#so he's going to be more restrainted unless it's a life or death situation

[jpriest85-blog]

Last fanart before the New Year for @pdrrook Perfumare featuring Laurent and my MC Liz, cuddling.

After playing Laurent's route, and that the man just wants someone to come home to, yet he feels like it's such a selfish thing to want. That's especially hard for Liz because she knows what it's like to be rejected by your own family. Yet, at least she was able to find a new family with Flavio and Reed, and it broke her heart, learning that Laurent didn't believe he deserved to feel loved. Even considering Laurent works for the SPD, he does genuinely want to help and protect people.

Thankfully, Liz can be stubborn, and on Laurent's route, she's determined to make the man understand he is deserving of love and family dammit!

[cultofdixon]

A Force of Nature [Pt. 2]

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • She/Her to They/Them Pronouns • The cards have been dealt and Daryl wasn’t leaving his kid’s side any time soon. • ANGST/SFW • TWD makes my brain hurt with ages • TW: Torture / Severe Injuries / Character Deaths / Scars / Nightmares / Insecurities / PTSD / Anxiety Attacks / Self Harm Implied / Coming Out

PREV

Daryl was hesitant entering Hilltop after everything that he went through in the sanctuary. His anxiety ate him alive the entire time hearing Y/N screaming off the top of her lungs when he was being taken away.

But the second he stepped through the doors and Maggie came running out to meet him half way. Both held onto each other in the moment even if one was worried about the other as the other felt they were at fault for what happened at the line up.

Yet…there was something more important than those worries.

“DADDY!” The seven year old screamed off the top of her lungs a word Daryl never thought he’d hear.

When she first came into his life and every moment since then, he thought he was messing it all up. But the way Daryl just collapsed seeing Y/N run at him at full speed launching herself into his arms. He knew they were bonded and he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

“I missed you…d-don’t leave” Y/N sobbed into his shirt feeling him tighten his grip on her.

“You’re stuck with me. I ain’t going anywhere”

“I love you daddy”

Daryl couldn’t help it anymore and continued to break down hearing that as Y/N tried to squeeze him back telling him “it’s ok”.

“I love yea too kid”

________

He’s never addressed. Unless Y/N desperately needed him.

And this was one of those moments.

Y/N found out pretty quickly that Henry disappeared and so were a few others when the festival was progressing at the Kingdom. So they locked up Dog in one of the buildings so he wouldn’t follow them as they set off for track the missing people down.

Little did they know, that one of the Whisperers wanted revenge on a certain Dixon…and them finding the group of hostages…only made it easier for him.

“We found a spy!” One of the Whisperers announced causing the group of hostages to grow anxious until Y/N got pulled into view and the fear returned at an all time high. “Followed one of us out here. What do you want us to do with it?”

“Let me the fuck go! Let them g—-“ Y/N stopped talking when Alpha was interrupted by Beta who towered the teen watching them struggle a bit more before freezing when he suddenly grabbed them by the shirt lifting them off the ground.

Henry struggled against the restraints watching this unfold as he thought rushing the situation wouldn’t get him knocked back down, but that’s what happened. One of the Whisperers knocked him onto his stomach as he lifted his head watching Beta forcefully slam Y/N onto the ground enough for their head to receive enough of the force to knock them unconscious.

“I’ve got the rat”

“Well alright then…” Alpha laughs a bit to the display as Beta drags them out by their collar. “Keep’em alive, I know exactly who that is. But do what you will…we’ve got them” she turns back to Henry and the others giving a devilish smile as she pulls out her machete.

•

Where’s Y/N? Connie thought as she explores around the festival in hopes that she runs into the teen. But instead as she opens the door to one of the main living quarter buildings, an anxious Dog burst out and started sprinting. Without a second thought, she started to follow the Mal to wherever he was going.

Kelly was talking to Earl when she noticed her sister chasing after Daryl’s dog and that clicked to her that something was wrong. She quickly caught up with her sister and her tapping for her attention was ignored as the two were lead to a secret way outside the walls of the Kingdom by Dog and Connie took a second to sign.

Something could be wrong. I’m following until I know for sure She signs and quickly turns back to the Dog trying to catch up to avoid losing track of what he was tracking. Kelly didn’t wait another second to join her sister on this mission.

•

I want my dad…

I want my dad…

Where’s my dad…

Y/N’s sobbing echoed throughout the forest surrounding them, no one coming and no worry of a Walker. But the Whisperer towering above them was the main issue that they tried to take on.

Yet strike after strike…did nothing.

“I wish she gave me permission to end your life right now. Have him endure that sorrow” the lowness of Beta’s voice made them shake in fear as they tried to rise again, only for him to kick them back down. His boot landing a perfect shot in their ribs made them wheeze immedieatly after. “But destroying every part of you, ripping away the child he knows and loves…will just do”

He was just protecting us…me…Lydia…but was it worth it? Was this worth i—- Y/N stopped thinking when he grabbed at their collar once again lifting them to where they dangled.

Instead of reaching for his own, he took one of their throwing knives and started with cutting their left cheek watching their tears pour when he did such. Then a more devilish thought came to mind…

“I’ll ruin what makes you, you.”

•

What the group did next, was remove the heads off the spikes…take them out of their misery…and return to the Kingdom. Ruining the remaining moments of the festival and tell the perspective families about the loss.

All Michonne and Daryl wanted in that moment, was to hug their kids. But once Daryl left Carol with Ezekiel and Jerry to go find his kid, no one’s heard where they’ve might’ve gone to and when he questioned further. Dog is missing. Connie and Kelly are missing.

