#but life happened and Firebrand left me so here we are

[im-no-jedi]

was gonna post the next chapter of my Infested fic today too (cause uhhhh I keep forgetting about it 😅) but nah, there’s been too much official stuff today, I ain’t gonna clog the tags with that nonsense lolololol

[wisteria-lodge]

(un)exploded lion primary + burnt snake secondary

Hi! Wisteria. I just discovered sorting hat chats a not long ago. The test put me as Lion primary but none of the secondary seems fit. Could you, by any chance, help me? I would love to confirm if I'm a lion primary or not and my secondary if able.

I'm currently 23 if that helps. Been out and about in the real world not too long. 

My understanding of the primary is motivations and drive. I'm driven by vision of what I want in life. There is something I want to see no matter what. Before, I used to be very enthusiastic about it and hopeful it'll come to pass. As I'm working in real world however I was hit very hard with the reality and my limitations. I still want to see my vision a reality. But I'm no longer confident I can make it happen.

Well, I'm definitely seeing that Lion primary. And it looks like we've got us a Burned secondary.

Before, I'm very judgmental, confident and dynamic. I moved with total confidence in myself and where I'm going. I was very confident in my own conscience and was willing to risk my hide for it. I fought with people on daily basis on political, societal and moral issues. I was so assertive, in fact, that I unintentionally suffocated my friends. I pushed them and molded them to be what I deemed appropriate. I tone-policed them. I brought them along in some humanitarian projects I founded believing their abilities better spent bettering people's lives.

For a time, they went along with me. Until it all came apart... They resented me all along. And they hate me even now.

Oooh. Looks like we've got an Exploded Lion primary in the process of healing. Because yeah. Check for seeing/treating people as tools, check for 'the ends always justify the means,' we've even got words like "judgmental" "molded" "deemed appropriate," that speak to the Exploded Lion "enemy or ally" world view. I'm sorry it all fell apart as dramatically as it did. But you're only 23. You've got plenty of time to rebuild stronger.

I never regretted what I have done. The only regret I have is that I didn't communicate and ask them. I shouldn't have pushed and manipulated them. But did I regret the things I accomplished with them? No. Everything, I did, every impact I left behind was a product of my beliefs (human rights, that every ethnic group should be equals, how we can coexist with nature and how we can progress without abandoning the ways of life but improve it).

Hmm. Casual dropping of the word "manipulate" is making me think maaaaybe Snake secondary. Although Snakes almost never actually use the word "manipulating" when describing themselves. Although sometimes when they're burnt they do...

Here's the thing. We need firebrands like you. But what I don't want is for you to burn yourself out and/or burn every bridge you've got. You're not going to get much done that way.

I believe it is my duty, as someone who can do it, to speak for people and things that cannot speak for themselves. Even though it's not my job and won’t affect me in anyway.

Take a second, now. You've just told me that you tried to speak for your friends, and they resented you for it and that made everything fall apart. Take your own advice and ask. Setting yourself up to be the sole, lone savior is just setting yourself up for a fall.

I want to make sure that we can coexist with nature in harmony. As much as a lone human can do anyway. Even if I have to be alone or be remembered as a monster in doing so. It might not be correct in universal sense, but I will not budge on it. I felt hurt that my judgment so wrongfully made my friends miserable and traumatized. But I’ll keep going no matter what I have to sacrifice. I’m willing to devote my entire life to make sure people and nature can coexist in this transitional era. We are in the transitional era. We are about to move toward a new age.

... a brighter age. A BETTER age. An AGE... OF MUTANTS!!!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I only mean to tease a little. Only I read this entire paragraph in the voice of Ian McKellen's Magneto.

(to the degree that I'm considering Double Lion for you. It is the Revolutionary sorting, after all.)

The thing is, I now see the limitations of myself. I was too impulsive. I managed to maneuver myself into a dead-end. Well, not a dead end per se. I can still claw my way out and get back on track. But it will take 10 if not 100 times of efforts.

This is all very brute-force Lion secondary language.

I don’t have a good degree. No work experience. No connections. And definitely no money to my name. I have nothing. I am on the verge of giving up entirely.

... you know, objectively? Almost no one has those things when they are 23. You're not even old enough to rent a car yet (in the US, where I am.) You're going to be okay.

I know that my dream is meant to be, but I’m not sure I will ever be good enough to hold it in my hands in my lifetime. I question everything my dream stands for.

Accomplishing this dream is not up to you, personally. And just because it's not something that you personally accomplish in your lifetime does not mean your effort was wasted. I'm not much of a "Great Man Theory" person. The way I see it, change is made by groups of people. (It's the Badger secondary.)

I don’t dare to judge anyone anymore. I’m just a failure, someone who got kicked out of the job. I’m not good enough.

In terms of the system, all this is burnt secondary talk. 'My primary thinks that xyz is correct, but my secondary cannot accomplish it.' Your primary recently took a pretty massive hit, and it does take a second for Lion primaries to change directions.

I was too vindictive and deliberately sabotaged my job to get back at my team. But I also knew that I was not smart and practical. I’m too slow and dumb. I lost all my shine and confidence in myself.

Okay, well. You did a dumb thing because you were angry, and have since regretted it. But the rest.... just sounds like you're in the Dunning-Kruger trough. You thought you were hot shit, because you didn't have the experience to know better. You've since leaned it's more complicated than you thought, and are in the process of taking steps to do what you do better.

I want to be less ruthless and kinder. Thing is, I never manage to.

As far as I'm concerned, wanting to be less ruthless and kinder is half the battle. Especially since you've been pretty self-aware when it comes to pointing out those tendencies so far, and pretty realistic about the ways they sabotage you.

Compare to my friends or family, I am a lot more ruthless, vengeful and sadistic even.

It's a Lion primary thing to think that how you feel now is you, is identity, and will always be you. But Lions who want to change can change the same as anyone else, even if it sometimes takes them longer to do it.

I can tolerate abuse for a very long time

... why?

but if I have even a smallest chance. I’ll make sure they’ll regret even living. I talked jokingly with my sister, if I hate someone. I won’t kill them. Say, if they have an accident. I will make sure they survive but I’ll make them live in as much pain as possible. I will rip them of their future and hope. If they want to build their own business, I will make sure they can’t even dream of it.

... okay, right. You know, I have seen these... fun vengeance fantasies with other Exploded primaries. I think it's a pattern. Although, to be fair, I don't get that many Exploded primaries writing into me. If you're writing in, it's because you've got some degree of self-reflection and doubt, which you probably don't have much of if you're Exploded.

Same goes for people who stand in my way. If you are willing, I’m open for a negotiation. But if you get in my way, I will make sure to cripple them to the point they can’t stand anymore. I will destroy their hope, dreams, friendship, network. I won’t crush their business but their souls. I’ll make sure they are nothing but a soulless husk that can’t ever stand in my way, or my people’s ways.

.... and the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants will rise stronger than ever before, etc etc. Don't worry Magneto, I've got that part. :)

I believe I understand now why my family and friends call me a monster. I’m trying to use it for good though. Although I still have a very long and arduous way to go before I can make something worthwhile for everyone. I do want love and acceptance, but maybe that’s beyond me.

I really don't think you're a monster. I think you're young, I think you're passionate, I think you've got a simplistic worldview (that you're working on) and that you've got some power fantasies you like to turn over in your mind at a point in your life where you feel very powerless.

Potential theory though. You do use dehumanizing language like "monster" for yourself, and the other vengeance-fantasy asks came from Exploded Badgers. And you DO talk a lot about your community, and things like tone-policing definitely are a kind of etiquette. It's possible that you're an Exploded Authoritarian Badger who lost their community, and coped by 1) kicking themselves out of their definition of "person" 2) clinging really hard to a Lion worldview. That is totally possible.

(But 'partially exploded Lion' is also still possible, and simpler, and I always go for the simplest possible explanation with these things.)

I don’t know what my secondary is. I don’t like surprises. I hate sudden change in plans. One thing I know though, I love learning new knowledge but only on what I am interested in. I do not feel like I’m attached to knowledge or resources. After all, everything is fleeting. I operate best when I’m left to my own device with clear objectives though.

Hmm. Maybe a little prep-work secondary flavored, but this is just people stuff. Even the most fluid Snake secondary doesn't like it when there's a last minute change in plans, or a really unclear objective.

I will find a way to get it done on my own, using what I have at hands. Lying is like a second nature to me though. I know when to lie to get what I want. I lie all the time, but to me, it’s just ‘coloring the story’. I don’t feel the need to stay true to myself all the time. I adapt to people easily and take on their language and mannerism fast. If anything, sticking to the truth about myself and how I feel takes conscious efforts.

And you didn't connect with the description of Snake? Because this is a description of Snake.

I’m not a very fast learner. But I can ‘appear’ as competent and knowledgeable very easily. In work environment, for example, I adopt the language, mannerism and jargons of more knowledgeable seniors. I manage to charm many clients this way. I don’t know that well what I’m doing, but enough to convince people and build up their confidence. I know it in my gut I’m still not good enough or competent enough. Way worse than my colleagues. Yet I manage to convince all the higher-ups that I’m the front runner among all new recruits. I’m still naïve, unorganized and not knowledgeable enough. But somehow I hid all those things and appeared to have ‘potentials’. So much so the head of my department picked me as his personal assistant to personally train me (a very good prospect of advancement). Until it all unraveled.

Yeah, you're a Snake. (With a little bit of imposter syndrome, which is Really Normal when you've started at a new job.)

When I have to talk with people, in interviews or meetings. I will not try to appear all shiny and glamorous. People usually expect that because it's natural for us to put best foot forward. I'll double down on it and bare myself open (to garner sense of accessibility, lower their guard and hold their attention). For example, I will not glorify my accomplishments but I'll list out my failures. Then I'll top it with 'but I believe that is my strength. I know what it's like to fail. I might not be the best or have the most glamorous resume but what I have is determination and will to succeed. I would really love it, if I could grow and be of use to you and your company' Or something along that line. But that depends on people and situations. I'd say, I just respond to what people expect and try to appeal to them in a way they appreciate.

^ Snake. And that's a pretty good speech. I think that would probably work on me. I know that personally I can be a little suspicious of people who are too shiny, and too charming. :D

How I did it is a mystery to me though. I have absolutely no idea what I have done to appear that way. Or what I did to convince them of that perception.

I mean, you just laid out your strategy. You adopt the language of the person you're talking to, while also stressing your passion for the job, and your own shortcomings - using that both as a way to make yourself seem more trustworthy, and a tactic so they can't use that info against you. A very cohesive, laid-out strategy. Snake.

(Same goes for my old friends, I didn’t know what I did it keep them on the leash but I did it). But I don't relate to Snake sec because I'm not that slick or playful. If anything, I'm intense and blunt.

Yeah, because you've got an intense and blunt primary that you live in kind of a lot. I don't think it would be at all a bad thing for you to live in your Snake secondary a little more, for a change.

I really apologize if this is too long, or if you feel sickened or repulsive. I figure I need to layout myself without coloring it. If you could help me figure it out, that would be great!

Don't worry about me. I'm good. And I really do appreciate the self-knowledge, and the honesty, and the vulnerability. (Just no coming at me with random hate mail, okay. So far, Exploded Lions have been the only ones to do that.) You're on the right track. Just keep moving forward.

Thank you in advance and hope you have a good week ahead!

:)

[ainyan]

“I’m sorry, Szah’li.” He paused as they walked along the dusty road leading away from Specula Imperatoris, blinking at the sere landscape ahead of them as he tried to process her words. “I shouldn’t have - I lost my head a little, back there.”

Turning, he eyed Alisaie warily, as if expecting some kind of trick to come from this unexpected show of contrition. “It’s fine,” he replied with characteristic shortness. Seeing the glint in her dark eyes, he shrugged and added, “You pulled it together. You helped those in need first. Everyone was a little overwhelmed by what happened, but you didn’t let it get to you.”

Alisaie made a sound of exasperation. “I know, but I never should have allowed myself to become distracted in the first place. It’s just - it’s Alphinaud,” she finished lamely. “He’s my brother. He’s more than my brother. We’re - we…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words to describe her feelings.

Szah’li let her flounder for a moment, then sighed, closing his eyes. “Alisaie, I understand.”

She shook her head, her attention more on her thoughts than on him. “No. I mean, I know you had siblings - or I guess you did,” she added, frowning to realize she knew almost nothing about him. “But-”

“I had a twin sister, Alisaie,” he interrupted her flatly.

His words fell into silence as she stared at him. He could see the moment she processed his exact phrasing; her eyes grew wide and her face softened. “I… Szah’li.”

He wished he’d kept his mouth shut, but the miqo’te was truly out of the bag, and there was no point in letting the questions linger between them. “Her name was Sajena,” he said quietly. “She was older than me by about a quarter of an hour, and bossy with it. You know,” he added, seeing Alisaie’s mouth twitch. “Irritating and demanding and always fucking right.” It hit him as it always did, with a sudden gut-punch that left him breathless. “Gods, but I miss her.”

Alisaie was silent, and after a moment, Szah’li turned and began walking again. He heard the crunch of boots on gravel behind him and assumed the red mage was following him. Moments later, she darted up beside him, falling into step. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He should have known she’d not let it go. “How could you?” he asked. “I don’t speak of it. To anyone,” he added, hoping she would get the hint.

What was he thinking? “I know. Alphinaud says it’s like pulling teeth learning anything about you.”

Bloody Scions, always so damn curious. Szah’li stopped again, and Alisaie stumbled to a halt beside him, turning to look at his impassive face. “She died,” he said softly, voice emotionless, “when the rest of my family died. They’re all gone, Alisaie. Not just Sajena. So believe me when I tell you I understand what was going through your mind when we saw the tower collapse. The same thing,” he added, reaching out to touch her forehead with one gentle forefinger, “that goes on up here every time you two are separated. Because you’re just like Sajena. A firebrand who loves the hell out of her brother. ‘Jena would have done anything for me, and you’d do anything for Alphinaud. And just as we’d,” he murmured, “do anything for you.”

When she remained silent, staring at him, he lowered his hand, holding her dark blue eyes for a moment longer. Finally, he shrugged. “So no more apologies because you worry about him. I get it. But,” he added when he heard her draw in a breath, “I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Things are a little too…” He trailed off, thinking of Conrad’s lifeless body, of the twisted remains of the tower and of those caught beneath the wreckage. “Raw.”

“Fine. That’s… you’re right,” Alisaie replied, only a little grudgingly. Relieved, he began walking again, the elezen at his side. “Maybe, when things calm down…”

He wanted to tell her no. He’d only told his story willingly to two others. Another had seen it through his eyes, through his Echo, but they’d never spoken of it before she’d passed on from his life. What had happened that fateful night not quite two years ago had happened to a different person, a different man. And yet, when he opened his mouth to tell her this, the words that spilled out came of their own volition. “Yeah. Sure. When things calm down, we can talk about it.”

He didn’t need to see her face to know she was staring at him. “Uhm. Good,” she said hesitantly. “Good. Okay then. Later.”

There was no need to reply, and they walked on towards Ala Ghiri in silence, each caught up in their own thoughts, their own memories, and their own regrets.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 7

I can only describe this as tooth-rotting fluff. Our whumpee deserves it!

Thank you so much to everyone for going through this story with me. I’ve had so much fun.

@worstcasescenariolullaby

CW//Hospital setting, medical talk, talk of broken bones, talk of surgery, altered states of mind, mentions of death, mentions of building collapses, conspiracy

“Are you sure about this?” Sidekick’s face twisted in a mask of concern.

“I’m sure.” Villain nodded.

“The Heroes...”

“The city won’t let this happen again. Come visit me in hospital sometime, okay? I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

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The felt piece on the bottom of the chess pawn had long since worn away, leaving a dull screeching noise in its wake as Villain moved the piece forward on the board. In expectation, they raised their head to their opponent, before gazing back down at the board. Examining the playing field. Furrowing their brows.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Their opponent, Old Friend, spoke, their tongue filled with equal parts laughter and playful teasing. “And... there goes your rook.”

“What!” Villain’s gaze darted about the board, before grumbling and removing their fallen piece, adding it to a quickly growing pile. “You’re cheating.”

“How does one cheat at chess?”

“By being better than me. There, okay, there goes your pawn.”

“And there goes your knight.”

“Asshole. Come on, you have to have a secret. You gotta tell me.”

Old Friend smiled.

“You’re so intent on taking my pieces that you don’t worry about your own. Also, I was in the chess club back in school, so...”

“Nerd.” Villain stuck out their tongue.

“Alright, candle boy.”

“Hey! I told you-”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just really funny.”

“I could disintegrate a candle-”

“I know, I know. It’s your move, dude.”

“Fine. Is turning the board to ash a valid chess move?”

“There’s enough fire damage on the pieces as it is. Candle boy.”

“At least come up with something better than that. Like... Like blowtorch. That sounds cool.”

“Blowtorch? What are you, like, seven?”

“Eh, there’s worse villain names out there.”

“You don’t have one yet, do you?”

“Nah. I’m not that breed of cocky. They just call me the arsonist, I think.”

“That’s pretty underwhelming.”

“Meh.”

Again, Villain studied the board a moment. They sent a rook forwards, knocking over a knight on the other side.

“Your move.”

Old Friend nodded, and, for a few moments, they sat like that. Accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the city and the scraping of pieces on the board.

“Did Violet ever have a name?”

It took Villain a few moments to register the question. They moved a piece before looking up.

“What, like a villain name?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think so. You could ask her.”

“Aw, man, you haven’t heard?”

Villain frowned, lips pursing together to form a thin line.

“She’s gone?”

“Bridge collapse. I was always warning her, taking roots out of the ground like that is gonna make something fall eventually. Just so happened to be right on top of her. It’s a shame, really. Gonna have to find somewhere else to get our lettuce, now.”

“Not funny.”

“I know. And... check.”

“What?”

“Checkmate.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

Villain shoved the board away from themself, sitting back and stretching their arms above their head. Old Friend swiped the remaining pieces from the board, beginning to once again set the stage for their next game.

“This time, think about the risk you might be putting your pieces in. It’s not worth it, losing a knight to take out a pawn, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“What’s got you acting so sad all of a sudden?” Old Friend looked up. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m gonna get a candle.”

“Okay. You good?”

“I just... I just need a candle.”

Villain stood, stiff legs aching with pins and needles as they moved across the small, damp-walled apartment. The kitchen, or what was little more than a countertop with a fridge and microwave, was barren, snack bowls long since left with nothing but crumbs.

They drew open the door of one of the wall-mounted cabinets, unveiling a series of shelves, stacked with white pillars of wax. Most lumpy and misshapen, the rest bent and folded in on themselves. Villain selected one, moving back to where Old Friend had just finished resetting the board. They sat in their spot, a place already well worn into the carpet.

“Do you want to play again?” Old Friend’s voice had grown quiet, concerned.

“Yeah... Just give me a second.”

“Need to let it out?”

“Yeah.”

The firebrand gripped the white-waxed candle in one hand, then the other. Feeling the film transfer from palm to palm. The flame in their stomach answered the call without hesitance. They had already felt the heat, struggling to escape into their veins.

It was slow, at first. The wax did not melt, simply molding itself, bulging and shifting as to allow Villain’s fingers to make their mark. Their eyes fixed upon the process: The control of it. The way in which the wax moved only on their call.

It helped them breathe.

“Violet...” They began, frowning again. “That’s the second bridge accident this year.”

“There’s a lot of bridges, to be fair.”

“But not a lot of collapses.”

“What are you saying?”

“It seems so much like a coincidence, but... How many have we lost, this year?”

“Violet and Argyle, uh, Aaron I think. Dana and Evelyn and-”

“And what month is it?”

“April?”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, we lose a lot, but...”

“And they’re always accidents. Car crashes. Building fires. Drownings. But they’re not accidents.”

The wax yielded with more readiness. A few droplets fell, deftly caught by Villain’s other hand.

“What do you mean, they’re not accidents? I don’t think people drown on purpose.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not what I mean. If they were actually accidents, you would think they’d happen at random times. But-”

“It’s always when the Heroes are around. Always during battle.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are doing it on purpose, though. I mean, they wouldn’t just blow up a bridge to kill one villain. The battles just get too intense, I think. I mean, how many times have you almost died in battle?”

“A lot.”

“Same here. That’s all.”

“No. No.” Villain shook their head. “I’ve almost died many times. But I haven’t died. Because I’m not stupid. And the others weren’t, either.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are killing people, Villain.”

“Then what else are they doing?”

“I don’t know, protecting the city? Whatever nonsense they say.”

“Protecting the city from us. Supposedly. But it seems like they’re a hell of a lot more focused on these big battles.”

“That’s kind of our fault, to be fair.”

“Is it? Most of our didn’t choose this life.”

“We’re still doing, I mean, crimes. Like, we’re definitely criminals.”

“Then they should be taking us to prison.”

“Isn’t that what they do?”

“When is the last time you heard of anyone going to prison?”

“I mean, uh... What about Jared?”

“You mean the one they got in a van that then mysteriously exploded?”

“Oh. Right. What about, uh, didn’t they get Kara?”

“Yeah. And then pronounced her dead at the hospital.”

“Okay. Maybe... maybe you have a point.”

Between Villain’s fingers, a single droplet of candle wax fell.

“Yeah.”

Old Friend sighed.

“Do you want to play again?”

“Mhm.”

Villain drew the heat from their palms, allowing the remnants of the candle to solidify in their hands. They placed it down, then, though droplets of white still stuck to their fingers.

“I think...” Old Friend looked down at the board, considering their first move. “I think if the Heroes ever capture you, you’ll find they’re a lot kinder than you expect.”

Villain snorted in laughter.

“If the Heroes ever capture me, there will nothing left of my body to find.”

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“It’s a miracle.”

“It is. The damage they sustained... I can hardly believe that there’s enough blood left in them to keep them alive.”

“Hardly any blood. Hardly any body, either.”

“Yeah.”

“A real miracle. The guys down in Radiology, they thought we got the scans mixed up. They confused them for those of the guy in the other room. The motorcycle crash one.”

“That makes sense. To think that a human did this...”

“Not a normal human. A lot stronger than a normal human.”

“But with the same morals as a normal human.”

“You’d hope so.”

“Oh. Crap, looks like they’re waking up. Let’s give a bit more propofol... They need their rest.”

Villain’s closed eyes twitched, as though dreaming. At least, they did not think they were dreaming. It was hard to say, these days...

Had it been days? Or just a couple of hours? They tried to think, to remember, but the will to do so was deeply buried under blankets and bitter-tasting medicines. They longed to sit up, to move, to open their eyes, but those thoughts came from such a small part of their mind. The rest of them was so tired...

The numbness, now, was softer. Warmer. It was not a force of overwhelming heat, laughing at them and telling them to forget their pain, to keep moving. Instead, this time, the numbness was simply warm. Pleasantly so. Urging them to rest, to sleep, to ignore the taste of iron on their tongue that refused to go away.

Sleeping and wakefulness, to them, felt to be a sliding scale. They spent much time at the former end, in blissful unconsciousness, but had yet to find themself at the latter. They struggled for it, struggled to get close, but their anxious murmurs and twitching were always responded to with soft words and hands and more warmth in their veins.

Vilain was floating for a moment. Again, the hundredth time, they struggled to part their lips, but only managed to exert effort to no end.

“Their leg... I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Are you sure they’re strong enough for this?”

“Yeah. We can’t wait any longer. The bone will heal wrong if we wait any longer.”

“Okay.”

The numbness was stronger, that time.

“Villain? Villain?”

Their eyelids twitched, again.

“They said you’d opened your eyes, earlier...”

There was more softness, in that tone. Not the pitying notes of a doctor or nerve-wracked surgeon, but the warm coaxing of a friend.

The hand on their wrist was cold.

Their fingers twitched, then their lips. They tried to utter out a syllable, but only managed a shaky breath.

“Yeah, that’s it. Thank you. Do you remember me?”

Did they? They weren’t sure what they remembered, anymore. They remembered being here. They remembered the blankets and the half-hearted attempts by the nurses to coax them into swallowing a spoonful of jello.

“It’s Doctor. Do you remember me? Do you remember Doctor?”

“Doctor?”

The word came out more like a croak. Their eyes twitched with more furor this time, until, at long last, the world flooded into sterile existence around them. They got distracted, a moment, by the pattern of white tiles above.

“There you go!” There was genuine pride in that voice. “I knew you could do it.”

“Mmm.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” That cold hand moved from their wrist to their hand. Trying to hold it, to embrace their fingers. But Villain did not have the strength for such a thing. “I’m so sorry, Villain. I’m so sorry.”

“F- for what?”“

“I- I almost killed you! Had you stayed under my care... I’m sorry.”

Villain blinked a moment, trying to think.

“You...” Their throat felt so terribly raw. “You were right.”

“It wasn’t right to let Hero try to kill you.”

“No... Not that. You said, uh, about warmth. ‘Bout heat.”

There was a smile. Villain did not have to see it to know that it was there.

“You understood?”

“Yes. On th’stage.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did good.”

“I get it, now. I think... Heat can, uh, it can destroy buildings.” Their words were awfully drawn out, hard to understand through their lengthy slurring. “But it can also... bake cookies.”

Doctor laughed, at that.

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Villain’s fingers finally agreed to move, wrapping around Doctor’s hand.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Villain.” Another sigh. This one, warm. “Have you heard, what they’re saying about you? You lost so much blood. And your organs were all over the place. It’s a miracle that you survived.”

The grasp on Villain’s hand tightened.

“They said you only lived because you wanted to. Because you really, really wanted to survive. Is that right?”

“I... I think it is. Yeah.”

“Yeah. I’ll be back, okay? Get some rest.”

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

It was three weeks after, that they were allowed to have any more visitors. Three weeks of medicines and surgeries and treatments and x-rays. It all blurred in their mind, until the calendar held as little meaning to them as the results of their blood tests.

They weren’t healed. Certainly not. But wakefulness no longer felt like such a monumental effort.

The jello tasted like nothing as they placed it upon their tongue. Nothing but sugar and sweetener, desperately trying to mask the tastelessness of gelatin. By the time the door opened, which it did with such a force that Villain wondered if it had been struck with a battering ram, they were almost done with the cup of overly-sweet dessert.

They jumped, nearly dropping their plastic spoon as their gaze snapped upwards. For a split second, the figure in the doorway made their limbs begin to shake, a familiar pressure reviving on their neck. But, it only lasted a second.

Sidekick looked different. Their stature was the same, certainly, as well-muscled as ever, but it was no longer draped in any sort of uniform. Instead, a grey sweatshirt struggled to contain their form, marked with the logo of some sports team or another.

Villain took another bite of jello.

“Good news.” Sidekick’s smile had the same media allure that Hero once showed the cameras, sending a shiver down Villain’s spine. They strode nearer, confident steps striking the tile floor. Compared to them, Villain felt terribly small. “Come on, don’t you want to hear it?”

Another bite and the cup was empty. They placed it down on the small table next to their bed.

“Um... Yeah. Okay.” They could not muster up nearly enough energy to match that of their visitor.

“Okay, so, J- sorry, uh, you-know-who, they found the video. The real one. Without all the edits.”

“That’s... good.”

“Mhm. We have news stations willing to broadcast it, too. Put some doubt on the story, right?”

“Right.”

“You... Don’t seem as excited as I remember you being.”

