#just noticed that that shot of reva's hand is different to the one in the trailer

[hayden-christensen]

What have you become? I am what you made me.

OBI-WAN KENOBI: PART III dir. Deborah Chow | released June 1, 2022

[julia-highstorms]

The Third Park (Damien x OC (Ellie)) - Part 10

Summary: After weeks apart, Damien and Ellie are finally reunited and the investigation begins!

Note: (most) characters belong to Pixelberry Studios. Damien is 100% human in here and it’s a Male!MC (Allen). Ni Ni's and Santiago Cabrera's gifs don't belong to me. Link to previous parts.

Pairing: Damien x OC (Ellie)

Rating: Teen (language)

Tagging: @christopher-powell @boneandfur @kennaxval @writtenbycandy @thequeenchoices @client327 @damiensnazario @never-ending-choices @walkerismychoice @laniquelove @confessionsofabrokegirl @dangerous-capri15 @parkerattano @clarissafics @pilitella @hellomynameisdeviblaire @odetomars @cocomaxley @her-imperial-hangman-s @endlesswoods @suckmydestielobsessedassbutt @bluediamondsapphire @wa-reva If you would like to be tagged, please, tell me!

Word count: 3167

Damien Nazario and Eleanor Zhou spent the next month talking to each other virtually. When they weren’t sending strictly professional emails to each other about the case - more information about Lucy and Robert and new suspicions she had towards them -, they were texting each other - these chats were way more playful and with a lot of teasing, especially from her.

He even wasn’t reacting that bad with Allen’s new married life. In fact, things didn’t change much. His best friend already lived with Hayden before their marriage - same about Nadia and Steve -, so the only big difference was that stupidly shining ring on his left hand. But everything was exactly as it had always been.

…Although Nadia and Allen noticed that Damien seemed more cheerful lately and with his face glued on his phone, and they knew it was because of their beloved little cousin.

Damien had just put his phone away after smiling to a silly text Ellie sent him asking him to save her from this super boring gala at Prescrott Industries. Her co-worker and friend Poppy Patel convinced her to go with her there - she was covering something for Mortif - by using the argument of free drinks and fancy food and the possibility of meeting superheroes Lilith and Talos. Eleanor ended up agreeing - although she loved spending her nights at her home and especially not working -, so now they were at the hottest party of the city. But Ellie was having serious doubts if Poppy really knew them, like she liked to claim, so they made a bet and now she was mingling at this party waiting for them. Ugh, she hated office parties.

“So... you and Ellie connected, huh?” - Allen asked, a small grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. He, Damien and Nadia were on their weekly happy hour. They always hung out on Friday nights for some drinks, while Hayden and Steve did other things. They were married now, but it didn’t mean they were glued to each other; each of them had their own lives.

Damien shrugged, taking a sip of his own beer.

“You could say it.” - the Park cousins giggled.

“Oh, come on, man! I found you both naked in my apartment, remember?” - they all shared a laugh. Damien was mortified with embarrassment when Allen and Hayden came into the apartment and found Eleanor wearing just a shirt as he desperately tried to find his pants and hid his boner. - “I swear, your faces were the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“HA! I didn’t see it but I crack up every time I imagine the scene!” - Nadia laughed so hysterically, that she almost spilled her own drink.

“Shut up, you two.” - Damien said, still laughing softly.

“Anyway, I’m happy for you, my friend. You’re both very dear to me.” - he didn’t notice the sad smile Damien gave him.

Fuck. When he was going to stop being in love with Allen?

“And how is going Ellie’s case?” - Nadia asked.

“I was mostly gathering information about Lucy and that Robert dude. What are their schedules, their relationship history, this kind of thing. Ellie has been very efficient.”

“I swear, that woman works way too much! I always knew that, but god! Even when she doesn’t have to, she’s working! Please, D, when you go meet her again, make sure to not make her work more!”

“Well, this will be a problem, Nadia, since I’m working for her.”

“Exactly, you are working! Not her! Oooh and I know how you could improve your services to her, if you know what I mean...” - Damien chuckled to Nadia’s wiggling eyebrows. She was terrible.

“Oh my God, Nadia, Damien doesn’t do this kind of service!” - Allen laughed out loud. - “At least, I don’t think so.” - Damien rolled his eyes and drank his beer. They were both terrible. - “Oh yeah, this reminded me: when are you going to Northbridge? You have to go there to follow Lucy and her shady boyfriend, right?” - Allen knew his methods too well by now.

“I’m going there as soon as I free myself from the other cases. There’s just one left and I’ll meet with the client this week. So I’ll probably be there next week.”

“Oooooh!” - Nadia and Allen said in unison.

“This is great!” - Nadia squealed. - “Ah, will you tell me when you’re going there? I have to return this book she borrowed me! And D, please, get laid! Your mood has been so good lately because of Ellie and I know it’ll just get better when you’ll be reunited with her! Right, Allen?” - she slapped her cousin’s arm, almost making him spill his beer. She definitely was drunk.

“Oh my God, Nadia, I can’t believe you’re telling Damien this!” - Allen laughed a little too much. He was drunk too.

“Alright, I think you two had enough drinks for today. You’re drunk and need to go home.”

“I’m not home! You go drunk!” - Nadia scowled.

“What she said!” - Allen agreed as Damien took them both out of the pub, chuckling to those two dorks.

In the end, it was decided that Damien would go to Northbridge only by the end of July, seven weeks he and Ellie had met each other. One of the cases was more complex than it seemed, besides, Ellie came with a great idea: the last Saturday of the month was going to fall on Lucy’s birthday, so she would be throwing a party at her house. That was going to be a great opportunity for him to meet both Lucy and Robert at once and watch them. Even though they both were very much likely going to act as normal and happy and healthy as possible, it was worth a shot.

Damien Nazario: Are you sure this plan will work?

Eleanor Zhou: Trust me! ;) Now get your pretty ass here to Northbridge!

So, there he was on his way to Northbridge on the last Saturday of July. The party would be just at night, but he was going there a little earlier so he and Ellie could plan how they were going to investigate both Robert and Lucy at the same time.

After doing his check-in on a simple yet clean enough hotel - he would stay in the city for the weekend - and leaving his bag in his bedroom, Damien followed Eleanor’s directions towards an apartment complex. Every building in Northbridge seemed modern and shining. Silas Prescrott had built half of the town and he seemed to really enjoy Prescrott Industries QG architecture.

As Damien approached Ellie’s apartment on the second floor, he felt his heart beating slightly faster inside his chest. He’d been waiting for that moment the last month and almost couldn’t contain his excitement. Damien Nazario rarely would let his emotions take control over him, but when it was about the Parks… he was numb to them. Especially to Eleanor Zhou.

Eleanor was pacing around the apartment, trying to get herself busy while she waited for Damien’s arrival. He had already texted her saying that he was in Northbridge and going to meet with her.

It’s been seven weeks since her vacation in New York, but it seemed like much more. That past month couldn’t pass fast enough, and Ellie was anxious to meet him again, but in a good way. She was having those butterflies inside her stomach, like she always felt when she was about to see a crush of hers when she was in school. But she was almost 30 now. She wasn’t supposed to feel like that, right? She was an independent woman, she had bought her own house with her own money, she had already made a career for herself at Mortif, she had personally met Silas Prescrott - the most powerful man of Northbridge (only behind the Mayor) -, Lilith and Talos superheroes two weeks ago and took a selfie with them! So why she was so nervous to see Damien again?

Get ahold of yourself, woman!

The bell suddenly rang and Eleanor almost ran towards the door, her heart pounding inside her chest. When she opened it, Damien was grinning at her with that charming and cocky smirk of his, looking even more handsome and hotter than she remembered. God, had Damien Nazario always been that gorgeous?

