#she has powers but at cost of having half of her face melted by fire

[cosmichawk]

some harbingers with facial scars

[writing-frenzy]

Misadventures of a Unknowing Tired God, an Unlucky Adventurer Cinnamonroll, and the Feral Good Boi

Summery: (Or, Three different types of Dumbasses against the world, all sharing the braincell at a time.)

So.... I did not expect my story to blow up like it did. I am so glad everyone liked it, so I figured I’d share this one as well. Again, I was inspired by the SAGAU, with the works of @nicebonescomrade and @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry being so awesome. Though this time, I also put in my own headcannons and worldbuilding, so I hope you guys don’t mind! This story is full of some light hearted, funny adventures of our best boys with reader, though there is some angst here and there. All the same, I hope you all enjoy it!

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Weapon Training

“Here we go, one of these should do the trick.” Bennett says, dumping out a whole lot of books and funny orbs. “Though, you’ll probably at least need to read the magic guide first before you actually start with any spells, and maybe give a few of the apprentice notes a look through.” The seasoned adventurer says, before picking a few of said books out and giving them to you to ready.

“Are you sure I can use these?” You can’t help but ask rather dubiously, picking up one of the books, blinking at how warm it feels to the touch. Razor blinks with you, sniffing one of the books he’s holding as well, before sneezing. You can’t help but laugh when you see the disgusted face he holds, dropping the book back onto the pile without a care.

You had asked the boys about you possible learning a weapon a bit ago, though unsure where to start, not really wanting a blade, but feeling no where near confident with a bow. But after hearing about your hesitance, you really weren’t expecting what Bennett suggested.

“Yeah, Catalysts, especially grimoires and tomes, can be used by anyone as they usually pull on the magic in the book itself and the mental energy of the person using it. Vision bearers are just able to cut down even more on cost of power by using the elemental energy as well.... Hmm, like comparing a Treasure Hoarder Potioneer with Klee; both Catalyst users that focus on exlirs and compounds, but Klee will have them beat in power and stamina usually because of how she has Three energies she can use to impower her weapon, compared to the Treasure Hoarder with only two and a body not as enhanced.” Bennett explains, making you blink.

Huh. So, you’ll never be as scary as Lisa or Klee, but you might be able to run away faster if you ever need to. (you’ve already ran from the purple witch, you do not want to have to ever again. you don’t even want to think about the adorable arson child being after you, ever.)

Looking over the books, you read over them, Bennett answering what he can, while Razor some, someway, builds a fort of books all around you guys. (When did you ever have that many books?)  

But as it is, armed with knowledge, you grab an apprentice note, just in case of any mishaps so that you three can take care of, and say your first spell.

“Whoa!”

“Grrrrrrh”

....

Somehow, the book fort is both on fire and freezing over. Every attempt after that....

“Ah! Hot, Hot!”

“Flowers, lots of flowers.”

Welp... apparent earth can melt, and wind can go more green then you expected.

“Ah, pratice makes perfect, right?’ You can’t help but say to Bennet’s and Razor’s exhausted stares.

(Your practice is now every other day, and you have to feed the two a good, meaty meal afterwards, even as the two teens look half-dead from exhaustion from the day.

More then worth it, after you were able learn to shield your friends from some Treasure Hoarder attacks, even able to heal them a little.)

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A bit of a Reach

“I’m telling you, I can reach it!” You can’t help but say, even as you glare at how Razor is facing off with the ameno slime, the two seeming to have a conversion with their eyes.

“Watch. Careful. Make sure they no fall.” the wild child actually cautions the slime, to which the creatures bobs their body to, those wide, orange glowing eyes ever so serious.

“Ahhh, come on! Bennett, you know I can- Don’t you pretend to be asleep on me!” You try to at least try and reason with Benny, who can at least get Razor to do what he wants more easily, only to find the boy cuddled in a slime pile, him and the slimes all pretending to be asleep.

Rather terribly at that, seeing how they open an eye every now and then to check if your were watching.

Sometimes, you regretted sharing the joy that is slime pillows with the boys... (But honestly, scenes like this, where you see them being so cute, is honestly worth it.) 

But you will not let this adorableness get to you today! You can climb up this tree, and you will be able to gather eggs for today’s breakfast! You’ve climbed in worst situations, heck, you’ve had to sleep in a tree before. Sure, you’ve fallen from a cliff, which Razor saved you from by catching you before continuing to climb up... But that is different! The tree is not that high!

(In the end, grumbling, you let the large slime follow you up the tree, having to hid your smile a bit; still, it’s nice to know someone cares so much.)

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Unexpected Hiding Spots.

“This... Will work?” Razor asks question, even as you try and hide your panic.

“We really have no time! The guards will be around here any minute now!” Oh, why did you think it would be such a good idea to wander so close to the city, you know those guys have it out for you since your last ‘visit’. (Not as bad a Liyue at least, but yeah...)

As it is, the best you can do right now is hide in a Barrel and hope for the best.

“Maybe a tree would be better at least maybe? Or we could distract-” Bennet also tries, even as you fit yourself into the barrel as best you can.

“No time! But yes, please distract the best you can!” You can’t help but yelp as you fall in, only to blink as you feel something soft.

Huh?

On Bennet and Razor’s parts, both try and act natural, playing cards on their new ‘table’ as the guards approach.

To the boy’s misfortune, they are apparently suspious, the guards insisting to look in the barrel, while the boys try to do all they can for them not to open it. It unfortunately fails, for the guards to reveal the-

Whooosh!

-Ameno slime stuck in the barrel.

“...Ah, look, I know slimes are cute and all boys, but that doesn’t mean you can keep them as a pet; we’ll look it over this time, but don’t let us catch you trying to barrel another one.” The guard scolds the two dumbfounded boys, who mechincally nod at those words before the patrol leaves.

Just as the slime spits you out.

Windy slime- one interesting texture, that’s for sure. (Though oddly enough, it smells really good.)

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Nightmares

Each of you have your own inner demon to fight; times where you wake up in the night, sobbing as you remember all the hateful eyes that once stared at you,  from Characters you spent so much time and love on. How the nightmares twist it even so, making it seem like even Razor and Bennett leave you as well.

Those days, you tend to cling a little harder, before you fear you’re going to make them hate you for that too. Bennett always has a too understanding look on his face those days, easily holding your hand, never letting go even as you go about your day. Razor merely takes every chance he has to feed you, gently pinching your waist before frowning, muttering too thin and such at times.

One night, after a nightmare of mobs from the three nations seemed to combine together, your voice hoarse from your screams, Bennet heats you a warm water bottle while Razor covers you with blankets, the three of you quiet for a long time.

“Somedays, I wonder if my luck will get so bad... that no will want me around.” is what breaks the silence, making you look over into such hurt, hollow green eyes, you can’t help but gasp. “That I won’t even have a home to call my own.”

“That all of the adventure guild, that the entirety of Mondstadt will throw me out, and tell me to never come back. That they didn’t want something as unlucky as me to stain their home.” Bennett cried, the memory nightmare still haunting him even as he told you about it. You and Razor drag him over, both you and him teary eyed, Benny started to hiccup as he did.

“Lupical... dead.. gone. Human Lupical and Wolf Lupical... Fighting forever.” Razor whispering, no tears in his own eyes, but oh, the pain in them shining like blood in his ruby eyes, the wound seeming to be rubbed with salt.

It is how you three go to sleep that night; tear stained and tangled around each other, feeling let out and heard in the open.

(No way do you feel healed; more like something drained some pus from an infected wound of sorts, some probably still needing to be pushed out... but it is a start.)

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Rain Dancer

You watch, eyes nearly alight as you consider the clouds rolling across the skies, the hum of thunder distant but all the more felt as grey covers once blue skies.

“Ah, looks like your luck couldn’t last forever.” Bennett looks so sheepish, rubbing the back of his head, even as green eyes worry over the sight of the coming storm before them. Razor is merely sniffing the air a bit, before motioning you two over to follow, his nose and memory already probably mapping out all the safe places around.

You have thought it once before many a time, but by Teyvat are you glad these boys are the ones traveling with you. (You don’t deserve it, don’t deserve them, but goddamn does someone need to punch whoever gave Bennett his luck, and it might as well be you and Razor.)

But even as you all go to one of the many caves Razor seems to know about, with a friendly Hilchurl Camp nearby even, (probably by the talent domain for Mondstadt then), you can’t help but look out at the incoming rain.

You have an idea; probably a stupid one... A really stupid one.... but an idea.

“Hey, you okay?” is asked, Benny’s voice breaking you from your thoughts, even as you look over to the teen, looking into those ever so warm green eyes, so welcoming and kind, like the warmth of a home’s hearth. (Eyes that see you and do not judge, do not hate, and have only ever been so generous and kind and understanding to you.

“Somedays, I wonder if my luck will get so bad... that no will want me around. That I won’t even have a home to call my own.” 

“Hey Benny, you ever danced in the rain?” You can’t help but ask, watching as lightning of surprise dances through those eyes, before with a laugh, and the Pyro User’s yelp, you drag the other into the storm, the rain gentle on the skin, with no lightning around besides that caught in the green eyes before you. 

The two of you don’t really dance, more like you’re just twirling around, occasionally slipping every so often before you catch each other. You’re pretty sure you’ve at least seen Razor sigh at you two, even as he goes about setting up the cave’s camp. (there was a reason you could consider him the one who mostly holds the braincell.)

But feeling this moment, the cool refreshing feeling of the rain on your skin, the warm hands holding yours, Bennett’s laughs and whoops of joy as you twirl him before he returns the favor, you can’t help but grin. 

You could feel like you can sing; in fact, you do. You don’t remember all of the song, but... that doesn’t matter here.

“~It’s not always rainbows and butterflies, it’s compromise that moves us alooooong!~” You start, your eyes closed, missing how Bennett’s grown wide, how the entire world around you seems to take a breath, Razor’s own eyes wider at the scene before him.

“Wao...”

“~I told you so many times and darling I want mooooooore! I don’t mind spending everyday, out on the corner in the pouring rain, ohhhh!~” the rain almost seems to mist around you, a little circle that seems so peaceful, crystalflies of all elements coming out, a rainbow of color surround two from all around.

“~Look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay a while. and she wiiiiiiiiill be loved.~” Bennett can even see other beings braving the storm, the Hilchurl Camp at the side watching, their bodies relaxed, no weapons in sight as they do. Slimes of all types and sizes seem to hover as close they can, seeming to try and listen in as closely as possible.

And the one at the center of it all, a beautiful, heartfelt smile on your lips, sing to you soul’s content, regardless of all who are listening, before you sing the final verse of what you know.

“~and she will be loooooved!~”

(Just in time too, for the rain to end, and a beautiful rainbow to appear behind the wave of crystalflies.)

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Bennett and Razor: Both smart people in their own ways, both not at all idiots, even with their luck and feralness.

Also Bennett and Razor: Don’t realize just how strange it is that the world loves reader.

XD but yeah, More of my bias is shown here, as one can see. But I was struck with the thought that honestly, unless these two boys take Reader to Wolf Boss, they probably would never, ever realize that Reader is God of Gods, because how they grew up is completely ridiculous.

For Bennet: Oh, the world seems to hate me, why not have someone it loves?

Razor: God of Gods? Food? Lupical?

And Thanks to them, Reader is now also under the impression that they look really similar to this ultra God or something... (And wondering what their ancestors were up to... hopefully nothing like Zesus)

But yeah, I hope you all enjoy it, thank you all for the kindness with this story.

[hwari-ssi]

Floraison | 4

genre: fantasy/soulmate au

warnings: it kinda gets angsty, smut (in the future)

word count: 3.6k

pairings: ot7 x reader

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

A/N: omg omg aaaaa sorry for taking so long!! honestly, it wasn’t easy writing this one because of my insomnia. i just wrote whatever came to mind, so i hope you’ll understand (you can roast me) D: oh, and there’s a surprise at the end!! lol i hope y’all won’t hate it

Jeongguk really did end up sleeping beside you after all. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone. He held your small frame against his lean body, your quiet breaths subtly tickling his neck like a feather.

He'd been awake for some time now, but didn't want to go outside yet. Not when you were fluffy and warm, all curled up tightly next to him. He glanced at your sleeping face, lips parted slightly and breathing softly.

It made a lot of sense why the three of them already felt so attached to you. How your senses calmed within seconds when Namjoon touched the crown of your head earlier. You were their mate. Once a soul finds their other half, it was impossible not to be away from them.

That's what he felt for the others, and now, you. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the bedroom door creaking slowly, a disheveled Taehyung peering in, still very much half asleep.

"Is our princess here?" The older asked, rubbing at his eyes which were red from fatigue. Jeongguk motioned for him to join in, wanting to stay until they had to leave the room for breakfast. The former ambled over to the bed, not hesitating to reach over and wrap his arms around you. Your scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Celestial and flowery—such a pleasant aroma.

The sudden movements brought you out of sleep, and you opened your eyes to see another stranger. Shaggy brown hair, strong eyebrows, sharp jaw, and what an adorable boxy smile he has.

"Hello, darling." His husky voice made you shiver, and the action wasn't missed by the two. Your cheeks flushed with pink, reddening even more when Taehyung brought his face closer. He held eye contact, but you couldn't do it so you turned to the other side, where Jeongguk happily opened his arms for you, caging you in when you scooted forward.

"Gguk?" His heart does a little flip at the nickname you gave him and smiles at the sight of the blush adorning your cheeks, realizing albeit too late at how you were practically attached to his hip. Had anyone else been that close, you would have felt your space was being invaded, but in this case, the faint smell of his cologne and his close proximity increased your pulse rate. Your arms were still around the boy, clinging to him like a koala, and you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Hey, no fair," Taehyung pressed his face into your hair and smiled when he heard you giggling. The three of you settled into a comfortable silence, Tae's breathing was fanning over neck, while the other's fingers danced on the small of your back, massaging the skin every now and then.

Their actions combined turned you putty in their grasp. You nuzzled your face into Jeongguk's neck, almost purring while you gave him the attention he'd been wanting to get from you all morning.

The men had smiles plastered on their faces as you continued to lavish his neck with affection. You may not know exactly what you were doing, but they did, and it made their hearts soar in happiness. You were claiming them, as your soulmates, and you were unaware of that. The feeling it gave brought you peace. At that moment, you understood each other perfectly. This is what you've always longed for. Tranquility. The stirrings of revolutionary ardour. A sort of freedom, if you will.

A gentle knock from the doorway brought the three of you from your daze."Breakfast is ready," Jin smiles at you lovingly. Taehyung almost wanted to protest, but he wouldn't want to keep you from eating. and so he forced himself up, pulled you with him and laughed at Jeongguk who was trying to fix his unkempt state.

The elder came over and took your hand, leading you out the room and down the stairs, into the dining hall. Everyone was already gathered around the table that was filled with scrumptious-looking food.

That's when the others took notice of your presence. You were indeed beautiful, just like how Jeongguk described you. Your gray eyes were what stood out to them the most. A tell-tale sign that you are one of the stars from above. Deep as the ocean, deep enough to fall in and drown, the windows to your soul were. With a simple glance, she could calm a torrid sea of heart ache. Longingly they looked at her, with the warmth of a hearth during Winter's Eve, deep in the forest wherein lovers would share the fire. Perfectly wonderful and endlessly enticing them, every blink a kiss to their soul. They almost melted at the sight.

"Jimin and Hoseok went a little overboard this time," Jin says with a chuckle. He led you to an empty chair that was next to Yoongi. He sent you a smirk, picking at your messy ponytail. "Fucking cute." You smiled shyly as he laughed softly at your reaction. Jimin took the seat alongside you and started placing food on your plate. You thanked him, and he gave you a pat on the head in response.

"These taste amazing," you said, as you happily munched on your baked cinnamon donuts. The cooking duo didn't know they were holding their breaths until they heard your affirmation.  They tried not to be obvious with their staring, but both of them wanted to see how you would react to their cuisine, making a mental note to make these again for you whenever.

You took a slug of your drink, all the while glancing at the sea of new people. To your right was Yoongi, features akin to origami. Sharp edges and angles. Cute button nose, and lips carved like a doll's. For an adorable face, he has such an intimidating glare. You turned to Jimin next, whose jawline was pronounced, lips full and pillowy, and has straight eyebrows. He regarded you with warmness, like a mother would tend to their child. and Lastly, Hoseok—the boy was sunshine personified. The brightness in his eyes reminded you of home. A heart-shaped mouth with a beauty mark placed just between the cupid's bow and vermillion border. He also has dimples like Namjoon's.

"So, darling, how did you meet the youngest of our bunch?" Taehyung asks, rousing you from your reverie. You were now aware that all of them were staring at you curiously, and it made you want to bury yourself inside a hole. You tried not to let the memories resurface, but his face flashed in your mind, making you drop your utensils. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Thank you for the hospitality, it was well received, but I should go."

"Sweet one—"

"No!" Your sudden outburst surprised them. "I should leave.. I don't want to cause you any trouble.." the stare shared between everyone went unnoticed by you. Jin carefully made his way towards your chair and knelt so he was eye-level with you. Your head was pointing on the floor, eyes downcast, and he took that as a sign you were feeling dejected. He tilted your chin up, only to see tears gathering in your eyes, making Tae feel bad.

"It's okay, little one. We won't hurt you. You can be honest with us." He spoke, sincerity filling your ears. You tried to tell if he was lying, but the way he was looking at you told you otherwise. Yoongi's hand smoothed your hair down, the motion quickly lulling you into a sense of security. You gathered your courage and responded in a meek voice, "I had a previous master, and it took me so long to realize he was treating me badly.."

The word master made bile rise in each of the men's throats. They can only imagine what horrors you went through. Stars, like you, are a kind of rare breed that is gifted by the star goddess. You harness multiple powers, one of which being pyrokinesis, the ability to command and emit fire at will. However, your inability to get a handle on your newfound gifts inevitably results in tragedy. When you turned a certain age, you emitted a burst of fire so immense that it destroyed a city block, killing your entire family and everyone else in the vicinity, having no other choice but to leave your home planet, Stellaris. That's when you turned to Asteria, asking the goddess for a new life and change of scenery. She was hesitant to send you somewhere far away, so she settled for earth, where your soulmates were. Except, you ended up in the wrong hands.

A hybrid smuggler, perhaps? breeds like you cost more than an arm and a leg. Maybe the power you possessed is what drew him in. He manipulated you, used you to fight against dangerous paranormal phenomena. You knew you had to get away—you weren't even supposed to meet him. The bastard took you against your will, threatening to send you back if you didn't listen. You lost the battle because of your naivety.

"Does anyone want dessert?" Jeongguk spoke up, trying to keep everyone's mood from lowering as they learned about your life history. "We won't give you back to him, Y/N," The elder states, eyes boring into yours with determination. You wanted to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. "You needn't worry, lovely. We will do no such thing." Jimin reached for your hand and held it to his chest. Still unable to find your voice, you settled with a small nod, making the boys smile from ear to ear.

"Here," Yoongi nudges your shoulder in a gentle manner as he positioned his fork close to your mouth. It had a piece of steak and nicely cut asparagus on it. "You need protein in order to stay strong, our pretty kitten." he says, almost stuttering as the pet name escapes his tongue without realizing it, it's glossed over though. 

You blushed, eyes turning into half-moons as your lips curved upward. "Thank you, yoonie." He'd get so soft after hearing you call him with a sweet endearment. Yoongi's gummy smile was showing, and you couldn't help the butterflies flittering inside your tummy after seeing him smile adorably. The man was usually pretty good at hiding his feelings but, somehow, he was horrible at doing that right now because you were currently in his radar.

"Alright. Since we're finished with dinner, why don't we clear the table?" Jin declared, while everyone lifted themselves from their seats. Taehyung piled most of the dirty dishes, placing them in the sink. You helped collect the cups and followed suit, watching Hoseok as he turned the faucet on with a sponge in hand. "Can I help?" You tugged on his sweater, your shy demeanor made him want to coo at you.

"Of course, little one. You can dry the dishes and Jeonggukie will put them away," The younger's ears perked at the mention of his name, reaching for a towel that was hanging on one of the kitchen cabinets and handed it you, caressing your cheek with his free hand in the process. The others observed the scene, tenderness painting their expressions. It seemed more evident that you fit in perfectly with every passing moment. You belonged here, with them.

"I'll be in my office. Got some digging to do," The elder mouthed at Yoongi, almost having trouble catching the words because he was deep in thought. Chances are, that son-of-a-bastard owner must be looking for you, but there was no way in hell they were going to give you back to him. Not if you didn't want to go willingly. The idea saddened him, because seeing how the younger ones had already taken such a liking to you, it made him feel protective.

"Would you like to watch a movie with us, Y/N-ie?" Jimin came up behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder as you dried the last bowl. Jeongguk takes the plate from your hands and presses a kiss to your temple.

"A movie? I've only ever seen one film though.." Hoseok beckons you over to him and holds out his hand. You let him guide you through the hallways, leading you back up the stairs and into a bathroom. Your eyes widened as you noticed it was huge and prettily decorated, you dare say it might even be bigger than your master's headquarters. He disappears for a hot minute to get something before stepping in, holding a pair of new sleepwear for you to use. You took the soft material from him, and smiled in thanks.

You eye at his arms, one pulling a rectangular, sheer-white cloth made of linen out of a cabinet, the other, a crystal bottle. he leans over the bathtub, turning the tap on and let water fill the tub before pouring the liquid. The sweet smell invaded your senses, automatically putting you in a good mood.

"You're all set. I put the clothes on the counter. We'll be waiting—" He turned his back to you, wanting to leave you to yourself but you cut him off when a whine left your lips. Immediately, he was by your side again, asking you what he possibly did wrong.

"Can't you stay, hobi? I don't want to be left alone.." You felt safe with him. His heart swells with pride. Although the idea of being with you in the same room, having nothing to cover your body made his heart race and face flush. He mentally slapped himself for thinking such vulgar thoughts. Now is not the time, you idiot, the voice in his head kept him in check, and he was grateful.

"I can help you wash your hair," He offered, high-fiving himself for not stuttering. "I'll wait outside. Just call for me, princess. okay?" You hummed in reply. You rid yourself of your dress, letting the fabric pool around your feet and stepped into the bathtub, submerging your body in the water and letting the warmth seep through your aching muscles, releasing all the tension.

You scrubbed at every part, making sure to remove the hidden grime found on your skin. Soon enough, your entire body was clean. Your natural glow was back. You reminded yourself to thank him later for making the water all sudsy because bubbles are always fun to play with."Hobi, I'm ready!" You folded your knees up to your chest just in time as Hoseok walks inside, not forgetting to shut the door behind him.

He sat at the edge of the tub, ready to lather your hair with shampoo when he sees the lines scattered across your back. The atmosphere turned gray. He stopped on his tracks. His gaze darkened. Of course he had to mask it—he didn't want to make you feel sad again, so he takes a deep breath, and decides to inform the others about this matter later. Your well-being was his first priority at present.

Silence fills the room as he massages the product on your beautiful locks. You didn't forget to thank him, mumbling as you relaxed at his touch. He looked at your small form sorrowfully, kept himself from asking for fear of you possibly running away. He only hopes that the time you'll open up to them will come in the twinkling of an eye.

"Everything's going to be fine now, sweetheart. We won't bring you back,"  you carefully maneuvered your body to his front, the water swishing around the tub at your movement. Your collarbones were showing, complexion looking a bit smooth, reminding him of rose-tinged ivory. You're looking better now, the pink in your cheeks much more visible compared to earlier.

"I can stay?" You bit your lower lip, shoulders shrinking. You wanted to stay here forever, but there was a strong likelihood they would change their minds. Because who would want someone broken? Someone like you?

"We all want you to stay, Y/N. Even if it means forever." Hoseok promises, running his forefinger along your jawline, tilting your head up so you were gazing into his dark orbs, slowly pulling you in like a vortex. "There's seven of us, baby doll. No matter what happens, We'll keep you safe." Why were these people so willing to help? It made you want to breakdown and cry, but you willed yourself not to."Okay, hobi." He smiled, kissing your forehead sweetly.

He pulled himself from the bathtub, the smile never leaving his face as he moved out of the room. You smiled in return as he shut the door, stretching your body in the water once more and stood, reaching for the towel, wrapping it around yourself. After getting dressed in the clothes your hobi got for you, you folded the dress and bundled it up in your arms before leaving the bathroom.

"I'll put those in the wash," Jin says as he ran into you, taking the clothes and continued his walk down the hall. You watch him disappear into another room further ahead and made your way to the living room. Upon entering, you found most of them gathered on the couch or seated on the floor, blankets covering their lower bodies.

You were glued to your spot, not quite sure where to sit. A few seconds later, The elder reappears and quietly takes your hand in his, leading you to an empty space beside Jeongguk and sat on the couch, ushering you to sit on the floor right in front of him, solving your little dilemma. You leaned back against his legs and he starts running his hands through your hair, smoothing out any tangled strands. To say you were content would be an understatement; you felt so at home. so peaceful. so cared for.

"Everyone ready?" Taehyung asks, a chorus of agreements resonating throughout the room. The boys settled into comfortable positions, while Jin's hands stayed on your locks, his nails subtly scratching your scalp. An hour later, the credits were finally rolling. Jin looked over to see both you and Jeongguk peacefully snoring, head resting on his shoulder as your quiet breaths lulled him into a deep slumber.

"We should move them, Jin. They'll wake with sore necks if we leave them be," Namjoon says, rising from his seat, gesturing at the others to clean up before lifting you from the ground. He makes his way into their shared bedroom, where four of the elders in the group sleep. He situates you on Yoongi's bed, placing an extra pillow under your head so you won't be uncomfortable whilst in dreamland.

"Sleep well, princess. You are safe here, with us." He caresses your cheek affectionately. "If he does find you, we won't let him take you."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

"He what?" Yoongi slams his fists on the table, anger flashing over his features. He couldn't understand. He did not want to understand either. How heartless would a human have to be to actually inflict injuries upon such precious beings like you? Just across from him was where Namjoon and Jin were seated, the former tonguing at his cheek as he tried to control his raging emotions. He was fuming. On the other hand, Jin and the rest remained dead silent. The atmosphere thickens with visible tension, each of the men taken aback by the information as Hoseok relayed it.

"Shouldn't we report this to the peacemakers?" Jeongguk turns to his elders, eyes pleading for justice. But the younger knew they possibly couldn't let this matter fall into their hands. The uproar it would cause would surely put different worlds to engage in a war. Everyone knew not to mess with Asteria's children. Because to hurt them, would mean facing one's immediate death.

"We can't, young one." Jin reaches for the younger's hand, looking a little crestfallen. "Besides, I heard the bastard got beaten to a pulp by his own shields because they simply couldn't let him step over them anymore," The elder says bitterly.

"Serves that fucker right," Yoongi scoffs, smirking triumphantly. The man must be trying to escape from the consequences of his actions, he thinks to himself, leaning back against his chair, one leg crossing over the other. At least you can live a peaceful life now, without having to worry about anything or anyone else but yourself. That's what mattered to them the most.  

The soft padding of your feet down the stairs alerted the men that you have risen, your soft sobs reaching their ears as you were getting nearer. Namjoon didn't hesitate to meet you halfway, scooping you up into his arms and hugged you for the longest time. “Did you have a bad dream, sweetheart?” He wipes your tears away with his thumb, all the while placing lots of kisses on your forehead, nose, and temples.

He walks back to the dining room, refusing to place you back down on the floor, your face buried into his neck because you were too shy to face the others. Tears continue to fall from your eyes. You’re scared, the nightmares made you terrified. “Hey, it’s okay, baby girl,” Yoongi saunters over to your side and holds your face, brushing the tears on your cheeks and gives you another set of kisses on your eyelids, the rest joining in to surround you with worried looks. “It’s okay. We’re right here, princess. You’re alright. You have us. You're okay."

