#i have been my own saboteur lately

[farfromstrange]

New Year's Day | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You recount your history with Matt and the highs and the lows of your relationship.

Warnings: Fluff, descriptive writing & lack of dialogue, mentions of blood, but this is mostly very tame

Word count: 2.5k

A/n: This One-Shot is dedicated to my bestie, @blackshadowswriter. I'm a bit late, and I'm sorry for that. It took me a bit to finish. I just want to tell you how much I love and appreciate you. I also know you love Taylor, so I thought "why not write a fic and use as many song references as possible? She's going to LOVE that!" You're my favorite person in the world and you deserve this. I love you. I'm all out of words because I'm anxious as hell about showing you this. It took me two days to finish. I wanted it to be as good as I could make it. I'm still not 100% sure, but I never am when it comes to giving gifts. I hope you like it <3 (This is also why I'm not tagging anyone else because this is a gift for my best friend and I intended it as such)

From the moment you bumped into him on the corner street of your favorite café, you knew that he was the kind of chance that would only come around once in a lifetime.

It wasn’t like you, at least not back then, to buy a stranger a coffee. And it was even less like you to give him your number afterward.

You had never been big on dating at that point in your life. You used to take things exactly the way they came to you, and dating never really seemed to fit into that narrative.

You preferred to lose yourself in your own world, a world where no one could touch or hurt you the way you’ve been hurt so many times in the past by people who claimed to care about you—people who claimed to love you, and in the process, you lost sight of the fact that there are still a handful of good people out there.

No one can blame you for thinking like that though. Your heart has been broken one too many times, and not just by broken relationships. 

Deep down, you craved to find someone capable of understanding all of you, not just the pretty parts. You almost felt pathetic for pretending you didn’t need it and still thinking that way.

But deep down, you craved to find someone who wouldn’t be afraid of sticking around, someone who would never leave you because life tends to get hard.

It seemed nearly impossible to find a person like that without breaking your own heart, so you decided to retreat into your shell. Better to keep your heart safe and protected than put yourself out there and be broken all over again, right?

Those stupid love songs on the radio and the endless romantic stories of your friends’ dating lives, however, fueled your need for the same kind of connection only a few songwriters know how to put into words.

You wanted to fall in love, find the right person, and heal. You wanted to figure out why love wasn’t like the burning red of sex and passion but golden, like daylight. A love living for. A love fighting for.

You felt so stupid, secretly pining for an innocent childhood dream that eventually got crushed after years of heartbreak, but that is what happens when someone becomes chronically lonely. You turned to daydreaming because at least in your head, your life could be perfect. Not just good, not just livable, but filled with love and happiness.

Truth be told, when you’re your own worst enemy and have an inner saboteur set out to destroy everything that could be remotely good for you because you truly believe you don’t deserve it, it’s hard to allow yourself to be open. So perhaps that is why you chose to lock yourself away and live in delusion instead. Not facing reality became standard procedure in your way of life.

You tried blaming it on your past, your broken relationships, and disappointments, and while that played a big part in your trauma, you also slowly started to realize that you might have been hurting yourself so you wouldn’t have to open up ever again.

In an attempt to erase all the problems, you became the problem. You became your worst enemy, someone chasing ghosts that stayed long in the past and only came back to haunt the living shit out of you. But that’s a survivable condition. 

You tried therapy, you tried turning your life around and starting anew, and while that helped you find a job you love, find a nice group of friends, and make peace with what’s been broken, nothing else seemed to change. 

You had barely started putting yourself back together again when you bumped into him. You were late for a meeting, so your focus was on your phone instead of the street before you.

It was your fault. He was just trying to make his way over the sidewalk, his cane tapping in a steady rhythm to make his way forward, and you stepped right in the middle of it. 

You remember him grabbing your arm, catching you before you could fall. He wasn’t even irritated. When you looked up in shame, seeing the red glasses and the came, you begged for the floor to open up and swallow you whole. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”

But before you could go on a rant about your stupidity, he cut you off, and in the silkiest voice possible, he said, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Are you?” 

“What?”

“Are you okay? You seem in a bit of a rush. Don’t want you to accidentally bump into a car next.” He chuckled, adjusting his glasses. Blood rushed to his cheeks. “That was a bad joke, sorry.”

You just about melted. “It’s okay,” you found yourself chuckling. “And so am I. I was too focused on my phone. That was my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It happens,” he said. He was so calm about it, unlike other New Yorkers you’ve met before.

Maybe the fact that you found him extraordinarily attractive and easy to be around compelled you to ask if you could buy him a cup of coffee to make up for bumping into him, completely abandoning your plans to make it to your work meeting five minutes late.

He introduced himself as Matthew. A lawyer. Not one of those rich defense attorneys who simply do it for the money. No, he does it to help people, and you fell for him right then and there. 

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but that day, when you got home after work, his number in your phone and a stupidly giddy smile on your flushed face, you knew that you’d somehow been enchanted to meet him. 

You never believed in love at first sight until you bumped into Matt Murdock, but the second you did, your life flipped upside down and changed in ways you could have never predicted. 

It is possible that the song playing over the speakers in the café right before you bumped him played a part in how you perceived the interaction. You’ve never been one to believe in coincidences. Nothing is ever accidental, and neither was your meeting. It couldn’t have been. 

You found each other when you needed someone, anyone, both of you, and it stuck. Thankfully, it did. 

Summer that year was cruel with New York drowning in an excruciating heatwave. You’d been meeting up with Matt for a couple of weeks, but you didn’t have it in you to put a label on whatever delicate thing was starting to build between the two of you. You didn’t want to wrap your hand around it and accidentally shatter something you could see growing into something more in the future. 

He was unlike anyone you’d met before, and he treated you in a way that made you believe, finally, that you are worthy of love. Not just giving but receiving because Matt himself struggled to see his worth after years of being disappointed and being there for everyone but himself. 

Love is a fragile thing though, and you have never been quite good with fragile things.

After a night of drinking away your sorrows at a nearby bar, you made your way to his apartment. You took a cab, too wasted to find your way there by yourself. You remember that you were crying; you were miserable and loathing yourself for several reasons that didn’t even make sense to you then.

When you arrived there, you knocked on his door. You didn’t get an answer. Just as you started to turn around and make your way back outside, you could hear a thud from the other side of the door. Panic settled in. You didn’t even hesitate before you opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and made your way into the dark interior of his apartment. 

Finding your blind, catholic not-boyfriend in a pool of his own blood, wearing a leather-clad suit with the horns of the devil had not been on your to-do list until that night. Reality hit you just as fast and knocked sobriety back into your senses as the adrenaline started to take over. 

He let out a grunt. Your name passed his lips. He sounded so weak, so fragile, and you just stood there, your heart pumping too much blood for your body to handle. 

“What the fuck?!” you said. You didn’t yell, you didn’t snap, you simply didn’t know how to process this information. 

You were well aware of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen parading outside at night, beating up criminals and giving them a good fright—Matt did not fit the picture you had of the guy until you saw him lying there, obviously injured. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said hoarsely. He tried to roll over, but the pain turned out to be too severe. 

Needless to say, he passed out on you without a proper explanation, and you somehow had to use what little you could remember from first-aid to help this bleeding mess of a man. You feared that you would lose him that night, and that was when you realized that, on top of falling for him, you didn’t care who he was, you only needed him to live.

When he woke up to you hovering over him, he groaned. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. “I’d understand if–”

“Don’t talk,” you cut him off with a finger on his lips. You wouldn’t let him push you away. Not after everything you’d been through.

He tried to sit up. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s not exactly something you lead with on a first date. I get it. What I don’t get…”

“I didn’t lie,” it was his turn to cut you off. You remember looking up at him, and you heard him out. You had to. In your mind, there is an explanation for everything, and you were once again proven right at that moment.

He bared his life story to you, how he survived through tragedies no human should ever have to face. How he turned blind, how his senses heightened, and how he lost the one person he could always count on. When his father died, something changed in Matt. He tried to go straight, to do his father proud, but he couldn’t ignore this desperate need for justice forever. He felt cursed. So, he became someone who could make a difference, and not just as a lawyer.

He expected you to walk out, but you didn’t. You saw him for who he was, and you accepted him.

“I think I’m falling for you, and it scares the hell out of me,” you blurted out that night.

He stared at you, his unfocused eyes bewildered, his lips moving soundlessly as he tried to find an answer.

Just when you thought he would break your heart after putting your trust in him, he let out a shaky sigh and he kissed you.

He wasn’t ready to say it back just yet, but he spoke to you through actions that made you feel confident in what you were growing again.

You somehow already knew back then that Matt Murdock would be the man you one day would marry and spend the rest of your life with. 

The truth is, you two have been through a lot throughout your relationship. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t worth it. 

From the moment you met him to the countless dates, sharing coffees over empty takeout containers, kissing in the rain, Daredevil, fighting over the beautiful women in his life that almost broke you, and fighting over his desperate need to push those away who only want what is good for him because he is own worst saboteur.

It all led you down a journey that turned out to be harder than expected and not at all the love story you envisioned, but it still turned out to be the best thing that has ever happened to you. He is the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

You used to run away from happiness out of fear of getting hurt, and Matt did the same. He feared to admit it, but then he met you and he finally realized that running was of no use because you were more than ready to stick around through everything. Through every disaster and heartache—through every broken bone, you stuck around.

You saw something in him from the moment you met that no one can ever take away. You got a taste of heaven from the devil himself, and even though he was darker than the sunshine you wished for in your life, you managed to find a way to bring some light into his life. 

You are sunshine, even on your worst days, and he’s midnight rain. But you love the rain. You love him. 

Your first kiss happened in the rain. He took your hand and asked you to dance, and you did. You danced to the sound of the raindrops pattering against the asphalt beneath your feet, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—Matt engulfed in the soft moonlight, his hand in yours, and a big smile on his irresistible lips. 

You want more of those nights. Even the nights you’ve had to patch him up or hold him as he broke down from all the weight he often enough carries on his shoulders, you want more of those. You want all of them.

You want him and all the strings attached to him, no matter how painful because ever since he can remember, people have walked out on Matt and hurt him in ways you can only fathom. You don’t want to be that person. 

He opened up to you. He decided to be vulnerable. He stood with you through everything and fought for you when you thought you two wouldn’t last.

He gave you his best smile and his tears, and he laughed with you every night that you waited up for him to come home safely. He quickly became the moonlight to your sun—it is a different kind of light, but it is a light that sustains you nonetheless. 

You want all of his laughter and never miss it again. You want his smiles. You want his tears. You want to spend every waking second with him. You want to miss him and welcome him back home after an agonizingly long night of worrying. You want to cheer him up in court and be his lucky charm. You want to wear his initial on a chain around your neck, in Braille, because he got it for you on your birthday. 

“I know I don’t own you,” he said to you, “but I love you. And I know you. I want you to carry me close to your heart the same way I’ll always carry you close to mine.”

And his, you are. You’re no one else’s but his, and even if that sounds a bit territorial, you don’t care. You want all of it and more because it’s Matt you’re talking about, no one else. Not a stranger but the man you love so desperately it hurts sometimes.

All the girls he loved before don’t matter because he’s got you now. You forgave him more times than he probably deserved. You held on when he barely had any strength left. In return, he has shown the same kind of devotion to you time and time again. How can you ever say no to any of that when you are so in love? 

All those memories replay in sudden flashing sequences right in front of your inner eye. You love him more than anyone has ever loved him. You pulled him out of a very dark hole. You saved his life. And he saved yours. 

As he’s kneeling in front of you now, your hand in his and clutching the small, velvety box in his other, your life passes by before your eyes. Your life alone and your life together. You recount every memory in a millisecond, too shocked to even comprehend what is happening. But it is happening. 

Matt Murdock is kneeling on the floor before you, the glitter, confetti, and sticky champagne someone spilled earlier most likely leaving a stain on his good dress pants, but he remains unwavering in his decision to open that little box and show you what he’s been hiding for a while. 

It’s a diamond ring, something he probably took months to save up for. It’s small yet elegant, and it’s staring right at you. He’s taken his glasses off to try and do the same. You would marry him with paper rings, that much is true. 

Matt says your name oh-so-softly. “Will you marry me?” Four words that stop your heart and restart it at the same time. 

He sees right through you. You see right through him. Even in your worst times, you were there for each other, and now he’s asking you to spend the rest of your life with him. Together. To give him all of your days and nights and he will give you all of his in return. He is asking you the question you’ve been wondering if he would ever ask it, and he did. 

The fireworks go off in the distance, in your stomach, everywhere. The new year has rounded the corner. People are cheering and celebrating around you, but you don’t pay attention to them. 

The clock strikes midnight and with the softest smile, you say, “Yes.” You don’t need to tell him that you would do it a million times over because he knows. He knows your heartbeat, and he knows that you would never lie to him. 

He doesn’t waste time to pull you into his arms and kiss you softly, passionately, as if both of your lives depend on it. 

It’s a bit cliché, to get proposed to on New Year’s Eve. To start the new year with the man you love and a ring on your finger. But that only means that you will still be together on New Year’s Day, and all the days after that. 

Matt chose you. You chose Matt. You chose a life together that is as unpredictable as they come, but at least you have each other to hold onto. 

And he will never be just the stranger that you bumped into in front of your favorite corner café ever again. You have him now. Maybe that was your plan all along. Maybe you are the mastermind he knows that you are. None of it was accidental. 

And now, Matt Murdock is yours. Forever and always. 

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Tipping Point - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco forces Vander's hand beyond all recourse.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"They're like a cult," Vander said, their last night together.

Silco didn't glance up. He'd been sitting at the Drop's table, hands laced under his chin, poring over a map. Black ink, red ink. Blue strings running in between, like the veins in a corpse. He'd been at it all evening, and his eyeballs vibrated. So did the rest of him.

Usually, he'd take the percolating mania and channel it into Sevika. She was a solid presence: always available, always hungry. By now, he'd all but moved into hers and Nandi's flat. There was gossip, as there was bound to be. Neither he nor Sevika gave a toss.

Nandi was gone, and he couldn't shake her loss.

But at least he could fuck his way out of the grief.

That's what he and Sevika did, most nights: fucked, then slept, then fucked again. Mornings, they'd wake with sour mouths, and sour moods. He'd brew her tea, and she'd suck his cock under the table. Afterward, they'd share a plateful of sump-vole fritters, and plot the day's course. Then she'd leave for her patrol, and he'd go to work at the Drop. Evenings, they'd rendezvous at Jericho's. A little more planning, a little more fucking. She'd rub his shoulders, or he'd knead her calf-muscles. She'd feed him bits of smoked sardines, and he'd eat her out until her toes curled. Then, after the drinks were drunk and the dishes were washed, they'd fall into bed again.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

It wasn't love—neither of them was ready for that. But it was easy. It was enough. A rhythm he could fall into; a routine she could count on. Sevika wasn't Nandi. Everything about her was a fraction heavier, harder, coarser. She wasn't soft; she wasn't sweet. But her body was a good one, and her mind a keen one. Her temper could flare; but her humor could cut.

And her laugh, though rare, chased all the shadows out of the gloom.

He could live with that. Hell, he could live for it. Even—love it? In time. When Zaun was theirs, and the dead laid to rest.

Not that night.

That night, the maps wouldn't stop jittering. His mind kept running in circles. Sevika wasn't due till late. There was only Vander.

Only Vander, and his looming shadow.

And Silco's own: darkening the map. 

"A cult, you say?" he said. A fortnight, he thought. The time's nearly up. "That's high praise."

"Is it?" Vander's chin jerked towards the flapping door, where a pair of scrappers had just slunk out. "That lot were practically beggin' for commands. Looked at you like you were a bloody god." He grimaced. "Makes my skin crawl."

"They're useful." Silco stirred the page with a fingertip. "Steady hands."

"An' sharp knives." Vander's brows bristled. "I ain't seen a lick of their faces, but I bet they're young. Too young for this kind of job."

"We were all too young."

"And look what happened." Vander crossed his arms over his chest, his face granite except for the vein throbbing in his temple. His jowls were furred with stubble; all attempts at grooming had ceased the past few weeks.  "The Lanes are crawlin' with their sort lately. They'd kill their own mothers for coin. An' you've got a talent for pickin' the worst."

"Perhaps," Silco rejoined, "I prefer company with an ounce of ambition."

"Ambition's the least of their bloody traits!"

"Vander, use your thick head. We're at war." Silco tapped the maps with an idleness that belied his irritation. "And war needs more than soldiers and stalwart hearts. It needs spies and saboteurs. People who'll do the dirty work without compromising the cause. I have my contacts, and they have theirs. If it weren't for them, we'd have no way to ship our goods."

"We wouldn't have a bunch of cutthroats loose in the Lanes, neither."

"We've always had cutthroats."

