pvtpunsart

[narsh-potatoes]

Hades fans I am looking upon you with my dearest of hearts and my most sparkling eyes goodness

[regulus-cannot-swim]

Can you write something for Coriolanus snow? By the way, i love your works!

Unearthing the Embers - Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Word Count: 841

Warnings: Mentions of violence and mild language

AN: Hope you enjoy! thanks for the request!

The world trembled beneath the tyrant's iron grip, suffocating under the weight of his oppressive regime. Within the suffocating shadows of the Capital, you, a simple rebel with a yearning for freedom, waged a silent yet fierce rebellion against the malicious ruler. It was during one such mission that your life intersected with his, fate igniting a spark neither of you were prepared for.

The night was awash with moonlight as you peered through the scope of your rifle, watching the distant silhouette of the Capitol's President, Coriolanus Snow. His cold gaze met yours for just a moment, his eyes sharp and calculating. But instead of raising an alarm, he retreated deeper into the darkness, leaving no trace.

Curiosity got the better of you, leading you to follow his cryptic path. You discovered the entrance to a forgotten underground chamber nestled beneath the city, hidden from prying eyes. Taking a hesitant step inside, you found yourself in the heart of his labyrinthine world.

It felt eerie being there, surrounded by grandeur yet overshadowed by a sense of foreboding. Snow seemed to materialize out of nowhere, his presence looming over you. You prepared for the worst, but what he said next plunged you into a whirlwind of emotions.

"I noticed you observing me earlier," his voice cut through the silence like an icy blade. "Curiosity and rebellion mix quite intriguingly in your eyes, my dear."

His words echoed in your mind, their implications haunting you. But before you could reply, he continued, "You seek to overthrow me, but there is more to this battle than what meets the eye. I may be the villain to many, but everything I do, I do it to ensure stability."

His admission left you stunned. The lines between good and evil began to blurred. Your hand trembled as it shifted from gripping the weapon to tumbling the barrel down. Instead of seizing the opportunity to end the tyrant's reign, you found yourself standing there, with your heart firing countless questions.

"Why are you telling me this? Why spare me?"

Snow's gaze softened, his piercing eyes devoid of the usual coldness. "Curiosity has a way of revealing truths we never expected. You, my dear, have the strength to change the world. Let me show you that there's a flame blooming in these darkest embers."

Conflicting emotions battled within you, but time stood still. A myriad of possibilities stretched before you, intertwining your path with his. Against your better judgment, you nodded, both uncertain and willing to discover the truths lurking in the shadows.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and you embarked on a treacherous journey together. With every encounter, you unraveled the layers of Coriolanus Snow, with his vulnerable side seeping through the cracks of his cold exterior. The man who thrived on manipulation and deceit showed a flicker of humanity, a side he had buried deep within.

Through whispered conversations in dimly lit rooms, you learned about his past, about the twisted dance he performed to maintain power. Your heart ached for the tormented soul beneath all that power. Compassion, once an annoyance, gripped your thoughts now, enshrouding the path you had laid before you. The lines blurred further as you questioned your own intentions.

One evening, hidden among the luxurious walls of the Presidential Palace, Snow revealed his deepest secret to you: his fear of losing control, of losing everything he had fought so hard to build. There, basked in the soft glow of candlelight, the boundaries between empathy and sympathy melted away.

In what seemed like an instant, the impossible transpired, and your connection bloomed into an unspoken understanding. You saw the genuine fear in his eyes, the vulnerable cracks in his armor, and you realized that perhaps your rebellion could be waged not with violence, but with compassion instead.

In that moment, you decided that your fighting spirit would not extinguish his fragile flame of humanity but rather nurture it, coaxing it into a brighter future. You dared to embrace the unthinkable notion that redemption wasn't completely out of reach for even the most hardened hearts.

And so, within the ashes of an oppressive regime, a new dawn rose, filled with endless possibilities. You stood together, shedding the vestiges of their former roles, united in a struggle against a common enemy: the darkness that enveloped them both. Love, in its most unexpected form, bloomed among the ruins, casting aside their shared past and illuminating a brighter future.

In the relentless world that was corrupt and crumbling, the heart went against the mind, and two souls forged a new path. The story of you and Coriolanus Snow became a tale whispered in the darkest corners, a testament to how even the most desolate hearts could find solace in one another.

And as the world looked towards this newfound unity, bewilderment and hope intermingled, knowing that the journey ahead held no guarantees. But for that moment, in each other's arms, you found the strength to believe in a love that defied the odds.

[jplupine]

In the Wolf's Den: Chapter 8

Pairing: The Weeping Monk x Devin [Nonbinary Fey OC] Word Count: ~7.2k WARNINGS: 18+ Minors/Ageless get blocked, Exophilia, Feral Behavior, Angst, Religious Trauma, Fluff, Body Heat Exchange >:3c

Summary: The winter woods are freezing, but the journey to Hopden won't be stopped by the cold.

You can also read it on AO3!

Masterlist | Chapter 8:

  It had been a couple of weeks since we'd started our journey toward Hopden. Things were going well so far, but I was noticing certain habits of Lancelot's now that we were away from the safety of the cave. He always rode in front, for one. Not to be the leader, but to be able to scout the trees and path before us. He was vigilant and battle-ready as soon as he woke up to the time he went to sleep.

  It was as if he was prepared for danger waiting around any corner. Lancelot even slept lighter, waking at any sound that was out of place.

  Squirrel, on the other hand, was simply enamored with his horse and excited to train every evening when we set up camp. He and Lancelot would be side-by-side, going through the motions slowly to help him memorize them before doing them in real-time. Lancelot's corrections sometimes came with a sharp tongue, but Squirrel was just as ready to return in kind his own snapping words.

  It would be nigh impossible to separate those two by the time we got to Hopden. I truly hoped Arthur wouldn't try to, or he'd have one incredibly pissed-off Squirrel on his hands.

  The boy had planned to turn Lancelot against the Red Paladins, but I wasn't sure he'd ever considered liking the man this much. Before, he kept him alive out of obligation. Then, it was because of the asset he could be, but now Squirrel genuinely cared for Lancelot. And it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

  At least, I couldn't consider it such.

  Squirrel needed someone he could rely on, and since the Ash Man's battle with the Trinity Guards, he'd been exactly that for the kid. He was teaching Squirrel just about as much as he was learning from him.

  "Why don't you learn to use a sword as well?"

  "What?" My gaze snapped to Squirrel

  "A sword? Why don't you learn to use it? It'd be better than just sitting there night after night."

  "Excuse me?"

  "He has a point." Lancelot muttered while looking at me.

  "And, what, you're offering to teach me?" I scoffed while stoking the fire.

  "Yes."

  "Come on, Devin. It's not like you're too busy." Squirrel crossed his arms while holding the wooden sword in his hands. My eyes drifted from the boy to Lancelot. Rolling my eyes, I stood up while sighing.

  "Let me go find a stick, then."

  "You don't have to." Lancelot drew his shorter sword before holding it out toward me hilt first. I paused since I hadn't expected him to offer up his own weapon.

  "Thank you." Taking the sword, I felt the weight of it in my hands. Once I had the sword in a firm hold, Lancelot took a stance, and Squirrel followed suit. Studying them, I then copied their stance.

  Looking into the fire, I gently ran my fingers through Squirrel's hair as he rested his head on my leg. He'd fallen asleep a bit ago, and I didn't have the heart to move him. It was dark with the moon only a sliver in the sky, and my ears were trained on the woods around us. Lancelot had gone to scout the perimeter one last time to make sure our spot was truly safe and out of the way.

  There was a nipping chill in the air, and I began to wonder when the first snow would fall. My ears twitched, and I looked over to see Lancelot walking out of the shadows toward the fire. He looked at Squirrel for a moment, then at me for a second before he sat down.

  "What?" I rose my eyebrows at Lancelot, and he simply looked at me. "Are you gonna try and tell me this is inappropriate?"

  "No."

  "Then why that look?"

  "Simply unexpected."

  "Gods, I cannot understand how reserved the paladins are. I know humans need physical contact as well." I shook my head while looking back at the fire. "Maybe the paladins are a different breed of human that melt if you touch them longer than two seconds." I muttered under my breath.

  "You find my reservations odd, yet I find your boldness to touch odd." Lancelot said, and I looked at him again while thinking. I knew he actually liked the touching, he couldn't hide how much he craved it no matter how hard he tried. He was awkward about it, but the way he broke down with just a hug, the way he didn't pull away when I was close unless he was too embarrassed said enough.

  "Would you like to try it? See for yourself whether or not you like it?" I questioned, and Lancelot looked me dead in the eye with a blank expression. I stared right back and patted my thigh.

  "No."

  "Come on. It's innocent. Look at how well Squirrel is sleeping." I pat my thigh again. He didn't say anything while still looking me in the eye. "Do it for me, then. I'm not a lone wolf by choice, Lancelot. I've spent years unable to touch others in that lonesome cave, and you know how Wolf Folk are with contact."

  The man turned his face away, making me think he was sticking to his 'no'. However, when he looked at me again, I could tell he was going to do it.

  "Only if it helps you."

  "It helps." I nodded, and Lancelot glanced around as if checking to make sure no one would catch him and get him in trouble. He then began to move to lie down, hesitantly resting his head on my thigh like Squirrel already was.

  I was glad my tail was held down- I could feel it wiggling to try and wag.

  Watching him get as comfortable as possible, I waited until he stilled. Reaching down, I gently stroked his hair. He was so tense at first but eventually relaxed as his eyelids drooped.

  "So?"

  "'So' what?" His voice was rather quiet as he responded.

  "So is this bad?" I questioned, and he didn't answer at first.

  "....You're strange."

  "That's not an answer." I felt a smile pull at my lips, knowing he did indeed enjoy it but wasn't willing to admit it. Lancelot didn't say anything, choosing to remain silent as I lazily touched his hair.

  It also wasn't long before he'd actually fallen asleep. I hadn't expected Lancelot to get comfortable enough to, but he did, and now I was stuck with both legs trapped beneath sleeping heads. Looking down at Squirrel and Lancelot, I found it nice to see them resting well, however, there was no way I was getting good sleep tonight.

  It was a small price to pay.

  Squirrel was tending to the horses, feeding them while wearing my green cloak since a fur pelt was currently being sewn for his cloak. We had traded one of my pelts for a needle and thread with some humans we'd passed, and now Lancelot was working on making Squirrel's cloak warmer since it was only getting colder out. He apparently picked up the skill of sewing from having to mend his own clothing growing up.

  And I couldn't help but watch the Ash Man work. His fingers deftly moved to sew the pelt while simultaneously keeping the fur out of the way. His bicep flexed each time he pulled the needle to tighten the thread as he focused on what he was doing.

  I had already admitted to Lancelot how I found him beautiful, but by the gods, such a mundane task should not be this attractive. Maybe it was due to his big hands working so carefully and delicately, or perhaps it was how his muscles tensed and relaxed as he moved. I now found myself with the desire to watch him do other chores.

  Was I cursed to lust for such a man?

  "Devin." Lancelot cleared his throat when he paused what he was doing. He kept his eyes down, and I noticed he was blushing.

  "Hm?"

  "Are you....Are you going into heat again?" His voice was low, and my face twisted with confusion.

  "What? No. That's only once a year. Why?"

  "You won't stop staring and," He cleared his throat again before glancing over at Squirrel to make sure he was still over by the horses. "Devin, I can smell you." Those blue eyes locked on me, begging me to understand what he was hinting at.

  My ears turned back as I looked away. I sat with my chin resting in my palm while my elbow was on my knee, and I tried to look at anything other than Lancelot.

  "I guess I got so distracted I forgot you could smell that." I said with a quiet voice. Yeah. I was definitely cursed.

  There was now tension in the air as neither of us knew what to do. Should I apologize? No, it wasn't like I was making myself smell this way. Should I say something or just remain quiet until the tension passed?

  Lancelot eventually returned to sewing the pelt, and I wanted to crawl into a hole. Why in the world did I want to fuck him so badly? I mean, yes, he was very attractive, but that didn't explain what I was going through to such a degree. I couldn't recall a single time watching a man sew, of all fucking things, had made me aroused enough to smell it.

  What was wrong with me?

  Looking at Lancelot from the corner of my eye, I glanced over him from head to toe. Was it possible the Ash Folk had Siren-like qualities? No, that would be ridiculous.

  "You're staring again."

  "I'm observing." I corrected. "You're very good at sewing."

  "....Are you suggesting sewing arouses you?"

  "What kind of person do you take me for to think I'd have such an interest?"

  "I can think of nothing else."

  "Your body." I stated while averting my gaze. I could feel his eyes on me now, and heat was rising in my cheeks. "Your bicep flexes when you tighten the thread. Your fingers also move with a deftness that is useful for....other things."

  "Oh." Was all he managed to say. He paused for a few seconds, then stood up to sit back down with his back facing me. Lancelot was physically blocking my view of him working, and I couldn't help but scoff. The back of his ears were red, and it wasn't from the cold.

  "Aren't you a shy one?"

  "Aren't you a lustful one?" Lancelot retorted under his breath, but I had still heard him.

  "Hey! I still have ears, you know!"

  It was the middle of winter now, and we were waking up to frost on the ground. Squirrel had begun to sleep with me for warmth, and the Ash Man seemed more or less unfazed by the cold. I understood me still being warm because I was Wolf Folk and had my winter fur, but I couldn't fathom how he wasn't freezing his ass off.

  We were getting closer to Hopden but weren't quite there yet. It was only going to get colder before we arrived, and I knew there'd be snow soon. We'd found a cave for shelter for the night, having Squirrel and the horses tucked away inside with a fire while Lancelot and I went to hunt for food.

  It was quiet as we listened to the woods around us. We'd more than likely only find a rabbit, but a deer would be nice to have some meat left over to dry. Breathing out through my mouth, I saw a white puff rise from my lips. The direction it faded off into also showed we were still downwind.

  Looking over at Lancelot, I was about to tell him we should split up to better our chances, but I stopped when I noticed how pale he was. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and I glanced down at his fingers to see them in the same condition. Clenching my jaw, I debated on what to do now.

  Did he just appear colder than he truly was, or did I need to send him back to the cave to get warmed up by the fire?

  Lancelot jolted when I suddenly grabbed his hand, and my eyes went wide.

  "You're freezing, Lancelot."

  "I'm fine." He snatched his hand away, and I grabbed his wrist.

  "You most certainly are not fine. Fey can still get sick." Having his wrist in a firm grip, I stepped nearer and felt his cheek with my other hand. "This is exactly why I said not to leave your pelts with Goliath. You need to head back to the cave."

  "I said I'm fine. We need to hunt."

  "I can hunt well enough on my own."

  "No."

  "Don't you argue with me- You're already cold to the touch. You feel like a bloody corpse." Lancelot didn't respond and only stared down at me. He was being stubborn again, silently refusing now instead of wasting his breath. I knew from experience the only way to get him to do something now was to compromise.

  But what could I possibly compromise on? He needed to get warm but didn't want to return to the cave. What was the middle ground there?

  Scanning our surroundings, I saw some boulders among the trees. Dragging Lancelot along with me, I went to check them out. As I had hoped, there was an opening among the pile of rocks to take cover in. Pulling the man inside, he had to hunch down to avoid hitting his head.

  "What are you doing?"

  "If you want to stay out here, you need to warm back up first. I don't know how well Ash Folk handle the cold or what their immune systems are like, but you look like you're going to catch a fever at this rate. And you getting sick will greatly slow us down." I explained while setting down my bow and quiver. Unstrapping the belt for my ax, it soon joined the bow.

  "Sitting among cold rocks isn't going to work. Nor is there any room to build a fire."

  "Well aware." I turned to face him before pulling at the ties on his jerkin. He quickly grabbed my wrists to get me to stop as his eyes were wide.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Body heat, you fool. You think I'd ever hear the end of it from Squirrel if I brought you back as an icicle?" Pulling my hands away, I undid my cloak and let it drop from my shoulders. However, he grabbed my wrists to stop me again when I went to pull my shirt off.

  "Don't."

�� "Oh, by the Gods. Fine, you blushing maiden." I dug into my things to pull out a strip of cloth. "Lean down."

  "Why?"

  "You're not supposed to see me naked, right? Then I'll blindfold you."

  "You- I- You are not supposed to be naked at all."

  "Too bad. It's either I strip down and you watch, or I strip down and you don't have to see anything. Pick." I raised the cloth in my hand while placing the other hand on my hip. It wasn't as if I was planning on doing anything, I was being honest about how this was to prevent him from getting sick. Having to stop to let him rest and get medicine would put us behind schedule by gods know how long.

  Lancelot's face seemed to go redder before he hesitantly leaned down to my level. Pushing his hood away, I then wrapped the cloth over his eyes and tied it in the back. When I unlaced his jerkin this time, he didn't stop me.

  However, he was incredibly tense. His jaw was clenched, and I was lifting his shirt before he stepped away.

  "I-I can do it myself."

  "Alright, then." I nodded. Lancelot was incredibly nervous and slow, making me heavily sigh. "I'll keep my undergarment on if that makes you more comfortable."

  "Yes, that would." He muttered as I took off my trousers. I noticed the goosebumps rising on his skin and gently pulled him by his arm further into the small cave away from the chilling wind outside.

  "Your trousers have to come off, though." I said while picking up the cloak he had been wearing. He visibly paused until I handed him the dark green cloak. "You can put this back on so you're not sitting on the bare ground." Lancelot pulled on the cloak first, bringing it closer to himself to cover his body.

  He hesitated, but his trousers were soon on the ground. Leading him to sit down, I grabbed the long, dark grey cloak to drape over my shoulders. Being mindful of him, I carefully opened his cloak before sitting in his lap.

  "Gods, you're colder than I thought." I hissed when my hand touched his chest. "Why didn't you say anything?" Leaning in closer, I wrapped my arms around his body.

  "Oh, you are....really warm." Lancelot barely spoke over a whisper while his entire body was tense. Being chest to chest, I rested my chin on his shoulder.

  "Yes, now put your hands on me before your fingers fall off from frostbite." I snapped while mentally praying to the gods that I could remain calm. I jolted when his ice-like fingers touched my back, and his hands retreated. "Sorry, just really cold. Go on."

  Lancelot swallowed before touching me again. His palms trailed upward toward my scruff, burying his cold fingers into my thick fur. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax while focusing on getting Lancelot warm. I could feel his heart beating wildly against my chest just as well as I could hear it.

  Thankfully, the longer I remained still, the more his muscles seemed to relax. He'd been coiled tighter than a pissed-off snake, and he was still tense, but less so than before. Being this close, however, I could very easily smell his anxiety.

  He took in a deep breath to help himself relax, and it seemed to work for a moment. My ear twitched, and I could feel Lancelot's breath on the side of my neck.

  And then I began to smell arousal.

  Biting my tongue, I tried to ignore it and covered my face in the cloak in an attempt to block out the scent. However, the green cloak was utterly covered in Lancelot's scent, so I only got a nose full of his pleasant smell. To make matters worse, a few seconds later, I felt his cock getting hard beneath me.

  Lancelot suddenly shoved me back, getting space between us as his entire face was red. The sudden loss of warmth made him shiver, and his grip on my arms tightened.

  "I can't-"

  "Oh, by the Gods, calm down. We're not going to have sex. Just try to ignore it." I was speaking both to Lancelot and myself as I pried his hands off of me. Pressing my body against his once more, I tried to think of a way to distract him and myself. "If you've been getting this cold, you should start sleeping closer to Squirrel and I."

  "I'm-"

  "Say you're 'fine' one more time, and I'll bite you. Literally." I threatened, but I felt his cock twitch. Oh. I'd forgotten he liked getting bit. 'Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.' "Think about it, Lancelot. You can't help us if you're sick."

  "I hate this."

  "It could be worse."

  "I don't see how this could get worse." His voice was barely a whisper.

  "I'm trying to get your mind off of it, but need I remind you I'm not completely naked? The worse would be if I was."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't apologize."

  "Why not?"

  "It makes it more awkward. Not to mention....I know you can smell it on me, too, and you don't see me panicking out about it."

  "Your scent is what's making it worse." His voice was soft and low near my ear as he was trying to calm his breathing and racing heart.

  "Yeah, well, so is yours." I snapped at him. "You think this is easy for me?"

  "Doesn't seem difficult for you, either."

  "Believe me, it is. It's taking everything I have not to think about....certain events. I should add it's your cock pressing against me, not the other way around."

  "It's not as if I'm doing it on purpose!"

  "I wasn't saying you were. I just don't really understand why you're so scared of your own body's reactions. I mean, I'm not happy about mine because it pisses me off, but that's not the case for you."

  "Raised devout Christian, remember?" He leaned his head back until his skull rested against the rocky wall. "What we're doing- Father Carden would have me beat for it." My ear twitched as he spoke. "It is sinful. An affront to God."

  "Where in that precious book of yours does it state preventing hypothermia or other illness is sinful?"

  "The....The nudity, closeness, and sinful thoughts."

  "Gods, even thoughts are considered sinful?"

  "Yes. Temptation from the Devil comes in many forms."

  "That's ridiculous. No one has complete control over what they think. Deeming certain thoughts as sinful is a fuckin' trap." I sighed through my nose. "No wonder you're terrified of touching if even thinking about it will get you in trouble. As you said, you're not making yourself react this way."

  "But I chose to go along with this. Which I shouldn't have in the first place."

  "Rather than listening to the teachings beat into you, what do your instincts tell you, Lancelot? Are they telling you this is bad? That you will go to Hell for not choosing the cold over warmth?" I questioned, and he went quiet. He didn't say or do anything for a few seconds until his fingers slid into my hair.

  Lancelot pulled my head to the side while resting his forehead on my shoulder. I was a bit confused as he slowly breathed in through his nose. He was tense, and his grip in my hair tightened.

  "You want to know what my instincts tell me, Devin?" He muttered. Without letting me answer, he lifted his head, and his tongue was on my skin. Lancelot slowly licked up the side of my neck as his hot breath hit my skin. He nipped my jaw before speaking in a low tone. "That is what my instincts tell me. Do you honestly expect me to listen to them?"

  "I'm not saying to let your instincts dictate your actions." I swallowed while trying to recover from the blow the Ash Man had just delivered. Gods, what he'd done had turned me on so much. "I'm saying to simply trust them more. You're not a weapon, you're a man." He paused at my words before scoffing.

  His hand left my hair as he leaned against the rock wall.

  "You don't understand what it's like."

  "No, but I understand better than you think I do. I just know the church is wrong. Any non-Christian man-blood, modesty aside, will also admit to having such thoughts. When we sold those pelts, do you think the women of the market were tainted or evil for desiring you? I can guarantee their thoughts weren't on what they would make for supper that night."

  Looking at him, I saw how his mouth was in a flat line. His jaw briefly clenched, and I swallowed.

  "Lancelot, shit is obviously complicated. I'm well aware what happened between us simplifies nothing. But what I'm trying to say is, you cannot expect yourself to be your religion's idea of perfection. As a man, you will inherently be imperfect. Holding yourself to such high standards and then crumbling when you can't meet them...." Sighing, I gently held his face in my hands. "Those paladins may no longer have you, but you are still not truly free of their hold. Has Father Carden himself not sinned?"

  My question made him tense, but he remained silent.

  "Is murder not a sin? Is stealing a child from his home and raising him to be a killer not sin? How about sending a child to be tortured? I may find much of your religion to be ridiculous, but if I were to apply value on the beliefs, Father Carden is more of a sinner than you. Did you ever think you couldn't feel his love because he is void of it? You told me your God is love, but I see none in the actions of the Red Paladins."

  Lancelot still didn't speak as he quietly sat there. I had nothing more to say, either, so we were left in silence.

  And then his hands were on my back as he leaned forward. Lancelot placed his head on my shoulder while hugging me. He took in a slow, deep breath before slowly letting it out.

  "Perhaps....you are my way to deliverance. We cannot walk our paths alone forever, right?"

  "I am not a replacement for Father Carden."

  "I didn't mean it that way. I've hated myself for a long time, Devin. Thought myself evil, and the only way to redeem myself was to do as Father Carden said in the name of the church, in the name of the Lord. But you," He scoffed. "a crass, foul-mouthed, Wolf Fey, just pointed out the glaring issue I've been faced with over and over again and have pushed away. If God is love, why do the paladins only spread hatred? Father Carden labels your kind Hellspawn, yet when you speak to me on these matters....I do not feel it. I-I feel as if I am being spoken to by a peer....an ally. Is it presumptuous of me to feel such?"

  My eyes widened as I stared at the rock wall in front of me. My gaze drifted to Lancelot as he still hugged me. What the fuck should I say? The truth? But what was the truth?

  ....What did I feel?

  Safe. I felt safe. Shocked. Relieved.

  That was the truth.

  Gently placing my hand on the back of his head, my other arm draped over his shoulder to return the hug.

  "At this point, Lancelot, I'm offended you don't consider me a friend." My response made him laugh, and it was such a beautiful sound.

  I could hear voices as we neared the camp outside Hopden. We were a minute away now, and it disturbed me how Lancelot changed the closer we got. His posture was stiffer, his face expressionless, his eyes cold. He was recluding into himself because he knew just as well as I did how close we were to Arthur's camp.

  Squirrel didn't know until he spotted people moving among the trees. He became excited, leaning to and fro in his saddle to try and spot any familiar face.

  Lancelot dropped back, having Goliath walk next to my horse rather than in front. He didn't want to be the face they saw first.

  "Riders approaching!" Someone called out, and the atmosphere in the camp changed. People stopped walking while others rushed to get weapons out of caution. It was when our horses entered the clearing that a man approached us.

  His hair was black with tight curls, pulled back into a ponytail with braids on the sides. His skin was dark with warm tones despite the winter chill while his brown eyes studied us. He wasn't Fey, and the kind smile he gave Squirrel made me assume this was Arthur.

  "Welcome." He greeted us with a polite nod of his head. I was the first to dismount before helping Squirrel down from his horse. I heard Lancelot drop down when his feet crunched against the thin layer of snow on the ground. "Devin, I presume?" The man gestured at me.

  "Arthur?" I questioned after nodding.

  "Aye. Then that leaves you to be....the Weeping Monk." He hesitated to even talk to the man beside me.

  "His name is Lancelot." Squirrel spoke up.

  "Lancelot?" Arthur glanced at the boy before looking back at the Ash Man. "Which do you prefer to be called?" There was an edge in his voice, a challenge, a displeasantry.

  "Lancelot." He answered with that quiet tone of his.

  "I see with you not bound you must've come of your own volition."

  "As I mentioned in the letter, he's chosen to aide Squirrel. I will vouch for him if I must."

  "Why don't we get out of the cold to discuss this?" Arthur suggested while looking at me. "There's a tent for the horses as well." I glanced at Lancelot to make sure he'd be okay leaving Goliath in someone else's hands. He seemed to understand what I was silently asking and gave a short nod.

  "Okay. Lead the way." I nodded to Arthur, and two Vikings came over to take the horses' reins from us. Squirrel walked next to me, but Lancelot was a few steps behind. Silent, watching, and highly alert.

  We entered a large tent with a warm fire and a vent for the smoke to escape through. There were chairs and tables with maps sprawled out on them. Arthur casually began to fold up the maps, more than likely not wanting Lancelot to get a look at them.

  "So, why am I to believe your claims of....Lancelot going against the paladins just to save one boy? It wouldn't be the first time he's used Squirrel as bait."

  "He killed Trinity Guards to do it. I highly doubt there's any going back from that."

  "What's murdering a few more to get the last of the Fey of these lands?" Arthur's tone was sharp as he turned to look at us.

  "As hard as I know it must be to believe it, you can hear it from Squirrel himself. This runt tried to fight me when I attempted to kill Lancelot myself."

  "You're the runt." Squirrel shot me a look. "And it is true. Even teaching me to swordfight now, he is."

  "Is he now?" Arthur looked amused at the thought but doubtful.

  "I've got a sword now, haven't I? It's not for show." Squirrel popped off, and Arthur didn't seem surprised by the boy's tone. He must be used to this kind of behavior from Squirrel.

  "I'm still going to need more to go on."

  "This is your time to speak for yourself, Lancelot." I said while looking over my shoulder at him. His eyes glittered from the fire as he stared at me with a blank expression before he looked at Arthur. He didn't move from where he stood or even raise his head to be seen under his hood.

  "I'm....Fey." Lancelot stated, for the first time actually saying it in the entire time I've known him.

  "Please." Arthur laughed.

  "It's true." Squirrel crossed his arms. "Goes all green like a leaf."

  "Prove it." Arthur had a challenging tone again, even more than before as he looked at Lancelot.

  "I can't."

  "Right."

  "He's Ash Folk. They turn green to blend in with the foliage, but only on contact with the plants. The tears on his cheeks are markings the Ash Folk develop as they get older. He also smells Fey, but you, uh, can't smell it with your nose." I explained.

  "I still want to see it for myself. Just to be sure." Arthur insisted. My mouth opened to say something else, but Lancelot held his hand in front of me with his palm facing up.

  "I know you have herbs in your bag."

  "You don't have to-"

  "I know." He kept his hand open and waiting. I dug into my bag for a bottle with dried leaves before popping out the cork. Pulling one out, I then set it into Lancelot's palm. As soon as it touched his skin, dark green pigment and leaf-like veins began to show on his hand to match the dried leaf.

  "So you are Fey." Arthur didn't seem happy. In fact, he honestly looked angry now. "Which means you've been slaughtering your own kind for how many years now?" Lancelot didn't answer.

  "We're at war, Arthur. If he's willing to fight for us now, that's what we have to focus on." Squirrel said with such a serious tone.

  "It's not that simple."

  "I didn't say it was. The Red Paladins killed my father and burned down my village, but even I know we need allies wherever we can find them. Him fighting for us is him not fighting for them." Squirrel's nose was slightly scrunched up, angered by even thinking about the Red Paladins.

  "Why don't you get some rest? You must be tired after your journey."

  "I'm not a little kid anymore-"

  "Percival." Lancelot had a warning tone. "It'll be okay."

  "One of the Vikings standing post can take you to the tent we had set up for you." Arthur gestured with his head towards the exit. Squirrel made a face and walked out angrily.

  "Look, I will warn you now, if you do plan to harm Lancelot, that boy will come for you. I don't intend that as a threat, only that it will be the truth. Squirrel can't even admit that Nimue is gone. He's coping by insisting she's still alive because she's survived worse." It was then that Arthur seemed to get a chip in his armor. I saw the pain in his eyes at the mention of Nimue's name, and he looked away.

  "That man beside you has hunted down your kind like animals. The mere mention of 'Weeping Monk' makes them terrified. Surely you understand how I can't take this lightly."

  "And I don't expect you to. But, as you know, I nearly killed him....and now I trust him with my life."

  "I don't even know you well enough to understand the depth of that." Arthur replied, and I sighed. Pushing my hood back, fresh air hit my ears as I walked toward the table.

  "I'll be honest, when I decided to bring Squirrel here, I intended to leave as soon as he and Lancelot were in your hands. No longer my problem, head back home. But then I got to know the both of them more and realized I couldn't do that." Pulling out a chair, I reached for a carved horn cup and a pitcher. I sniffed at the mead inside before pouring a drink and plopping down into the chair. "So I will tell you the meaning."

  "I see you do as you please."

  "For the most part." I slightly tilted my head. "Now, Lancelot has had many opportunities to betray us. He hasn't even once. He has been training not only Squirrel in combat but me as well. I've even put my safety in his hands just to test him, to see what he would do, and even then, he chose to protect me. And Squirrel," I scoffed while Arthur poured his own drink to sit with me. "you should see the two together. Like bloody siblings, they are."

  "You are Fox Kin, yes?"

  "Wolf Folk. I know, my size and coloration can be confusing. Why do you ask?" I then took a drink of the fine northern mead.

  "Because I know the Fey with the more....'animalistic' features tend to have keener senses. Met a Fox Kin that could smell what I was feeling."

  "Wolf Folk can as well. We actually have keener noses than the Foxes, you see."

  "Then you could tell if he were to lie?"

  "I could. But Lancelot tends to tell the truth." Arthur looked at me with a studying gaze. I didn't like talking about the Ash Man as if he weren't there, but he didn't seem to mind, and it was getting Arthur to at least listen. "Do you have something you wish to ask him?"

  "Yes." The man-blood then turned to Lancelot. "Do you regret it? What you've done as the Weeping Monk?" It was dead silent other than the crackling fire. Lancelot's gaze was sharp as a knife as he locked eyes with Arthur.

  "Yes." He and Arthur stared at each other for a moment before Arthur looked at me.

  "Well?"

  "....He's sincere." I already knew from the tears Lancelot had spilled many times before that he regretted it. Him begging for death was enough on its own to know he regretted it. But I wouldn't tell Arthur those things happened.

  "Why did you do it, Lancelot?"

  "I believed it to be bringing salvation."

  "You'd have to be a fool to believe such blatant bullshit."

  "Or a child." I cut in before taking a drink. Arthur's expression shifted as he looked at me again. "He wasn't a man that just decided to join a crusade against the Fey. Also, why are you still standing over there? Come over here and sit down." I directed my question at Lancelot.

