#nothing makes me happier than unnecessary violence

[warlenys]

house md’s worst and best hate crime is wilson’s “i should have spent my life being more like you. i should’ve been a manipulative, self centred, narcissistic ass who brought misery to everything and everyone in his life” followed by house’s “you’d still have cancer” and then wilson’s “yeah, but at least i’d feel like i deserved it!” house risks his entire life to let wilson do too much chemo. wilson didn’t even ask him to do it. house gives up the last of his vicodin to stop wilson’s pain. he lies to wilson about it. house tells wilson that all they need in life is each other. house promises to let wilson die in his apartment instead of being taken to a hospital. he risks everything because wilson asks him to. then wilson tells house that he deserves cancer. there is no fucking reason for this. it’s the best thing they ever did.

[twinklelilstarkey]

Tutor: Aiden

Words: 5.1k+ Type: Smut (brief) & Angst Summary: When going to a party, you get to see someone you haven't seen in a while. Warnings: Fem!Reader. SMUT {very quick and brief; both of them are intoxicated; piv (no protection)} VIOLENCE (yes, the gif is a hint), MENTIONS OF BLOOD, DESCRIPTION OF FIGHTING, mentions of alcohol, mentions of exes and not-so-nice name-calling.

Tutor Masterlist (for context, you should REALLY read chapter "Sunbathing" <3)

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

And thank you so much for the 6.6k+ followers!!!

Saying that you needed to come to this party is both a shock to your past self and the truest sentence you’ve ever said. Not that you’ve come to enjoy parties, far from it, but you do need to be in a place where everything is loud and chaotic enough to completely muffle your mind. You need noise and maybe a little alcohol.

You’ve been dealing with a ridiculous amount of work from school, Wheezie is beginning to fall back in her studies, and, the worst of all, the girls.

Whatever happened with them on Monday carried on for the whole rest of the week. The lack of conversation towards you whenever they’re all together and the looks you’ve noticed them give you while they talk between themselves during class. You have no idea what could be going on, and it is only leading you to overthink. 

You’ve been thinking on a daily basis of the possibility of the girls knowing about Rafe, but, each time, your thoughts were calmed down with Kristy herself. She has been the one that talked the most with you these days, even though it’s a lot less than she used to. And she acts natural. As if nothing ever annoyed the girls or hurt them to the point of… doing this. Therefore, it only leaves you to think that you might have done something before Monday.

Was it because of Alex? Maybe they liked him a bit too much, and Kristy is the only one that accepts that you don’t think you could be anything with him. Maybe you said something bad? But when? You didn’t spend any more time with them which could’ve led to an argument. If anything, they were happier prior to the date because you were going on the damned date.

Thinking it could be you and Rafe is something that goes through your mind at the worst times, even when you’re with him. You’ve talked to him about it, but Rafe can’t help but feel a little helpless in all of this. He has never met your friends. All he knows about them is what you’ve told him, and that is nowhere near enough to make conclusions, only assumptions.

There was something he said that eased your mind, “Isn’t Kristy who dislikes me the most? Then wouldn’t she be the one acting like a bitch?” And it makes sense, even when you felt like the insult was unnecessary. If it had been about you two, Kristy would’ve probably never looked you in the eyes. Let alone still talked, smiled, or hugged you like before.

And the cure for all your stress, said Rafe, is partying and alcohol. There was a time this week when all your worries regarding the number of people at the party completely evaporated, and all you wanted was to hang out with more people and forget all about these girls. Even when it still hurt. So, you decided to go by his advice.

Once you stepped inside the warm house where the party is taking place, you were pulled into a hug by Patty right as your foot touched the hardwood flooring. You laughed with her as she squeezed you into her arms, while, at the same time, making sure to curse Rafe out for never taking you to more parties so that the two of you could hang out.

And, whether you like it or not, Patty did separate you from Rafe almost instantly. She wanted to get you a drink. So, as soon as your bodies were disconnected from the hug, her hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you into the direction of the sea of people who seemed to not have the courage to jump into the pool just yet.

It’s been maybe an hour since you got to this party, and you haven’t seen Rafe since you came in. It stays like that for, possibly, an hour, but, at some point, Patty decides to walk elsewhere which only leads you to go find Rafe.

When you find him, he’s by the sliding doors that lead to the outside, amongst other guys from his usual group, and when you stand near him, it only takes a slight look down at you for Rafe to welcome you by his side.

To no one’s surprise, the conversation you get to listen to is very much boring, so the music outside and watching the people jumping into the pool is much better for entertainment. People are more than drunk already, and they’re jumping from all sorts of places into the pool. Other people just dance by it, and others sit at the chairs, deep in conversation.

The breeze that hits you from the open door you’re looking out of is just chlorine and some miss of alcohol, not exactly the best of smells. 

By the time you and Rafe are left alone and happen to have a conversation on the most random of topics, your eyes are going from his face to the outside, finding people extremely interesting. His friends have begun to go outside as well.

Your hands are resting on his torso. Whereas for his, they go from holding your waist, so that you can stand still and close to him, to sometimes squeezing it to get your attention.

“No, that is dumb.” You tell him with a big smile on your face when you see him smile just as much. “How do they get home if he does that?”

“Soaking wet, probably.” He tells you, “It happens more times than you think.”

“But why? Where’s the fun in pushing people in the pool?” You continue to discuss Topper’s favorite activity whenever he’s very drunk at a pool party.

“Want to find out?”

Rafe is already pulling you off of him so that you can start making your way outside, but he can’t even hold back his smile when your eyes widen at his statement and even more at his actions.

There is absolutely no way that he’s offering to bring you into the fun of coming up behind a random person and just pushing them into the pool. In drunk-Topper’s philosophy, why would anyone come to this party and not expect to go in the pool? But, thankfully, you do not share the same philosophy.

You pull at Rafe’s wrist to hold him back from continuing to tease you about the whole thing, and he does. But, now that you two stand outside, you can tell his next step from a mile away. It's all from the way Rafe's smile changes from a playful one to a malicious one.

It’s by record time that you let go of his wrist and take a step back to escape him. Your heart has begun to beat faster as you look at your boyfriend, the same one that just stands handsomely in front of you as if he isn’t threatening to get you soaked to the bone in cold water.

“No.” You say to him as a warning, and he takes a step closer to you.

You dumbly hold out your hand as if that can ever stop him from getting to you, and every time he takes a step closer to you, you take one back. You, thankfully, notice that you’re getting backed up into a corner before you don’t have enough space to escape.

Once escaping from being backed up into the sliding door, you look around for some sort of backup. Specifically, one shaped like Patricia herself, even if that means sacrificing her. She is nowhere to be seen.

That slight distraction makes Rafe get closer to you, and you let out a sound that resembles a giggle and a scream, but not quite when you feel his hand just graze you. The two of you laugh together as you take another step back and find the sound that came out of you extremely interesting.

“Don’t, please.” You try to plead your way out of this, but Rafe only seems more entertained once you do it.

“I’m not trying to do anything, you’re just running away for no reason.” Rafe tries to tell you as his smile continues to stretch and tries to grab you yet again.

“Rafe,” You start, but you are very much interrupted when he gets yet too close again.

Over the sound of your voice, not too far from you, comes a cheer of someone’s name. A name that is familiar to you. As you look up to see for a few seconds, you are solely focused on him. He’s wearing normal clothes, ones typical for a warmer night. His hair could be a little longer, but he looks the same since the last time you’ve seen him. Aiden looks the same since the night you broke up with him.

Before you know it, your back hits the side railing of the porch, and your attention is brought back to Rafe, who happily gets a hold of you, having no idea who stands behind him. Rafe’s hands hold you and pick you up, and the sudden panic of being thrown into the pool comes back.

You try to get away from him by moving around and pushing him away from you, but as you now try the technique of holding him closer so that he can’t throw you anywhere, you notice how much he’s smiling at all of this. The bastard.

“Please, don’t do it.” You say to him.

Rafe’s response is to turn around to go in the direction of the pool, and you swear that you had no control of your body when you let out a certain shriek of panic. 

“What do I get in return?”

“A non-wet girlfriend.” You tell him, making him laugh in your face. “That’s not enough?”

His silence is enough of an answer.

You fake a shocked expression and a clear look of disbelief, and Rafe just takes a step closer to the crowd.

“I will pull you in with me.”

“I have your phone in my pocket.” He reminds you

“I don’t care.” You say seriously, but with a chuckle following your words right away, breaking your character.

As Rafe continues to walk towards the pool, you simply hold him tighter, and you’re not sure how many times you tell him ‘please’ and ‘don’t’ as he makes his way to it. You make purely fake promises of how you will do anything he wants if he just doesn’t do this, or how you will buy him whatever he needs, but those promises fall on deaf ears.

“I will hate you forever.” You try your last resource.

He doesn’t even flinch at the words. You have no idea how distant from the pool you are at this point, but you only hold onto him tighter. If he really wants to throw you in, he’ll have to jump in himself, you are not about to surrender.

Knowing exactly how you have no idea of your surroundings, Rafe simply pauses and pretends to let you fall. And that is probably the funniest thing he could’ve ever done, because you let out one of those screams again and, when noticing that you’re still in his arms, you begin to repeat your previous promises while kissing his cheek.

Rafe only lets this torture last for a few more seconds before he actually lets go, which only leads you to believe that you’re being dropped into the pool again. You granted him a great smack in the arm right as your feet touched perfectly solid ground.

As you scowled at him, obviously mad at what he did to you just now, Rafe only smiles, holding your face as you do a frown that he can’t take seriously ever. He kisses you a few times, and that is what makes Aiden stand up straighter. 

Aiden hasn’t seen you in a while, nor did he wish to. The heartache you gave him had been enough for him to want to stay away from you for the rest of eternity. All the missed calls or ignored texts after you two had broken up. It all hurts like the ache of a scar formed from a deep wound. A pain that never leaves, it just changes. 

It has been more than a year, and he hasn’t seen you. You’re still absolutely beautiful, and you haven’t changed much, except for the fact that you have started dating again, by the looks of it.

Aiden has tried to pull his eyes away from you more than once, but his curiosity happens to be his worst enemy. He wants to keep looking. He wants to see if you’ve changed in the slightest bit, and he might even want to see the face of the person you’ve begun dating. He has looked away everytime the guy turned around and showed his face. Aiden only wanted to see you.

“Who are you looking at?” His friend asks, noticing how he has spaced out for a minute or two.

Aiden watches as you pull away from the kiss and how the frown is gone from your face. Your eyes are glued to the guy you kissed. His hand is on your face, holding it in place, thumb on one cheek as the other fingers hold the other. Your boyfriend kisses your pouty lips before saying something, Aiden assumes, teasingly, which leads to you smacking his arm and making the guy laugh.

He can read your lips when you pull away from his hold on your face and say “I will throw you in” with a serious expression on your face. The guy says something, and Aiden watches while you pursue your lips and look away to not laugh.

When the guy turns around this time, Aiden doesn’t look away. Someone must have called your boyfriend to get his attention away from you because he had moved so quickly. But Aiden wasn’t exactly expecting to see Rafe. Nothing would've prepared Aiden to see him.

Rafe brings his attention back to you when answering whatever someone had just asked him, and you had just started taking steps away. You tell him something that Aiden doesn’t understand, and Rafe reacts instantly to your words. He moves over to you and throws you over his shoulder, making you almost squeal your words while laughing at the same time.

“Aiden!” Aiden’s other friend calls out, “Come get drinks with us.”

Didn’t even need to tell him twice.

(...)

You’ve had a lot more to drink than you first planned to. You haven’t become completely out of control, but you are very much tipsy. You will trip if you walk by yourself for too long, and you will laugh at everything someone will tell you. With that, Rafe decided not too long ago that it was a better idea to have you seated somewhere and not having you walk around a pool.

As the night grew colder, everyone began to slowly go into the house and continue to party inside as well. Rafe has been sitting next to you on the couch ever since then, in a conversation with his friends.

Your legs are over his lap, and his hand has been smoothing over your skin and playing with the ends of your dress. And because of that, his attention is faulty. He is nowhere near sober either. Whenever your friends got distracted, the two of you shared kisses, and that led to a lot more. Which doesn’t surprise you. 

You don’t blame yourself for what happened. Rafe had been laying distracting kisses over your shoulder and neck, and they were always so soft and slow. It got your attention. And it only took one more of your kisses for Rafe to pull himself up from the couch and take you with him.

You giggled your way through the empty hallways while the music continued to bounce off the walls. You found it funny to jump around, but also to have Rafe practically dragging you through the house, all while you can just hug his neck and rest your face on his chest.

One thing led to another, and you were in a bathroom on the other side of the house. The music was distant, but you could still feel its vibration on the door behind you. Your lips haven’t exactly disconnected from Rafe’s since you came in, and due to the presence of the music, your drunk mind found it more than okay for you to relax and not be as silent as always. Rafe was more than okay with that decision throughout the whole thing.

Rafe picked you up and trapped you between the door and him with your legs by his hips. His hands were lost underneath your dress, while yours eventually began to pull his shirt upwards so he could take it off. Once it hits the ground, the two of you were back to kissing like nothing had ever separated you.

You lose track of what Rafe does with all the stimulation of his hands on you and your foggy mind, and he holds you tighter to him when you moan against his lips, and he lets out a grunt against yours. You separate from the kiss as, for you, the pleasure has magically begun to burn at the bottom of your stomach. 

Rafe watches you lean your head on the door as try to adjust to the position and to him, who has just slid inside you. And in seconds you were back to it. Rafe chuckles when you kiss him and lays his hand on the cold wood beside you. His other hand grips your thigh, holding you in place, and your hand grips his forearm.

Your moans start with his movements, feeling more sensitive than ever before, and that only seems to motivate Rafe. He separates his lips from yours and begins a trail of kisses down your neck. You hold onto his shoulders tightly and seem to lose complete control of what you say or do. One of your hands holds onto the back of his head, pulling at the strands of his hair.

The sudden pull makes Rafe’s hand drag soundly through the door to detach you from the door and hold you in his arms. Your eyes are closed when he moves, and you hiss at the cold of the counter. The discomfort only lasts seconds since pleasure completely substitutes it.

As Rafe thrust into you, some of the things that were once neatly on top of the counter fall on themselves or onto the ground. You leaned back on the stone counter, finding the cold on your burning skin awfully satisfying. Rafe’s eyes left your face, eyeing down at the two of you, where you connect, letting the fact of what the two of you are doing at a party rest on his mind. Your underwear had been pushed to the side, and he hadn’t even pulled his shorts completely down. Your dress was simply held up by your waist, and your skin has begun to glisten as he keeps on going. Sliding his cock in and out of you as you moan at every movement.

Your sounds aren’t too loud, but Rafe knows that people could hear it if they ever walked close enough to the door. He isn’t even sure if he locked it when he came in with you. Your eyes stay on him half closed as you bite in your lips to be quieter, and Rafe brings his hand down to your clit, leaving you in a complete puddle, and lose all control of the noise you make.

Rafe knows he says things to you throughout the whole thing, but he isn’t sure what exactly. And the same goes for you. Whatever it was, both of you responded to it, to each other. Even when you aren’t quite sure how because you cannot even bring yourself to think.

When it ends, Rafe does pull you closer and puts his hand over your mouth, muffling your moans. And as you two are left with ringing ears, heavy breathing, and with eyes half-closed, you can only kiss again and again. Completely drunk out of each other. 

Your hands are lost in the strands of his hair, and Rafe’s holding you closer and closer to him. It takes you a good few minutes to walk out of the bathroom like nothing had happened, and, once you do it, you notice how no one noticed you were even gone.

(...)

Time went by and the alcohol eventually deemed its effects on you, which could only mean that it was time to go home. You weren’t alone on this. Patricia had very much fallen asleep on the couch in an awkward position, and you knew that taking her home would be better. Yet, for the minutes that you watched her asleep, you silently wished that were you. 

It took you yawning mid-sentence in a conversation with Rafe about 5 times before he decided that the two of you were done for the night. Topper did the waking up of Patricia and helped her with grabbing her things while some of the guys helped with other things.

You leaned on Rafe as if he was a wall as they did it. Patricia, half-asleep and drunk, eventually got to you and began to tell you with slurred words how tired she felt, which made you agree with her with a nod. 

“Are- are you going home?” Patricia asks you before hiccuping, “Like, really home? Or Rafe’s?”

Before you can answer, she continues with a gasp. “You could spend the night in mine.”

“I’m going home.” You tell her, blinking slowly.

She sassily side glances at you and then at Rafe as well, who isn’t even paying attention to her, but to Topper, who is drunkenly looking for one of his friend’s shoes under the couch. 

Patricia, forgetting her hate towards you, grabs your hands and holds them as she swings your arms to the beat of the loud music. You smile at her and swing them with hers. Patty dances a little, as many moves as her tired and drunk body could pull off.

The two of you giggle after a few of her dance moves, and then you stop abruptly. A girl has just collided her shoulder with yours, hard, and it catches you off guard more than anything.

Due to that, Patricia loses her smile and faces the person right away. As you go to look at them and say the usual ‘it’s okay’, you see a girl. But a girl you’re sure you know from somewhere, which only makes you pause and reflect on who it could be.

“I’m sorry.” She tells you with a big drunken smile.

“You better be,” Patricia says before you can say anything back. You send her a glare as a warning.

“It’s okay.” You tell the girl, looking away to look at Patty again.

The girl doesn’t seem to walk away right away, and you feel Rafe lay his hand on your, still a little sore, shoulder. He smooths the skin, and right when you go to hold Patricia’s hand again, Rafe’s chest vibrates as he speaks.

“Got a problem?”

You eye him confused, but he isn’t talking to you. You look in the opposite direction, and your hands stop playing with Patricia’s, much to her confusion. Aiden stands beside you, eyeing you both, and then Rafe. And it suddenly clicks, that same girl had been Aiden’s friend when the two of you dated, and seemingly still is.

He eyes Rafe weirdly and then looks back at you.

“No problem, bro. Just wanted to say hi to an old friend,” He says while looking you in the eyes. “Hope you still remember me.”

You open your mouth to answer, but it is not needed. Aiden stretches his hand toward Rafe to introduce himself, “I’m Aiden.”

It doesn’t take long for Rafe to remember the day you said that same name, and because of it, Aiden’s hand stays untouched. Rafe continues to look down at him and bites his own tongue.

Aiden lets his hand awkwardly fall and offers Rafe a fake grin, which only grants him one back.

“Doesn’t look like she remembers you.” Rafe says, reinforcing his fake grin, “Keep it moving.”

“Oh, come on.” Aiden looks back at you. “You remember me, right, Y/N?”

Patricia lets go of your hands and holds your wrist instead. You don’t really understand her actions, and continue to only stare at Aiden in shock. You have absolutely no words to say to him.

“No?” Aiden asks you while spontaneously leaning closer to you so you could hear him better over the music, which only made you take that space back by leaning closer to Rafe.

Aiden looks at the two of you and doesn’t appear to get the hint.

“Are you two dating?” He asks, a smile appearing on his face as if he found his own words humorous. 

“Yes.” You break your silence.

“That is so interesting.” He says to you, “I would never see someone like you with someone like him…” His eyes lift to Rafe, “No offense to you, bro. You just, you know, are very different from her type.”

His eyes do not leave you after he says that. His words make the air thicker. He fortifies the idea that he knows you and that he has known you for a while. He has a past with you.

“You must remember me. We used to have so much fun together.” You shake your head right away.

“Just leave, Aiden.” You tell him, growing tired of his pushing.

“Why?” He chuckles, “Because your big boyfriend is going to hit me?” 

That confuses you and only leads you to notice how Rafe has, indeed, gone silent and instantly tense. You don’t look at Rafe to not give Aiden any satisfaction, and simply repeat your words.

“I’m serious.” You tell him. “Leave.”

He stays quiet and then takes a step back. Your lungs fill with air as a sign of relief, even when you know it won’t last for too long. Aiden stands before you still, and his eyes move all over your face, examining you. And then his eyes go down, down and down, and suddenly up. Disgust is the first thing that hits you, but you don’t let it show.

“Hopefully she won’t get as tired of you as she got of me,” He looks at Rafe. “You know how they are. Girls like her…” And then back at you. “Always looking for other guys to satisfy them, no matter who they hurt in the process. When the reality is that they will never be satisfied... Not whores like her.”

As he says it, Patricia moves quicker than you. She pulls at your wrist and away from Rafe, who simply moves forward, grabs Aiden, and slams his fist onto his face. 

The music around you muffles, and everything slows down. Aiden loses balance after the impact and struggles to strike Rafe back. Some people get out of their way, and both of them move farther for you and Patricia, but continue to be entirely visible to your widened and panicked eyes.

It seems as quick as a blink when Aiden hits the ground with an awfully loud thud. From the distance, you can tell he already has a bloodied nose, twisted in an off-angle, as well as reddened teeth and knuckles. Making it awfully obvious that he has already hit Rafe too. Patricia pulls at your arm, making you look at her for a second, but even her eyes are glued to the fight. 