"Not this many!" Vander's fist slammed against the table, rattling the glassware. Once, Silco would've jerked. Now, his body-language betrayed nothing. Passions were a volatile commodity; a good leader could ill-afford to succumb to his own. He'd learnt the hard way and meant to profit from the lesson. "They're a fuckin' infestation! Eyes like dead things an' smiles like wolves. They've got no limits. All they want is blood."

"The world's made them that way."

"An' you're the one exploiting 'em."

"I'm offering them a choice."

"Are you?" Vander glowered, looming into his space.  "What are their options, huh? Down the gutter, or up the river? They're not loyal, Silco. They're fanatical. To you."   

"To us," Silco corrected.

"I didn't ask for a cult!"

"Then maybe you should!"

Their eyes locked from across a flashpoint of inches. In their debates, as a rule, Silco weighed Vander's words before his own. It was a practice borne of equity: no partnership comes without compromise. Lately, though, they never debated. He'd get an earful of strident moralism.

Tonight he'd had enough.

"Right now, our plans are only partially done,” he said. “But unless we get every cutthroat, snitch and sneak-thief on our side, they'll be undone. The Wardens will kill us all. You. Me. Sevika. Benzo. They'll raze the Lanes to the ground, and salt the ashes. And when the smoke clears, the soft ones—the ones like Nandi, like Lika and her girls, like your two boys—will be put to work. All our children will die before they've a chance to live. Is that what you want?"

"Don't make this somethin' it's not." Vander's jaw jutted. "You think I don't want Topside's boot off our necks? You think I wouldn't give anything to make sure our kids breathe easy? You think I don't think back on Bloody Sunday every single damn day? What was lost? What you—" Silco's head tilted, a basilisk lifting, and Vander backed off just enough to avoid his stare. "...what we could've done."

"Could've. Would've. Should've." Silco's eyes descended to subzero. "All excuses for a failure to act now. Or maybe the Hound's losing his teeth?"

Vander's nostrils flared. He unbent to his full height stepped around the counter, a slow, lumbering turn. His shadow engulfed Silco like a fist.

"If you had any idea," he said, a whiskey-waft of heat. "Any. How much I'd like to—"

"To what?" Silco challenged. "Discipline? Force me to obey? Do try. I could use a spot of fun." 

Vander seized a fistful of his shirtfront. The next moment, Silco found himself being dragged across the countertop. The whiskey glasses toppled to the floorboards. The ledgers and maps scattered. He was half-slung through the air, the room upside-down before the breath was knocked out of him.

His spine hit the wall, legs dangling. A fist pinned him in place.

Vander's features were contorted, a red-hot fury at once leashed and explosive. His fingers closed around Silco's throat. He didn't squeeze. Not yet. But the threat was there.

"D'you even listen to yourself?" he gritted. "D'you have a shred of decency left? Or did Nandi's death knock it all outta you? She'd be ashamed. To see you. To see what you're doin'!"

Silco let one corner of his mouth curl. "What am I doing?"

"You know damnwell what!"

The nights, he meant.

The plainclothesmen gutted in the shadows. Their bodies left in the open where everyone could see. The edge of Silco's knife never clean when he came home.

"It's not the way," Vander said, a hairline crack in his voice. "You know it isn't."

"You haven't stopped me."

"Stopped you?" Vander's knuckles flexed. "I've tried. Every day since you started. I thought...you'd get it out of your system. You'd snap out of it. But you haven't. You won't. You've gotten a taste for it."

"I have a taste for keeping us alive."

"You have a taste for murder!" Vander shook him. "An' I can't keep turnin' a blind eye. You're the best thing that's happened to the Lanes, Blut. If the Undercity had to choose, they'd have my back. But we'd all be six feet under without you! That's why you need to get your shit together. Because when this is over, I won't let you walk away."

"Threats, Vander?"

"This has gone far enough." Vander's pitch dropped. The Hound's warning rumble. "If you cross the line again, I won't hesitate."

"You won't have to."

"What?"

"The Sheriff has issued a search warrant. In a fortnight, the Enforcers will crack down." Silco's eyes went past Vander's shoulder, where the maps had fallen. "A citywide sweep. We'll lose the advantage. Our networks, our stockpiles. Everything. Unless—"

Vander's hold on his neck tightened. "Unless what?"

"We strike first."

"First." Vander's grip stayed immobile. But his stare was no longer a blister. It was a burn: eating Silco alive. "Fuck. This is what you've been planning."

"A smokescreen."

Silco's fingers folded around Vander's wrist. It didn't budge. Vander was strong; the strongest he'd ever known. Struggling was besides the point. Part of him was already prepared to go all the way. To let go and take Vander with him into the freefall of blackness.

"The Enforcers bodies will divert Topside's attention," Silco went on. "Their patrols will be spread thin. The bodies were all near the Canal Zone. They'll believe our operation was concentrated there. Meanwhile, the guardposts at Bridgeside will be understaffed. We'll deploy the squads to transport the ammo. If everything goes as planned, the Lanes will have the full arsenal by tomorrow night. Then, the real war will begin."

"Blut..."

"Think. You'll have everything. A force. Firepower. Enough to drive Topside out of our streets for good."

Vander's fist clenched and unclenched. His eyes roved the room, the empty stools, the felled glasses, the scattered plans. His shoulders caved inward.

It wasn't surrender. It was a man, bracing himself against a massing storm.

"How could you?" he rasped. "Silco, how could you?"

"There is no other way."

"Sevika... she knows about this?"

"We had a talk."

"A talk," Vander repeated flatly. "Of course. You're her damned messiah now. That girl was always prowlin' for someone to take her old man's place. Someone who'd give her orders. Who'd make her feel strong. I told you not to play games with her. To not lead her on. To not—do this!"

With renewed disgust, Vander shoved him away. Silco swayed but kept his balance. Vander's fingerprints burned around his throat.

"That's why you chose her, isn't it?” Vander went on. “Her gang's the most coordinated in the Lanes. The most ruthless. Our folks respect 'em, but they fear 'em, too. They're perfect for what you've got planned." When Silco stayed silent, he shook his head. "For Janna's sake, Blut. She's barely twenty-two. You were supposed to be her family. Her mentor. Not the person who puts the goddamn matches in her hand!"

Silco snapped. Low-blows made for the deepest cuts.

"You used me first, remember? When I was sixteen and you were twenty-one. You knew I'd do anything for you. You knew I'd follow you to the ends of the earth. You've always known, and still you've never had the guts to do what should be done. So I have. Because someone has to. Someone with a spine, and the balls to take what's theirs."

"Fuckin' hell." Vander's face had changed. The lines carved deep, shadows in the hollows of his cheekbones. He looked both worn to the bone, and blasted open. "All these years. All these years... an' you never let it go. Why couldn't you let it go? Why couldn't you forgive me?"

"Why couldn't you?!"

The air was charged with currents. Silco's body sang. Like a sea-change: skin sloughing off, and something raw and primal birthing itself. Something he'd known was always inside him, and was now in its last throes of transformation. He had no name for it but he knew its shape.

It was a part of him. A monster. Same as Vander's.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Silco said softly. "Nor am I giving it. But I am asking you to do what's necessary. For us."

"Us," Vander repeated, the word scraped raw.

"Our city. Because Zaun will die if we don't do this, Vander. So will everyone we love." Silco took a step towards him. Vander shuddered. He felt the tremor. Felt the monster behind it. The two of them: feeding off each other. A decades-long twining of call-and-response. "We can't keep on like this. You. Me. Sevika. Benzo. Lika. We've been fighting our fates since we were children. Now it's time to take the fight to Topside."

"Blut..."

"We can win this. We have the weapons. We have the people. We have the resolve. We just need you." 

“Me?”

"You're the Hound of the Underground. Our champion. Because that's not me, Vander. It will never be me. No matter what those scrappers, or Sevika, or you, or anyone says. That's not who I am."

[megamindsecretlair]

Be My Little Darling - Chapter 11

Chapter 10 Chapter 12

Pairing: Loki x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. ANGST. Dirty talk, mentions of grief and violence. Soft Loki, Jealous Loki

Summary: Loki is the exclusive owner of the hottest club in New Asgard. Dubbed the Nine Realms, each of the nine rooms represent a different realm. You are his second in command, working the floors and ensuring everyone is having fun. It has been a week since the dust up with Loki and you are not sure how much more you can take.

Word Count: 3,939k

Masterlist

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long! My family are my opps. I will try to update this a little quicker, I'm excited to see where these two go. A little something something before we get into the nitty gritty. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I block ageless blogs!

Taglist: @cantstayawaycani @braverthanthenewworld @monaeesstuff @chaos-4baby @dayjlovesromance @soft-persephone @mybonafidefeelings @nerdieforpedro @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide@foxherder @itzgabz22

“I hate it when Mom and Dad fight,” Sweetie muttered, just loud enough for your benefit. You ignored her just as you ignored the rest of the staff all week. They weren’t stupid, they could pick up on the tension between you and Loki. 

You weren’t ignoring him, not completely. He’d throw too big of a temper tantrum. But he was also unwilling to talk about what happened when you saw Thor. You just wanted him to budge, even a little.

He had forced you to confront things you hadn’t been ready to. Forced to draw out those deep grooves in your heart and put them up to a mirror in all its ugly glory. You cried in front of him. Bared your soul and body to him in a way you never had before. And what did he do? Completely shut you out.

You couldn’t survive in half a relationship. So sue you. You weren’t a half measure type of person. You loved and hated in absolutes. You didn’t know how to give up. It was why you were still looking for your family five years later with all evidence pointing to the inevitable truth: Thanos snapped them away.

Your heart cracked thinking of such a thing. That they were just…gone. There was no body to bury, no tomb to mourn. You couldn’t accept it yet. You couldn’t look your siblings in the eyes and tell them that there was no hope left to give.

So no. You weren’t giving up on Loki and you didn’t care how old he was, how powerful, or how much he considered himself a god. He would have to use his big boy words. 

“Sweetie, I’m expecting a visitor today. Please make sure to notify me,” you said. It wasn’t her job, but you smiled at her so that she got the message. 

“Do we need to Parent Trap them?” Honey asked, not bothering to be subtle. She sat with her usual suspects hunched over cups of coffee, bottles of water or juice, and random pastries. 

You grabbed your coffee, unable to fight the smile at the reference. Movies were something you all enjoyed once coming to Earth. As far as being stranded, it wasn’t that bad of a place to be. You all have torn through plenty of movies so far, Parent Trap being among the favorites. You were still shocked that the little girl wasn’t a real life twin. 

You walked over to the table while the group looked at you expectantly. Some leaned forward as if you were going to share something juicy. Others looked almost genuinely worried for you. You hated the pity. You didn’t owe them an explanation. 

“The saboteur has been too quiet lately, so make sure you keep your eyes peeled. This person likes to watch the chaos from the front seat,” you said. You smiled when they groaned and leaned back. 

“Princesa, please! We cannot live like this!” Honey said, her face scrunching up comically into a heartbroken frown. 

“You make it sound like we’re in Hel,” you said and chuckled. 

“He’s miserable without you,” Sugar said. 

You took a sip of coffee to stop yourself from going on a rant. You were their boss, not their friend. Though, some dark pleasure rippled through you at the thought of him suffering. You hoped your scent still lingered in his bed. The gods knew that you tossed and turned in your bed thinking of him between your legs.

And…that was enough of that thinking. You took a deep breath. “Loki is a god, as he likes to remind us. He’s fine,” you said.

They didn’t believe you. You didn’t give a shit. You had more pressing matters to worry about. Like supply requests and restock. A prickling awareness settled over you and you straightened up. 

Eyes snapped towards the door. This was all so dreadfully dramatic. You turned towards the door and saw Loki looking as delicious as ever. He couldn’t be that miserable and still look that damn good. It was unfair. His hair should be messy, clothes unkempt. Something. 

Your eyes skittered over his before you looked away. It still hurt too much that he didn’t trust you with the truth. And you weren’t the begging type. So you walked over to him. “Loki,” you said with a nod.

“Is it me or is it fucking icy right now?” You heard somewhere behind you.

“Mom and Dad need to figure it the fuck out,” you heard as well. 

“Darling, good morning,” he said. He stood and stared at you, making it hard for you to deny that there was anything amiss. He also blocked the damn door. 

“Morning,” you said, nodding towards the door. Loki dug his hands in his pockets. You glared at him but his face didn’t change. Nothing about him did. Your hand was beginning to shake. You longed to run your hands through his hair, pull him to you, and demand kisses and smiles. 

The staff was right, this was icy. Nothing like the heat and passion he was capable of. You moved to walk past him and he cut you off.

“We have to talk about the VIP list tonight,” he said. There. A wince. A crack. A glimpse into that stormy brain of his. 

“Well in hand, Loki,” you said. You smiled, turned around and bowed for the audience. “And scene. Back to work, you bunch of lazies,” you said. The tension in the room melted a fraction before you shoved past Loki and out into the hallway.

Loki trailed behind you. He made no sound but you were attuned to him like never before. You were always aware of him before. How he moved, how he talked, that smile that never failed to trick and tease. But it was amplified now. As if invisible strings connected the both of you. 

“Darling, stop,” Loki said. You took a deep breath at his deep timbre. That voice. Hell, let’s be honest. Everything about him drove you crazy. And you had resisted for five long, beautiful, torturous years. It was hard to quit cold turkey. 

Still you marched down the hallways towards your office. You weren’t going to make a scene here. 

Loki’s strong fingers wrapped around your arms, pulling you to a halt. You swung your arms wide, careful to avoid any slippage of your coffee. You growled, facing Loki finally. 

“You’re such a child,” you hissed. 

“You’re the one ignoring me like one,” he said. 

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m busy. Work, remember? The thing you hired me for?” You asked.

“Fine, then you’re fired,” he said.

You giggled. You immediately shut up because it wasn’t funny, not at all. You drank your coffee to hopefully scald your throat and prevent you from letting any more giggles escape. You weren’t done being angry. 

“You won’t even look at me anymore,” he whispered. His hand left your arm and he brought it to your face. He stopped before touching you and you finally looked into his eyes. The sight nearly robbed you of breath.

Away from prying eyes, he let you see the raw pain. The whites of his eyes were wide, mouth straining, jaw clenching. 

“Ready to talk about why you blew up at me?” You asked. 

“I already said–” 

“I have things to do, Loki,” you said. You turned on your heel. Turned away from that look in his eyes. If you stared too long, you’d cave. And you didn’t want to. You did the work and now he had to as well. 

Loki didn’t leave it there. He followed you to your office where he waited for you to settle behind your desk. He leaned into the doorframe, watching your every move. You moved a pen here, opened a folder there. But there was no way you were getting work done while he was here. His presence made your brain foggy and hands shake. 

Finally, the mounting pressure got to you. You slammed your hands on the desk and looked at him. “Why are you still here?” You asked.

He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “I don’t like that you’re mad at me. Not when we’ve come so far,” he said. 

You leveled him with a stare. “This is on you. You love to talk but won’t talk about this. With me,” you said. 

“That’s not it,” he said with a scowl. 

“If you won’t talk, I don’t know what to think,” you said.

His jaw flexed more as he spoke. You’d give anything to know what he was thinking, what he was running through his mind. 

“Believe it or not, I have a hard time admitting faults,” he said, chuckling to cover what he said. 

“So you can stick your dick in my mouth but can’t tell me what’s on your mind?” You asked.

“Don’t be so crass,” he said. 

You’d have to be the bigger person here. Which you hated. But you took a deep breath and looked skyward, praying to the gods and ancestors in Valhalla for strength. “I told you no more running. I meant it. But as much as you say otherwise, I need this to be as equal as possible. You cannot demand everything from me and give none of yourself,” you said. 

“People are entitled to lick some wounds in private,” he said. 

“I’m not asking for every detail of your sordid history. I just want to know why you blew up at me. I only asked about why you didn’t want to speak to Thor,” you said.

Loki finally looked away from you, drawing his eyes downward. He frowned as he picked at an invisible lint on his jacket. “I can’t,” he said, with a sniff. He looked back at you briefly. 

You slowly nodded. “At an impasse, then. Get out, Loki,” you said. Your voice sounded tired to your own ears. You were weary, downtrodden. Maybe it was unfair to demand so much from him, something he clearly didn’t want to talk about. 

You had enough on your plate without worrying about Loki and his moods. You had decided over the course of the week that it hadn’t been a mistake sleeping with him. You had known bliss in his arms and that couldn’t really be a mistake. It just likely wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon. Not while he held on to whatever the fuck was preventing him from speaking. 

Never one to listen, Loki approached your desk. He leaned over it, planting his hands on it and leaning further still. His hair dropped forward like a curtain pulling open for a dramatic scene. His face could technically qualify as a dramatic scene. So many lines and planes, mouth made for sin and eyes dancing with mischief. 

“Darling, please. I–” he paused and just looked at you. His eyes moved, taking in your face. You didn’t know how you looked to him. Just another angry and bitter lover? A messy subordinate with a mouth that gave as good as it got? A once irreparably damaged Asgardian without a clue in the world? 

