#i wish i could grab so many ccs by the shoulders and scream this in their faces until they got it

[dyketubbo]

i hate that suicide jokes have become so common i think its genuinely having the same effect as the popularization of shit like delulu where people are getting so used to joking about suicide that they dont take it seriously anymore. tip for the people if you see someone online being suicidal and you dont know how to help the very least you can do is not reply with some sort of "well THAT just happened" type of comment or even worse a joke or passive encouragement ala "well i cant stop you i guess' (and if you post active encouragement go fuck yourself).

i know people are already addressing how suicide jokes are like self deprecation jokes where they just keep you stuck in a mentally unwell state but there should be more talk about how them becoming popular again is genuinely desensitizing people to suicidal ideation and even worse desensitizing people to actual suicide notes. take suicide seriously and if the person youre talking to tries to make it into a big joke either they really need help or theyre a really big asshole (and sometimes its both)

[aces-to-apples]

Written for Day 4: Time-Travel of Codywan Week 2020 @codywanweek

Here on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Category: M/M Relationship: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: no betas we die like man, time-travel, Dehumanization, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Awful Treatment of Clones, Discussions of Murder, Ambiguous/Open Ending

“philter of the phantom”

CC-2224 knew that this would be its last mission for the Empire.

It was still in prime physical condition, a well-crafted piece of hardware meant to last through decades of wear and tear before beginning to break down, but its user-interface was considered suboptimal. A relic from a bygone era.

Creepy, was the word most often used to describe CC-2224. Look at him. His eyes follow you and the lights are on but nobody's home. It's doshing creepy.

Decommissioning was unavoidable, inevitable, imminent.

Its only hope was that it would be allowed to serve the Empire until its end.

When it had been informed that it was to retrieve an object of great importance for the Emperor, at any cost, CC-2224 knew its time of decommissioning had come. The mission would be more dangerous than the briefing implied and CC-2224 would fall in service of the Galactic Empire, just as it desired. Everything would be done.

As predicted in the back of its programming, the mission was a cockup from the beginning. They—CC-2224, its team of useless whiteshells, and the Inquisitor leading the mission—were led into an ambush after retrieving the Emperor’s property.

The whiteshells went down quickly, to no surprise and a great deal of disgust from CC-2224. Its brothers (good soldiers follow orders) would have been a better choice for the mission, for the army, but had been passed over.

Clones were no longer respected as the greatest fighting force in the galaxy. Their numbers had been dwindling ever since Kamino was shut down.

They were a dying breed.

But, dying or not, CC-2224 wasn’t dead yet.

It secured the objective and left the Inquisitor to deal with the—Separatists? No, there were no more Separatists—enemy forces by themself. A Jedi would have had no trouble, but the Jedi were traitors to the Repub—to the Empire—and the Inquisitor had been trained by the Emperor himself.

They would live or die as the Force willed, and CC-2224 had its orders: secure the objective, at any cost.

With the shuttle in sight and the Inquisitor inadvertently keeping the heat off of CC-2224, it broke from its defensive position and retreated in full. The screams of the dead and dying blotted out all other sounds, only cutting out as CC-2224 tripped over the threshold of the shuttle and sealed the door.

It sucked in a breath and stumbled to the cockpit, setting a course for the nearest Imperial forces before collapsing back into the pilot’s seat. CC-2224 sat there for a moment, confused as to why it was not moving, not completing one of the many tasks aboard even such a small vessel, before the realization struck.

Cold.

Its body quaked ever so slightly, sight greying out more and more every second, and it felt unbearably cold. It looked down at itself.

In the crook of one elbow lay the Emperor’s prize—a crystalline, geometric object that pulsed with a low-grade sense of malevolence—but something was wrong. Where before it had worn pristine white plastoid, it was now a bright and shocking hue of scarlet. Blood—a lot of it.

CC-2224 examined itself with a detached sort of curiosity, feeling faraway and uninterested. A quick pat-down of its torso quickly revealed the culprit and brought with it a flood of pain. One of the Sepa—Reb—one of the enemies must have been carrying a slugthrower. Unusual, unaccounted for, unexpected, and all the more deadly.

It would bleed out before it reached Imperial forces, CC-2224 noted dully. The idea didn’t bother it overly much. It’d known it would die on this mission, had accepted that upon assignment, and faced with its imminent decommissioning, it felt very little at all. Not fear, not anger, not regret...

Well, and that wasn’t true.

CC-2224 had regrets.

(Good soldiers follow orders.)

Alone in its mind, on the brink of death, it could acknowledge their existence.

It wished, suddenly, that things were different. Not for itself, no, death had no power over CC-2224. There was no death, after all, only the Force. And there was its regret. That it had sent its—his—that it had executed a traitor, without hesitation or remorse, and that the traitor had rejoined the Force believing he had CC-2224’s loyalty.

Loyalty and love.

CC-2224 had loved the traitor and his execution was a blight on its existence.

The traitor’s fall down, down, down into the waters of Utapau haunted its dreams.

Dead, the traitor was dead, he had to be. If the traitor had survived the fall that no being could survive, then CC-2224 had failed in its orders. It would be forced to complete the mission before submitting itself for decommissioning.

So the traitor Jedi must be dead, or else CC-2224 would never be allowed to die.

… And you want to die…

Perhaps not, it conceded to itself, because death tended to solve very little in the grand scheme of the galaxy. But it certainly no longer wanted to exist here, now, in this galaxy that the glorious Emperor had built upon the blood and bones of—of the—

It didn’t matter.

CC-2224 had nothing, had no one, would die very soon, without any of its brothers to hold its hand and watch him march far away. It���d always thought it would have at least that little bit of comfort, at the end.

… But you don’t want the end… You want the beginning… As do I…

Still nestled in the crook of its arm, the objective shivered, barely perceptible, and it looked down to see… something… a ripple that shouldn’t exist… before its vision finally went dark…

.

The disappointment might kill it before the blood loss, it decides as sound and pain begin to filter back into its consciousness. All it wants is an end to its godsawful existence, is that too much to ask? An end to pain and fear and remorse, the easiest thing in the galaxy to accomplish, except if you’re CC-karking-2224.

“Wake up, please, please, wake up…”

It gripes and growls and groans at the order, the request, the plea, but complies, conditioned as it’s been to respond to that voice and tone.

Prying its eyes open isn’t something it even feels capable of doing, but it grits its teeth as it's done so many times before. “Oh,” Kote breathes, staring at the blood-and-dirt-streaked face hovering over his own. “Hello there.”

The ghost smiles, adding tears into the mixture of grime, and lets out a chuckle that sounds like a sob.

“You scared me, Commander” it says, accusatory, as if that’s the worst crime he’s committed against its person. “Oh, Cody, I thought we’d lost you. No, don’t move, I’m going to comm the medics that we finally found you.”

Kote stops trying to prop himself up and just observes the spectre of his long-dead general report their position and his condition. He could look around, take stock of whatever years-over battle this surprisingly kind fever-dream has dropped him into, but instead he drinks in the sight.

“Well, Cody, I’m afraid the medics are not going to be kind to you after this.”

Smiling more softly than he has in over a decade, Kote watches the spectre fret over his blood-sticky armor, trying to assess the damage. “I forgot he used to call me that,” Kote murmurs, disbelieving at his luck.

Of all the ways his mind could comfort him as he dies, he never thought his general’s ghost would lead him into the Force. Perhaps this dying shavit isn’t so bad.

The spectre quirks its head to the side like a little bird, brow furrowed, mouth curled to one side. “What do you mean?”

Kote feels the hot, hard coil of tension that he’s carried in his chest for so, so long begin to unravel just a little bit. He shakes his head ruefully just thinking about it, his expression no doubt disgustingly sweet. “Never had the heart to tell him he got it wrong that first time,” he admits, watching the spectre go still. “Not like it was a hardship, going from Kote to Cody. I liked it, even. Like when the tubies start losing teeth and can’t get their words right anymore.”

He chuckles at the memories, a little bubble of blood forming at his mouth. The spectre doesn’t look nearly as amused; instead, its expression had turned glacial as he’d reminisced, and now looks only gut-punched.

“Do you—” His general’s ghost looks like he’s already marching. “Cody—Kote—do you recognize me?” he asks urgently, throwing a panicked look over his shoulder. “You know me, don’t you?”

And that, ha, that’s the funniest thing he’s heard in years.

More blood works its way out of his mouth as his breath wheezes out in a painful laugh. “‘Course I do, cyar’ika,” Kote reassures the spectre. “You’re my damnfool Jedi, always rushing into danger like you’re trying to prove something to… someone… Some dead man, most like.”

He can feel himself losing steam the longer he speaks, becoming colder and more tired with every word.

The spectre darts another look over his shoulder, face spasming like he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing, until Kote fumbles around and grabs one of his hands. He looks back down, then, face going soft and tears coming thick and fast. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, breathing beginning to hitch.

His poor general looks overwhelmed and unsure, like he was back nearer the beginning of the war. “I’m sorry,” he says thickly, “I’m so sorry, ner cyare. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, I’m sorry, ni ceta…”

Obi-Wan’s ghost flinches like he’s been struck, but he holds tight to Kote’s hand and pushes an errant curl away from his forehead, though Kote doesn’t remember pulling off his bucket. “Whatever it is, I forgive you,” he replies, voice sweet and lovely like he’s talking to a panicked shiny. Maybe that’s what he is, right now. “You just need to hold on a bit longer, my dear, the medics are nearly here. I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I forgive you…”

He can feel himself slipping away, into the yawning darkness.

With his luck, he’ll just wake up back on the shuttle, his general’s forgiveness a hazy memory to torture himself with. He can hear shouting, dulled by the rushing of his ears, the sound of his own heartbeat, Obi-Wan whispering benedictions and pleas to hang on, just a little more…

The hand in his grasp is pulled away and Kote whines, wanting to hold his general’s hand when he dies, but other figures crowd around him, pushing the spectre away.

And that’s—that’s not karking fair, and Kote isn’t afraid to fripping say so, to push the painfully-familiar hands and buckets away because, damn it all, he’s dying here, can’t he get a little peace, for once?

“Settle down, brother,” dear, dead, Coric says with the authority of a medic to back up the order. “If you keep this up you’ll cause more damage than we can fix.”

Kote opens his mouth to tell Coric’s ghost exactly what he can shove up his shebs but is stymied by an unceremonious hypo to the neck, cutting him off.

The last thing he thinks he sees before the dark returns is his general, covered in filth and gore, looking more conflicted than Kote has ever seen him before. And at his side, a mirror image of himself, looking solid and implacable and like he’s meticulously planning a murder.

Well, if that’s how it is, Kote doesn’t mind marching off.

He’s got his general’s back.

[ayo-cowbelly]

Hold Me Until The Sun Comes Up (and the stars fade away)

read on ao3 here

I should be working on the next chapter of my WIP, but the plot bunny grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

I'm apologizing in advance for this one.

hope you enjoy, sorry i'm so evil, but blyla is just perfect angst fuel (a beautiful tragedy, those two).