More seconds go by, and people are stupidly starting to circle the men. Whenever you’re able to get another glance between everyone, the damage is worse.

Aiden's face twisted in pain, blood dripping off his mouth, punch after punch as he continues to struggle on the floor. Blow after blow, he slowly weakens. It is gruesome, to say the very least, and not something you're used to ever see.

With your feet still glued as ice to the ground and with your body stuck on the spot, you watch as Aiden does try to open his mouth to say something, and his hand lifts to stop Rafe with a plea. His hand doesn't ever lift to hit, just to hold him back. The same exact gesture you had done when playing around with your boyfriend merely hours ago.

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight, as his pleas go unanswered. Rafe's fist collides with Aiden's face yet again and Aiden's pleas falter.

Patricia forces herself and you to move out of the house, and you cannot hear anything but your quickening heart. Your vision is faulty, making you feel as if you were blinking and holding your eyes closed for more than time then opened.

You look behind your shoulder before taking the last step down the porch only to see Aiden spread out on the floor, unmoving as Rafe begins to stand before him and letting out a breath, with his back towards you.

“Get in the car.” Patricia practically screams at you, snapping you back to reality and making you face the front.

You get in, and she closes the car door. At the lack of sound, the gruesome images suddenly consume your mind, inducing nausea and more of your shaking and uneven breaths. You cover your face with your hands as Patricia climbs into her seat beside yours and does not mutter a word. 

Aiden's face, cut and broken. His silent screams inaudible over the music, and his pleas being cut short for another and another hit.

You knew it wasn’t a lie, that Rafe fought all the time. You had seen him just before a fight. But tonight had made it real. Too real. He fights until the other person can no longer handle it, until the other person cannot say any words that could make him stop. He doesn't stop until he sees enough blood to satisfy him. He doesn't stop until the person goes unresponsive.

No one had dared to push Rafe off of Aiden, not one of his friends. Even when Patty seemed moved, she didn't look at anything like it had been news to her. Rafe always does this. You know he does.

More than a month ago, you had cleaned his hands. Those that dripped with blood, and he hadn't wanted you to see them. You had giggled, found it arousing even. Such a filthy thing it had seemed. Never had it crossed your mind how real it all was. How he hurts someone so badly simply because they dare to cross him. He didn't hold back. He doesn't hold back.

You had never seen him like this, nor do you ever wish to again.

When your hearing clears slightly, you open your eyes and pull your hands away from your face. As you stare at them in the silent and dark car, you watch as they shake violently and listen to your heart not being able to slow down. You do not dare to look up, afraid of who you might see coming out of the house.

As you let out a shaky breath, you feel only one thing ripping through you. Fear.

Didn't I say shit would hit the fan? I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER. I know this isn't my best work, but I tried my best. Love y'all <3

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 22 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren woke in a bed, which was not a surprise. His favorite blanket – the one Wen Ruohan had bought for him – was tucked in around him, and this was also not a surprise.

He was in the Nightless City, which was.

“How…?”

“Your brother gave permission,” Wen Ruohan said, and Lan Qiren twisted his head in surprise, not having seen him sitting there at the desk beside the bed. Wen Ruohan was writing something, his brush movement steady and unhurried; it was a distinct contrast to the seething rage lingering in his voice. “Since I know you care about that.”

“Of course I care,” Lan Qiren said blankly. “He really gave permission?”

Wen Ruohan’s brush paused. “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

Lan Qiren considered it for a moment, then said, a little helplessly, “It seems more likely than him agreeing to cut my punishment short.”

Wen Ruohan snorted, and put his brush down. “I insisted,” he said, and the smug curl of his smile suggested it had been more than a casual conversation. “Anyway, he didn’t want a fuss.”

Naturally not, as He Kexin might object, Lan Qiren thought to himself, and shook his head at his own bitterness. He realized a moment later that it didn’t hurt to do that.

“How long did I sleep?” he asked, alarmed. The transit to the Nightless City was long, unless someone decided to waste vast amounts of qi flying by sword – which he could see Wen Ruohan doing – but the staves used for the Lan sect’s more severe discipline were not like those used for more mundane offenses. While they weren’t on par with a discipline whip, they were still made of spiritual wood, infused with qi; the injuries they left would not heal so quickly.

“I applied medicine,” Wen Ruohan said, rising to his feet and coming over to sit by Lan Qiren’s side on the bed, helping him sit up. “You’re not healed, only numb…I understand you’ve been having difficulties in your sect for some time, and that was even before the lady attacked you in an effort to frame you for her own rape.”

“I’m fairly sure she just wanted to show my brother that she wasn’t interested in him,” Lan Qiren said, wincing. He would not have phrased it quite like that, although thinking it over, it did seem to be a fair way to describe it, if an uncomplimentary one. “It’s not a stretch to think that picking his less impressive brother over him would do it.”   

Wen Ruohan’s lips curled into a sneer. “Truly, an ingenious mind. Did she think herself so attractive that no man would ever deny her?”

That, or else she’d been truly desperate. Lan Qiren could sympathize with her to that extent. After all, do not take advantage of your position to oppress others was a rule for a reason, and the power and influence a Great Sect could bring to bear against a rogue cultivator was not nothing. But his sympathy ended at the point where she’d decided it was acceptable to harm him in order to achieve her goal – even looking at her actions in the best possible light and assuming that she sincerely thought he would participate willingly in her plan, she’d made all sorts of assumptions and hadn’t bothered to verify anything before acting on them. 

He Kexin might be free and unrestrained, as his brother had described her, but she was also perilously reckless, and selfish, too.

Still, at the same time Lan Qiren thought about Wen Ruohan’s smirk when he mentioned his ‘insistence’ with his brother – he wasn’t sure if it involved physical violence or not, although the mental image of such a confrontation was oddly satisfying – and grimaced at the thought of the same sort of pressure being brought to bear on someone without a Great Sect’s protection. “About - He Kexin…”

“You needn’t concern yourself for the lady’s sake,” Wen Ruohan said, and his tone was a little unpleasant. “Even after all that, she permitted herself to be convinced by one of her friends that the advantages of receiving Qingheng-jun’s affections outweighed the disadvantages, despite her own better instincts; that seems punishment enough for the moment. Someone who does not hesitate to blind themselves at the say-so of another will reap the reward they deserve in the end…”

He shook his head, and smiled once more, displaying a glint of teeth. 

“You may take comfort that I took no action against her. However, I did suggest that the lady in question consider avoiding Qishan on her future travels.”

Lan Qiren felt something warm pricking his heart. “The thought is appreciated, although unnecessary. The one whose conduct is in the wrong is my brother.”

He’d appreciate an apology from He Kexin, whether for misjudging him or ignoring his refusals, but he wouldn’t hold out hope for it.

“I can be angry at more than one person at once,” Wen Ruohan said. A strange expression flitted over his features. “I admit, I would have thought Lao Nie would have done something about the entire situation sooner. Even if you weren’t writing to me, why didn’t you write to him?”

“I did,” Lan Qiren said. “His initial reply was – unsatisfactory.”

Lao Nie had responded rather casually to Lan Qiren’s message laying out the situation with his brother and He Kexin, speaking light-heartedly of the burning ardor of first love; he had assured Lan Qiren that it was normal to feel troubled by the thought of being left behind, even when the relationship was not good, and that his brother would probably resurface from his infatuation a happier person in the end. It was fairly evident that he hadn’t read all of Lan Qiren’s carefully composed letter.

“I asked him to come by the Lan sect,” he added. “But he was otherwise occupied.”

Wen Ruohan pressed his lips together in irritation. “He’s been otherwise occupied for some time now. You’re not the only one whose letters he’s disregarded.”

“Even you?” Lan Qiren said wonderingly. “But he likes you so much.”

The tightness in Wen Ruohan’s face eased a little. “I’ve asked him to visit here on account of your health,” he said. “I expect to see him arrive in his usual ridiculous flurry of temper and hen-like concern soon enough – once he reads the letter, anyway.”

Lan Qiren nodded, then hesitated. “The last time I was here…”

Wen Ruohan gazed at him sidelong.

Lan Qiren bit his lip. “I understand that I overstepped –”

“Don’t apologize.”

Lan Qiren stopped.

Wen Ruohan looked irritated again. “Don’t apologize,” he said again. “Are you not my little brother? If you cannot scold me, who is there that lives who can? I am not Qingheng-jun.”

Lan Qiren wasn’t entirely sure how the two were connected.

“If you want to make it up to me, go back to the way you addressed me before,” Wen Ruohan added.

Lan Qiren frowned, confused. “How do you mean?”

“Call me da-ge. Not xiongzhang.”

“…the latter is more polite.”

“So is listening to your elders,” Wen Ruohan said haughtily. “As you’re so fond of saying, it’s what I asked.”

“All right, da-ge,” Lan Qiren said obediently, and Wen Ruohan looked pleased.

“Rest,” he ordered, rising to his feet. “There will be dinner soon, and perhaps we can play weiqi once again…is there anything else you need for your room?”

Lan Qiren’s room in the Nightless City was very similar to the room Wen Ruohan had prepared for him in the Cloud Recesses; he couldn’t think of anything else he might need. Except only…

“I don’t suppose you could ask your spies to check in on my rooms back home,” Lan Qiren said, even as he settled back down to rest as instructed. “There was a painting there that you gifted to me that I liked a lot. It fell during the fight, and I haven’t been back since. I don’t want it thrown away.”

“Which one? I got you several…the mountain pass? The flowering tree?”

“No, the landscape with the rolling hills,” Lan Qiren said, and Wen Ruohan, who had been about to leave, stopped abruptly by the door. “It’s a little burned at the edges; you can’t really mistake it for anything else.”

“You liked that one?” Wen Ruohan’s voice was strange, full of some emotion that Lan Qiren was too tired to even try to decipher. “Above the others? The quality is much less, and the skill with the brush inferior.”

“The person who painted it was happy,” Lan Qiren explained. “There’s an echo of the painter’s residual qi trapped in the ink, you can tell a little bit about who they were from that. Whoever it was, they were brash and bold, arrogant and carefree – full of potential, like a phoenix about to alight to a higher branch. Their soul was like a falcon’s, tied down by nothing. Looking at it is an inspiration, and a comfort. I use it sometimes as a focus for meditation.”

“…I’ll have my spies check,” Wen Ruohan said, and he must be truly perturbed by Lan Qiren’s punishment-induced injuries if he had actually just admitted to having spies in the Cloud Recesses. “In the meantime, I have several other works by the same…artist. If you’d like.”

“Oh, very much!” Lan Qiren said enthusiastically; he tried to struggle up to sit again, but he started to feel pain even through the numbness of the anesthetic he’d been dosed with. Wen Ruohan glared him back down, and he yielded meekly, knowing that he was in no state to be really protesting. “Thank you, da-ge. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

Wen Ruohan huffed and put a hand behind his back, sweeping out the door like a gust of wind.

Lan Qiren lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.

Are you really going to do this? he wondered. Will you really forgive him for what he has done, for what he is, just because you desperately need support? What happened to your principles? Your rules?

He exhaled hard, almost a sigh. He still wasn’t all right with the torture, still thought it was wrong for a man to exult in the pain of others in such a grotesque fashion, but he’d gone back to his standby, the rules, and he was reminded brutally that they were designed to function as guides for the self, not for the world. You were supposed to embrace the entirety of the world, to shoulder the burden of morality, to refuse to tolerate evil – and yet the rules of hospitality, of host and guest, of neighbors, were ranked just as high.

He could choose to continue to hold back, to express his disdain of Wen Ruohan’s ways with distance and reserve, but it wouldn’t stop Wen Ruohan from doing what he wanted anyway, and it would leave Lan Qiren even more isolated and friendless than he was already.

It would be better to compromise.

And yet – it was hard, perilously hard, to force himself to do so. It was one of his flaws, he knew: how uncompromising he was, how unyielding, how bitterly he held onto his opinions, refusing to change, especially when he thought he was right.

For his own sake, he needed to try to do so. But he also needed to at least try to salvage his conscience, too.

He’d have to find a way to do both.

So decided, Lan Qiren reserved the issue of how he would do that in the back of his mind, returning to sleep. It would be easier, he thought, to resolve the issue in the morning, once he’d healed up a little more.

It wasn’t, but that was mostly because he was horrified to discover that he had no proper clothing.

“You have clothing that fits,” Wen Ruohan replied, the mildness of his voice failing to conceal the glint of amusement in his eyes. “It’s even in your clan’s colors. What’s the problem?”

“It’s too much,” Lan Qiren insisted, shaking the clothing at him. He had at least been left his inner robes, though he felt naked without the extra layer. “My formal clothing is less excessive than this!”

“That is surely a matter for your sect, isn’t it? I don’t think it’s excessive.”

“You have no sense of proportion!”

Wen Ruohan shrugged. “I can send for something else,” he said. “Even from your home, if you like. By regular post, it should only take a week or so to arrive.”

Lan Qiren scowled.

“If you really prefer, you’re welcome to walk around naked until then –”

Lan Qiren was so aggravated that he actually hissed at him, surprising Wen Ruohan into a laugh that interrupted his words, and returned to his room to begrudgingly put on the robes. They were white and silver, his usual preference – not interwoven with blue, but that wasn’t a surprise, given that white was a secondary color for the Wen sect as well as the Lan – but they were also ridiculously overwrought: embroidered brocade, silks so fine that they had to be layered in order to not be translucent, studded with shining pearls and what might be actual silver…

“Absurd,” he grumbled, but put on the clothing and came back out. “Do you enjoy tormenting me? Is that it?”

“At times,” Wen Ruohan said, his eyes curved and merry. “Come, sit. It’s your move.”

Lan Qiren permitted himself to succumb to his sworn brother’s atrocious taste for the evening, then stole away to the laundry room the first chance he could, determined to beg for a set of clothing that was somewhat more normal – even mourning clothing would be acceptable, as long as it was neither Wen sect nor horribly garish.

Wen Ruohan found him there, arguing spiritedly with the tailor, and whisked him back to his rooms on account of Lan Qiren’s injuries, arguing, correctly, that Lan Qiren was on the verge of collapsing and coughing up blood from having been a bit too enthusiastic.

Eventually, after some of what Lan Qiren called reasoned debate and what Wen Ruohan called flagrant sulking, Wen Ruohan agreed to get him something a little more normal to wear on the condition that he wear at least one adornment of Wen Ruohan’s choosing along with it.

“You secretly wanted to play with dolls as a child,” Lan Qiren said accusingly, even though the initial adornment – a belt loop made from moonstone and jade – was entirely appropriate, even by Lan sect standards. “You were denied the chance then, and now you make it everyone else’s problem. Is that it?”

“Perhaps,” Wen Ruohan said. “It’s been so long, how would I remember?”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and gamely lost to him at weiqi a few more times.

It was perilously easy to slip back into the comfortable camaraderie that they’d developed on his last visit, he reflected as he prepared for bed that evening. It was something he enjoyed - something they both enjoyed - and if Lan Qiren only kept his opinions to himself, convinced himself to actually bend for once, he might be able to actually keep it, this time. 

The next morning, he went to the extensive library kept by the Wen sect and took down several books on anatomy, carefully copying out the goriest parts of it in his best calligraphy; he wasn’t an inspired painter like the nameless ancient that had done the pictures that now hung in his room here, but he excelled at dry and lifeless copies, which was about what you wanted from an anatomy text.

He finished the small booklet within a few days, and gave it to Wen Ruohan one evening before dinner.

“What’s this?” Wen Ruohan asked, flipping through it with a slightly bemused expression. “Medicine?”

“Anatomy,” Lan Qiren corrected. “Since you – like that sort of thing. It’s a gift.”

Wen Ruohan blinked very deliberately. “Little Lan,” he said, staring down at one of the more explicit illustrations. “Did you get me a gift to help me torture people better?”

“I got you a gift because you’re my sworn brother, and you’re taking care of me,” Lan Qiren said with as much dignity as he could muster in light of the patheticness of his abject surrender. “I got you this gift because it seemed relevant to your interests. Anyway, it’s not something I can share, or even really countenance – and in all honesty I would prefer that you not do it while I’m around, or at minimum try not to mention it to me, to make it easier to look the other way – I mean, it’s not going to be easy, but easier – well, my scruples aren’t important. It’s something that matters to you, so I’ll just –”

Wen Ruohan cleared his throat, interrupting him. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, looking at the space above Lan Qiren’s head for some reason. “The Fire Palace has had trouble keeping my interest recently; the entertainment has gone stale. I have moved on.”

Lan Qiren had not expected that, and he smiled happily, his pricked conscience unexpectedly granted a reprieve. For some reason, it made Wen Ruohan stare at him.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that you’re not torturing people for sport any longer,” Lan Qiren told him, in case it wasn’t clear. “As for the booklet, even if it’s not quite right for your interests right now, I still hope you enjoy the work...I’ll get you a better gift next time.”

“No need to strain yourself,” Wen Ruohan said. “I will be pleased no matter what it is, I’m sure.”

He gestured for Lan Qiren to enter the dining room first, which Lan Qiren did. Oddly enough, despite his cliché and rather condescending reassurances, Wen Ruohan looked especially pleased throughout dinner, almost as if he really meant what he’d said.

It was nice, Lan Qiren thought, to be liked. One could get used to it.

His injuries were healing very well, between the medicines Wen Ruohan’s doctors plied him with – Lan Qiren attempted not to calculate the value of them, certain that they were probably worth more than a small sect’s heirloom treasure – and the rich spiritual energy Wen Ruohan insisted on infusing him with, morning and night. Lan Qiren tried to protest that the latter was unnecessary, but Wen Ruohan had stood on his rights as the host, and at any rate he simply had so much qi that the effort seemed not to wear on him at all. So Lan Qiren let him keep doing it, Wen Ruohan’s warm hands conveying warm qi as he spoke to him of various matters, important and trifling, and Lan Qiren – liked it.

“In the Nightless City, we release lanterns several times a year, not just on the Lantern Festival,” Wen Ruohan murmured into Lan Qiren’s ear as he sat there, eyes growing heavy as his rules-mandated bedtime approached. “It’s a celebration of the sun as our sect’s sigil. The lanterns come in all shapes and sizes and colors, and we light the flames with spiritual energy. There’s a day not far from now where we will do it; people are making preparations already. Your body is still stiff and unbending, your wounds still healing – you’ll be here to see it.”

Lan Qiren nodded.

“Good,” Wen Ruohan said. “Very good…ah, little Lan, what a strange thing you are. When you were gone, I thought of you often no matter what I wished. I thought that I could cure it by having you here, but now you are here before me, every day, and yet I think of you no less. It seems that seeing you every day does not cause me to tire of you.”

“Yes, you’re very easily amused,” Lan Qiren said, his eyes sliding shut as the warm qi circulated through his body. “I think we long ago established that.”

“Is there any feature of yours that you actually like, little Lan? Or is it all self-depreciation?”

“I have a good brain,” Lan Qiren said. “I’m creative and analytical, and I explain things well; I make for a decent or even accomplished teacher. My musical ability is good, both in terms of playing and composition. Also, I’m informed that my face is first rate.”

Wen Ruohan laughed behind his shoulder. “I stand corrected.”

When they parted that night, all was well.

The peace did not last until morning.

[newtie-patootie-bootie]

Masquerade (Chapter 1)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and minor blood and wounds- nothing too major. (I tell you, we’re getting into it, I promise!)

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

If you’d like to read more of my works, please visit my Masterlist!

| Prologue | Chapter 2 |

Tags: @technicallykawaiisoul @call-me-soap​ 

Din stormed down the hall of his newly acquired estate, red cape catching the air behind him from the force of his gait and the beskar armour he proudly wore, winked in the early morning sun.

His helmet was tucked under his arm, leaving his uncovered features twisted in an enraged scowl and his untamed curls bouncing freely with his violent gait as he darted for the double doors that would lead him to the dining hall where his company would be breaking their fast.

The place in which he resided in had been bought once he had solidified the trade agreements with the Queen of England, the residence too lavish for his liking. It was more suited to Greef Karga’s own extravagant tastes, the man was his financial advisor but sometimes Din found himself lamenting in agreeing to bring the older gentleman into his court.

The house was dripping in the deepest red materials and gold accoutrement to accompany the ridiculously flamboyant furnishings Greef had purchased with the Crown’s treasury. It was a wholly unnecessary investment as Din had expressed his distaste for the country and its many crippling social demands and their tunnelled, biased view on the rest of the world around them.

When he had heard from the month’s financial statement and use of the treasury account that the properties Greef had purchased on behalf of his Majesty rivalled the livestock towns in their homeland, Din was furious but unable to do much of anything but issue Karga with a stern warning.

Karga made good on his promise to cease his incessant and improper spending habits but it seems Din was a little too late on that front.

