#end up angry. You shoved someone into a corner and hounded them for SO LONG. Don't start crying when they rear back on you and bite

[recitedemise]

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is very much advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own foul blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her, and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion; to the very quick of his bones, she lapped them up.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

[cruciology]

His and Hers

Requested by Anon: “Sandor x Pregnant! Reader”

You never enjoyed the death matches. You weren’t a fan of blood and gore, but you especially hated the “trials by combat”. You weren’t sure how exactly slicing the head off of another man proved your innocence. You sat next to your older half sister, the reigning Queen Regent, right in the front row. She was in much better spirits since her husband had died and her son crowned King. She had never been cruel to you, her attention was usually focused on Tyrion, but she had now been almost kind to you in the time since becoming widowed. 

“Lady Lannister,” You heard from your side. You couldn’t help the smile that came across your face when you looked up at the large man who had appeared at your side. His place was technically by the King, but no one would question if he stood by the Queen’s sister. He had been charged with guarding your chambers more than a few times. That’s when you had gotten to know him. But it wasn’t until last night that you had first kissed him. You smiled a bit wider remembering it. 

“Nice to see you, Hound,” You said. You saw his mouth twitch, but he kept his mask of stoicism. You couldn’t help but think what would have happened last night had you not been interrupted by your brother knocking on your door. You wondered if he would have taken you right there in your chambers. You were hoping he would. He had seemed just as disappointed as you were when he had to pull away and stand in the corner of your room, pretending he hadn’t been on top of you in your bed just moments before when Jamie entered the room. Jamie didn’t question why the Hound was there, he assumed he was doing his job and protecting you. You hoped he would be assigned to guard your room again tonight. Maybe then he would finish what you started last night. 

If it were your choice, you would grab his hand and take him back to the castle. You were sure he would rather be there too, knowing how he felt about his brother. He had told you how much he hated seeing the Mountain and he was once again the champion for the King in today’s trial against a Dornish man who was accused of stealing from the Red Keep. 

The usual cheers came for the Mountain as he entered the arena. Any hint of a smile left the Hound’s face immediately. Boos rang out over the crowd as the Dornish man was pushed into the center. He was a big man, not as tall as the Mountain but at least as wide. Maybe he would have a shot. The Mountain did his usual rounds, getting cheers louder for him. The Dornish man took the opportunity to lunge towards the Mountain, toppling him over. The Dornish man held his own for just a moment, but the Mountain flipped them over, sitting his whole weight on the man’s chest. He squeezed the man’s head with both hands. You gasped, grabbing onto the Hound’s arm in surprise as the Mountain ripped the man’s head off of his body, the spine coming with it as blood poured onto the ground. You felt sick to your stomach. The whole thing lasted less than a minute. At least it was over. 

You realized your hand was still on the Hound’s arm and you pulled away, placing your hands in your lap. 

“Well, that was quick,” Cersei said with that polite smile of hers. “The Gods must not have wanted their time wasted.” 

“Or the Mountain is just a beast,” You said. Your sister shot you a look. 

The King stood up, clapping excitedly with his wicked grin on his face, his betrothed looking as horrified as you felt next to him in her chair. “Gregor Clegane, a good show as always. How many battles have you championed for my family? Over a hundred I expect.” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” The Mountain confirmed.

“It is high time you were properly rewarded,” The King said graciously. You heard an annoyed laugh from the Hound next to you. “You are a man I would be disappointed to see be the last of his line. You may have your pick of a wife, I’ll seek out the most beautiful women in King’s Landing for you.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. Of course, Joffrey’s idea of fun was torturing some helpless woman by wedding her to the most cruel and violent man in the country. It wasn’t enough that he had that poor Stark girl torment. You had never liked your nephew. You were closer in age to him than to his mother, he had no respect for you. 

“Any woman?” The Mountain asked. 

“Be sure to pick one with some lands and a good name,” King Joffrey smirked. “Get your money’s worth, Clegane.” The Mountain’s face split into a grin as horrible as Joffrey’s. You realized he was looking right at you. 

“That one,” He said, pointing a blood stained finger at you. You saw the Hound clutch the hilt of his sword beside you. 

King Joffrey clapped again gleefully as you looked to your sister. Even her eyes were wide in fear for you, and she didn’t even like you all that much. “My son,” She said, her tone warning, but Joffrey ignored her as he came over to you, pulling you out of your seat and towards the arena. 

“My dear aunt, a wonderful choice,” He said as he nearly pulled your arm out of its socket dragging you into the arena. You could smell the death that clung to the air as the hem of your dress dragged in the blood. Joffrey shoved you into the Mountain and the beast swung you up into his arms, holding you like a prize. You stared back helplessly at the Hound as the crowd cheered.

*

His bandaged knuckles throbbed as he took a swig from his wineskin. The Hound sat on a bottom step, the noise from the feast still audible. He had to resist throwing a punch into the stone wall of the corridor. His bed chambers were still a wreck, his table in several pieces. The maids were too terrified of him to try and enter. If the Hound thought that he was angry the day after the betrothal, when he had beaten his own hands bloody on his walls, it was nothing compared to how he felt after watching you stand before the everyone in the sept, draped in the cloak of his house, declaring that you were now his brother’s property. 

He had barely seen you before the wedding and part of him felt like that was the Queen’s doing. He was sure that she knew how he felt about you. He thought that he had hidden it well, trying not to let his eyes linger on you for too long. Maybe he was always too ready to take guard duty by your chambers, or too pleased when she ordered him to walk you through the city when you asked to venture off. 

The Hound had wanted to kiss you for some time now. He had been surprised when you had done it that night, just a week ago. Gods, it felt so much longer. If he could, he would go back to that night and take you away. Or at least tell the Kingslayer to fuck off. 

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts of you, you turned the corner to the corridor he sat in. You spotted him, your face breaking into a soft smile as you walked towards him. 

“I was wondering where you had wandered off to,” You said, standing above him where he sat on the step. You weren’t used to looking down at him. “Plenty of ale in the dining hall.” 

“No offense, milady,” The Hound said, still not looking at you. “But I’d rather get my balls ripped off by a direwolf.” 

“You think it’s fun for me?” You said, anger rising in your chest. You didn’t know why he was upset at you. You didn’t want to be married to Gregor Clegane. You had no say in the goings on of your life. Your father had tried to sway the King, but Joffrey was changing his mind. You suspected Tywin hadn’t tried all that hard anyways. 

“Didn’t say it was,” The Hound said, taking another sip. “He’s going to beat you bloody.” 

“You’re being a dick,” You said, your hands on your hips. He gave a humorless laugh. “You’re acting like you don’t even care. You always act like you don’t care.” 

“You think I don’t care?” The Hound said, rising up to his full height, towering over you, but you didn’t back down. You knew he would never hurt you. He could never hurt you. “You think I don’t want to kill my brother?” 

“You always want to kill your brother, Sandor, that’s nothing new.” Any time you used his name, his real name, his jaw tensed. No one called him anything other than “hound” or “dog”. 

“He will hurt you and that little cunt Joffrey thinks it’s a game, a joke.” The Hound grabbed your arms with his large hands, startling you. “He doesn’t deserve to call you his wife.” 

“I don’t want to be his wife,” You said, reaching up to touch the burned flesh of his face and he let you. 

“You don’t want to be mine either,” He said firmly, grabbing your wrist. 

“Why not?”

“You need a good man,” He said. “And there aren’t any here.” 

You stood on your toes, lifting yourself just enough to kiss him. He stooped to pick you up, his arms wrapped around your waist. He carried you into the next corridor. You could still hear your wedding feast as you kissed your groom’s brother. He pressed you into the rough brick wall and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your wedding gown racked up to your thighs. 

“I may be his wife,” You said breathlessly as he kissed your neck. “But I’m yours. From this day until the end of my days.” You said these words earlier in the sept but now you felt the meaning of them as the Hound’s lips stilled on your neck. 

“Aye,” He said finally, kissing your lips. “You’re mine.” 

“And you’re mine.” 

“And I’m yours. Til the end of my days and all that shit.” 

You threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him as fiercely as you could. You didn’t care that someone could easily turn the corner and find you in a very compromising position  with the king’s bodyguard. 

“I need you,” You whispered, your teeth raking his ear lobe. He groaned his hands sliding further up your legs to grab your ass.

“Here?” 

“Here.” 

His hand slid in between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness there. “You’re fucking dripping, milady,” He said, smugness edging his tone. He liked that he had that effect on you. 

“Sandor,” You begged, hitting his shoulder with your fist lightly. “We don’t-,” He cut you off, slipping two large fingers until you and making you gasp. He watched your face, a smirk playing at his lips as he rubbed you from the inside out. You bit your lip to keep from crying out when his thumb found your clit. He kissed you roughly, rubbing faster and faster until you moaned into his mouth as you came. 

He wasted no time in undoing his pants, just enough to shove his hard cock into you full hilt. You couldn’t help the near scream you let out as he filled you, your nails grabbing at his chainmail armor. He clapped his hand over your mouth as he thrust into you. 

“Keep quiet,” He warned with a grunt. The brick scraped at the skin on your back that your gown didn’t cover but even that felt good. You liked that you would be able to feel him even later. 

His fingers felt like fire across your thighs as he gripped you tightly, his thrusts becoming wilder as he got closer. You wished that you could have your wedding night with him, in a large bed where you could curl into him afterwards, but this sloppy and quick encounter would be enough. For now. 

He moved to hold you with both hands, kissing you hard. “Fuck, you feel so good,” He grunted. 

“Finish inside me,” You said, making him groan. You were trying to remember every inch of him, from the way he stretched you to the way his beard scraped at your face. “I want to feel it, Sandor.” 

You felt a shudder run through him as he released into you, holding you tight to make sure you didn’t fall to the ground. He rested his head in the crook of your neck for a brief moment. 

He finally set you back down on your feet, letting your gown fall back into place. You could feel the stickiness creep down your thighs and it almost made you want to go again, but you knew you didn’t have time. 

The Hound bent to kiss you again, his hand cupping your face. He knew what would happen later that night and he didn’t want to think of it. He wanted to just keep thinking of how good you felt around him, saying his name in that breathy moan of yours. 

“Lady Clegane,” You heard from the main corridor. You gave the Hound’s hand a gentle squeeze as you saw the look on his face. You were a Clegane now, taken under the family’s cloak. It just stung more than he ever thought it could.

You walked out, the Hound shortly behind you, finding Podrick looking around the corridor. He gave the Hound a frightened look before looking back at you. “Sorry, milady, Lord Tyrion asked me to find you.” 

“Yes, of course, thank you,” You said. With another side eyed glance at the Hound, Podrick turned back and left for the dining hall. 

You felt the Hound’s rough hand on your shoulder, fixing the back of your gown that had gotten mussed during your encounter. You looked back at him, offering him a gentle smile, but he avoided your eyes. 

“Better get back, Lady Clegane.”

*

He couldn’t stay away from you. He tried. Gods know he tried. He hated thinking about you sharing his brother’s bed, knowing exactly what Gregor would do to you. What was worse was knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t until nearly a fortnight after the wedding that he finally swallowed his pride and sought you out, going to the chambers you now shared with the Mountain when he knew that the Mountain would be off somewhere, killing someone in the name of the Lannisters. 

You had been so happy to see the Hound that you nearly forgot how miserable you had been since your wedding. You didn’t even speak, you just pounced on him. The arrangement wasn’t ideal, but at least you got the Hound, even if it was just stolen moments that you could sneak away. Sometimes you even got lucky, when Gregor had to go off on a task set forth by King Joffrey, you were able to spend the night with the Hound, wrapped in his arms, in his bed, sleepy and sated after he had fucked you until you screamed his name, forgetting that he wasn’t the Clegane you had married. Your husband had his whores, you had his brother.

“If we left right now,” You had said, on one of these nights, the Hound’s hand tracing circles on your back lazily as you laid your head on his broad, hairy chest. “We could make it at least to Stokeworth before anyone even realized we were gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” The Hound asked, his eyes already closed. He always fell asleep almost immediately after he finished. 

The question had thrown you. Of course it was what you wanted. You had fantasized about it every moment since you took your vows. Except it would come at a price. Yes, here, you had to be married to that awful beast of a man, but you if you ran away, you would never see your family again. Even if your sister was standoffish and her first born a spoiled shit, you still loved your brothers, and your niece and nephew. You hated to think what would happen to sweet Mrycella and Tommen if left alone here. They were good children, you didn’t want to see them grow into the same sort as their elder brother. Not to mention, you would spend the rest of your lives with a bounty on your head, living in fear of being caught. 

“I want to be on top this time,” You had said instead, rolling over onto the Hound. 

“Again?” He had chuckled under you, squeezing your hips. He had grunted when you slid his quickly hardening cock back into you. It was a good enough distraction, it kept you from having to burst your bubble. 

Until now. 

You were good at keeping the peace. It was what your father said you were best at, in fact. But even you couldn’t calm Gregor Clegane when he was in a rage. Over something stupid, as well. A lost bet. The Maester said you were lucky he hadn’t broken any bones when he had flung you across the room. Just bruised and a bit bloody, but after you were bandaged up, you were free to go back to your chambers. You were safe, as well, as Gregor had been called away by the King, yet again, sent to Harrenhal. But it wasn’t it the bruises or wounds or even your husband that weighed on you. It was the news that the Maester had for you. 

You walked in the exact opposite direction of your chambers, towards the Red Keep where you knew the Hound would be standing guard outside the King’s door. Normally, you were much more discreet, never daring to visit him when you knew your nephew could see, but you needed to see him and it needed to be now. 

You turned the corner, feeling the weight on your chest lightening just slightly when you saw him. He had heard you coming, his hand on his sword just in case you had been a threat, but when he saw it was you, his hand dropped. When he saw the bandages, he stepped away from his post. 

“What in the hells happened?” He asked, his hand on your cheek. You placed your hand over his, looking up at him. You didn’t even need to answer for his jaw to tense. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking-,”

“Sandor,” You said softly. “We need to leave, tonight.” 

The Hound stared at you, studying your face to try to tell if you were serious. “You want to leave?”

“We need to leave,” You corrected. You kept your voice low, pulling him away from the door. “Gregor won’t be back for a few days, if we leave right when your watch ends-,” 

“What happened?” The Hound asked. 

You took a deep breath. You still hadn’t quite processed what the Maester had told you just moments before, it didn’t feel real. But you needed to say it and say it now, otherwise he would overhear when the Maester no doubt told Cersei and you couldn’t think of a worse way for him to find out. “I’m pregnant,” You said, your hands placed on your still flat stomach. You don’t think you had ever seen such genuine fear on his face. “Sandor?” You asked. 

“And you don’t know if…,” He trailed off. You didn’t need to hear the rest of his question to know what it was. It had been your first thought as well. 

“There’s no way to know, not for sure,” You said. “But if you come with me, if you leave with me tonight, it doesn’t matter, not to me. You’re mine, remember? And I’m yours. I love you, with my whole heart I do, but I need to leave tonight. I’ll go with or without you, but please, don’t make me go without you.” You could feel yourself rambling, the tears starting to fall down your cheeks. He stared at you, dumbfounded. You showed him countless times how much you cared for him, but this was the first time he heard it, heard those words, I love you. You wondered if he had ever heard those words before in his life. 

“I’ll leave with you,” He said finally. You pulled him down, kissing his lips with as much force as you could. He lifted you off your feet, holding you close. “You’re mine, it’s mine.”

*

You stretched your arms high above you, feeling your sore back crack. The morning sun beamed in from the small window of the cottage. You laughed slightly as you looked at the empty side of the bed next to you. You struggled to your feet, wrapping your dressing gown around yourself. You knew exactly where to find the Hound. 

You could already hear the swing of the hammer before you walked outside. It was such a common sound now a days, it hadn’t even woken you. 

“Sandor,” You said with a laugh. “It was fine yesterday. It was fine the day before. And the day before that. If you keep fucking with it, it’ll just be a pile of kindling by the time the baby gets here.” 

The Hound didn’t even look up from the excellently built crib as he kneeled in front of it, examining it for imperfections that weren’t there but he was convinced he could find. “What do you know about crib building?”

“What do you?” 

“Exactly,” He grumbled. 

You walked over to him and patted his head as he stared at the crib. He sighed, plopping down onto the grass in front of it. You lowered yourself into his lap, with some difficulty. He placed his hand on your large stomach absently as he looked at his creation. Any time you were near him, it was like his hand was drawn to the child inside of you. He even slept with his arm tightly around you. 

“What if it breaks when she’s in there?” He asked. 

“It’s not going to break,” You said. “And I still think he’s a boy.” 

“And you’re wrong.” 

“I’m the one carrying the damned thing,” You laughed. 

“So? Doesn’t mean shit,” He said. 

“You just don’t like my name.” 

“James is a cunt name, no, I don’t like it,” The Hound said. “I’ve killed men named James, I’m not naming my son James.” 

“So you decided that means we’re having a daughter then?” 

“No, I think we’re having a daughter because we’re having a fucking daughter,” The Hound said. He finally looked away from the crib, looking back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he saw you smiling at him. “Hope to whatever stupid God is listening she gets your looks, though.” 

[quicksilverlightning]

An Unofficial Statement from Might Tower

It's been four days since Kamino and the reporters are still camped outside the tower.

Sunada Eiyo sighed as the phone at her desk rang yet again; another caller with more questions that no one in the entire agency had answers for. Even so, she picked up with as much pep in her voice as she could muster, watching from the corner of her eye as Miyuki did much the same at her station. In the corner, Okazaki-san was resting his head on his crossed arms, fur mussed by constantly running his hand through it, steadfastly ignoring the ringing phone at his elbow.

It's been four days and no one has heard a word from Yagi-san.

Not that anyone expected to - no doubt the poor man is recovering in a hospital somewhere, hopefully sleeping. It didn't even take an hour for the media to learn his name, and they've been calling non-stop ever since.

Eiyo ends the call as politely as she can, vaguely promising to get back with answers before hanging up and stretching her legs, ignoring the next call in favor of walking to the window. The security team below is working overtime to keep the media at bay while civilians continue to leave flowers, gifts, and candles anywhere that seems acceptable. So far, the reactions have mostly been of awe, shock, and gratitude, but also fear. Uneasiness. Uncertainly. All Might isn't just a legend, but an institution, one whose future is suddenly up in the air. Eiyo fiddles with the ribbon in her hair.

She understands, really. People want answers, and the reporters are just doing their job. Still, it's a nuisance, to be hounded for answers she can't give. Eiyo turns away from the window. The others have taken their cue from her and Okazaki-san - no one is answering the phones right now, sitting or standing in loose, exhausted groups. Okazaki-san lifts his face from his hands, tiredly staring out across the office. No one speaks; there's nothing to say. The phones ring and ring. Eiyo grabs the light jacket from the back of her chair and slips it on. No one stops her as she gets on the elevator.

The reporters are on her as soon as she breaches the doors of the tower, and she meets them halfway down the stairs.

She stands silent, arms loose at her sides as the reporters crowd around. Silent, as the cameras flash and questions shout and microphones get shoved in her face and something in her body language must clue them in, because one by one the reporters fall quiet, confused by the somber, stone-still woman in front of them.

"I'm not here as a representative of Might Tower." Eiyo gazes out into the press of microphones and camera flashes, tired, but unwilling to yield this.

"I'm here because my birthday was three weeks ago and Yagi-san brought me a cinnamon muffin and a chai tea cause he knows I like them. I'm here because Yagi-san changed the printer cartridge so I wouldn't get ink on my new blouse. I'm here," she reaches up behind her head and pulls the red ribbon holing her hair back, letting her limp curls fall around her face.

"Because Yagi-san got me this ribbon when mine snapped. Because he's a good man." A paw claps down on her shoulder and Eiyo startles. It's Okazaki-san, smiling warmly at her before turning back to the press of reporters with a stern glare. On the other side, Miyuki steps up and grasps her hand.

"What happened was awful," her eyes are burning suddenly. "It was horrible, watching him fight for his life like that." Miyuki grips her hand tighter.

"And I know you're afraid. We're all afraid. No one knows what's going to happen next." Eiyo swallows thickly. More employees have come to stand near them - Kanzaki from Accounting, Fukawa from the Charity department.

"But I'm not going to let you use that fear to hurt a good man. Not if I can help it. No one in this building will argue with me when I say Yagi-san is a treasure." A tear escapes from the corner of her eye, and she brushes it away hurriedly.

"All of us," she sweeps an arm out, gesturing to the growing mass of employees. "We're all here because we want to help. We want to give back to the man who gave so much to us. We take care of the smaller things, so that All Might can do the big things, the things we can't."

"And now, we know that he was there on the ground with us the whole time, pushing papers and making copies. Helping us, in a thousand little ways."

"Yagi-san taught me how to drive!" Ito, fresh-faced and barely out of school shouts.

"He put me up in a hotel when my place got destroyed by one of Endeavor's fights, remember that?"

"He covered a shift for me when my kid was sick," one of the custodians, Hirano, pipes up. "I had to show him how to change the vacuum bag!" A laugh ripples around the crowd.

"Yagi-san is a good man," how many times have I said that now? How many more times will I say it?

"He's good and gentle and kind and we love him," Eiyo puts a hand over her heart. "We love him, and if you want to hurt him, you have to go through all of us first."

There are shouts of agreement and encouragement from the people around her, and for the first time in four days, Eiyo feels lighter. There's a shuffle somewhere nearby, the mass of employees parting to let someone through, and the lightness disappears when she realizes it's Miya-san from Public Relations.

 Shit shit I'm fired I'm so fired crap

Miya-san doesn't look angry though. If anything, she looks approving, stepping up before the media circus with a practiced ease. "Sunada-san is correct; Yagi-san is a gift to us all. However, right now he is recovering from his battle. We do not know where. We do not know for how long. We wish him a speedy recovery, and look forward to having him back in the future. We will have a statement ready when we know more, and a press conference when he's ready. Not a moment before. Please, respect his health at the time; Might Tower wishes you all well."