“Sorry.” Villain’s gaze cast downwards. “I’m still just a little tired, and all.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. You got hurt pretty bad. Do you have any idea when you might be out of here?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll try to ask a nurse or something. When you’re strong enough, though, we’ve got this whole plan. You’re gonna be, like, our emissary. Between us and the villains, yeah?”

“Uh... why?”

“Well, I mean, the Heroes only really exist to stop you and the other villains. If we can just... convince them to stop doing villain stuff, then the public will start the see that the Heroes are, y’know, not all their cracked up to be.”

Villain struggled to suppress a smile. They couldn’t imagine trying to ask some of their former cohorts to all of a sudden go on the straight and narrow.

Still, even beneath the blankets and the medicine, they felt the smallest scrap of warmth return. A tiny ember, floating in their stomach.

The opportunity to turn their pain into something other than nightmares and tears in the hospital bed’s pillow.

“When I’m out of here... well, we’ll have to see, I guess.”

“That’s all we can really hope for. Now, uh, I kind of have to go. They’re about to notice I broke a window.”

“You w-”

“Sorry! Gotta go!”

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

It was the smell that made Villain recognize their second visitor, more than their appearance.

They looked different. Quite different. Taller, slightly, with tight cords of muscle now curling about their neck. Nothing like the tiny twig they’d once known.

It looked like they’d finally hit their growth spurt, after all. A decade late.

The scent that they carried with them was one of freshly cut wood, the rural stench of sawdust, accompanied by the damp musk of a home long forgotten.

“Holy shit, candle boy.”

Four words. Four stupid words, uttered the moment Old Friend walked through the door.

Villain burst out laughing.

Not laughter of sorrow, or of venom. True laughter. The warmth that filled their chest this time had nothing to do with flame.

“So, am I allowed to hug you, or...”

“There’s no doctors here to tell us not to.”

“Good point.”

The warmth in Villain’s chest only increased with Old Friend’s embrace. Their friend buried their head in their shoulder. The tears wet quickly through Villain’s hospital gown.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I should have-”

“It’s in the past, now. I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

“Just to be clear... you’re not a good guy?”

“I don’t know what I am. But I’m still your friend.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The embrace broke off after over a minute, though it was still far too soon.

“We have an apartment. Me and Aggie and some others.” Old Friend stepped back. “We have a room all set up. Even found some of your old stuff. I know it’s gonna be a while, but... you’ve always got somewhere to go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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

The End

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

I can’t thank you guys enough for reading through this story and experiencing it with me. This is the end of this story, but I hope to make another one soon!

There is no next part, so there are no story paths to choose from for next time. But, I still have options to pick from. I want to hear what you think Villain’s choice will be!

A) Be a hero. Go with Sidekick, and liberate the city

B) Be a friend. Return to Old Friend. Make life good again.

[coreastories]

The Heartbeat

AO3: Part 14 of Days and Nights of Forever  

One dark day for Corea, one terrifying day for Gon and Tae-eul, but life goes on.

When it's fate, there are no coincidences.

Directly follows 

Corea News: The queen of Corea stuns in London and 

Corea News: A dark day for Corea

I’m so sorry. When I dropped A Dark Day for Corea last Friday, I meant to get this done the next day and not prolong the suspense. But I underestimated it. Sunday came and went and I wasn’t done. 

I spent all weekend finishing this so I couldn’t reply to you guys either. I mean, what could I say to you all wailing at me except that I’m writing, which I should DO, not say, right? 

So here it is. 11,000 words. Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy. 

With thanks to @collectsfallenstars and @pateetsie for support and threats and encouragements and threats and confidence and threats and all the love and swearing at me. 

November was more beautiful in Corea. Perhaps it was unfair to make the comparison because Corea just happened to be closer to the tropics, closer to the sun, farther from the frozen winds of the north, but she couldn’t help it, even if she did have one sunny day in London and that was considered lucky, Elizabeth had told her, especially in November! 

No, lucky was living in this beautiful country, coming home to her husband, and with the view of all these red and gold trees outside the car window. 

And she had breakfast ready when she got home. She grinned. She thought about calling Gon again but he was probably busy cooking, and she didn't want him to time her arrival. She'd already ruined her own surprise by giving in and calling him earlier. 

“Jangmi, did you tell your omma we’re home?” 

“Ye, Mama. And she says she’s got cheonggukjang ready for us.”  

Both Tae-Eul and In-Yeong said, “Oh my God.” They laughed. Jangmi’s mother’s cheonggukjang was a hit among the guards-- and the king and queen.

And after days of British food, chonggukjang would be heavenly. 

“Don’t tell Ho-pil until we’ve all had some,” said In-yeong. “I don’t know how he makes it disappear so fast. Maybe he has a black hole in his stomach and he just pours it in.”

They were still laughing when Tae-Eul saw it. The other car. 

It was barrelling through the left of the intersection too fast. Too fast to make the turn it should make. 

And then, in contrast to that speeding car, everything else went slow. 

In this slower time, Tae-Eul recognized several things. 

One: Jangmi was a good defensive driver and had already slowed and stopped the car. 

Two: The other car could have crossed the road, perhaps grazing their front bumper, but it could have gone past all the same.  

Three: The driver of the other car was too senseless to see the opportunity Jangmi provided to avoid collision. In the grip of panic and trying to control his car, Tae-eul saw him wrenching at the steering wheel with both arms in a mindless attempt to make his turn. Even though it was too late. Even though there was no room. 

Four: At that speed, at that trajectory, the other car would nosedive into the side of their car. 

Tae-Eul laid both arms across her lower belly and prayed to God and the fate that brought her here. Was lashing out praying? Because she lashed out in shock and anger that this would happen to her, to Gon, their child. 

Maybe God heard her, or maybe it was her mind playing tricks to help her cope-- the crash was deafening but it was like a gentle rocking when it came. 

It was what happened after that was terrifying. 

Tae-Eul felt her seatbelt simultaneously loosen and tighten around her. For half a second, she was buffeted bodily against nothing but air before she felt secure again. There was a terrible noise like thunder right inside her ears and something slammed onto her face, stunning as a well-placed uppercut. 

She was blinded and her eyes burned. 

She tried to see what had happened to Jangmi and In-Yeong but she cried out at the pain and shut her eyes tight and kept both arms over her pelvis. A firebrand shot through her left shoulder and she cried out again but she kept her arms where they were. 

That was when she prayed. With her eyes watering and burning and her ears ringing, she begged to be safe. 

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

“How are you? It’s not too cold?”

“No. Or maybe I’m just hot. Go back to sleep. I’m going to bed, too.” 

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“I had ban-ban on the plane. Go to sleep. I’ll call you when I wake up. Saranghae.” 

“Saranghae.”

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

“I loved the music and the story but I was honestly so sleepy. It lasted more than two hours. In-yeong had to poke me several times. I lost count after the sixth one. Stop laughing. I bet you fall asleep watching it before it even gets good.”

“Go to sleep. I’ll call you again on your morning.”

“What are you making for your breakfast?” 

“Nothing special. Just eggs and tofu and I have kaktugi.” 

“Mmmm. I miss that.” 

“I miss you. Go to sleep.” 

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

“Don’t worry so much. Just think of her as any old ahjumma.”

“Are you crazy? She’s the queen.”

“No, she’s not. Not to me. Not to the kingdom missing you. You’re the queen here. She’s a queen. You’re a queen. You’re equals.” 

“I’m wrinkling my nose at that but I miss you. You should have come with me.” 

“You said--” 

“What do you want me to bring you?” 

“Nothing. Just come home.” 

"How cheesy."

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

 “How was the food?” 

“Quite good. I’ve had Angus roast, fish and chips, a full English breakfast-- the sausages here are good, maybe I can bring some-- scones and clotted cream-- I need you or the cooks to learn to make that-- cottage pie, shepherd’s pie, crumpets, and this thing they call Welsh rarebit? It’s cheese and toast. And I loved the vegetables in my salads. 

“And the milk and cream here--I think it tastes a little bit like Corea’s. It’s so creamy and delicately sweet. 

“I love their chocolate. Cadbury’s. I think we have it at home, right? Should I order more? 

“I forgot to tell you-- I almost drank alcohol at brunch when they sent more dishes and apple cider to our table with the chef’s compliments. In-Yeong thought it was juice too. They forgot I was pregnant. I was taking a sip and it didn’t smell and taste like alcohol but Elizabeth took my glass and told me it can be quite strong here.

“I can’t wait to eat ramyeon, though. And ban-ban. I’ll have them when I’m on the plane. What are you laughing at?”

“You talked for five minutes about food.” 

“That wasn’t five minutes!” 

“I love you. I miss you so much. I’ll see you in… sixteen hours.” 

“I can’t wait.” 

“To see me? Or for ban-ban and ramyeon?” 

“Take a guess.”

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

“I’m here.”

“What?”

“I flew earlier. I wanted to surprise you. I’ll just drive over. Jangmi was on the phone with Yeong long before we landed so I’m sure they’ve arranged things for the escort.”

“But I was going to pick you up-- all right. I’ll see you here, then. Do you want breakfast?” 

“Oh do I! I want everything. I want moo saengchae and galbi and my mouth is watering and I can’t talk anymore. Stop laughing.” 

“I’ll make everything. Saranghae.”

“Nado saranghae.” 

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

Gon clung to her voice in his head while everything else seemed to ring and clamor in an infuriating barrage of noise.

He had been talking to her less than an hour ago. 

Less than an hour ago, his only thought had been kissing his wife, making breakfast, and holding his wife, his queen, the mother of his child, the best part of his life.

Now he couldn’t get enough air. His mouth was dry and he felt like he’d be violently ill. His hands were fists on his knees and he resisted the urge to thump something.  

He prayed. He listened to her voice from their last conversations together and he prayed. He sat there in the back of his car and prayed as they sped to the hospital. He begged that they weren't his last conversations with her. Begged for her safety. Her safety was his child’s. Both of them had to be safe. He begged to hear that voice again soon. Now. 

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

Yeong sat in the front seat and tried not to let his brain spirale. He needed facts, not speculations and imaginings. In his ear, he could hear his team as they kept him up to date on every minute detail. Everyone was his eyes and ears. Yeong listened and tried to stay in the present, not any horrendous future. He was trained to look ten steps ahead. But it was difficult in this case. His brain refused to catalogue the unthinkable.  

The king was quiet in the back seat, still as pale as when Yeong first told him what had happened.  

The queen was supposed to arrive at ten this morning. Yeong already had plans in place for the escort going to the airport and back, because the king wanted to pick up the queen. 

Nine am and the PA office would have given word to the media whether or not the press could gather at the airport. Yeong had already coordinated with the airport authority for traffic and crowd control as a contingency.  

He would have received a brief from the PA office and given a brief to the teams at eight-thirty. 

Before seven o’clock, his phone rang. Jangmi told him the queen’s jet was already approaching Corean airspace and the early arrival was supposed to be a surprise for the king. It was testament to how much Yeong had changed-- or how much he had gotten used to the king and queen anyway-- that he didn’t even sigh. He just ended the call, made another, and deployed Ho-pil’s team to the airport in their SUVs. 

At eight o’clock, Ho-Pil called him. 

“Seonsaengnim. Code Orange. Collision with civilian vehicle. The queen seems to not have major external trauma. No... bleeding. En route to CorGen now. Civilian in custody. Also en route to CorGen under escort. Jang and Park also injured. En route to CorGen.”

A pause. Yeong couldn’t speak and Ho-pil seemed to be catching his breath. And Yeong stupidly waited for the punchline. That he was being pranked. Dumb and dangerous prank, but a prank all the same. But all Ho-pil said next was, “Captain, that fucker was fucking soused. I could smell him when they loaded him on the ambulance. I wish I could kill him.” 

Yeong closed his eyes and tried not to close both fists. Wouldn’t do to break his phone right now. “You said she’s not bleeding?” They both knew the significance of what he meant. 

“No. But after examining her for a bit, they sedated her. They said it was because she couldn’t breathe properly and her heart was already working too hard, which would be bad for both of them. She has a bad friction burn on her left cheek from the airbag. The other windows all held except Jangmi's so the queen didn’t have lacerations. In-Yeong broke her wrist. And Jangmi took a real beating. When they were getting him out, they were so careful, but he still cried out. Never heard him make that noise before. And they both couldn’t hear me, Captain.” 

Yeong took a deep breath. Ho-pil’s report gave him information and time enough to get back his wits and his sense of duty. It was his queen, not his friend. Not his best friend’s wife. And he had to go tell his king, not his best friend. 

“CorGen knows to keep quiet when it’s the royal family. And they know protocol. Don’t let her out of your sight.” 

“Yes, Seonsaengnim. And the EMTs already called Seonsaeng Chae. I’ll call you with updates if you don’t join us first.” 

Yeong hung up. He must have drooped during the call because he realized he had to square his shoulders as he went to find the king. He was almost relieved when the king wasn’t in his suite. To make things simple, he asked the control tower where the king had gone. With the queen away, he could be anywhere. 

The control tower answered quickly: The kitchen. 

Right. Of course. The queen had probably already called him. 

When he entered the kitchen, the king was laying a slab of meat on the grill pan. 

“Yeong-ah. We don’t need to leave. She’s already on her wa--” 

One look at Yeong’s face and the king stopped talking. In quick, efficient movements, the king turned everything off, wiped his hands on a towel, and rounded the counter. “What happened?” His voice was clipped and dangerous.  

Yeong told him. He saw the color drain from the king’s face with every word.  

And then there wasn’t really anything else to say other than, “The car’s ready.” 

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

CorGen was used to VIPs. This hospital was where high society wanted to be treated. They had six VIP rooms and these went to ministers and their families, athletes, actors, chaebol owners, heirs and executives. 

Royalty was a different level altogether. With the queen pregnant and seeing a CorGen doctor, they’ve opened the seventh VIP room. It was reserved for the royal family, always had been since the hospital opened, but the king had never used it yet in his lifetime. 

While the hospital preened at the prestige of opening VIP 7 at last, no one had imagined VIP 7 would ever be needed yet. 

Because the queen was only at fifteen weeks. 

So when the full force of the Royal Guard arrived at the ER, there was a momentary stupefaction as if everyone was waiting for someone to tell them what to do, or to tell them it was just a tasteless, dangerous joke: it couldn’t really be the queen in that gurney.  

Song-eun, arriving at the ER to attend to the queen, saw that freeze. She had frozen herself. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until she exhaled when she saw the queen wasn’t  bleeding. She had expected the worst. 

And then everyone moved in sync. 

They wheeled the queen straight to the prepared trauma room and surrounded her while the EMT and residents rattled off vitals and conditions. Airway and breathing good. Hypotensive because of vasodilation, CO at 45% higher than normal, right, they would fix that. The queen was already on oxygen and fluids. Pulse ox was stabilizing. 

“Mama, I’m here. You’re with me,” Song-eun said to Tae-eul, this queen who had made Song-eun a friend, a sister. “I’m going to take care of you and the little bean.” 

Sok-jun joined her with two other attendings--neuro and trauma--and they all rattled off directions to their residents and interns. One of them took samples for the trauma panel and the KB test while Song-eun assessed the queen. 

“Mama, I’m going to perform a pelvic exam to check on you, okay?” 

Under the sheet, her hands moving efficiently, no blood, everything normal. Good. 

The queen was already in a neck brace, and she didn’t seem to have spinal injuries as the EMTs have said. The fetal HR monitor beeped steadily. Almost sixteen weeks. Could probably detect omma had been in trouble.

“Mama, you’re doing good so far. And the little bean isn’t upset either.” 

Sok-jun was finished with his own examination and did FAST again even though the EMT’s already did. Song-eun scanned the monitor alongside him. No free fluid. Good. He met Song-eun’s eyes and nodded and left. 

The neuro attending was already examining the queen’s eyes. Song-eun saw what he saw. “Reactive, symmetrical pupils.” Thank heavens. Good reaction to stimulus. “We can check for focal deficits later. Keep her stabilized.” 

Both of Tae-eul’s eyes were red with corneal abrasion and Song-eun winced. She gestured to one of the interns to administer antibiotic eye drops. 

“Get me that KB test result asap,” she said as Tae-eul got the polymyxin for her eyes and an ortho team looked at the queen’s legs, which had ugly bruises. But they were superficial. “Let’s use the Lodox right now and then take her to CT. Head and chest just to be sure." Neuro nodded. "Keep her asleep for another hour. Mom and baby are stable. Let’s keep it that way.” 

She’d just only noticed and recognized Seok Ho-pil when he spoke. He had stood quietly at the door, not getting in the way, but not relenting to be pushed out either. 

“Seonsaengnim, forgive me-- are all those safe for Her Majesty? The CT and the Lodox? What’s the KB test? And can she hear you? I thought she was sedated so she won’t be distressed?”

Song-eun nodded. “We talk to patients under sedation. Sometimes they can hear us. And no, she’s not in distress or in pain, don’t worry. And yes, everything’s safe. Absolutely. I want the CT of her head and chest because that’s where the airbags hit. The Lodox is a full body scan, very safe, low-dose x-ray. I don’t want to miss any injury at all. The Lodox will see if there’s any and we can determine if we need more imaging done then. The KB test is to check if and how much the baby’s hemoglobin transferred to the mother’s bloodstream and we can prevent the potential of Rhesus disease if mom and baby have different Rh blood factors.” 

She looked at the rest of the Royal Guard, all listening intently. They were probably privy to the fact that the queen was a rare B negative. It was why Song-eun had been so afraid if the queen was bleeding. Only 1 in 3000 Coreans matched Tae-eul’s Rhesus negative blood. She could take O-neg, but if she needed platelets… Song-eun shuddered. At least she hadn’t slipped and informed the entire room. But the entire room would probably be under NDAs in a matter of minutes. 

She could see eight guards in total, scattered in the ER lobby, gathering stares from everyone, and three had already moved ahead, probably to check the Diagnostics Room where the Lodox was. 

And then suddenly there were more black suits almost completely covering up the seafoam walls of the hospital. 

Song-eun stepped out of the trauma room and came face to face with the king. 

She had faced her share of devastated husbands in her career and she hoped she never had to look at the king looking like that again. This was her king and her namdongsaeng and it was heartbreaking to see him so terrified. 

She broke protocol and spoke first. “Pyeha, we’re still about to confirm with CT and Lodox about the queen’s injuries, but the baby seems to be fine right now and the queen has passed all tests so far. We just need to confirm and keep them both stable. We’ll do our best. We have everything we need here.” 

The king didn’t speak, just stepped past her and into the room. His eyes landed on the monitors and then on the queen. Song-eun was glad everyone had been prompt and fastidious about keeping the queen under a warm sheet. 

As it was, the king only saw the queen’s face, with those angry red patches on her left cheek and jaw. The king took a deep shuddering breath and released it, hands rising and fingertips pressing to his eyes. 

Song-eun looked away. 

She nodded to the orderlies scattered like discarded umbrellas because of the arrival of the Royal Guard. They were easy to spot in their lilac scrubs in the mass of black suits. The two closest bowed to the guards on the way, bowed to the king, bowed to the queen, and then pushed and pulled the gurney. 

The king startled as if he was going to grab the gurney but stopped himself. Song-eun laid a hand on his arm, and he jumped again. 

Song-eun pressed her hand on his arm more firmly. “We’re taking Her Majesty to the Lodox and then to CT. You can come with us if you like, Pyeha.”

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

Ok-nam watched Mo Jin-ha burst into tears and wished she could just as easily let go like that. But she couldn’t, she never had, and one of these days, it might kill her, but she wasn’t going to faint this time. 

Not until she heard something that would really make her faint. 

“I’m sorry-- it’s just-- you know how much I struggled before I finally had Woo-jin and this is-- this is awful.” 

Ok-nam patted Jin-ha on the shoulder. Poor Jin-ha had had three miscarriages. It was why she was here, crying, instead of following the king to CorGen. Woo-jin was her little miracle, but the loss of her other children still stung. Would always do. 

“Hush now. Let’s wait and pray. We should hear from them any moment now. And you need to make an announcement before rumors spread.” 

Jin-ha nodded, wiping tears and straightening her spine. Ok-nam turned to the two policemen who had arrived, hoping to get a statement here but instead seeing the press secretary lose the composure she was famous for.

“Drink your tea, gentlemen,” Ok-nam said. “You do have colleagues who went to the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am. But if we could get a statement from you--when you hear from them-- then we wouldn’t need to disturb Their Majesties.”

Jin-ha gave another sob. “Oh, the poor queen. She loves that baby so much-- I hope she doesn’t--” 

Ok-nam thumped a hand on her chabudai and Jin-ha and both men jumped. “Stop that,” Ok-nam said, ignoring how her heart thumped mournfully and fearfully in her chest. “Don’t think that. Don’t speak of that.” 

The phone rang and they all jumped again. Ok-nam answered it just as Seung-ah arrived and knelt beside her. 

“Captain Jo, what has--” 

“Lady Noh. The queen is fine. No major injuries. They’re still monitoring the queen and the baby. The king is with her. They’re getting her scans.” Ok-nam closed her eyes and sagged in relief. Jin-ha gave a sob of relief and Ok-nam shushed her. 

“Seung-ah has the accident footage so you can see,” Jo Yeong continued over the phone. “We’ve already released it to the police. Jangmi has a clavicle fracture and rib fractures and In-yeong has a broken wrist, three fractured fingers, bruised ribs.”

Poor Jangmi and In-yeong. “Do you-- do you have that driver?”

“Yes.” And that was all Yeong said. Ok-nam heard rage in that calm voice. She felt rage herself. “I’ve sent all information to Secretary Mo. She can make the statement at her discretion. I’ll update you.” 

Ok-nam put the phone back in its cradle. Seung-ah, pale-faced and pale-lipped, raised her iPad but Ok-nam turned away. 

“Are you mad? I don’t want to see it. Show it to these gentlemen.” 

Jin-ha seemed to have already received the same footage and the information Captain Jo mentioned in her iPad, and judging by her gasping over the screen, Ok-nam made the right decision not to look at the footage. 

“I’m going to pray.” 

She took a private, empty, circuitous route so she wouldn’t trail anxious and hysterical court maids and court ladies. She had no time and no patience to comfort anyone. 

In the kitchen garden amongst the onggi, her tears surprised her. She wiped them almost angrily. 

There was no call for tears yet. 

She bowed and prayed. 

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

The sound is not unlike galloping horses. Maybe galloping horses on the coast, because he can also hear a swishing noise like the wind and the surf. 

Tae-eul is laughing. “It’s so loud and fast! Are you crying?” 

“No.” He blinks his eyes and sniffs as quietly as he can. He sees Song-eun biting her lips and looking amused as she holds the Doppler against Tae-eul’s belly. 

Tae-eul squeezes his hand. He moves his eyes away from the ultrasound screen just as she also does. Their eyes meet, and his breath stutters a bit because her eyes are at their most beautiful yet since he met her. 

He kisses her hand. And with their child's heartbeat drumming in the background, they grin at each other. 

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

Gon listened to it more times than he'd admit. It was in his playlist for cooking breakfast. He even danced to it in the shower. Tae-eul had caught him at it one time and had laughed so hard and so long she had to sit on the floor.

She didn’t tease him about it, but she invariably looked at him and giggled whenever anyone brought up the baby’s heartbeat or when she listened to the file in her own phone. 

He stopped the audio file and put his phone back in his pocket. The beeps of the two heart rate monitors were discordant and so different from the rhythmic gallop and swish of his baby’s real heartbeat but he let those beeps deafen him to everything else. 

He kissed Tae-eul’s hand and wished her awake. 

She was so pale against the cream sheets on the bed. She now had bandages over her cheek and jaw. Her eyelids were rimmed with red. Her brows were slightly furrowed. She wasn’t tranquil in her sleep. 

They’d told him she wasn’t in pain. What scared him was if she was trapped in some nightmare after the terrifying experience she just went through. 

It had been almost an hour or so since the tests were done. The CT and the Lodox both found a hairline fracture on her left clavicle. 

They’d put her arm in a sling for that and kept her in the neck brace in case of whiplash. Everything else seemed fine. Her head, her spine. Until she woke up and complained of what else hurt, they had no way of knowing, apart from the bad bruising on her left shoulder, on her toes, and on the front of her shins when her legs might have flown and hit against the front seat. 

Her blood pressure was back to normal. They’d told him she had been distressed--in the emotional term-- when the ambulance arrived, her heart rate too fast and her breathing erratic, which was why they sedated her and put her on oxygen immediately. 

He just knew why she’d been so anxious and afraid. 

Song-eun walked into the room and Gon blinked back the sting in his eyes. “Noona.” 

“Pyeha. You know Her Majesty is Rhesus negative. We can confirm now that Little bean is Rhesus positive, just like you. We found some hemoglobin of little bean’s in the queen’s circulation so I’m giving her the RhoGAM now.” 

Gon watched Song-eun administer the shot on Tae-eul’s arm. 

So he saw it when Tae-eul grabbed Song-eun’s hand. 

“Mama, you’re awake. How are you feeling? I just gave you a RhoGAM shot. We talked about it before.” 

Gon got up and Tae-eul saw him. She let go of Song-eun and reached for him with both hands at first, but both hands went to her belly below her navel, where the fetal HR monitor’s attachments were. 

The vital signs monitor made a harsh protest. Tae-eul’s heart rate was spiking. 

Gon said, “Tae-eul, you’re all right, the baby’s okay.” 

She looked at him and opened her mouth to speak but made an expression of pain, touched her jaw, and cried out when she discovered the raw skin of her burn there. 

Gon grabbed her hands in his, looked into her eyes and said, “Tae-eul. You’re all right. The baby’s all right.” 

She just looked at him as if she couldn’t understand him. And she was already crying. 

Gon stared at her. Why wasn’t she-- and then it clicked. She was probably still deaf from the airbags. He looked at Song-eun and she had obviously come to the same conclusion. She tapped her ears, and then pointed and nodded at the fetal monitor, already rounding the bed to get to it herself. 

Gon beat her to it. He let go of Tae-eul with one hand and reached for the fetal monitor to turn the screen toward Tae-eul. His movement was enough to make Tae-eul look in that direction, turning her head as much as she could in the brace. 

Gon returned both hands to cradle hers. He bent down to press his lips against her fingertips. He could feel himself shaking with relief now that she was awake.   

She looked at the fetal monitor for long moments. The vital signs monitor quieted but her crying continued. Gon bent over her and gently took her in his arms without actually lifting her up. He snaked one arm under her waist and the other arm under her side. She sobbed against his shoulder and he felt her grip the back of his pullover. 

He pressed his cheek against her hair, glad she was awake, his heart breaking a little with each sob. She shouldn’t have had to go through this. This much fear. This much worry. 

Her sobs slowly stopped until she was only taking deep shuddering breaths. Gon gently pulled back his arms, kissed her uninjured cheek, and wiped her eyes, careful not to actually go near her eyelids with the tissues. 

Song-eun caught Tae-eul’s attention. As if she hadn’t just witnessed a breakdown, Song-eun spoke and gestured at the same time, and she enunciated carefully so that even Gon saw her words as much as heard them. 

“Tae-eul. Look at me. Baby is here--” Song-eun cupped both hands low on her belly, over her pelvis. “Airbag was here--” Song-eun pointed both open palms on her shoulders and mimed the slam of the airbags over her face and shoulders with a slamming movement of her hands. 

“So baby is safe. Okay?” She turned to Gon. “And your car was awesome. God. I have to get one of those.” 

“I’ll buy you one,” Gon said, without taking his eyes off Tae-eul. She had calmed down, wincing and squinting with her eyes, looking between them and the fetal monitor. 