Din growled, baring his teeth as he pushed the double doors open with one hand, dark eyes searching the table as his two Mandalorian guards, Sofir and Tatya- unhelmed, stood immediately and pressed their fists to their cuirasses. Both were young, perhaps too young to be kings guard but Din noticed their skill and the pride they had in their country. He chose them over the more experienced Mandalorian’s and he never regretted it.

Their half-eaten plates were abandoned in their hurry to address their king. The large table, some would say was ornate. A fine piece of craftsmanship.

Din would call it gaudy- unnecessary for a man who needed little and survived longer than the most socially capable of people.

For a moment, Din’s reality swirled and he was faced with humble surroundings. A different life, a life he was happier leading. With an internal shake of his head, the unwanted memories faded and he was once again immersed in the riches he was steeped in.

Din would have been fine with a crate and two boxes for chairs, but he could no longer be that man.

“Manda’lor.” Sofir and Tatya greeted him, bowing their heads in respect.

Din nodded curtly and gestured for them to return to their meals as he turned his piercing gaze to the foot of the table, searching. “Where is General Vizsla?”

Sofir turned her blue eyes to her king and swallowed the portion of fruit almost nervously, “I caught sight of him in the training room, perfecting his strikes.”

Din almost snarled his gratitude before whirling back out of the dining room with renewed vigour.

Long legs took him hurtling down the winding halls of his estate before he twisted the ornate knob and pushed the door open, revealing the training room in which Din, at the time of assembling each piece of equipment, was looking forward to utilizing at some point in between the droning events and simpering debutants and their aggravating mothers.

Even though he may not be what he formerly was, it did not mean he couldn’t keep his skills as sharp as the blade he wore on his back. Amongst the different equipment was a large ring raised off the ground, perfect for sparring.

And in the middle of the fighting ring was Paz, unhelmed and unclothed from the waist-up. Thick, corded arms jabbed at the air, testing his speed against the invisible foe he opposed. Sweat dripped from the soaked blonde strands of hair that hung over his forehead, blue eyes stony and focussed.

“You had no grounds nor merit to justify your blatant disregard of my orders, Paz!” Din’s voice boomed across the large expanse of the room.

Paz straightened, rolling his shoulders back as he turned to face his king, chest heaving with his laboured breath, “your plan to attend the ball unhelmed and unguarded was foolish at best, attempting to gain information on the most genuine of willing applicants completely unnoticed as you once used to did not go well, did it, Manda’lor? I saw you frolicking with that Duke’s daughter.”

Din remained eerily silent as he set his helmet down, the beskar rang out and he unclipped his cape and quietly folded it beside the helmet before sliding off his gloves and tossed them atop the cape. Paz watched as his king methodically removed piece after piece of his armour without a word- remaining silent as he peeled the layers of clothing from his upper half to mirror Paz’s own state of undress. Each garment was placed atop the armour, removed as not to soil the fabrics with sweat or blood.

Din’s body was not burly, nor could he hope to match Paz’s unique size but the fine definition of his upper arms and broad shoulders that were attributed to the years of dedication to his craft. His stomach was soft, not sharp and contoured like his general’s but Paz knew better than to underestimate his king and his smaller stature only attributed to his keen dexterity.

Dark, incensed eyes never left Paz’s and Din noticed the glimmer of uncertainty in the bluest part of his eyes but quickly covered it with the same stony indifference Din had been acquainted with all his life as he entered the ring smoothly.

Sofir and Tatya came barrelling through the open doorway, unwilling to overlook such a tussle from two of the most talented fighters in Mandalore.

They remained near the entrance, not wishing to overstep their welcome to watch their king and their General oppose each other in the fighting ring. “You’re lucky I do not have you punished for wearing another’s armour, least of all-” Paz was unprepared for the viper-like strike as Din’s fist shot from its dormant place by his thigh, snapping fiercely into Paz’s jaw, “-mine.”

The two guards watched, riveted by the raw display of power demonstrated by their leader.

Din Djarin was not a man easily intimidated by one’s size or power as one would be by Paz’s physical stature, but they both knew that Paz would not back down from a challenge either- not even from his king, “do you realise the precarious position you have put me in?! The young Dalton girl believes the Manda’lor and Din Djarin are separate entities!”

“You are no longer who you used to be.” Paz argued back, swinging his fist viciously and aimed right for Din’s nose but the latter was quicker and ducked from would-be blow, “your freedoms are limited as is your time to find a suitable partner in which to make your queen and rule by your side.”

“If I dare reveal myself now as the foreign ruler who she is so apprehensive of,” Paz swung again with a loud grunt and Din took his moment, ducking once more but the larger man caught on to his intent and lifted his knee, slamming it directly into the king’s stomach. The younger man rattled out a wheezing groan, stumbling back as his arms curled around his belly but Paz wasn’t finished and connected a quick blow to Din’s cheek- sending his king reeling to the floor.

“Continue, Manda’lor.” Paz mocked as Din slowly began to peel himself off the ground, curls tumbling around his head as he shook the fog beginning to blanket his thoughts

“Her trust will be betrayed as will her feelings if I choose to pursue her.” His voice was strained as he pointed at Paz, “you made the Manda’lor’s interest abundantly clear last night at the fete!” Din grunted as he straightened up, shaking off the ache in his stomach and spat out the blood filling his mouth from the cut inside his cheek, painting the scuffed flooring red. He shoved his reddening hand into the pocket of his pants and pulled out the crumpled Lady Whistledown and tossed it away as if it disgusted him, the sheet bounced on floor of the ring, rolling unevenly before it stopping directly in front of Paz’s feet.

Paz made to grab his opponent but Din twisted out of the way with ease, snapping another blow to the blonde man’s jaw. The general growled in frustration, “that scandal sheet has taken London by storm, we could not have our leader not make an appearance when he was reported to do so.” The two engaged in close combat, blocking and striking as they were taught in their tribe. “The speculation alone could ruin us and future potential alliances!” Paz rebutted, digging his fingers into Din’s wrist and tugged him forward as he screwed his dormant hand into a fist, “I did what was best for the Manda’lor’s image.”

Din dropped to his knees, narrowly avoiding Paz’s devastating strike and quickly regained his footing. Ignoring the twinge in his knee joints, the brunette used the sweat beginning to bloom across his body and twisted out of Paz’s hold before delivering harsh blows across Paz’s face- not necessarily aiming anymore. “I care not for any reporter’s musings, no matter how popular it may be!”

“Din Djarin may not, but the Manda’lor must!” The blatant rage displayed on Din’s features morphed into surprise at Paz’s argument and the man in question to slowly extricate himself from his king’s hold. “Our country is in your hands; you must do what is best for it and our people. It’s not just about you anymore, vod.”

Din huffed a soft breath, nostrils flaring as he took a step back from Paz.

The anger that fuelled him slowly began to drain as apprehensive eyes turned to his tribe-mate and Paz began, “I will apologise for wearing your armour, but I will not seek your forgiveness for my actions. I do not regret it.” Din watched his brother as he straightened his back, sweat-slicked chest speckled with his own blood. Every muscle flexing and only made him seem that much more imposing, “the Manda’lor is our leader and as such, I will not allow you to squander such a title away for a life you are no longer able to lead.” Din remained silent, staring deep into Paz’s eyes before stepping away and took a deep breath before moving toward the turnbuckle to retrieve a towel and tended to the weeping wounds across his bruising knuckles, “what are you going to do?”

Din turned to look over his shoulder at Paz, “what I have to.” His voice sounded resigned, “Sofir, Tatya, call the carriage around the front, please. We are going to visit the Duke and Duchess of Wintere, the Lady Dalton is about to receive her first caller.” He ordered without looking away from his wounded knuckles.

“Right away, Your Majesty.” The two guards promptly exited the training room, the soft clinks of armour following them.

The noise of the guards slowly tapered off, silence filling the space between Din and Paz as the king continued to care for his split knuckles, dabbing the beading blood away.

“You’ve not lost your skill, vod.” The slight pride that tinged Paz’s tone tickled Din’s amusement and huffed a chuckle in response.

“Were you expecting my reflexes to have slowed due to my recent negligence?” Turning to face Paz, he tossed the soiled towel to the general who caught it with ease and folded the fabric to an unused square before dabbing at the beads of sweat upon his brow.

“I had begun to believe that your former talents to have atrophied under the strain of the monarchy’s heavy expectations.” Paz answered easily, smirking at Din’s less restrained laugh, “I see that I was mistaken.” Thick fingers gingerly grazed over the bruise beginning to develop along his jawline.

“Good.” Din teased before bending to slip beneath the ropes, grunting in pain as the blow Paz delivered into his stomach protested at the movement, “perhaps now you will understand why I was most invested in the furnishing of this room in particular.”

Paz followed Din as he picked up his discarded garments and armour and meticulously reapplied each piece with grace, “you are going to pursue the Dalton girl?”

“I am.” The levity in the Manda’lor’s tone dissipated with the return of the hard topic, busying himself with the task of redressing.

“I wish you luck in your endeavours, your Majesty.” Paz bowed to his king before taking his leave, grabbing his linen shirt on the way out and shrugging it on without breaking stride.

Din sighed, strapping the cuirass in place before picking up his helmet and turning it face up. He could see his own reflection in the opaque visor, the silver and gold inlay winked at him in the streaming beam of sunlight.

There was no way he could attempt to court you without insulting your intelligence, nor could he take back the Manda’lor’s interest that seemed to capture this rumourmonger had shared with London’s overly curious.

“Haar'chak!” Din hissed quietly, setting the helmet over his head and stomped out of the room, cape billowing behind him.

You slowly opened your eyes to the pattern lining the border of your bedroom ceiling- the blue floral molding stood out against the stark white backdrop and in the middle was a fabulous illustration of a white owl taking flight amongst the snow-tipped hellebores and tilting upward toward the dawning sun. The mural itself was to your mother’s tastes, curved into a circle and tapered brushstrokes to blend with the ceiling to create the illusion of the image to be unfinished.

It was beautiful.

The picture was a little hard to make out from the shroud of darkness your room was ensconced in, its true brilliance remaining uncaptured.

The curtains had yet to be drawn by your maid and you heaved a gentle sigh while turning your gaze away from the artwork, your eyes slowly took in the furnishings that reflected the same blue on white theme as the rest of your bedroom did.

Your bedroom reflected the wealth your family carried and the multiple homes spanning across England were just the very same- steeped in expensive furnishings and high-end materials to make each abode even more comely. Your family’s London home was smaller than the country estate you and your brother had grown up in but it was by no means modest.

Many a suitor that had entered these halls had remarked on how grand the residence was, their eyes shining with greed and their pretentious gifts were poisoned by their determination to win the heart of the Duke’s daughter.

As your mind was overridden with thoughts of extravagance and lush surroundings, the image of an iron clad warrior flashed before your eyes, anonymous, alluring and unsettling.

Soft fingers pressed into the impressive material of your bed coverings, twisting the opulent silk between your fingertips anxiously before one of your hands slipped from the creased fabric and passed over your eyes, swiping across your brow as you reviewed last night’s events and your stomach began to twist with nerves:

As soon as the Mandalorian king was announced, overzealous mamas pushed their overbearing daughters toward him in the energetic hopes that they would be considered the new queen he had been purported to be desperately seeking.

Lost amidst the wave of hysteria, you did not realise that your partner had slowly begun to pull away from you, “I did not think he would come. What do you make-” your sentence trailed off as you turned to converse with the mysterious lord you had just met, only to see that the space he occupied beside you was now empty, “my lord?” You twisted in place, your gaze scouring every inch of Lady Danbury’s lavish ballroom until you made out the soft crown of untamed curls striding out of the room completely unseen.

“Lord Djarin!” You called, hoping you could gain his attention over the grating squawks of women fawning over the new arrival and cursed silently when he did not acknowledge you as he turned the corner out of the ballroom, out of sight.

Dashing forward, you took hold of your skirts to not tread on the material and attempted to remain vigilant in avoiding the flock of debutants elbowing and pinching their way closer to the king. You operated with a wide berth as you scurried for the exit, ignoring your mother’s calls when you felt a gloved hand clasp yours- forcing you to let go of your dress and cease in your pursuit.

Turning, your skirts fluttered delicately and the words of your polite rejection to the obviously headstrong lord bubbled at your lips- only to remain silent when you saw the silver helm of the king staring down at you. “Your Majesty,” you whispered, shock froze your intentions and you slowly curtseyed out of respect.

“Lady Dalton.” He knew your name?

With your hand still in his, he helped you rise and turned his body to face you while completely disregarding the gaggle of women who now fell silent, glaring at you with burning envy at his special attention.

“I must confess I did not realise we were acquainted, your Highness.” Your arm was still in his hold, orange-tipped leather fingers tracing the delicate bones of your wrist and you fought the urge to pull away from such a bold action.  

“We aren’t.” Blunt. Forceful. His words did little to calm the raging storm within you and you wanted nothing more than to pull away from his touch, not enjoying the coldness of his gloves, nor the anonymity that shrouded his being. Rather finding yourself wistfully wishing for the heat of another unfamiliar. An alluring lord that treated you with such care you’d never seen in any suitor beforehand.

“Well, in that case, how pray tell did you come by the knowledge of my name?” You retained your sense of propriety for propriety’s sake, your lips widening into an insincere smile that you had nurtured and cultivated over the seasons and separate events you had partaken in until you had mastered it.

It was a skill you used sparingly, mostly with unsavoury characters that had called on you with their ill intentions or their crass proposals.

“There was no shortage of envious musings in the town where your name was the topic in discussion. As for deducing you to be the wearer of such a fine name, it was rather easy,” you didn’t think it to be as trivial as he made it sound but remained silent as the Mandalorian king continued his deductions, “no one in this room fitted to such a moniker as a ‘winter blossom’ more than you.”

Your heart flipped in your chest and your fictitious simper cracked ever-so-slightly, “m-my Lord, I am flattered,” you curtseyed once again before raising your gaze to meet the blank stare of his opaque visor, “I would wish to commend on your armour, but I fear I may offend you with my lack of knowledge on the particular subject. So, in lieu of your warrior garb, I thank you for your service to your country.”

“I hope we meet again, Lady Dalton.” His gloved fingers slipped into your palm, his thumb gently curling over your dormant fingers, raising your hand to his helmet and gently rested it against the polished iron right over where his lips would reside were the armour removed.

Gasps rippled across the ballroom as he released your hand, the king nodded once before moving deeper into the room, flanked by his guards and the music began to play once again, tenuous and hesitant.

But, the sound of the sweet melodies flooding the room did nothing to drown out the wave of whispers that accompanied jealous eyes that were perpetually focused on you. You barely felt your mother’s hands on your shoulders before slipping down and kindly curling her arm around yours before leaning closer to whisper in your ear, “we will take our leave now. Leave your suitors wanting more, dearest.” Elaine gently urged you out of the ballroom- leaving the rest of the women to stew in their judgement.

Thomas and Ryder both followed you out, “I’m so proud of you, darling!” Your mother murmured excitedly and you could barely twitch your lips into a smile.

Your heart thundered in your chest and with your free hand, you clutched at the fine material of your bodice, swallowing nervously as you contemplated the fate of the season with the King of Mandalore chasing after you and a mysterious lord that became even more mysterious with every passing second-

-the sun shining down upon you ripped you from your reverie as Olivia pulled the curtains open with a chipper, “good morning, my Lady!”

You swallowed the primal groan that threatened to erupt from your throat as you lifted yourself up from the bed, the covers falling into your lap.

You sighed, running your hand down your rumpled bed-hair, “good morning, Olivia.”

Dragging yourself from under the covers, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and toed on your dainty pale blue slippers, “we’ll need a few more chairs in the drawing room I would think, my Lady.” You snapped your head up to meet a nearly vibrating Olivia’s gaze- only to see the offending scandal sheet clutched in her hands. Maintaining your composure, you held your hand out for the paper and Olivia handed it to you immediately. You mumbled a ‘thank you’ to her as you stood from the bed and walked to the vanity- taking your seat in front of the mirror as Olivia began to tend to your appearance and diligently style your hair, “your prospects this season seem rather remarkable, my Lady, I must say!”

You barely acknowledged her comment as you opened the sheet and read under the subheading:

‘The Warrior King Charmed by the Frosted Flower?

This bold writer would like report that it may be a very short season for our dear Lady Dalton, for she has caught the eye of the mysterious yet alluring king of Mandalore.

Following his jarring entrance into the Danbury Ball, the Mandalorian king set his sights on the beautiful Lady the moment he strode into the room to the call of his own title- a rather candid affair if I may be so bold to scribe.

It seems he was rather taken with our winter rose from before he laid eyes upon her, swayed by featureless letters printed on an ink-blotted page. An accomplishment that this columnist will take full responsibility for.

Lady Dalton will have her hands full this season, with mysterious kings and lords and many suitors of the ton, wishing for her hand.

Perhaps, the Diamond of the Season is not as Incomparable as previously titled. The Queen should seriously reconsider the moniker she gave so freely to the prettiest in the pool and notice that perhaps it is not only beauty that wins the hearts of men- perhaps it is a mixture of beauty, boldness and intelligence that only the Lady Dalton can express so effortlessly.

We all know how the Queen despises when she is wrong, do we not?

In other related news-’

You tucked the paper in your lap, resting your linked hands over it as to mask the words from your view. “Has my mother read it?” Your voice was small, barely audible but Olivia took no notice of the change and continued with her tasks.

“Yes, my Lady. Her Grace was the one to organise additional chairs in the drawing room.” Olivia affirmed and you sighed, drooping your head down and your chin touched your chest. Olivia tutted in friendly reproach before gently lifting your head with cool fingers to resume her work.

“Of course, she did.”

Your fingers dug into the pristine paper, crushing it in your hands as Olivia worked on your hair, “a glowing compliment from Lady Whistledown, don’t you think, my Lady? Your prospects on the mart surely should have reached the heavens itself with the interest of a king!”

“Oh, yes,” you hoarsely replied as your eyes found your own reflection in the mirror, unease clearly etched into the fine lines of your features and you swallowed gently, “a most pleasing tribute, indeed.”

There was a knock on the door and Olivia excused herself with a curtsey before bustling for the door, creaking it open as to keep her lady’s modesty. You heard Olivia and whoever had interrupted you speaking quietly- their hushed whispers filling the room yet unable to be deciphered. “Olivia, what is it?” You asked, looking through the mirror.

Olivia quietly closed the door, turning back to face you with wide, excited eyes, “oh, my lady! It’s so exciting!”

Your brows pulled together and you turned to properly catch her gaze, “Olivia?” You repeated, your arm resting over the support of the chair, waiting patiently for her to explain.

“The Mandalorian king is here, my lady!” You stood from your chair, your back ramrod straight and distress pulled at the knot forming in your belly, “he’s here to promenade with you.”

“P-promenade? Now?” You hushed, shock punching the breath from your lungs, “i-isn’t that a rather early development, we only met the night previous!”

“You must have made quite the impression, my Lady!” Olivia exhibited the excitement you should have been feeling as she helped your numb form back into the chair as she resumed her work on your hair with a renewed vigour.

The entire time, all you could think about was soft brown eyes, tufts of dark curls winking with blonde and red accents in the artificial light of the chandelier and large hands searing the skin of your back as he held you to his strong, broad chest to keep you from falling.

Din Djarin.

“Haar’chak!” - “Damn it!”

"Vod." - "brother/sister or comrade/friend."

[kiruuuuu]

Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

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“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

.

~*~

.

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

.

He needs to recover.

.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

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~*~

.

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

.

~*~

.

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

.

~*~

.

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out  E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

[whitesparrows97]

A Thousand Springs – Part 3

Pairing: BTS x Reader/OT7 x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Violence

Word Count: 4.2K

Previous / Next

(picture credit: photograph by Mok Jung Wook for TIME Magazine)

“Y/N, wait!” Taehyung said when you tried to get past him. His grip around your upper arms tightened and emphasized the urgency of his words. It was difficult for you to think clearly, let alone to express a rational sentence at all. So you stood in front of him and hoped he could read your despair and your unspoken request from your eyes.

Apparently you were lucky, because he just sighed and added: “We arrived here by car and we’ll be faster if we drive.” He waited a moment for a confirmation from you and when you nodded slowly, he let go of your upper arms. But before you could really miss his touch, he took your hand in his and pulled you with him. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know that the other men were right behind you; you felt it. That presence that was almost pulsating behind you. It was as if a warmth was radiating from them, wrapping around you and giving you the feeling of safety.

There’s nothing you’d rather do than get in the car with them and drive as far away as possible. You were sure you had nothing to worry about if you just stayed with them. But you also knew that that was the easy way. And if you went that way, you’d hate yourself all your life. You’d have to live with abandoning your best, and only, friend. After all, she was only in this situation because of you. 