  He seemed uncertain for a second before quietly joining us at the table. He sat on the other side of me while keeping his hood on.

  "You've seen for yourself how young the paladins can be." I turned my attention back to Arthur.

  "Yes." The man-blood's jaw clenched. "I've seen one not much older than Squirrel's age. But that doesn't explain why they would take a Fey child when their goal is to eradicate the Fey."

  "Because he can smell them. Father Carden used him like a bloodhound."

  "....That explains a lot."

  "Do you want something to drink?" I gestured towards the pitcher while looking at Lancelot, and the man simply shook his head.

  "You know the other Fey are going to have an issue if we let him join us, right?"

  "Obviously. But Squirrel already said it. The Fey need allies wherever they can get them."

  "I can't take him with us without being certain. Taking him to where the Fey are hiding and he not truly being on our side would be genocide."

  "Then leave me. My main concern was getting Percival back to his people. I don't need to be with your forces to fight for the Fey." Lancelot spoke up, and both Arthur and I looked at him.

  "Where would you even go?" Arthur asked.

  "Anywhere. Just so long as I know Percival goes with you."

  "Of course."

  "Now, hold on a minute. You can't let him go by himself."

  "He won't be by himself." Lancelot looked at me from under his hood. "There will be Sky Folk there. People he knows."

  "He's already lost his family, Nimue- Do you not realize how much you mean to Squirrel?"

  "It's what's best for him."

  "I think it best we end it here for the night. We can discuss more tomorrow." Arthur cleared his throat. "I will be posting guards around your tent- as a precaution." Lancelot only nodded to show he understood.

  The cold outside nipped at my skin when we left the warmth of the fire inside. I left pawprints in the snow as I followed Arthur through the camp. It had gotten darker than expected, but there were torches and fire pits scattered about for the humans to be able to see.

  Lancelot was trailing after me like a shadow, quiet and making himself seem smaller- which wasn't easy given his large frame. He was even taller than Arthur, and Arthur wasn't small by any means, which made it odd to see him with his head down and shoulders hunched as if he didn't want anyone to even look at him.

  Reaching the tent, Arthur gestured to it, and I pulled back the front flap to see it empty with only a pair of pallets and a dead fire.

  "Where's Squirrel?"

  "Elsewhere. I know he likes to get into trouble when the whim arises."

  "No kidding." I muttered while entering the cold tent. Pulling off my cloak, I took off my bag to set it to the side. Digging out some flint, I set to getting the fire started. Arthur stared at Lancelot for a moment with a serious expression before he walked away. "I'm sorry about that. I would have preferred if he actually talked to you."

  "It's fine." Lancelot sat on the pallet on the other side of the fire as sparks briefly lit up the tent.

  "No, it's not. He just ignored you as he pleased while talking about you the entire time. How's he supposed to get to know you enough to trust you if he won't even ask for your answers?" There were more sparks.

  "That's not all you're upset about." He stated, and the fire finally ignited. There was a small flame that I gently blew on until it began to spread and grow.

  "Do you honestly believe Squirrel will leave without you?"

  "If it comes down to it, he will have to." Lancelot finally took off his hood. Looking at him, I studied him for a moment before speaking again.

  "That's how it was with the paladins, wasn't it? Father Carden always speaking for you while you made yourself as small as possible?"

  "....Yes."

  "You needn't do that here."

  "It was just as much a habit as it was me trying to be less intimidating."

  "Yes, because a big man with a stony face hiding under a cloak isn't intimidating in itself." I chuckled. "It had the opposite effect of intended." Lancelot got a small smile as he looked down at his hands in his lap.

  "About earlier.... You said that you trusted me with your life." His eyes found mine, and I felt my ears turn back for a second. "So you really did mean it."

  "You seem rather pleased."

  "If you haven't noticed, I've come to value your opinion."

  "Oh, I've noticed. You get this look on your face any time I give you praise." I softly laughed.

  "I do not."

  "You most certainly do. I say 'Good job, Lancelot' when you bring back a nice rabbit, and your face lights up. You're more like a dog than I am." Joking seemed to help him feel more relaxed, especially now that we were away from the prying eyes of man-bloods.

  "I am not, you runt." He had a playful tone, making me smile.

  "I bet if you had a tail, it would wag any time you got praise." I said, and Lancelot scoffed.

  "I think you need to get some sleep, Devin. You're already starting to sound mad."

  "I'm going to sleep not because you said so, but because I'm actually tired. Are you warm enough over there? You can take back your cloak if you need it." Picking up the grey cloak from beside me, I looked back at Lancelot who seemed to be thinking it over. Without a word, he reached over to take the offered garment before laying down on the pallet.

  He draped the grey cloak over the dark green one to use as a blanket. He couldn't admit he was cold, but at least he took the cloak rather than freeze. Once he was curled up under the cloaks with his back to me, I tossed more wood into the fire.

  "Thank you." He muttered.

  "You're welcome." I replied before laying down. Rolling over with my back to him and the fire, I got comfortable enough to sleep.

[astralkoo]

The Snack Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Genre: neighbors au, smut

Rating: 18+

Words: 6.4k

Summary: in which your annoying, younger neighbor has a nasty habit of breaking into your apartment late at night and stealing your food.

Warnings: strong language, technically breaking & entering, broke college student struggles, older!reader, Jungkook saying noona, explicit sexual content; sub!jungkook, dom!reader, blowjob, kitty gets ate, sixty-nine, very mild degrading (jk gets called a slut like once), needy jk, fingering (m. receiving)

— author’s note; it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? i’ve been trying to get back into my groove so hopefully this is the start of a very active and productive summer for my writing. also! this is cross posted on my new wattpad account bckupbabies so if you see it on there, that’s me don’t worry!

You woke with a start, heart pounding, skin drenched in cold sweat, fear gripping at your chest.

There's someone in your apartment.

It was a split second realization, one that ripped you violently from the gentle thralls of sleep and had thick, stifling terror settling like heavy stones in your gut. Sucking your lips into your mouth to prevent your breath from coming out too audibly, you strained your ears, listening carefully. At first, all you could make out was the soft whirring of the fan above your head. But then—

Thud.

In an instant, you were out from beneath the covers, a shiver rushing down your spine as the cold night air nipped at the exposed skin of your arms and legs. Instinctively, your hand shot to the nightstand, rushing over the smooth wood surface, seeking out your phone. Only— it wasn't there. Shit. You must've accidentally left it on the counter last night. Shit.

Gritting your teeth, you stumbled through the darkness, bracing a steadying palm against the wall to guide yourself across the bedroom.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" You hissed, searching blindly for the item you're always sure to keep near your bedside in case of a situation just like this. It didn't take long before your fingers grazed the smooth rubber grip of your old-reliable baseball bat. You let out a cautious exhale and moved silently towards the door, careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak.

Keeping your back against the wall, you stepped into the short hall. You could hear more clearly without the separation of your bedroom door; the heavy footsteps and low grumbling voice. It wasn't just your sleep hazed mind playing a nasty trick; there was someone in your goddamn apartment. A combination of fear and rage heated the blood currently rushing through your veins, the thundering of your pulse almost deafening in your ears.

Another loud bang sounded through your apartment and your shoulders tensed.

Were they even trying to be quiet? What a shitty burglar. They should've done their research before busting in. You were a broke college student working at a freaking campus cafe just barely able to afford paying your rent every month. The most valuable thing in your apartment was probably the ultra soft two ply toilet paper you'd splurged on last time you went shopping for basic necessities.

And you'd be sure to bash the bastard's head in before he could lay his greedy fingers on your precious two ply.

Letting out your fiercest battle cry, you swung your bat over your head and launched yourself out from behind the wall, poised for the attack. The man in your kitchen, who was elbow deep in your snack cabinet, shrieked (incredibly un-burglar-like, you might add). The sound was so high pitched and sharp that you flinched, startled as he whirled around clumsily, not only banging his elbows but tripping over his own feet in the process. You were barely able to catch a glimpse of his face before he fell, disappearing behind the counter.

But something about that scream was vaguely... familiar?

"Jungkook?"

The top of his head peeked out from behind the countertop, familiar doe eyes blinking back at you sheepishly. "Hi, noona."

The tension in your shoulders immediately melted upon realizing that you in fact not being robbed by an armed lunatic— rather, you were being robbed by your annoying next door neighbor. Again.

"Are you out of your mind?!" You hissed sharply, frustration flaring, "it's fucking three in the morning! Why the hell are you in my apartment?"

"I was hungry!"

"That doesn't explain why you're here!"

"I was craving ramyeon but I ran out! And– and you always have extra anyway so I thought you wouldn't mind!"

"Ha! You thought I wouldn't mind—" You gritted your teeth, on the verge of seething when you noticed he was still ducked behind the counter. "Why are you still hiding? Get over here." So I can beat your ramyeon stealing ass, you added in your head.

"Drop the bat— then we can talk." He bargained, nodding pointedly towards your weapon, still poised for attack.

Grunting, you reluctantly released the handle, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clang.

Jungkook let out a low breath of relief, before meekly stepping out from his position behind the counter. Your eyes immediately dropped to his hands, still desperately clutching onto two packets of ramyeon.

Pinning him with a glare meant to reprimand, you crossed your arms firmly over your chest. "Jungkook, you can not keep—" your scolding was abruptly interrupted by a low, thunderous rumbling, your gaze jumping in surprise to the younger boy's face, which was now donning an embarrassed blush. "W– was that your stomach?"

Sucking his lips into his mouth, he nodded, head dropping in shame.

A wave of sympathy washed over you upon realizing just how hungry he must be. Any anger at having your sleep ever so rudely disrupted quickly fizzled out, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as he shuffled his feet shyly.

"Geez, this brat." You muttered under your breath, trudging over to where he stood and snatching the ramyeon packets from his grasp. He looked up at you with wide, pitiful eyes, and you could tell he thought that you were going to kick him to the curb. Instead, you jerked your chin into the direction of the couch and said, "go sit down while I make these. Don't need you hovering over my damn shoulder."

It would be a lie to say your heart didn't flutter a little at the sheer amount of excitement that lit up his face, pink lips breaking into a wide, uncontainable grin. Deciding not to push his luck, he quickly bobbed his head and scampered over to the couch, tossing a bubbly, "thank you, noona!" over his shoulder as he went.

You scoffed, though the corners of your mouth tipped upwards in spite of yourself.

The kid was cute. You'd give him that much. With those big shiny eyes and that stupid bucktoothed grin. Even if he was a perpetual trespasser and a food thief to boot, you'd let his little indiscretions slide... for now.

The ramyeon didn't take long to make, but, even all the way across the room, you could practically hear Jungkook's stomach growling up a storm by the time you were pouring it into two separate bowls. He was squirming on the couch, peaking over the back of it with wide, wanting eyes, damn near drooling at the mere smell of the sodium soaked noodles.

"Don't spill," you warned with a click of your tongue as made your way to the couch, handing him one of the bowls, "eat this, then go home, alright?"

Jungkook was already stuffing his cheeks before you'd even finished speaking, but he paused to pout over at you upon processing your words. "Noona..." he gurgled in soft whine around his mouth full of noodles, making sure to swallow before he finished, "why do you want me to leave so badly? You're hurting my feelings."

You scoffed as he pressed a large hand to his chest, wincing dramatically as if your words had somehow truly wounded him. "Do I have to remind you that it's 3am? I was sleeping. I would like to go back to sleep. I was having a very good dream before you fucking broke in to my apartment and tried to rob me." You hissed, plopping down on the couch beside him and shoveling your ramyeon into your own mouth.

Damn. That shit was good.

"I wasn't robbing you." He protested weakly. You raised an unconvinced brow.  "Just... borrowing."

You barked out a laugh. "Oh? So you were planning to return all the snacks you were about to steal?" His eyes lowered, a guilty pout turning the corners of his mouth downwards. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"Still..." he grumbled bitterly, looking up at you through his thick lashes. "I'm much more fun than sleep."

You snorted. "I beg to differ."

There was an uncharacteristic lull of silence, and you spared a questioning glance in Jungkook's direction, not expected to be greeted by the astonished expression painted across his face.

He looked... genuinely offended.

"Noona," he sounded rather distraught as he set his half eaten bowl down on the coffee table before turning his body fully towards you, "how could you say that?"

Your brows lifted expectantly, confusion swimming in your gaze. "What?" You laughed lightly, not understanding why he suddenly seemed upset. You were just joking around... had you accidentally hit a nerve?

"You have fun with me." He insisted once more, a certain desperation to his words.

"Yeah... when it's not 3am."

"Liar." He scowled, gaze dropping to where his fingers were tracing miscellaneous shapes on the fabric of your couch. "That's when you have the most fun with me."

His voice had dropped into a low whisper at that last part, so you had to strain your ears a bit to make out exactly what it was he was saying. At first, you were confused. The most fun...? But then you saw the faint blush coating his cheeks, the shy fluttering of his lashes, the nervous fidgeting of his fingers...

And it clicked.

A few weeks ago, you did something stupid. Something you shouldn't have done. You'd given into urges that should have remained buried deep, deep inside of you.

"Jungkook." Your voice held a warning pitch as you growled his name. He shuddered ever so faintly at the shift in your tone and quickly turned away from you, snagging his lower lip tightly between his teeth.

"It's true..." he grumbled petulantly, kicking his foot lightly against the leg of your coffee table.

You stared at his profile through furrowed brows, gaze hard and unwavering as you set your own bowl onto the table. "We talked about this, Jungkook. We agreed not to bring it up again!"

"No, you— you made that decision all on your own." He protested quickly, thrusting an accusing finger in your direction. "I made no such promise."

"Jungkook," you sighed heavily, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your fingers into your temples as they throbbed, "what I did—"

"We," he corrected, leveling you with a stubborn glare, "what we did. Stop acting like I wasn't a willing participant."

"You're a kid—"

"I'm nineteen! I can make my own decisions!"

"No. You can't."

At that, his expression hardened, lips pursing, fingers curling into tight fists, eyes flaring with determination.

"Watch me."

In the next second he was on top of you, straddling your lap, large hands cradling your jaw as he pressed his warm lips purposefully to yours.

Startled, your hands leapt to hold his waist, instinctively steadying him. The rest of your body remained stiff and unresponsive, frozen in shock from the sheer unexpectedness of the kiss. It wasn't until Jungkook let out a soft, pleading whine against your unmoving mouth that you were kickstarted back into motion.

"Jungkook," you gasped out his name, somewhat more breathlessly than you intended, hands rushing between your bodies to push him away by the swells of his firm chest, "w–what are you—"

"You want me." The younger boy swiftly interrupted, his warm breath caressing your lips as his fingers gripped gently at the back of your neck. "You want me. You can't deny it. You said so."

You were goddamn dizzy. "When did I—"

"Fuck, Jungkook. You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How long I've wanted you." It took you an extra second to realize that he was quoting back your words from that night. Word for fucking word. Heat rushed to your face, your hand gripping harder at the thin fabric of his top.

"How do you even remember that." You grumbled bitterly, embarrassed at having been called out.

The corner of his mouth curled into a small, teasing smile. "I have a pretty good memory."

"Bullshit," you scoffed, "I can't count the number of times you've forgotten to bring back the shit that you 'borrowed' from me. I bet you have a fucking closet full of my sweatshirts."

"I didn't forget... I just didn't want to give them back." He informed you in a soft, lilting hum, running his thumb over the smooth cut of your jaw.

"Thief." You spat, but the word lacked any real fire. It sounded weak on your tongue, a soft fluttering of breath that easily could have been mistaken for a moan. You saw his eyes drop to your mouth, desire pooling within them, so thick and dark that you felt it polluting the air around you, polluting your lungs with every jagged inhale.

He shifted on top of you, strong thighs squeezing around your hips. You tried to pretend that you didn't feel the press of something hot and hard against the top of your leg, but the tremble of your eyes and the clench of your fingers were not easily mistaken.

Jungkook sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of his lower lip, and your gaze followed the motion unconsciously. You didn't even realize you were staring at his mouth until he spoke in that low, hoarse whisper, ripping you violently from your trance.

"Can I take a little more?"

Your brain was screaming at you to say no, screaming at you to not be selfish, to not be greedy. To not want something so terribly that you felt it trembling through your very bones. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He was too young, too naive, too sensitive. You'd break the poor boy before he even realized what happened.

You should say no.

Mind made up, you opened your mouth, fully prepared to reject the boy and put a stop to whatever the hell this had become, right then and there. You were prepared to be the responsible senior that you needed to be, for both his sake and yours.

But what actually came out was something entirely different.

"Yes."

Jungkook barely had time to let out a happy whimper before his mouth was back on yours. A soft groan rumbled in your chest as your arms curled around his slim waist, tugging him ever closer. Long fingers tangled in your hair, he gently tugged your head back, leaning himself over you in order to deepen the kiss. You permitted him to do so without resistance, lips parting to allow his eager tongue to invade your mouth.

His body was hot and heavy above yours, but you didn't mind the added weight, the pressure on your thigh probably the only thing keeping you grounded. Because the heat between your legs was a anything but grounding. Sticky and wet, an accumulation of unspoken need and neglected lust that refused to be ignored for even a moment longer. A bleary haze fell over your mind, all the blood in your head suddenly rushing downwards to feed the growing flames in your groin.

The first roll of his hips was so minute, so slight that you would have missed it completely had it not been for the soft, airy moan that escaped his throat. The second was less than subtle, a hard, deliberate grind that rocked his already half-hard erection against your stomach. You felt it there, where your shirt had ridden up to expose a thin strip of skin, the front of his sweatpants growing thick and damp with his steadily increasing arousal. Your grip around him tightened, nails biting into his clothed hips hard enough to have crimson flowers blossoming across his golden flesh.

The sting coaxed a strained moan from Jungkook's inflamed lips, the rolling of his hips growing more frantic. You were quick to steady them, not wanting him to overexcite himself too soon.

"Calm down." Even in your own ears, you voice sounded thick and unstable, and you silently cursed yourself for having gotten so worked up by a mere kiss. But, in your defense, it was one hell of a kiss.

"I'm calm." He insisted unconvincingly through harsh pants, fighting for oxygen but not willing to pull away from you lips long enough to actually breathe. Quite the dilemma.

You chuckled softly, sliding a hand up to grip his jaw, preventing his mouth from finding yours for just long enough to soothe the fierce burn in your lungs. He took that opportunity to strip himself of his top, tossing it haphazardly to the floor.

You felt your stomach tighten, taken off guard by the unexpectedly display of glowing, sun-kissed skin you found before you, stretched across thick, toned muscle that flexed and tightened with even the most minuscule of movements. Subconsciously, your tongue slipped out of your suddenly dry mouth, dragging over your swollen lips.

Jungkook mimicked the motion, reaching down with ink embroidered hands to grip your wrists, gently guiding them up the length of his fit torso. "Touch me." It was a plea, the low whimper lacing the words a dead giveaway of his unyielding desperation.

You didn't hesitate to comply.

Pushing forward, you set vengeful teeth upon his prominent collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave your mark. He moaned loudly, head falling back as your nails raked over his sensitive nipples. A violent shiver transversed his body, goosebumps rippling across his exposed skin that was set on fire by your greedy touch. He found the back of your head and neck with trembling hands, urging you closer without use of words. You kissed up the length of his taut throat, sucking and licking until you were content with the colorful array of bruises you'd left in your wake.

"Kiss me." You whispered against the defined curve of his jaw, wanting another taste of those pretty little lips. His head dropped forward obediently, mouth open and ready to be received by you. Fuck, he looked so hot from that angle; dark, hooded eyes pooling with lust so deep you could drown it it, kissable, rose petal lips glistening and swollen and just begging for attention, full cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of red that only enticed you further.

How could he look so ruined? You hadn't even touched his dick yet.

The thought roused a scoff in the back of your throat, and Jungkook pulled back slightly at the sound. "What?" He asked, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Nothing..." you grinned lazily, before kissing him slowly, deeply, lustfully; kissing him in such a way that the poor boy was trembling in your lap, gasping and whining by the time you pulled away with a lewd smack, lips wet and stained an erotic crimson. You chuckled as he swallowed, pupils blow and unfocused. Reaching up, you cupped his chin, rolling your thumb over his lower lip. He sighed, eyes fluttering as he teased the tip of the digit with his tongue.

"... just wanna put your dick in my mouth."

At that, his shimmering doe eyes popped open wide, shocked— then excited.

"Don't tease me." He pleaded weakly, hips stuttering over your thighs.

You reach between your bodies, taking the time to revere the fine-tuned slopes and edges of his ridged abdomen, before finally finding the hard outline of his flushed, angry cock straining against the thick fabric of his sweats. He gasped brokenly at the contact, forehead falling against your shoulder as he gripped desperately onto your arms, dull nails digging into your biceps. You turned, smirking lips feathering over the shell of his pink tinted ear.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And then, he was on his back.

Jungkook let out a squeak of surprise, chest heaving as he attempted to process the sudden change in position. But you didn't give him the chance, slotting yourself between his spread thighs

"W– we didn't do this last time." He stuttered clumsily, staring up at you with those wide, dangerously innocent eyes that made you want to absolutely wreck him.

"No, we didn't." You confirmed, nipping lightly at one of his pert brown nipples. He jolted, letting out a low, unsteady moan of your name, a cry for your attention.

"S– sensitive, noona."

God, he is so fucking cute.

"I'll be gentle." The reassurance did little to soothe the violent thundering of his heart, the heavy thrum of it setting his every limb to shaking.

He was nervous. You could tell. Understandably.

Truth is— Jungkook was a virgin.

Key word: was.

As in, before he broke into your apartment at 3am on that fateful morning where you lost your cool because damn did you he look good in that skin tight black t-shirt that showed off those sexy tattoos and those thigh hugging black skinny jeans that squeezed his cute butt in all the right places. Of course, you didn't discover that until after the deed was done (seeing as he hadn't had the mind to tell you while your tongue was shoved halfway down his throat).

But god, you felt so guilty. You'd never taken anyone's virginity before. And you weren't so sure fucking on a kitchen counter was the most... romantic way of losing it. It had been quick, messy, all sweat and teeth and nails, the blunt edge of the cold counter digging into your ass.

Sure, it felt fucking amazing, and you'd received no complaints from Jungkook's end. But still. Had you known, you would've been... gentler. Or, at the very least, you would have had the tact to take him to bed.

You hadn't even blown him for fucks sake.

So, if you were doing this —and, as it appeared, you were most definitely doing this— then goddamnit, you were going to do it right and make up for all the things you hadn't done his first time.

You descended his body slowly, taking your sweet time licking and nibbling over all his lovely curves and sharp edges, marking the places you'd been with pink, flowering bruises. His head kicked back, mouth falling open around an onslaught of heady moans as he reveled in your unrelenting affections. Distracted, he didn't even notice you slipping his pants down his legs until the cool air hit the sensitive tip of his weeping cock.

"N– noona!" He propped himself up on his elbows, desperate to see you, to find your eyes through the disorienting cloud of lust he found himself engulfed in. Arousal spun his brain into useless mush inside of his skull at the sight of you between his legs, looking right back up at him, pretty mouth hovering just above his hard need, soft breath caressing the feverish skin.

"Relax, Jungkook. It'll feel good." You chuckled, pressing a soothing kiss to his hip.

"I– I know," he swallowed, and you didn't miss the dark blush creeping into his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shyly, "I just— I want to make you feel good... too... b- because last time you didn't..."

Last time you didn't...?

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay," you hummed simply, pushing yourself up with an easy smile, "I can think of a solution."

Jungkook watched with bated breath as you stood, damn near choking on his own spit when you abruptly shoved your pajama shorts down your legs. "N- no underwear?" He whispered, voice hoarse and strained as he stared unabashedly at the bare expanse of smooth skin between your thighs, glistening with sticky wetness.

You smirked faintly, appreciating the reverence glistening in his melting brown eyes. "For convenience sake," you teased.

He flopped down on the couch with a dramatic groan. "Fuck, you're killing me."

Leaning over the younger boy, you pressed a deep, purposeful kiss to his delicate, lovely lips, eliciting an appreciative moan from his burning chest.

"Don't worry..." you pulled back, breathing the words into his open mouth, "I'll do it slow."

"Fuck..." he squeaked.

Laughing softly, you dropped your knees to the edge of the sofa and splayed a hand over his toned stomach. He was hard and warm to the touch, and you liked the way his muscles flinched and fluttered beneath your palm.

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," you pressed your lips to his throat, feeling the way it bobbed as he swallowed, "I'm gonna get on top of you..." you walked your fingers down towards where his dick lay, red and leaking across his belly, "and you're going to eat me out," he moaned shakily against your cheek, hands lifting to grip your arms, "while I suck your pretty little cock. How's that sound?"

"S– so good. Fuck, that sounds so fucking good." He pulled at you greedily, begging you with wide, wanting eyes.

You caved to him all too easily, carefully maneuvering your body until you were situated above him, knees planted on the cushion on either side of his head. Hot breath rushed over your exposed core, sending shivers ricocheting down your spine. Hands gripped at your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. He was pulling again, whining out soft, shuddering "please, please, please" as he tugged at your hips, trying to get you closer. Closer.

Teasingly, you kept your hips raised, just out of reach of his ravenous mouth, so eager to steal a taste. "Noona," he whined petulantly, "don't be cruel."

Cruel? You nearly scoffed. You haven't even begun.

Regardless, you decided to end the torture there, lowering your hips until you were within his reach. He didn't let a moment pass before his tongue was on you, lapping eagerly at your wet slit. You gasped, clutching tightly onto the thick muscles of his thighs, your own legs growing weak under his relentless ministrations.

Holy shit. You didn't expect it to feel that good.

It was only when Jungkook's hips bucked beneath you, a pleading whimper vibrating through your center, that you realized you weren't fulfilling your end of the deal. Stuttering back into motion, you encircled his hard length in an unsteady hand, feeling the raw heat of it throbbing angrily within your grasp.

"You're good with your tongue, baby." You chuckled breathlessly, pumping him slowly with the help of his spilling precum. He moaned in response to the praise, long fingers digging in hard to the flesh of your ass. Another, more violent tremble wracked your body as his tongue dragged over your sensitive clit, the responding rush of pleasure pulling a low groan from your chest.

Shit, if he kept that up—

Feeling that you'd given him enough of a head start, you dipped down, swiftly engulfing his glistening tip in your lips. Jungkook gasped against you, and you could almost picture his eyes snapping wide open, jaw going slack. The blissful pressure of his tongue gave way to cold air as he tensed and shuddered beneath you, all those hard, rigid muscles turning to jelly as he processed the mind numbing sensation of your mouth around his cock. It was an unwelcome absence, and you quickly found yourself growing impatient and —shamefully enough— needy, your aching core craving attention.

But Jungkook was a mess beneath you, moaning and whining pathetically as his hips bucked and spasmed, entirely overwhelmed. His arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly you were certain you'd be feeling it tomorrow. You felt his tongue, sloppy and uncoordinated lapping at your folds with a desperation that set your blood to flames. The vibrations of his sounds resonated through your clit, and you hastened your own movement, feeling yourself clench and throb with your impending release.

You pulled off of him with a lewd pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his swollen tip to your lower lip, before sliding your hands beneath his ample thighs and tugging.

"Lift your legs for me, baby."

He obeyed immediately, feet rising from the cushion, too lost in your intoxicating taste to second guess what you were planning. At least, not until he felt your touch shifting from his thighs to his ass, and a warm, wet dribble of saliva sliding over his hole. He flinched violently, a gasp shooting from his lips at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Ah–! N- Noona, where are you touching—" he yelped, trying to sit up and catch a glimpse around the shape of your body. Swinging your ankles up to rest against his shoulders, you forced him back down, looking back at him from over your shoulder with a cocked brow and a seductive grin.

"Where do you think?" You chuckling teasingly. "Are you clean?"

"Yeah..." he whispered shyly, and you could practically feel the heat of his blush radiating against your skin as he confessed, "I– I showered before coming over..."

"Good." You slid a single finger over the ring of muscle, watching in amusement as it fluttered and clenched in response to the unsubstantial caress. "Tell me if you need me to stop, alright?"

At first he only nodded, but choked out a soft "okay" when you pinched his thigh, urging him to use his words.

Purring out a low praise, you returned to his cock, licking a thick strip from base to tip as your index slowly circled his entrance. Jungkook whined and squirmed, still trying his best to keep up with pleasuring you. It was cute, feeling and hearing him struggle.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered what kind of face he was making beneath your dripping cunt. Were his eyes rolling to the back of his head? Was his tongue hanging out of his mouth? Was his feverish skin glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your arousal? Fuck, you were so curious.

In an attempt to stifle your frustration over not getting to see what kind of fucked out expression he wore, you sunk the tip of your digit into his hole, down to the first knuckle. Jungkook gasped at the unexpected intrusion, his already hard grip on your thighs tightening further. Even with just the tip in, he was clenching hard, and you allowed him a handful of moments to adjust to the sensation. You hummed around his length, swirling your tongue expertly over his sensitive tip to distract from any momentary discomfort he might've been feeling.

It seemed to work well enough, his body gradually relaxing around you as he let out soft, airy moans, delicate whispers of your name fluttering from his lips. "You can—" he whimpered as you licked his slit, "you can put it in deeper."

Heat coiled in your gut, a wicked smirk spreading across your face. "You want it deeper, kookie?" There was a taunting pitch to your words that had the boy curling in on himself, skin hot with embarrassment. When he made no effort to respond, you squeezed your free hand around the thick base of his dick, wrenching a cry from his throat. "If you want it deeper, you have to ask nicely."

"You're so mean, Noona." He whined hoarsely, the muscles in his legs tensing sporadically from the effort it was taking to not fuck himself into your closed fist.

"That didn't sound like a question..."

Jungkook groaned weakly, head tossed back in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. There was a beat, and then you felt the shy press of his lips against your clit accompanied by a light flick of his tongue.

"P– please put it in deeper, Noona..."

"Mmm, good boy," you emphasized the praise by slipping the rest of your finger into his tight heat, spitting once more to ensure substantial lubrications.

"Ngh— oh f– fuck—"

"Does it hurt?"

"No it just..." he swallowed thickly, "feels a little weird."

"This should help with that," you murmured, more so to yourself than him, curling your finger in search of that small bundle of nerves that would make him—

"Ah! Oh fuck!"

A smug grin settled across your lips. Found it.

Jungkook moaned loudly, tossing his head back, hips bucking violently as you rolled your finger against his prostate, sending tendrils of white hot pleasure bursting through his body. That's more like it.

"Feel good?"

"Yes! Yes! Feels– ah! Feels so good, noona," he sobbed brokenly, clutching onto your legs. You thrust your finger into him slowly, making sure to ease him into the feeling of having something inside of him. If you played this right, perhaps he'd let you do more than just finger him. You had toys sitting in your closet that you were just dying to use. Who better on than the cute snack thief next door?

"Think you can take another?" You asked, a bit eager to stretch him out, to see how much he could handle.

He nodded quickly, grinding his hips greedily down onto your finger, wanting it deeper, harder, faster. "Please. Please. I want more."

"Needy little slut." You laughed dryly, nudging your middle finger against the rim of his wet hole. You sure as hell didn't miss the way his pretty cock twitched in response to the degrading words, and a whole new round of excitement festered inside of you.

You were going to have so much fun with him.

It took a bit of careful prodding before you managed to press the length of your second digit inside of him, his tight walls clamping down around the invading appendages.

"Please move." He begged pathetically.

You planted a steadying palm to his hips as they began to buck, holding them down against the cushion. "You're too tight, sweetheart."

"I– I can't help it." He whined, a distressed cry breaking from his heaving chest.

Sympathy swirled in your belly. You could damn near feel the desperation radiating from his body in thick, hot waves. Dipping your head, you pressed a light kiss to the swollen, red head of his shuddering cock.

"Then let me help you relax."

Jungkook sobbed as you took him into your mouth, the warmth of your skilled tongue tracing a slow ring around the underside of his tip sending his head into a tailspin. It wasn't long before you felt the tension in his muscles melting away, quickly snatching the opportunity to start fucking your fingers into him. The pace you set was slow and steady, but you made sure that with every thrust you were brushing against his prostate.

The amount of pleasure rushing through his body at that point was overwhelming, and he'd been reduced to a moaning, crying mess beneath you. Any words he managed to choke out between his sounds of bliss was broken and unintelligible on swollen lips. A small corner of your mind was concerned about your neighbors, wondering if they could hear his wailing through the dangerously thin walls.

"N– Noona— it's so good, oh my god feels so fucking good—"

Fuck. To hell with the neighbors. They should be goddamn grateful.

You sped up the pace of your fingers, burying them down to the knuckle with each thrust. He was writhing now, unable to control his body let alone keep still as he was engulfed in a mind numbing heat. It wrapped itself around his every limb, his every sense overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his impending release.

"I– I think I'm gonna—" he couldn't even make it through his warning before he was cut off by his own whimpers. Luckily, you didn't need him to finish his sentence to know what he was trying to say. The signs were obvious enough, especially with the way his wall were throbbing around your fingers, the way he was pulsing between your lips, lathering the back of your tongue with an onslaught his salty pre-cum.