Miya-san bows once to the press and turns, sliding back into the crowd that begins to disperse. Okazaki-san holds the door for Eiyo and Miyuki, and all three get on the elevator. No one is where they're supposed to be; Miyuki gets off at the daycare floor while Okazaki-san offers Eiyo a nod before heading to HR. She catches a piece of conversation as the doors close;

"I can't believe I taught All Might how to change a vacuum bag."

The hoot of laughter is cut off as the elevator rises and she smiles to herself, riding to the observation deck. There are a few people milling about, and she offers a wave to Manzo, one of the line cooks in the cafeteria.

She leans on the railing, gazing over the city. There's a presence at her back that feels a lot like All Might, and a warmth on her shoulder that feels remarkably like Yagi-san's hand. He's out there somewhere, recovering, navigating his way through a changed world.

"Come back soon, Yagi-san," Eiyo whispers. To anyone listening, it might have sounded like a prayer.

[scribblestatic]

Katsuki wakes up with a start in the middle of the night, hands burning from overuse, right wrist aching with strain, the smell of scalded paint and cotton strong cloying and blocking his nose, his body shaking with a terrible, cold sweat, and his father’s arms wrapped around him.

“You’re okay, son. You’re okay. Just breathe, Katsuki...breathe.”

He tries to follow his instructions, but it’s a struggle. He has to fight against himself, against his memories, to get his body to stop hyperventilating and suffocating itself. But it’s much easier to do with his dad’s warm body against his, Masaru’s heartbeat and lungs working much less strenuously than his own were.

Slowly, he’s brought down from his nightmare-induced panic attack, and, exhausted, he doesn’t try to wipe away the angry, scared tears in his eyes. Katsuki sags against his dad, not hugging him back, but not protesting the hold either.

They stay like that for a while, Masaru whispering slow, calm words to him like he did when Katsuki used to have really bad tantrums. As he does, red-eyed and exhausted, Katsuki takes stock of his room.

He’s burned up the wall next to his bed pretty badly. His sheets are still smoldering a bit, but the little burn spots aren’t yellow anymore. The lower left edge of the single All Might poster he has up on his wall is unsalvageable. When he strains his eyes to look upwards, he spots a darker, more burned spot on the ceiling right above his bed.

As a child, nightmares used to be accompanied by involuntary quirk usage. He remembered the scratchy, heat-resistant sleep gloves he used to have to wear. Back then, he’d hated them with a vengeance, so he trained himself to work through his nightmares quietly. To take the brunt of his terrors and kick their asses in his dreams rather than in reality. His efforts had paid off then—at eight years old, he was finally allowed to sleep without the gloves.

He doesn’t complain the next morning when his old man silently presents some new sleeping gloves to him.

These aren’t flashy or full of cool designs like his kiddie ones had been, no exploding red and orange on a black background, bombastic enough to hide the buckles that would be strapped around his wrists to keep them on. These are a simple black on the backhand, orange on the front, the buckle plain to see, but not nearly as daunting to look at now as it had been as a kid.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki,” his old man says as he takes the gloves without protest. “I know you hated these as a child, but—”

“I get it,” he replies, stuffing his hands—the left one free, the right wrapped in a fresh ACE bandage—into his pockets as he turns to head back to his burned room. “I get it.”

Before he’s completely out of the living room, he hears the dining room chair slide back.

“Maybe...maybe if you talked to the counselor at school, it would help you work through those nightmares. Or, well, you could tell me.” Katsuki stays staring at the floor, back to his dad. “I won’t be able to fully understand what you’ve been through, but son, you...you have to talk to someone. You need someone to help you.”

Help…

Katsuki clenches his teeth tightly. Not out of anger, but out of the pang of panic that strikes through him at the mere mention of the word.

Help.

He’d cried for help.

Begged for it.

As that sludge clogged his lungs and slowed his heart, he’d pumped as much adrenaline into his body as he could to keep exploding, keep moving, keep trying to force it out, don’t drown, don’t drown, don’t drown—

He’d needed help. He’d looked out into the crowd and begged for it.

And not a single living soul reached to help him.

The crowd had stood stock still, looking around for heroes to come help. Hell, the heroes who were there didn’t...they didn’t even try. They didn’t reach for him, didn’t use what the could to help him. Nothing. They were going to watch him die, they were ready to watch him die, he was dying and they…

But he’d felt it.

A cold, clammy hand forcing his wrist back into the sludge, backwards, straining, before forcing a solid kick against his back. It had shoved his face out of the sludge long enough to breathe, long enough to make a good explosion, long enough that the hand forced backwards let out an explosion big enough to send him flying out like a rocket. He’d had a rough landing, a solid slab of concrete hitting him in the stomach on his way down before he collapsed and began throwing up food and drink and sticky green from the harsh hit.

He barely understood what happened after that. His hearing was already shot from having sludge shoved into him, the fucking monster of a man trying to force himself into his body in the most disgusting, horrendous ways possible. He’d still been throwing up and coughing, trying to crawl desperately away from the sloughing sludge behind him, and still, the heroes weren’t close enough to help. Were refusing to help.

It wasn’t until All Might wrapped an arm around his waist as he threw a punch that changed the weather that he felt even remotely like things would be okay. He hadn’t even realized it was All Might at first, but the body was not cold and wet and curling and forcing itself into his body, so he didn’t struggle against it.

Paramedics quickly took him after, gave him a general check up and quickly diagnosed him with pneumonia, doing their best to tell the media to fuck off as a nurse with a healing quirk—something about toxin expulsion—helped expunge him of the physical residuals from the attack. (Had it not been for her and those nurses, he’d probably have died of bacterial aspiration pneumonia, lactic acidosis, and flat-out blood poisoning. Thank fuck some actually thoughful pricks were around.)

The nurses couldn’t conceal him forever, and after a solid jar-full of extra sludge coming out of his body, another check, and a watchful bill of health with an ACE bandage for his mysteriously sprained right wrist, they were forced to throw him back to the dogs as the media, police, and heroes hounded to hear something from him. But he’d barely said a word. The only thing he’d really managed to say occured when a crowd of heroes tried to congratulate him, cooing over how strong his quirk is, how they’d love to have him as a sidekick. Same shit he’d been hearing all his life.

Only this time, while usually it brought him a sense of pride thinly concealing an overwhelming ball of anxiety, now it just fell flat. Numb. Like something was trying to tickle him but it couldn’t get a response. 

He just stared off to the side, where the nurses were gingerly concealing Deku’s dead body from the rest of the world. A single casualty that none of the heroes surrounding him were paying attention to. No. Only All Might acknowledged him, standing over his long cold body with slightly slumped shoulders, his body also a guard against a bunch of nosy gossip mongers from taking Deku’s slack-faced picture and posting it all over the web.

No...Deku’s face was slack. It was, but not the way the dead tend to look.

He’d seen it as the nurses covered him. Nah, the dumbass seemed like he was just sleeping. Just a little opening of the mouth, the lack of chest movement and the severe impact scar scraped into his chest the only indications he was dead. Yet, his face hadn’t been scrunched in pain. No, he was serene, like he was having a good-damn dream.

He stared as the nurses covered his red shoes, and slapped one of the heroes’ hands off his shoulder as they touched him.

“Keep your paws off me. It’s too fuckin’ late now.”

Apparently his face said something his mouth didn’t, because none of the heroes followed after him as he left.

Katsuki kept it together all the way till he got home, right up until his dad rushed in his room and held him close, thanking every Shinto god he could think of that his son was alive. Then Katsuki pressed his face into his dad’s shoulder and finally shattered to pieces, not caring that the old hag hovered in the doorway, unsure and concerned.

She ended up occupied anyway. Had to console her best friend during the loss of the woman’s only son. But just hearing the call start up opened up another can of beans because he’d seen Deku’s face last. Before the silent, sleeping face, there had been a terrible, teary-eyed, wide-pupiled grin before Deku’s dead maw had opened, peering eyes peeking out from his already cold body, spewing forth death that quickly surrounded Katsuki and tried to invade his body and take him with it.

But even that isn’t what haunts him most. Haunts him so much that he can’t yet bear to talk about it, because he’s sure if he tries, he’ll be admitted to the nearest psych ward and he’s not sure he could take that.

So instead of answering his dad back, he just keeps walking forward. Keeps heading to the stairs and shuffling to his room. Silently closes the door and stares at his charred wall and the new bed sheets that have replaced the newly burnt ones. Stares at the crispy All Might poster that he’s still going to leave up on his wall.

Then, once he’s sure he’ll be left alone, his gaze shoots to his closet.

See, in his time off school, he’s had time to think. Time to process some shit and really get his head into gear. Actually use his brain after it had been so rudely thrust out of its usual orbit. And he’s still not quite back, but he’s aware enough. Thoughtful enough. Observant enough.

And he’d observed something he’d thought he’d imagined, but still has proof of, and has vigilantly kept it hidden in the ice box in his closet.

He shoves his hanging clothes aside to reveal the ice chest and pulls it out, a strange mixture of sewage and car air fresheners seeping just the tiniest bit out of the corners of the top. He shoves the top off and pulls out its contents, ignoring the rush of smells with only the scrunch of his nose.

He stares.

It’s still there.

On the back of his gakuran is a single dirt stain. The thing stinks like sewer sludge, but he just contains it by wrapping the jacket in plastic and spraying Febreeze on it until he can’t smell anything but Bamboo Essence. Cloying and flowery, but better than sludge. But see, he has to save it. Has to save his gakuran as his proof. 

Because the single dirt stain is of a shoe print. And that is enough to convince him that he’s not crazy.

He can still see the stain where an already dead Deku had kicked him in the back to save him.

[angstalottle]

Blue Sparks

Part 1

Klaus remembers the day Five was ripped apart.

It was coming to the end of a week-long punishment that Five had practically begged for by yelling at the dinner table and making a run for it.

Maybe he would have gotten away and had a chance at life if Mom hadn’t caught him and snapped a collar around his neck that shocked him every time he tried to teleport stopping himself before the blue was able to form around his hands.

Five dropped to the floor panting as their father came over to him and delivered a swift his from his cane across the cheek “as my other attempts at punishing you have clearly been ineffective for the next month you shall do without your powers.”

At first, Klaus was jealous.

Not only were Five powers the best begin with now he got a break from training too?! How was this fair?!

It seemed the other siblings felt the same as they continued to eat while Five pulled himself up and stumbled back to his room moving up the stairs like a kicked dog.

Only Vanya went to check on him that night, the others pretended they didn’t hear the crying.

The first day didn’t seem so bad.

Sure Five was sporting a nasty bruise on his cheek but he only had to take part in group training and after that was allowed to go study or some shit while Klaus was given his private time slot to suffer even more.

He couldn’t help but shove him to the side as they crossed paths in the hall only feeling a little bad when on instinct Five tried to teleport away and ended up on his knees gasping in pain.

It seemed like everyone had decided Five deserved more punishment as come meal time his cutlery was dulled, his chair had a tack on it, his juice was taken and whenever Reginald wasn’t looking someone would steal some of his food.

Whenever Five tried to do anything about it Luther would tip him off his chair knowing that would make him try to teleport and end with him being shocked.

By the second day it had almost become a twisted game.

Anyone who got Fives extra training particularly seemed to enjoy getting him shocked, after all by then the collar didn’t even seem to hurt him much.

At the end of the third day Klaus was woken up by someone in the bathroom throwing up. He decided to investigate just in case it was Ben.

He was greeted with the sight of a very pale Five flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth.

“You ok?” Klaus asked softly.

“You care?” Five responded groaning slightly as he put a hand on his stomach “I think somethings wrong with me”

Klaus rolled his eyes “Yeah I could of told you that... do you think you’ve got the flu?” He asked taking a step back.

Five shrugged “I don’t know. If this lasts any longer I’ll talk to mom.”

“Lucky you're not doing your personal training then” Klaus huffed bitterly “do you know I got yours today, it was hell so thanks for that.”

Five narrowed his eyes for a moment “what is your training anyway?”

That caught Klaus off guard. No one asked that it wasn’t like they weren’t supposed to talk about it... just no one did.

“Dad locks me in a graveyard so I stop being scared of ghosts. You?”

Klaus was expecting something easy. After all what kind of training could you even do for teleporting?

“I guess he wants me to be able to use my powers when I’m scared too” Five finally  said.

“Yeah but what does he do?” Klaus tapped his foot impatiently”

“It changes every time. He liked burying me alive for a while but when I figured out how to teleport without moving he switched things up with basic forms of torture. Before the... dinner incident it was waterboarding.”

The information hung heavily in the air.

Klaus had no idea that... Five was being tortured for hours daily and not even letting slip what he was going through.

Suddenly trying to run off to a different time made a lot more sense.

Klaus didn’t know what to say. He just stood there so long that Five took it as a sign to leave.

He stepped out back to his room just give Klaus a slipping glimpse of the harsh red burn around his neck.

Five wasn’t at breakfast the next day.

That seemed to be enough to end the teasing from the others and replace it with worry.

The last time Five hadn’t been present was after a mission and he got shot in the gut and needed to spend a few days recovering.

When Mom made an appearance she was quickly hounded with questions from her children.

“Where’s Five?!” Came out the front runner and therefore was answered first.

“Your brother is going to be spending the day in the infirmary. He should be fine but has got a fever so do not disturb him.” She smiled as she returned to making pancakes.

Guilt made its home in the sibling's guts.

Getting shocked over and over again as well as having your food taken could make anyone sick let alone someone as skinny as Five was.

Klaus felt particularly bad because he knew something was up but still let him go to bed to suffer alone all night.

Maybe that was why he snuck down to see him while Reginald was distracted with Allison rumouring Luther into thinking he was an alien.

He snuck down keeping an eye out for both mom and Pogo letting out a sigh of relief when he finally got down and saw Five lying on the bed.

Is usually pale face was flushed red and his breathing was a little more laboured then it should be.

“Five?” Klaus asked quietly trying not to look at the needles hungrily.

They likely didn’t have anything that would make the background screaming go away and if his hunch was right, we're just filled with antibiotics for the burn on Fives neck.

There of course was no answer and Klaus sighed.

Of course, if he’s sick he wouldn’t be awake to chat.

He really only came here to see he was ok and well... he looked a lot worse than he did last night.

He shifted awkwardly “I wanted to say sorry for how I treated you this last couple of days. What dads doing already sucks and we shouldn’t have made it worse. I hope you get better soon Vanya’s gonna be sad if you can’t listen to her play.”

With nothing else to say Klaus awkwardly stepped out of the room.

He assumed he hadn’t been caught but considering the next day when he went to check in on Five again, he found the door locked someone must have seen him.

Klaus decided to just wait until Five was better to talk to him and apologise properly... and maybe talk to him about private training again.

He wanted to help his brother and maybe be helped in return.

It couldn’t hurt to have a teleporter on your side when you're locked in a hellish place surrounded by screaming angry ghosts.

It happened at 4 am exactly.

Everyone but Klaus was fast asleep so they didn’t see the start of it.

He was staring out the window doing his best to ignore the crying woman on his bed when a familiar flash of blue appeared outside.

At first, he assumed Five got the collar off and was testing out his powers.

Then Dad, Pogo and Mom all ran outside and started yelling.

The really weird thing was that the blue glow around Five that normally dissipated in less than a second was still there.

Almost like when Ben let out the horror a blue glow came from his chest.

Five screaming was what made Klaus run down to the garden though quickly followed by the others.

For once Reginald was too distracted to notice his children breaking the rules and was instead yelling over the harsh wind and screams “the power levels have grown too high for his body to contain them any longer. I believed number Five may have use as a battery but I underestimated how fast the charge would build.”

As he spoke the glow in Fives chest seemed to crack outwards splintering out until it covered his entire body and his eyes glowed blue.

“Sir how do we help him?” Lither asked as though he could just strong arm Five into being ok.

“I’m afraid number Five is in reachable now. Return to the house at once.” He snapped but Klaus wasn’t going to have that.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he was thinking as he ran over and grabbed Five my shoulders his hands burning from the heat coming off him.

“FIVE! Please, can you hear me?”

Five slowly nodded tears streaming down his face “it hurts... so bad”

His voice was distant like it was being carried away to some distant land.

“I know! You’ll be ok! I promise you're going to be fi-“

Klaus never got to finish that sentence because Five began to crumble away into a shower of blue sparks.

He did the only thing he could and pull Five into a hug right as his body dissolved into nothingness.

Klaus was left kneeling clutching the air in shock.

He could hear his siblings screams and cries behind him but he didn’t care.

Five was gone.

He frantically began looking around for Five to appear as one of the many ghosts.

Getting more and more frustrated.

“You won’t find him number Four. While number Five is gone he is likely not dead in the same sense you are accustomed to. He has been erased from existence in a way.”

The news was like a punch to the gut.

Their brother was gone.. as good as dead and Reginald didn’t even care.

Klaus was, of course, punished the next day. They all were.

But it seemed like no matter what they went through the pain of having Five torn from their lives like that was worse than anything their father could throw at them.

They grew closer in their grief and guilt. Even Vanya was included.

Ben dying was really what forced them all to move out and go their separate ways.

Being together to be picked off one at a time just hurt too much...

Klaus lost touch with the others but was content with drugs and being followed around by Ben forever.

That is until a blue sparkle caught the corner of his eye and every familiar scream lit up the night.

[woodlandpoetic]

One-Shot RQ. {Savior}

@ininteligibleart asked:

Idk if you still doing request but here comes one, ¿what about a Kidnaped Reader who's beign saved by Leon, Ada, Claire and Chris, bc they are friends of reader? Srry for my english im from latam, greetings from Chile ¡I love your work! Keep going            

Pairing: None

Fandom: Resident Evil

Based around: RE4

Theme: Action

Warnings: Cussing

Writer’s Note: I’m so SO sorry this is beyond overdue!! Life’s gotten in the way of my writings and it’s frustrating, but sitting as a draft for a bit I FINALLY got it done!! This was actually super fun to write and I loved every part of it! Thank you for requesting from me love! ♡

Your eyes slowly flutter open, feeling your head dangle from your neck like a grapevine you feel panic quickly settle into you. The room is barely lit from where you sat, till about a few inches in front of you— gloomy red lights hung over your head. ‘Don’t panic,’ you attempt to pull your arms back forward to only feel zip ties tightly cuffed around your wrists and chair, causing you to shift harshly back and forth in hopes they’d snap. Nothing. You don’t remember how you ended up here, where you were, all you could get a glimpse of was being sent on this mission and arriving on sight. That’s it. Everything beyond that was a blur, causing a massive headache to wash over you, your head hanging once again wincing in pain. Your arms tugged relentlessly at the tightened zip ties, feeling the chair shift creek beneath you. Shit wooden chair, this should be easier than it’s portrayed to you— although deep down you were hoping your group would find you. The eerie lighting covering the room didn’t help in settling your nerves to concentrate, lifting your head again to peer around.

“Ah, Miss {Y/N}.” A voice spoke deeply through a muffled speakers above you, echoing through the room you had been enclosed in. Your head snapped to the right of you in response to the muffled voice, “Bastard.” You growled. A deep, static laugh skidded out from the speakers in response to your bottled anger.

“For such a strong, stealthy woman, you really let yourself slip this time.” The unknown male voice scoffed, “Pathetic.” Your head lazily flicked itself back with a smirk on your face, staring at the ceiling. The red lights barely skimmed the ceiling, faintly outlining the speakers lined vertical across it.

“A woman doesn’t let herself slip.” You scoffed, “Its a little disappointing it took you *this long* to get me at this mercy state.” Sarcasm escapes your tone, the voice chuckling in response. You kept tugging your arms outwards, though, the creaking and splitting of wood began to loosen the two arms of the chair behind you.

“Well, with you, it’s a different story.”

“Ohhh, still mad about that night, huh?” You laughed in response, “Don’t you worry, I know you’re angry with me. So sorry I had to dip like that.”

An irritable grunt came from the speakers, if you learned anything from Ada— it was the stealth and persuasive/sarcastic tone. Heading the wood crack, you chuckled under your breaths.

“I’m a little disappointed in you, as well.” His voice bellowed over the speakers, “{Y/N.}” Dragging our your name, you responded in a disgusted tone.

“And why’s that, Rac?” You chided, although getting sick of the small talk he was prolonging on. You wondered if your team was coming after you, although you should be more aware they need you on this team.

“You joined Redfield’s rambunctious team, although I offered you this more... luxurious high-end job.” He denounced, you shake your head with a prolonged, sarcastic sigh.

“I don’t join teams, love, I play solo on my missions. They needed me, I took the job for now. You sound disgustingly jealous, Rac, that’s not like you.” Reassuring his jealousy in dragged out sarcasm, you hear a sigh, then beeping across the room. Your smirk instantly fades as your head snaps forward, seeing a bright flashing red light about six feet in front of you. Groans of the undead stumble out from the sliding doors,

“You fucking..REALLY.”

“You should learn to behave yourself, {Y/N.} Or, at most, who you come into contact with.” You hear the speakers click off, staring at the undead quickly making their way to you as they notice you sitting away from them.

“At least make it interesting and get a metal chair next time, Rac.” Lifting up from the chair, breaking the two pegs off from the seat of the chair. Pressing the back part of the chair against your back, you harshly ripped your arms forward— snapping the back into two pieces.

“Okay, not what I wanted. But it works.”

The herd quickly made their way to you, god these things moved like hell-hounds. Swinging your left arm in front of them, you threw your other arm up as your melee defense against them. Puncturing the zombie’s skull with the sharpened end by your elbow, pushing yourself through the semi-big herd. You kept going, these stakes of the chair worked good as a defense from the herd biting you. Practically shoving your elbow into the nasty fucks, you found the door, the opening you gave yourself provided a brief minute to get through the door and quickly smash the button on the other side to close it. You hit the other side of the hall, catching your breath and gathering your now—new surroundings. Lifting up your right leg, you pulled out a pocket knife from your boot— flicking it open as you sliced the zip ties off of your wrists.