You didn’t know what David wanted from you or why you were so important to him that he was using leverage to get to you. But you wouldn’t risk your friend’s life.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you hardly noticed anything of the way to that car. Only when Taehyung opened the door of the black Range Rover and almost pushed you into the back seat did you realize you needed a plan. The blond guy got in the car after you and closed the door. At the same time the man with the grey hair took a seat on the other side of you and when you looked to the front, the other two seats were also occupied.

A man with hazel hair started the car and before you knew it, you were on the road. He was far from sticking to the speed limit and you hoped that no police patrol would be on the short way to your apartment. With your luck, that might be exactly what could happen and wouldn’t that be an ironic way of fate to tell you that no matter what you touched, it fell to dust beneath your fingers.

The man on your left cleared his throat briefly. “I wish we had met under better circumstances,” he confessed and gave you a brief smile. You couldn’t help but look at his dimples and smiled because of the Déjà-Vu. Taehyung had said the exact same thing to you last night. 

”I’m Namjoon, Hoseok’s at the wheel and Jungkook’s in the passenger seat,” he introduced you one by one. “Yoongi, Jin and Jimin are in another car, right behind us.”

You turned around after this comment and actually saw another black car through the rear window that drove dangerously close. You didn’t know much about cars, but even you noticed how expensive those two cars had to be. The red-brown leather of the seats felt cold under your sweaty hands as you clutched the seat anxiously. 

Whether it was because of fear for Alison or because Hoseok ran a red light at that moment, you didn’t know. It was probably a mixture of both. He hardly slowed down when he turned left at the next intersection and you were pressed against Taehyung. You were glad that there was hardly anyone on the streets that you could endanger. 

Nevertheless, you breathed a sigh of relief when you turned into your street and you could see the apartment. 

“We’ll stay with you, Y/N,” Hoseok assured you as you stepped on the sidewalk and sprinted up the stairs to the front door. 

“Please just help me to keep Alison safe. That’s all that matters to me right now,” you replied and it was the first thing you said since the meeting in the dead end behind the cafe. 

For a moment you had trouble unlocking the lock because your fingers were shaking so much. But quickly one of the men who had driven in the other car had ripped the keys out of your hand and unlocked the door.

He threw you a short smile as you rushed past him and ran up the stairs, always taking two steps at a time. You were about to storm into the apartment when two strong hands on your shoulders forced you to stop. 

It was Taehyung. 

“Don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger,” he said and his voice sounded serious. “Please,” he added, and you nodded before the same man from before unlocked the front door and slowly pressed it open.

Before one of the men could demonstrate, you were the first to enter the apartment. The corridor was dark, the doors to the adjacent rooms were closed, so no sunlight could brighten the room. Only the door to the living room was open a crack and you knew this was the room David and Alison had to be in. You held your breath as you walked towards the light, almost on tiptoes, to make as little noise as possible. 

It was absurd. You knew David was expecting you and that it would only be good for him to know that you followed his command on time. The thought didn’t stop you from cautiously opening the door and looking into the room behind it, feeling afraid about what you’d see the moment you entered it.

If it hadn’t been a hand on your back that gently pushed you forward, you’d probably have stood in the hallway forever and imagined what you’d see, if you’d walked a few more steps forward. 

Namjoon carefully pushed past you and entered the room first and your field of vision was covered by him, so that you could not see David as you entered the big room one by one. 

And in retrospect, you would have been happier if Namjoon had kept standing in front of you and saved you from what you saw when he took a step aside.

David was standing at the other end of the room, right in front of the windows, and it took you a moment to get your eyes used to the bright sunlight you were looking into. Immediately your heart missed a beat and you were sure that your facial expressions slipped away when you grasped the situation in front of you.

He held Alison against his chest and prevented her with a kitchen knife at her throat from making excessive movements, let alone attempting to escape. Alison’s dark hair stood out in all directions and in shock you noticed the dark red marks on her left cheek. She must have resisted; of course she did. Where you had surrendered without any attempt back in the dead end, Alison had fought for herself and struggled at the very same moment.

When your eyes met, you saw the tears in her eyes and her reddened skin under her eyes revealed that she already had cried. But the worst part was not that your best friend, who was almost like a sister to you while the rest of your family was either dead or untraceable, was threatened by a psychopath.

The worst part wasn’t that you were the reason she was in this situation. It wasn’t the look she gave you either. A look full of incomprehension and questions, mixed with sheer panic and fear. The worst of all was David’s look, which made your blood run cold in your veins. 

He grinned at you.

It was the same grin he gave you less than 24 hours ago at the club and under other circumstances you would probably have found that grin very attractive.

But now, in this very situation, you’d like to turn around, run into the bathroom and throw up. Jungkook, standing next to you, seemed to notice your intention and steadied you by gently putting one hand around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You didn’t know how someone you’d just met could give you so much security. Immediately, however, you felt part of the pressure on your chest coming off and you were able to breathe more relaxed again.

“I see you brought some friends,” David noticed, breaking the oppressive silence in the room. “And I also see that you are already very close,” he added, making a head movement to Jungkook’s hand on your hip, which bored into your flesh at David’s remark.

“David,” Namjoon interfered and goose bumps formed on your arms, so authoritarian sounded his voice. 

“Ah, Joonie. How nice to see you again.” His gaze roamed over the other men. “The same goes for all of you. You knew it would happen again sometime, didn’t you?”

Jungkook next to you made a sound that almost sounded like a growl. 

“Have you told her yet?” he asked with a quick glance in your direction. “Probably not, considering how little time you’ve had together so far.” He seemed to think for a moment before he started smiling again. “And it’s a pity, considering how little time you have left with her.”

Then it all happened very quickly. Suddenly the hand on your hip had disappeared and Jungkook rushed forward towards David. At least you suspected so, because he had moved so quickly that you only noticed that he was no longer standing beside you when one of the men had wrapped an arm around his chest to hold him back.

David just laughed, “Oh, Jungkook. Still the same temperament I see.”

“Jin, let go of me,” the dark-haired man shouted and tried to get out of each other’s grip. In vain. Hoseok also stepped forward and together they managed to pull Jungkook back a few steps so that he could calm down. 

“I don’t want to prolong this unnecessarily. You know what I want and I know what Y/N wants. So let’s get this over with,” David said almost bored and his smile disappeared.

“You won’t take her with you, David,” Taehyung said, but you didn’t listen. Your eyes were only on Alison, who had started crying silently again. Her lower lip trembled and you saw a fine red line of blood make its way from her neck down over her collarbone and then disappear under her shirt. You held her gaze, nodded once and gave her a short smile. 

It’s going to be okay. 

The men next to you had started a heated discussion with David, but you had faded everything out when you took a step forward. 

And then one more and another.

Before one of the men behind you realized what you were planning, you stood a few meters away from them. David seemed a moment ahead of the others and again everything happened so quickly that one moment you were still standing on your own feet and the next moment you were hurled through the air.

When you opened your eyes again, which you had pressed tightly together out of fear, the whole situation had once turned by 180 degrees. You looked into seven pairs of eyes who stared at you anxiously and apparently made an attempt to be faster than David, considering that some of them seemed to be a few feet forward. 

You immediately searched your surroundings and could breathe a sigh of relief when you saw Alison in Jin’s arms. She seemed so far unharmed and he had a protective arm wrapped around her shoulders, but his gaze was on you. 

You didn’t dare look at Taehyung. That’s probably not what he meant by not putting you in danger. Handing yourself over to a psychopath was probably the exact definition of ‘putting yourself in danger’. 

David no longer had the knife in his hands, but he didn’t need it. The most important thing to you was that Alison was safe, and he knew it. It was now enough to fix you in place directly in front of him with one hand around your throat. His other arm was wrapped around the middle of your body so you were deprived of any freedom of movement. 

“That was easier than I thought,” David admitted and you felt his deep voice vibrating on your back. You had your eyes on the ground in front of you and you didn’t dare to look up. 

“David, let her go. She has nothing to do with any of this,” you heard Namjoon say, and the man behind you just laughed.

“She’s the key to everything, Joonie, and you know it.”

“Don’t call me Joonie, we’re not friends,” Namjoon replied.

David took a step forward and pushed you with him. “But we used to be, a long, long time ago.”

“There’s a reason why we went our separate ways,” interfered one of the two men whose name you didn’t yet know. He had blond hair and was relatively small unlike the others, but not quite the smallest. He was the one who helped you unlock the doors. 

“You got that right, Yoongi. So it’s all the nicer that we meet again after all these years,” David replied and took another step forward. You had no choice but to do the same. 

“And it’s even harder for me that Y/N and I have to say goodbye to you now,” he continued, but his voice sounded ironic and not as if he really regretted the brevity of the encounter. 

However, David suddenly made no more indications to go further towards the door. It was almost as if something had just come to his mind while you were standing in the middle of the room. You felt him slowly leaning down to you and bringing his face close to yours. You also felt his hot breath tickle your ear when he said, “Shall we give your friends one last little show before we leave?”

You wondered what exactly he meant by a show, but when the arm that was wrapped around the middle of your body slowly loosened and his hand moved downhill, it was all too clear to you what he had in mind.

That had to be obvious to the seven men as well, because Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin, as you suspected, made preparations to intervene. But before they even took a step forward, David pulled you back with his hand tightening on your throat. 

You were strangulated for a brief moment and you were dragging in the air or attempting to, but there was no air entering your lungs. You were relieved when the pressure came off a little, but just enough to breathe freely.

“Uh-huh, no hurry. The show just started,” David rebuked the others and you didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling.

His left hand began to move further down and had now reached the lower end of your hoodie. It slipped under the soft material of the top and made its way back up underneath it. When you felt his hand on your stomach, you squinted your eyes shut and tried to turn your head to the side. Everything, just so you didn’t have to look at the boys’ faces. But David gave you a strong pressure on your neck to make you understand that he did not agree with that idea.

“I want you to look at them, Y/N,” he whispered back into your ear and his hand almost gently stroked your skin. You clenched your teeth and finally dared to say something.

“You’re insane, David.” 

But he just laughed. “Really, am I? Then look at your so called friends. And I mean, precisely. What do you see?”

You obeyed his command and studied the faces of the seven men before you. You had to swallow once before you could answer. “They’re worried and angry,” you began.

“That’s the obvious thing, but isn’t there something else?” 

David almost sounded like one of your teachers from school who was determined that you should find the right answer to a school assignment on your own. But this wasn’t a school where you could make mistakes and it had little consequence. Except maybe a bad grade in a test. God, it seemed like the world was coming to an end then. If you had known what situation you would find yourself in a few years later…

“I, I don’t know,” you admitted, you could barely concentrate. The room had started spinning and you felt panic rising inside of you. The adrenaline from before seemed to fade away and you were suddenly just tired and wanted to lie down in the next bed and sleep.

“Every one of these seven men,” David began to explain. “Would love to be in my place now.”

You frowned in confusion and wanted to ask what he meant, but he answered your unspoken question.

“All of them would like to feel your skin under their hands, even though you only met them a few minutes ago. Now ask yourself, which one of us is really the psychopath?”

And with David’s words, you could see for yourself. Behind the anger, concern and hatred for David there was something else. You could see their eyes sparkle and even from a distance you could see their chests rising and falling faster than usual. 

“We would never do anything you wouldn’t want, Y/N,” Taehyung assured you, and you could see from his look how serious he was. But that wasn’t necessary, you just knew those seven men would never hurt you. 

“I know, Taehyung,” you replied and gave him a smile, which hopefully assured him that you believed him.

“How sweet,” David mixed in and his voice dripped with irony. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

With this sentence, his left hand slid out from under your top and took the same position as before, before he pushed you further towards the door again. You knew you’d be out of the room in seconds and probably never see the boys and Alison again. 

You had to act. Like right now. 

For once in your life you would be brave and stand up and fight for yourself. What did you have to lose? The worst option was to go with David and that was exactly what you were doing now.

Before you could think through the consequences, you fixed your right leg firmly on the floor with the next step, before you brought your left leg up and kicked back. You hit something you hoped was his knee. At the same time your hands pulled on his left arm and it must have been the surprise effect, because it released you without much resistance. That or you really hit a part of his leg that had been particularly painful.

Next thing you knew, David’s hand was off your throat. You were just about to turn back when you got pulled forward. Two strong arms wrapped around you and Yoongi whispered: “Don’t turn around, you don’t have to watch this.”

But that just made you more curious and you tried to turn your head. Yoongi’s hand leaped up and pressed your head further against his chest.

Behind you, you heard the clinking of glass and a loud cursing before it suddenly became very quiet. Yoongi stroked your hair one more time before he let you go. 

Immediately you turned around, but David seemed to have disappeared. The broken window indicated that he had fallen out the window.

“Is he…?” you asked and didn’t dare finish the question.

Namjoon shook his head. “No, he jumped and escaped.”

“Jumped?” you asked in disbelief. “This is the third floor.”

But no one answered your doubts, but a choir followed questions as to whether you were all right. You just nodded and your eyes wandered to the narrow figure that had dropped onto the sofa. You passed between Jin and Jimin to get down on your knees in front of Alison.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you towards her. No longer could she hold back her sobs and her tears soaked your hoodie, but you couldn’t care less than at that moment.

“It’s okay, Ali. It will be all right,” you promised her as you gently stroked her back. “Did he hurt you in any way?” You could feel her shaking her head on your shoulder. 

“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded thin and rough from crying.

“I should still check the injury on your neck, Alison,” Jin said, who was standing next to you. Alison nodded and detached herself from you. You left Jin alone to treat the wound and joined Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin. Meanwhile, Jungkook, Hoseok and Taehyung were busy removing the broken glass and restoring the rest of the living room to some extent. 

Immediately three pairs of eyes laid on you and you knew what they wanted to ask you. You just sighed, “I’m fine. Thanks for helping Alison and me. I don’t know what would have happened without you,” you confessed and glanced down. Jimin put one hand on your shoulder, which made you lift your head.

“We’re here to protect you, Y/N,” he assured you with a smile that formed his eyes into two cute crescents. You couldn’t help but smile back. 

“There’s something else you should know,” said Namjoon and you turned your gaze to him. “It’s about Alison,” he added, and you frowned.

“What about her?” You didn’t like how serious Namjoon looked and he seemed to avoid your gaze.

“The less people know about all this, the better,” Yoongi joined in and you figured where this was headed.

“Are you going to kill her?” you asked, bewildered, and felt tears jump in your eyes. You couldn’t believe you went through all this to save Alison just to lose her again so soon after.

“God, no. No,” Namjoon assured you quickly and you breathed a sigh of relief. “We have the possibility that she won’t remember today’s events.”

“How will you do that?” you asked suspiciously.

“That’s not so important right now. It’s your decision, though, if you want to.”

You turned your gaze back to Alison, who sat on the couch sunk together and underwent Jin’s treatment. She had nothing more of the joy of life you’ve seen all these years. You knew at that moment that she wasn’t just sad and scared, but broken. And you didn’t know if it was something that could ever be repaired.

“Will she be in pain?” you asked, still looking at your best friend.

“No, it’ll be like she has a massive hangover when she wakes up. But apart from that, she will be fine and this state will only last for a few hours,” Namjoon told you and you nodded slowly to show your understanding.

“Okay,” you said quietly, but they seemed to have heard you since Yoongi nodded a quick farewell and headed for Jin and Alison. 

“It’s the right decision,” came a deep voice behind you before Taehyung carefully put an arm around your shoulders.

“It doesn’t feel right,” you complained and you were embarrassed to hear how whiny your voice sounded. “How can I make a decision for someone, and such an important one at that?”

Taehyung slowly led you into the hall to talk to you in peace.

“You’re her best friend and who if not you know what’s best for her?” His blond hair fell into his eyes and with a practiced movement he stroked it out of his face. 

“What do we do now?” you diverted the subject.

His eyes lit up a little on your question. “If you want, you can come with us. You’re safe with us, I promise you. Only if you want to,” he reaffirmed.

“Tae, I know you would never hurt me,” you reassured him and walked towards him, standing just a few inches apart. “I don’t know why I trust you so blindly and I guess I’m just naive or blinded by the fact that you’re all so damn attractive. But there’s something and I don’t know exactly how to describe it. All I know is that I feel comfortable around you and feel like I’ve known you forever,” you ended your monologue breathlessly.

A smile had spread to Taehyung’s face and you felt the heat rising into your cheeks. 

“So you think we’re attractive?” he asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows. 

You just laughed and gave him a little slap on his upper arm. “Is that really the only thing you have to say?” you asked, acting offended.

Taehyung shook his head with a smile. “No. I think I speak for all of us when I say we feel exactly the same way about you, Jagi.”

You just smiled back at him and didn’t even object to the nickname he gave you. And at that moment, you wished it would last forever. But you also made a promise yesterday that you would never be so naive again. So you had no choice but to enjoy the moment of peace and warmth while you and Taehyung stood in the hallway just looking at each other.

Written 2019-2021. Do not copy, translate or repost without permission.

[psychosistr]

FOWL Facets- Chapter 9

Summary: Domino deals with the aftermath of his actions. Fate really can make fools of us all, huh?

Notes: Here I go again, putting poor Domino through more emotional hell. I feel bad that both stories I’ve written for him so far have involved triggering his past trauma with Checkers by reliving it via Steelbeak >~<” I swear, I’ll write something happier with him soon to make up for it!

-First Chapter-

Domino’s gun falls to the ground, landing at his feet and sitting there a moment before vanishing. The recording that Gandra showed him replays over and over again in his mind. He knew what was going to happen if Steelbeak approached him, knew how it was going to end, but he’d still reacted exactly as she’d predicted. Stars, it’s just like Checkers, only this time it really IS his fault!

He’s unable to speak for several minutes, frozen in place with the horrified realization that he’d-

“Dom..”

A reassuring voice calls out to him, trying to bring him back to reality.

“C’mon, snowflake, it’s okay- I’M okay.”

It’s Steelbeak’s voice, he knows it is, but he still can’t believe-

“Dominic, look at me.”

His voice is firm, leaving no room for disagreement.

Hesitantly, Domino slowly lifts his head back up and looks in front of him. He doubts his own vision at the moment, seeing his partner now standing in front of him rather than sitting as he had been before. The rooster’s face is firmly set in a stern expression- one he’d often use when giving orders to his eggmen- but his eyes look at Domino with nothing but concern and understanding.

Once he knows he has the loon’s attention, Steelbeak brings a hand up to his own chest, tapping his fingers next to his gemstone. “See, Deedee? I’m still in one piece. I’m still with ya. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Rather than lower his hand, he lays it flat against his chest and begins breathing in a slow, even pattern.

Domino recognizes the unspoken suggestion and begins to synchronize his breathing with the other gem’s.

Deep breath in.

Slow breath out.

Repeat.

Gems have no real need for oxygen, seeing as their bodies are merely light-based constructs, so breathing isn’t really necessary. Similarly to resting, though, some gems have found that the action can have positive psychological benefits. This particular breathing exercise is one that Domino learned years ago. He found it to be a good solution during his more stressful “episodes”.

While he’s never had an actual conversation with Steelbeak about it, the melanite is pretty clever and took notice of the unnecessary breaths he would take when something made him particularly angry and he was trying to hold back, or when he was recovering after blowing up at someone for touching him, or when something would remind him of what happened before the two of them met, or even when he was forced to hold his tongue in the presence of those irritatingly elitist gems that would make snide comments about him and he was on orders not to blow his cover by attacking them (the pair would always track them down later, though- Steelbeak’s status allowed him the right to know where most elites lived or were stationed and he was always happy to help Domino vent his frustrations with the upper-class). After a while, Steelbeak started to do them as well when he saw Domino getting frustrated. He would put a hand to his chest to get the snowflake obsidian’s attention and start breathing in the rhythm that helped Domino re-center himself, the two of them breathing in sync with each other until the stress had lessened enough that he could think clearly again.

Just like every time before, Steelbeak keeps taking slow, deep breaths in and lets them out until he sees the tremors finally leave Domino’s body and the clarity return to his gaze. “Ya back with me, stripes?”

Domino takes one last breath in and out before nodding. “Yes..”

“Good.” The rooster nods back over to the chairs they’d been seated in before and the two gems move back to their previous positions, Domino sitting properly and facing the table while Steelbeak sits with his back to it and his elbows resting back on the flat surface casually.

The silence between them is tense, nearly suffocating. Seeing the whole situation as his own fault, Domino decides to be the bigger gem and break the ice. “..I’m sorry.”

Steelbeak just shrugs, the two of them not quite ready to look at each other yet. “Not like it’s the first time I’ve seen the barrel of your gun like that. Ya threaten t’ shoot me at least once a century.”

“But it is the first time I could have gone through with it.” Domino looks down at his empty hand on the table, still feeling traces of his weapon’s familiar outline against his fingers.

Steelbeak looks at the loon from the corner of his eye. “Ya REALLY think you woulda shot me?”