You cried on Namjoon's chest, sobs turning into sniffles after a period of time. You eventually fell back asleep, with them giving you all of their soft reassurances, and Namjoon's hand stroking your hair gently. You looked so vulnerable and so lovely that it made him want to shun you from the world. Oh, what a dangerous world earth was.

But the thing is, you didn’t know you were lucky to have seven, powerful gods disguised as humans, as your soulmates.

[jackarychaoti]

DWC2021-15 - Memory/Chase

TW: Blood | Body Horror | Disturbing Images

-[ MUSIC ] -

Insanity.

In Azeroth, it was known as The Madness, The Darkening, the Dragon’s Sickness... The Nightmare. In many worlds, in millions of languages, it had endless names but it always meant the same thing. A corruption, often brought on by nightmarish feelings or situations, that ate the being alive, twisting it into something else entirely. Dragons fell particularly hard to such a toxic curse, especially.

This was no exception.

“DO NOT LET HIM GET INTO THE FOREST, WE’LL FUCKING LOSE HIM FOREVER!!”

Lokitan screamed as a mere handful of the Heran army raced upon war-bred Granondo, a clove-hooved type horse with coiled horns, best used to ram incoming enemies. Terrifyingly fast creatures that feared nothing in the heat of battle and yet they could not quite keep up with the terror streaking through the rotting fields of a dying wasteland and seemed even less inclined to get anywhere near it.

The target they hunted was a slithering creature running on all fours, bones twisted and inhuman with long tendrils of muddied hair, making the thing look even more sickly in the way that it hung over the face. Now and then, piercing silver eyes would dart back to see just how much closer its pursuers had come in the wild hunt, noting the way the warriors had begun to flank it. If only it could reach the edge of the forest, the beast would have a far better tactical advantage and a speed increase, let alone an easier time to attack those that hunted it.

“Loki!” A voice called out and soon a female rider pushed her steed up to the Dread Prince himself, eyes narrowed, glancing over in his direction. Fire blazed all around her, the snowy locks of her hair wild and free as a hellish set of crimson eyes flitted to the dark-haired rogue. “What do we do if it gets to the forest before we can reach him?!”

“You pray to your mother that we take him down before that.”

Chaos.

It was absolute chaos and he had just told her to pray to the deity that created it.

Inch after inch, Lokitan pressed forward, signaling the General’s finest men to continue flanking the beast, heels dug in harder into his skeletal Granondo to push onward and finally close in the distance of the skittering cretin running on all fours. Once close enough, the agile Prince pushed himself to crouch atop the saddle; he lunged, flickering through the very shadows to reappear right on top of the nightmarish beast. He dared not draw a weapon.

Not against this one.

The clashing form was greeted by the muddied, anemic animal twisting itself to bite hard at its would-be attacker, using the momentum to kick Lokitan right off and send him flying. That mere few seconds to protect itself was costing its safety to get into the forest. A loud shrieking cry pierced through the veil of carnage, knowing the chase was quickly coming to an end. Claws grabbed at the deep red mud below, years of war and corpses all around, the thick blood of countless soldiers meshed together with protected soils and painful, bitter rain. The slick surface had the creature try another attempt to break free, slipping the first few steps.

It was so close… The forest was but a hundred yards away.

Lokitan rolled through the slimy fighting ground, catching himself to snag at the beast’s ankle, yanking it back to throw it in the other direction. He was doing all he could to buy the warriors more time to position themselves and close in on the fighting pair.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Jack.”

Melted silver raised from under the long strands of hair while the beast hunched itself further, a deep snarl and razored fangs revealed themselves in a warning. The aggressive display had Loki push himself to stand and raise his clawed hands, exposing that he was as unarmed as he could possibly be. He stared down at the nightmare-fueled version of his cousin, his best friend who he knew was in so much pain that he had allowed the darkness to consume his heart.

“Look at me, Jackary… I don’t want to hurt you, hn..?”

There was a brief pause and for a moment, the world stood still. Even the droplets of sweat and foul mud froze in place for a fraction of a second while the thing Lokitan referred to as ‘Jackary’ mulled over its choices. Heavy breaths of air pushed out, bellowed in smoke pouring from its twisted jaw that was filled with acidic drool that flopped to the ground in large globs - a clear sign of the beast’s stress.

“Let’s get you home… Let’s get cleaned up…” A leather-clad hand dared to reach for the unholy creation but within a blink of an eye, time sped back up. Teeth snapped at the grasp, claws raised to full-on attack the one being that kept the beast from the forest it was trying to get to.

“FUCKING--!” Loki found himself head to head with the writhing mass of acid-spitting, half-transformed wyrm, a Beast of Insanity that wore a Prince’s crown and who was upsetting the balance of life and death. Without one, there couldn’t truly be another. Every snap of the jowls and swipe of talons was blocked or barely dodged, up until Lokitan lost his footing.

Slipping, he found himself under those wild jaws, hands clasped the wide-open maw above him that threatened to clamp down on his face and bite his skull clean in half. Muscles ached, his posture shook from trying to push what was once his peaceful, loving cousin off him. It wasn’t until another bubbling mixture of acid was seen dripping from under the beast’s tongue that the rogue knew he was in deep trouble… He was going to have to hurt the beast or die.

One hand released the mouth and in a split-second decision, the palm shoved up hard to strike at the creature’s jawline, his intensely sharp claws sliced the beast’s right jaw, stunning and pushing it away, jarred in surprise. It left Lokitan with just the smallest leeway to raise his hand up in the air, giving a hidden signal.

The Insanity-addled creature hissed loudly but before it could turn to lunge the last few steps to disappear into the forest and become a haunting ghost, a slough of chains and ropes fell atop it, blanketing the wild creature. The engineered nets implanted themselves into the dirt below, radiating pulsations of electrical charges to stun the captured beast into a horrifying submission. The haunting screams of agony, half-human, half-dragon rang out in a near ear-shattering volume.

Only when it stopped struggling to even stand did the shocking currents of energy cease their barbaric, but effective, handling.

“Are you hurt?” The woman from earlier charged forward, sliding down from her fiery warsteed to help Lokitan up from the wet earth.

“No,” Lokitan spat out, snagging the hand to be hoisted up, wincing when it indeed hurt to put any sort of weight on one of his legs. Glancing down at it, he was sure there was likely a fracture somewhere... But now wasn’t the time to dawdle.

“Well, you’re not dead, dear brother, so…” Musing, she helped at least support the Dark Prince, glancing down at the wheezing, now bleeding beast. “This isn’t curable, you know. When someone falls to the Insanity, they don’t come back.”

“Untrue,” Loki quipped, hobbling over with his sister’s help until he was able to ease down and sit next to the captured animal. A gloved hand reached forward, pushing the black hair from its face to indeed reveal a half transformed Jackary, the silver spiral of his eyes a dead giveaway at the corruption. “There was a Priest once who fought it and contained it. Rumour has it he wanders around with a single spiral eye, hn? Fucked up shit.”

The woman sighed, almost huffing while a hand motioned down to what remained of Jack. “Look at him, Lokitan. Half transformed, his brain isn’t fucking in there anymore. Put the thing out of its misery and let the avatar of Life be passed down elsewhere. It’ll rebirth by tomorrow, save your own ass.”

“No.” Lokitan took a moment to grip the skull before him, pinning the dragon further as a small crimson glow overtook his eyes. “He was never meant to hurt anyone, it was her that drove him to this.”

“Yeah, well, she’s pretty fucking dead, now isn’t she?”

A hand waved the antsy woman off, freeing Lokitan to simply focus on the inner workings of the beast before him. It was a rare trick the Rogue had up his sleeve and normally it was used to delve into someone’s memories, to unlock what terrifies them the most to use it against them… But what if, he thought, what if he could use it in reverse?

Time ticked by, allowing the dark, shadowy tendrils of his own essence to seep into Jackary’s form, filtering through and plucking every little bit of the corruption to neatly gather it within. A simple box was made at first, deep inside the dragon’s brain. Soon it was locked away and chained relentlessly to his psyche. A personality that he could never escape from, one that in time, would briefly show a fraction of itself and be referred to as…

Naga.

“M’sorry…” Loki whispered while he worked, remolding and melding Jackary’s very essence and memories to pull him from an otherwise impossible return. It was an attempt to do this or be forced to kill him and Lokitan wasn’t sure he inwardly had the power to do that. “You were designed to never forget.. But if you always remember, there is no saving you from the corruption that has been planted within you.”

Lokitan frowned, rubbing his thumb slowly, sweetly along Jackary’s forehead, the beast had long since stopped trying to fight back. It was lethargic.

“I am taking this from you, Jackary. This thing that turned you into something you aren’t.” Lokitan cooed, almost fondly at his twisted cousin as each memory leading up to a certain event was plucked and stolen away and yet what Lokitan hadn’t realized was that in making such a small hole in Jack’s memory, it served as an endless void. A slow-drip leak that would cause him to forever forget things after a while. A blessing and a curse in the future, but at that moment, when Lokitan gazed down and saw the beginnings of Peridot return to those eyes, he knew it was the best decision he could have made.

---

Darnath quietly clamped the journal closed with a small squeeze to the spine, the entry had been written in a far different font and form which made him think that perhaps Lokitan had written it instead. But... Where the memory that had been stolen was placed was beyond the Dragonsworn.

Stormy grey pools glanced at the snoozing blond curled against his side. Jack, in an elven form, had been cozying up for a small nap while his Knight read, blissfully unaware of what haunting stories Darnath had been refamiliarizing himself with once more. The Champion glanced to the spine of the journal, noting the number upon it, and raised his vision upward. The book he was really looking for must have been the one right before this… Maybe that one held the answer he was looking for.

| - @daily-writing-challenge - |

[psalloacappella]

tenerezza

Day 6 Prompt: Cuddling // “Come closer.”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

He keeps his comments to himself: That she has staff for a reason, that their ex-sensei-turned-Kage works her too hard and he’d made a curt mention of it when reporting back, that perhaps someone could take the task of laundering bloody work clothes off her hands. Their responsibilities even in this delicate period they call peacetime still weigh heavy, principle baked into their bones.

In the future, their children won’t know the world quite like this.

A routine peacekeeping mission turns, twists, becomes mayhem.

Surgery is an intensive thing, the delicate dance of suspending chakra and soul in the void to negotiate with Death. And though it is a grim and arduous opponent with which to skirmish, Sakura more often than not emerges victorious.

Drained, though. Frayed at the edges.

It startles her to know that she sometimes has an audience.

Bringing the back of hand across her forehead, she dabs at the shimmering sweat. An assistant hands her a small towel, bows, and retreats. Hitching a tired grin onto her face, she inclines her head. “Hokage-sama.”

Familiar, how he can show up jauntily in a chaotic atmosphere, a mess, and still manage to seem bemused. The political consequences of this recent skirmish unspoken between them. Hands in his pockets, he brings two fingers to his temples and flicks them toward her in an affectionate motion, channeling yesteryear. “Don’t bother with that, Miss Haruno.”

Sakura wrinkles her nose at his sarcastic drawl. “That does sound weird coming from you.”

“Ah, you see? So stick with ‘sensei.’”

Despite her exhaustion, she musters up the energy to stick out her tongue.

“Mature of you,” he sighs. “But of course, well done. Exceptional, in fact.”

“You didn’t watch my whole surgery just to praise me at the end?”

Kakashi smiles, the fabric forming folds that reflect expressions innate, the way she’s interpreted them for years and knows as well as the comforting wrinkles in a beloved shirt.

There’s something knowing in the set of his chin, the easy, languid way his weight settles onto one hip, almost irreverent. 

“I’m here to tell you to go home,” he says gently. “It’s been hours. Days, really. Your capable staff will wrap up the rest.”

Perspiration, fluids; she wipes clammy hands on her coat. “Am I needed somewhere else?”

“No, I am simply invoking the powers of my grand office to send you home.”

Sakura narrows her eyes at him, swaying a bit on her feet. He’s not wrong about the rest, but she does resent his smugness in a situation where she’s unable to see the reason.

“Tell me why.” Raising her chin, she folds her arms, a stubborn root settling in for long, protracted and perhaps heated discourse.

Chuckling, his eyes twinkle in a manner just borderline risque enough to make her frown. 

“He’s home.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Simmering rouge moving swift and fast through her cheeks, flooding out the pink from her exertion and becoming full-blown embarrassment. “Just say that first. Actually, no! No, don’t — how do you—?”

“He’s already checked in, report done. Doesn’t waste time chatting with me much anymore, I’m just his old, grey sensei.” Kakashi’s sigh is wistful, aiming at charming. 

But his eyes are sharp, always watchful of everything and in particular, his loved ones. Can he see her shakes, or does he just see

tears gathering on her lashes, the nightmares ripping her from sleep the night before, and the night before that, and — 

She’s sure she catches his self-satisfied wink as she hurries out on unsteady legs.

Weak knees, breathless, for all sorts of complicated reasons.

.

.

Plants watered. House slippers and shoes chivvied back into line, a neat row. 

The scent of him:  Of earth and salt, traces of forests and faraway lands and a bite — oh, that crisp bite of smoke and fire, heady and hot, from his essence rather than his clothes. 

She finds it difficult to hold herself up, clinging to the threshold frame. Laid out across her couch he’s something of an enigma, an infamous man whose existence sparks ignorant prattle, the truth and falsehoods hoarded and passed as collective talismans. Half-informed tales of the team she adores and the man she loves. 

Handsome, of course. That aspect has never changed, never will. Vulnerable, arm resting behind his head, the placid rise and sink of his chest. Managing to come back without summons but always, forever, at the precise and needed time. 

Socked feet padding against the cold wood floor, (there was a rug, she needs a new one — knucklehead Hokage-in-the-wings spilled red wine all over it), she kneels next to the couch. Eyes following the cut edge of his jawline, the sovereign slope of his nose. And most of all, the unexpected serenity his face reflects, no furrows or creases in his expressions even in sleep.

There’s an object out of place, and its energy distracts her, draws her gaze. A basket of laundry that she assumes was gathered but unfinished, a medley of clothes he undoubtedly stripped off upon arriving tossed in with the several layers she’s been through in the last week, the sanguine fabric narrative of her journey to the void and back. 

And yet. 

On hands and knees she drags it across the floor until it's in front of her, snatches a shirt right off the top. 

Bringing it to her face, she inhales the scent of devotion so potent that the tears come swift and sudden.

“Sakura?”

Sleepy, a little hoarse, but even on awakening the concern threads his voice through. Her, crying into a shirt he’s just washed for her; she sulks inwardly, feeling stupid.

When she tries to respond, struggling to force out some chirpy greeting and loving quip, it slips into impossibility. He reaches out to her, hand starting at the top of head to run through her clammy pink locks, then down to take her face in his fingers, a thumb gently swiping hot tears away. 

“Sakura.”

A hitch in her breath; she struggles to swallow down the sobs clawing and turbid at the back of the throat. Pressing her face into his chest, she mumbles, “Welcome home, Sasuke-kun.”

Still with his hand on her head, fingers exploring her scalp in idle and soothing trails as tracing familiar ancient etchings, as memorizing braille.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shifting onto his side. Taps his fingers against her head, gentle, a quiet ask. 

Sakura’s face emerges pink, tearstained, with a wobbly smile that feels like a throwaway lie for a fool.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me. I’m so glad you’re—”

“Apologizing,” he interrupts. Like a quiet rumble, the purr of a prowling cat. “Ah, what did I say about that?”

“To stop it?”

Sasuke makes some noise of assent, from the throat rather than his lips. 

And he looks at her and knows. He’s learned, but has always intuited this habit of hers since Genin days, the way she plasters on a smile and flashes those bright teeth to disarm fools. How deeply mortifying crying feels to her in certain moments, the way it becomes an acute weakness and liability, especially regarding work. Families don’t want to see your tears, only your triumph — the way you’ve bowed to Death and danced, and depart at the end of the number with their loved one’s soul as crown and winnings. 

The problem being there’s rarely an expectation of anything less. 

Now he’s sitting up, still cradling her face in his hand. Mismatched eyes searing, searching, flickering rapidly across her face. 

“You’d better be off-duty now,” he says. “You look exhausted.”

“Oh, you sure know how to charm a girl,” Sakura sniffs. Leans into his hand and touch, raising no protests at the way his thumb continues to sweep away an endless estuary borne of things she can’t articulate. A gravity in her demeanor, at once present but faded into an unreachable inner sanctum and self. 

Instinctual, the way his fingers remain in constant contact with her skin, cheek to hair to shoulder, trailing warm down her arm and finally to her cold, shaky hand. 

Tugs her gently, indicating the space he’s made for her to sit. 

“I have to—”

“There is nothing; I’ve done it all.”

There’s nothing for her to protest, no way for her to pretend she’s fine. 

“Come closer.”

This act for her seems onerous, pulling her tired body into his lap appearing utterly spent, bereft. He keeps his comments to himself:  That she has staff for a reason, that their ex-sensei-turned-Kage works her too hard and he’d made a curt mention of it when reporting back, that perhaps someone could take the task of laundering bloody work clothes off her hands. Their responsibilities even in this delicate period they call peacetime still weigh heavy, principle baked into their bones. 

In the future, their children won’t know the world quite like this. 

She melts into him with her heavy head against his heart, his fingers continuing their simple repetitions in the tangle of her hair. 

Sasuke thinks of her shirt still soaking in the sink, one he labored on for a while before her return, desperately trying to lift the rubicund crimson from the white fabric.

Wondering if that one pulled through, for her sake. 

Her grip catches his attention, as if her head is spinning and she needs rooting to the earth — fingers in his shirt, head tucked under his chin. 

Sickle-cresents of leftover copper in the beds of her nails, the trials and triumph of a woman fighting back. 

She says something he doesn’t catch, a flutter, possibly I love you. 

What she does holds such importance, but he cannot imagine the cost. Pressing his mouth to her forehead, he speaks in a quiet chant in tender cadence with his fingers moving through her hair:

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

[azulaang-chakras]

“The First Gift She Gave Him”

Rating: G

Summary: Valentine’s Day is upon them. Azula hopes she’s not going to mess this up. Pseudo-modern AU (try not to think on the logic of this altered setting too much)

“Ready?” he asks with the kind of smile she’s come to expect from him. He’s always smiling, but the manner he does when he looks at Azula is for her and her alone. This fact elicits a certain pride in her, a satisfaction that only she can have this effect on him, but it’s not the pride she’s used to. It’s far softer, far gentler than the kind instilled into since birth. The feeling is a healthier, happier one than Azula ever thought she would have in her life.

That feeling almost makes her forget how nervous she is.

Almost. This was her first Valentine’s Day as part of a couple, and she spent the entirety of February fearing this moment.

This has to be perfect.

“You go first,” she tells him, holding hers behind her back.

“But a gentleman always lets a lady go first,” he teases, making her squirm.

“Well, I’m not a lady, I’m a princess,” she counters, a little stronger than intended. “And as princess, I’m telling you to go first.”

He smiles and obeys, holding out his gift to her. Azula quickly tucks her gift to him on a chair and slides it under the table, keeping it out of his sight, before taking his present. The box is smaller than she was anticipating. Knowing Aang, it was probably going to be something like a little turtle duck doll, or a trinket from his travels, or a...

In the Fire Nation, gold was the traditional color of the royal family, reserved only for the fire lord and his children. It showed in their portraits, in their fashion, and in the headpieces they wore in their topknots. The headpiece laying on the small, velvet cushioning of the box is an azure color, perfectly matching her own flames. The polished metal is smooth to the touch, and catches the light brilliantly. She can even see her awestruck reflection in it.

It’s perfect.

“Aang,” she manages to say, her voice breathless.

“Do you like it?”

“How... how much did this cost?”

Aang shrugs. “I’m a monk. Money is an unnecessary attachment to this world.”

“That is not an answer,” she tells him, a little snark in her voice.

His smile takes on a smirking edge. “I don’t need money. I’m courting a princess.”

She laughs. “So what am I? Your sugar momma?”

He grins, laughter filling his voice. “I’m just saying. If you ever want to make it rain, I’ll gladly dance for you.”

She giggles, covering her face. Half in embarrassment from the fact she’s dating this goofy loser, and half in embarrassment that he is the only person who could make her giggle like that.

She removes her golden headpiece and turns her back to him. Without needing to be told, he fixes the new one into her top knot. Looking at herself in the mirror makes Azula want to incorporate more blue into her wardrobe, just to match the color of the headpiece.

“Do you like it?”

“No, Aang. I’m admiring my own reflection because I hate it. Of course I love it, you dumbass.”

Aang bursts out laughing. When they had first gotten together, she had been so careful about the language she used to address him. When Aang made it clear that he enjoys a good ribbing from a beautiful, strong woman like her, Azula allowed herself to indulge in more colorful terms of affection.

“I’m glad you like it! I’m sure your gift is just as beautiful.”

Azula tenses up, realizing just how impersonal her gift is compared to his.

“Uh, on second thought,” she says, rushing to grab the gift she bought. “Let’s just ignore it and I’ll make it up to you later-”

His hand catches her at the wrist, so gentle she could easily pull herself free, but the act stops her dead in her tracks. She looks at him, and his expression disarms her.

“Let me see.”

Azula summons her courage and hands Aang the box. As he unwraps and opens it, Azula wishes she had gone with Ty Lee’s original suggestion: buy herself new lingerie and model it for him. 

The gift is a half-edible, half-floral presentation. Orange and yellow flowers decorate the vine ring like bows. Inside the ring is a collection of chocolates, candied dates, and other sweets.

“Azula-”

“The woman at the store said it was THE gift of the season. I don’t know how to shop for people. And it was the most expensive thing they had, and it combines so many traditional gifts, so I thought-”

She stops in her verbal avalanche when it dawns on her that he’s closed the small gap between them. Azula gulps and wills herself to look up to meet his eyes. His gaze is so lovingly soft that it breaks her. His fingers start at the side of her chin and slowly glide over her cheek until it rests in his palm.

“I love it,” he says, so gently that it pushes away everything else in the world. Her heart skips a beat, and she’s breathless yet again. Azula, despite all her intellect, cannot think of anything but him.

He kisses her, and she melts. Her arms move of their own accord, wrapping themselves around his neck and pulling the rest of her to his chest. He puts his gift aside on the table and presses into the kiss until they’re both lost in each other.

Before she can react, Aang’s hands move to her thighs. In an easy motion, he lifts her off of her feet, making her feel weightless. She breaks the kiss to look at him. There’s something... passionately wicked in his eyes. He raises his eyebrows twice in quick succession, an act he only does when there’s only one thing on his mind: her.

“We...” she stammers, completely caught off-guard. “Aang, our reservation is in an hour-”

He shrugs with ease despite the princess in his arms, reminding her of how much power the avatar holds in those toned arms of his. “Dinner can wait. I’ve got another gift to give you.”

Even her own flames weren’t as hot as the feeling in Azula’s cheeks.

They end up being severely late for their dinner reservation. Neither of them care.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober 19: Survivor’s Guilt

TIMELINE: Takes place in the Iris Michaelson, Teen Badass AU of the Fillis Angst Parade AU - look, @whump-tr0pes and I make our own fun, and by “fun”, I mean we make “Isaac and Finn suffer”.

Basic Plot: Fourteen years ago, Finn Dunham and Ellis Price were taken captive. The team has never been able to rescue them, and knows only that Finn lives life as Patrick Michaelson’s plaything and Ellis teaches at a Syndicate dayschool and tutors the Michaelson’s adopted teenage daughter. When Iris Michaelson sends a message to the famous rebel Isaac Moore, he can’t help but answer it.

CW: Referenced noncon/dubcon, referenced torture

“If this is a trap, I’m going to owe Gavin fifty bucks.” Vera checked and rechecked her handgun, as though it would suddenly be less loaded than it was just a few minutes before. Her jaw was set in a grim line, eyes flashing a kind of damped-down fire, embers ready to spark. Her thick black hair, showing growing hints of gray, was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a pair of black pants and a tucked-in t-shirt, ready for the fight she was definitely expecting. “I don’t want to owe Gavin money, Isaac.”

“It’s not a trap,” Isaac replied, making his own nervous check and recheck of the table and chairs. “I don’t think it is, anyway. My instincts are saying it isn’t.”

“Your instincts-”

“My instincts have been spot-on for a decade, Vera. Just trust me on this. She let us pick the day, the time, the location… she let us give her the location with less than four hours’ notice, even. If this is a trap, she’s piss-poor at setting it.”

“Hm.” Vera snorted, and checked the second gun, the rifle they had leaning up, hidden on the other side of a doorframe, where Vera could pick it up and keep shooting if she had to.

If they needed the second gun, it would be because she was buying time for an exit, not because they had a shot in hell of getting a win.

“She wouldn’t have let me pick the spot with such short notice if she was planning on killing us,” Isaac said, but he felt less certain than his voice sounded.

“She’s a teenager, isn’t she? Who the fuck knows why teenagers do anything?”

It was Isaac’s turn to snort, then.

Their scheduled meeting space was a busted-out house an hour outside of the Michaelson Syndicate's largest stronghold city, a hidden place they had used, in the past, to run dissidents out of the city north, always north. A few years ago it’d been compromised, the house was half-burned down in the attack, but there was a room at the back that was still standing… more or less.

The girl had agreed readily to meet here - which Vera didn’t like, such a quick agreement made her think the youngest Michaelson child had some kind of plan, but it was a cleared space and Isaac had put his people all around. If the girl was bringing weapons, well, so were they. 

Isaac had sentries watching for miles around, covering every road. It paid to have his reputation, and have so many people willing to sign on to help him out with this. It didn’t hurt that his reputation meant he’d managed to scrape together enough money to pay them.

Not in money, no - Isaac had traded pallets of flour with boxes' worth of packets of yeast, a couple of beat-up cars that could at least be broken down for scrap, and cough syrup from their carefully hoarded medical supplies. But it had been enough to draw in some people willing to take the risk.

Sentries had reported by radio - one car, following the directions Isaac had given it. No escort cars, no one caught sneaking through the scrubby woods around the house. Just one, single, shining black Michaelson Syndicate vehicle, clearly marked, making no effort to hide.

She was following every rule she’d been given, right down to the tiniest detail.

Still, his nerves were on edge. What the youngest Michaelson child could possibly want with them - what had made her reach out to schedule a face-to-face - had had him up at night ever since the first message had come in, sent via dissidents who didn’t even understand what they were carrying in the envelope that no one dared open until it got to him.

My name is Iris Michaelson and I need your help. I know Finn Dunham and Ellis Price. Please call me. Then a number, everything written in a childish looping cursive, and the sight of Finn and Ellis’s names had meant Isaac could never have stopped himself from calling.

“I wonder-”

“If she wants a way out, I’m not doing it,” Vera snapped, interrupting Isaac’s thoughts, her fraying nerves given away by the edge in her voice. “We can’t handle that kind of heat, Isaac.”

“I can find her someone to go to for that,” Isaac said, not quite in agreement. “We’re not in the business of hiding Syndicate kids.”

“Oh, are we not?” Vera’s dry humor edged on sarcasm. “Because I’m wondering what exactly you think we did with Gavin, then-”

“Anymore. We’re not in the business of hiding Syndicate kids anymore. That was fifteen years ago, are you-”

“Ever going to let it go? Nope. I’m too old to escort a spoiled rotten rich kid into the real world again, and you’re sure as fuck too old to fall in love with another one.”

Isaac felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and shook his head. “Calm, Vera.”

“Isaac, so far you’ve turned Gavin into your goddamn life partner and tried to give Danny fucking Michaelson a place-”

“All I did was give him my name to help him get as far as he and Nate could get, when he was ready.” Isaac ignored the twist of bitterness inside him. “And he never was, was he? He’s still there.”