“I don’t like this between us. I finally got you in my arms, in my bed. I finally got a peek inside and it feels like you’ve closed the doors forever,” he said. 

“You’re the one unwilling to walk through it,” you said, softly. 

“And have you told me everything then? Every dark and horrible secret in your past? Like where you run off to every few months, disappearing at the drop of a hat? Every scar on your skin?” 

Your heart roared in your chest. It beat wildly, thumping against your rib cage. “You should know that I’ve shared far more than I ever cared to with you,” you said. You thought back to the day in his office when you finally let yourself feel. 

For the first time in a long time, you stopped disassociating. Stopped trying to hold it all in. You stopped trying to take flight while your feet were planted on the ground. And he helped you. 

“If you want to know where I disappear off to, I’ll tell you. It’s no secret. But only if I get to demand something too. Only if you let me in,” you said. 

“Ask me for anything else,” he whispered. His voice was so soft, softer than a raven’s wing. He rounded the desk and moved to stand in front of you. He got to his knees and looked at you. He was still damn tall, practically eye level with you. 

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. “Ask me for anything else and I’ll give it. But not that,” he said. 

He kept his eyes on your hand, his lips resting softly against it. You brought your other hand to push his hair behind his ear. “That is my price, Loki.” 

He loosed a breath while your phone rang. The damn thing was still foreign, even after five years. You answered it. The front desk host let you know that your visitor was here. 

You pushed your chair back away from Loki and moved around him. He said nothing and made no noise while you left the room. Your heart felt like a rock in your chest. Each step you took from him felt like lead in your shoes. 

Still, you marched on. You walked to the front and greeted the Asgardian tracker you hired. He was impossibly tall, taller than Loki even. With smooth bronzed skin, short hair, but a host of tattoos criss crossing his bare arms. You didn’t know how he wasn’t freezing in this type of climate, but well, you weren’t going to complain. 

“Erik!” You said, wide grin splitting your face and you hugged him. 

He turned when he saw you, grinning. His smile was so heartbreaking. Why couldn’t you be head over heels for someone like him? He held on a second too long, having last seen him months ago. 

You grew up with Erik in your village on Asgard, running through the streets and getting into all kinds of trouble together. You had entertained something between you many, many years ago, but it was clear that you were better off as friends. You had already given your heart away a long time ago. 

You sat on a lounge chair in the front and tried to temper your expectations. But hope was a cruel thing. It cropped up, over and over no matter how many times you tried to squash and burn it within you. Erik settled next to you, but he wasn’t smiling. 

“No word yet on your family. The universe is very large,” he said. 

You nodded. You figured as much. You tried to hold it together, but throwing that door open within you opened yourself to it all. You felt the tears but you weren’t completely transformed. You blinked them away and squared your shoulders.

“I have people on it though. They’re out there,” he said. 

You shook your head. “They’re not.” You took a shuddering breath at that realization. Five years was too long to keep searching for people that clearly weren’t here, wasn’t it? The fall of Asgard had to have spread by now. For half of life to be eradicated, even people who had never heard of Thanos likely knew his name now. 

If not, well, they knew that those people were gone. Vanished from their lives. Turned to dust and never to be seen again. If Thor was here, all hope was truly lost. The Avengers he so affectionately ran with over the years had gone all but silent. If they were hopeless… 

“Perhaps it’s time to involve Heimdall,” Erik said.

You shushed him. You didn’t need that man turning his gaze on you. He was so eerie, seeming to know so many things. His eyes, like galaxies, were far wiser than your age. 

“I can’t. I can’t just walk up to him and ask. Maybe it’s time to call it,” you said. You didn’t want to say it. That same crack in your chest split wide open at the thought of stopping your search.

Erik grabbed your hand. “Hey, I’m not giving up,” he said. 

You patted his hand. “I’ve taken enough of your time. You have more important people to track down,” you said. Your voice warbled. You hated this. This was why you kept this shit locked away and buried at sea. 

“No one is more important than your family. They’re my family too,” he said. He scooted closer to you and drew you into his arms. You greedily took the comfort. He was always so warm and solid, giving the best hugs you’d ever known. 

“My, Darling, who’s your friend?” Loki’s voice cut into what had been a sweet and peaceful moment. 

You cracked one eye open, trying to disengage from Erik. But he was slower to let you go. He hadn’t missed the deadly tone of Loki’s voice. Where the hell did he come from anyway? 

Erik stiffened, turning fully around to face the larger threat. Loki had a devilish smile on his face, but his eyes were seething. 

“Loki, this is Erik,” you said. Before you could explain further, Erik stood up and blocked your view of Loki for a moment. Erik held out his hand and Loki shook it, keeping that smile on his face.

“Erik, haven’t seen you around,” Loki said. His eyes slid towards you and you inwardly groaned. 

“Erik has–” 

“I pop in every few months to check in on her,” Erik said. 

“Every few months? Really?” Loki smiled at you. Shit, shit. 

“He’s–” 

“Any friend of Darling’s a friend of mine,” Loki said. 

You narrowed your eyes at Loki. You didn’t know what game he was playing but you weren’t in the mood. “Erik has been looking into something for me. Right, Erik?” You stood up and nudged his shoulder to agree with you. His eyes were still trained on Loki. What was this, a fucking pissing match? 

“I was just telling Darling that I’d like to meet more of her friends. We see so little of them,” Loki said. He sauntered around Erik, putting his arm around you. “I like to make sure she’s happy. Always.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Erik took in Loki’s arm around you and lifted an eyebrow. “Keeping secrets, are we?” Erik asked. He crossed his arms and stared at you, putting you on the spot.

You licked your lips slowly, trying to describe what you and Loki were to each other. Boyfriend? Boss? Occasional sadistic charmer? 

Loki hugged you close and you looked at him. He smiled at you, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Didn’t tell him about me? I’m a little hurt,” Loki said. Still with that damn smile. You were starting to panic. You might’ve been a little afraid of what he’d do. 

Loki moved his right hand to lift up your chin and plant a small, but sultry kiss to your lips. You gasped and he drank it down with a low hum. “Always so private,” he said against your lips.

You were going to murder him. Your hands itched with magic dancing between your fingertips. A dagger? A sword? You were going to cut him down where he stood. 

“Erik, he’s–” 

“Loki, of Asgard, everyone knows,” Erik said. He raised his eyebrow at you but you didn’t know what he was trying to communicate. 

“Will you two shut the fuck up?!” You yelled. You drew the attention of some patrons who cast little glances towards you. The host stood in the corner with a few staff members, Honey among them, as they stared at all three of you. They saw the kiss. Your shoulders deflated. There went the little bit of respect you had around here. 

“Erik is a childhood friend who has been looking for my family. They went on a trip when the Snap happened so I don’t know if they’re out there, looking for us, or if they’re gone,” your breath hitched on the word ‘gone’ but you persisted. “Loki is…Loki. We’re figuring it out. Now, say hi to Denby for me,” you said, looking at Erik who slowly smiled. 

You shoved off Loki’s arm around you. “As always, you’ve gotten what you wanted and made out like a thief,” you tossed at him. 

“You’re no better than he is,” you told Erik.

You stormed off. Leaving everyone in the dust. An ache thumped in your head. You needed away. Away from here with all of its bullshit. 

“Darling!” Loki called after you. This time, you heard his steps behind you, heard him walking down the hall. You ignored him. Your fists clenched and unclenched. Your teeth grated. You were fuming with nowhere to direct the anger.

Loki caught up to you outside of your office once more. You pushed him when he was in arm’s reach. “What the fuck was that?!” You yelled. 

You were in the back, well away from any patrons. The hallways had music playing, soft muzak that kept up the hazy and alluring vibe of the club. Each room played its own music so there was no danger of being overhead. Except the staff. You imagined the rumors flying like wildfire, distracting the staff and performers. You were going to be sick. 

“A miscalculation,” he said. 

“What?” You said. He swooped in and waved his stake in the air like you were some prize he won over a miscalculation? 

“I didn’t know about your family–” 

“You would have. I would have told you. As always, you want and you want and you-”

“I have always maintained that I want you because you’re mine,” Loki said. All sense of propriety was gone. Extra eyes be damned. He advanced on you and pushed you against the wall. 

“Completely mine. Mine to do with as I please,” he said. His lips traveled from your temple down to your neck, bypassing your lips. Your body instantly reacted. Craved him. Craved another hit of what he could bring you. 

You grabbed his jacket and turned around, pushing him against the wall. He grinned as if he won. As if you would give in and forget all about your ultimatum. You licked the long expanse of his neck and his breath fanned over your skin. 

You pulled back and smiled at him. He grinned back, hanging his head and looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes. Then you slapped the smirk right off of his face. He licked his lips as if he meant to taste the sting. You raised your arm again and he caught your wrist.

“Darling, not in mixed company,” he said. He gave you a wink. “Save it for later.” 

“You are the most arrogant, infuriating, child-like, obnoxious–”

“Do keep going,” he interrupted.

“Confusing man I’ve ever met! You irritate the fuck out of me! You…bastard,” you said. 

“I don’t know how else to be,” he said.

You yanked your wrist out of his hand. You were breathing too heavy. You couldn’t get enough air in your lungs. You wanted to smack him. You wanted to curse him. You wanted to toss him into hot lava and see if he’d melt. You wanted to kiss his stupid face. 

“We promised no lies between us. And if you can’t give me that Loki, you can’t have me.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, all hints of playfulness gone. But then the lights went out and the screaming started.

Masterlist | Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

[blackuigryphonvr]

THIS is what Pokemon GO looked like in my area in 2018:

2018 iPhone Pokemon Go looking "rural"

THIS is what Pokemon Go looks like NOW (2024) where I live:

Well, I've been testing this for years, so there's definitively an ample amount of data that proves there's a group of saboteurs that target South Weymouth Massachusetts. There's also that no infamous incident in February 2020 on Reddit where they were bragging about sabotaging my area, and full on fighting with me. They even actively got me banned 3 times in 2020, and I had to change my identity, and pretend I was a dude from 2020-2022, and even changed my name 4 times. #PokemonGo

There's some evidence 🤔 it's connected to an Ingress beef as well. I've had a list of suspects as well. They seemed to have originally been targeting an Admin in my area, perhaps out of envy. They also seemed to have confused me with said admin, or thought I was his underling. That's not how we do things in Weymouth. We're not master & slaves, we're neighbors, n each player has their own unique areas of specialties.

Also, the god level players in Greater Boston live in Weymouth, not just masters of raids, getting Hundo, Shundo, n rare shiny Legendary Pokémon, but whom r naturally blessed w luck, somehow. Or, they're the very best GBL & PVP Players. I know who they r, we all know each other, do raids, share tips, help newbies, n coach people to achieve. We also cultivate tolerance, talking stuff out, n safety. We've had some bad experiences here n there, so we like women players n kids to be safe. We also interact w players in other towns, n car pooling is very popular.

As far as game play goes, we're good.

But, I'm talking about #NianticWayfarer

Because the vultures are REAL!

I've had to figure out, n navigate these punks. They appear to have OCD, n reverse psychology issues, n do stuff out of spite. There's a group of them (including on Reddit) n they take screen shots, probably have extra fake accounts, n they login to Wayfarer , n scour Wayfarer for stuff in Weymouth. Especially in South Weymouth, where we live. This has been going on since late 2019, when Wayfarer 1st went live.

We used to think it was so odd that all the best advice we dug up from Ingress players, as well as resources, for the new Wayfarer rules was not working out.

So, it was a common excuse of "lazy reviewers" or "lazy voters". But, I kept getting accused of being an "Abuser", and a "Racist". FOR PLAYING POKÉMON GO??? FOR SUBMITTING A WAYPOINT TO WAYFARER???

WHO DOES THAT MAKE SENSE TO???

But, I noticed that while posting inside our local Discord server, for Wayfarer, if I told everyone WHICH locations I was submitting, they'd all fail, and quickly.

But, when I submitted stuff, and DID NOT TELL the Discord server thread which ones I was doing, I noticed those usually went through.

This was a very consistent pattern. But, everyone in the server was still very status quo oriented like "it's just lazy voters".

THEN IT HAPPENED!

IN February 2020, they started bragging! IN PUBLIC! ON REDDIT! N THEY CALLED ME "AN ABUSER". THEY ALSO THREATENED TO BAN ME, WHICH THEY ACTUALLY DID.

Here in Weymouth, we coordinate, n we can be very motivated & diligent, including myself. I coached people to get really good at this. I also took much of my strategy skills I learned from playing Ingress, to strategies on Wayfarer. [ Another Ingress thingy of mine. ]

These punks also would sabotage my Google maps account. They'd move my Google points out into the ocean, or the wrong locations. This is how evil they are. They also smeared me using a fake account in Discord. They know all my social media using my BlackUniGryphon names on them. I actually never even did anything to them. I've never seen them face to face. They r just vicious. Someone also hacked my original BlackUniGryphon Reddit account n I can't even recover it because they changed the email address. They also made a Reddit account using my Google email, n got it banned for really bad behavior, n there's nothing I can do to fix it, n it gets notifications for explicit gay sex stuff, that I can't even turn off. I didn't even know they made that account until long after it was banned, because I was busy XP grinding to Level up in Pokémon Go.

This is just SOME of the stunts they pulled.

But, to show u an example of the nonsense they group vote on, n coordinate as saboteurs, the reasons they give r literally the exact SAME, including from OTHER PLAYERS I KNOW that aren't even my account.

These r all submitted around the same time n from different accounts of different players, n all in Weymouth. SOUTH WEYMOUTH actually.

Notice they cited "Rejection Criteria" as "Temporary or Seasonal Display", or "Generic Business". Another bogus one is "Mismatched Location"

Notice how they're all the same?

They pick the same reasons, to intentionally sabotage it. Other times these locations were submitted, they'd use different coordinated rejection reasons that were exactly the same reason, as tho they pre-determined what the rejection reason would be. Like "BAD Photo" or "Orientation of the Photo", or "Blurry Photo", or "Racist", or "Abuse" or "Unsafe".

This time the saboteurs chose "Generic Business" or "Temporary".

Also interesting to note is, we haven't submitted anything in months except for 1 guy I know, and he gave up for a long while in Weymouth. I haven't submitted anything in months, other than Appeals...

Well, we did a batch, n u can see the dates showing January, then placed them on hold. Of those batches we did, we told no one publicly, just ourselves.

And, since the vultures were not on the prowl, they started getting approved. These were locations that were the stubborn ones. The ones that obviously go through in other towns. And, things getting approved started creating new PokéGyms as well. Plural.

So, after a while it's hard to keep it quiet, and we bragged a lil bit.

Well..... the vultures noticed, n went to Wayfarer, n sabotaged the last of the batch in Voting.

I've gone through this process over & over for years. All predictable patterns at this point.

Bur, the stuff that we, or I, couldn't get through in 2019-2022, is pretty much LIVE & in the Niantic games now. We know IITC MOBILE, we know Ingress, we know Wayfarer. We know how to change our writing styles, we know how to adapt. We know long term strategy. I even use decoys as a method to test if the vultures are active. I'll submit something intentionally knowing it's got a lower chance of passing (because I know the rules from the older systems) n when the vultures r out, it'll get rejected quickly. But, there's times when my decoys passed through. Which shows that it's subjective, and not objective.

Like I wouldn't expect a bland generic coffee shop, or plain or pizza takeout, to go through. In my opinion, it should be a special & unique one, or ethnic one. So, objectively that shouldn't really go through. But, ones that actually SHOULD COUNT N QUALIFY SHOULD go through. But, if it was in Weymouth it wouldn't, but in other towns it would, n did.

When it comes to being a hateful person, there's only so long u can keep that up, because it's toxic & draining. So, they often give up, n stop logging in to sabotage the area because we don't submit anything.

It's basically like applying principles from Algebra, or mathematics. Like subtraction is addition in reserve. Or, division is multiplication in reverse. Or, things like factors & variables. If u get more & more data that shows a result, we can plot that data.

We can find: trends, averages, rates, coronation.

And even tho originally there were no jerks in my face telling me they were sabotaging me/us, they eventually DID brag on Reddit. They also expressed their motives, which were often an attachment to this idea of weilding power over others, a drive to feel superior, or righteous. Or psychologically weaponizing rules. If u gotta behave like that to pretend u r the hood guys, n I'm the bad guy, u r seriously sick in the mind.

But, even BEFORE they bragged about it, I could tell something was up just by analyzing the patterns in the results, n treating as experiments using the scientific method.

I could think working backwards & forward, like Algebra using variables and factors.

I could also change the way I wrote my blurbs to see which tested better.

Despite the haters, I (and my Community) have turned a desolate place into a thriving one.

Anyways, I won't be mentioning names. There was at least 1 player from Reddit that we smoothed stuff over with.....

