life’, I didn’t want to include Anna in any of this but they forced it. It was either try and force their relationship or they…” The king trails off. 

“Or they what?” I quickly ask. I don’t think I want to know the rest of the sentence. I can read between the lines, but I need to hear things first hand. 

“They threatened to kill her.” 

I shake my head, not wanting to hear anything further, I have had enough for one day, “I’m ready to go to the hotel, it is fucking cold,” I mutter, forcing myself to my feet. 

“Mate, we need to get you to a hospital.” 

“I’m not going to a hospital, I want to go to the hotel. We need to get the fuck out of this place. It is safest for all of us to be back home.” 

“Let me take care of that, Harry, we need to—” Matthew begins but I cut him off. 

“I’m not going to a hospital here. If they catch any of us at the hospital, it is game over, that will be the first place the look expecting the King to have been shot.” 

♔♔♔ ♔♔♔ 

Matthew and I stand in the elevator, watching the golden numbers increase slowly. 

“Matthew, I want Anna on a plane back home.” 

“Harry—“ 

“Matthew,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear anything about the fact that it isn’t my decision since it is a royal duty, “We may not be married just yet but for the sake of this conversation, I want my wife on a plane back home, now.” 

“I’ll have the jet ready for her as soon as we wake her, we’re all getting out of here. The palace will be in lockdown, we will take them in through the tunnels before deciding where to keep them. I don’t think Buckingham is the safest.” 

I nod my head as the elevator doors open and we step out, discussing a few things as we walk down the hallway. 

I stand in front of Oliver and he looks me up and down, “Please don’t kill me.” 

I glare at him, unsure of why I’d kill him if he got Anna here safely, “She tripped, but she’s fine, barely even a scratch.” 

“It’s your lucky night, even if I wanted to kill you right now, I probably couldn’t,” I half chuckle, “Good job, Eaglet.” 

“Thank you. She has been asking for you every thirty-minutes… are you two a couple?” 

“No, I just do my job very well.” I dismiss his question about the relationship. I can’t tell him about the relationship. I don’t tell anyone about us, mainly because Anna doesn’t want everything to be exposed and right now, I don’t need everything to be exposed. With what’s happening with Henry and the intent of them murdering the king or Anna, I don’t think it would be a good idea for our relationship to be outted. I can only imagine the turmoil it’ll cause. Fuck. 

Matthew and I both step into Anastasia’s room. The light is on and she’s wrapped up in a blanket on the bed with the television on low. “Harry!” She’s quick to her feet. 

Matthew lets go of me and I open my arm for her, welcoming her with a partial hug. I kiss the top of her head, “Hey, darling.” 

Anastasia steps away from my half-hug, instantly looking me up and down, “You’re wet, and look like hell. What happened? Are you okay? Matthew, what happened?” 

“Princess, pack your things,” Matthew instructs and Anna looks towards me. 

“Sweetheart, just listen. Do you need help packing?” I offer, not wanting to have to explain everything to her right now. 

If I’m being quite honest, all I want to do right now is to lay down. 

“No, you’re not lifting a finger. You’re off duty until further notice.” 

“Helping my fiancée isn’t a duty,” I respond, nudging Matthew away from me as he attempts to help me to sit on the bed. 

I rest on the edge of the bed, disregarding my wet clothes for a moment. Matthew and Anna go withdrawn as I lay down, my eyes following them around the room while they gather all of Anastasia’s things. 

“Harry, do you need anything?” Anastasia softly challenges, looking over at me. 

“Morphine.” 

“Why are you not at A&E?” 

She’s not going to give up, she means well, I know, but I am the one that needs to worry, not her. “Anna, I’m fine. I’ll survive until we get home.” 

“That’s not for a few hours.” 

“My priority is getting you out of here.” 

I can’t say that I don’t care about the pain or myself, I do, the pain is excruciating, but either way, her safety is my priority. None of us are safe at the moment if we stay here, getting her and her family back home is the safest and most logical plan. 

“Harry, you need to be checked. Did you break something? Did you dislocate something? If we don’t pop it back in, you could need surgery and—“ 

“Anna,” I softly cut her off, “I am fine.” 

“You just asked for morphine.” 