~

 The first time Aayla kissed Bly was on Maridun. One of the nights they spent there, before they infiltrated the Separatist base. The night after seeing what the droids’ new toy could really do.

 Aayla had pulled Bly aside, concern in her typically-guarded eyes. For all that Aayla was companionable, she wasn’t one to open up easily. At least, not to her men. But that night, something was different.

     “You’re alright?” She asked.  

     “Yes, I’m fine- General, is everything okay?”  

     “You almost- Bly, what if-”  

     Understanding what she was saying, Bly finished, “What if you hadn’t gotten to me in time?”  

     She nodded gravely. “That weapon- it destroys every living thing, Bly,” she paused, running her hand down his cheek. They had discussed these… feelings, before, this unspoken thing between them; but they had agreed that a war was no place to explore such things. “It would have destroyed you too.”  

     “But it didn’t. You saved me, Gen- Aayla,” he corrected, remembering her request to be called by her name in private. “You saved me. I’m alright.”  

     “Bly, what if next time-”  

     “There won’t be a next time, I promise.” It was a selfish promise, they both knew it, but it was one Bly made anyway. He couldn’t guarantee he would be able to honor it, but he would fight tooth and nail to try. He loved her too much to cause her pain. “And if there is, you’ll be there to keep me safe. As always.”  

     Aayla gave him a wavering smile. “And you’ll save me.”  

     “Of course I will.”  

     “We make a good team, don’t we?”  

     “Yeah, we really do,” Bly whispered, knowing he should push her away. The way she was looking at him, touching him, it was everything they agreed not to pursue.  

     But he couldn’t do it. The soldier in him was chanting all the things that could go wrong, yelling at him to walk away, just walk away-  

     But his heart kept him there, in the arms of a beautiful Twi’lek  on a secluded planet in the far reaches of the galaxy. “Aayla, we- we said we wouldn’t do this.” Why did he have to say that? He just promised he’d save her, vowed to himself he wouldn’t hurt her, but he’d already gone and done otherwise. He could see it in the way her shoulders deflated, just so.  

     ���I know,” She murmured, soft fingers tracing his tattoos. “But please, can I do this? Just once?” Before he could reply, she slowly pushed herself up and pressed her lips to his.  

     The kiss was over quickly, but the remnants of it were seared onto Bly’s skin.  

 That was the first time, when they said there wouldn’t be more.

 ~

 The second time was on their Star Destroyer, about three months later.

 That was when their past agreement unraveled, giving way to something more.

     “We said we wouldn’t do this.”  

     “Must you always remind me?” Bly said, almost irritated. He loved this woman, practically worshipped the ground she walked on, and though he had as much say in their current relationship status as she, it was… bothersome to think about, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t let himself get too upset over it- feelings fade in time.  

     Don’t they? Shouldn’t this, this unspoken thing, have waned by now? Why did it not leave him, why did it insist on burning in him? Why did he still blush when she smiled at him, his heart race when she neared, get annoyed when a shiny looked at her the way he did?  

     It should have gone away. It should’ve.  

     But it hadn’t. Instead, it grew stronger.  

     “Bly…”  Aayla started.  

     “Yes, yes, I know- we’re fighting a war, we could die any day, you’re a Jedi…” He trailed off, the anger he had been feeling slightly dampening. He couldn’t blame Aayla for their situation.  

     “It’s not that I’m a Jedi. Love is not what is forbidden. It’s just… fighting a war, something I’m not meant to do- I fear I am more prone to attachment now. I can’t let it consume me. There’s a reason attachment is not allowed for Jedi, for the fallout of such things can be disastrous. It is selfish.”  

     “I know,” he sighed, remembering how she’d explained it before. “But Aayla, we said that whatever this is would eventually go away. For me, it hasn’t. It’s just gotten worse.”  

     “Worse?” She said in a lighthearted tone. “Is it really so bad to love me?” Her attempt to lighten the mood worked just a tiny bit, but it didn’t really make Bly feel any better.  

     “You know what I mean.”  

     Aayla looked down. “Yes, I do. Very much,” she said in a hushed tone. “So what do we do?”  

     “I don’t- I don’t know.” He walked across the small training room, rubbing his head frustratedly.  

     “Maybe there is a way to love deeply without getting attached, even in war,” She uttered, sounding like she was saying it more to herself. “The Force might show me how.”  

     Bly turned back to Aayla. “What are you saying?”  

     She lifted her head, and the look in her eyes was enough to take his breath away. “I love you.”  

     “I love you too, but Aayla-”  

     “Shut up and let me kiss you, Commander,” She ran towards him and launched herself into his arms, which were waiting for her.  

 ~

 The third time she kissed him was in private on Coruscant.

 They were finally on leave, three months after the beginning of their relationship. They had been in his (thankfully private) quarters, the night they first arrived.

     “You seem upset.”  

     “I’m not upset,” Bly muttered. Aayla got up from the bed and wrapped her arms around his chest. She attempted to make eye contact with him, chuckling and rolling her eyes as he repeatedly avoided her gaze.  

     “Bly, I can literally feel emotions,” She joked. “What’s wrong?”  

     “It’s nothing,” He tried again, but quickly relented. “Just- it’s stupid.”  

     “Your feelings are not stupid, Bly. Irrational, maybe-” Aayla giggled at his exasperated expression. But upset as he was, her laughter always warmed his heart. “Sorry, fine, I’ll stop- but in all seriousness, what’s the matter?”  

     It took her a few pokes in the shoulder, a soft hit in the chest and finally resorting to holding his head in place with her hands to keep it from moving, but she finally got him to answer.  

     “I didn’t like how they looked at you.”  

     “Who?”  

     “Those men, at the bar. The ones from the other battalion. They look at you how I look at you, and I wish I could-”  

     “Bly, look at me,” Aayla gave him a kind half-smile. “Those men might think I am pretty, but they don’t look at me the way you do. You look at me like I’m beautiful, like I am beyond comparison, because you love me- and it makes me so incredibly happy. You make me happy, happier than I’ve ever been. Nobody else could ever come close to making me feel the way I feel when I’m with you.”  

     Bly had no words to respond with.  

     So when she kissed him, he kissed her back with all his love, all the words he couldn’t find.  

 ~

 The fourth time she kissed him was on Chandrila. A small squad of the 327th was stationed there to protect Senator Mon Mothma from a dangerous assassin that had been threatening her.

 Aayla and Bly had left her apartment for the night, and though they should have returned to where the squad was staying, they found they had just enough time to sneak away for a bit.

     Bly laid on top of one of the many mountains just outside Hanna City, Aayla held close in his arms.  

     “How long do you think we have?” Bly asked, fingers running up and down her arm.       

     “I’d say maybe twenty minutes, give or take,” She said quietly. Neither wanted to speak too loud, not wanting to mar the gentle night by being too noisy.  

     “This planet is beautiful,” Bly commented.    

     “Yes, it is. I forgot how much I loved it here- I haven’t been since years before the war started. I wish we had more peaceful missions like this one.”       

     “Me too; ironic, huh, considering I was made for war,” he quipped, but it came out sounding bitter. Bly mentally kicked himself for saying it, sure he had ruined this moment.  

     Aayla sat up and leaned over him, a tender but fierce fire in her eyes. “Listen to me. You may have been intended for war, but you are so much more than that. You are loyal, you are brave, kind, and smart. You make me laugh when I think I can’t, you give me hope when there is none; I love you, Bly, and I always will.”  

     She always said things with a note of finality, had a way of speaking that you couldn’t help but believe anything that came out of her mouth.  

     “You’re amazing, you know that?” He said, placing his hand on her cheek.  

     Leaning into the touch, Aayla placed a quick peck on his forehead before laying down again. She cuddled closer to him, pointing out constellations and telling stories of her previous visits to Hanna City. They stayed there, him holding her tight, and he wished he could always do this, wished they could stay here on this hilltop until the stars faded away.  

     “Aayla, I love you,” Bly whispered into the night. Though he had said it countless times before, this was different; it was final, a conviction.  

     She faced him again, kissing him softly but surely. “And I love you.”  

     It was a vow full of promises, a tether that bound these two souls together, no matter where they might end up.  

     Wherever they landed, wherever the galaxy pulled them towards, they would always come back to each other.  

 ~

 Then there was the time he kissed her.

 They were on Felucia, a place that, no matter how many colorful plants called it home, always appeared to be drained of life in his nightmares.

 How horrible, that the last time he saw the love of his life would become his worst nightmare.

     “Bly, do you think it’s droids?”  

     “No.”  

     CC-5052 fired his weapon, despite Bly screaming not to. The countless barrage of bright blue pierced her skin, shoved her to the ground and kept her there.  

     Despite what you might have heard or seen, Aayla Secura’s death was not a silent one. Above the sound of blaster shots, you could hear her normally-composed voice screaming and begging for her love to stop.  

     Her shouts wormed their way past the chip’s defenses, reached into Bly’s mind, and he fought. He scratched and tore at the chip, the cage it placed him in. He needed to get to her, he needed to stop this, save her, stop this, please STOP-  

     Finally, when it was over, CC-5052 lowered his weapon and Bly escaped. Ripping off his helmet, he threw himself on the ground and pulled Aayla towards him. He checked for a pulse (he refused to admit what he already knew- he would not find a beating heart). He could not stop thinking of how she had just been so warm, when he had hugged her just minutes ago in private-  

     She was so warm, so beautiful; but now her electric blue skin was charred and gray and oh so burnt. He couldn’t have done this, he couldn’t have, he would never.  

     “Aayla-” Her name was the only word he could get out, the war for dominance in his mind taking a toll. He didn’t have much time.  

     “I’m sorry-” Bly hastily pressed his lips to hers, an apology, a vow, a plea for forgiveness. His tears coated her face, giving him the illusion that they were her own, that she was still alive, for she could not be dead, she couldn’t- He couldn’t bear it.  

     Hadn’t they promised to save each other?  

     He felt broken. So shattered, so torn, just like her skin that was blemished with the blaster wounds he’d given her-  

     Then all feeling was gone.  

     CC-5052 got up, turning away from the dead traitor’s body.  

     He had reports to make, troopers to check over. The traitor was not important. He had completed his mission, so it was now time to move on. Time to await new instructions. After all,  

     Good soldiers follow orders.  

[mythalsknickers]

“Go with me?” “As long as you hold my hand.” For DA DWC for any pairing you wish! :D :D

Title: In the Darkest HourPairing: Cullen x Drysi AmellRating: TWord Count: 1329Warning/Tags: Not Inquisitor Character, Blood Magic Mention, Hawke does not die, or LoghainCC: @dadrunkwriting

This was honestly very interesting to write, I thought it was going to be sweet and fluffy. But Adamant seemed to be the one that needed to be written. I could not kill off my Hawke or Loghain. I hope you enjoy this.

Adamant. She had never thought she would get to see the fortress. After all, why would she ever need to go to the Western Approach?  Drysi clenched her hands as rocks slammed into the walls of the fortress. Sucking in a breath Drysi outstretched her hands, watching them shake.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and do not falter.” She could feel it as the fade struggled under the assault. Blood Magic. Her hands tensed, she was forcing the shaking to go away. Taking a deep breath she pulled on the magic, willing it to knit this soldier’s skin together.