You hastened your ministrations, taking him off guard as your plunged down on his cock, stopping only when your lips met the sweat-slick skin of his pelvis. Jungkook cried out a shattered version of your name, unable to stop his hips from jerking up violently at the feeling of your throat constricting around him as you swallowed.

That seemed to be the last push he needed, because within the next second he was writhing and spilling hot cum down your throat, walls clamping down so hard around your fingers you worried they might break.

It was like nothing he'd every experienced before, he could feel it in every single part of his body. From his curled toes to his trembling finger tips, every last inch of him was devastated by the hurricane of erotic bliss. And unlike every other orgasms he'd experienced in the past, the high of it last way longer than just a few seconds. By the time it finally began to fade, he was still shaking.

You pulled your fingers out of him as gently as you could, but he still whimpered at the sensitivity, quivering legs squeezing shut. Maneuvering around so that you were draped over his chest, you whispered soft apologies against his throat and jaw, spilling soothing kisses across the flushed, perspiring skin. Jungkook curled into you, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

For a while you stayed like that, letting him bask in the post-orgasmic bliss as you bathed him in the kind of tender affection that he wasn't used to receiving from you. But, you'd always considered aftercare a vital part of a good sexual experience so, even if it was a bit out of character, you were more than happy to tell him just how good he'd been for you. And he was more than happy to relish in your praise.

"Noona?" He called for your attention suddenly, after his breathing had finally evened out and the deep crimson coating his cheeks had faded into an endearing pink.

"Yes?"

Against your lips, you felt him swallow.

"You didn't cum, did you?"

"I didn't." You admitted after a beat, suddenly reminded of the ache between your legs. You'd managed to be distracted from it, entirely too focused on breaking Jungkook in all the best ways to be concerned with receiving any pleasure. But now, you found yourself very much aware of just how badly you were craving your own release. Subconsciously, you squeezed your legs together.

There was a pause.

"Noona."

"Hm?"

"Sit on my face."

The demand had your hooded eyes flying wide open, mouth freezing mid-kiss.

"... please." He remedied in a bashful whisper.

For a moment, your brain went blank, not fully processing the request. But when it finally did, there were only two words that flooded into your mind and rushed from your lips in a breathless, excited murmur.

Fuck yes.

[bokettochild]

Legendary Cousins

So... I promised @peachy-scars that I would write them this a while back when they posted this, and after consulting y’all (I think it was @attllhak and several anons who helped the most) I finally had enough to just go ham and write this beautiful piece of garbage.

Hope you like it, Peaches!

 They had landed in a new Hyrule, and Legend’s instant reaction was to blink and stare about with a conflicted expression on his face while the others had stared in confusion at their surroundings.

 “Why’s this look so weird?” Wind demanded eloquently as he pulled himself out from beneath a giggling Hyrule, who always laughed nervously when they landed in a new Hyrule and seemed particularly giddy today.

 “Wind, manners.” Time chided softly, pulling himself back up and working with Wild to pull his protégé back up, Twilight looking around dizzily as he leaned on his mentor for balance. “You don’t know whose home this might be.”

 “I do.” Legend hissed softly, hooded eyes staring towards a nearby path while a slight smile touched his lips. “New Hero everyone.”

 Glances were exchanged before shooting to the vet in confusion. “How...”

 “You knew there were more heroes?” Warriors sputtered, staring at the vet in surprise while the hero in question pulled himself to his feet and shook out his limbs, knuckles crackling painfully and making the others wince.

 “Time travel mixed with world hopping and the occasional visit to other countries.” Legend answered in a low voice, stretching towards the sky and standing on the tips of his toes (eyes turned away as the vet’s already short tunic rode higher). “I’ve met plenty of other heroes. Five- maybe six? Not sure.” He shrugged, arms falling back to his sides as he moved further into the forest. “Come along, if we want to check up on things we’d best get headed to the castle. Monsters out here are brutal, even if they are bloody crazy.”

 Glances were exchanged again, Wind’s wide eyes growing wider as he mouthed the words ‘six other heroes’ to his brothers.

 “Who met Legend before all this went down?” The captain hissed, pulling Four up onto his back. “Because it sure as heck wasn’t me.”

 No one answered, and they didn’t have much of a chance to as the Vet’s voice broke through the forest, a harsh hiss for them to hurry. “You stay there all day the ‘blins’ll eat you!”

 Eight heroes pulled themselves along, following after as Legend trailed silently through the forest.

 Each stumble or loud noise earned a glare from the vet, and if it didn’t come from them, it made him freeze, steps stopping immediately as his ears would prick towards the sound. More than once, Twilight or Sky had to muffle a laugh in their respective wraps as the image of a bunny starting to alert entered their minds.

 Maybe it’s the laughter. Maybe it’s just their dang Hero of Courage luck, or maybe it’s just because Hylia thinks it funny, but even with all Legend’s glaring and stopping and sneaking, they are attacked just as they reach the edge of the forest.

 The monsters are... horrifying. Nothing most of them have ever even seen, and the only thing they can do as they fight is to take the vet’s advice. “Aim for the eyes! And if you can’t reach them, the ankles!” The vet shouts as he kicks into a spin attack. The other heroes follow suit, ripping into the beasts as Wild pulls back from the group, setting off volleys of arrows as best he can do by himself, and successfully blinding a few of the monsters.

 They’re thick into the song of battle when an unknown voice rings out. “Good golly! Hang on there, sirs!”

 It’s hard to see past the swarms of monsters (seriously, they’ve never been this thick!) but blonde hair and a swinging sword assure them that whomever it is, is likely the hero Legend had told them about. Enemies fall as bombs explode and various weapons pierce through hearts and heads.  

 Once the dust has cleared, they take careful stock of their injuries and weapons (Wild’s shattered another sword and Four is sighing wearily) before turning their attention to their unexpected help.

 Legend and the other hero stand over a dead bokoblin, shaking hands in a friendly manner while the one chatters to the other, the vet smiling thinly but genuinely as he listens.

 “Vet, who’s this?”

 “Ah! You have friends!” A bright smile is turned their way as the swordsman releases Legend’s hand. “Greetings! I’m Link.”

 “The Hero of Koridai.” Legend adds on, rolling his eyes.

 “Aw, come on, Other-Link!” The newcomer grins, jabbing Legend playfully in the side and effectively stealing his breath. “I’m just Link is all.”

 “That’s all of their names too.” Legend wheezes, glaring up at the other.

 The chain of heroes takes in the newcomer, who, much to the captain’s dismay, seems to share Legend’s opinion of pants, as well as a preference for pegasus boots. Bright brown eyes stare back at them, a dopey grin on the hero’s face, but beneath the welcoming grin there's a glint of something sharp and dangerous that has Warriors shuffling back warily.

 “What adventure is this? Finish meeting up with your lovely cousins?”

 The vet huffs a breath, clearing his throat as he straightens up again. “Thereabouts, this’ll be adventure seven.”

 “Ooh, seven. Ouch.” Bright brown turn towards the vet with a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about that.”

 “You had your own quests.” Legend dismisses, as if his words don’t confuse the others. “How’s Zelly by the way? We haven’t heard from her.”

 Link, for lack of a better current name, smiles cheerily. “Half a minute yet there.” Turning to the others he offers yet another impossibly wide smile, it’s very nearly uncomfortable to look at, and Legend is the only one who seems unaffected by doing so (he has seen far, far worse from this world). “We should skedaddle over to the castle.” A halting motion is made towards the castle just in front of them as the newest hero laughs nervously. “As long as you’re there, you won’t be attacked.”

 And for lack of anything else to do, they agree, following after as Legend and the new Link chat in the front, Legend with an amount of patience that has never in their memory presented itself and the new Link with an almost irritating amount of pep and cheer. “Zelly’s doing great, and we’re hoping to visit all of you soon too! Or, we were, but the monsters started getting real bad an’ Zel figured we’d better stay behind to make sure they didn’t cause too much trouble.”

 “How bad?” The vet’s brows quirk with concern and Warriors nearly stumbles at the gentle expression on Legend’s face.

 “Just a bit stronger.” The new Link shrugs, but smiles brightly up at Legend. “It’s not as bad as last time though, so don’t worry your pink head about it.”

 And Legend... Legend actually laughs, reaching up to tug the cap of the other Link as they cross into the shadow of Hyrule Castle’s walls.  

 “What the-” Warriors is cut off with a blaring ‘Beep!’ from Wind, who looks up at him cheekily when the captain looks down at him.

 “Censoring.” Wind chirrups.

 ”Soooo...” Twilight drawls, a smile pulling at his features as he looks between the duo, the heroes all relaxing as they enter the castle gates. “How do you two know each other?”

 “We’re cousins!” Link chirrups happily, shooting another smile over his shoulder that’s just a bit too wide and a bit too sharp.”

 “Third Cousins or...” Legend waves his hand vaguely. “Somethin’. Their father is my second cousin or some sort of thing, it’s unclear honestly, all we know is that Zelda is my cousin somewhere down the line and with those two dating-” The other Link flushes at the statement, face as dopey as Sky’s gets. “He’s bound to be thrown in there somewhere too.”

 “Wait!” Four looks from one of the cousins to the other (there is a bit of resemblance, uncannily enough, even though Link smiles far more than Legend). “Whose time is this?”

 The two share a look, nodding firmly before turning to the others and speaking together. “Both.”

 “Two heroes? In one time?” Time cocks a brow.

 Legend throws his hands up. “You can talk to Hylia about that!”

 “Oh!” Link’s grin widens further as he bounces in place. “And how is Aunt Hylia? Golly, I haven’t seen her in ages!”

 “Aunt Hylia...” Sky blinks slowly.

 The vet huffs. “Fine. She’s letting Fable back into the fighting ring this weekend, figured since the Master didn’t mess things up that it’d be okay to let Hylians head back out there. Hide the evidence if they send me an invite, yeah?”

 “Will do!” Comes the chipper reply, but the other heroes aren’t done.

 “Wait, wait, wait, how many heroes are there in this time?” Warriors looks from one to the other with panic building in his gaze.

 Link frowns in what seems an over-the-top expression of thought. “Do the colors count?”  

 Four chokes.

 Legend flushes. “They count.” His voice is strained and nearly wheezing as swirling hazel stares a hole in his head.

 “And then there’s the Hytopian wannabe, who might very well actually be one.” Link continues. “And the two of us. Does Great-Grandfather Raven count?”

 “Not in this time, he just traveled here briefly when Nayru became corrupted.” Legend drawls with a head tilt, as if talking about meeting your ancestors and de-corrupting a goddess was normal for this world, and with the way Link just nods along, they are all beginning to worry that that is the norm here.

 “Right, so five heroes.” Link nods slowly. “And then we have great-gramps Raven, and whoever- wait.” The new Link’s eyes fly wide open as he motions to Time. “Isn’t that Great-Gramps?”

 Legend and Time both splutter as the vet hurries to correct the other hero. “No! He’s...” Legend looks from the startled Time to his cousin. “That’s the Hero of Time.” He whispers gravely, and Link’s eyes blow even wider as he looks to Time, who winces. They’ve all heard of what happened to the Hero of Time in this world.

 “Oh!” Link breathes, before another smile stretches over his face. “Great-Great-Gramma Lon’s husband!”

 Legend just facepalms while Time stands with his mouth flapping and fingers twitching, the old man now trying to calculate exactly how many children are now officially his while Warriors proceeded to have all the color drain out of his face.

 “How are there two heroes of Courage here!!!!” The Captain hisses, and Link and Legend both look at each other. “And for the love of Hylia! Stop looking at each other all the time, what, can you read minds?!?!”

 And both stare at the captain with the deadest of dead expressions, which actually makes Link all the more unnerving and Legend all the more intimidating. “Yes.”

 It takes a while, but once they meet Zelda, she takes the time to explain.

 “Our fathers are cousins.” She says, smiling at the heroes as they all sit and have lunch in the courtyard, motioning to Legend as she speaks. The vet is currently pulling his hat back off of his face after having it tugged down in vengeance for earlier. “Once both had married into the royal family, there was contention in the kingdom so Auntie Hylia sent Mapa and Papa out here to take care of this part of the kingdom while she handled things in central Hyrule.

 “Most folks call Papa a king because they forget that it’s one country, but what with the high borders and all, it may as well be its own country.” She shrugs as she pops another piece of food in her mouth. “And there aren’t two Courage Wielders, technically. I mean, there are, but Link isn’t one of them.” She smiles in a sly sort of way, too wide, too knowing, too creepy for many of the heroes to be comfortable. “He just happens to care a lot and does what he can.”

 “Oh yeah,” Hyrule nods knowingly, chewing slowly on his own meal. “My brother is like that too.”

 The others, even Legend and Link, turn to Hyrule in shock. “Your what???”

[bloodycassian]

Azriel x reader - enemies to mututals. LONGER - Peregryn Reader and Az go on a mission together. Comebacks, snark and injuries. - azriel taking care of hurt reader. 

Send me requests please! 

Not a soul dared step in your way as you plowed through the war camp.  "You will not be flying anywhere." You shouted over the murmuring group. Rhys' inner circle whipped their heads to you. Cassian's hand went to the dagger at his side instantaneously. You felt the spymasters shadows curling around your ankles. 

"You challenge me, I'm impressed." Rhys smiled like a cat, pushing off the table littered with pawns and a map of the region. Azriel's shadows curled further up your legs, taking the hint from his high lord. "Your spymasters eyes and ears seem to be doing an inadequate job." You said with distaste, glaring at Azriel. You tucked your feathered wings in tight, tension in the room spiking. Darkness flared, Azriels' shadows spiking over your legs, swirling angrily. 

Rhysand considered for a moment. None of the eyes left you. You dared not look away from the high lord. The piercing eyes of The Morrigan burned into you. Her silver armor shone even in the dull tent. "Leave us." He said at last, with a wave of his hand. His counterparts glanced at him, before obeying and walking out. 

Azriel stayed put, the shadows still circling the room like a fog. 

"I don't like being insulted, Peregryn." Azriel growled, his wings twitching.

  "I dont like dying, Illyrian." You countered. His face twisted in disgust. Rhysand sighed, taking a seat at the head of the table. You felt his aura inside your head, asking, tempting. They knew not many were a fan of their court, but so far you could really see the WHY behind it. 

"I understand you're a part of a different court but we are here fighting together against this threat." He spoke aloud, you felt his presence recede from your mind.  "If you don't want me to see what you have seen, how am I to know to trust you?" He smiled wickedly, as if he knew you would never let him in to your head. True, the night court and autumn court were not on the friendliest of terms. Especially after Thesan had made a public enemy of you for abandoning his court to help in the fight on the continent. 

"I understand fully that we are different courts, with different ideals working together. Perhaps your generals don't though." You nodded out the open flap of the tent. "Why my forces are going in first when there's an aerial threat beyond the border to Rask is beyond me. Perhaps you could explain." You said sweetly, pulling out the chair at the opposite end of the table and sitting. Azriel remained standing, his presence looming. He glanced toward Rhys, and they seemed to have a silent conversation in the looks alone. You had no doubt that he and the high lord were speaking mind to mind. 

"I can assure you there was no ill intent behind it." Rhys muttered, his eyes held no trace of lies. He had no tell , no body language that would suggest other wise as he spoke plainly. "As for the aerial threat, I will find Azriel here sees to it. If you are willing to help, of course." He swirled the glass of wine on the table, taking a sip. Azriel's face went a bit red. Likely mentally shouting at the high lord. "You understand, this assures I can trust your word and you're not trying-" He took a breath, humming as he let it out. Considering. Or putting on a show. It was hard to tell what face of him was the genuine one. "Well if you would let me in I guess I would know if you had any.. intentions." 

The silence seemed electrifying, Azriels shadows were swirling faster, whispering over his shoulder into his ear. His hair moved slightly in the presence of them. His siphons glowed, despite no direct threat. 

You stood slowly, standing tall in the presence of the two. "You know where my tent is, Shadowsinger." His face revealed nothing at your words. Rhysand saluted you mockingly. Chin held high, you strode out of the tent.

+ As soon as the sun had dipped below the treeline enough to cast shadows through the forest Azriel had appeared at your tent. The temperature seemed to dip slightly at his presence. "If you're ready we can go." He said, voice plain outside your flap door.

"And why wouldn't I be ready, shadowmaster?" You said with a charming smile, hoping it annoyed him. While pulling on your light armor, you stalked past him and to the edge of the forest. He seemed stunned momentarily, but caught up quickly. He matched your pace with ease.  

The hilly terrain made for an interesting forest pattern, but the area you remembered spotting the archers and arterillary trebuchets was very obvious. You dared not fly, with your wings so light colored against the darkened sky.  "We're walking?" He asked, his wings flaring. You crunched through the brush that lined the forest edge. 

"It's an aerial capture unit. They'll either shoot us down or take us prisoner until they get what they want." You said over your shoulder. "Is the Illyrian afraid of a hike?" You teased. 

You heard a grunt and he was suddenly right next to you, his footsteps loud as he adjusted to the rocky slope you were heading up. "I don't like being called that, you know." He muttered, his eyes straight ahead. 

Strange. Very strange for an illyrian indeed. Normally they were obnoxiously proud of their heritage like no other. It made you pause your comeback for a moment. you tried to remember the brief history of the night court you had been briefed on in training. Nothing was ever said about the high lord or his generals beyond their extraordinary abilities. 

You knew the Illyrian possessiveness first hand. Anger flickered inside you, remembering what they did to their females. The abusiveness of their court when it came to yours and your winged cousins. How cruel they were in battle. You couldn't stop the thought as it raced from your lips - "Not proud of the clipping or breeding, spymaster?" You growled.

He was on you in an instant. Had you pinned against the side of the grassy knoll a second after that. The air left your body at the impact against the dirt burm. Your wings splayed out behind you on instinct, trying to balance you. His were as well, using them as extra force to hold you there. Your hand was at your dagger, but you didn't feel the need to use it, his grip loosened.

"Fuck. you." He bit out. You saw his hands as they gripped your armor. Scarred lines lay on his fingers, the back of his hands up to his wrist. They were a lighter color than the rest of his dark skin. Ridges puckering together like soft peaks of a mountain range. The sounds outside of your breathing together seemed to stop, his sharp tone silencing the woods completely. His eyes seemed like an endless pit, despair and malice under their shallow surface. 

He shoved off you with a sigh, and continued down the trail. Wings snapped in tight behind him. You dusted yourself off and followed under the cover of nightfall. 

+ The group of fae and beasts was getting exceedingly more and more rowdy as the night went on and the barrels of mead emptied. You didn't doubt the reason being that they thought your forces wouldn't move in the night. Not with so many foot soldiers that could be picked off in the forest by...unknown creatures. You shuddered at the thought of such things. The group was no more than thirty large, probably to winnow faster. Every pair had a weapon or a net weighted with stones that would nullify any magic. The arrows were likely poisoned as well. The trebuchet was packed with stones, boulders and what looked like wooden nails. They were planning for maximum damage.

"You take east, I'll go by the river." You whispered behind him, knowing that his shadows would pick it up if he didnt. The enemy campfire flickered in front of him, making his silhouette glow from where you crouched. His only response to your plan was a slight nod. You left him to it, creeping through the trees, avoiding leaves and fallen twigs that would make more sound than the soft pine floor. The fog of shadows whipped in a flurry around you as departed him. They stayed with you until you were firmly in the trees, the bubbling stream of the river loud enough to cover your tracks.

His signal to attack was subtle, but it worked. At first it seemed like their campfire had begun to sputter and smoke, leading to them quieting. Then, two decapitated heads were flung into the middle of the crowd circling the pit.  A rustling from where Azriel originally stood had them scrambling for weapons, sticks, swords. Anything they could find. Then he sliced into three of their knees from behind. You were diving into the fray when the group had finally gotten their defenses up. 

+ The snarls died out one by one. Azriel finished off the final Attor when a blinding pain in your back hit you. Your first instinct was to stab. The fae that stood behind you held your dagger in her stomach, looking you in the eye. The wooden steak at their side dropped to the ground. Her lips parted in a wicked smile as she pushed your knife deeper into her own stomach. "Death." She hissed. You felt the blood drain out of your face. She raised her other hand and was bringing it down when Truth Teller sliced clean through the neck. The hand dropped, as did the rest of the body that held your knife. 

Pain returned to you as soon as the head stopped rolling on the ground. You could feel the blood dripping... not from your back. You let out a roar of anguish, trying to fold your wing inward. Your feathers were stained a dark red. It looked black in the dim light. Azriel was on you in a second, without a word he had his hands on you, your wing. 

Pain dazzled you in more ways than you ever thought possible. It burned, it stung, it ached. It was enough to make you pass out for a few moments while Azriel carried you closer to the fire. "Fly- Me-" You panted between words. "Healer." You barked, letting your wing hang limp at your side. Azriel was assessing behind you. Slowly, methodically. Coolness encapsulated your wing. It was a slight relief against the burning.

"I cant fly with you if you can bring your wings in. And we need to get this out before it spreads, its poisoned..." He paused, hissing at whatever he was seeing. There was a pinch and he had a hand on the firm ridge, bending slightly. " Its in too deep to hope for a healer to recover by the time we get there too." he finished, working delicately around your feathers.

He was gentle, and firm while he did his best to get the bigger spikes out. You could feel the smaller slivers digging in whenever he bent your wing a different angle or if you tensed it at all. It began to itch as the fire died, casting you in darkness. "Dammit." He sighed, getting up. You hadn't realised how bad the gash was until you looked over your shoulder to see the pile of splinters he had gotten out so far.

"I may have left some in there, just don't move alright?" He stroked the curve of your wing. It sent a thrill through you that made your stomach flip despite the pain. "I'll be back in a minute. Just... stay put. Please." He added, then he was gone.

Your eyes grew heavy while you stared at the embers glowing in the fire. Thinking of Rhysand and his smug smile kept you awake. You couldn't wait until his own general proved him wrong. And proved the group was very capable of taking out winged foes, apparently. You sighed, then went rigid. A crack of sticks sounded. You panicked, knowing how treacherous the forest was without an extra pair of eyes looking out for you. You flung yourself to the fae woman's body, clawing for your dagger still embedded in her stomach. Your wing drug behind you, limp and aching. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Azriel gasped, dropping the pile of wood next to the fire pit as he came into view. 

"You're a bastard." You groaned, wishing you could just lay down and wake up from this nightmare of pain and terror. "You're terrible and I hate you. So much." You panted, dropping the dagger. It rolled on the dirt beside you. 

Once he had you set back up where he could see properly he began the more painful process of removing the splinters. You doubted any monsters in the dark would come lurking with the sounds you made.

"For some fucked up hands they do delicate work." You ground out through your teeth. He paused for just a second. A sharper pain than normal twisted through the wing. You laughed slightly at that, despite the pain. 

"Well- for some fucked up wing you sure do have a mouth still." He chided back. "I told you to just stay put and you crawl ten feet away. And get dirt under your feathers on top of that." He sounded like he was smiling. 

"I didn't know you were such a neat freak, Shadowsinger." He huffed a laugh, continuing to patch you up.

"My mother was. My actual mother." He said softly. He was solemn for a moment. You wished you could see his face as he spoke. "My step mother's children are the ones who did this to my hands." His voice was near a whisper. You nodded, causing a shooting pain through your back and the area he worked on. "If I have to tell you to hold still again I'll just knock you out." He warned, putting a hand on your shoulder.

+ Once he was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and helped you fold your wings in. It was stiff. It felt like a part of you had been cut off. An unusable part that acted only to slow you down. You despised it. The pain radiated through to your back once you pulled them in. Fear struck you at that. Weakly, you turned to him. 

"I cant-" You bit back tears. You hated the words as they came out. "I cant fly." You muttered, your throat tightening. 

Silently, he held a hand out to you. An invitation. 

He was even more delicate while flying, gliding on the air as much as possible and keeping your weight balanced so you wouldn't jostle your injury too much. It was still uncomfortable. The base camp was miles away, with differing terrain. You hadn't realised how far it was until you were overhead and couldn't see the light from the camp anymore.

"I'm going to call you feathers after this." He said, the air around you almost drowning him out as he flew as quickly as he could. The pain spiked at the pinch of folding them in, but it wasn't as unbearable. 

On the brink of sleep, you trudged your mind back awake to respond to him. "What do you mean?" You groaned, letting your head fall on to his shoulder. Exhaustion was quickly sweeping over you. A glance up at him and you saw the worry in his features. He pinched the back of your thigh slightly, provoking you.

"Feathers seem like a pain in the ass. Going around them, cleaning them, trying to... maneuver them?" He adjusted his grip on you slightly, pulling you closer. His heart hammered in his chest, you could hear it. "Stay awake for me, asshole." He was gliding lower now, his words were clipped.

"Tell Rhysand..." You groaned as he circled the healers tent "Fuck you." You panted, moaning in pain while he offloaded you on to the healers table. Medics surrounded you in a heartbeat. He began filling them in on the injury. Azriel did not leave your side the rest of the night.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY:  “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

*

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

*

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

*

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

*

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

*

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*

[alexjcrowley]

Hi! This fanfiction is based on an idea by @idrilearfalas , she wrote the entire concept and the iconic/important lines you'll find in this fanfiction, check out her blog, she is great.

The Pompeii mission, Mobius thought it would have been an easy one. Everybody knows what should happen in Pompeii and it's usually all natural. You just have to make sure someone dies- eh, sorry Plinius- and someone lives.

It's an easy mission, normally, but not when you have to handle a certain norse God of Mischief. One who likes to throw a tantrum on every other occasion.

It's usually nothing more than bantering, playful and witty at its best, sharp and bitter at its worst, but it's something Mobius can handle. He can even enjoy it, when he makes a stupid joke and Loki tells him how stupid it is and they both chuckle. Loki has to learn something new about being a TVA agent and most of the times he makes a fool of himself before getting the thing right, so Mobius can tease him a little and Loki will respond sharp as ever, but with a sort of...endearing note in his stubborness.

Those are good days, days Mobius comes back to his apartment with a smile and when he closes his eyes he can still hear the God's laughter at whatever funny thing happened that day, or replay the moment when they looked into eachothers' eyes and they suddenly understood what to do with the mission, with a single glance.

Today was not a good day. He didn't know the reason. Maybe Loki woke up on the wrong side of the bed, maybe Mobius accidentally made an unpleasant comment, but the norse God started their mission with a pout you could see on the face of a child when they don't get the Christmas present they wanted.

"Oh well" Mobius had thought. Oh well, it's just another bad day, a day in which he had to watch his mouth, because you don't want to deal with an angered God. The general mood was low, the Minutemen looked already tired before the mission had even started and Mobius knew from the moment he passed through the portal he wanted to come back home as soon as possible.

But this wasn't an ordinary bad day. Mobius was prepared to deal with a bit of coldness, with a lack of enthusiasm from everybody, what he wasn't ready to deal with- he didn't want to deal with Loki acting like an asshole.

"And that's it? Really?"

"What did you expect me to say, exactly? You brought me here, you told me I was living a delusion and you gave me no choice other than being your hound. I apologise if I can't think of you as one of my dear friends."

"One of your dear friends? Who would the others be? Just curious, because I have seen your entire life and there is not one person, except maybe Thor, you actually build this strong and trusting relationship with-"

"Wonderful, so why did you expect you'd be the first one I'd decide to grant the gift of my friendship to? I am not even your colleague, I am subjected to this stupid organisation and to you in particular. We are not friends, we forcibly work together and that's it."

Mobius and Loki had been speed walking during the entire discussion, but Loki stopped for a moment.

"You can't fool me, I know very well I am not anything more than your ticket to the Variant. I'll be damned before I put my trust in you, we both know, after all of this has come to an end, nothing will be between me and that resetting stick."

You see, on an ordinary bad day, this would have never happened. On an ordinary bad day, Mobius wouldn't have seen all of his efforts to build a decent relationship with Loki shattered. Was he used to a suspicious Loki? Yes. To a Loki who said that trust is for dogs and children? Also yes. He had been used to that Loki since he first opened up his file. But he had also started being used to Loki's rare moments when he opened up, to his hidden heroic side which desperately seemed to call for attention, to his awkward, genuine reaction when he was showed any form of affection. Mobius had seen Loki spitting his "trust nobody" one liners with less and less convinction everyday, and then they were only mumbled comments to keep up a façade, and then they had become whispers, and then eyes rolls, to the point that Mobius had thought Loki had started warming up on poeple- warming up on him. But he was wrong. Just because Loki didn't voice his dissent, it didn't mean it wasn't there.

It didn't mean he saw Mobius as more than just enemy, even after everything they had been through, even after Mobius took on himself the risk of whatever would have happened to Loki and because of Loki, even after the trust he had shown him, even after the laughters and the lunches and the jokes and the stolen glances- now, look at who was the delusioned one.

Did this upset Mobius? Absolutely. But it also fired him up. Frustration, anger, embarrassment, Mobius erupted with a fiercety matching the volcano explosion just minutes ago.

"Do you really think I would just let them reset you?"

Although shorter than the God, Mobius stood up in front of him looking him in the eyes.

"After all I have done to keep you alive, after all we have been through, do you believe I'd just abandon you to your de-"

"What else would you do? Keep me with you, as your 'friend'? What, you took pity on me and were planning to give me a desk so I can spend the rest of my eternity working for the same people who robbed me of my future?"

"Now stop it, you two, the passage is open, we need to leave" said Hunter B-15, but Loki and Mobius didn't seem to have any intention of listening to her, so she just signed at the rest of the group.

"Come on, hop through it, they'll come when they're ready" she ordered. She waited for the Minutemen to go through the passage, she looked once again at Loki and Mobius and she shook her head, following her collogues back to the TVA. She closed the passage, aware that Mobius could have opened another when he wanted to.

"Just because you are a selfish, uncaring bastard it doesn't mean we all have to be. Is it so difficult for you to accept some people care about you? Like your mother or your brothe-"

"Don't you dare talking about them, you know nothing about them-"

"I literally know everything about them-"

"And stop pretending you care about me or trust me, I am the God of Illusions, I know all your stupid tricks, I used them before-"

Loki and Mobius were shouting very loud, they barely heard the footsetps of someone approaching. A Variant, not the Loki Variant, another one, an enemy of the TVA, probably.

Mobius noticed them in the corner of the eye and turned around fast enough.

Loki was not minimally done with the discussion, but if Mobius was looking away from him, something must have happened.

Loki has been in battles. Battles on Asgards are usually more "traditional" than what you see on Midgard. Sure, they can use magic, but it's mostly swords and axes and arrows and, sometimes, good old-fashioned punches. When he had been on Midgard, Loki had learned war had incredibly evolved. The glorified Midgardian technology changed the face of battles. He had seen a few of the new weapons, nothing that impressive, incomparable to magic. But he remembered them very well, he knew he was not a good idea to underestimate them. So he remembered the sound of a bullet. It was loud, violent, fast. It lasted a few seconds, and then there was silence. If you aim right, your enemy is not just wounded, he's already dead.

They both turned to see the Variant pulling out a gun, and then Loki heard it.

The sound of a bullet.

He shoved Mobius away, before the agent could do anything about it. Mobius heard the sound of a bullet as well, he heard Loki moan in pain and he knew he hadn't been fast enough. But he made up for it pulling out his gun as well, shooting the Variant right in the chest, it only took one bullet to kill him.

Mobius was suddenly grabbed by the arm by a bleeding Loki, who was trying to stand up in vain.

Mobius kneeled next to him, holding him and putting his head on his lap.

Blood. So much blood. The bullet hit the stomach. A normal bullet? You take him to the hospital and chances are he'll be fine. A bullet like that, with a venom release? Kills you in a matter of minutes.

'He is not going to survive' a voice declared in Mobius's head.

He had seen scenes like this too many times to ignore the truth, even if he was desperately trying to. So many missions ending up with corpses, Mobius had witnessed so many deaths like this. It was useless to try and save them, the most merciful act was to immediately reset them to spare them the pain.

But not with Loki. Mobius had already started pressing on the wound, trying to stop the blood.

Useless, all of this was useless.

Loki was uttering verses more than words, normally at this point he would have neen already unconscoius, but the whole being a God must have come with some sort of enhanched healing capacity.

"I am not...ugh, not surviving this?"

"No, no, you are, I just have to take you through the passage-"

"I am...the God of...lies, I know one when I heard...one" Loki coughed.

No, no, no, one thing was seeing Loki dies in a stupid video, another was to witness him dying between his arms, Mobius thought. He couldn't bear this.

Loki looked so scared. He didn't even have the strenght to talk to pretend he was fine with this, he accepted this death. He just looked pained and frightened. He tried to tighten his grip around Mobius's arm, but he couldn't, he was loosing too much blood too fast.

"He looks so young, God, he looks so young" was all Mobius could think. He had seen Loki die, he had seen him a hero, a son of Odin, a troubled man with a controversial life, but this Loki, he was too young. He was just learning what his life could amd couldn't be, he still hadn't make up with Thor or heard his father tell him that he loved him. There was an entire future for him ready to be rewritten, he couldn't die in that moment, he couldn't die on him.