“…” Domino’s frown deepens slightly, his hand clenching shut as he remembers his feelings in that moment- both from an emotional and a physical standpoint. “I think I would have done it by accident..and immediately regretted it as one of the biggest mistakes of my life…” He sighs with a slow shake of his head. “You really should have listened to Gandra and stayed away..the chance that you’d survive was practically nonexistent..”

“Ha!” Steelbeak barks out a laugh, throwing his head back in the process before looking over at his partner. “Ya REALLY think I’d believe somethin’ like that? I knew I’d be fine, so why waste time hidin’?”

“You had more faith in me than I did..” The snowflake obsidian still didn’t look up from the table, even though he could feel the other gem’s eyes on him.

“ ‘cause you ain’t never givin’ me a reason t’ bet against ya.” That earns his attention, making Domino glance at Steelbeak as he continues talking. “Stardust’s great at what she does, no denyin’ that, but all she does- all ANY of those fancy future-readin’ sapphires do- is guess what’s gonna happen usin’ what they know.” His smile is nearly infectious as he gazes into the obsidian’s red eyes. “And she don’t know ya that well, snowflake- not like I do.” Steelbeak moves his left hand- the one closest to Domino- so that it’s lying closer to him, palm facing up in a clear invitation. “I know you’re strong enough not t’ let somethin’ as weak as ‘impossible odds’ stop ya…I know you’re clever enough t’ outsmart somethin’ as stupid as ‘fate’…and I know you’re stubborn enough that, if ya wanna make somethin’ happin’, you’re gonna make it happen, even if somethin’ as small as ‘the universe’ is against ya.”

A small smile slowly forms on the loon’s beak the longer he hears the rooster speak. “You’re right, those things are pretty insignificant.” He moves his empty hand over to the one lying on the table and takes the other’s invitation (as he always does), an extremely thin, flexible barrier covering the appendage before he laces his fingers together with the lighter ones beneath.

Domino feels the diluted warmth and pressure of Steelbeak’s hand through his barrier, and it grounds him in the moment, making it all the more real: He hadn’t shot his partner. He hadn’t shattered Steelbeak. He’d recognized what he was about to do and let go of his gun before he’d made the biggest mistake of his life since letting Checkers go off on his own that day. He had beaten the odds and defied fate’s design. They’d both come out of it okay and Steelbeak is still here, still with him.

He feels a light pressure on the back of his hand through his barrier and glances down to see Steelbeak’s thumb idly running light circles across the translucent white surface. After a minute of getting used to the sensation, the shimmering film over the back of his hand recedes until only his palm and fingers remain encased.

Steelbeak’s thumb stops immediately when he notices the lack of space between their feathers and he looks the other man in the eyes with a silent, questioning look on his face, his thumb staying raised just above the other’s hand. “…?”

Domino huffs, a quiet sound barely counting as a laugh, and the small smile on his face grows a little more.

Even after all this time…even after the thousands upon thousands of years they’ve been together…even after Domino himself is the one to initiate and offer it…Steelbeak still waits to make sure he has his partner’s full consent before actually touching him.

“It’s fine.” Domino tells him with a nod before closing his eyes.

The rooster nods back and gently caresses the back of his partner’s hand with his thumb, changing the previous circular motion to a stroking one to avoid ruffling his feathers the wrong way. The feeling is…complicated, to say the least.

Domino has hated the feeling of others touching him for as long as he could remember. Even if his body is just a light-based hologram, it still has simulated muscles and nerve-endings that allow him to feel physical sensations- a design all gems are created with to make sure they can recognize dangers that could destabilize their form or even shatter their gem. To most gems, the feeling of touch is pleasant at best, and just something to live with at worst.

To Domino, however, it brings back memories of his creation. Every touch to his body reminds him of the volcano he climbed out of and the other gems who would grab onto him to save themselves or shove him to make him fall. It makes him think of the agonized screams of the gems that fell into the lava, of how he’d almost fallen in and joined them in their demise multiple times. It forces him to remember how it felt before he was strong enough to properly fight back- and he hates being reminded of that part of his life, often reacting with extreme violence against whomever had the misfortune of coming into contact with him.

With certain people, though, he has found that he can become used to their touch. It takes a lot of trust, as well as a long time for him to form that level of trust, and it can still make him feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t send him into a violent rage like it normally would. In the right doses, it can even be something to find comfort in- provided the contact is on his own terms and he’s prepared for it, of course.

Throughout his life, there have been a handful of gems whom he trusted and cared for enough to enjoy their touch. Checkers was one of them, as he was a very outgoing and physically affectionate person who would (unfortunately) forget about Domino’s “no-touching” rule more often than not, but as the years went by Domino found that he could enjoy the fire opal’s affectionate gestures more and more. Loony is another one and, like Checkers, she occasionally forgets about Domino’s touch aversion and does things like excitedly grab him by the hands or hug him, but she can always tell when he begins to feel uncomfortable and is quick to let go the moment she feels “bad things” from him.

There are a couple other gems in the universe whose touch he can stand, but Steelbeak, surprisingly, is probably the best at remembering his rules (partly due to an incident early on in their partnership where he witnessed Domino tear an organic creature to bits for attempting to grapple and restrain him). The melanite always reaches out, offering his hand in invitation in a way that is not overbearing or demanding, merely leaving it nearby as a silent signal that the contact is there if he desires it. He’s also very careful not to touch the darker bird in any way that could be considered aggressive- he never grabs Domino without permission, even in emergencies or in the heat of battle he finds other ways to reach out like using his platforms to catch the snowflake obsidian or, at the very least, calls the other’s name to make sure he sees his hand and has time to put a barrier-glove around his own hand if he feels it’s necessary. Then, in rare, intimate moments such as these where Domino actually allows the unfiltered physical contact, his partner every time, without fail, waits until he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s okay to proceed.

Domino would be more than content to stay like this for a while longer, clearly in need of something to help ease the stressful rollercoaster of emotions he’s been stuck on all day…sadly, a growing pressure in his other hand reminds him that this day isn’t over just yet.

Red eyes snapping open, Domino looks down to the cluster of shards in his other hand and sees that it’s begun to glow and expand. As it grows, a deafening chorus of screams in a multitude of voices fills the room, with one painfully familiar voice standing out among them to the snowflake obsidian in a way that breaks his heart to hear.

“Dom!” Steelbeak instantly lets go of his hand and grabs the nearby gem destabilizer, passing it off to the loon after turning it on.

Domino uses the tool for its intended purpose and touches it to the shards, sending out a pulse of white electricity that instantly destabilizes the barely-formed body before it can get any bigger. He winces when the amalgamation lets out one final, ear-splitting cry before what little of its body there was dissolves away, leaving the fused cluster still and silent in his palm once more. “…Thanks..” The pain in his voice is clear, mostly because he knows there’s no point in hiding it now.

Steelbeak nods, silently acknowledging the other gem and watching as he grabs the laser cutter to begin sectioning off parts of the mini-cluster without getting too close to the fire opal. “That ain’t gonna bring ‘im back.” There’s no sarcasm or condescension to the melanite’s words like there would be if he were speaking to nearly anyone else.

“…” The snowflake obsidian’s movements pause for a second before he continues his work. “I know..” He trades the laser cutter for the pliers the lighter bird offered him earlier and uses them to begin pulling and wiggling the broken jade fragment to loosen it. “Checkers is gone. I made peace with that fact a long time ago.” The shard comes out much easier this time and he adds it to the pile of gem bits on the table.

“Then why?” Steelbeak knows the answer already. He knew the moment he walked into the room and saw the shorter gem desperately trying to break the mass of shards. He knew before he even entered the room to confirm what his partner was doing.

But he also knows that it still needs to be said.

“……” Domino sets the pliers down, stopping to look down at the cluster of shards in his hand while his thumb gently traces the edges of the fire opal. “We’re gems,” He begins, never taking his eyes off of the fragmented fusion. “We’re a race literally designed for war. We’re parasites that invade, conquer, and destroy planets, just so we can grow more of our own kind and begin the cycle all over again. On top of that, we’re F.O.W.L. agents- we do all of those things AND turn our weapons on our own kind if High Command deems it necessary without question or hesitation. We are NOT good people, in any capacity.” His hand begins to grip the cluster of shards tighter. “But…even so…even..knowing all of that…” His shoulders begin to tremble, his head tilting down so that the brim of his hat hid his eyes from Steelbeak’s view. “He didn’t deserve this!” The loon’s free hand curls into a fist that slams down against the table in frustration. “No matter what he may have done while he was alive, I KNOW that he never did anything to deserve this..this torture!” His grip on the shards becomes almost painful as they dig into his hand, but he doesn’t relent. “He was brash and loud and terrible at thinking things through, but Checkers was still one of the best gems I’ve ever known- dying once should have been punishment enough for anything he did, so why does he have to go through this?!” The pain finally grows to the point of threatening to pierce his hand and, taking a moment to breathe in and out and reign in his anger, Domino releases his grip, just letting the cluster of broken gems rest on his opened palm. His anger diminishes, the tension in his body and voice dropping when all that’s left is the pain. “I just…don’t want him to suffer anymore…he doesn’t deserve it…..”

“No, he doesn’t.” Steelbeak’s voice is steady when his hand comes back into Domino’s line of sight. It lies on the table near Domino’s own like before, only this time it’s offering something different. “Let’s make sure he don’t come back like that again.”

“……” He knows he can trust Steelbeak, he really does- they’ve had each other’s backs in life or death battles more times than he can count and he would trust the other man with his life at the drop of a hat…but Domino still hesitates to hand over the shards. He hesitates because trusting Steelbeak with his life is one thing and trusting him with Checkers’ is something entirely different. He wants to help him, wants to make sure he doesn’t go through anything worse than what he already has, wants-

“Dominic,” Hearing his name once more makes him finally look back up and see his partner’s earnest, understanding gaze. “You don’t gotta do this alone.”

Steelbeak’s right, and Domino knows it. With that in mind, he carefully places the mini-cluster into the lighter hand beside his own. “…Be careful with him..”

“I will.” Steelbeak tells him, his voice calm and reassuring.

The melanite takes a moment to thoroughly examine the cluster of shards, turning it over in his hands several times and even holding it up to the light above so he can get a better idea of where some shards end and others begin. Once he’s satisfied with what he’s found, he adjusts his grip so that his thumb and first two fingers are firmly grasping the fire opal.

And then he BITES it.

Domino’s eyes widen to an almost comical degree and he has to grip the table to fight his body’s natural impulse to snatch the shards back. Steelbeak knows what he’s doing..at least that’s what Domino keeps telling himself in his mind as he watches the other gem turn the mini-cluster on its side and take ANOTHER bite out of it, breaking off more and more bits and shards.

While Steelbeak’s method is efficient (that beak could easily break through anything- Domino’s seen him take bites out of everything from chains to advanced weaponry and even the wing of a ship), there’s something distinctly unsettling about watching him use his namesake to practically cannibalize the remains of his own species. The sickened look on the rooster’s face tells Domino that the whole process is just as unpleasant for him- if not more so.

After a few more gem-cracking bites, Steelbeak finishes breaking off the extra shards and quickly drops the still in-tact piece of the fire opal he’d been carefully holding back into Domino’s hand. Once his own hands are free, Steelbeak cups both of them below his beak and quickly spits out the various cracked and splintered gem bits that had accumulated in his mouth (both of them thankful for the fact that they don’t produce saliva, as that would make the act even more disgusting than it already was).

He looks absolutely disgusted by what he did and, honestly, Domino can’t blame him- he’s not sure if he would have had the (metaphorical) stomach to do what the other bird had just done. To spare the melanite’s nonexistent stomach and save him from dealing with any further unpleasantness spawned from his actions, the snowflake obsidian reaches over and forms a white bubble around the remaining shards in his partner’s hands. “We’ll save these and analyze them later.” He taps the bubble and it vanishes.

“Yeah..” Steelbeak runs a hand over his comb, clearly still trying to settle himself after doing something so grotesque.

While the taller bird takes a minute to recover, Domino looks down at the fire opal fragment in his hand. There are still a few stumps from the gem shards it had been fused with earlier that will likely need to be filed down or carefully trimmed off; for now, though, it’s enough to make sure a body won’t be able to form from the broken pieces. It’s still a decently sized chunk, all things considered, but, he realizes, it would equate to only about a quarter of the previously radiated-round cut gemstone. “This isn’t all of him.”

“Rest is probably out there somewhere.” Having taken the time he needed to recover, Steelbeak looks over at the shard in the loon’s hand. “So…whattaya wanna do, stripes? If drippy’s right, this thing goes pretty deep- all the way up t’ the Diamonds. Could be dangerous…I get it if you’re scared.”

“Scared?” Dark fingers grip the broken opal tightly. “I’m not scared…I’m furious!” Domino glares at the shattered remains of his former partner, at the jagged line from where it was broken off from the rest of its gem and the foreign shards still stuck to it from its forced fusion. “Eighty-six-hundred years…for over eighty-six-hundred years I’ve sent requests, I’ve filled out the proper paperwork, I’ve played by all the rules and tried to find out what happened to the rest of his shards..and do you know what I have to show for it? Nothing! No replies, no news, no answers whatsoever. For the first time since I was transferred, I FINALLY have a solid lead and I plan to follow it through no matter where it ends!” He turns to face his partner, the hardened glare of his red eyes speaking volumes worth of murderous intent that would make lesser creatures cower in fear. “I don’t care who or what’s at the end of that path. I’m going to find anyone who had a hand in this-” He brings his other hand up and clenches it tightly into a fist. “-and see how many pieces I can break them into before they SHATTER.”

To Domino’s surprise, the other bird actually looks pleased by his reaction. He’s looking at Domino with a smug, shit-eating grin spread across his gleaming beak. “Now THERE’S my short-fused snowflake.”

Domino is briefly taken aback by his partner’s response, but the previously deadly glare on his face eases into a smirk. “I should have known..you enjoy seeing me get this fired up, don’t you?”

“Course I do.” Steelbeak’s reply is shamelessly lacking in hesitation as he leans closer to the snowflake obsidian (though not close enough to make him uncomfortable) so he can look him dead in the eyes. “You get that fire goin’ in your gem, and those red eyes ’re hotter than lava.” He completes the statement with a wink.

“Well then,” Always one to appreciate a well-executed flirt, Domino turns the tables on the taller bird by leaning closer as well, the action surprising Steelbeak and causing him to lean back so that he’s forced to look up at the normally shorter bird as he looms over him in a far less threatening way than he had earlier. “I hope you can stand the heat, because things are only going to get hotter from here on.” He gives a wink of his own and taps the tip of the other bird’s metallic beak with a fingertip before standing up straight and giving the now flustered rooster a chance to recover.

Feathers slightly fluffed up from the obsidian’s comeback, Steelbeak quickly shakes his head and fixes his comb in an attempt to regain his usual suave demeanor and secretly hopes the red on his cheeks isn’t too noticeable through his feathers (it is, but it amuses his partner to let him think it doesn’t). “Good t’ see ya back t’ normal, snowflake.” He gets up from his seat as well, heading for the door. “Guess I should go tell the girls I’m still alive an’ kickin’.” When he gets to the door, he pauses with his hand near the panel, glancing back over his shoulder at the other gem. “Hey…we’ll be good without ya for a while.”

Domino can easily read between the lines and understands what he really means, but shakes his head in reply. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Suit yourself.” Steelbeak shrugs and taps the panel by the door to open it. On his way out, he keeps his voice just quiet enough to make sure it’s not heard down the hall. “Make that minute long as ya need it t’ be, Dom.”

Once the melanite is out of his room and the door is closed once again, Domino slowly exhales a breath and looks down at the fire opal in his hand. “……” He walks over to the shelves lined with holo-disks and looks at them- looking at the second shelf, in particular. Domino carefully reaches through the images, being careful not to move the disks themselves, and presses his fingers to the wall behind the shelf. A small embedded panel slides open at his touch, revealing a shallow hole behind the pictures. Inside the hole is a bundle of red fabric neatly folded into a square. “Chuck..” Domino reaches inside and carefully pulls out the fabric. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to find you-” Dextrous hands meticulously unfold the fabric, being careful not to let the middle fall open before he’s done. “-but, I promise-” The long strip of fabric falls open, revealing itself to be an all-too-familiar scarf. “-I won’t let this drag on any longer.” Nestled safely in the unfolded material are a few small, broken black and red shards. Domino sets the chunk of fire opal down in the middle, the stone fragments matching its hue perfectly. “This time,” Dark fingertips tenderly trace the edges of the broken gemstone one last time. “I won’t let you, or anyone else, get hurt. I promise.”

<-Previous Chapter Final Chapter->

End Notes: This chapter definitely got to me on an emotional level. I wanted to show not only how trauma and stress can affect someone, but also ways to deal with it. Breathing exercises have always been something that help me calm down when my anxiety gets the better of me, and I know it can be helpful for many of my friends with a wide array of issues, disorders, traumas and stresses. I thought it would be a good, subtle coping mechanism for someone like Domino who tries to maintain a level-head in front of others.

One thing I really did enjoy about writing this chapter, though, was having Steelbeak get to be a mental/emotional pillar for Domino during his episode. My other story took place more at the beginning of their relationship and showed that trust starting to form, but in this one I had the chance to write them much further along in their relationship after having developed a deep trust and understanding with each other. At this point they’ve got over 8,500 years of working and living together under their belts and they know each other very well. Steelbeak’s been around Domino long enough to see when he’s stressed or having an episode and knows when and how he should help without making things worse, and Domino’s been around Steelbeak long enough to know that he won’t think any less of him for seeing him at his lowest points.

It’s a relationship full of mutual trust and understanding and I loved every part of writing it :)

[laracastrowrites]

What problems did you have with the darklings arc in siege and storm?

Basically LB relying on the cheapest and laziest (and maybe the grossest too) tool in order to make him completely irredeemable, that is, relying on none other than violence against women to show how BadTM he is. Which doesnt put her too far apart from writers that uses female character’s suffering to further a male character’s arc (I’m just not that infuriating cause usually these male writers tend to use women’s suffering to further a redemption for the male counterpart, ignoring the victims, which I consider worse than what we got in here, that is, what I call, a downfall arc in which at least the victims are put in the main perspective, but I still consider she ultimately did the same with all the Genya’s torture case, using her suffering to push the Darkling far from redemption, so… I’m still pissed. And I wont ramble nor rant about Genya’s case yet, cause I’ll get there).

Look, at first, I hadnt seen the pattern and I came to realize that there was one just long after I finished reading all the grishaverse books (i mean, the trilogy and the duology), and sometimes I get angry at myself for not getting it fast enough and sometimes I get angry for finally get it, cause I was way happier (or less pissed, depending on the angle you look at) when I hadnt had this one more thing to be pissed about with this trilogy.

And I think ultimately, I (plus lots of people) haven’t seen any fault (and some still dont) in Genya’s torture at first because of the pattern the book followed for his character, cause once you see him attacking Alina with his nichevoya, threatening to torture her, and seeing that he blinded his own mother, it isnt like you doubt he was capable of torturing Genya like that; but the problem with Genya’s case doesnt rely on his capability of doing such a thing, the holes in that plot point relies on his (lack of) reasons for doing so (which I’ll get there in a minute), so we let it pass because of the shock and the sadness (all of us feeling sad for Genya, and other lot feeling sad for Genya and the Darkling simultaneously, cause that was the moment we knew there was no turning back for him) without realizing how problematic all of that was.

So, analyzing objectively his arc in s&s where his bad deeds are concerned, you will see that it was basically focused on torture; but not torture towards any elements we dont care about, it was torture against female characters we care about. Like I pinpointed in the last paragraph already: the nichevoya attack towards Alina, the threat to torture her in order to press Mal to find the amplifier; blinding his own mother as a punishment for betraying him; and last but not least (and the most problematic one), he disfigured Genya because………… because. Or should I say: because ?????

In Alina and Baghra’s case I can get behind cause the reasons were clear, and if we learned something about the Darkling in s&b is that he doesnt do bad shit because; because he felt like it or whatever; I’m not saying what he does/did is justifiable, I’m just saying that he always has his reasons, he always do bad things to gain something, in order to pursue a goal, to punish someone that wronged him etc., this is one of his established character’s traits; so he’s bad, we all know that, but sadism was never one of his character’s traits, and if what he did to Genya wasnt sadism, what was it then? A coercive tactic to win Alina over? But he had tortured Genya long before he knew he was going to meet her, Genya’s scars were already there for a time, so it doesnt add up, and besides, if it was a tactic to coerce her, wouldnt it be much more efficient if he had waited to meet Alina and threat to torture Genya right in front of her so she would join him, like he did to Alina herself in the boat to coerce Mal? Like, it doesnt make any sense, especially considering that Genya was a grisha, and a grisha loyal to him! He wouldnt simply do such a horrendous thing to a loyal grisha just to try to get Alina, he would know it was kind of sloppy and risky and he had already presented other tactics much more efficient; he would know that the threat to torture Genya or whomever in front of her would’ve been much more practical and efficient, he did that before and got positive results, so ??!?!?!?!? And the reason being just coercion wouldnt really explain him dispatching Genya, either.

