#i am beyond done fighting with commands and searching files

[silverhandjoytoys]

I learned how to do basic modding just so I could have this fucker shirtless in my game.

[besanii]

I need to know what caused Wei Ying to finally initiate a physical relationship with Xichen. Was it for Lotus pier and what the empress said? He does seem to have some feelings towards Xichen so did he not mind it bc of that? What does Xichen think about this whole thing ahhhhhhhhh so many questions. Sorry Lan Zhan cause ngl I ship them

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) | three (WWX) | four (LWJ) | five (NQY) | six (WWX) | seven (LWJ) ]

[ follows on from six ] 

Alive.

The word washes over him like a wave, bringing with it a rush of joy and relief—his brother is alive—that lasts only a heartbeat before the significance of the news comes crashing down.

His brother is alive.

An arrow to the shoulder, the report had read. Knocked overboard in the heat of the battle and disappearing under the churning waters; for days they searched, picking through the bodies floating amongst the debris long after the Dongying forces had retreated. 

They found him, a day later, half-drowned and delirious with fever, unable to fight. News of his death in battle spread as he lay in his bed, one foot already through the gates of Hell and yet still strategising, planning, during his brief moments of lucidity. Conscious enough to know that they can use his perceived death to their advantage.

And indeed with the loss of Gusu’s greatest commander, their enemies pressed them harder, forcing them to cede waters they had previously held strong. Little did they know they were being lured into a trap, one that would decimate their fleet and end the battle once and for all.

“And how is Hanguang-wang now?” Lan Xichen asks. Only years of experience keeps his voice tightly controlled and his hands relaxed as they rest on the spacious desk before him.

“Replying to Huangshang, Hanguang-wang asked this lowly subject to pass on the message that he is well and not to worry,” the messenger reports. “Hanguang-wang has also said he will stay on to fight until the war is won, as is his duty as the commander of the fleet.” 

As a brother, Lan Xichen knows he should recall Lan Wangji from the front lines, allow him to return to Caiyi to nurse his injuries. As Emperor, if his best commander reports he can continue to fight and his staying on increases their chances of victory, then he has no reason to refuse. As a man—

He tells himself the rush of relief that courses through him at the news is because his brother is well; he does not allow himself to entertain the other reason. It is too shameful to admit, even to himself.

In the end, the Emperor wins out, as it always does.

“Very well,” he says finally, pressing the tips of his fingers together as if he is giving serious consideration to Lan Wangji’s request. “We will grant Hanguang-wang the right to stay, as reward for his loyalty.”

--

He does not call on Chenghuan Hall.

He tells himself it is to give Wei Wuxian space in the wake of such momentous news, to allow him to process it fully in his own time without the added pressure of Lan Xichen’s presence. It is a flimsy excuse, one he knows does not fool his Empress at the very least, whose knowing looks and raised eyebrow has his insides twisting with guilt and shame like a child caught stealing treats from the kitchens. So he avoids her palace too, and seeks refuge in the Imperial study until late in the evenings.

A whole month passes where Lan Xichen does not allow himself to see Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian does not send word to him either.

He wonders if he’s left it too long, whether Wei Wuxian would be upset or angry at their situation—at him, for putting them in this situation. If it is too late to show up now, after a whole month of silence, and try to make amends. 

Fortunately—if one could call any part of this fortunate—the decision is made for him when Wei Wuxian himself walks into the Imperial study one night and kneels in the centre of the chamber. Lan Xichen watches dumbly as he prostrates himself, forehead pressed against the tips of his fingers on the cold stone floor, his hair loose and unbound, spilling over his plain white robes, the very picture of contrition and penance.

“This lowly concubine pays greetings to Huangshang,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice loud and clear in the quiet of the study. “And humbly seeks your forgiveness.”

“Wuxian...” Lan Xichen begins hesitantly. He breaks off, looking around at the eunuchs stationed around the study with their heads bowed. “You may leave us.”

It is only after they file away, closing the double doors behind them silently, does Lan Xichen allow himself to cross the chamber to where Wei Wuxian is still kneeling. He hurries to help him up, grasping him below the elbows, but is met with resistance as Wei Wuxian stubbornly keeps his head and shoulders bowed.

“Wuxian,” he says helplessly. “There is no need for this.”

“This lowly concubine dares not stand until Huangshang has forgiven me for my transgressions,” Wei Wuxian replies, still in that formal, wooden tone of voice Lan Xichen has come to know too well. He sighs.

“It is cold tonight and you are barely dressed. You will catch a cold walking around like this,” he tells him gently, softening his grip on his arms. When Wei Wuxian still refuses to budge, he sighs again and tilts his face up with two fingers under his chin. “There is nothing to forgive, you have done nothing wrong,”

There is confusion and wariness in those grey eyes as they finally meet his, two emotions he had hoped never to see again.

“Huangshang is displeased with me,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, tightly, as if he would fall apart if he raised his voice. “Ever since the report from Jinghai. Huangshang can no longer bear the sight of me, now that Lan Zhan—” he bites off the name with a pained twist of his mouth.

Lan Xichen recoils as if struck. He had known the nature of their relationship before his brother’s departure, and their plans for his return. But hearing his brother’s given name, such an intimate address used so freely and without thought, is a stark reminder of what he had done. Who he had taken.

Wei Wuxian knows it too, from the shudder that runs through him as he exhales, and the way his hands curl into fists in his lap.

"This lowly concubine does not dare presume he has any right to beg forgiveness for putting Huangshang in such a difficult position,” he continues, the barest hint of a waver in his voice. “I only wished to let Huangshang know that he does not need to trouble himself over this any longer.”

There is a ring of finality to his words that immediately catches Lan Xichen’s attention.

“What are you saying?” he asks warily. “Wuxian—”

Wei Wuxian shuffles backwards, putting enough distance between them so that he can prostrate himself once more, touching his forehead to the floor.

“This lowly concubine begs Huangshang to grant me the death penalty.”

“No.” 

The word forces itself from Lan Xichen’s lips before he even realises he’s spoken, a spontaneous, visceral reaction full of hurt and fury beyond his control. For a long moment after, he cannot speak around the vice clamped tight around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Wei Wuxian replies, but his voice is only a faint murmur against the blood roaring in his ears; he cannot see his face to read his lips, but Lan Xichen already knows what he will say.

“You cannot ask that of me.” The words rasp painfully against his throat. “I will not be the reason for your death.”

Wei Wuxian raises his head and Lan Xichen freezes at the sight of the tears in his eyes, the same hurt, the same helpless fury colouring his cheeks and knitting his brows.

“And I am not willing to be the conflict that destroys the relationship between brothers,” he cries. “I cannot—I will not do it. Huangshang. You cannot ask that of me. Please do not ask it of me.” 

He lowers his face to the floor once more.

“This lowly concubine is only alive today because of Huangshang,” he says, voice small and trembling but with an undercurrent of steel. “I should already be dead. If Huangshang grants me the death penalty now, it will only be putting the situation to rights once more, and Hanguang-wang will be none the wiser upon his return.” 

Lan Xichen reaches out a trembling hand toward him, but stops short, hand hovering just above the top of his head. He cannot ask this of him. As a brother, and as a man, he cannot do it. As an Emperor—

Almost as if sensing his indecision, Wei Wuxian raises his head, leans into the palm of Lan Xichen’s outstretched hand and smiles as those long fingers mould themselves reflexively around the curve of his cheek.

“This lowly concubine will never forget the kindness and affection Huangshang has bestowed upon me,” he murmurs. “So if there must be a sacrifice, please let me make it in your place.”

--

TBC (yes I have just decided there will be a part two to this)

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

--

Notes

Such drama! Much angst! 

Sorry this took much longer than anticipated, mostly cos I’ve been devouring ancient Tezuka/Fuji fics and falling back into the ancient Tenipuri fandom in the past couple of weeks. So, uh, don’t be surprised if my next thing is Tezuka/Fuji instead (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

[fandom-necromancer]

1260. I’m not going anywhere.

This was prompted by an awesome anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Fowler, this is bullshit!’ ‘Captain. And it is not. Reed, either you get your phcking shit together and soon, or I have to suspend you. And from there it’s not too far to being fired, do you understand?’ ‘Captain, with all due respect, this is-‘ ‘No!’ Fowler stood up and leaned over the table. ‘Reed, do you even know how hard I have to fight to keep you in this precinct? Any other person would have thrown you out long ago! You are a good cop. You have a few fast working braincells up there. But that can’t make up being a shitty person. I had your back for long enough. But something’s gotta give, Gavin. Either you finally learn that the law changed, and androids are persons just as you and I, or you have to go looking for a different job. That is all, now get out of my office and I really hope you will be on your best behaviour from now on.’

As Gavin left the glass office cursing left and right, Nines watched him. Ever the tower of calmness and simple observation, he kept his eyes focussed on his partner, who in turn ignored him as he always did. Of course, Nines knew of every word spoken in there and what they did to the human. He was just curious what his reaction would look like. ‘Is there something on my face, plastic?’, he spat finally being annoyed enough with Nines’ staring to interact. ‘Is that your facial expression for gloating? If yes, then you really have to work on that.’ ‘I was just observing your reaction’, Nines answered in all honesty. ‘Then go observe something else, tin-can. It’s creepy.’

‘I expected you to throw something. Maybe your keyboard. Or the cactus.’ ‘Don’t tempt me’, Gavin hissed under his breath, adding louder: ‘That’s what you’d expect huh? That’s what everyone would expect, am I right? You all think I’m some asshole with a loose temper, who enjoys shooting androids. It’s funny how it is a team and how everyone is partnered up, having each other’s back and then, suddenly, when it’s convenient, I’m the phcking asshole who shot a bot. That the damn thing threatened to shoot its hostage and that I aimed for the legs and hit its chest because I was pushed from behind, that is something no one wants to hear. I bet you think I will shoot you too, the moment it’s convenient for me to cover up as an accident!’ He clenched his fists at his sides. ‘Get your shit together. Be on your best behaviour’, he muttered. ‘What a giant pile of shit. How am I supposed to change if everyone is so sure who I am and what I do? I could kiss their robo-Jesus’ feet and they would think I murdered him.’ He let himself fall on his chair. He looked tired suddenly. ‘You better go search for another partner, before I pull you down on my level…’

Now that was interesting… Nines cocked his head to the side, scanning the man out of habit. No signs of any sickness. Curious. ‘Detective, what am I doing here?’ Gavin chuckled humourlessly. ‘Shit, tin-can, I ask myself the same question every day.’ ‘No, I mean it’, the android explained. ‘What am I doing here, Detective?’ ‘Pff… talking to me? Annoying me?’, Gavin tried. ‘Do you see me run around asking for a transfer?’ ‘No?’ ‘Then it is obvious, Detective.’ He threw him a small smile. Everything beyond that had been called terrifying by his test audience. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

The human lifted his brow. ‘And what does that mean?’ ‘That I don’t want a transfer and that I think Fowler’s decision is “bullshit”, too. During my own meeting with him in near exactly thirteen minutes, I will tell him just that. It was an accident. Tragic, but unfortunately unavoidable. I will also remind him that the android will be repaired and only has to suffer the mental trauma from being forcefully deactivated, what he, to be honest for a moment, conjured up himself the moment he took that hostage. I can’t condemn you when I would have done the same. Fowler may have had every right to mark your other offences in your file, but this one he will have to take back.’ He stared back at the human in silence, who was scanning him thoroughly. And only then he understood why Gavin had tried to prohibit him from scanning him. He felt uncomfortable under that gaze, unsure how the man would react to that. He had been honest with him, for the sake of their partnership, but would he appreciate it? Someone who had faced negativity for so long might just suspect a deeper meaning to an act of friendliness.

But instead, he seemed to only be sceptical: ‘You would do that?’ ‘Yes’, Nines nodded. ‘Regardless of what others may think, I am your partner and I will have your back, as it should be with everyone in this precinct. I have always been honest with everyone and I will continue speaking my mind.’ ‘Wow. Okay. Thanks… I guess.’ ‘Would you want me to lie to Fowler about your professionalism at work?’, Nines asked, not really understanding the human’s hesitation.’ ‘No! God, no. Just… Thank you. I really appreciate it, Nines.’ The android grinned at hearing his name for a change and turned around to walk towards Fowler’s office. Behind him he could hear Gavin curse at the still untrained, seldomly used grin, but also a quietly added ‘Don’t let it get to your head, tin-can’. Nines didn’t know if he could follow that command.

[titan-mom]

Destiny Fic: Sundown

Better late than never, they say.

Pardon me while I squeeze the last of my Rasputin-centric feels out before Beyond Light.

1400 words with Ana and Auburn. I tagged this “coworkers to friends” on ao3.

-

Auburn wrenches the ancient bunker door open far enough to squeeze her shoulders through. Without Rasputin she has to do it manually, and the hydraulics squeak and protest. Ana frets for a moment, if they can’t close and barricade that again it’s a route for hive or psions- but that doesn’t matter anymore, Rasputin is gone and there is nothing important left for them to find.

Or there might be, there might be. And that’s what she is looking for.

She’s a bit surprised Auburn found her so quickly, but maybe she shouldn’t be. This was where he had taken her after all, his time capsule. Ana was working at the station to the left of Felwinter’s crypt, digging for any backups he may have kept in here. Anything that may have survived the destruction.

“Pyramids are filling the airspace, we gotta go.” Auburn calls across the room, striding down the catwalk. “Those things are scrambling comms and transmat telemetry, but I got my ship tucked up somewhere safe. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

But Ana is rooted to the console, bracing herself for this argument. “Tell Zavala I’m not done yet. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

“Not you too. Ana come home.” There’s a sudden pain in Auburn’s voice she doesn’t understand, but she doesn’t have time to understand. She runs another query through the system, searching for him, for any aspect or fragment she’s missed, anything important.

“You don’t get it.” Ana tries, planting her hands on either side of the console and watching the scan surge through files. “He’s my responsibility, and mine alone. Even Zavala sees that. Just tell him that’s what I’m doing, my responsibility. Dealing with my consequences.”

“Ana, I want to help him too, I swear.” Auburn pleads. “But you’re in danger and I promised myself I’d get you out.”

She snorts in disbelief, and Auburn makes an exasperated noise. Ana looks up as the Titan reaches up and tugs her helmet off. Her brow is pinched in frustration and concern. “Why is it so hard to believe that I care? Not just because Zavala told me to but because I give a shit?”

Ana rocks back from the console, irksome, and turns her attention to this brewing argument. She was trying to avoid this. “Look, whenever we’re on comms, and I’m defending myself against Zavala, I just hear you get quiet. I know we hit it off well, I feel like we could have been friends! And I can tell you’re too nice to chime in and side against me too. I appreciate it, but I wouldn’t like, hold it against you-“

“No!” Auburn blurts. “It’s because I don’t want him to hear me siding with you.”

Ana pauses and chews on that. “With me? But you’re- you know…”

Auburn does a little list of her head, like she suspects where this is going, but is going to make her say it out loud.

“You know.” She says again. “You’re… a Titan.”

“And?”

Ana groans a little in the back of her throat, rocks from her heels to her toes, uncomfortable with acknowledging she’s being unfair. She’s stressed damnit. “Figured you’d be siding with your Commander, no matter what. And… that you’d be kind of stuck up about rules. And maybe think everything I’m doing is too stupid or dangerous. Titan things.”

She snorts. “We’ve got free will you know. That’s not a Hunter exclusive trait.”

Ana winces.

“Trust me, I’ve always sided with you.” Auburn presses again.

“Well you never told me.”

Auburn looks ready to snap back, but closes her mouth and looks away, shuffles a bit to fold her arms around her weapon and recede.  Ana watches her like a raptor, thinking steps ahead. She has to win, she has to buy more time to save Rasputin.

But Auburn sighs, and looks like she’s lost the will to fight already. “Look, we don’t talk a lot, because, well, twelve years ago I opened the Skywatch Array and made a friend.” She looks down at the Ikelos shotgun in her hands, a gift. “Zavala forbade me from contacting him and I listened for a while, but then I started talking to Warsats, and they started talking back, and I- I thought I was special.”

She turns and paces the room, the discomfort of the discussion spurning her into movement. “You know I was awestruck at it. I can still play it out in my mind, the silhouette of that array unfurling against a winter’s sky. It was pivotal. It was my very second day alive, my very first act as a Guardian. Ghost was looking for a comms link to call for a pickup and instead we found array codes and a Warmind. He was basically the first person I made contact with, besides Scout here.”

Ana blinks once, and lifts her chin at that. It occurs to her she’s never heard another Guardian so innocuously call Rasputin a person.

“And then a decade went by and I was following a signal on one of his channels and I got your distress call. He led me to you to help you, all the other Guardians out there and he chose me, but I was just crestfallen because I learned I wasn’t the only one he liked. And you’d been with him much longer. You had more of a connection, you were better friends. You’ve even got that nickname for him.”

Auburn laughs mirthlessly. “But you know, couldn’t blame you, wasn’t like you had ill intent. I just had to get over it. Did my best.”

Ana blinks, trying to follow this rapidly developing new direction. “You’re saying… you’re jealous?”

“Yeah.” She admits, ashamed. “Yeah, I have been, the whole time.”

It dawns on Ana, all their past conversations suddenly make sense. The moments Auburn got abrasive, the moments she was defensive. The pang of jealousy Ana had felt when Rasputin guided Auburn down here, into his deepest vault.

It didn’t have to be like this.

“I’m sorry.” Ana says. “He’s… you know. He didn’t mean to make you feel that way. And I didn’t.”

“I know. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry too.” Auburn replies, genuine and honest. But Ana rocks a little on her toes.

“Actually, I’m going to tell you a secret. You absolutely can’t tell Zavala.” Auburn lifts an eyebrow but nods a little. “It won’t hurt anyone. He just doesn’t know exactly how far I’ve been digging into my past, and he wouldn’t like it. I found logs about me, and Rasputin. I actually… programmed him. I was a linguistic anthropologist for Clovis Bray.”

She gives Auburn an apologetic grin. “I gave him the Shakespeare, the opera, all the music and art. I even tried to teach him how to tell jokes, they were just as bad then as they are now. So, technically, it is my fault. I taught him everything he knows, anything he learned he learned from me, anything he didn’t, well, I failed to teach him.”