"Aren't you...you tired of watching...me die..."

"You are not dying, Loki, we just have to press on the wound for bit longer, enough for it to stop bleeding, then I'll take you through the passage and-"

"It's always...so pathetic..." Loki coughed again "of a scene..."

Mobius looked around him for another piece of cloth to press on the wound. He had already sacrificed his jacket, but, in absence of anything else, he ripped part of the sleeve of his shirt and pressed it on Loki's stomach. The white cotton was soon impregnated by dark red blood.

"At least...both times...I died for someone I-"

Loki coughed again, exhaling his last breath.

Mobius stopped pressing on the wound. He stared at Loki's corpse in a silent horror.

His body wasn't cold yet, the blood was still flowing, but he was dead. Loki was dead.

Mobius conceided himself a few seconds to fully realize there was nothing left to do. He wanted to scream, but his mouth didn't emit any sound.

His hands still rested on the wound, wet woth blood.

"It should have been you, is that what you're thinking, isn't it?"

Mobius reluctantly teared his gaze off Loki's corpse, to meet the eyes of another God Mischief, one alive and on the run.

Towering over Mobius with his dark cloak, the Dangerous Variant casted a shadow on the two TVA agents. He then kneeled beside Loki's corpse.

Mobius looked at him is disbelief.

"Why are you here?" was all Mobius managed to say.

Why are you here now? Where were you five minutes ago, when Loki was still alive, when you could have done something? How are looking at your own corpse- they were, after all, the same person- without any anger, or surprise or shock?

Mobius wasn't scared of the Dangerous Variant, on the contrary. Although TVA insisted on branding him as this big enemy, he had on several occasions helped him and Loki out, even saved them from some very bad situations. He had never constituted a threat for him or Loki. Sure, he was a mass murderer, but that was kind of a Loki characteristic in general.

"Okay, here's the deal" said the Variant, without looking away from the dead body "You use your...your- ah, what's its name, the- the remote to go back in time, I'll take his place and it's happy ending for everyone. Except for me" he mumbled "but that was mever in the plans, wasn't it" he smiled bitterly, pushing a lock of the dead Loki's hair away from his face.

"What?" Mobius exclaimed.

"Just do as I say" the Variant kept looking down at the corpse "You turn back time, I take the bullet, you two live, I die. It's easy, Mobius."

"How the hell should this be easy?" Mobius shouted, prey to grief and confusion "Why would you do that? What's- what's the meaning of this?"

The Variant had been willing to lend a hand in moments of need, but he was no suicidal.

Finally, the Variant pried his eyes away from his other self and looked at Mobius.

"You asked me once why I was doing what I was doing, remember?" he began.

Mobius slowly nodded.

“Killing TVA officers, trying to destroy the system" the Variant continued "It was just... revenge. Against the TVA. For taking away the thing I cared the most about."

He then looked Mobius in the eye, with a strange intensity, some sort of regret.

"...I was that Loki"

He looked once again at the corpse.

"Then they killed you." he paused.

Mobius didn't say a word, but he kept looking at the Variant astonished.

"And I decided it was time to stray from my written path again. Because nothing else mattered anymore, except making them pay for what they did and making sure what happened to you in my past... did not happen in your present."

The Variant idly run a bony finger over his other's self pale cheek. He then raised his eyes at Mobius.

"I will take his place because he still has you" he then declared "and he still has time to accept" he made a small gesture with his hand, encompassing his dead alter ego and Mobius "whatever you’ve got going on."

Mobius looked at the Variant ever so bewildered, but the Variant simply closed his eyes for a few seconds, looking for the right words.

"He still has time to tell you...all the things I never said." 

The Dangerous Variant was on his knees, teary eyes and a lump in his throat, but he then stood up and cleared his stance. Despire the shaken voice, he proclaimed with all the courage he seemed to own: "I am Loki of Asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose." He screamed that to no one in particular, or maybe just to himself.

Mobius had been shocked into silence until that moment. Still looking at the Variant, he stood up too, hesitated for a moment then extends his hand to Dangerous Variant. The other one looked at it for a moment, and then firmly grasped it, shaking it.

Mobius was still very confused over what has just happened- what was going to happen.

"Are you sure?" he asked "You...would die. For good. I- I don't think there's a way everybody can get out safe from this- even if you consider time travel and-"

"I know. That's why I am doing it. So that you two get to live, you still has reasons to do it." the Variant said, no hesitation.

"I was right, you know," Mobius said, still reluctant to leave Loki's hand- the moment he did, the Variant would have to die. It was still hard for him to sentence someone to death. But his lips curled into an almost amused smile, even though with a note of sadeness "You're not a villain."

The Variant snorted- oh, Allfather, he had missed Moby's antics- and rolled his eyes, then looked at Mobius again, trying to hide his amusement. You had to have a sense of humour to live his life, Loki thought, there weren't many moments to laugh in his existence, he had to learn to appreciate rare moments like those, when fate graced him with the last sight of the love of his life.

"Turn back the clock, Mobius."

After a slow nod, his hand still in Variant Loki's, Mobius did as he was said.

***

Two days later those events, ut was a good day. In the previous two days, the TVA had finally declared that one of his most wanted Variants was not a problem anymore. Mobius simply stated he had "been cared about", with a hint of sadness nobody cared for. Loki had been quite shocked to witness his death, he had tried to do something for him, but Mobius had looked at him the way he rarely did- with resignation. Nothing left to do. He had offered Loki to spend some time together after the whole thing, to buy him a drink if he needed, to simply listen to him or leave him alone, if he wanted to. It wasn't easy to be a spectator of their own death.

Loki had recovered quicker than Mobius would have thought. Sure, you could still see Loki lost in his train of thoughts when he was left on his own, but he had seen himself die once, he could handle twice.

"Paperwork. To distract you. As a treat." Mobius put on his desk a stack of papers the size of an encyclopedia.

Loki frowned: "And you call this a treat?"

"Well, you can always go help Casey cataloguing the infinity stones, if you like it best" Mobius chuckles.

Loki mindlessly started playing with the Tesseract on his desk- yes, they let him keep it. After all, it was no more than a glowing blue lamp at the TVA.

"Mh, whatever" Loki sighed, picking up a paper, still glaring at Mobius.

"Oh, you have to file these for the end of the day, which gives you around...hmm, something between one and four hours in earth time, I don't remember now. Good luck." Mobius added before starting to walk away.

An irritated "what" that was probably heard in the entire pocket reality of the TVA made him stopped in place. Mobius couldn't help but smile, but he didn't turn around.

"You must be joking! This is- this is unacceptable! What is even supposed to mean between one and four hours? I may have king ambitions but you are the real tyrant!" Loki shouted.

"Oh, Loki" said Mobius, finally turning to face the God "This is very flattering, but I am no more than a mere bureaucrat."

"Yes, and the worst kind." the other replied. He then looked around him, noticing that everybody has stopped whatever they were doing to listen to his shoutings. With a faint flush on his face, Loki sat back in his chair, just after glancing at the whole room and snarling a "What are you looking at?"

He then looked back at Mobius, sighing a "I hate you so much".

Mobius simply smiles.

"Sure you do, kitten."

I am sorry for the spelling mistakes, I tend to make a lot of them and also I am not a native english speaker, so I hope I everything I wrote makes sense.

[agent-cupcake]

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader - Chapter 9

Word Count: 11,631

I bet you thought I’d forgotten about this. Nope, not yet. I actually have a fully fleshed out framework for where this story is going with a scene by scene breakdown. You can read the previous chapters on my blog or on AO3

This chapter takes place during the first part of the month before the Battle of Garreg Mach. 

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 1

There was something surreal about sitting in the classroom again, the desks arranged in their neat rows and Professor Byleth facing you all from his usual place. Not even a week had passed since your last class, since your last private conversation with Dimitri, but everything had changed. Peace, whatever dregs had been left of it after everything that had happened, was utterly destroyed. Any illusion of safety behind the old stone walls of the monastery was waved away into smoke. No more laughter, no more fun. The monastery swarmed with word of Emperor Edelgard’s treasonous claims and threats, words weaponized to spread disquiet.

It was almost a relief when Professor Byleth said it, confirming something that everybody already knew. “There is going to be a battle,” he told you all, his voice striking the silent room without any particular cadence. “Scouts report that the Imperial army led by Emperor Edelgard will be here by the end of the moon.”

By the end of the moon. You tried to calculate the days but knew that it wasn’t any more than three weeks. Less, actually.  

“So soon?” Ingrid asked, her voice breathy with the shock you felt echoed within yourself.

“This plan has been underway for longer than we could have guessed,” Professor Byleth said. He winced, an odd tick of an expression. “I’m sorry for not seeing this sooner.”

“We don’t blame you, Professor,” Annette said. “Who could have known, right? We all thought...” she trailed off, but there was no point in continuing. You had all thought, you had all been so distracted.

“We can’t let ourselves get caught up on that, Annie,” Mercedes chided.

“You’re right,” Professor Byleth said. “Now, we must prepare for what is to come. Before we begin, does anybody have any questions?”

Nobody said anything. You scanned the faces of those you could see. Dimitri and Dedue sat in front of you, giving you only a profile glimpse of drawn expressions of exhaustion. Of those sitting in your row, nerves cast a sickly pallor over Ashe’s freckled cheeks, painted shadows beneath Annette and Mercedes’ eyes. You wondered how you looked. Tired, probably. You felt as if you hadn’t slept all week.

“Right,” Professor Byleth called, folding his hands behind his back in something akin to parade rest. It was interesting how quickly he had traded a mercenary’s unrefined motions for the more commanding stances of a general. “Dimitri, have you heard any word about what’s happening in Fhirdiad? Seteth’s reports indicate that they’re hesitating in committing any troops to defend Garreg Mach.”

“My uncle is blind,” Dimitri responded with obvious distaste. “He rejects reality. Foolish man.” Although nearly everyone knew of Rufus’s incompetence, Dimitri’s genuine and open scorn for the man, his uncle, was shocking.

“According to my father,” Felix added from behind you, his tone far more measured, “there is opposition within that prevents the regent from committing any men. Not to mention, the Kingdom troops are already spread thin along the western border.”

“Um, excuse me,” Ashe said, nervously raising his hand as if this were a normal class. “There is good reason for that. Professor, may I?”

“Please,” Professor Byleth said, motioning Ashe to continue. He looked from face to face nervously, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. You were close enough to see the red rimming his eyes, the white skin on his chapped lips. But he spoke and his voice was steady enough, his gaze even as he addressed the class.

“Lord Lonato named me as his heir,” Ashe said, “although I have not yet claimed the title, the Church has allowed me to remain informed about what is happening in his territory. I am… I’m afraid there seems to be some conflict over how the western lords intend to act. After what happened, many of them have been actively rejecting Church aid. Should this become an all-out war-”

“They intend to betray the Church,” Dimitri said, turning and narrowing his eyes at Ashe. “No—to betray their country, is that it?”

“There could be another explanation,” Ashe said.

“I’m sure there is,” Professor Byleth said, motioning to calm them. “What you’re saying is that we can’t count on the western lords for help.”

“Yes,” Ashe answered, his shoulders slumping somewhat. “I’m sorry.”

“I cannot help but wonder if that was the intention,” Dedue said.

“What do you mean?” Byleth asked.

“It is merely speculation,” Dedue began hesitantly, like he was unsure if he should be voicing his opinion. “However, it seemed strange that Lord Lonato would raise a rebellion in the manner he did when he did. Unless he had outside support with considerable sway-”

“You think the Empire is behind Lord Lonato’s betrayal?” Mercedes asked.

“As I said,” Dedue told her, his expression unreadable, “it is merely speculation. But it would explain a great many things. Faerghus is more divided now than ever, it is difficult to believe that is a simple coincidence.”

“Duscur, Lonato, the Church,” Dimitri said, “the infection of the Flame Emperor’s touch has been festering in the Kingdom for far too long. And they would choose to ignore it rather than fighting for their country. Have they no honor?”

“Does any of this matter?” Felix interjected, clearly annoyed. “Even if the Empire did have something to do with the failed rebellion, Lonato is dead now. We can’t waste our time wondering about the motives of a dead man. We need to focus on the problems at hand.”

Dimitri raised his chin imperiously in reaction to that statement, although he didn’t object, turning to face the front again. Ashe sunk back in his chair, pressing his shaking hands flat against the table. Felix’s cruelty was expected at this point, but Dimitri’s was still a fresh wound. You could understand that. You put your hand over Ashe’s, pleased at how steady it was. Your eyes met and you nodded to him, hoping the show of support was enough. His lips quirked in what could almost be counted as a grateful smile.

“About that,” Sylvain said, breaking the tension somewhat with his easy tone. “I received word from my father. He said that he’d send men, but they still won’t get here in time. It’ll take an entire moon for any sizable force to get here. Best case scenario, the Empire forces are delayed, and we can bolster our numbers.” He didn’t continue with the worst-case scenario, but he didn’t need to. The little helpless shrug was more than enough.

Byleth nodded thoughtfully. “This will be a decisive battle, but we’ll be in need of fresh soldiers after the fact no matter which way it goes.”

“Win or lose, you mean,” Felix said dryly.  

“We won’t lose,” Annette said. “With the Professor on our side, we’re definitely going to win. Right?” Her blue eyes jumped from face to face, searching desperately for confirmation of her plea.

“Right,” you agreed, trying to unravel the knot of fear and dread tangling in your stomach. You had to work past that, to remain strong. “No matter what, we can’t let the Empire scare us into submission. If we do that, we might as well give up before the battle even starts.” Could they hear past the conviction in your voice to the weak wobble that laid beneath? At the very least, Annette smiled in return. That was enough.

“We will win,” Dimitri said. “When I have her head in my hands, there will be peace. For all of us.” Even in profile, you could see the sickly smile he wore as he considered that. Compared to any regular expression of joy or pleasure, this was a ghastly, inhuman expression. One you had seen before.

“Dimitri, when was the last time you slept?” Professor Byleth asked, tilting his chin up as he considered the prince.

“Slept? I...” Dimitri replied, his eyes snapping upward and the smile dropping. A moment later, his expression froze over. “That is unimportant.” Even for Professor Byleth, this was dangerous territory.

“What about your last meal?” Professor Byleth pushed.

“That is no concern of yours,” Dimitri said, meeting his eyes evenly. “And assuming it was… I have no appetite.”

“Oh, so is that your plan?” Felix called, his voice dripping scorn. “You’re going to kill yourself before that girl can do it for you?”

“Felix,” Dedue said, a warning in his voice as he turned to scowl at him.

“Shut up, dog. I’m tired of your sycophantic denial,” Felix snapped. “Wake up, boar. If you want to lose your mind, do it on your own time. Right now, there are more important things to worry about.”

“Hm,” Dimitri said in response.

“Felix, calm down,” Ingrid said, her worry clearly etched into a frown.  

“You’re telling me to calm down?” Felix asked her. “Am I the only one who understands what’s at stake here? You want me to spare the feelings of a mad boar… For what? How is pity for him going to save the lives of the people here? What good is compassion against an upcoming war? This is a farce.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dimitri said, standing with the sharp scraping of wood on stone. “I recommend you all prepare yourselves. We will crush the enemy as soon as they dare to enter through the gates. And as soon as Edelgard draws near... I will have my revenge.”

Dimitri let that ominous threat hold in the still air. Dust motes played in the light streaming in through the windows, disturbing into a frantic swirl of a dance as he left the room with a swish of his blue cape. Dedue followed with a hurried, “Pardon me.” The doors shut behind them, but not before allowing in a chilly draft of cold wintery air. You didn’t even think about it, pushing away from the table with dread settling like ice in your heart.

“You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?” Felix accused, pinning you in place with his glare.

“What?” you asked, feeling the attention settling on you.

“Give me a break,” Felix said, his lip curling back in outright disdain, “you’re not fooling anybody. You’re as bad as that boar’s lapdog, constantly following him around as you do.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said slowly, carefully.

Felix scoffed. “Anybody with a set of eyes can see the truth. If he’s the boar’s lapdog,” he said, nodding towards the door Dedue had just departed through, “then you’re his bitch.”

You recoiled as if he’d physically struck you. It felt like it, almost. Heat built up urgently behind your eyes, ringing with the pulsing stream of blood in your ears. Like the first time you’d been punched in the face, you just felt stunned.

Did he know the extent of your feelings? You supposed they had been transparent from the start; you were an idiot to believe you’d ever fool anyone. All the same, thick shame began to congeal in your gut, rising up like bile. “That’s a terrible thing to say,” you said into the ensuing shocked silence, your voice soft with pained shock, light and airy in order to get past the swell of tears in your throat.

“Felix, that’s enough,” Sylvain said in warning, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Felix shook off Sylvain’s hand by standing up, glaring at him, too.

“You’re all fools. You think you’re being kind, but all you’re doing is enabling him to destroy himself,” Felix said. “We don’t have a chance of winning if we spend all of our time worrying about a mad boar. Tell me when we’re actually going to discuss something important. Until then, I’ll be training.” He turned on his heel and left without any further objection.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 2

There weren’t enough knights to do everything that needed to be done in preparing Garreg Mach for the impending battle. That meant that many of the less intensive tasks fell to the students to complete, including evacuation of civilians.

Those who had the resources to do so were able to get out practically on the day of Edelgard’s betrayal, like wildlife that could smell a storm before it broke, people scattered away from the encroaching doom. Others weren’t so fortunate. They were poor, they had families, they had settled their lives in Garreg Mach as surely and firmly as the old stone walls.

Getting those people to safety was absolutely essential and important, but the reality of the matter was grim. The friendly territories of the western kingdom and along the Alliance and Faerghus border were quickly becoming packed with refugees. Not just from Garreg Mach, but from the northern Empire. Asylum seekers from the Imperial recruitment and cruelty.

Most of those people were used to the mild winters in Central Fódlan, so those who were forced further north into the kingdom weren’t accustomed to the harsh conditions. Already, there were rumors of entire camps of refugees left dead from exposure. Or bandits, the Kingdom was still rife with lowlife thugs like Miklan. And that wasn’t even to mention the fact that the civil unrest had already left Faerghus without enough resources over the winter months.

The Alliance wasn’t much better, most of their energy was put into fortifying their own defenses and the little wars of internal conflict. You had never paid much attention to how divided the Alliance was after Duke Riegan’s death. Claude insisted he could get a handle on it, but there was only so much he could do for the time being.

That was the general feeling in Garreg Mach. There was only so much you could do. Only so much anyone could do.

You helped load another family onto an overpacked cart with only the most essential of their possessions. Families of the soldiers got priority, and this caravan was thick with children. Despite the hapless sounds of crying children and soft weeping, there was a hush over the once lively square. A somber farewell.

Having done all you could, you stepped back. You couldn’t help but focus on a young girl towards the back. She had a ghostly white face and clutched a doll to her chest with hands still round and dimpled with baby fat, her mother’s arm draped across those tiny shoulders to keep her from bumping into the strangers they would be traveling with. Tears glazed those sweet baby blues, exhaustion ringed the young mother’s eyes. Her husband, a young soldier who had hung around to say goodbye, would be staying and risking his life. He kissed both girls with the desperate fervor of a man who knew, on some level, that this was goodbye forever.

You wanted to believe that this was the best thing, and it was, but you knew what it was to be displaced at such a young age. You knew what it did to people. You knew what goodbye forever felt like. Selfish as it was, you felt almost as if you could see yourself in those glassy young eyes. It was just all too familiar.

Thinking of your mother, as always, was a painful thing. After realizing the magnitude of the situation, you had sent several letters to her nurses and the man you had left in charge of your Fhirdiad estate to warn them of what was coming. Right now, you held onto the belief that the battle at Garreg Mach would stop the war from invading into Faerghus, which meant that your mother was fine to stay in the country mansion. Besides, you worried about what the city would do to her system, she was already in such a poor state.

But that was a worry for another time.

The horses were kicked into motion and the cart rolled over the smooth cobblestones to the great somewhere else. You hoped the goddess went with them, keeping them safe. When they fully disappeared through the gate into the cloudy winter sunrise, you turned on your heel to return to the monastery. After such a long night of patrolling and a morning of packing up civilians, this was the last thing you wanted to do, but you had already put it off too long.

If you were a good person, or even a good leader, you would have visited your company the moment you had any solid news about what was happening. But you weren’t. You didn’t.

Not all of the soldiers employed by the Church stayed in the monastery, which was reserved primarily for the knights and those with high standing in the militaries of the three countries. In a section wedged between the monastery proper and the town of Garreg Mach, a large camp of barracks had been laid out for all of the other soldiers. The organization of it was a bit strange, considering most of them had separate allegiances and very few of them reported to the same generals. Lady Rhea would be considered their High Marshal in theory, but that was just about the only unifying force. Each battalion of soldiers was employed to serve whichever student Officer they had been assigned, so they worked both as an independent, almost mercenary-like group as well as military personnel.

You had always felt awkward with your own battalion, unsure of how to command or treat them. Lieutenant Avery was basically the leader of your company. There was no question of the men’s loyalty, your authority wasn’t the highest to those men, even if they were technically yours to lead. That had never bothered you, not in the way it should have. Only recently had you begun to feel shame about the fact. So many other students had been found to have traitorous Imperial soldiers under their command, a massive embarrassment to the Church as well as cause for distrust of the students themselves.

The vacancy of the empty barracks segmented for the Imperially sourced companies was hostile. Urgent intensity passed between the men who were still hanging around in thinning groups, performing the first of the day’s chores or hanging around in hunched clusters, creating an atmosphere so oppressive you almost found it hard to breathe. They were in a strange place. Staying pitted them against their country, but to leave would be a betrayal against the Church. Nobody trusted them either way, forcing them to congregate only among themselves. That was what Edelgard had done. Verbal poison, the warfare of the mind, turning everybody against one another. Unifying a country, it seemed, required mass division first.

Your men were placed in the no man’s land at the outside of the Kingdom barracks. Professor Byleth had offered you several companies of Kingdom patriots, but you hadn’t felt drawn to them like you were to Avery’s Wyvern Co. They were fresh soldiers among the large array of companies out for the Church to hire, only having arrived shortly before the year began. In truth, you weren’t even completely certain that they were soldiers to begin with. Avery was a strange person with a mysterious background and you truly believed he was a good man,  but there was something about him that lacked the shine and polish of a soldier.

Not that it mattered much to you. You liked him; you liked the men. Amidst the dark and oppressive atmosphere of the barracks camp, he and his men sat around a fire, eating breakfast, and chatting among themselves.

“Fancy this!” Avery called as you approached, his grin lit up in brushed orange and distorted by the smoke of the dancing flames. “And here I was just wondered what had happened of our dearest Captain.” The complete disregard of proprietary and respect was utterly inappropriate, but it was clear that Avery never meant anything strange by it. What was strange to you was how easy-going he sounded. Compared to the rest of the Garreg Mach, it was like laughter at a funeral. You didn’t mind it. This task was dour enough without a bad atmosphere. “Why don’t you sit?” Avery offered, gesturing to the bench seat by him. “Have you eaten? I’m sure there’s still more...”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you told him, sitting. “I’m… sorry to not have visited sooner. You’re all doing well?”

“Better than you, it looks like,” Wendell, one of the men who had been wounded in the Sealed Forest, told you. After your concern for his injuries following the battle, he seemed just as loyal to you as Avery. “If you don’t mind me saying, of course.”

“Wen,” another man, Euston, scolded dryly. “You can’t say things like that to a young lady.”

“She’s our Captain,” Avery said, lightly hitting Euston across the back of the head. “Show some respect.”

Euston laughed, undeterred. “You’re one to talk, worrying about her like some kind of mother hen.”

“Is it wrong to care? This past moon has been difficult,” Avery said. Everyone sobered up at the reminder. Difficult was probably an understatement. “You were there when the Emperor revealed herself, weren’t you?” Avery asked you. “I heard what happened. The prince-”

“Dimitri’s fine,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “And I…” You meant to say that you were fine, to reassure them that their captain was steady and sure. But you couldn’t. “That’s actually what I’ve come to talk to you all about. As I’m sure you’re all well aware of by now, there is going to be a battle. The rumors are true. Imperial troops are estimated to arrive by the end of the moon.”  

Avery whistled, a quiet rumble of dissent waving over the men. “That soon? She must have been planning this awhile.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, hating to think of it. While you were carelessly training and falling in love and having your heart broken, she was sowing chaos, arranging a war. “And I’m sorry for neglecting you all. I should have done this sooner.”

“That doesn’t bode well,” Euston said.

“If you wish to leave, you’re free to do so,” you told them, your voice raised as you forced yourself to look from face to face, to not shy away from this task. Every expression you acknowledged was set in various degrees of stony to bemused, as if they couldn’t believe what you were saying. “I’ll personally pay you three moons’ wages… More if you act as an escort for the civilians leaving Garreg Mach. You’ll also get a glowing recommendation for your service thus far.”

“The odds are that grim, eh?” Avery asked. Everyone was watching you, waiting for your answer.

“Um…” you began forcing yourself not to clam up under the pressure. “Yes. A-and no. The chances of victory are… Well, nobody really knows at this point. But even if we win, this is a full… a full-on military assault. Edelgard… Emperor Edelgard means all-out war. The Church is just the beginning. I won’t force anyone to fight, I know that none of you ever signed on for allegiance to the Kingdom, or even the Church.”

That began another wave of grumbling, words you couldn’t quite make out as that information was digested. The fire was dying, but the rising sun illuminated enough for you to see the uncertainty on every face, the doubt. You were confirming things they already knew.

“If there’s going to be a war anyway, where would we go?” Lester asked loudly. He was the other one who was wounded in the Sealed Forest. You didn’t like to think of yourself as buying forgiveness to assuage your guilt for his injury, but you did know he had an affinity for chocolate. “Seems like a victory here is our best bet to avoid that.”

“Yeah,” Euston agreed. “War seems like it would be… annoying. We came to the Church because they give us the easy life. Or, they did before this mess all started.” General assent followed his words, heads nodding.

“I’d never forgive myself if I left you here, Captain,” Wendell said. “I may not care that much for the Kingdom or the Church or anything, but I like you. Never known a noble who was so...” He waved his hand, at a loss for words. “You know… The point is, I’m staying.”

“Wendell…” you said, your voice half choked. “Thank you.”

“So, does anyone want to take up our generous Captain on her offer?” Avery asked. Silence met his question, a resounding answer in its own right. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, hating to feel the pressure of tears at the back of your eyes.

“Thank you. It is… my greatest honor to lead you all,” you said, feeling that the words weren’t enough but knowing it was the best you could do. To them, a company of seasoned men, what were you? A slip of a girl pretending to lead them. And yet, they would follow you.

“When this is all over, you’re gonna owe us all a drink,” Euston said. “I’ve always wanted to try that plum liquor they make in Morfis.”

“When this is over, I’ll owe you all a hundred drinks,” you said. “So you’d better all make it, okay?”

“Yessir,” most of them said in unison, touching forefingers to their brows or giving you half-salutes. You let out a heavy breath, glad to be done with that and feeling far better than you had upon arrival.

“I’ll be off, then,” you said, standing up and stretching. The sun had risen, but the sky was miserably gray and cloudy. One of those days. It seemed like all days were one of those days.

“I’ll walk you back,” Avery said, standing.

“You don’t need t-”

“Come on,” he said without waiting. You waved to the rest, even getting some smiles in return, before hurrying to match his stride.

In a way, you were glad for the company. The tension among the battalion camp was just as uncomfortable now as it had been on the way in, but now people were moving around. There was an endless supply of jobs anymore, always something for someone to do.

“It was good of you to offer that,” Avery said.

“Do you think any of them will accept?” you asked. Nobody had spoken up at the moment, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t in private. You didn’t fault that.

“No, we stick together. No matter what.”

“They’re very loyal to you.”

“Like I said, we stick together,” Avery said. “You never asked what we did before we came to Garreg Mach, or why.”

“I didn’t think it was important,” you responded.

“I can’t tell if you’re too naive or too kind,” Avery said, shooting you a sideways smile. “When you picked us, I was braced for the worst type of brat, that’s what we signed up for. But you’re not that. Sure, you’re incompetent, but I know you mean well.”

The casual jab hurt, but the praise leveled it out. Somewhat. Besides, he was right.

“Even if you were the worst of them, we’d have taken it. It’s like… penance. But you’re not, so I figure I should give you a chance to decide you want men like us following you.”

“I don’t care about your past,” you said.

“We were criminals,” Avery said, acting as if he hadn’t heard you. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes forward and expression schooled into a serious mask. “Damned good ones, too. We all came from villages near the Almyran border, grew up on the backs of wyverns, always dreamed of being accepted into Gonerill’s army. I got my own company before I really realized it; the fight with the Almyrans is pointless. Fighting for fighting’s sake. You lose limbs and lives in what amounts to little more than a game, there’s nothing respectable or sane about it. So, we, my men and I, deserted.”

“Oh,” you said, stunned by the confession.

“After that, we terrorized people, thinking we had some sort of right to do it because at least we weren’t liars like all of the nobility who toss lives away like trash. We only took from the rich and called it justice.” Avery sighed regretfully. “The things we did… the things I did... “

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” you said doubtfully, trying to imagine somebody like smiling Wendell doing what Avery was describing.

“I destroyed people’s lives,” Avery said. “Because of me, children lost their fathers, women lost their husbands... One day I looked at what I had done, what we were doing, and knew that I was damned. I came to the monastery to beg forgiveness, to serve the children who I might have ruined.”

The two of you were approaching the front gate. Cold shivers had crept up your spine, over your arms. Bandits had killed your father, ruined your mother. Ruined you, in a way, even if it was liberation.

But Avery didn’t know that. Besides, it couldn’t have been Avery. To believe in such a coincidence was too awful, too cruel. Avery was a good man, you believed that.

“Now you know who it is that serves you, Captain,” he said, stopping and facing you. He didn’t have the face of a bad man. His skin was leathery and crinkled from too many years in the sun and the line of his nose was an uneven mess from being broken a time or two. He surveyed you with a neutral expression, waiting for your judgment.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said carefully, willing yourself to not become emotional. “I think… I’m not the person to forgive you, but… But it would be really hypocritical of me to judge you. A man I lo―care about quite a bit is in a similar position, looking to the goddess for help and forgiveness, and I… What else is there? As long as you keep trying to be a better person and… Um… I don’t think any less of you. I’m grateful that you trust me.”

Avery measured that response for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Then it is my genuine pleasure to serve under your command.”

“And I’m going to be better,” you told him. “I know I’ve been a poor captain. Most of the time I feel like a child, but I… We can both be better, right?”

“I’d like to think so.” Avery smiled, encouraging you to do the same. “Have a good day, captain. And consider getting some rest”

“I will,” you said. Consider it, at least. Sleep was evasive these days. Besides, there was so much to do. Still, after Avery left, you did take a moment to breathe, to consider what he told you. It didn’t change anything, did it? Yet somehow, you felt more hopeful. And distraught. It seemed the world was insistent that you not let go of your past, throwing it back in your face like this.

But there wasn’t much time for contemplation like that. You hurried back to the monastery, determined to make the most of this ugly gray day.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 3

Six days had passed since Professor Byleth had called you all together to discuss the state of things. You felt the passing of each hour acutely, the countdown dragging the monastery closer and closer to uncertain ruin. Yet, at the same time, it seemed as if the clock was crawling along, prolonging the nightmare-ish state.  

Felix hadn’t so much as looked at you since that disastrous last confrontation.

Dimitri only occasionally showed up when he was summoned.

And you were silly. Stupid, even. Why you felt the need to volunteer yourself to go get him to come to the meeting today, you didn’t know. He was more likely to listen to Professor Byleth anyway. But you did. Of course you did.

The vaulted space of the cathedral was nearly always filled with those who thought to pray for aid from the Goddess. Devoted and questioning alike gathered up to pray for their souls, to pray for their loved ones, to pray for some measure of comfort. Everywhere buzzed with word of Emperor Edelgard’s proclamations and the size of her forces and the fearsome strength of her military, whispered rumors dripping in like poison along with the prayers.

Dimitri spent a great deal of time in the cathedral. Nobody really knew why, people whispered about it like it was some great mystery that a man half mad would think to reach out to the goddess for guidance, but you thought you understood. Avery’s desire for penance was fresh in your head, and you could remember Dimitri’s words that night in the Goddess Tower, almost like a melody you couldn’t quite shake from your head.

“The goddess just watches over us from above… That is all. No matter how hard someone begs to be saved, she would never so much as offer her hand. And even if she did, we lack the means to reach out and grasp it. That’s how I feel about her.”

And you knew that he was the one most affected by Edelgard’s betrayal, the one suffering the most pain. You kept your promise that you wouldn’t tell anybody of his true connection to the Emperor, but it haunted you. The moment of her mask falling away had cut some integral thread of forced composure that Dimitri had been clinging to as a lifeline, and without it he’d fallen victim to the very worst parts of himself. He spent so much of his time reaching towards the goddess for a lifeline because, despite the brutal killings you had seen him commit, he was weak.

You were weak, too. Although you had a reason to seek him out, your feet took you to him because they always did, they always brought you to him. You were so, terribly weak.