Song-eun nudged him away from Tae-eul’s side and took his place, sitting beside Tae-eul’s hip and leaning forward to Tae-eul. She held up her index finger. “Follow the finger, Mama. Good. Okay. I’m going to use my light.” She shone that light in and out of Tae-eul’s eyes. Then she placed both her palms under Tae-eul’s. “Pyeha, show her to push on my hands. I saw how she gripped your sweater but I want to make sure.”

Gon mimed bearing down with his hands. Tae-eul pushed. Next, Song-eun mimed making fists with both hands. Tae-eul did that, too. Song-eun swiveled her hips on the bed so she faced the window, leaned back on her hands, and extended and raised her legs, one after the other. Tae-eul did the same. 

Song-eun smiled and squeezed Tae-eul’s hands. “Good, good. Just need to wait for your ears to come back. They’ll be back in a bit. You’re good.” 

Gon nudged Song-eun aside and she willingly went, smiling. He pushed the button on the side panel and raised Tae-eul’s bed gently, watching her face for any discomfort from her fracture.

Then when she was more or less sitting up, he leaned forward and hugged her as gently as he could, kissed her on the forehead and on her right cheek. He felt her arms close around his waist, and he pulled back before she tried to raise her arms higher. He didn’t want her to strain her fracture. 

He enunciated like he saw Song-eun do, not exaggerated but clearly defining each syllable. “Are you all right? Does anything hurt?” 

Her eyes went from his lips to his eyes.  She spoke carefully now, testing how much her jaw would let her do. “Why can’t I hear you?”  

Gon said, “The airbags.” 

Song-eun said, “It’s temporary. Around sixteen to forty-eight hours. Is there a ringing noise?”

It took three tries before Tae-eul understood the question, then she shook her head no. 

“Oh, good. I’m glad you don’t have tinnitus.” Song-eun cast another long look at the vital signs monitor, smiled at Tae-eul, retrieved the empty syringe she’d dropped when Tae-eul grabbed her, and left, saying she’ll be back later. 

“Did you catch that? She said your deafness will last overnight or two days.” 

Tae-eul nodded. Then she looked past him at the fetal monitor again, blinking, her eyes spilling tears. Her hands went up to her eyes and Gon stopped her hands before they made contact. She looked at him, wincing. “My eyes hurt.” “I know. I’m sorry. That’s from the airbags, too. Here, noona gave me your eye drops.” 

If she didn’t catch that, she quickly understood when he came back to her side with the bottle he’d fetched from her bedside table. Tae-eul being Tae-eul, she tried to be helpful. When she couldn’t tilt her head back at all in the neck brace, she tried anyway. “Ow.” She looked down at her shoulder and her sling as if discovering it for the first time.

Gon used her bed’s recliner and applied the eye drops. 

“You have a crack on your clavicle. So don’t move your shoulder or your arms. Does your neck hurt? We’re not sure if you have some muscle strain there.” 

“Will you just use your phone? Or find a pen and paper. A… a whiteboard and marker. I’m getting tired trying to read your lips.” 

That return of her spirit made him smile. He put down the bottle of eye drops and started writing on her palm instead. And grinned when she also smiled. 

But when he was done, her lips were trembling and her face was twisting. She reached for him without raising her hands much from her lap. 

Carefully so he wouldn’t jolt her injuries, he moved forward where he sat on her right. He slid his arm around her waist and gently pulled her close. She sighed and entirely rested her right side against him. 

“I can’t believe it. Just-- just my collarbone?” 

He nodded. It wasn’t just her collarbone, but he could elaborate later. 

“I was so scared. I thought it would be worse--”  

“Me too.” He wrote the hangul on her palm. 

“What about Jangmi and In-yeong?”

“They’re okay, but they have fractures. They’re in surgery to fix them.” 

“Oh no. Fractures where?” 

“I don’t really know yet. I’ve been with you all this time.” 

“They’re going to be so frustrated,” Tae-eul said. “They’ll have to be off-duty.” 

“Well, you’ll also be off-duty. You can all be off-duty together.”

“Talk again.” 

“What is it?”

She pressed her hand against his chest. “I can feel your voice.”

“Oh. It’s the vibrations.” 

She pressed her fingertips at his throat. “I feel your voice better here. Say something.”

“Saranghae. I was scared to death. I’m grateful you’re all right. Are you really all right?” 

She nodded, eyes spilling tears again. “You and Song-eun said I am.” And her eyes flicked to the fetal monitor. 

Gon sighed and held her closer. 

“And you’re sure the baby’s all right? What did Song-eun say?” 

This time, he took his phone out of his pocket and typed on it with his arms around her. 

She said we’re lucky you’re only almost 16 weeks. The baby’s still small, and the layers of protection are thicker than if you were further along. You did have to get a RhoGAM shot now, and Song-eun says she’ll monitor the baby for Rhesus disease from now on.  

Tae-eul was nodding as she read his screen. The Rhesus incompatibility situation wasn’t new to them. They’d learned about it in her first screenings. 

Do you have other questions?

Tae-eul stiffened a little in his arms, and Gon thought she was finally going to ask about the driver. Gon had been trying not to think of him either. He had focused on Tae-eul, but now that she was awake and asking questions, the driver was invading his thoughts. 

He still didn’t know much aside from the fact that he was completely drunk. 

However, after relaxing in his arms again, Tae-eul poked the top right of his phone screen and said, “It’s almost eleven. Why am I not hungry? I haven’t eaten in twelve hours.”

Gon exhaled a laugh. He kissed her hair. He loved this woman. He typed, You ate at eleven pm?

“Don’t go there.” 

Still smiling, he typed, I think they gave you something in your IV so you won’t feel acidic and hungry in case you stayed asleep longer. And they gave you vitamins and other essentials. I’ll go ask if you can eat. 

He gently maneuvered her back onto her bed. She sighed against her pillow and then looked at the fetal monitor again. Her eyes suddenly went droopy, and Gon knew her adrenaline spike after waking up had worn off now that she knew their baby was safe. And her eyes were probably tired anyway. With her corneal abrasions, sleeping would do her good. 

“Hold off on the food,” she said as she closed her eyes. “But get me my kalbi.”

Gon pushed the bed’s button again and put the bed back in full recline. He pressed a kiss on her forehead, and then on her lips, lingering there for several long moments. He loved her, he had missed her, and today he’d nearly lost her.  

When they parted, she said, “Saranghae.”

“Nado.” 

He didn’t leave her, of course. Gon dropped on the armchair and took several deep breaths, exhaling quietly. His relief sent him doubling over, elbows on his knees, and he thanked God over and over. A litany of Gamsahabnida. 

Then he leaned back on the armchair and just looked at her. Now her face no longer looked pinched, as if she was truly sleeping now. Once he was sure she was in deep sleep, Gon hit 3 on his phone. 

“Yeong. Ask Dr Chae if Tae-eul can eat. She’s asleep now but she asked about food.” 

“Ye, Pyeha.” And before Gon could ask, Yeong added, “My report is in the Drive. I have a lead so I’m about to leave, Pyeha. We’ll continue updating the doc.” 

“All right. Thank you.” 

Gon took a deep breath and navigated to the Drive. He wasn’t about to leave Tae-eul’s side and Yeong couldn’t deliver the report personally, so this Drive folder, usually for documentation only and something Gon had never looked at, came in handy. 

He saw the thumbnail of the footage and his jaw clenched. As king and sovereign justice, he had to watch it. 

He watched Jangmi approach the intersection defensively, not crossing it even with the light on green because of that suspicious oncoming white car from the left. 

He watched the white car barrel through the intersection-- other cars swerving to a halt. 

He watched his wife’s car stop beyond the path of the white car, just like all other cars had done. 

He watched the white car swerve for no reason at the last second and ram into his wife’s car, even though practically all the cars had given it a clear path across. 

He watched it twice and closed the video before his blood boiling made him throw his phone at the wall.  

He could feel his jaw trembling with rage and he swore under his breath to release some of his anger. It made him feel dirty even though Tae-eul was asleep and couldn’t have heard him. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked at Tae-eul, letting the sight of her calm him. 

He opened the report next. Aside from details that he already knew, like the time and location of the collision, and Tae-eul’s condition at the time of the ambulance response, it now included photos of Jangmi’s and In-yeong’s x-rays and Yeong’s notes. 

Jang Mi-reuk: 

lacerations on the face, neck and arm (left)

Type 1 distal clavicle fracture (left)

Type A oblique rib fractures (left posterior 4th, 5th and 6th ribs) 

Type B transverse rib fracture (left posterior 7th rib)

30% pneumothorax (left lung) 

severe bruising on the left side

sensorineural hearing loss and tinnitus (prognosis: temporary)

Park In-yeong: 

bruised ribs (left)

distal radius fracture (right) 

displaced, mid-shaft and intra-articular fractures of the phalanges (left little finger, ring finger and middle finger)

sensorineural hearing loss (prognosis: temporary)

Gon was glad Jangmi wasn’t worse. He was the only one on the left side of the car, the side of the collision. The other car had rammed the queen’s car a little behind Jangmi’s seat, and even with the car’s airbags and collision safety technology, look at all those broken bones. And his lung had collapsed.  

Yeong’s report says they didn’t know how exactly In-yeong broke her wrist and fingers. Probably from slamming them against something during the crash. 

Damn. And it was In-yeong’s right wrist. She wouldn’t be able to shoot a gun for weeks. The little crack shot wouldn’t like that. 

The next page was about the driver. 

Gon read it all but the only thing that stood out was the blood alcohol concentration. The driver weighed 160 pounds with .25 BAC. 

That was beyond driving under the influence. Influence was about a quarter of the man’s blood alcohol level. What the driver did was practically-- 

Gon’s brain supplied manslaughter. He closed his eyes. No one had died. But someone could have. Someone could have. And if Gon hadn’t bought the safest car in the world, or if Jangmi simply chose any of the other cars in the fleet, where would Gon be right now? 

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

“SPEAK UP! I ASKED YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO THE QUEEN AND YOU HAVE TO ANSWER ME!”

Ho-pil gestured to Dong-min and ran to VIP 6, the VIP room where he could hear Jangmi bellowing. He found the man shouting at his nurse from his bed by the window. 

On the other bed, In-yeong was awake and looking mournful. When she saw Ho-pil, she said, “I can’t hear it but it’s hurting my eardrums. How’s the queen?”

Ho-pil gave her two thumbs up. Queen was okay. Baby was okay. In-yeong sighed and then winced when that action jogged her ribs. 

Ho-pil marched over to Jangmi, who was still bellowing like a wounded bull. 

He was a wounded bull. His face, neck and arms were bandaged, his torso was bandaged and in thick braces. He also had a bandage over his clavicle where his surgery incision was. His left arm was in a sling secured with straps to keep his shoulder immobile. 

When he saw Ho-pil, he stopped shouting. But he was still yelling. Ho-pil winced. “Sunbaenim. How’s the queen?”

Ho-pil repeated the two thumbs up that worked with In-yeong. 

Jangmi burst into tears. 

“Should I have moved the car and tried to avoid it? It happened so fast. I should have done something.” 

Ahh shit. Poor Jangmi. Ho-pil pulled out his phone and typed rapidly.  

You did exactly what I would have done if I’d been the one at the wheel. This wouldn’t have happened if that other bastard wasn’t blind drunk. The queen is fine. She has a clavicle fracture like you, but not as bad. And there’s something about her getting the Rhesus injection thing because she has that rare negative blood type and the baby’s a positive. Don’t terrorize your nurses. They’re the ones who’ll give you food and pain meds. 

He showed the screen to Jangmi and the great bull calmed down with every word, and then turned sheepish by the end. 

“I’m sorry, sunbaenim. Thank you. But I still want to apologize to the queen. Can we see the queen?” 

Ho-pil mouthed, “Can you get up?”

“Sure, if you help me.” 

“I’ll help you later. Rest for now. I think Their Majesties will let us know if they want to see--” 

Dong-min pounded on the open door and waved frantically at Ho-pil. “Seonsaengnim, the king wants--”

And then the king himself stepped into the room. 

They all bowed their heads. Not just out of respect. The king looked murderous. For some reason, Ho-pil had a flashback he couldn’t identify because he had never seen the king like this before, but his mind told him the king was dangerous when he looked like this. 

And contrary to Jangmi, the king spoke in quiet, precise syllables that made the hair on Ho-pil’s neck rise. 

“Sub-captain Seok. Captain Jo is already investigating that man.” Ho-pil heard disgust and knew the king wanted to call the man something else. Ho-pil already did in his own head. “He has a lead somewhere else. Now I want information on where that man drank all night. If it was an establishment, the owner, and the staff who served him. If it was a private party, who he was with. Call his employers or his employees.” 

“Ye, Pyeha. His family, too?” 

“We already know his family. Captain Jo sent it in. In any case, I don’t want testimony from anyone who might beg for him not to die.” 

“Ye, Pyeha.”

With a nod toward In-yeong and Jangmi, the king left. 

They waited ten seconds, and then In-yeong and Jangmi asked him what the king said. Ho-pil typed it on his phone and showed it first to In-yeong, and then to Jangmi. 

In-yeong had just looked vindictive. Jangmi spoke their thoughts aloud. Real loud. 

“HOLY SHIT.”

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

A loud, grinding noise and the crash of metal against metal. 

The piercing shatter of glass breaking. The explosive full blast of airbags. Brakes squealing. 

Pain and burning on her eyes, her shoulder, her legs, everywhere. She struggled to part her eyelids but they wouldn’t cooperate beyond a small squint. She couldn’t see Jangmi and In-yeong at all. 

She couldn’t hear anything either. 

Someone was lifting her and she told them to be careful, she was pregnant, but if they heard her she had no idea-- she knew she was speaking but the way she heard herself was different. Was she dead and was it this quiet when you were dead? 

She couldn’t be dead-- she was going to have a baby. And Gon would be devastated. No, no.  

Suddenly, her eyes were open and she saw the car coming again as if to finish the job now that the paramedics had brought her out of the shelter of the car. 

Determined that it wouldn’t get her this time, she struggled against the paramedics and ran with all her might away from them all, away from that car. 

But it still hit her and she felt that gentle and violent rocking again. 

It made her ill. 

Suddenly, she realized she really was throwing up over a basin. Her eyes were really open. When she was done, she could see beyond the basin and her sheets. Cream sheets and blankets now being gently and efficiently changed around her by court maids in their familiar uniform. Leaf green walls and cream paneling and a big glass window showing the dimming light of sunset. 

She was in a hospital room, not a highway full of stopped traffic and one murderous car. 

Something cool and comforting was being pressed against the right side of her face. Comforting in contrast to the dull ache she felt in her legs and feet, her shoulder, her face. Everything hurt. 

Gon was beside her. He was the one holding the basin and the towel against her cheek. When he saw she was really done being sick, he passed the basin to a court maid, wiped Tae-eul’s mouth with the towel, and offered her a glass of water with a straw. 

Tae-eul sipped water and swallowed it with some difficulty past the sobs building in her chest and throat. She held off as long as she could, but they came out anyway. 

When she woke up this morning, she had cried with relief. She had been so afraid, so sure that she was about to be told she was no longer-- but then she felt the attachments on her belly and saw the fetal monitor and-- she cried with relief. 

Right now, she was crying from residual terror. She had been a detective. She knew what this was. Only, she had known and seen it happen to others. In colleagues, in witnesses, in suspects. 

Now she knew what it was like. And her detective’s brain tried to feed her with facts to ease her anguish. She focused her eyes on the fetal monitor. Her baby was fine. She was fine. She couldn’t hear but she was fine. She was in the hospital. She cracked her collarbone. But she was fine. The car hadn’t hurt her. Hadn’t hurt them. 

Gon was real, his arms around her, his hand stroking her hair soothingly, and his breath against her ear. 

The sick feeling in her stomach receded. Her heart slowed down. She clung to Gon’s arm and let herself fall back against him, on the familiar shelter of his shoulder. 

She pressed her lips together to close her mouth and stop crying. There was no need to carry on like this. She looked at Gon, drank him in with her eyes, and let that gaze and that nose and those lips and that jawline blot out the last vestiges of that car from behind her eyelids. 

But it frustrated her that she couldn’t hear his voice. She could feel his chest rumbling softly and his lips moving against her forehead but she heard nothing. 

He brought his face close to hers, gently tilting her chin so she could see him. She focused on his lips as they moved. “You’re all right. I’m here. Are you all right?” 

She nodded and shook her head. “Everything hurts.” 

Gon’s mouth curved down. “I’m sorry. Your medication should take effect soon. Noona gave you another dose some time ago. You’ll be fine.” 

She nodded, raising her right hand to cradle his neck. When he spoke again, she felt it against her palm. “Do you want to tell me about it? What woke you up? Was it the accident?”

She nodded again. “Just… I saw it all over again. And everything I heard then. I wish I could hear something else to push it out of my head.” 

Gon pulled some tissues from the box on her bedside table and gently dabbed at her cheeks, careful not to make contact with her eyes. 

He said, “I could sing to you. Maybe only feeling the vibrations on my throat would make it sound better.”

She caught all that from reading his lips and it made her smile. “Go on.” 

And Gon sang. An English song he’d heard her alternately sing and hum. It was like a lullaby. Soft, comforting, the notes rising and falling in smooth harmony. She could hear the song in her head, and her mind added the tune to Gon’s voice vibrating against her palm, drowning out that awful screech of metal.  

“Moon river, 

wider than a mile, 

I’m crossing you in style some day.”

Her stomach chose that moment to grumble. 

Gon stopped singing and looked at her. “I know I can’t sing as well as you, but that was rude.” 

Tae-eul laughed. 

“Come on. Let’s get you fed. You’ve had nothing but liquid nutrition all day.” 

As if listening for this, another court maid came in and laid a tray on the bed. Then she placed and uncovered a black and gold ceramic dosirak on top of it. Tae-eul smelled kimchi and kalbi and her mouth watered. 

Gon picked up the tray and placed it over her lap. She opened her mouth and he chuckled, taking a little bit of everything into a spoonful and bringing it to her mouth. 

“Good?”

“Really good. Did I lose my phone?”

Gon nodded. “It was on the seat behind Jangmi. Why?”

“Give me your phone.” 

She didn’t even have to navigate much. The file she wanted was on the homescreen. She played it at maximum volume. Nothing. 

She sighed. 

“You remember how it sounds, though, right?” Gon asked. 

Oh, she did. But she wanted to hear it, not remember it. 

She wanted that heartbeat to assure her, distract her, make her feel safe and happy again. And Gon’s voice. She needed his voice, too. 

They both ate the dosirak without talking much, both of them retreating inside their own heads, and then Gon helped her wash her face-- with wipes-- and brush her teeth-- with a basin. 

Maybe her pregnancy-safe painkillers still had narcotic side-effects, or maybe she was just tired out from everything. She drowsily played with Gon’s hand in her lap. 

She decided she couldn’t put it off any longer. “Gon. The driver.” 

He looked at her, and his gaze was still the same whenever he looked at her, but she saw the fury there, the hard and unforgiving glint. 

“Tell me about the driver.” 

He took his hand from hers, navigated his phone, and gave it to her with the document open. 

She scrolled past Yeong’s notes on her condition, on Jangmi’s and In-yeong’s, her heart squeezing at their injuries, and then there he was. His driver’s license. Kim Ae-go, 1977 08 29, Gijang-gun. 

The report had been updated an hour ago with priors. Several counts of DUI and possession, the first one when he was 16. When he was 19, he had crashed his car into a house, killing a cat and her four kittens. The case was settled. When he was 24, he had hit a 15-year-old kid on a bike and the kid was paralyzed from the waist down, but the case was settled. Five years later, he was tried for vehicular manslaughter-- a 17-year-old girl and her 10-year-old sister were killed-- but was acquitted. 

“I can’t believe this.” 

Gon looked at her, that glint in his eyes sharper now. 

“This... this son of a bitch is a menace.” 

Gon blinked. 

“Well, now that he has endangered the bloody queen and the heir, he has no chance of being acquitted, has he? You can even behead him.” She slammed his phone down on the bed. 

Gon stared at her, his eyes flickering between her and the vital signs monitor. 

“What? I suppose we can’t have him beheaded just because I was the one attacked this time. He should have been punished long ago. Just… just get him imprisoned for life. No parole.”

In response, Gon’s hand came to cradle her uninjured cheek, and then he was kissing her, pressing and stroking her lips with his, taking her lower lip in his mouth, pulling on it and teasing it with his tongue. 

Then he just lingered there with their lips brushing while they both breathed each other’s air. His eyes stared into hers, and the glint was still there, but it was a different kind.  

He kissed her again, just a quick but still persistent kiss, and then withdrew. 

He took his phone from where she’d slammed it on her bed covers-- now the silk from the palace-- and typed on it. He showed her the screen. 

I wanted him beheaded. But I suppose life imprisonment is more appropriate so he can properly reflect and pay for his sins. He’s already under lock and key in the hospital. No chance of being acquitted, no. And yes, life with no parole. 

Get better soon, my queen. I missed you. And I love you when you’re bloodthirsty.   

She didn’t quite slam his phone down on the bed again, but it was still close. She felt ridiculous about it and glared at him. 

He was laughing as he pushed the button on her bed.  

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

Gon was shaken, however. He watched Tae-eul asleep in the glow of the lamps, her face golden and beautiful and angelic. Was this Tae-eul’s purpose in his world? Not just a queen but a trap for pests? 

He opened his phone and tapped their favorite audio file almost automatically. The volume was still on the last setting by Tae-eul-- maximum-- and he didn’t lower it. He let it wash over him. 

It sounded like how his heart thundered in his ears that morning-- just that morning-- when Yeong told him Tae-eul had been in a car crash.  

It also sounded like a drum roll before an announcement. What would he announce? That the queen was taking a leave of absence? Could he send her--ask her--to stay in the republic and hope she was safe there?  

He grimaced at the stupidity and futility of that thought. 

His phone buzzed in his hand. It was Yeong. 

“Pyeha. I’m coming to your room and I’ll stay with the queen.”

“Why?”

“He’s awake. He remembers everything. And the Minister of Finance is here.”

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

Ok-nam saw the sickle moon again in her dream. And just like before, it turned into a brilliant sun. 

She didn't know why that thrilled her and assured her but it did. 

She was just about to happily sink further in her dream and sleep when she felt herself being pulled to wakefulness. 

It was the phone. She answered it and heard the king’s voice just as what happened that day hit her.  

"How are you? Have they told you everything?" 

"Pyeha. How is the queen?" 

"Better. She's fine. They're both fine." Ok-nam sighed. "Lady Noh. Should one punish severely or well?" 

Ok-nam didn’t even have to think about it. “Do both. Always.” She dipped her head with emphasis even though the king, her little boy, couldn’t see her. “This is how you make things right. This is how you inspire other people to also always make things right.” 

“Hmm. You and your punishments that involve three generations.” 

Ok-nam raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t really do that! You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you.” 

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

The Minister of Finance was prostrate before the king. 

This day was just full of surprises. Ho-pil had just arrived back at the hospital to make a report to the king when Captain Jo asked him to escort the minister to VIP 5. Ho-pil balked at that, disgusted that the minister and his asshole son were in the VIP wing right alongside the queen, but Yeong told him the entire VIP wing was currently occupied by the Royal Court. 

True to the Captain’s word, VIP 5 was empty. 

It seemed to be under renovation. Bare walls. With the minister prostrating on the bare floor. 

“Pyeha, I beg your forgiveness. I am horrified at what has occurred. At what my son did. My entire family deserves to die.” 

The minister was a spry seventy-four year old that Ho-pil had admired. But the man had aged since Ho-pil had last seen him. He felt almost sorry that the son’s sins were being visited on the father. Almost. Because the father had sins himself, didn’t he? 

The king, standing tall with the minister at his feet, spoke in his quiet way. No fury this time, but it still made Ho-pil swear he’d never do anything to warrant the king speaking to him in that tone. 

“I am not going to make accusations, Minister. But your son has been endangering people for more than two decades. He has even killed two girls. He was acquitted. With his priors, the acquittal seems impossible until one looks at the family he belongs to.  

“What do you hope to obtain?” 

“Our lives. We deserve to die but please let my family live, Pyeha. I will accept all other punishments I deserve.” 

The king replied without pause. “So be it. You are henceforth stripped of your title and ministership. You and your wife are banished from Corea. Your son will be tried and imprisoned the maximum sentence. As I’m the sovereign justice, and this time the case is right before my eyes and I hope I’m no longer an inadequate teenaged monarch, I can assure you your son will die in incarceration. Is that to your satisfaction?” 

The minister lowered his head further on the floor. “Pyeha-- my parents-- they’re the ones who coddled the boy. I humbly suggest the punishment extend to them.” 

“Very well. I trust your word. They will join you in exile. None of you are allowed to set foot in the kingdom. Not even to die here.” 

“Thank you for your mercy. Thank you for sparing my children and grandchildren, Pyeha.” 

If the father impressed Ho-pil, the son disgusted him. 

The king didn’t even bother to speak to the gibbering man. What a fucking cockroach, begging for forgiveness without acknowledging his actions. The king entered his room, looked at him, and just seemed to tune him out when he began talking.  

And when Ho-pil told the king that the cockroach had thrashed the server who had confiscated his car keys, Ho-pil saw the king’s hand clench at his side. 

Ho-pil was sure that if the Four Tiger Sword had been at the king’s hip in its scabbard, he would have slit the man’s throat. 

But aside from that small movement anyone untrained would have missed, the king didn’t even flinch as they left the room. 

“Add that to his charges. And place the server in protective custody. I think Captain Jo already made contact with the family of the girls and they’re under our protection as well. Cut off all communication channels of the Kim family until and after the four senior Kims are exiled.” 

“Ye, Pyeha.” His investigation had told him as much. The old Kim patriarch had a long reach without having to step outside his villa. It was just unlucky for the old man he was now standing toe to toe with the king. 

“Sub-captain Seok, please inform Secretary Mo that if there are other cases like this that have escaped my notice, I want them all at my desk by Friday next.” 

Ho-pil stood tall and took immense pride in saying, “Ye, Pyeha.”

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

The guards at the door of VIP 7 were instead standing near VIP 6. Gon heard the din of raised voices as he stepped past them. The guards had stepped away so they wouldn’t hear. What on earth--

As he stopped at the door, he heard Tae-eul’s voice clearly, and it stunned him because for a moment, he thought she was talking to him. 

“And do you think the republic has force fields that prevent a car crash? I could have a car accident there, too.” 

Then Yeong spoke. “What if you had died? What if the baby--”

“Don’t think that. I didn’t die. I didn’t lose--” 

“Are you going to look at death every day? I thought it was over.” 

“Why do you always make me talk in cliches? We do look at death every day. Anything can happen to anyone at any time.” 

“Don’t tell me you don’t see it. You were used today to finally catch that man. You saw his records. Once he slammed into YOUR car, there was no hope for him. His entire family’s power gone just like that because he happened to crash into the queen this time. That was unnecessary. That was senseless. The king would have caught on to him sooner or later. But look what happened. And because you and I both know you’ve been put here on purpose, aren’t you a little suspicious? Aren’t you even a little afraid?” 

“Of course I’m afraid. I’m terrified. But there are things you fight and stay for even when you’re afraid. You know that.” 