One by one, sometimes more then she could count the wounded were brought it. This she could handle, killing men she knew though, or knew of that was worse than facing another blight.  Her body ached, craving just a drop from the blue vials on her belt. She had her limit any more, and she ran the risk of her magic depleting too fast. Reaching up to her neck,  her hand wrapped around the amulet. Her eyes closed with worry. Cullen. He was a brilliant tactician, and he and Loghain had both gone over the strategy thousands of times. It didn’t stop the worry that clung to her.

“Commander Amell!” Her heart froze, and as her eyes snapped open, they were as hard as ice. A scout stood at the edge of the tent seeming to try and pick her out. Glancing at the other healers she quickly beckoned one to her wounded.  Grabbing her grimoire from the table she quickly fastened it to her belt, followed by her staff being slung across her back.

Her strides were long as she quickly weaved through the nurses, healers, and surgeons. Reaching the edge of the tent she looked up at the scout. It had been enough time for Drysi Amell, Healer to be replaced with the Commander of the Grey. Taking a breath she met his eyes.

“Report!” it was familiar, a habit that had developed during the blight, and then during the Darkspawn incursions in Amaranthine.

“Commander Rutherford and Inquisitor Lavellan ask for you at the front… Sir! er Ma’am…er Serah…My Lady!” The poor scout, he couldn’t decide on a title. Shaking her head she sighed.

“Sir is fine, Commander is easier. Are you to escort me?” She tilted her head, short dark waves of hair covering one icy eye rather rebelliously. Cullen was alive. Thank Andraste’s Blessed Fire and the Maker.

“No Commander, Commander Rutherford is waiting at the Fortress.” She nodded, slipping her gloves on. As she walked past the scout she patted him on the shoulder.

Each step brought her closer to the inevitable truth. The Order had gone too far.  They had kept secrets from the most senior members, allowed a single vulnerability to the order go unchecked for maker knows how many years, and now this. As Adamant loomed over her little more than smoking ruins. Drysi knew in her heart, she could no longer in good conscious call herself or her men Grey Wardens. Everything they had stood for; gone because they played themselves into this hand.

Soldiers and Scouts alike jogged in and out of the Fortress, many carrying wounded.  Stepping around the siege equipment and the remains of ancient walls.  She spotted him, hand resting on his sword, golden hair well beyond being tamed and his red mantle. Her lips pulled at a slight smile.

“Cullen!” she called walking over to him, it was informal but all of Skyhold knew they well were something more then friends. At her call, he stopped issuing orders and jogged over to her.  There was no hesitation as he pulled her into his arms. Drysi clung to him, it only lasted a moment but it was enough.

“Drysi, the Inquisitor, is asking for a Senior Warden. The surviving Grey Wardens have no one to turn to. She is also asking your recommendation on what to do with the order.” He was apologizing, she could hear it in his tone of voice and see it in his eyes.

“I understand.” she gave a firm nod, so it fell to her. While Loghain held a senior rank here…she was a Commander of the Grey.  She was the only one who could say with definitive authority what to do with these wardens. “Go with me?” she tilted her head hoping he would.“As long as you hold my hand, my lady.”  He offered her hand, and she gave him no hesitation. Taking his hand, she let him lead her through the ruined keep. As they walked a quiet hush fell over the Wardens. They knew she had their fate in her hands, her uniform, her scars told them exactly who she was. The Hero of Ferelden.  Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Vanquisher of the Archdemon Urthemiel. Titles she knew by heart.Letting go of Cullen’s hand she stepped onto the dais with the Inquisitor, gesturing for her to turn away from the crowd. They spoke privately. She needed to address them. They were terrified, they believed they failed, this defeat had shattered their resolve. As they turned back towards the crowd she shook the Inquisitor’s hand with a smile.“In war victory, in peace vigilance, in death sacrifice.” She licked her lips looking over the crowd of mages and the few warriors who had survived. She barely caught Loghain’s reassuring smile. “A wise woman, once told me we are not just standing vigilant against Darkspawn, but the hubris of magic gone astray. The magic we fight against from the moment of our joining, the Blight. Today we have failed.” The crowd began to murmur and shift and she could see some of the mages beginning to reach for their own grimoires and tomes.“I am not here to cast judgment on the ritual done here,” she announced raising her hands. “I am here as your sister, to make you see reason. It was not just one failure that brought you to this defeat, this miscalculation, this terror, and this false calling you now feel!” She screamed her chest heaving. “I live with it every day, and I am here to tell you The Grey Wardens of Ferelden, have no blighted blood or calling. There is a reason a Warden King sits on Ferelden’s throne unaffected by fighting in the last blight!” The crowd fell silent, awe and curiosity replaced doubt and fear. There was no clattering of plate or jangle of scale mail.

“It was not  Weisshaupt that found this cure. It was Wiesshaupt that kept Corypheus a secret, it was Wiesshaupt who fell silent. We were failed by the very order we pledged our lives to!” She turned to the Inquisitor giving a soft smile.  “I humbly recommend Lady Inquisitor, that the Grey Wardens of Orlais be absorbed into the ranks of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. Under my command to be reformed into a new order to protect against the blight with a modified joining.”The silence hung through the air, and tensions mounted. She could see it in the Wardens, they were worried, some doubted her. However, they wanted to know what the Inquisitor would allow. “I will permit this Commander Amell, however for the time being it will be with Inquisition supervision.” She smiled as the wardens all seemed relieved. 

It was one battle. She turned smiling at Cullen stepping down to him. With him at her side, she could face it all. As she wrapped her arms around Cullen’s neck, the fade tore another rift opened and behind them. A bloodied Carys Hawke stumbled out the rift.“What’d I miss?” She staggered, holding her broken staff in her hand. “Oof! Varric!” the woman cried as the dwarf barreled into. Only her cousin.

“I am never going to escape your Cousin am I?” she smiled at Cullen and shook her head. No, he wouldn’t Amells stuck together through everything.

[fafulous]

New Orleans’ Auror (TOxHP) Chapter 8

Co-Author: @sweetpea-cc

Chapter 1 | Chapter 7

The dining hall was like the rest of the compound - dim lit and elegant. A long dining table made of solid wood stood in the center of the room, decked with silverware and crystal glasses. There were no sights of any sort of windows, which made it look even more darker. Plates of sandwiches and tarts and glassesful of red drinks adorned the table except for one plate.

As Willow entered the room along with the three siblings, her eyes caught sight of Elijah, who appeared to have been reading the paper until she had arrived. They both exchanged a flattery smile and saw that he was wearing a suit, which made her wonder what special occasion was today.

Right next to him at the end of the table, in dismay, she saw Niklaus throwing a scornful look at her while putting down his crimson drink.

"Look whom we have here. It's the little witch from last night. Have you brought her to me because you couldn't find blood bags, Kol?"

"Really? Now my height bothers the great, paranoid Niklaus Mikaelson?"

"Klaus, I would like it if you could just shut your mouth for once in these thousand years of existence," said an exasperated Kol, as he saw Willow rolling her eyes, almost regretting to visit the compound.

"Nevermind him, Willow. He only speaks kindly to no one but himself."

Willow took a deep breath, just to calm herself. She felt Kol place his arm over her shoulder gently, as he showed her way to her seat, right next to Elijah. She smiled at him again and could get the whiff of masculine musk from him, which was lightly rousing to her. She tried not to glance at him too much so that it wasn't obvious.

Kol sat alongside her to her right and opposite her, Rebekah. Beside her stood Freya, serving out sandwiches and juices to her siblings.

"So, Willow the wand woman," said Rebekah as she sipped some of her red drink, which looked like blood to Willow, "Thank you for last night, although my vain brother here would disagree. (She saw him scowl and grab her drink from her hand and finish it down in one gulp.) Freya here was very impressed with your witch skills since she herself is one."

"Wow! A witch Mikaelson?" asked a surprised Willow, looking at her as Freya sat down. "I thought that there were five vampire siblings?"

The tension of the seated vampires became explicit. Freya stopped eating her sandwich, and Kol put down his glass of blood.

"Oh my goodness, forgive me. I- did- I say anything wrong?"

Willow was looking at all their faces and most of their heads were low. She finally managed to maintain a brief eye contact with Elijah, who looked up with remorse.

"The fifth one you're talking about was our eldest brother, Finn. He was killed 2 years back under the most unfortunate circumstance."

Was this the incident that Marcel was referring to? The incident that allowed them to enjoy 2 years of peace, at the cost of someone's death? It was a known fact that the Mikaelsons were no saints, but were they actually that awful that the whole city had to celebrate their downfall? Willow had so many questions but realized best not to mouth any of them.

Willow regretted her decision to listen to Kol and visit the Mikaelsons. She gave an apologetic look to Elijah and turned around to see Kol.

"It-It's all right, darling. You didn't-"

Willow jerked and instantly gripped her chest with her hand, her heart racing as Klaus slammed the table with his palm wide open, making it shake. Evidently, it appeared that she had opened a topic of discussion that was not meant to be spoken about. But she was calm, thanks to Elijah who instinctively placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it smoothly just to calm her down. She was silently grateful for his gesture, but she didn't look at him. In fact, she didn't dare to look at any Mikaelson. She stealthily glanced at Klaus who was rubbing his forehead.

Elijah tried to break this deafening silence as he still gripped her shoulder.

"Niklaus-"

"It's alright Elijah," she said as she politely nudged off his hand, "I think it's better if I don't stay here. I don't wish to upset you all anymore," spoke Willow with repentance. "Kol, I'm sorry I ruined this nice chance of brunch. Please do drop by my home whenever you feel like."

She got up from her chair and made her way out. Willow could sense Elijah, Kol and Freya trying to reach out to her but she walked out without haste and rush. She heard quick footsteps behind her, probably trying to convince her from leaving, but she didn't stop, not until she reached the compound opening.

Willow came to a halt, surprising the siblings. The three overlooked as to why she had stopped, only to hear a disturbed little child's cry for help.

"P-Please. Don't do anything to me."

The sound came from the living room, she deduced; and ran towards the sound of whimpering. Unlike the Mikaelsons, she was the last person to reach along with Freya, due to lack of vampire speed genes. Klaus and Rebekah had joined too, their faces becoming as white as a sheet.

Unfortunately, she couldn't see as to what was happening in front of them, due to her height deficit. She pushed Kol and Elijah with both her hands, only to see the horror in front of them.

A series of no way and this is not possible statements resounded from the four Mikaelsons, except for Klaus.

"Take your hands off her, or I swear you won't have any, Aurora!" roared Klaus in his brash voice.

Just a few moments back, the red-haired woman who appeared to be in an endless slumber on the table, was now standing in front of them, holding a rugged shard of glass against a small girl's neck. It was the same child who's laugh had reverberated in this very compound last night, at the sight of the transformed Boggart.

"Hello there! Missed me?"

The Mikaelsons tried to go near her but instantly, she got the shard of glass even nearer to the child's throat.

"Now now, if I were you, I wouldn't take a step more, darling. This shard of glass will go into her neck. You must be forgetting, my bite can kill you all filthy Mikaelsons."