Upon passing through the gate of the cathedral, it was impossible to miss Dimitri. Everybody gave him a wide berth of space when passing, casting him nervous side glances, and whispering to their companions in hushed tones. He stood alone like an exhibit in a museum. Rumors had spread about Dimitri just as quickly as they had about Edelgard. Rumors of madness, of insanity. It was upsetting to hear, heartbreaking that he was viewed as little more than a spectacle, but you shrugged them off. It didn’t matter what people thought, or at least you couldn’t blame them. They were ignorant and afraid, and while Edelgard was still far away, Dimitri was right in front of them.

He, as had become usual, stood in his grand stage of empty space. A position he could occupy for hours without break. Dimitri’s uniform wasn’t as neat as he had usually kept it, and his hair needed to be cut. Your heart softened upon seeing him. A foolish, stupid feeling. Unwanted entirely. You knew that things had changed and could keenly remember the many times he’d snapped at you for doing what you were about to do. Whatever tenderness that had been cultivated within him before now was gone. Withered away like flowers in the frost, a sweet melody played sour on an out of tune lyre.

But you refused to stop, and you especially refused to be frightened of Dimitri, or believe that he would do anything to hurt you.

It was better to stick only to present concerns. Such as the fact that he was muttering to himself again. Words you couldn’t quite hear over the hushed noise of the devout. Dimitri’s lips moved with a rhythm that made it seem like he was speaking to something, someone. The dead, his dead. You had heard him use their names once, addressing people who were long gone and buried. Glenn, father, stepmother. He stopped whenever someone was close enough to pick out details, but you heard them all the same.

Melancholy intermingled with a deep, bone-grinding fear at seeing him like this. Many poems or songs you knew spoke of insanity, but none of their descriptions truly matched the broken man in front of you. They saw the afflicted through the eyes of a romantic. In other words, a lovely lyrical lie. What most of them had in common, however, was an eventual tragedy. With every fiber of your being, you swore to not allow him to become victim to such a fate.

You had failed once. You couldn’t handle another. You were weak.

“Dimitri?” you asked, striding up to him with a level of cheery confidence you weren’t so sure you felt. The eyes of a crowd of outsiders followed you now that you had broken the bubble of space surrounding the prince that frightened them so, watching as if you were approaching a beast in the woods unarmed.

Dimitri didn’t respond, either ignoring you or lost in thought of whatever he’d been muttering about. You would have preferred the former, because at least then he’d still be with you, not sunken down into some dark void that you couldn’t possibly reach him in. Unfortunately, you suspected it was the latter, what with the way his blue eyes were ringed with deep shadow and glazed over. You couldn’t even imagine the last time he must have slept. According to Dedue’s careful vigilance, he spent his days in the cathedral and his nights on the training grounds, throwing himself into combat practice so intensely nobody dared intervene. Not even you.

“Dimitri?” you asked again, a bit louder, daring to reach out a hand to get his attention. The touch startled him, and for a moment you were almost afraid that he was going to strike out. He didn’t, although you could tell by the way his body was coiled and poised that it had been a close thing. But he didn’t, and that was all that mattered.

“What is it?” Dimitri asked in the clipped and cold tone of an accusation. The familiar blue of his eyes was flat when they found focus on your face, his stare without any recognition for your feelings or softness for who you wished you were to him. It hurt, it still hurt. Maybe it would always hurt when he looked at you like that, maybe your heart would never scar over and allow you to recognize that this version of him wasn’t truly who he was. You began to rack your brain for a proper verse about the pain of looking in the eyes of someone you loved and seeing nothing in return but stopped yourself. There was no song or lyric that could explain the piercing ache of such a feeling. With him, with your mother, you knew that so very well.

“The dining hall is serving cheesy Verona stew,” you said.

Dimitri grunted dismissively, turning his face from you. That, of course, was not nearly enough to actually stop you.

“See, I asked, and nobody seemed to know if you’ve eaten in the past few days,” you continued.

He said nothing.

“And I know for a fact that you like cheesy Verona stew.”

Nothing.

“Plus, you won’t be able to fight or anything if you’re starving, so-”

“What, exactly, is it that you want?” Dimitri abruptly snapped, fixing you again with a look you refused to believe was a glare of murderous intent. Despite that firm belief, the expression was threatening enough to push you into taking an unconscious half-step away in physical recoil.

“I was worried-”

“I’m fine,” he insisted in a raised voice. Not shouting, just authoritative. It made your stomach drop anyway. At your reaction, he lowered his voice, shaking his head in a jittery way as his eyes cast downwards, a hand raising so he could press a finger against his temple. The headaches he had once told you of must have reached a new level of agonizing. “As soon as her blood is drained from that treacherous heart, everything will be fine… We’ll be fine... So leave me be.”

Overexposure drained those muttered words of much of the power they used to hold but hearing the man you’d seen nearly break down over death speak so casually of gratuitous violence created its own type of deep-set horror. Not to say that was unexpected. You’d heard him say much worse since he learned of the Flame Emperor’s true identity.

“Okay, I-I’m sorry. The Professor is calling for a council and requests that we all attend. I was thinking that you should eat something beforehand. It might make you feel better, you know?” you explained. “But if you’re not hungry, th-that’s fine. The meeting’s in an hour.”

“I understand,” he snapped, cutting you off.

“We could go together, if you wanted,” you offered.

Dimitri gave you a flat look and for a moment you were sure he was going to shout at you. But he didn’t, which was somehow worse. “I’d rather you leave me alone.”

“You don’t need to be alone. It’s not healthy,” you told him quietly. “Before, you told me that you would talk to someone, that you would… Don’t you remember?”

For a long moment, Dimitri didn’t respond. You had no idea what was going on behind the storm of his eyes, the conflicted dance of anger and pain. “Why must you continue to torture me?” Dimitri finally asked, his voice low and throaty. “None of it meant anything, don’t you understand that? It was not my place to tell you those things. I have but a single purpose, to be distracted was my most grievous error. So leave me be.”

He turned away, once again facing the front of the cathedral.

“Okay,” you agreed, almost inaudible with the way your throat had swollen up. “I’m sorry.” Dimitri’s eyes closed, but he didn’t respond. That might have been for the best. You turned on your heel and left the cathedral, feeling the dozens of eyes track each step, whispering. Always whispering, talking, lying, always, always-

On the bridge, you faced the harsh wintery wind, hoping that the sharp bite of its touch would hide the true reason for your watering eyes and red cheeks. Because you were weak. Because you were in love with a man who was fated for tragedy. Because you knew goodbye forever and there was nothing that you could do about it.

Time ticked on, seconds became minutes, minutes you didn’t have the luxury of wasting. You turned you back to the cathedral and the wind and acknowledged that you had at least done as you were told. Just like a soldier would. Just like a knight.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 4

Even with war hanging heavy on the horizon, even with your heart heavy and breaking, the mundane chores still had to be done. Until coming to Garreg Mach, you had never so much as thought about doing the dishes. It left your fingers pruning and hands chapped and dry, but the ritual of it felt satisfying. Taking something dirty and making it clean. You and Ingrid stood above the sudsy, steaming basin; your uniform sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

The two of you made some small talk at first, but it was clear to see that she was preoccupied. You’d have loved a distraction from your Dimitri-centered thoughts―and under different circumstances, you might have tried anyway―but there was really nothing to say. Dimitri’s harsh rejection the day prior still burned hot and horrible in your chest. If you thought about it, you’d probably start crying again.

“I feel as if I owe you an apology,” Ingrid finally said as you worked a particularly tough bit of grime from a plate. That brought you up short, looking at the blonde to try and figure out what she was thinking to say that so suddenly.

“An apology?” you repeated after a moment.

“For what Felix said,” Ingrid clarified, her eyes casting down towards the water.

You stiffened at the reminder. Out of everything that had been happening lately, you had almost forgotten about that incident. No, you had willfully been trying to forget about it. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” you told her.

She sighed. “It’s always been up to me to clean up after them. His Highness, Sylvain, and Felix... I tried to talk to him, but he won’t hear it.” Ingrid paused. “He doesn’t mean it. I doubt that’s any consolation, but-”

“I know,” you said, cutting her off.

The Boar’s bitch. Goddess, that was cruel. But it wasn’t even entirely untrue. That was the worst of it, to have something you held as holy pulled out from your heart and exposed for the appraisal of eyes that would defile its sanctity.

“I don’t know the details of what happened between Felix and Dimitri to make him so angry, but it changed him,” Ingrid said, picking up a tin mug to begin washing. “After Duscur… Well, everything changed. Felix used to adore Dimitri. He followed them everywhere like a lost puppy.”

“Them?”

“Dimitri and… And Glenn.” Pain twisted Ingrid’s voice with the name. “He is… was Felix’s older brother.”

“Dimitri’s mentioned him,” you said. Dimitri talked to him, actually. Glenn was one of the dead, a victim of the Duscur Tragedy. From what you had gathered, Glenn had been the knight ideal. And, if you weren’t mistaken, Ingrid’s betrothed. You tried to imagine the girl you knew being promised to any man, but the image just didn’t compute. It was almost as strange as trying to imagine a younger, softer version of Felix.

“Losing him was hard on all of us,” Ingrid continued. “I can’t say I don’t sympathize with Felix’s pain... but that doesn’t excuse what he said.”

“It’s fine,” you said, focusing especially hard on the plate you were scrubbing.

Ingrid didn’t respond to that, although you could feel her eyes jump up to watch you every so often, her mouth opening before closing again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, she said, “I don’t mean to pry, but you and Dimitri…” Your entire body tensed up, shoulders hunching and the silverware you’d been washing slipping back into the basin with a splash. Of course, you’d been waiting for a question like that. But you hadn’t been ready, either. “I know the two of you were close,” Ingrid said, as if she hadn’t noticed your reaction. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I… Well, I suppose I know what it feels like to have your heart broken. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” you told her stiffly, fishing the fork out of the murky water. There was more to be said, the words piling and pooling up on your tongue and ready to spill out, but before you could speak, the pantry door was flung open, a tiny figure emerging.

"Counting all the way up to numbers I don't even know. And more! Flour and sugar and rice and grain galooore-"

"Annette?" you asked, watching her spin on her toes as she closed the door behind her.

"GAH!" With a graceless turn, Annette whirled around, a hand clasped over her mouth and the notepad she was holding crashing to the floor. Recognition flashed through her wide blue eyes after a moment of horrified shock and she lowered that hand to her chest. “Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed. “You scared me!”

“Sorry...” you responded, exchanging a glance with the equally bewildered Ingrid.

"Oh, well, it’s fine,” she said, trying to play it off. “You didn't… hear anything, did you?"

You were about to lie, mostly to avoid upsetting her, but Ingrid beat you to it. "You were... singing?”

Annette winced, "I can explain! I was taking inventory for Seteth and got very focused and the song just sort of came to me and… and…" She deflated. "I don't suppose you would pretend that you didn't hear that, would you?"

"Why?" Ingrid asked.

"Because… because…" Annette said, flustered. "Because if everyone finds out that I sing to myself they're all going to think I'm that weird girl who makes up stupid songs about counting and food and then they’ll all whisper about me behind my back about how weird and stupid I am!"

"It's not that weird to sing while you work,” you told her.

"Do you?" Ingrid asked, looking at you curiously.

"Well… not around people…" you answered. Everybody in your class knew about your affinity for music on account of that day Sylvain stole your book of songs, but you didn’t advertise the fact that you enjoyed making music, too. Especially not to the knight ideal like Ingrid. Music was impractical.

"See! It is weird!" Annette exclaimed. "Now you're going to tell everyone, and they'll all think I'm a total freak who sings about flour and sugar and-"

"Annette…" Ingrid cut in, frowning in concern.

Annette continued on like she hadn’t heard, her rant getting progressively more distracted, "And they're gonna look at me and laugh and never take me seriously because of the stupid childish songs and-"

"I didn't know you liked music," you said, interrupting her.

Annette blinked, focusing on you. "I don’t really tell people. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

"If it makes you happy, I don't think it's embarrassing," you told her.

"She's right," Ingrid said seriously. "I don't have any interest in music, but the song wasn't that bad."

"That bad…" Annette said, frowning. "So it was still bad. I knew it. Oh, this is just the worst!"

"It wasn't!" you told her quickly. "I liked the melody; did you compose it?"

"Well, yeah," she said, fidgeting with her notepad.

"That's really amazing, Annette,” you said enthusiastically. “I'm no good at writing music."

"Oh, it's not that impressive," she said, waving her hand.

"I'd love it if you could teach me some time," you said. "It might be a nice break from-" you waved your hand around generally, your voice trailing off.

“Well, if you really want to, I guess I wouldn’t mind,” Annette said. “As long as you promise to never, ever tell anybody what you heard today.”

“I promise,” you vowed.

“As do I,” Ingrid said.

“That’s a relief,” Annette said, finally picking up her dropped notepad. “Are you free tonight?”

“I have patrol duty with Ashe,” you replied, frowning. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure! I’ll have to let you know when, though. There’s so much to do.” Annette sighed. “Speaking of which, what was I doing…?”

“Inventory?” Ingrid offered helpfully.

“Oh, right! That!” Annette responded, her trademark bounce returning. “Well, I’d better go, then. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You and Ingrid said goodbye, but Annette was already out of the kitchen. Seconds later, there was a loud crash right outside the door and Annette’s muffled voice demanded to know why there was a box in the way where people were walking. It left your heart feeling oddly light. Everything else could change, but Annette was still a whirlwind mess of drive, clumsiness, and quirk.

“If you have patrol, you should probably get going,” Ingrid said. “I don’t mind finishing up here.”

“Oh, right,” you said, quickly drying off your hands. “I hate being out in the town these days, it’s so empty and creepy.”

“Do you want to switch?” Ingrid asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have guard duty tomorrow at dawn.”

“As enticing as that sounds, I think I’ll pass,” you told her, your face scrunching up at the very idea of it. It was one thing to be cold and miserable at night but being cold and miserable with the memory of your soft, warm bed fresh in your mind was worse.

“I suppose it was worth a try. Be on your guard,” Ingrid told you. “And be safe.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’ll try.”

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 5

“Ansel’s stories are great!” you insisted, walking side by side with Ashe on your nighttime patrols. With the curfew, there were no other people wandering around, but that wasn’t the only reason for the uncomfortably hollow feeling in Garreg Mach. With each passing day, the small towns that littered the outskirts became ghostly haunts, shops closing up and merchants who sold anything other than weapons and supplies packing up. Outside the realm of his torch, the once lively was a depressing and frightening place. But having company helped. It helped a lot. “I love the characters.”

“I didn’t say they’re bad,” Ashe responded quickly. “But... they’re mostly romance. They shouldn’t be shelved by the stories about knights, someone could accidentally pick one up and have no idea what they’re in for.”

“There are knights and heroes, too,” you pointed out. “Besides, romance is integral to the plots of most hero stories. What’s worth fighting for more than love?”

“You’re starting to sound like Sylvain,” Ashe told you, laughing.

“Don’t you fight for love?” you asked, only slightly defensively. “Love for your country, your family, your friends… Isn’t that why people fight? We’re all driven by passion, don’t you think?”

“Huh… I guess that’s true. But... wait, that wasn’t my point! I-” Ashe’s words abruptly cut off as you turned a corner. This street, a main thoroughfare with some of the few remaining open establishments, was well lit. A crowd of people congregated at the far end. “What’s going on over there?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sight. “Is there some sort of event?” you asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ashe said. “Besides, the curfew...”

“We should go check it out,” you said, all amusement from your conversation going stale and cold. You had a very bad feeling about this.  

Ashe quickly put out the torch, following after you as you approached the crowd. There was a sense of dread in the air. There was a crowd, sure, but their voices weren’t loud enough, no laugher could be heard. It was just tension and raw, crackling energy. Most of the people were soldiers, men and women from other battalions. Some villagers. The entire crowd smelled of urine and liquor and the desperate vinegar of excited sweat. You tried to cut your way into the group, standing on your toes to see what they were all circled around. Nobody paid you any mind, too focused on what was happening to make way.

“Is that… His Highness?” Ashe asked, his voice loud above the noise.

And it was. Standing in the impromptu ring created by the surrounding crowd, Dimitri faced off against five other men. One of them was wearing Imperial fatigues. Another wore clothes you recognized as being an unkempt and dirty Faerghus soldier uniform. All of them had a wild, drunken look and anger and bloodlust.

“-known that your association with that Duscur beast would rub off on you,” the Faerghus soldier was saying. “I refuse to follow a monster into battle, let alone lead my country.”

“I see,” Dimitri replied. Despite the many voices rumbling around the square, his was easy to make out. “You have betrayed your country, trading one monster for another. How does that feel?”

That made the other man wince, but his fury was far more potent. They were ganging up on him, this was an ambush.

“Ashe go get help. Professor Byleth… Guards… anyone! Hurry!” you told him, your voice quivering with urgency. He blinked, his eyes wide and frightened, but nodded.

“I’ll be quick.”

With Ashe running off, you tried to steady yourself with a deep breath, forcing your hands to stop shaking. “Let me through!” you demanded, trying once more to cut your way through the crowd. People shifted, although you took more than one elbow to the ribs, bodies pushing back against you. “On behalf of the Church of Seiros, I demand that you let me through!” That finally worked. Sort of. You broke out into the front of the group, a hand on your sword hilt. “This i-is… an illegal act of violence against the crown prince of Faerghus… Disperse now!” Jumbled and nervous, your words were still able to get the attention of the group of men. Dimitri turned, meeting your eyes for a half-second with a look of surprise. And then his face darkened, his jaw clenching as he looked away.

“What is this?” the Imperial asked mockingly, “Another student? Maybe a friend of yours, crown prince?”

Dimitri said nothing, not even looking at you.

“The guards will be arriving soon!” you threatened.

“Faerghus law allows any Faerghus soldier challenge his superior, nobility and royalty, to a fight,” the soldier said. “It’s up to him if he wishes to accept the terms.”

“What do you say, beast prince?” the Imperial asked. “Do you have any honor left, or have you abandoned that with your humanity?”

“Honor?” Dimitri asked, sounding amused. “Coming from one who wears the colors of the Empire? Tell me, do you act on behalf of that woman?”

“I act for myself,” he responded. “And for justice. My brother was one of the men you slaughtered in the Holy Tomb. I saw his body, creature. You’re no prince, you’re not even a soldier. You’re a monster.”

“And your gang of traitorous vermin?” Dimitri asked. “They agree?”

“Faerghus is better off without you,” the Faerghus soldier said, eliciting sounds of agreement from the others.

“Fine,” Dimitri said. “I accept your challenge.”

“No!” you shouted, lunging forward. Or, attempting to. A man you hadn’t even noticed shot an arm out to keep you from entering the informal circle, pulling you back.

“Don’t interfere,” he said, holding your arms pinned so you couldn’t go for your weapon. His breath was hot and sour on your ear, making you shudder in disgust. “I have money on this fight, girl. Five to one… the pretty boy’s ‘bout to learn a lesson he won’t forget.”

“Dimitri, stop!” you begged. It didn’t even occur to you to be worried for him. Only about what he would do.

The Faerghus soldier went for him first, pulling a knife from his stained coat and lunging at Dimitri with wavering, drunken posture. He was a large guy, the type that expected to win fights based purely on his size and raw strength. Dimitri sidestepped the attack, grabbing the man’s beefy arm as he did to misdirect his momentum and contort the arm behind his back, twisting him around and sending him staggering to the ground.

Dimitri had gotten hold of the knife during the exchange, but he didn’t bother using it. When the large man made to grab Dimitri’s legs, Dimitri kicked him in the chest. Bones crunched. Loudly. Dimitri kicked him again, the choppy strands of his blond hair flipping and falling with the motion.

Despite the shocking display of efficient brutality, the Imperial went into attack. His knuckles glinted with metal as he drew back his fist.

“Watch out!” you called, but the warning was unnecessary. Dimitri whirled around, grabbing the Imperial’s hand before it could make contact and slamming it flat against the side of the building. He drove the knife right below the band of metal ringing the Imperials fingers, pushing it into the grout between brick until the handle was flush to the man’s skin. The Imperial screamed, immediately trying to pull the knife free, but it was stuck. He tried to lash out at Dimitri, but the prince easily ducked beneath the attack.

The other three men bunched in a group, ganging up on Dimitri together. The tallest stood in the center, a short man on his right and a heavy looking guy who’d picked up a broom as a makeshift weapon on his left. All you could see of Dimitri the back of his uniform and the fluttering cape on his shoulder, so brilliant and vividly blue.

Ducking out of the way of the broom’s handle, Dimitri took a fist to the face from the shortest man. Despite the successful blow, the short man was immediately rewarded with a brutal backhand that sent him to the ground with a fleshy kind of crack.

Dimitri didn’t hesitate, throwing his body at the man holding the broom. The wooden handle split into two pieces beneath Dimitri’s gauntleted left hand, his right elbow slamming against the heavy guy’s face while he was distracted by the loss of his weapon. The heavy man’s face immediately exploded in a bright spray of blood, sending him stumbling back and tripping onto the ground, clutching his face desperately.

The tall one tried to attack with a straight right, but Dimitri spun out of the way, swinging the broken piece of broomstick handle in an arc at his head. The wood broke on impact with the guy’s skull. While he was stunned, Dimitri’s fist easily connected with his stomach. He dropped with a heavy “umph” of a groan.

Breathing heavily, Dimitri turned from them, dropping the short length of broomstick handle with a clatter of wood on stone and tossing his sweaty hair from his brow. Blood dripped from his nose, staining the ashy pale of his complexion, dribbling over his chapped lips.

The Imperial was the only one standing, having managed to free himself. You hadn’t seen what he’d done to get out of the trap, but the knife remained in the wall and his hand was in a ruined state, too covered in blood for you to see.

Dimitri faced him, his chest heaving and a gruesome smile on his face. Blood dripped into his mouth, staining his teeth red. With wild eyes, he surveyed his final opponent.

Had Dimitri done this on purpose? Ensured that the Imperial would be the last to face him so he could savor it? Something about the expression on his face made you think that sickening thought. Taking advantage of the way the grip keeping you still had slackened in horror, you stumbled forward.

“Dimitri stop!”  you shouted.

He ignored you, moving towards the last man with the predatory gait of a killer. You didn’t even think about it, lunging at him and wrapping your arms around his middle. Doing that could have killed you, you knew that. His reflexes were faster than you could ever hope to move. But your blood pounded steadily in your ears and your pulse made your throat feel swollen and men you hoped weren’t dead littered the ground. You needed to make him stop.

Somehow, it worked.

“Unhand me,” Dimitri demanded, prying you off of him despite your attempts to hold fast. The violence of it pushed you back several steps, but you managed not to fall. “This Imperial traitor asked for a fair fight. Have I not granted him his wish?”

“You’ve won!” You looked at the glowering Imperial who was wrapping his hand with a ripped piece of shirt. “Yield, please. You can’t fight, your men are down… Please, stop this.”

“No,” he said, pulling the fabric tight with a wince. With that, he swung, his arm arcing clumsily towards Dimitri who easily caught the fist, twisting it with enough force to make the main shout in pain. The movement forced the Imperial to fall forward, but Dimitri caught him with a grip on the front of his uniform, pulling him close.

“Dimitri,” you pled. “You can’t kill him. Please.”

“No? Even though he follows that wretched woman?” Dimitri asked. “Even when he would have gleefully killed me in an honorless fight?”

“Please, just yield and leave. Please,” you begged of the other man. “Dimitri, you’d let him go if he yielded, right?

“This foul creature does not deserve your pity,” he said.

“Please?” you begged again.

“Fine,” Dimitri allowed, his lip curled as he looked at the man. “I’ll let you go free. Provided you deliver a message to your master.”

The Imperial sneered, answering by screwing up his mouth for a second and then spitting. The glob of saliva landed squarely on Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri accepted it with a cold, empty patience, letting it slide down his face without any reaction. “I’ll accept death before I do something for a beast like you,” the Imperial said.

“Very well, I shall be glad to deliver,” Dimitri responded. “You and your gang of cowards are not the first men I have sent to the Eternal Flames. But you already know that, don’t you? Your face is not even worth remembering. Just as I have forgotten your brother, you too will die a meaningless death.”

A strangled sound of rage left the Imperial’s mouth, his face twisting in genuine hatred as he fought the hold Dimitri had on his uniform. Blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandage on his hand. And Dimitri was going to kill him. That sickening smile was gone, all emotion sapped out. His expression was cold and cruel. The act of killing made him dark. Empty.

“Dimitri!” a familiar voice called, breaking the tense scene apart. The crowd, whatever remained of it, parted for Professor Byleth’s confident stride, his green eyes focused solely on the prince. Ashe hurried behind him; his cheeks colored with a flush of exertion. Dimitri’s grip on the Imperial slackened, some awareness seeping into his eyes. Finally, he wiped the spit from his cheek, catching some of the blood from his nose. It left a rusty streak on his pale skin.

The Imperial took advantage of Dimitri’s distraction. His nails made contact with Dimitri’s face for a second before the prince reacted, throwing him away with unnerving ease. What was left was four distinct and angry short trails of red high on Dimitri’s cheekbone.

“It seems you’ve been spared,” Dimitri called as the man scrambled to get upright. But he had landed poorly, swaying dizzily like he hit his head. “This time.”

“What happened?” Professor Byleth asked you, forcing your attention away from the horrific scene. You cleared your throat, trying to calm your mind.

“They challenged him to a fight,” you said. Byleth’s lips formed a line, but he nodded. “And he accepted.”

“These men were Imperial vermin and traitors,” Dimitri added. “They wished for a chance to take me out and failed.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Vengeance… Vengeance is for the strong. They were too weak to attain it.”

“You didn’t need to accept their challenge,” you told him, belatedly realizing that you were crying. Shaking, too. Trembling so hard you felt it in your bones. “You’re… you’re better than that.”

“Am I?” Dimitri asked. “Tell me, would it be honorable to keep another man from his revenge? I allowed him a fair chance, and he was unable to follow through.”

“Still…” you muttered, looking around at the carnage. Already, guards were surveying the downed men. Checking for pulses. Killing men in battle was one thing but killing them here in the dark and dingy streets of a nearly abandoned town. A place that was supposed to be a refuge, to be sacred. It was like you couldn’t breathe, like the world was closing in on you.

This wasn’t Dimitri, was it? The man who had kissed you, who had held you, who had made you laugh. The man you were in love with.

“If you can’t stomach reality, you have no place here,” Dimitri said, stalking past you. Professor Byleth attempted to stop him, but that didn’t matter. Dimitri was a force of nature, like a storm or a fire, without reason or restraint.

Besides, the guards for calling for Professor Byleth’s help, likely asking for advice on how to handle this situation. How were you supposed to handle this situation? What were you supposed to do?

“Are you all right?” Ashe asked, peering at you with a look of concern. “Let’s go back to the monastery, the guards can take care of this.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Your ears were ringing. It sounded like screaming. It smelled like blood and fire and the tangy, sour, stale sweat that reeked of pain and fear. Was this any more or less horrific than what you had already seen? You already knew the violence Dimitri was capable of, you already knew the depths to which he had descended.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look really pale…” Ashe said.

You felt a little numb. Empty, cold, like everything had been drained out and replaced with cotton.

“Ashe?” you asked, but your voice sounded far away.

“Yes?” He looked so concerned, so earnestly worried for you. That was good, nice. You could hold on to that.

“What do you think it is to be honorable?”

Ashe blinked, clearly confused, but his answer was quick. “Honor is doing what’s right.”

“Who defines what’s right?” you asked.

“I’m not so sure this is important right now,” Ashe said, looking around. You ignored it all, the noise and the people and the carnage and the fear and the disgust, focused only on the one question. “Perhaps we should wait until we’re-”

“Please?” you asked. That word was etched into your tongue.

He looked like he was about to argue but relented after a moment. “I suppose the goddess defines what’s right, so do those who lead us,” Ashe said. “But knights also must follow their hearts. To follow all of those things… that’s honorable.”

You closed your eyes, trying to comprehend exactly what he said. That definition definitely made sense. Honor both was and wasn’t. Nebulous and strict. If you doubted what you knew, you’d lose it entirely. It was better to let it be, you decided that long ago.

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. “You’re right.”

“Are you okay?” Ashe asked again.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. You just had to ignore this, shove it from your mind. Focus on other things. “Let’s go back to the monastery.”

[anyoneseenadam]

Home: Chapter Six

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing, THIS PART HAS SMUT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED but it is very soft 

word count: 3.2k

dress featured: x

a/n: this part was gonna be super fluffy and lovely but of course i cant do that so it’s quite angsty lol sorry. BUt Percabeth make an appearance and we love them so I think that evens it out :) I also apologise if there are any mistakes I wanted to get this out ASAP because I have exams coming up :( pls comment it genuinely makes my day i get so happy when people comment, anyway enjoy!

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Azriel wasn’t entirely sure he would ever get over ‘Captain America: The Winter Soldier’, or any other Marvel movies for that matter, having cried when Bucky was revealed, or when Pietro died making you practically piss yourself with laughter as you muttered something along the lines of “Just wait.”

When the sun began to rise you had turned the laptop off, pulling him in tightly as you pulled the thick duvet over you and proceeded to snore softly with your head pressed over his heart and your other hand reaching out and clutching your favourite soft toy. He thinks he maybe got three hours of sleep, but he laid with you the whole morning, addicted to the heat emitting from you and the way the whole room seemed to be resting as you slept, the breeze swaying the curtains matching that of your gentle breaths and the plants drooping as they too relaxed.

When you did wake, Azriel found his way between your legs, determined to wake you up properly. Your soft cries were like music to his ears, and he made you cum three times before you were pushing his shoulders away, shaking from over-stimulation, and climbing on top of him, sinking down slowly, letting yourself feel every inch. As he sat back, his hands resting on your waist to guide you when you became breathless, holding tightly and occasionally thrusting up into you when the pace became to slow for his taste. You reached a hand to his wings as his thumb found your clit, and you kissed sloppily as you searched for release.

Soon, you fell on top of him as he grunted, hips stalling as you whined into his open mouth. He slowly pulled out and wrapped his arms tightly around your middle, the two of you laying silently simply enjoying the others presence. You soon looked up at him and gave him a breathless smile, pecking his jaw, before swinging your legs over the side of the bed and grabbing a robe of the floor. You made your way to the record player and filled the room with the sound of the Bee Gee’s, Azriel closing his eyes and letting the foreign sounds consume him. You sat down at your vanity and started putting on your jewellery, all the movements practiced, and he cracked open an eye watching you string necklaces with crystals hanging from them around your neck. He laughed as you sang along to the song, flirty eyes catching his as you swayed from side to side.

“More than a woman…” you sang softly as you pulled lacy panties up your legs and rubbed fruity lotion into your legs and hands, waving your hands to dry them before pushing of numerous rings. He sat up in bed, watching you intently as you moved to your wardrobe and pulled out a pretty off-the-shoulder, white dress with frills and faint flowers decorating it. You dropped your robe and pulled on the dress, shaking your hair out and turning to walk over to him. The golden light from the window coated you and you look like you belonged in the Day Court as your skin was cast in the glow, it seemed to weave around you alike a halo and he was struck by how angelic you looked.

“I’m gonna go wash my face,” you said, pressing quick kiss to his lips and giggling sweetly when he tried to chase your mouth for more, pulling away and leaving the room, blowing a kiss in his direction.

He stood, a love-drunk smile on his face as he went about finding his boxers from the night before and pulling them on, grimacing at the tight fit, before he wandered to the drawer you had pulled them from, laughing when he found men’s joggers as well and pulling them on. When he turned to find a top he was instead greeted by a middle-aged man in running gear. He reached for truth-teller, moving into a fighting stance, his shadows swarming around him menacingly and silently begged that you would stay in the bathroom to avoid seeing any blood.

“At ease Azriel, I won’t hurt you.” The strange man said, not actually looking at him and instead typing furiously on his phone.

“How did you get in here?” Azriel asked gruffly, assessing the man to see if he had weapons.

The man waved a hand through the air dismissively, “You are not supposed to be here you know.”

“What do you mean?” He was still uncomfortable at the fact the man knew his name, and now he was insinuating that he knew that Azriel wasn’t from this world.

“Stupid Aphrodite and her hopeless ideals messing up the routes so you could meet (y/n). The fates won’t be happy if you don’t return soon, and even worse Persephone will lose it if she thinks her daughter has been dragged into any messy situations like this, so you boy, are going home, come on.” He beckoned to Azriel, but he didn’t budge.

“Who are you?” He demanded as the man rolled his eyes.

“Hermes, messenger God, now come on I don’t have all day.”

“What did you mean by the fates?”

Hermes sighed deeply, muttering something about a pay raise under his breath before he finally looked up at Azriel. “Some soulmates simply just aren’t meant to meet I’m afraid, why do you think we wrote so many tragedies. If a Greek is born lucky enough to have a soulmate they will likely be from another world, and that means they cannot be together. I know you think she is your mate, but she must stay here, she’s not even immortal it would be cruel. I told Aphrodite to not let you two meet and that it would just end in heart-break, but she didn’t listen, felt bad for the girl or something, but either way you need to leave now.”