So ok, if it wasnt coersion, it was a punishment then, right? A punishment would explain him doing this a while ago, it could explain him dismissing her too, cause whatever she did that “deserved” such a punishment meant that he wouldnt want a grisha like her beside him, correct? Which lead us to the question: a punishment for what? What could she possibly had done to wrong him so bad that made him take such an extreme action? Had he thought Genya had betrayed him? Cause that would explain, he wouldnt want a disloyal grisha beside him and certainly wouldnt let a betrayal pass unpunished, I mean, he didnt forgave even his mother, so… But the thing is: in any moment, the text back this theory up, the only passage we got that tries to explain the cause of such a violent act is Alina’s nonsensical thought that “Genya had dared to be her friend, to show her mercy” like, what does that even mean???? Like, she backtracks to the boat scene to explain, so what she’s saying is that the Darkling would have punished Genya for not shooting Alina or something??? Didnt she know that he needed her ALIVE and the situation in the boat could’ve gone wrong in many ways if Genya’d had try something crazy? And Genya “having mercy” on Alina and being her friend would never be reason enough to create such an outrage feeling in the Darkling so he’d find himself in a situation of having to punish a grisha that is on his side. Actually, I think he probably would’ve found a way to use Genya’s fondness of Alina in a much smarter way. So back to the boat scene, unless he thought Genya letting Alina go had been a betrayal (but like I said, it isnt like she had too many options there, and besides, what exactly the Darkling had seen and heard (IF he’d heard anything in that chaos, which I doubt he had) of that scene that played out between Alina, Genya and Tolya? DID he see something? Cause he had been shot in that moment, so I think even if he had seen something (which probably would’ve been just glimpses of it), he probably would’ve liked to know more about the situation, he probably would’ve liked to sit with Genya and interrogate her or something, he wouldnt have done anything rushed, neither punished a grisha that is on his side without the certainty that they “deserved” it), there’s still no plausible explanation for that torture. 

But even if he’d thought Genya had betrayed him in any shape or form, he would’ve said it! I mean, yeah, he isnt like those that try to justify himself much (which I personally love it lmao), but I think he would’ve said it in that dismissive way of his, cause he makes sure to point out betrayal, like, always! Or if not through his words, at least LB’s text would’ve made sure to make this clear, or at least it SHOULD HAVE made sure to make this clear, but it havent! There is NOTHING that back this theory up, not in that final scene in s&s, not even in r&r (and at the time I started to analyze all of this more deeply, I read the boat scene and the final scene again just to make sure I wasnt missing anything). At first, despite the shock and heartbreaking, I felt that something wasnt adding up, but at the time, I let it pass cause I thought the full explanation would eventually come in r&r, but well, it never did. And the problem of not having a decent explanation for such an atrocious act is that it feels gratuitous, something that was put there just for shock value and to further the Darkling’s downfall, so ultimately, it feels completely unnecessary (and I dont think I need to explain how ProblematicTM it is to portray violence against women as shock value and gratuitous, right?) and on top of it, it plays as an inconsistency for the Darkling’s character so, in conclusion, gross. A Total Mess.

And to further the explanation on why his arc in s&s rotating in victimizing only women is bad, let me add that I know that the Darkling’s motivation in victimizing characters that happens to be women doesnt come from misogyny on his part or anything like that. We know that in that world, women and men fight side by side in wars, that women can make great warriors just like men, that women can have the same or even more power than men in the military and stuff, and in the Darkling’s mind, people are more separated between grishas x otkazatsya, and him victimizing a person that happens to be a woman isnt a gender based motive, but the thing is: art doesnt happen in a vacuum. His cruelty being directed towards female characters might not be a gender problem in that world, but in our world, it is. His arc in s&s is a little ProblematicTM not because of an “in narrative” problem (maybe just in Genya’s case, which I’ve just covered up), but more of an “outside narrative” problem; it’s problematic considering the damage that poor portrayal makes in our world, especially in Genya’s case, where we can consider something even ooc for him to had done, leading to the conclusion that that was completely unnecessary. And I dont blame the character for any of this, I dont think his arc in that book is as problematic as Mal’s, for instance, he was still the villain, so I dont get frustrated and angry with the character himself, exactly because I know all that was the author’s decision, that the responsibility was entirely hers; cause if your villain isnt a misogynistic peace of crap, why pick just female characters to be deeply victimized by him to further his monstrosity in a whole book, then? Was that necessary? Why not pick male characters, then? WHY NOT KILL MAL FFS? Wasnt there any other ways to do that? I say, of course there was, but considering our world morality and ethics standards, make him victimize women was just the easiest way out, and that’s why I say: lazy. Lazy writing at its finest. And I think I dont need to say how disrespectful to the Darkling and, especially, to Genya’s character that was, right? So well, that. All that. I hope I made myself clear, and that I havent forgotten anything.

Anyways, sorry not sorry for the huge text, I hope you read it till the end. Thanks for the ask anon, now bye cause I’ve already spoken too much!               

[lonecypressworkshop-blog]

It never ceases to amaze me how we each color our lives with our own interpretations of those things that happen all around us, every minute of every day. And we all do it. Each and every one of us. All the time. We populate our little universes, our own private realities, with memories of what WE experience. WE interpret what happens, and it really doesn't matter how anyone else sees it, or experiences it, even if vastly different than our own perception. It is so intriguing and so extremely interesting that it verges on the edge of obsession for me. The reasoning is so intricately complex that I am not sure if we even know ourselves how we come to many of our own conclusions, and how and why we determine the way in which we will remember any particular experience, possibly forever. And that is EVEN IF another individual views the same events, and the same circumstances, from a diametrically opposed viewpoint. It is both curious and fascinating. Is there absolutely no objective reality? Are there an infinite number of possibilities for each event in our lives? Are we all insane? Or do we all exist in our own private individual reality, struggling to make sense as to how we can even exist with the diversity of the unique 'other' realities all around us? Mankind is an enigma. Even after thousands of years of what we can call 'evolution', for want of a better word, we have come far indeed and yet have yet to take our first step. We have uncovered a vast amount of questions and have answered so few. We have gazed into the center of the universe and we have opened up the power of a single atom, and have yet to have the courage to look deep within ourselves to determine our true destiny. We are the greatest species to ever walk upon this cosmic marble, and yet we are nothing more than animals in suits. We steal and cheat and hurt and kill. We destroy. We control. And yes, we hate. We have become very adept at hate. We have many that preach LOVE, but few really believe it, and even fewer practice it. And there are those that preach HATE, and they far outnumber the rest, but they refuse to admit it, even to themselves. We have reached for the stars. We have walked upon another planet. We are searching infinity for the answers. We have yet to understand that the answers exist in each of us. We have yet to walk on the surface of our souls. More is the pity. It is a much shorter path. But a much harder one to travel. Mankind is a mass contradiction. We say LOVE but we only HATE. We say equality but we deny others the same freedoms we demand for ourselves. We scream diversity but we discriminate and huddle in our own little enclaves of sameness. We preach tolerance and yet exhibit nothing but violence and hatred. We never stop articulating what we want, but never take the time to listen as others do the same. So we populate our little realities with our memories, real or made up, and we try to get from one day to the next. But it should not be enough. It will never be enough. Is it enough for you? Living in our own little bubbles of reality may make it endurable but is that what we want? Don’t you want more? I do. I truly believe that somewhere deep inside, people want everyone else to be happy and healthy and part of something bigger and better than what we have today. But it is just not going to happen by magic. I actually believe in some magic, but it is something that has to be made. By us for us. And magic is made with the mind. With thought and reason. I will continue to live in my little world of memories, as we all do. The things that make me happy as well as some that make me sad. But they all remind me of things that I do not want to release and fade with time. Things that I wish to remember, and in some cases, I just have to remember, to be able to hold on to my dreams and my reality and the fact that there is so much good to see and experience in life. I will always be looking for more, and will always be hoping to share my reality, for what it is worth, with others. But we cannot hide in our bubbles forever. We can try but we need something more. We need to create a bigger reality where we can all stop hiding and begin a new chapter where man does not need to do so any longer. When I think of these issues I always have a problem with finishing my sentences. My thoughts are confused. There is a tremendous amount of frustration. I see a world with an unlimited amount of potential. There are wonders and miracles that surround us with each moment, each beat of our hearts, and we end up experiencing and enjoying so little of what is available. I see all the strife and conflict and it just doesn’t make much sense at all. It is all such a waste. It is so sad. And it’s so unnecessary. And yet it continues. I just don’t understand. And there is a new breath. A time of renewal. It is a time of optimism. It is the time to take another step on a never-ending path. Everything is gonna be alright. Someday all of our bubbles will burst and we will finally be free. Free to think. Free to experience joy. Free to embrace peace. Free to smile. But for now, I will live with my memories in my little piece of reality, and I will continue to search for answers, and probably only find even more questions. Such is life. Preserve your memories. For now, they’re all that’s left you. I am sitting here and I find I am not yet done. Today did not go as expected. It was supposed to be a bit more uplifting. I wanted you to experience the feeling I got when I initially wrote this post. But I failed miserably. It didn’t happen. If I have a wish it is that you maybe take the time to try and set aside a few minutes and humor me a bit. I realize that most of you will not even have a computer or a tablet but at least try to relax. Find a place of quiet. Try to extricate yourself from the relentless pressures that seem to exist everywhere. Open the article and take your time. Do everything in slow motion. Look. Read. Think. Remember. My words maybe, but your memories. People, places, things. And when you are done reading, relax some more. Continue to listen. Let yourself get lost in all those things that are uniquely yours alone. Embrace your memories. Think of those things that you have neglected with all the demands of daily life. Give yourself a moment to remember. That would be my wish. That is what I envisioned when I attempted to create this little bit of my own reality. And I wished that I could share it with you. I wrote it for me, but I also wrote it for you. And nothing would make me happier than if it brought a smile to your lips.

[lawyerladyakw80]

We Need to Talk About Gun Violence

Let’s have a frank discussion about guns or, more accurately, let’s have a frank discussion about gun violence.  At the outset, I’d like to disclose my biases.  I don’t like guns.  I’m inherently risk-adverse when it comes to personal safety.  I’m a person who goes out of her way to avoid people who act strange, people who are overly emotional, people who believe in conspiracies, people who look for conflict where conflict doesn’t exist, people who refuse to believe in the better parts of humanity, and people who inherently believe that everything in life is somehow about them.  

But I’m also a practicing attorney and, unfortunately, I’m confronted by many of those exact personalities on a daily basis.  I’ve done a lot of reading and a lot of thinking over the past 19 years since Columbine about guns and gun violence.  I saw “Bowling for Columbine” in the theater when I was in college and I shared Michael Moore’s confusion about what makes America so exceptional when it comes to guns and gun violence.  My confusion has only grown as the carnage as increased and mass shootings have become a regular occurrence.

Now, I am also a mother and watching scenes from Newtown and Parkland are terrifying reminders that we can’t control for all risk in our children’s lives. But school shootings and other public mass shootings (like Aurora) make me ask why.  Why do we have this problem in the United States?  A country that prides itself on American Exceptionalism. And they make me ask how.  How do we change it?  How do we reverse course?  How do we come together and affect change?

My readings have informed me of some basic truths about American culture:

1.   The Myth of American Exceptionalism

First, American Exceptionalism seems to extend, primarily, to certain Americans feeling entitled to being exceptional.  With the recent school shooting in Parkland, a spate of articles have been written about toxic masculinity amongst, in particular, white males in America.  An article in Harpers Bazaar points out that the recent shootings in Parkland, Aurora, Charleston, and the Isla Vista killings near UC Santa Barbara were all carried out by young white males who were ostracized by their peers, angry about perceived slights by girls and other students, and were enacting their own sense of “retribution” (the Isla Vista killer even uploaded a YouTube video using the word retribution) for these perceived slights.  However, as the Harpers Bazaar article detailed, these types of killings and shootings are not new.  In the late 80s into the mid-90s, people were being killed, primarily by men, at workplaces because of layoffs and the notion that a disgruntled worker could come and shoot up his workplace became the norm.  So why do some male Americans feel they are entitled to anything, in particular?  I believe this goes back to the myth of American Exceptionalism.  If America is, in fact, exceptional, then it would follow those at the top of that food chain – historically, white males – should be exceptional and live exceptional lives (or so they may believe).  So imagine their disappointment when equal rights for women, equal rights for racial minorities, equal rights for sexual minorities, and globalization and global trade policies force them to compete for the jobs they had previously gotten by being at the top of that food chain.  And then think about how these same men are hard-wired to handle their disappointments – with aggression, anger, and lashing out. It is absolutely their own choices and agency that bring them to this point, but to ignore what society teaches men about the correlation between aggression and success and self-worth is to ignore history.

I’ve heard a lot of gun-rights advocates and politicians, who tend to be from conservative districts, blame the media, and video games, and violent movies for the increase in violence from these men.  This strain of thought goes, “We used to bring our hunting rifles to school back when I was in school and people didn’t shoot each other.  It’s society that has changed, not the guns.”  Let’s presume I accept, whole-cloth the notion that society has changed in significant ways.  Is it really the video games and movies?  Or might it be the equal rights, and anger, that those rights illicit.  The reason that many liberals find Donald Trump’s rhetoric so dangerous is because it feeds into this same anger.  It blames minorities or immigrants for the plight of the white working class man. It blames globalization.  And as that rhetoric blames “the other” for these slights, it also asks for violence.  In a rally during his campaign, Donald Trump specifically urged violence against protestors.  So is it really any wonder that we are here?  To be very clear, I’m absolutely not blaming Donald Trump for the shootings as many happened before him and will likely happen after he is out of office. But his rhetoric is indicative of the overall disease that is American Exceptionalism and, at its base, white male exceptionalism.  His appeal was to working class white voters who felt like “their country was being taken from them.”  

My only advice to anyone struggling with these acts and who may or may not be raising children or helping others raise children:  teach your children they are owed nothing.  Teach your children that hard work does not always compute to success and that setbacks are a natural part of life.  Teach your children that they have value despite their job, despite their romantic prospects, and despite the number of “likes” on their facebook feed.  Value comes from making the world a better place, making the world a happier place, and being kind to others, particularly when those people are struggling.

2.   The More Polarized We Become, the More Likely We Will Have Mass Violence

Dr. Brene Brown, a Christian and a clinical researcher, writes extensively about her research in vulnerability.  She recently spoke/gave the guest sermon at the National Cathedral and I would urge everyone to find the YouTube video of her sermon.  I’m not religious and many in the crowd were not particularly religious, but Dr. Brown spoke about religion as the interconnectedness of people.  She said that she cannot be happy or satisfied if there are people in sub-Saharan Africa suffering.  That to be a godly person or a religious person, she believes our interconnectedness makes it important that we strive to end suffering for all people.  And she discussed politics and the polarization of politics.  

Dr. Brown posits that our political discourse is so polarized that we, essentially, dehumanize the other side of the debate.  She explains that humans are hard-wired to be social animals and that we are genetically hard-wired to care for one another.  So in order to write, think, type or read the kinds of things we often read or write about our political opponents, we have to think of them as less than human.  This dehumanization is so virulent to the fabric of our society and, really, to the fabric of our humanity, that it makes it possible for someone to go into a classroom of kindergartners and open fire on small children and their teacher trying to protect them.  

I’ve made some efforts, in recent weeks, to set standards for my political discourse. For instance, I try not to paint with a broad brush.  I try not to accuse people of biases or –isms simply because I disagree with them politically.  I try to call out when I see other people engaging in non-civil discourse.  To me this, more than anything else, is the way we get out of the mess we are in – both politically and in terms of violence. We have to start treating each other like human beings again.  We have to quit thinking that the other side is “evil.”  As Dr. Brown said, if you didn’t like people saying awful things about the Obama girls, don’t be ok with people calling Ivanka names.  

We need to teach our children to work on their empathy.  We need to teach them to come to us, as adults, when they have frustrations and feel like lashing out.  We need to listen to those frustrations and we need to both empathize with those frustrations and give them a roadmap of how to handle those frustrations in productive ways.  We need not go to combat for our children after any and all perceived slights.  We need not call their school or call other parents because our children have faced disappointments.  They need to face those disappointments and they need to learn how to cope with them without blaming others, without dehumanizing others, and without losing their own humanity.

3.  We Need to Be Willing to Talk About Guns Without Going to Our Bunkers

Again, I’m biased against gun ownership.  I don’t like guns, and I’m pretty vocal about my dislike for them.  I don’t like guns because, during my professional career, I have seen some very angry and irrational people who are daily confronted with painful and frustrating court decisions for which they have very little legal recourse.  I don’t like guns because I know the statistics about the number of Americans who are currently addicted to, or use daily, mind-altering substances that have a propensity to cause violence.  I don’t like guns because when I go to your house with my child and I know you have a gun, I have to have an uncomfortable conversation with you about how you have your gun stored to be sure my child is protected while in your home.  But mostly, I don’t like guns because they pose an unnecessary risk to human life.  I carried scissors, blade down, arm outstretched until I was at least 20 years old, so my risk-aversion runs deep.

But I’m also a lawyer, and a strong proponent of the First Amendment, so I’m interested and capable of engaging in civil discourse over the legality of guns and gun-control legislation from both the perspective of someone who abhors firearms and an adherent to the constitution.  I’m also a follower of politics and culture, and I know the capabilities/difficulties of our legislative bodies on having meaningful discussions about these issues.  

When I hear politicians say, “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” or I hear politicians say, “we don’t have a gun problem, we have a cultural problem,” I guess I don’t disagree.  But my question is: “Ok, so what are you doing about that?”  Clearly, the answer is little to nothing.  When I hear gun-control advocates ask for enhanced background checks or bring up the Obama-era Executive Order that Trump helped to repeal in February 2017, I wonder if those people know what they are fighting about.  What kind of enhanced background check?  What Executive Order?  The first issue has myriad answers because myriad states and counties within states enforce background checks differently.  The Executive Order?  It was a decent idea, but not as a broad-brush prohibition.  The Executive Order people have discussed made it so that people who were assigned a Social Security benefits payee (e.g. people who are both judicially and non-judicially thought to be incompetent to handle their financial matters), were added to the NICS background check database automatically, without due process, but were allowed an appeals process.  Even the ACLU was against this Executive Order because it included people whose mental capabilities in no way would make them more likely to be violent, but deprived them of a cognizable constitutional right.  Personally, I don’t mind the original Executive Order because 1) there was an appeals process to be removed from the database, so there was some due process built in; and 2) I don’t like guns anyway.  But I’m willing to engage in the discussion of whether the Executive Order did, in fact, unnecessarily infringe on a constitutionally protected right.  I’d go as far as saying, the designation of a payee should be included in the background check database, but it cannot be the sole grounds for prohibition.  The licensing or permitting agency must make an extra step to investigate the inclusion on the list.   I’m also willing to concede that I haven’t done much scholarly research on the topic and it probably is something that I should defer to experts at the ACLU and in gun-control advocacy groups to fight it out. Or it should be something that is adjudicated by the court system with evidence and research to support both positions.

Regardless, we should be willing to listen, learn and then decide.  Just because someone posts on their facebook wall that we should have reasonable gun control doesn’t mean that person wants the government to come seize your guns.  If you are a gun-rights advocate or, at least, a gun enthusiast, you can’t bunker down and claim we are coming for your arsenal.  Step up to the plate and have a conversation about what controls you’d feel comfortable with to help the rest of society feel safer about gun safety.  How about mandatory gun safety measures in the home such as a lockbox or a gun safe? How about background checks that MUST use the NICS database?  How about shortening the length of time a purchasing permit is effective so that people have to get rechecked more often than the 5 year limit in states like North Carolina?  How about liability insurance?

And if you want to discuss armed guards and enhanced security in our schools and public spaces, we have to discuss funding those measures.  Our teachers are already responsible for purchasing many of their own supplies and have lost the tax deduction for those purchases in the most recent tax bill.  How will we pay for metal detectors and security personnel at each school entrance? How will we pay to enclose breezeways to limit incoming traffic at schools to one or two entrances?  

The arguments I hear against gun control measures is that anything we do wouldn’t have had an impact on X shooting.  It may have helped in one shooting, but it’s not going to help in another with a different set of facts.  What’s missing in this argument is that any number of lives we can save by doing something is better than saving none by doing nothing.  We have to talk about these issues and we have to be civil about it. I promise not to suggest a repeal of the Second Amendment or a mandatory buy-back program if you promise to tell me which individuals you are ok with not having firearms.  And we both need to be very specific.  