Gon had felt his stomach drop at Yeong’s words, and then Tae-eul’s just knocked the wind out of him. Yeong didn’t answer, so Gon opened the door. He found them on opposite ends of the room, Tae-eul in bed and Yeong standing at the window. 

Both of them looked impassive, although Tae-eul’s visible cheek was flushed. 

“Did I interrupt something?”

Yeong said, “No.” Tae-eul just sighed. 

Gon knew that no matter how tenacious she was, what Yeong said had bothered her. Of course, it would. 

To his surprise, Yeong spoke up. 

"I'm worried about you. Both of you. If something happens to either of you, I'm the one who'll be left with the pieces. I’m meant to protect you. Why else do I remember everything? But how can I protect you from something like this? I’m powerless and useless.” 

Gon took a deep breath and spoke of the realization that had come to him between his call to Lady Noh and his audience with the ex-minister. “Something or someone else will prove powerful and useful then, Yeong-ah.” 

Yeong scowled at him.  

“It’s a balance. How do you think I felt this morning? I was king but what good was that when Tae-eul was in a car crash? But that car proved powerful and useful. Jangmi’s defensive driving ended up powerless and useless but that car protected them, didn’t it?” 

Yeong turned his head to the side, his gesture of thinking over what Gon said. 

“I was thinking like you earlier. It crossed my mind that maybe I could ask her to stay in the republic. But like she told you, that didn’t make sense. And when I found out about that man’s family, everything made sense. You said I could have caught on to him sooner or later-- but can you think of any other circumstance where he would have been trapped so cleanly without escape?” 

Yeong scowled and sighed. Tae-eul said, “I think that’s the longest he explained something without a math reference, don’t you?”  

Yeong sighed again, but this one sounded amused, and the look he gave Tae-eul was full of exasperation. Something Gon was familiar with because it had been directed at him for dec--

Gon snapped his head to Tae-eul. “You heard me?” 

Tae-eul grinned and tapped her right ear. “Loud and clear. Ever since Yeong came in and woke me up.”

“I didn’t wake you up. You were already awake.”

“What about your left ear?” 

“Still fuzzy. I think because it got the brunt from all the airbags and the… the crash.”

“It will come back. I’m glad you can hear again.” 

“Me, too. Give me your phone.” 

Gon smiled, moving eagerly toward her, and Yeong did the same, toward the door. “I’ll see myself out. I don’t like being in the room when you two start smiling like that.” 

Gon clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. Live for today.” 

Yeong just gave him a side-eye. “Tell yourself that, too.” 

Gon nodded. “I do. Everyday.” 

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

Tae-eul watched the two best friends exchange words--too soft for her to hear-- before Yeong made it out the door. When she was out of here, she was going to send Yeong and Seung-ah to Jeju or Pyeongchang so he could decompress. 

Maybe they could all go as a treat to the entire guard while Jangmi and In-yeong were recovering. 

Gon gave her his phone, kissed her, and then retreated to the en suite. She heard him at the sink, brushing his teeth, the clink of the water glass against the counter, and then the gentle thump and soft buzz of his luggage as he opened zips and probably got his pajamas. 

There was the faint noise of the shower door sliding on its track, once, twice, and then the muffled cascade of the shower running.  

She listened to every little noise. She thought she even heard the soft hum of his electric razor. Even the soft slap of his hands as he applied aftershave. It made her smile.  

And then she heard the shift of the sound of his footsteps from tile to carpet, and when she opened her eyes, he was watching her from the side of the bed. 

“I thought you’d have it in full volume but I came out to absolute quiet.” 

Tae-eul snorted. “You don’t know absolute quiet. And I was waiting for you.”

He smiled and helped her move on the semi-double bed to make space for him. It might be a VIP room but the bed still couldn’t be too big to hinder patient treatment. She made sure the space was big enough for Gon to lie on his back rather than on his side all night. 

He laid down on his side, however, with his arm over her waist and under her sling, kissing her temple and her cheek. 

She squeezed his arm with her left and then she tapped play on their favorite audio file. 

Tae-eul closed her eyes and listened to it. Then she remembered Gon dancing to this and giggled. She turned the volume loud and then softer, and the little bean’s heartbeat remained steady and strong. 

This was what she’d wanted to hear all day, what she’d known she would hear soon when she’d heard the soft click of the door after Yeong had entered and it latched closed. 

So when Yeong had seen she was awake and started talking about his fears, she had been calm and peaceful, with her faith a solid presence in her mind and heart, all because she had known she was about to hear this heartbeat again. 

She felt Gon’s thumb swipe at her cheek. “Do you hear any difference?” 

She didn’t open her eyes but she tilted her head a little. Gon’s voice was another thing. “Hmm?”

“This is from today.” 

“What?”

“This is the little bean at fifteen weeks, not at twelve weeks.”

Tae-eul smiled and laughed a little. “Really? I don’t hear any difference, do you?”

“No. It’s like nothing happened.” 

Tae-eul chuckled. “Like nothing happened.” 

___________________________________________

Question/reader reaction to A dark day for Corea: WHY DID I DO THIS?! WHYYY!

Answer: You know that sweet pregnancy trope where they listen to the baby's heartbeat? I wanted it in a flashback in a currently bleak scene. 

And this is what came to me. I did my research and I kept finding things to support what I wanted to do, like the new Mercedes Benz S-class 2021 (to be released in September), the loss of hearing from airbags, and so many other bits. I loved it.

I did drop Corea News ahead so I’d be committed to seeing this through. 

I almost paid for subscription to a medical procedures journal, but I did find specific answers for free. The key is to ask specific questions lol.

If I got anything wrong, forgive me. I could have asked medical people around me, but I’m shy and writing is solitary. 

FACT: Rhesus negative blood is RARE in Asia. There was a sad news item in Korea where a man died because he needed platelets and couldn’t find enough donors. He had B-negative blood. 

All right, let me know what you think. Please drop a line, thank you! :) 

[rhetoricalrogue]

31 Days of Wayhaven, Day 18

Prompt: Empty Rating: G, mentioned character death Words: 2,693 Characters: Falk, Winona Adams Summary:  When Winona said “Call any time,” she should have put in some exceptions.  Goes with the Day 9 sub-plot. Spoilers for Book 2

For the @31daysofwayhaven event.

The mirror was empty.  Falk frowned, wondering just what it meant.  The agent that had been assigned to him - he’d already equated her presence in his mind to being assigned directly to him instead of to him and his people, seeing as she rarely interacted with anyone else besides him when she visited - had promised that any mirror in her temporary lodgings were always open for discussion, and he had questions.

And yet, he could sense her presence on the other side of the glass but she wasn’t answering the short, low chimes that they had agreed upon to signal his desire to speak.

Never trust this Agency to keep their word, he thought, closing his eyes as he touched his palm to the mirror’s surface, infusing it with his magic and feeling it ripple against his palm like water.

A pang of grief hit him.  Sanja’s bowl had dried up, to the exact second, that life had left her body, the magic going out of her divination tool with the water it had held.  Any effort to refill the bowl with water had met the same fate: either it seeped from the bowl itself or instantly dried up the moment liquid touched the surface.

It drove home the fact that Sanja was gone and wasn’t coming back, no matter how hard he tried to bring even the smallest reminder of her back to life.  Grief gave way to anger, at the Agency for sending a team unable to rescue her, at Detective Miller, whom he had once expressed interest in but who had apparently thought the life of Commanding Agent du Mortain meant more to her than Sanja’s, and at himself, for being too weak to do anything in the first place.

He should have grabbed at her when they were escaping the burning remains of their home.  He shouldn’t have believed her when she yelled that she was right behind him.  He should have…

Falk sighed.  No amount of should haves would change what happened that night.  He needed to focus on the future, on the safety of his people, on the logistics of tracking these so called Trappers down and making them pay for their crimes.

But for now, he needed to focus on the present, namely on a woman who apparently couldn’t pick up a damned phone when someone called her.  Turning his attention towards the presence he had sensed, he expanded his magic and allowed his body to travel through the glass to emerge on the other side.

The room he arrived in was warm and humid.  The sound of running water and the scent of peonies assaulted his senses. And it was definitely not empty.  He cleared his throat to gain the attention of Agent Adams, who was inside the shower, if the barely visible silhouette singing some tune he’d never heard before behind the curtain was anything to go by. 

For Winona’s part, she hadn’t felt the change in atmosphere, nor heard the usual watery bloop that heralded Falk’s arrival.  The shower was loud and her singing - and gods, how this involuntary exile had made her long for home to the point where she was singing the songs of her youth for comfort - had drowned out the rest.  She was tired of living amongst the humans, of wearing the loosest and frumpiest of clothing she had in order to avoid accidentally jolting them with an unwanted surge of desire.  She was exhausted from not sleeping well, her mind always, always going back to that interrogation room where everything had gone wrong, trying to retrace her steps and see what mistake she had made.  Things shouldn’t have gone the way they had: she hadn’t used a large amount of pheromones to entice her suspect to speak, not nearly the amount that she typically used when the harder to crack ones clammed up even.  She hadn’t even used the amount that she normally used when she fed off willing participants, but apparently the tiniest bit had been enough to send the man sitting handcuffed to the metal desk into a fit, eyes blanking and leaving nothing behind except for an empty, living husk.

Her arguments to her innocence had fallen on deaf ears.  Even presented with the surveillance tape documenting the encounter, her superiors had blamed her for losing valuable information - she’d seethed that they’d been more upset about the information than the life of the informant - and extended that blame to the fact that Unit Echo had nearly been compromised on their joint efforts.  

Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly.  

However, that was neither here nor there, but it was one of the reasons she hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone before the loud sound of someone clearing their throat dragged her out of her thoughts.  She shrieked and grabbed the nearest item as a weapon in one hand and shoved her soapy hair out of her face with the other.

“I do not think you would do any deadly damage with that,” Falk commented dryly, eyeing the loofah brush being brandished at him.

“What are you doing in my bathroom?” she demanded, snapping the curtain closed and hiding behind it, poking her head out to glare at him.

“You did not answer the mirror the first time I called.”

“Probably because I was here, in the shower!”

“You said that I could call at any time.”  While the air was thick with warm steam, Falk swore that icicles had formed around Agent Adams’ direct vicinity, if the tone of her voice was anything to go by.

She gave a huff before fully retreating in the shower, presumably to rinse her hair.  “Okay, so obviously we’re going to have to workshop some sort of availability system here.  That whole call any time thing?”

“So you’re admitting you lied and were -”

“Don’t twist my words, damn it!”  She angrily twisted off the shower’s water supply and blindly grabbed at a towel hanging outside.  Falk, eyebrow raised, pulled it off the hook and offered it to her. 

“I didn’t come here to argue.”  He handed her a second towel, lip curling amusedly when her arm emerged from behind the curtain, her hand held out in a silent request.

“Good, because I’m not in the mood to fight.”  He watched as she stepped out of the tub, one oversized towel tucked around her head to keep her hair from dripping and the other wrapped firmly around her body, hiding her form from view from the chest down to her knees.  She smelled strongly of the soap she’d been using, the floral scent well suited to her, but what Falk noticed most were the dark shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been present in any of their previous meetings.  She must have hidden them from view with the aid of cosmetics, but to see her with her face bare…

She was still as lovely as ever, but she looked tired.  Worn down.  A little part of him - okay, a large part of him - felt guilty about being a probable cause for her exhaustion.  He hadn’t been the easiest of people to work with and he knew it, grief and anger making him pricklier than usual.

“How can I help you, Falk?” she asked, stepping out of the bathroom and going down the short hallway to the bedroom.  He followed only as far as the hall before turning his back on her to give her privacy. 

“I…” His mind went back to the dark circles under her eyes.  “It can wait, Agent Adams.  I’m intruding.”

“No!”  She yanked a t-shirt down over her head and jammed on a soft pair of shorts that she used to sleep in before rushing out the room, the towel on her head wobbling as she reached out to touch Falk’s sleeve.  Do whatever it takes to ensure the success of the mission.  “You’re here now, we can talk.”

He looked down at her. “You are tired.”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Stepping away, she gestured for him to sit at one of the chairs in the living room.  “Could I offer you anything to drink?  Tea?”

His brow furrowed.  “It does matter, Agent.  What I have to say can wait until tomorrow.”  He was not familiar enough with succubi to wonder if her state had anything to do with her feeding schedule, and they weren’t familiar enough with the other for him to ask outright.  Instead, he cleared his throat again.  “I apologize for arriving in the manner I did.  Perhaps we could speak about this availability system you spoke of?”

She nodded, undoing the towel covering her hair and wrapping it around her shoulders to catch any drips.  “What about this?”  She picked up a stack of post-it notes on the kitchen counter and held it up.  “If there’s a green note on my mirror, it means that I’m available to talk.  If there’s a yellow one, that means I’m not around?”

He tipped his head and tapped at his lip with the tip of a taloned finger.  “A rather rudimentary system.”  His eyes sparkled in humor when he saw the flash of annoyance in her eyes.  “Though it is acceptable.”

“Do you tease everyone you speak with, or am I an exception?” she asked, running her thumbnail over the edge of the stack of notes, an annoyed fwip sound coming from them at every pass.

“It amuses me to see you spark, little firebrand,” he admitted.  “Though perhaps I shouldn’t tease you as often, it’s unprofessional of me.”  He held out his hand to investigate the post-its she still held.  His breath caught when their fingers accidentally brushed and he couldn’t help the spark of magic that flared up between them.

He was in a bare, cold room.  He had to adjust to the shorter perspective as he looked at things from behind her eyes.  There was a man sitting, attached to a metal desk by some sort of manacles at his wrist.  His body was slumped backwards, his head tilted up at the ceiling, eyes blank.  Falk felt his own hands go to his mouth before his eyes frantically went from the man to the large mirror on the other wall and back again.  People filled the room and a tall, lanky man with shoulder length black hair rushed to him, gathered him in his arms and pressed his face to his chest.

“It isn’t your fault, piccolina,” the man told him, hands running soothingly over his head as he stared on in mute horror.

Yet despite the man’s words and gestures, all Falk felt was an overwhelming sense of guilt.

He blinked and suddenly he was in what looked to be ruins of some ancient structure, the area’s flora overtaking what man had built.  He didn’t get a good glimpse of the area because suddenly he was falling, falling, falling, hands reaching up to try to scrabble at anything to stop his fall, a scream ripping past his throat.

“Rina!”  His hands strained to grab at a tiny set a young boy offered, but he was too far out of reach.  “Rina, no!”

“Elred!  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“I’m so sorry,” Winona cried out, on her knees in front of him.  Falk blinked, tried to get his bearings.  His heart still raced at the sensation of falling and it took a moment for him to realize what had happened.  “It was an accident.”  She looked up at him and something twisted in his chest to see tears freely pouring down her cheeks.  “Please, don’t…”

“It’s all right,” he told her, guilt heavy on his tongue and making his words come out thick and slow.  “I should be apologizing to you, this does not normally happen.”  He offered his hand to help her up, but then quickly retracted it, realizing what it must look like to her.

She rose to her feet, legs shaky as she scrubbed at her face.  Taking a deep breath, Winona squared her shoulders and looked up at him.  “What you saw, does it change how you feel about having me help you?”

There was fear in her eyes that was so palpable that he felt it close about his throat like a vise.  “No.  What I saw has no weight on what I need you to help me on now.”

“What...what did you see?”

Falk looked down at her and while the fear was still there, there was also a great sense of sadness and despair that had settled on her shoulders.  “Things beyond your control,” he told her.  There was a clear sense of guilt from her for both scenes, but Falk felt a tug at his sense of judgement that told him the guilt was not from the actions he had been witness to, but from the consequences of said actions.  “The boy.  Elred?”

She gasped.  “My brother.”  She clutched her hands close to his chest.  “I found him wandering away from home and tracked him to a ruin.  We were on our way back when the floor caved in and I fell.  I was fully expecting to die, but the rift that was underneath caught me and I arrived here.”

“That was not your fault, Rina.”

She jerked at the name.  “Winona,” she whispered, arms crossing and fingers digging into her elbows as she hugged herself.  “Rina was who I once was, but she’s gone, just as my way home is gone.”

“For what it’s worth,” he told her.  “I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you, Falk.”

“You should rest, Win - Agent Adams.”

She bit her lip.  “I don’t mind you calling me by my given name,” she said, her voice small as she looked at him.  “At least, not when we’re on the clock, so to speak.”

He gave her a small smile before nodding.  “Sleep, Winona.”  He walked over to the full-length mirror hanging in the living room and placed his hand on it.  “We shall talk in the morning.”

Winona shivered as the sensation of magic rippling across the glass dissipated, leaving her alone in the tiny apartment once more.  Picking up the towel from where it had slipped from her shoulders, she gave her wet hair a vigorous scrubbing before giving up and tossing the towel on the bathroom counter.  Not even bothering with pulling the sheets down, she flopped face first onto the mattress and was out in seconds.

Falk frowned as he tried to scrub away the wrongness of the two guilty verdicts he’d just witnessed from his mind.  Agent Adams - Winona, his mind supplied - had done nothing wrong and yet she harbored such a heavy amount of guilt for her actions.  Her falling into this world had been a complete accident, but he had tasted fear: for her brother’s safety as he ran home alone, for her inevitable death at the bottom of the hole that had crumbled unexpectedly under her feet, of the new world she’d been cast into with no way of returning home to those she cared about the most.  And even though he hadn’t been privy to the moments leading up to whatever had happened in the interrogation room, he sensed that there was more to what had happened than what Winona was putting onto herself.

He briefly wondered who the man was, who he meant to her before quickly pushing that thought away.  He’d given into attraction far too quickly once before and it had ended disastrously.  He wasn’t about to repeat that same mistake again, no matter how vulnerable and soft she had looked at the time.  He had half a mind to touch his mirror again, to find the nearest reflective surface and see if she was getting a rest that now that he understood, much needed.

Then he passed Sanja’s empty scrying bowl and recalled the surprised and slightly embarrassed I would like to be just friends from Detective Miller.  No, he would leave Agent Adams alone.  Losing his heart twice in rapid succession was enough, he didn’t need to do it a third time.

[lazywriter7]

Five Bells

Written for @lightsonparkave prompt one and two. Cheers to the delightful @firebrands for all her words of encouragement.

Summary:  

After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

First few lines of dialogue taken from Avengers: Endgame. All other lines in italics, as well as the title, are taken from Kenneth Slessor’s Five Bells.

________________________________

“How long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.”

  Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time

the flood that does not flow.

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

  “You know which bagel,” Steve says – mostly distracted. Cross-legged, notepad on thigh, he is drafting new training plans for the team; Pietro is proving to be a unique challenge.

“I do?” Tony queries, standing above his shoulder. The couch is low and he towers over Steve. “I don’t remember that being covered by the history books… unless I’d fallen asleep, of course.”

Steve freezes. No, no, he stills. The setting sun angles over Tony’s cheekbone, a deep, burnt red.

Steve lowers his gaze, his skin shivering with the afternoon chill. “Sesame seed, please.”

  Why do I think of you, dead man

 You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

  It is in the little things. Natasha’s surprised blink when Steve brings her a peanut butter sandwich, the hollow silence when he curses on the comms and no one chimes the L-word back at him.

It is nothing. It should pale before the face of the big things, the earth-shattering, the miraculous – the reality of getting to hear their voices, see their faces, unblemished, every day.

Even Christmas. Clint snags a thumbnail under the wrapping paper and peels it open from the middle; lifts the box set of Jurassic Park colouring books in the air and shakes it. “Right, ‘cause I’m the toddler of the team, I geddit. Thanks, Cap.”

It’s for Cooper, Steve thinks; it’s dumb, I couldn’t help myself, you haven’t told us and I’m so sorry–

“Did you not have presents in your time?” Tony asks, part snark and mostly befuddled, the multicoloured gleam of fairy lights dappled in his hair.

I didn’t have you in my time – and. And. It is in the little things.

  Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

  “They’re shiny. Silver.” Tony says, bruised eyes, dim with a kind of terror Steve has lived through first-hand. “These big, heaving whales in the air… and everything else is dark. All of you are dead.”

It’s been twenty-three days since Steve told him about December 16, 1991. New traumas evoking older nightmares.

“And I’m alone.”

It wasn’t real, Steve should say. That is the correct response to a nightmare.

It was real, in another, deliberately forgotten lifetime. Five years, and they weren’t even the worst of it.

“We can prepare,” Steve fists his hands by his sides, so as to not reach for Tony’s trembling ones on the kitchen countertop. Everything around them is night and still, but for the flickering of the bulb overhead. “We’ll be ready for them when they’re here.”

It’s like a face shifting from the shade into the light; the gratitude moving over Tony’s features.

The kettle whistles, Tony pads over to the stove – and for an instant, it’s as if a cloud passes and Steve is convinced this is a BARF memory. There by the corner, the real Tony stands with shoulders curled in – gaunt, emaciated, mouthing words.

Liar. Thief. Liar, liar.

  Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face

In agonies of speech on speechless panes?

Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!

  Tony, Steve breathes – and Tony catches it on his lips.

This has never happened before. Steve has no memories to compare it with, and catalogues every detail to add to a rolodex of sensations, for safekeeping; Tony’s eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s skin, the way the callus on his thumb digs into Steve’s chin when he’s holding it steady, the soft skin in the crevices between his fingers as their hands wound tighter together, the happiness of an impossible moment.

Tony pulls back, smiles softly.

Steve closes his own eyes, brushes his mouth over the corner of Tony’s, where the wrinkles begin – the place missing just a few extra lines.

  But I hear nothing, nothing...only bells,

Five bells, the bumpkin calculus of Time

Your echoes die, your voice is dowsed by Life

  “I have… Arlington.” Steve awkwardly presses himself against the wall of the overfull coffeeshop, paper cup oozing warmth through to his palms. Sometimes, if he lets himself forget, the crowds piling through the street and bustling indoors can still stun him. “There’s a memorial there, I mean. But if I could pick, after I eventually… Brooklyn, probably. In the Barnes family plot, if they allow it.”

“What,” Steve asks – turned morbid by the laughter and press of people around him. Fifty percent. It never happened here. “What about you?”

Natasha looks at him, brow crooking high enough to reach her hairline. Steve used to think that blistering colour came from hair dye, but he knows better now.

“Where I’d want to be buried?” She summarises bluntly. It’s like a wound getting cauterised – relief and pain making everything insensate.

The answer is a farm that isn’t supposed to exist, in the middle of nowhere. “Minsk,” Natasha says instead, and it doesn’t sound like a lie he’s heard before.

  Nothing except the memory of some bones

Long shoved away, and sucked away, in mud;

And unimportant things you might have done,

Or once I thought you did; but you forgot,

And all have now forgotten

   “Happy Sputnik Day!” Tony choruses, Thor’s deep base rumbling alongside his. Bruce is in the attached kitchenette, peering at jar labels in the shelf; Clint and Natasha playing Borderlands on the couch.

Steve comes further in from the doorway, gaze flitting incorrigibly from person to person. “What?”

“You know, Sputnik. The day all of humanity became a little cooler, and the Russians successfully launched the first satellite into orbit, driving the Americans insane.” Tony springs to his feet, wide grin approaching for a morning kiss. “October fourth.”

He barely catches Steve, fingers clamped about the arms, just as Steve pitches into the floor.

One year, one year one yearoneyearone –

Past, present, future swirls together in his serum-perfect brain, gibbering over two words, a fact so carefully forgotten; his breaths grow shallower and shallower, pain shooting through his chest with every hitch, black-spots-inverse-stars shimmering in his vision–

“You’re dead.” Steve rasps out, Tony’s face shuttering in confusion. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. “You’re dead.”

  Where have you gone? The tide is over you,

The turn of midnight water's over you,

As Time is over you, and mystery,

And memory, the flood that does not flow.

  He’s curled on the couch, apostrophe-like; dry-mouthed but breathing slower against Tony’s denim-covered thigh. Tony drags blunt nails over his scalp, quietly humming under his own breath.

I’ve watched you, Steve thinks hazily – watched you raise a child, watched you be blissfully married, watched you speak to Howard, father to father, and dole out more understanding than he deserved, and let me walk you away from your pristine life and give me more trust than I had ever earned. I watched the silver grow from the temples of your head to the longer hair-strands, to the scrub of your goatee, up to the fleck of your brows. And the longer I keep watching you now, the more I know I’m watching someone else.

“Was so sure,” He can hear his voice reverberate off the floor, more of a croak than anything– “tha’ I wasn’ gonna leave you this time.”

Tony regards him, hum falling silent. There’s a dam there, in those eyes, holding back a wave of slowly stirring anger and injury that Steve fully intends to weather – but is leashed now, for some reason.

This Tony doesn’t have grey in his beard yet, but even as his lips move and Steve braces himself, he says–

“I’ll forgive you.”

  The night you died, I felt your eardrums crack,

And the short agony, the longer dream,

The Nothing that was neither long nor short;

But I was bound, and could not go that way,

But I was blind, and could not feel your hand

  After he’s said his goodbyes, Natasha follows him back to his room.

“Is he still in the plane somewhere?”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been dropping off the Tesseract at Camp Lehigh – he’d briefly considered it. Dropping off an envelope on Peggy’s desk with the coordinates of the Valkyrie, so that the other him could find… something. Maybe a happy ending, maybe just a chance. But all of time and its knowledge had been laid out before Steve, and he hadn’t resisted one extra indulgence.

It was only time before he met Scott, after all. One extra Particle than he had, one trip to the forties and back – and his self could be spared the pain of thirty years in the ice.

In twenty-twelve, Steve changed the course of history merely by showing up; all deep sea vessels, search parties in the Arctic called home. Captain America was alive and well.

“Seventy five, point two three zero six north, ninety nine point one one three zero west.” With every blink, Steve can see her memorising the numbers. “Find him, kick his ass into gear. Don’t let him run.”

She nods, and remains waiting in the doorway. Steve is motionless on the bed, the looming weight of the future wrapped around his wrist.

He looks at her. Natasha’s lips curve straight up, soft and reassuring.

“See you in a minute,” Steve whispers, and disappears.

  If I could find an answer, could only find

Your meaning, or could say why you were here

Who now are gone, what purpose gave you breath

Or seized it back, might I not hear your voice?

  Back on the platform, Bucky runs to him first. His brows are furrowed with faint surprise.

In that other past, and now that was The Other – Peggy had set him free in the seventies, aided by information that Steve left behind. When Steve re-emerged in twenty-twelve, he had no idea where Bucky was and how the years had passed for him – fettering his impulses in steel, and letting it remain that way. His interference would accomplish little, and Bucky had always managed on without him.

Or maybe that had just been easier for him to believe.

“Not the end of the line just yet,” Steve says.

The surprise smooths out of Bucky’s features, so does the staidness; he squeezes Steve’s elbow once and for a second, that grin seems alive.

“I hate running alone,” Steve tells Sam, who’s standing but two paces behind. He strides forward to catch up, reaches out and wraps Sam’s solid fingers over the strap of the shield in one motion. “Hold this for me, will you? Be back soon.”

He turns and walks. It’s a short one – the lakehouse property isn’t really big. There’s grass everywhere, and dandelions, and no headstones.

Just a tall, stately oak towards the side – foliage in full summer splendour. There’s already a circle of dropped acorns around the base, ready to sprout into a hundred, newer lives.

“Hey.” Steve strokes his fingers over the burnished bark. “I’m back.”

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

 Time that is moved by little fidget wheels

Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.

  Outside the lakehouse, Laura is bundling the kids into a van. Clint steps down from the porch, murmurs something to her, then jogs over to where Steve is watching, arms folded.