Azriel opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words, you really were his, his mate, but now he was being told that he couldn’t be with you. He tried to reply again but before he could you were floating back into the room, smiling widely when you saw Hermes.

“Hermes, long time no see. What calls you to my humble abode?” you asked, moving to Azriel’s side and laughing when he still didn’t put down his dagger, “It’s okay Az, Hermes is actually one of the nicer ones.”

Hermes laughed at the compliment, but sadness shone in his eyes as he looked upon you.

“You look happy,” he said, a regretful look suddenly over-coming his features, yet Azriel couldn’t feel any sympathy for the man that was going to hurt his mate.

“I am.” You said, gazing up at Azriel with soft eyes, and Hermes placed his buzzing phone in his back pocket.

“My child, it’s time for Azriel to leave,” he said softly, your head whipping around to look at him.

“What?” The sharpness of your tone surprised Azriel. He had grown used to your soft side that spoke to flowers and baked homemade bread, but now he was remembering the broken part of you that was part God and build walls up in seconds. He placed a hand on your lower back as the room suddenly shuddered under your power, all plants awakening.

“You two were never meant to meet, Aphrodite just wanted you to meet him after your fall, but she forgot that he would have to return, I’m so sorry.” Your eyes filled with tears as you tried to make sense of what was happening, snarling at the God.

“No but this has nothing to do with the Gods, it- he got here on his own, we met by chance,” You were shaking as you tried to explain, sadness and confusion battling anger, and Azriel thought he could hear his heart break.

“I’m sorry child, I have to take him back. He only got here because of Aphrodite.” You were shaking your head, tears flowing freely now, gripping his arm and Hermes approached.

“NO, no there must be another way, please don’t take him from me! I need him, I love him, please don’t do this!” Hermes, shockingly, also appeared to be close to tears as he rested his hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his body going numb as he was pulled from you, unable to fight back.

“(y/n), baby, I’m sorry, I’ll figure this out okay I promise. I’m not leaving you here.” He didn’t think he would ever feel this much pain again as he watched the woman he loved sob, trying desperately to hold onto him as he was pulled from her world, the image of her collapsing to her knees as he was wrenched from her grip becoming imprinted in his mind.

--

He was gone. He was gone and you were alone again.

The scuffed wooden floor below you was cool as you pressed your forehead against it, sobs racking your body. You pushed yourself up and sat against the wall, checking the time on the clock. 15 minutes. You would cry for 15 minutes and then you would get him back. To many times you have just accepted your fate, but you couldn’t this time, you and Azriel met for a reason there had to be something. You wouldn’t let the anger and fear swallow you again.

When 15 minutes had past you forced your self to stand, wiping your eyes with your hand before searching for tissues. When you had blown your nose, you found an old notebook and grabbed your pen. A list, a list would organise your thoughts, you could find a loophole something had to work. You wrote down every theory you had, every book you would have to look in and every person you had to ask, sniffling, and rubbing the tears from your eyes. When you were done you found the backup burner phone you kept for emergencies and found Annabeth’s number. She picked up on the third ring and you took in a shaking breath.

“I think I need your help.”

--

Hermes left Azriel on the outskirts of Velaris, strangely back in his Illyrian leathers, he had apologised again, true sadness shining in his eyes, but Azriel just growled as feeling returned to his limbs. Hermes looked as if he wanted to say something but decided not to and with that left.

As Azriel shot off the ground he was struck with a sharp pain in his chest, as if being apart from her was physically paining him. He flew over his home, the city he had grown to love but even the feeling of coming home couldn’t distract from the cold that was seeping into his bones. He would destroy the Gods themselves before he let them take you from him and he fought a snarl as he pictured the hell he would make them pay for making you cry.

He landed outside the town house but before he could even open the door the wind was knocked out of him as Cassian barrelled into him in what was either a really rough hug or a tackle, it was hard to tell with Cassian sometimes.

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN IT’S BEEN WEEKS?!” he winced as Cassian yelled right in his ear, shoving him off him as the rest of his family, minus Amren, surrounded him. Feyre was next to hug him and he returned his High Lady’s embrace, when she pulled away he met Rhysand’s eyes, and he saw the sadness in Azriel’s, shocked as Azriel rarely let any emotion show on his face.

“C’mon lets go inside,” Rhys said, outstretching an arm for his wife. Mor, holding Nyx, followed them in and Cassian who was still glaring at Azriel grabbed his arm and tugged him in, grumbling under his breath about how Azriel hadn’t even sent a letter.

When they were all sat, including Amren who apparently just couldn’t be bothered to come greet him as she knew he was coming her way anyway, Feyre asked him what happened. His eyes instinctively found Elain where she sat huddled in the corner of an armchair, and as he took in her spectacular beauty, all he could think of was how no one compared to you. No one compared to your callused hands that had seen many fights and handled many weapons, or your scarred back that only proved how strong you truly were. No amount of beauty could ever compare to you when you had completely stolen his heart, it didn’t help that you were also the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

He paused, a small part of him wanting to keep you a secret as he feared Cassian’s flirting and the prospect of losing the woman he loved again, but as he looked upon where Cassian sat with nothing but worry for his brother in his eyes, Nesta perched next to him, back straight as usual but a hand in his brother’s, he realised he was being ridiculous. He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath, fiddling with his hands as he told his family everything.

--

Percy had forgotten how much he loved (y/n)’s cottage. It always smelt of cinnamon in winter and roses in summer and it usually had the second-best homemade goods her had ever eaten, their only flaw being the lack of blue food colouring. But he didn’t have time to dwell on how he had missed the house too much as Annabeth pulled him through the door and into (y/n)’s kitchen where she sat staring with the blank look on her face that Percy knew meant something had gone horribly wrong. She looked up when they entered and stood, practically falling into Annabeth’s arms, hugging her tightly before Percy tugged her into his own, a hand resting protectively on her head. She had always been like a little sister to him even though she was only a few months younger than him, and consistently beat him in training exercises. The first few months after they escaped Tartarus, he had brought her meals and held her when she sobbed and threw up due to nightmares, helping her through the trauma and trying not to throw up himself when Annabeth applied the ointment Will had given you to her back. When she told him of the fraught relationship she had with her father he decided that she needed someone who would be like family and had practically adopted her after they defeated Kronos, the seven, Nico and Will becoming the loving family she had always wanted.

When she pulled away, he nudged her to sit down as Annabeth started preparing chamomile tea for her in the hopes of relaxing her.

“What happened kiddo?” he asked softly, and she huffed a laugh at the nickname. He smiled when he remembered her reaction when he first said it.

“We’re literally the same age!” She threw her hands up as he laughed at her reaction.

“Doesn’t matter you’re technically younger than me.” He argued as she glared at him playfully before waving her hand, laughing when he was strung upside down by a thick vine encircling his ankle.

“Right that’s just unfair!” he laughed before adding “kiddo,” at the end, flipping her off when she rolled her eyes and let him fall and land in a heap, sitting up and rubbing his elbow.

“Rude.” He muttered but she just laughed, picking up the swords she was training with and moved to continue with her training.

They sat and listened as she explained what had happened, taking small sips of her hot tea as she went. When she finished Percy let out a soft curse.

“So Hermes just took him?” Annabeth asked, her eyebrows furrowed in a way Percy knew meant her mind was going a million miles an hour.

She nodded sadly, “there has to be something I can do right? I was finally making progress; I watched all three Iron Man movies with him.”

“That’s a lot of red,” Percy noted, and she bit her lip, nodding sadly.

“What if I never see him again?” She asked, the way her voice broke hit something inside him as he remembered how much it sucked being separated from Annabeth.

“You will.” Annabeth said with such certainty, Percy expected this faerie boyfriend to appear in the seat next to him. Annabeth lifted her bag and started pilling the books she had brought with her and (y/n) stood and moved around her living room, grabbing ones of her own.

“I figured old myths of my mum might help, y’know forbidden love and all,” she said the joke not quite reaching her eyes, but Annabeth nodded.

“I thought the same, but I also figured maybe something to do with Eurydice and Orpheus given he went to the underworld to get her back when they were separated.”

“Didn’t they both die at the end?” Percy asked and (y/n) laughed sadly.

“Shush,” Annabeth said, passing him a book and highlighter. He groaned.

“Why did I agree to this?” He asked but no one answered, and he looked up to see the two women already reading, determination covering their features, so he instead cracked his neck and picked up his own book.

--

Almost 10 hours later you slammed your book down in frustration, wiping your eyes roughly.

“Nothing, there isn’t one thing here. Either I do something stupid and we both die, or I need to find a way to be allowed to live in his world half the year and this one the other half.” Your shoulders slumped, “And that’s presuming I ever get to see him again, and then! Even then, I have what 70 years with him if I’m lucky. That’s nothing to him, he’s fucking five hundred years old.”

Annabeth looked up sympathetically, one hand woven in Percy’s hair as he slept with his head in her lap.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think this has ever happened before. We might have to start looking elsewhere.”

“I just miss him. I know it’s not even been a day, but he was my soulmate, Hermes said so, he thinks I didn’t hear, but I did and now my chest actually hurts now that he’s gone. He’s gone and I don’t think he’s coming back.” You didn’t know how you had any tears left but they were flowing down your cheeks, hot against your cold hands as you wiped your face.

“You will, I promise we’ll figure something out, even if we have to go to the Gods themselves.” Annabeth smiled at you.

“WAIT!” Percy jumped up suddenly, surprising you both, given he appeared to be sleeping. “The Gods, (y/n) you never got your reward.”

“What?”

“After the battle and the fall, you were offered a reward, but you said no because you sensed you would need it in the future. This is the future you need it now you can be with him!” Percy was practically running circles around your living room, gesturing widely as his arms flailed but Annabeth had gone wholly still, doing the math in her head.

“He’s right, that could work.” You felt hope rise in your chest as Annabeth spoke, “But you would have to be specific, if we’ve pissed off Zeus he’ll try trick you, he’s kinda like a genie.” You let out a genuine laugh.

“I think I need to visit my mum,” you said, eyes bright with hope.

“But it’s September.” Percy said, and you gave him a pained smile, grimacing as you realised where you were going.

“I think Nico and I are overdue for a family dinner.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (7) || atz

“So, you're saying you heard the voice of the sea monster.”

“Yes…” You say hesitantly, Seonghwa nodding encouragingly at you as you spill the beans to San. The healer's face is unreadable, inscrutable as he eyes you silently, fingers drumming over the side of his mug of tea.

“I can vouch for him.” Seonghwa speaks up but San shakes his head, setting down his drink with a thunk.

“It's not that I don't believe you, apprentice.” San's eyes are unnaturally sharp for such a soft person. He straightens his back, before giving you a pensive glance. “But for you to be able to hear the voice of a sea monster… what could it possibly mean?”

“Perhaps he is blessed similarly to Hongjoong?” Seonghwa suggests. The healer nods thoughtfully.

“That could be the case. We don't know who you were before you lost your memories, so that could well be the answer.” San explains, and you frown. You, blessed by a sea god?

“But I can't do that thing captain can… like making the ship move faster.” You try to get your point across. Apart from having heard the monstrous beast once, you're not much special anyway else. You have no voodoo magic thing about you, or any control over the wind. Hell, you can barely use a kitchen knife the right side up.

The cook ponders this thoughtfully. “Different people may be blessed different ways. It’s always a possibility you can consider-”

“Stowaway?” You jerk to your feet as a new voice comes from the door. There are two men standing in the doorway, much to your surprise. One you recognize, the lookout, Yunho, and the other seems vaguely familiar.

He’s at least half a head taller than you, with a rounded face and serious, deep brown eyes. He can’t be very old, but the way he carries himself is endearing, like a young boy trying to match up to his older peers.

“Are we interrupting anything, hyungs?” He asks, so seriously that you’re almost impressed for a moment. His face is stoic, waiting for a reply so earnestly you immediately feel an almost irrepressible urge to wrap him up in a massive hug and squish his cheeks. He’s dressed simply in a sky blue shirt with white strips over a white tee, tucked into black trousers. This seems to be standard clothing for most of the crew.

Ah, you remember where you’ve seen him before.

When you had been tied up on deck, you’d seen seen him working out on deck, doing an insane number of push ups, lifts, running back and forth the bow and stern until you had gotten tired just from watching him. He didn’t seem to exist within normal human limitations, doing sit ups with entire tree trunks or squats with other members of the crew twice his size on his back.

But it was his voice that left an impact on you the most. You had been battling a raging fever, agonizing pain and a terrible loneliness. One night, you had been in despair once again, wondering if you were going to be thrown to the sharks the next day or whether the captain would simply shoot you dead, when you had heard a voice singing.

“Born on the wrong side of the ocean With all the tides against you You never thought you'd be much good for anyone But that's so far from the truth I know there's pain in your heart And you're covered in scars Wish you could see what I do…”

Until now, you still don’t know what song it was, but it had lulled you out of your self pity and that night you had slept with a calm mind. Of course, the apple breaking had also helped to amuse you greatly, but the way he had sung, so soulful and with so much emotion, was something you couldn’t forget.

You wanted to thank him, but how?

“No, we were just chatting about how our stowaway’s cooking is getting better.” San smiles, and you whip around to stare at your master in shock so fast it almost gives you whiplash.

“You said my cooking tastes like raw fish innards!” You cry in protest, but the healer simply shrugs. Seonghwa tries to encourage you.

“You have gotten better at using a knife…” He says, smiling so genuinely it almost lifts your spirits for a moment. Then you remember Seonghwa is inherently good and literally not one bad thing can come out of his mouth.

“Your cooking used to taste like rotten fish innards, apprentice.” San says with a completely straight face, dodging the roll of bandage that comes sailing at his head with ease. But Yunho chuckles, and you see the teasing smile pulling at the side of your master’s mouth.

He’s playing with you again. You puff out your cheeks in annoyance, but San merely laughs at you.

“What do you need him for, Yunho?” Seonghwa asks, getting to his feet. The lookout gestures in your direction.

“Hongjoongie-hyung wanted us to teach the stowaway a little combat skill. Hate to break it to you, but no one can live a pirate without at least knowing how to defend yourself.” Yunho tosses you a short knife. You barely catch it, fumbling with the leather before gripping it tightly in your hands. You’re lucky the blade is wrapped in a sheath, or you’d have chopped off your own fingers.

You turn to San and the healer simply makes a shooing motion with his hands. You give him a dry look.

No touching words of wisdom or encouragement?

He shakes his head.

Nope.

You sulk and turn back to your new teachers. “I’ll be in your hands then.”

“Do your best!” Seonghwa calls from behind you as the pair lead you to the main deck. Some of the crew give you strange looks, undoubtedly wondering why their stowaway turned healer is with the lookout and their resident opera singer(?), but you ignore them.

“So, stowaway.” Yunho begins in some sort of introduction. “I’m Yunho, the lookout and a battlemaster. This kid here,” he jerks a thumb at the young man next to him, who immediately eyes his older crewmate with a scowl, “is Jongho, our resident maknae and the other battlemaster of the ship.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jongho says rather indifferently, looking at everywhere but you. You frown a little at his cold reception.

“Don’t worry about Jongho, he’s just a little shy around new people.” Yunho explains while dodging his junior’s fist, as if this is a common occurrence. “He’s also the youngest, so he’s never really been around anyone younger than him.”

You don’t really know what your age is, with your lost memories and all, but you are shorter than him, so you suppose that’s a fair assumption to make.

“Any questions before we begin?” The lookout asks, pulling a short knife from his belt and twirling it so effortlessly you’re already impressed. But you do have a question. Two, actually.

“What’s a battlemaster? And why are there two of you?”

“A battlemaster is a person who leads a fighting party during raids. We also train the crew in combat.” Yunho tells you. “Jongho is in charge of more… blunt weaponry, while I handle swords and pistols.”

“We’ll be starting off with determining which combat style you’re more suited to.” Jongho adds on quietly, reaching for the hem of his shirt, Yunho following suit. You’re confused for a moment, until you see the two of them starting to strip their clothes off.

Wait.

Wait.

“Wait!” You screech, shielding your eyes from the sight with your hands. “What are the two of you doing?”

“We’re going to be sparring with you, so we don’t want our clothes to get dirty from sweat.” Yunho sounds a little bewildered, and you hear him moving forward to remove your hand from your eyes. Before he can, you scoot backwards away from his voice…

...only to end up pressing against someone’s bare chest.

Help me.

“If it bothers you so much, we’ll put our shirts back on.” Jongho says gruffly from behind you, and gods help you because his voice is right at your ear and you can feel his chest thrumming against your back with every word he says. He steadies you with his hands before mercifully moving back from you, giving you some much need space and time to remove the flush from your cheeks. You hear the rustle of fabric and sighs from the two men, before Jongho finally gives you the cue to remove your hands.

“We’re decent.”

Hesitantly, you peek out from between the cracks of your fingers. Both men are dressed in their tees and trousers, overshirts slung over their shoulders.

“Honestly, stowaway, you scream like a woman.” Yunho chuckles. All you manage is a weak, little laugh, but you can’t help but think how true that statement is.

“Try to lift this.” Jongho passes you a wooden club with one hand, and fooled by the ease with which he carries the weapon, you accept it gratefully.

It's heavy.

It also almost smashes your recently healed foot into smithereens.

“Watch out for the club!” The younger battlemaster yelps, snatching the blunt weapon back from you in alarm. You’re wheezing, half in fear from your near foot crushing experience and the other half because your arms are screaming in pain.

How on earth did Jongho carry that? It's so heavy that your arms simply could not keep it off the ground. You’re still staring at Jongho in wide eyed open awe when he notices you.

“What?” He scowls fiercely, turning away. But you catch the red tinge on his cheeks.

“I would say you are not at all suited to Jongho’s usual style of fighting.” Yunho smiles amicably, throwing Jongho a sword. To your awe once more, Jongho easily catches it by the handle, flipping it over in his hand as if it is second nature to him. “Jongho will demonstrate a few moves with the cutlass.”

Jongho pauses to give his senior a dark look.

“I will?”

“Yes, you will.” Yunho eyes his junior with an excited smile and some kind of unspoken argument seems to happen between the two of them. In the end, Jongho sighs in exasperation, a long, heavy exhale and raises the sword.

“I hate the apple trick, so I’m only doing this once, alright?”

You barely have time to ask what the apple trick is before he launches into movement.

The tip of the blade pierces air, a whistling sound as the weapon scythes across mere inches from your nose. He’s barely completed a swing before he effortlessly reverses the action, twirling the blade and stabbing forward. Stepping forward, he spins the weapon in hand, executing a perfect downstroke, wielding the cutlass as if it is a natural extension of his own arm. You continue to watch, completely awestruck, as he finishes his demonstration with a final move, leaping high and twirling in midair, before bringing the blade right down on Yunho’s head.

You almost scream in shock, but then you see the razor sharp edge slice through an apple that Yunho must have placed on his head during the demonstration. The red fruit splits all the way in half, but the blade stops merely a hair’s breadth from Yunho’s head.

There’s silence for a moment, then a smattering round of applause from the crew that have been watching in respect of Jongho’s unparalleled skill.

“So that’s all you have to do.” Yunho is completely unruffled, tossing you a half of the apple while taking a munch of the other. You stare at him like he’s just slapped you in the face.

“That’s all?” You repeat incredulously. “That’s all?” Your voice starts rising in pitch uncontrollably. “I can’t do that! That’s crazy! Jongho is too talented!”

The maknae coughs lightly behind his hand, but he sounds pleased.

“I believe in you!” Yunho chirrups, taking another bite of his apple. “I don’t think anyone could quite reach Jongho’s level, but you should at least try to reach some level of proficiency to defend yourself and your crew mates during battles.”

“I know…” You gulp, and Jongho passes you a wooden sword. It’s longer than you expected, and slightly heavy. Its handle is modeled after the distinctive hand piece of the cutlass that seem to be standard issue on the pirate ship. You try lifting it. “So… Like this?”

“No, you’re holding it the wrong way round, dumbass.” Jongho groans, moving to correct your grip while Yunho looks up at the sky for some kind of divine help.

“This might take a while.” He mutters to himself with a serene smile.

The rest of your day is spent mastering your grip on the sword, learning a few basic swings and as Yunho loves to say, “Practice, practice, practice.” You drill the same movements over and over into your muscles with that single wooden stick so diligently that when night falls and Yunho spares you any more torture, you stumble to the galley with some strange urge in your arms to continue.

“Are you alright?” Seonghwa peers at you as you slump over at the table that he uses to prepare the rations, completely exhausted.

“No.” Your words are muffled against the counter top.

The cook gives you a sympathetic smile as he reaches for a bowl, scooping noodles into it. “Yunho and Jongho are hard taskmasters, but they do want the best for you. I’m sure you’ll improve by leaps and bounds with their guidance.”

“Like I am with cooking?” You offer weakly as Seonghwa sets the noodles and a cup of steaming green tea next to you. The cook pauses to consider that.

“Perhaps not as much.” He smiles at you gently and you snort, grabbing the fork.

“Do you fight, Seonghwa-hyung?”

The older man thinks about this for a moment. “Enough to defend myself.” He replies thoughtfully, tapping his spoon against his mouth. “I usually use a cutlass if I’m in close combat, but I prefer these.”

He points to the cooking knives hanging from his belt and your mouth falls open.

“Hello, hello.” Yeosang slides into the kitchen with a spring in his step, a book tucked under his arm and a smile on his face. He must be in a good mood. “Hyung, captain’s dinner, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Wait… hyung, you mean you use the kitchen knives to prepare food with… to kill people? Isn’t that kind of unhygienic?” You babble on, a little grossed out by the fact you may have been eating dried human blood. Seonghwa laughs at your shock as he ladles more noodles into a bowl.

“Don’t be silly.” He shakes his head, reaching for the seasoning. “I clean my knives very well after every battle.”

You turn to the navigator, who’s sitting at the table opposite you, reading a thick book with several dog eared pages intently. You peer curiously at the cover.

“A Complete Sum of Names Commonly used in the East and Their Meaning.” You read aloud curiously. Yeosang turns to stare at you in surprise.

“You read?”

You don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered, so you decided to go with flattered and twist a little smile on your face. “Yes?”

Yeosang must have seen the sour look, because he rushes to explain his words in a more polite manner. “I didn’t mean it that way, so I apologise if you feel insulted. It’s simply uncommon for most folk to know their letters, so I rather impressed that you could read.”

Oh, now you feel a little flattered.

“Well, thanks.” You’re sure your cheeks are a faint shade of red, but you clap your hands to them to hide it. Yeosang catches sight of it and merely laughs gently.

Seonghwa comes over to the two of you, holding the bowl of noodles in one hand and two slender pieces of wood in the other, passing them to Yeosang. The navigator beams at the two of you and turns to leave, but just as he does, there’s a sound of a massive thunderclap and the ship momentarily heels to the right.

Agile and surefooted, Yeosang manages to keep his balance and Seonghwa even saves your bowl of noodles from toppling to the ground.

The three of you stare at each other in wide eyed shock. There’s a moment of silence… and then the frantic ringing of a bell breaks the calm of the night.

Seonghwa and Yeosang react immediately, the navigator slamming the bowl of noodles down on the table as the two rise to their feet with an urgency so different from their usual calm selves. They remind you of hawks in the moment, eyes narrowed and every muscle tensed for action. The tension is palpable.

You don’t know what the alarm is about, but it can’t be good if they reacted this way. You glance at the two men worriedly.

“What’s happening?”

Yeosang flinches and opens his mouth to speak, but your question is answered by Mingi’s bellow from the main deck, echoing all the way into the kitchen.

“Royal Navy! Royal Navy to the south!”

[highladyluck]

Mat’s Types, or On Tricksters

I recently made a joke about Mat's 'type' essentially being the Shadar Logoth dagger, and while I stand by it, I also think there's a lot more to it than that. I believe Mat actually has two types, which is entirely appropriate for a trickster archetype. One of his types is playful, joyful, generous people, who reflect his early- but persistent- personality. The other is sharp, powerful, existentially dangerous people, like the person he becomes over the course of the series. Like a raven- itself a trickster figure in Haida storytelling- Mat is attracted to shiny things, mirrors, and death.

But first, some definitions. I'm calling Mat a trickster archetype, so what is that? The trickster archetype is built on a kind of dual contrast. To trick someone, you must change things in a surprising way. Tricksters introduce chaos into an ordered system, or reveal order in what was thought to be chaos. (It's not surprising, or a change, to add order to order, or chaos to chaos.) So tricksters are transformational, liminal figures, who defy expectations and subvert the preexisting order- but who therefore *require* predictions and structure to have any kind of impact or meaning at all. Playing a game requires there be rules; revealing a loophole requires there be a contract.

Within this definition, there's still a huge range of characters you can call tricksters, and it's useful to categorize them across spectrums. One axis of a trickster is "effectiveness", which refers to the trickster's ability to effect change; this is 'incompetent to competent', 'foolish to canny', 'harmless to dangerous'. Another axis is "motivation" which refers to the trickster's ethical structure; this is 'good to evil', 'generous to selfish', 'just to unjust'. There's another kind of axis that's related to motivation, which I'll call "comprehensibility", and which refers to the trickster's transparency of motive; the range there is 'knowable to unknowable', 'familiar to alien', 'clear to mysterious'. If you wanted to chart them all I'd make effectiveness the horizontal x-axis, motivation the vertical y-axis, and comprehensibility the z-axis perpendicular to both of them, but this is starting to get into 'gesturing at the wall map with crazy eyes' territory and I'm mostly just going to be talking about effectiveness and motivation anyway, so let’s move on.

Tricksters can be foolish figures, always getting caught, often the butt of their own joke. That's our early impression of Mat- a prankster who never really seems to get away with anything, or a fool caught in a trap of his own making. Mat is also generous, insofar as he has apparently been rescuing people his whole life, plus he's very 'easy come, easy go' about money, and has a decent instinct for gift-giving, whether those are compliments or actual physical presents. He has a strong sense of justice that puts him at odds with people who have (unearned) privilege and who are abusing power, and he loves verbally trapping people into confronting their own hypocrisy.

He keeps these traits throughout the series, but he also develops ones on the opposite side of the axes. Stealing the Shadar Logoth dagger is the catalyst for Mat's development from 'harmless, benevolent trickster' to 'dangerous, morally complicated trickster'. It literally overwrites first his personality, and then his memories. While he gets the personality back- sort of- he never gets the memories back, and his quest to do so sets him on the rest of his path.

By the end of the series, Mat has undergone enormous trauma and developed a much stronger sense of self-preservation. He becomes a canny and multi-talented figure, a brilliant tactician and strategist, a dangerous enemy to have. He's most selfish and cruel when under the influence of the Shadar Logoth dagger, but it turns out he's also never been in the rescuing business for free, he wants to be needed and will get a little pissy if he isn't (although to his credit, he respects people's wishes if they say they don't want to be saved from themselves.)

His greed for adventure and shiny things was what got him into trouble with the dagger, and he never quite loses his appraiser's eye (or taste) for luxury goods. And Tuon is entirely right to name him 'Devastation' or 'Ruin'; he's constantly blowing things up, killing enormous amounts of people directly or by proxy, and while everyone in this series commits war crimes, he's got the dubious honor of having another character (Teslyn) actually say to his face, "You know you just did a war crime, right?"

Mat spends the early books- when he's in good enough health to do so, and has the opportunity- pursuing women, wine, and song, and I mention them all together because that's the vibe he's going for. Mat genuinely loves flirting and dancing for their own sake, as fun things to do with receptive people, and that extends to sexual activities as well. It's a joyful, generous, playful way of interacting, and Mat's joie de vivre seems to attract people with similar attitudes.

Yes, Mat sometimes puts his foot in his mouth, but he's not actually disrespectful of anyone else's agency, so he's doing better than the rest of the Two Rivers boys. He doesn't make assumptions about whether there will be a next interaction or not, or how far each interaction will go; each step is negotiated with input from both players, which makes it a kind of game. Mat doesn't have long-term relationships with these fun, playful people, but he's not looking for that, and neither are they.

The other kind of people Mat is attracted to are what I'll call 'dagger people', who are sharp (smart, competent, possibly literally an edged weapon), powerful, and existentially dangerous. It is *possible* that Mat might have acquired this taste without the Shadar Logoth dagger's influence. He likes battles, he likes adventure, he generally treats women as respected equals, he might have gotten to 'date a woman who can kick your ass' all on his own. But Mat loved that Shadar Logoth dagger, they had a whole entire fucked-up relationship, and when they broke up he got a bunch of rebound knives and also some sharp, powerful, and existentially dangerous people's memories shoved into his head. Like calls to like, blood feeds blood, etc.

And boy, does Mat find these ladies, or more accurately, boy, do these ladies find him. Case in point: Melindhra, the sexy darkfriend Maiden of the Spear. I think Aludra partially fits, too- sharp, confident if not powerful, dangerous (though not so much to him as like... the world.) Mat isn't pursuing or attracted to either Joline or Tylin, but they also fit this description, and they definitely pursued him. (I'd love to add Lanfear to the list of 'dangerous ladies who made passes at Mat' but I can't quite do it with a straight face.) I don't think Mat's thing for dagger people really reaches its full flower until he starts getting to know Tuon, though.

Mat spends much of the series looking for both his types, and tends to find either one or the other, but not both in one person- until Tuon. Like Mat, Tuon is actually both these types in a sometimes uneasy coexistence. For all their many differences, they think about each other much the same way. They both find each other very layered and confusing, but also are surprisingly quick to trust each other, which is striking in people who are very suspicious, in a fraught situation, and on opposite sides. I think most of the reason they trust each other is because they have the same very contractual personal honor system, where 'my word is my bond'. That's a trickster thing; tricksters have to keep some kind of rules, or how else will they play games and know whether they've won or lost? But their rules can be hidden or idiosyncratic (that's the z-axis, comprehensibility) as you see in 'bargains with the fae'-type situations. Personal honor is also a feature of royalty, though, where the personal and political are bound together, and a person's promises can be treated as legal contracts, as well as honor-based societies in general.

Mat and Tuon take their promises to each other very seriously, but are also always both looking for loopholes so they can get the upper hand. They also are both following the script of prophecy, which I mention because they both devote a lot of time to subverting their own expectations about how exactly that prophecy is going to play out. Mat buckles down and says “I’m going to make this come out in my favor somehow, even though it’s not what I wanted,” yet he’s still surprised at how and when Tuon completes the marriage ceremony; Tuon does not find Mat anything like she expected, and she also is surprised at her own feelings for him. Near the end of the series, they take a break from playing tricks and mind games on each other, and instead bluff everyone else on the battlefield, tag-teaming their trickster powers for one last surprise attack.

Ok, so how is Tuon Mat’s first type, playful, joyful, and generous? She loves playing games with Mat, both actual literal games like stones, but also their weird flirting/power plays. She's super competitive, because anyone who wasn't who was in her shoes would be dead, but she's a good sport, "satisfied when she wins and determined when she loses". She's also got "mischievous" smiles, and turns the tables on Mat in a super trickster-y way, writing the letter that puts everyone in the circus under her protection except for Mat and his crew; which means he and his coterie are still 'not safe' and thus he has to keep travelling with her rather than bringing her back to Ebou Dar right away, by the terms of their promise.

Mat gives us really lovely descriptions of her in moments of joy, and one of the first things we learn about her is that her genuine smile makes her look completely different from the normal Resting Bitch Face she affects for self-preservation reasons. She's generous in the sense that she's (often) willing to consider other points of view and give people second chances, when others in her position wouldn't and don't. She has the generosity of privilege, which I admit is not the most laudable form of generosity, but it's still a form of generosity. She also has a natural compassion and merciful impulses that have been trimmed and hemmed and twisted into only the forms her society deems socially acceptable, but they're still there.

I have less of a job to do proving that Tuon is a 'dagger person'. You remember how I joked about 'sharp' meaning 'literally an edged weapon'? Well, I don't know how else I'm supposed to interpret "Tuon’s right hand swept across, bladed like an axe, and struck [the footpad's] throat so hard that he heard the cartilage cracking". SHE'S LITERALLY A WEAPON. MAT HAS FINALLY FOUND A REPLACEMENT FOR HIS SEXY EVIL KNIFE. :') She's also super smart, super canny, and a snappy dresser to boot. She's one of the most powerful women in the world, and by the end of the series Mat is absolutely into it. (The bit where he's like "She's so good at giving orders! *heart eyes*" is simultaneously hilarious and alarming. I get it- I simp for Kuvira from Legend of Korra, I can't throw stones at anyone who’s like ‘hot evil Empress, please step on me’- but there's a time and a place, Mat.)

And, of course, she's an existential threat to the world, Mat's family and friends, and (theoretically) Mat himself. The Seanchan Empire, despite not being bigoted towards the Tinkers and having pretty good gender equality, is committing massive human rights violations left and right, thanks to the slavery, channelerphobia, and imperialism. As a tool of the Empire, unless he works on extricating himself, Mat's going to be culpable for that (he already is, really, but it could be worse), which is a stain on his soul that I don't think either he or the readers want. Being a tool of the Empire is an existential threat to Mat's idea of himself as an independent agent and good person, and I guess also an existential threat to his life since he's getting all those assassination attempts from his coworkers. (I am excluding Tuon from the assassination attempts; as I've mentioned in a previous essay, her threats to Mat are not serious and are in fact a form of deranged flirting.)