But, I won't be naming them. I still will do raids with naughty players because I find they can overcome prejudice by exercising tolerance. I also believe in talking stuff out. But, let's be clear, some people actually r sick in the head, n WANT TROUBLE. If they talked it out, they wouldn't have strife, drama, n trouble because it's something they feed on.

I've also noticed that, sometimes some people can suddenly change. It does happen. N there's no logical explanation. Sometimes, not everything is logical.

U also need to be flexible, but also not end up inside a trap of some sort, mentally, metaphorically, energetically, egotistical, pridefully, ideologically, or otherwise.

There's no 1 set way of doing anything, n no 1 definitively correct method or WAY of accomplishing it.

No good deed goes unpunished.

U could do everything 100% perfectly flawless, n still get screwed. Because it's not actually about being right. N that's WHY it stings.

But, get stung enough times, n u get thicker skin, or u don't even feel it. It's just a number.

I coached so many players through this same mayhem. Remember, it's NOT REALLY ABOUT YOURSELF, IT'S FOR THE COMMUNITY. YOUR PRIDE MEANS ACTUALLY VERY LITTLE....

But, let's keep it real, the BRAGGING is built into the game... so, u should show ur accomplishments....

I honestly wouldn't have even cared.... but, those vulture made me into this.

HATERS CAN KISS IT!!!!

你不知道我是谁！

Anyways, it turns out YOU DON'T WHO WHO I AM!

[stellanslashgeode]

WIP Wedneday

Here's an expert from Way of the Mynock in which Barriss finds that years of loyal duty will never please some people, even those in the Rebellion:

  “Director Offee, can you spare a moment?”

  Barriss sighed. The strap on her duffel was working a mean groove into her trapezius. “Yes, yes Sagitt. Once I can sink into my office chair and get my feet up on the desk.”

  “Barriss, wait!” her secretary called after her, a moment too late.

  Barriss keyed open her office door and found all the furniture had been moved. There were two additional desks in her private domain and her own desk had been unceremoniously pushed up against the far wall. All her possessions had been packed into crates. Near where she usually sat were two human men looking over a datapad. They were wearing the recently-commissioned Alliance Military uniforms and each had a silver placard adorned with five red circles. 

  “Excuse me. Am I interrupting?” Despite her travel fatigue the ex-Jedi adjusted her posture, striving to preserve her authority and dignity. “Let me guess… One of you is General Cracken and the other is General Draven.”

  “Airen Cracken,” the one with the fatherly round ruddy face sitting near where her desk used to be replied. “That would be me.” He motioned his head to his left, towards the square-jawed man with thinning red hair who was not happy to see her. “This is Davits Draven.”

  “Senator Organa told me to expect you next week…”

  “We had to find a creative route past Imperial patrols, and ended up getting here quicker than normal using a smuggler route.” Cracken provided her with a tight smile. “Sorry to surprise you.”

  She sensed a modicum of sympathy from Cracken, yet she did not need to use the Force to sense Draven’s glare boring into her soul. Still, it was best to be accommodating. “Pleased to meet you both, generals. Are we sharing an office?”

  “This is the office of the Military Intelligence Director.” Cracken stated laconically. 

  “Yes.”

  “I am now the Chief of Military Intelligence for the Alliance to Restore the Republic.”

  In the lower-periphery of her vision Barriss saw her cheeks rise as her smile adjusted to a grimace. “That is my title.”

  Davits stood up straighter and clasped his hands behind his back. “The Organas offered you an officer commission several times. We understand you refused them.”

  Barriss swallowed, then chose her words carefully. “I was once a Commander and briefly General in the GAR. I did not take to it well. I prefer not to have a military title beyond ‘Fulcrum’.”

  “We are on the cusp of making our first large-scale military operation, leading to the Alliance claiming a real navy.” General Cracken’s body language remained fatherly but a little military brass seeped into his tone. “We need a proper military intelligence unit right away.”

  Barriss again modified her expression, perhaps in a bit of a predatory manner. “What do you think I have been doing for over a decade?”

  “Imagine we were already successful and restored the Republic,” Cracken leaned back in his chair. “In that hypothetical we would be Military Intelligence, in charge of battlefield readiness and you would handle the ununiformed variety under the Senate and Department of State.”

  “In command of covert operations with whatever cutthroats and saboteurs you’ve recruited.” Draven added dismissively. “Now if you would kindly hand over the plans for Operation Karina we can let you get back to your work.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” Barriss sought to keep her voice civil, though some emotion seeped into her tone. “Operation Karina is mine. I planned it out with my lieutenant. And I’ve finally worked up the nerve to get back on the field of battle to fight alongside my Fulcrum agents. I will run Karina.”

  Behind her she heard Sagitt’s beak tapping open and closed, her anxiety tick, and the scrape of her toe talons as she walked backward through the door and closed it, allowing them privacy. 

  “It is a military operation.” Cracken responded calmly.

  “On which I have worked for three years.”

  “A full year behind schedule.” Draven quipped.

  “I prefer caution and preparation over bravado.”

  Cracken put up his hands. “I am sure we can work out boundaries and spheres of influence in a civil manner.”

  “I won’t.” Draven quipped. “I do not want a traitor assisting with our campaigns.”

  Barriss let out a deep-chested laugh. “Ha! Traitor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Traitor against whom?”

  “The Republic.” Draven spat out the words with palpable disgust.

  “The Empire!” Barriss tilted her head back, her eyes flashing. “This is a Rebellion, and I betrayed the Empire. That’s why I was recruited.”

  “Why don’t you take a seat at your desk, Ms. Offee, and consult your calendar. If you look up the dates of your confession and Empire Day, you shall find one preceded the other.”

  General Cracken grimaced and looked close to reprimanding his fellow officer.

  Barriss spoke slowly and with an icy calm. “And if you could take a seat and search your heart you would realize by the final year of the war it was a Republic in name only.” She looked Draven up and down. “I’ve read your files. I know you are a Clone War veteran while General Cracken was formerly a planetary militia officer and later a freedom fighter. For you, a grudge against me is understandable. But I would hope a decade of loyal service to House Organa has earned me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “You took the lives of your fellow-”  

“YES! I killed allied Jedi and clones and civilians.” Barriss tossed her duffel to the floor dismissively with a thud. “And I will repent and pray for forgiveness for the rest of my living days and all those hereafter. But I owe you no apology.” She held her chin up. “You are not my enemy. My enemy has always been and shall remain Palpatine. We are on the same side, General.” She strode over to her desk and primly took a seat. “And I will concede all military matters once Karina is complete.”

[whitherwordswither]

Dead Ringing, Pt. 8a

What time was it?

Some time around too-damn-late o'clock, by any count. I squirmed as I laid with the wolf. For a good while I flittered in and out of some kind of sleep. Eventually, the unquiet churning of my brain won as usual and I stared in to the darkness, listening to the mangy mutt's deep, steady breathing.

Hell. This was the part I was never really good at. Staying. And it's not that I didn't want to. Warrick is the best combination of a heater and a body pillow I've ever snogged and snuggled up with. Truth was… I had a lot on my plate and the thinky-squishmeat in my skull wouldn't give me five seconds to enjoy myself because brains were just damn good at being unhealthy saboteurs.

As quietly as I could I extracted myself from the tangle of the wolf's limbs, not that it would matter much. He'd make a few cute grumbly sounds and continue to sleep. I stood there, staring down at him, a small smile twitching across my lips. I really did love the big furball, despite his often times infuriating shortcomings and needs. Then again, we all had our shares of shit, didn't we? I wasn't any better in some ways. We just happened to work well… when we worked. With a soft sigh I padded across to the far side of the room and tugged the comforter off the bed. Somehow, we always managed to never make it quite that far. I draped the blanket over the beast then leaned down to give his forehead a quick kiss.

I was going to miss this.

I know, I know. I should tell him. I keep meaning to tell him. But the timing is never right or the words get stuck or… bollocks. I could make excuses for myself all day, but the truth of it was I was actively avoiding it. It wasn't going to be a fun conversation and I'd much rather have fun conversations than… than having to tell him I was leaving for Boreal Dome in a few short weeks. Duration undetermined.

My shop was doing well enough and I had a few offers on the table. But I didn't want any other hands in my pot. So I was taking the next step on my own. It was time to do something I hadn't thought of doing before. Expanding. I always thought I'd have my one little shop, living above it, grow old and die there. I guess I was deciding to alter that fate.

Boreal Dome was settled on the western coast and was nearly three times the size of Rochland. It was a huge hub for ship traffic, both on and off world.

I knelt and felt around for my discarded clothing and dressed as I made my way over to the island counter, scooping my jacket off a stool and picking up my data pad. I poked at the screen, checking for any new messages. And there it was. Confirmation. My request for a permit on a vacant lot had been approved. I had to keep myself from doing a little dance as I pulled my jacket on and headed out the door, casting one last look back at the wolf and blowing a little kiss. 'Cause I can be cute when I feel like it.

The lights in the hallway flickered. And surprisingly I found myself staring at a familiar face settled across the way, idling away on her own data pad. Feline ears swiveled and perked, our eyes meeting. What was her name? Planet-like. Fiery. The cat stopped poking unenthusiastically at her pad and tossed it atop her duffel bag as she stood, cheeks flushed a bit as she offered a meek smile. Ah, shit. She'd… been out here the whole time hadn't she? Because of course she had. Laws of the universe or whatever.

I let my hand slip from the doorknob, brushing a some stray hair from my face as I returned the smile. "Mars, wasn't it?"

"Heh… um…" The cat scratched at the back of her head. "Yeah, so anyway. I uh… got Warrick's address from Akeno at the office. They were having some trouble findin' me a spot to stay. Somethin' fucked up with the plumbing where I was initially getting sent to while waiting for my residency to transfer and… uh…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I rolled my eyes. "Tell you one thing this city could use. Some competent maintenance workers. Doggo's passed out on the couch. Imagine not even the worm sirens would wake him. Why don'cha go ahead and make yerself at home, love."

"You sure that'd… be alright?" The cat shuffled, glancing down the hall, then toward the door that I pushed back open, inviting her in to the apartment that so obviously wasn't mine. I knew the wolf well and how he operated. He was precisely the type that wouldn't let someone muck about in a dingy hallway if he had the room to put them up.

"Aye, if he gives ya any grief just tell 'im he can come 'ave a word with me. Doubt he'd say no to ya, anyhow. He's really quite sweet under all that fluff." I managed to flash a grin, then added: "He's usually good for another round when he wakes up, if ya fancy a roll~" Because making things even more awkward was something of a specialty of mine.

Mars looked like she was trying to win first prize in the tomato-with-whiskers contest. "I… I uh…"

I shook my head and gave a quiet laugh. "That's a priceless look right there. Hah. Bed's free up, anyhow. He keeps the sheets relatively clean if y'can believe it. It'll be fine. Go on and get yerself a proper nap. He really won't mind."

Mars gave a tiny mewing sound and nodded her head. "A.. alright. Thanks, L. Beats snoozin' in the hallway. Though I 'spose I've slept in worse spots…" She picked her bag up off the floor and hoisted it over a shoulder as she moved through the arch. "Might swing by for lunch. I could totally go for another one of those pastrami sammies you make. Been thinking about them all fuckin' day."

"I'll 'ave a fresh one waitin' for ya." We exchanged another round of smiles before I excused myself. "Got some extra work to do before I can turn in. Catch ya later on, Fritz." I gave Mars a wink as I turned and began to head down the hall. The thick leather jacket doing nothing to protect my backside from the daggers that were being glared in to it. I giggled to myself as I rounded the corner and headed for the stairs. Never trust an elevator.

Mars stood in the doorway for a space of minutes, peering in to the dark of the room before huffing and finally heading inside. The door closed with a soft click.

It couldn't get any more awkward, could it?

[willowser]

willow! hi hi, how are you? :-) i had a crazy delicious latte today for only 3 dollars and sipping on it slowly while i did some work had me dizzy with happiness! so i was wondering if you like coffee as well, or are you more of a tea person? do you like snacking or drinking while you write? or do you prefer having both hands on the keyboard? ♥️

hello my dearest !! 💖 i'm happy that you had a yummy latte !! what kind was it !!

i do love coffee ! in my area, we have an independently owned coffee company and it's stocked in a lot of places, including this bbq place near my house ?? which sounds weird !! but when i have the time, i go there to get it bc it's around $3 too ! i really, really enjoy coffee with cinnamon, so that's typically what i get 🤗☕️

whenever i'm traveling or just not in town, i usually get mochas — but i've actually been trying a lot of floral flavors lately, and i really like them ! lavender and sunflower have been my favorites 🌻💕 i also have a very high caffeine tolerance so i can drink coffee all day LOL

it's hard to say about writing though bc — if i don't have a snack, i will stop writing bc i think i need one. and if i do have one, then i can't write until it's finished LOL i am my own worst enemy. a saboteur. but i do usually start a day of writing with coffee and i sip on it throughout !!

[sylvie-writes]

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine. 

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny. 

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature. 

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather. 

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache. 

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals. 

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.” 

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness. 

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal. 

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon. 

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant. 

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

 At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last. 

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was. 

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke. 

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness. 

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Lunch break at last. 

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest. 

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course. 

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible. 

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty. 

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them. 

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance. 

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“Babe, dinner is ready!” 

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten. 

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister. 

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain. 

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple. 

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for. 

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially. 

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more. 

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.” 

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.” 

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed. 

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you. 

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture. 

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips. 

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” 

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair. 

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made. 

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair. 

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy. 

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor. 

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand. 

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison. 

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help. 

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages. 

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look. 

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you. 

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own. 

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis. 

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk. 

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague. 

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat. 

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes. 

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on. 

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose. 

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer. 

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak. 

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions. 

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.” 

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure. 

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room. 

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve. 

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!” 

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.” 

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.” 

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you. 

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued. 

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face. 

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand. 

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”  

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.” 

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him. 

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.” 

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!” 

He really was too good for this world. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

[hyenahunt]

Jun Sazanami - Sub Story 2: Curse of the Bastard Child

Writer: Akira

Season: Summer (ES!)

Characters: Jun, Jin

Proofreading: hyenahunt

Translation: royalquintet

Jun: You’re telling me my dad got his life ruined by this useless drunkard with a 5 o’clock shadow who gets smashed at his workplace?!

[Location: Teacher's Room]

Jun: ‘Scuse me~

Huh… No one’s even here. That’s pretty careless, y’know~? No one to blame but yourselves if anything gets stolen, alright? You coulda locked the door~!

(Oh…? Wait, looks like someone’s wiped out on the sofa over there?)

Jin: ...Yaaawn. Who’re you? That’s not our school’s uniform.

Ah… Right, you’re probably one of the kids in that joint event we have with Reimei. Well, welcome. Got some business in the teacher’s office?

Jun: Ah-- Uh, yeah. I came to turn in some forms and stuff.

Jin: Ohhh, good work.

Sorry ‘bout that~ It’d be a lot easier if we could just do it digitally. But we still have some old-fashioned folks here, so we have to do every little thing by paper.

Jun: Nah, it’s fine. It’s not like this was a whole lot of trouble or anything. Just a few papers.

But I had a few things I wanted to ask about…

We talked about the school who invited us--Yumenosaki Academy--paying for the expenses up to a certain point, but...

Are you really gonna be okay~? That idiot in my unit spends money like water, so I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be a huge cost to you guys. For real, you know?

Jin: I dunno, really. Our resident rich kid apparently has a hand in the budget, so we’re probably fine.

Go wild, if you want. I’d rather you kids have a good time since you dragged yourselves all the way over here.

Though it’s not really my place to say, since I’m not in charge of that Summer Live thing.

Wait here, I’ll get Akiyan-- Uh, the teacher who’s managing the plan for it.

Lessee… Huh? Where’d I put my phone again? Crap, I can’t remember anything after I opened my third bottle of sake.

Jun: ...You were drinking on school grounds? Uhh, you are a teacher here, right? Not just some bum who wandered in?

Jin: Ahh, it’d be pretty bad if the headmaster or some other higher-up found out about it, so keep it a secret, okay?

I thought my secret stash was gonna get found out, you see. I panicked and tried to drink it all but then I guess I blacked out.

Jun: Damn… I can’t even imagine that happening at Reimei.

I heard Yumenosaki went through a pretty rough patch, but seems like corruption runs rampant among the teachers, too, huh?

Jin: You know, you shouldn’t say that when there’s a teacher right in front of you…

It’s all good, though. They’ll overlook it as long as I’m not doing anything illegal.

Not like I’m demanding a favor from them, but I did earn a lot of money for Yumenosaki.

I just want ‘em to be more forgiving about my stupid behavior, to a certain extent.

Jun: …?

Jin: Ooh, there’s my phone. Hellooo, Akiyan? It’s me! Jin~

Yeah, there’s a kid from Reimei here… Can you deal with him?

Jun: Jin…? Wait, don’t tell me you’re…Jin Sagami?