“Fucking zip ties.” Rubbing your wrists as you pushed yourself up away from the wall, you were in a testing—lab of some sort. White walls with black lined bottoms dividing the wall straight across, heavy duty metal doors lined down the left side from where yours stood. A glass rounded window peeked at the corner of your door, wrapping around, causing you to round the corner to see where you just were.

“Still has to find a way to see me.” You shook your head, suddenly the halls went dark, those familiar red lights lining the halls now.

Building on lock-down, staff must respond to their safety lined departure rooms.

“Of course. Never this easy for me.” The voice repeated in the background several times as you made your way down the maze like halls, the lights have the building a more eerie like tone to it. Not like seeing the, infected bodies in the glass water-casing, or in plexi-glass casing just staring at you. Seeing someone round the other corner about a foot away from you, your back quickly hit the other side from where you stood.

“And all I got is a knife.. great.” Peering the corner to check your surroundings, you feel a hand grab your upper arm. Habitual instinct, you slam your gripped arm into, who you assumed was either Rac or his men, into the wall as you swing your body and other knife-gripped hand up to the person’s neck. Using your knee to pin one of their legs to the wall, it took you a brief second to recognize who it was.

He didn’t even seem to budge or be inflicted by your response, he just stared at you.

“Well, at least you picked up on my techniques the most.”

Sighing, you released him from the wall as you backed up.

“I have my own techniques, Leon, don’t give yourself too much credit. Hm?”

Going to turn away from him to find a way out, he hands you one of his pistols. Confused, you looked back up from the pistol to look at him.

“Really? You, carrying multiple guns?” You remarked, he half smiled at you in response.

“And the sarcasm?” Taking the pistol from him, you cocked it back.

“Again, my own tone Leon. I just know your personality.” Returning the half smile, your eyes shifted back to the eerily lit hallways that spread like a maze. Leon steps in front of you, holding his pistol in front of him, gripped with both hands as he turned his head to the side as a way to talk to you from behind him.

“Stay close.”

Nodding, you two took off down the maze-like hallways as you rounded every corner skidding of your shoes against the floor as you rounded corners. You wondered if the others came along with Leon, or if it was just him alone. Either way, it wouldn’t surprise you as you turned off from the another corner—

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Seeing Leon stop dead in his tracks, you come up from his side to see a line of men blocking the way into the main hall. Guns pointed directly in our direction, you stood your ground as you held your pistol up to them glancing over at Leon.

“Any bright ideas now, genius?” You huffed, watching him side glance over to you in irritation.

“Stand behind me, we’ll move in unison.” Sighing, again you move close behind him as you shifted your pistol pointing past the right side of his neck as you started moving forward. Hearing their guns clock, you swallowed down the slight choked up fear you felt.

“Leon maybe we sh—“

Loud blasts of guns came from the other side of men, watching them drop to the ground like a line of dominoes. You threw yourself off of Leon’s back side as you stepped past him, seeing past the smoke you notice three other figures.

Claire? Ada?! Chris?!

“How in the ever-loving fuck—“ You topple over your words as they quickly approach you two with relief streamed across their faces, Ada and Claire coming to your general direction.

“{Y/N}!” Claire greeted you with a bear hug before letting go, you smiled in relief to see them both. Ada smiles faintly at you, she wasn’t much of an emotional woman but that fit well with your personality.

“I was hoping you guys were with Leon,” You breathed from the panic, Ada shook her head as she stepped forward.

“Seeing as how somebody had to go solo, the three of us stuck together.”

Looking over to see Leon finding his response, the red lights began flashing repeatedly. All of you instantly looked at one another, as if you predicted what was about to be said.

Self destruct sequence activated, all personal and staff must exit immediately.

Repeating itself in the background, loud alarms began ringing and echoing throughout the halls.

“Could’ve expected that.” Leon spoke up, all of you turned towards the direction of the main hall.

“Follow me,” Chris steps forward in front of your group, “but stay close.” One after another, again you took off into the hallway through the flashing red lights, sirens and slight panic you all felt. Leon stayed in back while Chris took the lead of you three, accepting the fact they were both protecting you, Ada and Claire from any possible threats blocking your way out. Closing in on the exit door to the roof, a large metal door quickly begins descending, then another behind you.

Chris skids to a stop, quickly ushering the three of you to get past the metal door.

“Go!”

You managed to slide past the quickly closing in metal door, then Claire and Ada quickly following behind. Watching in panic as Chris and Leon barely make it fully past the metal door as it slams to the ground— locking itself in place. Watching Chris dart to the front he ushers you all to start running up the roof door, watching him kick it down without hesitation. Stepping back as you three nearly flew up the stairs, Claire kicking down the other door.

You’re greeted with a loud helicopter-military like aircraft, heavy winds circling it as you’re forced to cover half your face with your arm. Feeling someone press on your back and assuringly pushing you towards the aircraft, you notice it’s Leon quickly pacing beside you as you all make it onto the back. Chris stepping on quickly at first with Claire and Ada following close behind,

“Let’s go! Move!” He shouted, the pilot responding as they quickly lifted the craft off the landing pad as it shot across the sky. Watching the back of the caboose close, you didn’t get to see the building itself self-combust, but for now you were alright with that.

“Next time, take one of us with you.” Leon commented to you, leaning forward off of one of the seats in the back. Ada smacks his arm in response, glaring at one another before she looks over to you.

“Don’t listen to his arrogance, you’ll catch on soon enough.” She stood up from her seat, approaching you as you stayed standing up for now.

“Besides, I see potential in you, so does Claire and Chris.”

“I never said—“ Ada points back at him, as if shushing him from where she stood.

“I didn’t ask.”

Claire laughed, smiling as she shook her head.

“Ada’s right, it takes time. Besides, when you were captured we were on our feet within seconds.”

You smile in response to their kind words, nodding at Ada as she went to go sit back down beside Leon.

“Glad to have teammates like you four.” They all faintly smile at you as the copter flew away from the scene itself, your eyes wandered to the large windows in the front as you finally catch your breath.

It’s good to be back home.

[toshiyesri]

the real gay solidarity was the friends we made along the way

“Bakugo put his head in his hands.

His bros were going to go gay. For him. Collectively. This would be a trainwreck to watch. He didn’t know who was more to blame- Kaminari, or himself. Was there even a chance that this didn’t go badly?

More importantly, how many ways could this go horribly wrong?”

-

Bakugo was . . . nervous. 

It wasn’t every day he tried to come out to one of his best friends. He could already feel himself turning a guilty shade of red. A glance confirmed the hallway was empty. 

Still . . . 

Rolling his shoulders and releasing a shaky breath, he knocked on Kirishima’s door. The wood under his knuckles gave way almost as soon as he’d rapped a quick staccato tap tap. 

Kirishima. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows, clouding his usual obnoxiously sunny disposition. 

And just like that, he chickened out. 

“Want to study?” he asked, smirking. Like that had been his plan all long. Fucking hell. 

The furrow dissipated as Kirishima’s face broke cleanly into a broad smile. The sun was out again. 

How the fuck was he supposed to disappoint him like this?

-

After about a week of hounding Kirishima, Kaminari, and even Mina and Sero at turns, Bakugo was at a loss. Sitting in the late afternoon celebration with a stupid birthday hat on his head- it wasn’t for his birthday, they had decided to crown him for helping them all pass their midterms- he didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t working. 

“Hey, man, don’t assume he’s gay based on stereotypes,” Kirishima chastened someone- Kaminari by the looks of it- eyebrows radiating disapproval. They were on the couch on either side of him, having an argument through him. 

“Well I’m not going to assume he’s straight either. Anyone can be gay!” Kaminari said, clearly about to go on a long rant. His shoulder nearly jostled Bakugo into Kirishima. 

“I’m gay.”

Dead. Silence. 

Fuck. 

He really said it?

Well, why else would Kirishima be frozen in the middle of throwing him arms around, Mina stuck in a comical pose as she went to drop a can in the recycling, and Kaminari’s face doing . . . whatever the hell that was. The silence stretched on. And on. 

Not even Sero was cracking a joke. 

Oh, jesus fuck. He really said it. 

Bakugo could practically feel the color drain out of him. 

“See?” Kaminari said, waving an arm at Bakugo. Yeah, okay, he flinched. Kaminari didn’t even see it. “Anyone could be gay!”

“I’m just saying-” Kirishima started up again. 

Mina let out a war cry, stabbing the recycling bin with the end of a nearby broom. Perched on the trashcan, Sero was laughing at her. Probably for being a dumbass. There was no way another can was fitting in there. 

And if he let out one or two tears he hurriedly wiped away when he realized his friends didn’t care- because he had the worst, stupidest friends in the entire universe- or maybe the best, but he would never admit it-

Who gives a fuck?

-

“What are you doing?” Kaminari said, scandalized. 

“My best?” Kirishima said. 

Bakugo picked him up and set him on the other cushion, digging around for the remote. 

“Oh, hey, Bakugo,” Kirishima said. Over on the other side of the room, Sero was fielding Mina’s assault of questions over the girl that had asked him out from class B earlier during lunch. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Kanimari said, rifling in a bowl of chips. Out of fucking nowhere. He wasn’t even looking at him, the light of the TV painting his face different shades of blue. 

Bakugo scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. As soon as I’m not the only gay person I know.”

“You don’t know any other gay people?” Kirishima asked, as if that was so surprising. 

“Fuck no, I don’t. I probably would have come out a little bit differently if I had. They don’t exactly have coaches for people in the closet.” Why was this such a big deal anyway? He was out. That was good enough for him.

“That’s not fair. I know a lot of straight people,” Kirishima said, using his quirk to stab open a can instead of the pull tab like anyone else would. Soda dribbled all over his fingers. Bakugo rolled his eyes and changed the channel. 

“What are you suggesting we do?” Kaminari said, a thin edge of exasperation. “All of us become gay in solitary?”

Bakugo choked on nothing, head whipping around. He wasn’t serious-

Oh, but Kirishima was. And, god help them, Mina. 

“No, that’s a great idea! I always wanted to be a lesbian!”

“That actually sounds like fun,” Sero added. 

“No it doesn’t,” Bakugo said, coughing as he got his composure back. “And besides, you can’t just decide to be gay-”

“Why not?” Kirishima asked. 

Oh, god damn it. 

“Because-”

And fuck if Bakugo couldn’t think of a reason. Any reason at all. Even a bad one. Four pairs of eyes stared at him intensely. Bakugo sighed, speechless. They were really going to do this. 

“Forget it.”

It was going to be painful to watch. 

“What’s being gay like anyway?” Sero piped up. 

Heat raced up his neck. “I don’t fucking know. What’s being straight like?”

“Well, I think there’s kissing-”

Jesus

“-and probably sex, but not all people do that, so it must be something else-”

fucking 

“-well, dating, obviously is probably pretty important -”

Christ. 

“-I don’t think they’re totally comparable, I mean pride parades seem to be pretty important?”

Bakugo put his head in his hands. 

His bros were going to go gay. For him. Collectively. This would be a trainwreck to watch. He didn’t know who was more to blame- Kaminari, or himself. Was there even a chance that this didn’t go badly?

More importantly, how many ways could this go horribly wrong?

-

The answer surprised even him. 

- 

Bakugo made a mistake. 

He should have known that Mina never just asks to watch a movie at 6 p.m. on a Wednesday unless she wants to corner him for something. That’s his one day off from studying. Bakugo always says yes. Anything to cure his boredom. He had, naively, thought she hadn’t noticed. 

And when he opened the door to her room to spot multiple people wearing rainbows, he should have just turned around and left. Left U.A. entirely. Took a sick weekend. Camp out at Kirishima’s house and steal his food for a change. 

But no. He didn’t. 

And that second of hesitation cost him. Mina dragged him in by his arm, clicking the door shut behind them and practically tossing him on the bed. The bedsprings whined. 

Kaminari laughed at him, so he mimed something violently graphic while Mina crossed her legs and sat in front of the rest of them. The bastard didn’t even look intimidated, eyes crinkling at the corners. Even Sero was there, shiteating smile on his face. There was glitter on his cheeks. 

“Guys,” Mina said, pausing for dramatic effect. “I think I’m in love.”

“What, seriously?” Bakugo asked, sitting up. She looked like she had been chewed up and spat out by a lipstick factory. Not only was she skimpily dressed, but she was covered in sparkly shit and kisses. She still had some holographic tank top on and some glowsticks. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I met a girl,” she said, raccoon eyes wide and glittering with an intense feralness. Jesus, is that what love did to people? She looked almost angry about it. “She asked what hair condition I used and smelled like strawberries.”

A beat.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Does there need to be more?” she asked, intensity vanishing and getting replaced by a more Mina-like baffled confusion. 

“Mina, I think you might be a lesbian,” Kaminari said slowly. Bakugo shoved him off the bed. 

-

And that’s how the next three weeks of his life went. 

On a Tuesday before a test, he woke up to Kirishima fervently knocking on his door, practically vibrating with nerves. 

“Remember how we were supposed to just be calling ourselves gay? I think, I uh-”

“Spit it out Kirishima.”

“I think, I might be bi?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Followed by Sero. 

“Do you have any advice on asking a, um, a boy out?” he asked, cheeks vibrantly red. 

“Are you bi, too?”

“I’m actually questioning-”

“Fine. Get in here.”

Bakugo yanked him inside and snapped the door closed. 

So, understandably, he was just tired when he spotted Kaminari. Nothing could surprise him, at this point. 

At least he had the decency to show up at a normal hour. 

“Let me guess,” he said, unlocking the door, finally comfortable with all the weirdness that had been going on lately. He’d coached not one but three people on how to come out to their parents at this point. Not that he had even told any of them that he still wasn’t out to his own, but it seemed to go okay anyway. Mina’s mom had baked a cake. “You’re not actually straight, and-”

Suddenly he was pushed against his own door, an armful of well worn band tee the first sensation he registered. Then Kaminari’s tantalizingly soft mouth ghosting against his own. 

Bakugo’s brain fizzled for a second. 

Kaminari, absolutely convinced one of the pro-heros is gay. 

Kaminari, sarcastically proposing they all call themselves gay. 

Kaminari, breaking the awkward silence after he came out. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Kaminari’s expression broke, but he covered it up quickly. He dropped back down to his heels. “For the record, I’m pan, so-”

Bakugo kissed him back, annoyed that he’d almost backed up out of reach. Like he really gave a shit. He had been in the middle of enjoying that, thanks. Kaminari made a soft noise before his hands cautiously settled into his hair. It was so distracting it took him awhile to remember the rest of what had happened. 

Kaminari, asking if he had a boyfriend. 

Bakugo grinned smugly into the kiss. 

Kaminari in the present gasped, and the sound sent a tingle up his spine as his own hand ran up under the stupid soft t-shirt to touch skin. The soft hum against Bakugo’s mouth in response made him feel warm and stupid. 

They could talk about all that boyfriend crap later though. The lock on the door clicked shut before he could even blindly grab for it. Seemed like they were on the same page about what they wanted to be doing right then. 

-

Yeah, okay, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. 

But it was still. Pretty fucking stupid. 

Fucking Kaminari. 

[drabbleitout]

Chapter 4: Clowns to the Left, Jokers to the Right

Beginning | Previous | Next

Myghal was starting to wonder what “Ira having a good time” entailed.

Yet, the more he thought on it, the more he realized it was probably for the best he didn’t know. Either way, being in a tavern wasn’t on the list.

Ira disregarded the crowded bar and sat them by the back window, away from mostly everyone else which took the skill of a true misanthrope considering it was packed. The table they found was barely big enough for the both of them, in the corner, and near the nook entrance of the kitchen. The smell had Myghal’s stomach growling.

Ira was leaned back in his chair, hood on and boots cross on the window sill. His hands fidgeted with one of the thin sleeve darts that Myghal discovered were sewn into the hem of his cloak. It twirled between his fingers with careless elegance. The only bit of his face visible was his usual unimpressed frowning mouth.

“Anything I can get you gents?” a young boy in an apron asked, pausing briefly with a tray of drinks hoisted on a shoulder.

“I’ll have the chicken.” Myghal offered him a smile but his face changed as little as Ira’s.

“With the neeps and tatties?”

“Uh, yes?” Myghal had never heard of either of those, but it was enough of an answer as the barhand looked to Ira.

“And you?”

He didn’t as much as offer a snarl. The barhand turned away towards another table. The small tavern was a tight fit in the muddy village outside of Galenia. Smashed between a cobbler and a candle maker, it was the only main attraction.

“So, who should we ask first?” Myghal rubbed his hands together.

“About what?” Ira growled.

“About the dragon. That’s why I wanted to sit at the bar, to get elbow to elbow with locals and see if they’ve heard any rumors.”

“A dragon?” Myghal jumped as a chair clattered down at the other side of the table. It was spun about allowing the tall woman dressed in a vest and slacks sit with her arms draped over its back. She had devious eyes, lips pulled into a crooked grin from under her wide-brimmed cavalier hat. “Name’s Kee,” she offered a hand out to Myghal.

“Nice to meet you,” He shook it, “I’m Myghal.”

“And who’s this charming manifestation of midnight dangers?” She boldly stuck her hand towards Ira, leaning across the table.

“Get any closer and I’ll take it off at the wrist.”

“Heel boy,” Kee laughed, settling back into her chair. “You’re an odd pair, ay? Not from around here, that’s for sure.” She nodded towards Ira’s boots. “Asking about a dragon, what’s that then?” She gave her attention to Myghal, situating on his side of the table. “You really looking for dragons?”

“Yeah, have you seen any?”

“Gods, I need a drink.” Ira murmured, twirling to his feet and slipping off. He stepped behind a patron and disappeared into the crowd.

“No’ alive, anyway.” Kee had turned to watch him go but kept speaking. “No one’s seen many of them since, gads, a hundred years ago? May I ask why the interest?”

“It’s a long story, but we need one of their eyes.” Kee stared at him, eyes blank as if she had just entered a room and completely forgotten why she was there. Her brow knitted, head tilted, and she came back to herself with a scowl.

“Just its eye?” He nodded, “what kind of goon wants a dragon’s eye? You making something?” she laughed, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you in with the Jakes? Making some of the drugs?”

“No. We need it for… well—”

“Hazewash.” Ira announced, both of them jumping having not heard him return. “Here, no one else seemed to worry rats were eyeing it,” he slid a plate of chicken and two piles of mashed mysteries to Myghal before flopping down in his chair. The dark wine in his cup hardly sloshed. Kee eyed him, glancing to Myghal as she leaned back in her chair.

“You’re no’ making hazewash. You’re no’ a witch.”

Ira hummed, kicking his feet back up in the window as he took a sip. Myghal stared down at his plate, sure he recognized one pile of mush as potatoes but wasn’t sure of the other.

“Hazewash needs a dragon eye? Don’t believe it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you study at the Imperial Court of Faraday?” Ira had lost his bite and was now condescendingly acidic. “Myghal took up the spoon that was shoved in the potatoes, unsure how he was supposed to use it on the chicken, but chiseled at some of the yellow pile. “By that choice of hat, I’m going to go on chance and say no.”

“No’ a witch.” Kee matched the hateful smile, “But something tells me neither are you.”

“Myghal,”

“Hmm?”

“Am I a witch?”

“Yeah. That’s why you wear that creepy cloak.” He tried what he guessed were the neeps, and instantly smiled at Ira. “They’re turnips.”

“Would a guy like that lie to you?” Ira thumbed at him, peering over his glass at Kee. “I need to make hazewash for my exam.”

“Trying to get into the Emperor’s entourage, ay?”

“So badly.” Ira had that smile again.

“Do you know about any dragons, Kee?” Myghal used his hands to take pieces of the chicken. “We’d really like to know if you do.”

“Maybe,” she crossed her arms on the chair’s back. “Need some payment. How much you pay is how much I’ll tell.”

“Figures,” Ira sighed, glass resting on the table as he pulled his feet to the floor. “But if I pay you, and you don’t know where a dragon is, I will make you a public decoration at the main gate.” He said this as if explaining the weather. Reaching into his cloak he pulled out the smaller purse of coin, letting her see it. “Do you know where a dragon is?”

Kee sat there, eyes on the coin, silent and still. Myghal worried that she didn’t know. She clearly hadn’t known Ira, challenging him the way she did, but he feared her bluff had been called and was sure Ira would hold up his end of the bargain.

“An old man who works a mountain orchard west of here says he’s seen one near the top of the Barren Tips. Says it makes a ruckus on the full moon.” She went quiet again, stare locked on Ira. He set the coin between him and Myghal, leaning over taking a swipe of potatoes on a finger.

“What do you think? Sounds like a tall tale to me.” Myghal watched him sit back, surprised.

“That actually adds up some.” He paused in thought, making sure he remembered correctly. “The Ophtenka always attacked on a full moon, so if there is really an orchard farmer, and he says it makes noise on the full moon, that sounds right.”

“What’s an open..penka?” Kee’s face soured.

“Witch talk –mind your half of the conversation.” Ira ate the potatoes off his finger, scowled and leaned in on an elbow to whisper. “You think she’s telling the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we shouldn’t kill her?”

“We shouldn’t kill anyone.” Myghal glanced around.

“You said your name was Kee? What do you do for a living, Kee?”

“I’m a witch, as much as you are. But on days off, I’m a smuggler.” Her feet took her weight as she leaned over the table, “But the only part Imperial you are is as stolen as that coin you’ve got. Just like them hawk feathers, ay?” She gave a humming laugh, “Hawks were outlawed after the Empress was murdered by a Hawker. Ain’t no one in the Empire going to have you wearing hawk feathers.”

The air grew cold.

Ira pulled off his hood to give her full view of the feathers and his glare. Pressing back his chair he leaned closer, locking eyes and lowering his voice.

“You lost your leg in the siege, didn’t you?” he tilted his head with a nod to the floor. “Foreigners didn’t go quietly when you took their homes, did they? Riots tend to get out of hand even for the Imperial Guard. But you did what he asked because you were his good, little soldier. And he liked that about you, so he enchanted you a leg, didn’t he?” There was something sour about the sweetness in Ira’s tone, like poisoned nectar. “You were important, so he had you fixed up with a metal limb that almost feels right.”