“You’d want morphine too if you felt this pain. I’m alive, I’m not dying, I can wait for a better moment to go to a hospital where we won’t be watched. Jus’ pack your things, or do you need my help?” I question, slowly sitting up to face Anna. 

Anastasia shakes her head, “No, just lay there.” Anastasia instructs, beginning to help Matthew pack her items, leaving me to lay on the bed, resting my eyes in an attempt to relieve the pain. 

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Slytherin Vs. Ravenclaw” || YEAR 3 – Ch.24 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

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Day posted: 9/29/2020

Word count: 3,463

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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Heather was pacing the common room, sweat dripping down her forehead. Her eyes kept darting back to her dark arts book, and at the essay flattened on top of it.

“Werewolf,” she kept muttering. “No.” She shook her head but her eyes darted back. Could Professor Lupin be a werewolf? Surely he wouldn’t have been allowed to… be around them if he was? “That’s silly,” she responded to herself. He wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t going to just bite down on the first student he saw. He hadn’t all year.

But the text rattled around her head very clearly. ‘They’re instincts took over easily…’, ‘Humanity slips from their minds…’, ‘Aggressive creatures…’, the text made it seem like Professor Lupin could just lose himself at any moment, especially near a full moon and most certainly on the nights of.

Her eyes widened and she ran into her room and opened up the moon chart they’d been given. To keep Harry safe, she’d need to memorize the moon’s cycles for the rest of the year… and the next one… and the next one. She sighed, hating having to add what seemed like a chore to her list of priorities. She hoped there wasn’t limited amount of space a brain could hold; she didn’t want to be wasting that space with what days the moon would be full. “There’s probably a potion for more headspace,” she grumbled, trying to convince herself to take on the task.

She folded up the moon chart and stuffed it in her skirt, walking back to the common room. Do the teachers know? Professor Snape seemed to know, or why else would he have acted so weird about her keeping her essay? He must have wanted her to figure it out, as a warning.

Was that why he assigned the essay to the whole class? As a warning for everyone? She picked up her essay and marched out of the common room and knocked on his office. It was very early in the morning, she remembered, and pulled her hand back.

She’d woken up in a cold sweat with the realization, so drenched she took an immediate shower and went through the chapter, going over symptoms and thinking back to Professor Lupin’s condition that seemed to get better and then worse every month so far. And he drank a potion for it… That had been a big indicator… The text had mentioned wolfsbane potion, a very difficult potion to make, but one Professor Snape was skilled enough to brew.

The door opened suddenly and Heather jumped back, surprised Professor Snape had been awake to hear her knocks. He was looking like he hadn’t heard her though, looking just as surprised to see her at his door as she was to see him awake. He was already dressed and everything. Did he wake this early every day?

“Potter.”

His cold voice forced her out of her head.

He looked down at her essay, gripped tightly in her hand and stepped back, opening the door further, as if inviting her in.

“Professor – ”

“Inside.”

She ducked under his arm and took a seat in a chair, placing the essay in her lap and pulled on her sweater, wiping her sweat from her palms. She waited for him to take a seat in his chair before starting, trying not to stumble over her words. “I-is… I mean… might there be a chance… Are w…err” She couldn’t bring herself to just say it. What if she was over-reacting? It’d be very embarrassing, and she could imagine him laugh at her or mentioning it during classes.

“What is your question, Miss Potter.” Professor Snape looked at her intensely for some reason, his eyebrows furrowed together, his whole posture looked completely attentive to her and oddly eager. His hands gripped each other with a force that made his knuckles unusually paler.

She swallowed. “Is Professor Lupin a werewolf?” It came out as a breath but loud enough for him to hear, and yet he didn’t respond. Only looked at her, his tongue running over his teeth under his closed lips as if in contemplation. She realized he might not be allowed to confirm such a thing if Professor Dumbledore was aware of Professor Lupin’s condition already and made it a rule. But then… Was it a big deal if he was a werewolf? If Professor Dumbledore already knew? Was Harry safe to have private lessons with him then?

“Is this a safety concern?” Professor Snape spoke suddenly, as if gasping at a sudden chance.

Heather thought for a moment. She didn’t want to imply she thought she was unsafe – or that anyone was unsafe – around him. “N-no…”

Professor Snape knit his brows together again and sighed. Then raised an eyebrow and sat back, finally relaxed. “Potter, who else have you told of your little theory?”