“Hey, you.” - he greeted her.

“Hey, you.” - she answered, grinning back and letting him in. - “Bienvenido a mi casa.” - he chuckled as he stepped in.

“Gracias, señorita. No sabías que hablas Español.”

“Sólo un poco.” - she winked at him. It was funny how she was so nervous on seeing him again and now that he was finally there, she was feeling so at ease. Damien had a strange but welcome calming effect over her. - “Aaand I better stop speaking in Spanish before I make a fool of myself.” - she chuckled sheepishly.

“You would never make a fool of yourself.”

“Charming, aren’t you?”

“Always.” - he said with that cocky smirk never leaving his face. - “Oh yeah, before I forget, I brought something to Lucy, I hope she’ll like it.” - he showed her the wine he was carrying.

“Oh, I’m sure she will appreciate it. Anyway, make yourself at home.”

He took a quick look around her house as she took the bottle from his hand and put it on her kitchen counter. Ellie lived in a small, yet tidy and comfy one-bedroom apartment. Two big windows took a large part of the living room wall, making the place very bright. There was a fragrance of fresh coffee in the air.

“Nice place you got here.” - he said, turning to look at her again. She was much closer now, just a step from him, her dark eyes on his.

“For fuck’s sake, Nazario, kiss me already.” - Eleanor said impatiently and pulled him in a heated kiss.

Their mouths kissed hungrily remembering the taste of one another as their hands explored each other’s bodies. They stumbled together, until they both fell on her couch, with Ellie giggling beneath him.

“Did you miss me?” - she whispered, kissing his neck, feeling his hard crotch already pulsating on her inner thighs.

“More than I should.” - he said, still breathless because of the warm welcome. She laughed out loud and cupped his face, staring into his brown eyes.

“Yeah, me too.” - Damien held her in his arms, letting a contented sigh out as her mouth met his again.

He was lost in the taste of her lips, the sensation of her smooth skin pressed against his, the smell of her hair... When he suddenly felt something wet against his jaw. Was she... licking him?

Damien opened his eyes, face to face to a pair of eyes. They weren’t Eleanor’s, but more... canine. A yellow Labrador Retriever looked happily at him, its tongue pending on the side of its mouth.

“Freddie!” - the woman half shouted and half laughed, as they sat up. - “I’m sorry about this. I guess Freddie wanted to give you a welcome kiss too.” - she giggled, stroking her dog affectionately.

“That’s fine...” - Damien said, although he didn’t like dogs kisses very much. The dog was so happy to see him that his whole body wiggled with excitement. He noticed that Freddie was bigger than Dipper and even more energetic. How the hell he didn’t notice that dog there before? The apartment was tiny.

“Do you want something to drink? Some water? Coffee? Something stronger?” - she asked, getting out of the sofa, followed by Damien. The moment was completely gone.

“Coffee would be nice.”

“I’ll pour some coffee for us then.” - he had only noticed that a song was playing when she slightly danced towards the kitchen, her hips moving according to the rhythm of the early 80s catchy song. Damien chuckled a little, not surprised that she was listening to that genre. Ellie had told him that Freddie was named after Freddie Mercury. How she could be so sexy and so silly at the same time?

He sat by the dinner table as Ellie extended him a coffee mug.

"So the plan is go to your best friend's, Lucy James, birthday party and watch her and her suspicious boyfriend, Robert Zucko?" - he asked. She nodded at him, sipping her own drink. - “And Lucy won’t find it strange if I show up on her birthday party?”

“No, since you’ll be with me.”

“That means nothing. We have to come up with something more concrete.” - Eleanor rolled her eyes.

“Well, she knows about you. I might have told her that we went out on a couple of dates… so I can say that we started dating! I know Lucy, she’s a hopeless romantic and she’s been bothering me to date someone for a while, so she’ll be thrilled if I go to her party with you.”

“So all I need to do is pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“Exactly. I hope it won’t be too difficult.” - she had that mischievous grin that made him crazy back onto her lips. Damien chuckled.

"I guess I can manage doing it." - he said and leaned in, kissing her lips softly. He missed those damn lips of hers so bad.

"Great." - she whispered back, before pushing him. If he kept on kissing her, she wouldn't be able to focus on what they had to do. Which was investigate her best friend's shady boyfriend. - "So, what do you think about Robert?"

"I still haven't met him, Ellie. I won't make any precocious assumptions." - she rolled her eyes again.

"Even with all the material I sent you?"

"Well, I must admit that his work hours are a bit odd." - they were a mess. Robert Zucko seemed to work whenever he wanted. Sometimes during the whole night, others just a couple of hours in the afternoon. "What does he work in again?"

"Last time I heard, he owned a pub. Zucko's Point. Not very creative." - she drank the rest of her coffee as Damien wrote down the pub's name. - "It was in the southern part of the city."

"Well, guess I just found my favorite pub in Northbridge." - he grinned at her.

"I've never been there. I do the most to avoid another encounter with him. But I'll go with you there if necessary."

"Your presence would be much appreciated." - they shared a smirk and Ellie stood up.

"Well, I better start getting dressed for the party. Please, make yourself comfortable." - she said as she walked towards her bathroom.

Damien almost proposed to shower with her, but it was not the time for that. They had work to do first.

So he paced around the living room, sipping on his coffee, with Freddie following his steps, sniffing his clothes. He awkwardly patted the dog in the head and approached one of the shelves. Eleanor still owned a lot of CDs, even though with all that streaming music service. She had all the genres possible, since classic music to punk rock. Most of the books in the shelf were about design and novels. Her favorite genres were chick flicks romance and crime & mystery.

There were more CDs on the TV rack, next to the stereo. Damien recognised the late 80s indie song that was playing now, as the singer sang "There she goes… there she goes again". There was a single framed picture next to the TV. He took a closer look of it and saw a teenage Ellie grinning widely, with an older Asian couple on her high school graduation day. The woman was short and chubbier, with delicate features on her smiley face and the man was tall and had an athletic body and a bright smile. Eleanor was the perfect mix of both of them. Damien caught himself smiling to the frame.

“Done, I'm ready.” - Ellie returned from her bedroom, wearing a party dress. - "Oh, found something that you like?" - she approached him and he showed her the picture.

"Your parents looked very proud of you here."

And then he saw Eleanor Zhou most beautiful smile as she gently took the picture from his hands.

“Can you believe that my dad actually told me that I didn't do more than my obligation?"

"Ouch." - she giggled.

"Yeah. He could be harsh sometimes, especially when it was about my education, but I know he loves me and just wishes the best to me. He’s the funniest guy I know, although he loves telling jokes that no one finds funny when he’s drunk. And he has the loudest laugh possible." - Damien smiled to her story. She pointed to the woman. - "My mom had the brightest smile and when she was mad at me or Dad, it was the most terrifying thing. When I was little and did something that would make her angry, I sometimes cried even before she actually lectured me. But she was the fairest and wisest woman I knew. Her laugh was contagious and she had the best hug ever. She was my role model, my superhero.” - the corners of Ellie’s mouth turned up.

"And how did they meet?"

"They both studied at Hartfeld. So I did too." - she shrugged. - "They married right after they graduated from college and moved to my hometown, Cedar Cove, in Washington. My mom was born and raised in New York, but she enjoyed the small town vibes more. Me, on the other hand, had always been attracted to the big city lights and buzz." - she put the picture back to its place in the TV rack and turned to him. - "What about you? Are you close to your family?"

"Well, close as I can be with me living here and them living in Puerto Rico. But I go visit them every year, and I have an uncle who lives in NYC. And my sisters are always bossing me to send 'American things' to them and to my nephews and nieces." - Eleanor chuckled.