Some part of Isaac would always wonder why - when given the chance to get out - Danny had chosen to stay.

He sighed, and kept talking. “In any case, that’s not going to happen here. I’m not going to give her safe harbor with us. I’ve already spoken to some other communities, just laying groundwork. If she needs a place to run, she can have it - but she’ll have to give up a tremendous amount of intel to earn her sanctuary.”

“What kind of intel does a fucking fourteen-year-old girl have?”

“Don’t know, but she might have enough. She didn’t drop Danny’s name to meet with me, did you notice? She dropped Finn’s and Ellis’s names instead.” He shifted the chair on the other side, the one she’d sit in, this way and that until he had it just right. His own weapons - he carried two, one under his left arm and one on his right hip, plus another hidden taped under the table on his side - were fully loaded, too. All this to take on a single teenage girl.

Granted, it wasn’t just a teenage girl. Iris Michaelson happened to be the daughter of Patrick and Corrine Michaelson. Danny’s parents, and she was the beloved youngest child of the fucking assholes that had stolen his family, and kept them. The last Isaac had directly seen of Finn and Ellis was them being surrounded by Patrick’s men fourteen years ago as the car with him inside spit gravel and sped away.

Isaac swallowed, tightly, wondering if it was a good sign or a bad one that he rarely teared up when he remembered the moment, now. He’d cried too much for them already, and Iris Michaelson would be here soon.

“Would you have met her if she’d namechecked Danny?”

Isaac shook his head, jaw set firmly. “No.”

“But you will if-”

“Listen, maybe it’s about Finn, or Ellis,” Isaac said, softly. He barely dared hope. “Maybe she’s willing to trade intel on them. We know they’re still alive. We know Finn is-... that Finn has-”

“Yeah,” Vera said heavily. “Maybe. Hell, maybe the daughter has a heart. Anything’s fuckin’ possible, right?”

“Right.” Isaac took a deep breath. He heard the sound of car tires on gravel and raised his head, jaw setting into a determined line. “Here they are.”

“Showtime,” Vera said, voice low. She shifted back until she was mostly hidden in a doorway, covered enough in shadow that she wouldn’t be immediately visible unless she wanted to be. “I’ve got you covered, Isaac, but if it looks like it’s going south-”

“I’ll drop so you can start shooting and cover me until I can fire, too.” 

“Right. Again, just for the record-”

“You won’t owe Gavin money. I promise.” Isaac took a seat on his side of the table. He knew his own people littered the woods around the clearing, weapons at the ready. He’d brought a full fucking team to meet with a teenage girl. But as far as Isaac was concerned, Iris Michaelson might as well be more dangerous than just about anyone else he might meet with.

Isaac knew enough, from his short time with the Michaelson family going on fifteen years ago, to know that their Syndicate wasn’t entirely human.

Crunch of footsteps - Isaac counted. The girl’s steps - lighter, but firm. Projecting a false confidence, Isaac thought. She was trying to sound stronger than she felt. He knew the feeling. A large… man, he guessed, from the time between heavy footsteps. Bodyguard, probably as armed to the teeth as Vera was. He waited to count more but… heard no one. 

Isaac’s eyebrows furrowed, frowning. “Vera-” He turned to look back over his shoulder.

“I heard,” Vera whispered. “Eyes straight ahead, Isaac. I heard it. She’s only bringing one inside with her. Gavin might just owe me money.” Vera’s smile flashed white in the darkness. “Now that idea I like.”

She melted back into the shadows, and when Iris Michaelson entered the room, Isaac would seem entirely alone. 

Iris moved into the room with the unconscious certainty of power that every Syndicate son or daughter carried, although her steps were a little hesitant and her breathing tightly nervous, but that wasn’t what caught Isaac’s eyes. Her head was slightly down, auburn hair catching the dim light, a thick braid down her back with two smaller braids that ran on either side along her head to join the larger on. She also had a small, almost delicate-looking handgun on a small holster on her hip. 

He froze watching the lanky, gawky, all-elbows-and-knees girl in her soft black off-the-shoulder sweater, jeans, and combat boots that cost more than the gun on Isaac’s hip enter the room. He hadn’t seen hair quite that color since…

“Iris Michaelson.” His voice somehow came out even, but he heard himself speak as if from some far away place. His heart had started to race. “You requested a meeting with me?”

She raised her head to meet his eyes, and Isaac’s world broke apart. 

The shape of her face was unmistakable, as was the color of her hair. Her eyes were wide and a strangely startlingly clear hazel leaning towards brown, but…

Isaac heard Vera’s soft gasp behind him and knew she saw it, too.

Iris Michaelson was the perfect spitting image of Ellis Price - except for the fact that she had Finn Dunham’s hair and eyes. 

Iris came to a stop, warily, the hulking bodyguard - a brute of a man who seemed to carry himself with an absurd gentleness, with cropped dark hair and dark eyes in a pale face - that followed close on her heels putting his hand to his gun. Isaac automatically raised both his hands, empty and open-palmed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

My God, I know who you fucking are, now.

Finn and Ellis had been captured during their flight from the Michaelson stronghold nearly fifteen years ago. They had disappeared into the depths of the Michaelson’s mansion, and every attempt the team made to understand what might have happened had dead-ended into the common knowledge that anyone who went into the Michaelson mansion never came back out of it alive. Isaac had refused to believe they were dead at first, and when no one hunted them down - no one found the safehouses Ellis and Finn knew about, no attacks were made on places the two of them might have given up under torture… he had refused to believe they were broken, either. 

The team had never been able to go back for them, it had been too dangerous a risk even though Isaac had tried and failed and tried and failed again. They’d been… gone. 

Not dead - there’d have been some closure then.

Just… disappeared.

The Michaelsons had adopted a baby girl - philanthropic move, adopting the orphaned child of their employees, a couple killed in an attack by rebels. They'd named her Iris, and she'd been raised as just as much a part of the family as Ryan or Danny. 

Then, shortly after the public announcement of Iris joining the Michaelson family, Finn popped back up. They were kept at Patrick Michaelson’s side, his willing, branded plaything, photographed sitting in his lap at parties, glass of champagne tipped to their lips, eyes dead and empty above a gorgeous smile, head tilted to the side as Patrick's lips pressed into the brand on the left side of their neck. 

Isaac had been shown photos of Finn - with Patrick’s mouth on theirs or their neck or his hand between their legs, Finn with their back pressed up against Patrick’s car like Finn was just an object, even right out in public, even in plain sight. Finn wearing perfectly tailored suits, Finn half-wearing those suits, Finn wearing nothing but a harness of knotted navy blue rope with their legs wrapped around Patrick Michaelson’s waist, smiling and begging for more, harder, deeper… 

Broken and leaning into Patrick’s touch, over and over with that same dead-eyed smile. Standing with Patrick’s arm around their waist, leaning into him, a carefully crafted expression of adoration there. Isaac had shed bitter tears over being too late to save them. Whatever had broken Finn was something Isaac could never have brought them back from.

Ellis… Ellis had been gone for more than four years. The team had eventually assumed Ellis was dead - Isaac had grieved their fucking death. He’d thought losing them must have been what broke Finn, made them give up and resign themself to life in Patrick Michaelson’s bed.

Then… an envelope, and a set of photos Isaac had never expected to see. Ellis, nearly five years after Isaac had last seen them, teaching children at a Syndicate school, heavily guarded but still clearly themself. Smiling for children but expression set in a furious grim line the second no one was looking. Photos snuck out of the city by secret dissidents, Isaac had spent so much of what little money he had on every bit of information he could get about the two of them.

They were miserable, captives held behind enemy lines for more than a decade. But they never tried to run, never tried to contact anyone. Never took the chance. Isaac had managed to leverage people who owed him favors, new and old contacts, but every attempt to get Finn alone at a party had ended in their soft refusal - an insistence that I'm happy living this way, thank you or I love Patrick Michaelson, who could want to escape from living like this? or please, I can’t talk about it, I have to love him - and they’d move back to Patrick’s side - and Ellis was never fucking alone at all.

They weren’t trying to be alone, though, and Isaac just didn’t understand it.

Isaac hadn’t been able to grasp why Ellis could look so unbowed and so… utterly Ellis, and still be there. Still go day by day to the school, teaching children their ABCs, spending their nights and weekends tutoring the Michaelsons’ youngest child like it was nothing. Like it was a life they wanted, evenings and weekends helping raise a fucking Syndicate daughter, a pampered little princess.

It should have been something Ellis would rather die than do.

Isaac had wondered, again and again, what could possibly keep Ellis from trying to escape. Now, staring as Iris Michaelson crossed the room and settled herself in a chair across from him, Isaac understood. 

He understood, and he would have made exactly the same choices they had made, for this.

Ellis had been tutoring their own daughter, grasping for time with her. Doing anything it took not to lose her. And so, in their own way, had Finn. Ellis wouldn’t try to escape because they wouldn’t leave their daughter - Finn was at Patrick’s side to stay as close to Iris as they could get. The two of them had spent fourteen years like this. 

Corrine Michaelson hadn’t taken Iris from a dead employee to raise as her own. 

She’d taken Iris from Ellis. 

The two of them had managed to leverage their captivity to stay close to her, no matter what they had to give up, no matter how much of themselves they had had to give away. Isaac had to blink away tears that blurred his vision, wanting to stare at Iris for as long as he could.

Was this why Danny had stopped contacting Isaac about possibly leaving himself? Had he gone radio silent and stayed here because he didn’t want to leave Iris, either?

She looked up at him uncomfortably, rubbing at one arm with her other hand. It was… strange, to see the child’s roundness in Ellis’s face with Finn’s brown eyes, the hint of nervous shyness that he’d never seen in his friend, his family. But… he couldn’t look away. “What? What are you staring at? I’m adopted.” 

Isaac just blinked, until Vera cleared her throat behind him and Isaac jumped a little, startled out of his thoughts. The world felt like it had just tipped sideways, all of it made sense now, all at once. Puzzle pieces falling to the floor and magically into place. “I-I’m sorry, I just-... I know. I’ve met your brothers-”

“I know.” Iris’s voice was low, but held a sharp edge. “They told me.”

“They did?” Isaac almost asked her what exactly Danny and Ryan had had to say about him, but he could feel Vera’s eyes on his back, and he cleared his throat again. “My apologies. You wanted to meet with m-me?”

His voice was trembling. If he wasn’t careful, he’d cry right here in front of her. How are they? How broken? Is anything left? How much did they lose just to keep you?

“Yes. I, um. I thank you for-... meeting with me today. For agreeing to meet.” Iris’s voice was carefully even, but it shook, too, giving away that Syndicate daughter or not, she was nervous. Probably scared - she didn’t have any good reason to believe Isaac wouldn't just kill her or take her hostage. She’d shown a lot of trust, having just the one bodyguard and probably a driver come with her. She’d shown a lot of courage.

That’s Finn and Ellis for you, Isaac thought, and his throat nearly closed again.

“I-I’m not here for my own sake,” Iris said, quietly, looking slightly down, as if reciting something from memory. Her face was red, and Isaac decided this might be as close to seeing Ellis blush as he was ever going to get. “I don’t-... I don’t. Um. I’m sorry, this is just. Wait, I was supposed to start with-... shit.”

Isaac’s lips quirked in the slightest smile - he heard Vera huff a laugh from her hiding spot. There’s Ellis’s daughter, through and through.

Iris’s bodyguard leaned over, putting a hand on her shoulder, whispering in her ear. He looked up at Isaac, then, without the instinctive loathing or derision that Isaac usually expected from the Syndicate guards he’d gotten into fights with in the past. 

“Right. Right, thanks, David.” Iris put a hand up over the bodyguard’s, looking back at Isaac, sitting up straight again. Her black sweater fell just lightly off one bony shoulder. Loyal to her, Isaac thought, watching the bodyguard. Not Patrick and Corrine. We can use that. He’s not a Syndicate bodyguard - he’s Iris Michaelson’s bodyguard. There’s something there, if I can just figure it out.

Jesus, what had Ryan and Danny said years ago? Not everyone in the Syndicate was human. Was this David human? Or something else?

His heart was pounding. He had to make it through this meeting and then he was going to let himself be crushed under the weight of what he could see only in hindsight, only with Iris sitting here in front of him. Now that he understood that his attempts to save them had been fruitless because they didn’t want to be saved - not if… not if it would take them from their daughter.

He understood, now. He got it, all at once. Finn wouldn’t leave Ellis. Ellis wouldn’t leave Finn. And they wouldn’t leave Iris. 

God, he could feel fourteen years crushing him, all at once. Freedom he’d had and they hadn’t, could never get back. And they’d only been caught because Isaac had been running from being turned into Danny’s unwilling plaything, against both his and Danny’s will.

If he hadn’t let himself be rescued, he could have stayed with Danny and Nate. Danny would have… would have tried to make it feel as close to normal as he could. 

Stop it. You couldn’t have known. You could never have known. This isn’t your fault. This isn’t-... this isn’t your fault.

Felt like it, though. If he’d just… belonged to the Michaelsons - spent his days with Danny - then Finn never would have, would they? They’d be a rebel medic still, probably, not a plaything who spent their time being felt up or worse by the Michaelson patriarch-

Stop it. She’s fucking talking, listen to her, Isaac.

“Ellis,” Iris was saying softly, “is my real mother. And they told me to tell you, um, something that proves-... that proves that I’m here for them. They said… it’s been a while, motherfucker. Is-.. is bitchboy behaving?” 

Isaac closed his eyes, briefly, wanting to laugh and cry and do both at once. Vera huffed a laugh from her position behind him and Iris jumped, glancing back at David, who had a gun up, out, and pointed right at Isaac in less time than it took for Iris to flinch back when she realized Vera was there.

“Hands where I can see them,” David said, voice deep, low, and flat.

Vera stepped out into plain view, holding her gun pointed upwards with the safety on and her finger off the trigger. “Here I am,” She said, carefully. “I’m going to lay this down on that side table. No shooting. Yeah?”

David held steady. “No shooting. I don’t put this down until yours is down.”

Isaac’s hands slipped down, as if lying in his lap, the get a grip on the gun under the table, ready to pull it free and aim. “She’s with me. I promise we’re not planning on hurting anyone today, if you’re not.”

“So have her put her gun down,” Iris said, lifting her chin.

Isaac felt a stab of surreal pride that this near-stranger made her voice so strong, that she seemed so brave. It fit, that Ellis’s daughter would be good at hiding her fears.

“Vera,” Isaac said softly. 

“I’m doing it.” Vera laid her handgun down on the side table and then backed slowly away, hands still up, until she was leaning against the wall. When David’s gun lowered, so did her hands. He reholstered his weapon and everyone let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding simultaneously. There was a round of nervous laughter from them all.

Isaac tried to remind himself to just keep breathing. "So... they're still Ellis, definitely. Angry?”

Iris smiled, and you couldn’t mistake that smile for anything but someone who was talking about her mother. “Angry all the time. They’re good with the dayschool, though. I go see them every day, mostly.”

“And… and Finn?"

There was a pause, and Iris’s eyes dropped. She picked at a loose thread on her sweater. "They're, um." Iris paused, and Isaac heard her shift in her chair. "They're… very sad. All the time. With my father-”

Isaac winced. “He’s not your-”

“I know. But he is my father, too. Please don’t-... please let me talk.” Her voice did tremble, then, and Isaac went quiet. “With my father, and around everyone who works with us, they seem mostly happy, I guess. I know my fathers love each other-”

“Bullshit,” Vera said, her voice flat. “They don’t love him.”

Iris didn’t look up. “They do,” She insisted. “They do love each other, but… but when I’m alone with Finn, they’re… they’re very sad. And they don’t love him any longer. Did you… do you know them? They told me stories, but they didn't-... there were always other people around, so-"

"So they didn't tell you everything."

"No. But… but I-... I want to get them - Ellis and Finn - away from my, um. My family."

Isaac wasn't thinking about self-protection. If Iris had wanted to, she could have had her bodyguard kill him, in that moment, his eyes closed and his guard down. He leaned slowly forward and put his head in his hands, the silence drawing out. No one drew a weapon. No one fired.

Isaac felt the punch of pain, anyway, the tears running down his face. 

That's not your family, Iris. We are. Or we were supposed to be. 

“Do they know-”

“Ellis knows. I mean, my mother knows.” Iris laughed, airily, and Isaac looked up through his hands to see the piercing sadness in her features, the blend of her mother and father so deeply written in every single gesture, each expressed emotions. “I’m not allowed to call them that, so, so I hope you don’t mind if I just do it all the time, for right now? My mother knows. But-”

“Finn doesn’t know?”

Iris swallowed, and glanced back at David, who looked impassively down at her, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. “No, Daddy doesn’t know.”

Isaac’s breath hitched. Daddy-

“I can-... I’m sometimes allowed to call them that. I call, um, my father is just… Father. Or Da, sometimes, he likes Da. But Finn isn’t-... Finn doesn’t know that we’re meeting today. They know I want to, and they know I’m doing something, but we can’t tell them what or when or any details.”

“Why not?” That was Vera - but there was a set to her jaw, and a tension to her words, that suggested she knew the answer before Iris ever spoke it out loud.

“Because… if Father asks them, they’ll tell him anything. Everything. Anything they know.”

Isaac breathed out. Slowly, slowly, trying to control the despair threatening to well up inside of him. “They’re tortured?”

“Um. Not… not exactly. They just… will. Father will ask, and he’ll… kiss them, or something-” Iris’s nose wrinkled in something like disgust. “Which, watching your fathers kiss is pretty weird, for the record-”

“No doubt,” Vera murmured, “When one of them doesn’t want to.”

“Um. Sort of.” Iris’s expression shifted - something Isaac couldn’t read there - and she shrugged. “In any case. He’ll ask, and they’ll tell, sooner or later. So Ellis - my mother, God, it’s so nice to say that out loud just like that - says they can’t know, it has to be a surprise for them. So we, um, we kind of have to abduct Finn, but-... but they’ll go, we just-... have to make it a surprise abduction.”

“As opposed to the usual kind, where you send a note they can RSVP to,” David rumbled behind Iris, and she shot him a brilliant smile over one shoulder, bumping her shoulder into his side.

“Anyway… my uncles Nate and Danny know. Nate and Ellis trade books a lot, they’ve been hiding messages in them.”

“Nate Vandrum,” Vera said. “Loyal to Danny Michaelson, not his last name. Which means…”

“Which means Danny wants in on this, wants to get them out.” Isaac ignored the odd little thrill of nostalgia. One week, fourteen years ago, and it had ended in disaster. And still part of him leapt at the idea of seeing Daniel Michaelson again. “Why now?”

“Because…” Iris took a breath, closed her eyes. Opened them again, and Isaac was caught all over again by how thoroughly Finn those eyes were, but full of all the sparkling life and light that was missing from Finn’s in every photograph taken since their disappearance, since they’d been turned into a plaything, but something worse and more than that.

Playthings are discarded. They die or get paid off to disappear. 

But Finn… Finn had been at Patrick Michaelson’s side for fourteen years. They were far more than a plaything. Patrick introduced them, Isaac had been told, as his consort. Like a fucking monarchy. 

What were Syndicates, really, but petty fucking kings and queens with little kingdoms where their word was law? Why wouldn’t Patrick style himself king, and style Finn something like consort, or concubine, or-

Or royal fucking whore-

His hands had closed into fists, palms aching where his nails were digging in. Isaac forced himself to slowly, carefully relax them. 

“Because what, Iris?” Vera had moved closer up behind Isaac, and he felt her hand settle warmly onto his right shoulder. A comfort - and Vera could reach down and take a gun from Isaac’s underarm holster in less time than it took to catch a breath. 

“Because, um.” Iris picked at her manicured fingernails, then looked up from under her lashes at them both. “Because I want to go with them, with you. I want-...” She swallowed, again and again. “Because I don’t want them to hurt anymore. Because Daddy’s so fucking sad, for me, and-”

“It’s not your fault,” Isaac said, his voice strangled, caught in his throat.

It’s mine, for taking the opportunity to run and never seeing that my freedom would be paid for with theirs.

“They’re ready because I’m ready. I want to be with my family, just the three of us. I want-... I want them to be my family. And Ellis said Isaac Moore was the only person they could think of who could ever get all three of us out alive.”

“No pressure, though,” Vera said softly.

“None at all,” Isaac said. He was floating. He was a thousand miles away. He was barely tethered to earth. “Well… fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.” Vera’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “We’re doing this, right?”

“Of course we are.” Isaac watched Iris from across the table, and then did his best to smile for her. “Okay, Iris Michaelson-”

“Iris Dunham-Price,” She countered, and Isaac nearly choked on a mix of pride and grief. “I mean. I hope to be. Once we’re out.”

“Iris Dunham-Price, then. You have yourself a deal. You want to help your family escape, and escape with them. I’ve-... I’ve been waiting to bring my family home for fourteen fucking years. So let’s both get what we want, okay?”

“Okay.”

Isaac held out his hand, and Iris held out hers. Her fingers were thin, but she shook his hand with a firm grip. 

“Deal,” Iris said, nodding once.

“Ellis teach you to shake hands that way? Thought you’d crush all my bones for a second.”

Iris laughed, really laughed, for the first time she’d entered. 

Her laughter sounded exactly like Finn’s.

---

@astrobly @slaintetowhump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @burtlederp @whumpiary @sableflynn @moose-teeth

[itsthemoofacewriting]

I know you’re tired (why don’t we go back home)

That’s right, I’m not done with Whole Cake Island, nor Sanji’s vulnerability, so buckle in kiddos. This is a standalone and has nothing to do with my other story involving the WCI arc.

Summary: Sanji is quiet. Far too quiet, considering his kitchen is half burned down and Nami’s having none of it.  Rating: T

Warning: This story mentions abuse and the aftereffects of that on Sanji- some very negative thoughts. So please know your limits and exit if you have to, I don’t want to upset anyone. But I will say the ending is happy, because I like to toe at the dangerous line of emotional but not too much.

The title is from the song ‘Tired’ by Astyn Turr.

Can also be found on AO3 and FFN. 

Enjoy.

Sanji’s standing in his beloved kitchen, eyes calculating as he takes in the damage and he doesn’t need to get out his abacus to know this will cost an arm and a leg to repair. The worst of the damage is centered around the stove. The countertop is now black instead of the beautiful cream and gold finish it once had. There’s also god knows what stuck to the top of the stove. At this point it looks like it’s melded to the metal grates and he knows that’s going to take some elbow grease to get out.

Unsurprisingly, the fridge is as good as new. Nami had told him it had been the first thing Luffy had saved when the fire had broken out.

There’s no salvaging the cupboards surrounding the stove though. Fire’s licked away all the colour and has eaten away at the wood- he’s slightly surprised to see the remaining cupboard doors are even still on. He hasn’t worked up the courage to look in the cupboards yet, to see whether he has any cooking equipment or utensils left. He will look, just not yet. He wants to see how much of the black soot he can get rid of and whether he can get any of the black sludge off of his stove first.

Currently, he’s on his hands and knees, cleaning the floor around the stove and has been cleaning for the last few hours. The kitchen is nowhere near clean enough but it’s a whole lot better than the eyesore from before; most of the soot is gone and the black sludge is slowly lifting- it only loosened on his third attempt and at some point, he’ll have to ask what the hell it is.

That’s how Nami finds him. He heard the door open and the distinct sound of heels clicking about the hard wood floor, which then changed to tiles, so he knows she’s making her way towards him.

He spins, ready to put on a show and fall into his Nami-swaaan~ routine but the look she’s giving him stopped him on the spot and he’s preparing for the worst. It’s rare to see that look on her face, a mixture between angry and stern. Many of the crew would say she always looked like that, but he knows her well enough, watched her for long enough, to know the small differences.

“Why aren’t you angry about your kitchen?” She demanded, crossing her arms, eyebrow raised, and he realised it’s actually a look of don’t bullshit me.

So, he shrugged and started cleaning the space between him and Nami. It’d be rude to turn his back on her and he’d never dream of doing that, but at the same time he needed to keep himself busy, he couldn’t stand the scrutiny of that look.

And she knows it. She continued to stare even though he’s trying to look busy, to politely brush off her concern and not look at her. But she’s not giving in because the silence continued to stretch in the still kitchen, and the final straw is when she started to tap her foot. It matched the seconds ticking on the clock and he started to visualise the ticking of a bomb. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when it goes off.

Doesn’t have to either because he’s giving in on the tenth foot tap.

“Well, I can imagine it was a hard journey to get here,” the ‘without me’ is unsaid but it’s there and he shrugged but all she does is continue to stare, looking expectant, so he continued, “and I couldn’t be sure of who actually did it.”

That’s weak and they both know it. Nami’s huffing and her previously crossed arms now sit at her hips as she responded, “Look around-” She pointed at the blackened walls, he hadn’t started on them yet, “-This has Luffy written all over it. You think anyone else could achieve this?”

Sanji had nothing to say to that, so he just kept cleaning, even though he’s pretty sure the spot he’s cleaning isn’t dirt anymore and is actually a scorch mark.

The foot taping started again. “Luffy wasted food,” She said bluntly, and he knows what she’s doing, she’s trying to bait him. “Cooked everything in your best pot and then tipped the pot with the food in overboard.”

He knows she’s missing out on a few key details, like the fact that the atrocious stew he made was poisonous and that had he been with them, this wouldn’t have happened. His sister had told him when she’d returned and if it wasn’t for his sister, Luffy would be dead right now. Probably the one time he’s thankful for his family’s powers, not that they ever benefitted him.

They descend back into silence and it’s suffocating, makes him want to fidget, but he stopped himself. It’s then that he realised why it’s making him so uncomfortable and itchy. It’s stifling and it screams rejection and disapproval. It reminded him of when his father would look down his nose at him, judging him and it was that silence that used to greet him back from his cell when his voice was raw from yelling.

“Well?” Her voice cut through his thoughts before they can go any further, to a much darker place when thinking about his biological family, and he flinched at the tone.

“Sanji?” The tone is soft, a stark difference to the one from before.

Briefly, he wondered why it’d changed so drastically from before when he hasn’t responded. It’s because whilst he hasn’t said anything verbally, physically he’s said enough; from the silence, to the lack of eye contact, to the flinching and belatedly, he realised he’s curled his shoulders in. To make himself look small. Something he hasn’t done since he first joined Baratie.

He’s shown his hand and to someone who’s well versed in this language.

Their pasts were fairly similar, he’d always known that, trapped in situations of abuse and it used to make him nervous. He was always waiting for her to catch on. She was so perceptive, and he was sure she was onto him in Skypiea when he’d said he was from North Blue. He’d watched her eyes narrow and her mouth had opened to voice her confusion, but they’d been interrupted, and it was never brought up again. He slightly wondered if that was on purpose, she didn’t forget the little things.

He chanced a glance at her face after he’s straightened himself and regretted it almost immediately. She looked so worried, eyes searching for something and it made him feel naked. It made him want to disappear and it’s because he’s scared that she’s going to see right through him.

Shame.

That’s what he’s feeling, and he hated it. He doesn’t want her to see all the dirt on him, all the disgusting parts of him that made his family hate him. He doesn’t want it to happen again, he can’t. Not with her. He wants her to see him as the best version of himself, always.

But he can’t anymore. Not when she’s seen where he’s come from first-hand and heard all about it from his father.

He realised he’s already naked. Laid bare before them all, against his will and it’s easier to hide away in the kitchen then let them see him for what he truly is.

His hands have stopped their idle cleaning and he’s got so lost in his self-loathing that he’s forgotten to keep his face neutral and he’s curled back in on himself. He’s laid himself bare this time and there’s no escape.