"Nothing would happen," argued Freya, "there is not one drop of Lucien's serum inside you."

Her face changed for five seconds and then put on her snarky expression like her armor and began to laugh like a maniac. "That's a pity isn't it, Freya? Are you sure though? Are you Mikaelsons so confident and high headed to take your chances with me?"

The Mikaelsons responded with silence, having no answers. Willow couldn't quite comprehend the whole scenario but deciphered that it's not benefitting the crying child at all.

From the sight of her, Willow deciphered that she was a hopeless, sly woman. She looks like she was wronged by the Mikaelsons, remembering Kol's words that she was Klaus' ex-girlfriend. Her vengeful eyes gazed over every sibling, with an expression of her recounting the probable misfortunes caused to her by them. At last, her gaze fell upon Willow and she grimaced instantly.

"Aha! Look over here! Another blood bag of a human for you lot? I must say you all are lucky because you keep getting the good looking ones." The woman snarked, insensitive to the whimperings of the child. Willow didn't quite understand why they didn't make any sort of move to help the child. So she knew she had to act to save the child by instigating her.

"I'm not a blood bag you filthy corpse," yelled Willow as she took a few steps towards her. She felt Elijah coming near her as well "Now leave the child or else-"

Kol whispered, him getting anxious as though she could be killed any moment "Willow, don't please."

"Hah! Or else what? What can you do to me mortal? Ooh ooh, I know. Don't worry now, I'm not going to stab her with this shard of glass," The woman took away the glass from the child's neck and now went on her knees, her head near the child's neck.

"Two years of deep slumber also means two years without blood," she said with a cryptic tone and brushed off the child's hair that covered her neck. "Your child, Nik, will be the perfect blood bag for me, thank you."

Willow's insides were triggered and the next minute she pulled out her wand from her black boots and pointed it at her. The woman slightly froze.

"See that's where you're wrong. I'm not just a mortal."

Instinctively she threw the shard of glass towards Willow and with one flick of her wand, the huge shard of glass turned into thin, beautiful blue particles that suspended in mid-air like a Galaxy of stars.

"I'm a bloody witch!"

With a swish of her hand, the glass particles flew towards the red-haired woman's eyes and she screamed, the whole compound echoing.

"ARGH!"

Seeing this as an opportunity, Klaus vamp sped towards the child and carried her away from the room.

"Freya and Rebekah darling it would be lovely of you to assist your brother with the child and check if she's not hurt," said Willow, not looking back, gripping her wand ever so tightly. She heard their footsteps drifting away.

The woman was now on the floor, wincing as she finally managed to get the shards of glass from her eyes, slightly bleeding. Willow felt her hair move from the wind, only to realize it was from Elijah who sped up to Aurora, pinning her down to the floor.

"You dare have the audacity to harm Hope, to harm Willow." He spoke with his husky voice through his gritted teeth. His hands were now on her neck in an attempt to strangle her. Like her, Elijah was completely indifferent to her whimperings. "Tell me. Who woke you up?"

She coughed as he let go of his tight grip, just enough for her to talk. Her voice was raspy and vindictive. "Who cares Elijah. I'm awake now and I'll never stop at any attempts to avenge my brother. See you in hell."

"NO!" screamed Kol.

Willow saw her grabbing Elijah's neck and pulling it closer to her mouth. She remembered her telling that her bite was lethal to them and instantaneously aimed her wand at her face and screamed,

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

The woman whose hands were attempting to crawl Elijah's neck froze instantly and she fell down with a thud. Her eyes were wide open, looking like any other petrified body. Elijah immediately dusted off his hands and stood up, having a disturbed look on his face.

Willow walked up to him quickly and looked at his unnerved face and gripped his arm tightly. "Hey Eli, you good?" She asked him, her voice lacing with concern.

He looked at her for a while and heaved a huge sigh by adjusting his coat. "I have never been better, thank you." Both looked at each other for a while, getting lost in the others' eyes.

"But first things first" interrupted Kol walking up to them, "How the Hell did Aurora wake up from the sleeping curse?"

The three looked down at her in her petrified state, her hands frozen like a ballet dancer. The only movement they could find was her eyeballs moving from side to side occasionally.

"Unnecessary questions for later, brother. How long do we have?" he asked looking at Willow.

"Um, with the force with which I attacked, 45 minutes to say at least," explained Willow. "A full body bind curse lasts that much longer only."

A calculative Elijah strode towards the rest of his siblings, followed by Kol and Willow.

She saw the little girl cuddled up on Klaus, her arms wrapped around him, her head on his chest. The puffiness in her eyes reduced evidently, with the extra comforting received from Rebekah and Freya. Surely from the sight of it, the affection the girl child shared with Klaus looked very parental.

The minute the child looked at Willow, she came out of his arms and ran towards her for a hug. Willow got down immediately on her knees to reciprocate the same. They hugged for a while, Willow gently stroking her hair.

"Thank you for saving me," she spoke softly.

"It's alright sweetie," said Willow as she pulled the little girl away from the long hug. "What's your name?"

"Hope."

"Very well Hope," Willow exclaimed as she rummaged her hands into her pant pocket and took out a wrapped bar of chocolate. The Mikaelsons wondered how a chocolate bar of such a size came out from her pocket. "Eat this. You'll feel better."

Hope took the chocolate and took a bite, and returned to Klaus after saying thank you.

Willow got up and looked at Klaus and the rest of them, realizing that she was actually on her way towards the compound exit. "Well, it looks like my job here is done-"

She heard the word "No!" come out from four different mouths at the same time. Willow realized it was a cue for her to stay and smiled a little to herself and realized the kind of situation they're in.

Freya was the first one to speak. "So, Aurora is awake after the complicated way in which we put her under the sleeping curse. Nik, I know what you're thinking but casting such a spell again can prove to be fatal to me. And in the situation, we're in right now, what if there is some amount of serum in her?"

For the first time, Willow saw Klaus in a vexed mood, a genuine one that too. "Freya, she almost killed Hope. Her next ploy would be to kill us. Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm afraid the answer is no," said a tensed Freya.

All of them looked tensed and slowly turned to Willow, who was now looking into the oblivion, as though the answer to their ordeal lied with her.

Surprisingly, Klaus was the one to request her. "C-Can you help us in any way, little witch?"

She heard his question and looked at him, but she was still in deep thought. What could she possibly do to help these vampires, she thought. Something that would put a person into endless slumber equivalent to drifting into death's abode...

"Draught of living death."

Mikaelson's looked at her anxiously, waiting for her to elaborate. Willow was now walking up and down hastily as if she'd just cracked her N.E.W.T papers.

"Draught of Living death, yes. Its a sleeping-draught which sends the drinker into a deathlike slumber- difficult to make yes- But I remember Harry telling me the perfect way to do it..."

She went on and on rambling about the portion and the Mikaelsons listened to her intently. It was like she was speaking to herself but instructing and elucidating about it to them at the same time.

"But, I'll need the ingredients."

"What is it that you need?" asked Elijah.

"It doesn't matter, you won't get it here."

"Oh come on Darling, we're not savages are we Freya?" joked Kol.

"Really Kol? Can you get me a sloth's brain in fifteen minutes?"

He fell silent and saw Rebekah pat his back at his failed attempt.

"I need to get to Diagon Alley, now."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Kol. "Where is this alley you say is?"

"London!"

Klaus got up from his seat and was fuming for no reason. "Are you playing the fool with me? I heard you telling them that your spell will keep her petrified for an hour or so. How the hell will you travel to another continent in this time phrase?"

"Apparition. Now don't ask me what it is, I shall explain that later. If you lot don't believe me, I can take you all five with me. As a matter of fact, it's safer if you five come with me."

"All five of us? Then what about Hope?" asked Rebekah.

Willow thought about it for a while. Leaving the child and the paralyzed woman alone was out of the box. Besides, leaving any other Mikaelson sibling behind was also trouble, since her bite is apparently lethal. Undoubtedly the only person who came to her mind was,

"Lucy!"

A loud crack sound filled the compound. The Mikaelsons and Willow turned around to the sound, only to see Lucy standing there awkwardly.

Rebekah jolted beside her and took two steps backward. "Oh my goodness, what creature is this?"

The siblings bore an expression of utter bewilderment as they saw something that they've never seen before. Right before them stood a small creature about three foot tall having bat-like ears and eyes that resembled glowing brown orbs. She wore a clean, light pink pillowcase that neatly covered her thin hands and legs. What made it more awkward was that she was holding a tray of delicacies.

"Willow Scarlett! I just finished baking pumpkin cookies for you, since it's your favourite. Why did Willow Scarlett summon me?" She questioned as she looked around at the others who were staring at her with a look of surprise.

"It's alright Lucy, thank you. And mind your tongue, don't refer to my family members as creatures. This is Lucy," Willow stated to Rebekah, "she is an elf!"

"Wicked! This is so fantastic!" said an exhilarated Kol as he came near Lucy, whose cheeks were now glowing a light tinge of red, knowing very well that he was Kol Mikaelson.

Klaus still bore a mixed expression of fascination and disgust. "Elves? You want to leave my daughter alone under the care of an Elf that is not even my daughter's size?"

"Klaus Mikaelson really hates short people, doesn't he?" Willow joked. "But if it helps, house elves are much stronger than any witch. Hell, Lucy is stronger than me."

Lucy bore a humble smile and slowly let go of the tray of cookies, which stood in mid-air. With a small snap of her finger, the tray traveled into the dining room.

"This is so much brilliance I must say," appreciated Freya, "I think you should believe Willow because right now we don't have much time."

With great reluctance, he nodded and agreed. Hope jumped out of Klaus' lap and hopped near to Lucy and Willow.

"Alright listen here sweetie," she spoke, looking at Hope. "We'll be back in sometime, while we get some stuff to put back that evil woman back to sleep again. Lucy here is like my sister and she will take care of you with all her heart. Do you trust me?"

Hope nodded and Willow smiled back at her. What Willow didn't notice was how the Mikaelson siblings looked at her in awe. Here was a witch from another world, helping them as if they had a bond that stretched over centuries. Klaus did too, but he refused to express his feelings. Elijah, on the other hand, was immensely impressed by her skills and sophistication.

Willow went over to the other end of the room and called upon the five siblings.

"Alright now ladies and gentlemen. Everyone hold each other, preferably in a circle."

All off them huddled around her. To her right was Kol, who looked like a child who was going on a school trip and right opposite her stood Klaus, who still had traces of doubt all over his face.

To her left, however, Elijah stood, carefully intertwining his hands with hers. Willow felt sparks and butterflies going haywire throughout her and looked at him with a smile. It looked as though he was going to say something, but stopped himself thanks to Lucy's interruption.

"Willow Scarlett doing intercontinental apparition! Please be careful and don't splinch yourself. I shall-"

"Don't worry Darling, I've done this before with seven people. Five is a piece of cake!" said an assured Willow. "Bake for sweetie if you must!"

She turned to the five siblings who were now in a perfect circle, holding each other's hands. They had anxious looks, realizing they had no idea as to what was in store for them.

"At the count of three, two, one!"