Kee’s eyes narrowed, the smile melting from her face into something hurt and angry.

“But it wore on you. Those people did nothing wrong and you know that. But you thought it was behind you, that he wouldn’t ask anymore from you. And you were wrong,” Ira nodded. “He kept asking and you had nothing more to give. So, you ran. You ditched. You abandoned your post. And, now, he wants his leg back.”

“You’re not from the Empire, are you?” Kee hissed, rising to slide her chair away. “You’re not with the Imperial Court. You’re an assassin. You killed Empress Sarika, didn’t you?” Myghal pressed his plate aside at Ira’s glare, feeling as if he were watching two dogs; hair hackled, teeth bared, ready to fight. “Are you the Hawker?”

“How would you like the left to match the right?” He pulled at his dagger, Myghal shoving it back into the sheath.

“Alright, enough.” He placed a hand on Ira’s shoulder never seeing his eyes so dark. “We have our lead on a dragon. Let’s pay her and go.”

“What do you think they’re going to do to you when they find you?” Kee ignored the glare and Myghal.

“I have a pretty good idea already. And I’m sure when they get that leg from you it’ll feel the same. He won’t forget about you. He won’t give up and let you go. He can follow that magic like a dog to scent. If I were you,” Ira slid the coin purse towards her, “I’d find someone else to enchant it. Lose the scent and the hounds.” With that he stood, tossing his hood back on. Myghal followed him to the door, regretting looking over his shoulder finding Kee behind them.

“Well, you’re a witch, aren’t you?” She exited as they reached their horses.

“Let’s just go,” Myghal whispered. Ira turned as he freed Berma.

“Now you want to believe me?” He shook his head, mounting as she scurried down the steps. “You’re a maze of turned around ideas, aren’t you? An Imperial turned smuggler.” She shushed him, making a short, swiping motion in the air.

“What if I take you to that old man with the orchard, help you find that dragon?” She had steel nerves, grabbing Berma's tack as if that had any control over horse or rider. “Even if you don’t know enchantment, you’re a witch, you know someone who does, right? Maybe we can strike a deal.”

She was crafty, head tilting with a fearless smile. But, just as shocking, Ira hadn’t pulled away or moved Berma. He checked over his shoulder to Myghal. If she knew as much about the farmer, and where he was, she was their best lead. With a shrugging nod, Myghal saw no reason as to why she couldn’t help out.

“If there is an orchard farmer, and if there is a dragon, and if we get the eye, I may be able to help you.” Ira managed to still sound threatening. But it didn’t hinder Kee, grinning as her hand reared back giving a sharp clap against his leg. Ira jolted, lips pursing.

“You’re a belter! What do I call you?”

“Rook,” Ira  gathered the reins, backing Berma away. Kee’s face went slack, watching him with a faint sway in her stance. Ira motioned down the road, “we're following you, smuggler. It’s a deal, remember?” She glanced to Myghal, as pale as if she had just seen death. Almost tripping on her own feet, she hurried over to untie a brown quarter horse.

“Right,” she hopped on, moving the hanging rapier to get both boots in the stirrups. “Galenia isn’t far. We can find him there.” Her horse paced anxiously, turning one way and then another before she directed them down the road.

“You could, you know, not scare everyone.” Myghal shook his head as Berma passed, Ira grinning ear to ear.

“I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Looks like you picked a busy time to show up,” Kee called back, almost lost in the chatter of the crowd around them. The walls blocked them from the sun, Myghal taking the chance to steal a glance up to the battlements were guards paced. They were towering, sandstone walls, banners of red fallen from each crenel like draped tongues. Each was embroidered with an extravagant but clear design of a crown.

The deep rhythm of drums bloomed into a mixture of swaying strings and the joyous chant of voices. The traffic also slowed. Sunlight spilled down from the other side of the arch, a group of young women throwing fistfuls of yellow and orange blossoms into the crowd. Large strips of fabric had been hung from one roof to another over the road, providing shade and decorating the sky with the theme of warm tones.

“Welcome to Galenia.” Kee had to yell to be heard, riding beside Myghal.

“Is it always like this?” He laughed, glancing over as someone tapped his leg. He was passed a single stemmed, orange daisy. The little girl who had given it to him giggled before rushing to the person behind Nepi, giving them one as well. “Thanks!” He called back, unsure if she could hear.

“Not always this busy, no,” Kee answered as he turned back. “This is the Festival for the Mother of the Empire. It’s a spring thing,” she waved at the air as if searching it for something. “It’s the biggest celebration of the year.”

“Mother of the Empire?” Myghal glanced ahead to make sure Ira hadn’t left. Berma was in front of them, the dark pink flower standing out from his black cloak. “Is that a Goddess?”

“No,” Kee laughed. “Well, depends on who you ask. She was the Empress, the Emperor’s wife.”

“Who was killed by the hawk?”

“You’ve got it. But this is a celebration of her life, what all she did for the Empire. She was a beloved woman.” Another shower of petals fell over them, “You couldn’t find a living soul in the Empire who disliked her. She looked out for the poor, the lesser off, and kept her husband in line. After she died,” Kee shrugged, “they were forgotten again.”

“So, why would anyone want to kill her?”

“I said inside the Empire. Outside of the Empire, any Imperial is an enemy. My guess is they wanted to start a war. Which would’a happened, if the Emperor knew who killed her. That’s why there’s such a high reward on the Prince. You find him, you can find who’s responsible. The Emperor would probably make you a Lord for that.” She knocked the back of her hand against his shoulder, “There, that’s Empress Sarika!”

She pointed ahead, to a fountain inlaid in the side of a building. Myghal leaned in search of a person, a reenactor, or a tomb, but found a statue. Traffic slowed to an almost halt as everyone paused to look or bow. They inched along, chatter lowering to silence.

The large statue was of a woman, realistically carved of brown soapstone, seated above the elongated fountain of white tile. Berma slowed to a stop, Ira twirling the flower between his fingers before tossing it into the pool. It floated alone among the babbling ripples. He stared at the face of the Empress, people moving around him as he took his time. Then, just as slowly, he lifted two fingertips to his forehead, bowing and dropping the salute in a low hook.

If Myghal hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Berma moved along and by more habit, Nepi strolled up to take their place. No one else threw their flowers, placing them instead on the fountain wall or at its sides. Myghal dropped his with the others, finding himself lost in studying her face. She was thin, chin lifted with a strong jaw and a sleek nose. There was something about her, familiar, as if he had seen her somewhere before. Had she visited their council? Was she an ambassador? Had he seen her among their elders?

In a daze he pressed his fingertips to his brow—

“What are you doing?” Kee grabbed his wrist, tugging it away as she nervously laughed, “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“What?” He nudged Nepi forward as she pulled at him. “What did I do?”

“Saluting like that. Don’t do that. The guards will think you’re mocking them and you’ll get tossed out.”

“It’s a salute?”

“You just do things without knowing what they are? Yes. The Emperor's salute. It’s supposed to mean loyalty in thought to the Emperor, but no one but the guard really use it. Unless you’re trying to pick a fight.” She laughed, nudging him with an elbow. “Civilians don’t do that, so… don’t.”

“Oh, alright.” He stared at Ira, wondering what it meant. If he hated the Emperor, why salute the Empress? Or was it as sarcastic as his entirety? Was that the reason for tossing his flower as he did? Even as loved as she was by everyone, did he hate her as much as the Emperor?

Leave it to Ira to hate a motherly, charitable person.

“The farmer always sells on the square,” Kee moved up beside Ira now that the traffic had thinned. People swept into open stalls and shops, road splitting off and widening. “He’s the only one with apples so he’s not hard to miss.”

Myghal was still stuck on Ira, the salute, the Empress. He couldn’t make sense of it –not that he had any luck before in unscrambling the shadowy conundrum of the cloak and hood. He was like distant stars in the sky, to look directly at them you saw nothing, but watch from the corner of your eye and there he was.

“Myghal,” he stopped at the stall, not remembering getting down from Nepi. Ira stood beside him, eyes darting to the owner in signal. It finally caught up to him that they had been discussing the dragon.

“You’re sure it’s a dragon?” He asked, hoping it was congruent to the conversation.

“Pretty sure,” he was so old and thin Myghal wondered how he brought his apples down from the mountains. “My grandfather used to tell me stories of the dragon on Barren Tips. He was a sheep farmer, you see, like his father and them. Used to eat his flock. I was smart and grew apples. Dragons don’t eat apples.” He laughed at this like a tireless joke.

“What was that you said about the full moon?”

“Oh, I hear it. All screams and barks like nothing I’ve ever heard. Saw it once, was pretty sure.”

“What did it look like?”

“Great winged thing. A shadow, with a long neck and tale.”

“Antlers? Horns?” Myghal asked gaining a scowl. “Was it long and thin, like a serpent?”

“No. Great and big, like a dragon. No bird or snake like it. Far too big.” Ira looked at Myghal, expecting and waiting for a verdict.

“It doesn’t sound like an Ophtenka,” he glanced to Kee who took a step away. Ira grabbed her sleeve with a blind snap. “But, that doesn’t mean it’s not a dragon. It can’t be far if he lives near it –no offense,” he gave an apologetic glance to the old man, “but if he brings apples to town he can’t live far from here.”

“You can get there by nightfall,” the old man patted Myghal's shoulder. “And it'll be a perfect night for it!”

“Of course,” Ira grumbled, “It’s a full moon.”

“Oh…” Myghal hadn’t considered they’d have found their lead so soon, and possibly a fight for their life to go with it. By the idle pause, Ira seemed to be considering the same. “Well, we better stock up.”

“You’re in the perfect place for that.” Kee reassured, passing him a sympathetic pat, “I’m sure you can find everything you need here.”

“Then let’s hurry up,” Ira sighed. “If we need to get there by nightfall we don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

“Want me to look after the horses? You’ll be able to get what you need a lot faster.”

“You?” Ira scoffed.

“I’m not going to run off with them! We had a deal, remember?” Offended she snapped at him. “Besides, I know who I’m dealing with. Heard enough bedtime stories about you.”

“It will be easier to go about this crowd with out them,” Myghal gave Nepi’s reins over to her. Ira remained cemented in place,

“Where am I going to take them, to the Emperor?”

“Give me your sword.”

“What?! No!”

“We trade until we’re done.” Ira held out a hand, egging her on with a wave of fingers, “My horse for your sword.”

“Be glad he isn’t asking for your leg.” Myghal shook his head. With a dramatic sling of her head she turned, unfastening her sword and handing it over.

“If you trade it for anything, I will ruin you.”

“Charming,” Ira tied it to his belt beneath his cloak. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if my horse goes missing.” He gave up the reins and turned.

“What about Nepi?” Myghal smirked, “you’re not going to make a threat for him.”

“If something happens, you better hope you can keep up with Berma.”

Ira gave up on lecturing Myghal. It was clear he wouldn't listen, or refused to break any habit. He was going to do whatever he wanted, either way, and Ira concluded he didn't have the breath to waste anymore. If it was a real dragon they were facing, their chances of survival were slimmer than the rapier on his hip. He worried more over haggling for supplies. Myghal stayed out of it for the most part, or, rather, avoided it.

Ira noticed the way he busied himself with people rather than searching for items. At first, he assumed it was nerves, but later discovered it was more the way he was than anything. He kept drifting off, rushing out of line to find someone to interact with in the crowd. Someone’s dog or child. Almost getting himself killed to catch someone’s falling tower of packages. Helping an old woman reach what crowds wouldn’t let her access.

Every time Ira turned around, Myghal was in someone else's business.

"Ira," Myghal leaned over his shoulder, whisper a worrying contrast to the bustle. "Can I have a few coins?"

"What did you break?" Ira expected to turn and find Myghal frowning but found a gentle smile instead. He had those bright eyes, excited and warm. Ira slipped a few from his purse, barely setting them in Myghal’s hand before he darted off.

Finishing with buying enough rope, Ira stepped aside to search for him. He noticed Myghal at a stall further down the road, buying food. It was odd considering Ira had previously gotten enough to last them to the mountains and their possible trip back. He had also just eaten. As to why he bought an apple, a slice of bread, and jerky, Ira had to know.

What is he doing? He decided to follow Myghal who hurried off in the other direction. He left the square. He left the market. He left the festivities ending up in a quieter, older area of the city. Backstreets became dirt instead of brick. Windows shuttered or boarded. And everything reeked of urine. Myghal trotted on, winding his way down to an alley that looked more fitting for dumping a body than a lunch break.

Ira slowed, slinking towards the alley entrance hearing voices. Pressed to the wall he peered around the corner.

Myghal had found a pile of garbage, some thrown out table that had become a kingdom of strewn forgottens. Crates, broken barrels, tattered sheets, and countless bottles. He was crouched before it, opening the linen his goods were wrapped in. Tearing off a bit of bread he held it out towards the garbage pile. Rage boiled up, Ira starting to wheel around the corner, when a small, dirty hand drifted out from the rubbish.

"It's alright," Myghal smiled, head tilting as he watched them. "Aren't you hungry?" He leaned closer.

The little fingers snatched it from Myghal's hold, retreating into their hovel. He chuckled, as warm as ever, tearing off another piece. "See there?" Another hand reached out, larger, thin and frail. A woman leaned out from the pile, wrapped in rags with a sunken face smeared in dirt. "Here, there’s plenty."

Myghal didn't scowl or flinch at their condition. He didn't grimace if their hands accidentally touched. He didn't even belittle them in his offering with fake smiles or pity in his eyes. His smile was genuine, completely him, and it only brightened as he offered jerky next. "This will last longer. Go on, you can have it."

The mother stared at him, wide eyes beginning to run with tears as her shaking hands took the food. Her son emerged from his thin blanket, sniffing heavily. A child, mostly bone, his keen eyes caught sight of Ira and looked.

Staggering back from the corner, Ira pressed his back against the wall. He didn’t understand. Growing up on the streets of Felmire, no one had ever given him a scrap of anything. People sneered and kicked as if he were some mangy, wild animal when he was just a boy. He had seen people drop scraps to rats and care less than allowing any street urchins to have it.

Yet, Myghal... Myghal used his share for strangers.

If Ira had met Myghal sooner, would his life be different? Better? Was now too late? He leaned his head back against the wall, letting the air out of his lungs and shutting his eyes. Did it matter now? Scraps and smiles wouldn’t do them any good facing down a dragon.

"I know you're mad," Myghal was there, pleading. "But just take it out of my part. I've still got some left, and I can cover the extra. I'll take an extra job. Maybe someone needs some firewood cut around here or something." Ira grimaced trying to clear his thoughts, like mentally swatting flies. “I know the coin won’t last forever, but if a dragon is anything like an Ophtenka we might not even have them time to spend—”

"I'm not mad." The words came out gradually, one at a time, opening his eyes to stare up into the blue sky.

"Wait... you're not?"

"No," Ira wanted to say something more. Something about what Myghal had done, but he wasn’t even sure what he would say. Or, really, what he even felt.

"Are you sick?"

A chuckle broke from Ira, helpless and biting, "Yes. I am."

"Do we need to go find a doctor?"

"Don't worry about it." Ira stepped off the wall, huffing as Myghal pressed him back against it. The smile was gone, eyes dark and brows low keeping a heavy hand against Ira's chest.

"What's wrong?" It was a strange way to sound caring, low and dangerous.

"Nothing."

"It's something. Are you really sick? You don't have a fever do you?" The hand moved up to Ira's face, trying to check. He panicked, a twisting, bolt of a feeling shooting through his chest. Knocking Myghal's wrist aside he slipped away.

"It’s nothing! I was… worried. That’s all. You ran off and I thought maybe you saw that smuggler take off with our horses.” Myghal didn’t let the stare go so easily. It took him a moment to give in. “I’ve got enough, I think. At least for if we don’t survive this.”

“Let me have that.” Myghal took the bag with an effortless tug, shouldering it. “If you’re sick, the last thing you need to do is haul all this around. Dead or not, if we’ve got to fight this thing you need to be at your best.” A finger prodded into Ira’s chest, that dark look still in Myghal’s eyes. “If it gets worse, we call it off.”

“What? No. Myghal, I’m not really sick.” Ira scoffed, following him. “Are you listening? We’re getting the eye. I’m not waiting anymore.”

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

Hubris ... [Duchebus]

In which Duchess goes to Phoebus after learning he has been arrested...[takes place: January 16th]

@the-duchess-lablanc

[tw -- uh phoebus being phoebus, talk of murder and revenge all that good stuff]

DUCHESS: The past few months had been tumultuous. Really, the past year had been a rocky one. So much had happened that Duchess was not sure that Swynlake was the place for her anymore. It had turned her into a woman that she didn’t recognize and one that she hadn't ever wanted to be. She’d hurt one of her dearest friends, had nearly destroyed a marriage that was just beginning to flourish. But out of everything had come Phoebus and he was a light in the dark. A light at the end of her long, long tunnel of suffering.

Where Thomas had left her reeling and feeling lost, Phoebus had swept her off of her feet. He was absolutely everything that she wanted in a man. And while he had kept his secrets and their relationship had started off rockier than she had wanted, it had been dealt with easily. Maturely. There was no screaming and yelling and crying. No immature displays of masculinity. Instead, he had given Duchess exactly what she wanted. A relationship that she could be proud of.

So much so that she had packed up everything in her home, had even put it on the market again, so that she could move with him to Denmark.

It was a terrifying thing to think about but it was always calmed with the thought that Phoebus had asked her to come with him because he could see their future. Just as brightly as she could it seemed. And regardless, she was ready to go. All her life all she had wanted was to be better than Adelaide. To do something that would make her parents as proud of her as they were of her older sister. She had her fashion empire, she had won a seat on the Board, and now-- Now she was going to start her biggest venture yet and for once all that mattered was the fact she was happy. So incredibly happy.

At least she was until her phone had rang and Phoebus’ voice reached her.

Fury fueled her as she made her way to the jail, ready to tear into anyone and everyone that got in her way.

“Where is he?” Her voice was shrill as she entered the police station, eyes blazing as she glared at every deputy there. It only took a few seconds before she was being ushered to where he was being held. Seeing him behind the bars only slightly dampened the fires of her rage. “What the bloody hell happened, Phoebus? What--- I thought it was supposed to be easy… How long until you are allowed to leave? They cannot just hold you here.”

PHOEBUS: Phoebus was defeated.

He knew this as he was handcuffed, as he was shoved unceremoniously into the back of the cop car.

The demon had gotten away with it. The bitch Mundus girl too.

His only comfort was that it was not his fault. The plan he had slaved over was excellent. If Merida had not surprised him--with her betrayal, with her curse--things would’ve been perfect. He could still see, in his mind’s eye, the flickering of Hades’ flame dying, the decision there in his eyes. He would have given himself up for Belle and after he was dead, there would have been nothing stopping him from finishing the rest.

But in this cursed town, it was the bad guys who won. Or, perhaps there was no such thing. This place was just full of vile blackness--no matter what Phoebus would have done, he could not have cured it from its evil.

These thoughts comforted him as he sat silently. He knew anything he said could be used against him. He was an officer, after all. And a Prince. They did not wag their tongues. Phoebus refused to do so. He sat stoic and silent.

Inside his jail cell, it was the same. Phoebus held his breath. Phoebus waited. When he got his phone call, he was almost surprised--but why would he be? The people here were idiots. Not that he was going to use his phone call for his parents, though he should. No, he needed to sit with the disappointment coursing through him for longer.

(And there was a part of him that feared his family would not fetch him. His disgrace once more, the final nail in his coffin. They could not stand to lose him, could they? Phoebus knew that they rather would than continue to be disgraced and embarrassed.)

In the echoes of the holding cells, Phoebus could hear Clemens’ laughter.

When Duchess arrived, that guilt dug itself deeper into his gut--and he wondered how long he would carry it.

For the record, it was not guilt at what he had done. Oh, no. If you thought that, you were very, very wrong. It was guilt at having been caught. Guilt of not ridding this town of those demons. Guilt at not fulfilling his promises to Duchess.

“It was Merida,” he snarled at once to Duchess, ignoring the way his face twinged from where Hades had punched him. He hoped she would not shy at the blood on his shirt as he came forwards, for it was not his.

“She’s a fucking werewolf. Apparently, a werewolf with a conscience.”

DUCHESS: Seeing Phoebus behind bars was--- She did not like it. It made her blood boil and part of her wanted to demand they let him out. There was no reason for him to be there. No reason for him to be held like some sort of criminal. She had no idea what he had done to warrant such treatment simply because she hadn’t asked but she was sure that all he was doing was getting rid of a threat that the entire town refused to deal with.

It was only after she got over the shock of seeing him behind the bars that she registered the blood that coated his shirt and the cuts and bruises on his face. Hades had done this to him. All of this was Hades’ fault. If this stupid town had just locked him away when they’d found out about those damned hell hounds none of this would have happened. And now Phoebus was the one being locked away? Like he was some dangerous criminal?

“What do you mean Merida is a werewolf? What did she do?” If Merida had begun to work with Hades… She was as good as an enemy. Duchess would do whatever she had to ensure that her future was not destroyed because some little girl had decided to have a conscious. Hades was dangerous. There was ample proof of that. This should not have happened.

Carefully she reached through the bars, wanting to grab hold of Phoebus in an attempt to ground herself against the current of emotions she was feeling. Again she could feel everything she had worked for slipping through her fingers. Her future was supposed to be secured. They had made plans. They were supposed to be starting their life together in Denmark. It couldn’t end like this.

“What are we to do now? Tell me what I must do to get you out of here.”

PHOEBUS: Duchess reached for him and Phoebus almost wanted to pull away. Not because he did not want her to touch him, but because he was ashamed. They should be on the road by now. Their bags packed. They would stay at the castle whilst they chose a house to live in. And then, they would move in. The Tourney would be soon. If all went well, Phoebus’ family would be the new Kings. Which meant that he could take some time off hunting, to help his father begin to get everything in order.