She doesn’t look disgusted though, she doesn’t sneer down at him like his family did when he was young and tell him how pathetic he was or hit him. It looked like it’s suddenly dawning on her, maybe not the full picture just yet- but the lines are in place and the drawing only needs to be coloured in.

He sees the agitation bleed out of her. Her previously tense shoulders relax; her face softened and her eyes… he doesn’t know if can continue to look directly into them just yet. They melt and there’s so much sitting in that look and it’s all for him.

Understanding. Warmth. Empathy. Affection.

For little pathetic Sanji.

He looked down again. His wall’s about to crumble and he desperately needed to leave but he has nowhere else to go. This is his safe space.

Heels click against the tiles to close the distance between them but they’re less threatening now, not so sharp and don’t send panic down his spine.

The atmosphere in the kitchen has lifted, it’s warm and he’s suddenly reminded of his mother, how he used to feel when he was around her when she was alive.

Even more so when Nami draws him in. Her hand gently pulled the dirty rag away from his blackened hands and squeezed and he thought that was going to be it. But then her arms are wrapping around his shoulders and he’s being pulled into her embrace. It’s a bit awkward, he’s still taller than her even when she’s wearing heels, so he has to slouch a bit, but he doesn’t pull away. She brings him down until his face is resting in the crease of her neck.

It’s personal and far too intimate and warm.

Like she’s protecting him.

And it’s the straw that broke the camels back.

His eyes sting because he honestly can’t remember the last time someone had hugged him like this.

That’s a lie. He can but he doesn’t let himself think about it too often because he never quite got over her death. The woman that made his childhood bearable with gentle touches and adoring looks as he showed off his latest creation; only for it to all be taken away so suddenly before he was forced into darkness.

The tears are pouring now and he’s hugging Nami back just as tightly as she is. He’d be mortified normally; that she was seeing him like this, and he was ruining her pretty dress with something he should be over by now, but he can feel matching tears running down his cheeks that aren’t his. He can feel her body shaking along with his because she’s sharing his grief with him, so he doesn’t have to do it alone.

Nami doesn’t try to sooth him or give him reassuring words, she’s just there with him in the moment. They stay like that, their hold never slackening on the other as sobs filled the quiet kitchen. Quiet ship actually, if either of them bothered to pay attention to anything other than the person in front of them.

Neither of them moved away from the embrace, but when Sanji’s arms slacken slightly, Nami took that as a sign to start running her hands up and down his back. The move brought a fresh wave of tears from his eyes but they’re silent now, just a residue of what’s left over.

They’re in his hair now and he wondered how appropriate it really was when he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, but she didn’t voice her disapproval. If anything, it encouraged her actions all the more and he could feel the rigidness wash from his body at the gesture.

With one last squeeze, he’s tentatively pulling away from her embrace. It’s time to face the music. He wasn’t expecting her to look so determined and he’s thrown for a second because he doesn’t know what to make of that look. She cupped his face and her thumbs soothe across his cheeks to wipe away the tracks of tears that remain.

“I don’t have the full picture, but I know enough. I don’t think any less of you, I want you to know that I wouldn’t- that any of us wouldn’t. If anything, I think you’re even more amazing than you already were.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That almost brings a fresh wave of tears to his eyes because she’s so quickly and concisely got to the root of the problem. They’re words he’s never heard directly said to him and he’s slightly glad because he couldn’t imagine hearing them before now and coping with it.

Her hands are steady on his face and she doesn’t let him look down at his feet like he wanted to. As much as he wanted these words from her, the small voice in the back of his head told him otherwise.

“Judge knows nothing. For him to say all those words and believe them just proves it,” She told him fiercely, daring him to disagree. “You’re the strongest person I know, physically, mentally and emotionally. None of them are weaknesses. It’s makes you human and nothing’s worth keeping more than that.”

Nami’s words were fierce, but her expression is soft. Because the words are for Judge and the voice in the back of his head, but the softness is for him. For that dirty side of him that she now sees and apparently likes.

There’s nothing he can say. Mainly because he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack but also what could he say to that? Instead, he’s pulling her into another hug. One where he’s wrapping his arms her and trying to convey how much she means to him.

It must come across because she’s squeezing him back and he felt her breathe in deeply. What really confirmed it is the confidence in which she said, “I missed you.”

He felt like he could melt. From how adorable she’s being right now and the relief; he missed her too.

“I missed you too.”

She pulled away from him so she can see his face but stayed in his embrace, she looked serious again.

“Don’t do it again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he uttered back softly, and his eyes drifted around her face, taking all of her in. It’s rare he got to see her up close like this and he’s savouring the moment.

And then she’s smiling at him, like he’s handed her a whole chest full of gold. Whilst Nami may seem hard and unforgiving at times, she’s also one of the softest and most understanding people he’s ever met and she’s showing that right now.

It’s a combination of everything that does it for him. The atmosphere is intimate, despite the half-burned kitchen surrounding them, they’re still holding onto each other and Nami’s eyes have gone doe-eyed, almost like she’s realised too. But she didn’t pull away, didn’t let go. Instead he watched as her gaze quickly fell to his lips before darting back up to his eyes and he copied the gesture.

They’re like magnets, slowly drawing in closer with little regard to anything else other than the person in front of them. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, but when their lips finally touch it’s like everything has fallen into place and all the wrongs in his life are suddenly right. He tilted his head to the side to find a better angle and slot himself closer to her. She hummed in agreement, like she could read his thoughts, but the action sent tingles through his lips and his new aim is to get her to do that again.

But there’s hands on his shoulders before he can fulfil that goal, they’re pushing him back and he doesn’t resist.

“Maybe now isn’t the best time to be doing this,” Nami whispered and he can feel her breath on his lips. Her hands don’t move from his shoulders, but they do relax and stroke at the fabric of his shirt.

“Why’s that?”

“I feel like I’m taking advantage, look at what we’ve just been doing,” she said, edging around the topic and he smiled because she’s trying to be delicate with him.

“If it’s you, you can take advantage whenever you want.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She snorted and pinched his side, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

She gave him a bland look then, unimpressed with his joking.

“Really I am. I kissed you and I’ve wanted to for a really long time…” but then he hesitated, wondering if he’s read her wrong and maybe this was her attempting to let him down gently. “I mean, unless you don’t…?”

But then she’s firmly pressing her lips against his and, his moment of self-doubt faded into the background. He doesn’t get the chance to savour their second (second!) kiss because she’s pulling back to give him a coy smirk.

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

He smiled at her then and his hands moved to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking along it as he waited another moment for all of this to soak in.

“Can I kiss you?” He should have asked before, but he was too wrapped up in the moment, he slightly regretted that as he watched her blush prettily before him. They’ve already kissed (twice!) but somehow this embarrassed her? She’s too cute for her own good.

All she does is nod back and he brought her in closer, his lips brushing against hers, teasing her, but he doesn’t keep her waiting for much longer as he pressed his lips fully to hers. His hands move away from her jaw and into her hair, one playing with the strands whilst another stationed itself at the nape of her neck. It’s a good move on his part because she’s humming against his lips again and he felt like he could float away at the feeling.

He doesn’t though, instead he worked on keeping his cool because there’s no way he’s messing this up- he’s worked too hard to get to this point. It’s almost all thrown out of the window when Nami brushed her tongue against his lips and the sound that came from the back of his throat it definitely not something his brain preapproved, but it doesn’t stop him from opening his mouth to welcome her in.

It’s then that his brain finally registered how long they’ve been in the kitchen, in silence, alone, uninterrupted and as much as he’s focusing on her, on how soft her lips are and how good she felt, he also knew how unusual that is.

Reluctantly, he parted from the kiss but not without leaving a lingering one against her lips. When he opened his eyes, he’s met with an expression he’s never seen before on her and it makes it so much harder not to press back against her. She looked dazed and her eyes are lidded and she’s so gorgeous (Okay, so the last one isn’t new, sue him).

“Why is it so quiet?” He asked and pressed another kiss to her lips because he’s weak. Weak in the best way possible.

She blinked at him, apparently not expecting him to say that. Soon enough, her lips are curling upward, and she responded, “Luffy’s in hiding because of the state of the kitchen.”

“So he should be, what the hell was that idiot thinking?” There’s heat behind his words again but they don’t match the soft way Sanji nudged his nose against Nami’s.

“Go give him hell.” She tilted her head towards the door to encourage him.

He smiled back boyishly, his face so much lighter than before, like a burden had been lifted. He squeezed her hand in response.

“But don’t think this is over. If you ever need to talk or cry, know that you can come to me.” Nami’s face was serious as she looked at him. “Maybe even when I’m drawing maps.” Her face cracking to wink at him.

He nodded at her, leaving her with a parting kiss on the cheek but at the last second, he hesitated and looked at her longingly. Was this really more important than her?

Luckily, Nami’s well versed in Sanji.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she breathed out, giving him a teasingly smoky look that he wanted to burn into his brain for later. That look is directed at him, him!  

That’s all he needed to hear before he’s marching out of the kitchen, footsteps heavy, kicking the door open to an empty lawn deck and shouting for Luffy to show himself.

From inside the kitchen, Nami smiled. Her work was done, for now.

----------------------------------------------

Feels like my super expensive psychology degree is finally doing something; not making me any money but helping me write fanfic- score!

I actually wasn’t going to have them kiss at first, I was only going to allude to a relationship because I didn’t want it to undermine Nami supporting Sanji, but I’m a sucker for them. Hopefully I managed to pull it off.

Please excuse any errors.

Thanks for reading.

[devnicolee]

The Chosen Ones (5)

Warnings: Slow burn 

Word Count: 10,079

Pairing: M’Baku x Original Character

M'Baku's hands painfully clutched the sides of the window, half of its shattered glass scattered around his feet. His eyes were transfixed on the path of smoke slowly dissipating into nothing like he was hypnotized, as if his intense stares alone could bring the woman who flew out the window moments prior back to him. Every second that passed and every mile she traveled farther away from home and him, his frustration and rage at the people left behind grew. It only took moments, barely enough time for the group to catch their breath and truly process everything that transpired, for his rage to boil over. 

"I hope all of you are happy," he said slowly, voice quiet and deadly as he turned around to face Asha's family and the remaining council members. Despite being in the presence of the Dora and the Black Panther, most of the group shrank in his shadow. Usually, M’Baku’s bark was bigger than his bite, not nearly as terrifying or intimidating as his appearance would have someone believe. But it seemed his gentle giant personality flew out the window with the love of his life and before them stood, simply, a raging giant. 

"Excuse me?" T'Challa asked as silence fell over the group. "Are you blaming this on us?" T’Challa was frustrated, already internally blaming himself for how utterly spectacularly his plan failed. He genuinely thought he was helping, and perhaps foolishly, did not even once consider this outcome. He expected outrage, anger, of course. No decision he made came without those from someone. But this? This type of catastrophe? He was wholly unprepared. But he did know that hearing someone voice the thoughts already swirling around in his mind caused rage to flare up in him.

"Well, who else is to blame King T'Challa? You are the ones who were forcing her to hide and pretend and lie. You all created t-this system that treats her like a second-class citizen, that allows people like that woman to attack her. What in Hanuman's name did you expect? That she would be able to sit here and take that all her entire life?" M'Baku yelled, his voice booming, vibrating throughout the large throne room. 

"Not that I need to justify the choices of this family to you or anyone, Shuri and I have been trying to help Asha. You wouldn't even know her, wouldn't be able to sit and judge us if I had not forced her to join the tribe and take that job in Jabariland in the first place! She didn't even want it. You have known her for what? A month? We," he emphasized, gesturing toward the sister he had left, "have been here by her side her entire life!" T'Challa voice raised to match M'Baku's as the men traded verbal jabs at the other, neither willing to shoulder the blame the other carelessly tossed at their feet.

"Yes, and some help the two of you have been while she was being emotionally abused and mistreated in her own home. This," he scoffed, "this isn't a life! What you and your parents forced upon her isn't a life. And you didn't fight for her to have the life she deserved. From where I am sitting, you never have. If you had, it wouldn't have taken 25 years. If you had, she would not have felt the need to flee out of your window to Hanuman knows where!"

"And what of you hm? Did you ever stop to think about why Asha didn't flee up to the mountains to be with you the first chance she got? Since you know her so well... since you offered her freedom and a real life that we didn't? Because maybe Asha understood what it could cost all of us, maybe she understood there are larger obligations at play. But you don't care about the cost! To us... or to Asha for that matter. You don't care about what is best for her and her family. You just care about her being who you want her to be. You don't love her for her, you love her for her powers. How is that any different than Hasani? Or my father who demanded she be who they wanted?" He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself before adding, "If you knew my sister as well as you think you do, you would know that she would never choose to sacrifice this family for herself." 

"I knew you didn't deserve to be King, time and time again you prove that you are just a boy. A child who has no concept of leadership," M'Baku spat. "Because if you did, you would have been willing to sacrifice it all for her.  It would never have to be her choice! You all had countless opportunities to do something different, to avoid the consequences of being indifferent to hate. When your parents or the Council plucked at the threads holding your sister together, you did nothing. Because you do not care about her, you only care about your family's grip on power, just like your father."  

T'Challa's eyes flashed red as M'Baku's words sank in. A king no longer stood before him, the Black Panther and a very overprotective brother did. His suit instinctively wrapped its protective fibers around his body, launching him into attack mode. The only sounds in the room were sharp breaths and the collective bang of the Dora banishing their spears, ready to defend their King if needed. There was no room for God, Bast or Hanuman as the safe space separating the two vanished completely. Verbal blows were over, physical ones were zooming toward them with the speed of a panther as T'Challa said in a low voice, "Do. Not. Ever. insinuate that I --"

"Alright, enough boys, enough!" Nakia yelled, cutting off her boyfriend and pushing her way between the two men. Her hands pushed against each of their chests to force them apart. She didn't expect to actually move them, and she didn't, but it gave them both a physical signal to retreat to their figurative corners. They could argue all day if they wanted but Nakia knew it would be a worse end to an already terrible day if T'Challa killed one of his council members.

"You are all dismissed," she called out forcefully to the remaining council members, who no one else seemed to realize were still there. They all seemed to be too invested in the drama, feeling that the council meetings had gotten far more interesting now that T'Challa was king. And though Nakia actually did not have the authority to end any meetings, they all scampered, quickly gathering their things to leave. Once the last soul exited, leaving M'Baku and the Royal Family behind, Nakia added, "We all failed her and so we all shoulder the blame for this. Had we not... she would here and not... not lost. Arguing over who failed her the most and who loves her the most won't help us find her or help us get her back. So, let us focus on that for now and then Asha can tell us all how much we failed her in person. Agreed? Good." She answered herself, not waiting for either man to respond before redirecting her attention to Shuri. "Now, Shuri, can you trace the signal from her beads?"

Shuri had been silent those far, watching the two men argue from the window. She wiped the stray tear or two from her eyes as she walked back to her original seat and picked up her tablet. After a couple of seconds, a large-scale 3-D map of Wakanda was projected at their feet. The group moved out of the way to get a better view, looking down to see a thin red line labeled "Princess Asha Udaka" appear and slowly zigzag its way out of the inner dome around the Capitol. The dot traveled a short distance in the wilderness before stopping abruptly above the Land of the Heart-Shaped Herb.

"Her trail ends here," Shuri stated, pointing at the end of the line. 

"So she is there?" M'Baku stated, half as a matter of fact statement and half as a question. "Let us go and get her." 

"I didn't say she was there. I said her signal ends there," Shuri snapped back, understandably still angered at M'Baku's earlier attack as they were directed at both she and T'Challa.

She continued tapping away as Nakia said, "How is that possible? Override her tracker bead and find her that way."

"I am working on it," Shuri responded immediately, clearly agitated. There was silence as Shuri tapped away on her screen, eyes growing bigger. 

"What is it, Shuri?" T'Challa asked.

"She destroyed her beads, either accidentally or on purpose. We won't be able to find her this way."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, if she manually turned off her tracker, I would be able to override it but I can't. And right before it stopped transmitting a location, her health bead sent out a distress signal, then stopped tracking and recording all health data. That bead never turns off, it can't. It records everything to the minute. So, best guess, and my guesses are usually never wrong, she destroyed them." 

"I thought you couldn't destroy vibranium?" M'Baku asked, not truly understanding how the beads or vibranium worked. 

"You can destroy anything if you have something powerful enough. Asha's powers certainly aren't enough to destroy vibranium, you know - reduce it to atoms. But with enough sustained fire, it can melt. And the beads are made of more than vibranium. Once exposed to an open flame for too long, the tech can be rendered useless. The point is, her beads won't help us. She could be fine and not want to be found. But... she could be hurt and be unable to tell anyone. We just don't know, so we have to find her the old-fashioned way." 

"She didn't leave Wakanda, nothing has crossed the exterior border in the last hour," Okoye offered as she checked a log on her beads. 

"So aside from the border, where could she be headed in that direction? Any place of significance to her?" 

"That path is on the road to everywhere significant. The border, Warrior Falls, Jabariland, the Hall of Kings... It also depends on if she is looking for a place to be alone for a few hours or shelter for days. The mountains could give her shelter but who would she go there for besides you? Warrior Falls is her favorite spot but she won't find shelter there." 

"And I doubt she would choose to go to the Hall of Kings," Shuri added. "It houses the Garden of the Heart-Shaped Herb," she added for M'Baku's benefit. "No one has been there for over a month. After Killmonger destroyed it, the priestesses refused to return, saying Bast cursed the land." 

"My son... perhaps we should just let her be," Ramonda offered, approaching the group from her seat off to the side. Everyone's heads turned, almost as if they forgot she was even in the room. Her words coupled with the almost annoyed look on her face caused a cloud of anger to settle over the group once more. 

"What? How could you suggest such a thing, Mama?" Shuri asked in disbelief.  

"Your sister can only bring this family ruin. Why bring her back here to further destroy everything? Whatever she is searching for outside of this palace may be what is best for her." 

"Asha is our sister. She is a member of this family, a leader in this country. The only people who have destroyed everything are you and Baba for creating this mess. We are finding her and we are bringing her home." 

"I am just sugg-" 

"That is the end of this discussion. And you would do well to never make that suggestion in my presence again." His tone almost as lethal and harsh as the one he banished Elder Shani with earlier. T'Challa turned his back to his mother before continuing, "M'Baku and I will take the Talon and clear every inch of Wakanda like a grid. The body scans will identify her tattoo. You all stay here in case she returns."

He did not wait for confirmation or approval from anyone else for a plan, deciding if someone had a better idea then they would have said it already. He motioned for M’Baku to follow him out of the throne room without another word.  

****

The ride on the Talon was virtually silent as the airplane piloted itself and T'Challa intently examined the sand table in the middle of the ship that reflected the passing landscape beneath them. He transitioned for pacing, throwing aggressive glances at the table, to standing hunched over it, staring at the sand disheartened and frustrated. The sand rapidly transformed into the different trees and rivers they passed over and people they passed over, all the dark gray color of the sand. T'Challa warned M'Baku that they would be waiting for purple sand, that it would be her. M'Baku let T'Challa do that while he just stared out of the window at the sea of black as if he could see Asha's body in the darkness. 

"Why do you love her?" 

M'Baku wondered if T'Challa got pleasure out of asking him deep questions out of the blue. "What's not to love?" M'Baku asked, not looking away from the window. At the returning silence, he grinned slyly and glanced back to see a very unsatisfied look on his face. He understood, understood the question and its purpose. If his thoughts were any indication, perhaps T’Challa worried that he was merely infatuated with his sister, not actually in love with her. He knew he did not need to but he did care about convincing T’Challa that that was not the case here. That his love was real and not some childish fantasy or obsession with magic.

"You know I noticed her at your challenge. There I was, down the mountains for the first time in my life, determined to die for that throne. And when I looked at the crowd, she was the first thing I noticed. My eyes drew to her like a moth to a flame. It was fleeting though, I could only focus on her for a second for there was fighting and honorable dying to get on with. And then the first time I saw her... truly saw her, in Jabariland… I mean, Hanuman. I have been with a great deal of women in my life but I had never seen one like her before. I saw it - that sadness you spoke of. But I also saw fire, passion, fierce determination. What do I love about her? I love the way you can see her heart soar at every compliment or kind word. I love the way her eyes, already filled with fire, light up when she discovers something new about herself. I love how she values family despite hers being so fragmented. I love that she is so dedicated to Wakanda, loves Wakanda so deeply despite not receiving that love in return. I love her quiet strength, her endless compassion."

He paused for a few moments, turning around to lean back against the wall of the ship. A hearty laugh escaped his lips as he stared across the ship at nothing. "You know the first time I realized it?" he asked as he walked up to T'Challa, looking down at the sand table. "We uh... we have this small cliff across from the Lodge. From there, you can see the best view of the sunset in all of Wakanda. To most of the tribe it isn't anything special, truth be told. Myself included, having had access to it my entire life. It became mundane and ordinary. But Asha, she likes sunsets so I took her there while she was in Jabariland. And you could see her whole being fill with joy and excitement, like this ordinary, mundane cliff was the best thing she had seen in her life. I don’t know, up until that point, I had tried to keep my feelings at bay. I didn’t deserve her I told myself. But the idea that she could love something so boring and ordinary made me feel like maybe she could love someone who was boring and ordinary. Who did not possess the power she did.” 

The two men fell silent for a moment, T'Challa not knowing what to say. After a few minutes, M'Baku added, "You were not totally wrong earlier. When I was young, I wanted so desperately to be like her. I would pray on my knees until they ached to be blessed with a gift. I thought I had grown out of that. But your sister... I just wanted her to see what I saw, to accept the freedom I could offer, to choose me. Because if she chose me, if she could love me, then maybe I was not as ordinary and boring as I always felt. But I didn't think about the cost to her or you all, what was the cost to mere mortals in the face of her powers? But that... that selfishness isn't her way. All I saw was two people who were wholly unfulfilled. And I was so desperate for her to be mine so I could fill us both… so she could be free and I could be a part of something that was not ordinary that I never stopped to consider that maybe it is time for her to be hers. Time for others to stop forcing their wants on her  and that includes me."

T'Challa simply stared at him, not expecting even half of an answer as detailed, nuanced and passionate as that. “I-I am sorry. For the throne room,” he started to say but M’Baku stopped him. 

“We both said things, things I know I regret and you did not deserve or earn. Let us leave them in the past, yes?” M’Baku asked, extending an olive branch to his king. T’Challa nodded but before he could say anything else, a flash of purple sand caught his eye. 

"I found her!" he called out. 

M'Baku moved quickly to the sand table where purple sand was interrupting the field of gray while T’Challa directed the Talon to turn around and slowly lower to hover above the trees. "She is in front of the Hall of Kings." 

M'Baku touched the purple sand that represented her horizontal body, expecting it to crumble in his hand like sand usually did to but it remained solid. He held it in his hand, silently pleading with Hanuman that she was alive and well.

"We cannot get any closer?” M’Baku asked as T’Challa activated his suit and motioned for him to follow him down the ramp. 

“Out of respect for Bast’s whole place, we do not fly or hover the Talon directly over the Hall of Kings or its immediate surroundings. 

M’Baku nodded then questioned, “Any idea why Asha would come here?"

"My father used to come here and pray. Only the Panther Tribe and those who tend to the Garden are even allowed here. It is sacred ground. Asha has never even been here." 

"And they believe it is cursed now?" M'Baku asked, an eerily feeling falling over him as they moved through the darkness with little light to guide them. But he could not tell if that was because the land was actually haunted or because he was simply overthinking after what Shuri said. 

"That is what the priestesses have told us... that Bast was enraged at the destruction of the Garden. Everytime they come here, they say they are overcome with dark thoughts, visions of Bast. They hear cries and rustlings in the trees," T'Challa answered.

"And you believe them?" M'Baku pushed a low hanging branch out of their way as they approached the clearing she was supposed to be in. "I do not hear anything."

"The priestesses have tended to this garden for most of their lives with Zhuri. It is their whole world. They have no reason to lie," his voice trailed off as the reason for their journey came into view. "Asha!"

T'Challa and M'Baku raced forward when they saw her body in a heap on the forest floor. As they approached, T'Challa quickly inspected the area and noticed the scorched black Earth branching out from beneath her body, her lack of shoes, and the cuts littering her arms and legs. Her face was hidden from view, covered by all her braids. She was knocked out cold. M'Baku reached her first, recognizing that T'Challa should have due to his enhanced speed, but understanding and appreciating the gesture. 

M'Baku knelt down into the soft earth beside her, gently shifting her head so her face was facing up. He was startled at the lack of warmth in her body. Usually the girl felt like a furnace but now? She was as cold as ice. M'Baku felt her coldness as if someone had replaced his own blood with ice. He was so sure, convinced they would find her alive and well, probably  too convinced. He had not prepared himself for any other possibility, refused to even consider it. Now all the other possibilities were vying for his attention, demanding he reckon with the reality that Asha was no goddess at all... she was human, a mere mortal like the rest of them. 

"Check her pulse," T'Challa said, his voice even and cold. He knew from the way M'Baku held her cheek, the way the man seemed paralyzed that all was not right. He had not allowed himself to consider this either, forced the thought out of his mind every time. But staring at her, wishing for a different scenario would not change the current outcome. They needed to know and prolonging it would not ease their pain.

M'Baku nodded, signaling that he heard the question. He couldn't get his mouth or vocal chords to work enough to verbally respond. He took a deep breath, sent a silent prayer to Hanuman before starting to move his hand down to her neck to find a pulse. For a moment, he thought back to their time in the mountains, that sunset on that cliff. It truly was a perfect moment, a perfect stolen moment that ended too quickly. Asha seemed to believe that was all they were, all they would get: a selfishly seized stolen moment that was not actually in the cards for either of them. But M’Baku refused to believe that as he prayed to Hanuman. He prayed that life, no matter how strong or feeble, would still pump through her veins when his fingers pressed into her neck. Because he knew she deserved more… and he knew that they deserved a lifetime of moments designed especially for them and freely given to them to fulfill. 

****

Asha groaned as she opened her eyes, shifting a bit as she registered the hard forest ground beneath her and the pain radiating through her body. One look at the sky above her caused her to sit up quickly, completely ignoring the immediate frustration and pain born from crashing to the ground. She quickly noticed several things that were not as they should have been. It was pitch black outside when she left the palace but now? The sky was ablaze with deep hues of purple and blue, lights that moved across the sky like a living organism. If she were not so perplexed, she would have been content simply lying there to admire its beauty. 

She didn't even really understand how she got here - she crashed in the forest, that much she remembered. But now? She was surrounded by tall swaying grass like that of the Alkama Fields, not the towering thick trees and greenery that surrounds the Hall of Kings. She stood up quickly, dusting the dirt off her purple dress and turned from side to side, trying to notice any landmarks or buildings that would help her discern where she was now.

She walked a few paces ahead of her before an eerie feeling settled over her causing her to stop in her tracks. There was nothing out of the ordinary ahead of her and yet, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She turned around slowly, the sight behind her rendered her speechless. And thank Bast it did or else she would have let out a blood-curdling scream and she doubted theblack panthers staring at her from this tree would have appreciated that. She counted 10 or so of them as her eyes swept across the tree frantically. Her legs turned into jelly as examining stares passed between her and the majestic but deadly creatures. They seemed to regard her with interest, while Asha was too busy looking from the tree to the very short span of grass that separated them.

That is an easy leap for any one of them.

Asha's mind started racing, trying to access years of knowledge about Panthers and quickly sift through it all for something that could help her. As if her knowledge was a roaring rapid, the facts flew past her at an unnatural speed, uselessly until one old legend jumped out at her. Many believed that the Panther Tribe had a deeper connection with all panthers, those on the island and those in the wild, and so no panther would ever harm them. However, now seemed like a poor time to test that theory in Asha's opinion.