“We can debate the moralistic division of Guardian and pre-guardian lives another time.” Auburn offers, with a twinge of humor. And she does have a soft smile, now. “I won’t tell Zavala, pinky swear. That said, I do feel a lot better. How did I think I could compete with his actual mom for role of favorite person in the universe?”

Ana barks a laugh. “I am not his mom. Oh, Traveler, am I his mom?”

Then she remembers the loss filling her gut, and decides that’s a thought for later.

“I have to try a little longer.” She says firmly. “I have most of him, in an engram. But its not much and… I think if I can find anything that will help me put him back together, it’ll be here.”

Auburn strides over, looking over her shoulder. Her own expression has returned to something grim. “Scout and I looked around in here before too. Let us help. Two hours, deal? We grab everything we can, and then we get him out of here.”

Ana takes a steadying breath and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

She gets a strong Titan shoulder clap in response. “We fly fast enough and we can tell Zavala we only stayed for one.”

Ana grins, despite herself, and moves onto her next search parameter. “Wish we’d been co-conspirators sooner than this.” She admits.

“We were.” Auburn replies, halfway across the room already. “Whether we knew it or not.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 19

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: A little violence (kinda) and a lot of feelings

A/N:  HOLY SHIT I AM SO SORRY! I had no intention for this to take over a fucking month. But Endgame fucked me up so hard (in the best way, I think I earned those hurts with the shit I write here lol) and just life, in general, has been NUTS (also in a really good way).

I honestly cannot thank you all enough for being so goddamn patient and supportive while you waited for this chapter. Some folks have to deal with really demanding and dickish followers but I’m over here getting asks and DMs of y’all wishing me well and shit. HOW AM I THIS LUCKY?!

I hope y’all like this one.

Tags are open!

Post Snap: Wakanda

Shock settles cold and heavy over Natasha’s shoulders.

Her gaze has been on the blank screen of her phone for an unknown amount of time. She’d tried to call… but all communication had been cut off, Wakanda locking itself away… A knock from the door behind her causes her to jump, sending the phone clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s tone is cautious. “The jets almost ready.” They needed to get home… She knows people need them but…

“I can’t.”

“Nat… we have to-”

“No. I have to find her Bruce…”

There’s pity in his eyes, “Natasha… the odds…”

“Go,” Steve’s voice comes from the hall, rough and low. She steps out holding his haunted expression. A set of keys sail in her direction, “There’s a bike you can take outside…” Steve pauses, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “Outside Bucky’s place.”

A touch of warmth fills her chest. He already knew what she’d need to do. Her fingers curl around the keys. “Thank you.”

The moment she’s outside of Wakanda’s protective barrier she tries to check for the message… still, she can’t get through…

A scream threatens to rip her apart. She may be able to make it through the end of the goddamn world… through watching members of her small family fall to ash… But she would not survive losing you… not again.

October 2009

“Fuck!” Natasha bellows slamming her fist against the wall.

Months of searching… this had been their last lead. It came up empty. She was supposed to be the best and yet she couldn’t find and save the one person she cared the most for… not even with the resources and blessing of S.H.I.E.L.D…

They’d given her everything she could need. Everyone from Secretary Pierce to Fury throwing their weight behind this, pulling strings no one would even fathom pulling with governments and low lives alike and still not a sign of you. It was as if you’d simply disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Nat…” Clint lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugs him off.

“We missed something. There’s gotta be… something…” her voice cracks as he takes her by the shoulders.

His sad eyes break something in her, “There’s not, Natasha. She’s… she’s gone.”

“No,” her voice is thick with restrained tears. “She wouldn’t-”

He shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t think it was a choice… But someone…” Nat shakes her head like a child denying a very obvious truth.

“Clint-” A sob slips out before she can catch it.

He tugs her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. A guttural sob rips from the deepest parts of her being and her knees give way sending them both to the floor. All she can think is how you’d feel this emotion with her, how you’d understand everything without her having to speak a word…

Slowly her sorrow is replaced with a cold rage. Someone took you from her. They likely caught wind that you’d turned your services over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and thinking you’d give something away… They couldn’t even leave her a body, couldn’t even give you dignity in death.

“We’ll figure out who did this, Natasha.” Clint may not be you but he knew her well enough to read her. “We will.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

-

They never did though…

Fury assigned her to Stark because she was best suited but also because he felt the distraction of deep cover would help. It may have but… Being Natalie Rushman reminded her of your night in Tokyo… There was nothing she could do to escape your memory.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long. In less than a year she was back to just being Natasha, back to the Widow, working every job she could. The more exhausted she was the less she felt how hollow she was. The more her body ached the less she missed your touch.

When she stared down a horde of alien invaders she thought that just maybe this was it. She’d go out fighting and save some people in the process. If there was another side well, she hoped you’d be there waiting.

But it wasn’t the end. Somehow they’d pulled off the impossible.

By that point, almost five years had passed. Natasha still missed you on a level that felt impossible to truly convey. But there were days that the ache was less than it had ever been. It wasn’t moving on per-say but it was something like healing.

At the very least now she had the distraction of Steve. She could make him a project. She’d never have the life or happiness she wanted but maybe she could help him find his footing. Maybe one of them could have a chance at happiness, at a life.

There was something she related to in his detachment. She supposed the loss of just about everyone and everything a person knew could be similar to the void you left. So many times she thought of telling him about you, hoping that he’d feel less alone in his pain but… He was a man from the ’40s… She wasn’t willing to risk losing a friend over dated prejudices.

Turned out she should have given Steve Rogers more credit.

When she heard the ballistics on the bullet that killed Fury her blood ran cold. It was him…

So many things had crossed her mind then. Not a single one of them had been that somehow she’d find you because of this.

She’d been so wrapped up in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s demise that she didn’t have time to look at the files she’d released. Thankfully Clint had her back and had been scanning them the moment they’d hit the web.

Just after she’d settled into the tower he showed up looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Fear gripped her. Had she exposed Laura and the kids in her haste to topple Hydra… had she sacrificed everything-

“I found her.”

For a minute the words rang hollow and meaningless.

“Found who?” Steve asked from his spot on her couch.

Clint said nothing, just held her gaze until his shot inevitably hit its target. “I think she’s alive, Nat.” He hands you a file.

With trembling hands, she turns the pages. Scarcely breathing. Steve says something but Clint hushes him.

As the words on the pages soak in she thinks she may vomit. Experiments, tests, torture… kill missions… Riots you’d incited at their command, dignitaries dropping from what appeared to be brain aneurisms. Little subtle things she should have looked for and then the last report… February 2014… nine months prior.

Natasha’s knees give out and she hits the hardwood with a thud. They’d had you for five years…  Her breath stills.

No.

“Natasha!” Clint kneels in front of her, Steve stands at the ready behind him.

Pieces rapidly click into place. All the subtle ties to Hydra since the very moment the two of you met and they meant one thing. My fault. All my fault. They wouldn’t have gotten to you if it weren’t for her. You wouldn’t have let your guard down. You wouldn’t have trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d had a feeling about them from the start but she’d been convinced you were just being overly cautious.

“Nat…”

A raspy breath sucks into her lungs so fast it almost hurts. “I did this.” She breathes out.

“No. No, you fucking did not.” Clint grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

“I did. She wouldn’t-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up with that I’ll slap you,” she sees Steve shift in the background. “You didn’t do this. They did this and we will get Y/N back.” She says nothing, just stares at a hair on Clint’s shirt, numb. “Do you hear me, Natasha?!”

Slowly her eyes meet his. “Do you hear me?” His tone level now.

“Yeah,” weakly she nods.

-

This was the last base that could possibly be hiding you. The last little flickering ember of hope. With cell after cell empty or filled with rotting bodies, that ember was fading quickly.

Natasha thought when the inevitable realization that you were gone hit her she’d go mad. Screaming, tearing her hair, the full Linda Blair. Instead, she feels… nothing. Not the calm detachment she’s used to but a nothingness so deep she wonders if it’s actually what death feels like.

“Natasha,” Sam’s voice crackles in her comm, “one floor down from you, south side. We think we got her.”

Tingles creep up her spine, feeling electric against her scalp. She won’t believe it. Won’t hope. All Sam and Steve had to go off of were old photos… Who knew what they’d done to you… Natasha ran faster than she ever had in her entire life. The slightest chance that you could be alive was all it took to drive her forward.

Honey. That’s all she wanted to hear in your rich accent. “Please,” she breathes out to anything that would hear her as she sprints down the hall toward where the guys waited. “Please give me her.”

“Where!?” They’re standing before a glass wall and part as if on cue.

The figure slumped on the floor beyond the glass isn’t the woman she remembers. There are bones where once ample curves had been, supple skin replaced with dull bruised flesh, thick hair traded for thin scraggly locks, pink lips for cracked grey things. Honestly, she couldn’t even tell if the person in there was alive.

A small sound ekes from Natasha’s mouth before her hand can fly to cover it. Why had she dared to hope?

Clint’s warm hand settles on her back. She doesn’t know when he arrived or how long she’s been staring. “That’s her, Nat…” He says it like she really doesn’t know like you aren’t a part of her very soul. She’d know you… she’d always know you. But were you-

Your head rolls on your shoulders, a groan sounding through unseen speakers. Natasha’s breath stops. -Alive.

“Hey,” your voice is cracked, low, and hoarse but still… it really is you. Clint grabs her hand tight. “How about you pieces of shit bring me some water?”

Still very you. Unable to wait a second longer she rushes to the door. Desperately she tugs at the handle, clearly locked.

“Rogers, a little help?!”

“Are you sure Nat? We don’t know if-”

“If. I know that if you don’t help me open this door I will break your super-powered body in ways you can’t even imagine.” Every word drips with conviction.

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. With a swift tug and a touch of effort, he pries the door open.

Your head rolls in the direction of the door, “About fuckin’ time. Was beginning to think y’all were just gonna-”

Eyes Natasha has missed for far too long fly wide open. Instead of the joy and love, she was hoping to see, terror floods your features.

“No,” your voice is barely a whisper. “God no please, no.” You bury your face in your knees, covering your ears with your hands, “I’ll do anything you want… don’t make me do this, not again, please. No.” Your body trembles, rocking back and forth.

Natasha doesn’t even hear Steve and Clint warn her to hold back as she kneels before you, tugging your hands from your head. Caution a long forgotten skill. This is you. You need her.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok. Look at me, feel-”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Your head shakes back and forth, “They lied, whatever they promised you is a lie. You won’t win, just go. Go. I can’t… I-”

“Y/N,” she tilts your chin up. Red rimmed, fearful eyes, gaze at her. “It’s me.”

“No. Leave, they’re gonna make me… just go. Go now. Tell ‘em I’ll do whatever it is, just leave… please… don’t make me do this…”

She shakes her head, “Do what? Baby, I-”

“Go!” You roar. Behind the word is something else. A force so strong it knocks the wind from Natasha’s chest. “Get out!”

She can’t breathe, her heart begins to trip over itself. Panic, terror, pain, all combine making her brain misfire in every direction. A low keening rises from you, with the sound the emotions become more and more pronounced. Natasha can’t even reach her concern for you anymore, there’s only this, this inescapable feeling of pure fear. Curling into a ball she tries to focus.

Slowly you rise, looking down at her. When her eyes meet yours she’s struck by how black they are, the pupils so huge they seem to take up more space than your irises ever did. They look… inhuman. For a second it quells the suffocating fear.

“Please…” Desperately Natasha reaches up for you, silently begging you to know her, all of her, in that way only you can. Instead, your hand slowly lowers, aimed for her head.

This is fine, Nat thinks, eyes closing. Strangely, she’s at peace with the thought that if she died here, by your hand, at least then you’d feel her, know she came for you even if she was too late.

The distinct crackling of electricity followed by a thud beside her meets her ears. Breath begins to fill her chest as her heart slows. Something happened to you… A new sense of panic breaks her from the stupor she’d fallen into.

You’re unconscious, one of Clint’s shock arrows stuck to your back. Vaguely, Natasha is aware of the shuffling feet near the door. Someone grabs her shoulders. Logically, she knows they’re helping her up but she isn’t operating on logic. Without thought, she blindly lunges at this faceless person. Flesh contacting flesh with an effective smack.  

Ignoring everything and everyone else she crawls to you ripping the arrow off your limp body tugging you into her arms. With every ounce of strength, she has she clutches your back to her chest. Your head lolls on her shoulder as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha whispers against your skin. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok, baby.” Tears burn the backs of her eyes, pricking like a thousand needles. She refuses to allow them to fall. Tears won’t help you.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice is level like he’s speaking to one of the kids. “Nat, we need to get her some help. Will you let us do that?”

Clarity dawns. Her eyes scan the room to find Steve rubbing his neck. It was Steve who she’d lashed out at. “St… Steve?”

“I’m ok,” his smile is weak but he’s sincere. “Will you let me carry her?”

The thought of letting you go… but Clint was right. Your skin feels clammy, your breath shallow… scarily so… Natasha nods and he cautiously approaches, not wanting another fist to the throat.

Steve lifts you from her arms like you weigh nothing. Despite his bulk, he’s so gentle, ensuring you’re supported properly. Clint and Sam flank her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before trekking to the jet.

Immediately Sam begins hooking you up to oxygen and a saline drip. He says something about your oxygen levels and heart rate that doesn’t sink in. All Natasha can do is stare at you, horrified and amazed in equal measure that somehow you’re back with her. Somehow after all these years, she has you again.

-

“This isn’t fucking necessary, Tony!” Natasha shakes with rage.

“I think all present parties would disagree.”

Her eyes desperately scan the room for backup but even Clint averts his gaze.

“I don’t know if you blacked out back there but all of us damn near flipped shit when your girl in there did. She’s a bomb and we have no idea what the trip wire is. Until we know exactly what’s going on we need to control the environment she’s in.” Tony collapses in a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like it either, Nat but he’s right. We have to play it safe. For her sake as much as ours.” Clint looks so tired…

She shakes her head, “She… she won’t know she’s safe… that-” I’m here… Natasha can’t finish the statement though because she knows that’s part of the point. Seeing her had set you off.

“We’re gonna have to keep her partially sedated for at least a few days anyway, Nat.” Sam offers a half smile when she glares at him. “The withdraws from whatever they had her on will be rough, it’d be cruel to keep her fully conscious while she goes through the first part of them. She’ll come to slowly so the change doesn’t shock her.”

She knows Sam’s right. They’d had you on some sick mix of heroin and other chemicals for longer than they knew. It was the perfect combination to keep you desperate and pliable without harming your mind, leaving you an effective weapon for them.

But when she looks at your unconscious form through the view screen she just wants to hold you. Truly it feels as though her whole body is aching to wrap around yours. She wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up but… they took that from you both.

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe, Natasha. Promise.”

-

Post Snap

The rain had slowed but that only meant that cold could settle in. That kind of cold that makes your insides ache.

You can’t bring yourself to move, all you can do is focus on the pain and what it reminded you of…

November 2014

Your whole body throbbed with pain. A deep, aching, hungry kind of pain. It was familiar but you weren’t certain of it until your stomach clenched.

Without ceremony, you lean over the side of the bed and heave, nothing but bile burning up your dry throat.

After you refused to kill the woman they sent you should have known they’d do this. It never took very long for withdrawal to set in and the last time it had been enough to break you… They’d send her in soon enough… And Natasha’s face or not you were fairly certain you’d end her life if it meant stopping the pain.

Anyway, it wasn’t Natasha… Hell, sometimes you wondered if there ever was a Natasha. Maybe your brain, in hopes of surviving, crafted some fantasy to comfort you…

You heave again, abdominal muscles screaming from the effort. “Fuck,” you groan, wiping your cracked lips on your arm.

It’s not until you collapse back into the bed that you realize you’re in a different cell, and this bed… well, it’s possibly the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in years. Interesting tactic for them to take.

The door opens cautiously. A dry laugh tumbles from you. Even if you wanted to attack whoever was on the other side you don’t have it in you. It’s strange though, caution isn’t usually their style.

Slowly a man with a kind smile comes into focus, a tray in his hands. He’s not in uniform, just plain street clothes. Your head cocks to the side, trying to put these pieces in place.

“Hey, thought you may want something on your stomach. Better than heaving up nothing.”

You say nothing, eyes narrowing. Focus, Y/N. Read him, come on. But your brain isn’t in the mood to obey you.

As he approaches, instinctively you curl into yourself. Thoughts of other men, other cells, flash rapidly through your mind setting your heart to thundering. The familiar feeling of your chest splitting open begins but you fight to maintain control. If they thought you attacked him…

The man clears his throat shaking his head a bit as if to fend off a fly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly he sets the tray of food at the end of the bed. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

He extends a hand just close enough for you to reach. For a long moment, you just stare at it, confused, trying to work out what the trap here is. It’s always something there’s always something. But maybe if you played along they’d give you want you needed to make the aching stop. Fuck, you just want it to stop.

Hesitantly you let your fingers graze the back of his hand.

Quick as though you touched a hot stove you withdraw. Bad idea. You couldn’t control it. So many images tumble in your mind. Faces, names, voices. A small sound comes from you as your hands grasp your head, trying to keep it from flying apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Can you open your eyes?” Sam, his name was Sam, is kneeling beside the bed looking up at you with earnest eyes.

Slowly things come back into focus and you know one thing for certain. He’s not lying to you. This Sam, whoever he may be, does want to help you. You don’t trust him, he could be being used, but it’s been a long time since someone was near you that didn’t mean you harm.

“I… it was too much at once…” Your body relaxes a touch, “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s that familiar flash of surprise before he responds, “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” his smile is true. “Think you can eat something?” Blankly you stare at the trey, the thought of eating making your abdomen clench. “If you can eat a bit I can give you something that’ll help with the pain.”

Saltine crackers had never looked so appealing and horrifying all at once. Taking a deep breath you scoot down the bed and pick one up with a shaky hand.

The salt explodes on your tongue as though it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Your stomach growls demanding more. In an instant you’re reaching for another cracker.

“Take it slow,” Sam smiles brightly as he pulls up a chair close enough to be personable but not uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling hungry that’s a good sign. Means your system is getting closer to being clear.”

“What’d they have me on?” You ask before taking a deep drink of water.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, “It was a cocktail. An addictive one.”

You didn’t really need the details, nor did you want them in all honesty. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. One thing you did want to know…

“Where am I?”