"I wish I had younger siblings to boss around too. But as the younger Park cousin, you can imagine what Nadia and Allen did to me when we were kids." - they shared a half-hearted laugh. - "And my paternal cousin, Aiden, is much younger than me, so we're not that close. He had just graduated high school, so I didn't have the chance to boss him around. But it's good that you're still in touch with your family." - she kept staring the photo with a sad smile on her face. - “I still miss her everyday of my life. I wish I could pick up the phone and simply call her whenever I feel lost or a little insecure. She always knew what to tell me. Although I love my dad, there's some things that he just can't get, you know?” - he nodded.

"I know they both still are very proud of you." - he said, gently intertwining his fingers with hers, in a reassuring and comforting way. Ellie turned to him and smiled gratefully.

"Well, enough with reminiscences about the past, we have a party to go and a dude to unmask!"

[askchanceoffates]

A Chance of Fates - ch 9

Sorry about the ridiculously long wait - somebody *side eyes @nightzilla333 * kept working on her novel instead

“Let's get to the Tower of Ishal!” Alistair yelled over the roar of the battle down below. The three Wardens and the Mabari ran across the bridge, narrowly avoiding the ballista fire.

Markov wondered briefly if Nym had joined the fray yet. He voiced his question quietly, not expecting a response.

Revas ran frantically passed Markov, panting, “No talkie. Only runnie.”

Markov shook his head bemusedly, muttering, “Cause that’s a word,” under his breath.

Alistair, Markov, and Furgus watched as Revas barrelled headlong into a tower guard. They went down with much flailing of their limbs and an unsightly shrill squawk from one of the two. Perhaps both.

“That didn't happen,” Revas said as she bounced back to her feet. “Shut up! That never happened!”

“What didn't happen? You running into a soldier and falling down squealing?” Alistair laughed.

“It wasn't a squeal, it was a shriek!” Revas glared. “And shut up!”

The tower guard slowly stood. “There's darkspawn in the tower!” He said in a panicky voice, uncertain if these were the Wardens or not. He hoped they weren't.

The three Wardens blinked at the tower guard. “How did darkspawn get into the tower?”

“They came up through the tunnels ser!”

“Tunnels?”

“Yes, the tunnels under the tower!” The guard was bemused by their confusion. “I told a different Warden about the tunnels earlier…”

The three Wardens shared a glance with each other, Revas’ eyebrows high on her face. “We were never told. Why weren’t the tunnels guarded better?”

“We don’t have time for this!” The tower guard shouted. “Follow me!”

The Wardens raced after the tower guard into the Tower of Ishal. At one point a mage had helped them with a battle, but a stray arrow from a dying darkspawn caught the poor man in the throat, spilling his life on the stone floor. The party worked their way through the throngs of darkspawn as they made their way up the floors of the tower. Not a word was spoken to each other unless it was a call of warning or a request of help.

Finally, finally, the small group had a chance to breath near the top of the tower in front of giant oak doors. Revas shook her curly red hair and then tossed her hair back, chest heaving. Markov frowned at the remaining arrows and fingered the quiver attached to his belt. The few arrows he had rattled around. Alistair wiped the blood off of his blade and looked around. “I really hope that Nym has better luck on the field.”

“I really hope that we aren’t too late,” Revas muttered, and winced at the glares that were shot her way.

“Let’s just go light the fire.” Alistair shoved past Revas and pushed the giant doors open.

The group stared in horror at the giant horned abomination that was chowing down on a body. Blood smeared the floors and the walls. Bodies were littered everywhere, more so than the Wardens had seen before. The stench of death was thick in the air.

“Andraste’s bountiful bosom, what is that?” Revas swore.

“An ogre.”

The body the ogre was eating was tossed at the group causing them the scatter. The disgusting beast roared, spittle flying from its mouth. Revas landed in a roll, quickly getting to her feet, and Markov had three arrows flying through the air, firing off the arrows lightning fast.

“How do we kill this thing?” Markov shouted, firing off another arrow. “This thing doesn’t seem to be getting hurt!”

“Just keep hitting it!” Alistair shouted back as he charged the monster and bashed it with his shield. The tower guard joined Alistair in a frontal assault as Revas circled behind and stabbed at the back of its legs. Furgus bit and clawed at the ogre’s ankles, narrowly avoiding being squished.

Revas yelped as she dodged a kick, her off-hand dagger slashing up wildly and nicking the monster in the ankle. Her yelp was covered, however, Markov shouting. “I’m out of arrows!”

Markov slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his family’s sword and shield. He looked for an opening against the ogre but could not get close enough to strike. Markov snarled, picked a loose stone off of the floor, and whipped the stone at the beast. Luck was on his side: as the stone spun through the air, the ogre turned its head. The stone struck right in its eye and the ogre roared.

The furious beast swung its arms around and grasped the nearest fleshy being it could. The tower guard screamed as he was lifted into the air, his legs kicking uselessly. He continued to scream as a giant fist hit him once, twice. By the third hit the soldier was silent, any and all movement stopped. The ogre hit the limp body twice more before dropping the corpse onto the ground.

Revas didn’t make a noise as she leapt onto the monster’s back, managing to stab it once before she was tossed off. Revas hit the stone wall hard. Her body landed in a limp pile on the floor.

“REVAS!” yelled Markov. He managed to get close enough to see that she was still breathing, then returned his attention to the ogre. Furgus stood guard over Revas’ prone form.

The ogre roared and charged at Alistair, who shrieked (in a very manly fashion) and jumped out of the way.

Markov ran up behind the ogre and slashed at the back of its knees; his blade went deep, blood spurting from the wound. Howling, the ogre spun around. Markov, putting all of his weight into it, rammed the monster with his shield. The ogre staggered back. Before the beast could regain its footing, Markov jumped. Planting his feet (as best he could) on the ogre’s ribcage, Markov plunged his sword deep into its chest. The ogre fell back and Markov finished it off by driving his sword home in the ogre’s face.

Exhausted, Markov awkwardly rolled off the corpse and collapsed spread-eagle on the floor. Alistair gave a breathy giggle and yanked the sword out of the ogre’s face before offering Markov a hand up. After a slight struggle to stand, Markov shuffled over to the signal fire while Alistair picked up Revas.

“You better light it. We’ve surely missed the signal!” Markov nodded sharply at Alistair’s words. He snatched a torch off the wall and tossed it onto the kindling. The signal fire roared to life, and Markov joined Alistair by the window.

Together they watched with mounting dread as Loghain’s troops made no move towards the battlefield. The two men looked at each in sheer horror as Loghain’s troops retreated, leaving those on the field to be slaughtered. Before anything could be done, the door leading down to the rest of the tower shuddered once, twice, and shattered. Darkspawn poured in and the last thing the Wardens saw were arrows flying towards them.

Run.

Nym swore under her breath as her shin smacked against a log in an attempt to jump over it. Twigs snagged at her robes as she fell. Her knee hit the ground hard and her staff tumbled out of her grip. In the distance she could hear the sounds of fighting. The screams. The slaughter.

Nym laid on the ground, catching her breath. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep. One, two, three. Breathe out. Her eyes opened and her hand crawled along the forest floor until it the smooth wood of her staff. Her fingers curled around it and drew it close. Bracing it on the floor Nym used it to pull herself up off of the ground. Her knee throbbed.

Run.

Nym rolled her eyes, and if she weren’t so dainty, the noise she emitted could have been described as a growl. She started to walk, one of her feet lagging behind the other. As she walked the limp became less noticeable, and soon she was able to walk as if she hadn’t had a hard fall.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been walking for, unable to keep track of time in the Wilds. She stopped abruptly, ears twitching. The air was suddenly thick with growls and snarls emanating from the bushes. The darkspawn erupted from the thick underbrush, surrounding Nym.