She pushed down with her hands, deciding that flying was far safer than walking and would help her find her way home. However, much to her shock, nothing happened. She tried again, facing scrunching up in intense frustration and concentration as she tried to force fire out of her extremities to gain flight. But she couldn't even get sparks... she was completely and utterly powerless. She groaned softly in frustration, not understanding how she was rendered powerless - something she had hoped and prayed for - the one time she actually needed them.

As she stood there examining her hands, her legs started to feel warm. She ignored it initially, hoping it was her powers finally starting up again. That was until the unmistakable smell of smoke reached her nose. She looked behind her and realized the grass around her was slowly catching on fire.

"Oh no," she said quietly, trying to wave the flames away, using all the tricks she knew to absorb fire but nothing worked. She backed away from it, edging closer to the tree of panthers who seemed completely unperturbed by the fire coming closer to them. Every time she tried to channel her powers and absorb it, it grew larger and spread faster. Soon, she was surrounded. Asha covered her mouth with her arm, trying to avoid breathing in the smoke that was now obstructing her vision. Deja-vu poked through the haze of panic settling over her - she had been here before.

She lifted a hand to the flames, praying that she, at least, still had her ability to touch fire and be unharmed. But that proved to be wishful thinking as well. She cried out in pain as the fire burned her skin and caused the palm of her hand to turn red and immediately blister.

She clutched her burning hand to her chest, tears flowed freely at the throbbing pain radiating from it. She had never known the pain fire caused and now she wished she still didn't. She looked around wildly, trying to find an escape from the blazing inferno that seemed intent on killing her. With no other plan or recourse available to her, Asha simply yelled out "Bast! Help me!" Who else was there to seek help from at this point? There was no living soul anywhere near her, she was sure of that.

She was just about to close her eyes, resigned to dying alone in this inferno far from home, when a glowing light caught her eye. She looked up and the smoke seemed to clear just enough for her to see a panther approaching her through the flames. If Asha hadn't been so awestruck, she would have collapsed with fear. This was no ordinary panther, she realized. Its skin appeared to be made of diamonds, glistening and shining in the light of the flames, and was as tall as Asha herself. It walked through the flames as if they were nothing more than colorful air that had no effect whatsoever. When it was close enough, Asha was able to look in its eyes. They were a rich purple, almost like someone hand-picked the finest jewels and plucked them in its eyes. It reminded her of something, something distinct that she couldn't quite put her finger on with the haze of panic around her. 

Bast. 

She didn't know how she knew but she knew. It couldn't be anyone else. 

She and the panther stared at each other for, what Asha considered to be, an uncomfortable amount of time. Asha realized how often she blinked as she stared into its jeweled eyes, examining the intensity in which this animal tilted its head from side to side to study her. 

"If you are Bast, give me a sign? Or you know... be quick about it if you are going to kill me?" She whispered, laughing uncomfortably to herself. She wondered if she was losing her mind, here in this unknown place trying to escape fire by talking to an animal.

The fire. Asha was so taken by this panther in front of her that she had forgotten about the flames so quickly, flames that she had been terrified of only moments prior. She looked around wildly, realizing that the smoke was no longer affecting her. She could breathe easy again, it felt like nothing different than standing in a field of flowers. And almost as beautiful, she thought to herself as she watched the flames rage around her for a second, relieved now that she knew it couldn’t hurt her. She knelt down and bowed her head, understanding who was causing this, who was in front of her.

"Open your eyes, Asha."

Asha lifted her head at the sound of a voice to find a woman where the panther once stood. Asha looked around and found untouched, seemingly perfect grass, replacing the burning field that was there before. She also realized that her hand was no longer red and pulsing with pain. All the evidence of the last five minutes seemed to vanish, like it never happened. 

"Y-You are Bast?" Asha asked, her voice echoed the disbelief in her head. The answer was obvious, other-worldly radiated off the woman before her. She certainly was not human. Her deep chocolate skin glowed like the sun, adored from head to toe in gold robes. Nestled on top of her long, flowing black locs was a simple golden crown with purple jewels settled around it. The rest of the world fell away as Asha stared at her, captivated and sure that she could look at her for the rest of her days and it would never be enough.

"You called for me, did you not?"

Asha blinked a few times, her desperate calls for Bast almost forgotten. It felt like ages ago now despite only being minutes. But she hadn't actually expected the goddess to show up; after all she called on Bast for decades and she never came to her aid those times. "Y-yes, yes I did. Thank you f-for saving me. I suppose I didn't think you would show up," Asha admitted with an apologetic tone. There was an awkward pause as Bast simply stared at her across the field, clearly waiting for Asha to speak. "I am in the Ancestral Plane, yes? I died after my crash?" Her tone was surprisingly calm and casual, as if she was confirming the weather and not her livelihood. 

She laughed lightly, "Yes and no, you are in the Ancestral plane but no, you are not dead. You came close, that is certain. That flight was a dangerous venture even for experienced flyers. But worry not, you are very much still among the living." 

"Oh." Asha stopped her silent walking just behind Bast, causing the Goddess to instinctively stop as well and turn to her. Asha looked to her left and saw yet another set of panthers leering at her from a tree beside her, each woman standing on either side of its trunk, staring at the other. Asha's eyes flinted from Bast to one panther in particular. Most stared at her with interest for a moment before going back to sleep or turning their attention elsewhere. But not this one, its deep brown eyes bored into Asha's soul so intensely that even when she turned away, it felt like a laser on her profile. 

"You almost sound disappointed by that fact." Bast responded, interrupting her staring match with the panther. Asha turned her attention back to Bast, an amused look on her face. 

"Oh no, I mean I am happy to be alive. I guess I am just confused. Why am I here then?" 

"Well, I wanted to speak with you. I have been watching you... waiting for the opportunity to approach you. The moment finally presented itself. You have visited us before."

"Yes, in my dreams. I did not know what it was though, but I thought it was just some place I made up. And I never make it past the flames. Wait - what do you mean you have been watching me?"

"I have been watching you as I do with all I have deemed worthy of a gift, waiting for them to reach out to me. I meet with all the gifted at some point in their lives. When they have reached a point in their self discovery, I find that most need to be pushed forward, as you do now. Some reach that point earlier than others though. The waiting can be difficult, as it was with you but you finally got there."

The breeze passed by the two women as Asha stared at her. She opened and closed her mouth, 15 years worth of questions, anger, and frustration rising to the surface but Asha wasn't able to put any of it into words. 

She settled on saying, "'The gifted?' That sounds like the Jabari?" It didn't feel sufficient but she was still gathering her thoughts. 

"Yes, on this Hanuman and I agree. He calls them the Chosen, I call them gifts but they are all the same. All chosen... all gifts to Wakanda, especially now since your brother has reunited all the tribes. It just seems, unfortunately, that my people have yet to catch on as the Jabari did. But I am hoping the Jabari can lead them on that path of understanding. Your father was a particularly tough subject, clearly my plan to humble him with a gifted child did little to help him see the light. I am always right, people believe. But even once a century or two, I get it wrong." 

"Doesn't sound like much of a gift," Asha muttered to herself, upon processing the idea that her life was nothing more than a pawn in Bast's master plan. Asha suddenly felt angry, anger that felt like it appeared out of nowhere all of a sudden. But really, it had been building, boiling below the surface for 15 years.

"What was that child?" The tone of Bast's voice signaled that she was not asking because she had not heard. She just wanted Asha to say it out loud. 

Asha drew herself to full height, standing tall before her goddess, anger still steadily rising. "I said it doesn't sound like much of a gift... to have your existence used as a pawn in someone else's life. I endured years of pain and abuse for what? My father left this world hating mutants just as much as he did before he had me. You are Bast… all mighty and all powerful and you couldn't humble him a different way? Dangling my life in the balance was the only way? Is that what you want me to believe?" 

"I leave my people to make their own choices. I give the signs, I give the lessons, sometimes I give explicit instructions... it is your choice to follow them. Your father chose many times not to follow, did not recognize the signs or actively chose to ignore them. I realized quickly that there was little I could do for a man like that." 

That isn't good enough, Asha thought angrily to herself. But she didn't respond, she just turned her head away from Bast, frustration clear and evident. She turned to find that damned panther still staring at her, and somehow it made her even more angry so she looked up at the sky, hoping its beauty would calm her. But it didn't. 

"Your life was never in the balance. You grew up strong and powerful, as I intended," Bast added, breaking the silence between them. "I was always here for you but I thought you had forgotten me... you stopped praying."

And with that simple phrase, Asha snapped. She scoffed loudly as her anger boiled over, "'I stopped praying??' I prayed to you every day for years. I begged and begged, pleaded and cried for you to take this gift back. I begged to be normal. Were those prayers not loud enough? Were the sobs and agony of one of your gifts not loud enough to earn an audience?" 

"And you weren't there! I stopped praying because you weren't answering, or giving any indication that you heard me at all! Is this what you intended? I mean, look at me! Look at my life!" Asha yelled exasperated as she paced by the tree, ranting angrily. "My mother hates me, my father went to his grave hating me, the only real family I have are T'Challa and Shuri, I am not connected to my home or country in any real way, and I have spent my whole life lying and hiding."

Asha roughly wiped the tears before adding, "A-and to top it off, I have a man back there who I am madly in love with that I don't deserve," a small sob escaped her lips. "That I can't be with because of things I didn't ask for. Because of you! Because of this life you forced upon me… This life that you call a gift but has been nothing but a curse for the last 15 years. A-a-and you call me here and what? Expect me to thank you for it? You call me here after 15 years of misery, 15 years of watching my life fall apart and you say it is what you intended?? This is NOT a gift!" She shouted, her voice startling a few panthers in the trees. 

Asha's chest heaved slightly as she tried to calm herself after unloading years of pent-up anger onto Bast. She couldn't help but blame Bast for every bad thing in her life right now, after all she just told her that she orchestrated it all. All that pain, all that tragedy she flew away from, she laid it at Bast's feet. She didn't know why or what she expected in return. 

"I do not expect you to not be angry with me, child. Your anger is fair. But where you see a life of darkness, I see one overflowing with potential.” Bast’s eyes were filled with understanding, despite just being yelled at. “But you are tired. And I understand that too." 

Asha nodded, she was tired. That was how she felt, simply exhausted. Life... her life was too much work right now. She looked around, the soft swaying trees, the serene violet sky, the peace. There was such peace here, there were no powers here. Asha craved for it. 

"You could just... you could just stay here," Asha whispered to herself.

"This place is not for you. You have many years ahead," Bast answered, voice matter-of-fact and clear.  

"Why not?" Asha asked, now considering the notion seriously.  "Y-You get to choose right?? That's what we are taught, what all the stories say? Well, then choose to let me stay!" 

"No." Bast answered again. "You have a job to do. You cannot do it here." 

"Fine, send me back, but take my powers. I do not want them." Asha began to bargain. In her mind, Bast owed her something, owed her what she asked. If she couldn't stay here, she could bring one aspect of this peace back with her. She could finally get Bast to do the one thing she had begged her to do her whole life. She can set her free. 

"No, you were chosen. Wakanda needs you, as you are today." 

"You have my brother! He is the protector of Wakanda. Whatever job you need to do, he can do it!" 

"Your brother is not enough. For centuries, the Black Panther has been enough. But your father made terrible mistakes, mistakes that have altered the future of Wakanda. And your brother, rightfully, has opened Wakanda's borders. With it, new dangers unlike any we have ever seen will come. He needs you. Wakanda needs you." 

"No... no!" Asha cried out in frustration, falling to her knees before her goddess. She hunched forward as her hands grasped the ground in front of her, her nails digging into the soil. She wondered if Bast thought this was amusing, how quickly her anger turned to desperation. "I cannot do this. I asked you for years and you ignored me. Listen to me now, please. I am begging you. I d-don't want this anymore. P-please." Asha's voice broke as she sobbed on the ground before Bast. She imagined she looked as pitiful as she sounded. 

"Stand up, Asha Udaka," Bast commanded from above her. "You are a gift. You were made from me, my children do not kneel or grovel at my feet." 

Asha steadied her breathing, stopped her silent sobbing as best she could, before standing before Bast once more. "Do you know why you have never made it past the flames before? Because you are so terrified of who you are. Instead of accepting them, accepting the fire and all that comes with it as part of you, you shun it, you run from it, you hide from it. And you are right, with a life like that, you will never be happy. You will always be afraid, you will always be running, you will always be living with the constant fear of being burned. You will always be tired."

Bast took a step toward her before continuing, "Or... you could make the choice to do something different. The life your father promised you is not the life you must have. Perhaps the role you believed you were going to have in Wakanda is not the role you are destined for. It will be hard, I will not tell you otherwise. Going back is hard. There are very few on Earth whose lives aren't exhausting, that is the burden... the sacrifice paid for breath pumping through your veins. But it will be worth it, it is always worth it." 

Asha looked around, everywhere but at the woman in front of her, unsure of what to say. Was it that easy? Trusting her, having faith in her after feeling forsaken and forgotten for so long? 

Bast's hand cupped Asha's cheek gently, wiping away the tears that still streamed silently down her face. "You could stay here. Truthfully, it is not my choice, it is yours. I will not stop you... Your brother had to make the same difficult choice not too long ago. He is destined to be the best of them, the man to lead my people to new heights. He returned home because there was work to be done. I believe he is better for it. I believe you will be better for it as well."

"How? What can I offer Wakanda? Or anyone like this?” she gestured to herself, imaging what her emotionally-broken form looked like to Bast. “Half of the country hates me, half of my family hates me. My brother had a role - King. I have nothing but powers that most of the country would rather me not use."

"That is far from true, my child. You have everything, everything you need already. You are rare... destined to be the best of them, I know this. And the path to that power hasn't been easy. You can hate me for it but this was the path you needed, this is what Wakanda needs. You have the power no other gift has had, power to do things the normal hand would not dare dream of - the power to undo atrocities and build lasting bridges all across Wakanda. You are rare... destined to be the best of them. I know this because I willed it. You just have to learn to love it, for all its beauty and terror. And then use it to save my people, save Wakanda's future. And then, you may find that giving and receiving love from others, and knowing you deserve it, is far simpler than before." 

Bast squeezed her hands tightly. Asha didn't know what future she could save, what she could do for Wakanda. But as she stared around at the panthers and the Ancestral Plane, she knew one thing for certain - she couldn't stay here.

A small whimper next to her caught her attention. The black panther in the tree next to them was no longer just staring at Asha, it was sitting up as if it sensed her soul was about to leave. It almost looked like the idea pained it. As Asha stared at it, she realized that something about it seemed oddly familiar. She knew this didn't make sense, she had never seen a real panther in her life to remember one. But she could not help but think this one seemed to know her. She suddenly remembered what her brother told her after his visit here. He was there. 

I wonder... she started to think, taking a step toward the tree, when Bast squeezed her hand again, stopping her movements. "It is time to go now, Asha. I fear we are sending you home with more questions than answers. But you will see me again when you have done what you are destined to do. Then you will get those new answers you seek, understand?" 

Asha gave the panther one last look of longing, knowing whose soul inhabited it, wanting nothing more than the same opportunity to talk to him as she just had with Bast. But she knew this was all in Bast's plan so she answered, "Yes," before turning away from the panther for the last time. 

Bast opened her arms wide and Asha tentatively walked into them, immediately leaning into the hug as she felt warmth and safety she hadn't felt in ages rushing through her. Bast smiled and whispered, "You know... I must hand it to myself. The Golden Trio... you all are the rarest flowers in my garden. Brilliant, capable and meant to help us in such different ways. You are the three pillars on which the progress of Wakanda will stand upon. In the absence of one, she would fall. It is a heavy burden I ask of you and cruel that I should ask it without offering any guidance. But like all my gifts, you must walk it alone. Right the wrongs, protect our future. And then we will speak again. Goodbye until then Princess Asha."

*****

Asha's eyes fluttered open, blinking profusely to adjust to the dim light surrounding her. Her head fell to the side as she laid there, recognizing the space as her bedroom in the palace. . She shifted beneath her deep red duvet cover, an audible groan escaping from the pain radiating through her body. Asha couldn't think of a time her body felt such extreme pain like this, feeling like she was just flung and subsequently trampled by a border tribe rhino. But she knew she had little space to complain. The fact that she was alive was a gift from Bast, that fall should have ended her life. 

Bast... her meeting with the Panther Goddess was fresh in her mind. It felt more like a dream, except she remembered it so clearly, so vividly. Usually dreams disappeared from her memory within seconds of waking up. But this seemed to be burned into her brain, like Bast wouldn't let her forget a second of it.

She started to sit up, deciding to find her family and apologize for her impromptu escape when a soft but firm hand stopped her movements. "Lay back down, Asha. You need to rest." 

Her heart leaped into her throat as she heard his voice. She looked up and saw him sitting on the edge of her bed. She didn't understand how she missed him, he seemed too big for her space. But she supposed she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts. "M'Baku?" 

A small but distinct smile fell on his face as he heard the relief in her voice, there was no hiding it. He squeezed her hand, the pair simply staring at each other as he helped her ease back onto the pillows beneath her back. She stared at him, happy but extremely confused. 

"W-what are you doing here?" 

His hands left her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms in a comforting fashion. She appreciated the warmth of his hands, helping her realize how cold she was. She felt like her body would never be warm again. 

"I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were alright. Um... Let me get you some water yes? Stay here." Asha took in his nervousness, the anxiety in his voice. He was clearly trying to find busy work, something to do that was not simply staring at her or having the difficult conversation looming over him like a dark cloud. She watched him grab the water pitcher in the sitting area of her quarters. She stared around her, the profound desire to get up coursing through her. She just wanted to sit on the couch and talk to him, not lay in her bed like a patient. She swung her legs out of bed, ignoring the exhaustion and pain it caused to do such a little task. However, she would soon learn to regret that decision as she pushed off the bed to stand. The moment her legs took on her full weight, they turned to jelly. She crumbled back to the ground, with a soft thud. 

"Asha!" He ran back over to her, forgetting her water. "What do you need?" 

Asha tried to stabilize her breathing to talk, but nothing would come out. She had been so preoccupied, so trapped in her own thoughts that this was the first moment she actually registered how exhausted she felt. As if she could visualize it in her mind, she could see her internal tank empty, something that had never happened in her life. Panic settled as her eyes moved wildly around her room, trying to understand what she needed in this unforeseeable scenario. Her eyes fell on the raging fire in her sitting area. Was it that easy? she asked herself as she stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace. Her intense staring and look of longing did not go unnoticed by her companion. He picked her up bridal style, the young princess too tired to even be excited by being in his arms, and sat her as close as humanly possible to the fire without sticking her body in it. She hesitated for a moment, knowing it was crazy. But the flames seemed to call out for her, beg for her, growing taller and wilder as she watched them. She reached her hand out into the fire, the warmth immediately washing over her like someone basking in sunlight. She held her hand there, eyes closed, as her body soaked up all the fire in the hearth. Warmth spread through her arm and into every area of her body until she could feel it in every finger and toe, finally feeling full again. The price of her resurgence was the loss of fire in her room but she didn't feel as though she needed it now. She was not at 100%... she knew it would take some time to get back where she was. But this felt good.

"Better?" M'Baku asked softly from behind her, a comforting hand still on her back. He figured it worked, instead of deathly cold, he could feel the warmth circulating beneath her skin now. It wasn't as powerful as once before but it was there. 

"Much. Not 100% but close. T-thank you." 

He picked her back up and carried her back to bed. Once she was settled, he sat down on the side of the bed next to her. 

"You gave us quite a scare. Flying away like that. On your third try? You could have died."

"Flying is the only way to escape a brother with super speed. Before I knew it, I was in the middle of nowhere and couldn't hold myself up any longer. I didn't mean to scare anyone.” 

“You could have died, Asha,” he lectured. His words fell on her ears like a parent scolding a child instead of like a… she still didn’t know what they were. 

“No one would have cared,” she mumbled under her breath. She couldn’t even stop herself from letting it slip but as soon as it did, she wished she had. The hurt on his face was clear. 

"The King, Shuri, Nakia and the Dora care about you deeply Asha."

"Are they the only ones?" She asked softly. 

M'Baku bowed his head, avoiding her expectant stare as he thought of a response. He cared about her, deeply so. But was now the time to have this conversation? After she almost died? He supposed it was foolish to back down now. This was what he wanted this whole time, to express his feelings. But now that it was here? He wished he had a few more days to get his thoughts together. 

"No, not just them. There are some that care about you more than you know, more than you will let them show you." 

It was Asha's turn to avoid his stare, his expectant look. She was in love with him, there was no secret about that. But 12 hours ago, there were so many barriers in their way. Now those barriers turned to wreckage and recycled into new barriers. They were different, but how different if she still felt unable to commit to him and this? 

"The woman you want... she is not who I am always M'Baku. If this day hasn't shown you. You watched her attack me a-a-and I just sat there. I surrendered so easily like a c-coward. I- is that the woman you want? Truly?" 

"Asha, stop. You are that woman, I see her every time I look at you. What other woman could have survived what you survived tonight? You are strong, you are deserving. You just have to believe it."

She nodded softly, looking out the window of her bedroom, confused and struggling. Her mind like she was standing in the Great Mound, watching hundreds of trains whiz by her and she could not grab hold of any of them. So many thoughts, so many tracks moving in different directions. Here she was again, standing at the crossroads of what she wanted to have, what reality dictated she must have, and what the world deemed her worthy of having. There was not a fiber of her being that didn't want M'Baku, but did she truly feel she deserved him? Bast told her she did… everyone told her she did… but did any other opinions matter if she still felt unworthy?

And this being the first moment, she really considered the possibility of being with him and its implications, would the Jabari even accept her? Many of them did not want to rejoin Wakanda in the first place? How would they feel if their chief married a lowlander? How would the Wakandans feel if their princess married a Jabari? That was a bridge the two tribes hadn’t been crossed once in history. 

Beyond that, it was difficult to focus on sorting out her feelings for M'Baku when she knew her tribe was at risk, all because of her. She was surrounded by the very real reality that Elder Shani was trying to tear their house down. Her engagement was off, of that she was sure. Why would she uphold the end of the bargain when Shani figuratively set their deal on fire? But did that mean she was relieved of her obligation? Does that mean after giving her the ammunition to tear their world apart, Asha could just escape to Jabariland and live a different life? She was still the princess, after all. Her obligations to marry were gone but her obligations to her family, to the throne, to her people were very much present. 

And then there was Bast. Apparently, there was work to be done. Could that work be done from Jabariland? Or did she have to stay here? What future did she have to protect? How does one even begin to learn to love themselves or powers they have been conditioned to hate? She wished she had more time to ask Bast questions as a million tumbled through her mind right now. Now, she just felt like she wasted the short audience Bast gave her ranting like a child. The goddess wasn't wrong - it was cruel to ask her to do whatever job she needed doing with no guidance, no direction. She wasn't equipped for this... any of it. 

"Asha." M'Baku saw it clearly in her face, she was drowning, unsure of what to do, her confusion and concern etched into her face. She looked older, more tired and weary than he had ever seen her. Like in one day, she lived a thousand lives. He knew that look, saw it on his own face a million times as chief. He knew what it looked like to carry the weight of the world and he also knew how grateful he was to the people in his life who forced him to lay that weight down, who gave him a break for a moment. He just wanted to help her do the same. "How about we do this? We deal with the big questions tomorrow. And tonight, we just be. No big questions, no overthinking,” he gently tapped her head, causing her face to scrunch up and the first genuine smile he had seen all night grace her face. “No decisions, no complications. We just rest." 

Asha's heart immediately felt lighter with his permission not to think for a moment, his permission to lay her baggage down and rest her arms for a while. It would do her a world of good, she knew that. She nodded, smiling at him. "Let's just be. Sounds like a plan to me." 

M'Baku leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, Asha's body heating up at his touch. He looked at her for a moment before getting up from the bed, "I will take the couc-"

A small hand grabbed his, tugging him back. Her dark brown eyes looked up with him, unspoken pleads clear and on the tip of her tongue. "Stay. I want you to stay." 

Her meaning was clear, but M'Baku searched her face for confirmation. There were no reservations, no doubts. He rounded to the other side of the bed and slid in. She immediately nestled into his side, attracted to him like a magnet. 

"I would care," he whispered as she laid on his bare chest, her small frame dwarfed by his. He didn't hear a response but soon, he felt the unmistakable wetness of tears and knew she heard him. 

"T-thank you," she whispered back, throat tight as she tried to keep her emotions in. He kissed the top of her head before closing his eyes, another eventful day behind them and the start of something beautiful ahead.

****

Tags:  @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @missmohnique @jellybean531 @afrolatinpami @leahnicole1219 @archivistofwakanda

[barnesandco]

Nikah: June

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of guns. Angst. Captivity.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to feel about this chapter. Please let me know what you think.

For the first time in nearly eighty years, Bucky wants to be a soldier. Wants to bark orders, organize his troops, pull the goddamn trigger, because this isn’t working. The troops are in disarray, another off-the-clock meeting in the living room going nowhere. The area is dark, their handwritten notes illuminated by Peter’s floating lights. Like enlarged fireflies, they hover above them, casting soft shadows across the contraband paperwork, but do nothing to soothe Bucky. It’s going to take more than that to take his mind off his missing wife. 

He’s busy counting. It has been 13 days, 11 hours, and 34 minutes since she walked out the door. She never came back. Every moment since has been only disaster, catastrophe. A complete blur. He tries to put together the jagged shards of the course of events that lays splintered in his mind, recaps the case like a private eye in a noir film, but the storyline is overwhelming. He can only remember the noise. The television static that was the police station he reported her missing in the morning after the fallout. The mind-numbing white noise of the press, of the investigators, his concerned teammates. They’re still concerned, naturally, watching him pace behind the sofa, mind clearly in another dimension. 

Peter himself is absent. Has refused to show up to meetings, says he’s taking a break. As if they don’t know that he spends his free time patrolling as much of the city as possible, looking for her. A few amongst them would again suggest that she has run away, if it wasn’t for the notes.

Whoever took her has been sending cruel, little messages, in varying unpredictable fashions. On social media, in the mail, a temporary web domain. All made impossible to track and each more infuriating than the next. No ransom demand, no explanation, just taunts.

Forensic specialists have nothing, behavioral analysts are at a total loss, and Bucky’s at the center of the circus that this investigation has become. He is at the eye of the storm, although currently, he feels like the storm itself, even while it surrounds him, raging and powerful, it threatens to drown him, but he cannot afford that. Not when someone else’s life is at stake.

“Man, that’s enough. Get some rest and we’ll get back to it tomorrow.” Tired and weary, and above all else, worried, Sam decides to call it a night. Bucky doesn’t have the heart to argue. As they file out, Sam stays behind, looking at Bucky, still standing with a manila folder in his hands. The captain comes up to him and takes it away gently. “You’re going to collapse, Barnes. No good to her like this. Sleep,” He says, pointing the folder like a scolding finger at him on his way out, and Bucky sighs. Knows he will not obey this order.

The night is temperate, a gentle blanket smelling of grass and gun-cleaner around him as he steps onto the balcony outside his room. They must have cut the lawns today. It’s a beautiful evening, and he’d appreciate it if there was room for any such thing in his heart. At present, the cavity in his chest is overflowing with fear. He hasn’t been this scared since he was a 20-something soldier in Azzano, Zola’s wicked face above him on the operating table. The intensity of this fear frightens him further. How is he this scared, for someone else? When did the cold metal Hydra poured into him to forge their sword melt into the lava bubbling ferociously with rage and hurt inside him? He has spent his whole life, scorning the cold, and now he is being burnt from the inside out, the fury in his veins sparking a fire in his belly.