Sam holds your gaze, clearly weighing his response carefully. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s a shit answer.” Your hands shake as you sip the oversized mug of broth. It’s hot and stings your chapped lips a bit but you nearly groan from the taste.

“True.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in New York. With people who want to help you. Can that be enough for now?” His sincerity hits you, a warm wave of emotion, unlike anything you’ve felt in so long.

You’re too tired to fight, “For now.” The half-empty mug clatters to the trey as it slips from your hands. Mindlessly you itch at your arms, every nerve feels like it’s tingling, almost enough to drive you crazy.

Sam stands, crossing the room. Your eyes follow him as he places his thumb on a pad causing a small door to open. “This will help that.” He holds up a vile and syringe.

Fear chills your over-warm body instantly. However, your eyes light on your arms, scratch marks red and irritated, and despite the food, everything still hurts… badly. Plus, who gave a fuck what you wanted. He may be kind but you were still in a cell, still a prisoner.

Habitually you hold your arms out. With a gentle touch, he grips your wrist, locating a non-ruined vein and injects whatever new concoction these helpful people have for you.

As it works its way through your blood the aching does quiet some, your nerves stop their incessant tingling. A deep sigh escapes you. Whatever it was it felt good. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the food, or just soul-deep exhaustion but your eyes flutter and you sway.

“Here,” Sam grips your shoulders, guiding you to the plush pillows. Suddenly you see a flash from him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” Through your half-lidded eyes, you see his confused expression and feel just a touch of fear.

“Your friend. Riley. I’m sorry.”

He looks away, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” When he looks back his eyes are glassy, “Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll check back in on you soon.”

-

It had been six… no seven days… They blurred together into one purgatorial haze.

Natasha hadn’t left the observation room off your cell the entire time. Sleeping on a cot next to the viewscreen just to feel closer to you… when she slept that was. But after Sam had assured her that his exchange with you earlier was an excellent sign she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. That little touch of relief better than any sleeping pill.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out but a sudden cry instantly pulls her from sleep.

You’re still in the bed, very much unconscious, but… You’re thrashing, so much so it’s hard to tell if you’re not seizing. The only thing convincing her that you’re in the grips of a terrible dream is the cries of terror filling her ears. Then…

“Natasha!” Your desperation and pain feel like a bullet straight through her heart. A red light flashes in the observation room, the others are coming, she has to get in there now before anyone can stop her.

“Natasha! Don’t!”Clint’s voice barely hits her ears as the door to your cell slams shut behind her.

For a moment she can’t breathe or move. The air of your cell is thick, swamp-like with your emotions. Taking a deep breath she gathers herself.

With effort, she focuses on every good memory she has of you, every happy moment, every safe tender night and… love. She pulls that core emotion around her like a cloak hoping it will somehow reach you.

“Get out of there, Natasha!” Tony’s voice is harsh through the speaker. She ignores him, almost to you.

A scream accompanied with a wave of abject terror and images of a lab almost send her to her knees. She doesn’t falter though, tears stream down her cheeks, her body shakes but still, she moves toward your thrashing form.

Slowly she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her arms wrap around you, pinning your arms. Her legs do the same around yours holding you steady.

“No!” You screech as your head flings back. She barely avoids the hit.

She’s not feeling the fear you’re pumping out though, not anymore. All she feels is relief. It springs from some part of her she had forgotten about. You’re in her arms, the ache she’s felt for years quieting.

“Y/N, you’re dreaming baby.”

“Natasha, no!” You sob as an image of her own bloody body slams into her. She just holds you tighter.

“That’s not me. I’m right here. I’ve got you, Y/N.” She feels a shift in your body. “Do you hear me? Focus on my voice baby… Come back to me, Y/N… please.”

You gasp, “N… Natasha…”

“That’s right.” You’re no longer thrashing so she slides her hands to grasp yours. “It’s me.” Natasha keeps her mind focused on all those good memories that got her from the door to the bed. Focused on the love she feels for you.

A thick sob bubbles from you causing your torso to shake. You try to turn in her arms and panic grips her, remembering your reaction in the base.

“Keep your eyes closed ok? Can you do that for me?”

You nod and she helps you turn to face her. You’re so gaunt, so clearly battered, but somehow still so fucking beautiful to her.

A trembling hand releases hers rising to find her face. Natasha hears the speaker click, but her free hand shoots up, signaling them to shut up. Your fingers lay gently on her cheekbone, from there they slowly trace her features stopping on her lips.

In a movement as natural to the both of you as breathing you pull one another even closer, your lips fitting together perfectly.

Natasha nearly cries out with joy at that long forgotten warm feeling of love that always flowed form you when your lips met hers. It was thick and golden like-

“Honey.”

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree​ @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade​ @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen​ @yanginginthere​ @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf​ @itsqueenofchains @demonlover87​ @firegoblet01​

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober #20: Wake up! - Bungou Stray Dogs

This title is a bit of a stretch, but I needed a chapter like this at this point in the story. This is a multi-chaptered story, read part 1 here and part 2 here. ***

So this is how it is. After years trying to make things right, this is how I'm going to spend the last of my days. It almost makes one want to keep on living... and how fucked up isn't that?

After trying to kill myself my entire life, here I am, at the brink of death, fighting to stay alive.

If karma was on my side, I might be as bold as to think I deserved another chance, but… Anyone else perhaps. I deserve what I'm getting, and if it's under false pretenses or not, it really doesn't matter.

On the one hand, all I want to do is die and be done with it. Kick the bucket one final time, releasing the Agency of their duties of looking for me. Because I know they're looking. The idiots won't leave this alone before they know exactly what happened.

Then, on the other hand, I want to show these fuckers exactly who I am. No matter how hard I've fought to walk in the light, I'm still Osamu Dazai. The youngest executive in Port Mafia history, the second half of the infamous double black. The monster, the legend.

...reduced to less than the shadow I once cast.

I can't believe I ever thought that things couldn't get any worse.

Just when you think you've lost everything... You'll find out that you can always lose a little more. ***

"Hinata-chan, it's nice to meet you again. I only wish it was under different circumstances," Kunikida greeted solemnly and directed the short brunette to sit on the same couch she had been seated at six months ago together with her mother.

"Kunikida-san, I'm so happy you have reconsidered taking our case further. There's just no way Niko-chan would have drowned like that- she knew better than to go swimming by herself."

Kunikida forced himself not to frown, recognizing that taking on this case was more selfish than not, but he had to act professionally.

"It was never about doubting your suspicions. It's just been very busy," he said. Technically, that wasn't a lie.

"Is Dazai-san here too? He was such excellent help when Niko-chan was missing, even if it turned out the way it did," the young lady asked, looking around the office landscape where several of the other agents immediately turned away and suddenly looked extremely engaged with whatever conveniently close to their positions in the room.

"Unfortunately, he is not," Kunikida answered carefully. "I'm going to be completely honest with you, Hinata-chan. Dazai-san has been missing for six months."

He watched closely as the young woman's expression changed. She looked surprised.

"R-really?"

"Yes, sadly. He disappeared only days after your sister was found."

Hinata looked incredulously into the air in front of her, brows curved into a small scowl.

"And you think it might have a connection to my sister's death," she concluded finally.

Kunikida took a deep breath before he answered. He didn't want the girl to think that this was the only reason they took her case; even if it kinda was. It was hard to look at it in an unbiased way right now.

"Yes, we do," Kunikida settled on, quickly adding, "but that doesn't mean that we wouldn't have taken the case if it wasn't for that. If Dazai-san had been here, I can assure you that he would have been on it as soon he had seen it. That's the only reason we haven't been aware of your application until now. I'm going to be frank with you, most of our time since he went missing, has gone towards looking for him."

Hinata folded her hands in her lap, big bright cerulean eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I guess it's been a difficult six months for all of us, huh?" she muttered gravely. Kunikida couldn't do anything but agree.

"So, what do you think? Would you like to go through with this?"

"Yes, yes I would. Whatever you need. I want justice for my sister and Dazai-san's disappearance only amplifies my suspicion that everything is not as it seems."

"I believe you are right," Kunikida acknowledged with a short nod and paused for a moment to collect himself. He had read through Dazai's lack-lustered reports from the search, again being reminded of how infuriating it was that the ex-mafioso was so reluctant to put down the work and do it properly. In any other job, a person would have been sacked for something like that.

"I read in your application that your parents-understandably- have taken your sister's death very hard and don't want to go any further into it, but it would be of really big help if they could come in for a talk as well. All and any information would be greatly appreciated."

"Oh, uh, I… I can ask them. But I won't promise anything. My mother will probably try her best, but dad is… a bit more stubborn. I think he took her death the hardest of all of us. He has buried himself in his work ever since. He's hardly ever home anymore."

Kunikida reached out and gave her a compassionate clasp on the shoulder.

"I can only imagine. We will be very respectful. Is there one thing all of the members in our agency knows all too well, it's the pain of being the ones left behind."

A sad smile graced Hinata's thin lips as she gathered her things and left. Kunikida kept his seat in the small area where they would interview their clients for a little bit after she had gone. He felt conflicted about this. Unsure if anything they could learn about the poor girl's death would benefit the family in any way. In the end, it seemed like the only ones that could possibly gain anything at all from this was them.

...and Dazai. And they were definitely running out of time. The sly bastard was persevering, which he had shown time and time again. But six months was a hell of a long time, even considering that the idiot had nine lives and always seemed to land on his feet. He might twist an ankle in the landing but, somehow, it never seemed to slow him down.

"Yo, d'you know where Dazai's reports on the Saito-case has gone?" Ranpo suddenly startled him out of his musings with his question. Kunikida had to think for a moment, before he replied.

"I think Atsushi had it last. Ask him if he's done with it," he muttered absentmindedly. The short detective frowned a little but didn't say anything before he turned around, headed for the weretiger's desk.

After another couple of minutes, Kunikida was able to tear himself away from his spiraling thoughts towards doing something a little more productive.

He had studied the Yokohama map filled with large black X's and notes written in the margin for about half an hour when Ranpo approached him again.

"Uh, Kunikida-san? Did you read Dazai-san's research from this case?"

Kunikida scoffed. Of course, he had- several times. It was the usual chicken-scratches he always presented. Hardly legible, after being hand-written with poor grammar, going back and forth in time seemingly at random, with small add-ins with arrows pointing to where he had meant to put it and scratches where he had spelled a word wrong or changed his mind on how to articulate it.

"Obviously," he answered before he shrugged. "Well, as far as it was decipherable at all."

"Well actually… I think it was code."

For several seconds, Kunikida was unable to grasp what the brown-clad detective in front of him had just said. Because he had read that file so many times that he could quite literally recite it from memory, and not for a damn second had he spotted any sort of code in those crumbled up papers that looked more like they had been fished out from the bottom of a primary schooler's backpack at the end of a school year than as an official document.

"...what?"

"I crosschecked with some of his older reports and it's the same thing. It seems like he always keeps personal notes hidden in code through his reports."

"No, I mean… What the hell are you talking about? There's a code?"

"...which I've already deciphered of course. It's actually quite common. They make a code, mostly to themselves to keep track of their personal thoughts and surmises in their investigations. It's not too complicated, for the trained eye I mean, but they make sure to make it complex enough that they won't get in trouble with the higher-ups if they turn out to be wrong. To avoid being punished for having damning suspicions against their clients for example, or chasing leads that don't turn up anything. It's almost like pig-Latin, really, except it's personalized but there's a fixed pattern and-"

"How in the world haven't you seen that before?" Kunikida snapped, to which Ranpo looked fiercely offended.

"Now you just hold on a second! This is the first time I've laid eyes on that file and I recognized the pattern right away! The Saito-case was sad and all, but it was not a high-profiled case in any sense of the word. Nobody else that's read it recognized it!"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. I get it. I'm sorry. Would you please just tell me what it says?" Kunikida growled between clenched teeth.

"Well, there's nothing about a possible location yet, but," Ranpo took a deep breath and started laying out the pieces of paper in front of Kunikida. "...at least Dazai-san provided us with a name." ***

“Wake up,” a dark voice commanded from somewhere still far beyond consciousness. It repeated itself, several times, coaxing him back to the awful truth of his current existence. His body ached fiercely, foremost his head and throat and the newly broken arm which had not been properly set yet (he didn't know what he had expected; of course they would want him aware for that). The rest of his body hurt too, but it seemed to bleach to this new sensation that was conquering his being. There was dull nausea deep inside his gut too, that threatened to surface more and more at each second that went by. 

"That's it. Can you look at me?" the masked man said, and Dazai faintly recognized him as the doctor who just would not let him die. "I have talked them into having you here for at least a couple of hours. You're not going to feel great after this. I'm going to keep you on this IV to avoid any dehydration. That sometimes happens after a… meal like this," the doctor said, looking between his patient and the bag of liquid on the rack a few centimeters above him.

"I also want to keep you on oxygen. When someone has starved themselves for as long as you have, there's always the risk of refeeding syndrome. I've been given strict instructions to not let you die, so that is what I'm going to do."

Dazai was sure he wouldn't have been able to care if he wanted to because as the doctor finished talking, he felt the bile rise in his throat. If it hadn't been for the bonds that still tied him firmly in place, he would have been able to turn on his side to avoid choking on his own vomit.

Luckily, Dr. You-shall-not-pass was quickly at work, loosening the restraints on his head and arms to give him enough reach to puke into the basin that was ready at his side.

Dazai emptied himself entirely, strangely comforted at the feeling. At least, it had calmed the nausea. Latex-gloved hands were steadying him for a moment, ready to lower him back into the bed.

Something inside Dazai's mind shifted in that instance. A tempting while slightly scary thought crossed his mind. Something that had not occurred yet up to this point in his captivity; an opportunity.

Before giving it much more thought, or perhaps unable to, Dazai reached for the basin with shaky hands and quickly whacked it over the doctor's head. He was maybe weak, injured and sick, but if you've killed as many people as Dazai had, you knew where to aim.

There was almost a small pang of guilt ignited in Dazai as the doctor folded in on himself and flopped onto the floor in a motionless heap. But, there was no time to dwell on it. Adrenaline had struck and that was literally the only hope he had of getting out of here without being rescued in the state he was in.

Quickly, he fumbled with the rest if his restraints and yanked the IV out of his hand, threw off his blanket and placed his feet on the floor and got up.

And imminently fell back down. His hip throbbed as if it was set ablaze, leaving him immobilized on the floor while heaving for air as the bile once again rose in his throat.

An alarm had started to signal in the distance and Dazai was faintly aware that he had screwed up the only chance he would get to escape. His vision had already started to blacken in the edges when several armed men entered the room, shouting and making too many loud noises to handle anymore. This time, Dazai considered himself lucky once the illuminating sticks closed in on him with the promise of blissful unawareness. He even made a point of resisting, just so they would make sure that he was thoroughly out before he would meet his inevitable punishment.

[willofhounds]

I need to connect

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330155

A/N Once again this will be another one-shot.

Warnings: No happy ending. Soulmate au. Aizawa/Izuku pair

"Speaking"

:Thoughts:

Aizawa's POV

Coffee in between hero work and before he was needed at the school was his usual routine. There was one shop in town that made the best roast. It was strong enough to keep him awake most mornings.

Shouta was more exhausted than normal, however. More than one cup was needed to keep him alert.

Heroes from all over the city were called in for a fight. Apparently, the Kings were at it again. Normally heroes didnt interfere with the Kings as they kept to themselves. However, the Red and Blue King were becoming increasingly public with their fights. It seemed almost as if a war between them was on the horizon.

Just before the appearance of quirks, there was a discovery in Germany. Scientists had found a Slate with unrecognizable carvings etched into it. They called it a relic and began to study it.

Germans and the Japanese thought it would create the next level of soldiers for war. Given the state of their world at the time it could have made the difference. If they could only learn how to forcefully activate the relic.

The relic was rightfully dubbed the Slate. By bringing mice as test subjects they found the Slate resonated with certain rats. When they resonated with it the rat would gain heightened intelligence or extra powers. Their powers were marked by a sword above their heads. It would be later named a Sword of Damocles.

Despite the scientists' best efforts, they were unable to get it to resonate with a human. Until a bombing run happened on their facility. More than half of the scientists were killed. Including a young scientist who was the twin sister of the head scientist.

Her brother was saved by the Slate's power and was given the power of the Silver Sword of Damocles. Adolf K. Weissman became the First and Silver King.

After that Japan took it back with them. A young Lieutenant became the Second and Gold King. With Weissman wanting nothing to do with the world any longer he took control over it.

As time passed it was revealed that there were 7 Swords of Damocles. Those who wielded the Swords and the powers that came with them were declared Kings. Kings only answered to themselves and in serious situations the Gold King.

Then came quirks and with the heroes. In the beginning heroes and villains alike fought against the Kings. It wasnt until the Gold King stepped in that peace between heroes and Kings resumed.

As long as innocents weren't injured the Kings would answer only to each other. Clansman had to answer to laws just like normal citizens. Though most ignored that rule. They felt the only ones they answered to were the Kings that commanded them.

Times were changing though. The Gold King was getting old and could no longer keep control over the younger generation. SCEPTER4 led by the Blue King stepped in when things got too dangerous. Or if the Red King was involved.

Heroes were beginning to be needed for rescues more often than before. SCEPTER4 could create shields to protect civilians but the flames of HOMRA were powerful. If the police even though it was HOMRA, SCEPTER4 would be immediately notified.

Heroes couldn't even put out the fire correctly until the Red King left. His mere presence was enough to keep the flames going.

Last night had been no different. Shouta helped rescue trapped civilians while SCEPTER4 tried to suppress HOMRA. At one point it appeared the Red King had lost control over his powers. Even at the first aid site half a mile away, they could feel the heat.

It was well after three am when the two groups dispersed. More than a dozen members of HOMRA were captured and arrested for their part in the destruction. None of them seemed particularly important and that frustrated the underground hero.

As he entered his favorite coffee shop he noted that it was mostly empty. A boy maybe in his late teens or early twenties was ordering at the counter. From the back all he could see was his green hair and that he was wearing a black t-shirt with jeans. The way he held himself spoke of quiet confidence.

The barista said cheerfully, "Its good to see you again, Midoriya. Your usual again today? How is Totsuka doing?"