Lawyers like words.  We like to use them against each other, we like to find loopholes and we like to argue that we can’t come to a solution unless we are agreeing upon a set language. Gun control debates always lack specificity.  Polling shows that 90+% of Americans support enhanced background checks, but that’s because 90+% of Americans have never agreed upon what an enhanced background check would entail.  I’d love it if our background check process was similar to the process that parents go through when trying to adopt a child, with home visits and everything, but that’s wildly unrealistic and burdensome on both our government and people’s Second Amendment rights.  So let’s discuss what we can agree upon instead of bunkering down.  

And gun control advocates need to quit having the attention span of gnats.  If you want gun control laws to be passed after a mass shooting, you need to come to the table on that issue in 3-4 months when the law is in the process of being written.  It can’t always be knee-jerk in reaction to a tragedy.  Gun owners are, typically, gun owners 365 days out of the year.  I imagine that it’s pretty annoying that 9 months out of the year, off and on, they can exercise their right to own guns without any debate at all.  And then 3 months out of the year, they are on constant defense because someone has abused the right to own a gun.  If you want something done about gun control, we all have to come to the table with our thoughts 365 days out of the year.  We cannot forget we care about this issue when the news agencies start reporting on Trump’s next Russia tweet.

So in short: teach your kids, directly and by example, about humility, humanity, empathy, listening, learning, and empathizing.  Teach them about resilience and about hanging in there with our fellow Americans even when things get tough.  Do these things and we may actually be able to accomplish something.

[erizee]

Frozen Fire

Happy Halloween to @kvaasiir !! (hey i managed to post today! :D)

I hope it’s okay that I only wrote nygmobblepot and hallucination ed and not one of your other ships/prompts.

@gothambuddyexchange 

ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12577860

(the story is under the cut)

A commotion outside of Oswald's office ruined the more or less peaceful negotiation he'd had. Fortunately they hadn't breached a sensitive topic yet, just some minor details about the licenses, but Oswald was annoyed nonetheless. What good was being the king of Gotham's underworld once again when his security couldn't even handle keeping the unnecessary noise out?? It wasn't like it was always perfectly silent in his office, with it being inside a club and all, but this was just excessive.

Annoyed, Oswald excused himself from the room. As soon as he reached the main room of the Iceberg Lounge, the source of the noise was apparent. There was gas all across the room. A green-ish brown gas that was spreading quickly towards the place Oswald stood.

Panicked, Oswald ran for the exit, but before he could even come close to reaching the door, a hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving any further.

"Oh no, Mister Penguin, you won't leave this easily. I made a special batch just for you." Oswald spun around to see who was talking, but the only thing he could see was the gas that was being sprayed into his face.

Oswald raised his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself, but the gas already clouded his vision and he could smell its sweet odor.

Suddenly everything went quiet. Oswald slowly dropped his arms and looked around, cautiously grabbing the gun hidden in his pocket. The room, that had been filled with screams and panic just seconds ago was quiet, the air deathly still. Instead of a hundred people with varying levels of intoxication dancing or talking, the room was empty. The exit, the entrance to his office and even the bar with his most priced possession was gone. The walls were wooden and encased a much smaller room than they should.

Oswald wasn't at the Iceberg Lounge anymore. But where was he?

Cautious not to make any sound that might aggravate his attacker, Oswald took a few uncertain steps further into the room. A fireplace bathed the walls in soft, warm light. There was an old, but not ancient wooden table full of luxurious food in the middle of the room. Oswald knew where he was. Despite the imminent danger and the fear of being attacked, Oswald couldn't help but feel at home. How could he not, he had lived in the mansion for months after all.

"Hello, Oswald." Oswald spun around, instantly recognising the familiar voice. How could he not remember his one love's and worst enemy's voice? Just as he expected he was met with the familiarly wide smile of Edward Nygma. What had once let his heart flutter pleasantly and what had once been a source of trust and friendship now only let him feel terror and betrayal accompanied by an agonising unease.

Oswald raised his gun and aimed it at his enemy's chest. Ed didn't react. He just kept smiling. The view was disconcerting but at the same time oddly reassuring. Like he could tell this man all his secrets, open his heart to him and not have it ripped apart, but met with the same love and trust he couldn't help but feel. Ed's smile was so warm, so full of kindness. Oswald had almost forgotten what it looked like.

"I cooked dinner for us. I know you don't want me to, but I thought for this special occasion it would be nice." Ed gestured towards the table and pulled one of the two chairs back for Oswald to sit on. Oswald was still wary, but something about Ed's smile, his words, the athmosphere in the room and the orange light from the fireplace loosened the tension in Oswald's body and mind. He let himself be guided to the chair and sat down, one hand still tightly gripping his gun.

Ed sat down across from him. Despite the length of the table, somehow Ed sat close enough to reach out for Oswald's hand, the one that wasn't holding the gun, and gently take it. There was something metallic on Ed's hand but Oswald couldn't look down, or away from Ed's smile. He hadn't looked at him like that since that night at the sirens, when Butch had almost killed him. "Oswald, I know we had our.. differences in the past, but I want you to know that the past two years, especially this last one" -Ed chuckled and Oswald felt his insides burn at the sound- "have been the best of my life. Living with you, spending my life with you.. there's nothing that could ever make me happier."

Oswald's breath hitched and his heart started fluttering violently. Ed couldn't possibly mean- "I love you, Oswald, more than anyone else in my life. When you proposed to me that day, you made me the happiest man in all of Gotham. I'm so glad we managed to settle our senseless fight." Oswald's heart ached with want. What wouldn't he do to have this? Ed's love, having a life with him? He would do anything to be with Ed again, even just as friends. He was ready to give up his empire, his dignity, even his life.

But he couldn't. Ed hated him, had been ever since he had made the mistake of killing someone Ed had deemed worth living. It was no use to want something he could never have.

During the last months, he had successfully suppressed all the guilt and regret he felt and burried it underneath his gloat over his success and his hate for what Ed did. But now, seeing what he could have had if only he hadn't killed that woman, or even if he had attempted in any way to repair what he had broken.. it was a new kind of torture, one that ripped Oswald apart from the inside.

Oswald opened his mouth, to say... what he wanted to say he wasn't sure. I love you, I'm sorry, forgive me, we can't, I hate you for what you did, I love you.

Before Oswald could even finish forming the words, the scene shifted dramatically. The flames in the fireplace flared up, all domestic feeling to them lost to violence and anger. The food on the table was rotting rapidly, a white pelt slowly covering the meat. The hand on Oswald's own became cold, ice cold, too cold to touch, but Oswald couldn't move away. His whole body was frozen in place, albeit in a very different way than Ed was.

Tiny blue spots started appearing on Ed's face and hands. Ice crystals were building on his skin, snowflakes covering his lashes. Tiny tremors moved through his hands, like his body was trying to warm itself up, but he didn't move away.

All Ed did was smile warmly, in stark contrast to the ice slowly engulfing his body. "I love you so much Oswald. I would do anything for you, and I know you would do the same." Oswald wanted to scream, to tell Ed he was wrong, that Oswald had done every possible thing he could wrong, but he couldn't move, not even blink. Even as tiny cracks in the ice of Ed's skin started to appear, he could do nothing but stare in horror. "We could have had everything. We could have been happy. Now all that's left is just the cold." A disembodied voice was taunting Oswald and he couldn't do anything about it. With a start he realised it was his own.

The cracks became bigger. Ed's voice, still repeating his confessions of love and devotion, became hoarse and faded out. After an eternity of slow torture, the last warmth and light in Ed was wiped out. His eyes now glinted like beautiful pieces of painted glass. Beautiful, made to sustain as long as Oswald desired, but without any life or warmth behind them.

Finally the scream that had been building up at the back of Oswald's throat ever since Ed had first started to freeze was set free. A blood curdling scream ripped through the freezing cold air and echoed against the empty walls of the mansion. Panicked, Oswald stood up and tried to run, but Ed's once gentle grip on his arm was now vice-like. Grinding his teeth, Oswald pulled as hard as he could, hoping he could pry the fingers holding him loose. He stumbled backwards and fell with the shock of his success. One look at his arm immediately ruined the tiny shred of satisfaction and relief in him. Ed's hand was still on his arm. The bone and skin was shattered like glass, Ed's veins too frozen to let loose any blood.

Oswald screamed again but it soon turned into an agonised sob. You keep hurting him, no matter what you do. The voice was right. He had snapped at Ed when he had barely known him, he had only brought him pain and danger when Ed had saved him and his "lessons" had only led to his imprisonment at Arkham. He had freed him from that horrible place simply for his own gain and when Ed had finally found happiness he had ripped it from him. And now he didn't even allow him his rightful revenge. What kind of man was he that he even imagined Ed would ever forgive him, not to mention love him?

Tears were falling from Oswald's eyelids. They ruined his carefully applied makeup and turned into ice as soon as they touched his cheek, their ice-cold surface burning through his skin, but Oswald didn't care. He was in the wrong. Not Ed. How had he ever thought his own feelings even mattered? How had he ever thought he himself ever mattered? All he did was cause pain and destruction to those he loved, first his mother, then his father and now even Ed. He didn't deserve all the success the Lounge had brought him. He didn't even deserve his own life. Without his parents, without Ed, he would be long dead. And how had he repaid them?

Violent sobs shook Oswald's body as he cradled the broken and frozen hand to his chest.

He was so invested in his grief and terror, he didn't even notice the scene had shifted again. The screams in the Lounge had died down. Whoever was still in the room now was either dead or unconscious.

The attacker frowned underneath his mask. A curious smile was tugging at his lip. "Interesting... Your biggest fear, Mr. Penguin, isn't losing your success or your empire... I was so sure that would be it." He mumbled to himself. Penguin was too terrified to hear him anyway. "Terrified of their own actions.. you're not the first one I met with that fear, but I never expected it from you of all people. Why are you, a man that has everything, more scared of losing what you already lost than of losing what you have now?"

The Scarecrow walked away, mumbling to himself. He would have to do a little more research before testing his formula again. He smiled underneath his mask as he took in all the unconscious and dead bodies across the room. What a spectacle. No one would ever doubt true fear still existed anymore, now that he had shown so many people what it truly meant to be scared.

For some reason, Penguin's reaction to the gas stayed with him. What would he do now? Would he change his ways? The Scarecrow doubted it, but he was dying to see it.

[snakebitcat]

All Good Things Must Come To An Endgame (Avengers: Endgame)

“A man of vision, you say? Yeah. A hell of a vision.”

-Woodrow Call, Lonesome Dove

Hi there. It’s been awhile.

Firstly, here’s the State of the Manchild: The 2016 election took a lot of wind out of my sails, and then finding out that the guy who encouraged me to start writing reviews was a sexual predator (and the resultant end of the review site I was writing for) didn’t help my morale any, either. Also, I had some personal setbacks that I’d rather not go into that sent me into a long spiral of depression, so that didn’t help either. But I’ve missed this, and I’ve been wanting to come back to it, and when I saw Avengers: Endgame I felt the same inspiration that I felt when I watched Raiders!: The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made, so here we are. Time to kick off Grumpy Old Manchild 2.0, so without further ado, a review:

Avengers: Endgame was amazing, and that makes me fucking furious.

Why, you ask? Let me tell you about my friend John. I met him in 1987, back when I was just a grumpy young manchild. I was in a bookstore at my local mall, reading a sourcebook for the Marvel Super Heroes RPG, and some random stranger came up to me and started talking about the superhero game he was running at his college. We had a great time nerding the hell out over how much we loved superheroes and gaming, and because this was the era before anybody had cell phones and we were oblivious nerd boys, neither one of us thought that exchanging contact information would be a good idea. It was just a nice talk, and I’d figured that would be that.

Then that fall, when I went to go register for classes at the college I was attending at the time, we spotted each other in the halls, and I thought “Hey, it’s that guy; I should go say hi,” and we started hanging out and gaming together, and co-GM’d a superhero RPG from 1989 to 2006. I ran the first session the same night we went to go see the Michael Keaton Batman movie. And n 2008 we went to go see Iron Man together, and both lost our fucking minds when Nick Fury showed up at the end. And then we saw Incredible Hulk together, and when Tony Stark showed up at the end we lost of goddamned minds again.

And then in May of 2009, he died. He only got to see two of the twenty-two MCU movies, and nobody’s ever going to convince me that’s even remotely close to fair. But it seems somehow appropriate that when I’m thinking about him while I’m writing about a movie about superheroes and loss.

But I digress.

How was the movie, you ask? I absolutely loved it. Best installment in the MCU, bar none, because they accomplished something that  no other American movie studio ever has: They perfectly reproduced the experience of being a comic book reader following multiple titles by multiple creative teams working on a single storyline while also moving their individual storylines forward, and they absolutely stuck the landing.

And from here, there be spoilers, so I’ll put the rest under a cut.

OK, then. Other reviewers have already covered the plot, and if you’re still reading then chances are good you’ve already seen it, so rather than hit on that, I’m going to start by discussing how the movie deals with the original six Avengers.

First, we have Hawkeye. Most of the Avengers have fit the standard superhero mold of unmarried people with no kids, but Clint Barton is a husband and father, and his commitment to that kept him out of Infinity War. So because we didn’t get to see him in that (and because, unlike Scott Lang, he didn’t get a solo movie), the Russo’s decision to start with a scene of him with his family was a good one. It sparks Clint’s descent into darkness as Ronin, and it really drives home what it would be like to be there during the Snap.

Bruce Banner finally reconciles the two warring halves of his personality, and we get the Smart Hulk that I never expected to see in the movies, but was delighted to. How many PhDs does Hulk have? Same as you now, buddy.

When the Avengers finally locate Thanos, Thor goes for the head (as Thanos told him he should have done) only to discover that the vengeance he was desperate to take upon the Mad Titan means nothing. While the fat jokes at his expense were unnecessary, even disappointing, it makes sense that he would sink into the depressed haze of alcohol, food, and resignation we find him stewing in five years later.

Captain America has taken over Sam’s job, and is helping the Snap survivors learn to live with their tragedy, because he’s still trying to figure out how to live with his own. He hasn’t quite managed to move on, but then again that’s been his defining trait ever since he woke up in the modern world at the end of his first movie.

Iron Man has become the sort of dad he always wished his own father had been. It was great to see how he has, over the eleven years and 22 movies that the MCU has given us, gone from being someone who put himself and his own desires above everything and everyone else to someone whose first priority is the well-being of his friends and family.

And then we have Black Widow. Survivor’s guilt has been her defining trait ever since we got her hints about “red in her ledger” in Avengers, and it’s become the entirety of her being when we see what she’s up to after the jump forward in time. She’s so dedicated to coordinating the missions the surviving Avengers and Guardians are carrying out to the exclusion of letting herself have a life that her friends and colleagues are starting to worry about her.

So we have two Avengers who have collapsed in on themselves (Clint and Thor), two who are, while functional, too consumed by their pasts to move forward (Steve and Natasha), and two who are living the sort of post-heroic lives that their pre-Snap selves could only dream of (Bruce and Tony). Thus their situations are perfectly balanced, as all things should be.

As good as the movie is, it’s not entirely without its weak points. When Tony and Steve first meet each other, Tony lashes out at Steve for not being there when Thanos attacked. But because the reason Steve wasn’t there was because Tony never managed to swallow his pride enough to call Steve, that’s all on you, Stank. There are two others, both of them dialogue choices. The first is them not having Steve say “I can do this all day” when he gets up after Thanos has broken his shield and beaten him down, because that would have taken us full circle to when Steve was fighting the bully in Captain America: the First Avenger. And speaking of taking things full circle, when Tony says “I am Iron Man” just before he Snaps, he should have said “I am Tony Stark.” It wasn’t Iron Man, Avenger who stops Thanos and saves the universe, but rather Tony Stark, friend and father who will do whatever it takes to ensure that his little girl and the other people he loves will be safe from Thanos’ evil.

And now for some of the highlights from the plot – the things that pleasantly surprised me, or just made me grin. We finally got to hear Steve say “Avengers assemble!” I was hoping for that in Avengers, and then in Age of Ultron they blueballed us by cutting away before he could finish saying it, and there was never a point in Infinity War when it would have been appropriate. So finally, after almost a full decade of waiting, having it at long last be paid off felt especially sweet. Tony and Steve finally putting their bad blood aside and becoming friends again was exactly the sort of sweet moment we needed. The scene with Bruce and the Ancient One was an absolute delight, because he was one of the only members of the team who could talk multiversal theory and timeline integrity with her at her level. Tony meeting his father helped him realize that for all of Howard’s many faults, his father did the best he was capable of, in a heartfelt callback to Star-Lord having the same realization about Yondu in Guardians of the Galaxy 2. The moment when all of the Avengers and Guardians whom Thanos had Snapped portaled in along with all of the sorcerers, Ravagers, and all of Wakanda’s warriors was an absolutely beautiful “Fuck yeah” moment. Star-Lord got to see Gamora again, but when he tried to resume where they had left off their relationship, he got a knee to the pills for his trouble because this was the Gamora that hadn’t met him yet, rather than the one who had gotten the chance to see the real him yet. And Steve finally proved that we he worthy to wield Mjolnir, and Thor was even happier about it than anyone in the audience!

And with that I’ll move on to how each of the original team’s individual stories ended up.

Clint got to be back with the family that he had lost all hope of seeing again.

Bruce got to leave the violence and anger that had defined his life for years behind him, and retire with the recognition as a hero and a genius that he deserved.

Thor has left the weight of all the expectations – both his own, and of all the other Asgardians and Avengers – behind him, and can start to discover what sort of person he is and what sort he wants to be.

Steve has finally moved on, by moving back. He returns to the past, and becomes the husband that Peggy had mentioned in past movies but whom we never saw. As a fan of the character and someone who is hopelessly sentimental, seeing him finally get that dance she promised him had me weeping with joy.

Tony’s story started the MCU, and he has, appropriately enough, grown the most of any of the characters in it. He proved that he was capable of self-sacrifice in Avengers, and in Endgame he knows what he’s sacrificing himself for, and that it’s worth the cost he pays.

And Natasha … it hurt so much to see her sacrifice herself. But it also made perfect sense. Clint was too blinded by the loss of his family to realize that if they won, his family would be back. But Natasha knew that, and she wanted Clint to have the chance at a life with his wife and children that Thanos had taken away from him. And with that act of supreme love for her best and truest friend, the last of the red was finally gone from her ledger.

Their situations are no longer perfectly balanced, but obsession with balance was what drove Thanos to attempt to commit omnicide. We don’t need for all of the Avengers to be equally well off, as long as their storylines have reached their logical conclusions, and for good or ill, whether in joy or in mourning, they all have.

We will miss the ones we lost in Endgame, as I miss John. But we will continue on, and although I’m sure they would have preferred to have gotten to continue along with us, we can keep living our lives and do our best to make things a little better, a little kinder, and a little more just for those who will continue along after we are gone.

Speaking of which, please join me next Wednesday, when I’ll be reviewing a movie whose title was too weird for me to ignore: The Man Who Killed Hitler and then the Bigfoot.

[spectrumscribe]

Alright, aus upon aus, and i want more. Give us your thoughts on their classpects.

Hello friend who is enabling my age old Homestuck obsession,sorry it so long to get back to you. Trust me, I have been thinking about thisask near constantly since I got it. Ijust took my time figuring it out, bc I really wanted to get it right. (For those without HS knowledge, a Classpect is the Class and Aspect of each game player, their Class being their game role, and Aspect being their powers.)

This is a shit tonof character analysis, and by god, I enjoyed every second I put into it. I gotto break down each of their characters, character flaws, and their truestpotentials. I should do this more often. It’s a lot of fun.

I made a bit of an essay out of this ask. I’m sorry. I rambleda shit ton. Buckle down if you chose to read this, it’s a long one.

So without further due, my headcanons for the 2012 six main kids(plus Karai) and their Classpects:

Leonardo I wouldplace as a Mage of Void. Mages will uniquely experience their Aspect, bothgood and bad. As a result, they gain a unique understanding of what theirAspect is or does. Their challenge is to become open to new insight ordifferent perspectives than their own.

A Mage of Void would seemingly be suffering from ‘Nothing’,(Void pun lmao), and thus no one would suspect something would be botheringLeo. But, and this is my own personal headcanon territory, I’d say Leo has beenrepressing and avoiding hisexperiences with the Shredder for the last three seasons, ever since he endedup in that coma of his. Something that traumatic drastically changed his characterfrom someone who might’ve been a bit controlling and overbearing at times, intosomeone who needs to be in charge of nearly everything and pushes his teammatesto lengths they don’t want to be. (And Splinter passing on the mantle of leaderand sensei to Leo has not helped that complex in the least.)

To avoid feeling useless, or unneeded, or like he’s failingexpectations, Leo overcompensates and does his best to make his own personaldoubts disappear (into the void). Underneath that though, I believe hestruggles, even without realizing it, with being unnecessary or ignored. (whilehe’s made firm effort to be heard and listened to by his siblings, it hasn’tbeen a healthy coping mechanism for anyone since Leo is still just avoiding hisrepressed issues, and making life a lot harder for everyone around him. see myfiction These Days for more about this, when I get around to publishing the Leochapter.)