The first one went down in a flurry of ice and a whack on the head with her staff. She mind blasted the others close to her and darted to the side to give herself some room. Two more came after her at the same time. A twirl of her staff tripped the feet out from one of the monsters. She blocked the blow from the second in a continuing motion from the trip and struck the beast across the skull. Blood sprayed out from the wound on its head.

The one she had tripped started to get up, and two genlocks joined it. With a deep breath she wiggled her fingers and thrust her arm out. A fireball flew through the air and knocked the three darkspawn back. Their dying screams were nearly swallowed up by the sounds of the flames licking across them.

Vision blurring Nym steadied herself and spread her legs slightly, bracing. The scream of a hurlock signaled the rush, and her staff blocked another blow. The axe hooked onto the staff and yanked it out of her grip. Nym yelled and pulled a dagger into her hand from the confines of her outfit. She buried the blade to the hilt in an eye socket before yanking it out. She launched off of the falling body and into the fray of the darkspawn, a wild look in her eye.

Nym didn’t know how long she was able to block and twirl her way through her deadly dance, but she knew it was coming to an end when a sword hilt smacked her temple and forced her to her knees. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, daring the hurlock to finish her off.

A blade carved through the hurlocks shoulder, only coming to a stop midway down the torso. Nym rolled to the side as the body fell forward. She was on her feet in an instant, helping the new comer take care of the remaining darkspawn.

Finally, with the last three dead in a circle around her and the new comer, Nym turned. “Who’re you?”

“Carver. Andraste's ashes, I was not expecting to come across another person this deep into the thick - are…Carver Hawke! Where were you on the battlefield? Wait, no, sorry, shouldn't have asked that. You don’t have to answer that, you’re probably another deserter. Did you know you're really pretty? Why did I say that please forget I said that not that you aren't pretty oh Maker why am I still talking…” Nym watched with exhausted amusement as Carver babbled.

“I’m a Grey Warden. And, yes, I know I'm pretty. But thank you.”

“Ah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “We should probably keep moving. I’m heading to Lothering. I got family there. They’ll help keep us safe.”

Nym nodded and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s where I was heading, anyway.” Nym swayed on her feet before pitching forward. She felt strong arms catching her, and then nothing at all.

Markov woke with a jolt and sat up in the strange bed.

“Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.” The woman from the Wilds strode over to the bed Markov was sitting on. Looking around, Markov realized he was probably in the hut she had brought them to earlier.

“I remember you. Morrigan, right?”

“Indeed. We are in the Wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds. You are welcome, by the way,” Morrigan smirked as Markov noticed his state of undress and hurriedly pulled the blankets over his lap more. “How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother’s rescue?”

“I...remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn…” He trailed off, rubbing at his headache.

“Mother managed to save you and your friends, though ‘twas a close call. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friends...they are not taking it well.”

“What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the king?” Markov choked out.

“All dead. Your friend has veered between denial and grief since he awoke. He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke.”

Markov nodded and looked around for his armour. “Thank you for helping me, Morrigan.” He started attempting to pull his armour on underneath the blanket; Morrigan rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

“I...you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

Markov smiled slightly at her back. “I guess I’ll go see your Mother then.”

“I will stay and make something to eat.”

Markov walked out of the hut, adjusting the last buckle on his armour. He saw Alistair and Revas standing near Morrigan’s mother while awkwardly avoiding all eye contact. Furgus bounded over to Markov, barking happily. The two Wardens looked up sharply at Furgus’ excitement, mixed emotions warring in their expressions.

“You…you’re alive! I thought you were dead for sure,” Alistair said, relief plain in his voice; Revas said nothing.

“I’m not, thanks to Morrigan’s mother.” He bowed his head to the older woman.

“This doesn't seem real. If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.” Alistair breathed out. He seemed almost scared to speak with any force behind it. When Markov studied Alistair’s face he could see the unshed tears in his eyes.

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad,” Morrigan’s mother said sharply.

Alistair seemed flustered. “I, I didn’t mean… but what do we call you? You never told us your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do.”

“The Flemeth, from legend?” Alistair gaped at her.

“Daveth was right, you are the Witch of the Wilds!” blurted out Revas. Like the first time they met Morrigan, she froze after realizing that she said something and promptly hid behind Alistair.

“And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you three well, has it not?” Flemeth crossed her arms and stuck out her chin.

“Why did you save us?” Markov raised one of his eyebrows. Even Revas seemed interested at Markov’s inquiry – she peeked out from behind Alistair.

Flemeth gave a dark chuckle. “Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

“The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain.” Markov sneered around Loghain’s name, his hands shaking with rage. He noticed that Revas was in a similar state, her left eye twitching.

Alistair spoke breathlessly, pain evident in his speech. “Why would he do it?”

“Now that is a good question. Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see the true evil behind it.” Markov noticed that Flemeth really enjoyed speaking in pointed riddles.

Alistair gave a sharp nod as he spoke. “The archdemon.”

“Then we need to find this archdemon,” said Markov with more confidence than he felt.

“By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at their back. Not to mention, I don’t know how.” Apparently, Alistair was not as good at Markov at faking confidence.

“How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army? It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?” Again with the pointed questions.

“I…I don’t know. Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely.” Alistair looked back and forth between Markov and Flemeth, uncertainty on his face.

“You think Eamon would believe us over Loghain?” After what happened in Highever, Markov did not trust any of the Landsmeet.

Alistair spoke hesitantly, “I suppose…Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan’s uncle. I know him. He’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet,” he gained conviction as he went on, “Of course! We can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!”

“Keep in mind that Loghain was also an honourable man.” Howe’s face flashed in Markov’s mind.

“The arl would never do what Loghain did. I know him too well.” Revas snorted at that, but the others ignored her. “I still don’t know if Arl Eamon’s help would be enough. He can’t defeat the darkspawn horde by himself!”

“We’ll find a way. It’s up to us, after all.” Furgus nudged Markov’s leg in encouragement.

“You have more at your disposal than you think.” Markov wondered if Flemeth was getting tired of spoon-feeding them.

“Of course! The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand help from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!” Alistair’s puppy-like energy was back in full force.

“I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me.”

“So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?” Revas emerged as Alistair talked, ears perked up.

Markov sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I doubt it’ll be as easy as that.”

Flemeth laughed. “And when is it ever?”

“It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to stand against the Blight. And right now, we’re the Grey Wardens.” Alistair gestured to at them, making sure to include Furgus.

“So you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?”

“Yes. Thank you for everything, Flemeth.” Markov bowed his head to her again.

“No, no, thank you. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. Now…before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you.”

“The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have guests for the eve, or none?” Morrigan strolled up to the group.

Flemeth smirked at her daughter. “The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you shall be joining them.”

“Such a shame – what?” Morrigan’s double-take made Revas giggle, which she quickly covered up with an obviously fake cough.

“You heard me, girl. Last time I looked, you had ears!” chided Flemeth.

“Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn’t wish to join us…”

Flemeth waved aside Markov’s concern. “Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”

“Have I no say in this?” Morrigan indignantly crossed her arms.

“You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

Markov nodded. “Very well.”

Alistair, unsurprisingly, appeared less sure of this development. “Not to…look a gift horse in the mouth, but won’t this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she’s an apostate.” Revas bobbed her head in agreement.

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower.”

“Mother…this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready –”

Flemeth grabbed her daughter’s chin. “You must be ready. Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I.”

Morrigan’s defiance deflated with Flemeth’s words. “I…understand.”

Releasing her daughter, Flemeth turned back to the others. “And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed.” She fixed the three Wardens with a serious stare.