Midoriya replied equally as cheerful, "I am well. Need Mr. Kusangi, Tatara, and Mr. Mikoto's coffee as well today. Mr. Kusangi was injured last night against the mafia group that's been causing trouble. Then the Blues showed up and only aggravated his injury. So Tatara and I will be running the bar."

There was a widening in the barista's eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh no! Poor Mr. Kusanagi. I know he means a lot to you guys. He's always looking after those of us who can't look after ourselves. Or those of us who are being bullied. Before HOMRA we had no one we could really go to for help. Heroes in this area are too overworked to help with anything like the mafia."

Shouta froze in surprise. HOMRA attacked a mafia group? That was why they were out last night?

That didnt fit their M.O. From what he learned they were a ragtag group who focused on their own needs. Heroes and the police never considered that there might be more behind the fights.

Midoriya answered, "We will always look after those that we can. If anyone else tries to let me or Tatara know. Or you drop by the bar anytime."

"Goodbye, Midoriya. Tell Mr. Kusanagi that we all hope that heals quickly."

Midoriya turned to face Shouta who stayed as relaxed as possible. He couldn't arrest this kid right now. Not only was he likely another small fry. Heroes and police couldn't take in a King or clansman unless they were committing a crime.

He was lucky that his hero clothes could be mistake for civilian clothes. Unless he pulled his goggles out from under his scarf then he wouldn't be seen as a hero.

Midoriya passed by him and because of the small space between Shouta and the door. Their shoulders bumped. Right where the soulmate mark that he had hidden every day since he decided he wanted to be a hero. The younger man didnt even pause as he went through the door.

Another thing that had appeared with quirks and King were soulmates. Most people had a soulmate and when they turned seven their mark appeared on their body. Shouta's was of a black cat with red eyes and a green bunny encircled by a red flame. Connecting the two animals were a white that looked like his capture scarf.

Something itched in the back of his mind. It felt off in a way but for the moment he ignored it. He needed information and this was the best spot to get it. A quick text to Hisashi asked his friend to watch his homeroom class.

With that done he approached the counter. The barista gave him a grin and inquired, "What can I get for you?"

Shouta replied nodding over his shoulder at the door, "Black coffee with two sugars, please. What can you tell me about that boy?"

"Midoriya?" She questioned absent-mindedly, "Honestly not much. I first met him when HOMRA first took him in. Word is that his mother was murdered by a villain. HOMRA took him in when his father abandoned him. Ever since that day he has not left them. Like most members, he is loyal to a fault."

"Do you know his first name?"

She nodded as she replied, "Izuku I believe. Izuku Midoriya."

That was all the information she could give on the teenager. It was enough however that he could start an investigation when he got back to the school.

As he expected both Hizashi and Nemuri cornered him as soon as he returned. They were curious about why he would be late. It wasn't often that he was late beyond a few minutes.

With some well-timed snaps, he was able to get then to back off. He didnt want to get them involved until he was sure about the boy. That would require research.

What he found was alarming. Izuku Midoriya was classified as a missing person but presumed dead. Inko Midoriya had been murdered by an unknown villain in their home when he was just 6 years old. Hisashi Midoriya had taken custody of the child for a short time before he disappeared.

Three months after the murder of his wife Hisashi filed a missing person's report on Izuku. The police searched but there were no signs of the boy. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

If he was picked up by HOMRA then that would make sense. If Midoriya was part of the fighting then the higher ranking members would protect him until he could protect himself.

Shouta's estimation of his age was right on the mark. Midoriya was 17 almost eighteen now. He had been with HOMRA for over a decade. That would make the bonds thicker than blood. It would also make him one of the first clansmen.

When the mother was murder Mikoto Souh had only been a King for a few months. Would a King mark a child as a clansman was the question. There wasn't enough information to answer it.

In the afternoon he took a nap in preparation for the upcoming evening. He awoken not by his alarm but by his soulmate mark burning like it was on fire. Anger that was not own coursed through his mind.

A moment later his phone went off. An officer said on the other side where explosions could be heard, "Eraserhead! You need to get down to the Southside immediately. Villains have acted HOMRA's base!"

Fuck! Absolutely nothing good could come of this.

Izuku's POV

He ducked behind Mikoto as a blue flamed villain rushed at HOMRA. The heat that his King gave off in response even made members of HOMRA flinch. They were strong and resistant to fire. That did not make them invincible, however.

There wasn't time to hide behind his King. He had a job to do that only he could perform.

Most of the clan were heavy tanks like fighters. There were three who preferred to stay out of the fighting.

One was Anna Kushina. She was the princess of HOMRA. Like Izuku she had been taken in when her family abandoned her. She was born a Strain. Someone who had abilities but they didnt come from a King. She could see the auras of Kings and clansmen. As a second ability given when she became a clansman, she gained a location ability. They thought she had a slight clairvoyance ability but it was hard to tell.

The second was Tatara Totsuka. He was a friend of Mikoto and Izumo before HOMRA was founded. Tatara held the ability to calm the hearts of those around him. In all the years he had known the older man he had never seen him fight. Always using his ability to stop a fight before it truly began.

Finally was Izuku. After his mother was murdered by a villain and his father abandoned him Mikoto took him in. With the help of Izumo and Tatara, he learned what he would in school. Through Mikoto, he learned how to fight.

Unlike the others, Izuku could use his flames in a fight. The difference was that he chose not to. He held the ability of barriers. Drawing runes in blood activated flame barriers. If you did not carry the mark of the Third King then you could not pass through the barrier.

It wasnt a perfect technique. The amount of time it took to create the runes in made him a target. Though he found out if they weren't removed then they could be used multiple times.

There were traps laid all around the bar for just such an event. Still, he had to set extra rune circles. That would make the barriers stronger. It also gave Yata and Rikio time to evacuate the civilians.

As he finished drawing the final rune he sat back on his heels. Blood dripped from his palm onto the ground. To get adequate blood to draw runes with he had to cut open his palm. He activated his red aura cauterizing the wound. Another pink and silver scar appeared on his palm.

Bringing up his wrist he tapped on his watch calling Yata. The younger boy answered, "Yo?"

"Are all the civilians evacuated? The runes are drawn and ready to be activated," he said watching as Izumo's flames struck out at the villains.

The villains were a tag team that he had seen before on the news. One had a size quirk that allowed his body to grow to enormous sizes. The other could shrink whatever they touched. Including organic materials.

It made sense that Izumo was the one fighting him. Izumo used his lighter to attack at long range. He was the strategist of HOMRA.

Yata replied, "All civilians are evacuated. We are ready for a full-on attack. Be ready to raise the barriers. Yata out!"

Izuku shouted disconnecting his phone, "As soon as Yata and Rikio enter the circle I'll activate the barrier! Anyone not suited for this fight fall back and assist the injured civilians!"

"Sir!"

Members of HOMRA sprung into action. The lower members ran towards the villains. They would keep the villains from escaping. The middle-ranked members were leaving the area to assist the civilians.

Two taps to his shoulder signaled that Yata and Rikio were entering the barrier site. A twinge of annoyance went through the back of his mind. It wasn't his own annoyance. This wasnt the time to think about such a thing though. He had to set the barrier.

Izuku put himself on the battle side of the barrier. Cutting open his hand again he placed his bloodied palm on the primary rune circle. A black shadow rushed across the barrier line into the fighting. It was already too late to stop him from activating his aura the circle's flames erupted from them. It formed a barrier of fire.

He shouted above the fighting, "King barrier is set!"

Mikoto only turned to give him a slight nod. Then nonchalantly joined the fight. Even against villains with quirks he never went all out. The only time Izuku ever sees him get serious was against Reisi Munakata.

Reisi and Mikoto fought like cats and dogs. It was because they were order and chaos in terms of their powers. Blue and red Kings were forever destined to clash. No one could say otherwise.

Izuku stood ready to join the fight when he found an unwelcome sight within the barrier. A man in black sweats with a scarf wrapped around his shoulders stood there. Covering his eyes were a pair of yellow goggles.

It took a moment for Izuku to recognize him. It was the man he bumped into at the coffee shop. Those goggles themselves struck a cord within Izuku. They looked just like the one on his soulmate mark.

His mind was racing. They bumped shoulders in the coffee shop. That was when he started feeling emotions that weren't his. The shoulder that he bumped held his soulmate mark.

The man asked watching the fights as they broke out, "What is going on here?"

Izuku pulled a lighter from his pocket as he said, "Villains attacked our home. Without heed of the civilian's homes that line our streets they attacked. Low and middle-ranking members kept them busy while everyone else evacuated civilians. HOMRA may seem like reckless thugs to you, hero but we care for those who cannot defend themselves. The barrier of fire was only set when everyone was gone."

Eyes widened behind the goggles. Izuku could feel the man's surprise and understanding. Everyone looked down upon HOMRA for being a gang of thugs. The lower-ranked members fit that bill more than the higher-ranked.

Outside of fighting with the Blues HOMRA tended to keep to themselves. It was only when one of their own was threatened that they picked fights.

Izuku was startled by a flash of movement that did not belong to the fighters. Just inside the doorway of the bar stood Anna and Tatara.

What in the twelve hells were they doing outside of the bar? Orders were to stay in King's room.

Mikoto snapped, "Midoriya! Protect Totsuka!"

That had him moving ignoring the possibility that he ran into his soulmate.

:No Blood. No Bone. No Ash,: he chanted within his mind.

The tiny embers that lay just beneath the surface of his skin erupted into flames. He didn't need the cadence for setting barriers. If he wanted to fight then he needed the embers ignited into a true flame.

Rushing to Tatara's side he checked on both he and Anna. They were in good health. Simply watching the fight between the clan and the villains.

The lighter in his hands was just like the one Izumo carried. In fact, most of the middle-ranked members and higher had one. It didnt matter if you smoked or not. The lighters carried the mark of HOMRA engraved into the metal.

They were a right of passage for every clansman. After serving the clan for a year each clansman was given a lighter and a pack of cigarettes carrying the mark. They would forever be a reminder. No matter where you went or if their paths strayed from that of the clan. They would forever be apart of HOMRA.

Izuku used him as a long-range weapon. The metal was strong enough to withstand the flames of his King after all. It would be a waste not to use it when he didnt smoke.

Watching the fight play out was just like the others. Misaki Yata the red-haired vanguard attacked using his skateboard for speed and extra power. Both he and Rikio acted as tanks. They hit hard and blocked attacks meant for the King.

Izumo was watching for any sort of opening to land long distant attacks. The stiffness of his posture spoke of the pain he was in. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be in the battle but it was all hands on deck with this attack.

And the King... Mikoto was never one to go with any plan other than his own. The man had heat radiating off of him. Nearby metal object began to distort the closer he got to them. The two villains froze as Mikoto closed in on them.

Above their heads was the Red Sword of Damocles in its glory. Their fires were feeding off of its strength. Fires that were nothing in comparison to the King's.

A rough sounding unfamiliar voice said next to him, "So this is the power of a King. I have not seen this up close like this before."

It was the man from the shop. What was he doing following Izuku?

Izuku responded with a growl, "This is just Mikoto toying with them. Only us clansmen are truly giving it our all. We wish to end this before the Blues decide to make an appearance. Who are you?"

The goggle bearing man replied, "I am the underground hero Eraserhead. I've seen the destruction your people cause. It's hard to believe that you would be attacked without provoking it."

"You're just like everyone else," Izuku bit out scathingly, "You only see what we do in the present second. You don't see past that at why we do what we do. Or at what cost..."

A hand closed around his shoulder cutting Izuku off. A pleasantly warm and calming fire went through him. It calmed his anger at the man in front of him.

Looking back he saw the warm light brown eyes of Tatara staring at him. There was a slight shake of the man's head. Izuku took a deep breath to calm his anger.

Heroes were all the same. They looked down upon the clans. Thought so little of them that they were little more than villains. That wasn't the truth, however.

HOMRA took a lot of the blame for people just having fire quirks. It was easier to write off for the police than spending time actually investigating. They didnt deserve that kind of reputation. HOMRA looked after each other. The eyes were family. Sometimes the only family that they could count on.

Tatata said his eyes turning cold in a way that was rarely seen for the soft-spoken blond, "You should not underestimate a clan's determination. Or let what you see on the outside affect your judgment," then something shifted in his face and the Tatara so lover why the clan returned, "Come by the bar sometime. Find out who we really are and what it means to be HOMRA."

There was that gentleness that showed a scared child that there was still good in this world. With his insistence, Izuku was taken in by HOMRA. He became the youngest clansman of the red clan.

Eraserhead huffed and a flash of annoyance went through Izuku. It wasn't his own. The soulmate bond there was no denying it any longer.

Then suddenly the man leaped forward. Using his scarf he attacked the villain that had strayed to close to them. A quick knee to the face and the villain was out cold. It all happened in an instant. If he had not been watching he would have missed it entirely.

The second one who was already pinned to the ground painfully by the vanguards. Yata had his foot planted in the villain's back. The others had his hands tied so that he couldn't getaway.

Mikoto called out, "Brat, take down the barrier. We will hand these two over tonight," Mikoto bent down to growl at the one they had pinned.

It was too far for Izuku to hear but he had an idea. Most likely a threat for them to never return to the city. While not all of it was HOMRA territory they would know if these two came back. If they did they would not survive the second encounter.

Concentrating on the runes he destroyed the primary rune circle. The barrier fell with it. The flames dissipating almost immediately. The buildings and roads were scorched but without any permanent damage.

Almost as soon as they fell the area was swarmed with police, SCEPTER4, and heroes. Choosing to ignore them he went to check on members of his clan. A handful of lower-ranked members had some broken bones but nothing too serious. Izumo was by far the worst off. He tore his stitches in the fighting. Pale he was barely able to remain standing.

As third in command of the clan Izuku began barking orders. That had the ranks moving and taking the injured inside the bar. The uninjured formed a perimeter in order to keep out unwanted guests.

Mikoto and the higher ranking members faced off with SCEPTER4. They were tired from fighting with the two villains but they would stand their ground.

Eraserhead called out, "Heroes stand down," eyes turned towards the man questioning his order, "HOMRA did not start this fight. They were attacked by these villains. As is their right they protected themselves and subdued them."

Police and heroes alike gave them wary looks and a wide berth. The vanguard released the unconscious villain while Eraserhead put cuffs on his. Mikoto aided Izumo back into the bar followed soon by Tatara and Anna.

Izuku stayed to answer the police and heroes' questions as well as those from SCEPTER4. A small smile crossed his face when he caught Reisi glancing at the bar with carefully concealed worry. Only six people knew this but Reisi and Izumo were soulmates. Their soul marks were of the Red and Blue Swords of Damocles circling in harmony. An action very rarely seen in their time.

As much as he disliked the clan itself he would not deny the man information. If it was him he would hope someone would alert him on the changes of his soulmate.

As the heroes and police began to disperse the civilians returned to their homes. Many called out thanks to Izuku and asked him to wish his clan well.

He approached the Blue King cautiously eyeing the stiffening members of SCEPTER4. Reisi held up his hand to stop them from coming any closer then stepped so that he met Izuku halfway. A flash of jealousy went through Izuku but he quashed it knowing it was not his own.

Izuku said with a small smile, "He overextended himself," there was a furrowing of the King's brow as the only sign of his worry, "Don't worry he will be fine in a few days."

There was a near-silent sigh of relief and tension released from the other's shoulders. In a whisper, Reisi said, "Thank you. Look after him and Souh. Those two are always getting into some trouble."

Then he turned and began barking orders. Slowly even SCEPTER4 began to leave. Then only Izuku and Eraserhead were left. With a glare in the man's direction, Izuku turned to head inside the bar.

[seouldsoul2kpop]

In war

7 Days of Christmas: Day 5- Jimin

Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Warning(s): Swearing & Smut

A/N: Thirst trap...yeah, thirst trap. Welcome to Day 5 of 7 Days of Christmas! Let me just say, in the simplest way possible, I really liked writing this, and it gets really steamy! So, I hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think, and/or if you’d like more stories like this!

You had never been one for following orders; if you were told to do one thing, you’d do the other, and if you were told to fix a problem a particular way, you’d make sure to fix it another. You knew that’s what made you a great officer, but you also weren’t naïve enough to think it wasn’t the reason you stayed in your place, never achieving higher than your full potential. You had no one to blame but yourself, yet you couldn’t change it, not for anyone, especially not when lives were at stake.

You were quick as you walked across your base camp, kicking up sand with heavy feet, and shoving passed fellow soldiers, all their eyes glued to you, your piercing gaze making most of them move out the way before they got clipped. You were fuming, your blood boiling as you replayed your ranking officers concern with your lack of obedience. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see beyond the cloud of bullshit everyone was fanning your way.

You kept moving with a purpose, a familiar voice calling after you, causing more of a scene as you finally reached your barracks. Your teammates stood at attention, all carrying looks of confusion, and tension, as they contemplated asking you what went down, but you ignored the looks, choosing to silently retreat to your cot; sitting down, you began pulling off your boots, a sea of cuss words filing one after another in the forefront of your mind, mingling with the memory of being lecture like a child, and the droned out white noise of the voice calling after you. You barred your teeth, tossing your shoes to the side as he rushed through the door, your name the first word out of his mouth. Everything grew eerily silent, more silent than when you walked through the doors, his higher ranking even more obvious as your teammates stood at attention, their boots clicking together in unison as their hands rose to salute him.

You rolled your eyes, sighing loudly to yourself as you lifted your gaze to meet his, his body coming to a full stop a mere foot from the door. He didn’t pay attention to anyone else as his eyes pierced yours, his features the picture of anger as he silently assessed the situation before him.

“Sir—” one of your teammates began.

“Get out,” he snapped, his eyes never leaving yours.

“But, sir…”

He turned his head towards the soldier in the opposite corner of the room, his eyes more piercing now that someone else was questioning his authority.

“I said, Get. Out.” he hissed.

They all froze, fear gripping them seeing him outside of his usually lively element.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

“No, sir. We’ll be on our way, sir.”

They began filing out one by one, parting evenly as they started to walk passed him, but his voice made them all freeze for a moment longer as he declared his command, his gaze back on you as he spoke.

“I don’t want to see any of you back in here until I say so, am I clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” they chimed together.