You look real different, so I didn’t see it at first, but… Ah, now that I look-- You’re actually Super Idol Jin Sagami, aren’t you…?!

Jin: Huh? Are you my fan or something? I thought young‘uns these days don’t have a clue who I am.

Ahaha, you here for my signature? Nah, just kidding...♪

Jun: Goddamn! Who’d want your signature, you murderer…!

Jin: Eeek?! Wait, what’s going on? Why are you mad at me? It’s the terrible teens…!

Jun: Ugh, right, as if you’d know… You wouldn’t have the slightest recollection of all the rabble you crushed underfoot, would you.

My name’s Jun Sazanami, by the way. Ring any bells for you, Jin Sagami?

Jin: Wait… Unh, what? Sorry, my head’s still half-asleep…

Jun: …"Jun" sounds kinda like "Jin." Does that remind you of anything?

Jin: Huh? What do you mean?

Oh no… Crap, I don’t wanna deal with someone claiming to be my illegitimate child or something! I don’t know how to raise a kid!

Jun: Seriously, how long are you gonna play dumb… I’m pretty sure my father sent you a video around springtime this year?

Jin: What? Ahh, that thing! That cursed video!

It was pretty creepy, so I had it burned at the Hasumis’ temple, but I remember it had my saboteur-- I mean, my rival in it!

Right, his name was Sazanami! Wait, you said he was your dad… You’re his son?!

Urgh, I had a bad feeling about this and it was right on the mark… So, is that what you’re up to? Out to get your dad’s revenge or something?

You’re an era too late for that, though~ The law doesn’t allow for revenge, you know?

Jun: As if? My dad’s been pretty messed up for as long as I can remember…

Didn’t even treat me like a human, no love or anything.

I’m not gonna waste my life getting revenge for a bastard like that…

But of course I got curious, and from the videos I watched back then, I might’ve even kinda admired you just a little.

My dad was done in by such an incredible guy… I thought he might’ve been even satisfied with that.

So I’d accepted it and even felt kinda relieved. But now...

Ugh, fuck! God dammit, this is worst…

You’re telling me my dad got his life ruined by this useless drunkard with a 5 o’clock shadow who gets smashed at his workplace?!

Jin: No, um, but, I’m usually a bit better put together than this?

I mean, yeah, I felt sorry for your dad, but… I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just how things were back then.

Just go easy on me, okay?

And don’t say anything weird to the students, even by mistake… If you’re gonna have your revenge, have it with me.

I won’t complain even if it stings me. I earned it, anyway.

Jun: I said I’m not trying to get revenge. My dad may have raised me and sent me to Reimei for that purpose, but…

My dad’s my dad. I’m my own person.

Though if I take down your precious students… It’ll be like punishing the kids for their parents’ mistakes. Maybe it’d even make me feel a bit better?

My dad’s idol career ended in utter defeat…

But I can prove that when it comes to raising idols…he’ll outdo Jin Sagami anyday.

Haha. Ohiisan had to drag me to this Summer Live thing, but...I’m kinda looking forward to it now~

Jin: Mmgh… Well, it’s great that you’re excited about it, I guess.

But I do feel like the stage is no place to bring your thirst for revenge, or any other motives.

It was from giving into those kinds of scummy, dishonest thoughts that both me and your dad wound up losing our way.

Jun: ……

Jin: And besides. You act like it’ll be such a breeze to take them down, but our brats here are pretty talented themselves…

They may still be little babies without much experience, but don’t underestimate ‘em.

If you let your guard down, you’ll be the ones getting eaten up.

You don’t wanna repeat your dad’s failures either, right?

Jun: ...Thank you very much for the advice. I’ll really take it to heart, Jin Sagami.

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[tonystarktogo]

It takes quite a bit of effort -- and some outstanding teamwork that Tony didn’t think he and Rogers would be capable of -- but they manage to break the helicarrier.

Hang on, that came out wrong.

To clarify [because Fury will undoubtedly be on Tony’s ass about this]: They don’t set out to break the helicarrier. But Barton, it turns out, is a damn talented saboteur and while Tony and Rogers successfully intercept his minions before they can get their hands on some of the very secret alien weapons SHIELD should’ve never gotten its hands on, they are way too late to do anything about the control center.

Or the rampaging Hulk. Who, if JARVIS is to be trusted -- who is always to be trusted because it’s JARVIS -- got into a screaming match with Thor. Wonderful.

Saving the helicarrier is a lost cause but they manage to break only part of it off -- the part they’re on because why wouldn’t they be -- so there’s a good 60% chance that not all of SHIELD’s top-of-the-top agents died in the crash.

Solid win for the good guys that.

[continues under the cut]

Sarcasm aside, they’re all alive. Tony caught Rogers -- not a fucking team player, ha --, Hulk is pretty hard to kill to the surprise of absolutely no one, save perhaps Ross, Thor and a very concussed-looking Loki can get downed by Captain America’s shield but are too godly-Asgardian-whatever to be phased by falling a couple of kilometers through the air and Romanoff just shows up amidst the rumble, covered in dirt, an ugly bruise on her jaw, blood tickling down her neck and the unconscious shape that is probably Barton slung over her shoulder.

Tony doesn’t even ask.

He’s too busy staring down Hulk. “Aren’t you supposed to be bigger?”

Instead of snarling, squashing him or whatever rage monsters do when they are told they aren’t impressive enough, Hulk claps his hands. “Tin man back!” he booms. “Hulk happy!”

Tony takes a wary step back. If Hulk tries to hug him too then big fan of the green guy or not, he’s taking to the sky and never coming back down again. Tony’s more than filled his hug-quota for the month, possibly for the year. And also people need to stop being so damn enthusiastic to see him, it’s gonna give him a complex.

Thankfully, there’s plenty of other people around him to serve as a distraction. Rogers for one is brushing already taking in their surroundings. Thankfully they’ve landed in an unhabitated, random hill in the middle of nowhere. The last thing Tony needs is more civilian causalities on his head. That said, he doesn’t recognize much of anything within eyesight, which isn’t promising.

Sure, his suit can probably get him out of here, but that still leaves a supersoldier, two secret agents and two Asgardians -- after Thor’s insistence on the term, Tony’s gonna stick with it, even if ‘god’ would freak more people out, see how well he’s taking other people’s feelings into consideration? -- unaccounted for. Plus the Hulk. But getting Big Green anywhere he doesn’t want to go would be impossible anyway.

“You alright there, Cap?”

“I’ll live.” Rogers grins at him, a little more tired and still with that same shadow that Tony can’t properly identify, but real nonetheless. Urgh. This much genuine happiness can’t be healthy. “Thanks for the help, Stark. You did good.”

Tony shrugs. “Hey, I’m all for team spirit and all that shit, ask anyone.” What else is he supposed to say?

Rogers snorts. Turns around to face Thor, who is carrying Loki towards them. Their future evil alien overlord doesn’t look too good up close, pale and haggard, with dark shadows under his eyes that would give Tony at his first post-Afghanistan depression a run for their money.

Not a record any sane person wants to beat.

“Everything alright with your brother?” 

Tony’s impressed how casual Rogers makes the question sound. It’s impossible to tell if he’s concerned about Loki’s welfare or subtly requesting information on his mental state or even demanding a report about potential trouble. Well done.

“Nothing he won’t recover from.” The expression on Thor’s face is hard to read, almost blank, but the way his grip around Loki tightens is a tell on its own.

Sternly reminding himself that he’s not gonna involve himself in Norse god drama -- again -- Tony catches Romanoff’s eyes and nods towards her carry-on. “Barton good as well?”

“He’ll be fine.” She says evenly. A threat if Tony has ever heard one. 

“Good.”

They both turn back towards the rest of the group. Even Hulk has joined them, perfectly content to just stand there and casually crush what’s left of the wreck inside his left hand. A powermove if Tony’s ever seen one -- really, if Tony didn’t already have his precious honeybear he’d claim Hulk as his best friend in a heartbeat. No second thoughts. Plenty of regrets. For other people, that is.

“Well, we’re all alive so that’s great.” Rogers rubs the back of his neck, wincing like he’s just realized how depressing that sounds. Shoots Loki an anything-but-inconspicious look. “I guess we should get back to the Tower, just in case.”

“What tower?” Tony asks over Thor’s agreement and Romanoff’s raised eyebrows -- they’re very loud raised eyebrows, okay.

Rogers freezes. The look on his face bears a weird resemblance to how Rhodey looked that one time Tony caught him with a Hammer gun. 

“Uhm. Stark Tower?”

Tony crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Why would we go there?”

Why would they even go to NYC? They already have Loki, even if he doesn’t look particularly chained up from where Tony’s standing and they’ve even gotten some of the brainwashed minions back. Shouldn’t they focus on the Tesseract now? Or barring that on pissing off Fury into telling them what else besides hella-illegal-if-anyone-knew-about-it weapons manifacturing they haven’t been told?

“...to regroup?” Rogers asks slowly.

Tony gives him the look that statement deserves.

“That sounds like a sensible course of action,” Thor adds. “And I would like to leave my brother in a place where he can rest.”

What high-level security cell wasn’t chill enough? Tony swallows that comment at the last second, vaguely remembering the protective fevor Thor has shown in defense of his brother and not at all eager to become its target.

“Hulk sleep,” Hulk says, not being much of a help at all.

Romanoff’s eyebrows judge them all.

“It’s decided then!” Rogers claps his hands, blatantly ignoring the lack of agreement from the sanest two people present. “Let’s go see if we can find a car to hotwire.”

Tony stares after him. “I can’t believe Captain fucking America just said ‘see if we can find a car to hotwire’.”

Romanoff scoffs, even as her gaze flickers restlessly back and forth between Rogers, Hulk and Thor and Loki. “I can’t believe they call him the man with a plan.”

“Well, no one said it had to be a good plan.”

“Don’t worry,” Rogers calls out over his shoulder, cool as a cucumber and doing a terrible job of concealing the amusement in his tone, “if a giant hole appears in the sky, you and Thor get to play flying taxi.”

Tony exchanges a glance with Romanoff -- not an easy thing to do considering his faceplate is still up -- and says quietly. “The scary thing is I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.”

“He’s not,” Romanoff deadpans.

[tessaliagrey]

Day 3 - Bo and Ursa are besties

Author’s note: I actually planned on writing something like a girls’ night out… Well, you know me… I wrote something else.

Summary: Bo and Ursa talk after Carlac.

Tagging: @bokatanweek

You can eiter read here on AO3 or below the cut.

03 - Bo and Ursa are besties

Setting up a new camp was always exhausting, but Bo never minded. And besides, it was their own fault they had to leave. Not that Bo would ever say that out loud, she wasn’t stupid. She trusted Pre Vizsla, but the man had been too impatient lately and she had seen how he treated people who spoke out against his decisions. Not that Bo never did, but she was smart enough to do it when only Vizsla could hear.

But anyway, the situation was like it was, and there was no use complaining about it now. And besides, Carlac had been too cold for her liking anyways. Not that Zanbar was more to her taste, but at least it wasn’t freezing.

With the camp set up, people were going about their business again. Vizsla was in his tent, and Bo contemplated whether or not to go talk to him. She hadn’t said anything about what happened so far, and maybe it was better to leave him be for another few days. And besides, she wasn’t done yet.

Bo certainly wasn’t the oldest one in Vizsla’s ranks, but for sure one of the warriors with the most experience. She had fought in the Civil War, even though many had thought her too young. But she had prevailed.

She had learned much during that time. A lot of the warriors that flocked to Vizsla wanted to fight, and that was fine with Bo. But they never quite seemed to grasp that victory was not based on numbers and fire power alone. Sure, those things helped. But intel, preparation, supply lines,… The intricacies of strategic planning went over most people’s heads, really. And so it was Bo-Katan who stood in one of the supply tents, inventorying everything they still had in stock.

She just made a note to get more power packs when she heard the tent flap open and close.

“Still at it?”

Bo’s head whipped around.

“Ursa!”, she exclaimed, and walked over to hug her friend. “I thought you were staying on Krownest for another few weeks at least. Everything alright?”

Ursa chuckled, hugging her friend back.

“Yes, everything’s fine.”

“How are Alrich and Sabine?”

Ursa smiled fondly. “They’re both good. You know them, they make a good team.”

Bo nodded, and yet she thought she had detected a hint of sorrow in Ursa’s last words.

“Want a drink?” Bo asked. “Someone managed to store the tihaar next to the vibro blades.”

“Ouch,” Ursa said, shaking her head. “Makes you wonder where people keep their heads sometimes. But yeah, I’d take a sip.”

Bo got a bottle out of one of the boxes, and the two women settled on the floor, backs against an obliging crate.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, passing the bottle back and forth. Then, Ursa began to talk.

“You know,” she began, a frown on her face, like she was trying to find fitting words for what she wanted to say. “I feel torn, sometimes.”

Bo looked over to her friend and just nodded, encouraging Ursa to go on.

“On the one hand, I want to be here. I want to be in this fight, not just watching from the sidelines. I’m a warrior, it’s my duty. And yet…”, she trailed off, letting out a long, low sigh.

“And yet, you also want to be home,” Bo-Katan said.

Ursa nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“And why wouldn’t you,” Bo continued softly. “You have a lovely daughter, and a husband who dotes on you. You are very lucky in that regard. It’s okay to not want to miss out on that.”

Ursa smiled a tired smile at Bo-Katan, then grabbed the bottle from her hands and took a swing.

“You know,” Ursa kept on saying, the alcohol slowly seeming to have an effect on her infliction, “I love my husband and I love Sabine. I actually like being a mother, you know. And you know what bugs me about it sometimes?”

Bo shook her head.

“That Alrich is so much better at it than I am.”

“Ursa!”

“What? It’s true! He has it all down. The diapers, the feeding, the sleeping… I’m an amateur next to Alrich.”

Bo wanted to interject, but Ursa was on a roll. “And it’s my own fault! Because I can’t just sit at home and let others fight this war while I take care of my family.”

“Ursa, stop!”, Bo finally managed to get in. “You make it sound like that is wrong, and it just isn’t!”

“It isn’t. It isn’t?”

“No, it isn’t”, Bo confirmed. “Whatever works best for you and your family isn’t wrong, but the right thing to do. Imagine if you and Alrich were to switch roles. Imagine you’d be on Krownest all the time. I mean, yeah, sure, you’d see a lot more of Sabine, and you do deserve to. But would it make you happier that the arrangement you have right now? To watch Alrich go off to war while you change the diapers?”

Ursa was eerily silent for a moment.

“Because if it would make you happier, Ursa, then you should go home.” In an afterthought she added “I wouldn’t blame you for it.”

Ursa took another swallow from the bottle and let out another long sigh.

“No,” she admits. “I wouldn’t be happier. Not really. I just miss them.”

“As you should,” Bo said.

She then put her arm around Ursa’s shoulder and pulled her into her side.

“It’ll be alright,” she told her, rubbing her friend’s arm.

They kept sitting in silence for a little while longer. Then, Ursa began to talk again.

“And here?”, she inquired. “What happened on Carlac?”

Bo shrugged. “Something unexpected.”

“How so?”

Now it was Bo’s turn to sigh. “You know how Vizsla wants to get back at Dooku. Someone reached out to the Death Watch, a young senator’s son called Lux Bonteri. His mother used to be a senator in the Confederacy. She had died unexpectedly, and her son blamed Dooku for it. And from what I could gather, it’s actually not that unlikely. Dooku didn’t admit it, of course. But Bonteri wanted revenge. But one look at that kid will tell you that he alone could never pull it off. He needed someone with strength.”

“Alright,” Ursa said. “But what made Pre enter a deal with him?”

Bo smirked. “Bonteri had figured out a way to locate Dooku. The deal was that Bonteri would find out where Dooku is hiding, and the Death Watch would go and take him out. Win-win.”

“Well,” Ursa said, frowning, “that clearly isn’t what happened.”

“No,” Bo agreed. “Though it did start out promising. The kid showed on Carlac as planned. And he did have Dooku’s coordinates.”

“But?”

“But he wasn’t alone. I don’t think he planned on bringing the girl, though.”

“He brought a girl?”, Ursa asked, disbelief in her voice. “Like a girl friend?”

Bo huffed out a laugh. “If only. They did try to sell that story, though. Bonteri introduced her as his betrothed. I should have known that it was a cover story. I mean one look at her and you’d know that she wasn’t made to be some senator’s wife who would entertain guests while her husband talks politics. She was…feisty…I guess.”

Ursa grinned. “You like her.”

Bo shrugged. “I would like her…under different circumstances. Turned out the girl was a Jedi.”

“What?”

Bo nodded, making an affirmative noise. “Kinda badass. Managed to decapitate four of our warriors in one strike. Very skilled for her age. Gave me a run for my money, that’s for sure.”

“You like her. Jedi or not.”

Bo shrugged again. “Maybe…”

Now it was Bo’s turn to take a sip from the bottle.