Taking a deep breath, he reminds himself to calm down. Remembers that the magma can and will pour into his lungs if he lets it, will stifle his air supply until he is as helpless as his wife probably is, wherever she is. Sleep is not on the cards, so he comes back into his room and picks up the Glock under his pillow. Sits to clean it again tracing the indentations and following the lines.

“Sign here, sir,” The official’s baritone voice requests, pointing to the dotted line on their accepted marriage license. The black fountain pen is cold in his hands, and he hurries to sign. Their witnesses - another married couple that were waiting in line for their ceremony - shuffle impatiently. The document is slid over to her, and she does the same. Bucky doesn’t know whether his sigh of relief is releasing the burden of anticipation from his shoulders, or making room for the burden of a false marriage on them. The formalities are discussed in short time, prenuptial agreement non-existent, and the man congratulates them professionally behind half-moon glasses.

She nods, smiling, and they get up to thank the witnesses as their own file in, along with their few guests. Courthouse marriages are popular, Bucky notes, buttoning his jacket. They leave the building, walking a few blocks to grab a taxi, silent and cold. Night falls by the time they get home, the elevator ride feeling like weeks instead of minutes. The keys jingle as he turns the lock, and he and his bride step over the threshold of his house. Not their home, not yet.

Sam’s frantic knocking rouses him from his uncomfortable sleep, his back against the side of his bed and legs splayed out in front of him, gun still in his hands. He thanks God the safety’s on, and goes to open up.

“What?” He says shortly to the man who is breathless and alert, bursting with something to say. Sam holds up a key.

“The agent who gets sent to check your mail in Brooklyn just got back with this,” He says, giving it to Bucky. He looks over it, the silver glinting and reflecting off the metal of his arm. It’s vaguely familiar, and he thinks he should recognize it, but he does not. Not until he reads the number, and his heart drops to his knees, last night’s scarce dinner threatening to resurface.

“The storage unit,” He murmurs, tracing the number on the plastic keychain attached to the key. 3-8-4. 

“What?” It’s Sam’s turn to ask as he takes in his friend’s expression, knowing this means something.

“We rented a storage unit to put her stuff in when she moved in with me,” Bucky explains, rotating the key in his hands, as if there is a hidden clue in it. “This is the key to that unit.”

“Then we should go,” Sam determines, throwing a call to suit up over his shoulder at him, and ordering Friday to gather the others.

Two hours later sees them at the storage facility, heavy red gate imposing in front of them. They can hear the ambulance on standby outside, the buzz of media attracted by the movement of armed forces inside the city. The SWATs nod for him to open the gate, rifles on their shoulders, and Bucky sarcastically thinks this might be one hell of an anticlimax, until the gate slides up with an unholy groan to reveal his wife.

The smell of sweat and stench and human waste, along with those curse MREs slaps him across the face harshly, but he needs to get to her. This is nothing, compared to the hell of the past few weeks without her. 

Finally, here she is now- his bruised, tired, but very much alive wife. Her bloodshot eyes widen at the sight of them all, black-clad special ops and a team of Avengers, him still at the side of the entryway. They all lower their weapons, but she scrambles back, gag in her mouth biting at the corner of her lips when she gasps, frightened. Then she sees Bucky, and it’s like an ocean wave washes over her. She is clad, well-covered, yet he slides his combat jacket off, approaches slowly and drapes it around her shaking form before doing anything else.

Maintains eye contact while cutting the ropes the bind her hands and feet and pulls off the gag. For a painful moment, she stares at him, frozen in time, and then the dam breaks, and she collapses. Falls into his arms, great, gasping sobs erupting from a chest he didn’t know could hold that much sorrow as she cries against him. Her sanctuary is ripped away when the medics arrive, as they ask for her to be taken to the hospital, she needs to go, Mr. Barnes, but she clings to him. Screams hoarsely until they stop insisting and give them space. 

Bucky nods to them - telling them he’ll bring her to the ambulance - over the top of her unwashed head, the tiny jhumkas from the iftaari still in her ears, one blood-stained, digging into his shoulder as she tries to hide in him. Tries to bury herself in his body, tries to make herself disappear. Again. Sam’s calling for everyone to back up, and Bucky’s grips grows tighter. He’s going to bend down to pick her up bridal style when she passes out, dead weight in his arms. The medics rush forward again, but he waves them off, carrying her back himself.

She wakes up in the ambulance on the way back, fraught like a tense rope, but doesn’t open her eyes. His only indication of her consciousness is how she squeezes his hand feebly, and he squeezes back, thinking: it isn’t fair.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique @samingtonwilson @alyxkbrl​

[weialala-leia]

File purge - Untitled

(AKA the one with switching POVs with Team 7, witch!Naruto, time loops, Hatake Kakashi holding the damn line against the demons, and Naruto predicting the arrival of Senju Hashirama 600 years before it happens). (AKA I wrote this fic in 2015; you guys, I was in a mood). (AKA the last one left over in my archives; I’ll eventually format it for A03 once I give it a name)

1. SASUKE

The messenger arrives when Sasuke is elbow-deep in the innards of a deer, pulling out the intestines in a steaming, wet pile of red hues. 

The snow around him is melting from the waning body heat of the dead animal, running pink and murky around Sasuke. It’s a cold morning, clouds overhead so that even so long past sunrise, it feels like they’ve lingered in the grey twilight hours.

He can hear the bustle and noise of camp a hundred yards away: men and women’s voices rising in unison, dogs barking, and restless horses. The children are awake too, and he can hear them parroting their lessons in the field, reciting chakra pathways and tenketsu that Tayuya and Kimimaro are listing. Jugo had told him in no uncertain terms that he was expected to spend the afternoon training the older children in their lessons today, and Sasuke had begrudgingly agreed.

The younger ones need to see the leader, need to be reminded of whose orders they are to obey, whose authority they are expected to lay their life down for.

The morning, though, is his to spend however he wants. Suigetsu and Jugo are going through the various concerns of the tribe—the small quarrels that have arisen in Sasuke’s absence, the issue of who can establish their tents where, patrols, the digging of trenches and stake walls and what to do about the solstice that lies ahead. If there’s anything worth bringing to Sasuke’s attention, they will do so. So rather than linger in camp and get drawn into the myriad trivialities of leading a tribe, Sasuke woke up early, saddled up Botan, and rode out into the Birchwood forests at the base of his mountain camp with a new bow that Jirobo had fashioned for him. It is a massive weapon, tall enough for Sasuke’s height, and with a weight to counterbalance all of Sasuke’s muscles. It’s too heavy for battle, but perfect for the hunt. When he let loose an arrow, the air had sung with the tension of the string; the power of the bow was such that it took a single arrow to pierce clean through the neck of the animal.

The messenger is one of the younger boys in camp, Ryota, no more than thirteen. He’s Kidomaru’s youngest son, and he has inherited Kidomaru’s sharp, brown gaze and brown skin. He’s bundled in furs to ward against the cold, but the ties holding his cloak secure are haphazard—he was in a hurry, and that is enough of a detail that Sasuke rises to his feet to watch the boy dismount.

“Lord,” he begins, straining for breath, and Sasuke bites down on his immediate reaction: I am no lord. “Riders from the south. Lord Hozuki sent me to get you.”

Sasuke glances over his shoulder at the buck, half-gutted still. If he leaves the carcass here, it’ll attract the wolves. “Stay with the kill,” he says, and moves towards Botan, who is grazing unsuccessfully through some dried nettle. He huffs and whinnies when Sasuke mounts. “What tribe?”

Ryota blinks up at Sasuke. “Konohagakure,” he says, and Sasuke feels his heartbeat take off into a wild, wild thunder.

2. SAKURA

The woman at the front of the room, Sakura surmises, is a witch. She has the same, unnatural crystal eyes that Naruto does.

But unlike Naruto, she hasn’t been branded her for who she is. The skin of delicate face is porcelain smooth without a single scar. When she catches Sakura’s lingering stare, she tilts her head at an angle, considering. “A flower,” she says.

It’s a neat trick, but Sakura grew up with Naruto. Divining a name is child’s play compared to what Naruto can do. “My name is Haruno Sakura,” she offers, and the witch’s smile becomes wider still.

“Betsukai Karin,” she says. A little unnecessarily, she adds, “I am the witch for the Taka.”

There was no doubt who Karin was. From the moment they were shown into a large building—the only wooden construction in camp—Sakura had known who Karin was. All witches have those odd, crystal eyes, and Karin is no different. Her gaze had drawn Sakura’s attention almost immediately, even though she had been sitting quietly at a table, close to the roaring fire in the center.

The witch Karin is with two other men at the tables: Betsukai Jugo and Hozuki Suigetsu. Betsukai Jugo is a mountain of a man, almost as large as Chouji. He sits too close to the witch, and she, in turn, sits too close to him. Sakura tries not to stare open-mouthed at them because they conduct themselves around each other with the ease of a man and a woman who are intimate with each other. They had both named themselves Betsukai, and they act like man and wife.

But how, she wonders, can Karin call herself a witch if she has ever lain with a man?

She doesn’t have much time to consider the logistics of this (she has to tell Naruto, it will be the very first thing she tells him when she returns), because her attention is almost exclusively occupied by Hozuki Suigetsu. He is lean and muscled, unnaturally handsome with silver hair and ruby-amethyst eyes. He has been leaning too casually into her space as they talk, acting with the confidence of a man who has always held the attention of women.

Sakura breathes a weary sigh, and keeps her conversation with Suigetsu as light and detached as possible. She had at first insisted on making this trip with as few men as possible, but now, she’s grateful for the contingency that Kakashi had sent with her: Kiba, Shino, Shikamaru, Neji, and Ino. They are seated at the table as well, but they have gathered on the far end from where the northerners are sitting. For the most part, they’re quiet as they eat, except for the occasional murmured conversation in their own language.

She wants to sit with Naruto and talk about what she has seen so far—the oddly shaped tents spreading outwards from the center of the camp with no obvious rhyme or reason, the lack of any obvious clues to indicate who ranks where in their hierarchy, the odd clothes and even stranger weapons, the harsh, clipped sound of their language.

But Naruto isn’t here; he’s south, keeping watch over the oceans and guarding their people against demons. All she can do is remember as much of this journey as possible; he’ll have a hundred thousand questions for her when she returns.

For now, she keeps her peace with the witch and her companions as they wait for the Taka tribal leader to arrive. Akamaru is a warm, steady presence at her side, and she’s grateful for the heat he affords. Kakashi had warned her of the cold temperature in the north, but she hadn’t realized just how cold it would be.

She can’t imagine how Kakashi spent so long in these parts of the world. She can’t imagine moving their people north.

The Konohagakure have spent centuries along the warm, southern coast of the peninsula, but the waters are dangerous now, and they are besieged on all sides by enemies: monsters in the gulf, desert tribes moving in from the west, and island warriors descending from the east as they all seek to escape the wrath of the demons.

North is the only way they can go, into the vast, open lands still unclaimed by any single tribe.

She is her father’s daughter, though, so she can see what it costs her father to retreat. She sees it in the stiff set of Kakashi’s shoulders, the way he spends long nights on the parapets, turned towards the roiling waters of the gulf. If it had been anyone else who inherited Namikaze Minato’s mantle, the Konohagakure would have been brought to their knees long before. But Sakura’s father is a man of war. He held together the delicate stitching of their people for decades with the sheer force of his will alone. It had taken him years—all of Sakura’s childhood, in fact; this is the only world Sakura and Naruto grew up with—but now, he has finally conceded to his advisors:

The Konohagakure—a tribe of legend if there ever was one—will yield their seat of power in the south and move north.

When the decision was announced, the tribe breathed a sigh of relief. But then Kakashi had surprised all of them with his next decision.

We will not make this journey alone, he said, but with northern allies.

The ally, apparently, was Uchiha Sasuke.

[pettyelves]

the man on fire

[boy on fire] [ vacationing ]

She had come home to a quiet house, kissed her children, and immediately gone to the bath. There she drifted in and out of sleep. By the time she caught wind of Kurel’s return home. It was too late. 

In the living room, Kurel had leveled a pistol at Silthas-- who had fallen asleep on the couch and gone undisturbed until the Admiral’s return.

"I explained this all to Eilithe already..."  Silthas paused, like he was hoping she'd come out of the shadows and help him, only to resume a moment later. "... I'm the son of Shadeala Moonsong. She... And my grandmother Morinthe, tricked me, manipulated me, forced me... Into coming here. I bear the scars of their abuse, of their attempt to mold me."

 Another long pause and he reached beneath the couch, slowly, quietly, to grab a box of Kul Tiran cigars and a bottle of fine bourbon. At some point he stashed a cutter and glasses, which he now tried setting on the coffee table, so he could open the bourbon and pour. "Want a drink? A smoke?"

Oh you sweet, foolish boy. 

"Kurel," Eilithe's voice came from the hall. She had come all the way down the hall, without a sound. Wrapped up in a black silk robe, her hands at her side. There were a dozen things she might've said, knowing that one of them might soothe him, while another might give him whatever he needed to pull the trigger.

"Remember Vol'Dun. When you almost stabbed me. It doesn't count if I'm not in control'.” She recited his own words when he'd almost ran her through while under Morinthe's strings.

When the gun lowered, Eilithe was filled falsely with a sense of security. "Pick up the box an' the bottle. Come with me,” Kurel commanded and turned for the door. Silthas obeyed.

She was just about to call her daughter from the shadows, knowing the girl was spying. It happened too fast. 

Kurel lifted his gun just enough to aim at Silthas’ thigh. The trigger pulled, the bang came loud. The door shut in the boy’s face. Upstairs, Karkah came barreling out of her room, bow drawn. Down the opposite hall Malik screamed, frightened. But none were louder than Eilonwy, who shimmered with arcane out of invisibility long enough to scream in horror with such force that the window rattled. In Tanari, she screamed, “Father, no! Stop! He is good! I saw him! He is good!” In a second, she was gone-- teleported out and into the world after the boy. 

"Well, surfal, at least you didn't shoot him in the head, right?" She stalked for the door. Not with her usual temper. It was more concern and a surprising amount of understanding. If Kurel had meant to kill the boy, he would have. She attempted to push by him and straight for the door to go out it. "Karkah, please go sit with your brother until Lady Mirin gets here. Everything is fine." “No’ yet.” 

Everything wasn’t fine. She stopped to mutter to Kurel, in bubbling rage, “I would think, that you of all people, would understand what it is like to bare the mark of your father. And if not for mercy-- then think of this as an opportunity. He knows where his mother is. How many men she has. What resources she has. It took balls and stupidity to tell you, stop to think what the fuck he stood to gain from telling you all that. A bullet. Apparently."

Their exchange was one of epic, petty proportion. Him storming out onto the porch to scream at her, her flinging a flower pot in his general direction. 

When she found Eilonwy and Silthas, she was still in the shadows-- watching as her daughter summoned thick ice around Silthas to protect him from her father’s lackeys. The girl, bold and brave, stood with her fists up against Kurel’s explosives expert. “Just leave us alone!” She screamed. 

For only a sturdy bandage meant for the boy, Perry backed off.

Eilonwy lowered her arms and was about to drop the barrier when she heard footsteps. When she saw it was Eilithe, still the girl kept her fists up. "Mai, leave us alone! He didn't do anything."

How important he must be to her, that she would raise her hands against her mother. "Drop the dome, Eilonwy. He needs to see a doctor. If you must, you can stay with him."  "Will I be safe there?" Silthas asked as Eilonwy melted the ice from around him.

In her ear, Kurel argued with her and she could tell by the proximity of the half of her soul residing inside if him. Each pushed it further, cutting deeper and deeper until Eilithe was the first to say something she would come to regret:  Go home, Kurel. Go home. Get a drink and a cigar and I will stay the fuck out of your way. I should have just let you leave again for another eight months and handled it like I always do when you decide there's nothing here for you.

"As long as I am alive, you have my word that I will put myself between you and harms way." There were tears in forming in her eyes, which likely were directly correlated to whatever Kurel was seething into her ear. "Come on, we have to move." 

After Silthas was treated and almost to sleep, Eilithe left to return home to a powder keg. And so, with a cigarette she awaited Kurel’s fury on the balcony which faced the harbor. "Helpin' the enemy now? Been ou' there a long while, did you dig ou' his bullet an' cauterize the hole? Then tuck'em in with a kiss on the head-- then leave my daughter ou' there with'em?" His head shifted as though barely affording a glance back over his shoulder towards her. He was paranoid as he was suspicious.  Wrapped in an anger that for the moment was bundled and controlled. "You shoul' know better." He sneered.  "Our daughter wouldn't leave that boys side if I demanded it. She is angry at both of us. I won't make her hate us." Eilithe stood firm on that for as long as it took for her to inhale on a joint. "They are not alone and yes. I instructed that he be mended." 

So then, she doubled down.

"No reason. No explanation. Nothing I say will be good enough for you right now. I could explain, in detail, how I know Morinthe is no longer with him. I could explain that I didn't just leave the children to chance. None of it will suffice, so I won't waste your time." Eilithe swallowed, her throat tense. 

"I wrote you. Because I need you here and I had hoped, by now, you were starting to need me too." Hurt and guilt showed only in that sentence, so she quickly covered it with another. "The more pressing matter is that Morinthe's soul is in two more pieces. They are far from here, but when Shadeala finds that her son is converted and that her plot is foiled? What do you think will happen?" "Wha' will happen. She will come righ' here. An' I'll shoo' her firs' an' then him second-- You shoul' have pu' him on a fuckin' boat an' sen' him FAR from this fuckin' place. Bu' instea', you're entertainin' this idiocy-- why? Because Eilonwy feels somethin' for him an' you don't want to break her hear'?" He turned, to face her. Arms crossing as he leaned his hip back against the guard rail. "Cause you can't stop yourself from takin' in ever stray an' straggler?”

"Where are they." It was not a request.

“You..said that, when you left. Gone until you could find a reason to come back. I shouldn't have said what I said." And that was as close as she got to admitting guilt.

Eilithe shook her head, "She will come here. Regardless. Not even herself. She will send lackeys and she will expend every resource. Because we took everything from her. And no, I can't bring myself to kill another child based solely on the blood in their veins. I cannot sentence him to death by my hand, yours, or by shipping him off. He is an asset, not a burden."

She shook her head, "Why? So you can go finish it? So you can get yourself barred from the home we built together?"

"Oh we didn't take everythin'-- Bu' now we have. Thanks to you. I can agree he's an asse'--- an' asse' to be used. Bait, to be used. A fuckin' carrot to dangle. One ain't gotta sentence him, jus' have to pu' him on a ship an' sail a fuckin' long ways ou' from here. An' a' the very leas' if Shadeala was goin' to be comin' here regardless, she'd be comin' for us." He gestured angrily between himself and her.

"Boy ain't even a fuckin' child-- He's practically grown, Eilithe! You talk like he can barely fen' for himself. An' if gettin' barred from this place is wha' it costs to keep you an' my children safe, then yes."

"He was a tool." Eilithe said, in calm tone that did not match the way that she shot up from her seat, clutching his shirt in her right hand. "He means nothing to her, less than nothing now that he failed." She took to stomps in his direction, but stopped herself in a good-old-fashioned Darnassian stand-off. "He is powerful and could help us. He can protect her too. She threatened to take Eilonwy many years ago now, Kurel. That was always a horrifying possibility. So put one more thing between our daughter and a woman that's willing to send a child to his death in order to bring me pain."

It was the last part that made her close the gap between them, two freezing hands place on his rough cheeks. "I need you,so please.. remember that day in the wheel when you told me you loved me and needed me too. Don't. Do this. Hate him. Distrust him. Shun him. If that it was you must do. But please. Don't do this."

Whatever went through his head, whatever paranoid scheme, he did not speak. Because if anything, he understood why she couldn’t bring herself to harm a child. "If he so much as missteps or if I think he missteps in my presence, I will aim higher an' I won't miss." He threatened. "An' wherever you have hidden them away-- Eilonwy is no' stayin'. She is to come home. Now or I will wake every dockhan' across this islan' an' have them join hands to comb this place until she is foun'. An' dragged back here. Willin' or not. She can hate me for i'. She is not grown an' she is no' ye' free of this house an' my command."

"She doesn't hate you. She won't. You are hard to hate. And she loves you--idolizes you." Shadows sucked Eilithe away from him and the distinct feeling of her soul moving away and into the night.

Eilonwy did return home that night, refusing to speak to either parent before she hid herself in her room to sob. After her mother had done the same, in a similar fashion, Eilonwy clutched the moon pendant on her bracelet. Until the door to her bedroom opened and her father’s footsteps fell against the wood floor.  "You will no' be alone with him. From now until I decide otherwise, when you leave this house a Warden or an operative of my choosin' will go with you. Every where. A' school. In Stormwin'. This islan'.”

"If you disobey this. I will pu' tha' boy on a ship. I will sail tha' ship to the edge of the Malestrom, where I will sink i'. With him on i'. If you think tha' you can ou'smar' me, the Wardens, or whoever I have pu' as your chaperone. An' evade them. I' will no' be they who suffer the consequence. It'll be the boy."

Eilonwy flinched, audibly at the tone that he rarely, if ever, took with her. She let out the softest of whimpers, before she balled up in the bed. The words that came out of her were pained and echoed the very same defeated tone that her mother held when all felt hopeless.

"Okay, Ah'vey," she said, just loud enough that he would hear her, before she buried her face in the pillow and bit back a spurt of silent weeping. @kurel-andiel​ @revthepunchbear​ (silthas) @deadsunharbor​

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

An Ephemeral Eternity in Seven Parts - Steve Rogers x Reader

MASTERLIST Warnings: Gifs aren’t mine. My English. Also, last sentence - well, maybe it’s the start of something new.  Word Count~ 7k.  Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI PART  VII

 The melancholic notes of the guitar accompanied her soft and broken voice in a song that reminded very much of a lamentation of her past, her present and her future.

 Everything she touched, begun to decay. Everyone she loved, had only ended up unloved, depressed, addicted or alone. It had made her wonder if she was the one; if she was the wolf dressed as the little red riding hood. What if everyone around her was simply a helpless sheep and to prowl for her next meal she clothed herself in love and kindness, only to poison those closest to her until they are damaged beyond repair. She could only ever ruin so many relationships before she understood that the devil lived inside of her making her a toxic landfill disguised in fake beautiful grass and flowers - she had never been afraid of the monster in her closet, she had always been terrified by the one she saw in the mirror.  She didn't remember which night it was - the one she left, like a thief, not making a sound, knowing that he heard her. It made her decision easier when he didn't even try to stop her. It was selfish - he had been badly broken too. She felt the failure calling out her name - she couldn't make it better for him because she was a mess. She had lost herself and she wasn't sure she wasn't sure she wanted to be found. And so she left. She took a few clothes with her and left.  She had no solid plan for her days ahead. She couldn't find a point to it. She had wandered aimlessly when she found herself in a small city that did not speak English. She had smiled painfully to herself. A stranger among strangers. 

Not long after her decision to stay there for a while, she had to find a way to earn some money in order to get by. The kind old lady, who had helped her with almost everything, seeing in her face the granddaughter she had lost just mere weeks before she turned up in her door - since she was one of the very few people who spoke English -  had offered her a job she thought it would suit her. There was a small place where those who stayed behind went to drink and listen to old and soft songs about loss, love and pain. They were missing a singer. She had thought why not.  Isabella had been nothing but kind and sweet, just like a real grandmother - not that she had met one.  "Grief is a deeply personal and solitary journey. No one can truly feel or understand your loss but you, even those who have experienced it themselves. But grief is also love, and for that reason it has a right to exist and be felt. It is the debt we owe our memories. It is the final way we love someone" she had soothed her after the first time she heard her sing. There was pain in her voice, even when she sung in Spanish. She had never believed it would cost her everything. Yet, it did. 

 Months flew by as she had fallen into a simple yet so human routine. Many handsome men had threw themselves to her but she had closed herself, letting no one in. She had lost people along the way. She had left others behind. She had cut them out of her life, sometimes uncertain if it was the right decision. Looking back, she had done things she might have regretted now. This quieter life she had now was closer to the one she had been dreaming the cold nights that she had been held by HYDRA or trained by Madam B. She couldn't sake the feeling that something was missing - she was different and she hadn't ever realized. The girl from her past wasn't the woman she had grown to be.  "Hay un hombre guapo buscándote, cariño" Isabella suddenly told her, making her slightly jump from the couch she had been seated for at least two hours, starring at the wall. Seeing her lost eyes, Isabella sat down next to her and took her hands in hers.  "Listen, cariño. Love transcends gender, age, political beliefs; it crosses borders. It’s literally the strongest motivator and force we have. It makes people do things they can’t explain. And it comes in all forms and it comes when you least expect it and it comes and it goes and it changes and people have spent years and wrote books and studied the stars trying to understand it. And sometimes it’s the boy you called over to get over,  the boy you were crying about and sometimes it’s the girl you grew up next door to your whole life and sometimes it’s a friend who saved your soul or a baby you didn’t expect. But it’s all around us in forms yet to be manifested- letters yet to be written, hands yet to be held. And all goodness stems from it and it literally changes the world. So even though it sometimes causes us pain and it drags us into situations we didn’t ask for, we can never close ourselves off to it or give up on it. We have to keep loving because it’s the closest thing we have to magic and without it we’re just a conscious pile of bones and life means nothing. Ve hacia el" and just like that, from the mouth of someone who used to be a stranger, the entire meaning of life and love and pain was summed up into a minute of hope. Isabella had lost her son and her granddaughter, everyone she ever loved and yet, there she was telling her to embrace life with its bad and its good. Tears she had no idea when they escaped, were running down her face. "Mi bella Isabella, gracias por tu sabiduría. Gracias por tu amor. But if I go to him, I'll leave you and I can't do that to you" she told her truthfully. Isabella just shook her head and smiled.  "I'll always be here. Go to him, cariño". She kissed her cheek and hugged her as tightly as she would love to be hugged. She had been everything she was missing.

 As the song went on, her eyes fell on him - he had just entered the place. And every memory she kept tacked away, came back rushing through her veins. In her head, she could hear Isabella's words but her heart just didn't want to get hurt again. She knew the moment he talked to her, she would succumb her entire being to his hands. 

War was the only dance he had ever known and she wished they could have had more time amid the chaos and fire and blood to show him that there could be another way. She fell in love with the way he saw the world, the way he saw her... She fell in the chasm of his soul and his light. She would gladly drown in the darker half of the sea to hold him in her arms for more than just that single night of peace. She had been aware that they had met and they had loved in a warzone and even though his kisses had melted away the gunfire, they still held echoes of the fire burning in him but she knew hers were the same. He had been worth the risk time and time again because with his hand burning into her skin, she had hope once more ... and the blood that had stained him couldn't take away his goodness and the stars that had betrayed him, didn't mean she forsaken her devotion. There had always been a rage built inside their souls, just like this love was worthy of burning empires down ... screams that follow them all the way home only to be quieted when she kissed the blood from his lips... and even when the universe will force them to part he will remain, echoing in her heart that only belonged to him. She knew that they were the ugly parts of the love story but she also knew they were the beautiful ones too. The song came to an end and she went to the table she held every night, the one far away from the lights and the people. Eyes never leaving his, she nodded for him to join her, as she poured herself a glass of red wine. He had never been so afraid of a moment and its impact. He had no idea what to say to her or how to be around her, when she poured and offered him another glass of wine.  "I didn't know you could sing" he told her before he hid his face in his hands, only to resurface as red as a tomato. She tried to swallow her laughter but failed.  "You're still not good with women, Steve" and just by saying his name, her heart places itself in his hands. He smiled brightly even though he had messed up his opening line, it had worked out. She was sipping her wine with a fondness he had never seen before. Maybe leaving was the best thing she had done - and he would be selfish to ask her back. Again. Not leaving her alone, to decide her own path. He needed her in a way he hadn't needed anyone since...  "I will come back Steve. But I need you to promise me that we will search and search over and over again for a way to undo this -and if we don't find one it will be because there isn't, not because we overlooked it" she told him boldly with her eyes a soft lilac color, as she looked over her shoulder, signaling to someone to approach them He was taken aback. He believed that she wouldn't even want to talk about what had happened. He had seen the way Bucky had looked at her before he... and he had already suspected his feelings towards her. Steve knew it had a great impact on her - not that it had been the only reason for her breakdown. After realizing her new powers she had refused to use them because they were the reason half of the planet was dead. He looked at her with a new found admiration - she was the bigger person.  "Of course. May I ask why?" he prepared himself to hear a reason he wouldn't like, instead, his heart broke a little bit more.  She smiled and stood up to give her sit to an old woman he had never seen before. It was the first time Steve saw this side of her.  "Isabella, este es Steve. Ese hombre guapo que me estaba buscando" she spoke in Spanish making him question if he knew her at all. Isabella took his hands into hers and looked at him just like his mother would have, which caused some tears to appear. They got to know each other and he realized that she had never felt the love of a family - and she craved it. When Isabella said her goodnight, having already invited him to spend the night in her house, she grew quiet. She knew he was waiting for an answer. "She is the reason why. She lost everything - her son, her granddaughter - and yet she hasn't lost hope. She told me to live life with everything that comes with it and embrace it because it's all we got.  She is the reason I am talking to you. She told me 'go to him' because love is the closest thing we have to magic and I couldn't just tell her I have magic running through my veins but couldn't save her family" she said with fire in her words and determination pouring over her. 