You scoffed, turning your attention to your boots, choosing to clean them in favor of dealing with the situation at hand. He was silent, but you could feel is anger rolling off his skin, silently choking any good mood that might have lingered from one of the troops as he drew nearer to you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, making a soft clicking noise as you debated breaking the silence, anything to get him to leave faster. You lifted your gaze again, catching the way his jaw clenched under the peaking afternoon sunlight. You let out a single laugh, once more turning your attention to cleaning the daybreak from your boots.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he suddenly broke.

You glanced up to see him step closer, “I’m cleaning my boots. What about you?”

“You know what I mean.”

Your stopped cleaning your boots, your jaw clenched, your hand choking the life out of your cleaning rag as the feelings began to boil even further.

“I was doing my job.”

“You disobeyed a direct order!” he shouted.

Your head snapped up, your eyes bloodthirsty as you watched the dark look of disdain swirling in his chocolate brown irises.

“I disobeyed a direct order? Me?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, you know exactly what you did, Y/N!”

You scoffed, nodding your head at his words, placing your boots gently down on the ground as you took the time to process his words.

“So, what would you have me do?”

“You undermined my authority! How do you think it looks if I can’t control my own team?!”

You got to your feet, unable to control your anger as you let the words flow out.

“I don’t care how it looks! I didn’t sign up to kill innocent lives!”

“And I did?” he snapped, his words hitting you hard as an innocent look flashed in his eyes. You almost wanted to take your words back as his features grew a fraction softer, his voice less fired up as he continued, “Fuck you.”

You looked away, “I wouldn’t make the team look bad if you’d just make the right calls.”

Your eyes locked with his again, the fire reignited as he moved closer, further closing the distance between you.

“Now I’m not making the right calls,” he chuckled, “And you think you are?”

He was mere inches away from you now, his torso brushing against your arm as his lips held close to your ear.

“I know I made the right call,” you spoke.

You spoke to him through barred teeth as you turned your head, your eyes immediately latching with his, his breath running over your skin as yours was his; the sun revealed his good nature in the flecks of warm honey dancing along the brown, but his face was still stern, still radiating his upset.

“You think jeopardizing your team is the right call?”

“I saved my team.”

“Fuck off,” he snapped, “You were reckless, and it could have cost one of your teammates, maybe even two,” you turned you head away, clenching your jaw more as you tasted blood, and he leaned closer, his warm breath spreading chills down your spine, and an even greater disdain for his presence, “You think telling yourself you made the right call will wipe the blood clean from your hands, help you sleep better at night, but let me tell you something, lieutenant, that’s on you. Every person under your command is carrying the blood of their teammates, including you. That’s what you signed up for.”

“Maybe so, but I made the right call, and you know it, Jimin.”

He began to laugh, pulling away, drawing your attention as he turned away from you, his hands running through his midnight ivy hair. He was smiling at you as he turned around, the laughter still spilling out of him as he processed your words.

“You’re a real piece of work, Y/N.”

“Fuck you Jimin.”

His laughter slowly died down, his face growing more serious as he watched you, his eyes searching your features for reasons you couldn’t put your finger on.

“I sometimes wonder if you ever follow orders,” he ran his hand through his hair once more.

“I saved your ass, you think following your orders would have done that?”

He bit his lip, looking down, a distant look in his eyes as his thoughts took him somewhere else. He was silent for a moment, but he suddenly let out a light chuckle.

“You know when I wonder the most?” he lifted his head again, something dark gripping his eyes, “If I’m being honest, it’s mostly when I think about fucking you.”

It was your turn to laugh as the atmosphere around you changed, but you couldn’t muster a single noise as he looked at you.

“Get out,” you managed to speak.

He nodded, beginning to walk away when he stopped in his tracks, his head waging an internal war with himself before he was bold enough to turn back around.

“I’m bad at making the right calls, right?”

He paused for a second, his eyes searching yours for any indication he should let it go, but when he didn’t find one, he rushed towards you, his hands taking their place on either side of your face as his lips locked with yours. You stood there, your eyes open, locked on his as they were shut, already basking in the richness of your lips, and you knew you should have put up a fight; after all, he was your superior, but you couldn’t find a reason to deny the torch of yearning finding its way out of you.

He pulled your bodies closer, his tongue massaging your lips, inviting you to submit to the yearning you both found yourselves tangled in. You opened for him, his tongue quickly intertwining with yours as he let out a soft moan, his body responding to the feeling of your tongue just as quickly. You held back your moans, your hands gripping onto his arms to steady yourself as his kisses grew deeper, hungrier to taste as much as you as he could while he could.

You knew better, and he knew better, but that didn’t stop either of you as he broke from your kiss, turning you around, and pressing your body against the wall. His lips found your neck while his hands yanked your shirt from your waist, one of his hands swiftly moving beneath your shirt to cusp your breast. He moaned again, especially as you pressed yourself into his growing member.

“Does this make me a bad captain?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer as his free hand reached up, turning your head to the side as he craned his neck to kiss your lips. Your nails scrapped along the wall before you reached one back to grip his hair, pressing him further into you, deepening a kiss that was already so deliciously deep. He gripped onto you tighter, moaning a little louder, pressing your chest even more into the wall as the hand gripping your cheeks trailed down to the buckle of your pants; he unfastened it, wasting no time to reach beneath your garments, and feel the slick wetness pooling between your legs. You pressed your butt deeper against his member, letting out a gasped moan for the first time as his fingers slipped inside of you.

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to contain your moans of pleasure as you leaned your head back against his shoulder, his lips finding the rim of your ear as he let out soft moans for you, basking in the feeling of your walls throbbing against his fingers. You could feel how bad he wanted you the more your rubbed yourself against him, hear it in the soft sighs he couldn’t contain, taste it on your tongue as you still tasted his tongue on yours, and you knew you couldn’t escape his clutches now, even if you wanted.

You felt yourself slipping away with his touch, caving under the way his fingers twisted inside of you, moving at a steady pace to build you up, but keeping you shy of reaching your climax. You sunk your teeth into you bottom lip, moving both your hands, one guiding his hand beneath your shirt, the other grabbing at his wrist, wanting him to go faster, your breath becoming less even as his hand neared you to the climax you sought.

You could feel his breath picking up too, making the hairs rise all over your body, his breathing the only indicator he was just as lost as you were. He had always wondered if you’d feel as good as you did in his mind, but you felt better; the feeling of your juices on his fingers made his head go blank, his only concern being the feeling of your body, the taste of your tongue and the sweat clinging to your body from the never-ending heat. To say he wanted to be inside you, that couldn’t be more of an understatement—could have been the understatement of the year. To say he wanted to fuck you, and fuck you hard, even that barely scrapped the surface.

He moaned, deciding he wanted to feel you around him, to feel your walls gripping him the way they gripped his fingers. He knew you wanted him to finish you off with his fingers, and that’s why he pulled away, his body growing even more excited as you turned your head towards him in disapproval. He moaned as he pulled out his fingers, bracing his hand on your hip as he took the time to kiss you again, trying to convince himself you both hadn’t gone far enough for you not to walk away, wiping your hands clean of each other; but he couldn’t find the strength in him as you pressed your rear into his clothed member, your hand snaking back again to tangle your fingers in his hair. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He pulled his lips away, removing his hands from your body, promptly pushing your pants to the floor for you to step out of, his feet kicking your pants away, as well as spreading your legs wide enough for him. He was just as quick as he fumbled with the buckle of his pants, pushing them and his boxers down enough to let his member spring free. He let out a drawn-out moan, pressing his body close to you, pushing your entire body against the wall as his lips found the rim of your ear, his tongue tracing the flesh before he let out another moan.

“If only you’d been gentle with me, lieutenant, maybe I’d be gentle with you.”

You could feel the smirk on his face, feeling a certain rise in you, embracing the electricity coursing through your body at his words. He stepped back, pulling your hips with him, and he paused, tormenting you in the uncertainty of when he’d enter you, but he couldn’t hold himself back long, aligning himself promptly, barely hesitating as he entered you. You both held your breath, his breath growing labored, uncontrolled, the more he pushed himself inside you, allowing your walls to take him all in. He braced his hand against the wall, his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of your hip as he bit his lip, high off the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He didn’t waste his time giving you time to adjust, both of you too eager to wait for it. He began to move his hips at a steady tempo, slow, precise thrusts that were a mix of pain and pleasure as you adjusted to his girth with every flick of his hips. You wanted to moan, fully aware you could get away with soft moans, but the ones trapped in your throat were far from soft, the feeling of containing your sounds of pleasure building up your pleasure even more.

He scrapped his nails against the wall, pressing his body closer to yours as he built up his pace, unwilling to let your off so easy when you’d never given him that chance. He groaned, barring his teeth as he tried to hold back the lewd sounds he really wanted to let go, his frustration making him take hold of your hair, puling your head back as his lips mercilessly devoured your flesh, his tongue picking up every bit of your essence he could. He moaned against your flesh, gripping your hip harder as he drilled into you harder, his mind in a haze, along with yours, as you both gave up on trying to contain what had already broke free.

He was being so rough with you, a far cry from the leader he always presented himself to be, and it was making your walls throb for him. His member was throbbing inside of you too, ready to explode at any moment if you kept gripping him like you were. He slammed into you, his lips finding yours with equal purpose, his tongue dancing with yours in a wild embrace as you reached back for him again, giving him the chance to let his hand roam your body as it had before, finding its place on your breast against, fondling you beneath your shirt.

Sweat clung to your bodies, making your both that much more desperate to bath in the other, and you could feel your resolve to hold back your moans disappear the longer he insisted on relentlessly thrusting inside you. You broke your lips from his, leaning your head against his shoulder, your eyes staring at the bleak ceiling, your mouth parted, trying to fight your pleasurable sounds as your hand flew to his hand on your breast yet again. You felt yourself reaching for a high you’d gone so long without, a high that was nearing the more Jimin pressed against you. His lips were hot on your skin, his tongue even hotter as he reached his hand on your hip up to grab your neck, his lips finding your ear, letting out a chorus of sweet moans for only you to hear.

“Moan for me, Y/N. You know you want to.”

As if your body needed to obey him, a moan slipped from your lips, only muffled by his hand as it swooped up from your breast. He smiled against your ear, that alone inviting you to keep going. You moaned for him, his hands muffling all of them as they slipped through with every thrust.

Even if he appeared to have so much control, it was taking everything he had to not lose it completely; the moans he truly wanted you to hear were pushed deep inside of him, making him throb for you even more, but he found himself unable to keep his resolve as you obeyed his order, your moans like music to his ears.

He could feel how close you were now, the danger of what you both were doing truly being the driving force of your excitement. He let his hand slip from your lips, lowering his fingers to your clit, rubbing dangerously rich circles around your bud. Without his hand to hide your pleasure, you swallowed your moans, bracing yourself against the wall yet again as the fire inside you made your legs feel weak. You could feel your walls gripping onto him, nearing your peak, driving you further to the edge by his hands, and his rough thrusts that had never ceased to hit that miraculous spot.

He felt himself stepping over the edge too, but he wanted you to finish first—needed you to. He could barely think straight, let alone control himself as his thrust started to grow sloppy, getting sloppier the tighter you gripped him. He tried to push through it, picking his rhythm back up, his hips thrusting into you more savagely now that you both were close.

He pressed his lips against your neck, letting out wet moans as the sound of your bodies clapping against each other became lewder, his hand rubbing you, guiding you perfectly over the edge as his hips did, and your slickness guided him just as perfectly. All you both could see was white as you came for each other, a gasped moan unable to be contained as you clenched around his member, and he moaned against your skin in a hot embrace as his hands gripped your hips, both of you riding out your orgasms.

When his hips finally came to a stop, he stood there, still clinging to you; his forehead now resting on your shoulder, and yours against the cool wall, as both of you attempted to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” Jimin moaned, slowly lifting his head, pressing his chest to your back in the process.

He ran his lips along your skin, finally planting a gentle kiss on your jawline, a drastic contrast to how he’d been only moments before. A part of you wanted to hold onto that gentleness, but he reached down, pulling himself out, and stepping away so you both could fix yourselves up. You slowly pulled your pants back on, trying to not make a big deal about the events that had just unfolded. As you were tucking your shirt back in, you could feel Jimin’s eyes on you, his hands moving to fasten his buckle as you turned to face him.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” you spoke, tidying yourself as best you could.

He smiled, running his tongue over his lips before sinking his teeth into his plump, rosy lips, his hand combing his hair out of his face.

“I don’t know, Y/N. You disobey my orders a lot.”

His smile turned into a cocky grin for a second as he observed the wonderment on your face, and he didn’t give you time to respond back as he turned away, walking out with his head held high. You scoffed at him, unable to hide the growing smile as you bit your lip, but you were quick to dismiss it as you heard his voice command your teammates to return to their bunks, and their curious bodies with equally curious gazes stalked in as commanded. You sat on your bunk, beginning to shine your shoes again, suddenly grateful you were never one to follow orders.

[uldren-sov]

ignite

PART 1 / 2

Hey this was super fun to start thinking about and getting into. It’s a real formative time for Eva. Thanks so much for the collab @damarlegacy and for allowing me to borrow Rax for these!

The first time he heard of Coruscant was when his brother Talcyn came home from bombing it in the war. A chaotic skyscape of sun, smog, and skyscrapers, is what he had said with a confident sneer that Evacios could still see in his mind’s eye. Now standing in the spaceport looking over the same sky that his brother had flown under the day of the Sacking, he could finally say with full confidence he agreed. Squinting in the sunlight, the sky was a rich gradient of golds and burned coppers, due no doubt to the pollution in the atmosphere. It was probably majestic to others, but being able to see over the gaudy Senate plaza full of a skyline of construction cranes and glass, and Evacios couldn’t help but bristle with disdain.

“First time in the capital, ey?” a man said, sidling up beside him like it was his every right to do so. People of the Republic generally had a base familiarity in their social interactions - which is no doubt why he thought he could just come up and talk to him without any preamble. He swallowed his pride and put on a smile.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s quite a view,” he heard himself say. No trace of any accent beyond the smallest lilt of a Mantellian one borne of Intelligence speech classes and at least a hundred hours of internet holovids. Best to get in practice where he could, he had to do everything in this accent for the foreseeable future, and a quick glance to his compatriot saw not even a batted eyelash from the older man. “Can’t believe I made it.”

“Enjoy it, kid,” he said. The stranger was about to pull away before a second thought nearly visibly flashed over his weathered face. “And hey, welcome! To the beating heart of the Republic.” A friendly smile, a clap on his back, and he waited until Evacios nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thanks a lot. I intend to.”

A tagged taxi drive to an affordable hotel where he was going to have to stay for a few days while he searched for an apartment to live. After taking the time to thoroughly look over the room for any sign of surveillance he set his singular bag onto the side. The hotel had the basic amenities to it, as did the room, but he was a long way away from the luxury of home that was to be sure. Not that it really mattered, the job came worse and any suburban landscape - even Coruscant - was better than the places he’s bunkered down in. It was almost a bit liberating, to not have to worry about the need of esteem and fashion. He passed the hotel’s bar and restaurant and started walking to the office. He’d see how he felt about being free of the burden of society in a week.

He had a name, a street address, and an office number on a singular email a couple of weeks back. The building itself was fairly nondescript, the bottom was a normal office building, receptionist and all. The young man pointed the way towards the stairs - sorry the elevator was out of service - and Evacios started making the climb all the way up to the seventh floor. He caught the surveillance cameras out of the corner of his eye, careful to keep his head down and watch his steps up instead of back at the camera as he finally got to the seventh floor and pushed open the door.

The floor itself only had a singular hallway, five doors on each side with a mailbox for each, enough space for just some modest small business office spaces. Nothing special and that was on purpose. He decided against looking winded from the trek up, the SIS had his “file” and knew his history.

Kestas Canis, born in a small town on Ruan, stationed on Ord Mantell, career soldier, and made Sergeant. Was a candidate for Special Forces but instead of going into military, was transferred into SIS instead. Good marksmanship scores, smart soldier, with a little something-something that made him a good candidate for the SIS. It was enough to give him this chance - give Intelligence this chance. Now he just had not not fuck it up especially with the constant reminder of his deception right front and center. At least to him.

For show he checked the ink on his hand where he wrote down the office number and then wiped his hands together to get rid of the ink. Using the door panel next to it, the gray metal door slid open and he stepped through. Inside was a small waiting room, a small seating area, a desk with a young man behind it. He was clean, fresh faced, nice looking enough to catch someone’s interest but fairly forgettable. Three doors, a side office to the right, another to the left, and one directly behind the desk of the secretary. There was also a very, surprisingly nice, aquarium with some tropical fish along one wall, coupled with a table with holopads along it. It was deceptively normal, beyond the fact that he was given this address in the first place, his gut told him this place was inherently off. The young man looked up from his holodisplay expectedly at him with a piercing brown gaze. This was definitely the right place.

“Sorry, am I in the right place?” he asked. The secretary looked a little nonplussed as he looked to his computer once, then back up.

“Sergeant Canis?” he said and Evacios nodded, making a note to straighten out his navy sports jacket as an “afterthought” before straightening to present himself. “Through this door,” he said without any preamble, gesturing to the door behind him.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” he offered. The receptionist widened his eyes and tightened his lips in recognition of it but clearly had no time to regard him any further. There was just the smallest of second glances. Maybe he was also trained in some sort of personnel training, or maybe he really was just an annoyed receptionist. Either way, he moved past the young man and opened one door into a small entryway with another door just a couple of feet past. A red light was by this second door until the first door closed. It flashed green and he pressed the corresponding touchpad button.

Then things made sense.

Inside was a much larger room than he expected, a corner desk on one side with a full on archive behind it and an impressive holodisplay for the desk’s built in interface. On the other side of the far wall was a full floor-to-ceiling grid of displays, all of them showing a different scene, all of them showing active feeds. He could quickly identify more than a few in Nar Shadda, some probably around either Coruscant and Corellia - but it was impossible to ignore the person in the room any longer than that. Sitting on the edge of his own desk, a man who maybe had half a foot and forty pounds on him sat straight backed, arms and ankles crossed. Dressed in military khakis wearing Major stripes on him with a flash of defiant blue in his tawny brown hair.

He read the write up on Major Cyrus Rax on the way over, all that Intelligence had on the official stuff he had done, things he committed, things he admitted to, and rumored skirmishes with the Empire as well as official ones. But he hit into the wall of his hard blue gaze and small scowl and stopped dead. He couldn’t help but smile, unbidden. Showtime.