As a Mage, Leo would probably be able to let go of all thesenegativities if he’d just open himself up to other options, other views andideas. He needs a stern talking to about how a leader is actually meant to act,(Leading, not ordering around. Keydifference here.), and a good long self-reflection period. If he faced histrauma, and his repressed issues, he’d be able to truly lead the team as heoriginally wanted to, and just be a much happier individual all around.

Donatello I wouldput down as a Knight of Blood. Knights hide a fear of a perceived fundamentalfailure with their Aspect behind a shield of confidence and obsessive effort.Their challenge is to learn to take it down a notch and to understand that theyare skilled enough.

Blood can mean a lot of things; blood bonds, blood brothers,blood relations. Donnie’s whole role in the family is centered around hisability to provide support and stability to his brothers, through hiscontinuous and never ending work to protect and build for them all. His empathyis the strongest out of all of them, reaching out to people easily andsympathizing with their struggles. Of course, this doubles back as a negativeon occasion, since Donnie is attempting to give more than he should, and thusexhausting himself as he fights against his imagined failings.

Knights of Blood tend to feel deeply insecure or inadequaterelating to something Flesh or Blood about them. In this case, that would beDonnie’s mutantness compared to the rest of the world, and his struggles inninjutsu. While his brothers take to martial arts with vigor and enthusiasm,Donnie prefers to spend time in his head or lab, and while he is skilled asthey are, he would likely still see himself as a lesser member of his family.He’s the odd man out, both in family, and to the rest of the world. The reasonsthat set him apart are never going to change, and those are heavy things toweigh on a kid, especially one as socially isolated as Donnie.

Of course, if Donnie was given mutual effort and supportfrom his family, he’d be able to become as stable as the work he does for themall. Reassuring a Knight that they’re good enough, that their skill and workand Aspect are things that they’re able to excel at, that you do in fact lovethem for who they are, would probably be all Donnie needs. To move past theperceived failings he has (of not being enough, or not being accepted for whohe is) he needs some good old TLC and genuine appreciation from his brothersand friends. (And his dad, who never once praised him for being himself through the whole series.)

Honestly, just give the genius the credit and attention andcare he deserves, and his emotional/mental state would improve 300%. Seriously.It’s that simple.

Michelangelo I’dplace as an Heir of Breath. Heirs naturally gravitate towards their Aspector unconsciously seek it out. All Heirs so far have huge amounts of Aspectrelated strength. Their challenge is to not get stuck on one thing and to knowwhen to move on and adapt.

Mikey is air and wind and other related words in a lot ofsenses. He’s finicky and whimsical, and tends to just do whatever the hell hefeels like. When he does listen toyou, it’s because he feels like it,not because someone else wants him to. This has caused a lot of trouble incanon, Mikey going off on an adventure of his own making because he caughtsomething interesting and won’t let it go until he feels like it. His charactersums up to be either hyper focused on oneparticular thing, or be completely distracted by ten plus ideas or eventswithout really getting involved with any of them.

He coasts through happenings and fights without ever reallyletting them touch him; off in his own world rather than deal with theharshness of reality. Heirs of Breath are notorious for seeming indifferent oruncaring because of this tendency. Mikey’s go to reaction to lighten asituation, or full stop ignore it, is a fine example of how Breath players copewith traumatic events. Didn’t happen if they don’t admit it did!

It makes Mikey out to be this very callous person, since henever gives time or effort to the things other people need him to, and keeps tohis own wants instead. But he is a very caring person, being the mostemotionally open and connected person in his family. He simply never chooses touse that openness in the right situation, or actually come back down to earthto be a stable member of the team. Currently, the best way of getting him tofocus on anything is to just throwhim at the problem and let him take it apart from there. I nearly put him in aDestroyer class because of that trait in Mikey; his ability to enter any sortof situation, and tear it to pieces if he feels like it. But, in the end, histrait to avoid a situation entirely by leaving reality entirely places him better as an Heir.

To overcome this part of himself, the whimsical destructionand deliberate ignorance, Mikey would need to buckle down and actually dealwith his issues, rather than pretend they’re not there for the rest ofeternity. He needs to learn to keep his promises, fulfill his obligations, andbe there emotionally for his family. (He is sometimes, but only when it suitshim.)

Raphael is innearly every canon, a destroyer of sorts; which is why I’ve placed him as a Princeof Doom. Princes ghost theiropposite Aspects as they destroy theirs. They are violently stubbornpessimistic people that stop at nothing to reach their goals. Their challengeis to not destroy themselves along their destructive path.

Princes of Doom are reckless, full of energy, and nearunstoppable when they hit their stride. Raph is a battering ram against thingsthat get in his way, and his temper is no help in curbing his destructivetendencies. His solution to a problem is 9/10 times to just destroy itcompletely. Someone or something gets between him and his family’s goals, he’lltake them out. No ifs ands or buts about it.

This is both a bane and a boon, since destroying barriers orblocks can mean destroying enemies or metaphorical restrictions. Raph is arebel, and a loud one at that, and has never been the type to let rules orthreats stop him from doing something. Sometimes this works in everyone’sfavor, sometimes it causes a painful fallout for everyone except Raph; theresult of Raph charging ahead without hindrance or regard for others aroundhim, or pushing and shoving until he gets his way. His go to reaction is alwaysto force people into his view ofthings, even if it’s through physical violence and someone gets hurt.

Using his destructive impulses correctly, including hisanger issues, would give Raph the strength and momentum to bowl down anythingthat attempted to hurt his family. Princes are horrifically powerful at theirpeaks, and at the top of that peak a Prince of Doom would be able to doomanyone who got in their path.  Raph could be the warrior he’s hinted athaving the potential to be, dependable and fierce and strong as bedrock, and ifhe got his head out of his own emotions he’d be able to realize that potential.

But as it is, Raph still stands a chance of being swallowedby his own Doom, since in canon he has yet to really grab hold of that temperof his (we’ve had what, like five episodes or something of him trying over andover to do that? bs, I tell you) and continues to physically push his siblingsaround whenever he doesn’t like what they’re saying/doing. (Looking at you,elevator scene, all the ones like it.)

April is acharacter that has grown and changed drastically over the season, and to methis screams Page of Hope. Pagesstart with a deficit in their Aspect that they confidently overcome through obviousovercompensation. Their challenge is to keep at it, even if they fail and thejourney is slow, for they become the strongest players

April started out as the team’s weakest link; new toninjutsu, new to espionage, new to everything. And then she hit her stride (andalso got traumatized a bunch of times) and became the most powerful above all. Seriously,she’s got enough power to warp the face of the earth; she was literally designedto be the genocidal weapon that would wipe out the human race. And, her powersdepend pretty much completely on her own emotions, confidence, and mentalwillpower. (Also, she gets glowy and floaty when she uses them, especially ather peak power, which resembles super closely Hope magic.)

In the beginning of the series, April was well-meaning andsomething pretty close to naïve. She depended nearly entirely on the boys fortheir help in things, tended to hang back when things went south. Then, becauseApril O’Neil is no one’s damsel in distress for long, she started to takecontrol of her life best she could and became this furious martial artist thatdidn’t let anyone get in her way. She tended to let people’s views influence herown at first, sometimes even believing boldfaced lies, but now no one can hide shit from her. She’s thehuman lie detector, and her own opinions are the ones she follows.

While the rest of the kids here have a quest or two tocomplete, April has already finished hers. She’s her own person, in control ofher own life and beliefs, and ten times as powerful as her season 1 self. At thispoint, the only things holding her back is her A) restraints on her powers,which could be even stronger if she’d let go of the (already flimsy) morals shehas, and B) her deference to Leo as the leader. (Leo is making one bad callafter another these days; April should really just defect to the Foot clan(read as ‘Karai and Shinigami’s Murder Ladies Only Club’) and embrace the sheerdeadliness of herself.)

Pages go from the weakest player on the team to the mostpowerful, and we heard Kravaxas say it himself. April is far more powerful than her mutant friends at this point, and willonly keep getting more powerful, so long as she works for it and believes inher abilities.

Casey, because he’sa problematic little shit, ended up with the same Class as Mikey, being an Heirof Life. Once again, Heirs naturally gravitate towards their Aspect orunconsciously seek it out, etc etc etc, and their challenge is to not get stuckon one thing and to know when to move on and adapt.

An Heir of Life fits Casey perfectly, much to my annoyance aboutrepeating Classes. They’re completely unrestricted in almost every way, havingno rules, no limits and no boundaries of any kind. They’re openly dominating,reckless, and full of optimism in everything they do. They are also extremelyeffective at what they do and have no problem rejecting anything that theythink isn’t valid or not useful to them. They have no problems sacrificingothers and breaking rules in order to open up more options for themselves andmake themselves even less restricted by everything. Sounds like Casey to a T,right?

Rather than how an Heir of Breath copes with their problems,ignoring them completely, Heirs of Life charge right into things and make their problems go away. Let itnever be said that Casey jones backed down from any sort of fight; he’ll just keep going until he can’t, and thenpush through anyways. Any problem, any obstacle, any sort of block or adversaryCasey has ever faced have all been dealt with the same way: bullheadedenthusiasm and utter confidence in himself to come out the victor.

Of course, this still tends to get him into trouble, and he’syet to learn temperance to his unfaltering attitude. Casey resilience to anysituation he encounters is admirable to say the least, buuuuuut he is alsousually the one to have gotten himself into said situation. He needs to learnto not tunnel focus on an obstacle, and look before he leaps. Only then will hestop getting himself into easily avoidable situations.

(And because I have a rough plot for a fic I want to write inthe future, I’m throwing in Karai’s too.)

Karai I see as a Witchof Time. Witches are enthusiastic, confident and optimistic rebels.They break and change the physical and metaphysical “Rules” of their Aspect.Their challenge is to use their rule breaking powers in a morally consciousway.

Karai is a not so morally conscious individual, and is inmany ways a rebel. She originally followed her (shitty fake adopted) father’sword without questions, and was fiercely loyal, but once she found out thetruth… well, she’s done nothing since then but try to tear the Shredder topieces, and I don’t blame her in the least.

She manipulates and schemes and does so with utterconfidence in herself. She’s put a lot of Time and effort into seeing her falsefather’s downfall, and she did in a clever and brilliant manner. (And I fuckinghate canon for robbing her of her own arc’s conclusion, and instead shunted thewhole thing over to Leo, while Karai was written into being ‘okay’ with notgetting her very well deserved vengeance.Fuck this fucking show, god.)

While Karai’s future position as a criminal empire warlordis one I fully agree with, I do think she needs to learn to mind the fallout ofher actions a bit better. Yes she should continue to forge her path ahead withall the fighting and gore that comes with being a ninja, but she should watchout that she doesn’t hurt people she shouldn’t in the process. (See: the BrokenFoot episode, where she brought Leo on and not the other boys, encouraged thesecrecy of things from the family, and resulted in Donnie being injured badlyenough he needed magical healing.)

Also: Karai  would be fucking terrifying as a Timeplayer. She could do anything she wanted to the fabric of someone’s Time (theirpast, present, future) and no one would be able to stop her once she’d put hermind to it. I would pay good money to see this come to be, because I do love awoman with a goal and not a lot of care how she reaches it.

Aaaaaaaaaand that’s about it! If anyone wants moreClasspects by me, feel free to pop into my inbox and ask for the characterspecifically! If I take a while, its bc this does take some serious thinking, but if the ask really catches myattention rest assured I’ll answer it eventually.

I miss the years when everyone was doing these. I miss beingallowed to turn everything into a Homestuck AU. *le sigh*

[norihisahyuga-archived]

An Arrangement (7/26)

Matsuoka Masahiro/Nagase Tomoya Tokio 2000~ words. Sfw.

Masahiro Matsuoka is an incubus who just wants a casual partner, too tired to hunt down his meals individually and leery of those who form attachments too easily. Tomoya Nagase laughs at the idea of attachment; everyone has always sent him away when they are done with him, so he has no reason to try anymore. Their situations suit each other perfectly. Unfortunately, they also suit each other perfectly, and that was something neither of them expected.

Mabo tries to keep his business out of the house as much as possible, which means leaving Tomo alone during the day while he does what he has to do to keep his steady income flow. Most of what he does would be considered illegal by human standards, and he has more blood on his hands than most would believe, but he doesn’t mind. Humans reap what they sow, and he is more than happy to give them exactly what they deserve when it’s asked of him.

It’s this penchant for violence that keeps him perpetually surprised that he’s close friends with one of the purest beings he has ever met in his entire life. This afternoon, he has free time and though he wants to spend it with Tomo, he wants to see Inocchi, too. They can see each other more often now; Inocchi watches over fewer humans, more intent on spending time with his mate.

“Masahiro.” Inocchi’s smile is warm as Mabo sits across from him at the outdoor cafe table.

When the two of them had first met, Mabo had been starving and handling his own in a circle of several humans who thought they could take advantage of his momentary weakness and end his life. He had been less than amused and when Inocchi had appeared, his teeth and hands were streaked with blood and his eyes were blazing pitch. It would be wrong, really, to call them teeth and hands at that point; they were fangs and claws, his full incubus heritage on display, including the demonic, frightening form he kept to himself and only revealed when he fully needed to. In contrast to Inocchi, all soft glow and white wings, Mabo had probably looked even more horrific.

He had asked if Mabo was okay, then helped him get somewhere where he could take shelter and find enough of a meal to get some of his strength back. And had checked up on him regularly.

Their differences and their contrast in personalities would have meant enemies for anyone else in the world, especially given Mabo’s penchant for killing humans for money. Killing, torturing, hunting them down on behalf of someone else… Against Inocchi’s natural calling to look after them and guard them, it would have caused bad blood for any other pair of people, Mabo is sure. But the two of them have been more than friendly in the long period of time they’ve known one another.

There are very few people Mabo can say he’s killed for before. One of those people is Inocchi, a hunter with a very high-tech gun easily dispatched when Mabo’s claws sunk home into his throat and cut off his oxygen for good. A high price to pay, for sure, but the crime of trying to kill one of his best friends warranted such a crime. He had killed handful of hunters to keep Inocchi’s mate safe, as well. The two of them are precious to him in more ways than one.

“Inohara.” He makes himself comfortable, half-lounging in the chair as they wait for one of the waiters to slip outside and take their orders. The atmosphere is a comfortable one, a familiar one. They’ve been in each other’s presence quite often these last few years. “I spoke to Tomo and he’s interested in accompanying me to the party, so you’ll get to meet him for yourself.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Junichi has made noises about wanting to see who you’re spending your time with, and I promised him we’d find a way to meet your cat before long.” Inocchi’s smile is enigmatic and Mabo resists the urge to sigh at him, already predicting where this is heading. They mean well, but he has no intentions of taking a mate, and he never has.

He leans across the table just a bit, fixing Inocchi with what he hopes is a firm stare; the angel only smiles at him and cocks his head, waiting for Mabo to vocalize what they both know he’s going to say. “I know why you’re looking at me like that,” he says, “and I know why Jun wants to meet Tomo. But it means nothing, it’s something we put together that aids both of us right now. It’s not meant to be permanent in any way. We already both agreed on that part.”

“I don’t know why you would think either of us believe anything about your relationship with this cat other than what you’ve told me and I’ve relayed to Jun. Honestly, Masahiro, you think so little of us.” Inocchi’s small smile makes Mabo narrow his eyes and huff, leaning back in his seat. He has very little regard for people he doesn’t care about, but Inocchi always makes him feel guilty about making assumptions. “You’ve just been carrying yourself differently, is all.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before a waiter appears, flashing a far too friendly smile in Inocchi’s direction. Mabo can smell human on him. “What can I get you two this afternoon?”

“Coffee, black. He likes green tea.” Mabo snaps this, and the human visibly jumps.

“I’ll bring those right away.” The waiter hurries inside, though Mabo catches the glance he throws over his shoulder, clearing wondering just what he did to piss Mabo off.

“You’re always so mean to the mortals, you know. Just let them be, their lives are so short and making them worse is unnecessary.” If Inocchi’s wings were out, his feathers would be rustling with displeasure at Mabo’s actions. “As I was saying, we’re intrigued is all. You’ve only said a little bit about Tomo, he’s still nothing but a vague mystery to us.”

“Shige knows him, I thought he might have said something about him to you.” Mabo notes the flash of surprise in Inocchi’s eyes and can’t help but wonder why the fuck Shige has kept this friendship such a secret that literally no one else knew about it. “I know, I know, I already gave him shit for not telling me about it ahead of time. Speaking of Shige—”

Inocchi cuts him off, already having long gotten used to the rhythm of their conversations. “Masayuki has duties to fulfill and is unavailable at the moment. It’s very difficult to convince him to take even a small break.” Inocchi frowns and shakes his head. “I love him, and I worry for him.”

“Why am I not fucking surprised. You angels, always bound to your duties, always wanting to watch over the humans. I’ll never understand it, but fuck, I really don’t understand why he pushes himself like this,” Mabo mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. The idea of Sakamoto working his ass off for literally no reason is disquieting, and he hates that it bothers him so much.

“We are devoted to our calling. You know that as well as any other at this point, I believe, if not more so.” Inocchi shrugs, folding his hands neatly on the table between them. “He would be a lovely match for Shigeru, I agreed with you about that a long time ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just… Yeah.” Mabo shakes his head, falling abruptly quiet when the waiter returns with their drinks. He gives him an extra firm glare to send him scurrying back away, then returns to the conversation at hand. “In any case, you’ll get to meet Tomo for yourself. He’s… I don’t know, I like spending time with him and he’s a sweet cat. But I’m not interested in tying myself to anyone. The appeal isn’t there for me like it was for you when you met Junichi. Sorry if that kills the fun in it for you but this party is supposed to be about you anyway.”

Inocchi openly pouts at him between sips of tea. “I just want you to find happiness, Masahiro. I ask for so little. And despite what you say, I believe you would be happier with a mate.”

“And despite what you believe, I know who I am. I’m not interested in having a mate, I’m interested in having enough to eat so I can enjoy my life.” Mabo mock toasts him with his coffee, and Inocchi only pouts that much harder at him. “You should like Tomo. He’ll get along well with Junichi, I think. He seemed like he was excited about coming to the party.”

“Jun has been excited about this ever since I agreed to let him throw something lavish. He’s so sweet, I’m still so grateful to this day I was assigned to him.” The soft, warm smile that overtakes Inocchi’s face every time he starts up about his mate is endearing, and even Mabo can appreciate the depth of love the two of them have for each other. “And, of course, I’m grateful to you for the help you gave us. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t agreed to step in.”

Mabo shakes his head. “I owed you. You protected me and helped me get to safety. Protecting you and your mate, in turn, was the least I could do, Yoshi.”

The slip into the nickname, a very private thing that Mabo says in front of no one else, makes the angel across from him smile even more warmly and turn his gaze down to the cup in front of him. Though Mabo doesn’t seek out romantic attachments of any kind, he understands what it means to love people just fine. He knows he loves Inocchi and Junichi and that should anyone try to harm them, his claws would be scooping out the hearts of the perpetrators instantly.

“Just the same.” Inocchi waves a hand at him and Mabo smirks. “But this has been working nicely for the two of you, I take it? You’ve seemed to enjoy each other’s company quite a bit.”

“Tomo and I get along very well, yes. He’s not just there to warm my sheets. It’s… Kind of nice, just having someone to spend time with when I get home.” Mabo realizes his mistake immediately.

Inocchi cocks his head at him, raising an eyebrow as well. “Imagine that, you enjoying having someone to come home to and spend time with. And here I was thinking you’d said—”

“That doesn’t have to mean anything.” Mabo has to cut him off before he can get started. “I do enjoy his company, yes. You’ll see why when you meet him. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“I suppose that is correct. It doesn’t have to mean more than it does on a surface level for the two of you. But let me dream, Masahiro, I’ve been wanting to see you happy with someone for a long time.” The way Inocchi pouts at him is too much, and he has to look away from it.

They spend the rest of the afternoon they have together going over the finer details of a few of Mabo’s jobs, and he feels something nagging him in the back of his head, unable to put a finger on it until he’s prepared to excuse himself and head back home to Tomo. He hesitates, knowing this is a line he shouldn’t cross and crossing it all the same. “One of Tomo’s former masters was a vampire who treated him very badly. How hard would it be for me to find his name?”

Inocchi studies his face for quite a long moment before tenting his fingers, pressing his lips together. “Let me do some prodding around and I’ll let you know if I find any information that is useful to you. I’m sure someone will have a name.”

Mabo nods, pushing himself to his feet, leaving money for the coffee on the table. “Thank you, Yoshi. And please keep this to yourself if you can. Let no one know who’s looking for him.”

“I’ll keep it private, Masahiro.” Inocchi smiles warmly up at him, touching his arm as he walks by him, sending a familiar wave of calm through him. “Take care of yourself.”

Mabo nods back at him in agreement before continuing off toward home.