“No one!” she said instantly. He looked agitated, as if she’d just foiled another plan of his. She could tell he was trying to work different angles. She wanted to smile then, never having imagined him such a good actor before, obviously trying to work some way around a rule. Did he want her to say she had? So he could yell at her about it, accidently letting it slip to her that it was true? If anything his actions now already confirmed it for her.

He chewed on his bottom lip, staring at his quill when she burst out laughing, drawing his attention to her.

She shook her head, trying to cover her fit of giggles. “I’m sorry, Professor.” She stood up and walked towards the cauldron sitting on his back table by the fire. She calmed herself and poked her head in, breathing deeply. It smelled awful, indicating it’d taste awful too, like Wolfsbane is said to. She looked around at the ingredients and pointed at the leaves and stems piled together.

“Are these poisonous?” She looked back at him and he nodded. “Are the petals that pertain to these stems purple?” Again he nodded. She turned back and couldn’t find any more ingredients lying about. She turned and walked back to her seat. “Then that’s aconite – or wolfsbane – and in that cauldron you made Wolfsbane potion.” She decided she’d form everything as a statement, forcing him to either correct her or silently confirm she is correct.

“Well done, Potter.” There wasn’t any sarcasm in his voice. “You’ve correctly identified the potion I made.”

There was a weird elation felt in her stomach at his praise. “And you make that for Professor Lupin every month. Because he’s a werewolf.”

Professor Snape doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t correct her. “You’ve told no one else?” He seemed doubtful and a little surprised.

Heather shook her head and stood, grabbing her essay. She should leave before he was forced to tell her not to tell anyone else. “Thank you, Professor.” She headed out the door and closed it shut, smiling. She’d gotten her answer. Her smile dropped. Professor Lupin was indeed a werewolf.

Professor Snape’s office door opened again and she ran back to her common room, folding up her essay and put all her books away. She paced the common room, debating. She decided she wasn’t worried, since Professor Snape already knew about it and so must the rest of the staff, meaning Professor Lupin must be of no threat to any student. But should she still tell anyone? What if it caused unnecessary panic? Should she tell at least tell Harry?

There was a knock on the door and she went to open it. Hermione was standing there wiping tears from her eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

Hermione sniffed. “They’re not talking to us.”

She raised a brow. “‘Us’?”

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. “Well we both did tell McGonagall together.”

Heather accompanied Hermione down to the library, though she was mad at her too. There was a reason she didn’t want to be there when Harry got his broom taken. She didn’t want to be in a fight with him. She wanted to not talk to Hermione either, for dragging her into it, but she was her best friend and she couldn’t leave her all alone.

The fight continued for the rest of the break. Hermione and her went to the library every day and during every meal, Ron and Harry refused to even look at them. She understood their anger and wanted to tell them it was all Hermione’s idea, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t go along with it. She should have said no to her. At least then it wouldn’t be just Draco with a firebolt that she’d told him to buy.

Luckily she was spared the guilt, because Draco came back with a Nimbus two-thousand-and-one thinking he was going to beat Harry’s Nimbus two-thousand.

“Potter!” Draco yelled at her from across the common room.

She poked her head out from behind her book and watched him stride over to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

She scoffed and set her book aside, not bothering to stand. “I told you the very hour he opened it.”

Marcus was making his way to them as well, either curious about what Draco was screaming about or ready to split up his team members, should need arise.

He avoided the fact she didn’t know Harry’d be getting a broom and continued yelling at her. “My Father had already got me this broom,” – he waved his nimbus around – “and so when I asked him for a firebolt he refused!”

It was good to know even Mr. Malfoy knew just how far he’d go to spoil Draco and how far he wouldn’t.

Marcus frowned. “A firebolt? Who has a firebolt?”

Heather stood. “Ha – ”

“Harry Potter of course!” Draco threw down his nimbus and let go of his trunk, letting it thunk loudly.

Marcus glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell him sooner?”

“Because it was sent anonymously and we didn’t know what it was until he opened it! I owled Draco as soon as I could – which Harry doesn’t know I did – and besides! He got it taken away… And I’m not sure when he’ll get it back or if he will at all.” She crossed her arms and glared back at Marcus.