“You better be Kestas,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and straightened like he was going to stand to attention. He saw the pained look and rub of his chin from Rax.

“Y’know, calling me ‘sir’ anywhere except this room would get us both fuckin’ shot. So don’t. I’m your handler, not a CO,” he got to his feet. Maybe he was unconscious of the fact that he was an imposing figure or maybe he did keep that in his back pocket, Evacios wasn’t sure what to make of him quite yet. “We good?”

“Yes, s-” he purposefully caught himself and tucked his hands into his pocket, taking the chance to take another scan of the room. “-So what do I call you, then?”

“Rax. Major. Papi. Whichever.”

“Well if ‘sir’ is suspicious, wouln’t ‘major’ be too? Some random sergeant getting orders from a random major?” he laughed a little nervously but then quickly shut up and showed his hands sheepishly. “I’ll, um, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Shut up, some people have nicknames. But, let me tell you something. Real heart-to-heart,” he actually turned from him at this point, walking around his desk, Evacios noted his favored side. There was a rumor with a fight that came to mind but he’d have to look into it later. In the meantime the burnmarks on the side of his neck were oddly purposeful - letters? High Sith was always hard to recognize out of context. “Try-outs are slow, boring, and belong on the Huttball field. When you come into my fucking office, I need to not be commanding you, I need someone to take initiative. Can you take initiative Kes or are we both standing around with our dicks in our hands wasting each other's time?”

“What’s the mission, Rax?” he said simply, lips lifted just a touch into a smile. The bluster either how he just was or designed to put the fear of command in him. Either way, Rax leaned over his desk and gave a contemplative nod.

“Don’t be smug about it,” he handed over a datapad from a drawer. “Addition to that?” He sank a digit against the screen and pushed it a bit, Evacios took the hint and he gathered it up before it got to the edge.  “I’m gonna need you to slice the surveillance of the neighborhood, make sure I know about it first if you make a mess. You understand.”

“Absolutely, anything else?” Evacios asked.

“Yeah, if you don’t do it? We can find you a nice analytical post on Quesh. Now get out, thanks, my soap opera’s about to start,” he stood back and fell back into his seat. Resting his hands laced on his stomach, he propped his feet up on his desk as, from behind, a title of some novella came up on the desk’s display. He tipped the datapad toward Rax and tucked a hand into his denim pants as he turned and started to read it. “And give it to Jones in the front when you’re done.”

He gave a two finger salute over his shoulder, edged around a Nautolan woman with an armful of similar datapads that he quickly looked over. Aqua skin, white markings, lithe, and maybe looking a little pissed. He offered a smile and nothing more as he waited for the lights to change from red to green on this quick series of doors. By the time he was out the second door he could confidently hand it back to “Jones”, the receptionist, and simply continue walking.

Harmless, maybe a bit of a shit, perhaps stepping into shoes too big for his feet just yet, he hoped he conveyed that image well enough so far. He could stand to develop the character more later as time moved on and he got “used” to spy work. Until then, harmless he hoped he remained.

Well, seems even here the Intelligence agencies policed their own. He just didn’t know he’d get into messing with Coruscant Security so soon.

[expatimes]

In Myanmar’s Rakhine, families of the disappeared seek answers | Conflict News

One evening, as Ma Nway* and her family were having dinner, soldiers from Myanmar’s armed forces, known as the Tatmadaw, came to her house and asked for her husband. According to her account, they blindfolded him, took out their guns and beat him in front of her.

“At the time, I could only cry,” said Ma Nway, an ethnic Arakanese from Myanmar’s westernmost Rakhine State, who prefers not to reveal her identity for fear of reprisals. “I feared they would shoot me, so I held my tongue … I felt like they were the most brutal people in the world.”

It was March 16 2020 and the last time she saw her husband. He is among 18 people from the neighbouring villages of Tinma Thit and Tinma Gyi in Rakhine State’s northern Kyauktaw township who were arrested in March and have not been seen since. Their families’ relentless search for information has been met with silence, rejection and threats. Ten months later, they are still looking for answers – and justice.

Three witnesses, whose testimonies align with those published by other media, told Al Jazeera that on March 13 and 16, uniformed soldiers wearing the badge of the Tatmadaw’s Light Infantry Division No. 55 went door to door arresting dozens of men it suspected of having ties to the Arakan Army, an ethnic armed group seeking autonomy.

Most of those arrested were released the same day, but 18 were not. The missing include a 16 year old, three people over the age of 65 and one person who is deaf. Al Jazeera has used pseudonyms for the three witnesses to protect them from possible reprisals.

On March 18, four bodies were seen floating in the Kaladan River near the villages. One of the bodies was identified by family members as among the missing villagers. The family told local media that soldiers shot at them when they approached the body, which the US-government funded broadcaster Radio Free Asia reported was riddled with bullet holes. The three other bodies were never identified.

The villages of Tinma Gyi and Tinma Thit are along the Kaladan River. Four bodies were found floating down the river last March

All of the missing are Arakanese, also called Rakhine, a predominantly Buddhist ethnic group thought to make up the majority in the state. Frustrated with political marginalisation and perceived domination under Myanmar’s ethnic Bamar majority, increasing numbers of Arakanese have in recent years joined the Arakan Army (AA). Since conflict escalated in late 2018, nearly 1,000 civilians have been killed or seriously injured in violence including indiscriminate air raids, gunfire, and landmines and more than 230,000 have fled their homes.

‘House to house’

The arrests in Tinma Gyi and Tinma Thit occurred following two weeks of intense clashes near the villages. “Tatmadaw soldiers went house to house, calling the men,” said Tun Hla,* who was among those arrested and released. “I don’t know why we were arrested by the Tatmadaw. At the time, the soldiers didn’t give any reason … 10 people were tied and beaten with guns in front of me.”

Days later, the villagers fled.

Zaw Win, a local advocate helping the families of the missing to seek justice, told Al Jazeera that three elderly men stayed in Tinma Gyi to watch over the monastery and have also not been seen since. Shortly after the villages were deserted, the houses were razed. Villagers blame the Tatmadaw, which has denied responsibility.

Myanmar’s police forces sit under the Ministry of Home Affairs, which is under the jurisdiction of the Tatmadaw. On March 23, a group of family members of the missing, now scattered in different displacement camps, filed a case regarding the disappearances with township police. Letters were also sent to the Myanmar National Human Rights Commission and the offices of the commander-in-chief, president, and state counsellor, calling for an investigation.

No updates came until June, when a Tatmadaw spokesperson denied anyone had been arrested in the two villages. Five more months of silence followed. On November 27, the Tatmadaw spokesperson announced that the families could open a case at the relevant police station and that if the police reported any suspicious information, the Tatmadaw would decide whether to conduct its own investigation.

The families returned to the township police station on December 8, but Ma Nway told Al Jazeera the officers on duty warned them against opening a case. “Regarding the initial case, the police told us their paperwork disappeared,” she said. “Then, they threatened us several times that we could be detained and sent to jail.”

“They said this case doesn’t concern them, and we should go to the Tatmadaw station to inquire,” added Zaw Win, who accompanied the villagers to the police station. “When we replied that the police had a responsibility to seek justice, they said they could immediately detain and send us to jail.”

A woman whose husband and two family members have been missing since they were arrested in March. She now lives in a displacement camp on a monastery compound in the Rakhine State capital

The Myanmar National Human Rights Commission, which has faced criticism for not intervening in other high-profile cases, has also done little to support the Tinma villagers.

Kyauktaw township legislator Tun Win, who submitted the request to investigate the case, told Al Jazeera the commission responded in November that the Tinma villagers were not detained by the Tatmadaw. Its chairperson told local media on December 30 that the pandemic prevented an on-site investigation and that the commission had closed the case after inquiring with the defence ministry, which denied the Tatmadaw’s involvement.

A police investigation finally began on December 29, when district police in the nearby town of Mrauk-U called the villagers in for questioning. Ma Nway stayed behind out of fear. “I feel like my children and I are not safe since my husband disappeared. I am really worried we could be attacked because we filed charges,” she said. According to Radio Free Asia, the police took statements from 15 people.

The next day, the Tatmadaw spokesperson stated that concerned persons could file reports and present credible evidence with the local military division office or regional military commanders.

Al Jazeera’s calls to the Tatmadaw spokesperson, township and district police stations, Myanmar National Human Rights Commission and Rakhine State government spokesperson went unanswered. Media are only allowed to report from Rakhine with permission and official escorts and the government has restricted mobile internet services across conflict-affected townships including Kyauktaw since June 2019.

Local lawyer Zaw Win told Al Jazeera he was frustrated by an apparent lack of political will to address the case. “All authorities have to take responsibility,” he said. “Those in power need to know the situation, follow human rights standards and seek justice.”

History of impunity

The Tatmadaw is notorious for committing rights abuses with impunity, most notably following a brutal 2017 crackdown on Rakhine State’s mostly Muslim Rohingya that sent 740,000 fleeing to Bangladesh. A UN Independent International Fact-Finding Mission stated in a September 2019 report that Myanmar was failing in its obligation to prevent, investigate or enact effective legislation criminalising and punishing genocide in relation to its treatment of the Rohingya.

The Fact-Finding mission also, in an August 2018 report, identified enforced disappearances among crimes against humanity committed in Kachin, Rakhine and Shan States for which Myanmar’s top military generals must be investigated and prosecuted.

Yanghee Lee detailed a pattern of military abuses including crimes against humanity and enforced disappearances during her tenure as the UN special rapporteur on Myanmar

The Tinma villagers’ cases are not the only enforced disappearances to have occurred in Rakhine State since the report was released. Between January and June 2020, at least 30 civilians disappeared in the state after being arrested by the Tatmadaw, according to a tally by the Rakhine-based Development Media Group. As of October, Radio Free Asia counted 32 more who died after being taken into Tatmadaw custody from the start of 2019 to October 12.

In April 2020, UN human rights expert Yanghee Lee said accountability was critical to ending the conflict between the AA and Tatmadaw. “Having faced no accountability, the Tatmadaw continues to operate with impunity,” she said in a statement. “They are now targeting all civilians in the conflict area …Their alleged crimes must be investigated in accordance with international standards, with perpetrators being held accountable.”

Myo Myat Hein, the chair of the Arakan Lawyers Council which is providing legal aid to the families of the missing Tinma villagers, also emphasised the importance of accountability. “It isn’t acceptable just to say the villagers are missing, because several people saw the Tatmadaw detain them,” he told Al Jazeera. “Conflict actors need to build trust beyond just talking about the national peace process.”

Since mid-November, fighting between the AA and Tatmadaw has eased and an informal ceasefire is in place.

Women who were forced from their homes by fighting in Tinma have taken shelter in the railway station at Kyauktaw

Dialogue is now taking place for the first time since December 2019. Tun Win, the Kyauktaw township legislator, emphasises the urgency of achieving justice for the Tinma villagers and others affected by human rights abuses in the state. “I welcome peace negotiations,” he said. “But if the perpetrators have impunity, it will be difficult to achieve sustainable peace.”

For the families of the missing, the current absence of clashes offers little solace. “Although the AA and Tatmadaw have stopped fighting for two months, we haven’t heard anything about our villagers’ case,” said Bo Aung,* whose son is among the missing.

Ma Nway said she lies sleepless at night, worrying about her husband and fearing for her and her children’s safety and survival. They were unable to harvest their paddy fields this season, and are living on 15,000 kyats ($11) a month in food aid. Ma Nway wants to go home but still fears the soldiers stationed near her village. “As long as they are staying there, we won’t be safe,” she said.

*Pseudonyms have been used to protect the security of witnesses.

#humanrights Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=17067&feed_id=29754 #asiapacific #conflict #features #humanrights #myanmar #news

[pumpkinofthedale]

With the introduction of Moira, and the discussions and scandal a lot of people (especially those who want Reyes to be an in depth complex character with motivations besides being an evil wicked meaner all along) feel right now in the fandom, I’d like to take just a moment to add my two (or perhaps even five) cents to the conversation.

What we know:

1. The SEP program tampered with the DNA of participants, of which Gabriel Reyes was a pretty early test subject

2. A terrorist known as reaper has been active for decades

3. Blackwatch has been around for a long while, likely just as long as Overwatch (post crisis), and are known for their less than ethically clean tactics that are often needed to keep Overwatch afloat and pretty in the public eye

4. Gabriel Reyes recruited Dr Moira O.Deorain into blackwatch to advise him on matters of genetics that he had a prior interest in

5. Gabriel Reyes feels fear knowing that his body is smoking (and not just because he’s a damn beautiful human hoo boy)

6. Chu confirmed that Moira has a connection to Reaper’s genetics “How can I take this and make it better”; she has both lifesteal and teleportation powers, and he teleportation seems far more refined than reaper’s

 Under the cut because this shit got long

Reyes, soldier 24, first strike commander of overwatch had his powers manifest before Moira even entered the picture. He’s soldier 24 which implies that he was in an earlier batch of SEP subjects than Jack Morrison: soldier 76. As such his DNA enhancements were very likely less stable than Morrison’s. Super Soldiers were built to win what was essentially Armageddon, they weren’t necessarily built to last.

Now we must look at things like international patent laws and tightly held government kept secrets. All Super Soldiers belong to the United States government. They are essentially property. They are likely leased to Overwatch, but at the end of the day, their remains would not be allowed to rest on foreign soil. Their genes, their very DNA is highly classified. Very likely to the point where average doctors aren’t legally allowed to do more than put a simple bandage on, and no, I am not exaggerating.

 All Super Soldiers would be sterile. They would not be allowed to pass those highly classified government owned genes on. There is no way that the US government did not sterilize every single SEP subject in order to further keep a stranglehold on those highly classified government patented and owned genetics. 

Anyone who even wished to be able to work or operated on them medically would have to go through rigorous government screenings, and would likely not be able to perform many procedures especially if they were affiliated with a foreign government. Someone like dr zeigler would likely only be able to perform simple procedures that wouldn’t in any way affect or tamper with those genes, or be able to spread any information about them. It would be the sort of offense that would land her a cell in some sort of military facility used to house terrorists. It would be that big of a deal.

Now let’s take a moment to focus once more on how this would relate to Gabriel Reyes in ways that it might not for Jack Morrison. Gabriel Reyes, an earlier subject in the SEP program likely does have less stable genetics, things that are wrong with him. But when you’re fighting things like omnics, synthetic metal people, you’re a lot less likely to notice things like passively absorbing life force because he likely can’t from synthetic organisms despite in game mechanics. 

However, once you’re working on eliminating humans who are a threat, that passive life steal is a lot more noticeable as it leaves behind some sort of noticeably damaged “drained husk” corpse. So imagine you are Gabriel Reyes for a moment, a member of the British Parliament has ties to a major human trafficking ring but there is no definitive proof. You know that this person is evil, but that he is operating on a level where Overwatch and the law cannot reach him, so as a covert operation, you kill him. You leave behind a drained corpse of a politician that was perceived to be a good man by the public. When you do the same thing a few weeks later in Cambodia, you are labeled a terrorist. Overwatch doesn’t have to know that it’s you. No one can know that it was you. You can’t have this linked back to you and jeopardizing the good work you are doing for the world even though it might not seem like it from the outside.

You stop going on so many missions because your work is too noticeable. But your conditions are deteriorating, your organs might be failing... your body wasn’t built to last. Sometimes you almost think you might be falling apart. 

At this point, Gabriel Reyes would seek out professional help, likely from the brilliant Angela Zeigler. However Zeigler is an upstanding member of Overwatch who operates legally above the board, and because she cannot legally perform any sort of gene therapy or even give advice because she can’t even properly look at his DNA, she won’t. 

Enter Moira, a geneticist without any sort of ethical qualms about doing illegal tests in the name of science. Someone who very likely would have just gone to talon without overwatch funding. Gabriel Reyes recruits her before talon can. With Blackwatch resources, he can gain access to his classified files from the US government for Moira to analyze. 

He feels fear because he is falling apart genetically, his body literally turns to smoke at times. Moira isn’t injecting anything into him in the screenshot. In fact those look more like the sorts of things used to check vital signs and electrical signals within the body. Moira doesn’t seem shocked at all, this very likely is not an experiment but rather her monitoring his vital signs or inducing some sort of state to see just how far his body is going.

“To go beyond law and what’s forbidden by morality”, what if she suggested instead of just curing his condition, they weaponized it. His body sometimes begins to smoke? Make it so bullets, objects can pass through him. Give him mobility. Give him the strength he once had and control over some of what were once essentially handicaps. 

Reyes, a tactical genius who at this point knows how much of a threat talon is, knows that if Overwatch continues down its current path it will fail. Knows that talon at this point must have pawns the UN. Blackwatch has been compromised. Anything that could make him more ready to face them would be needed even if it went against dozens of international laws.

At this point Reyes must know that Overwatch is a sinking ship; talon is too pervasive. They can’t fight them like they should. They need someone on the inside, someone who knows what to do... What better way for him to infiltrate them than to blow up Overwatch. Sure, hundreds, will die. His best friends may die by his own hand.... But won’t it be worth it to make sure another omnic crisis is averted? Isn’t killing 1000 innocents better than letting millions, hundreds of millions, maybe even billions of humans and omnics die in another crisis? Even if he has to go beyond morality to do what needs to be done... that’s his job.

He knows that Moira may even have connections to talon as well. Very likely even dropping hints about going beyond laws and morality, about how his relationships with the Overwatch cast are failing. Things that talon could sink their teeth into. He would spoonfeed the narrative they wanted and get what he needed out of it.

Reaper isn’t inherently a product of Moira’s tests, her powers come directly from observing his genetic code. “How can I make this better when I apply it to myself”. Her powers are more refined. She controls her life steal and giving of health, her teleportation is her version of going wraith; completely intangible and undetectable. 

It makes sense that she says that he was searching for a way to circumvent “their rules”. Reyes’ entire body, his genetic code, is completely classified, strangled in legal red tape. Even if he were sick and dying, he wouldn’t be able to get help from someone outside the US government, and we all know how long it would take for them to actually do anything to help him or his condition. 

I still don’t know what happened during the explosion, but I sure as heck still believe Reaper is deep cover, waiting to destroy talon from within.