A loud crack echoed throughout the compound, leaving Hope and Lucy alone in the huge mansion, who made their way to the dining room to finish off those cookies.

--

Chapter 9

A/N: All of you have the right to bombard me for making this 3000 words long ahaha. IS EVERYONE OKAY FROM THE FINALE BECAUSE I'M NOT.

The show may be over but plesh read ma stori ;______; 

THANK YOU CASS FOR ALL THE HELP. BEST CO-AUTHOR EVER

Taglist: @sweetpea-cc @poemfreak306 @spunky-89 @ranger-treaty @kickasskittie23 @shanty-lol @theroyalbrownbarbie  

[sgtduckybucky]

Fxxk U

A/N: Please note that this is a work of fiction that talks about serious and harmful things that will be triggering. If you are in a similar situation, please call the abuse hotline 1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

This work of fiction is inspired by the music video Fxxk U by Korean singer, Gain. If you watch the video, make sure to click CC.

Warning: Abuse, mentions of rape and blood.

Part 1

It has been months since Y/N has discovered about Sebastian’s affair and a lot has happened since then.

The first thing was that they no longer lived in their apartment in Brooklyn, instead, they moved out (forcefully if Y/N might add) to an old house somewhere out of the city. Old and isolated.

The next thing was that Sebastian had cut off Y/N’s beautiful long hair, claiming that it was too distracting and could attract unwanted attention. Y/N screamed while fighting him as he chopped off lock after lock until she was a crying mess with uneven hair reaching her ears.

The next change was the dynamics between them. Sebastian grew more forceful, dominant and abusive. He never let Y/N out of his sight, not even when she had to use the bathroom. He would sit there, on the cold tile floor, and watch her as she urinated.

Right now, the two were in a small room that was meant to be used as a utility closet for the garden. Y/N sat on the counter while Sebastian was between her legs, his arms wrapped around her naked thigh, sweat smearing on her legs.

The house they lived in was hot. Sebastian never turned the air condition for some strange reason. What was stranger was the fact that he had Y/N dressed in a black tank top and black shorts. Above them, he had her wear a thick and dark wooly coat, that made her sweat roll down her body as if she had just stepped out of the shower.

Y/N stared at Sebastian with empty eyes as he worshipped her legs, dragging his lips up and down, licking off any sweat he could find. His hands would slowly slither up her wet legs, up her hips until they rested on her breast, gripping it tightly. Y/N did not once, for she was used to it by now.

Y/N absentminded ran her fingers through Sebastian’s soft hair and then dragging them down to his chin, pulling it upwards. Sebastian’s lust crazed eyes met her empty ones.

She ran her hands from his neck and chin until they rested upon his shoulders, she smiled briefly before pushing Sebastian away from him. Enraged, Sebastian got on his feet and roughly grabbed onto Y/N, turning her front body against the counter while he pressed against her back. They both panted heavily before Sebastian turned her again so that she was facing him. Both of his thumbs caressed her cheeks, eyes holding anger in them. But Y/N did not fear him.

Sebastian leaned down and kissed her sloppily, salvia coating Y/N’s lips before he moved back and pressing his face against her clad breast, nuzzling his face against them. 

Later that day, Y/N sat in one of the many empty rooms. This time, she was wearing a black bodice with a black pencil skirt, feet clad in high heels and wooly jacket still around her thin frame.

Though she was staring into space, her mind was filled of memories of her and Sebastian. Of Sebastian confessing his love for her on Valentine’s Day. Of her and Sebastian going on their first date to an Italian restaurant. The first night they made love with each other. Y/N wanted to laugh at those memories but her throat was too dry from crying and screaming when all this sudden change has happened.

Just then, Sebastian, dressed in a black tank top and sweats, walked into the room and pulled Y/N up to her feet. He kissed her cherry colored lips and when he noticed that she wasn’t kissing back, he slapped her face harshly. Y/N only glared at him.

He kissed her again while he pulled down the straps of her bodice and placing his right leg between hers, keens digging into her private part. 

At that, Y/N struggled in his hold. She shoved and pushed Sebastian, who was trying to grab hold of her neck to force her stop and when that didn’t work, he instead grabbed a fistful of Y/N’s short hair.

They both stared at each other, long and hard.

“Don’t push me away.” Sebastian whispered in a false sweet voice.

“Fuck you. I don’t want it.” Said between clenched teeth. Sebastian smirked before quickly turning her body around and slamming it against the wall, taking her right then and there. Drinking up her screams of “Fuck you! Fuck you!!”

The next day, Sebastian had Y/N dressed in a black dress with leather black boots. The same wooly jacket from last night was around her figure.

She was going up the stairs, to find a new room to reminisce about the past. It was the only thing that kept her sane.

She was halfway the stairs when she passed Sebastian, who took one look at her shiny legs, before slamming her body against the stair’s wall. His hands holding hers up and between her head.

Sebastian stared at her with hunger eyes as he kissed her lips, wet and sloppy. Y/N stood still, not allowing him the pleasure. Again, Sebastian pulled back and slapped her.

This time, Y/N actually fought him back. She shouted and screamed, punched his chest and told him to “Back off!”

Y/N managed to grab Sebastian’s throat, about to choke him but Sebastian quickly teared her hands away and shoved her against the wall again, his eyes big with anger.

“If it’s not me,” Sebastian murmured, “then no one can touch you. And I will touch you whenever I want.”

Y/N spat in Sebastian’s face and broke free from his hold then walking away quickly before he could react.

Dinner that night was a rare peaceful event. Sebastian was dressed in a yellow suit while Y/N was still dressed in the same clothes from earlier. The table they sat at was bare save for a white cake with five candles whose flames were big and bright.

“Happy birthday, my love.” Sebastian smiled at Y/N who looked unimpressed.

Sebastian’s eyes were filled with love and adoration that Y/N almost fell for them like she had done many years ago.

His smile soon turned into a frown as he noticed that Y/N was unhappy. He stretched his left arm across the dinner table and laid his head on it, his eyes never once leaving Y/N’s.

Sebastian stared at her for hours and hours, marveling at her beauty. His eyes wandered Y/N’s shiny face from sweat, to her lips, her dead eyes until the rest on her sagging breasts.

When he was certain that Y/N was not going to show any form of emotions, he brought his hand up and covered the upper part of the candles, ignoring the flames, and roughly pulling them out and throwing it behind him. 

With one look of despair, he planted his face onto the cake.

Y/N did nothing but stare at his pathetic form for hours before getting up and walking to his chair. She grabbed onto his shoulder before pulling it backwards. His face was covered in cream and frosting but Y/N could make out the hopeful look that Sebastian was giving her as she smiled down at him.

In the bathroom, Y/N drew up a cold bath for the two of them to cool down from the heat and to wash themselves after lord knows how long. Sebastian didn’t like to shower, claiming that he grew addicted to their natural scent.

If you walked in on the two bathing, you would think they were like any other ordinary couple in the middle of their bath where Y/N puckered her cheeks and made funny noises. Where Sebastian collected the bubbles into his hands before smearing it across his chin to make himself look like had a bubbly beard. Y/N chuckled at his childish behavior. It made her heart swell as she locked gazes with her boyfriend, just for a moment, it felt like nothing happened. Sebastian didn’t cheat on her. He didn’t abuse her. And he certainly didn’t rape her. She wished to stay in the tub like this forever but, sadly, Sebastian got up and held his hand out for her and led her to the shower to rinse off the soap and dirt.

Sebastian rubbed at her body delicately, making sure not to irritate her skin as he scrubbed off all of the dirt. Y/N felt her breathing even out and her shoulders sagging in relaxation. She closed her eyes in a moment of bless. A moment that lasted mere seconds as she felt Sebastian rut against her ass. Her body quickly tensed up in fear.

She had momentarily forgotten. Forgotten that Sebastian was no longer the man she used to leave. Forgotten how dangerous he could be. She bit on her lips harshly, drawing out blood, as Sebastian inserted himself without warning. Taking her raw and rough. By the end of it, Y/N couldn’t tell her tears and the shower water apart as they both rolled down her cheeks.

The nights that followed, Y/N would lie on a leather couch. Wondering about her future. How long will she be trapped in this hell house with Sebastian raping her as much as five times a day every day. It had already been six months since all of this happened. She wondered if her family worried about her. If they called but received no answer from her as Sebastian had smashed her phone. She wondered if they had called the police about her missing whereabouts. Lastly, she wondered if she would ever survive. She wondered if she would out live Sebastian...or would he grow tired of her and kills her? She inhaled sharply at the thought, heart skipping a beat in fear.

She had to do somethings.

Weeks pass and Y/N finds herself in the bathroom with Sebastian, who was standing in front of the mirror and shaving his beard. He would talk about random things that Y/N has no idea what they were about as she had tuned him out as paranoia filled her for the past weeks.

Her eyes darted from one spot to another. This was the perfect time and place to do it. But how could she when she didn’t have what she needed. Her eyes squinted in the brightly lit bathroom when she saw something glistening beneath the bathtub. Stealing a quick glance at Sebastian to make sure that he was preoccupied with his shaving and whatever the hell he was saying, she silently walked to the bathtub.

Crouching as quiet as she can, she saw the glistening of a sharp glass. That’s right. That was the glass from the mirror that Sebastian broke only last week when Y/N had refused him. He slapped her, pulled at her and when she still fought back, he slammed her head against the mirror which broke under the pressure. Luckily, Y/N was not injured that night.

Biting her lip and stealing another quick glance at Sebastian, she held up the sharp glass in her hand and hit behind her back as she got up onto her shaky legs and stalked towards Sebastian, who was at this point humming a tune and was almost done shaving.

Y/N thank God that the mirror was broken and that Sebastian didn’t see the reflection of her raising her arm slowly before quickly bringing it down and stabbing Sebastian right in his neck where she prayed that it was a main artery, blood scattering onto her face and the wall beside her.

Sebastian cried as he brought his hand to his neck and turning around to face her.

“You!” Sebastian rasped out and Y/N was terrified as she backed away from the man, believing that her plan had failed, when Sebastian dropped onto his knees and then falling roughly forward, his blood pooling around him.

Dropping to her knees, Y/N crawled to where Sebastian laid.

“Sebastian?” She called out hesitantly, “Sebastian?” she chocked out a sob as she shook him over and over again hoping for him to wake up while screaming his name. When that didn’t work, she sat up straight and pulled his body upwards and rested Sebastian’s head against her breast, pecking his head repeatedly, muttering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” like a mantra. 

When realization dawned on her, she slid Sebastian off of her and crawled to the corner. She hit her head over and over again as she cried out in agony. 

Hours later, when her tears ran dry and her throat throbbed in pain, she got up and walked outside of the bathroom and down the stairs and out the front door of the house.

It was late at night and the air was extremely cold against Y/N’s body but she didn’t care. She walked for hours, not knowing where exactly her feet were taking her until they stopped in front of the building. Inhaling deeply, she walked in in a zombie like state, somehow being able to bypass the men and women in their blue outfits and stood in front of the desk closest to her.

“I would like to report a murder.”