“She won’t come to harm with us,” swore Markov, with his hand on his heart.

“Allow me to get my things, if you please.” Morrigan walked back into the hut. A few minutes later, she returned to the group with a pack slung over her shoulders. “I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a small village north of the Wilds as our first destination. ‘Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or, if you prefer, I will simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”

“No, I prefer you to speak your mind.” Revas rolled her eyes at Markov.

Flemeth laughed, “You will regret saying that.”

“Dear, sweet Mother, you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment.”

“Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards.” With that, Flemeth seemed to lose interest in the conversation and ambled away from the group.

Alistair grabbed Markov’s shoulder. “I just…do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?”

Markov groaned. “We need all the help we can get. Without Nym, we definitely need a badass mage.”

“I guess you’re right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them.”

Morrian rolled her eyes. “I am so pleased to have your approval.” The sarcasm was strong with this one.

Markov cleared his throat before any argument could start. “Well, I guess we should be going.” He was pleasantly surprised when everyone – even Revas – made noises of agreement and shouldered their packs. The party gave one last look at the hut and headed off towards Lothering.

[lyraparadigm]

Troy Otto One Shot Series #5

Chapter 5

Arya lay on her back in the dirt and grass as she waited to be let into the Ranch. She looked a complete state, with blood and dust staining her face and matting her hair. Apparently the helicopter with Jake, Charlie, Luciana and Alicia hadn’t arrived at the Ranch yet. Troy had told them all to get out of the truck the instant he had found out. Whilst Nick and Maddison had been miffed, Arya had thought this time away from Troy as a much needed respite. She had spent the better part of the night in the same truck as him. She had fallen asleep at one point and had woken up to find her legs had somehow been stretched across his lap. She had flushed a deep red before quickly correcting her position, pulling her knees in against her chest. They had stopped at one point to switch drivers and Troy had asked her if she wanted to sit inside with him. She hadn’t even bothered replying, choosing instead to lay back in the space he had vacated. He had scoffed and sat in the front, leaving her be.

So now here she was, being made to wait for permission to enter a Ranch she hadn’t even wanted to enter in the first place. Nick and Maddison were arguing about something before Nick rather awkwardly hugged his mother. Arya’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but she turned her head away, deciding she didn’t care to observe their strange behaviour. A few minutes later Nick crouched down beside her.

“I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly.”

Arya rose on her elbows to address him, “You don’t have to. I just lived up to my promise.”

“No.” He shook his head, “Not about Luciana.” He continued, dismissing Arya’s frown.

“You were about to escape. You could have slipped away so easily when my mom had a spoon to Troy’s eye. No one would have even noticed you leave…but you stayed to help. You stayed and made sure Luciana got on that helicopter and now you’re here, at this Ranch because of us. So I’m sorry.”

Maintaining her furrowed brows, she commented, “Didn’t you start the speech off by thanking me? And now you’re sorry? Which is it?”

Nick snorted, “Both.”

“Alright. Don’t sweat it.” Arya nodded, with a hint of a smile on her lips.

“You and your mother got a plan to leave yet?”

It was Nick’s turn to furrow his brows now, “What?”

“Please.” Arya rolled her eyes as she sat up, “You look angry enough to guide a heard of Walkers through this place, just out of spite. So what’s the play?”

Nick shook his head and motioned for her to walk towards a set of benches where Maddison was sat. Once there, Arya observed as Mother and son argued back and forth on tactics. Maddison wanted to stay so Travis and Alicia could find them. Nick wanted to go looking for them. It was clear to Arya that Maddison didn’t trust her but that didn’t bother her much. Who was she to judge others on having trust issues when she herself slept with a dagger tucked under her pillow.

All three of them straightened up as an older man wearing a cowboy hat walked towards them with two cups of coffee. Maddison and the man, Jeremiah, shared a weak joke before they started discussing the helicopter. Arya and Nick stood a distance away, letting Maddison smooth things over with the owner of the Ranch. She saw both adults look towards her and Nick, before Jeremiah addressed the both of them. He motioned for the Ranch gate to be opened, allowing them entrance, before he commented, “Arya. Am I pronouncing that right?”

Arya flattened her lips to suppress a snort of laughter erupting. As if this old cowboy was being mildly racist to her whilst standing opposite the white woman that stabbed his youngest son in the eye.

“Yes Sir.” She mocked, “Arya Reva.”

“Yes, Troy’s told me…a lot about you. He said you were part of the Militia. Thank you for your service.” Jeremiah smiled warmly – well, as warmly as he could manage to fake.

Once they were all inside the Ranch, Jeremiah proceeded to show them all around as he explained how the place ran on solar power and home grown crops. Maddison and Jeremiah exchanged a few passive aggressive snipes at each other with Nick joining in but Arya chose to remain blissfully ignorant of the tension brewing between the Clarks and Otto Sr. choosing instead to observe the environment she was in. These people were sheep, she realised, as she observed how everyone went about their ‘normal’ lives. Sheep were harder to handle than a pack of wolves.

Once Jeremiah had shown the Clarks their house, he led Arya away to a much smaller cabin.

“We don’t really welcome people, much less single folk from the outside.” He said as he showed her to her small cabin.

“Yeah, well, my bad my family’s dead.” She muttered sarcastically under her breath.

“You got a problem with me young lady?”

“Yeah. All your subtle comments about me not being white is really pissing me off. Why not just be blunt about it?”

He seemed angry for a second before he swallowed it and stood taller, “Well we’ve just never had your kind on the Ranch before.”

“My kind? As in humans? Cos I mean, there’s one right there.” She pointed at someone walking past.

Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed at Arya’s sarcasm.

His voice turned frosty as his eyes darkened, “Most people would be damn grateful for being allowed to stay here. It’s the safest place around for miles. But if you want to leave, then be my guest.”

Reigning in her pride, she shook her head, “It’d do me good to stay here. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Satisfied, Jeremiah nodded, “Good. You decide to stay, you contribute. We don’t tolerate free loaders here.”

Arya held her breath and refrained from snapping back at the bigot. Instead, she smiled, nodded and waved him goodbye.

Upon entering the cabin, the first thing Arya did was take a shower. She spent an ample amount of time making sure every last drop of Walker blood and guts were out of her hair. Getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a tank top left on the bed for her, Arya made sure she looked presentable before stepping out of her cabin. She needed to assimilate, if she wanted to get the run down of this place. So she put on her best fake smile and left her cabin, ready to face the sheltered people of Broke Jaw Ranch.

It took about twenty minutes for Arya to realise that people were treating her differently and she wasn’t so sure it was because of the colour of her skin. They either stared at her or scurried away the second she was even in a 20 foot vicinity of them. She felt like Moses parting the damned red sea as she walked through a parted crowd. Just as she was at her wit’s end, about to give up and stalk back to her cabin, she noticed people running in the direction of the gate. Curious, she jogged along. Once she realised what all the commotion was about, her pace picked up till she was all but running beside Nick to get to Luciana. Her heart thudded loudly as she realised Luciana was unconscious and had to be carried back by Jake and Alicia.

“Where’s Charlie?” Arya blurted out as a lump began forming in her throat. She didn’t want to face the possibility that Luciana was dying, so her mind grappled to focus on anything else. Charlie, the blonde haired idiot, was nowhere to be seen. Her stomach lurched a little as she realised it was because he was dead. Jake informed Jeremiah about the helicopter being shot down by people – the same people also killed Charlie as the group recouped in the pass, overnight. Arya didn’t have much time to mourn Charlie before other things caught her attention - things like Troy and Nick squaring up against each other.

“We take her to the infirmary, she may turn. It’s against policy.” Troy got out his gun and began walking closer to Luciana.