“She did have family,” Clint says, almost as an aside. “Sisters, a few others.”

Steve breathes the news in. The scent of summer is strong in the air, lilacs and crabapples and the soil itself.

“I have a few of her effects. They must’ve heard, already, but someone should tell them in-person.”

“I’ll find them.” Steve affirms. Clint nods, and walks back to the van, where Cooper sticks his head out of the open windowpane and gets his hair ruffled teasingly for his efforts.

Steve watches, the warmth of the sun beating down his arms and back. He has a feeling Minsk is pretty nice this time of year too.

[cap-ironman]

Captain America/Iron Man Remix 2020 Masterpost and Creator Reveal

Here it is: the final masterlist and the creator reveals for Captain America/Iron Man Remix 2020! Below you'll find all 56 remixes created, with 13 written for Remix Exchange, 25 for Remix Relay, and 18 created for Remix Madness. If you haven't checked out the works during the reveal period, please take a look at all of the wonderful remixes and leave some love for all the creators!

TREE CHAIN

1. what it takes to talk (a courthouse steps remix) by navaan (616, T, 3494 words)

Canon divergence sort of fix it for CW/Death of Captain America with hints of all the bad that went on around the two of them at the time.

2. For Now (A Remix Before the War) by sophinisba (MCU, G, 3299 words)

Tony isn't sure it's a good idea for the idea for the Avengers to return to Sokovia, but he's off the team now. It's not his decision to make.

3. upsetti spaghetti by starksnack (MCU, E, 3000 words)

“Is that a Foccacia loaf in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Basically Steve tries to cook an Italian birthday dinner for Tony.

4. for the love of (spaghetti remix) by Lets_call_me_Lily (3490, T, 1281 words)

Natasha Stark: Iron Woman, genius, inventor, philanthropist, billionaire, married. And, though not commonly known, an accomplished cook.

5. Dinner Plans (Food is Love Remix) by Neverever (Avengers Assemble, T, 1335 words)

Steve has had a long hard day. It doesn't get better.

6. He Lit a Fire (and Now He's in My Every Thought) by EachPeachPearPlum (MCU, T, 1578 words)

It probably says a lot about his friendship with Natasha that the first words out of her mouth are, “What did you do this time?” "Nothing!” Clint argues. Tasha arches an eyebrow at him, sceptical in the extreme, which Clint is so not having. “Swear to god, I was playing that Lego game they made about us, no way I could have caused a fire.” “Uhuh,” Tasha ‘agrees’, then goes for their usual means of resolving arguments that take place in the tower. “JARVIS?” “On this occasion, Agent Barton is quite correct, Agent Romanov,” their resident ceiling-deity answers. “The fire began in Sir and Captain Rogers’ kitchen.”

7. A sweet Moment (Remix) by Caw_caw_MotherF (MCU, G, art)

8. Stolen Moments by navaan (Noir, G, 860 words)

Tony seems a little off when the group is on the way back to camp. Like his mind is somewhere else — or on someone else.

FRUIT CHAIN

1. Ocean Cold by MiniRaven (616, G, 2384 words)

Tony Stark; billionaire, hero, merman, goes on a swim after a long day at sea. He finds something in the ice and, upon closer inspection, discovers not all is as it appears.

2. Fractured Moonlight on the Sea by EachPeachPearPlum (MCU, G, 1623 words)

As the mysterious object grows nearer, it becomes clearer but no more explicable. There’s flashes of red and gold, both washed out by the blueness of the light, moving with the light but not always in the same position in relation to it, and- It’s a man. The thing travelling in Steve’s direction from below the water is a man. Those are hands, cutting through the water, and a face, a bare torso, the light not attached to the man’s clothing (as Steve first assumed) but actually in his chest. It’s sort of a man, anyway, if Steve doesn’t look any lower than waist height. Below that, the flashes of red and gold are slowly resolving themselves into scales. Scales. The thing heading towards him is a mermaid. Man. Person?

3. The Rescue of Captain America (The Bedtime Story Remix) by navaan (616, G, 2972 words)

There's a lot of material you can adapt into bedtime stories when your lives are larger than life.. ...or Tony tells the story of Captain America's rescue with more mermen.

4. rewrite the past by avengersincamphalfbloodstardis (Marvel, G, 1021 words)

Steve can still feel the ice sometimes; his daughter chases it away.

5. Drawings from School (Hearts and Ice Remix) by Neverever (616, T, 1222 words)

Tony and Steve's daughter Sarah comes home with her drawings, which hits Steve a little hard.

6. Simple by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) (MCU, T, 3504 words)

From the moment Tony offers him the ring, Steve promises himself he'll never wish for more than this. Steve wants kids, but doesn't want to pressure his husband into something he doesn't want.

7.  Not a hard-knock life (the adoption remix) by Lets_call_me_Lily(MCU, Art)

8. Drawn to be Something More by MiniRaven (MCU, G, 1272 words)

Morgan Stark shows off a picture to Steve Rogers, daddy's special friend. Tooth rotting adorableness ensues.

ART/FIC CHAIN

1. mine by starksnack (MCU, M, art)

2. Worth by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) (MCU, E, 4838 words)

Steve returns from the benefit to a Tony just as naked as he'd left him hours ago, still sprawled out on their bed in that effortlessly beautiful way he has. The only difference is that now it's the pale blue light of the arc reactor that illuminates his form, not the afternoon light that had kissed his skin earlier that day. Feelsy smut. That's it. That's the fic.

3. Let Me Help You with That (the knock 'em dead remix) by Lets_call_me_Lily (616, T, art)

4. Feeling blue (Remix) by masterlokisev159 (616, Not Rated, 6072 words)

When the Superhero Registration Act came into play, no one knew what the consequences would be, least of all Tony. And from what he's heard, he didn't deal with it well. Or at all. Following the events of the Civil War, the Skrulls and Tony's recovery after Osborn, Steve and Tony no longer speak to each other, having fallen out after Tony woke up from his self-induced coma. Now, at this party, all Tony can think about is Steve.

Silently he wonders if Steve even notices him anymore.

5. safe in your arms [REMIX] by wingheads (616, T, Art)

6. Reunion Gone Bad (Don't Drink That Remix) by Neverever (Avengers Assemble, T, 1894 words)

Tony is surprised to see Steve at the fundraiser, and he sure is surprised with how the rest of the evening goes too.

7. Unexpected (Remix) by jayjayverse (Marvel, G, art)

8. Thank Goodness for Shields & Husbands by avengersincamphalfbloodstardis (616, G, 1178 words)

After a rude politician hurts Steph's feelings, her husband comforts her when she needs him.

9. rub a dub dub by starksnack (MCU, M, art)

REMIX EXCHANGE

★ A Moment of Peace (Steve is a Mystery Remix) by Neverever (AA, T, 1713 words)

Steve is in denial about having a migraine and the frenetic energy of the Tower isn't helping.

Remix of The Mysterious Case of the Migraine Helper by Sadisticsparkle

★ A Place for the Desperate (A Timely Remix) by navaan (1872, M, 1701 words)

Steve thinks Tony has escaped from his cell and won't be back, so he gives in to a little fantasy...

Remix of A Farm for the Horny and the Desperate by HogwartsToAlexandria

★ accidents never happen when a room is empty (remix) by (616, E, 4999 words)

Remix of navaan’s Love Me (Not) - Steve and Tony fall into a friends with benefits relationship and Tony is completely okay with that. Right? This is my take, with Steve's POV.

Remix of Love Me (Not) by navaan

★ Breaking Through (The Caving In Remix) by DepressingGreenie (616, T, 2108 words)

All he needed to do was move all the rocks out of their way and they will be fine. They can get out of here and go home. Everything will be okay. Right?

Remix of Caving In by Cathalinaheart

★ Equivalent Exchange (The Bottled Genius Remix) by Cathalinaheart (616, T, 2267 words)

A new master changes everything for Tony.

Remix of Genius in a Bottle by Neverever

★ Even After All Those Years? (The We Keep Meeting Like This Remix) by Sadisticsparkle (Noir, Not Rated, 2500 words)

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, from their first goodbye to their last nice to see you again.

Remix of Even After All Those Years? by DepressingGreenie

★ Fantasies by SweetFanfics (616, M, 1355 words)

When Steve asks Tony if he’s got any sexual fantasies he wants to explore with Steve, he’s mostly curious but he’s also got some expectations lined up behind the question. Tony’s the more experienced guy between them. As such, Steve expects Tony to share something kinky like, whips, chains, heat play, stuff like that. Intense things, you know? But what he doesn’t expect, is Tony to blush and look away mumbling, “Your suit.”

Remix of What Suits Your Fancy by wynnesome

★ Kinky suits (Remix) by masterlokisev159 (MCU, Not Rated, 7300 words)

Steve is so confused. He's never felt this way before. There's just something about the way Tony looks in the gloves... Something's wrong. Tony shouldn't look that good, not even in Steve's gear. There's only one solution. He has to find out more. A.k.a. Steve has a kink and Tony is on the receiving end of it. Sexy times ensue.

Remix of When We by firebrands

★ Mundane Bliss, Remix by HogwartsToAlexandria (MCU, G, 1043 words)

"What is perfect happiness? Steve Rogers could tell you."

Remix of mundane bliss by only_more_love

★ sorry about the blood in your mouth; i wish it was mine by only_more_love (MCU, E, 3500 words)

Afghanistan, never more than a handful of memories away, rears up, ugly and dissonant. His heart begins to race in anticipation of drowning. Muscle memory: it’s there, so easily accessed. Tony is kidnapped. It costs him and Steve. Dearly. Set in the nebulous period after Captain America: Civil War and before Avengers: Infinity War

Remix of Kidnapped by masterlokisev159

★ Soul Searching (The Hop, Skip, Jump Remix) by navaan (616, m, 5445 words)

Tony lives a peaceful live in Irondale and then Steve Rogers drifts into town. It's the beginning of a romance — and not all is what it seems.

Remix of a hop, skip, and a jump by SweetFanfics

★ Splintered by jellybeanforest (MCU, M, 9029 words)

Following the events of Endgame, Tony’s soul is in torment. Fractured across time and space as a result of the snap, he is doomed to relive his failures, his shortcomings and traumas, in a terrifying limbo, flitting unpredictably between different planes of existence. Natasha does her best to hold the pieces together as he crumbles, but only one thing can mend his tattered self and make Tony whole again: an undamaged template – the other half of his soul. Meanwhile, in the land of the living, Steve struggles with Tony’s death, plagued by missed opportunities, lingering what-if’s, and guilt. The Avengers send him on a final mission where he has one last chance to make it right.

Remix of This Terribly Tempered Soul by Padraigen

★ We'll Make Our Own Tradition (The Cap and Gown Remix) by wynnesome (616, E, 11,000 words)

It’s Steve’s and Tony’s anniversary. They have a date for dinner, but the workday comes first. Steve’s includes a very important business lunch. But the person who makes a beeline for him as he waits at the bar is not who he thought he'd be meeting...

Remix of A Traditional Type of Guy by jellybeanforest

REMIX MADNESS

★ And All of Our Yesterdays Will Be Forgotten (a None of Our Tomorrows Can be Saved remix) by athletiger (616, M, 1335 words)

He’ll never know if Tony heard him confess his love. He’ll never know if Tony loved him back because he destroyed that. He destroyed everything.

Remix of None of Our Tomorrows Can be Saved by Ironlawyer

★ baby, please come home by only_more_love (MCU, T, 1484 words)

Months after Siberia, Tony reaches out to Steve in an unexpected way.

Remix of Sunshine by XtaticPearl

★ Bar is Open (The Last Barman Poet Remix) by DepressingGreenie (MCU, G, 641 words)

Steve finds himself attending the same wedding as his one night stand from the night before. He takes a chance, hopping to get to know Tony better.

Remix of The Last Barman Poet by nativemossy

★ Drawn to You by jellybeanforest (MCU, M, 15,989 words)

In a world where what one writes on one’s own skin appears on their soulmate’s body in exactly the same place until it’s washed off or fades, no one has ever responded to Steve’s questions written in pen. Who are you? Where are you? And once, out of sheer desperation: Wer bist du? He has tried writing up and down both arms then across his stomach in pictograms when he reckons that perhaps his soulmate is a double amputee and illiterate, but nothing. No response. He is uncertain why he is so surprised. Everything else about Steve is broken, so why not his soul? But when he points the Valkyrie downwards to crash into the deep, knowing he is about to die, he spares a few precious seconds to scribble one last message to his possibly-nonexistent, potentially-blind soulmate. Twenty-five years later, Tony Stark is born with a single phrase on his left forearm written in messy old-fashioned script. And as he grows up, the words never change: “I love you” It is both a blessing and a curse.

Remix of the words written on our skin by Cathalinaheart

★ For You I Will (A Thousand Times Remix) by ishipallthings (MCU, T, 3573 words)

During Hope and Scott’s wedding reception, Tony asks Steve for a dance. Steve turns him down, but not for the reason Tony thinks.

Remix of A Thousand Times, Once by sheron

★ Hold Hard, Then, Heart (the poetic declaration remix) by Lets_call_me_Lily (Noir, T, 2044 words)

Steve has learned to keep his feelings in check over the course of his friendship with Tony, and he thinks he's doing fine. Until he and Tony open up a curios shop together, and suddenly things become a little too much. This is much harder than that time they'd had to share a sleeping bag while adventuring out in the desert.

Remix of gripping the ledge of unreason by firebrands

★ Holding You Like Every Moment Shared (The Every Whisper That I Keep Remix) by DepressingGreenie (MCU, G, 700 words)

There couldn’t be a better time, he thinks, to give Steve the gift he brought him a few weeks ago

Remix of every whisper that i keep by Padraigen

★ i choose: me, you, us by only_more_love (MCU, T, 2753 words)

In which Tony and Steve marry, but Tony hasn't let Steve see the arc reactor—and the scars around it. Yet.

Remix of Ugly by Lacrimula_Falsa

★ Intrusive Thoughtsby jellybeanforest (MCU, M, 2471 words)

When Steve is hit with a spell that gives him temporary telepathy, Tony figures he can hide his mortifying crush on the good Captain by thinking dirty thoughts featuring each of the Avengers in turn. After all, if he’s objectifying everyone, Steve will never figure out Tony is in love with him. That’s the theory anyway.

Remix of Before you jump, Tell me what you find (When you read my mind) by Fluffypanda

★ James, Divided by jellybeanforest (MCU, G, 1390 words)

Steve and Tony are dating. Their best friends, Bucky and Rhodey, agree it’s a terrible idea, absolutely disastrous, and can only end in heartbreak. That’s about the only thing they agree on.

Remix of I'll be watching by DepressingGreenie

★ journey to the past (the things my heart used to know remix) by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) (MCU, T, 2316 words)

"You seek to forget the past," she whispers. "You will learn how important the past can be." In which Tony loses his memories and only a remnant of his past can restore them.

Remix of things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember by Fluffypanda

★ Public (In)Decencyby jellybeanforest (MCU, T, 1391 words)

Steve is a big, big boy, and Tony is dickmatized.

Remix of Pool Day by Neverever

★ Seven Minutes by jellybeanforest (MCU, T, 1795 words)

When Bonnie refuses her turn in the closet with a shrimpy Steve Rogers during a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, popular lothario-in-training/class whore Tony Stark gladly takes her turn.

Remix of Seven Minutes in Heaven by Politzania

★ Shining through the leaves of the old oak tree (the blank spaces remix) by Fluffypanda (616, Not Rated, 717 words)

Tony falls asleep during movie night

Remix of Blank Spaces by only_more_love

★ Stretch Out Your Hand and Strike All He Has by jellybeanforest (MCU, M, 6902 words)

In the aftermath of Civil War, the Avengers who sided with Tony Stark leave him one by one, until it’s just him and Rhodey ('and Honeybear is paralyzed, so it’s not like he can run,' Tony thinks, a touch hysterically). Peter is fourteen; he doesn’t count. So, when Tony calls Steve Rogers to warn him about an impending attack and realizes that Steve still holds a torch for him, can anyone really blame Tony for exacting a little payback?

Remix of The Ruins of Babel by WhenasInSilks

★ Survivor by jellybeanforest (MCU, G, 3606 words)

In 1918, Steve’s father, Joseph Rogers, dies of the Spanish flu while serving in WWI. In 1936, Steve’s mother, Sarah Rogers, dies of tuberculosis while confined to a sanatorium after contracting the disease from her job as a nurse in a TB ward. In 2014, Steve’s boyfriend, Tony Stark, contracts the flu and quarantines himself in their room, refusing to be seen until he’s presentable and not a contagious, feverish snot-monster. Steve is worried but understanding as he tries to allay his own fears about Tony’s condition. It’s the future, after all. Modern medicine has made many advances in disease management. But then on a video call with Cap, stuffed up and miserable, Tony rather dramatically declares he’s on death’s doorstep. Needless to say, Steve Rogers, the unflappable Captain America, loses his shit.

Remix of (rest assured, baby) you're adored by sheron

★ Take a Breather by jellybeanforest (616, T, 363 words)

Steve needs a break from Tony. Tony joins him.

Remix of Tokens of Appreciation by Ironlawyer

★ Trust me (“Pickle” remix) by masterlokisev159 (Ults, M, 6167 words)

Tony happens to like Steve. He likes him a lot. And sure, Steve doesn't feel the same right now, but maybe with a bit of luck and some successful sessions in the bedrooms, Tony can turn this thing around. Maybe Steve can give him a chance. Remix of "Pickle" where instead of Steve wanting bondage, he doesn't. But he wants Tony to understand and bondage is involved.

Remix of Pickle by jellybeanforest

Don't forget to leave kudos and comments on the works you've enjoyed! You can either browse through the individual links above, or go through the Remix collections on AO3: ★ 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Exchange ★ 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Relay Remix ★ 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Madness And with that, we've wrapped up Captain America/Iron Man Remix 2020! Thank you to all of our participants, and we hope everyone had fun! Participants, feel free to share and crosspost your work! If you're posting your work onto Tumblr, please use the #capimremix tag among the first five tags of your post so we can spot it and reblog it to the community Tumblr.

[natsumebookss]

Omega Clow Voice Lines

Omega hasn't shown up in the Premiere Nebula crossover yet, but since she's the main character of the actual series, I figured I'd introduce her next. I had a lot of fun coming up with her lines, and since Io is my favorite character to write, I'm sure I'll have even more fun writing hers in the next few days! For now, enjoy this special look at Omega's character!

Self-Introduction 1: Um, I'm Omega Clow. I might look like a veteran, but I'm actually a newbie. It's a long story, but I swear I'm telling the truth. I've still got a long way to go before I can be a noble Actress, so go easy on me, okay?

Self-Introduction 2: First of the upcoming Lightning Line, Actress Bijou! That's how the person who made me this way introduced me, but really, I'm nothing special. My brother is a foreign senator, but that's really the only notable thing about me. But I'm doing everything I can to save people with the Premiere Nebula, and that's what matters!

Personal Story

Story Chapter End 1: I may not be an Actress, but I have to do something!

Story Chapter End 2: If the Manufacturer is one of our politicians, I'll stop at nothing to find them!

Story Chapter 3: I know how much seeing me like this hurts, Valka, but I promise one day, I'll make you proud.

Story Select 1: Valka saved my life...I can't just leave her to suffer.

Story Select 2: Is becoming an Actress really such a bad thing?

Story Select 3: They'll brainwash me if they find me. I can't let that happen!

Story Select 4: My brother is married to the monster who caused all this...

(NOTE: This is based on a misunderstanding caused by Omega's lousy detective work. Her sister-in-law is actually very supportive of the Premiere Nebula and uses her political power to aid them whenever possible.)

Story Select 5: I have to get stronger, not just for me, but for everyone!

Story Select 6: I'm the Firebrands' newest target?!

Stats

Strengthening Complete: Sorry. I may not be very strong yet, but I'll catch up...I hope.

Strengthening Max: What does getting stronger feel like? For me, it's like this electric pulse all over...but I guess it feels good somehow.

Episode Level Up: Time for me to look into more ways to save the Actresses.

Magia Level Up: Once I get strong enough, I can exchange power with another Actress and gain a new form. Looks like I'm already closer to that.

Magical Release 1: In Olympia, Actresses aren't the only ones with magic. Some humans can do simple spells.

Magical Release 2: I was supposed to be one of them, but my magic was way unstable. I couldn't control it at all.

Magical Release 3: That was how I found the Actresses to begin with. My magic's stable now, but that came at a huge cost...

Awaken 1: I'm still getting to know everyone in the Premiere Nebula, but they're where I belong. I just know it.

Home Screen

Login (first login): I'm still new, so I have to be accompanied by another Actress at all times. You can still tag along, though. Just don't give Valka too much trouble, okay?

Login (morning): I live by the ocean, so seeing all these buildings blocking the sunrise is weird. I miss painting the sunrise in my homeland, but I guess this kind of has its own charm.

Login (noon): I'm from a prominent family, so I've been to my fair share of fancy restaurants. I'm actually more into my culture's street food, though. I wonder if there are any paleteros in Kamihama...

(NOTE: Olympia is a fairly new country populated mostly by first, second, and third-generation immigrants. Since Omega comes from such a diverse country without much of a local culture, she might be surprised to find Mexican popsicle stands aren't exactly the easiest thing to find here.)

Login (evening): The skyscrapers blend into the stars so well that they almost look like the real thing. The natural and the artificial...I guess that's how Actresses are compared to magical girls.

Login (night): Normally, I'd have Cielflight practice in the morning, but I guess this is like a vacation. Let's stay up as long as we like and see what we can find!

Login (other): People tend to be surprised that I'm into both sports and art, but I feel like they're not so different. Both require grace and a feel for your environment, just like fighting.

Login (AP full): Last time I fought a Witch, I swore I was done for, but I still got the Grief Seed! Let's see if I improve with you by my side.

Login (BP full): Stop! There's still so much we don't know about these copies. They might seem emotionless, but they could be like Koto-chan! We can't hurt them until we know for sure!

(NOTE: Koto is a clone who was formerly used as a front-line soldier for the Manufacturer. Omega was able to gain her trust and ended up saving her when the Manufacturer attempted to kill her for her betrayal. Since Koto was called emotionless, but is actually fully capable of emotion, Omega has reservations about killing Mirrors copies.)

Tap 1: When did I realize things here aren't that different from back home? Probably when I tried to buy this interesting gothic painting at an art fair, and someone told me not to because the artist just tried to destroy the town.

Tap 2: I like looking at art from all over the world for inspiration. Whenever I do get the chance to go abroad, I like to see what kinds they have and how I can play with it on my own work. I wonder what sort of thing I can make from the katana exhibit I just saw...

Tap 3: I hear there used to be a magical girl here who played guitar...Xing was sad to hear she'd left this world. The Firebrands held her captive so long, she was hoping she could find someone to jam out with. I hope that magical girl's soul is finally at peace.

Tap 4: Io is actually my niece by marriage. She's not much younger than me, but she's had it so rough without her family that I can't help but spoil her. She'll never admit it to your face, but she really does appreciate having a relative who listens.

Tap 5: Valka's gotten me through a lot of rough times, so someday, I want to help her, too. I don't know how much longer she can go on fighting in her mental state, so I want to follow her legacy as much as I can.

Tap 6: I always liked stories about magical girls growing up. There was one where the wizard had my last name, and I thought that was so cool. I never thought in a million years that I'd ever be one.

Tap 7: I used to be able to use telekinesis, but it never worked right. Whenever I got overwhelmed by anything, random stuff just started floating around. The Manufacturer managed to correct my powers by getting rid of it, but sometimes I still wish I'd been able to master it.

Tap 8: When I first became an Actress, I tried to befriend Alarice. I thought it would show her that former Faerie Stars [note: brainwashed Actresses] were more than just her targets, but she drained my magic instead. That's when I learned that magical girls only get hurt if they trust everyone.

Tap 9: A lot of people think Valka and I are a couple, but that's not how I feel about her. She's more like the person I aspire to be, and she's got too much baggage for that sort of thing right now. That doesn't stop Phea, though. I actually really admire her for that.

Battle Start: I won't let you get away with this!

[NOTE: Since Omega is the newbie magical girl protagonist in this story, I had to give her a suitably classic line to say here.]

Battle Victory 1: I still need to work on my finishing line. What about, "lightning bolts are the proof of karmic justice?"

Battle Victory 2: I'm staying to tend to the injured. That much I can do.

Battle Victory 3: Espoir-sama's apprentice strikes again!

(1 and 3 are actually anime/game references, so see if you can guess where they're from!)

Doppel: I won't let you hurt her anymore!

Dying: I'm sorry I broke my promise, Valka.

[jakkosisle]

Growing up.

It had been about two weeks since the…”incident” with Soozee.

After years of studying the Void, it finally happened.  Soozee snapped.  She went rogue, tried to kill fellow Firebrand employees, start her own cult, and begin a ritual that would see her “ascend into godhood”, whatever that meant.  Luckily, Spritzie and the other Firebrands were able to save her from herself - Teka and the other shamans exercised the void entity out of Soozee and the light cannon they discovered in her lab destroyed it.

After spending the next few days in a coma, Soozee finally awoke…and the first thing she did was try to kill herself.  After Valerie foiled that attempt, Spritzie took her sister back to the ranch, making a point to lock up any and all sharp instruments, drugs, and especially her rifle.  In the weeks since then, Soozee has been spending much of her time sequestered in the guest room she was staying in, hardly ever speaking a word.

One thing she DID tell Spritzie however, was to sell off her assets in order to pay for her hospital bills - she was fired at around the time she tried to lure several employees into her lab to kill them, so healing services didn’t come free for her.  So she gave Firebrand Enterprises everything - her lab, her experiments, everything she had ever created.  Spritzie was surprised.  Soozee would just…give it all up?

Soozee said that she didn’t need it anymore.  Not any of it.

It was morning, and Spritzie was making coffee.  She heard footsteps coming down the stairs, which struck her as odd - her sister wasn’t normally up this early.  She turned her head and saw her sister, dressed in an old black robe that Spritzie had lying around…

As well as a suitcase.

“Could you make my breakfast to go, Spritzie?” Soozee asked.

“Er…where you goin’?” Spritzie asked back.

“I don’t know.” Soozee said.  “My plan was to go to Silvermoon City first.  Beyond that…I don’t know, I suppose I’ll improvise.”

“What are you talking about?” Spritzie asked.

“I’m leaving, Spritzie.” Soozee bluntly replied as she stuffed a black robe with red trim inside.  “I can’t stay here.”

“W-w-what do you mean?” Spritzie asked.

“There’s nothing for me here.” Soozee said.  “…Don’t give me that look.  Please, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

“B-b-but what about that job interview?!” Spritzie asked.

“You mean the one YOU tried to set up without telling me?” Soozee asked.  “It was an exercise in futility, Spritzie.  Mrs. Firebrand doesn’t want me back in her company - she has made that VERY clear.”

“Okay, but just hear me out - I’m gonna be named a stakeholder next month!” Spritzie said.  “And once I become that, that’ll give me a little extra leverage to-“

“Why do you even want me here?!” Soozee snapped.

“Because you’re my family!” Spritzie snapped back.  “We’re SUPPOSED to stick together!  We’re supposed to take care of each other!”