Could be there whilst Duchess (with input from his mother, he was sure) set up their home.

He would propose, after a few months. They would get married. Have children. It was supposed to be a good life.

Hades and Merida had taken that away from him. He blamed Merida more than Hades, honestly. Hades was going to surrender. He’d seen it in his eyes. Hades defeated. He clung to that look, even if it was fruitless.

But the fight was extinguished. He knew he would not have another shot at Hades. The threat would not be eliminated. Even if he was acquitted (unlikely, unless he was tried elsewhere), he would not be able to come back to Swynlake without detection. He could send someone new in, but the baby would be born by then…and whatever curse that was bound to befall Swynlake would have already come to passed.

Now, he needed to think of this new future. To plan what he needed to do, in order to keep Duchess safe. In order to begin his plans anew.

So, he did not shrink from her grasp, though he wanted to. Instead, he reached forward to grasp her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“The Order has failsafes in place, in case of situations such as this. Do not worry, my love.” He went to touch her hand to his cheek, but remembered that he was still covered in Merida’s blood. So, instead, he took a single step closer. “I will get my revenge on that demon and that mutt.”

DUCHESS: She refused to cry. Even if her tears were only because she was so, so… angry. Angry at Hades for getting out of this. At Merida for being the cause of this downfall. Even slightly at Phoebus for allowing himself to get caught, for not being so totally diligent that he figured out that Merida was a werewolf. If he were not behind the bars, Duchess had a hard feeling that she would have slapped him. Which would have promptly been followed by those hot tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

But no. Now she to pull herself together. Think of what exactly came next.

His parents would need to be contacted, a lawyer hired. They would need to push to get Phoebus out of Swynlake. There was no way that he’d be able to stay in the town. Any court here he was brought to would be biased. Hades had already won over so many people in the town. No, he needed to be taken elsewhere. That was the only way that they’d be able to have their future.

“I won’t let them get away with this. Either of them. Whatever you need from me, darling,” she promised as he stepped closer to her. Her fingers curled around his, wishing for a moment that she could press herself against him. Or that he could hold her at least one last time before the literal shit storm that was about to fall over them.

PHOEBUS: Duchess’ words made Phoebus’ heart clench two-fold.

First, he was touched that she was so fierce about the whole situation, vowing revenge. Her eyes flashed and his heart stirred. He’d always liked her best dressed in rage. The first time they’d slept together had been after she’d told off that awful woman and he had licked the rage off of her body, tasting it sweet and salty on his tongue. He had always wanted someone by his side who was just as ferociously dedicated to the cause as he was.

However, the idea of Duchess attempting revenge on that devil (perhaps the Devil made flesh and bone), clouded his heart with worry like a thunderstorm. She was not equipped to handle such things. Phoebus had not had a chance, once Merida turned on him. If he had been with someone else, perhaps he could have done it. Duchess on her own? Phoebus knew his darling was strong and fierce, but she was not a Prince.

And he did not want her hurt.

Phoebus stepped closer and slipped his free hand through the bars to touch her cheek. “You must promise me that you will not attempt revenge alone, my love. He is powerful. More powerful than anything I have ever come across. I would hate to see you hurt because of me.”

DUCHESS: She understood why he did not want her going after Hades. It was the same reason she had been wary about him going after the demon. But she was not weak and she was not foolish enough to go after Hades alone. And she would not go after him in the same way that Phoebus had. Even though she was still quite fuzzy on the details of his exact plan, she still knew that it was more than likely termination. Duchess didn’t want him to die, though. She wanted him to suffer like she no doubt would with Phoebus gone and their town no longer safe from Hades and his demons.

Still, she nodded as his hand rested against her cheek. There was no denying that she would miss his touch, would miss his presence all together. It would not be long, though, is what she told herself as she leaned into that soft touch for a long moment before taking his hand in hers.

“You know I would not go after him alone,” she all but whispered, wishing once more that there were not bars between them. She wanted one last embrace, a chance to memorize his particular musk to memory before he was shipped off to some other holding cell away from Swynlake.

Easily she pressed her lips to his knuckles with a soft sigh. “I will not go after him but I will not make things easy for him.” She vowed this to him because Hades did not deserve to go about acting like a victim or garnering sympathy from the town. “When this whole mess is dealt with there will be more information on him. More of his weaknesses will be known. And that disgusting wolf will be of no concern. There will be no one to stop you from doing what need be done.”

PHOEBUS: Phoebus smiled as she kissed his hand. If only he could reach through these bars. If only he could bend them out of the way and go to her. If only there was someone on this police force that he could bribe to open the door. He wouldn’t even run (though, he would like to, if he could bribe them to let him go, he’d take it.) No, really all he wanted was to hold Duchess. To kiss her. To tell her that everything was going to be alright.

He did believe everything would be alright. Truly.

And he believed even more strongly than that in Duchess. She was a powerful, strong, elegant woman. There would be no one else that he would want by his side through this.

His hand lifted to touch her cheek, then her golden-spun hair, soft as silk. He imagined it was what the hair of Aphrodite might feel like. He would claim perhaps even softer, but he was no fool, he knew the myths. (Not that he believed in those gods, he believed in his God that would not let this injustice go unpunished.)

“Your strength gives me strength,” he told her. It was true too.

He stepped closer to the bars, drawing her closer too. He kissed her through them, just once, just softly. The kiss a promise.

“I love you,” he told her. “I promise I will never stop and that we will be happy. You deserve that.”

[cuzwhynotbeawriter-blog]

Chapter One

“Where the hell have you been? What do you think you’re doing coming home so late?”

I always hated coming home to Percy’s nagging, but I kind of deserved it this time. I really did. It still didn’t feel good.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” Percy glared at me. “Hey, Danny where were you?” Juno chimed in, waking up from the couch. I turned around and Percy’s expression immediately changed when he saw my face.

“Daniel, what happened to you?” Percy asked, sudden wrinkles of worry etched onto his face. I ignored his question and headed to the bathroom to take a shower, but Juno stopped me. He gingerly placed his hand on my cut up cheek, his eyes taking in all my injuries. “Just go to bed now, Danny. You got school tomorrow,” he said quietly. I wanted to get a shower but I just nodded. Everything hurt, especially my head, so I needed to get some rest.

“No. Daniel, what happened?” Percy demanded.

“It doesn’t matter, nobody did it,” I said.

“Well, you didn’t do it to yourself, now did you?” Percy said.

“Guys, that’s enough. Percy, he just needs some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning,” Juno interjected. I just walked into my room, which I shared with Juno. I closed the door and laid down to listen to Percy and Juno.

“He’s too young to get beat up like that,” Percy said. I hear that a lot. I’m always too young. Older people like to use that excuse on me when they can’t or don’t want to explain something.

“I know, Percy. But he has school in the morning. Now is not the time to hound him about it.”

“What was he even doing to get beat up like that? Doesn’t that kid ever think? I told him a thousand times not to walk alone.”

“Percy, I’m tired, you’re tired, we got work tomorrow. Let’s just go to bed,” Juno said with finality and then he opened the bedroom door. I quickly closed my eyes to make it seem like I had been asleep the whole time. Juno got in bed and sighed. Not long after I heard his breathing even out, and I opened my eyes to look over at him. He was sound asleep and I was wide awake.

I ended up sleeping at some point because the next thing I knew, my alarm was going off and I begrudgingly sat up to smack the snooze button. I laid back, rubbing my hands over my face as I did every morning, but I forgot I had been whooped until the pain smacked me like a big, powerful ocean wave. I groaned and shut my eyes tight for a minute. I finally sat up again and looked at Juno, who was getting dressed for work. I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I got in the shower and let the scalding hot water hit my back. I was in there so long that the hot water turned cold, and I was so out of it that I jumped when Percy yelled at me to stop wasting water. I finally got out and dried off. I put my clothes on and as soon as I opened the door I was greeted by Elliott. “Hey, kid.”

Elliott was Juno’s best friend. They’ve been buddying around together since grade school. Elliott hated me. Every time Juno tried to invite me to go with them somewhere, Elliott would moan and groan about how I was just a kid. He did it less since I turned fifteen, but he still doesn’t like when I go with them. Lucky for him I rarely want to go with them anymore.

“Hey Elliot,” I said as I went to sit at the table where I saw Benny, another member of our squad, or the group of boys we grew up with. There were nine of us. Benny was the joker of the group. He and Elliott were always hanging around our house. Elliott came to hitch a ride to work with Percy and Juno because they all worked at the same auto shop. Jack was the wild one who never wanted to follow the rules or the crowd. Nathan was my best friend, and he was the tamest of the group next to me. I usually hung out with Jack and Nathan or just Benny. Benny’s brothers sometimes hung out with Percy since they were the same age, and sometimes Nathan is stuck with his little sister when we’re hanging out.

“Is there a party I didn’t know about?” I asked, looking around the crowded table.

“Yeah, no whooped kids allowed, sorry,” Elliott said. Leave it to him to bring that up. “What the hell happened to your face anyway?”

“Yeah what did happen to you, Daniel?” Percy cut in, and I figured I should say something. Mostly because I didn’t want to hear about it anymore.

“I was in a fight. That’s all,” I said, shrugging and not looking up as I started eating the eggs Percy served for me. They were cold. I must have been in the shower for a long time.

“Daniel,” Percy started, but Juno cut him off. “We gotta go, Percy, we’re gonna be late.”

Percy looked at the clock and nodded. “Daniel, need a ride to school?”

“No, we’re walking with him,” Nathan called from the front door. Jack was standing behind him.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” I called back, rushing to my room. I combed my hair back and shoved my feet into my sneakers. I grabbed my backpack and hurried out before Percy could argue. “Hey Jack, how are ya?” I said as the three of us started walking.

“Hey, Danny,” Jack replied.

“I don’t get no hey?” Nathan teased. He used to be a lot less outgoing, but since he spent sixty days in jail for assault on a couple of kids who were trying to beat me up, he’s gotten a lot thicker skin. And along with that, he got funnier. He would never do something like that again, but people take him seriously now, and he’s no longer everyone’s chump like he used to be. I hate to say it but I really like this new Nathan. But he’s not all that tough. He got out early for good behavior and went back the next day to give the cops all cookies.

“Hey Nathan,” I said just to humor him. We smiled at each other and then cracked up. He put his arm over my shoulders. We soon got to school and Jack turned away at the entrance, heading downtown, probably to hustle somebody at the corner store. He dropped out last year. Nathan and I headed into the school and we immediately got taunted by the boys hanging around on the steps. My face went pink but Nathan stayed cool. He even flipped off some of the boys who called us names. My body still hurt from the beating yesterday and now my heart has to hurt more from their words. Whoever made up that dumb rhyme about sticks and stones was out of their mind.

Nathan and I had a few classes together. He was a junior and I was a sophomore, but some of my teachers say that I’m smart enough to skip another grade. I was hoping the guidance counselor would bring it up but she hasn’t yet. I walked to my locker with Nathan, who leaned on a locker to talk to me. “Don’t let those guys bother you, Danny,” he said, raising his hand to my bruised cheek and touching it lightly. I winced and he sighed, letting his hand drop. “Why won’t you tell me who did this?”

I had gone to his house right after I got beat up and he cleaned me up. I didn’t tell him then and I didn’t want to tell him now. “Because it doesn’t matter,” I answered, shoving my books into my backpack. Someone came to the locker Nathan was leaning on so he moved to my other side, pushing my locker door open more so he could see me.

“It does matter, Dan. What if they do it again?” Nathan said with a frown.

“They won’t, so it doesn’t matter,” I said, closing my locker and then walking down the hall to his. I stood next to him as he got his things. He was pretty quiet for a while before he spoke up again, “How do you know they won’t?”

“I just do, okay?” I sighed as he shut his locker. “Don’t worry about me so much. I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t worry so much? Well what else am I supposed to do with my time?” he teased. We reached my class and stood at the doorway for a moment. We just looked at each other and I knew he wanted to lean in and kiss me. I knew it bothered him that we couldn’t, but we just couldn’t and at least he knew that. “Bye, Danny.”

“Bye Nathaniel.”

He just laughed, tapping my hip with a closed fist before walking away. That was our thing. I guess it was our substitute for I love you since we couldn’t say it out loud. He always tapped me on the hip and I always tapped him on the chest. I watched him leave before going into my class and sitting in my seat near the front with the cheerleaders, who liked me, on one side, and the jocks, who didn’t, on the other side. As the bell rang, Billie Jo and Jordan came into the room and sat beside me. They were juniors and my closest friends at school besides the other kids from my neighborhood. Mr. Miller started the lesson and I started getting hit with paper balls. I heard the boys laughing. I called them the J Crew because they all had J names. Joey Smith, Jake Jones, and John Davis. Maybe that’s why they became friends. They’re always the ones bothering us less fortunate kids. They beat up Nathan last summer, and they’re the reason Nathan had to go to jail. They’re awful lucky he came out okay because Jack was ready to kill them for getting Nathan in trouble when it was their fault for attacking us in the first place. Now they continued to bother and harass me. But they weren’t the ones who beat me up, and I already told Nathan and Jack that. I didn’t tell them who it was, I just told them who it wasn’t. I tried to ignore the paper balls but I got irritated after about ten minutes and whipped around. “Would you cut that out?” I snapped, throwing a ball back at them.

“Woah, Mr. Hatfield, what’s the problem?” Mr. Miller said, finally turning around. I swear every teacher at this school is oblivious.

“They keep throwing paper at him,” Billie Jo piped up. “Look, it’s all over the floor.”

Mr. Miller stepped out from behind his desk where he had been lecturing and walked over, picking up a few of the papers. I saw the J Crew get nervous as Mr. Miller read the papers. His mustache twitched as he got angry. “All four of you go to the office,” he said, glaring at Joey, Jake, and John. “If there’s any funny business between here and there, you’ll have detention until you graduate.”

I rolled my eyes as I got up and walked out, turning to go down to the office. The three of them trailed a bit behind me. By the time we got there, the secretary was just getting off the phone with Mr. Miller. I stood to the side and the J Crew sat in the chairs. After a bit, the principal stepped out and told me to stay behind while he talked to the others. I sighed and sat down. I’d rather just be in class. They’re making a mountain out of a molehill when they usually do it the other way around. Either way, it’s always at the expense of the less popular percentage of the student body.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Mr. James asked me to come into his office. “Mr. Hatfield, the boys have something they would like to say to you,” he said. Joey, Jake, and John all started reciting this little apology together. They were mumbling and I’m pretty sure Joey was just moving his lips. “We’re sorry for harassing you and now we know we shouldn’t make fun of people for being gay.”

“I’m not gay,” I said, my face reddening. “They were just being jerks calling me a fag.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hatfield. I shouldn’t have assumed,” Mr. James said. “You boys get to class, I want to talk to Mr. Hatfield for a moment.”

Joey, Jake, and John all shuffled out in a triangle formation, with Joey as their leader. Stupid goons, I thought as I looked at Mr. James. I knew what he wanted.

“Daniel,” he said, sitting on the edge of his desk, “I noticed you got a little beat up last night.”

I knew it. “Yeah, things got a little rough during a game of football.”

“Rough, huh? Who got rough with you? Your brothers?” Mr. James asked.

First of all, he’s really not a very subtle man. Second, I can’t stop thinking of all the notes I’m missing. And third, he must be extremely oblivious if he can’t realize I’m lying.

“No, one of the guys in my neighborhood. I kinda cheated and I punched him when he called me out so we got in a fight.” I was lying through my teeth and he was totally falling for it.

“I see. Well, you can get back to class now. Sorry for bothering you.” Mr. James gave me one of those cheesy grown up smiles that meant he had other things to do so I just nodded and left. I got back to class and sat down as soon as the bell rang. I huffed and packed up my stuff, borrowing Cherry’s notebook so I could copy down the notes. I walked out to meet Nathan, who I had my next class with. “Hey Nathan,” I said.

“Hey Danny, how was class?” Nathan replied as we walked.

“Good Lord,” I groaned.

“That bad huh?” he chuckled. “Glad I missed it.”

“Yeah. The J Crew decided to throw eighty paper balls at me today, all of which just said the word fag. I think that’s the most original work they’ve done all year.”

“Oh don’t worry they’ll come up with something more creative soon.”

“Yeah, maybe they can upgrade their vocabulary. Start calling me something fancy like, uh, Gaylord.”

“Oh man, watch out.” We both laughed all the way to class.

Soon the school day ended and Nathan was walking me home, but I didn’t want to go to my house. “Let’s go somewhere,” I suggested.

“We could meet up with Jack and do something,” Nathan shrugged.

“No, I just wanna hang out with you,” I said. “Let’s get in your truck and just drive somewhere. I wanna get out of this town for a little while.”

“Hm,” Nathan hummed, thinking. “Uh, alright. Where should we go?”

“Nowhere. Just drive, see where we end up.”

“Alright. I guess we could do that. Check in with Percy and grab anything you need, alright? I’ll go get my truck and meet you at your house.”

I nodded and walked back home by myself. It was only a block so it was okay. I went inside and went to my room, coming back out with my track bag filled with a few things I might need for our little excursion. As I headed to the door, Percy stepped out of the kitchen and stopped me. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

“What are you doing home?” I asked.

“The power went out in our building about an hour ago,” Percy said. “That’s beside the point. Where are you going?”

“What about Juno? You’re his ride home,” I said.

“Yeah I’m going back to pick him up later. I’ll ask again. Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Nathan’s house. We have to finish a project for class,” I lied.

“That the only homework you got?” Percy said, foolishly believing me.

“Besides the stuff I already finished at school.”

“Be home by dinner.”

“Okay,” I said, and left, standing away from the view of the windows until Nathan drove up and stopped. I got in and he drove down the road. Nathan was a careful driver, which was surprising because he learned from Jack. But, he learned how to take care of his truck from my brothers, the best mechanics around town. Juno says he’s dumb but I know he isn’t. He’s brilliant when it comes to cars. He just wasn’t good at school. He can’t be too dumb if he can take a car apart and put it back together blindfolded, which he hasn’t actually done yet but probably could. I should ask him to try that.

Nathan drove out of our neighborhood, heading east. “Did Percy say it was okay to take a trip to nowhere with me tonight?”

“He said it was okay to finish a school project with you tonight,” I said, giving Nathan a grin.

“Shoot, kid, you had me thinking there for a while that you might be a little honest,” Nathan joked.

“Well then my plan worked mighty fine,” I joked back.

We drove for a while, talking about whatever until we realized we were out in the country, and we passed a sign that said Welcome to Wentworth. It was a rinky-dink little town that seemed to have a total population of about five. And that was including the two of us. Nathan pulled into a gas station and looked at me. “This place is out of it, man,” he said, getting out to pump some gas into his truck. Since he got out of jail last year, he’d been working at the event center over in the far west of town as a busboy, valet attendant, and a bunch of little jobs like that on weekends and some days after school. He makes a lot of money from that. I’ve been saving up, too, but I do more odd jobs like babysitting and dog walking. No one will hire me yet since I’m only fifteen, and most places barely even trust sixteen-year-olds.

When Nathan got back in, he looked at me. “So where to, Daniel?”

“I dunno, do you wanna just go park somewhere and walk around?” I asked. “The country’s pretty nice. I’ve never been in a town like this, though.”

“Alright,” Nathan nodded, pulling out and driving down the road. He turned down a dirt road when we came to the edge of town, and it led us up a hill. Nathan parked and turned the car off. We both got out and looked around. “Is this nowhere enough for you, Danny?”

“Yeah, just about,” I hummed, going around the front of the truck to hold his hand.

“Say, Danny, you’re right. It is awful nice out here,” Nathan said, looking over the mountain to the horizon. We could see for miles. It was cool to see nature and not have the city smoke and smog and lights everywhere. Nathan turned to me and I turned to him, too. He kissed me, taking hold of both of my hands before pulling away. “Still wanna go walk around?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “We can go check out the woods over there. Dad used to take us hunting in a place like this. I don’t think it was here, though.”

“Alright,” Nathan said and we started walking down the other side of the hill towards the rows of trees. Living in a city, albeit a small one, we don’t get to see this many trees all together. Even the suburbs on the west side of town didn’t have this many trees. It was nice to get back to nature. I haven’t been out in the country since before dad died. He wanted to take us the year before he died, but that’s when he got sick, so he couldn’t. It broke his heart that he couldn’t take us on our annual trip, and Percy promised that he would start doing it if dad couldn’t, but we haven’t been hunting in three years. I’m not that mad about it. Percy and Juno have both been too busy, and I kind of have been too, but the truth is I don’t like hunting. I don’t like guns. Maybe someday we’ll go back out to the country again when mom finishes her tour in Iraq.

We spent the rest of our time there out in the woods, just talking or laying down to watch the clouds. The sky was really clear and a nice, bright blue. It was the about that time of year when it starts to get chilly, so I was glad we took this chance to come out here. Soon enough, the leaves would start falling and the wind would switch over from being a cool summer breeze to a colder wind.

It was a little past sundown when we got back, and I knew Percy would be annoyed at me for being late, but I had an excuse so he wouldn’t be super angry. Nathan stopped in front of my house, tapping me on the hip with a closed fist. I smiled and returned the tap on his chest.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow for school, okay?” Nathan said quietly.

“Yeah. Bye,” I nodded, unbuckling and getting out. I opened the gate and walked up the steps. I waved from the porch as Nathan drove away and waved back. Then I went inside.

“Where have you been?” Percy glared at me as Juno cleaned off the table. They must have just finished dinner.

“I was at Nathan’s,” I said. “We took longer than I thought we would.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Daniel. I called Nathan’s grandmother and she said you were never even there,” Percy said.

I totally forgot all about that. After Nathan got hauled in, there was a custody battle and Nathan and his sister ended up going to live with their grandmother, who actually cared about him, unlike his alcoholic father and verbally abusive mother. “Sorry.”

Percy looked surprised. I’m usually the type to make excuses, even if they were true, but I was in too good of a mood to start a fight. “I’ll do the dishes and then go to my room.”