It felt wrong. Being back, felt wrong. She had followed him once again, but this time she hadn't found the people she had last time. She felt out of time – as if she didn’t belong. No one was waiting for her; Natasha was broken and Tony was nowhere near the place. Maybe she had been naïve for trusting him again; deep down she knew the only thing they had been left with was bitterness. She spent her days reading, training and trying out different things. Steve had an unhealthy need to fill Sam’s shoes as he had begun some group session. The irony was obvious to her; He was telling them, urging them to move on while he would never. She had seen as much in his eyes when they were talking about his past and the beginnings of his story – way before he became Captain America. There was one particular story he didn’t feel like sharing and she understood why – but also bothered her. She had kept her promise and had searched everything in order to find a way to undo this. She had spent days and nights looking for an answer. There had been times she felt so useless she wouldn’t get out of her room – nobody dared to disagree with her on those days. Slowly yet steadily, Steve and her grew distant and she felt as if they were miles apart even when they were sitting right next to each other. Being positive had never been one of her assets and that fake optimism Steve had, got on her nerves. Then again, maybe it was just his way of coping with the events. She had found herself longing to leave the base and go back to Isabella’s house more than enough times to realize that she never felt at home in the Avenger’s base. And the years flew by without even noticing it. The only thing new must had been the fact that she met Carol, a woman with many of her own powers and a life experience to match them. Other than that, Natasha had been obsessing over Clint – who had gone dark after his family disappearance. She could never say that all of those people had died – they had just dusted away. Which was the same and she had been fooling herself for a very long time. Steve had been the positive fucking little unicorn in front of others but he was so lost when they were alone. A raccoon was sending them emails with reports and Nebula wanted to get revenge a tad more than all of them combined.  She knew things were bound to be different, but she couldn’t recognize anything anymore. She had been drifted away from those around her because she didn’t feel a connection to them anymore – the only thing they had in common was anger. She had just made a cup of coffee when Steve walked in, finding Natasha on the verge of crying as he went on about the bright side, but Nat wasn’t having it. She just plopped down next to Natasha, smiling towards Steve without even bothering to listen to their conversation but her eye caught something. Something unexpected. “Oh! Hi. Hi! Is anyone home? This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport? In Germany? I got really big, and I had my mask on. You wouldn't recognize me” Scott Lang was rumbling on at their front gate. Before she could register their reactions, she had buzzed him in and left the room running towards him. “Have you ever studied Quantum Physics?” Scott asked them a moment later. “Only to make conversation” came a sarcastic answer by Natasha, which didn’t bring him down. “Alright. So... five years ago, right before Thanos, I was in a place called the Quantum Realm. The Quantum Realm is like its own microscopic universe. To get in there, you have to be incredibly small. Hope, she's my... She was my... She was supposed to pull me out. And then Thanos happened, and I got stuck in there” he said while he was struggling not to tell the entire truth about their relationship. “I'm sorry. That must've been a very long five years” Natasha sincerely told him only to be shocked when he replied the most unbelievable thing. “Yeah, but that's just it. It wasn't. For me, it was five hours”. Steve and Nat shared a quick bewildered glance, while she had figured it out, because she had indeed studied Quantum Physics. “See, the rules of the Quantum Realm aren't like they are up here. Everything is unpredictable. Is that anybody's sandwich? I'm starving” Scott said as he strode over to pick up Nat's sandwich, and bit into it. “Scott, what are you talking about?” Steve asked him confused and puzzled. “What he is saying is, time works differently in the Quantum Realm” she chimed in, gaining a strange look from Steve and a very impressed one from Scott. “The only problem is right now, we don't have a way to navigate it. But what if we did? I can't stop thinking about it. What if, we could somehow control the chaos, and we could navigate it? What if there was a way to enter the Quantum Realm at a certain point in time but then exit at another point in time? Like...” he went on. “Like before Thanos” she half-whispered. “Wait, are you two talking about a time machine?” Steve asked as he couldn’t believe his ears. “No. No, of course not. No, not a time machine. It's more like a... Yeah, a time machine. I know it's crazy. But I can't stop thinking about it. There's gotta be some way... There's gotta be...some w... it's crazy” his craziness was making her head dizzy. She knew they would have to talk to her father, sooner or later. She hoped it would be later but that was not gonna the case. “Scott, I get e-mails from a raccoon, so nothing sounds crazy anymore” Nat reassured him. “So who do we talk to about this?” Scott cut to the chase and everyone looked at her. 

They pulled over at his cabin and one by one got out of the car. Tony looked at them and she could tell that he was not looking forward to the discussion about to take place. He acknowledged her with a single hey, and so she decided to let them talk in peace while she was gazing at the lake from afar. "I know you got a lot on the line. You got a wife, a daughter. But I lost someone very important to me. A lot of people did. And now, now we have a chance to bring her back. To bring everyone back. And you're telling me that won't even... “ his voice got louder as he tried to sell his desperation to Tony. “That's right, Scott, I won't even. I got a kid” Tony simply told them, making her remark. “Yeah, now he’s got a kid” she retorted, making him realize what he had just said. As on cue, Morgan run to her dad, who picked her up. “Mommy told me to come and save you. And to tell to the pretty girl to stay a while” Morgan told him as she pointed at his other daughter. “Good job. I'm saved. I wish you'd come here to ask me something else. Anything else. Honestly, I... I missed you guys, it was... Oh, and table's set for six” he went on and informed them. “Tony, I get it. And I'm happy for you, I really am. But this is a second chance” Steve tried to reason with him but she already knew he wasn’t gonna give up just yet. He had to solve it on his own. “I got my second chance right here, Cap. I can't roll the dice again. If you don't talk shop, you can stay for lunch. And you should stay for a while” he concluded as he turned to face her. She smiled at him. She was going to stay a while and Steve saw it. It was hard to say goodbye but unfortunately it had become easier with the years. Steve, Nat and Scott were walking back to their car outside Tony's house as she was stepping inside, hugging Pepper. She could feel him slipping away from her life but she didn’t know how to keep him there – well, she didn’t even know if he wanted to be there anymore.

The day had been quiet, Pepper was an amazing mother and Tony was trying to be a great dad but he knew that he had failed once before, so he wasn’t hoping for much. They had lunch and she met Morgan a bit better. The kid was smart, but that didn’t come as a surprise, it was rather a given. “So how do you two know each other?” she asked suspiciously as she eyed her. Tony almost chocked but she kept her calm, as she was sipping a glass of wine. “We used to work together for a project, sweetie” she smoothly told her without raising any suspicion and even thought Tony felt relieved, Pepper shoot him an angry look, making him nod his head as if they made a promise. “You’re an Avenger!” Morgan exclaimed, excited with her new discovery. But before she could say a thing, Morgan begun asking questions – more questions than anyone before, leaving her stumped. “Honey, come on. Don’t bombard her with your questions. Wanna help me with dessert?” Pepper came to the rescue quickly and she couldn’t be more thankful. Silence fell and it was awkward because no one was going to break it first and Pepper knew as she said louldy "talk". Both of them rolled their eyes at that. "She is smart, that's from your side and she is beautiful - that's all Pepper" she commented shortly after. He almost laughed at her quick comeback.  "How are you? How are things back?" he asked her sincerely, trying to make up for all the lost time. She shook her head, not wanting to lie. Something he understood very well.  "Let me guess. You have been drifted away from people, especially Steve" he made a wild guess and he knew he was right. She stopped hiding her feelings. "Everything I thought I had is no longer. That's why I came here with them. They are asking you to be a hero and save the world. I just wanted to ask you a favor. A while back, I... I left and went -" "To a nice lady called Isabella, who lost her son and granddaughter" he finished her sentence for her, leaving her puzzled. "What? Did you really think I wasn't looking after you?" he asked her. "Well, you left to start a family and didn't even call, so... um. I should have" she concluded at last. He disagreed with her. She had stayed there, not to ask him to fight with them, but to help her find a way, because she knew that there was going to be o return for him and she wanted Morgan to have both of her parents and to feel loved. One of his daughters should. 

She was just watching him work from the couch as she was drinking a hot cup of tea. “Look at a mod inspiration, let me see what check out. So, recommend one last sim before we pack it in for the night” he gave orders to his computer. “Maybe in the shape of a mobius strip, inverted, don’t you think?” she commented as she took a look to the holographic experiment. He agreed with an impressed look. “Do as the lady suggests” he informed Friday. “Processing... “ “Give me that eigenvalue. That, particle factoring, and a spectral decomp. That will take a second” he had just stepped away, towards the couch but it was not to be. “And don't worry if it doesn't pan out. I'm just kinda –“ “Model rendered” Friday announced sending waves of bewilderments down her spine. Tony in a complete shock of amazement as the render came back as 99.987% successful, fell back ecstatic by this discovery. “Shit!” they both exclaimed at the same time. “Shit” Morgan giggled as she repeated the word they had just uttered. Tony took on the father roll quicker than she had thought as he nodded to her to take care of everything that had just been projected while he took Morgan away. They had solved time travel. They had actually found out how to go back in time. Her mind was blown away just by looking at it. As she was walking around the holographic model, Pepper came down the stairs looking for her. “You should rest honey. It’s late” she told her like a mother would. She smiled at her and waited for Tony to get back. “Maybe it’s not” she told her, leaving her puzzled. They both sat on the couch, Pepper reading a book and she was just thinking of the endless possibilities. People less lucky than her would get to see the sun again. Isabella’s family. Spider-kid, Wanda, Strange, Bucky. Oh Gods, Bucky. She had tried to forget about him and how much it had affected her. It had been one of the few failures of her life. “Not that it's a competition, but she loves me 3000. You were somewhere on the low 6 to 900 range” Tony announced as he joined them and got Pepper to scoff. “What are you reading?” he asked absentmindedly as she noticed. “Oh, it's just a book on composting” Pepper told him, making her long for a simple life once more. “What's new with composting?” he asked again without really wanting an answer. Before she could, he cut her off. “We figured it out, by the way” he blurred out, pointing at his daughter proudly. “You know, just so we're talking about the same thing –“ Pepper tried to catch up on their new discovery, very happy they were working together. “Time travel” he simply informed like it was nothing. “What? Wow... That's amazing, and... terrifying. Oh, that’s why you told me maybe it’s not late” she told him amazed as she turned to her still very much astonished. “We got really lucky” she commented and both of them agreed. “Yeah, I know” her father said a tad sad. “A lot of people didn't” Pepper softly nudged him. “No, I can't help everybody” he tried to be civilized and open for debate about it. “It sorta seems like you can. Both of you” his wife disagreed. “Not if I stop. I can put a pin in it right now, and stop” he insisted but they all new what was about to happen. “Tony, trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my life” Pepper echoed her thought from moments ago. Tony smiled proudly about that very fact. “I sometimes feel I should put it in a locked box and drop it at the bottom of a lake... go to bed” he had almost given up on saying no. He wasn’t able to deny that she was right. “But would you be able to rest?” her soft voice pierced through his head. “And neither would you. I know that you left at some point because the memories were too much” she told her with honesty. She couldn’t believe how selfless Pepper was being about something so dangerous. “Come on, kiddo. It’s time to sleep. Tomorrow we are gonna go on a trip” Tony urged his daughter. She could get use to that. “Goodnight Pepper. Goodnight To-… dad” she finally told him, making him smile in pure happiness for the first time in a while.  

The whole world was changing and she had been a part of that very fact. Every plan, every strategy and every theory had been mapped out but she knew that sometimes, even the cleverest of minds can miss a point – so small that no one could have seen. Wanda was trying destroy Thanos, having cost everything to her, Scott and Hope were trying to kick start the engine of the van and everyone was trying to get the gauntlet as far away as possible, without it being very easy of a task. 

Pepper landed next to Okoye, followed by Mantis, Shuri, the Wasp, Gamora, Nebula and herself much to everyone else’s opinion – they all thought she was going to be right by Steve. Thanos' army charged while they helped Carol Danvers gey through the Outriders, Sakaarans and Chitauri. When Carol and she flew towards the van with the Gauntlet, Thanos, after being stopped by Pepper, Shuri and Hope, threw his double sword at the van, destroying it completely. He knocked Carol down and smacked Tony away as Thor arrived in an attempt to pin Thano’s arm down – Steve came rushing towards them, helping Thor but they were all overpowered. In a desperate attempt, when she saw Thanos picking up the gauntlet she punched him away. Thanos grabbed her by the arm and threw her away like she weighted nothing. Thanos put on the gauntlet, gamma radiation from the stones all over his body, as he tried to snap, but she arose again, and stopped his fingers from snapping, opening up his hand similar to what she had seen Steve doing in the other battle. She almost had him, forcing him onto his knees, as her powers were finally enough, she was ready to steal the stones herself. She knew she could take them on – she was part of them and they were part of her. But alas, he pulled the Power Stone out of the Gauntlet and used it in his free hand to hit her away, almost killing her in the prosses. Tony was looking at his daughter terrified and too scared to think of what might happen. He made one last attack on Thanos, having an entirely different plan on his mind. Thanos pushed him away, ending up right next to his older daughter. All it took was one look and she knew – before she could anything at all, everything was already over. “I am inevitable” Thanos snapped his fingers, but nothing happened. He saw that the stones were missing. “NO!” she screamed but Tony simply smiled at her. s except a metallic "clink." He sees the Infinity Stones are missing.

“And I– am– Iron Man”.

The cruelest thing that someone had done to her was first claim to love her more than anything in the world. That he had never seen anything as exquisite as her. That she was every star in the night sky. That he would never leave her. And then one day, out of the blue he did. He lulled her into a false sense of security, convincing her that this, this is the forever love she have been looking for. This is the kind of love she needed all this time, the kind of love she had craved and let her get comfortable in it because it would last. And then, one day, he walked away. He made her believe that there would never be another. And then one day, he forgot her. He simply left without warning after promising her eternity. How ephemeral it turned out to be... It had been years since he came back. Not him - not her Steve. Peggy's Steve. She had refused to meet him - she had refused to even look at him, or be in the same building. She felt betrayed. She had lost Natasha as she had sacrificed herself to get the fucking Soul Stone. She had lost her father and that felt on her - she still felt responsible. And then Steve had decided to leave her all alone to fight her demons after constantly reassuring her he loved her.  But he caught her by surprise, when he entered her office, as she was now in charge of everything her father once held - Morgan was too young and Pepper wanted some time off with her daughter. He knocked the door, waited for her to call him in and he entered. She had been facing the other way, on a phone call but the minute she turned and faced him, her phone fell on the floor and her heart skipped more beats than she could count. "Hello, Ms.. Stark. Do you have a minute for an old friend?" he was being polite as well as sarcastic but her mind had already imploded, so what the fuck? Gaining some of her confidence back, she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.  "We were never friends, Mr. Rogers" she fired coldly but he knew her better and she hated it. He looked at her and all it took was a moment. He too raised his eyebrow and walked towards her with absolutely no intention of leaving. Before she could register his acts, he had enveloped her in to his big hug and she felt so fucking angry - it still felt like home. Without even knowing it, she was crying with her head almost resting on his chest.  "It’s weird. It’s weird how you have the same face but you’re a completely different person. It’s weird how I have so many amazing memories with you but they died off as you’re a completely different person. It’s weird that I’m mourning over someone that is still alive because you’re a completely different person. It’s weird, you’re a completely different person. And I hate you for leaving me, but I can never really hate you because I love you" she told him as he sat them down to her couch. She left his arms to look at him. She lowered her walls and finally opened up to him again.  "If I could do it all again, I would stay up later. I would ask more questions, unashamed of how personal they were and not afraid that I wouldn’t like the answers. If I could start over with you, I wouldn’t doubt my instincts. I wouldn’t fear what people thought if I catered to your every whim and laughed at every stupid joke. If I could try again, I would embrace every moment of every fight and ask for everything I needed from you. I wouldn’t worry if I was too needy, too attached, too much of anything. I would be myself more. I would scream louder. I wouldn’t hesitated to tell you I love you, in every way, every day. If I could do it again, I would not love you in halting steps always looking for some sort of validation that I was stepping on solid ground. I would jump into you and if you didn’t catch me, then I would still be picking up the same broken pieces I am now" she sincerely told him. She had lost both her friend and her father, both of them in the name of salvation and then Steve choose to leave her and go back. She had refused to exist for a while because she couldn't function. As everything crumbled around her, she had looked for a something to hold on to, but those closest couldn’t hear her amidst their screaming matches. She looked for those who swore to be there during her weakest moment only to see the illusion fade away leaving only crossed fingers, emptiness, and disappointment. She was done searching for someone, when someone did appear.  Without even thinking about it, he wiped a single tear that ran across her cheek. He wasn't her Steve, but those eyes...  "I never believed that I would have felt the way you made me feel after all those years in the ice. I owe you everything. And repaying you in the way I did... I wouldn't have forgiven me if I were you. An apology won't help, I know. For what it’s worth, you will always hold a special place" he told her in tender way that reminded her of their story and more tears found their way out. And he wiped every single one of them. She could tell from the way he hugged her when he saw her. He had kept the silent promise he had made when she was too drunk to remember what she had asked of him. Years had passed since she allowed herself to see him again. After saying a polite hello, they hugged like friends did. But then he squeezed her a little tighter right before he let go. She had almost rested her head on his chest out of habit, because it suddenly felt just like old times. She had thought she'd never be in his embrace again but there they were. They both wanted to hold on tighter but they knew they were different now. But she could tell from the way he hugged her, from the way he held on just a little longer, that somewhere, deep down...  "I missed you too" she smiled at him, a strange but very much wanted feeling of relief washing over her heart. They both knew, no one could stop loving. Once you have loved someone honestly, truly, you will never be able to un-love them. You can only find someone you will love more. At that time, your old love will not feel so strong, but it will always be in your heart, it will never let you forget something that at some point along the way made you happy.  "You hold a special place in someone else's heart too, you know" he commented like a genie. Her eyebrow arched. "Stop playing matchmaker, you old wise owl" she mocked him. At least, she could start again. He still held her face in his hands, he still held a piece of her, he would always be her first love. The bigger the love, the harder the fall. They stayed like that until Bucky walked into her office, looking for her. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he saw Steve holding her but he reprimanded himself almost immediately. She saw the way Steve looked up at him and she knew he wanted some alone time him. Leaving his hands was harder than she thought, smiling at all times. "Don't be a stranger, Rogers" she bid him goodbye but his eyes told her this wasn't the last time they would see each other and she found solace. She passed Bucky in her way out, smiling brightly to him, making his eyes sparkle in hope. She had just left the room when she heard Steve being completely honest.

"She is different now. I was too much of a punk to see how beautiful she really was. Her heart was beautiful, she cared so much about me and I never understood why. I don't think I treated her the way she deserves to be treated - but you do. Don't look at me like that, Bucky. I am old, not blind. I can see the way you two look at each other. Back then, her love scared me, it was so intense. I almost forgot how enticing her smile was. She just wasted so many tears on someone like me and for that I will never forgive me" he told his friend but his mind was someplace else. She smiled to herself and finally left them alone. Whatever was to come, she would face it. Finding closure had never been about forgetting. It had never been about drowning out the voices of her past or about closing her heart to memories that used to make you happy. Finding closure meant accepting a situation for what it was and moving on. It was coming to terms with the way things were and knowing that she couldn't change what had happened, but could still find growth among the broken pieces.

 _____

“I am so glad I got my heart broken. It led me to you”. ____

Taglist: @accio-rogers @coffee-with-orion @stydia-4-ever​ @smilexcaptainx​ @elliee1497​

[rambling-at-midnight]

Inferno: Part 5 (final)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Your father drops what he’s holding when you literally rip the front door of the compound off its hinges and toss it a few feet away. “Were you ever going to tell me?” you yell, stomping into the room. You know your face is too hot and so are your hands but you can’t be bothered.

To his credit, Tony doesn’t pretend to not know what you’re talking about. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Y/N, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you bellow, your eyes stinging with anger. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”

“I was worried about you—”

“So you sent the one person I hate most to spy on me? To completely invade my privacy? The one person I knew I could trust—”

“Okay,” Tony admits, “so it wasn’t the best idea. And I realized that soon after. But Y/N, what was I supposed to tell you? How was I supposed to tell you?”

“Um, by telling me?” You scoff angrily. “Instead of me going through my former best friend’s texts and figuring it out for myself?”

“Wait,” Tony interrupts. “Peter didn’t tell you himself?”

“Why the hell would he? He’s too busy making fun of me with you!”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand—” Tony shakes his head. “Peter was supposed to tell you in person. I told him to. We figured you’d at least take it better, but no wonder you’re so upset—”

“It wouldn’t matter if he told me in person, in text, or over a goddamn email!” you yell. “You still spied on me—”

“Can we please talk about this?” he pleads. “Y/N, you’re traumatized. You were imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit. You wouldn’t talk to me and I knew that you and Peter would get along, but after the first meeting it was obvious he needed to wear the mask!”

“I don’t want to talk to you about anything,” you say, disgusted, shaking your head. “I don’t want your excuses. What you did sucked, okay?”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” you bark. “I don’t want to hear anything from you for a while. Just leave me the hell alone!”

You stomp away in the direction of your room and the fire alarm starts to beep.

“Miss Y/N, please cool yourself,” FRIDAY says calmly. “You are reaching dangerous temperatures.”

You scoff. “I can’t hurt myself with fire.”

“No, but you could hurt those around you,” the AI responds. “Including myself.”

“Did you know what they did?” you demand up to the ceiling.

There is a pregnant pause before the AI confirms it.

“Wow.” You shake your head. “Just wow.”

“I was under strict orders not to inform you—”

“Whatever, FRIDAY. I don’t want to hear from you either.” Scowling, you slam your door shut but stop short at the sight of a figure upside-down outside your window.

Spider-man—Peter Parker—taps frantically on the glass, waving to get your attention. You close your blinds and turn your back on the window, but a buzzing in your pocket catches your attention. It’s the boy outside your window. You decline the call. He’s already tried to call fifteen times and sent you 13 text messages.

For good measure, you block his number. Not a second later is he messaging you on Instagram, so you take the next logical step in your mind. You throw your phone out the window so hard it shatters the glass and hopefully hits that lying bastard, too.

You’re out of the room before Spider-man can stick his head out the window, locking the door from the outside using a special program you’d installed in FRIDAY, and decide to sleep in a guest room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully your new phone has a new number that Parker doesn’t know, and you’re pretty sure Tony knows better than to give it to him. You blocked him on every social media platform you have for good measure, although that hasn’t stopped you from noticing him. In fact, you’re probably noticing him more than usual because your two fanbases have come together in a major panic over why Inferno and Spider-man aren’t hanging out, following each other, or even talking anymore.

All your mentions in the past two weeks have looked exactly like this:

just-a-dumbass: @Y/N_Stark plz respond!!!! why are you and Spider-man fighting? he won’t talk about it at all when we asked on his livestream he hung up and hasn’t done another since!!!!

that-one-asian: @Y/N_Stark and @The-Official-Spiderman you guys really need to make up you were my #1 celebrity ship and i dont understand why you broke up

spideyismydaddy: guys you can tell @The-Official-Spiderman is really cut up about this, he hasn’t livestreamed in days or even uploaded a story. @Y/N_Stark you’re a real bitch for breaking his heart

newyorkhoe: guys we don’t even know if @Y/N_Stark and @The-Official_Spiderman were dating. maybe they’re just really good friends that are fighting. either way, you can tell that both are having a rough time. lay off the negativity!!!

wyoming_isnt_real: @Y/N_Stark why are you and spidey fighting? if he hurt you i’ll beat him up :(

spideyinferno: @Y/N_Stark @The-Official-Spiderman

That tweet has a link attached. You click on it out of curiosity only to realize that actual news websites are writing articles about the ‘Feud Between New York’s Hottest Heroes’. You scroll down to the bottom where there are previews of other articles written about this. Is this really the biggest deal ever? Are people really freaking out over the fact that you’re not hanging out with a spying liar anymore?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You should have known. Even at night, civilians are still out and about, and they love to do nothing other than gossip. You’re in Brooklyn, for God’s sake, and they’re still chasing after you with cameras, screaming and asking questions about your relationship with Spider-man. These people have probably never even seen him before. He operates in Queens!

It’s no use. You have to change out of your suit. You’re too noticeable.

You duck into a tourist shop and melt the door handle so the screaming hordes can’t follow you in. “I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly to the shopkeeper and dig around in your pockets for an empty check. You’ve learned to always keep one on hand. You have one, but you don’t know exactly how much replacing a door costs. “Do you have a pen?” Just to be safe, you write down $15,000 and grab a hoodie and sweatpants while the shopkeeper stares at the check you’d shoved into his hands. You can hear people pounding on the back entrance of the store, too, and you look around wildly for an escape.

Unwelcome, a thought pops into your head: What would Spidey do? How would he get out of this situation?

You look up and smile. You may not have webs but you can jump pretty high.

“Sorry about this,” you say to the shopkeeper again. He gapes as you leap straight up into his ceiling. You take a running leap off the roof and land on the sidewalk a couple hundred feet away. Some New Yorkers spare you glances as they step around and over you, but you don’t mind them as you pull your hood up and start walking.

A familiar thwip, though, has you stop. People start to yell Spider-man’s name and you look up, one hand keeping your hood in place. You duck behind a taller man and peek at your former friend from behind the stranger’s arm.

“Where is she?” he yells, wheezing a little bit. He must have sprinted over. A little part of your chest warms at the thought of him being frantic to see you, but then you realize that his voice really doesn’t change at all when he’s got the mask on. You were just too stupid to notice it.

The civilians start to all shout different things, mostly pointing to the store, but Spider-man waves his hands to get everyone to be quiet. “One at a time!”

“She went into that store but got out through the roof and now we don’t know where she is!” someone shouts.

“What happened between you two?”

You lean forward, holding your breath. Surely Spider-man will say that you overreacted and were the bitch most people on the internet seem to think you are. It’ll cement your belief that he’s a giant jerk and you’ll be able to go about your day feeling a little better about this whole situation.

“I messed up,” Spider-man explains, sounding sadder than he has a right to. “And I don’t blame her for being mad at me. I’d be pretty mad at me, too.”

“What did you do?” someone else shouts.