“There is something else bothering you,” Ursa said. It was a statement, not a question, as Bo noticed. But she kept silent.

“Bo, come on. If not to me, who are you gonna talk to.”

Bo sighed again. “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Vizsla.”

For a few heartbeats, the tent was completely silent. But then, Ursa answered.

“Yes,” Ursa agreed. “So am I.”

“We had a good plan,” Bo-Katan continued. “Slowly escalate until it was clear that Satine had lost the grip on the situation. Until the people felt no longer safe. Vizsla blames that Kenobi guy for his plans to fall through.”

“But you don’t.”

“Well, I do, in a way. But the Jedi would never have been involved if we hadn’t made a deal with Dooku. We would not have sent a saboteur to a republic cruiser on our own, it would not have furthered our plans at all. It was the only reason they sent a Jedi to Mandalore in the first place, not because of the Death Watch. The Jedi were probably completely unaware of us until Kenobi’s arrival.”

Bo took another swig from the bottle and continued.

“It was the right thing after that to call off our deal with Dooku. But it should have ended there. But for Pre, it didn’t. He took it personal. And now he wants revenge. On Dooku, but even more so on Kenobi. And I fear his personal endeavor for vengeance might at one point jeopardize our operation.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“I wanted to, but I didn’t find the right time. And then that Bonteri kid came around and I thought that if it worked and we could get back at Dooku, if Vizsla got his revenge, then we could get back on track with taking over Mandalore.”

“And then, the kid brings yet another Jedi,” Ursa said, groaning. “Great.”

“And again, if we hadn’t involved an outsider, we wouldn’t have had to deal with the Jedi again at all.”

Ursa nodded in agreement.

“So, what now?”, she asked.

“I’ll wait a few more days, then talk to Pre,” Bo answered. “But I need to give him some time to cool off first. I am one of the very few who can actually contradict him in private, but that’s not a free pass to do so. No, I need to choose the moment carefully.”

Ursa nodded again and took the bottle from Bo-Katan.

The two women kept sitting in the supply tent, passing the bottle back and forth. Eventually, their talk went to lighter topics.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous; continuing from this)

It was a perfectly normal day on Rhodes Island, and W was in terrible pain. Not physical pain, no, that was far more easy to stomach. No, the pain she was experiencing was emotional, spiritual, existential, like she was dying, and in a way, she was. Her purpose, it seemed, was dying, falling through her hands like ash in an ivory hourglass, counting down to the moment she finally had to admit that he was gone.

Of course, he wasn’t, at least not physically; she’d had her suspicions when she’d first confessed to the new Doctor, simultaneously feeling him out mentally as she did physically, but there were no cracks to tear into, no masks to peel back, no openings to dive through. This new Doctor who’d taken the old one’s body - which she’d finally found proof of when she’d seen his bare back lying in her bed this morning, the morning after the first salvo of the apocalypse - had in fact fully consumed him, subsumed him, replaced him, leaving nothing but confusion and disbelief and dread and sorrow in his wake...Well, maybe not in his wake, since that implied anyone but W felt like this, but-

There was a knock on the bathroom door. A familiar voice - an all too familiar voice - in an unfamiliar-until-recently tone. “Dubbs? You’ve been in there for awhile now, and I haven’t heard a flush...Is everything okay?”

“I’m...fine.” No, not even slightly, and the Sarkaz knew he’d read it in the tone of her response, but there was nothing she could do about that. There was nothing she could, period. Everything had fallen apart, every plan fallen through, every scheme to unveil the imposter and execute him for his treason proven to be castles built in and of sand-

“Alright.” The Doctor gently slid his hand along the door a couple of times. Maybe symbolically patting her head or something? “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

She did. “Actually, could...could you come in here? I didn’t lock it.”

“Yeah, of course.” With the speed he did just that, there was no denying he’d had his hand on the knob in case...in case of what? What would she have- oh. Yeah, there was that possibility, wasn’t there? The coward’s way out? No, not her, not today at least.

“I, um...” Damnit, there wasn’t a way for her to look badass and say this, was there? Fuck it, why start caring about that with him now? “You’ve got me really fucked up right now, Doctor.”

He didn’t react to that nearly as strongly as she expected; all he did was squat in front of the (closed) toilet she was sitting on and gently caress her cheek. “How so?”

“You’re too...good. Too not evil. Too not...the you I need to kill.”

“You’re starting to realize that guy’s not around anymore, huh?” A moment passed after he finished those words, and W collapsed onto him. “Oh, Dubbs-”

The Sarkaz pounded a fist against his right shoulder. “It’s not fair! I was supposed to come back from all this time, training to be the right kind of cold-hearted killer and saboteur to destroy him from the roots up, and utterly annihilate him in revenge for what the Doctor did to Theresa, but I come back - at your request - to find that Rhodes Island is some damn paradise, and the Doctor is now the savior-king who runs it as a benevolent lord? What hell is this?! Why didn’t I just die when she did, huh? Why did he leave me to suffer?! WHY?!”

“Oh, Dubbs...” The Doctor just wrapped his arms around her, taking the light physical abuse as she continued beating on his back even as she cried into his neck.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair! Why does love fucking work like this?” She pressed her head against him as if she thought she could crack her skull open that way. “I used to hate the person in this body so much I’d burn armies to the ground, but now I just wanna...I just wanna...I...” Now she wasn't sure where the tears were coming from, but come they did.

And he simply sat there, holding her gently but firmly, until her wailing had calmed down enough for her to register what he was going to say. “You never said goodbye, did you?”

“The fuck are you talking about? Do you say goodbye to your enemies, too, like the Sankta you are?”

“I admit, I prefer shooting them with my pistol like any normal person.” He sighed, his breath tickling her ear and somehow grounding her in the moment. “No, Dubbs, I meant you never said goodbye to Theresa, did you?”

That just set her off again.

Another long moment of wailing in the Doctor’s arms passed before W was once again ready to receive. “Do you think she’d want you to remember her as the cause for all this anger? All this pain? All this suffering, both yours and others’?”

“N-no, she...she’d hate that.” She scoffed. “No, she didn’t hate anything. Just like you, she was a saint, a truly pure soul that the world couldn’t bear to compare itself to.”

“You know she snored when she slept?”

...What? “How do you-”

“She snored. After she and the Doctor were ready to go to bed, Theresa would settle herself under the covers, snuggle up to him, wrap her arms around him, and snore directly in his ear.” He chuckled. “I think she actually made him more deaf in his left ear than his right, if my hearing’s anything to go by.”

“You remember that?” Oh, now things were getting worse again. If it turned out there was still part of the old Doctor in there-

But he shook his head. “The Doctor kept a journal, and he wrote that sort of thing down. It’s a lot of reading - dozens of notebooks written in a child’s scribble more than handwriting, incessantly reporting every little thing Theresa, Amiya, Dr. Kal’tsit, and a certain Sarkaz did.”

“No, there’s...” W shook her head. “He didn’t notice me.”

“He must have, because there isn’t another soul here who ‘sang the Queen’s praises day and night,’ who ‘must’ve dreamed of holding her the way [he] did in the heat of passion.’ Honestly, some of it shouldn’t have been written down, I think there’s a strong case for his arrest in there, and that’s before he openly plotted her murder.”

The grip around his waist was iron-tight. “He what.”

“It was no accident,” the Doctor admitted. “The Doctor killed her on purpose.”

“...Why?”

He sighed. “Because she was too pure for this world, and he didn’t want her to live long enough to become a villain. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought that way, because at one point he wrote that Theresa asked her to do it, but to make it a surprise so she didn’t give anything away or try to prepare. One of their best-kept secrets, I guess.”

“That’s...” Okay, now she knew she was fucking insane. “That’s what I would do if I were him.”

“I know you would; the difference is, you’re not him, and I’m not Theresa. I’m just as broken and imperfect as anyone else here, so you don’t have to kill me to save me. You’d be too late on that end, anyway.” He smiled sadly at her, pain visible in his eyes, too. She wasn’t the only one.

W sighed and buried her face in his neck again. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, me too.” The Doctor still continued to refuse to let go. “I know it’s going to take time, and even when you’ve had time, you may never feel like yourself again - I know I never will - but Dubbs, so long as I’m still breathing, I want you to promise me you won’t let me let go, okay?”

“Let go? Of what?”

He pulled back enough so she had to look him in the eye. “Of you, silly.”

“Doctor.” It wasn’t him, but...it was, somehow. “They’ll have to blast me away with my own detonator to do that.”

“Then you’d better not let that thing out of your sight.” The smile was genuine, but his eyes told her how serious he was.

The Sarkaz tilted her head just enough as she leaned forward so her lips could do the same for him.

[nicklloydnow]

“When Rearden declares, “were [I] asked to immolate myself for the sake of creatures who want to survive at the price of my blood . . . I would reject it as the most contemptible evil,”[37] he earns a round of unexpected applause from part of the gallery. Yet, alongside those who cheer for his having enunciated the ethical principle, he also notes “the faces of loose-mouthed young men and maliciously unkempt females, the kind who led the booing in newsreel theaters at any appearance of a businessman on the screen.”[38] Let us record the excessiveness of that adverb, “maliciously.”

Like the naming of Plato, the adverbial excessiveness betrays a certain authorial gratuity. A simple “unkempt” would have served. Nevertheless, Rand has discerned something about sacrifice that those who study it among classicists and anthropologists have likewise noticed: that it works most efficiently under dissimulation. The collective murderers would never admit to harming a guiltless party. Rearden’s judges respond to his candid description of what they had planned for him with calming denials: “Why do you speak of human sacrifices?” and “you do not really believe . . . that we wish to treat you as a sacrificial victim.”[39] In private, however, the gang-leaders willingly allow how “sacrifice is the cement which unites human bricks into the great edifice of society.”[40]

Here we do see a resemblance to the public pillorying—as in the regular “ten-minute hate”—in Orwell’s 1984. We might also think of the 1930s show-trials under Stalin, when one purported high-level saboteur after another was offered up in public to Marxism-Leninism. The sacrificial character of the National Socialist Holocaust is self-evident; if the sacrificial character of the Soviet atrocities were less so, it should not be. Rand came to the United States as an escapee from Lenin’s Russia.

(...)

Readers should interpret that whatever later befalls these self-sanctifiers, or others like them, stems from their defective theory of men and the world. Ethos, as Heraclitus said, is fate. Before sampling the scene, I wish to state again that, in her divulgence of the “altruist” mentality, Rand seems to me accurately to have gleaned much about late-twentieth century left-liberal piety, not least its addiction to righteous display. But, to use one of her own favorite terms, her narrative builds on a borrowed premise.

(...)

The logic of the sacrificial theory of life is thus the devolution of everything into a vast crisis where “cannibal” and “victim” become indistinguishable. “Men had been pushed into a pit where, shouting that man is his brother’s keeper, each was devouring his neighbor and was being devoured by his neighbor’s brother, each was proclaiming the righteousness of the unearned and wondering who was stripping the skin off his back, each was devouring himself, while screaming in terror that some unknowable evil was destroying the earth.”[56] So might it have been, had the Bolsheviks triumphed worldwide, as they hoped. The Ukraine famine would have been a universal rather than a local phenomenon. Why then do I say that Rand’s story requires what it pretends to reject? What is the borrowed premise in the saga of John Galt?

Atlas Shrugged is, up to a limit, a true revelation of redistributive rapacity, even of the old call to sacrifice in its twentieth-century ideological manifestation; the novel is, up to a limit, a true revelation of ideology as a reversion to the most primitive type of cultic religiosity, collective murder as a means of appeasing a supernatural principle. It is also—it is primarily—a sacrificial narrative, as most of popular, as opposed to high, narrative ever has been and probably always will be. It follows that the novel’s borrowed premise is sacrifice: Rand invites us to view with a satisfying awe the destruction before our eyes of those who have mistreated the protagonists, with whom she has invited us to identify. The standard Arnold Schwarzenegger or Clint Eastwood thriller achieves its effect by no different means. Michael Moore’s movie Fahrenheit 9/11 works in the same way.

(...)

That Taggart femme, Rearden, d’Anconia, and Galt all qualify as Promethean supermen à la the vulgate of Nietzsche we can hardly doubt. The young Rand confessed herself a Nietzschean, although later she elided the enthusiasm and denounced the author of Zarathustra. When the remaining gangsters torture Galt to force him to tell them what to do in order that they might save themselves late in Part III, they treat him as though he were a supernatural being. Rand describes the tortured Galt in words suggesting an Adonis-Redeemer on the wheel. When the electroshock device fails, he calmly instructs his tormenter how to repair it.

Rand could see that left-liberal envy falsely attributed to the business class—or to anyone with one dollar more in his account than someone else—a supernaturally scandalous blocking-power. Rand could not see, however, that she endowed the left-wing carpers of the twentieth century with precisely the same inflated status that they perceived in all their rivals and enemies; that they, the Left, had become for her what the reviled “bourgeoisie” was for them. In their absolute magnification, righteous ego and despicable alter achieve sublime proportion but lose their distinctness in a kind of cosmic anxiety. Eric Gans means just this when he refers, in Signs of Paradox (1996), to “the descent of the absolute into the empirical world” as its “undoing.”[69] René Girard means just this when he speaks about the overcoming of Promethean desire as the real novelistic achievement.

If, artistically speaking, Atlas Shrugged were merely an effective rather than a literary novel, one would necessarily still need to remark that it remains enormously popular nearly fifty years after its publication. Such is the case. It is also the case that, despite her uncompromising rejection of them, some conservatives still try to find a place for Rand in their pantheon or make excuses for her. A wag once said that Atlas Shrugged is the only book of fiction guaranteed to have been read by every Republican senator, which I take for a plausible statement. It is also often the only novel—or even the only book—to have been read by the disaffected sophomore who shows up, glowering, in one’s Survey of Literature, whose semi-literate mid-term essay denounces everything except its writer’s own savage illumination. All of which suggests that at the beginning of the twenty first century, it is the universal vulgarization more than the universal politicization of culture that poses the genuine moral problem of the age. Ayn Rand’s authorship constitutes both an early symptom of, and a major influence on, that defective state.”

[hyper-revenge-sio]

A snippet of DBDomestic

lmao, this is way longer than I intended

whoops

oh and for the people who happen to see this but don't like cursing, there's a bit of that in here

Jake glanced at the clock, then at the man still rambling on in front of him. "but that's not why I was mad. It was because he seriously had the fucking audacity to bring Quentin into it! Like, uh no, shut your fucking mouth because Quentin is only an ass to you because you are literally a fucking scumbag." Frank said, moving his hands as he spoke. Jake was amazed by how much Frank could cuss in one sentence. Though when it came to talking about Krueger, Jake understood. 

Frank had been telling Jake about the argument he'd had earlier, with Freddy. The demon had brought Quentin up and Frank didn't like that, so he punched Freddy. He was just explaining why. Frank glanced at Jake, then sighed. "You're tired, aren't you?" He asked, his voice still full of energy. Jake aimlessly shook his head, leaning back on the couch. It was fairly late, and most of everyone else had gone to bed.

"I'm fine, I swear." Jake replied, knowing Frank probably wouldn't accept the answer. By the way Frank paused and eyed the saboteur, Jake was right. However, only partially. 

"Does Quentin want you in there? I know he likes having someone near him when he sleeps." Frank questioned, moving to grab the shirt he had thrown on the ground. He did that sometimes if he felt hot. Not due to his level of confidence or ego, but because he was good at ignoring what people said. Most of the time. 

"Probably. I'm sure he'd let you talk while he fell asleep. He doesn't necessarily care about sound levels." Jake replied, moving to grab his jacket from beside him. Frank paused again, holding his shirt in his hands. As weird as it was, Frank had begun thinking about others more since the whole house thing. A few people had, and Jake wondered if Anna impacted that. She had begun treating everyone with utmost kindness, at least everyone except for Freddy. With Kenneth, it was more treating him respectfully than anything. 

"Are you sure? I don't wanna annoy him. I can always go find Julie or something." Frank stated, surprising Jake. Frank, once again, was someone who could definitely ignore people's opinions if he wanted. 

"Just c'mon." Jake mumbled, moving to stand up. Frank stood up as well, following the saboteur as Jake made his way to his room. Jake was quiet as he opened the door, and peered in to spot the hazel haired insomniac reading a book. "We have a friend this time." Jake said, earning a confused look from Quentin. At least until he spotted Frank. 

Jake walked over, moving to sit by Quentin toward the headrest. Frank climbed onto the end of the bed, crossing his legs as he sat. Jake didn't really know if his shorts were actual shorts, because they almost looked like boxers. Not Frank's. Frank didn't wear boxers, so they definitely weren't his. "Frank almost threw hands for you earlier." Jake stated, putting an arm around Quentin as the boy leaned against him. 

"Why? Aren't you usually the one who does that?" Quentin asked, setting the book in his hands down and closing his eyes. 