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Captain Cold and Me (chapter 1 of 6)

Sara Lance, unbeknownst to her high school classmates, has connections to some of Star City's most popular super-powered heroes--but no powers of her own. Then the mysterious Captain Cold saves her from an attack…and does his best to convince her that he’s not the bad guy everyone seems to think he is. And maybe not all of the "good guys" should be trusted...

Author's note: This story is a weird amalgamation of things. It started when I saw a book titled "The Supervillain and Me" (check it out!) on the YA shelves at Barnes & Noble. That, of course, gave me CaptainCanary vibes. After I bought and read it, they were even stronger. I posted about that on Tumblr, and people encouraged me to write the CC high school AU I was considering.

So I did! It takes the skeleton of the book (which is very much its own thing-again, read it!)-at least at first-adds some (very adapted) Arrowverse characters and plots, and stirs it up with my own weird imagination. I own nothing of this but my own words, and I make no money off it.

This will be six chapters (all but one already complete), posted one a day until Tuesday. Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta, and to @sylvanheather for her thoughts! And happy birthday to @dragonydreams!

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

“Sara! Sara, did you hear?”

Sara Lance closed her eyes in resignation as she heard the footsteps of Felicity Smoak, her best friend, hurrying up behind her in the halls of Star City’s Kanigher-Broome High School. She loved Felicity, she really did, but she knew what was coming here, or suspected at any rate, and she really didn’t want to talk about it.

Felicity, however, was going to tell her anyway.

“Principal Hunter got a special guest for the assembly today,” she said breathlessly, adjusting the strap of her backpack where it was slung over her shoulder, swiping her dark hair with its blond roots out of her face. “Do you know who it is?”

Sara could guess.

“Nope,” she said, however, continuing to stroll toward physics class. “No idea. Fliss, did you finish your lab report yet? I want to ask Dr. Stein…”

“Sa-ra!” Felicity actually stomped her foot. “This is important! Don’t you think it’s probably a super? Should I go fix my hair? Redo my makeup before the assembly? We need to get there early so we can get a seat!”

Felicity had a real thing for supers—and the top team in Star City right now was the Black Canary and the Green Arrow. Sara’s friend had a massive crush on the Arrow (maybe on the Canary too), but she didn’t know what Sara did: That the Black Canary was Sara’s annoying big sister, Laurel, and the Arrow was Laurel’s rich-boy boyfriend, Oliver Queen. 

Sara had known Laurel and all her quirks since birth, and she’d known Ollie for nearly as long as she could remember. It was tough to be awe-inspired by the girl who continually left sopping-wet towels on the bathroom floor or the boy who’d once been so helpless without servants that he’d kept buying new underwear rather than admit he didn’t know how to use the washing machine.

They’d both acquired their powers (for Laurel, a sonic scream, flight and a degree of invulnerability, and for Ollie, perfect aim, a literal inability to miss his mark, in addition to greater strength and agility) at about the same time, a handful of years ago, around their 16th birthdays, just like most supers. While Sara’s parents had made sure Laurel had a chance to learn and become accustomed to her powers, they’d balked at letting her take on the role of a public superhero despite her wishes.

Oliver hadn’t even entertained the notion, as far as Sara knew. He’d happily used his aim to win drinks in darts tournaments at Star City’s (not so) finest bars, and his strength to impress girls who weren’t Laurel.

Until the day everything changed.

It’d been an assassination attempt, everyone said, one that targeted both Commissioner Quentin Lance and Ollie’s mother, Moira Queen, who’d been mayor at the time. A massive earthquake centered on the old City Hall, undeniably unnatural, as it hadn’t affected anything outside a relatively small radius. At first, everyone had suspected a super gone rogue, before investigation had revealed the device detonated by a disgruntled former police officer.

Quentin and Moira had survived. Dinah, Sara and Laurel’s mother, who’d been on her way into the building to meet her husband for lunch, had not. Neither had Tommy Merlyn, Ollie’s best and oldest friend and the son of Moira’s deputy mayor. He’d been sitting on the front steps, waiting for his perpetually late friend to show up.

They didn’t have costumes or names yet, and they wouldn’t go patrolling for a few months. But in many ways, that was the day the Black Canary and the Green Arrow were born.

And then there was Sara, just a few years younger. Sara didn’t have powers. She had a second-degree black belt—about to test for third--but no powers.

It wasn’t good enough. It would never be good enough. Sara sighed. Felicity, unaware of her thoughts, elbowed her.

“Come on!” she said. “Earth to Sara Lance! What do you think?”

“I think I want to skip it,” Sara muttered, shifting her own backpack.

“Skip English class?” Felicity blinked at her. “That’s not like you.”

Apparently, Sara had completely missed the thread of this conversation. She sighed again. “No. Never mind.” She gave her friend a onceover. “You look fine. And we get there early if you want. Just don’t expect me to squeal and wave and go all fangirl with you.”

Felicity grinned and gave her a one-armed hug. “Sara, I just don’t get you at times, but you’re the best.”

“You know it.”

Felicity (and Sara) had guessed right. The Green Arrow in his hood and green leather and Black Canary in her black leather and domino mask had strolled out onto the stage at the assembly, exhorting the students not to bully each other and to stay in school, etc., etc. Sara had rolled her eyes so hard they hurt, while Felicity did indeed squeal and wave and go all fangirl. She was still gushing when the assembly let out, and they headed for what Principal Hunter called the senior Creators Club—and Sara privately called Kanigher-Broome’s catchall hangout for Star City’s young, social and slightly geeky.

Sara’s father didn’t really like her being home on her own any more, not since…since her mother died. He was still concerned that the would-be killer (who had died in prison last year) hadn’t acted alone, and that the whole family could be a target. Quentin not only went armed as part of his commissioner duties, he often had an entourage with him at all times—and Laurel was the Black Canary. Sara was…just Sara. So, to keep her dad happy, she stayed at school a little longer, working on whatever homework or projects came her way, chatting with Felicity and other classmates, pretending things were…normal.

“Did you see? The Green Arrow winked at me, Sara!” Felicity did a little dance step in the corridor on their way toward the senior lounge, dodging students headed in the other direction. “He did! I swear it. Right at me.”

Ollie had probably been winking at Sara. He knew perfectly well that she hated when he and Laurel made appearances at her school. “Mmhmm,” she agreed absently. “That Green Arrow. Quite the flirt.” Ollie was a flirt, or he had been. The Green Arrow was anything but.

“Do you think I should go blond again?” Felicity stopped, facing Sara, wrapping her fingers around a tendril of her hair and holding it out to inspect it critically. “I like the goth-y look,” she commented, starting to turn to head toward the lounge again, “but…oof!”

She collided right with a tall, thin boy, knocking his bag out of his hands and knocking her own glasses off her face. Grasping desperately for them, she grabbed the edges of his worn black jacket instead, the glasses clattering to the floor. The boy reacted with a startled noise and stepped back, tripping over his own bag, making a faint sound of pain as he did so.

Sara stepped forward in concern, reaching out to steady him, even as Felicity stooped and felt around for her glasses. But he caught himself without incident, shaking his head, and Sara stopped wondering if she’d imagined that pained gasp.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

The boy, who had dark, very short hair with what might even be a few glints of premature silver in it, was still looking aside, stooping to reclaim his bag.

“I’m all right,” he said in a low tone as he straightened. “Really. Thanks.”

Felicity gave a cry of victory and stuffed her glasses back on to her face, standing again. ”Sorry!” she told the boy cheerfully, then frowned. “Wait. Do I know you?”

He gave an almost curt shake of his head, looking at Felicity, then finally glancing at Sara. His eyes—an icy blue that was so striking that Sara sucked in a breath--widened, and he turned away abruptly. Sara blinked, watching him duck into the senior lounge. He’d been quite good-lucking, really, she thought. Those cheekbones and eyelashes were totally unfair in addition to those eyes.

“Sara! Sara!”

Felicity would keep Sara-ing her until she responded. With a sigh, she looked at her friend, who was still gaping at the door to the lounge. “What?”

The other girl looked upset, for some reason. “Don’t you know who that was?”

“…no?” The boy had looked vaguely familiar, though everything about him—his hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes—screamed that he didn’t want to be noticed.

“That was Leonard Snart. Snart, Sara!”

The world stopped. “Oh.”

Snart. The son of Lewis Snart, the crooked officer who’d tried to arrange for her dad’s assassination, who’d rocked Star City with the explosion that had killed her mother and so many others. For a moment, Sara couldn’t breathe. The memories were still so strong…the search for survivors, the hunt for suspects, the news that’d trickled out about motives and targets. The trial, which had, mercifully, been extremely brief.

“How do you know?” she asked numbly, stepping to the side to let other seniors by. “I mean. I know he had two kids, a son and daughter. But neither of them went here…before…”

Felicity sighed, running a hand through her hair. Her gaze was sympathetic and troubled.

“Remember that hackerspace thing I was involved with a few years back?” she asked. “Over in the East Side? I ran into him there once or twice. Never talked, barely knew his name. He’s a quiet kid. It took me a minute to recognize him here. He shaved off his curls.” She glanced away. “It’s not like I was going to bring it up after. But…Snart. Sort of a memorable name.”

“Yeah.” Sara stood, frozen, another moment, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he had anything to do with it. I just…I thought both of them went into foster care in Central. I remember reading…”

She’d once read the articles about the case obsessively, determined to figure out if anything could have saved her mom, could prevent something like that from ever happening again. She’d always wondered if Laurel or Ollie could have, if they’d been using their powers for hero-ing back then. But it was the kind of thing she’d never had the heart to ask.

“I know.” Felicity’s voice was low. She sighed again. “I can’t figure out why he’d even want to come back here.”

“Um. I might know something about that…”

Both of them turned at the sheepish voice behind them. Barry Allen, shuffling his feet, gave them an uncertain grin. Felicity squeaked and put her hands on her hips. She’d dated Barry briefly, but while it hadn’t lasted, they were still friends. And as Sara well knew, withholding information was majorly against the Felicity’s-friend code.

“Spill, Allen,” she said, fiercely enough that Barry paled a little.

“Well, not really the reasons,” he clarified, switching his gaze to Sara, his cheeks a little pink. She smiled despite herself. Barry was such a lovable dork. “But some of the story behind it.”

Felicity folded her arms and fixed him with a glare that was probably supposed to be intimidating, then gave him a regal nod, as if to tell him to carry on with it.

“My dad met him, Snart—uh, Len—in Central City, when he was there doing some, ah, charity work.” Barry continued. Sara remembered that his dad was a doctor, and that his family was originally from Central. “His little sister, she’s happy there, in school, with a good family, but Len wanted to come back here to at least finish school.” He bit his lip. “Dad helped him with the emancipation paperwork. I don’t know where he’s living, but he’s come by our house for dinner once or twice, at my parents’ insistence. Doesn’t talk much.” He sighed. “Be nice to him, OK? He’s had a rough road, but he’s an OK guy. There’s good in him.”

His pleading gaze was on Sara, who really had no intention of holding Leonard Snart responsible for his father’s misdeeds. She nodded, then smirked, deciding to try to lighten the mood a little.