“Yeah, but where were you?” Percy said.

“We went for a drive. I didn’t have any homework so I thought it would be okay.”

“That doesn’t mean you should lie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” And with that, I went to the kitchen, washing the dishes and then going to my room for the rest of the night after I got a quick bite to eat. It was nice to not argue and all that. I read a book for a while until I fell asleep, but I didn’t sleep very well. My body still hurt, and I couldn’t stop thinking. But I was alright with it.

[professionally-unprofessional]

Bakugou x Reader Soulmate AU - Selfless

Shh not going to say what the AU is otherwise people might guess the plot. I was inspired by reading another fic from another fandom with this AU. I thought this would work best for the angry boy because I love him and his character development just makes me want to cry with love for him. 

You stared wide-eyed at your boyfriend as his expression turned serious, his red hues boring into your (colour) ones. After all this time… He’d been carrying these suspicions for all this time. All the time you’d spent together, laughed together. The times you’d cried and he’d tried to be comforting. You’d worked so hard to keep it together. To keep it going. To stay with him.

You’d forgotten who he was. He was Bakugou Katsuki and he was no fool. You forced your smile not to waver as you gazed at him. “Pardon?” Surely you’d heard him wrong. Yeah. That was it. You’d misheard him and everything was actually okay. You could feel yourself beginning to sweat slightly.

Even if you were trying to kid yourself, your mind knew that what it thought was indeed what had been said. Even if you didn’t want to face it, you knew that if you got this question wrong your relationship would be through. It wasn’t because you’d screwed up. He hadn’t either. Despite being an abrasive individual who seemed to quite the asshole before getting to know that under the surface he was so much more. It was because of this ‘so much more’ that had landed you in this predicament. For once, he wasn’t breaking up with someone because either he couldn’t stand them or they couldn’t stand him.

No. This time, it was make or break because he cared.

The two of you had met back at UA. You had your dreams and he certainly had his. All he ever gave his attention to was becoming a pro - becoming the best. You were a business course student as your quirk wasn’t suitable for taking down villains. You worked hard and had watched the sports festival in the first year. He had so much drive and determination. He could look at his goal and never waver or falter and question if it was really what he wanted.

You’d found that interesting about him. He’d met his soulmate sometime during the beginning of the second year. They weren’t a UA student, but when he suddenly seemed so intrigued by absolutely everything it was clear what had happened. Kirishima had gone to the same middle school as you and as such the two of you were friends. Initially, he’d told you since he thought something was wrong with the ash blond. You’d laughed and told him what was going on.

He could see colour and so he must have met them.

It was the most incredible feeling. When suddenly colour came cascading into a person's vision. It was like ink being dropped onto a wet canvas. The colours were soft and pale at first in large blots, become they became brighter and more extravagant, filling the world with their wonder. They focused on the shapes of the objects and the tones became so wonderfully shaded and highlighted.

Many described it as the most beautiful experience in their life. Incomparable to anything else. Such euphoria and wonder would fill up a person’s chest. Even a hard head like Bakugou would come to adore their new world filled with a spectrum of colours, expressing everything like he’d never seen before.

It felt like a colouring book which had satisfyingly been filled and to flip through and see all the pretty colours so lovely and neat was breathtaking. You heard from Kirishima about how he’d met her again. He wanted to encourage things but had no idea what advice to give his friend when things started off a little shaky and so, deeming you as reasonable, he came to you for girl advice. However, things didn’t work out in the end and the two ended up apart.

You’d dated a couple of people back in UA. Some of them could see colour, some couldn’t. You were young so it was reasonable. In fact, there wasn’t as much of a stigma in dating someone who wasn’t your soulmate as had been present during the previous generations. Some people were just lovely without their star-crossed lovers.

By the time you had left UA to go into the industry of selling heroes and Bakugou was pursuing the top, you’d met quite a few new people away and inside of UA. Thanks to your friendship with Eijiro, over the three years at UA you’d run into the angry explosion boy enough and found that actually, you quite enjoyed his company. He liked you too. That became apparent by the end of the second year. After being hounded by the Bakusquad to do something about his feelings - which were also making him more volatile - he eventually told you that if you were cool with it and could see colours, then he’d put up with your lazy ass.

Having liked him back, it was a no-brainer. Thanks to your time together, you understood him and knew that sometimes he needed space and when he seemed to be angry over seemingly nothing it was usually due to his frustration and not being able to convey how he felt very well. He just required a little patience and thankfully, you excelled at that. You loved him dearly and even if he wouldn’t say it out loud or be anywhere near as endearing as other boyfriends, he loved you as well. Mind you, he could be affectionate when he wanted to and despite being busy, he never wanted to neglect you.

That was actually the current problem. It was that statement when he’d said about going out with you. That one, fatal condition you knew you’d overlooked about a month and a half in with him during a casual discussion. 

He cleared his throat, his gaze unwavering and the black coffee in front of him going untouched again for another moment. “That building on the corner under construction. What colour is it?” He repeated himself clearly. You gazed at him for a moment longer and scanned your eyes over to the building in question. You were currently at one of your favourite cafes out on a little date since he had a little time off. It had been a while since you’d sat down here and talked lightly with your lover. Just recently, the empty space on the corner had been bought and a new block of flats was being constructed. You scanned over the structure, judging its shade and narrowing your eyes slightly. “Brown.”

His eyes widened slightly. They were swimming with so many emotions. He loved you so dearly. So why? Why did that have to be… “It’s fucking grey.”

You’d lied. All these three and a half years you’d kept up that little lie. How had he missed it? The block colour cards with the names of each colour you kept with you and how the collection had grown over time. All the various items you’d search up before going out with him. No, he’d known all along. There had been enough hints. He’d just passed them off, wanting to believe they were nothing.

The wonder in your eyes when you’d seen the Christmas lights together. Fake. Your comments on the blue cotton candy. Fake. Your compliments on his half-assed colour-coordinating. Fake.

He didn’t know how to feel. On one side he was outraged that you’d been able to keep up your lie for so long. That you’d fooled him for so desperately long.

Then there was the pain and disappointment.

He wanted the wonder in your eyes to be real. He wanted you to be able to talk about when things were an unusual colour with a smile. He wanted you to mean it when you laughed and commented on things like hero costumes and other fancy dress. Had you really been living in greyscale this whole time? 

Did you really not know what the colour of his hair and eyes looked like?

He had to stop his train of thought. It was only hurting him more. You, on the other hand, noticed how his gaze changed and knew the instant he’d turned quiet that you’d gotten the answer wrong. The building was grey. Without prior information at your disposal, he’d have known you’d never have guessed right. Some colours colour be guessed vaguely from how light or dark the grey appeared to be. It was how in some circumstances an educated guess or two had kept you together with the love of your life. Hence the colour cards.

You’d never met your soulmate, but you were happy. You didn’t need a soulmate. You had Katsuki and he had you. No-one else could ever make you as happy as he did. “Katsu, it’s okay. I don’t ca-”

“No.” His voice was low and dangerous. You were in public and he was trying his very hardest as a young adult not to cause a scene. He stood and put the money on the table for your drinks. The table shook slightly at the force that the change was put down at. You could feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. No way. It wasn’t ending. It couldn’t be. You lowered your gaze to your monochromatic lap.

He paused as he stood up and looked down at you, shoving his fists into his pockets. “I’m not going for good.” He murmured and your head whipped back up to gaze at his form. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. He couldn’t. All the things he’d taken for granted. Being able to see how gorgeous you were to him in full colour when you had only seen the equivalent of an old black and white photo of him. It wasn’t the same. It never would be.

“I don’t think to see in monochrome makes you any lesser. I told you that before. Back in the second year when shitty hair was still seeing in black and white.” He paused and took a breath. He felt like screaming and shouting. However, his self-control gathered in his later time at UA and his grief and… sorrow for you was keeping him in check. At least for now. He was under no illusion that he’d be down at a training ground in a couple of hours, training to hell and back until the pain of his injuries would distract him from the pain of losing you. He was like that. Drinking didn’t work, neither did shouting but training might do something.

It might’ve been his doing, but it was for you. Damn. You really had changed him. He was willing to let you go for your own good, despite how much it would hurt the two of you. “I want you to be able to enjoy colours as I do. Go and find your soulmate and a life of colour. If you still feel like it, then come back.”

He could hardly believe himself. He was being selfless for a change. He knew it’d hurt you and that you’d try and argue that it didn’t matter - that you were happy living in a monochromatic life. It was only because you couldn’t see what you were missing out on. Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving you and his half-filled cup of black coffee behind.

He’d felt the surprise in your gaze when he’d spoken. He knew you’d be crying by now. However, it had to be done. He’d come and find you again when the time was right and if you called him, crying that you absolutely couldn’t find your fated lover, then he’d appear back at your side.

But he wanted this for you and only you. You were his soulmate regardless of whatever shitty fate said and you deserved to see how amazing life was with more than a singular, dull hue.

So yeah. A colours AU. For those unfamiliar with this soulmate AU and didn’t pick up on the idea from the little oneshot, its basically that everyone can only see in black and white (monochrome) until they meet their soulmate and colour is then added to their vision.

They get colour. Might not be mantis shrimp level of colour cones but they still get colour. Hope you enjoyed.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Rise Up

Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 3592 Warnings: Swearing

Song: Higher by Creed

Sitting at a table away from the others you twisted your fingers together in your lap. “I feel like a zoo exhibit. How ‘bout you?”

Chuckling softly, Matt muttered, “They do seem to be doing an awful lot of staring.”

After introductions all around, and a few moments of shuffling, you figured it would probably be best if you and Matt took a moment to talk, get to know one another a little bit before… whatever came next.

Returning to the common room where Clint was belting out Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus, Steve had led you to the farthest corner of the room with the least amount of chaos so you and Matt could talk. But you were feeling distinctly like the fish in the fishbowl, the eyes on you hard to miss.

“This is… weird,” you muttered, sighing.

“Maybe we should start with something easy. The Captain didn’t explain what happened, and Ms. Romanoff wasn’t exactly what I would call chatty when she picked me up.”

You smiled at that. Nat wasn’t overly friendly with anyone she didn’t know well unless they were a target she was scamming, and - with the revelation of Matt’s other identity, one you were still having difficulty believing was real - you could understand Nat’s reluctance to allow him too close.

“That’s not exactly a simple answer either.” Slowly you began to explain about Garry, the Hounds, and all that had happened in the last few weeks. “So, they succeeded, sort of. I remember… everything, but the cost was,” you flicked a hand at your face, “my sight.”

He sat very quietly throughout the retelling, shocking you again with his stillness, with his calm.

“You’re telling the truth,” he murmured, almost as if surprised.

“Well… yeah.” The sound of him shifting had you frowning. “Matt?”

A soft sound, a chuckle which seemed somewhat strained filled your ears. “Christ… you really are a Valkyrie. He said you were, but I didn’t believe it.”

“I was born, originally, a rather long time ago, for sure,” you smiled, understanding this had to be hard. “Thor and Loki could confirm it for you if you want.”

“No, no, I believe you. Hearts don’t lie,” he said, patting your hand.

“Hearts?” you asked, confused.

“Heart rates, pulses. A person may be able to lie like a rug, with extremely good tonal control, but you can’t control your heart. It accelerates when someone lies. Even under duress, if a person is speaking the truth, their heart stays the same. If they lie…”

“It gets faster,” you murmured. “That’s really cool!” Lifting your hand, you rubbed at your temple.

“Headache?” he asked softly.

“From the noise,” you agreed, the sound becoming nearly unbearable. “You’re very quiet, Matt. It’s the rest I can’t…”

His hand took yours with an accuracy which startled you until you remembered… Daredevil.

“How much can you hear? How far?”

“All of it. Everything. Everywhere.” It was like having hundreds of people in your head demanding your attention.

“Focus on one heart,” he said, bringing your hand to his chest. “Find this one and block the rest out.”

“How, though?” You shook your head. “Yours is just… there, beneath all the others.”

“Concentrate. Hear every nuance, every pulse, every flutter, every beat. Focus on the rush of blood through the veins. Separate it from the other sounds until it’s all that fills your ears. Feel it through your fingertips, smell the rush of it as it warms my skin.”

Breathing out, you fought to focus, to slow everything down until his heart beat in your ears, his and one other. “Steve,” you whispered. All other sound ended, faded away into white noise but for the powerful beat of Steve’s heart, and the quieter one of Matt’s.

“Better,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “That was good.”

“You can tell?”

“The tension in your shoulders is less. You’re not frowning like you were, and your breathing isn’t as shallow.”

“Wow,” you muttered, amazed.

He chuckled softly. “You’ll get there. Why did you say, Steve?”

“He’s the only heart I can’t block out. I always know where he is in the room, and our room is the only one not overwhelming to me, but I can’t keep hiding in there, or his office to drown out the world.”

He returned your hand to the table, patted it gently. “He’s very important to you, as you are to him.”

“He’s my sjelevenn, my soulmate.” You smiled Steve’s direction, listening to the little jump in his heart when he noticed.

“You believe in soulmates?”

Turning back to Matt you shook your head. “It’s not a belief like most humans believe. It’s different for us, for the Valkyrjur. I met him in my first life. I named him, Helgi, gave him his sword, married him, lost him far too soon and died shortly after that, heartbroken.”

“Sounds… almost unbelievable. If I hadn’t seen someone I love come back from the dead… I might be inclined to call you a liar.”

Nodding, you sighed softly. “It’s a bit like a fairy tale, I agree, but Steve and I have lived many lives. This was supposed to be my quiet life,” you chuckled wryly.

“With Captain America was meant to be quiet?” he snickered.

“Try serving in the halls of Valhalla. This,” you flicked your hand out, “is quiet. Warriors waiting for Ragnarok can be quite… rowdy.”

“I can’t even imagine.” The smile was back, you could hear it easily. “But why am I here. Why is fighting so important. That’s what your Captain told me. He didn’t need someone who could help you adjust to the dark, but someone who could teach you to fight in it.”

Running your hand over the tabletop, feeling the tiny grains in the wood, you again focused on Steve and the sound of his heart across the room. “Because he’s mine and I’m his. Valkyrjur fight. We clean the fields of the worthy dead. We are warriors. Since the moment we met in our first life he has held my heart. He died when I was not there to keep him safe. In my second life it happened again, history repeated itself. Every life since, I have guarded my sjelevenn with the ferocity of my race, it was my vow and became my destiny. To send him out alone,” you turned your eyes back toward Matt, “would be a slow death to my soul.”

“No pressure,” he muttered.

“None whatsoever,” you smiled. “I’m not starting from scratch, Matt. I’m able. The years of agent training are nothing compared to my time as the leader of the Valkyrjur. I can fight. I just… can’t do it like this.”

His hand came down next to yours on the table. “There’s one thing you need to learn before we get started.”

“What’s that?”

“Seeing is overrated. I can help you, (Y/N). It’s not going to be easy. Stick, my mentor, he found me as a kid. It was… not easy, but easier for me to unlearn the dependency on my eyes.”

“Little hard to rely on something that’s not there anymore.”

“Just because they don’t work, doesn’t mean your brain won’t try to use them. It’s had how many years of sight? We need to train you as if you could never see, to begin with. Your hearing, your sense of smell, touch, taste, you have to train yourself to use those first because that split second when your brain tries to seek an answer from your eyes it won’t get, can have a bullet winding up plowing through your body.”

Nodding slowly, you shoved at the hair falling over your face. “I get it, I do.”

“Eventually, you can build just as detailed pictures of the world around you without your eyes as you did with them. You can see without seeing.”

“Then why the cane?”

“What kind of secret identity would I have if I didn’t use it?” he laughed softly.

Chuckling, you had to agree with him. “Blind lawyer turned Daredevil? Yeah, that’s a bit of a stretch. Cane makes for good cover.”

“That it does,” he agreed. “Plus, people are inclined to let their guard down around a guy who can’t see them.”

“Stand in the lobby of a building and listen to what’s going on twenty or thirty floors above you. Nice.” If you could learn to control all these new senses, you would be even more of a benefit to the team, a thought which really excited you.

“How far?” he gulped.

“That’s just a rough guess. I mean, the living quarters are on the north side of the building for us and logistics is on the south, that’s roughly twenty-six stories if you laid the building down.”

“The length of the entire building? You can hear the length of the entire building?”

“Yes.” This time when he shifted it was a restless sound, hand through hair, click of something metallic on wood - glasses maybe -  before skin on skin indicated he was running his hand over his face.

“No wonder you have a headache.”

“Is that… bad?” you asked, suddenly feeling uncertain.

“No, no. Just… you’re more powerful than I’d thought. I can get… ten floors, fifteen if I stretch, or all of Hell’s Kitchen if I’m outside sitting on a rooftop. You’d probably be able to hear all of New York if you tried. Shit…” he hissed, again the sound of hand through hair registered.

His hand came down beside yours, and you lightly touched the back of it. “Matt… if this is too much…”

“No.” His fingers closed around yours. “No. I want to help you, (Y/N). I know I can. You’re just… not what I expected.”

“Well, you’re not what I expected either when Steve said he had a plan,” you chuckled.

“Lillesøster, have you moved on from your sjelevenn to another?” came the dry voice of Loki, causing Matt to stiffen in surprise when he appeared out of thin air.

“Ugagn, did you come to apologize for distressing my sjelevenn?” you snarled, turning your face his way.

“Me?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, you, you big pain in the ass! You knew who he was to me and you let him think he wasn’t!” Getting to your feet, you thumped your fist on his leather-clad chest. “I’m this close to kicking your ass, Loki!”

“Darling,” he purred, capturing your fist. “You are at a disadvantage, or I would let you try.”

“Give her time,” Matt said.

“And just who are you, mortal?” Loki sneered, earning himself a second fist to his chest from you.

“Be nice! He’s here to help.”

Angry stomping could be heard coming toward you, the whir of a metal arm and Loki jerked away.

“Where is he?” Bucky growled, hand sliding down your arm as he walked past, going after Loki.

“Now, Sergeant Barnes, is that any way to behave around a guest?” Loki asked.

“You ain’t no guest. You’re a worm that needs to bring back the little pissant you stole so the rest of us get a turn beatin’ on him!” Bucky snapped.

“I would love to, Sergeant, but you see, he’s rather… tied up at the moment.”

You could hear the glee in his voice. “Caverns of Svelic?”

“Pit of Alemik.”

You flinched. “Oh, that’s cruel.”

“It was better than the Sea of Klank,” Thor chuckled, his steps coming up behind you, hand ruffling your hair.

“Loki, no!” you gasped.

“Thor wouldn’t let me,” he pouted.

“Dollface?” Bucky asked, clearly confused.

Shaking your head, you motioned toward the table behind you. “Thor, Loki, this is Matt. He’s here to help.”

“Matthew Murdock,” he said, arriving at your side.

“You are blind as well,” Thor murmured.

“How observant of you, brother.”

You could almost hear Loki roll his eyes. No, you actually could hear Loki roll his eyes. It made you snicker and bite your lip. “This big brute,” you slapped your hand to Thor’s stomach, making him grunt, “is the King of Asgard.”

“And you just punched him in the stomach,” Thor whined.

“Oh, please. Don’t be such a baby,” you scoffed.

“Yes, brother. Don’t be so dramatic,” Loki teased.

“Says the drama queen of a trickster god,” you muttered, lifting your chin when he growled at you.

“Lillesøster, you are lucky to be at a disadvantage, or I would take exception to such a remark,” Loki sniffed, “and after I went to all the trouble of bringing you a gift.”

“Presents?” you grinned. Holding out your hands, you opened and closed your fingers. “Gimme!”

“So greedy,” Loki chuckled, placing the gift in your palms.

The cool metal made you gasp. “Oh! Oh, Loki.”

“I told you I would keep it.”

The metal guard slipped over your first and second finger, over the back of your hand, and closed around your wrist with ease. The partial gauntlet was heavy, but the weight was like a piece you hadn’t realized was missing had been returned to you.

Closing your eyes, you breathed out a sigh, curling the fist into your chest as a smile played with your lips. “Thank you.”

“Whatcha got there, doll?” Bucky asked.

“It was a present from my mother. The Valkyrie equivalent of jewellery.” The memory of that day washed over you.

Standing in the knee-high grass on the Plains of the Valkyrjur, its blue-green blades waving in the breeze while the purple flowers, small and delicate in a myriad of blooms, sprinkled the air with their heady fragrance. The white of your gown had shone as brightly as the clouds above, the sun reflecting off the guards upon your arms, and the helm upon your head.

You’d been young, only fifteen summers, but already you were well on your way to assuming her place as Leader of the Valkyrjur. You had the drive, as you had the gift. That day, your mother had taken you with her to walk the plains and visit with the pegasi who grazed upon them in the valley between the mountains.

She was as beautiful as she was proud, and as kind as she was wise, the very best leader they’d ever had. “Sváfa, one day you will take my place and when that time comes, wear this in memory of me.” Removing the handguard intricately worked in gleaming silver, she’d pressed it into your palm. “Wear it in pride as the Valkyrie you shall become will be far greater than I could have ever dreamed.”

You shook off the memory. “Her name was Tove. She died a few weeks later, a battle gone wrong. They brought me her cloak,” you turned away as tears filled your eyes only to find yourself in Thor’s embrace.

“We did not mean to upset you, bråkmaker,” he murmured against your hair.

“Just… the night’s been a little emotional already,” you sighed, pressing your forehead to his chest, thankful he was wearing regular clothing, not his armour.

He patted your back. “Ah, then you need part two of your surprise.”

Pulling away, you frowned. “Part two?”

Something sloshed behind you, and you jerked your head around. “No!”

“Yes!” Loki laughed.

“NO! You did not break into the temple!”

“Darling, how you besmirch my character! I’m hurt! Besides…. Thor did it,” Loki said.

“You did not!” you bellowed at Thor.

“Mayhaps I did, or perhaps I simply charmed a pretty maid into giving me a bottle,” he teased.