“Oh please.” Soozee harrumphed as she went back to packing.  “Mom died when you were a baby, Dad and Jakko haven’t been on speaking terms in years, Rikko’s dead - “

“Exactly!” Spritzie said.  “Don’t you get it, Soozee?  We’re runnin’ out of family!  We gotta-“

“Spritzie, I’m going to say something to you that you may not have ever heard before.” the blonde goblin said.  With a fully packed suitcase, she whirled on her heels and stared her redheaded younger sister down.  “Grow up.”

Spritzie was taken aback by that.

“You may have everyone else fooled with this angry, bloodthirsty, foul-mouthed persona you’ve invented for yourself, but it doesn’t fool me.” Soozee said.  “I know that, buried deep beneath all that rage, you’re still that same, lonely little girl who’s terrified of losing people.  Well, let me tell you something - of COURSE you’re going to LOSE people.  That’s how life works.  Sometimes through tragedy, sometimes through a mutual parting of ways, but YOU.  WILL.  LOSE PEOPLE.”

She gestured to the window.  “Take a good look outside, Spritzie.  Look upon your ranch.”

Hesitantly, Spritzie did so.  Matilda was chasing the feeder sheep that roamed free across the grounds.  Cera was browsing by the blueberry bushes again.  Spike was napping by clinging to the side of the barn.  Argunite was napping under the shade of a tree.  Cambria had buried herself in the mud by the pond.  And Pinecone was near the house itself, keeping a steady watch on the others.

“NOTHING you see out there is permanent.” Soozee said.  “One day, it will all be gone.”

“…Is that what the Void told you?” Spritzie asked.

“It didn’t need to.” Soozee replied.  “That’s just a fact of life.”

Soozee grabbed and hefted her suitcase.  Spritzie turned to her.  “Soozee, the first thing you did when you woke up was try to kill yourself.  How will I know that you’ll be okay without me?”

“You won’t.” Soozee bluntly replied.  “And that’ll have to be your burden to bare.  As for my own burdens…well…I’ve been doing some thinking and, for what it’s worth, I DO plan on exploring other options before attempting another suicide.”

“What kind of options?” Spritzie asked.

“Don’t know.” Soozee replied.  “I suppose I won’t know until I explore them.”

She looked at Spritzie.  “…You’ve already done far more for me than I deserve.  I thank you for this second chance.  I promise…I’ll try not to waste it.”

And then she walked out of the room.  Spritzie didn’t stop her.  She knew there wasn’t any point in it.

Soozee left the ranch.  She walked up to the Pyrewatch flight master and paid two gold pieces for a wind rider to Silvermoon.  Soozee Boomsprocket didn’t know what she would find.  She didn’t even know what she was looking for anymore.  But she knew one thing for sure - she wouldn’t find it here.

[straight-into-the-animus]

We Might Blame The Gods (Or Ourselves) (Thalexios)

More Thalexios! But with angst, so please be warned with this one! It has very little in the way of comfort and very much hurt! This was requested by @kaliandra so thank you for the patience! I got really carried away but I loved the prompt and I hope you enjoy it! 

Read on Ao3!

Every Spartan boy, from the time he was old enough to hold a spear, trained in the agoge. Every boy knew it was to make Sparta stronger. Your body was meant to be perfect. Your mind was always meant to be sharp, hungry, focused on the next battle. You would come home with your shield, or on it. You fought honorably, yes, but on the battlefield you were ruthless, uncaring, cold.

While Alexios wasn’t a Spartan anymore, hadn’t been since his ‘execution’ nearly two decades ago, for as long as he could remember the battlefield had welcomed him. Perhaps it truly was something left over in him from his time in Sparta. It was dull but still very much there.

He had no problem with Athenians, personally; they were generous with payment, after all. They trusted him, they paid him, and the mercenary Sparta had chosen to side with was part of the Cult. Cutting off one head of that snake? That would simply make his day among all other things.

The weather was fair and unforgiving, even though the terrain was hard and unforgiving as Alexios fell onto it more time than he would like care to admit. The cultist had a brutal bludgeon with blunted, short points. It had hit Alexios square in his stomach in a way that had him nearly doubling over, and again on his left arm, but Alexios was able to kill him with more than a bit of agility that winded him just slightly. 

He heard the rocks shift behind him just behind him, more like pebbles, and without even thinking he raised his freshly bloodied sword to face his would-be assailant. Adrenaline was still fresh as it sped through his veins, but he felt a chill as he took in the man in front of him, a chill that had nothing to do with a change in wind.

“Thaletas.”

“Eagle-Bearer.” Thaletas’ voice was… He couldn’t say it was soft, because how could a voice be soft where they were? When two people were doing what they were doing? He stood across from Alexios, a sword in one hand and a painted Spartan shield in the other, a general’s shield. ‘It suited him’, Alexios allowed himself to think, before he forced himself to go blank.

“You’re the polemarch.”

“And you’re the Athenian mercenary.” Thaletas responded instead of answering. “I’m sorry.”

And oh, Alexios had only been truly sorry a few times in his life. He had been sorry for leaving Phoibe. He had been sorry for not being able to save his sister from falling off that mountain and into the hands of the Cult. But now? Now he was sorry for having thought he could just leave Mykonos and Thaletas, for taking those steps to bring himself here. But he didn’t say that.

“Bruised, bloody, or broken.” The meaning was clear as Alexios crouched into a fighting stance, something not feeling completely right in his body as he did. But Thaletas understood. He gave a barely there nod and mirrored the position.

“Never hold back.”

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

The last time they had fought at those ruins felt like ages ago. But back then, it had been in some weird, fantastic fun. Some warriors courtship they both acknowledged and agreed to. There had been no goal there to hurt for real, to kill. But now? Thaletas had no words. 

Back and forth it went, with clashes of steel and sparks flying where metal connected. The battle raged around them both but Thaletas paid it no mind, too concerned with the firebrand of a misthios in front of him. Those deep brown eyes, which once used to look at him with a sort of smug pride and soft adoration, now burned with an intensity from Ares himself. His mouth was hardened into a sort of sneer. There was determination etched into every line on his face. He looked every inch the demigod that the stories had said. And yet… Thaletas couldn’t help but wish they were still side by side.

It was one move that he saw, one misstep in Alexios’ footwork that Thaletas took his chance. Fatigue hung on both of their bones, but the mercenary they had hired had gotten to Alexios first. Thaletas sidestepped as Alexios moved and sent him sprawling into the ground. Alexios tried to turn around onto his back to get up but Thaletas’ sword was pointed straight at his face.

“It’s over, Alexios.” Thaletas spoke as confidently as he could, even if it was more so than he felt. Their chests heaved and he watched the blood and mud stained face of his opponent hide how much it was starting to sink in. Defiant until the end. This was the man who had defeated an Athenian blockade, had won over islands and killed leaders in their own household, seemingly by himself. You didn’t get that far by surrender. But he had no choice in this manner.

“Spartans don’t take prisoners.” Alexios finally made it out. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Exceptions can always be made.” As the surroundings came back, Thaletas realized that even as they spoke, the battle was almost over. Athenians were beginning the retreat, or they were being slaughtered on spears and swords. They had failed to take the land, but they would come back, of course. There was little doubt about that. But Thaletas would likely be gone by then. His concerns were of the here and now; and, against his better judgement, he needed to do something with the misthios at his feet.

“Polemarch!” A soldier came running up as if he could read Thaletas’ mind. “What must be done now?”

“Assess the living, their conditions. Those who are dead of our army, I want them and their equipment brought back to camp with us. And…” He trailed off and put his attention back on Alexios, who had gone uncharacteristically silent. Thaletas quickly saw why in the way he tried to hide how he cradled his stomach, even as he held onto defiance the way a man trying not to fall holds onto a fraying rope. “Take this one back to the camp as well. He was employed by the Athenians. Perform aid on him and bring him and everything he owns to my tent when finished.”

“Yes, polemarch.” There was a question that thankfully that did not make it past the soldiers lips as he turned on heel and left.

“All of Sparta would weep at how soft you’ve turned.” Alexios murmured, but there was no real malice or bitterness directed at anyone that Thaletas could tell.

“Perhaps.” Thaletas said, and nothing more was said before eventually more soldiers came and picked Alexios up, dragging him to his feet. Thaletas walked away. Overhead, in the clouds, an eagle with golden feathers was starting to cry out.

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

Spartans were nothing if not efficient, Alexios quickly learned as he was handed over from soldier to soldier through the march and through the camp for his wounds to be tended. As soon as everything from the fight had begun to wear off, he could feel the bruises and pain set in up and down his body, extending even towards the outside of his spear arm where he’d been hit. It wasn’t broken, but even if it was they likely wouldn’t have cared. 

They took his weapons and grandfather’s spear and quickly bound his hands in front of him before marching him over to Thaletas’ tent. It was larger on the inside, but spare, with a place for his armor, a makeshift desk with a map in the center of the tent, and a single bed in the corner. Nothing fancy, nothing more than what he needed. Very Spartan, and very much what Alexios remembered of Thaletas and his life on Mykonos.

They were left alone as Thaletas dismissed the soldiers, and soon it was just them in the candle lit tent. Thaletas sat at his desk, Alexios barely able to hold on as he stood in front of him. He was stripped bare and defenseless despite his armor, knowing very well that there was a chance that if he left this tent, it would be as a corpse. Their eyes met and their gazes held each other. It was finally Alexios who broke the silence.

“Why did you bring me here? You could have, you should have, left me on that field.”

“You had been working with the Athenians. Any information you have would be useful.” The reply was smooth, immediate, and practiced.

“You know as well as I do the Athenians wouldn’t tell me anything. And you can’t hold me as a prisoner of war. Luxuries such as that don’t apply to those of my trade.”

“And your ‘trade’,” Thaletas’ voice was quiet, but seemed to hold an air of almost… disgust at the word, “has led you here to a Spartan general’s tent as a captive, bound and injured.”

“Sometimes these things happen.”

“How can you stand to be so calm at a time like this?” Thaletas finally stood up from his desk. “Alexios, do you realize how much it pains me to be here? For us to be where we are? After everything we shared…” Gods, the pain in his chest was greater than any spear or sword that could pierce him.

“You chose Sparta. You chose Kyra. A Spartan general, are you not? You made a choice as much as I did.”

“And I have lived in regret of that choice everyday. Ever since I have just kept thinking that there was something I could say differently to bring you back to Sparta with me.”

“Don’t do this now, Thaletas, I’m begging you.” Alexios shut his eyes and had to will his breathing to slow down. His hands clenched and he felt the strain of the rope around his wrists, trying to remind himself where he was, that this wasn’t that night. He couldn’t fall for these sweet words again, couldn’t reach out to pull Thaletas closer and destroy any semblance of where they each began and ended like he wanted to.

“I can grant you leniency, Alexios. You can say you have defected. And once we are free to leave these shores, I will take you back to Sparta, work for you to be under me.”

“You don’t even know the whole story.”

“Then tell it to me. We never… We never spoke as we said we would.”

“It’s a long story. Not one I can just give freely.”

Thaletas went quiet again. He studied Alexios’ face before leaving and going for his armor. Alexios didn’t realize what it was until Thaletas began cutting at the ropes with a dagger. He was free quickly but didn’t know what to do with himself, somehow.

“I have time.”

Alexios knew he likely didn’t have a choice. But this time, he didn’t want to refuse.

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

They sat on the bed, hunched over the edge, and Thaletas stared at Alexios as the other stared resolutely at the ground and told his story. The general had never forgotten Alexios’ face, nor its subtleties. The scars decorating it, the beginnings of a beard that Alexios never let grow into anything else. The way his nose curved to the side, crooked from where it had been broken a few too many times. Now he learned things he never thought he would learn, or need to learn.

He learned that when Alexios was nervous, he clenched his hands together and interlocked the fingers. 

He learned that when Alexios was in pain, he paled and became a smaller version of himself, a way to not be so much of a target; like an animal in the wild.

Most importantly, Thaletas learned Alexios’ life. Learned about Mount Taygetos. About his execution. His legacy and the search for family. And he learned just how strong Alexios truly was.

The moon was well in the the sky when Alexios finally ceased, having run out of story to tell.

“I don’t know what to say.” Thaletas finally made out, quietly.

“You don’t need to say anything.” Alexios spoke with the same volume. “Just understand. I can’t go back to Sparta, Thaletas. Not now, if ever.”

“You said that on Mykonos. I thought… I thought it was a lust for adventure that had been put into your heart through a curse. Something to take you and keep you from me.” He found a humorless chuckle springing forth from his lips. “Had I known instead…”

A smirk barely twitched the corner of Alexios’ lips upward before he went stone faced again, still staring at the ground. “My mother is out there, Thaletas. As is my sister. Maybe… Perhaps one day, truly one day, I will step foot on Spartan shores. Perhaps you will be there as well. But until that time…”

Thaletas knew what was coming next. But his mind had been made up from the start about what he was to do. He stood from his bed, striding over to the other end of his tent, and picked up the sack of Alexios’ belongings and weapons. The misthios looked confused, with nervousness just barely there in his eyes even as he stood and accepted the items.

“The back of the tent is unstrung and loose. Leave through there. I will make an excuse for your escape. Your bird is likely nearby waiting for you anyway.”

“It’s not too late. Come with me. You will be safe on my ship, with my crew.” Alexios spoke, but both they knew it was in vain. He had given this offer once, it would not be taken the second time. 

“I have my men to look after. And you… You have your family to find. Take care, Alexios. Truly. May the Gods bless every step you take, my…” There were no words to complete that sentence. But he didn’t need them. The meaning was clear. Alexios nodded his understanding and his thanks.

“I’m sorry about earlier. On the battlefield, it was a rush, I thought you-”

“I felt it too. But you had it right. Bruised, bloody, broken.”

“Never hold back.” Alexios whispered and nodded once more, moving to brush past Thaletas. He paused in his tracks and turned, meeting Thaletas’ eyes for the briefest of seconds before leaning in and brushing their lips together. There was promise there, Thaletas felt it in his bones. A small, quiet promise that they would meet again, whether in this life or in the next. It was something gentle in a life and a world where they weren’t guaranteed such things.

“Stay safe.” Thaletas whispered, and Alexios nodded once before turning and hurrying away out the back of his tent as best as he could. Thaletas knew there would be explaining. Some of his men might have known who Alexios was from Mykonos. Some might even have a thought of their time together. But he would take care of that in the morning. But now, for the night… his bed looked cold and empty. As it had for what felt like ages now. 

Dear Gods, Alexios. Return safely. Return to me. Thaletas prayed to the only thing he cared to pray to at this point before putting out the candles in his tent.

-----------

Taglist: (ppl who liked this post get tagged, I don’t make the rules sorry but the pigeons might have to wait a bit)

If you wanna be taken off the tags list or put on message me!! @aloesveras @yugioh779 @greetings-fiends @yukki-ckerman @lil-history-egg @timbreavery @pandoravidal @bedriddenbedlam @ass-sass-sin-o @valshaena

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request!  If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

[twilightofthe]

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka Tano, annnnnnnd Luke Skywalker

Probs gonna be a long post since I Cannot Shut Up, so here we go!

OBI WAN (see look I told you this was gonna be long)

How I feel about them:  HELLO HI YES I LOVE HIM A NORMAL AMOUNT.  Okay okay, besides the fact that he is Very Nice To Look At (c’mon, I must, I have EYES), I genuinely love Obi Wan because he wants to be a good person so, so badly, and he’s always ALWAYS trying to be better because he doesn’t believe he already is a good person.  His life is a literal living hellhole and he doesn’t crumple under all of that tragedy like literally everyone else does, he takes a moment, puts a cheeky smile back on his face, and gets back up and keeps going.  He can be a hypocrite, he tends to look over things he really shouldn’t or gets the wrong idea about things and just shuts off what he doesn’t want to deal with, he’s overconfident and a little snobby and petty and a bit of an asshole, and he makes mistakes because he is human, and I love him for all of those flaws because if he was perfect, I wouldn’t like him as much.  He’s funny and reckless and would literally die before letting anything he cared about get hurt, he wants to do everything at once so he can help everyone and he literally gives all of himself to a cause because he cares and y’all, he is the most distinguished disaster I have ever come across and he deserves peace and rest and loved ones who don’t die in his arms or betray him and he’s one of the most brilliant fighters I have ever seen and he just draws you in.  You can’t help but want to watch him.

Romantic ships:  I will love him and Anakin together past my dying breaths; they’re soulmates.  I can also enjoy seeing him with Quinlan or Ventress, and of course Satine.

Non-Romantic OTPs:  Anakin again, I just love them and will take them any way I can get.  Also Cody, Cody is great.  And Ahsoka-- especially post-Order 66 (c’mon Kenobi movie don’t let me down now).  And Padmé!  Ugh, I’m mad TCW refused to let us see the Obi/Pads friendship the movies promised us they had.

Unpopular Opinion:  Two big ones.  First, that Anakin is the most important person in his life.  I can’t see it any other way, and I know other people would disagree.  Second, that he’s a good person and ALSO kinda a jerk.  He’s one of the most popular figures in this fandom with the most mercurial fanbase.  I’d say a good 85% adore him, but then the 15% who don’t hate him with a burning passion.  Seriously, it’s like to these people Palpatine was a better Master to Anakin than he was, jeez-- I’m digressing.  Anyway, it’s like in retaliation, the other 85% have put him up on a pedestal as someone who’s done no wrong whatsoever.  And here I am in the middle like, I love him to hell and back and always will, he’s legit one of my favorite characters, but he isn’t perfect.  Like I said, it’s hard for me to like perfect characters with no flaws.  So yea, I guess that’s it.

Something I wish would happen/had happened with them in canon:  MORE OBIKIN MOMENTS BECAUSE I’M NEEDY.  Ok but in reality, there’s a couple things, most I’m discovering have to do with female characters.  I wish he hadn’t faked his death when Ahsoka was there.  I get why Anakin had to be there to witness it, otherwise he wouldn’t believe it, but Obes, my dude, there was no reason why you had to (further) traumatize a sixteen year old over this.  She really did not need to have you die in her arms, you of all people know how shitty that feels.  I also want to know why he didn’t speak up (or if he did and we didn’t see it) at Ahsoka’s trial.  Was he being punished for Mandalore?  Going off of that, I wish we actually got to see him mourn Satine for more than 0.5 seconds of him looking sad after she died and then it literally never being brought up again (I’m looking at you here, Season 7, give me SOMETHING).  I’d also like to see him having some sort of meaningful interaction with Leia that would make her naming her only child after him make more sense (I actually have a really good penpals style idea about this, but I don’t know if I’d be able to write it before the Kenobi show comes out and josses it).  Also, I heard that the original Twin Suns episode of Rebels was supposed to have Kanan going to Tatooine with Ezra, and I really would like to see a Kanan/Obi Wan interaction, it just sounds like so much potential for angsty goodness!!! ;_;

AHSOKA

How I feel about them: My brave, brave girl!  She was what got me into the prequels in general, if you can believe it (wow, my star wars watching order is just WEIRD), I had to know more about her after seeing literally one glimpse of her in Rebels and then saw the Tumblr fandom explode.  She’s enduring and snarky and clever and a total badass and I adore how we got to see her grow from a spunky little kid into a shining, confident young woman who I’d follow anywhere.  Anyway, I love her and god did she deserve so much BETTER FROM EVERYTHING.  HER LIFE SUCKED TOO AND SHE TOLD LIFE TO FUCK OFF AND KEPT GOING.

Romantic ships:  I adore her and Kaeden Larte from the Ahsoka novel and you can pry my headcanon that they’re still together up to the Sequel trilogy out of my cold dead hands.  Also Barriss Offee (WHY DO ALL MY STAR WARS SHIPS HAVE A PATTERN?  CAN WE NOT BE BETRAYING EACH OTHER FOR FIVE SECONDS PLEASE).  Also Riyo Chuchi, that was really cute!!!

Non-Romantic OTP’s:  Snips n’ Skyguy all the way!!!!  But also argh, I adore Ahsoka and Rex and everything about them and Season 7 is going to KILL ME.  I also love seeing Ahsoka and Padmé interact, and I really do like the little bits we see of her and Obi Wan and I want MORE of them >:(

Unpopular Opinion:  This is gonna sound weird since I just said that seeing Ahsoka in Rebels was what got me into TCW and the prequels, but I really didn’t like her characterization in Rebels all that much after I went back and saw her in TCW.  I know she grew up and was traumatized and matured, but Rebels!Ahsoka just seemed a bit too severe, a bit too peaceful (she’s always been a firebrand), a bit too quiet.  Yea she grew, but I feel like the environment she grew up in wouldn’t foster the personality change she got in Rebels.  She was a bit of a hot mess in TCW, and the Ahsoka novel kinda showed more of that personality in an older version of her and felt more right than what we got in Rebels.  

Something I wish would happen/had happened with them in canon: A GROUP HUG WITH ANAKIN AND OBI WAN IN SEASON 7, PREFERABLY HER PICKING THEM BOTH UP LEGEND OF KORRA STYLE.  Ok but really there’s a LOT of things.  First, that she never liked Lux Bonteri.  I’m sorry, I’m petty.  He just reminds me way too much of my IRL friend’s stupidass boyfriend who I Do Not Like and I never got what Ahsoka actually saw in him ;p  Second is that I did not like how Ezra saved her in Rebels.  It’s a grumpy point for me because I certainly like how she managed to outlive the entire Order that kicked her out, it’s poetic, and if they did have Vader kill her I’d still be grumpy because it would be just another Prequel era woman who got killed off because she wasn’t in the OT while the males all find some way to be alive despite not being in the OT.  HOWEVER, you will never convince me that Kanan wasn’t the one who deserved that time-travel fixit.  Kanan had a family-- a CHILD, who he left behind.  Kanan had a future, and a story point that was just left unfinished and unsatisfying for me and other fans, if what I’ve heard was right.  As much as it would annoy me, Ahsoka dying facing Vader makes sense from a narrative point because it would follow the path that Vader destroys everyone he ever loved until he meets Luke.  Kanan’s death felt sudden and forced, and the fact that they had the audacity to use his death to be like “oh no Kanan had to die and become a Spirit Wolf solely to tell Ezra he needed to bring AHSOKA back”, come on.  Rebels didn’t establish Ahsoka and Kanan having any sort of meaningful relationship, it makes no sense for that to be his final wish, so it just feels a LOT like favoritism on Filoni’s part.  So yea, I don’t know what I wanted to save Ahsoka because I did want her alive, but it definitely shouldn’t have been at the expense of Kanan.  Meh.  Ok, but on a happier note, I really wanna see Anakin’s ghost on Endor reuniting with her again cuz that would be sweet and make me cry.  I also wanna see Ahsoka interacting with Obi Wan on Tatooine in the new show because please it would be perfect, she’s already met Leia, now she can meet Luke!  Also, if we could actually see her find Ezra, that would be very nice, thank you.

LUKE

How I feel about this character: Luke Skywalker is one of the bravest, most kindest men in the galaxy.  He’s not the stereotypical macho hero, he’s goofy and he whines and sulks and he makes dumb jokes and he rushes right into things, but he’s determined as all hell and once he loves you, he’s never letting go.  He wants to fix everything!  He has so many ideas!  He’s so bright and you can’t help but fall in love with his smile and his sparkling eyes and you want all his dreams and plans (because he has so, so many of them) to come true, and he will make them come true, because he is stubborn like both of his parents before him.  He worked through the discovery of his beloved father being a monster, and not only did he love him despite that, he did the unthinkable and BROUGHT HIM BACK.  LUKE BROUGHT ANAKIN HOME BECAUSE HE LOVED AND BELIEVED IN HIM AND HE WAS STRONG ENOUGH TO DO IT.  I just wish he had gotten the happy ending his parents never did (and that he had had for 40 years before it was ripped away whoops I got salt on this haha).

Romantic ships: Complicated.  I think he would be really cute with Ezra if they ever actually met; their personalities would mesh nicely and I think they’d make a great team!  However, I don’t really ship him with anyone else, and me the ace again is projecting major aro/ace vibes onto him because I can *blows raspberry*

Non-Romantic OTP:  BROT3 WITH HAN AND LEIA!!!!  FOREVER AND ALWAYS!!!!!!!!  Y’all but they literally saved the galaxy together, and Luke and Leia love each other so much they knew there was a connection from the very beginning and always supported each other and the BEST space siblings, argh that forehead kiss was my favorite part of The Last Jedi I cry but I also love the chaotic dumbass duo that is Han and Luke and how they’d legit die for each other and have each others’ backs.  And, Luke and R2 will always always make my heart melt because these guys are the best team!  And Chewie, cannot forget Chewie, Chewie loves his stupid blonde little brother.  Ya know what, I’ll also add in Rey for the pure potentiality of what could have been.

Unpopular Opinion:  Well it’s certainly not unpopular to anyone I talk to, but Lucasfilms disagrees with me, so I’m gonna put forth that I don’t care WHAT the explanation is, I could never ever ever see Luke even thinking about murdering his nephew in his sleep, not just a “slip up”, not “only for a second”, no.  Yes, people can change in thirty years, and I’ve begrudgingly accepted a lot of his actions in TLJ, but not that one.  Luke would NEVER.  A more unpopular one I have would be that he’s not as much of a “innocent cinnamon roll” as fandom makes him out to be.  We see from the beginning of Episode 4 that Luke has the Skywalker temper and he’s a bit on the rude side, even though to me that seems a little more like issues with a filter that he works on developing throughout the OT.  But yeah, people tend to declaw him a bit and forget this is the same sarcastic, snarky guy that can and will happily kick the ass of basically anyone who he can’t talk his way out of trouble with (in this, he is very much Obi Wan’s apprentice).

Something I wish would happen/had happened with them in canon:  LET HIM APPEAR TO REY WITH ANAKIN’S FORCE GHOST 2K19!!!  PLEASE JJ I BEG YOU YOU LITERALLY NAMED THE MOVIE AFTER THEM.  Also, please just let him take an active role in Episode 9.  I understand it’s about the new protagonists, but please do not include the Sequel Trilogy in the “Skywalker Saga” if you’re just gonna sideline him the entire time.  If he couldn��t have his original happy ending, please let him be happy at the end of all of this.

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Place To Call Home, Ch 4.

Fandom: Rosewell, New Mexico.

Summary: A canon divergent take on Roswell, New Mexico, and the relationships between Isobel, Noah, and Rosa; later parts will shift the focus to Michael and Alex, as well as Michael and Noah. What is it like to share a body with another alien? Can broken trust be mended? Do the ends really justify the means?

Rating: M.

Tags: Canon divergence, minor character death, not really character death, body sharing, polyamory, hurt/comfort, addiction problems, sickfic, revenge, fix it, friends to enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies to lovers, Noah is complicated, cw: dubious age stuff for a little bit considering Nasedo/Noah is who-the-hell-knows how old.

Word Count: 2333

Love, Nasedo had always thought, was often a weakness.

It felt good, there was no question about that. Every time they saw Rosa, there was a giddy, bubbly feeling that rose in their chest, and it felt as if electricity was running through them every time Rosa looked at them with that smile that she reserved only for them. Isobel was happy. Nasedo was happy. But it was that happiness that bred complacency. And  complacency? Complacency was dangerous.

"We'll tell her," Isobel decided the night after their second date, "if it gets serious."

They had gone to two movies in two weeks. Nothing else had happened. But they both knew, even if they hadn't talked about it, that they were already hopelessly attached. It was an unfortunate mechanism built into their biology; their species, while not necessarily monogamous, formed deep relationships with others after an emotional connection. Those connections were often lifelong, and they were not easily broken. In many cases, they lasted even beyond the death of the person. It wasn't anything to treat lightly, and Nasedo knew-- as Isobel knew-- that  'serious' was just around the corner. That was, if Rosa felt the same way.