"He is, yes. But Krueger was being a total dick, and then he fucking mentioned you! Of course I wasn't gonna let the fucker insult you!" Frank explained, just as enthusiastic as when he said it the first time. "Which, by the way, I understand why you hate him. I'm telling you, I was this fucking close to just stabbing the shit out of him." Frank added, getting Quentin to open his eyes. 

"Okay, Frank," Frank straightened his posture, looking at Quentin instead of the walls around them. "you can talk, but please shut up about him. I appreciate you yelling at him for me though." Quentin stated, giving a small smile. Frank responded with a grin. 

"I will, my bad. And also you're welcome!" Frank replied. Quentin laughed softly, shifting again to lay his head on Jake's lap. He was on his side, but he didn't mind. 

"Whose underwear are those?" Quentin asked, closing his eyes again. Frank had quite the history when it came to people who had seen him in his underwear, so Jake wasn't surprised that Quentin noticed too. 

"Oh, they're Danny's. Can I sit up there with you two?" Frank replied, his response nonchalant. Like he always wore other people's underwear. Maybe he did. Maybe he had simply taken someone else's and traded them out. 

"Yeah, just put your shirt on first. Your skin is always cold." Quentin answered, making Jake snicker. Quentin moved again, and Frank quickly threw on his shirt. It was slightly big on him, so Jake assumed that it must've been Danny's too. Frank moved to lean against Jake's right side, and Quentin stayed on the left by the wall. Jake was leaning back, keeping an arm around both of the other boys. 

"You will never fail to surprise me Frank." Jake said, watching as Frank set his head on Quentin's shoulder. Quentin rested his own head atop Frank's as the other giggled. 

"I know, but that's the fun part." Frank replied, moving to grab one of Quentin's arms. Quentin allowed him too, setting his hand on Jake's thigh as Frank clung onto his arm. "Also, Laurie has been way nicer to me lately, which I think is good. She scares the shit out of me. Did you know that she had literally fucking kicked Michael in the dick, with no fear?" Frank mentioned, holding a finger to Quentin's necklace, being careful not to press too hard. 

"Yeah, she has. She's also slapped him at least three times." Jake added, pausing to watch Frank's reaction. Frank narrowed his eyes for a second, his eyes darting around. 

"Fucking what? And Michael just accepts it?" Frank questioned, his voice a little quieter than before. Jake just nodded. Frank just gave a quiet him, moving his hand from Quentin's necklace to the ring on his hand. Frank had always had an odd fascination with them, especially the two gems. Frank was definitely strange, in every way. If he was mad at you, there was a higher chance he would just ignore you rather than try to hurt you. He was childish in some ways, but mature in others. 

Jake could never really settle on one description for him. "Laurie is a fighter, like Jane but worse. She dealt with Michael right before she was sucked into this world and she is pissed about it." Jake stated, relieved to feel Quentin's breathing slow slightly. He had a lot of problems falling asleep, but had recently started waking up around the same time as Jake, so he was always tired at night. Often, Jake would fall asleep first and Quentin would just climb into bed with him. Apparently the company really made a difference, especially when it was Jake. 

"I get that. I would be pissed if I had to deal with me, and then be brought here, and do it all over. I'm a fucking nightmare." Frank replied, emphasising the last word. Jake knew Frank would probably nod off within thirty minutes, which was fine. Jake didn't have a problem lifting most people up, even some that were taller. Which was a lot. Plus, if it did prove to be a problem, Jake could always just move Frank onto his bed on the other side of the room. He slept in Quentin's bed mostly, so it wouldn't change much. 

"You're not necessarily a nightmare. Just gotta get used to you. You could probably be sleep deprived to the fullest extent and still have energy." Jake responded, paying close attention to how Frank slowly let his muscles relax. 

"Really? Sometimes you'd seem super pissed whenever I said dumb shit." Frank questioned, his voice continuing to lower in volume. 

"That's because it was dumb shit. You as whole are fine though." Jake assured. For the most part, it was because Frank would insult someone as he killed them. Though Jake could only complain to a certain extent, given how if he was given the chance, there were killers he regularly degraded. Lately he'd been working on that though. 

Frank hummed, but didn't reply. Jake gave it maybe three minutes. Jake also noted to talk to Danny tomorrow. Mainly because he willingly let Frank run off with his clothes, but also because Jake didn't know him too much, and Frank liked him a lot. Danny surely couldn't be as bad as Jake assumed. 

[libradusk]

Touch Starved | Maul

Word count: 2365

Summary: You need all of him tonight, but you know that in a fight between your heart and inner saboteur, you won’t be claiming your prize without spilling some part of your soul.

Warnings: Suggestive themes.

a/n: The irony of Maul’s chapter having the shortest warning is not lost on me. 

Also I included a prompt from this list because it made me SOFT.

The Sundari Palace’s royal quarters were every bit as opulent as the throne room itself. One could describe it as representing a harmonious marriage of geometric structure and silver embellishment befitting the grandeur and status the palace represented, with its towering ceiling and glittering stained glass windows that fractured the dying light of the evening across the room in a bleeding spectrum. 

Upon your first time regarding the palace’s interior, you had found it to be the architectural personification of a contradiction - at once subtle, but also extravagant in its design when you were to really look closely at its detailing. Now, it felt befitting for a planet whose previous ruler had prided herself with a regime of pacifism despite the fearsome history her throne had been built upon.

You were surprised that Maul had kept what now functioned as his private quarters so close to Satine’s original design. Aside from the numerous Shadow Collective documents scattered across the desk, it remained largely unchanged. At this point, it might as well have served as your personal quarters instead, considering how nowadays you seemed to spend more time within the bedroom than the former Sith Lord himself.

Maul always implored you to spend your nights in his bed - even when he wasn’t there to share it with you. More recently than ever you found yourself awakening each morning to his side cold and vacant, as he sat at his desk scowling and pouring over datapads just as diligently as he had been before you had drifted off, lonely despite him being present mere steps away from where you laid in the empty embrace of his silk sheets. 

It's a difficult vortex to be trapped within, you’re aware of how important, yet capricious his control of Mandalore and the Collective is and how his workload represents that - but all the same, its agonising as his lover to be forced to sit back and watch him all but tear off his horns with the stress that rests on his shoulders.

With each night that this tired routine repeated, you had promised yourself it would be the last. Tonight when the opportunity to pounce arose, you intended to grasp it.

---

You can’t help but stand a little surprised at how easily Maul gives in to the persuasion to join you atop the bed. Your touch is firm yet gentle, much like your will, as you guide him there with a trail of butterfly kisses and subtle caresses that sing with promises of something more. It takes barely any time at all before his body melts into compliance beneath your hands with a sigh that's strung with relief. There's a rare flash of obedience in the way his head falls back against the pillows as you straddle his hips, and it stokes the excitement curling to a flare in your stomach.

He wants this as much as you, but he’s tired. Exhausted even. It's even more apparent in his eyes up close as you lean in to kiss him for the first time in days.

They seem more beige than gold these days. You sometimes wonder if it stems from the finality of his severance from his old master, Sidious’ mark having replaced itself in the form of new, forking scars across his body and mind and the absence of Savage from his life.

It's difficult to push back the pain that comes with that knowledge even as you lay twisted around him. It sits deeply within you, nestled in a place you cannot expel it, forever threatening to scratch tears out from behind your lids. You won’t let Sidious win today, this moment exists for you and Maul, if only for a little while.

Your focus snaps once more to the pools of yellow that have reopened beneath you, they’re soft but curious and shine with the tilt of his head as Maul gazes upwards at you. There's a question dancing upon his lips but you don’t allow it the chance to blossom, dropping down to instead close the distance between your mouths once more and kiss him deeply, hungrily this time.

It's still not enough, you need all of him, you miss all of him so terribly that you ache. Your kisses are laced with intent and refusal to spend another night with the connection between you spread thin and punctuated by war meetings and paperwork.

He needs this too, as much as you if not more because his kisses threaten to devour you - all tongue and teeth like he’s never had a taste of you before. He’s openly groaning against you now, writhing at each touch like a wanton virgin desperate to be claimed as your own. It only spurs you on further until you’re not even sure if you’re in complete control of your voice anymore.

“For tonight, you’re mine.”

The growl piercing your words catches you off guard with the rawness of its emotion, but you run your nails over the line of his jaw all the same. The pad of your thumb catches his lower lip and you feel his breath hitch as you duck to press a biting kiss to the hollow of his throat.

His muscles turn rigid then as if your words had struck him, something about the moment has soured and turned disquieting between you. It fizzles the lust-slickened bravado fuelling you, and forces you to hide your face in his collarbone so he can’t see the flash of panic that has cut through the haze in your eyes. The worry that your four words have somehow ruined the first real embrace you’ve shared in weeks runs cold within your veins, and suddenly you can’t think of anything else other than how stupid you are to have let it all fall apart by provoking him when he’s vulnerable.

The exhaustion has clearly caught up with you too, looming just out of sight while you weren’t focused enough to check over your shoulder.

His hands move you where your mind cannot then, delicately threading their inked digits around your face to gently but securely force you back to his own. There's genuine concern creasing around that familiar, loving stare he’s giving you now. Had you been in a brighter state of mind, it would have perhaps made you nostalgic, but now the intensity of his eyes has your insides squirming with another thick wave of regret and even then you can’t bring yourself to hide away from it.

You’re reminded of how the former Sith possesses the elegance and status to command a room with just his voice alone, yet the power radiating from him could also bring forth the snap of violence at any necessary moment. You had seen this latter side of him more and more as of late, but despite the unpleasantness of the association your mind has forced you into, you note that he still handles you like silk slipping through his fingers.

He loves you and he’s afraid.

Fear holds power over you both.

“I am always yours, my sweet.” The tiredness in his eyes has wilted to sadness now makes you despise your careless Freudian slip of the tongue even more.

Maul is quick to sense your growing distress because there’s barely a breath that passes before his eyes hide their fierceness beneath heavy lids and he exhales a sigh of frustration. 

You’re not entirely sure if it's aimed at you or himself.

Regardless, his slender hands release your face to stroke calming patterns atop your thighs. The movement of his fingertips hold the memory of how you so often trace your own across the patterns inked across the crimson expanse of his skin. You keep your sight trained on his face despite the urge to hide beckoning to you once again, you feel you owe him that much.

“... I would never be able to forgive myself if I ever did anything to convince you that wasn’t the absolute truth.”

His voice is small and sad in his throat. It's one he only shows to you, and often its appearance has to be coaxed out in the dead of night when the two of you spill your souls naked to the other. Being vulnerable within the walls of Sundari Palace is a dangerous game, especially during such times as these.

He’s yet to explicitly say it aloud, but you know these days his apprehension hangs heavier than ever, with potential enemies lurking around each opulent corner, letting down his guard in any measurement would be a testament to his own suicide. The frustration poisoning the air is channelled at himself, not you - yet even knowing that now does little to unravel you from the twist of guilt that has made itself at home in your gut.

Maul isn’t even angry, not really. In this suspended moment he just seems… sad.

Rings of red and gold peak back out from beneath dark eyelids now. His eyes look like a sinking sunset with the tattoos that colour his sockets midnight acting as their horizon, they swallow them until his irises blend into an orange shimmer that can’t quite meet your gaze.

You lean forward to kiss his brow chastely, compelled to do so by the pull of emotion tugging you forward like a hollow-chested marionette on its strings. His palms slide around to cup your lower back as you lean into him, nosing against his throat and marvelling at the heat of his flesh. You’ve missed having such open access to him - to all of him.

The Zabrak hums in appreciation, his mind clearly mirroring the pattern your own thoughts had warmed to. His hands stay planted in place, as if they do not dare to move until you have given them the answer they await.

It’s stuck behind the lump in your throat that will not be swallowed down.

Inked fingers begin to tap impatiently against your spine after a moment passes with nothing but a sigh between you, but Maul doesn’t force you to speak until you’re ready.

“... I’ve missed you terribly, Maul.” The words sound lacklustre when they finally make their appearance, murmured shy with shame and the fear that you’re being selfish.

You feel him swallow and the tapping ceases for a beat before it is replaced by a prolonged squeeze of your hips. You’re certain you can sense the way he turns your confession over in his mind, dismantling and vivisecting it with a strategist's prowess. 

“I’m worried about you.” More words fall from you before you can stop them and you hold your breath once more.

Another hum sounds from him then, this one curious, challenging even, but his eyes continue to speak the truth his mannerisms attempt to conceal.

“Oh? Pray tell, what exactly worries you?”

“Everything.”

It's the easiest confession you’ve voiced so far, and in doing so it takes a splinter of your fears away with it. Though you’re not exactly sure what emotion it is that seeps in afterwards to fill its place.

Maul’s lips part in unison with the widening of his eyes, though the flash of shock that brightens them is snuffed out just as quickly by a furrowed remorse that drapes itself over the entirety of him before he has the sense to yank it back.

It manifests in the exhale that leaves him as he gathers you up fully in his embrace, pulling you to lay flat against him, your head on his chest and your tears spilling down alongside the rest of you. The rhythm of his hearts beating in tandem threatens you with a looming sentimentality, it eases the flow of tears creeping down your cheeks, but it also takes a great deal of stern resilience to hold on to your ability to stay awake.

His fingers have returned to weaving patterns against your back this time, embroidering imaginary tapestries of thought through your clothing and stitching you closer together. 

“I am infatuated with you, my heart.” The words sound almost choked as he pauses to press his lips to the crown of your skull, but in a breath his voice and mind seem to steady once more to its usual smoothness, “...There are frightening shadows looming ahead. I cannot lie to you, I won’t.”

Another kiss. This one lingers and is accompanied by the graze of his fingertips against your chin as he eases you up to match his gaze akin to how he did earlier. 

“But I promise you that everything I do now, and everything I will do in the weeks that follow is to ensure we stand the best chance of surviving it, together. I implore you to trust me, just for a while longer my love, please.”

His words stir a new unease within you as they drag their nails across your neck. You blink back the sensation, focusing instead on breathing in his oath and attempting to heed his request as best you could. Maul was not known to most for being a righteous man, but he had yet to lie to you, and you had little reason to believe that now would be the time for him to toe the line of trust you had built up.

You answer him with a kiss, one that is deep and affirming - sealing your name on the unwritten contract ascribed across his tongue. He’s receptive and open to the push of your mouth against his, groaning deeply in his chest. The ruler of Mandalore’s lips taste of gratitude and fire and promise. You swallow it all and return it tenfold in the way your hand unhooks his fingers from around your jaw to pin them down in their own embrace next to the headboard. His knuckles graze the chill of its surface and he hisses at the sudden change in sensation.

When you part, the brimstone in his eyes has inflamed once again and there is a heaviness to his breath that you recognise well.

“Perhaps I should show you the extent of my devotion seeing as your words fail to indicate you believe me, hmm? I believe my actions beg of your forgiveness, sweet one.”

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 81

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"Where were you?" Ruby asked me.

"In town. Down in Mantle. There's this bar I went to a lot when I was a criminal. It's run by this union group," I answered. I shifted slightly in the corner of Team RWBY's room. I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms.

"We don't like it when you just disappear. Anything could have happened," Ruby went on.

"And I heard you were involved with some plot in tandem with the strikes. That was where our people picked you up. In the middle of a crime scene. You're not giving us the full story," Weiss followed her up.

"I worked with the leader of this terrorist group, Dyne, while I was a criminal. His wife died and he went mad from grief. He had this little girl, Marigold. He was talking about killing her. So I showed up and did my job as a huntsman."

"You were working with those terrorists though. Weren't you. When you were a criminal," Yang perceived.

"I was working with a different group of terrorists. But effectively yes. It was my responsibility to clean things up. And they had information I needed. Or could have had information I needed. About my sisters or Cinder. I had to follow up."

"Why didn't you tell us? We would have gone with you!" Ruby exclaimed.

"I know you would've. This wasn't about that. It was about cleaning up my own mess. Ironwood's orders to take the day off be damned."

"He is technically your superior officer," Blake said.

"Maybe. But he needed this kind of thing cleaned up, too."

"But people died," Ruby mumbled.

"People always die," I shot back. "What matters now is that it's over and done with."

"This kind of terrorism is never over and done with," Blake fired at me.

I had to concede the point to her. She would know better than me.

"What should I do next time? Get you four involved in something I can take care of?"

"We're not little girls," Weiss said with some venom. "We deserve to be in the loop."

"I never said you were. I handled it. And when I find my sisters or Cinder I'll let you know just like I let you know back at the hotel that I found out she was in town. But you don't need to be involved in every little errand I run."

"People died and that's an errand to you?" Blake asked.

"Yeah. That's about right. I didn't kill them. I even went out of my way to try and spare them, too. People are just fragile."

"I don't like this. No more secret errands," Weiss told me.

"Fine," I agreed. "I promise to let you know first next time."