My friends, I too am on the Gabriel Reyes defense squad and I too felt fear that the good and beautiful devs at blizzard would do him dirty and pull an Anakin with him. But I’ve been thinking long and hard about this, and now that I know that the first comic centered around the omnic crisis that originally portrayed Reyes as a heavily shadowed man had been cancelled, I don’t think that that’s the route they’re going to go down.

[greyias]

FIC: Traditions

Title: Traditions Summary: It had been the fourth time that the Alliance’s commander had seemingly disappeared from the base. Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Mostly Fluff Word Count: ~4600 Author’s Notes: Just some lighthearted fluff I found myself needing to write in between the angsty pieces that keep trying to turn into epics.

Crossposted to AO3

He finally found her above the military hanger on the outcropping overlooking the clearing where the Defender was parked. It had been the fourth time that the Alliance's commander had seemingly disappeared from the base. The previous three times Theron had contacted her by the comm, and she'd eventually made her reappearance after being summoned. He could have done the same this time, but his curiosity was piqued. He had spent the past hour asking various personnel the last direction they'd seen the Alliance's commander heading in, and followed the mismatched directions like a treasure hunter following a badly written starmap. It was probably the most inelegant game of hide and seek ever conducted, but Theron wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

She stood poised near the rocky ledge, and either didn't notice his approach or was too focused on her task to pay him any mind. She was barefoot, the toes of one foot digging into the loose, rocky soil as the other was drawn up, balanced against her knee. Her palms were pressed together, fingers woven together in front of her as she balanced on the one foot, unmoved by the mountain breeze rushing past her and tossing her blonde hair up into the air. She had foregone her usual bulky, ornate armor, opting for a simpler, more relaxed set of vestments he'd spied her wearing during a few sparring sessions. The wrappings showed a small sliver of skin, which sent more of a rush of heat through him than he'd like to admit to.

Subconsciously he softened his footsteps, footfalls hardly making a noise as he approached. It wasn't exactly sneaking up on her, as that would be possibly unwise with someone who could be quite as deadly as her when she put her mind to it. Not that she usually put across those airs to most of those around her. There was more of a quiet serenity about her that he was hesitant to disturb. He was still a few meters away when she finally spoke.

"Hello, Theron."

Chagrinned, he flashed her back a sheepish smile. "Heard me coming?"

"In a way." She didn't break her stance, and her voice was quiet, as if coming from a far off place. It was possible that she had felt his approach more than heard it. He had a feeling that whatever she was up to had more to do with attuning to the Force than simply enjoying the fresh mountain air.

 "It's a nice view," he mused as he came up by her side.

"Mmhmm," she said noncommittally, but as he spied a little closer, he could see that she had her eyes closed, concentrating on something else other than the valley and vistas beyond. 

"So this is where you've been getting off to," he kept his tone light, "was starting to wonder if you had dug out some secret tunnel back when you guys were constructing the base."

"That would just be silly. Not to mention architecturally unsound."

"Well, you wouldn't want to offend the engineers. They're a touchy folk."

"Did you need something, Theron?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Nothing that can't wait a few more minutes."

"Do you always walk so far for things that can wait?"

The beginnings of a smirk quirked at the edge of his mouth. "Well, I didn't want to disturb you over something minor."

Her serene composure started to crack, brow furrowing ever so slightly in consternation. It was clear she was still trying to concentrate on whatever she was doing, despite his continued efforts to lure her into conversation. He should have probably just have returned back to base after satisfying his curiosity about her whereabouts — but restraint wasn't exactly one of his strong points. Especially where this little blonde Jedi was concerned.

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Meditating. Or attempting to."

"Attempting?"

"I was doing better before things got noisy up here."

"A true master can tune out all distractions."

Her brow creased into a full frown, lips pressing into a thin line as she took a deep breath to calm herself. "Some distractions are louder and more persistent than others."

"If you say so." Out of habit he hid his grin behind his hand, before realizing that with her eyes firmly shut she couldn't see it. "I guess I should have been more specific. Why are you meditating out here? And not the Enclave?"

She let out another deep breath, this one bordering on a sigh. "It's quiet out here — or used to be." That was clearly directed at him.

"Sana-Rae never struck me as the loud type. Or are you trying to tell me you guys throw secret Force raves when the rest of us aren't looking?"

Her lip twitched, clearly trying to suppress whatever reaction he was engendering. Whenever she found that modicum of calm she was so desperately trying to project she spoke again. "It's quieter here. Both in sound and people."

"Is that a subtle hint for me to make my exit?"

She remained quiet for several more long moments before responding. "No, it's fine. I just... sometimes like to come out here when it gets hectic.  Clear my mind, ground myself and reconnect to the Force."

"And you need to be barefoot to do this?"

"It's a Togruta tradition," she said simply, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, of course."

She apparently picked up on the not-so-subtly disguised sarcasm in his tone, and added. "They believe that the land is spiritually connected to them. Wearing shoes cut themselves off from the their bond with the land—"

He leaned over into her space, miming into the air as if he was trying to grasp something invisible over her head. The slight crease in her forehead transformed into a full frown, and her balance wavered ever so slightly.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for montrals."

That finally did it, and she cracked open an eye at him, deep frown marring the previously serene expression. She looked so incredibly irritated and grumpy he couldn't help himself, and leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her lips, hands ghosting down her sides to rest on her hips.

"You're being very distracting," she murmured against his mouth.

"You said I could stay."

"This is not what I had in mind."

"I'm improvising," he murmured back, and kissed her again, feeling her press into him as she rebalanced on both feet, arms looping around his neck and frown slowly melting away.

"You did that on purpose," she accused quietly as she broke away. Their was no venom in her tone, just a quiet resignation.

He didn't check the cheeky grin he flashed her. "Maybe a little."

She leaned into him, face burying into his chest as he let her rest all of her weight on him. "Why did you come looking for me?"

"You kept disappearing. I didn't know if something was wrong." After he said it, he realized that she probably was asking what Alliance business had prompted his search. He flashed her a sheepish look, but she was eyeing him in a curious way that made his chest tighten a little.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice soft, "I sometimes forget how long things were for you."

"That's not what I meant," he returned, absently brushing his thumb at the soft hairs at the base of her neck, "but... yeah, it was."

"What did you mean?"

"We kind of sprung all of this on you. Fighting Zakuul. The Alliance. Sometimes I worry it's asking too much."

A shadow of something passed across her face, as if maybe he had hit a little too close to the truth. He thought about pressing her, but experience had taught him that the best way to get her to open up was to not press. It was frustrating at times, but there was already too much on her shoulders. He wasn't going to force her to bear the burden of his impatience. When she was ready to discuss it, she'd come to him. At least he hoped she would.

So instead, he gave her an out in the form of a change of subject. "I don't recall Togruta footwear being a part of the Jedi syllabus. Then again, I didn't exactly have the normal Padawan experience."

She flashed him a grateful smile, apparently aware of what he was doing. "I didn't either."

"Look, just because you failed one meditation session doesn't mean you still weren't the star pupil of your creche."

Her eyebrow arched delicately. "You certainly have invented an interesting backstory for me."

"Well, I certainly can't imagine you as the bully of any group."

"I never was a part of any creche," she said, nose wrinkling. "With all that research you did on me back before Korriban, you're telling me you didn't look into my childhood?"

"No," he frowned, "it didn't seem relevant."

She let out a quiet huff of laughter as she rested her cheek against his chest. "And here I thought you were thorough."

"Most of the time I am." He thought about mentioning that he had gotten distracted by the redactions in her file, but seeing as they were from the time in her life she'd rather forget, he decided to let that slide. She was at least smiling right now. "I just seem to make exceptions for this one Jedi."

"Hm, I'll have to ask her for her secret."

"Let me know if she spills them for you," he said lightly. "I keep trying to figure out how to do that."

"You could always ask."

"Be straightforward?"

"You could try."

"All right, I suppose there's a first time for everything." He gave her a measuring look. "If you weren't a member of the Bergruutfa Clan, then what did happen?"

"After my parents were..." She trailed off, and he felt the muscles in her shoulders tense, her eyes getting a far away look in them. She shook her head after a moment, took a deep breath, and then let it out. "I was taken in by a Jedi Knight when I was young."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay. I'm not sure why I never mentioned it before," she said quietly. "His name was Thyos Dae. I guess you could say he raised me."

The name was vaguely familiar, but Theron couldn't immediately place it. Probably cropped up in the history books somewhere. "I'm going to guess that he was a Togruta?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "I didn't realize it at the time, but I think he was breaking a few rules teaching me instead of taking me to an enclave. It's kind of funny. He always seemed to be such a stickler for the rules."

"Yeah, things seem different when you're a kid," Theron mused, memories of Nagani Zho surfacing, "but I guess he had his reasons."

"Maybe." Her shoulders shrugged lightly under his hands. "We traveled a lot at the time. The first war was still going on, at least for the first few years."

Theron nodded, remembering his own youth, much of which had spent in the crowded interiors of starships zipping about the galaxy. Those memories ended abruptly at the end of the war, when his path had taken a decidedly different turn than hers. A sudden chill ran down his spine, as he remembered exactly what had happened during the treaty that ended the war. "You weren't near Coruscant during the Sacking, were you?"

"No, but I... felt it. I think all of us Jedi did." She lifted her head from where it had been resting, eyes searching his face for something. "Were you there?"

He shook his head. "I was in the Outer Rim. Master Zho said that the Force had called him elsewhere. That was... the end of my training."

A frown creased her forehead. "What? He left?"

Theron pressed his lips together, the usual sour feeling that settled in his gut when he thought of his time on Haashimut was chased away by a light warmth brought on by her mildly indignant expression. Her disapproval at Nagani Zho's decision to leave Theron behind was written on her face. Without even realizing it, he was already pressing a soft kiss to her forehead to ease away the frown. "It's in the past."

"But..."

"He and I made our peace with it," he assured her.

One brow delicately arched ever so slightly told him that she may not have quite believed that. He really didn't want to get into all of the events that happened in the Vesla Sector with Darth Mehkis. Even all these years later, he still felt the loss of the man who raised him keenly. He supposed he always would, people tended to leave their mark on those around them whether they realized it or not.

"So Orgus Din wasn't your only master?" he asked, tone possibly a little too light as he tried to redirect the subject.

She shook her head. "I had a few over the years before Master Orgus. I was with Master Dae the longest."

That far off look had returned to her eye, making him wonder exactly what he had missed by not digging further into her past when he'd had the resources at his hands. Sure, he could just ask right now, but like with whatever was weighing on her mind about the Alliance, he suspected it wasn't something she was ready to share yet. She readily accepted the boundaries he set on his own past, it was only fair that he do the same for her.

Even if she had lit the fires of his curiosity.

"We traveled a lot," she continued after a long pause, "I stayed on the ship most of the time when we would dock planetside, at least while the war was still going on. But before we left, we always tried to sneak in one meditation session."

"You couldn't do that on the ship?"

"We did," she flashed him a slightly impatient look, as if he was slow to catch on, "but it's different, surrounded by metal and hyperspace. There's so much more life on each planet."

"There's life in the dirt?" he asked disbelievingly.

"More than you'd think."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"You don't have to. I could teach you how," the offer was quiet, as if she wasn't sure she should have been saying those words, "if you want."

There was about a hundred things that Theron would like more than spending his time on than digging his toes into the hard rocky soil beneath their feet, and caking layer upon layer of dirt under his toenails as he pretended to "connect" with his surroundings. But as she stared at him with that hesitant, but slightly expectant expression he couldn't think of any of them. As closed off as she was about her past, she was willing to share this piece of it with him.

"I think I'd like that," he said, and the brilliant smile that lit up her face told him that had been the right response.

Without a word she tapped his boots with one of her bare feet, knocking a little dirt on it.  She flushed slightly, but they had seen far worse on their best days. He flashed her a smirk all the same which caused her cheeks to redden further, but obliged the silent request by slipping his boots and socks off so that he was mirroring her state of partial undress. When he quirked an eyebrow at her in expectation, she motioned for him to turn around and take up the spot where she had been standing. He followed her silent direction, his larger footprint obscuring the deep impressions she'd already made in the ground.

"All right," she said softly, "first close your eyes and concentrate."

He followed her instructions, and took a deep breath, before letting it out. If he concentrated, he could feel the sensation of dirt pressing between his toes. He could hear the distant chirps and growls of the Odessen wildlife. He could feel the soft mountain breeze as it caressed his face. But those were all sensations that he was easily aware of both wearing footwear and with an eye on the horizon. Nearly forgotten words echoed in his mind, Nagani Zho's final frustrated lesson—

"There is stillness. Yet like ice on the surface of a lake, the stillness only conceals movement. Feel the wind stirring the dust. Smell the water flowing through..."

But he couldn't feel the wind stirring the dust. He could only feel it gently tease the sweat dotted at his temples. The Force could have flowed through every fiber of his being, and lit up every dark corner of the galaxy. He was still as blind to it as the day he was born, and no amount of stripping down or communing with earthworms was going to change that. He'd always be blind, deaf, and dumb when it came to the larger universe. 

His frustration must have shown, because he heard her let out a small noise of disappointment, before he felt a hand lightly rest on his shoulder. "Take a deep breath, and think less. Just focus on what you can feel."

This was an exercise in pointlessness, but he could at least pretend to follow her instructions. It didn't hurt for him to look like he was trying, and if he gave up in frustration he had a feeling it would probably hurt her feelings more than if he failed after trying. Besides, the point of this wasn't for him to magically become a Jedi Knight and start throwing things around with the Force. It was her sharing something deep and personal for her, even if he didn't quite get it. So he took another deep breath, and just focused on the ground beneath his feet.

It was cold, but was starting to warm ever so slightly the longer he stood there. As they were in the shade the morning dew hadn't completely dried, and the damp granules seemed form a deep trench under his weight. Small pebbles littered the soil, sharp and unworn by the elements. His large toe brushed across the rough edge of one that had been disturbed the deeper his feet dug into the ground.

"What do you feel?"

He almost said something about the long shower he was going to take when he got back to his quarters, but stopped himself. "Dirt?"

"Anything else?"

"There's a nice breeze today."

"There is," she admitted. "Anything else?"

"Not really. Should I be trying to strike an acrobatic pose?" He attempted to mimic the pose she had been trying to maintain when he had found her, but didn't really have his feet set right so he wavered slightly. "Does that help somehow?"

She let out a soft huff of laughter, and he felt her arms circle around his waist to balance him. "That's for when you're trying to achieve balance."

It was a credit to his long training as a spy that he didn't laugh at the absurdity of that. "What are we trying to do here?"

"Let's just focus on connection for now," she said, pressing in close. Her chest rested into the curve of his back so that he could feel every breath she took. "Let me help. For now, just concentrate."

That suddenly became a much taller order than it had been a minute ago, as her close proximity sent a thrill from his spine straight down to his nether regions. He pursed his lips, trying to focus on everything but the feel of her breath tickling against his ear, and the way her palms slid across his arms as she readjusted his stance.

"Just focus on breathing," her words were barely a whisper, but sent a shiver through him all the same, "and open your mind to what you feel."

He nodded ever so slightly, knowing with her close proximity she'd feel the affirmative. Instead of the environment around him, he turned his attention to the person with him. He decided to just focus on the deep, calming breaths she took in, unconsciously mimicking her actions until they almost breathed in and out as one. He focused on the feeling of her palm pressed into his, on the light breaths puffing against his neck. He focused on the way she molded against him perfectly, like two halves of one whole.

And as he focused on that, perhaps it was just his imagination, but for just the briefest moments, despite the fact that he had his eyes closed he could have sworn that he saw the most brilliant burst of light, like every sunrise he had ever seen had been rolled up into one beautiful kaleidoscope of sensation. He grasped onto that moment, trying to stretch it out as long as humanly possible, not wanting to let the warmth and light fade.

He wasn't sure how long it was, but at some point he opened his eyes, feeling her weight press into him from behind, as if she was taking a rest after a particularly taxing kata. He gently took a hold of her hands, intertwining their fingers together as she let her head rest against him, feeling the dotting of perspiration on her forehead as it rested against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.

It felt wrong somehow to break the silence, but the fleeting sensation of that brilliance he'd experienced hadn't quite faded away. "Is it always like that?"

"No." He felt the smile press into one of his shoulder blades. "I... may have been trying a little too hard to help."

"I like your help."

The corners of her lips drew up into what he assumed must have been a beatific expression. "Did you feel something other than dirt?"

He had no idea if it had been wishful thinking, his imagination, or something else entirely, but that brief moment was burned into the back of his mind. "I think so."

Her lips twitched against his neck, as if she were trying to suppress a wider smile. "Good."

He gently readjusted his position so that they were facing each other, and her cheek once again rested against his chest, and he had looped his arms under hers so he could take her weight on. He had a feeling she wasn't so much tired as just settling into the moment, but he didn't mind it one bit.

"Thank you," he wanted to say for what, but those words didn't quite form. How could a blind man describe a sunrise to an artist? Anything he could say wouldn't do justice to the tight ball of feeling in his chest.

She nodded quietly, as if she knew those words anyway, without him needing to say them. "Sometimes I wish we had more moments like this. Is that selfish?"

"No." The response was immediate, instinctual. She tucked her head under his chin, the soft hairs that had escaped her ponytail tickling against his sternum, and the tightness in his chest eased some. "There has to be something in between all the action."

"I thought you lived for that."

"Used to." He took in a deep breath, feeling the weight of her chest press against his, and then let it out. "Didn't have the moments in between like I do now."

Her head rustled against his chest, as if she was nodding ever-so-slightly. "Me neither... at least not quite in the same way."

Theron wondered exactly what downtime had looked like with her and the previous crew of the Defender. At least before they had been scattered amongst the stars after her disappearance and Zakuul's conquest of the galaxy. Was the companionship as quiet and calm as they shared now, or had it been more boisterous and lively? But perhaps, he realized, that time her life was something unique. Her old crew had made its mark on her just as Nagani Zho left his on Theron.

His fingers found a bare patch of skin between her vestments, feeling the tight coiling of the muscles beneath, and gently kneaded the knots there. That time before Zakuul, before all of this, that was something he couldn't replicate, no matter how much he wanted to try and give her back something of what she had lost. All he could do was offer was what he could in the now.

"I get it, though."

"Hmm?"

"Needing a break," he said quietly. "The galaxy seems to be throwing a lot our way."