For a moment, you think Spider-man meets your eyes and you jerk back, accidentally falling into somebody else. It cuts off Spider-man, who was saying, “It doesn’t really matter what I did. I’m just really sorry and I want her to know, even if she doesn’t forgive me—”

“Watch it!” the person snaps, yanking your sweatshirt in anger. The hood slips off your head and their eyes widen. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry—”

“She’s right here!” another person who’d watched the commotion shouts. “Look, Spider-man, you can apologize to her—”

The crowd starts to scream, looking for you, and you shove your hood back up and keep up with the commotion.

“Y/N!” Spider-man shouts, his voice cracking. “Please just talk to me?”

Pull yourself together, you think viciously. You’re acting like a total idiot in public.

And you don’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.”

“We need you.”

“You have him.”

“Yeah, but we also need you.”

“I have plans for today.”

“Really?” your dad crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “And what are those?”

You cross your arms right back and don’t respond. You both know you don’t have any plans for today, but you’d rather do nothing than go on a mission with half of the team including Spider-man.

“I’m sure he asked you to include me?”

Tony scuffs his foot on the ground.

“Not a chance.” You shake your head.

“Look, is now really the best time to be arguing about this?” Natasha puts in, tapping her foot impatiently. “Parker and Cap are handling this mutant fine at the moment but his friend is coming. They can’t handle two of them.”

You roll your eyes. “You two can go. You’re highly skilled and experienced—”

“And one of them is a lava monster,” your dad interrupts.

“Exactly, so my powers will be useless on it.” You shrug.

“But you also won’t get hurt if you draw its fire. Plus, Nat doesn’t have powers at all. Dealing with human criminals is one thing but mutants are a bit much for even her to handle. No offense, Nat.”

The assassin in question raises one eyebrow and doesn’t agree or disagree with your father’s statement. Privately, you think that Nat really could handle at least one of the monsters on her own, depending on the tools she has to work with. But you digress.

“I hate you,” you try.

“Love you too, honey.” Your dad kisses your forehead for the first time in a month. “Your suit is in the jet. Can we get going, please?”

Okay, you will admit that maybe you underestimated these two mutants. One has heat-based powers, just like you, and flickers between a human form and a human-shaped pile of lava. The other seems merely to have super strength and is trading blows with Captain America like it’s a friendly sparring session.

You narrow your eyes and assess the battlefield from your perch in the jet. “Okay, so we obviously need to get the civilians out of here. Nat, you can handle that, right?”

The red-haired assassin nods her head.

“And I can distract the fire thing,” you decide. Anticipation curdles your stomach though it’s less at the fight and more at the thought of seeing Spider-man again—he is the one fighting that monster, after all, and dodging its streams of fire quite spectacularly, though you’d never tell him so. “We just need to knock it out when it’s in its human form. Dad, you can help Steve, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes you and you roll your eyes. “Everybody ready?”

Butterflies flutter in your stomach as the jet lowers just enough for you to leap out of it, Tony in his suit with Nat clinging onto his back just behind you.

You slam into the lava monster, knocking it off its feet and tumbling a few feet away, your teeth clanking at the impact. Through your earpiece, you hear Cap greeting Nat and Tony, before a significantly higher male voice pierces your eardrums.

“Y/N?”

You wince and look up. Peter’s staring at you, and though his mask is on, you can tell that his mouth is open with shock. Though his exclamation was loud, it was also comforting. You’d missed him more than you care to admit.

“Underoos, pay attention!” your father barks and Peter looks at the lava monster and shrieks (you make a mental note to tease him about that later) before leaping into the air and avoiding a stream of lava that would have melted him instantly.

“Inferno,” the lava mutant hisses, eyes flickering between gaping black rock pits and dark human eyes. Both appearances convey her hatred for you clearly. “You can’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, well, ditto,” you respond. “And, for your information, fire isn’t my only power, thank you very much.”

The mutant holds up her hand and a stream of lava flies toward you, hitting your skin and sliding to the ground before it hardens instantly. “You’re a mutant against your will just like me,” the lava mutant hisses. “Join us. Help us take revenge against those who wronged us.”

Peter shoots a web that disintegrates a foot in front of the mutant. The air around her is so hot it’s wavering like a mirage. Powerless against the mutant, he looks at you.

“Look, I get getting revenge,” you say. You press a hand to your ear and mutter, “Shock web when she’s human.” You continue louder, “I got my own revenge. But I didn’t do it by hurting innocent civilians. In fact, my father did it so Killian wouldn’t hurt anybody else.”

“They don’t understand our pain,” the mutant hisses. She flickers and Spider-man twitches but he was too slow and continues to creep out of the mutant’s line of vision. With her eyes fixed on you, she doesn’t seem to care. “Only we do.”

“I know,” you say soothingly. You hold your palm up to the sky and let a little flame dance over your palm. “I know it hurts. I was in pain for days straight when Killian gave me the serum. But this isn’t the way to get your revenge.”

This time, when the mutant flickers, she remains in her human form for a second longer. You smile smugly.

“We’re the same,” you say soothingly. “I know just how it feels.”

“I can’t stop now,” the mutant hisses. “They’ll lock me up.”

“They locked me up too, and I didn’t even do anything,” you point out. “But when you get out, I can help you.”

She drops the lava monster guise and looks at you wondrously.

You wince when Peter’s shock web hits her in the back. She makes a sort of choked noise before keeling over. Something fragile inside you fractures as you see what you could have been. There’s a little too much of you inside that mutant.

The other mutant roars with anger and you turn, ready to burn it. But its anger is aimed at Spider-man, who landed the final blow, and he sweeps Cap and Tony away, throwing them into nearby rubble.

You dart in front of the monster and ready your fists, even if his biceps are bigger than your waist. He shoves you away and the breath leaves your lungs but you still manage to cling onto his arm like a koala and summon the anger to the surface. Your body goes white-hot in seconds and the second mutant roars with pain and slams his arm into the ground.

You feel your spine crack in multiple places as well as your tailbone—and your neck.

“Y/N!” Peter bellows when you don’t move. “NO!”

Something wet trickles down your neck as the bones arrange themselves back into place and you sit up, tears slipping from your eyes as you do so. Now you’re pissed off.

The mutant’s arm, you can see, has a nasty-looking burn on it in the shape of your body. You relish the sight of it as you take a running start at the mutant, plowing into his back and sending him flying, landing on the ground and skidding a few feet. Since you’re half his height, it must have been a comical sight.

Peter lands in front of you and holds out his hand, which you notice is shaking. “Are you okay?”

You don’t nod your head. You’re scared that just moving it will break your back again. You might have broken your arm and ankle before, but never your neck and back. You’re going to have nightmares about it for weeks to come, you already know.

“You can cool down now,” he says softly. You realize you’re still glowing white-hot.

With a strangled sob, you let go of the anger-heat and fall into his arms, squeezing him so hard you’re sure he would have a few broken ribs if he wasn’t enhanced.

“How bad did he hurt you?” Peter asks, one hand rubbing up and down your back.

“It would have killed anyone except me,” you whisper back. And that’s all you have to say on the subject. You move to step back from him and gasp. The mutant is up and angrier than ever. He’s picking up a chunk of plaster with a few copper wires protruding from its multiple sides. He’s hoisting it above his head. And he’s throwing it at you two.

You hear multiple screams as you shove Peter out of the way, but the ginormous rock hits you in the stomach. As if in slow motion, you flip backwards, the plaster rolling with you, and hit the ground, skidding a bit. The plaster still sits on your stomach, making it nearly impossible to breathe, which means you don’t have the strength to push it off of you.

Oh God. Asphyxiation is one thing the serum can’t help you with. For the first time in your life, you might actually die from an injury.

You weakly wiggle, trying to get the plaster to tip off of you, but that causes a stinging sensation in your sternum that’s almost unbearable. Your back is getting wet. One of the copper wires must have entered your stomach.

You try to suck in a breath but barely get more than a gasp. The effort makes you cough, your throat tasting metallic.

The serum can’t work if I can’t breathe, you distantly realize. It’s a part of my bodily functions now, but my body can’t function at all without oxygen.

So you’re going to die. It’s as simple as that.

This time, when you suck in a breath, you cough on a liquid in your throat, choking as you can’t get any air in and becoming more panicked as your vision becomes more blurry. You try to blow the liquid out of your throat but you don’t have enough strength to blow hard, so all that happens is that you’re completely out of air now. You thrash on the ground but the plaster refuses to move.

Your vision goes dark. Your stomach drops. Is this it? Are you going to die now? You never even got to make up with Peter, which you now realize you’d wanted to do all along.

Then the weight on your stomach lifts and you suck in a shuddering breath that just makes you cough and choke more. The darkness lifts from your vision, making you squint and realize that someone had been standing over you and lifted the plaster from your stomach.

The person turns you over onto your side and you spit blood out of your mouth as the pain in your stomach begins to abate. When you finally suck in a shuddering breath that clears your vision, hands cradle your face and you look up into Peter’s face. It’s a bit screwed up because he’s crying.

You blink slowly at him.

“Oh, my God,” he says as though from a long way away. “I thought you were going to die. Are you still bleeding? Can you breathe? Are you all right? Do you have brain damage? Wait, are you dead? Y/N, can you hear me?” He shakes you. His voice gets higher. “Y/N, you gotta respond to me or I’m gonna think you’re dead! Are you dead?”

You cough, splattering his face with more blood and mucus, and his lips thin as he wipes it off.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Your mask,” you croak weakly. Your eyes widen with realization. “Oh, God, your mask, Peter, people are gonna see you—”

“Thank God you’re all right,” he breathes, gathering you into a tight hug that has you gasping for air. His splayed hands on your back move up and down, probing for holes. “I think you’re okay.” He begins to rock back and forth, still holding you in his arms. “I thought you were going to die.”

Weakly, you wrap your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can. You’re already feeling better. “Peter Parker, did you just save my life?”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He pulls back, beaming at you even though he’s still crying.

“I guess,” you say mock-reluctantly.

“Thank God,” he breathes. “Y/N, I like you.”

“What?” You blink.

“It’s all right if you don’t say it back,” he says, rushed. “Or if you don’t feel the same way at all. I just thought you should know.”

“No, I—”

“Y/N!”

Tony sweeps you off your feet, twirling you in a circle. “Oh my God, baby, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” you reply but don’t push him away. “Peter saved me.”

Tony picks up Peter’s discarded mask and shoves it into his favorite intern’s hands before sweeping him into the group hug too. “Does this mean you don’t hate him anymore?” he asks, beaming.

Peter pulls his mask on and turns away. You glance after him, frowning.

“What?” Tony asks, deflating. “Do you really still hate him?”

You tap Spider-man on the shoulder. Peter shrugs and says without looking back, “It’s fine, Y/N. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, considering what I did to you—”

You spin him around, lift his mask up to his nose, and fit your mouth against his.

When you pull back, his mouth stays open as he gapes at you.

“I never said I didn’t feel the same way,” you say, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Seriously?” he squeals. Then he coughs and lowers his voice. “I mean, uh—seriously?”

You shake your head and smile before planting your lips on his again. And that’s how the media finds you two. And the internet kind of explodes for the next two hours. It turns out a lot of people have been shipping you two for a while now.

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

[at-the-exd-of-everythixg]

Ok uh DND HEADCANONS aka welcome to fantasy queer eye

Ava: A tiefling paladin. Bonar Fidea ("BONER?" "Shut the fuck up Sal.") Is sworn to her mission to protect the group of travellers she's met. Especially when faced with a particular half orc,,,ahem, Bonar is intent on doing good, not for the cost of gold, but to perhaps wipe her hands of bloodshed left over from a suffocating war that she refuses to talk about....just a shame that the rest of her party doesn't agree with the motives.

Mimi: Dwarf fighter named Viet Clearwater ("'Cause she drags her enemies through the fucking mud!"). Dwarf milf -

("wait," Lace squints and Mimi grins. "How is she a milf??" "WELL. You know that thing where a woman gets out of the fire and shakes her head? That's that." Everyone waits for a moment before nodding appreativatevly.)

- who worked in a blacksmiths for many years before meeting Sal's character and ending up joining his kid onto becoming fantasy bounty hunters for a few months before meeting the others. Viet's personal mission is to get a beach day yet each plot ends up derailing her from it each and every time.

Finn: Druid Elf called Roisen-Mae Maylar who worked in fantasy Greggs before Bonar robbed them and Roisen-Mae was the one who was sent after her due to him being "the new guy". Long story short, Roisen-Mae realised he was underpaid and joined Bonar in her avenging for justice, quickly realising that "justice" was conceived of breaking into places and killing people in order to free others. Roisen-Mae kinda wishes he could go back to Fantasy Greggs but...he likes the feeling of adventure in his blood, likes helping people in such a freeing manner.

Sal: Elvish Bard named Chester. Out here playing the top hits of "I want thy love" and "I was created for loving thee." With the backups of Wulf's character. Realised that he could get more cash and that there was...fuck, there was something magic about his voice that struck the monsters and mysterious assassins often sent after the party for some reason.

("Wait so you're some sort of siren?" Pascal had begun to laugh as Sal sqwuaked in indignation. "No! Its- its magic! Shut up you solar piece of shit!")

Sure, murder wasn't was Chester was expecting. But fuck if it ain't gonna be fun (skksks ngl I'm...half wondering if Sal would let his dnd character be in love like I am with him and me being ace sksk)

Mahogany: No character since they struggle with grasping the game but they usually have someone sitting on their lap while they watch everyone play and suggest actions. Sometimes they're allowed to be monsters but often Mahogany is just there to get some cuddles.

Pascal: Orc rogue named Solgrindr The Rugged. 100% he's here to get jacked and each mission allows him to gain One Ab. His guns are huge but his heart is even huge-er and Solgrindr speaks with a fiery passion to sell his training regime and to collect a million fantasy numbers. Since. U know. Solgrindr has earned these by now.

("So you're a Chad?" Mimi squints and Pascal lifts up a hand in offense before Sal interjects. "YEAH PASCAL YOU AN INCEL?" Pascal cried a minute later. He just wanted to be ripped, was that too much to ask?)

Solgrindr is but a man of his whims and what's a bigger whim than a fiery battle and an even hotter romance? ("His sole goal is to romance Chester." Pascal says, smiling viciously when Sal chokes from across the table.) Its just a shame he hasn't been able to live up to his full power yet...

Edith: A half-orc paladin called Yanag Broifstïgnäh who is...basically a carbon copy of Edith but no one's gonna exactly argue with a 6'something Norse angel who everyone excluding Wulf and Dae, are attracted to her. Yanag fights with the same ire and power anyone else would have done to protect her party entirely. She gets a magical axe that apparently washes her into an entirely new and powerful form only once every game.

(Finn frowns, tilting his head curiously. "You made Edith into a magical girl?"

Doe blinks and for a moment, Finn shudders when his own eyes meet his. "Yeah. Is that what that's called? Coolio.")

Yanag saves and romances a woman with every town they go to, but it raises questions when she seems to deny their affections, just as its suspicious how black tar-like veins seem to spread on her the more she uses this power.

Wulf: A human ranger called Bob Greenson. Your average, typical human man who just so happens to believe in fate and adventure! He shall charm everyone and fight the good battles!

("So." Ava squinted and Edith tried to not smile. "He's playing as himself...but a human man?" Her question seemed to get a rough snort out of Edith and a slight nudge of the shoulders. "Aye, but 'tis what makes the man happy I suppose.")

Of course, Bob is on a strict mission to product review as many weapons as he possibly can for his company, Weap'n'throw, while perhaps finding a few good spots to camp out for the ol' family? How's it goin' neighbour? Sure there are some sale issues, what with everyone wanting to murder Bob, but what sales pitch doesn't come with a bit of haggling, hm? With his mighty band of sales assistants, please speak to Chester on aisle three for magical trumpets!

Adonai: Dungeon Master! It's a relief to be themselves and to still be able to interact with the games and everyone else. Doe was worried at first that they would have been left out while everyone got to be something different. They would have joined, but the idea of yet again forming a whole new identity, trying to find the balance and shifts...it sounded exhausting. They couldn't handle it.

Ava patted them and told Doe that they didn't need to be someone. They could think up the scenarios and risks and Joys. It wasn't often that they got an opportunity to take over and simply have fun with risking Mimi's life or trying to create romantic scenarios between Edith and Ava. Doe takes great pleasure in being the DM and it isn't uncommon for them to modify their body for certain campaigns.

Lace: A half-elf wizard named Elvish Presley (Everyone groans. Mahogany weeps. Edith demotes her Valkyrie ways. Sal becomes a nun.) Elvish is interested in learning all sources of magic and why their world works. Is there anything connecting them all? A reason for them being here? Elvish is determined to find out, no matter what the cost...mostly of himself though.

Whether he admits that he wouldn't allow his team to get hurt or not, that is entirely Elvish's thoughts and feelings alone. Quick! Put that healing spell away! We can't let these people know that we feel and yearn! But little does Elvish Presley know, everyone is aware that he is a giant nerd with a giant heart that weeps when Bonar rescues him from the angry orgre who's wagon dealership they ruined in a quest.

Dae: A dragonborn ranger named Torpa Armani who dreams of becoming a famous writer-

("Th-that's bas-basically what y-you do anywh-anyway." Morde squints as Wulf grins while Dae flushes and shakes his head. It's a weak argument, to hear your clone try and deny the elaborate romance novels he writes about his friends.)

-But! Sometimes you just get whisked away onto wild and heart melting adventures. Its hard to ignore how good it deeps to help other people with their problems. It seems that Torpa may just be finding out that there's more to life than romance or tragedy books for them. Especially if they seem so insistent on carrying a weapon and being willing to put their trust and faith within other people once more after being outcasted for who and what they are.

Peach: A tiefling ranger named Puddles Skipclear. Puddles was once a water nymph, but had been cursed into a more physical form that didn't allow her to touch water. She is bound to dry lands until Puddles is able to break her curse. Unfortunately, Puddles doesn't even seem to know what curse bounds her and changes her for possibly forever.

(Morde is quiet for a moment, not meeting his clone's eyes guilt makes his eyes and body dim and slouch. Dae does the same towards Mordecai and everyone tries to ignore the guilt that isn't there's suddenly shifting around the room.)

She likes the people she has chosen to travel with. They're silly and their quests don't always work out, but they're honest in helping Puddles and she wants to trust in them when they say that they will help her remove her curse. They're all rather different from her water sisters that faded away and slipped out of Puddles' too physical fingers, but she's begun to have high hopes about what this mission could mean for her along the way.

Mordecai: Orc rogue named Vecivus Brogun, who is a well renewed theft despite his size. Parties could only dream of having him upon their sides. It's easy to steal things from countless people, but it's harder to steal the secrets. Especially when such a strange party seems to hold so many of these secrets. Some of them have simple ideas and wants, but others?

Oh, there's mystery to them and contrary to what others believe about orcs, Vec is far more easily aware and shifty than most. If only the others would realise these and help him out with a few gigs...after all, is it so bad to steal from a dragon if said dragon had so many riches that he would have hardly noticed if a few went missing?

[contrariian-archive]

HOZIER’S  “WASTELAND, BABY!” SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns, etc!

NINA CRIED POWER

‘ it’s not the waking, it’s the rising. ’ ‘ it is the grounding of a foot uncompromising. ’ ‘ it’s not forgoing of the lie, it’s not the opening of eyes. ’ ‘ it’s not the shade; we should be past it. it’s the light, and it’s the obstacle that casts it. ’ ‘ it’s the heat that drives the light. ’ ‘ it’s the heaven of a human spirit ringing. ’ ‘ and i could cry power. ’   ‘ it’s not the wall, but what’s behind it. ’ ‘ power has been cried by those stronger than me, straight into the face that tells you to rattle your chains if you love being free. ’

ALMOST (SWEET MUSIC)

‘ i came in from the outside, burned out from a joyride. ’ ‘ the same kind of music haunts her bedroom. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. she’s almost you. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t know where to start. ’ ‘ be still my foolish heart. ’ ‘ don’t ruin this on me. ’ ‘ let’s get lost and let the good times roll. ’ ‘ let’s smoke rings from this paper doll. ’ ‘ i got some color back. ’ ‘ i laugh like me again, she laughs like you. ’ ‘ the very thought of you, and i am blue. ’ ‘ i get along without you very well some other nights. ’

MOVEMENT

‘ i still watch you when you’re grooving. ’ ‘  you’re moving without moving. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m moved. ’ ‘ you are a call to motion. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put to mind of all that i wanna be. ’ ‘ i could never define all that you are to me. ’ ‘ move me, baby. ’ ‘ you do it naturally. ’ ‘ honey, you’re atlas in his sleeping. ’ ‘ i recall something that’s gone from me. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put in awe of something so flawed and free. ’

NO PLAN

‘ what a waste to say the heart could feel apart, or feel complete. ’ ‘ why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird, when it sings so sweet the screaming, heaving fuckery of the world? ’ ‘ why would you offer a name to the same old tired pain? ’ ‘ all things come from nothing. ’ ‘ my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. ’ ‘ i know now that you understand. ’ ‘ there’s no plan. ’ ‘ there’s no race to be run. ’ ‘ the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun. ’ ‘ there’s no kingdom to come. ’ ‘ i’ll be your man if you got love to get done. ’ ‘ sit in and watch the sunlight fade. ’ ‘ it’s getting late. ’ ‘ there’s no hand on the rein. ’ ‘ as mack explained, there will be darkness again. ’ ‘ let the awful song be heard. ’ ‘ i know your beat, baby. ’ ‘ your secret is safe with me. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, keep my body from the fire, hire a gardener for my grave. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, when i’m lying under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made. ’

NOBODY

‘ it’s gin o’clock. ’ ‘ i think about you everywhere i go. ’ ‘ i’ve done everything and i’ve been everywhere. ’ ‘ i’ve been fed gold by sweet fools. ’ ‘ i’ve had no love like your love from nobody. ’ ‘ i’d be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t fall for someone i thought couldn’t misbehave. ’ ‘ i once warmed my hands over a burning maserati. ’ ‘ why should we deny the truth? ’ ‘ we could have less to worry about  —  i won’t lie to you. ’

TO NOISE MAKING (SING)

‘ remember when you’d sing just for the fuck of it? ’ ‘ the look of it was as sweet as the sound. ’ ‘ i couldn’t name that feeling carried in that voice  —  was it that, or just the act of making noise that brought you joy? ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but who could call you wrong? ’ ‘ put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but sing it strong. ’ ‘ at best, you’ll find a little remedy. ’ ‘ at worst, the world will sing along. ’ ‘ we’d scuff up our shoes. ’ ‘ you didn’t always sing it right. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be unbroken or be brave again? ’ ‘ be unbroken. ’ ‘ be brave again. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be sound or to feel saved again? ’ ‘ stick around until you hear that music play again. ’ ‘ so honey, sing. ’ ‘ sing. ’ ‘ remember when you’d sing just for the love of it? and any joy it would bring? ’

AS IT WAS 

‘ there is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved, whenever i’d have life enough, my heart is screaming of. ’ ‘ and in a few days, i would be there, love. ’ ‘ whatever here that’s left of me is yours. ’ ‘ the highs hit the heights of my baby, and its hold had the fight of my baby. ’ ‘ the lights were as bright as my baby, ’ ‘ your love was unmoved. ’   ‘ tell me if, somehow, some of it remains, how long you would wait for me. ’ ‘ make your good love known to me. ’ ‘ tell me about your day. ’ ‘ and the nights were as dark as my baby, and half as beautiful too. ’

SHRIKE

‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted. ’ ‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted. ’ ‘ words hung above, but never would form  —  like a cry at the final breath that is drawn. ’ ‘ remember me. ’ ‘ remember me, love. ’ ‘ remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i’d no idea on what ground i was founded. ’ ‘ all of that goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ then, when i met you, my virtues uncounted  —  all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ dragging along, following your form, hung like the pelt of some prey you had won. ’ ‘ i’m hung like the pelt of some prey you had one. ’ ‘ remember me when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted, but i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now, back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted. ’ ‘ i was housed by your warmth. ’ ‘ i was thus transformed by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. ’

TALK

‘ i’d be the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found. i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. ’ ‘ i’d be the dreadful need in the devotee. ’ ‘ i’d be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice. ’ ‘ imagine being loved by me. ’ ‘ i won’t deny  —  i’ve got in my mind now all the things i would do. ’ ‘ i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you. ’ ‘ i’d be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love. ’ ‘ i’d be the sweet feeling of release. ’

BE

‘ be as you’ve always been. ’ ‘ lover, be good to me. ’ ‘ be like the love that discovered the sin, that freed the first man and will do so again. ’ ‘ be that hopeful feeling when eden was lost. ’ ‘ it’s been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed. ’ ‘ which side of the wall really suffers that cost? ’ ‘ be love in its disrepute. ’ ‘ love, in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root. ’ ‘ watch the slowing and starving of troops. ’ ‘ be like the rose that you hold in your hand, that will grow bold in a barren and desolate land. ’ ‘ love, won’t you be as you’ve always been? ’

DINNER & DIATRIBES

‘ this club here is stuck up. ’ ‘ i knew well from our first hookup the look of mischief in your eyes. ’ ‘ your friends are a fate that befell me. ’ ‘ hell is the talking type. ’ ‘ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. ’ ‘ honey, i laugh when it sinks in. ’ ‘ the evening is slowing. ’ ‘ the end is in sight. ’ ‘ it’s easier knowing what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised. ’ ‘ let there be damage ensued and tabloid news. ’

WOULD THAT I 

‘ i saw your hair like the branch of a tree  — a willow dancing on air before covering me. ’ ‘ that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me. ’ ‘ the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. ’ ‘ i fretted fire, but that was long ago. ’ ‘ i blink in sight of your blinding light. ’ ‘ it’s not tonight where you hold me tight. ’ ‘ you’re good to me. ’ ‘ with the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet. ’ ‘ like the ashes of ash, i saw rise in the heat. ’ ‘ i fell in love with the fire long ago. ’ ‘ with each love i cut loose, i was never the same. ’ ‘ i’m watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame. ’ ‘ i was fixed on your hand of gold laying waste to my loving long ago. ’ ‘ in awe, there i stood. ’ ‘ though i’ve handled the wood, i still worship the flame. ’ ‘ as long as the amber of ember glows, all the would that i’d loved is long ago. ’

SUNLIGHT 

‘ i would shun the light. ’ ‘ share in evening’s cool and quiet. ’ ‘ who would trade that hum of night for sunlight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight, betray the moon as acolyte, on first and fierce affirming sight of sunlight? ’ ‘ i’d been lost to you. ’ ‘ i flew like a moth to you. ’ ‘ oh, your love is sunlight. ’ ‘ all the tales the same, told before and told again. ’ ‘ a soul that’s born in cold and rain knows sunlight. ’ ‘ oh, my sunlight. ’ ‘ all that was shown to me, sunlight, was something foreknown to me. ’ ‘ all these colors fade for you only. ’ ‘ hold me. ’ ‘ carry me slowly. ’ ‘ each day, you’d rise with me. ’ ‘ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty. ’ ‘ strap the wing to me. death trap-clad, happily, with wax melted, i’d meet the sea. ’

WASTELAND, BABY!

‘ all the fear and the fire of the end of the world happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl. happens great, happens sweet. ’ ‘ happily, i’m unfazed here, too. ’ ‘ wasteland baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ all the things yet to come are the things that have passed: like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass. ’ ‘ i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ and i love too that love soon might end. ’ ‘ be still, my indelible friend. you are unbreaking. ’ ‘ you are unbreaking, though quaking. ’ ‘ that day that we watch the death of the sun; the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on. ’ ‘ you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins. ’ ‘ the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen. ’ ‘ not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. ’ ‘ that’s it. ’