“Aww,” she teased. “Gotta crush on him, Barry? He is really cute.”

Barry blinked, then turned pinker. “What? No! Uh. Not that I have a problem with that.”

Barry and his current girlfriend, Iris West, were currently the leading contenders for most likely to get married right after graduation. It was just a lot of fun to tease him about it.

Felicity got a particularly evil look on her face, but Sara, still smirking, cut back in.

“Of course I’ll be nice to him,” she said, then sobered. “Having a horrible parent doesn’t make him a bad person.” She nibbled her lip a little, thinking. “He’s kinda one of his dad’s victims too, in a way, isn’t he?”

Barry nodded, growing serious himself. “Yeah. I mean…he hated the guy. Hated. It’s not like he’s talked about it, really, but…”

“Join the crowd,” Sara murmured, as Felicity nodded next to her. “No worries, Bar. In fact…”

She shouldered her backpack, took a deep breath, and headed for the lounge. “In fact, I think there’s something I need to do.”

She could hear Barry and Felicity following her, but she ignored them, stopping in the entrance and scanning the room. There. The dark-haired boy was sitting by himself at a table in the far corner, pulling a laptop out of his much-abused bag and opening it on the table. He glanced up as she approached, a flash of something darting over his face, and Sara felt a pang of empathy.

“Hey,” she said as he met her eyes, his own gaze opaque. “I just wanted to say, sorry about my friend. She’s a klutz.” She took a deep breath (ignoring Felicity’s protests behind her), then held out her hand. “I’m Sara Lance.”

The boy—Leonard—held her gaze for a long moment, then stood. He was tall, Sara thought, eying him. And…yeah. Cute. Hot, really. Mm. He didn’t look like a senior in high school. College student, at least.

“Hey,” he said in return, so quietly that she could barely hear him. “It’s OK.” He shrugged. “It was an accident.”

“Your laptop’s all right?” Sara darted a look down at it. It was an old machine, she thought. But that didn’t mean it didn’t mean a lot to him.

“It’s fine.” The corner of his mouth tugged up a little, a tiny little smile, but a smile nonetheless. Sara felt like she’d won a victory. Then he reached out and took her proffered hand.

A firm, calloused grip, one that didn’t back down because she was a girl. Sara liked that. And he didn’t seem to find her gesture overly formal because they were only in high school. His handshake was steady, and so were his eyes, and damn…

“Leonard Snart,” he said so quietly that she could barely hear him.

“Pleased to meet you, Leonard,” she said quietly in return. “Glad you’re OK.”

She’d been pulled away from Leonard nearly immediately, and that was OK too. Felicity had wanted to talk about the physics lab she’d been uninterested in earlier, and then to gush about the Green Arrow and the Black Canary some more. Then Barry and Iris had come over, asking about the upcoming talent show, and she’d gotten distracted again.

When the club hours had ended and they’d all been told to go home, Sara glanced around, but Leonard Snart was already gone. She shook her head, then bade other friends farewell and walked with Felicity toward the parking lot, where the other girl turned to her.

“Do you need a ride home?” Felicity asked, a touch distractedly. “It’s no problem. I can drop you off on the way.”

Felicity drove like a bat out of hell. Sara loved her friend, but she was actually glad to have an excuse not to trust her life to the Fliss-mobile today.

“Nah. My dad is actually home tonight. He wants us all to have dinner together, for once,” she demurred. “Should be here soon.”

Felicity gave her a cheerful wave, then headed toward her old Cobalt, peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. Sara shook her head, then checked her phone.

Nothing. But after only a few moments, it chimed. Sara, watching the other seniors trickle out one by one, checked it again.

“Sorry, honey,” her dad texted. “Stuck here late. Can Felicity give you a ride?”

Sara bit her lip. Why hadn’t he sent that a few moments ago? But she’d thought that this dinner thing might actually happen. She could text Laurel, but her sister and Ollie almost certainly had something more important going on. Hero-ing and whatnot.

“Sure,” she texted back after a moment. “See you later.”

Then she started for home.

It wasn’t a long walk, really. But with the level of violence in Star City these days, neither her dad nor her sister usually liked her walking home alone, especially not later in the day. Whatever. Sara had a black belt. She could take care of herself. Her grip tightened on her backpack. Right? She’d be fine.

Sara was crossing the railroad tracks just outside the edge of the Glades when she heard the footsteps. Two people, at a guess. Well. People went for walks here too. Probably. She listened, heart beating just a little faster, then scanned the street ahead of her. Stores and other businesses closed down early here these days. Nothing seemed to be open, and traffic was nonexistent.

She picked up the pace, just a little. The footsteps picked up too. And then they were three sets. Four?

Sara abandoned her pretense and ran. There had to be someplace she could duck into, she thought, her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. There had to be!

A male voice behind her called out something in a snarl. Sara didn’t look back, pelting down the uneven sidewalk, scanning the quiet street, wondering if she should yell or...

Someone grabbed her backpack, jerking her to a stop, and Sara kept enough presence of mind to turn fighting. She lashed out at the man with a hand, fingers stiff, jabbing toward his eyes and connecting. He yelped, putting his hands to his face, and she pulled away, turning to run ahead.

But there were two more men there, young and scruffy, thin and looking a bit strung out. Sara didn’t hesitate. She struck out at one’s face, then kicked hard at his kneecap, sending him tumbling to the ground, then rounded on the other, who gaped at her a moment, apparently stunned by her reaction.

Sara drove her foot into his groin without a flicker of sympathy, stepping past him as he folded, drawing a breath to run again. She’d done it, she’d defended herself, she could...

The first man, however, hadn’t been as down for the count as she’d hoped. An arm looped around her neck even as she took a step, pulling her back again, and...damn. Something cold and metal pressed against the skin just under her right ear, something sharp.

“Money!” her captor hissed in her ear, arm tightening. Sara could hear the groans from the other two, interspersed with cursing. She tried to take a deep breath, thinking about what she had in her bag.

“I don’t have any,” she said after a moment. “I don’t! Really. Look!”

“Yeah, right!” The knife pricked harder...but then the man did move it, reaching down toward her bag, and his other arm loosened just a little.

Sara took advantage of it. She stomped on the instep of his foot, hard, then threw an elbow right into his solar plexus when his grip loosened. He crumbled and she turned to run again, taking a step, then two...

“OK, pretty girl, freeze!”

There had been a fourth man. And he had a gun. Which was now pointed right at her head.

Sara froze.

The man was to her right, but she could see him, and the gun, out of the corner of her eye. He held it steady and seemed far more calm and competent than the other men. Which made him far scarier.

For a long moment, he studied her, then let out a snort of laughter. Sara wanted to bristle at the derision...but she didn’t dare move a muscle. Supers were said to have a sixth sense about people in trouble, and while Laurel and Oliver said it was nebulous and impossible to measure, there was a measure of truth to it. Surely one of them would come to her rescue? It would be mortifying...but at this point...

“Someone will pay ransom for you,” the other man said, finally. “Girl like you in a place like this? Someone’s gotta be looking for you.” He chuckled again. It was not a nice chuckle. “Maybe we’ll even give you back. Maybe not.”

Sara took a slow breath. She couldn’t let this man just kidnap her. And she had to move before the other men regrouped. They were all getting to their feet, muttering to each other.

Then there was a noise to her left, a thud as if of someone landing on the ground. A sense of chill. Sara nearly looked, hoping for Laurel or Oliver, but the gun was still pointed at her and...

“Duck—and close your eyes!”

This isn’t the time to look a gift hero in the mouth. Err, something like that. Sara did as she was told, dropping to a knee and squeezing her eyes shut.

The blast of cold came from the left, so close to Sara’s face that she could feel the frost forming on her eyelashes. Somewhere, a corner of her brain registered that was new, that there wasn’t a super with ice powers in Star City, or none that she knew of. (Or that Felicity knew of, which was even more conclusive.) She heard yelps from the men and the crackle of what seemed to be ice, and braced for the crack of a gunshot...but none came. Just more thuds, as if of bodies falling to the ground.

“OK. You can look.”

Sara opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the four men, all stretched out on the ground, all covered by a sheen of frost. A sigh of relief escaped her lips even as she flinched, wondering.

“Are they...”

“They’re just out...cold. You all right?”

Sara looked up.

The figure in front of her, extending a hand to help her up, was no one she’d ever seen before. Black pants, black boots…and then a blue parka over the top, fur-fringed hood pulled up over his head. His face was obscured by a pair of goggles, but a smile tugged at his mouth as he looked at her.

“It’s OK,” he said, keeping the hand extended. “I don’t bite. Unless it’s frostbite. Heh. Maybe that’s a potential name.”

Bad puns. Why did supers love them so much? Sara stared at him long enough that the smile fled, but he kept the hand held out to her.

Male, from the voice. And about her age, also from the voice. Sara frowned, trying to place it, but then took the offered hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Um,” she said. “Thanks. Really. I thought I had that, but...the gun...”

“I saw. You were badass. I just figured I should help out.” The tone was admiring. And he still had her hand. Sara looked down at it, noting that he also wore black gloves, but the super let go then, taking a step back courteously.

“You’re new,” she said, still a little shell-shocked. “Ice powers. That’s...new.”

“Yeah. Sort of.” The boy...man?...walked over to the four men and studied them. “I’ll alert the cops that they’re here. They’ll thaw out soon enough. We should get going...hey, wait!”

Sara had already turned away and started walking as fast as she could, not quite running. The super caught up to her easily, though, jogging along next to her, glancing her way.

“That was really impressive,” he said. “What...what’s your name?”

This guy, hero or not, was starting to annoy her. Sara frowned at him, although she kept walking.

“I said thank you,” she gritted out. “What do you want?”

“Just making conversation.” He almost sounded hurt. “Hey, like you said, I’m new. Thought maybe...”

“You thought wrong.” Sara took a breath and stopped. “Look. Iceman, or whatever your name is...”

“I think that one’s taken.” The drawl was amused. He smirked at her, an infectious expression, and she almost smirked back. But...she already knew far too much about two of the city’s main supers. She didn’t need, or want, to know any more.

“Thank you,” she said again, trying to project sincerity. “Truly. Now, I have to get home.”

He nodded, but didn’t move, the smirk fading into something more...wistful? Somehow it touched a chord, and Sara studied him a moment longer, intrigued despite herself. Then, cursing her curiosity, she turned and headed down the street.

And that jerk kept following her.

“I could see you home,” he said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You are fine,” he retorted. “But I can still make sure you get there...”

“Goodbye, Iceman.”

A sigh. Then: “Goodbye, Sara.”

She whipped around, but he was gone already, apparently faded into the trees at the side of the street in one of those near-patented super moves.

Ass. Sara studied the trees, curiosity surging again, then turned and headed home as fast as she could, feeling the irritating sense of someone watching her the entire way. She made it in the door, slamming and locking it behind her, then dropped her backpack on the floor and closed her eyes.

She’d been rescued by the world’s most infuriating superhero.

Par for the course.