"A Jedi doesn't—"

He cut off the familiar retort before she could even get into her normal stride. "There's nothing wrong with needing a little time to yourself."

She didn't respond, but he felt the annoyed exhale of breath at being interrupted.

"I've got your back, you know that right?"

"Of course." The reply came out fond, if a little exasperated. As if he had been asking if she needed oxygen to breath.

"Then if you need a few minutes, a few hours, a few days... hell, weeks or months, just let me know. I'll make it happen."

"Theron..."

"No, I told you I'd take care of things, I meant that. If you need a break from the responsibility, the Alliance, even me, just say so. I've got you covered. No questions asked."

"Why would I need a break from you?"

"I don't know," he said as lightly as he could manage, "but... I'd hate for you to feel like you need to—disappear—I mean, drop off the radar for any reason. Lana and I can hold down the fort for a little while if you need a breather."

She pushed away from where she had been reclining against him, the soft pressure of her pushing her hand into his chest pulling his attention down to her searching gaze. "I'm not going to just leave you holding the bag on your own."

"Hey, I can handle things on my own," he met her gaze evenly, "at least I can if I know you're all right."

Her eyes darted from his, searching out a distant point beyond his shoulder. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know," he ran his fingers through the bangs flopping on her forehead, "and I try not to. It's... I just got you back."

"I don't plan on going anywhere."

He managed the barest ghost of a smile for her. "Offer still stands, despite that. Just... please let me know if you need a little time?"

He hated the pleading note in his tone, but it was impossible to keep out completely. Just like it was impossible to describe that brief moment they'd shared, it was as equally difficult to communicate the suffocating feeling that overtook him when he couldn't confirm that she was still here, still real. He wasn't even sure it was fair for him to let her know that. So he held it in, hoping he could convey some small measure of what he was feeling.

One of her hands cupped his cheek, pulling his focus down to those wide blue eyes. "I will. I promise."

He should have said something suave, something that would have distracted her from how close she had managed to dig in with that simple acknowledgement. But that was as impossible as finding the words that often escaped him. So instead, he just dipped down to capture her lips again in an attempt to communicate what he couldn't say.

And as brief as it was, he could almost have sworn he'd found another sunrise in that small moment.

[actual-leia-organa]

I don’t know how to tell you - a House fanfic

Here it is, my first foray into writing for the House fandom! Massive shout outs to @xcherry-cola, @megglerock and especially to @clinic-duty for reading and giving me feedback. I’m still nervous as hell posting it, but eh. It’s based around a headcanon I’ve had for some time, that there was more going on in Cuddy’s mind mid-season 7 than she was letting on. 

This fic is set during Season 7, straight off the back of ‘Two Stories’ 

I Don’t Know How To Tell You...

House?

Yeah?

Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?

Once he’d left her office and let the french door close behind him Cuddy buried her face in her hands. She’d really screwed up this time.

It wasn’t really about the toothbrush, or the garbage, or the toilet seat.

It was about her period which was now pushing two weeks late.

It was about the nausea she felt creeping in every morning.

It was about the pregnancy test under the sink she was scared to take.

And most of all, it was about how afraid she was to talk to House- and how he would react.

They’d never really discussed it, but she knew children weren’t a part of his plan. And certainly not after mere months in his first serious long-term relationship in nearly a decade.

The files on her desk were forgotten as she tried to gather her swirling thoughts, tried to organise them and get a handle on this whole situation.

Firstly, she told herself, odds are she wasn’t even pregnant. Before Rachel she’d struggled to conceive with IVF, and even when it had taken she’d lost the pregnancy. The chances of her naturally conceiving, let alone carrying to term, were beyond slim.

And yet, she felt a glimmer of hope. A seed of thought about what could be.

But so much of it depended on House, and his response, when she would break the news to him after dinner that evening.

And before that, she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted from the ever-present pile of work on her desk. Her hopes and fears would have to wait until she could head home for evening.

-

It wasn’t until the drive home that she started even thinking about what to say, how to say it. How do you tell your boyfriend that instead of confiding in him you fought him? That you’re so afraid of his reaction that you tried to pre-empt it by pushing him away? Cuddy shook her head at herself, at her behaviour over the previous days.

She should give House more of a chance. Yes he could be impossible to live with, and completely mishandle emotional situations, but he could also be sweet and caring, in his own unique way. Hell, he’d just gotten himself into a fresh batch of hot water purely to try and get Rachel into the pre-school Cuddy had her heart set on. The House she knew before this relationship would have done nothing of the sort.

So why was she now completely doubting him, and expecting him to run?

By the time she pulled into her driveway she was no closer to an answer, and significantly more stressed. She’d decided that after dinner, once Rachel was in bed, she would just face the truth head on, with House, and whatever the outcome, she’d have to live with it. There was really nothing more to it.

House arrived just as she was getting ready to dish up the meal, by which point she was half expecting him to have decided he’d had enough of her snapping at him and just headed to his apartment for an evening alone. To be honest she wouldn’t have blamed him, but it was reassuring nonetheless to hear his uneven footsteps coming down the hall.

It was obvious Rachel had missed him, as she twisted around in her highchair with a toothy grin on her face watching him come through the doorway. Cuddy felt her stomach tighten with anxiety as he smiled at Rachel and lowered himself into a chair at the table.

“Smells good” was all he said by way of greeting, and already Cuddy knew she was facing an uphill battle. She dished up the meal in silence, bought it over to the table, and busied herself with feeding Rachel.

As they made small talk over dinner, Cuddy felt as if she eaten a bowl of rocks instead of soup. She felt heavy with worry, about how to tell House… oh god…he might be a father. She thought back to their last fight, after she’d tentatively asked him if he would be Rachel’s guardian if something happened to her. He’d said, verbatim, that he wasn’t “father of year material”. The determination she felt earlier in the day was rapidly slipping away as she watched House across the table.

And as much as she tried to hide it, House could tell there was something on her mind. His brain went into overdrive trying to figure out what was happening with her…surely she wasn’t still carrying her anger over his slobbish behaviour? He started to worry that there was something seriously wrong- but was it with Cuddy or their relationship? He couldn’t meet her eyes across the table as he started thinking this could be their last evening together, thinking about how badly he’d screwed up.

By the time the three of them finished eating Rachel had picked up on the tension between her mother and House, and was feeding off it throughout her bath time and whilst Cuddy read her a story. She was clingy and crying, not wanting to go to sleep and be without her mother. Finally getting Rachel to sleep after lying with her in bed, Cuddy slowly made her way into the lounge to find House settled in for the evening, feet on the coffee table with a beer in hand.

She stopped in the doorway, watching him as he flipped between channels.  She was so tense she felt nauseous, and suddenly felt like she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t tell House. Why risk the reaction she was so afraid of when she didn’t even know for sure?

Swallowing the lump in her throat she made her way to the couch and sat in her usual spot next to House. Without taking his eyes off the tv he put an arm out for her to snuggle in next to him. She buried her face into his chest, softly breathing into the warm cotton of his t-shirt, afraid to look up and meet his eyes, because she knew the second she did he would know, and there would be no going back.

Finally settling on a show she felt House relax beneath her, the only movement coming when he occasionally sipped his beer. During the first commercial break he moved her to lean forward and put the empty bottle on the coffee table. Still feeling how tense Cuddy was against him, he settled back into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Cuddy froze, her face still against his chest, until House lifted her shoulders to bring her eye to eye with him.

“What do you mean? I thought we were ok” She still avoided meeting his gaze, praying that he wasn’t reading her tell. “Nothing’s going on”

House’s eyes searched her face, and she could tell that for once he was ready to be open, to hear whatever she had to say, despite how much it scared him.

“Come on Cuddy. I know you. This more than your usual stressed tension. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, House. I’m fine. I’m still just a little frustrated that you never seem to lift a finger around here.”

He sighed again. “I’m here aren’t I? Despite you pushing and prodding me for days, I’m here. Am I going to suddenly be a model house-husband? No. You know I’m a slob, usually because I have more important things to do- like save lives. Forgive me for not taking time out of my busy schedule to wipe up a bit of toothpaste.”

“That’s not the point House! How am I supposed to rely on you for the big things if you won’t even take the garbage out? How can I expect you to help me parent if you won’t even show me the slightest consideration for my needs?”

House tensed at that, and she knew he’d caught her slip. Help me parent.

“Is this about Rachel again? We’ve discussed this, I’m just not…I’m not that kind of guy, I don’t know if I ever will be…” He looked down at her curled against him- he could almost feel the nervous energy emanating from her.

“It’s not about Rachel” her response was spoken into his chest, so muffled he barely understood her.

“Tell me.” He had that commanding tone to his voice, one that he so rarely used with her. “Cuddy…”

She knew she couldn’t hide it any longer, this was the moment of truth. No more anger, no more deflection. Cuddy unravelled herself from his embrace, sitting upright next to him. She looked at the floor as she ran a hand nervously through her hair. In the edge of her vision she saw House tense up as he realised this was more than some minor issue, that this was more than a used napkin on the bench or an unmade bed. It was even more than the night she’d asked if he would become Rachel’s guardian…and that had been a disaster. She could see him physically brace himself for what was coming.

“House…” she hesitates, unsure if she can actually say the words out loud, if she can actually make this real.

She can see the tension in his face, but he doesn’t interrupt, just waits for her to continue.

“House…I’m late. It could be stress, I mean its happened before, but…I’ve been feeling off and…”

Now the words were out she couldn’t stop. She sees his eyes widen.

“House…I think I’m pregnant”

He looks utterly stunned and for once in his life completely speechless. With every second that passes without a response Cuddy feels her stomach drop.

“Wow” is finally all he says.

“Wow?” she queries back, unable to read his expression, still afraid of his reaction.

“Yeah wow” He laughs a little, running a hand through his hair. “This is….just….how long have you suspected?”

“Only a few days…I haven’t actually taken a test yet”

“Do you have one? Like, how ready are you to know? How sure are you?” Suddenly the diagnostician was back, wanting to lay this all out and sort through it.

“I…I bought one yesterday, after I realised how late I am. I honestly don’t know, this is so unexpected, I…I don’t know how to feel.” She took a deep breath, ready to lay it all on the line. “I’m scared. I lashed out at you over stupid things, such little things, because I honestly don’t know how to react. I didn’t think this could even happen, really, what with my history…and I know children aren’t on your radar, I mean I feel like Rachel is more than you can handle, let alone a baby…Christ House, a baby. Our baby…”

House was now staring at the ground, the gravity of the situation really sinking in. As Cuddy finally trailed off, he took her hand.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in. To be honest I don’t actually know how I feel about this. I’ve never even considered having children…and I think I need time to process.” He sighed again. “Plus, I hate to be a downer here, but we don’t even know for sure. Are you ready to take the test?”

Cuddy realised how scared she was. Positive, and she was joined with House forever…providing she carried to term, of course. Negative, and her dreams of a little baby with dark curls and bright blue eyes were gone…probably forever. Either way, she was terrified.

“In the morning,” she finally responded, her voice barely above a whisper, “you know they’re more accurate then.”

House nodded. “Just make sure you wake me when you get up- I want to know too. Now come on, stop stressing until then, watch the movie.” She snuggled back into his side and started at the tv, trying to silence the thoughts in her head.

-

Later in bed, as they lay entwined in the dark, House could feel Cuddy lying awake, her muscles still tense and her breathing shallow. He knew she would be struggling to sleep, not that he was finding it easy himself.

“Cuddy, come on” he whispered into her hair, hoping his soft tone would help her relax. “You need to sleep.”

She snuggled closer to him, squeezing her eyes shut. There was no way she could relax with the millions of thoughts still racing through her mind.

“I’m just…I’m so scared House. No matter what the outcome in the morning, I’m scared.”

House traced his fingers along her spine as he stared into the darkness. He knew this conversation was coming, that there was no way it was over earlier, but he still didn’t know how to react, or how he truly felt- he thought about that evening, their conversation on the couch, and decided that maybe he should stick with the whole ‘open and honest’ thing.

“Me too. This is…this is huge…but we still don’t even know.”

He felt her breath hitch, and realised she was holding back tears. His hand stopped moving up and down her back as he wrapped an arm tightly around her.

“Come on Cuddy, talk to me.”

“I…I just…I know you’re confused, but…I’ve wanted this for so long, so badly. I know I have Rachel, and I love her but…God, House, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this, and what I’ve been through.” Her tears were starting to soak through his tee, but he knew to just let her talk. “I mean, you knew about the IVF, but didn’t you ever wonder why I stopped? You gave me so much crap for giving up, but did you ever think to ask why? You were the only one who knew, but it seemed like you didn’t care.”

House thought back, and remembered what an idiot he was. He’d never stopped caring, in fact he’d cared too much. He was hurt that she was choosing idiotic donors instead of him, he was wounded by the fact that she wouldn’t come to him, she couldn't even ask.

“I did care Cuddy, I just…I was hurt. It hurt to see you choosing such morons as potential donors, it hurt to have me help you, but not in the way I wanted. I gave up because I realised you would never see me that way.”

“I tried House. That day, when I came into your office to thank you…I was ready to ask you. I’d spent the afternoon psyching myself up. But when I was there, face to face with you, I just…I couldn’t. I don’t know why, and I hated myself. And then I lost the pregnancy, and I gave up. When I think back a tiny part of me is happy I didn’t ask you, because losing the baby was hard enough- but losing your baby? That would have devastated me.” Her breathing had slowed even as she sobbed gently, “And that’s why I’m scared now. It took me three tries to fall pregnant before, and I lost it. What if I lose this baby? I’d never forgive myself…what if it destroys us? I couldn’t live with that, knowing I failed…” She felt the tears come then, hot and fast.

House had no words. He’d figured she’d just decided that the IVF had run its course and she’d switched to trying to adopt, he had no idea she’d miscarried- and he’d been such a jerk to her the whole time…he felt terrible. He rolled over slightly to hug Cuddy tighter, rubbing her back to soothe her as she cried.

Eventually she drifted into a restless sleep, her head pillowed on his chest. House lay awake, staring in the darkness, still trying to process the news from this evening.

Cuddy. Pregnant. With his child.

He was lost. She was right, children had never been a part of his plan. Even with Stacy, the only woman he’d ever actually considered a family with, they’d both agreed that children were not for them. But with Cuddy? He’d gone into this accepting she had Rachel, and making the best of it, but for them to have a baby? Insanity.

Deep down, he knew her fears were justified. Struggling to conceive and losing the foetus early on was not a good precedent. If the test in the morning was positive he knew she’d be terrified of something going wrong, and he’d have to be there to offer constant reassurance- something he wasn’t sure he could provide.

And more than that, she’d probably end up on bed rest, possibly even admitted…leaving him to care for Rachel and Cuddy full time whilst still working, something he thought he’d never have to deal with. And honestly, he wasn’t sure he could.

But then…House found himself smiling as he thought of the moments after the birth, Cuddy glowing as she holds a tiny baby. The baby she’s dreamed of for years. A baby with a head of dark hair and inquisitive blue eyes. Their baby.

Maybe he could do this.

-

Cuddy was woken by the sunlight streaming through the window, although her throat and eyes hurt and she felt like she’d barely slept.

She also felt sick as she thought of the test waiting for her in the bathroom.

Gently moving House’s arm from around her waist, she padded across the room and softly closed the bathroom door. It wasn’t until she reached for the drawer that she realised she was holding her breath.

Barely a minute later she left the white test and her phone sitting on the counter, counting down the minutes until she would find out if her life would be changed forever.

She walked to the bed, sitting gently on House’s side and leaning over to kiss his cheek. She loved watching him sleep, he looked so carefree and relaxed, something she wished he looked like more often.

“Hey” she shook his shoulder gently, getting a groan in response. “Come on House, wake up.”

Still nothing.

“I took the test.”

His eyes shot open, instantly alert. “What did it say?”

“I don’t know yet, I’m still waiting…you wanted me to wake you.”

“Yeah” he sat up slowly, hands going to his thigh to rub out the night’s tension. He didn’t know what to say, how to fill the heavy silence.

They sat together for a minute, until the soft beeping of the phone signalled the three minutes was up.

Cuddy didn’t move.

“Moment of truth” House said, placing a hand on hers. “I can go get it if you’d like”

Cuddy shook her head. “No, no, it’s ok. Your leg…it’s ok. I’ll be back.” She stood and headed back to the bathroom.

She’d left the test face down, and after switching off the alarm she realised she couldn’t have this moment alone, she wanted House to find out with her.

And so it was that she’d found herself back on the bed with House’s arm around her.

One pink line. Negative.

Cuddy felt her breath catch in her throat and House’s arm tighten around her. Her eyes started to water, and she turned into his shoulder, seeking comfort. For all her fears, she hadn’t really considered how much she wanted this, how she had already started planning for this baby, her baby with House, a baby that didn’t exist outside of her imagination.

House continued to hold her, hiding his own disappointment. He felt her tears through his t-shirt, despite her not making a sound. It felt like only a moment before she pulled herself upright, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes.

When she stood and walked to her closet he finally broke the silence. “Where are you going?”

“Work, of course” Her voice was soft, and she didn't turn to answer him, just stared at her clothes as if it was any other morning of deciding what to wear- not the morning she felt her dreams be snatched away.

“No way.” House was adamant. “You just spent the night and the morning crying, you barely slept and you’ve been through enough lately…you’re not going in.”

“The hospital needs…”

“The damn hospital can run without you for a day!” House knew he was bordering on irrational, but for once he didn’t care. They needed this. “You can act as cool as you like, but you’re in no condition to sit at your desk alone with your thoughts all day. Put yourself first for once Cuddy. Call in.”

She looked into his eyes, and he saw just how deeply she was hurting. “I can’t. I…I have to work. I have to do something…I need the distraction.” And with that she disappeared into the bathroom to finish dressing.

House threw himself back down onto the bed, trying to push aside the feelings in his chest, feelings of disappointment and sadness. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, fighting the urge to pull Cuddy down when she leant over to kiss him goodbye.

“I expect to see you in your office by lunch.”

Once she’d gone he opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling like he did for so long the previous night.

He realised he’s just as hurt as she is, that he wants this just as badly.

A family…with Cuddy. He smiled and reached for his phone.

-

Cuddy was at her desk, surrounded by pages of budget reports and a crushing feeling of sadness when her phone buzzed insistently. She smiled when she saw the short message.

We could try again. Could be fun ;) - H