“It’s your fault she’s like this! You shot her.” Nick was aghast with disbelief.

“I was defending my men.” Troy callously stated with a shake of his head, “Step out of my way.”

Both men were chest to chest, staring down each other; one determined to kill Luciana and the other determined to protect her. Arya’s eyes closed as she heard Troy cock the gun. Her body felt numb as the only sound she could hear was her rapidly beating heart. Luciana was going to die. Troy was going to shoot her.

“I’ll do it.” She heard Nick’s voice and her eyes snapped open. It was odd, in her opinion, for Nick to give in so easily. Arya figured Troy’s train of thought was similar to hers as he too scrutinised Nick.

“I’m allowed this.” Nick pushed with a stern voice.

“Troy.” Arya found herself blurting out, as she approached him. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt her.” She muttered so her voice didn’t travel. His eyes shot to hers and he found himself sucking in a quiet breath as she whispered, “Please.”

Gritting his teeth, Troy handed over the gun to Nick and walked back to Jake and his father. Arya stayed rooted to the floor, her eyes staring at Luciana’s unconscious form. She felt like an utter failure. She had tried her hardest to save the girl but it wasn’t enough. She heard a round of gasps, forcing her to look away from Luciana. Her eyes widened as she saw Nick with his gun pointed at Troy. His voice shook as he pleaded for them to let Luciana in. Even Maddison had tried persuading her son to put down the weapon but to no avail.

“Go on, listen to your mommy.” Troy taunted and Arya sent a scathing glare his way. Jeremiah stepped into the line of fire and managed to handle the situation, promising Nick to let Luciana in and get her the treatment she needed, so long as she had a pulse. Arya was the first to kneel and feel for a pulse.

“She’s alive.” Her voice was hoarse as she shouted, “Its weak but she’ll make it.”

Once the gun was taken out of Nick’s hand and medics rushed to get Luciana in, the crowd started to disperse. Arya was the first to leave, her shoulder hitting Troy’s chest as she stormed past him. He scoffed in annoyance, his feet following after hers till they reached her cabin.

“He had a gun pointed at me!” Troy fumed, angry at her petulance.

“You mocked him Troy! God would it kill you to show some compassion!?” Arya rounded on him as she stood on the threshold of her cabin.

“Coming from you!?” His voice was pitchy as he shouted back.

“Yes, coming from me.” She spoke through gritted teeth, “You knew she was important to me.”

“It’s policy-”

“I’m not mad about that!” Arya snapped.

“What are you mad about then?” Troy barked, “I’ve done nothing but listen to you and save you-”

“Save me?!” She fumed, “I don’t need saving Cyclops. If it wasn’t for me, Madison would have blinded your ass. And I don’t know what your definition of ‘listening’ is, but pointing a gun at Luciana and being trigger happy doesn’t count!” She screamed before slamming the cabin door shut in his face.

“Bitch!” He kicked the door with his foot before stomping off and leaving her be.

////

Arya spent a good half hour pacing her room angrily. Erratic thoughts collided in her mind as she wondered why she was truly pissed at Troy. His entire attitude towards Luciana’s life and death raised Arya’s heckles. The logical side of her brain understood that the Ranch had a policy to which Troy was trying to adhere to. Even Jake, the bleeding heart, hadn’t tried stopping Troy so then why was she in such a strop with him?

Unable to come to any decent conclusion, Arya settled on the fact that it was just all things ‘Troy’ that she angry at. Maybe she had finally hit her tolerance limit with him. Maybe that was all it was. Suppressing her doubts and warring emotions, Arya sucked in a deep breath and decided to not bother with assimilating just yet. She didn’t have a patience needed for that endeavour – not now anyway. Instead, her feet took her towards the infirmary where Luciana was being treated. She had to see it with her own eyes that the girl would survive.

She entered the room to find Nick by Luciana’s bedside. Her brows furrowed as she noticed the handcuffs on Luciana’s wrists, binding her to the hospital bed. Nick scoffed, noticing what her gaze fell upon, “Yeah they put those on the second she was on the bed. They’re afraid she’ll turn.”

“And? How is she?” Arya asked as she sat on the other side of the bed.

“She’s ok for now. Can you…can you check the chart and see they’re not…you know, sabotaging her recovery?” He asked in a soft voice, his eyes pleading with hers. Arya licked her lips uncomfortably and shook her head, “I’m not a Doctor, Nick. I wouldn’t understand any of it.”

“But you treated her at the base.” He blinked in surprise.

She sighed heavily as she explained, “I just have experience in stitching up cuts. My youngest brother got into fights a lot in college. We all hid it from my Dad – who was a Cop, by the way, so you know,” she shrugged, “I just got really good at patching him up and covering for him.”

Nick chuckled unexpectedly, “Your Dad was a cop?”

“He was a Lieutenant of the LAPD.” She mocked in a serious voice, reminiscent of how her brothers used to imitate their Dad’s proud voice when he reminded them all whose children they were.

“Woah.” Nick laughed, “What was your childhood like?”

Arya snorted, “Rebellious. I was the youngest of four children and I was the only girl.”

“What about your Mom?”

All amusement stripped from Arya’s face as she blinked and stared at her hands.

“Yeah she died years ago.” Her tone was flat and left no room for questions. Nick remained quiet and stared at Luciana’s sleeping form instead. Sighing, Arya rubbed her face as she rose to her feet. “I’ll come back later tonight.”

“You don’t have to.” Nick shook his head, “I don’t…I don’t know why you’ve been helping her. At first I thought it was because you hated Troy but I’ve seen how you are with him.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed at his tone and his words, “How am I with him?”

Unintimidated, Nick replied rather bluntly, “It’s fucked up. You argue with him and I’ve heard your arguments with him- it sounds like you genuinely hate him in those moments but then a few hours later you’re both civil to each other again. I don’t get it.”

Arya mulled over his words as she realised Nick was more observant that she had thought. He hadn’t figured it out yet- her relationship with Troy - and for that she was thankful but she knew she had to give him some explanation for now.

“He tried to kill you and Lucy right? That’s your problem with him.”

“Uh yeah!” Nick grunted sarcastically.

“But you’ve been out there- you’ve seen what it’s like, how people are now. They use this entire situation as an excuse to behave like animals. You can’t trust anyone apart from your family. It’s kill or be killed.”

“You can’t seriously be justifying his actions!” Nick rebuked.

“I’m not” Arya calmly stated, “But I’m saying you wouldn’t hate him if it was someone else in that basement instead of you and Lucy. You wouldn’t hate him if he was doing these things to protect you and your family. You would tolerate his actions, just like the people in this ranch.” She scoffed, “You think they don’t know what he does? It’s all voluntary, Nick. The people here turn a blind eye to it because all they care about is keeping the community safe. Troy does that for them. These people need Troy because guess what? The whole damn world is for the taking and it’s only the wolves that come out on top.”

Nick laughed in incredulity, “You can’t honestly believe there aren’t any good people out there anymore.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” She shook her head, “Sure they exist, but being good doesn’t get you very far in a world like this. You’re lucky you still have your family with you. Protect them any way you know how. Not all of us get second chances.”

Her parting words to him as she left the infirmary gave him a better understanding of her character.

“If staying on this Ranch and making nice with the Ottos means you and your family get to stay safe, then grab that opportunity with both hands Nick. It’s not about being good or bad anymore. It’s about surviving now.”

As Nick mulled over her words, it struck him that she still hadn’t answered his question. Why did she care so much about Lucy anyway?

-/-/-/-

“Hey there! I’m Gretchen Trimbol. Just thought I’d introduce myself to you.” A very perky looking blonde teenager introduced herself to Arya as she was making her way back to her cabin.