Marcus shifted his gaze to the numbus two-thousand-and-one on the ground. “Don’t throw your broom. Right now that’s the fastest broom in the school – if Potter doesn’t get his broom back. We’ll just have to hope he never does… We play Ravenclaw in a week. Practices are twice daily now. Get in you uniforms, we practice now.”

Marcus stormed away, leaving Draco and Heather looking after him in disbelief. Practice twice daily? First practice is now? They headed their separate ways and met back up, uniforms on, ready to head down to the Quidditch field.

On their walk down with the team, she spotted Harry and Ron walking towards the stairs and waved at them. Having not talked to them for a week and she hoped the start of term meant they’d set the fight aside, but they ignored her waving hand and headed up. She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms.

“Looks like someone’s getting the cold shoulder,” Draco chuckled. “Who cares. Maybe now you’ll be spending time with your own people.”

Heather raised her brow. “My own people?”

“Us. Potter. Your house, or do you not consider Slytherins to be – ”

“Of course I do.” She didn’t really consider different houses to be different people, but she knew that wasn’t the correct answer. “I just thought you meant halfbloods or something.”

He nodded. “Well those too, I guess. But only from our house.”

Practice was hard that day. Although she’d kept up her exercise routine up, trying her very hardest to grow what little muscle she had, it hadn’t been enough and her whole body was sore, needing to be re-accustomed to the Quidditch drills she normally did.

By the end of the week she was just as sore as the first day, but Marcus had given them the day off the day before the Ravenclaw match and now, morning of, she was feeling a bit better. She sat next to Draco and her team, holding her shoulder and moving her arm around trying to crack it. It was breakfast and the Gryffindors were all sitting quietly in their tables, probably secretly wishing the Slytherins would lose this match. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were all very clearly rooting against Slytherins – despite Slytherins rooting for Hufflepuffs when they played Gryffindor.

She nodded at everything Marcus said over breakfast but found her gaze kept wandering to the Gryffindor table, where Harry and Ron were sitting facing her but avoiding looking in her direction, keeping their heads down low. Hermione was on the other side, alone but at least she smiled and held up thumbs of encouragement for her.

“Let’s head out.” Marcus led them outside.

It was a clear day, cold, but not raining or dark with storm clouds. In the locker room Marcus went over the plays against Ravenclaw and told them they’d win as long as they stuck to the plan.

“They’re tricky, those Ravenclaws. They’ll have numerous counter attacks ready, but we’ll be relentless and unyielding. Win at any cost, and don’t get us disqualified.” He watched everyone nod. “Malfoy. Catch that Snitch.”

Draco smirked, “I will. I’ve been practicing with an actual Snidget at home.”

Heather refrained from informing him Snitches are faster than those little golden birds and nodded at him instead. They headed out on the low cut grass and heard the stadium roar at the Ravenclaws who came out at the same time. Both teams glared at each other as they mounted their brooms and touched off the ground.

Madam Hooch walked down with the chest of balls and took out the Quaffle, flying up to their level, ready to throw it up at her whistle. The second the ball left her hand, all six Chasers charged forward, arms extended.

Heather ducked under a Ravenclaw’s arm and managed to gain distance towards the hoop, hoping Marcus or Graham had grabbed hold of it. They had.

“MONTAGUE’S IN POSSESSION!”

Graham threw it forward while Marcus cut off the Ravenclaws, making them pull back on their broom handles to avoid collision.

Heather’s cheeks flushed as she caught it, heart pounding to be the first with the chance to score for her team. She pushed it under her arm and flew forward as fast as she could manage, knowing Graham and the Ravenclaws were close behind. This wasn’t a decided play they had practiced or memorized, but she knew Marcus was too far behind to throw to, and Graham was likely at the Ravenclaw Chasers’ levels and too risky to throw to. It was all on her.

A Bludger came her way and she flipped on her broom, swinging back around just narrowly missing it, keeping on her path. She narrowed her eyes against the wind and analyzed the Ravenclaw Keeper, seeing him ready to dart to any direction she indicated. Last time they played she was able to fake the direction she threw it, and guessed it wouldn’t work a second time.

The cold wind blew her ponytail back and as she lifted her arm to throw the Quaffle, she turned her head to the hoop her broom wasn’t aimed towards but threw true, tricking the Keeper for a split second long enough for the Quaffle to bounce off his fingertips as he dove forward, letting the Quaffle through the hoop with pathetic force.