Tuon and Mat are both dual-axis tricksters, in their way. Tuon- or I should really be saying, Fortuona, Lady Luck- is more on the bringing order to chaos side, and Mat falls most characteristically on the bringing chaos to order end of things. But they switch roles- Mat shores up the proper order of things when he reminds Tuon to keep her promises, and Tuon is often a chaotic influence at court, with her mercy or willingness to change her mind. They also both understand what it's like to be both a person and an archetype- Mat worries about losing his individual choice and freedom by becoming a hero, and Tuon worries about becoming too vulnerable and individual to be the strong and impartial hand she thinks the Empire needs.

They've also both experienced their instincts and worldview being overwritten by external forces; for Tuon it's been happening since birth and she's almost entirely embraced the process; for Mat, it was the consequence of a choice he made and he fought it every step of the way. They have very different responses, but they've experienced weirdly similar 'erasure' experiences. And they both have good and evil impulses entwined in complicated ways. Tuon is a survivor and a monster; a preserver and a destroyer; a person and an empire. And Mat builds a relationship with her when- and because- he accepts that he is both a lover and a fighter; generous and thieving; a person and a weapon. You may not like it, but this is what peak narrative compatibility looks like.

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xiv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: When one threat is resolved, another makes presents itself. 

Warnings: character deaths, reference to sexual assault, ptsd, implied smut, shitty writing but we’re not gonna mention it ok, time jump!

Word Count: 2.7k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Confused, angry, annoyed murmurs filled the courtyard as people were ushered outside by the kingsguard. The summer sun had already risen and beat down unforgivingly on the crowd that began to form. An eerie feeling clung to the air – similar to the early morning sunrise when Sister Mary was beheaded. The people had not forgotten about the large army that gathered outside their castle gates this morning. They wondered in fear – had their king been overthrown? Or perhaps… the king was prepared to be a widow once more?

To their relief, King Steven stood at the platform. He was rather calm with his brows furrowed, lost in his thoughts. To their surprise, you weren’t dressed in the traditional execution black, nor were you cowering in the crowd in fear of your husband. Instead, their queen stood tall with her husband’s hand clasped in hers and a crown on her head, reminding them of who you were – reminding you of who you were: an angry queen seeking revenge.

The stoic expression on your face unsettled them. The last time you made a public appearance as queen was when you were struck by your husband. After then, the only time you had been relevant was when guards were storming the castle early in the morning in search of their runaway queen. Though they knew you were back and rested, they had expected your duties to be minimal – that you were to be hidden away, locked in the castle as a crowned prisoner.

They were wrong.

Behind you, stood your father, the invader from this morning. Though he did not seem to pose a threat to you or the king, his army was still sprawled out around the courtyard. Any attempt would be thwarted with ease with both Brooken and York standing together like this.

“Bring them forth,” Steven called out. The crescendo of the people’s chatter became louder and louder as the two criminals were finally revealed.

Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce trudged through the crowd, being led by guards. Shock was expressed on many noble’s faces. Confused muttering shook the crowd as they stared on at the two men who wore black.

“What is he doing?” “Has he finally lost his mind?” “That’s his cousin!” “That’s his father’s sister’s boy!” “Pierce has been an ally to the crown for decades!” “It’s the queen’s doing!” “She’s manipulating him.” “She’s made him a monster.” “No… He’s already been one for years.” “That’s his cousin, his father’s sister’s son!” “He wouldn’t dare.” “He’s a monster.”

The whispers didn’t stop. It felt as if the people were turning their back on Steven, losing hope, respect, and trust. He had yet to say a word that was heard by the crowd. Their mutterings became louder and louder, drowning him out, calling him a monster, saying he shouldn’t wear the crown. They called him mad and cruel, saying he lashed out – disguising his insanity and using treason as an excuse to blindly kill.

It wouldn’t stop. The vile accusations against him were deafening. You stared at the crowd, listening to every word spat out. It sounded like a long continuous scream.

The wails bringing you back to the violent sways of the boat. The nausea induced by the mercenary’s poor command of the boat. Seeing the man on top of Wanda. Hearing her screams of pain and pleads for help. The sticky blood on your hands as you stabbed him. You remembered the sharp shove he gave to your stomach – to your child. The ripping of your dress as he spat, “I should’ve raped you first” with his hands wrapped around your throat. The metallic taste of blood after Wanda slit the man’s throat open. You remembered her falling to the ground and the haunting lifeless look on her face. The terrible cramping pain in your stomach and the discomfort in your back. You remember the blood pooling underneath you as you lost your child.

Everything hitting you all at once. The anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The loss. It all spiraled together, morphing into one hideous feeling that you couldn’t describe. It bubbled in your throat, demanding to be let out.

“SILENCE!” You didn’t even recognize your own voice that bounced throughout the kingdom. It was so loud that you were sure your mother could’ve heard it in York. Maybe the true Mad King heard it from wherever he was.

The entire crowd fell into silence, surprised at your outburst. Steven looked over to you. His own frustration and anger melted into pure concern as he watched your shoulders rise and fall with every breath you took. He called your name but you didn’t hear it, basking in the silence as you wordlessly commanded the respect and attention of everyone in attendance.

Steven couldn’t help but smirk proudly at his queen as you stepped forward from your position, glaring at the crowd.

“You want to call your king a monster?” You asked them. “You have no idea what he has done to protect this kingdom… He has done nothing but protect each and every one of you. Whether the threat be my own father or foreign invaders,” you glared at the two bound men in black, “or lords who plot and conspire for his demise. He’s on the frontline of every battle when he could simply cower in the castle along with the rest of you. And you want to call him the monster?”

You gestured to the chained men. “Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce are the true monsters. They’re the shadows that lurk in the dark. Their the ghosts that haunt the castle. They prey on your fears, they isolate you, they manipulate you.”

You walked to the de-tongued Pierce, a shell of the noble he once was – thanks to your father. “Alexander Pierce brought King Steven two wives. Both from the same house. Both who have died. Everyone’s quick to tell the story that the king murdered his wives. They refused to give him an heir, so he ridded himself of their incompetency, right? I believed that story, too. But no one tells the truth of how Pierce deliberately chose wives of a house who swore allegiance to King Thanos.

“Brock Rumlow manipulated his way into my circle. He fed me lies of how Steven murdered his wives, confirmed untrue rumors – all to turn me against my own husband.” You looked over to Steven, who had a proud look on his face as he watched his wife take control of the situation. “I should’ve believed you, my love. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“These two men orchestrated to have me and my ladies murdered. They posted as people I could trust, promised me protection from a man they said was a threat. They arranged for my friends and I to be murdered on a boat. They hired a mercenary who rap – “you stopped yourself. The word had a foul taste that you could not stomach. “They hired a mercenary who murdered Lady Wanda Maximoff before my eyes. They’re responsible for the death of my child, the heir to Brooken.”

That fact alone stunned many. They were all quick to resent their queen because you had spent months childless… Little did they know they lost their heir they were so desperate to have.

“They’re monsters and if you cannot see that for yourselves, then you, too, will be on this platform next. Call me a killer. Call me ruthless. Call me the monster. I’ll accept it all. I’ve lost a friend and I’ve lost a child. And if their executions and your spiteful rumors are what I must pay for a moment of vengeance, then so be it.”

The crowd remained silent as they took in every word. They may never know what fact is and what is fiction, but everyone can agree that the hurt and the pain in your voice was completely genuine. No one could feign that type of grief.

Steven took a step forward, grabbing your hand and rubbing soothing circles onto the back of it. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before turning towards the two men.

“We needn’t relive the torment you’ve brought upon my wife. You both are guilty of treason, and everyone knows it,” Steven told them, directly. “I, King Steven Rogers of Brooken, with the witnesses of my wife, Queen (Y/N) Rogers and King Anthony Stark of York, sentence you to death for your treason.”

Brock had called your name. He begged for his life. He begged for mercy. He stared into your eyes, pleading for a shred of empathy or compassion. He knew you had it in you – he saw it when you defended your friends fiercely, when you tried to stop your husband from executing the old crone. But he was met with angry, cold eyes as he heard his cousin call for his sword.

Pierce was the first to go. He was brought to the executioner’s block with no hassle – he did not fight. He knew when he had lost and he would lose with any dignity he had left. Steven’s blow was quick and neat. The head fell into the basket with a soft thud as the body was removed from the block.

Rumlow thrashed in the guards’ arms. He begged and he called for your name. He sputtered out apologizes for his crimes in hopes for any ounce of mercy that could be thrown his way.

“Stop.” You said before your husband could lift his sword. “Get him on his feet.”

“(Y/N).” Steven warned, but you repeated your order. The king sent you a weary look before gesturing for the guards to lift his cousin.

Steven watched as you marched over and gave Brock a kind smile. Relief flooded through Rumlow as you fixed the black collar of his shirt.

“You don’t deserve a fast death.” You told him. Though your voice was soft, it was heard throughout the eerily silent courtyard.

Before he could process your words, you gave a swift, deep cut to his throat with a dagger no one knew you were hiding. After the attempt on your life, you always ensured that you had some form of a weapon on your person.

He choked on his own blood as the crimson spurted out from the deep gash. You watched with little remorse as he fell to the ground, clawing at his neck. You didn’t shift your eyes away as you did when Sister Mary was beheaded. No. You wanted to see your enemies fall.

Once he laid lifeless on the platform, you turned and made your way off the platform and back into the castle.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Your farewells with your father were bittersweet and fast. You wished him safe travels as you gave him a sword – specially made for your little brother’s name day. You noticed the saddened look on your father’s face upon hearing Harvey’s name, but you decided not to press him about it.

You watched from the balcony as he and his army disappeared into the horizon. Your hands were still shaking – something you hadn’t thought would happen once you took Brock’s life. Though you have bathed – and re-bathed – immediately after the executions, your hands still felt sticky even if you only had a few splatters of blood on them.

You were too lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Steven slowly walk over to your position. You jumped when his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked you. He noticed how you were still trembling.

“I killed him.” You said. “I looked him in his eyes and took his life.”

“If you weren’t shaking, I would ask myself if I had married a coldblooded killer.” He joked lightly, but you scoffed at him. He kissed your temple. “But I know you are not a murderer.”

“As I know you are not a monster.” You whispered. “I couldn’t stand there and listen to them whispering anymore,” you shook your head. “I do apologize for thinking such things.”

“You had reason to believe it. I do not blame you.”

“You should be angry.”

“I am not.” Steven assured. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” You responded, leaning into him. “Is it over? Is this unrest finally over?”

“It never is.” Steven sighed. “But now, everyone knows… They can’t turn us against each other. We stand together. King and Queen. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are taking strides to a brighter Brooken. Together.”

You smiled at the thought. You basked in Steven’s arms. The security the bring. The feeling of home.

You turned to face him and pulled him down for a kiss. Sweet and passionate. Lips melting together as if they had always belonged there. You pushed Steven backwards towards the room. He broke the kiss as he watched you close the balcony doors. You smiled at him before you cupped his jaw with your hands to reconnect the kiss.

You kept pushing and pushing until the back of Steven’s knees hit the back of the bed. He pulled away from you, combing the loose strands away from your face before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “We needn’t do this if you aren’t ready.” He told you. He was afraid that his desire for you would overwhelm you. Though some time had passed since the incident, he did not want to make you feel pressured in any way.

You shook your head. You tried to bring his lips back to yours, but he thwarted your attempt. “Steven…” You whined.

He chuckled, cupping your face with his large hands. “You needn’t give me an heir… Not yet. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Steven…” you frowned. “I want this. I want you.”

He shook his head. “We don’t need an heir… Not yet. I am happy with just you.”

You groaned at him. “If we have a child this night or the next, it makes little difference to me. I’m not trying to have an heir. I want to make love to you because I love you.”

He smiled. That warm smile that sent butterflies to your stomach. He kissed your lips once. Twice. And a third kiss one from an eager husband ready to make love to his wife. 

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six Months Later…

You let out an erotic moan, one that quite possibly awoke the entire castle. Not that you nor your husband minded as your hips rutted against his as you both came down from your highs. Exhausted, you slumped down to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. He pressed a kiss to your glistening forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Three sharp knocks were stamped into the wood of your bedchamber’s doors. You and Steven frowned at one another. It was late at night, who could it be?

You quickly got off your husband and wrapped yourself in a robe as he did the same. He walked over to the door to find Lord Barnes, who was supposed to be vacationing in his chateau with his new wife, Lady Natasha. “What’s wrong, James?” Steven asked the obviously exhausted lord.

“Your majesties…” He said, winded. “There’s an emergency. Please. Come to the throne room now.” Steven asked for privacy so that you both may properly dress.

Your bare feet padded against the tiles as you hurried walked hand in hand with Steven. “What’s happened?” You asked Lord Barnes as he rounded the corner towards the throne room. When he didn’t answer, you asked again. He pushed the doors open and you gasped. “Mother?”

“Oh, my sweet child,” your mother sighed out in relief. She held baby Morgan in her hands, the infant had grown in your time away. You rushed to her side and gave her a hug, cooing at your baby sister who babbled happily as she recognized your voice.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Your husband asked.

“Always great to see you, Steve.” Your mother smiled.

“Pepper,” he greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “As much as I find your company a delight, it’s in the middle of the night… It’s winter. Travel is rather troublesome in the north, even for a three-day journey.”

“Where’s father?” You asked. “And Harvey?”

Your mother sighed sadly. Your face dropping. You looked to Natasha who stood with her husband and the guards you recognized belonged to your father’s kingsguard. “What’s happened?” You asked.

“York’s been invaded by Thanos.”

[respect-the-fae]

Things that remind me of: Ares

Sorry it's been a few days, life has been kind of a bitch, but I'm back with a post for my patron, Ares! I love him so much! This is gonna be a long one, I'll warn you now.

Weaponry. All weaponry. Whether it be a sword, a bo staff, escrima sticks or even sharp words falling off a tongue and destroying what they are aimed at. All weapons of every nature are this and remind me of him.

Boxing. I box alot, it reminds me of him and helps me feel close to him. How warm I feel, the ache in my arms, the bruises that form across my hands, the sweat dripping down my forehead. It all feels like he's there guiding me, reminding me to keep my guard up, and to keep my thumb out of my fist so I don't shatter it.

Red candles.

Bloodied hands and bruises. The type you get when your sibling gets beat up by the bigger kids and you go to sort them out because as annoying as your little sibling is, no one (NO ONE) messes with them.

Pink gin. Trust me, pink gin might seem like a weird one, but I have seen my mate single handedly knock out 2 guys who were threatening a trans girl while on pink gin. Pink gin is the Elixir Of Protective Rage and no one can tell me otherwise. (Dw, the girl is safe and we walked her home. We got takeout on the way and i cried bc she gave me a chicken nugget. We're friends now.)

Hunger Games, Divergent, Maze Runner. All about destroying their awful governing systems and rising up. Very Ares.

Using dumbass as a term of affection. With the same amount of love that people usually use when calling someone sweetheart or darling.

BIG HERO 6.

The concept of egging someone's house.

Snakes.

Having long baths/showers to avoid dealing with your emotional issues. Idk, just screams him.

Loving your crush/lover/spouse so fucking much, genuinely wouldn't hesitate to kill for them if someone hurt them.

Courage, all types of courage. Speaking out about racism in a protest, leading a protest, telling your boss about the coworker that scares you and harassed you. Telling a teacher about your parents if they're abusive. Standing in front of a crowd and giving a speech. Attending rallies, going to Pride, telling your bigoted family to suck a dick when they're being rude about trans/coloured/gay people, posting that post you were debating to do or not, sending your script/novel/anthology/biography to your agent, selling your art. Loads more that my brain refuses to give me right now. They are all brave, courageous acts that Ares loves and is so proud of you for. He watches you swallow down the fear and he rewards you with that glow of good adrenaline afterwards. That's his way of sort of kissing you on the forehead and telling you he's proud.

Rescuing animals from shelters. Ares is definitely very passionate about Adopt Don't Shop.

The Enemies to Lovers trope in fanfic.

Comfort items. Items that make you feel put together and braver. Mine is my Angel (from Lilo and Stitch, the pink experiment, teddy bear I got to match the Stitch one my friend has), I barely ever let it go if I'm in the house.

Poppies.

Baseball bats. The game too, but mainly the bats.

Petty 'wars' with siblings or coworkers. Snatching lunches and snacks, leaving passive aggressive post it notes.

War. Conflict. Rage. Obviously. But also bravery. Courage. A thirst for justice.

Protection. Of all kinds.

Weighted blankets.

Podcasts. True crime, and fictional horror ones. The Magnus Archives reminds me of him, idk why. (FOR REAL THO, ITS SO FUCKING GOOD, GO LISTEN TO IT. I WOULD DIE FOR JON, ITS ON SPOTIFY.) (And YouTube too.)

Learning about your friend's special interests because they mentioned they don't feel able to talk about it for fear of annoying people. And damn if you're gonna let that happen, so you're up till 5am reading The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory so you can talk to them about it, and give them a safe space to info dump and share their thoughts and feelings.

Geese. Yes they are bastards. But they are feathery, beautiful bastards.

Saying "because fuck you, that's why."

The "WHAT THE FUCK IS UP KYLE" vine.

"Thanks for checking in, I'm still a piece of g a r b a g e."

Self esteem issues. Bad mental health. PTSD, anxiety, depression, BPD, eating disorders. They're all battles, and he is with you through all of them. By your side, holding your hand, rubbing your back. He feels your pain and he is helping you move past it. He is there to remind you that spite is a perfectly fucking good reason to get better, because people suck and you will show all the people who hurt you that you will not break. That you will get up, every single fucking time. And he is with you for every single step. If you believe nothing else, believe that Ares loves you.

Getting back up. Never backing down.

Teenage rebellion. Wild hair. Hair dye. Breaking into parks at night, exploring abandoned buildings.

Bumps in people's noses where it's been broken and not set properly.

Donald Duck. That duck is ready to fight all the time and I love him.

The movie 'Red'. Its so amazing. (Also watch that, it's on Netflix, at least on the UK one).

WWE.

That's it, my Ares one. I think I rambled a bit but I am very tired so forgive me. Lemme know what you think!!

I love Ares so much, I probably wouldn't have made it to this point if I didn't have him. He is my patron and he protected me when I felt alone.

Next I'm doing Aphrodite!

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Locked and Reloaded [Ch. 5]

Marvel AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Implied Abusive Household

Genre: Action, Light Comedy, Angst

Pairing: NCT Dream x Reader

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

(5/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Locked and Reloaded Masterlist]

Word Count: 6.5K

Notes: It’s about time these members entered the story. I’m dropping this now instead of a Saturday upload because I’m getting my second dose of vaccine in about nine hours, and from how both of my parents reacted something tells me that I’m going to be incapacitated for the next two days, so I decided to finish this bad boy up now! Currently next on my list to work on is Infatuation, so I’ll see you in that update!

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in or condone these actions. I would never wish any of these actions to occur to the Idol(s) mentioned in the writings of these stories, nor do I wish any harm on them.

“That’s stupid,” you told your older brother. Baekhyun just laughed. You had just finished ranting to him how a majority of the premise of chemistry was ridiculous, being founded on one key theory that could be amended at any moment, something now set in stone or put to law. It was a theoretical science that clashed with the lawfulness of physics and the puzzle of biology. “Chemistry is literally the weakest link.”

“I don’t quite think so, songbird,” the nickname was sweet in his voice, it was one you had had for as long as you could remember. He leans against your desk and he points at the picture. “It’s just atomic theory.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid. Imagine, all of this work, all seven hundred of these pages and countless other books could get proved incorrect if someone disproves it.”

“You read this entire textbook and that’s all you have to say about it?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wah, you’re so amazing and you don’t even know it,” he hugged your head to his stomach and you pushed him away.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you wiped the sweat from your face. “At least shower before coming into my room! You’re disgusting when you use the gym.”

“And miss my darling sister? No way, that and I came to congratulate you!” He points at the certificate on your desk just under your coffee mug. “Not every day you win the science fair… again.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” you put a textbook over it. He was right, but it was hardly an achievement for you at this point, it was an expectation.

“What did you do this year?” None of them even showed up, the only person there to help you with your project was Jeno, but he was always there whether you liked it or not.

“You don’t know?”

“I was at the conference, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you sighed. “It was just an observation on bees.”

“Whoa! Bees are great! They’re so helpful for pollination, for honey, and so much more!” Baekhyun smiles. “Hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? Fourteen? Oh god, oh no, my songbird? A teen? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You’re overreacting! It’s not like I’m going to be any different. Plus, I’m already a teen.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you have no idea. Thirteen is the one year free trial before you start having to pay to be a teen. Once you turn fourteen, ugh, I don’t even know how to say this,” Baekhyun fake cries and wipes away the invisible tears. “It’ll be like you’re a whole different person.”

“Stop that! Why are you acting so weird?” You laughed and turned to him. Baekhyun crossed his arms over his chest and your smile dropped. You knew that look on his face better than anyone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I leave tonight,” he says.

“How long?”

“Maybe a week this time, dad wants to show me the properties over in Zone 8.”

“Seriously? What for?” The factories that far out from the city were nearly ghost factories, they just handled building the smaller removable parts of the weapons your father developed. You couldn’t think of a possible reason why Baekhyun would have to go out that far.

“I have no clue, maybe he just wants me to see the Byun system at a smaller scale,” Baekhyun sighs. “Will you be okay here?”

“Will I be okay here? Don’t make me laugh,” you slammed your textbook shut and stared at him. “She hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She does! You’ve seen the way she talks to me when you’re not around, Baek, I genuinely think that woman wants to get rid of me.”

“She’s your mother.”

“No, she’s your mother.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it did. But you could genuinely say that you never felt anything from her aside from the obvious disdain she must have held for you. But what could you do? You’d hate you too. If one day your husband showed up at your doorstep with a kid you didn’t recognize telling you to treat her as if she was your own, you’d despise that child’s existence. All you were was proof of infidelity, and your stepmother made that very clear. You were her daughter on paper alone, but in reality, you were nothing more than a freeloader. “I’m just the bastard kid from dad’s mistress.”

“Do not,” Baekhyun held a finger up and stared at you with an intensity you’ve never seen on his face before. Seriousness wasn’t something that Baekhyun often used, especially around you. “Do not ever reduce yourself to that. Do you understand? You are so much more than that and you can’t let anyone who says that to you bring you down, you cannot let that weigh on you. Who even told you that?”

“She did. Who else?”

“God…” Baekhyun looked away and huffed. He held his hand to his forehead and sighed. “Keep in touch with me, okay? Just one more year and I can take it to court.”

“Forget it, Baek,” you waved your hand. “It would never work. We have no proof.”

“Well,” Baekhyun pressed his lips together and placed a tape in front of you.

“A tape? Seriously?”

“Don’t hate on old tech, they’re still around for a reason. I have a walkman in my room, second drawer on my desk. Listen to it later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you placed the tape in your own drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

“Just wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay, just go, dad’s probably waiting for you,” you opened your textbook again and stared at the passages on it. You had a really bad feeling about tonight, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.

“Love you, songbird.”

“I know.”

~

“Sungchan! Four o’clock!” You shouted towards the agent. Sungchan, moving a second too late was met with the spine of a book to his face, promptly knocking him out. “Aw, geez,” you shoved your bag under a table, hoping that it would be somewhat okay after the fight, and threw a metal tray, the circular object blocking one of the flying weapons from hitting Shotaro on his way to Sungchan.

“Thank you!” He shouts. He leans next to his best friend and tries to wake him up while the fight continued.

“I’ll try to keep you guys covered, but you might need to fill in for me eventually, Reaper’s not doing too good over there,” you stumbled over to the two and handed Shotaro one of the pillows from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked out, but I have to watch him just in case… you know.”

“I do, just make sure he’s fine.”

With Jeno’s sudden appearance the Sanctum became a new battleground. Ancient artifacts were being used left and right for battle, whether they were used correctly or not, and with incoherent shouts filling the previously calm room. Strange was doing his best to prevent anything potentially world-threatening from happening, the Sorcerer Supreme understanding the laws of the universe, as well as any of you did, while the Maverick worked to bring down Vulture. The surprise attack rendered them at an unfortunate disadvantage. Strange was more concerned with keeping the battle within the Sanctum than he was helping any of you out, which was entirely understandable.

“I got it!” Peter shoved back the bookcase that was about to fall on you.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Just so you know I am so sorry I did not mean for any of this to happen I didn’t know.”

“Oh goodness, no hard feelings, Peter, it happens to the best of us,” you said to him. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), that means a— Watch out!” He pushed you out of the way just as a shield lodged itself between you, you turned towards the source and saw Vulture, and you had to stop yourself from getting any more frustrated than you already are.

“Fucking hell,” you clapped your hands together and jogged in place. “Stretching before fights is good for you, Peter, don’t forget that,” you said to him. Then you saw Cap waving his hand. You pulled the shield from its spot and threw it back to him.

“Nice arm!”

“Don’t lose your shit!” You moved your head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past you. “And watch where you’re aiming!” You dodged another bullet as it ricocheted off of one of the metal artifacts of the Sanctum.

“I am,” Jaemin’s voice was steady despite the chaos. “Reaper!” Jaemin tossed one o the artifacts towards the other, particularly a sharp one, and Jeno drove it into the wall next to Vulture, just barely grazing the Follower. Vulture grabbed onto the back of Jeno’s neck, the razor claws on his hands emerging and sinking into the half-demon before Vulture slammed Jeno’s head through the wall.

“Urgh, I felt that,” you rubbed the back of your neck as the phantom pain shot through it. You quickly stepped back just as an eldritch whip snapped in front of you.

“Mr. Wong?!” Peter gasps.

“That one isn’t in our database,” Jaemin grabbed onto the whip as it went towards you again, ‘Wong’ staring at him with a slight confusion, to which Jaemin just tugged it away from the other’s hands, watching the concentrated energy dissipate.

“Well then add him later, dammit,” you charged towards Vulture but soon felt something wrap around your ankle. You looked at the portal next to your foot and the hand around it. “Ew! Oh my god!” You yanked it out of ‘Wong’s’ grasp and shot towards him, the bullets disappearing before they could get anywhere close. No wonder it was so fucking convenient, you hoped whoever the real Wong was and where he was currently wasn’t too horrible.

“We should name this guy,” Jaemin dodged the eldritch disk that nearly sliced his throat. “I’m thinking Frisbee.”

“Oh come on, let’s stay true to tradition and wait for Hyuck,” you pulled a sword from the suit of armor next to you and blocked the whip again. You turned the hilt in your hand and smiled. “Ooh, I like this. You know my ex used to be an expert fencer.”

“I almost forgot about that one,” Jaemin hums. “What’s with sleeping beauty over there?”

“Got hit in a face with a book.”

“Oh that’s good, one less bomb we have to worry about.”

“That’s rude,” you scolded him.

“Can someone help me over here?!” Jeno’s pissed off voice came from the office. He pushed himself up from the rubble and cracked his neck before his knuckles. “I’m going to kill this guy, fuck the Agreement.”

“Does the Agreement even apply this far out?” You asked. Jaemin pulled out his phone briefly. The Agreement was offered by the D98 Avengers, basically promising not to do any dimension altering things, but it was just a promise, nothing was set in stone and thus was lacking in any legality. It was a gentleman’s promise, so to say.

“Technically it doesn’t, D62 is far out of D98 bounds. And since none of the Avengers are here…” Jaemin let Jeno fill in the blanks himself.

“Good,” Jeno tapped his wrists together, a blood-red magic circle appearing between them.

“Wait, do you guys hear that?” You looked around while skillfully parrying evil Wong’s attacks.

“Hear what?” Shotaro was nursing the passed out Sungchan while blocking any projectiles that made their way towards him.

“It kind of sounds like screaming,” Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it sounds like… no, of all the members to send,” you groaned. Then the sound of doors crashing open accompanied the chaos that was the Sanctum while a familiar face ran in head first, literally, screaming his head off, and rams into Dr. Strange.

“I got this one, V! Don’t worry!” Chenle shouts.

“You idiot he’s on our side!” Jeno grabs a polearm from a nearby suit of armor and whacks it over Vulture’s head, the polearm breaking in half right after and really just pissing off the Follower more.

“Oh is he? Sorry!” Chenle detached himself from the sorcerer.

“Looks like we’ll be having a change in plans,” Strange murmured and disappeared from the room.

“Did the wizard just dip?!” You yelled.

“I think so!” Chenle yelled back, despite being right next to you.

“Why are you even here?!”

“We were talking to Fury when Jeno just fell into a sudden pool of blood! I followed your tracker here because I figured you’re in trouble. Be grateful!”

“I never said I wasn’t?!” You heard a pang next to you and turned to your side, a circular shield blocking your vision for only a brief moment before connecting with Other Wong’s abdomen.

“Thanks,” you nodded towards Steve.

“No problem,” he says. “But where’d that bullet come from?” Cap looks around the room. Jaemin rushes next to you and grabs something, pointing it upwards. Within a few moments, someone materializes next to him. A classic cloaking spell, of course, right when you needed it most.

“Monsieur,” her voice was hoarse.

“Lynx,” you saw him grimace while the woman drove a knife into Jaemin’s side and twisted it harshly. A loud groan left the man’s throat while you darted next to him and tackled the woman to the ground.

“I like your D62 version better!” You pressed your gun to her head and she threw you off before you could pull the trigger.

“Nat!?” Steve blocked another gunshot from her with his shield.

“Not Nat,” Bucky answers.

“Where have you been?”

“This thing’s still glowing,” Bucky held up the crystal.

“Give that to me!” Chenle appears next to them and grabs it. “You meaty idiots don’t know what to do with this.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Apperio!” Chenle ignored the Captain and chanted the charm, a magic circle appeared around the crystal. Following the ripple of two blue circles that expanded throughout the room, two more people appeared.

“There’s more of them?!” You shot Vulture in the leg. Before you were two other notorious members of the Elite. Arachnid, who you fought before, and Dead Shot, someone you were hoping not to run into in this dimension. “Someone get Parker out of here as soon as he touches Arachnid it’s over!” You shout.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t even try that. What good is this mission if any of us blow up the dimension while we’re at it,” Arachnid catches the flying dagger and flings it back towards Jaemin, who easily dodged it.

“We have orders to keep you alive, Vendetta, comply and the others will live,” Dead Shot spoke in his trademarked mechanical voice.

“Fuck that,” you pointed your gun at Arachnid and click. Click, click. “Well, this is awkward,” you chucked the magnum at Arachnid, the handle of the gun hitting the area between the mutant’s eyes and stunning him briefly, while Dead Shot released a flurry of bullets. You ran along the wall to dodge them, looking for something to shield yourself with now that Cap and Bucky were busy with Lynx, Jeno had Vulture busy, and Jaemin moved over to Arachnid so that Peter could handle Evil-Wong instead.

“Surrender or be forced to, Vendetta.”

“Well, shit,” you held a book in front of you while Dead Shot went through consecutive rounds.

“How could you not know a Follower was here?!” Jeno was pushed back next to you while deflecting Vulture’s attacks.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?! I didn’t even know that those three were here until a couple of minutes ago!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not kidding you because if I was we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“It has been thirty minutes! I let you and Jaemin go for thirty minutes and this happens!”

“In our defense,” Jaemin gets pushed back to the other side of you and clears his throat. “Peter brought us here.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Peter brushes off the embers on his suit. “Aw man, how am I going to explain this to Mr. Stark?”

“Explain? Have you been reporting us to him?!” You asked.

“Uh… no,” Peter’s phone goes off and he answers it. “Hi, Mr. Stark, there’s kind of a situation going on right now—”

“Tell them not to come here! If any of the other Followers show up it could tear the fabric of reality apart!” Chenle shouts. A magic circle appears under Peter’s phone and it short circuits. Chenle adjusts the watch around his wrist, a much larger magic circle appearing from it.

“Vocavi te ab umbris,” at the utterance of the words the shadows in the room gathered together to a much larger amalgamate. “Go, Vendetta, I’ll keep them handled.”

“Fuck,” you spotted your backpack, which was pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“What now?” Jeno asks.

“Backpack.”

“What about it?”

“There’s something really important in there,” Jaemin sounded disappointed. “We could hole-in-one it, V.”

“We could,” you said. “But that risks shaking it up too much.

“Hot potato then?” Jeno offers.

“Who would start it?”

“The closest person is Shotaro, if he throws it far enough I could probably catch it,” Jeno says. “Pass it over to Jaemin.”

“Then I’ll pass it to you. But by then you need to be in that hallway,” Jaemin says.

“Got it, I can do that.”

“And if anything goes wrong?”

“Wing it.”

“We’re going to die in this dimension, aren’t we?” Jeno frowns.

“On the count of three, break,” Jaemin says, ignoring his best friend’s words. You hand Jeno the old sword, which he took without question. “One.”