[annbrighthaus-blog]

Ironically, years before I had blue hair, they called me “Thing 2”. The Cat in the Hat reference to the mischievous trouble maker was unsettling, but that’s what they thought of me. This was my sad reality.  I remember feeling uneasy walking through those halls, knowing that there were numerous nurses on the unit, this shift specifically, who wished I would quit. This wasn’t just an assumption, I heard it with my own ears various times. Once while standing outside the door during a Retention and Recruitment Committee meeting, I heard a nurse say, “…ever since they showed up, shit has hit the fan, Thing 1 and Thing 2 need to go.” I had so much anger, fear, and disappointment building. How could this really be happening at my job?

I had often dreamed of the day that I would have RN after my name. It always felt so empowering to know that I would be taking care of others, that I would be a vital part of the medical field. But this experience was nothing like my dreams, in fact, it was a nightmare; a nightmare that lasted 6 months and created trauma that I will live with forever.

As a brand-new night shift nurse working a fragile patient population, I had innumerable worries about properly providing care. I had to learn new calculations, take new precautions, understand new diagnoses, learn new procedures, and treatments. Add onto it all, adjusting my sleep schedule to work the third shift including an hour plus commute. All these things were obstacles I could manage, sure I would fumble occasionally, but I would learn from those fumbles and build a stronger base to stand on. Once the bullying began though, my base slowly began to crumble.

It all started with a nap—a napping nurse—that was taking a rest while she was supposed to be watching over critically ill patients. When another younger nurse (a friend, who would soon be dubbed “Thing 1”) found this nurse sleeping, she sought out a different nurse to verify a medication dose. Somehow, word spread that this other younger nurse had reported said sleeping nurse. I was sitting on the unit with my preceptor, trying so hard to stay awake while going through new employee modules on the computer screen, when suddenly in through the conjoined unit door stomps the sleeping nurse. She began screaming (yes, screaming) about the new younger nurse. Expletives and threats were thrown out left and right, “just wait until they need help, let’s just see who jumps in. Sure, won’t be me!”. I could feel my blood pressure rising, my stomach dropping, this nurse was literally screaming so loudly that I could hear every word she was saying about my friend! My preceptor looked pale, quite possibly the look of complete and utter embarrassment, but she never said a word. She didn’t ask the nurse to lower her voice or to leave the room… nothing, she sat by silently consenting.

When my break approached, I quickly gathered my lunch and went to find my friend. I had to tell her what had happened, I had to prepare her! To my surprise, my friend was well aware of the slander that had reached my ear, because it had also reached every room on our unit. That was the pivoting point. The point where the whispers began to take over, slowly creeping down the hallways at night. That was when work wasn’t just about patient care anymore, it was about making it through the night without a bullying confrontation.

I began to learn that a napping nurse wasn’t all that uncommon. I remember watching a seasoned nurse dozing with a critical patient. I remember the fear coursing through me as I thought of all the things that could possibly go wrong, falling, aspirating, etc. I sat staring at this nurse, my heart racing. This was so wrong; didn’t she know better? I was terrified to say anything to her, especially since she was the scheduler. If I pissed her off, I could say goodbye to a tolerable schedule. There were rumors that feedings were skipped, then documented later, that patients weren’t checked, dressings not changed until 0600 when charting needed to be updated, because nurses were sleeping. Every night I worked I fell deeper and deeper into the abyss of disappointment.

My conscious could not withstand knowing the possibility that patients were not being monitored or cared for properly. It made my body ache with anger. I applied to this job to make a difference, to be a part of something bigger than myself. I knew in my soul that this was all wrong. Sleeping on the job was a fire able offense, yet supervisors seemed to brush the issue under the rug—a dirty little midnight secret.

After having multiple people telling me to forget it, including one of my preceptors, who said, “it’s time to move on”, I found myself working in an isolation room with my patient on one side and a ventilated patient on the other. I could hear the bells and whistles of the ventilator every so often. I could see the nurse on the other side, the light from their phone glowing on their face, closed eyes, relaxed breathing. The alarms began again, they didn’t flinch. After watching intently for what seemed like forever the nurse stirred, rubbed their eyes and attended to the patient.

That was it. I had had enough! My body quivered with anger and fear. I sent an email to my director. I had previously brought my concerns to my charge nurse, my supervisors, the director was my next move. It was 0300, and I sent the email describing what I had witnessed, that the only trained ventilator nurse in the room was asleep. That I felt uncomfortable because patient safety was at stake and my reports to supervisors didn’t seem to be changing the behavior. An hour later I had a reply, it was sent to myself and 5 supervisors on my floor. The email, that I had sent to the director in confidence, was shared with five other employees—I had been thrown under the bus.

My blood was boiling, my heart dove into my stomach, how could this happen? I was crying out for help, more specifically, help for my patients. I felt so betrayed. I could hardly breathe or see straight. I felt as though I had been thrown to the wolves, the supervisors weren’t going to be happy reading my complaint. An idea floated into my head, I was going to CC: the Director of Nursing. I was tired, absolutely fed up with being called names, of the whispers, rumors, degrading behaviors, and the nasty looks. I replied to my floor director, all of the supervisors, and the hospital nursing director. I expressed my concern that my confidential email was shared with multiple people without my permission. I explained that my concerns were valid, that change needed to happen, and that as the director of the floor, they were indeed RESPONSIBLE.

I wasn’t going to back down, I couldn’t now. It was too important. There were too many issues, none of it could be forgotten, these patients deserved better, safer, care! I waited for what seemed like forever for a reply—from anyone.

Finally I received an email from the director of nursing, a simple— “thank you for including me in this.” Someone had finally heard me, someone really heard me! It felt like maybe, just maybe, with the DON involved my dreams to work on this floor, with this population, could still become a reality.

But the bullying only progressed, while my anxiety became heavier and heavier. I would cry incessantly driving to and from work. I had headaches, all I wanted to do was sleep. I dreaded putting my uniform on. I loathed sitting to get my assignment at the beginning of my shift, loathed hearing who I’d be partnered with. I was quiet, scared, and isolated. I tried as best I could to get lost in my patients and the care I was providing—but so many times my focus would shift to feeling like everyone was out to get me, or my friend for that matter.

I remember one night, working the same shift as my friend “Thing 1.” She was in a separate room from me, with some of the dreaded nurses from the Retention and Recruitment Committee. A patient’s alarms began to ring, my friend ran to stimulate the patient to check their status and was quickly shoved into the wall by another nurse! “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my patient!” My friend, in shock, told the nurse to take their hands off them!

My counterpart, Thing 1, stood in the doorway, signaling for me to come out to the hallway. That’s when it was shared that she had just been assaulted in a patient’s room, by another nurse. My rage was overwhelming. I could not believe that someone had the audacity to physically shove a coworker, as they were trying to help a patient no less. My friend asked me to be their witness when they went to report the occurrence to our supervisor. They no longer felt safe talking with supervisors alone, which was a mutual feeling. Supervisors were a part of the bullying, taking part in the slander, the rumors, the name calling. How were we expected to trust anyone?

We stood in the hallway, the supervisor met us, looking annoyed already. Folding their arms across a clipboard on their chest. My friend explained what happened, named the nurses that were present, the offender. Our supervisor looked us dead in the face and said, “You should have pushed them back, what do you expect me to do about it now!?”

I couldn’t hold back any longer, “You have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.” My supervisors’ eyes grew two sizes I swear. I was never one to talk back, but this was outrageous. “You’re telling us that violence fixes violence!? The cops should have been called is what you’re telling me? Because you are incapable of handling it or giving a tangible option to take care of this issue? Absolutely asinine. I’m in shock.” I threw my hands in the air, completely fed up with this unit, these supervisors, these bullies, that all stood shoulder to shoulder with each other. I grabbed my friend and we walked off the floor for a much-needed caffeine break.

We spent several nights hiding out in the hospital, finding areas to eat and study hospital protocols and procedures. Reading about sleeping, lateral violence, and retaliation. All these policies stated that there was zero tolerance for these offenses—yet here we were… highlighting them so that we could take them to our floor director to remind them of the rules that were being broken.

We wrote down firsthand accounts, dates, and times. We explained how our peers and even preceptors had warned us to, “drop it…it isn’t a big deal.” I remember them telling us we were, “causing drama, trouble, and just needed to go.”

We had meeting upon meeting with the DON. We would cry to them, both so frustrated, unable to explain how traumatic and disappointing it was. I felt so defeated and heart broken. My dreams were going up in flames all around me. I had wanted this job so badly. I had dreams of flourishing in this niche and becoming an integral part of the team. I wanted to do great things but this environment was toxic.

After five months of fighting, we turned in our highlighted policies and procedures to our floor director and the DON. With shaking voices, we reviewed all the insults we had experienced and witnessed. That quickly sprung up a phone call from Human Resources on the way home the next morning. One of the incidents finally caught someone’s attention. We had confidential meetings scheduled with HR. It all was nerve wrecking. I couldn’t believe the wheels were finally turning. Change could be coming!

After the meetings (which left neither one of us very impressed) we were told not to meet with our floor director without the DON present. That there would be a review of everything that was discussed, and actions would follow if necessary. Our next shift, we clung close to each other, keeping ears open, waiting for the other foot to drop. Something was about to happen, we could feel it, like the eerie calm before the storm.

As our shift came to a close, we, “Thing 1 and Thing 2”, quickly gathered our things, and gave report. We were then informed that there was a mandatory meeting to go over policies and procedures. All nurses would need to rotate through and attend within the next 72 hours. We looked at each other terrified and booked it as quickly as we could. As we were driving home together, a text came buzzing through from one of our allies. It stated that our director, walked into the first-round meet and was promptly escorted out of the room by security. The DON then went over the policies and procedures we had highlighted. Stating that if anyone were to be caught sleeping on the job, they would be given their final warning. There were discussions about bullying and retaliation. Everyone in that room signed policies stating they understood the consequences of their behaviors. We both started tearing up. We had done it. Two brand new nurses had had their voices heard. We had accomplished change! We had climbed the ladder, we had done everything in our power to shed light on the darkness of the floor.

Immediately following, an intermediate director was named and we were told it was time for our reviews. My review was horrible. I had negative comments from my peers. The intermediate director had me sign my review, even though I refuted its contents. No plans were made for improvement, I was told I needed to work on my peer relationships, needed to attend outings—that the Retention and Recruitment Committee had planned. I don’t think I have ever felt so low, disrespected, belittled, and attacked.

The unit continued its whispers and my drive to make this thing I once wanted so badly to work, died. I raised my white flag after six months of pain. I reached out to my director at my previous hospital, where I had been a technician for 7 years. I told them that I was miserable, that I wanted to come back. Luckily, there was an open night’s position, and they told me it had my name on it. It took me less than two seconds to accept. They helped organize an immediate transfer and within a week I was back “home.”

It has taken countless years for me to put into words what happened and to try and navigate the flood of emotions: anger, resentment, and disappointment that I have held onto all these years. I can say now after having time to grow as a nurse and process these traumatic events, I have no regrets. I have no more intrusive thoughts telling me I did wrong by protecting my patients. The anger that once burned hot has shifted into passion and drive—drive to protect new nurses, drive to support my coworkers, and drive to ensure all patients are being safely cared for.