“Uh…hi.” Arya blinked in surprise, finding it surprising that someone from The Ranch was actually speaking to her. Trimbol, her mind recalled and she nodded in understanding.

“You’re Mike’s sister.”

“That I am!” The girl continued to beam, “And you saved my brother’s life!”

“Uh..yeah…not so sure-”

Gretchen cut off Arya as she looped her arm with the other woman’s and began walking. Arya stared open mouthed as she let the girl drag her.

“Troy and Mike told us all about you. There was a meeting in the hall before Jeremiah let you guys enter the Ranch. Jake spoke about the Clarks and what a great family they were – that they’d fit right in here – and Troy and Mike spoke about you. Troy said you’ve been travelling alone for a long time? That you lost your family…I’m really very sorry.”

Arya nodded, her mind soothing as she felt a genuine concern emanating from Gretchen.

“Troy said you fought with the Militia and took down three walkers without any guns! That’s so rad.”

Arya felt herself chuckling at the complete absurdity of the situation. This girl thought it was ‘rad’ that she killed 3 walkers.

“He said they took you in and that you’d be a really valuable member of the community.”

“So why has everyone been staring at me weirdly all day?” Arya blurted out, not quite believe what Gretchen was saying.

“Uh cos they’re scared of you? You killed three-”

“Yeah I get that but it’s not a big deal-”

“To us it is! Most of us haven’t even set foot outside the gate ever since this all started but we’ve seen one before. You know, alive-dead.”

She means walker. Arya scoffed internally. They’d seen one since the whole debacle began.

“It scared us all so much. Troy took care of it though. The Militia do stuff like that to keep us safe and I guess now we have you too!”

Arya clicked her tongue and nodded as she mumbled, “I guess you do.”

“So uhm how old are you?”

“What?” Arya blinked at the abruptly random question.

“Your age.” Gretchen pushed, with an ever present smile on her face.

“24…”

“Ooh…I guess we can make an exception this one time.”

“What-”

“We have bible study every evening and you need to be a certain age to get an invite but you’re cool so you’re welcome anytime.”

“Listen.” Arya untangled her arm from Gretchen who was seemingly appearing weirder and weirder.

“I’m not Christian or Catholic…or…well, if anything I was sorta raised a Hindu. ”

“That’s fine! We’ve got the Gita in the basement-”

Arya’s eyes widened in surprise, “You do?” Frankly she was surprised the teen even knew what the Hindu religious book was.

“Of course we have it! Oppenheimer was inspired by it! I am become death, the destroyer of worlds”.

Arya laughed openly and genuinely in that moment. “Not tonight, Gretchen but some other time, I promise. I have someone I need to see now, but it was really nice meeting you.” She smiled as she parted ways with Gretchen.

///

It was late evening now and Arya felt oddly serene as she walked the grounds of the Ranch, searching for Troy. She found him tending to horses in the stables. It was bizarre for her to watch him be so attentive and tender as he stroked the horse’s coat.

“You gonna say something or are you just gonna stare at me, Doll?” His head turned to her, a small smirk on his face.

Licking her lips, she approached him slowly. With folded arms, she leant against a wooden beam and asked him plainly, “Why?”

He groaned, “I told you, it’s policy-”

“Not that, Troy.” She huffed, “I meant what you told people here about me. I met Gretchen earlier…she told me what you and Mike did.”

“You gonna complain about that now?” He mumbled aloofly as he finished grooming the horse and started walking towards her. His stance reflected hers as he too folded his arms.

“No,” She narrowed her eyes, “I’m asking you why you did it.”

He shrugged, “I invited you here, so it’s my responsibility to make sure my people accept you. That you’re liked and a part of the community.” His expressions were sincere enough and for a long moment she just stared at him in amazement. He had an incredible ability to mimic emotions.

“Ok. So what, you’re saying you care about me fitting in here?” She asked as she too walked closer.

“Yes. You’re my friend.”

Arya snorted, “Ok, let’s cut the bullshit. What’s the real answer?”

Troy appeared wounded. “That was the real answer.”

“No it wasn’t.” Her response was clipped, “Nothing you ever do is just out of the goodness of your heart. Every action of yours is pointed. Your spiel to the people here was pointed. You specifically told them about how I killed Walkers with knives. You told them I had survived on my own on the outside for a long time.”

“All of which are true!” He argued, getting irritated.

“Sure they are but that’s not what you tell people if your aim is to endear me to them!” She spat back. “You told them all of this so that they’d fear me. I just can’t figure out why.”

“Now you’re just delusional, Arya.” He muttered heatedly.

“You’re a manipulative little shit, Troy, I can spot my kind, so just tell me why.” She demanded.

His features were schooled now, all traces of irritation wiped away. Then slowly, as he leant his head down, his lips parted to a smirk.

“I like this about you.” He confessed, his eyes boring into hers.

She rolled her eyes at him, “Of course you do. I bet me calling you out on your bullshit is a real turn on.” She snarked sarcastically.

“It is.” He bluntly admitted, causing her to jerk backwards in shock. Except, in doing so, she found her back thudding against the beam she had previously been leaning against. Her pulse quickened as she noticed their deplorable proximity. She could count the various shades of blue in his pupils from this distance and it unnerved her.

“I don’t give a shit about my people liking you but I do want them to accept you. They need to see you for what you are. They need to see you the way I see you.” His fingers traced her jawline, twisting strands of her thick locks, tucking them behind her ear.

“How do you see me?” Her heart pounded as she inhaled his scent yet her eyes didn’t shy away from his.

“You’re a survivor, Arya. You get this world and you’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect whats yours. I want this place to be yours – these people to be yours because I know you’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.”

Her breath hitched as she realised this was what he looked like when he was being truly sincere; his eyes were wide with intensity and his jaw was clenched in determination.

“Why do you want me to protect this place?” She was caught off guard by his assessment of her. She hadn’t seen it coming. A warm flush burst from the base of her spine and spread across her body as she realised he had been paying attention to her.

“It’s the wolves of this world that have to protect it now and you, Arya, are a wolf” His thumb brushed over her pulse point as his lips stretched to a sardonic smile. “I can spot my kind.” He mocked gently as he leant closer still, till his breath washed over her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” She mumbled faintly, her mouth turning dry as his nose nuzzled her neck. Her palms felt moist as a shiver crawled up her spine.

“Troy,” her voice shook as her palms rose to grip the lapels of his shirt. She was all but waiting for the panic attacks to start; for the flashes of memory to being reeling across her mind and for her vision to go blurry but all she could seem to focus on was the coarseness of his stubble rubbing against the smooth expanse of her collar. Her eyes fell shut as his lips pressed feather light kisses from the corner of her jaw to the tip of her chin.

He pulled back all of a sudden and her eyes snapped open to watch a crooked grin stretch across his face. His eyes twinkled as he murmured, “Guess you are attracted to Cyclops.”

And with that taunt he left Arya alone in the stables feeling frustrated and frankly, pissed.

[akafuckyou-blog]

I WONT MAKE A MESS OUT OF THIS OR WHATEVER IT IS THE LAST ONE ON THE LIST FOR BRUCE XOXOXOO

a ‘drabble’ where jessica tries to save bROOSE from a fatal situation and ends up dying in the process:

it’s not a drabble who am i kidding, here’s a readmore. @cvpedcrusader

It’s just another sleepless night for her. Which means sitting on a fire escape with a full flask and her camera. She hasn’t slept since the Snart Sibling Debacle, not for more than a few minutes. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Lisa’s bloody feet, the crushing look of pain in Snart’s eyes. 

When the strange looking car pulls up, she starts snapping pictures immediately, because what the fuck is that? But as soon as he steps out of it, she stops, breath caught in her throat. She shoves the camera into her bag, slips it off her shoulder, and leans on the bars to get a better look. 