Smacking his chest, you scolded, “You better not have stolen it.”

“Oi! Dollface!” Bucky grumbled, “What the fuck?”

A blush coloured your cheeks. “Oh man, Buck! I’m so sorry! And Matt! You’re probably so lost!”

“A little. But as the sergeant is equally confused, I feel less alone,” he chuckled softly.

“Why don’t we gather the team and head for the lounge. I’d like to know what a Pit of Alemik is,” Bucky stated, already heading away by the sound of his retreating voice.

“He’s really annoyed with you both,” you snickered, nudging Thor with your elbow.

“Hm,” Thor shrugged. “There is no one better qualified for dealing with Garry then Loki. And nowhere better than Asgard for containing his powers.”

You nodded toward the others. “You’ll need to convince them of that.” Reaching out, you found Matt’s arm, tucking your fingers in his elbow when he offered it. “Shall we?”

“So, we are to be the blind leading the blind?” Matt chuckled softly.

Laughing, you nodded. “I figured I could give direction, and you can keep me from running into things.”

“I think we can accomplish that,” he snickered, nudging you to head toward the others.

***

You were sitting against Steve’s side, surrounded by the original team having left the newbies to their caterwauling with the other members of staff who'd decided to join in on karaoke night fun, glass in hand, waiting for the others to receive theirs. Unlike Thor’s usual fair, the drink he brought which only Steve and Bucky had ever been allowed to indulge in, this was something reserved for the Halls of Valhalla, but wouldn’t rot the innards of regular mortals.

Steve’s fingers were linked with yours, with the ones now clad in metal, his thumb rubbing slowly over the links and hinges as he traced his way up the back of your hand to your wrist. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

Tilting your head onto his shoulder, you curled your fingers into his hand, letting the sharp talons dig in gently. “Deadly.”

“Like you,” he whispered against your hair with a soft chuckle.

“So, (Y/N), what exactly am I drinking,” Tony asked.

“This is Valkyrie fruit wine. It’s reserved for only the bravest of warriors, those for whom the most songs are sung.” You snickered when you murmured, “Loki used to steal it from the temple.”

“Once! I pilfered a bottle once as a boy! And considering both you and Thor partook with me, you are just as guilty as I am,” he huffed, but there was little anger in the words. “Damn we got drunk.”

Laughing, you held up your glass, “To friends old and new, and newly remembered. Skål!”

“Skål!” Thor bellowed, making you giggle.

Bringing the small cup to your lips, more a port than a wine, the scent of the drink evoked a memory of the deep red liquid. Drinking the wine down, you settled back against Steve as the warmth rippled through your veins like liquid fire. The buzz came high and fast, loosening your limbs, making you feel a little floaty without being fuzzy headed.

“Wow,” Wanda sighed, smile in her voice. “That is… amazing.”

“Shit,” Sam chuckled. “Why have we never had this before?”

“Too hard to get,” Thor said. “I now owe the current Leader of the Valkyrjur a Smedlheim cloak.”

“Oh, Thor. You didn’t,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“What’s a Smedlheim?” Steve asked.

“Think tiger the size of an elephant but with antlers like an elk,” you explained, glaring Thor’s general direction. “I thought you said you charmed a maid into giving you the bottle?”

“I did. She just so happened to be the Valkyrjur Fullmakt.”

“Fullmakt?” Tony asked.

“The proxy. She who steps into the leadership role when the Queen isn’t available.” You could hear the smirk in Loki’s voice.

“Where is the Queen?” asked Vision.

There was silence as you sat and played with your glass, feeling more and more eyes turn your way.

“You?” whispered Steve, tension growing in the lines of his body.

“Not in this life,” you muttered, silently vowing to kick Loki’s ass twice as hard once you were able.

“Sváfa,” Thor murmured.

“Shut your pie hole you overgrown Asgardian!” you snarled. “I think you’ve been more than chatty enough for one night.”

“Darling-”

“So help me, Loki!” you wailed.

“You’re the Queen of the Valkyrie?” Steve reiterated. “The Queen? Did we not just talk about secrets, doll face?” He was practically seething.

Setting your glass on the table, you caught the edge and sent it smashing to the floor. “Damn it!” Shoving to your feet, you clenched your fists. “It’s irrelevant! I’m not the Queen. Not in this life! The two of you bringing it up has only caused more trouble. I have enough of that without you compounding it!” Turning on your heel, you stepped over the glass, around Steve’s legs, and stomped for the door.

Leaping up, Steve was hot on your heels.

***

“Huh,” Matt said, a smile playing with his lips.

“What?” Natasha, propped on the couch arm next to Clint asked.

“She walked out all on her own. Even missed the chair sticking out.” Matt nodded, his smile breaking free.

“Huh, so she did,” Clint smirked. “She’s always been one to run on her emotions. You rile her up during a mission; she’s liable to clear a room with extreme prejudice.”

“It was the Valkyrie coming through,” Thor explained.

“They are a hot-tempered breed,” Loki agreed.

“Feisty,” Tony chuckled. “She’s always been feisty.”

“Let Steve take the brunt of her temper,” Bucky said, “I want to know about this Pit of whatcha ma-call-it you’ve got Garry stashed in.”

“Garry,” growled a distinctly deep voice.

Everyone looked sharply at Bruce.

“What?” the man grumbled. “I wanna know just as much as the big guy.”

Loki looked around at those gathered and smiled, wicked and sharp. “Let me tell you of the despair-filled Pit of Alemik.”

Next Chapter

[multifandomhaven]

My Lady

For this I've combined two requests:

Hi! Can you do a Jon snow x reader where the reader and Jon Snow were in love, but he had to go to the night's watch and she later became a captive of Ramsay Bolton (like Sansa). Ramsay baits her to Jon, and then they reunited at the end of the Battle of the Bastards. This is kinda detailed, so I understand if u can. Thanks!

Requested by: hiphorann

and

Jon snow super angst with a fluffy ending! Pls!

Requested by: Anon

Jon watched you with a sadness in his eyes.

"Please, Jon, reconsider for me." You begged desperately, clutching onto the black furs that he now wore with pride.

Jon winced and lay his hand on yours. "I've made my decision. Y/N, I'll never have a life here. I'm the Bastard of Winterfell. At least at the Wall I'll be known as something more than Lord Stark's mistake."

"You're more than that to me, Jon - you're everything to me. We can leave, go somewhere far away, wherever you want to go. Just us."

Jon wanted to, he truly did, but what kind of life could he give you away from the security of Winterfell? He was a good swordsman, he knew, but if he left his home for another he'd just be another man looking for work. A bastard isn't given a choice.

"I'm sorry," Jon said again, this time with finality. His chest was heaving and his eyes hard. "I'm sorry, Y/N."

Tears finally sprang from your eyes and a harsh sob tore from your throat. "Don't you know I love you?" You'd asked him through your tears.

"Of course I know," Jon whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. "And I you."

You shook your head. "Then why are you leaving me?"

"I must do this, Y/N."

Your sorrow was rapidly being replaced by betrayal and anger. You shoved his hand away from your face with a sneer. Why did everyone you love go away? 

"Then go, join your Night's Watch. Leave your family and leave me." You turned on your heel to leave, unable to look upon his face any longer.

"Y/N," Jon groaned. "Don't leave us like this-"

You stopped, but never turned. "There could've been an us, but there is no longer."

Jon watched you weave through the crowd that had gathered, some looking and others going about their normal routines. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head slightly to see his Uncle watching him with a saddened expression.

"She'll find love, my boy, do not fret. The hardest part is over, we must leave now."

Jon nodded, but stood in place for a few moments longer. "Goodbye, my love."

You sat in a small room, watching the snow fall from the grey skies. You were scared, you’d been scared for as long as you could remember. It was only a matter of time before you, like so many before you, met the wrath of Ramsay Bolton.

Behind you, the door opened. Sansa grabbed onto you, her blue eyes boring into yours. "Come, Y/N, we're leaving."

Your mind began to race. No, no, you couldn't leave. Ramsay's dogs - they'd find you. They'd kill you.

"We can't - we can't," you wheezed. "He'll find us, Sansa. The hounds."

Sansa stood straighter. "If I am to die, then I will die while there is still some of me left. I will not die in my own home as a shell of who I once was." She grabbed your hand and held it tight. "I grew up with you. As a girl you were strong, stronger than I ever hoped to be, and look at you now. Ramsay's hurt you, used you. But he has not broken you. Come with me and we will have a chance to begin anew. We may live, but if we stay here, Y/N, we are sure to die."

You stared at her with tears in your eyes. "I can't. I can't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Sansa looked at you without emotion and said nothing more. She simply left and you let her.

Later that night when Ramsay had returned he was angry. He was so very angry, but he knew better than to have you killed at once.

"They will come for you," he chuckled, his icy eyes dancing. "Oh yes, they will come for you and then I will have them both. Come, darling, and write your bastard a letter."

Jon looked at his sister with confusion. "You wish to go back there?"

"It's our home," Sansa said, shaking Ramsay's letter in her hand. "It will always be our home, and he's there with his flayed man banners. We must take it back."

"I'm tired of fighting, Sansa," Jon said quietly. He looked down onto the scarred table. "I've fought all these years, and I'm tired."

Sansa shook her head lightly. "I will reclaim our home with or without you. I will rescue Rickon and Y/N."

Jon's shoulders sagged upon hearing her name. "Has he harmed her?"

"He harmed us all." Sansa's voice was thick, but her eyes never strayed from the letter. "And he will kill her if we do nothing."

Jon sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He couldn't leave her there, his love. He'd left her once and regretted it every day since.

"We will fight."

The battle was long and bloody, and when you saw Ramsay ride back through the gates on his horse you feared the worst. Had Jon fallen? Had he died?

The guard that held you tightened his grip, but as painful as it was you couldn't tear your thoughts away from Jon.

"Hold her," Ramsay ordered quickly, rushing over to get his bow and arrows.

You were pushed down onto your knees in the snow and mud. The guard grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled tightly, his other hand producing a dagger and pressing it into the skin of your throat. The blade bit into your neck and you closed your eyes tightly.

"If you fight me you will die," he hissed into your ear.

There were a series of harsh thuds against the gates and you wondered what the outside forces were using to penetrate Winterfell's legendary defenses. You didn't have to ponder for long, however, because suddenly a large monster of a hand broke through. The archers fired it it's giant fist, but it's assault continued. It broke through the door like it was nothing more than than a splinter.

The large creature charged through the gate like a bull, it's great head down and it's shoulders clenched. It's breaths left like the winds of a storm. Arrows were stabbed into the large thing from every angle, and more continued to pelt it, but it was Ramsay that killed it with an arrow to the eye. It fell to the ground with a ground shaking thud.

Your eyes searched the men that ran into the gates, and it was then you saw him. Bloody and heaving and weary from battle. He'd grown different in the time he'd been gone, but you'd know him anywhere.

"You did suggest one on one combat." You heard from in front of you. Ramsay stood with his arms out, challenging Jon. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

Jon looked around at Ramsay's forces and, when he got to you, he stalled. He barred his teeth and glared at Ramsay with a look of pure rage. He rushed forward and grabbed a Bolton shield, holding it before him. Ramsay fired arrow after arrow, and Jon simply continued toward him. Once he was in reach of Ramsay he knocked the bow from his hands and delivered a sharp blow to his chest with the tip of the shield.

A gurgle came from behind you and you felt the weight of the man with the dagger to your throat sag against your back. A hand quickly pushed him away and grabbed you, pushing you behind him - a wildling, you could tell by his garb, with wild red hair and a beard to match. You held onto his arm tightly, the stress and fear weighing you down instantly.

"Hold onto me, girl," the man said, his speech slightly broken. He nodded in front of them. "It'll all be over soon."

You opened your mouth to tell him you felt faint, but no words left you. The last thing you remember a voice behind you telling someone to catch you.

Jon sat by your bedside solemnly, his eyes looking over you. He'd requested that you be taken to his room, and that you be cleaned and checked for every possible injury.

The bruises that were left on you sickened him, and he wished that he could relive the end of the battle once more, this time granting Bolton no mercy. He sighed and took your hand in his. He thought back on the time he'd taken you down to the small opening in the Godswood and kissed you for the first time, how small your hand felt in his on the walk back to the castle.

He had never as happy as he had on that day, the way you looked at him - as if he were something more than a bastard.

"At least you still look better than everyone else while you brood."The statement shocked Jon out of his memories.

The corner of his lips twitched, but he never smiled. He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand as gently as he could. "It's good to see you, Y/N."

You clicked your tongue and shook your head. "I thought I'd never see you again, Jon Snow, and yet here you are to save me again."

"I'd save you a thousand times over," Jon whispered lightly. "How d'you feel?"

You were quiet for a few moments, your eyes searching his. You'd missed his dark brown eyes, it seemed like everyone else's were dulled in comparison. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

Jon hung his head. "I should have stayed. If I could go back I would stay and we would have gone wherever you wanted to."

You sighed. "There is no good in the choices that should have happened. We can only go forward from here."

"And where do you wish to go?" Jon asked quietly. "Do you wish to stay here? In a place where so many horrible things have happened to you?"

Your throat felt tight, and you did your best to swallow down the emotion that overwhelmed you. "I wish to stay with you."

Jon's eyes softened. "Then we will stay here. We will stay and rebuild and have the life you always wanted."

"I still love you, Jon." You admitted quietly. "I don't think I ever stopped."

Jon smiled. "And I never stopped loving you, Y/N. I don't think I could."

"Here we are, at the edge of the world, and it's almost as if we've gone back in time, isn't it?" You whispered. "Only now you're much more than a bastard. You're Lord of Winterfell now, Jon Snow, and all the realm is better for it."

"Lord of Winterfell," Jon breathed. "The Lord must have a Lady, Y/N."

"Sansa will be -"

Jon cut you off quickly. "Will you be my Lady?"

Your breath caught in your throat, but you nodded, tears shining in your eyes. "I've always been your lady, Jon Snow."

Jon leaned down, carefully, and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "And now you always will be."

[bloomsoftly]

take your time (in a hurry), ch. 3

happy birthday, @ragwitch​!! i love you. ❤️❤️❤️

read: part 1, part 2

Chapters: 3/? Relationships: wintershieldshock (Darcy/Bucky/Steve), Darcy & Tony Rating: T (for now) Summary: Darcy is the bastard daughter of one Anthony Edward Stark, who was banished from New York for getting a girl pregnant out of wedlock. Now that her grandparents have died, she embarks on a quest out west to find her long-lost father. Twenty years later. Should be a piece of cake. (old west!AU)

There was no warning, nothing. Later, Darcy and Maria would look back and see the little hints of escalation—the increasingly-frequent attempts by Mr. Zola to coerce the young woman into speaking with him, the rapidly-growing pile of letters that sat unopened and ignored on the corner of her grandfather’s desk, the fact that Darcy had to stop leaving the house because the odious man would show up with uncanny timing as soon as she returned—but at the time they just considered them to be annoying inconveniences. Creepy, perhaps, but certainly not dangerous.

After it was all said and done, Maria would remember catching a maid in the process of gesturing to Mr. Zola’s men, the garden door unlocked and cracked open. She dismissed the girl on the spot, ignoring her sobbing pleas; any woman who was willing to sell out another of her gender for a bit of coin was not someone Maria was willing to trust around Darcy. Not even with the chamber pots. And thus, the door was locked and barred against Zola and his henchman for another night.

She intended to pen a letter to Mrs. Carter and inform her that Zola’s schemes were getting more and more underhanded and unhinged. But then a servant accidentally set off one of Howard’s numerous mysterious inventions while packing up the study and shrieked loud enough to rouse the whole house, maybe the whole street. So, Maria hastily shut the door, barred it, and hurried up the stairs. The plans to move out west were hard on Darcy, even if the young woman claimed to be excited; Maria could see the wear of it at her eyes, her mouth, the lines of her face. And between her fears and the grief of losing her grandparents, she had enough on her plate. Which meant that Maria was even more determined to keep the process moving as seamlessly as possible, to save her precious girl what trouble she could.

If the servant hadn’t knocked into Howard’s mechanical figurine—a harmless one, thankfully, albeit extremely noisy—and Maria hadn’t had to race to shut the damn thing off, she might have noticed the rockaway parked on the other side of the street. It was hidden in the shadows, and the figure inside observed as the men came so close to gaining entrance to the house, only to be blocked at the last minute. As Zola watched the scene, the vehicle practically shook with the fury of his rage. He was denied access to the Stark bastard once again.

If Maria had looked out the window, she might have seen that something was off. In the way the henchmen slunk back to the vehicle, like dogs expecting to get hit, or the way the driver nervously shrank away from the passenger’s seat. If she had, she might’ve been able to prevent the fire. But she was busy dealing with Howard Stark’s mischief from beyond the grave, and she had no time to stare at shadows or darkness or any such nonsense.

And three nights later, someone set fire to their home.

Darcy woke up to a strange scraping sound, oddly like the creak of the garden gate as it pulled over the cobblestone path—the damn thing sagged at one end and always made the most awful, high-pitched noise—and it was entirely out of place in the middle of the night. Her room overlooked the garden, true, but never had she heard it this late; it was too heavy to open on accident, even with gusty wind. She laid perfectly still in her bed, holding her breath so as not to make a single sound in case it happened again, listening for the creak of the gate or the scuff of a boot against the stone path. But nothing happened. The garden outside her window was silent, though she could hear the creak of the wooden floor outside her bedroom as a maid moved through the hallway. Still, she waited.

Finally, deciding it had been a figment of her imagination, she rolled over and tried to drift back to sleep. It was most likely just a fragment of a nightmare that had followed her into consciousness, she decided; her worries over Zola and his schemes had taken over her brain, haunting her even in sleep. And now he was ruining her rest, too, keeping her awake with fear of what he might do. The thought of him having such power over her made Darcy angry, and she punched her pillow a few times before determinedly closing her eyes. Taking deep breaths, she started to silently count backward from one hundred—a technique that Maria had taught her as a child, when her brain was too active to shut itself off. She reached the number seventy-two before her mind went fuzzy, coaxed into that soft space between wakefulness and the peaceful lure of deep sleep.

The explosive sound of glass shattering against the foundation of the house startled her upright. With her heart pounding in her ears—she knew that she hadn’t imagined that, it wasn’t possible—she threw back the covers and sprinted to the window. The wood of the floor was harsh against her bare feet, but she paid it no mind. Throwing back the curtains, tossing aside modesty and caution in favor of haste, Darcy was blinded by the unexpected bright light that was overtaking the garden. The brilliant yellow and orange hues seared her eyes, and it took her a second to realize exactly what she was seeing.

(read more link here)

Turning away from the window, she screamed bloody murder. “Maria! Someone’s set fire to the garden.” There was a series of scrambling and frantic fumbling noises all throughout the house, and she knew that her warning had been heard by at least someone. But they might not wake fast enough to stop the flames from spreading. And with that thought in mind, she raced to the wardrobe and grabbed the first dressing gown she laid her hands on, shoved her feet into some slippers, and headed for the door. Maria was already running down the hall toward her bedroom, disheveled and sleepy and altogether panicked.

“Are you alright?” she asked frantically, examining Darcy from head to toe, as if somehow she might’ve gotten hurt from inside the house. If the situation had been any less dire, Darcy might have laughed at the overprotective concern. Right now, there was no time for humor.

“I’m fine,” she assured, and together they raced toward the stairs. “But we have to hurry. Someone threw a glass lamp at the house, and the fire is already spreading.”

With a dark scowl, Maria asked, “Did you get a look at the person who threw it?”

Darcy felt so stupid. Stopping in the middle of the stairs, she confessed, “No, I didn’t. Maria, I’m so sorry. I was panicking—”

Maria seized her arm and continued on down the stairs, forcing her to snap out of it and keep up. “I was just asking, Darce. I don’t blame you. At all, alright? The blame for this lies solely with the pigeon-livered, shoddy excuses for men who did this.” Her face was bright red with fury, none of it directed at Darcy, and it was clear that they both knew who was responsible.

A cluster of servants waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, near the kitchens and the hallway that led out to the garden door. “Should I call the firefighters, Ms. Hill?” one of them asked. It sounded like Anna.

Someone thought to light a lamp, and she saw that it was Anna who had spoken. Her face was pale and scared, and her frail shoulders trembled with fear. Somewhat hysterically, Darcy wondered what they were all doing loitering at the base of the stairs when the house could be burning down around their ears. Maria clearly had the same thought. “Don’t be daft, Anna. The house would burn down anyway, and we’d still have to pay them off. No. You,” she ordered, pointing directly at Tom, “fetch water. Keep it coming, as much as you can. Anna, Philip, get buckets. I want everyone else outside, working to douse that flame. This house is not burning down. Not tonight.” When everyone stood in place, staring at her, she clapped her hands and growled, “Go!”

They scattered. At the last second, Maria commanded, “Beth, wait.”

“Yes, ma’am?” She looked like a rabbit who’d just been scented by a hound, as if Maria was a predator who wouldn’t hesitate to gobble her up. Not that Darcy blamed her; Maria was ferocious even on her calm days. At the moment, she strongly resembled a raging goddess of fury from one of the old pagan religions.

“Hurry over to Peggy Carter’s home, girl, and tell her that someone tried to set fire to the Stark mansion. I don’t care what you have to do to get a message to her. Go, and do it quickly. And quietly, if you please.”

The frightened girl offered a jerky nod and was gone. Without wasting any more time, Maria headed for the garden. Darcy followed, hot on her heels.. The smoke lingered in the air, and the smell of burnt grass and wood reached their noses. But it wasn’t so thick as to choke, and she wondered if they’d somehow gotten lucky. Maria stalked to the door, then suddenly seemed to remember that Darcy was with her. “Darcy, stay in the house.”

Her cheeks were hot, and not from the flames in the garden. “This is my house too, Maria! There’s no way I’m staying inside like a good little girl while my home burns down around my ears. I have two arms, two legs, and I can help put the damn fire out like anyone else.”