“What do I need this for?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

“Two.”

“Wait, are we even on the same page?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Three!” Jaemin shoved you forward and you took off, dodging literally everything on your way to get out and probably get some more help.

“Shotaro! Pass me that backpack!” Jeno shouts over the gunshots. Shotaro perked up and grabbed the black bag, chucking it towards Jeno, who caught it easily. “Monsieur— Fuck, too far, Apollo! Pass this over to him!” Jeno tossed the backpack towards Chenle, the heavy bag slamming into the magician mid-spell.

“What the hell?!”

“Pass it here!” Jaemin knocked over Lynx and used her head the propel himself up and grab the backpack after Chenle threw it. He ran over towards you and threw it. Right as your hand grabbed the strap, it was yanked away from you.

“Fuck!” You looked back at who had it now, seeing your backpack in the hands of the last person who should have it. You were about the run over to him, but the bullet that landed too close for comfort reminded you that you had to leave now. “Arachnid has it!” You’d just have to put your trust into the three that were already here.

“Got it,” Jeno bashed his knee into Vulture’s head, finally incapacitating the Follower and switched targets. You turned around and ran into the hallway. You just had to call one of the other members to run over here with some extra materials. You hit the side of your phone, which only frizzed at the motion. Chenle must have jammed the signals to prevent more reinforcements from coming, great. You couldn’t run around forever, Dead Shot always hit his targets in the end, you continued down the hallway, not bothering to look back, but when you found yourself cornered against a hallway, you forced to figure out a solution. With the smell of smoke and the sounds of bullets hitting the ground— Wait a second. You looked down the hallway, bullets hitting metal and ricocheting towards you but never hitting any intended destination, there wasn’t even a bullet hole in sight, instead there were just empty shells on the ground. But in your analysis you failed to notice the stray bullet that was right in front of you. Then you saw someone’s closed fist in front of you.

“Did I get all of them?” He panted. He opened his hand and twelve bullets fell out of it.

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re just in time, I don’t remember you being this fast either,” you caught your breath and hugged the speedster, separating quickly. Mark pat down the smoke on his boots.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast…” He stretches his back and kicks the bullet shells aside.

“How’d you even get here?”

“The sorcerer guy called Baekhyun and asked us to come right away. I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good so I came first, told them I’d scout the area. It’s a good thing I came, otherwise you’d look like Sponge-Bob…” He laughs awkwardly. “You’re at your quota, aren’t you?” He looks down at your feet. You followed his gaze and saw the rusted knife sticking out from it, then you noticed the bloody trail you left behind. You sighed and pulled the old thing out.

“Remind me to get a Tetanus shot.”

“You are at your quota,” he gasped.

“Can’t afford to possibly die right now,” you shook your head. “I thought since the dimension was far enough it’d get me some leeway, but I guess not,” you grimaced.

“Shit, it really is a good thing that I came just in time,” Mark looks over his shoulder. “Dead Shot should be on his way, you didn’t make it hard to find you.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me right now, Mark.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” the speedster ruffled his blue hair and unzipped his jacket, pulling out a book from it. It was heavy, no doubt, leather-bound with metal embellishments around it. The book had lived through as many eons as it did dimensions. You had asked Mark to try to get it for you if he could, but nothing more than that. Better to leave him in blissful ignorance. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to say this,” he says while he hands it to you.

“Just spit it out.”

“I was looking into that thing you asked me about and here, this is all I got,” he says. “Whatever you need it for it’d better be important, I almost got turned into a frog for it. The guy I got it from warned me not to read it though.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, something about corrupting the person who reads it.”

“Oh shit, I should have Jeno read it then.”

“True, you can’t corrupt a demon.”

“But then again he is only half.”

“Look, (Y/N), I only got you the book because you were so insistent on it. Just reassure me and tell me that you won’t do anything stupid with it.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid, Mark. When are the others coming?”

“I just gave them the signal to enter, they’ll be taking care of the Follower problem here in a bit. But you’re going to have to explain why you’re here to them, and I’m afraid that it might involve you revealing your identities this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you be in D62 being housed and paid by this dimension’s Avengers?”

“Fair enough—” you were cut off by the bullet grazing your ear and landing in the wall behind you. Another one rang out and Mark grimaced, holding his hand to his shoulder

“Argh! Come on!” He grunts. He puts a hand on your back and one behind your neck.

“Why?”

“Whiplash,” you blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the Avenger’s Compound.

“Mark, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry! Jeno’s orders! I’d rather a pissed off you than Jeno!”

“Mark, I swear if you zoom out of here—” but the speedster was already gone by the time you turned around. “Dammit!” You kicked the wall and winced immediately, you completely forgot that it was the same foot that had a knife driven through it earlier.

He was right, you’d reached your quota. There was a certain amount of times you were allowed to “die” until it would be too much, and you knew you’d be at this quota when your body would stop healing itself, it was getting ready for its original host to return. You just didn't think you’d reach it soon, and who knows until the number resets? It was always a varying number, and until it did you had to lay low. It was such a hassle that you always tried to avoid it, but coming to this dimension seemed to have expedited the whole thing. You heard a bag of chips drop behind you.

“(Y/N)? When did you get here?” Jisung stared at you while he picked up the bag.

“Mark.”

“Mark’s here? Where?” Jisung looks around.

“There was a complication at Dr. Strange’s place,” you limped towards him, he rushed over to you and reached for your hand to help you, but you tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisung gave you a little more space, but still walked next to you, sporting that easy-to-read concern. “Do they need help?”

“No. The Avengers are coming.”

“Oh… oh no,” Jisung caught onto why you were being short now. “Oh no, oh no, we won’t have a choice then.”

“No, we won’t,” you heaved the large book under your arm. Jisung looked at it but chose not to question you. “I’ll be in my room, I have a lot of thinking to do before we explain ourselves to the lapdogs so, if you need me, I’ll be in there,” Jisung says.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Haechan held his hand up and Jisung furiously shook his head. Hyuck pressed on regardless. “Think you need this,” he waved the small box in his hand and you did a doubletake.

“Where did you get that?!” You rushed forward and snatched it out of his hands. “Be a bit more gentle with it!”

“Whoa! What’s got you pissed? Jeno drowned and dropped this. Changmin said to give it to you so I figured it’s important, damn.”

“The Avengers are coming.”

“Like… these Avengers?” He points around the room. “Or our Avengers.”

“The second one,” Jisung nods. “Right, (Y/N)?” You didn’t answer, you were already halfway to your room. You tossed the book on your bed and you opened the small box, pulling the vial of iridescent liquid from it. You twisted it open and downed its limited contents in one gulp. You felt all of your muscles relax at once and you sat on the bed. The wound on your foot closed quickly.

“Postponed, at least for now,” you stretched your arms. “But not permanently,” you placed the vial back in the box and you grabbed the book. As you held the two sides in your hands, ready to open it, you recalled Mark’s warning. Then you remembered the words of the Demon King himself.

“If you know what’s good for you, and what’s good for the world you reside in. Do not seek more than you already know about yourself.”

The times you spoke to Jeno’s father were limited, and your best friend liked it that way, preferred it actually, but the times you did talk they were always pleasant. Save for that warning. He knew something you didn’t, the both of them. You acquired this book without any of their knowledge. For years you just went with it, there’s a quota for death, there’s a reason why you can’t die, there’s a reason why you should avoid stepping near the Seraph, but now in this new universe, you had to know. There was something calling out to you in this dimension, it was very faint, and you didn’t truly notice it until you walked into the Sanctum.

You put the book away, sliding it under the bed.

Trust is mutual, if two very powerful beings are telling you to stay in your lane you probably should. You knew the bare minimum of your condition, so to say, you knew what you had to. Die too many times too close together and something else will come and reclaim its host, and all you knew about that entity was that it was some eldritch creature that took a millennia to finally contain, and for some reason, it had some affinity for you. That is where your knowledge stopped and your curiosity began. What could be so powerful that even the all-powerful Demon King wanted to keep it contained, and what did it have to do with you? Your answers were under your bed. But you risked too much by simply opening the book on its own. You hit your head lightly on the wall behind you. The liquid in the vial would extend your quota by at most three, you had to use them carefully. If you were going to attract a horrific monster, it would probably be best to not do it in a world that you didn’t belong to.

There was a knock at your door.

“What do you want, Renjun?”

The door opened slowly, and someone else stood at it.

“Is now a bad time?” Stark asks. You shook your head.

“It’s your building, come in,” you sighed. He walked in at your invitation, sitting at the table to the side.

“So this is what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant by living accommodations,” he laughs.

“What did you need, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony’s fine, thanks,” he says. “Sorry, it was eating away at me, I had to ask.”

“You wanna know about what you’re like in my dimension, right?”

“I’d appreciate it, but, something tells me I should come back later.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Probably getting their asses kicked, but I’m here instead,” you shrugged. “Honestly, you’re not that different. Maybe a little less depressed, but that’s about it. For what it counts, to our knowledge, you aren’t a Follower. You work closely with the Seraph, if they found out then you would’ve been executed on spot, at the very least.”

“Oh yeah? Crazy leader or rational one?”

“Bit of both,” you leaned forward on your bed, kicking the book further under your bed. “Want to know anything else?”

“I was wondering if you could walk me through your Traveler of yours, is it anything like Time Travel?”

“Let’s call it two sides of the same coin.”

“How so? What do you use? Cosmic strings? Möbius strip?”

“Have you heard of the infinite cylinder theory?”

“Also known as Tipler?

“Yes!”

“Then yes, I’m aware.”

“How about Schrödinger’s Equation?”

“We’re talking hamiltonian operators?”

“Bingo. If you can manipulate those two concepts, you can get time travel, but it’s not perfect. So manipulate them differently, add a few more concepts because you have to take relativity into account, and bam. Dimensional Travel.”

“That easy?”

“Yeah, well, no, but in theory sure.”

“And you never went to high school?”

“What’s that got to do with it? If you need a degree to prove you’re right then you’re probably not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you shrug. Tony opened his mouth to retaliate, but couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. “Something tells me you want to ask me something more specific though, Peter let slip that he’s been sending you updates, so I’m sure you’re here for a different reason.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help us?”

“Don’t really know how to answer that one, Tony,” you placed your ankle on your opposite knee and rolled out your ankle. “Usually we just take whichever job pays the most, but Changmin asked us personally to take this one, so how could we say no? The guy rarely ever asks us favors, and it was the least we could do.”

“That simple?”

“What? Did you want me to say that we wanted to meet you guys? I mean, it’s certainly a plus. Most of your team happen to be carbon copies of the same one who wants to kill us, so there’s that, we’re observing the ways you act, maybe it’ll help us in the future, maybe not. It’s like a two-way deal, you get your Traveler, and we get data.”

“Data,” Tony scoffs. “I can see why you’d come to that conclusion.”

“What can I say? It’s helpful. But, I can definitely say that we might be relieved of our duties soon, we’re technically here illegally, I’ll have you know,” you said to him. “We’re supposed to get official approval from the Secretary of Travel before jumping dimensions, but we’re not exactly law followers so we never did. But now that an official government team is on their way, hoo boy, my greatest rival is yet to come. Paperwork,” you made light of what would otherwise be a very very bad situation.

“I heard, so we get to meet the other Avengers.”

“Yup. And, let me tell you right now, they’re not the nicest people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just you wait until I tell you about them.”

~

The shadow amalgamate shattered into what it once was, scurrying back to their original positions, once Chenle had the wind knocked out of him by Lynx. He landed harshly on Jaemin, who then lost his balance and sent the two tumbling down to the first floor of the Sanctum.

“Sorry,” Chenle rolled off the top of Jaemin.

“It’s fine, call it even for the incident with the banshee.”

“Agreed, ugh, my head’s doing cartwheels…”

“Cartwheels? I feel like mine is being churned,” Jaemin holds his head. Chenle and Jaemin lay next to each other for a moment, trying to stop their spinning heads when someone stood over them.

“Are we bothering you, gentlemen?”

“Ugh, these fuckers are here,” Jaemin covered his eyes with his arms. “Tell me when they’re gone, Apollo.”

“That’s kind of mean,” Mark frowns. Jaemin moves his hand.

“Mark’s not a bad person, actually, Tony. I feel bad because I encouraged him to join the Avengers when they asked, but the other guys saw it as a complete betrayal. But he’s loyal, he doesn’t hate us and we don’t hate him, or at least I don’t.”

“Oh look! The traitor!” He lazily points at him. “Do you know how much shit we’ve been through since you left?”

“All the dishes we’ve had to wash?”

“V won’t even let us take your room because she thinks you’re coming back! You dumb traitor, what happened to our friendship bracelets, Mark?! Huh?!”

“You guys, don’t call me that, come on! Look I’m still wearing it!” Mark whines.

“Go away! You left us for your cooler friends who can legally blow things up, go! Go have fun with them!” Chenle points an accusing finger towards the speedster.

“Just leave them there,” Mark whispers.

“We’re looking for Strange,” a deeper voice says.

“Oh my god, is that Wong Yukhei?” Jaemin asks, his blurred vision not helping him at all. “You know, Vendetta has a cardboard cutout of you, I think she talks to it sometimes,” he laughs, his words slightly slurred as a result of the head damage received when he fell on the hard floors in the first place.

“Flattered,” Yukhei responds.

“Wong Yukhei, decorated soldier from the order of war and the first in the super-soldier experiments. Actually not a bad guy, but feels the need to flex his bravado every now and then because of the team he’s on, and honestly, I kind of relate to that.”

“The hatless wizard is somewhere upstairs,” Chenle points up and lets his arm drop to his side. “We’d help, but you guys look like one big ugly walrus right now.” Jaemin starts cracking up and the two high five.

“Do we have to work with them?” Another voice snapped.

“Li Yongqin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Lee Youngheum, he has too many names to remember so people usually just call him Ten. He was a perfect student in the military academies, which I’m guessing where his nickname comes from. But he’s pretty impatient, rather ill-tempered from my experience."

“We don’t have a choice,” a more suave on this time.

“Ooh, Lee Taemin. He's an interesting one, Tony. We’re actually pretty close, or used to be at least. He’s very good at what he does, he has years of experience under his belt, but it’s pretty scary. He’s probably done his research by now, be careful, he knows you better than you know yourself. Don’t argue.”

“Gentlemen, let’s end this, we have clearance from the Seraph to exterminate the Followers,” a more powerful one.

“Oh, oh, Lee Taeyong! He’s great. I’ve seen him work a couple of times, I think he’s shot me in the head before. Don’t ask. I have a great deal of respect for him, but he’s kind of anti-social, not easy to get along with him, but I think it’s all miscommunication in the end. I think if we really got to know each other we’d hit it off, but otherwise, I think I’m just a person with a bounty on her head in his eyes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jaemin pushed himself up, his eyes finally focusing. “Exterminate? Yeah, you guys do that, but let the Maverick leave first, we don’t want to get caught up in your deathmatch again,” Jaemin hits the side of his head a few times.

“Where’s the Vendetta?”

“Not here! She left because Reaper was being a little bitch!” Jaemin laughs again and Chenle joins him.

“We’re wasting our time here with these idiots,” another person says. Chenle squints his eyes to make out the figure.

“Now there’s Kim Jongin, he’s one of the people who started the Avengers project and got them all together. He’s an indispensable member, in my opinion. But when you’re in a team with that many star-studded members who are constantly in the public eye, it’s easy to get lost in the lights. But he knows how to keep things according to itinerary.”

“Who are you again?” He asks. “I thought the Avengers only had six members,” he stifles back a laugh.

“Dude that’s low!” Jaemin cackles. Mark swallows down a laugh when Taemin looks over at him, both of them trying to be respectful to their teammate.

“I know that’s why I said it!” Chenle hits his teammate’s arm and Jaemin winces, but the two continue in their little circus.

“Forget them, let’s just go,” Jongin. The team ascends the steps.

“Enter, the Avengers,” Baekhyun smiles.

“And finally there’s their leader. Byun Baekhyun— yes, he’s my older brother, no we don’t talk, and I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. He’s similar to you in some aspects, he pays for all of their shit. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to get into your head. Be careful with him.”

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[thebadbatch]

The Bad Batch: Soft Universe

Chapter 7 - Healer.

It had been a few hours since Hunter had revealed Omega's very important duty of being a medic for the mission, regardless it was a small and simple mission with a ninety-nine percent rate of nobody getting hurt Tech had mentioned.

That one percent was somebody falling over or catching their hands against the rocks and she had been preparing for it until they had landed, which was luckily just a moment ago. Omega beamed and grabbed her medikit and blaster, keeping both with her at all times as instructed by their leader, Hunter. As soon as the attack shuttle's door had opened, dust began pulling inward at a rapid pace causing everyone to put their helmets on and Echo putting a filtration mask against Omega's face with a soft smile as he activated it for her. 

"Sandstorm." Tech grumbled before Stepping forward and lighting up his datapad that gave out a hologram of the route they were to follow despite not being able to see a thing. "You're going to have to stick close to me until we reach the cave system." All of the boys agreed before making sure she was in the middle of their well-organised line.  "I suggest we're going to have to hold hands or pieces of your armour - do not get separated." All of the brothers nodded, only Crosshair grumbled a bit as Wrecker held onto his shoulder with him being at the back, And crosshair held onto Echos shoulder. Echo held Omega's hand and Hunter did so too being in front, holding onto Tech's shoulder and beginning to slowly walk through the storm. You truly couldn't see anything, only the faint outline of Tech in front of him. The walk was very painful within terms of using up energy, the powerful wind was pushing against them all making every step take all that long. 

"How much longer is this going to take?" Wrecker mumbled at the back, his voice being carried by the violent winds. Hunter just sighed a little beneath his helmet, stroking Omega's hand with his thumb to give her more reassurance. 

"Not for much longer, I believe we're outside of where to be but there's a rock blocking it." Tech hummed a little, gazing at the diagram before him highlighting the entrance. "I'm going to need this rock moved, Wrecker." He just grinned and moved up the line before managing to get a sight of the rock. 

"That I can do!" As soon as those words left his lips, he lifted the rock upward into his arms with a little effort behind it before throwing it elsewhere. "There we go, simple!" Wrecker grinned, brushing his hands together to get rid of the bits of rock against his gloves. A thank you was given to Wrecker by each of the members, especially the smaller one that was accompanied with a viable beaming smile. 

"Come on then." Hunter spoke, following Tech into the tunnel that finally cleared up all of the dark dust blocking their vision, Wrecker soon joining them too. Turning on the lights by their helmets, Omega grabbed a torch that she kept within her medkit, still visibly pleased about her important job. 

"Where is the dust bucket then?" Crosshair grumbled, brushing any dust from his weapon that he had a way too big attachment for. "Better not be too long." Tech just sighed as he stated at his map again, pointing toward the red blinker. 

"We need to go down a couple of levels before finding it, it shouldn't take us long." Echo smiled at this, really not enjoying the planet in the slightest. 

"Like she said, quick and simple in and out. Let's move out." Tech nodded as he continued to walk forward, mapping the way slowly but surely before coming up to a three way tunnel system, genuinely a little unsure on which path to take. Hunter growled a little, his senses getting jumbled and muffled - grabbing his head a little. 

"Something doesn't feel right." He spoke as Omega gently held his hand, worried. 

"Are you okay Hunter?" She asked, concerned tones lacing her Kamonian thick accent. "Do you need something from the Med kit?" Hunter couldn't help but smile at her soft words of concern, almost immediately relieving his senses for a moment. 

"It's alright kid, it's probably just the winds but I'm not sure. I think somethings down there?" Echo nodded, putting a hand against Hunter's shoulder. 

"Alright, keep your blasters close and that goes for you too, Omega." She smiled and nodded, holding her blaster against her securely before gazing toward the three tunnel paths. 

"What should we do? Do you know which way to go?" Her voice was filled with curiosity, tilting her head softly. "I feel like we should take the left."

Wrecker laughed a little before nodding. 

"Yeah I agree with the kid! Sounds like a good adventure." Tech soon hummed, staring at the map and hoping for it to reveal the correct path to take. The map was mumbled though, just an x to their correct destination that was blinking rather obnoxiously at him. 

"That would be correct." He stated, finally being able to type in a little code to reveal the map further, the left tunnel blinking. "Good call, Miss Omega." He smiled toward his little sister who beamed once again toward them. They didn't need their torches as long as Omega was this happy; they swear she could brighten up the darkest of planets with her presence alone. The group began to walk down the steeper entrance, annoyed at the planet this 'simple' mission had to be on. The ground beneath them didn't feel very secure which resulted in a few stumbles and a helpful Omega pulling them back up, keeping them from falling. 

"And why would a droid be all the way down here?" Echo grumbled, swiping some more dust from his arm and some from the mechanisms that stood in place of what once was. "It's a little ridiculous don't you think?" Hunter just nodded and sighed a little, 

"The things we do for credits." They all came to an abrupt stop once Hunter held up his arm signalling for them to halt before creeping behind the corner - Omega copying his every move with all  seriousness crossed upon her face. "There are droids." His voice came out more as a snarl, his senses kicking up as he heard their footsteps far within the distant dark tunnel that they had to unfortunately walk through. 

"Droids?" Echo exclaimed, "How the hell are there clankers here?" His voice was a little high, being coated with genuine surprise. 

"I don't know but I just- I know somethings there but I can't pinprick what kind." Tech soon interjected after typing more into his data pad, humming gently. 

"This planet used to be a factory for the creation of droids, but since the Clone Wars came to an abrupt end they used it for construction of the death star. There really shouldn't be any droids down here anymore, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were any rogue ones." Echo sighed a little, his mind returning to previous battles he had been a part of throughout the clone wars he was created for, now after credits just to get by with his current team. He loved this stage of life though, even if things weren't as relaxed as he hoped sometimes. 

"Right, there shouldn't be anything to worry about." Echo responded, sharing a light smile with his brothers and little sister before Hunter signalled an all clear even if they knew a slight amount of chaos could ensue. The torches continued to light up their path, exposing loose rocks, abandoned droid pieces and various materials. It was pretty messy for a cave then again they weren't supposed to ask questions. They just had to get what they came for and be off to get their payment. A quick in and out. 

Before turning what Tech said was the final corner, Hunter pushed them all back and shushed them before peeking over. A small room was situated there, the target droid they had to save sat in the centre of the room switched off but it had droids surrounding it which were working unfortunately. 

"We've got company." His voice whispered, gently signalling Crosshair to look through his scope, activating thermal reading. 

"I see 6 targets, they're typical clankers though." He drew in a sharp breath as he examined, "Nothing too difficult." Hunter nodded before he crouched against the wall. 

"Think you can take them out?" Hunter smirked toward his brother who held his Sniper Rifle delicately, knowing his answer before he even spoke. 

"Of course I can." Crosshair grinned as he once again scanned the room before taking a blast at one of the droids - a headshot as expected. 

"What was that?" One of the droids spoke, turning around quickly. 

"Well I don't know, that's what I was going to ask you!" Another responded before being swiftly taken out. 

"Uh oh." The final replied, also being terminated along with the rest of them. Their cold bodies hit the floor with a loud thud against what appeared to be metal flooring in the cave room, the brothers moving in quickly to examine the mess. 

"Good work, cross." Wrecker beamed, slapping his brother on the back - a habit he really couldn't stop. He just got too excited but it was definitely an aspect of him they all loved, especially Omega. 

"Right, this droid is the one we're looking for." Tech hummed gazing at his data pad. "Wrecker, I'm going to need you to carry it back out with us." He began to run his scanner onto the droid before a beep of affirmation made him nod. 

"That I can do." He smiled, lifting the bigger droid above his head with ease - almost like he was picking up a light bag of feathers or something as such. 

"Right, let's move back out." Hunter informed, beginning to gather everybody back into the cramped tunnels that were getting pretty tiring at this point. "Let's get out of here so we can get our pay, I wouldn't mind another supply run because somebody keeps hogging all of our ration bars." His eyes practically threw daggers toward Wrecker who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. 

"It's not my fault I get hungrier than you!" Omega couldn't help but laugh at their bickering, holding onto her flashlight a little tighter as they walked through the same way thanks to Tech remembering, speaking about anything and everything they could think about. That was Techs talent and he loved it, filling people's minds with anything and giving them the facts which mostly became useful in one way or another. 

"There are more droids out front." Hunter spoke as they neared the entrance, "But it can't be that many again, a few strays." He mumbled, sighing and getting the blaster prepared all whilst keeping their little medic behind him just in case. 

"Ready boys?" Echo teased, knowing they could take them down within seconds. "This is gonna be underwhelming." They all shared a light laugh before reaching the surface, Cross examining through his thermal scope to spot any droids. 

"Uh, there's more than we anticipated." He spoke out, staring down at something he didn't expect. "I mean thousands more than we anticipated." 

"Thousands?" Hunter near-shouted, making it echo through the caves. "How the hell are we supposed to clear all of them out? Cross can't shoot down thousands within five minutes." Crosshair just scoffed at that, feeling like he could but just not in enough time. 

"We're gonna have to blast our way through and make a path toward the Havoc, we won't be long leaving." He mumbled, staring at his brothers as they gave him a soft nod. 

"Are you going to come out yet?" A voice groaned from outside the cave entrance before moving closer into their view. "I'm getting tired of waiting for my credits." The person who came into view held a blaster pointing it toward them whilst being accompanied by droids surrounding her, clearly on her side. 

"Who are you?" Hunter growled, pissed off their mission had been interrupted by what he could only assume to be another bounty hunter. 

"I go by Blaira, it's lovely to meet you. Now cough up the kid." It was Echos turn to intervene, anger lacing his body. 

"You don't need the kid, you don't understand what they're going to do to an innocent child." She sighed at him, keeping her blaster pointed at Hunter whilst the droids cornered the others. 

"Oh but I do. An entire Empire army depends on her, your little force sensitive clone there." She shimmied her blaster a bit to grin at the blonde hair peeking from behind Hunter's back. "And I'm thrilled to see the outcome. I'm sick of chatting - move." She shot her blaster out which caused the brothers to begin shooting too, easily dodging the droid's bullets on instinct but Hunter not being so lucky to miss Blaira's shot - swiftly shooting him into the chest. Omega pulled her brother back hiding his body behind a bigger rock down into the cave and whipping open the Med kit - shoving pressure onto his chest. 

"Hunter!" Omega shouted out toward him, "Stay with me!" Her voice was pleading and desperate, her brother's grunts of pain becoming more and more worrying. He grabbed his blaster despite the agony he was currently in, shooting a few shots toward Blaira walking toward them both. She easily kicked the blaster out of his weak grip as Omega fussed over his wound terrified at the blood. 

"It won't stop!" She cried out toward her brothers who were way too occupied at the amount of droids coming toward them all. Tech turned, shooting at Blaira who in turn shot back both missing one another. Blaira laughed as she calmly walked away 

"I'll let him die with her first. It's the least I could do." She laughed as the others continued to fend the droid's bullets off, beginning to panic and unable to think of a plan. Tech turned momentarily toward Hunter gazing at the Sight of the blood covering his chest - life beginning to leave his eyes. He rushed over, ordering the other two to continue to attempt to keep them away whilst he helped Omega tend to the wound. 

"It won't stop!" She cried, pushing more pressure against him, gazing at his face. "Stay awake!" Hunter mustered a pain filled smile, 

"Kid, it's okay." His breaths began to get shallow "I'm alright it's gonna be alright…" Tech pulled out his datapad, scanning his wound before cursing under his breath. 

"You're most certainly not fine! It's hit your heart. We can't do anything here, we need to  get you on the shuttle now!" His voice was panicked, beginning to lose his cool as he helped apply pressure searching the Med kit for anything that would help. Multiple bacta patches were scattered through it, wound cleansers, bacta sprays but nothing that could heal a bullet wound in a heart, only infirmaries could do that.  Omega's eyes were filled with panicked tears, that hopeless feeling returning but so much stronger than before. 

"Hunter." She breathed, choking back sobs. "What do I do?"  He took a shallow breath in, holding her hands with the remaining strength he had knowing he was facing certain death among his brothers. 

"Leave. Get out of here, all of you - and keep our name alive." He coughed a little, battling for his next few breaths. "I love you, brothers." He muttered, eyes starting to shut as he turned toward Omega. "I love you, Ad'ika." Once those desperate words left his mouth, his hand grew weaker and limp against Omega's causing her to scream out in inconsolable tears. He was gone and she couldn't do anything about it nor could her brothers. Tech did the only thing he could think about doing which was following his brothers final order - get them all to safety and that was something he was going to do. 

"Come, miss omega." He choked out, holding back his own tears - his brothers still defending them all from the droid's that crowded over. 

"No! We can't leave him!" Her eyes were bloodshot, clinging to Hunter and hiding against him even though he was no longer here. 

"Times up." Blaira spoke, returning to the cave entrance. "Bring me the girl and I won't have to kill anymore 'brothers'. Walking over, despite Tech's shooting, she masterfully dodged each bullet and grabbed him by his neck, throwing him aside like an eaten apple. 

"Come with me if you don't want any more brothers to die. It's Simple." She spat, moving toward her and going to grab her wrist. 

"NO!" Omega screamed, her hands moving across in a swift motion and without touching the bounty hunter and throwing her harshly against the wall. Her eyes were white once again, just as Tech had seen once before back on the unknown planet she loved. Was this the force? Her powers that were genetically coded into her giving her access to the power jedi and sith held? "Leave my family alone." The bounty hunter stood, brushing herself off. 

"Don't think I haven't taken down a Jedi before." She chuckled, removing her blasters. "I can take down a kid with the force." She smirked, pulling her blasters toward her. "Your final warning, don't make me shoot you kid. They don't care if you're dead or alive but I'd prefer you to live to see what you can be capable of." Omega stood up, the white glow from her eyes not once leaving like before - she was conscious and felt the power awaken within her. 

"No, this is your last warning." Omega spoke, protecting Hunter and Tech who had finally stood - blasters pointing toward Blaira. "Leave me and my family alone." The woman laughed, 

"I sincerely admire your confidence, kid." She began to shoot her blasters causing Tech to shoot his own at her, panicking for his little sister. 

"Omega!" He called, turning in her direction who had deflected every single bullet just by standing there and holding her hand up. Before they knew it, waves of the force wracked throughout the cave - every single battle droid turning off and exploding and knocking her back into the wall. Wrecker and Echo rushed over, 

"What was that?!" Wrecker asked, his eyes instantly catching Omega standing there with the same white eyes as before. "Omega?" 

"Hunter!" Echo called out, rushing toward the body with Tech, Wrecker and Crosshair. 

"There's nothing we could do, it hit his heart." Tech spoke, tears clouding his vision. Omega still stood, everything going blank for her once again. 

"Omega." A gentle voice spoke as she turned her focus toward the same voice from before, a jedi Knight stood before her. "I see you've tapped into your force abilities." The man smiled softly before guiding her toward Hunter who was still laying across the floor. "I understand the sorrow you must be feeling, but know you can save him." She nodded gently, holding the Jedi's hand. 

"But how? Tech said it hit his heart and there's just… There's just so much blood." He nodded before bringing them both to crouch over his body. 

"Do you trust the Force, Child?" His voice was gentle, echoing around like it was the only voice she could hear. 

"I… I do." This was all the man needed to hear before another two figures appeared, one being a woman and the others being a species she didn't recognise. 

"Then trust us and use the force with us." Softly, he guided her hands over Hunter's wound and shut his eyes with the other two Force users doing the same. "Feel the force, breathe and focus on healing him. Remember all of the times you have shared, the memories created and the passion in which you feel." She nodded softly, doing as the man told her - a beautiful white light surrounding Hunter's body, life finally returning into him. 

"It is done." The woman spoke with a light smile, "Your brother lives and so shall you." With that, they vanished before her leaving Omega with her hand over where his wound once was surrounded by her brothers who had since stopped crying. 

"What, what did you do?" Crosshair asked, staring at his brother's face who had colour returning to it. 

"I used the force. He's alive." She spoke calmly, smiling at her brother who finally opened his eyes. 

"Omega, guys!" He smiled, yawning like he just awoke from a light nap. "What happened I don't-oh yeah." His eyes were a little big as he sat up groggily, "How am I alive?" Omega began to smile before throwing herself against him. 

"She used the force." Echo responded, smiling before the others joined the hug, even crosshair did so. 

"The force? You used it, Kid?" Hunter grinned holding them all against him. "I'm glad you're all alright." He grinned softly. 

"I'm your medic! Was I a good medic?" She asked, smiling at him and her brothers who genuinely just didn't want to let go. 

"I can affirm that you were the best." Tech reassured, patting her head. "Come, we should head back. Let's get out of here." The others nodded as they helped Hunter stand feeling a little wobbly after his death experience which he was guaranteed going to use to get what he wanted for at least the foreseeable future. 

Heading back toward the ship, they all finally arrived safe and sound - knowing the bounty hunter was knocked unconscious and unable to track them any further. In fact, Hunter had shot one of his bullets at her in her unconscious state knowing she wouldn't get his family now. They were safe and together. 

All clones with advanced skills, and one little force user medic who they wouldn't give up for the world. It was them against the world, and that's how it would stay.