She’s never seen him in the cape before.

Bruce – goddamn Batman – doesn’t notice her. He parks the car in a shadowy alleyway, and makes his way to a warehouse a ways down the street. Stalks around the edge of it. Limping slightly – what the hell? When did that happen?

She hasn’t texted him in days. Not since she asked for money for Trish’s window. Every day she looks at her phone, and her fingers ache to send him something, anything, but nothing is all she has to offer. Apparently, she’s missed a lot.

She sees the broken window before he does, but she’s not surprised when he hauls his way through it. With some difficulty – it’s his knee, she can tell that even from here. She watches the goddamn cape disappear through the window, and she’s moving before she can stop herself. Hauling herself over the fire escape railing, jumping to the ground.

She lands easier than she normally does, wastes no time in getting to the warehouse where she saw Bruce – Batman – disappear into. She finds the same broken window and scrambles inside, as quietly as she can.

There’s a dull murmur of voices. She’s hidden behind a couple of large crates, and she crouches down, uses the shadows to hide her while she peers around the corner.

The warehouse is huge, ringed by a catwalk, and in the center, a group of men are chatting. Over a dozen of them, guns gripped casually, hanging by their sides. They’re gangsters or mobsters, she can never tell the difference. Either way, everything about them screams bad news.

She wants to run, wants to get out of here, before they see her. But her eyes dart around the warehouse. She doesn’t see him, not right away, but there’s a dark spot in the corner of the catwalk across the room that catches her eye.

Bruce is staring right at her. Even behind the goddamn mask, the cowl, she can see the panic in his eyes. He’s mouthing something to her, but he’s too far away. She inches forward, and he holds up a hand to stop her. He slips forward instead, moving like a shadow, like a snake, more gracefully than his knee should allow. ‘Go’ he’s mouthing to her, and for a second, she thinks about actually listening to him for once.

But then one of the men lets out a yell. 

“Up there!” he screams. And suddenly all the guns are pointed directly at Bruce. There’s a split second before they start firing, before the warehouse erupts into chaos and gunfire, mobsters running in every direction, streaming for the catwalk, for Bruce. 

Because of her. “Shit,” she mutters, barely able to hear herself over the bang of gunshots. Sparks are flying as bullets hit the wall, her eyes dart back to where he was, but he’s already gone. She can’t see him, can’t tell if he’s been hit, or if he’s run, or if he’s okay, or if he’s not. The men are running in every direction, shouting “Find him!” and cursing in a way that impresses even her. 

She could still get out. The wind whistles through the broken window behind her, the only sound that doesn’t make her heart race. But something is holding her here. 

No, not something. She’s not goddamn Kilgrave.

Someone. 

“Goddammit,” she hisses to herself. And then she’s running, running straight for the nearest mobster. He lets out a yell, points the gun at her, but she has him tackled to the ground before he can get a shot off. The gun clatters to the floor a few feet away. He tries to throw her off, but she’s stronger than him, stronger than all of these assholes put together. She grabs his head with both hands, slams it hard into the concrete floor. He goes limp, and she scrambles to her feet.

A bullet whizzes past her, inches from her arm. She punches the next mobster in the jaw, sends him sprawling, and then there’s four of them on her. She remembers what Nyssa said, about thinking before acting, about anticipating your opponents move before they make them. These men aren’t hard to read, and they aren’t nearly as fast as Nyssa. She dodges their blows, swipes at their guns. One of them shoves a barrel into her back, and she whips around, catching him with her elbow. He grunts, stumbles back, and she lunges at him, grabbing the gun and crushing it. 

She doesn’t know where Bruce is, and a part of her doesn’t care. She’s winning, and riding the high of this. The adrenaline pumping through her veins as more of them come at her, trying to grab her. She breaks their hold easily, sends them flying across the warehouse. One of them hits the wall, but his gun is still in his hand. He fires a shot – it grazes her arm, and the pain is incredible, a burning sensation tearing through her like Mick’s flames. It’s enough to halt her for a moment, and then one of the men grabs her burned arm, and she cries out, falls to her knees as he twists it. There’s a gun against her temple and then –

A shadow. The fluttering sound of a cape, and then the man is laying on the ground in front of her. She looks up, sees Bruce staring down at her. It might be the pain, but she swears he’s smiling.

He holds out a hand, and she takes it, hauling herself up using him as leverage. They’re back to back now, and it strikes her again how much like Luke he is. But Bruce doesn’t have bulletproof skin, and the remaining mobsters have tight grips on their guns, jabbing them forward as they circle her and Bruce.

“You shouldn’t be here, Jones,” Bruce hisses, his voice low and gravelly.

“No shit,” she pants. She can feel the sigh more than hear it. “Deal with it, batboy,” she says, and then she jumps forward, grabs the first man she can by the collar and throws him into another gangster.

It’s a blur from there, a flurry of fists and guns and bullets. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Bruce, like a goddamn ninja, sweeping the feet out from underneath a mobster, jabbing a fist into his throat. She likes his style, is almost mesmerized by it for a moment. They’re winning, together, taking down every man who comes at them. The circle thins, then breaks, and for a second, she thinks they can get out of this. And then –

Another gunshot. From farther away. She turns slowly, despite the burning in her chest, the way there’s suddenly not enough air. She sees him, the man half-slumped against the wall, holding his smoking gun with a look of deranged pleasure, his eyes wild with glee.

Bruce runs towards him. Which is good, because all she can do is fall forward, landing hard on the concrete floor. It’s cold, and she shivers, even as the burn spreads through her torso. She can feel the floor growing wet and sticky, blood pooling underneath her. Her blood. 

Everything goes black for a moment. Maybe longer. The next thing she knows, Bruce is back, cradling her head in his lap. There’s no gunfire, only pained moaning from a few mobsters who haven’t lost consciousness yet. She’s on her back now, and she can see it. The bullet wound in her chest.

She laughs, feels blood trickle down her lips. Bruce is mumbling something, she can’t understand it, but she can hear the cracks in his voice. She cranes her head back to look at him, still wearing his goddamn mask.

“C-Claire’s going to kill me for this one,” she chokes out. She’s smiling, even now, even as she has to fight to keep her eyelids open. They’re so heavy, and she’s so tired, and he’s so warm. She reaches up, and his hand finds hers, but she shakes her head.

“Take your goddamn mask off,” she whispers breathlessly, sucking in air that doesn’t seem to reach her lungs. A bullet hole will do that. 

He rips the cowl off with one hand, tosses it aside. “Dammit, Jones,” he says, and she can hear him now, can see the worry and the fear in those startling blue eyes. “What were you thinking?”

Her lips twitch at the question. A dozen snarky, sarcastic replies race through her mind, which for once, isn’t full of memories of Kilgrave, or Luke, or Reva, or Ruben, or any of the terrible things she’s ever done. Things she’s never had a chance to tell him. 

All she can think of, all she can remember, is their date. The way it felt putting on a dress because she wanted to, his stupid tie, the feeling of his hand holding hers. Strong and safe and comforting, not desperately like his grip is now. She remembers wanting to do things right. 

There’s sweat and tears on his face, grimy from the mask and the fight. She takes in every detail. If this is the last thing she has to see, she’s not going to complain.

“What were you thinking?” he asks again, his free hand on the side of her face. She leans into his touch instead of pulling away.

Her eyes close, and she’s pissed. She wants to keep looking at him, knows it for certain now. She wants him, she doesn’t care how selfish it is, or what a shitty person it makes her. She knows now. She wants that goddamn future. 

“I love you,” she manages to say. 

Then everything is black, black as a shadow.