Maria opened her mouth to protest, or to reason with her, maybe, but Darcy was already marching out the door.

The scene was not as chaotic as she'd thought it would be, which was strange. And a bit disorienting, honestly. The fire was confined to one side of the garden—the side directly underneath her window, which gave Darcy the shivers—and the servants seemed to have it mostly under control. They'd formed a sort of assembly line: Anna passed the full buckets of water to Tom, who traded her for an empty one and passed the water on to Philip, who focused on dousing the flames. Darcy moved to join the process, gravitating toward Philip’s end of things, drawn like a moth to the flame. Though smaller than expected, the flames of the fire burned bright and harsh. The reds and yellows battled fiercely against the dark shadows of late evening, so intensely that the colors burned the backs of her eyelids even as she turned away to protect her eyes from the blaze.

A hand caught at her elbow, keeping her from getting too close, and Maria was suddenly between her and the fire. The smoke stung her eyes. The housekeeper’s silhouette blurred and shimmered in front of her, and Darcy had to blink away a stream of tears. She didn’t know how Philip could stand to be so close; her eyes already burned with a fierce pain. With the hand at her elbow, Maria turned her body away, so that they faced the garden gate. For a second, Darcy thought she saw something move in the dark, in the shadow of the outer wall. But then she blinked again, forcing away the film of moisture obscuring her vision, and nothing was there.

“Are you alright?” Maria asked, leaning in to her personal space. The other woman practically had to shout for Darcy to hear her—she’d never known that fires were so loud. She hadn’t known a lot of things, clearly. The sound of glass shattering against brick echoed through her mind, and she fought not to cry real tears. Someone had tried to seriously hurt them, to destroy her family’s home. It wasn’t abstract anymore.

When she didn’t answer immediately, Maria grabbed her shoulder and shook her a little. “Darcy!” she shouted.

That no-nonsense tone brought her back to herself, as it always did. Darcy had learned very young that when Maria used her stern tone of voice it was best not to ignore her. “I’m okay,” she mumbled, raising her eyes to meet the other woman’s. Maria’s expression softened slightly when she saw the irritated redness of Darcy’s eyes, the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

She steered her away, back toward the door to the house. “We are of more use over here, sweet. Philip and Tom have a rhythm going, and we’d only disrupt it. They’re stronger and faster than we are, and your hands are not used to the coarse handles of the buckets. No need to injure yourself when it wouldn’t do any good anyway. Come this way,” she said, drawing Darcy over to where Anna was hurrying back and forth to fill up the buckets. “You fill them with water, Darcy, when I hand the empty buckets to you. Anna will pass them along.”

It was good to feel useful, and the steady rhythm—take the empty bucket from Maria, fill it up as quickly as possible with water, then pass the now-heavy weight back to the housekeeper, who passed it along to Anna, and so forth—took Darcy’s mind off the actual circumstances from the fire. She lost count of how many buckets she filled with water, or how long they worked. Her arms grew sore and tired, unused to such physical labor. And just as Maria had warned, her palms grew blistered and red, swelling so badly that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the work. She stared down at them, defiant and angry and wondering how she was supposed to survive out West if she couldn’t even handle such a simple task.

Maria watched her with growing concern, eyes flicking back and forth between her swollen hands and her frustrated expression. But the housekeeper said nothing, and Darcy knew that her help was badly needed. She soldiered on, ignoring the pain with sheer determination, until finally one of the men let out an excited holler. From inside the house, Darcy couldn’t tell which one it was.

“Ms. Hill, we did it! It’s out!” The three women raced out the door to survey the damage for themselves. It was Tom who’d yelled, and he didn’t lie. There were scorch marks climbing halfway up the wall, practically Darcy’s height, but all the flames had been extinguished. The men were jubilant and practically vibrating with triumph, for all that their faces were tracked with tears and their hands and clothes were streaked with soot.

“Hush,” Maria hissed, though the line of her mouth was not nearly as harsh as usual. “We don’t wish to wake the neighbors, you hear?” That got the men’s attention, and they stared at her with curiosity.

“Go on inside and wash yourselves off,” she said. “You’ve done well this evening, putting out the fire before it could do much damage.”

Darcy cleared her throat, causing four pairs of eyes to swing her way. “Who knows what would’ve happened without you,” she said, trying not to choke on the ash in her throat. Her voice was quiet, but carried through the air with an authority she hadn’t even known she had. “You’ve earned a bonus, and then some. Get some rest, and we’ll settle on an appropriate reward in the morning.”

They looked at her incredulously—well, Maria’s expression was stoic, but she was always stoic—before Tom, Philip, and Anna’s faces broke out into wild grins. There was a chorus of “Thank you, Miss” and “Just doin’ our job, Miss,” as they stumbled over each other to get into the house. She knew that part of the reason for their haste was that they were worried she’d change her mind, and the thought made her angry. How many times had Grandpa Howard promised to reward them, only to forget or take it back later?

“Wait.” Maria’s voice was low but commanding, and all three turned back to look at her with trepidation. For a single, disbelieving moment Darcy thought that the other woman was going to overrule her wishes, but instead she said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, not yet. I want a chance to speak to the police first, before anyone catches any gossip. Am I understood?” Her gaze was heavy and expectant as it rested on every one of them, and each nodded without hesitation. “Good. Go on. You’re relieved of anymore duties until tomorrow.”

She waited for the door to shut behind them before reaching out to cup Darcy’s elbow. “We need to get a good look at the lamp that started the fire, and collect the pieces if we can. Who knows what could disappear overnight.” Her meaning was unmistakable, and in tandem they turned toward the scorched earth of the garden. The moon was bright and there was a faint light still coming from Darcy’s window—in her haste, she’d forgotten to blow it out—and they had just enough light to search for the broken glass without drawing any more attention to themselves.

Moving slowly and methodically over the grass, they hunted for the glass pieces. After a silent minute of searching, Darcy finally found one, but Maria stopped her before she could try to pick it up. “No, it’s still too hot. Just nudge it over there, and keep looking.”

Eventually, they’d managed to compile most of the broken glass. It was a lamp, as Darcy had thought, but there was something about the sight of it that caused Maria to frown. With pursed lips, she murmured, “There’s something not right about this. Why here? Why would they start a fire that wouldn’t—” Her eyes grow round and troubled, but whatever she was about to say next was cut off by the creak of the garden gate.

Maria’s face changed immediately, sharpening into a terrifyingly dark glower. As Darcy turned to look behind her at whoever had come through the gate, the other woman reached into the pocket of her dress and drew out a sharp, wicked-looking knife. “Darcy, run!”

She meant to, she really did. But her body was tired from the effort of putting out the fire and her feet seemed to get tangled up in her skirts immediately. Not that it would have made much difference. The men were already there, herding her back toward the wall of her house. She tried to run anyway, and Maria stepped forward to protect them both with her weapon—a distant part of her wondered whether the housekeeper actually kept a weapon on her at all times, even during the day when she was working around the house, and at another moment she might’ve found that image completely hilarious—but she was too far away.

One of the men snagged Darcy by her braid as she tried to sprint past him, tugging on it painfully. His other hand came up around her waist, gripping and groping and ripping a hole into her dressing gown like it was made of flimsy paper. She opened her mouth to scream, but he let go of her hair to shove his hand over her mouth. Maria was fighting off the other brute, keeping him at bay with her knife, but she too was hindered by a dress and stumbling in the dark.

The man holding Darcy started to drag her backward, toward the gate and out of Maria’s reach. With a muffled scream of terror, Darcy bit down on her captor’s hand and struggled against him, stomping on his foot and trying to elbow him in the ribs. He let out a howl of pain but didn’t stop; her slippers were soft and useless against his boots, and he was much bigger than her. She continued to thrash, pulling away from him as hard as she could. Her eyes never left Maria’s form, even as it got harder to see in the dark. If only she could get to Maria.

When they reached the gate, she struggled even harder. If he got her away from the house, she knew, it would all be over. But she couldn’t find purchase, couldn’t find a place to dig her fingernails into soft flesh—and then suddenly the weight behind her was gone. His grubby hand was gone from her waist, and his hand fell away from her mouth. She was almost too terrified to move, until she heard his body hit the cobblestone path behind her. She was free.

There was no time to waste; Maria was still fighting a man twice her size with nothing but a knife. But as she stepped forward, a hand ghosted over her shoulder. “I’ve got this,” a soft voice murmured, and a lithe shadow slid past her in the dark. The person was too small to be either of the henchmen, and had seemed too friendly, anyway.

Within seconds, the man accosting Maria was on the ground, either unconscious or dead. It was unladylike, but Darcy couldn’t bring herself to care all that much about his possible demise. He’d been trying to hurt the person she cared most about in the entire world, after all. And, of course, he’d been party to an attempt to physically force her into an unwanted marriage. There was no doubt in her mind that Zola was behind all of this.

Darcy stepped close, eyeing the stranger warily as Maria and the unknown person stared each other down. “Thank you for your help,” Maria offered cautiously, stepping sideways so that she stood between Darcy and the newcomer. Her knife was still drawn.

The stranger folded their hood back, revealing the striking face of an amazingly beautiful woman. “It’s not a problem,” she replied with a faintly Eastern European accent. The flickering light from Darcy’s window illuminated the striking color of her hair. It reminded Darcy of the flames they’d put out at this very spot, not even an hour before. With a wickedly amused grin, she revealed, “Peggy said you were having a problem. She sent me to help.”

[jestbee]

Fic: Of Dogs and Bathtimes

[finn-odell]

Settle With the World the Only Crime Is That I Bought You

Self-Para || Finn History

Life had been hell. How many days was he on now? He couldn’t remember. The days seemed to pass slowly, and he wondered how much longer he would have to keep this up before he could get out of this. Sure, he’d had conversations with people about an exit strategy, and he wanted to get out, but he was stubborn and wanted to succeed. He just needed to get close enough to get a name, or put the name to the face. If he could get the FBI any information then he could ask to be released from the assignment. He could go back to living a somewhat normal life. Maybe he could even think of other options because working undercover had turned out to be a nightmare.

All of those concerns had to be pushed aside, he had things to do today. Finn had done exactly what he was asked to do. He found the guy that the boss was wanting to find. The traitor to the group. They had been searching for him for a while now. Somehow, every single day that they had worked on finding Gino they would get close, and miss him. This time, Finn had ensured that no news of them was coming. He’d warned the guys that they were to keep this information under wraps. They would explain it all afterward. If they were ever going to catch this guy, they needed to make sure there were no warning signs prior to their coming. Two months was too long for Finn to spend searching for one guy.

There was a pounding on his door. “MAC! Get the fuck out here! Let’s get this shit DONE!”

Finn picked up his personal phone, shooting off a text to Eve. A hope to see her soon. It had been too long since he’d gone and spent time with her, but he’d been so busy lately that it wasn’t possible. Between working his shifts at the bar, and running off with the guys piecing together information, there was no time for fun, at least not a lot of it. Sliding his personal cellphone into a hidden compartment in his apartment, he made sure he had his guns, his other cell, and his keys. Stepping out of the door, he greeted the male with a familiar handshake, and a grin. “Alright, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

As the man with the information, Finn was the lead on this. The other guys were following him. He was comfortable in the position, having others following his orders. It crossed his mind that perhaps he shouldn’t feel so comfortable leading the others this way. It also didn’t go unnoticed that Finn was beginning to feel more comfortable around the criminals that surrounded him. He tried not to let that eat at him, feeling as though that meant he was slowly losing himself to the acts that he was constantly taking part of.

They found themselves in a little shop, entering it, and locking the door behind them, although they didn’t own the business. Finn knew that Gino would be hiding here. He’d gotten a tip that the idiot had been frequenting this place lately. It was neutral territory, at least he was smart enough to do that. Neutral meant that Finn and gang would not cross into turf that wasn’t theirs. They couldn’t very well deal out punishment in an area where this traitor would be safe. At the same time, Finn wondered why Gino even considered leaving the protection of an area protected by the rival gang. If he had only just remained there, Finn would never have been able to reach him. Not without making some sort of deal with the enemy.

Finn stepped farther into the shop, seeing Gino off in a corner with another boy. Stretching his arms out wide, a cold smile crept over Finn’s face. “Gino! What a surprise! Come and say hi. Long time no see.”

The amusement that had been on Gino’s features quickly melted into a look of terror. Somehow, that look of terror spurred Finn on. He could see the other male’s eyes darting around to attempt to form an exit strategy. Finn didn’t have to turn around to know that the men he had with him were blocking any potential exits. Finn tilted his head to the side, his previous cold smile morphing into feigned confusion. “What? Not happy to see us?”

“How the fuck did you find me?” Gino asked. The male at the table with him watched the scene in silent fear. It made Finn almost laugh.

With a casual shrug, Finn stepped closer, “I have my ways. If you’d stuck around long enough, you would have learned that. What was it someone compared me to recently? A hound? Fucking hounds have nothing on me.”

Placing his hands flat on the table and leaning in close to Gino, Finn’s face was now devoid of any other emotions aside from an intense, intimidating stare that had Gino cowering in his seat.

“You can’t do anything to me, the boss will kill you!”

As he pulled back to straighten to his full height, he rolled his eyes in annoyance and then stared down at the male with almost a bored expression. “Will he? Funny, these orders came down from him. Looks like you’ve been a bad boy, and now father dearest needs some answers.”

At that clarification, Gino clambered out of his seat and tried to make a break for the door. Anticipating the move, Finn reached out grabbing the male around the middle, and then quickly taking him down so that he couldn’t fight him. The companion also tried to escape, and Finn’s counterpart who was closest to the main exit was able to grab that one.

“Let me go you fuckin asshole!”

“At least you’ve got some guts now, but I’m afraid that we can’t let you go. Sorry for your luck, you should’ve thought about that before you went and ran your mouth. Number one rule. Keep your fucking mouth shut.” And with that Finn knocked the male with a blow that ensured he was unconscious.

Standing up, Finn glanced at the companion, nodding at him. “Let’s take this one too. I have a feeling that if he’s been trying to help this guy hide out, he might have some answers that we need... and if not? Who cares.”

Once each of the men were secured in their car, they made their way back to their area of the city. A location was given to them, and once they arrived other people came out to assist in moving the men to a place where they could be interrogated without getting caught. Finn followed the crowd, the confidence that he had earlier now fading. That adrenaline buzz had come crashing, and in it’s place was a quiet horror at the fact that he’d so easily led to men to a place where they would likely be tortured until the information that was wanted came out, or until they were dead. Either way death was at the end of this.

Finn stood on the edges, letting others try to take the lead on asking the questions at first. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, careful to display no emotions on his face. He had to be careful here. These were always the hardest moments for him, when something particularly gruesome and cruel happened. As easy as what he did earlier might have been, this would not be easy in the slightest. This was his doing. This was something he would have to live with being on his conscience. He’d played the game, and now he would have these two lives hanging over him until the day he died. That was part of being in this life, he knew, and it was part of why he’d left gang life as a teenager. This was the part of it that he couldn’t handle.

People kept taking turns trying to extract information from Gino, and from the other male with him. Finn watched every blow, every shouted, angry word and warning. In all of this, he paid attention to details. He listened for all of the information that was shared, if any at all. If Gino and his friend were smart, they would keep their mouths shut and die, but they weren’t smart men. Gino, in particular, had been stupid enough to run his mouth to another boss. A man that reckless with his life was likely to make more mistakes before it was all said and done.

“You ain’t getting shit from me.” Gino spit at the men in front of him.

Finn scoffed, and shook his head. Eyes turned in his direction. Shit. One of them looked as if he’d gotten a bright idea. “You know what... why don’t we let Mac here question you for a bit? Let’s see what he’s got. After all, he managed to catch your ass.”

“Nah, bruh, you’ve got it.” Finn waved the suggestion off.

Hands shoved him forward toward the two men who were tied to chairs. The quick stuttered steps from being pushed forward unexpectedly transitioned to a smooth, slow gait. It was a complete contrast to the rapid beat of his heart. His mind was racing with what he would have to do next. Inflicting pain in exchange for information, was he capable of it? He’d have to be. He had to figure out a way to handle this, to live with it, and quick.

Finn stood in front of Gino, forcing himself to go into a different headspace. He wasn’t Finn right now. This wasn’t Finn. Finn wouldn’t be in this position. He was Mac, and he needed to make sure that he appeared as though he could handle this work in front of the rest. Show weakness, suffer consequences, and Finn was in this to survive. He wanted to survive. He needed to survive.

“You think you have it made now, don’t you Mac?” Gino asked, glaring up at Finn.

He didn’t react, he just stared at Gino for a while, letting the male feel the full extent of his presence. Although, admittedly, Finn wasn’t trying to be intimidating on purpose. He was trying to figure out what way would be best to get information.

“Yeah, you think you’re the golden boy, now. It’s too late. You’re going to burn with the rest of them.”

Finn tilted his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest, still silent as he stared at the male.

“You don’t have it in you. They’re gonna see it. You can’t fucking hurt me. You don’t have the balls.”

Without even a second thought, and what seemed like space of only a second, Finn’s fist collided with the male’s jaw. Blood sprayed out of the male’s mouth and Finn crossed his arms again. A punch was easy. Punches he could do. That was something he’d done plenty of times.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me. BK won’t accept you. Not fully. You’ll see. You’re gonna be in the same position as me soon. You’re gonna be looking for a way out, if you’re not dea-”

This time Finn punched him with the other fist from the other side. “Sorry. Thought your face needed some balance.” He commented calmly.

There were laughs that came from the spectators. “Oh shit, I think you’ve pissed Mac off.”

“I only just started.” Finn said as he reeled back to throw another punch, this time to the male’s stomach.

Hours later Finn was stumbling into his apartment. He stopped at the sink in his bathroom, leaning on his hands as he stared down into the empty basin. His hands had signs of blood. His clothes showed the same signs. Finn tried to swallow, he couldn’t, a wave of nausea rolled up powerfully beginning in his stomach and working it’s way up with a quickness that he almost didn’t have time to reach the toilet next to where he stood. Yanking the lid up, he fell down to his knees as he wretched loudly.

It was a while before his stomach had finally had enough. There was nothing left to throw up, and Finn let himself collapse flat on his back on the cool tile floor. He stared at the ceiling for some time as he tried to come to terms with everything he’d just done. The punching had only been the beginning. He wished that had been it. It wasn’t.

He was slow to pull himself up, finally managing to come up to his feet. He started the shower, and peeled off his clothes. It was another thirty minutes before he was out of the shower and brushing his teeth. After that he walked naked to the place where he hid his personal phone. He pulled it out and quickly dialed a number. “I think I want some deep dish.” He said into the phone.

“I guess you’d better head this way, then.”

The line went dead. Finn got changed, put the clothes into a bag to deal with later, and then made his way out the door. When he finally reached the usual meeting location Finn tried not to think about the last time he’d met with these two in person. The threats that had been thrown his way still sat uncomfortably in his stomach. 

“I think I have a name. Or at least some kind of nickname.”

“Of the boss?” One of them asked incredulously.

Finn nodded. “Yeah. But before I tell you what the fuck I know, I have some things that I want from you.”

“Oh here we go. He thinks we haven’t been through this a million times before. You don’t get to name your price, pretty boy.” The asshole one replied.

Angry eyes landed on the FBI agent, and Finn tried not to fine amusement in the way he sat back. Clearly, Finn’s look must be more intimidating than even he thought he was capable of. Good.

“I’m not asking for a lot here. No fancy cars, no fancy homes. I give you a name. I want out, and I want it fast.”

the one who wasn’t an asshole happened to look surprised. “But you haven’t seen his face yet.”

“I’m not likely to. I give you this much, and it’s more than you’ve managed with anyone else before. It just so happened that I don’t think Gino realized what he said. Nobody else there seemed to notice either. They don���t pay attention. I do.”

“Fine, we can try and see about getting you out, but it’s not as easy as all that. We have to find a way to pull you out without suspicion. We have to get everything cleared. They’ll need to debrief you. Make sure that your record is clean of whatever you’ve done. There are a lot of things that are going to go into getting you out. It’s not going to be overnight.”

“I can wait, so long as you get the process started.”

He could be patient a little longer. His life wasn’t in danger, not yet. He had time on his hands.

“What’s the name?”

“I’ll tell you, but I’m not telling him.” Finn turned his gaze to the asshole agent.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me! You don’t get a choice!”

“I do, and I know very well that you’ll try to fuck me over. I’m not stupid. I’ll give the info to him. Only him. Not you. End of story.”

“Get out, Ben. I’ll get the info we need.”

It was a lucky break when the male got up. “If you’re lying to us I’ll personally see to it that you go down. You won’t get any pretty exit from this shit. You’ll go down with the rest of them.”

No more than Finn expected. It was better to keep his expectations low. Right now? He still felt death was most likely. Second option? Prison. He was in a race against time. Could he get out before one of those options caught up to him? Unlikely. He would still try.

Turning his attention back to the agent. “They call him King Papo. That’s the nickname the boss goes by. Only higher level, inner circle, call him that. Those of us on the outskirts, we just refer to him as the boss. Nobody really knows what he looks like, unless you’re inner circle, or get close enough to inner circle. From what I can tell his name is BK.”

“BK? And how is that supposed to help us?”

Finn laughed. “Because when I first got here I remember someone referred to a person by name, someone else asked if that person was ‘Baby King’ and they said it was.”

The man in front of him looked surprised.

“I told you. I pay attention. I didn’t think anything of it then. People have all sorts of stupid nicknames that make them sound important. Baby King isn’t even the most pretentious one. At the time the name only came up once on a conversation about something completely unrelated and unimportant. I think they were just talking about inviting him to the damn strip club, or some shit like that.”

That earned a snort from the agent. Finn continued, “BK, I’m guessing it’s Baby King, whose real name is Ray Gonzales. Now get me the fuck out of this city.”

Finn stood up from the table and walked out of the room. He’d gotten as close as he wanted to get to the boss. He didn’t need to get any closer. Now it was only a matter of time before he could get released from this hellhole and maybe be able to get his life back together.