If. 'If' was the only thing between their secret, and potential disaster.

It was the concept of everyone else finding out that was Isobel's true fear. Early May, Max almost saw texts from Rosa when he borrowed Isobel's phone for something; the next day, Isobel broke down before history class, and Nasedo steered them out to the bleachers. It was a warm, sunny day, and he stretched out with their sunglasses on and earphones in, listening to Isobel's favorite music. They were finally starting to relax when a shadow blocked out the light.

"Whatcha doing? You're supposed to be in AP History."

Nasedo cracked open an eye and glowered at Max. Although Nasedo had sworn to protect the prince, and would do so if only for Isobel's sake, he found the boy an annoyance. "You're blocking my sun."

"You get one more truancy, you'll be banned from the prom."

"I don't care about prom."

"Okay. Who are you right now?"

Oh, if only Max knew. Nasedo gave him a little goodbye wave and put the earphones back in, smiling as Max walked away with a frown marring that  pretty face of his. The brief amusement was short-lived. At some point, Isobel was going to have to say something to her brothers. If they were going to exist together for long-term, perhaps for their whole lives, it wasn't a secret she could keep forever. Michael already looked at them in a way that made Nasedo suspicious. Michael was a firebrand, reminding Nasedo of himself; he was angry, violent, chaotic, and too smart for his own good. It was only a matter of time, Nasedo was convinced, before Michael figured them out. And without a doubt, he'd tell Max. He told Max everything.

Unfortunately, Max had been right. Principal Markham pulled them into her office, banning Isobel from prom. Nasedo sighed. Isobel would fix things later. He took them home after school, locking them in their room to make up the homework they'd missed. Stupid rules. They had a perfect 4.0 GPA, who cared if they missed a few classes?

Isobel's parents, apparently. The minute they heard what happened, they started in on the snooty lectures and pointless threats. Nasedo nodded and muttered some platitudes. Whatever would get them to shut up. He was relieved when nighttime fell, and he was able to get ready for bed. Isobel hadn't returned; he couldn't blame her. Well, sometimes she needed a night, and he was content to curl up with ice cream and a trashy novel. It was a few minutes past 10pm when Isobel's phone buzzed.

I need you. Crashdown, roof.

Rosa. Nasedo rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes, slinking out the window and into the night. He rushed to the Crashdown, climbing the fire escape to get to the roof. No one was there. Perching under the sign, Nasedo gazed up to the sky and waited. Soon, he sense the familiar presence he'd come to treasure. Rosa hopped up to sit next to him,  letting out a long, defeated sigh.

"I'm so glad you're here. I had such a crap day."

Nasedo smiled as Rosa twined her fingers with his. "Me, too. But, hey, it's over now." He lifted his hand, bringing Rosa's with it, and pointed to a collection of stars. "Look. I found my favorite constellation. It's a man and a serpent. Maybe the man's killing the serpent, maybe the serpent's killing the man. You can't tell where the man ends and the snake begins."

"What's it called?"

"Ophiuchus."

Resting her head on Nasedo's shoulder, she let out a soft hum. "I love it. Where's Pisces?"

"There." He pointed to the constellation. "Is it your sign?"

"Mhm. It looks like an arrow."

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday this year. We'll have to do something special next year," Nasedo said, before realizing what that implied. "I  mean, if..."

"Izzie?"

"Yeah?"

Grinning, Rosa leaned in and kissed Nasedo on the cheek. "Thank you."

Blinking, he touched the spot where her lips had been. Nasedo opened his mouth to say something, anything, but suddenly they were kissing for real. Rosa had grabbed the front of Isobel's jacket and tugged them together; Nasedo closed his eyes, kissing her back. Her lips were warm, gentle, and she smelled of patchouli. Her hair was soft under his touch, and she smiled against his mouth as he trailed his fingers through it. Oh, it felt perfect. It felt right. But then she was pulling back, murmuring something that Nasedo barely heard.

"We should go before my dad comes looking for me."

Nasedo stroked her cheek. He didn't want to go, he never wanted to go, but it was true enough. Isobel would be furious if they got discovered. "Will you be alright?"

"I will now." Rosa's cheek were flushed as she stood and gave Nasedo's hand a light squeeze. She ducked her head, eyes bright. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Rosa."

Heading down the fire escape, Nasedo was halfway down when Rosa popped her head over the side of the building. "Hey! Movie night tomorrow. Your choice."

"Last House On The Left?" Nasedo suggested. Rosa loved horror movies. "Text me what time your shift ends."

"It's a date."

By the time Nasedo got home and got back into bed, his heart felt light as a feather and filled with warmth. Maybe love could feel like fireworks for him, after all. Isobel was back in the morning, muttering to herself about not getting the first kiss. It was good-natured, of course. Everything was... fine. It seemed like, just maybe, life was looking up and everything would work itself out in the end. All that was left was one tiny little thing.

Telling Rosa.

"I don't feel comfortable kissing someone who doesn't know who she's kissing," Nasedo said as they got ready to head to the Crashdown. 6pm, time to pick up Rosa. "It's not right."

So, the plan was to go to the movie, get some dinner after, and then take Rosa to the roof and tell her there. It wasn't totally private, but it was quiet and would give both parties an easy way to escape if necessary. Hopefully, it wouldn't be. They had both waited so long to  tell someone, they were all but bouncing in anticipation by the time they got to the Crashdown. They could do it. They would do it. It would  be okay. Except...

... Max. Max, who was supposed to be off with friends, was right there.

Isobel turned to run back out before Max could see, but it was too late. He shouted to her, waving her over. Nasedo got shoved out of front, the opposite of their usual way of handling tings. Was it because Isobel knew how much Nasedo disliked Max? Most likely, but damn it he at least needed to see and hear what was going on. By the time he  managed to crawl his way back in, it was just in time to hear Isobel pretend to not know Rosa, and rush out of the cafe towards Max's car.

"What did you do?" Nasedo hissed. "Isobel!"

"I panicked! She brought up our date right in front of Max, and I... Oh, god. What did I do? How do I fix this?"

"Go back in there and apologize!"

But Max was already coming out of the cafe, and Isobel had to fake wanting to go home. Once they were there, she tried to text Rosa. No reply. Rosa wasn't at any of her usual places the next day, and she wasn't at school on Monday. Isobel curled up on their bed and cried; Nasedo could feel their heart breaking, but he knew it was probably nothing compared to what Rosa was feeling. Isobel wrote a longer email, explaining that she panicked because she wasn't out to Max yet, and was worried that it would get back to Kyle-- Liz's boyfriend and the school's biggest homophobe. She was sorry, terribly sorry, and would do anything to make it up to Rosa.

A whole week went by, with no word. Prom loomed. Isobel managed to mind-bend her way back into the principal's good  graces, and ended up going to the dance with Max and Michael. Isobel and Nasedo figured they could have some fun and try to numb the sadness for a little, but then Max opened his mouth about leaving Roswell, and Isobel fell apart. She stormed away, finding a dark corner to huddle into; Nasedo eased his way into control, just as Michael approached.

"You okay?" he asked, offering a cup of punch.

Nasedo turned his head away from it. "I'll be fine. I need a moment."

For a long moment, Michael said nothing. His eyes met theirs, and there was some emotion in Michael’s expression that Nasedo hadn't quite noticed before. Something he couldn't identify. Whatever it was, Michael just shrugged. "Look, I don't know if this is your scene right now or not. If you want to go, I'll cover for you."

Nodding, Nasedo headed for the second exit, the one away from Max. He'd have to thank Michael later. For now, he knew what he wanted to do. What he needed to do, and Isobel had been too nervous to try. He headed towards the Crashdown. It looked closed, but the door was still open. At first, he didn’t see Rosa, but then she came out from the back with a knapsack in hand. When she saw him, she froze.

“Izzie...” Rosa trailed off and narrowed her eyes. “We’re closed.”

Nasedo took a step closer. “I came to apologize in person. I know I screwed up, Rosa. Please, can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about? I don’t want to be your dirty little secret, Izzie. I thought I’d be okay with it, with us keeping things hidden,  but... But it really hurt. I don’t want to be something you’re ashamed  of. We both deserve better than that.”

“I’m not ashamed of you. You are amazing, and I want nothing more than to be who I am with you all of the time. I love you.”

“You... Izzie, you can’t just say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

Silence fell over them both as Rosa stared up at him, eyes wide. Finally, she managed to sputter out a reply. “I was going to leave town for a while. There’s this guy, he says he could help me stay clean. It’s been really hard, and I just... I just need someone to be here for me.”

Nasedo felt his stomach churn. “A guy?”

“Not that kind of guy. His name is Valenti. He’s kind of a father figure to me, you know? I thought if you didn’t want me here...”

“I do want you here. I want you to be with me.”

“I want to be with you, too, but I can’t hide forever. It’s not me.”

“So run away with me instead.” Nasedo blurted out the thought before he could think. “It’s less than a month until I graduate. If you can hang on until then, we can leave here. Start a new life somewhere else, somewhere better. You and me.”

Rosa slowly set down her knapsack. “Really? Are you sure?

“I am.”

“What about Max? Michael?”

“They’re leaving after graduation, anyways. Even if they weren’t, we... I need to make my own path. I want you by my side on that path.”

“Well.” Rosa shook her head, sitting down on one of the bar stools. “When you make an apology, you really make an apology. Oh Izzie, what if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then we’ll be friends and laugh about how silly we were, but it’ll be far away from here.”

“And we just have to keep this up until June?”

“Yes, and I’ll give you anything you need.”

“Like, love notes?”

Nasedo couldn’t help but smile, a little. “If you want them.” He reached out, taking Rosa’s hand in his. “I know it sucks to have to hide, and I’m  sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you. If you’re still mad at me by graduation, you can always go see this Valenti guy. Right?”

Rosa sighed and gave a playful roll of her eyes. “I suppose I can try to forgive you for acting like a bitch. Kyle is a homophobic ass... But how are you gonna make it up to me? Besides heartfelt letters of affection?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Ignoring your temporary lapse in human decency, yes, I trust you.”

“In that case...” Nasedo took a deep breath. Now or never. “I have a secret I want to share with you. Something I’ve never told anyone.”

“What kind of secret?”

“I think it’s better if I show you.”

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, CHARLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of GONERIL. Admin Jen: You have no idea how happy we are that you’ll be bringing us Verona’s favorite firebrand, Charlie! Like you pointed out, it’s easy to write Grace off as just that -- a whirlwind of chaos and spite with nothing more to her other than that, but you’ve definitely succeeded in bringing her out of the shadow of that impression and exploring everything else that makes her shine. There is so much more to her than meets the eye, and your diligence and care when it comes to portraying that left us completely thrilled to have her flourish in your hands. We’re so glad to have you back, and we can’t wait to see what more you have in store for Grace! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Charlie

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | 5-6/10. I’m a law student and working 20 hours per week. So it’s safe to say that my rl can be pretty stressful. In addition, I like to take my time with my replies so that I can actually be satisfied with how they turned out. I’ve found in the past that it’s the easiest and most efficient for me to do replies as inspiration strikes and queue them to post every 2-3 days which I plan to do as well. However, I’m available every day almost all day long on Tumblr and Discord to chat and plot. 

Timezone | CET

How did you find the rp?  | Originally, through Jen, but this time because I’ve been a part of the group before.

Current/Past RP Accounts | may I introduce you to  https://ofbellos.tumblr.com/ and https://ofdupont.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Grace Daly aka Goneril. 

What drew you to this character? | Goneril is a character I’ve been intrigued by ever since I first stumbled across the rp. Back then, she was still a taken character so I’ve never really bothered thinking about whether I’d apply for her or not and when she was reopened, I had my fair share of characters that were keeping me busy. 

Somehow this fascination I have with her has never fully gone away, though. There’s something about her, her passion, her fierceness, how unwilling she is to be anybody but herself (and to hell with everybody who has a problem with that, quite literally, you'll probably end up dead if you insult her) that just really intrigues me. I feel like it’s easy to assume that Grace is downright crazy or doesn’t think at all about the consequences her actions might have, that she might not even have the mental capability of doing so. But while she’s definitely lead by her emotions and doesn’t fully know how to control her temper (and mostly doesn’t even want to), she doesn’t act without thinking about the consequences beforehand, very often, she acts a certain way despite having thought about it before. The ‘problem’ is that, in most cases, she simply doesn’t give a damn. She lives to provoke, to toy with the line of right and wrong and to run right through the wall that exists on that line for most people simply because she enjoys it. A part of her is eager to see just how far she can go simply because the search excites her. It’s most of the time not really about the other person (except for the times somebody managed to piss her off, which, admittedly, is not the hardest thing to do) but mostly about herself and what she wants to do. Everything else is secondary.  And quite frankly, there’s nothing that she hates more than being bored. She lives for the thrill, be it the thrill caused by a good old bar fight, killing somebody with your bare hands, a steaming hot fuck or a simple argument. And the power of winning the things listed before. In some way, everything’s a fight for her and the big thrill of life is in that fight and winning it. After all, Grace Daly is nothing if not a winner. Losing isn’t an option. However, despite what you might think at the first (or even second) glance, she’s not just all fun and games. There’s this blazing hot desire burning inside her to conquer and rule her own kingdom. I’m gonna stop right here because I’m gonna be exploring this aspect further in the future plot section. However, I definitely see these various facets Grace has to offer that are so unique to her in my eyes and I really want to explore those in greater detail. Grace is bold, loud, unapologetic, reckless and untamable all wrapped up in one fiery ball of chaos and she’s definitely a force to be reckoned with, not just despite but because of how unpredictable she is. It might have not gotten her where she wants to go so far, but that certainly doesn’t mean that there isn’t a certain kind of power in it.

She’s so unlike any other character I’ve ever truly played before and that’s one of the many reasons why I actually thought long and hard about whether to apply for her or not. She’ll be quite the challenge for me, I’m not ashamed to admit that, but part of the reason why I’m still so into rping after all these years is the desire to challenge myself and hopefully become a better writer in the end. Grace Daly will without a hint of a doubt be a challenge for me, but I’m so ready for that. Also, her uniqueness compared to other characters I’ve played - even characters I’ve already written here in DV - makes it possible for me to explore other plots, connections, and interactions I haven’t gotten to explore before which really excited me as well.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 

I’ve added some future plot points that are more ideas than already thought out plots which I’ve called ‘ideas’ instead of ‘plots’. For a better understanding and cohesiveness, I’ve mixed them together so that they fit contentwise, I hope it isn’t too confusing. If it is, I want to apologize in advance. 

PLOT 01

The Daly Sisters own a huge space of my heart when it comes to this rp. There dynamic is so unlike any other in the rp and, quite frankly, I cannot wait to sink my claws into that. I’d really love a family face-off, especially between Regina and Grace. After all, one of the reasons why Grace joined the Montagues in the first place - even if she’d never admit it out loud - is the fact that little, boring Regina got promoted to Captain by Cosimo after spending only a blink of an eye with the Capulets. She never earned her name the way Grace did, she did nothing to deserve it. And you can be dead sure that once word got out that Regina has been promoted to the position of a hitman - and sooner or later Grace would have found out, nothing stays secret in Verona forever -, she’d have been fuming. It’s just another promotion she doesn’t deserve. And here Grace is working her ass off - Grace Daly style, obviously - and has nothing to see for it. Actually, fuming would be a nice word. So yeah, I feel like a sisterly confrontation is overdue in Grace’s eyes. If you can’t ignore an annoying bug, you have to squash it to finally get rid of it. And Regina Daly is a bug Grace has been dying to step on for quite some while now. She tried to ignore her when she was younger, forget all about her existence in the first place, but apparently, that’s not an option anymore. So yes, I can totally see a sisterly face-off happen in the near future because sneaky scheming and planning to get rid of somebody isn’t really Grace’s style. She tends to rely on sheer brutality and cruelty and wouldn’t it be quite poetic to have one last fight to finally set an end to this argument (idk if you can even call it that cause I’m pretty sure Regina doesn’t give a damn about Grace)? Grace at least would love the poetry of it.

IDEA 01

This idea is related to the first plot in some way. It’s pretty established in her bio that Grace has never been willing to give her two younger sisters the time of day and would like to forget that she’s ever shared a home, not to mention blood ties with them. However, I want to explore just how deep this disinterest goes. I know for a fact that she wouldn’t shy away from killing Regina in cold blood. However, what about Catherine? Is there some small inkling in the dark hole that is her heart that does care for her? I’m not sure, but I want to find out. At the same time, I also want to explore if there’s actually a person (apart from herself) that she cares for or rather cares enough about enough to sacrifice? I don’t know if there’s a positive answer to that question, even though Grace is only human, after all, and it’s in the human nature to want to be connected to other people, but I just want to explore this question further.  

IDEA 02

If I cannot bend Heaven, I’ll raise Hell. Even though you wouldn’t necessarily suspect it, Grace is ambitious as they come. Blame it on her parents for always treasuring her like grace from God, telling her she can everything she sets her dark eyes on, but she’s always known that she’ll be a queen an empress one day. And she won’t stop at anything to get her way. So far, she’s had very little success, though. After all, despite having been involved with the mob for years now, she’s still nothing more than a soldier, a little pawn in the game of others.  While I’m not sure if she’d make a good ruler (in fact, I know the opposite is the case), she’s definitely a conqueror. Or has the potential to be once she figures out how to make the best use of the anger, passion, and fire that runs through her veins. She’s smart enough to figure it out. After all, as it’s already said in her bio “Every move she made was calculated, every strike meticulously aimed”. She definitely has the mental capacities for it. I think her biggest problem is that she needs to learn how to control her emotions and not have them influence her moves and the goal of her plans as they do now. However, learning is hard (read: almost impossible) when you’re as self-conceited as Grace is. I want to explore that struggle further, this dissonance of ambition & desire and her temper & boisterousness. 

PLOT 02 a

This plot is related to the second idea. 

If you can’t learn how to balance out your own strengths, you either need to accept that you might never reach your goal or team up with somebody who can provide what you’re lacking. The first one is clearly no option and the second one is not exactly the first thing that comes to your mind considering we’re talking about Grace either. After all, Grace isn’t really much of a team player either for she’s too selfish for that, not to mention too unpredictable, unreliable and many other things. However, I want her to seak out a partnership nonetheless. This is not to say that she’ll suddenly turn into a team-player or people person all of a sudden - hell no. No, it’d be a play really. It’d mostly be an idea born out of an alcoholic haze, nothing that serious at first. It’d be with somebody, who’s about just as desperate as she is to get to the top, and a partnership that is already doomed for a start because she plans to get rid of them as soon as the situation improves for her. She sure as hell doesn’t plan for one second to share the spotlight, they’ll just be a tool in some way. Not because she’d be manipulating them into thinking that she sees it as a real partnership, she’s no schemer, after all. No, they’d get into this with both eyes open and be ambitious enough to do it nonetheless, probably even thinking to cut her loose the first chance they get as well.  

PLOT 02 b

As it’s kind of a second part of the second plot, I wanted to split those up.

I could totally see the previously mentioned partnership turn into something of a cat and mouse kinda game. It’d actually be quite intriguing to see somebody to challenge her directly and on a personal level for a change because while the whole thing would still be somewhat mob-related, it’d be more focused on the power they’ve gathered together and that both of them wants the biggest piece of. Or rather the only piece without having to share it with the other person. It’d need to be somebody who’d be her equal, who could handle themselves around her, but then again, if they couldn’t, this partnership would have never seen the light of day in the first place. I want Grace to face a challenge/challenger she can’t get rid of that easily. I want her having to face them again and again, simply because they’re both too stubborn to die and to give up what they’ve earned. 

PLOT 03

This plot goes a little hand in hand with the previous plot, but I felt it still deserved a plot point on it’s own as it’s related to her connection with Ivan Rahal in particular.

Whereas Grace is chaos come to live and craves power above all, Ivan is a master chess player who craves chaos and destruction above all. It’s an unlike combination and yet one, that causes fear and terror among Verona’s citizens unlike any other for their united in their darkness and their thirst for blood. I feel like there’s so much Grace could learn from him and his talent for strategy. She wouldn’t ever ask for help nor would she want to change, after all, she’s perfect the way she is. Nonetheless, I want her to observe Ivan more closely, to study the way he thinks and does things, to get a feel for how he operates. I highly doubt she’d be able to employ these tactics for her own goals simply because she’s disciplined enough for that, but I feel like it’d be a valuable lesson for her nonetheless? 

PLOT 04

I feel like it’s only a question until her treacherous past truly catches up to her. After all, so far, she’s gotten away with turning her back on the Capulets to join the enemy’s ranks pretty easily. I mean she’s still alive and relatively unharmed which is more than most people could say in the same situation. Of course, she’s under the Montagues’ protection, but even that doesn’t have the same weight in every part of Verona. Knowing Grace’s recklessness and her tendency to live dangerously, she doesn’t shy away from Capulet territory. Probably even provokes them when she feels like it simply because she can (and because it makes her feel powerful). So it’s only a question of time until she gets into a situation where she has to pay for what she’s done. Unlike Grace, I’m not narcissistic enough to assume that she’s the Capulets’ main agenda, however, especially in combination with the connection with Vivianne provided in her bio (so I could def see Vivianne playing a role in that one way or another, maybe even assigning somebody to take care of her? Maybe even Regina which would kind of fit together nicely with Plot 01), I do think that this is still a topic worth exploring. After all, the Capulets won’t just forgive and forget. 

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. With her recklessness and ability to piss off the people around her, I feel like it’s only a question of time until Grace is killed, not a question of if. 

IN DEPTH.

mentions of graphic violence tw

Carelessly she flicks the cigarette against her chair, her lips curled up into an amused smirk and her long legs draped on the table in front of her. Grace Daly has never been one to give a damn about the rules of properness and she sure as isn’t going to start now just because everybody around her does it. Just because, apparently, there some things you simply “have” to do, especially when being in a lion’s den. Idioti. No, following the rules is something reserved for sheep, people who aren’t bold enough to make decisions for themselves. And Grace Daly is most certainly not a sheep nor is she scared of anything or anybody. Fear? She laughs in the face of fear. It’s not like she’s stupid. Even though it doesn’t look like it, she’s perfectly aware of how dangerous this situation can be for her. How she might not make it out of here alive. The sheer thrill of it causes the adrenalin to rush through her veins, the smirk on her lips to grow just a little more intense. Other people might sit on the edge of their seats, all fidgety and nervous. Not just because of the fact that she’s currently meeting who’s supposed to enemy nr. one, but also because this meeting alone is enough to paint her as a traitor in the eyes of some people. But not Grace. Oh hell no. No, it takes more to get under her skin. Besides, it’s not like she asked for this meeting. No, Damiano Montague reached out to her, invited her. And well, who was she to refuse, even if meeting with him for any other reason to put a bullet between his eyes might be enough reason to some to try put a bullet between her eyes? Turning down the invitation would have been plain stupid. However, not for the reason most people might believe. No, it wasn’t fear that made her accept the invitation, It was sheer ambition. Fuck rules of decency and properness, fuck the rules of the mob if they’re getting in the way of what she wants. After all, when has she ever not taken what she wanted the instant she wanted it, no matter what it takes? Her teeth and ambitions are bared now more than ever, after having her potential ignored in favor of her younger, colorless sister. If it takes a swim to the other side, to change that situation, it’d be stupid to turn down the opportunity. 

Her head slightly tilted to the right, her dark eyes are focused on the man in front of her, eying him attentively. It’s quite ironic really how he looks nothing like Cosimo Capulet and exactly like him at the same time. There’s this air of confidence - arrogance really - surrounding him, the charisma of somebody who’s used to getting what he wants, who’s demanding it really. It takes only one look at him to know he doesn’t take well to being turned down. Not that she gives a damn. If he doesn’t offer her a deal she’s interested tonight, Grace won’t feel obligated in any way. Hell, if things don’t go the way she wants (and quite frankly, expects) them to, she might just try to ram or throw the knife she always has with her, hidden in her left boot, into his trachea. If she returns to the other side of the Adige with Damiano Montague’s blood on her hands - literally -, they just have to promote her to Captain at least. Better even, kiss her ass for quite some while. The smirk already gracing her lips grows just a little bit bigger at the thought of his face slowly losing all its color, the desperate death rattle of a dying man, maybe even some pleas for mercy. Somehow this turn of events would be almost just as nice as what she actually came here to do. So whatever is going to happen next, she knows she’ll come out of this little meeting with one sort of advantage in her hands. So much for Grace Daly being incapable of having a plan b.

Without taking her eyes of the mob boss in front of her - direct eye contact is important, after all, to assert dominance and to show that she isn’t the slightest bit afraid of him-, she stubs the cigarette on the wooden table, not giving a damn whether it’d leave a burn mark or not. After all, it’s not her table, is it? “Va bene, vecchio mio, how about you go ahead and make your offer?”, she says, her lips curled into a wolfish grin, “I don’t have all day, after all. Got some disloyal couriers I need to care of.”  Oh, the irony talking about disloyalty and treachery while she’s currently committing treason herself. It’s not wasted on her, that’s for sure, quite the opposite, really, it’s highly appreciated. The thought that the Capulets have no idea what might be coming for them, made this little meeting all so sweeter. Would serve them right for ignoring her potential.

___

murder tw

Leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed before her chest, she just stands there for a moment, her eyes focused on Ivan, the corners of her mouth curled up into a lazy half-smirk. “Looks like you have the luck of having the best partner possible today”, she says as she pushes herself away from the frame and heads towards him. From everybody else, these words would have been meant as a joke and yet, even though there’s a slightly amused, teasing intonation to them, she’s dead honest. She might not have been a part of the Capulets for as long as other members, but Grace still knows she’s better than a lot of them. At his slightly amused “and I assume that special one is supposed to be you”, she gives him a little smirk and shrugs her shoulders just slightly. “What can I say? It’s not arrogant if it’s true.” Not that she’d care either way. Caring about what other people think of you is something reserved for pathetic people who aren’t sure of themselves. And she most certainly doesn’t belong in that category. “Sei pronto?” The little smirk still present on her lips, she puts the hand on the gun on her left hip. As a little extra backup, there’s a knife safely stored in the right back pocket of her jeans, hidden by her leather jacket. “Sí.” She’s ready in every possible meaning, eager to, hopefully, get her hands on some real action. Sure, this mission isn’t supposed to turn violent. It’s only planned as some sort of check-up meets interrogation to find out if the rumors are true and they’ve really gone behind their back and are dealing with the enemy. But then again, you could never know how they’d react to this checkup, right? And a girl could still hope, after all. 

Slowly but self-assured they head straight towards the building that, their silhouettes one with the shadows of the containers. Every now and signal horns of approaching container ships disturb the silence, but apart from that, there’s complete silence. It’s quite peaceful, actually, she can’t help but notice and at the irony, the hint of a smile sneaks onto her lips. It’s so peaceful that nobody would expect the attack that is going to happen within a few minutes. Which, frankly, makes it even more fun. There’s nothing quite like taking something wholesome and peaceful and turning it upside down. Judging from the information they got, it’s gonna be a relatively easy job from the information they got. Three people top, most likely only lightly armed. They aren’t expecting an interrogation not to mention an attack any time soon, it’ll be like taking candy from a child.