"I want you to not do it," Weiss returned. Some heat in her voice. If I wasn't careful this would turn into our first lover's spat. It might be already too late for that.

"I needed to do it. It had to be done. I needed some information that the guy I was with had."

"And what information was that?" Weiss demanded.

"When I sunk your father's ship one of my charges went off prematurely. I needed to know why and who my saboteur was."

"You sunk that ship?" Weiss asked. "Any other terrorist acts you're not telling us?"

"I also caused that mine collapse."

"You're responsible for all the strikes down in Mantle!" Weiss exclaimed. "I can't believe this. And let me guess, you forgot to tell us."

"It hasn't come up! And yeah. I probably am responsible. I was buying future information from Avalanche and Aurum. My criminal contacts in this city. I was building my network. I did far worse than sink a ship and cause a dust mine collapse. I killed people and burned down a building, too. But you already knew that."

"Why'd you burn down that building, Cloud?" Ruby asked.

"It was full of drugs. Aurum's competitors. It was a favor."

"Cloud!" Weiss shouted.

"I'm not a perfect person! I'm not even a good one! You already knew that!"

"What else have you been up to in this city?!" Weiss demanded.

"I think that's about it."

"You think so?"

"Damn, Weiss, I can't remember everything at once and my mind plays tricks on me. I don't remember. Some prisoner break out, too, for that guy, Aurum. But you knew about that too. I didn't even kill anyone with that."

"And you think that makes it better?!" Weiss asked.

"It doesn't make it any worse!"

Her nostrils flared up at me. "I'm tired of you not telling me things. Of you trying to hide things. Like when you wanted to not tell Ruby about your seizures. You don't get to decide what's best for us."

"I didn't even know today would be a problem. They just said they had something they couldn't discuss over the phone. I'm literally telling you all everything. As it comes up. You want my life story? Well, me too."

She glared at me for a moment more. "Fine. But no more tip toeing around the line. You come clean with us. Before. Not after." The 'or else' was implied. I got the memo.

"Did you find out who sabotaged you?" Blake asked.

"The Happy Huntresses. You heard of them? Robyn Hill wanted to shut me down. Adam Taurus was there. When my bomb went off early he thought I was cutting the mission off at the knees and he attacked me. That was when he nearly killed me. Any more questions?"

"What information were you looking for?" Weiss asked.

"Just more dirt on Cinder, Merlot, and my sisters. I've been trying to learn all I can but so far 'nothing much' has pretty much been the word."

"But you know that Cinder is in town. From who?" Weiss questioned me further.

"Aurum. He's a drug lord. He runs The Den where you ambushed me that night. Anybody else?"

They were silent.

"What are we going to do for the rest of the night?" Ruby asked.

"Grill me," I deadpanned.

"You brought this on yourself," Weiss shot back. "If you would have at least told us where you were going that would have been something."

"You would have wanted to come."

"Which ought to tell you something."

"Guys…" Ruby bemoaned. We both shut up.

I sighed after a moment of silence. "Look Weiss. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it. I'll do more next time."

She rubbed her thighs where she sat with her palms and wouldn't meet my eye. "You had better." I figured that was as close to an 'it's okay' as I was going to get. I took it as such. We weren't ruined over this. It was just a fight. We'd be back to where we were later.

"So seriously what are we going to do for the rest of the night?" Ruby asked again.

"I was going to go get my bike out of impound."

"You bought a bike?" Yang asked.

"Just some wheels to get Neo and I around. Any of you are welcome to come with. It'll probably be boring as hell."

"I'll go with. Can I drive it?" Ruby wondered.

"I don't see why not. I also don't see why." I gave her a teasing grin. She 'pffted' her hair out of her face up at me but she gave me a small smile.

Weiss sighed. "Does it have room for three?"

"Probably if we don't mind getting touchy-feely with one another," I answered.

"We're going dancing again. You mentioned The Den. Is it any good?"

"I never clubbed there. Well not really. About the only thing special about it is all the hard drugs."

"You didn't…" Weiss trailed, slightly threateningly.

"I tried some. I figured it couldn't make things worse." Open honesty being the policy…

"So that's how you know what hyper is like," Weiss sighed. She leaned a hand on her forehead like she had a headache.  

"Is it any good? I always wondered, too. Ow. Don't hit, Blake," Yang muttered.

"I could honestly take it or leave it."

"Leave it," Weiss growled like she was talking to a dog. Which, I mean, fair enough.

"You could give it a try. Tell them Cloud sent you. Get you a bit of a discount," I went on like I hadn't heard her. "It's a bit intense. Bit of a rush. But you can get the same thing with, like, good sex."

"Interesting…" Yang said. "Blake. I said no hitting. You're abusive."

"You'll find out just how abusive I can be," Blake shot back. "No drug use."

"Cloud is there any good weed in this town?" Yang wondered. "I tried some back home. I could use it to open this girl up. Loosen up, Blake."

"Some. Same place. Same people. Got your hook up. I could really use a hit right now, too."

"Tough shit for you, Jau-Cloud. Learn to live without," Weiss grumbled, slipping up on my new name.

"I'm trying but it's not easy."

"Did it really help that much?" Ruby asked.

"Ruby!" Weiss hissed.

"What? If it helped him then… then I want it for him."

"It's a hard maybe, Rubes. Let's keep trying what the doctors have me on for now. But I'm not sure I can take a few more months of this."

"Is it that bad?" Ruby wondered.

"It's not great," I returned with a sigh.

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I got my bike out of impound and was riding it down an empty highway. Our seating order went me, Weiss, then Ruby in the back. They clung to each other then to me super close. It was actually kinda nice. Especially Weiss clinging to my torso after our fight.

It let me at least pretend I was in part forgiven. Even more so when I'd take a turn and feel her arms tighten around my chest. Her fingers trailing across my abdomen and her palms drifting across me.

I checked my rear view mirror. Two other bikes were coming up on me. I slowed down to let them pass, I wasn't in any rush. Then they caught up to me and started to match my speed.

I truly wasn't that suspicious until one of them pulled a sword with two blades. The other whipped out a gauntlet with sharp points on the end. One of the riders, a girl, hovered close to me on her bike. A helmet obscuring her features. Blonde hair breezing through the air behind her.

"Cloud!" Ruby called, her voice barely making it above the wind. "It's them! From Argus!"

I flinched. I drew my sword around Weiss's body and drove with one hand.

I turned my bike sideways and abruptly slowed down in an attempt to lose them. Another girl on a bike rode up on me right then from behind, boxing me in. She yanked up on her bike and front-flipped right over us, bike and all. She pulled her pistol from her waist and pointed it right at my head as she did. Then she fired and the punch from her gun rocked my head back.

I'd gotten a good look at her through her helmet as she did her trick though.

"Saphron?!" I asked. I shouted over the breeze. "You're real?" The one with the gauntlet pulled up on me. I recognized her immediately. "Lavender? You too?"

"Poor big brother. Can't tell reality from fiction." Lavender let out a laugh. Her narrower jaw made her stand out from my memory of my sisters. My head suddenly pounded and I touched it with my sword hand. My sisters…

"Come with us, big brother," another voice said. I recognized it right away. Violet pulled up on my other side with her double blade. Her darker eyes and shapely nose pointed her out. Our swords clashed for a moment. I could feel Ruby and Weiss readying their weapons on the bike behind me as I drove.

Violet tried to catch my weapon with a twist of hers and disarm me. I held fast to my enormous weapon regardless. I slashed at her and she blocked while I drove.

"Come see Mother with us. She'd be happy to see you," Violet giggled. Like it was some private joke. I didn't laugh. I didn't get it.

Lavender punched at me with her gauntlet and I drove the bike to the side on the empty highway and I sliced at her too.

Saphron was pulling up in front of me. She turned around in the seat on her bike and shot me with her pistol again. It was a decent calibre round because it stung.

My head pounded. It hurt like it had when I'd last talked to, "...Mother?" I wondered aloud.

"Come with us, Jaune," Lavender beckoned. "We'll take you to see her." Her voice pierced over the wind as we drove down the empty highway.

"Cloud!" Ruby called. "Stay focused!"

"Cloud?!" Violet laughed. My sword met hers again. The long blade served to keep her double one away. "Is that what they think your name is?"

"I'm…" I flinched like I'd touched a hot stove but with my brain. "I'm Cloud now."

Saphron shot at me twice again. One hit me in the chest, the other pinged off of my bike.  

"Is that what you're calling yourself?" Saphron asked. A note of laughter on her voice. "You'll always be our Jaune."

Ruby stood up on the back of my bike and took a shot at Saphron. It struck asphalt and tore it up. I drove over where she had just shot and the bike went badump .

She fired another shot and hit Saphron in the back. Saphron twisted on her bike so she was driving backwards and took three more shots at us. I heard Ruby cry out in pain. She'd just made herself a bigger target when she stood up.

Lavender came up on me again. She seemed to hesitate. I knew that stance. It was like she was charging something. She was storing a little time away. She punched down at my bike and I swerved to avoid her gauntlet. She swerved down and struck the asphalt and tore a huge chunk of it out in a flash of purple light. Then she threw it at us.

Weiss caught it with her pseudo-telekinesis. A dull black glyph came to life. Then she tossed it over us and at Violet who had to swerve to avoid it.

"Big brother!" Saphron sung out. "Don't you want a family reunion? Everyone can be there. Especially if it's for you."

"Come be with us! Ditch these girls. You don't need them." Lavender called. I clashed with her gauntlet again. Myrtenaster poked out from beside me and met the double blade of Violet.

Saphron shot back at me twice again. She hit me both times with preternatural accuracy.

"Come be with us," Violet purred. Ruby opened fire from her stance on the back of the bike and hit Saphron again. Saphron spun back around to drive straight once more.

My head hurt so bad. It was like talking to Mother again. It pounded with memories. With memory .

"Cloud? Are you alright?" Weiss asked.

"I'm fine," I bit out.

My head whipped back again as Saphron shot me in the skull one more time. Then my blade met Violet's beside me. I shoved her back.

Lavender was driving focused and unmoving. Like she was storing more time away for another devastating attack. Ruby took three shots at her to disrupt her concentration. The first hit her. And the next two hit her bike and caused her to swerve slightly.

Ruby shifted her weapon into its full mode out of just the gun state and took a swipe at Violet while I had her blade engaged.

Saphron shot me three more times. They came at me high impact and hit like .50 caliber bullets. I was pretty sure they were. She tossed an empty clip behind her and reloaded. She then whipped around and threw a knife at me. It buried in my aura up to the hilt and the tip nicked my face, leaving a cut behind before it bounced down into the street.

I flinched to the side. I swerved slightly to the right but that just led me closer to Lavender. I tried to block her purple flaring punch with the wide side of Crocea Mors but the force of it was enough to lift up my whole bike, three passengers and all. It nearly slammed us into Violet. Who in turn took a long slash at the bike that would have crippled us if Weiss hadn't caught us with a glyph and blocked her cut with Myrtenaster.

Saphron shot me in the head again and there was a whoosh of air as I got Limit.

I had had enough. I stabbed Crocea Mors into the asphalt and picked us up off the ground. I swung the bike around without losing momentum and reversed us completely so that we were driving the wrong way. Then I crossed over to the other side of the interstate over one of those entry ways for police. I left my sisters behind, they were driving straight where I'd completely turned around.

"Cloud?" I put my sword away and raised a hand to my head.

“Jaune…”

"...Mother?" I murmured.

"Cloud, snap out of it!" Weiss ordered.

I shook my head. I was trying but my head hurt. And not just from being shot there a couple times.

Behind my eyes pulsed and I shuddered. Weiss wrapped her arms around me tightly.

"It's okay, Cloud. We're here."

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I stumbled off my bike at the garage in Atlas Academy. I fell to my knees. The grimy pavement in the garage mattered little. I felt grimy in my head and in my very soul.

“Come to me…my son… my precious son…”

"Cloud, you recognized them, didn't you." It was Ruby's voice.

"Saphron, Violet, and Lavender," I muttered. "They're real. My sisters are real." I sort of knew that they had been, I could feel it. Like I could feel Mother. But seeing it was a whole next level.

"Cloud? Are you alright?"

"My head hurts. And I hear Mother's voice," I bemoaned. I rubbed my face with the whole of a hand. I got a phantom pain across my entire tongue from when I'd bitten through it.

“Reunion… a family reunion… Just for you.”

"Mother?" I called out.

"He's delirious," it was Weiss's voice. I felt her arms wrap under mine. "Gods he's heavy. Help me, Ruby."

“Everyone will be there…”

"Everyone will be there. At the reunion," I murmured. "All my sisters. And Mother."

"What are your other sisters' names?" Ruby asked.

“Iris, Kolumbine, Juniper, Lily…”

"Iris, Kolumbine, Juniper, and Lily," I repeated Mother's voice outloud for Ruby.

"Someone has a flower fetish," Weiss grumbled.

"Step-father must have thought he was being funny. They're… they're all like different models. Different makes. Like cars."

"What's his name?" Ruby wondered. Trying to keep me focused.

"I don't… I don't know." I picked myself up and out of their arms. I took two steps and almost fell again. I pitched and swayed on my feet. I rubbed my face. My head ached.

"How many times were you shot?" Weiss asked. "You've got a nasty cut."

"A couple. She really kept bouncing them off my skull." She had rung my bell with those bullets. Then with that knife.

"Are you going to be alright?" Ruby asked.

"If I…"

“Go to the reunion…”  

"...no…" I murmured. I cut that thought off.

"No?" Ruby asked, concerned.

"Yes?" I realized I was having a conversation with myself. "As alright as I ever am."

"That doesn't sound promising," Weiss murmured.

"They knew your old name," Ruby followed her up, speaking softly.

"Mother must have told them."

"Salem," Weiss softly corrected.

"No… yes…" I breathed. "Salem. My sisters are real. I… I don't know if I can face them. I don't think I'm strong enough. There's seven of them. And I'm just the bad batch."

"Don't think like that," Ruby whispered. "You're not alone, either."

"Let's get him inside. Put him to bed."

"No. Please. Anything but that. She gets me when I sleep," I pleaded. "I'm not strong enough. Not for this. I don't know if I can resist the urge to go to the reunion."

"What's the reunion, Cloud?" Ruby asked.

"My summoning. She calls out to me from so far away." I realized I made no sense to anyone but myself. "Don't you see? She calls to me." Distantly I realized I sounded a lot like Dyne.

"He's going mad." Weiss murmured.

"What do we do?" Ruby whispered back sounding desperate.

"What can we do?" Weiss wondered back.

"How can I save my sisters when I can't even save myself?" I laughed. "Salem has them. She has them. She'll get me too."

"Cloud, listen to us. Can you hear us?" It was Ruby's voice. I heard it so I nodded. "That is not going to happen to you," she went on. "We'll keep you from losing yourself."

"Cloud if you ever feel like you're going to lose yourself we'll be there for you. And we'll help you save your sisters, too. You need to sleep though. We'll be right there for you when you wake up," Weiss reassured.

"How can you know that?"

"Which part?" Weiss asked.

"Any of it," I shot back.

Ruby came up to me and took both my hands in hers. "Because I believe it. We're going to save you."

I choked back a sob. But I nodded. "Don't let me go to the reunion," I begged.

"We won't," Weiss promised.

"Whatever I say and do… And don't let me kill myself."

"Well we especially won't do that," Weiss went on, she smiled slightly. She reached up and touched my face. I almost couldn't look down into her ice blue eyes.

"My head just hurts," I complained as they started to walk me to my room. "It hurts like I'd talked to her again."

"Does it always cause you pain?"

"It did last time. And she made me bite my tongue off. Almost completely."

"You didn't tell us that," Ruby murmured.

"I thought I was going to die from the pain," I confessed. "My head is full of these… these memories. I don't know if they're real. What does it mean for a memory to be real anyways? How can you tell? I have so many memories of living and playing with my sisters. They can't be real though."

I remembered when my sisters braided my hair in Shion. I remembered walking in the rain alone with Kolumbine when we were both just little kids. Just flashes of spending time with the short haired Iris before school one morning. I even knew that I'd fought this boy who pulled on Lily's pigtails. It came to fists over it. Little Lily… my little Lily. I could recall Saphron and I eating my Mother's cookies in the kitchen once. My little sister, a little shortstack. Absolutely adorable with big blue eyes and shoulder length golden hair.

I was going to be sick to my stomach.

And my Mother, she'd been a beautiful blonde woman in a flowing white dress with pale wispy blue eyes like crystal.

But I couldn't recall my father's face or anything about him. That's how I knew it was fake. It was glaring and obvious but only once I knew where to look.

And my Mother… she was always wearing that same dress. White and drifting in every little breeze with golden trimmings to match her pale straw colored locks. That same dress… Burned into my mind. Roaring across my skull. It had been planted there by her. By my Mother. It was all fake. It had to be. I didn't have a childhood.

She was always wearing that same white and golden dress. Always.

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-WG