“POTTER’S MADE THE FIRST POINTS OF THE MATCH FOR SLYTHERIN!”

Ravenclaws evened it out within the next minute, matching their score. The game went on for an hour, and every time Slytherin scored, so did Ravenclaw. Their plays were clean and precise, well-rehearsed and thought through. Graham, Marcus, and her, however, didn’t let their Chasers get away with anything tricky. If Ravenclaw scored, it was due to speed and luck on their part that Graham and Marcus didn’t bump them off course.

The sun had almost reached its peak in the sky when Marcus turned to Draco, who was currently chasing the Snitch. Both teams had two-hundred points and beyond exhausted, realizing it was all up to the Seekers if the game was ever going to end.

Heather flew under Marcus and below two Ravenclaw Chasers. Marcus dropped the Quaffle and followed his motion up, pretending the ball was still in his hand and he was throwing it to Graham. Heather caught it and leaned forward, picking up speed. She pulled up as Marcus stopped in his tracks, trying to trip up the Chasers again, hoping to collide with them, but they split off like a river and came back together, chasing her down. She got close to the middle hoop, knowing she’d smack right into the Keeper and threw the Quaffle up to Graham who had kept following from above. The third Chaser came up from the side, fist extended ready to punch the Quaffle out of Graham’s hands and into the other two Chasers’, but Graham dropped it before he could, allowing Heather to catch it once more.

The crowd was growing louder, and she knew Draco must be close to capturing the Snitch. She was second from smacking into the Keeper, knowing he wasn’t moving because he was hoping she’d do just that. It was a penalty to go through the same hoops as the Quaffle and double penalty to take the opposing team’s keeper with you. She turned her broom and readied her body to smack into him shoulder first, and pushed the Quaffle with the inside of her elbow, bumping it into the right-most hoop as she crashed into the Keeper, falling through the middle one. The only distance between her and the Quaffle, had been the metal of the two hoops touching, and as she crashed into the Keeper, her broom’s handle struck the metal and bucked her off.

“POTTER SCORES AND – MALFOY’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERINS WIN BY ONE-HUNDRED-SIXTY POINTS!”

She fell onto the sand with a rough splash, sending some into the air and in her open mouth as she gasped for breath. She sat up, coughing. Hermione was there in an instant, helping her up.

“I can’t believe – You could have gotten hurt – And hurt the Keeper as well! Not to mention gotten a penalty!” Hermione pulled Heather up, shaking her head. She backed away as Marcus touched down beside her.

He was smiling and slapped Heather’s back hard. “So you have some Slytherin in you after all. Good job. We’ll work on your tackling for when we play Gryffindors… If we do,” he looked at Hermione and growled at her, laughing at her jump, and walked towards Draco who was waving the Snitch around in the air.

“Will you really be tackling people now?” Hermione had a disapproving stare, but softened when she noticed Heather’s eyes.

Heather was looking at the exiting crowd, Harry and Ron among them. “I’ve just fallen fifteen feet and made a crater in the sand with my body on impact… and they don’t even care to see if I’m alright.”

Hermione crossed her arms and stared across the field at them as they exited. They only looked back at them once. Hermione walked with her to the broom shed and together walked into Hogwarts and split off for a late lunch.

Heather sat next to her team, who all still had their uniforms on, and smiled as Slytherins congratulated her, impressed with her final move. For once she felt like the center of attention that had nothing to do with being Harry’s sister, and she loved it. Pansy sat next to and helped wipe sand from her sweaty forehead with a napkin. Heather tried very hard not to laugh at her.

She looked up to the High Table by accident and spotted Professor Lupin holding a goblet up, silently toasting her victory. There weren’t many teachers at the table – there were always less during breakfast and lunch than during dinner – and so it was easy to also spot Professor Snape on the far side, looking to Professor Lupin and to her, narrowing his eyes.

She turned back and just barely missed Harry’s eyes; he had turned down to his food quickly. She felt angry inside. It wasn’t fair that Harry was mad at her. He should be grateful she even cared to look out for him with his mysterious and possibly deadly broom. She decided she wouldn’t tell him about Professor Lupin being a werewolf and got up to go shower. He could figure it out for himself.

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