After exchanging another glance with Ivan, she kicks the door open. “Ciao, stronzi.”Charming as ever, she flashes a wolfish grin at them. If they wanted somebody who’s all polite and diplomatic, they wouldn’t have paired Ivan up with her and so she sees no need to be anybody but her usual, charming self. However, for now, she lets Ivan take charge of the conversation. It’s more his style anyway. She prefers to stand there leaning against the door - these fuckers better don’t assume they could get past her - and casually playing with her knife as not that subtle thread while she attentively observes the interaction, ready to jump into action at any howsoever small, wrong movement. 

It doesn’t take long, only a few questions to realize that their source was right, these bastardi are trying to cheat them out of their profit. They realize almost as quickly that their cover has blown as Ivan and she do and pull their guns. Too bad it’s only almost. Without thinking about twice, Grace throws her knife, aiming right at the left guy’s forehead. Ivan reacts just as quickly, taking out the other guy with one unerring shot. Everything happened so quickly, that it takes her a moment to fully process what just happened. Completely collected on the outside, she stares at the dead body in front of her with some morbid curiosity. Even though she’s already seen her fair share of dead bodies ever since having joined the Capulets, it’s the first time she’s responsible for one. It’s an intriguing feeling, really. A part of her is well aware of she should feel at least some sort of regret or guilt. And yet, there’s nothing of that crap on her mind. The only thing she feels is excitement and satisfaction. It felt good to bury that knife between his eyes before he could even fully realize what was about to happen, it still does, to be honest. Slowly she steps closer to the corpse and pulls the knife out of it without flinching. She’s never been afraid of blood and she most certainly isn’t going to start that now. If anything there’s something quite satisfying about seeing your work in all its unholy glory. Is this what it feels like to be God? This rush of power of having just ended one life simply because you chose to do so? For a moment longer, her eyes are focused on the body, eying it almost thoughtfully, before she turns back around to Ivan. “Well, this didn’t exactly turn out as planned”, she says, the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth betraying her words. “Too bad we didn’t get to question them further before blowing their brains out, though. The info whether they decided to cheat on us all of a sudden on their own or were instigated by somebody else wouldn’t have been the worst to have.” It’s not like she particularly cares about the answer, what this answer could have gotten her recognition wise is the much more interesting question. Ah well, what’s done is done. She shrugs slightly as she wipes the blood of the knife on her jeans before putting it back into the back pocket. “Let’s go check out if we can find some more information on what these idiots were up to. Maybe they were stupid enough to store some important documents here that give us a better idea of how far this whole little boycott goes and if other business partners of us are involved.” Eliminating two traitors might be useful and a nice accomplishment, but it’s not enough for her. No, she seeks something more impressive to bring back to the headquarters. After all ‘nice’ accomplishments, didn’t exactly allow you to climb higher on the mob’s hierarchy, won’t get her the recognition she deserves and craves.

___

 Everett Craven - Emissary. Easton Craven - Captain. And darling Regina promoted as well.  Even hours later, her fingers grab the glass of Scotch in her hands more firmly, the knuckles from the pressure she exerts, the rest of her body just as tense. Honestly, if this was one big fucking joke it wasn’t remotely funny. And despite her rather unique, wicked sense of humor she could usually see a joke for what it is. Although it had to be one - it’d be the only explanation that made some sort of sense -, she knows it’s not. It’s the fucking reality that everybody, who so much as breaths, gets a fucking promotion. Hell, even on the Montague side, promotions are a dime a dozen and everybody gets one. A dry, sarcastic laugh dies in her throat before she can get it out. Everybody but her that is. It seems like no matter what she does, it’s just not good enough. Like she’s nothing but a slightly tamed but rabid dog you can’t fully control but the perfect tool for threatening and intimidating your enemies. The one you send out to do all the dirty, bloody, disgusting work nobody else is willing to get their hands dirty on. She takes a sip of her drink, the burning sensation of the liquor running down her throat is a welcome distraction and yet, it isn’t nearly enough to burn away the frustration. And she does what they want like the good dog she, apparently, is. Does jobs nobody else would want to do if they don’t have a choice, just to prove her worth. Follows orders, even though somebody like Henry Zhang - the thought of her Captain is enough to roll her eyes - really couldn’t handle her under any other circumstances. Plays nice with men like Faron Vasilev just to get in his good graces and have him speak out for her. Even now she can still smell his cologne, the air of arrogance and entitlement surrounding men like him. It tastes sour in the back of her mouth, her. Maybe she should have tried sleeping with him while she still had the chance, seemed to have worked out perfectly for that puta Calina, after all. She even plasters a (more or less) friendly smile she plasters on her face every time Damiano walks past her and keeps her mouth shut, even when they talk bullshit. Her stomach twists and turns. They could drop dead this instant for all she cares and yet, she still plays nice. 

And for what? A small part of her mind that is still capable of thinking straight knows that she might just haven’t been a part of the Montagues long enough to earn the position of Captain. Castora has been a Montague for longer than her, it’s true. But Damiano wanted her. With one loud, shrieking noise, a glass breaks into a million shards as Grace throws it against the wall, not giving a damn if its ember content ruins the wall. He invited her personally into the fold and she deigned to accept that invitation. And yet, she’s still left with nothing. Maybe she really should have slit his throat right there during that meeting that promised to be a turning point. Frowning just slightly, her lips curled up into a sneer, the drops of liquor on the wall turning into crimson red bloodstains in her mind. She could have painted the walls red with mighty Damiano’s blood. She should have. That at least ought to have earned her a promotion with the Capulets. And yet, she’d resisted, had believed the stronzo’s golden lies of how they could achieve something great together, of how he could offer her more than Cosimo ever could. She’d known that he couldn’t make her Captain right away, that wasn’t how things worked. Anybody, who’d promoted somebody who’d only just been accepted into the fold (not to mention from the opposing side) was plain stupid, Grace understood that. But hasn’t she waited long enough now? Isn’t it time for her patience and hard work to finally be rewarded? And instead, she simply gets overlooked again. 

It’s not the first time she’s been overlooked, she should be used to it by now. She used to be the center of their parents’ universe, until her younger sisters - it’s an insult really, not a term of endearment -, took it away from her. After all, ever since darling Cat came into the world with her blonde locks and angelic nature, their father would choose the younger over her, dote on her instead of always on her like he used to. Memories of a little Cat, innocence come to life, run through her mind and she scowls. Her sweetness tastes like acid on her tongue, always has. And Regina took away the recognition and respect of the Capulets. The thought of her passionless, disinterested attitude alone is enough for her body to tense up and yearn for something else to punch bloody. How can somebody be so bland and yet so successful? Grace has always been fire and action and still, no matter how intense and destructive her fire, Regina’s hollowness seems to swallow it whole. If she ever felt a small flicker of sisterly love it’s long gone, she should have killed both long ago. Should have drowned them both like you did with unwanted puppies and kittens. Being overlooked is certainly nothing new so she really should be used to it by now. And yet, it hurts all the same, the sting of rejection, of not being good enough or enough, really. Whatever she does, she always gets overlooked for somebody else. For somebody who doesn’t want it nearly as much as she does. Who wouldn’t be as a great fit for the position as she would. She knows she can do better than all of them, why won’t anybody see it? Why won’t anybody see her for the potential that she has to offer?

For a time, it seemed like Damiano Montague saw it, saw her. That he would value her like the Capulets never did. And now she knows how wrong she’s been. Red painted lips twist into a sneer as she forgoes the thought of getting another glass and grabs the bottle instead. One sip, then another. She could empty the whole bottle, drink herself into oblivion and the liquor still couldn’t wash away the all-consuming feeling of humiliation cutting through her intestines like a hot burning iron. How utterly stupid she’d been. If she’s completely honest, it hurts almost just as much as the disappointment and rejection that she’s partially to blame for her misery. She should have been smart enough to see through Damiano’s empty promises. Eyes focused on the wall in front of her, she glares a hole. One rapid breath, another, her body tensing with every single one - then she punches it, only barely noticing the dull pain quickly spreading from the via the arm to her shoulder or the sting of the bloody, torn open knuckles. She should have at least thought in greater detail about how her chances at a promotion, at validation, are, if she stayed with the Capulets. After all, if colorless, hollow Regina managed to get two promotions, it should be out of the question that she would have made it to Captain during that time. She needs to believe she would have. Her stomach slumps at the mere prospect of not having made the cut either way. No, everything else is unacceptable. And yet, despite priding herself on her cleverness, she allowed herself to be blinded her own and ambition. It’d felt so good to be seen, to have your potential and talent acknowledged, to be recognized for what difference you could make if you changed the teams, that she’d gladly taken the opportunity offered to her on a silver platter. The Capulets never valued her, so why should she burden herself with them if somebody else could offer her the opportunity to finally rise to the station she knows she deserves? Her eyes fixed on the mess she just created - the shards, her bleeding knuckles, the ruined wall - she can’t hold back cynical laughter any longer. It’s too much of a representation of the rest of her life. After all,  as it now turns out, neither do the Montagues really see and value her. She desperately wants to say that it’s their loss, that it’ll be their own ruin. And it probably will be. But if she’s completely honest, right now, it is her loss. She’s the one who has to deal with the humiliation of having switched sides for nothing. To have made a traitor of herself for nothing. To have started again from scratch basically for absolutely nothing. 

Extras:

A Mockblog can be found here. Pls ignore the ugliness, I couldn’t be bothered to make it fancy as I’d only use it to reblog stuff from if I should get accepted anyway.

You can find a pinterest board here.

MB Type: ESTP-A - The Entrepreneur

Eneagram Type: Type 8 - The Challenger (81%)                            Type 3 - The Achiever (61%)

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Evil

The Four Temperaments: Choleric

Archetypes: Rebel (56%) - The Wild Woman, The Criminal & The Rebel                      Explorer (22%) - The Adventurer & The Explorer                      Royal (22%) - The Excecutive, The Bully & The Greenvy

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Judas Kiss {Oneshot}

Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson x Jotunn Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Angst

Summary: This is my entry for @marvelandotherfandomimagines writing challenge! The reader and Loki have an established relationship. Loki stumbled across the reader when she was traversing between Jotunheim and Asgard, the god having taken to her when he realized she was nothing but a Jotun slave. The intrigue of finding her had Loki deciding she was to be brought to Asgard so that he could assure she was safe from her own people.

A/N: (Before the events of Thor) We pick up after Ragnarok and before the invasion of the Statesman from Sakaar to Midgard. This is my first time writing first person, a thing that I usually do not do. I hope this is coherent and not a complete and utter train wreck!

Thank you to @starscreamloki for the help!

Prompt: 76.) “So, this is what betrayal feels like.” in bold

Words: +2,600

I always have seen through his disguises, his lies, but… he was telling the truth this time. This must be what betrayal feels like. My chest kept growing tighter and tighter. Vision going red the longer I kept focus on Loki and the story he was spouting about Thanos, the attack on New York, the Tesseract. His words still droning on about what this meant for not just the entire ship and what was left of the people of Asgard, but of the relationship between us or in this case, what we once had.

My fist were balled so tight my short nails cut into my palms. All of the sudden I felt as if I was in too close of a proximity to the son of a bitch. Teeth clenched so tight they were about to shatter, deciding it was a good idea to nip at my lip with fangs that threatened to rip his throat out if he looked at me one more time.

Oh gods, this was real, he had… how had he kept this hidden for so long? Had he gotten better at it? Or was I just that naive, that desperate to believe we were all right? That we were going to make it out of the recent Hel intact and have a fucking life? What was happening?

Nervously my mind paced as my body remained stock still beside of the one known as Hulk, the giant beast shifting nervously next to me - I didn’t realize it at the time it was my mood that was affecting him. The shuffling must have gotten Loki’s attention because it wasn’t long before his gaze fell on me. It made my skin crawl. Those emerald orbs I had once loved to feel dancing over my thick curves even when bare before him made me lock his gaze, my own boring into his soul, wishing to burn him from the inside out.

The god, the arrogant bastard he was, made a move to step towards me which made everyone else turn to focus on me. All of the sudden I was self-conscious of all focus on me, the only ones in the room where myself, Loki, Thor, Heimdall, Hulk, and the Valkyrie Brunnhilde, but why were they? Cold wetness sliding down my cheek told me why, forcefully I reached up to wipe it away.

“Are we done here,” I snarled.

Yes, it was meant that hate filled, that vicious and aimed at Loki. A quiet nod from Thor confirming it as I didn’t hesitate to turn and leave, the Valkyrie at my back sure to give me room. Choosing to ignore to the voice speaking to my subconscious, shutting him out completely as I hurried to our shared quarters.

The grumbling under my breath keeping me sane. I suppose, while jerking what had been salvaged from Asgard into a canvas pouch before hurrying out to the cargo hold of the ship. It may be cold but like it really mattered.

A quick look down the corridor telling me he was still occupied with details of the evacuation but didn’t mean I couldn’t start getting the few escape pods readied with supplies. The least I could do for the people of Asgard since concealing the fact the All-father had been hidden on Midgard in a rest home, while I enjoyed my time with the Loki I thought dead.

The Loki I thought I loved. The one that left a cold ache in my suddenly frozen heart. It left me wishing I had never allowed him to coax be back from Jotunheim when I had begun to make my way back through the mountain pass that held a doorway no one knew of but me.

I was shocked the old All-father had approved of me coming to Asgard. Surprised Odin kept my secret from Thor and I was allowed to follow Loki. The only thing stated to me staying in the realm was to hide my heritage but that was understood.

What hopes of survival could a Jotunn slave have in a realm of Aesir, a runt at that. Though it was all revealed why it was allowed when the old king fell into the Odinsleep. It was a shock, but it made since why I was allowed to pursue Loki, he was Jotunn. There was no harm in hurting one of my own.

A jarring of the craft brought me out of the little pity party I was throwing to realize we were under attack.

“Shit,” my voice rasped out to the open cold of the cargo bay.

Throwing the bag in my hand to the floor as I reached into it to pull out the twin swords that had been mine to use on Asgard. Losing no time to throw the belts over my shoulders to latch them quickly as another explosion rocked the ship causing me to stumble slightly. Regaining my balance to hurry towards the doors that opened to the ship to be bombarded by evacuees.

Immediately  I ordered them to board the escape pods. Locating one of the gladiators that had survived the battle, making sure he knew to get all he could onboard, taking off around the people to see where else I could help but froze. In the chaos that seemed to still my gaze locked on none other than that bastard Loki.

Shaking my head, I cleared my mind. Pushing forward through the panic, ignoring him. Thrusting past Loki but the bruising, burning cold grip on my bicep made me stop to meet angered gaze. Harshly I was jerked into the room that we were next to.

Not knowing when to shut up, I cursed the god with every breath. Drawing a blade as he forced our heritage to show. The door slamming shut as he disarmed me and slammed my body against it, crimson gaze meeting my own.

“Y/N STOP,” Loki growled in my face.

The tone chilled me to the core for once, he had never taken this cold of a tone with me. A fire burning in ruby orbs as he bared his teeth, making me do the same before I began to snarl back at him.

“I should have gone back to Jotunheim! Back to my master! She would have whipped me, placed me in the breeding pen to learn my lesson but at least…,” I tried to growl just as hatefully back but it earned me another slam into the door to stop me. “Just like a Jotun male! Doing what he feels will shut up a female! You're all beast all…”

​“That is enough! I never told you to protect you from him! From Thanos! If he ever knew of you, how I care for you… you have to leave with Brunnhilde. Get on the craft and help our people survive! Is that understood,” Loki snarled in my face.

Both keeping our blue tint, the air cold and freezing around us as his hands gripped bruises and making me squirm. This was the first time he had truly hurt me.

“I…I…Loki, I just can’t abandon you,” I finally whispered. Loki must have realized he was hurting me because his grip loosened yet he did not let go.

Who the fuck was I kidding, I wasn’t about to leave him to face this alone. I was a glutton for the pain, the punishment.

His crimson orbs glittered in the dim light as he searched my face as I done the same worriedly. Loki had forgotten I could feel his fear as the ship rocked again, mouth opening to protest but in an instant his lips were on mine. The hands on my biceps releasing so I could wrap my arms around his cool neck to pull flush. The cold between us a welcome sensation as he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around my waist to pull me tighter.

“It will be OK my little snowflake,” his lips ghosted over mine as we parted, both gazing into each other’s crimson orbs that burned like firebrands, “go help Brunnhilde, take the craft, get everyone to safety. Thor and I will be along shortly.”

“You're lying Loki. I want leave you, not like this,” my voice rasped as he released one arm to lace deep blue fingers into my hair, my eyes going wide. I knew what he was getting ready to do as I shook my head for him to stop, pleading with him not to, trying to fight him. But I am too young, to inexperienced with my seidr, though it was powerful I still lacked the discipline as I held tight to him.

“No, no, please don’t,” my voice quivered, cursing myself for sniveling like a child. My seidr fighting his for control over my own body, a losing battle as I felt it coursing over my nerves like cold fire, numbing every ending as it went. “Loki, stop.”

“I will find you, and we will have us a beautiful place on Midgard. Away from all this. You will be safe, cared for, no more lies, I promise my queen,” was the last words I heard pass his lips. Loki had taken my hearing, but was allowing me one last look, one last memory of him before I was to never see him again.

This was his goodbye. My eyes fluttering shut to the vision of a home in the middle of a clearing, nothing for as far as the eye could see but open fields and a tree line in a distance. I could feel my lips still moving as I was bombarded by this vision, having made up my mind to fight this until my last breath. No way was I going to let him suffer this alone, not when I had cursed Loki like I had, but the moment he had me, the moment my body finally shut down I heard him speak one last time.

“I love you Y/N. Care for you more than you know. You will survive and that is enough for me to carry through with saving us all,” was the last words his voice spoke, before silence took over my being to plunge my senses into nothingness.

Silence for what felt like an eternity trapped in darkness. A freezing cold darkness that made me wonder if I was back in Jotunheim, if I was back with my mistress who had handed me over to the breeders, but the metal digging into my ribs told me no. Nothing metal on Jotunheim existed without having a layer of ice over it. A low rumble around me, a jerk of my arm making having disoriented body sitting up, gasping for air while folding my legs under me. Sensing I wasn’t alone with no clue who was around me and scared shitless when someone dropped next to me.

My body jolted hard as hands grabbed my shoulders to keep me from falling back into the panel behind me. The sharp edge would have surely cut my head open and in this addled state I wasn’t sure it would be beneficial as I finally focused on the one before me.

“Brunnhilde,” my hoarse voice gasped out, realizing it felt as if I hadn’t been breathing as the Valkyrie jerked me to my feet to slam me back into a white padded seat.The action had me cringing at how harshly she flung my muddled body into it.

“Thank the gods! I thought Loki had killed you,” the Valkyrie spoke worriedly, come to think of it my head spun, and stomach lurched.

“Loki,” I gasped when I found my voice, meeting the warriors cognac gaze, knowing I could trust Brunnhilde to be honest.

“The ships destroyed. You’ve been out for over a week… we had a transmission from Thor…,” she began to explain. I knew what was next, soul in denial as I pushed the bronze warrior away to get to feet that had to yet regain their feeling and fumbling at the controls to… to…

“I don’t know,” I uttered, falling into the pilot seat.

My clean hand hovered over the controls to pull up the last communication that had to have been Thor. Swallowing hard, cursing Loki for lying to me, hands balling into a tight fist to smash the control but tanned fingers wrapped around them to pull them to cross over my chest. The Valkyries arms wrapping around me, pining me back into the chair as her head laid to my shoulder.

“We are on our way to Midgard. The people are safely behind us. You did what Loki asked. You survived. We are going to make this right, but our job isn’t done and that means you continue to survive. I am here to make sure that happens. It is my duty and I will see it through,” the Valkyrie spoke into my ear, evident Loki had spoken with Brunnhilde about the matter, my body going limp in the seat for her to finally release me and take the other seat.

“We are less than 30 minutes from earth,” the Valkyrie spoke, my chest aching as Loki’ last words bounced in my skull.

My head beginning to ache, at least until that part of me shut down. Trading my Aesir form for the Jotunn. It was fitting since my soul began to harden, spreading from the ache in my chest while I gazed off into the blackness, crimson orbs picking up on the blue orb far away.

“Hey, you with me,” Brunhilde called out making me cock my head at the warrior that hinted to the change in the hue of once Aesir skin, calmly I nodded to her that I was indeed with her.

“Yeah. I'm done hiding,” I admitted, “there is no longer any reason for the waste of seidr to keep up the appearance. Don’t worry, I want burn anyone if they touch me.”

Damn, my voice was dead, but the Valkyrie nodded to me before going back to the controls. If anyone knew how I felt, what I was going through, it was her. Brunnhilde would know the emptiness, the hollow used up and damned feeling of a shattered soul.

“When we reach Midgard, I want you by my side in this fight. You are the only one I trust to have my back”’ was all Brunnhilde spoke the rest of the trip, my mind turning over what it meant.

Was this a ploy to keep me from doing anything stupid? Or did she truly trust me? A look over to the warrior had me noting the readout from the ships trailing behind us. Something looked off about them, the pods weren’t full so to say, how was that so?

“You have to leave with Brunnhilde, get on the craft and help our people survive! Is that understood,”  Loki’ words cut through my thoughts like a hot blade. Forcing my eyes shut to stop the flow of tears threatening to spill while taking in a ragged breath. This would have to be enough for now, see myself through this, opening crimson clear orbs to gaze over to the Valkyrie.

“Understood. I’ll fight by your side until neither of us has breath left. Is that enough,” my voice spoke calmly, some life edging back in as she smiled at me, cognac orbs sparking with fight.

“Aye, that is enough,” Brunnhilde spoke, holding her hand out for me to place a blue lined one in hers to grasp it firmly.

Yeah, this was my place no. The fire igniting in my chest, this is what I was born to do, this was what I needed to do before I could enter Hel with my head held high and claim my rightful place at Loki’ side.

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[curemoonliite]

A certain after-credits scene from a certain movie playing in theaters now got me thinking about how a certain something would play out in Premiere Nebula...

[Spider-Man: Far From Home spoilers ahead. This scene is meant purely as a character exercise and is non-canon to the Nebula universe, hence why I got lazy with naming characters.]

Actress Espoir had failed many times in her life, but now, everything was starting to catch up to her. She’d faced mad scientists, magic thieves, military clones, just about everything. And yet here she was, completely done in by a video.

It played on the holographic screen in front of her, even as she rewound it again and again in her mind. She’d lost track of just how many times she’d watched it, or why she was even bothering with it anymore. Did she honestly think watching it enough would make her problems disappear? Or did she think she could worm her way out of one last obstacle, one last time?

The video was short, grainy, the sort of thing an amateur could have made. But it was convincing nonetheless—Espoir expected no less from the illusion magic that’d been used to create it. In its first few seconds, Espoir stood over a villain nearing the end of her rope and summoned an army of drones to finish the enemy off. Where did the drones come from? Why didn’t she just use her magic to strike the finishing blow? Neither mattered to the villain that had recorded this, and so it wouldn’t matter to the people watching. If the villain wanted people to see it as a hero caught in a compromising situation, that’s just how it would be spun.

Espoir was used to the sorts of tricks this illusion Actress liked to pull. She’d made everyone believe she was on the side of good, even made Espoir herself believe for awhile. Convincing people to believe otherwise would be difficult, but not impossible, for the light Actress. The video already looked edited, and since it had been sent to everyone in Olympia, surely some people already suspected it. The logic behind Espoir attacking someone who was seen as another hero was shaky at best. And besides, she’d recorded the whole thing anyway—the real fight, unedited by any fake magic. She’d done it to test how well her new recorders would work against illusions, but it served her purpose well enough now. All she needed was to take her footage to a proper news outlet, and—

A familiar face came onto the screen, reminding Espoir that reversing the situation could never be that easy. Her own, the face she wore when she put on her glamour. The villain really could have just left it at outing her real face, since Espoir’s secret identity was already a public figure, but somehow, she had to drive one last arrow into the Actress’s reputation.

Valka Sparks.

The one thing she still had from before was gone. What was the point of a glamour if people knew what hid under it? All the times she’d hid behind Valka, watched her popularity grow, watched herself actually be loved for who she was...

Except she hadn’t. She’d made the mistake of thinking that Valka was anything more than a constructed identity, that she could help her go back to what she was.

And all this villain had done was make her realize that.

****

Espoir wasn’t sure when exactly Chevalier had walked into the room, but she remembered the annoyance she felt about seeing her partner. Out of all the people an Actress could talk to about secret identities, Chevalier was (probably) the worst. For heaven’s sake, she even used her Actress name as her fake last name!

On top of that, outing Chevalier would have led to an entirely different set of events. The second the name “Io Tsukimura” would’ve come across the screen, the public would have scrutinized the government like nobody’s business. A president’s dead daughter was actually alive, and an Actress? The Manufacturer’s reign would be toppled in days if that news ever got out.

“Look, I’m not gonna pretend I understand your situation,” Chevalier said, “but I know how important bein’ Valvi was to you. For all we know, things might’ve changed in the past few years. Maybe the world’s ready to accept you as Espoir.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” responded Espoir, trying to cover up her despair as much as she could. “But who knows? Maybe I’ve been wrong about more than one thing here.”

As the conversation progressed, it became clear that Chevalier wasn’t just here to cheer Espoir up. Whenever she watched the footage, a look of bewilderment entered her eyes, as if every viewing of it had been her first.

“How did you even get yourself into this?” she asked. “You fell for this rando’s multiverse bullshit even though I saw it comin’ from a mile away. I mean, even if there are multiple universes and all that shit, what kind of Espoir would think to ask another Espoir for help? Espoir is the last person Espoir would trust.”

Espoir quickly burst out laughing at the disparaging remark. She really did hate to admit it, but Chevalier’s absurd logic was one hundred percent correct. Granted, she did trust the Manufacturer and Alarice a little less than herself, but the rest was pretty in line with her character.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Espoir muttered in between chuckles. “And I was skeptical for a bit, too. But there was something I always wanted to know about what would happen if other universes had Actresses. Could some of our Actresses still be human in that world? Were we able to save more people?”

“So that’s it, then? All you have to say to convince the brilliant Actress Espoir is that there’s a world where Omega never got altered? Seriously?”

Espoir let out a long sigh, not wanting to admit the truth.

“I guess so. That’s it. And if you want to know why I got myself involved in that dumb battle in the first place, that was about her, too. I knew that Actress was going to use her illusions to trick me, or throw me off, or whatever. But she had Omega. As usual, she found out before the rest of us.”

Chevalier stood straight up like a roller coaster speeding down a hill. Espoir could faintly hear her cursing under her breath, but couldn’t discern anything else.

Except sniffling.

“You are such an idiot, you know that?” Chevalier finally said. “It’s been two years, Espoir. Bijou might not have as much training as the rest of us, but she’s not helpless anymore. She’s defended your ass more times than I can count. She’s broken Firebrand curses. She’s thrown hands with an actual crime boss, and still all you see in her is Omega Clow, the girl you couldn’t save. The more you try to right what went wrong, the more tangled up you get. Newsflash, Espoir—Bijou didn’t need saving! You did!”

“I know,” replied Espoir. “But they were going to take her out for knowing too much. If I would have left her alone, and it would have gone like before...”

“I know. Just...if there was a universe where you weren’t so self-sacrificing, and your identity wouldn’t have gotten out...”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Espoir said as she shut the door. “It’s like you said. Espoir’s worst enemy will always be herself.”