And with everything that just happened. He thought the worse and screamed at everyone who gave him no answer when it was obvious that the fear radiating from him and everyone around him that they were struggling to absorb what just happened. And Daryl needed to go out again and find them. Find all of them.

I-I can’t lose them. I can’t lost my kid.

“We’ll find them, Daryl. We’ll go back out you and—-“

“Me” Carol interrupts Michonne as her and Daryl gave the grieving mother a confused look.

“Nah. You just lost somebody.”

“You should be grieving with Ezekiel and talking about preparations…you can’t—“

“Shut UP! Henry may have been my kid. The joy I n-needed after all the darkness” her voice cracked saying such as the tears build up. “But Y/N matters so much to me…and I’m done losing”

________

Y/N sat outside of the Sanctuary kicking her feet enjoying the feeling of her new gloves that was gifted to her by Maggie. She didn’t like being there and part of her hated Rick for making Daryl take lead of the place. But she enjoyed Carol visiting because it meant getting some of her cookies and a new cassette tape she found just for Y/N.

Their relationship was important to her, especially when it came to something like this.

“Hey kiddo, it’s cold out here! You should be inside…mainly prevent Daryl from hitting somebody” Carol jokes sitting beside Y/N at the loading dock of the Sanctuary.

“He just hits Ex-saviors nowadays” She kept her voice at a low whisper as Carol couldn’t help the worry look and the motherly touch she had while pushing her hair behind her ear out of her face.

“What’s wrong hun?”

“You Uhm. Ever felt different? From everybody else…” Y/N pouts looking at Carol who gave her a warm smile and a nod.

“Yeah, this new world was definitely involved with those feelings. But I think there’s more to it”

Y/N felt anxious as she took a deep breath before relaxing when Carol brought her arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t think…I associate with being a girl”

“Do you think you…are more of a boy?”

“No…I don’t think so. More of…it?” Y/N questions if that sounded right as the small laugh to escape Carol made them blush out of embarrassment but that was eased instantly with

“You are Y/N. Not either side. Just you” Carol smiles kissing their temple as she kept them close. “So, they/them works best for you?”

“Can…can you help me tell my dad?” She felt the same thing Daryl does when she hears that. She just knows how happy Daryl gets hearing himself be called that, and she knows how much he loves his kid.

This will be easy, and they’ll be loved unconditionally.

________

Daddy…

Where’s…my dad…

The tightening feeling in their left cheek grew more and more painful as they tried to feel what was happening. But they couldn’t move their arms. Couldn’t feel their legs. All they felt was pain and struggled to think of anything else but that…and where was he?…

When growling was heard, Y/N knew they had to move and with little strength they had…they lifted themselves up only to realize the pain in their mouth grew worse like the rest of their body but they couldn’t speak. Something wasn’t right. So when the Walker drew closer to their frozen state, they reached for their knives feeling that they were gone and went to touch their face in annoyance. Only to feel the familiar metal sticking out of their cheek.

The whisperer stabbed me… Y/N groans upon touching it and only screamed when ripping the knife out in the worse way possible before using the rest of their strength to knock the Walker off it’s feet. Collapsing to the ground along with themselves trying to return into the fetal position because the pain grew worse and the blood poured from their mouth. The taste of metal is getting worse they crawled and stabbed the walker in the skull collapsing again laying beside the dead creature.

Y/N flipped onto their back struggling to breathe knowing their body is bruised and some of their ribs must be broken. They stared up at the fading sky through the trees trying to get their mind straight and build up enough strength to get up.

But they laid there through what felt like hours, and it must’ve been, given the stars started to shine down on them. Thankful it was only one walker…but the pain was fading and the tiredness grew…the fear that the tear in their cheek leading to their lips continued bleeding which could draw more than just walkers but wildlife to pick at their body.

“Is this the you’re in a pickle situation?”

Y/N turned toward the voice finding their five year old self sitting right beside them.

“Yea…y-yea mean the…end of the line?”

“No, like. Stuck but mama is gonna come and get us”

“M…Mama never loved us” They coughed up a bit more blood as their younger self quickly approached their side resting her tiny hands on their cheek. “She…she g-gave…u-used us…a-as bait”

“Not that mama…other mama. Mama is gonna come and find us…fix us…save us” She frowns laying beside themselves curling up close. “She’s gonna get daddy and come save us. She must’ve seen us gone…s…she lost enough, so did daddy. They’ll find us”

Y/N couldn’t help the tired laugh to escape them knowing exactly what they are talking about and the tears flooded their vision.

“I failed them…I couldn’t…couldn’t save him…” They exhaled resting their hands on their stomach feeling the coldness fade. “She’ll hate me forever…I failed her…”

“You did the best you could…this isn’t the old world…not anymore”

The sobbing faded, the pain subsided, and they couldn’t stay awake much longer.

All that was puffs of air pushing against their face and rapid movement in the ground. Then the sudden rise from their resting place and the occasional jostle in whoever’s arms it was that carried them.

I…I want to go home

Let me go home…

I want my dad

•

Right as Daryl, Michonne, and Carol met at the gates after getting everything they needed to handle any whisperer or threat to them while finding Y/N. The gates open and the image was clear.

Connie came sprinting with a frightened Kelly right beside her and Dog keeping up with them. As Y/N laid unconscious in Connie’s embrace.

“No…No no no!” Daryl yells off the top of his lungs sprinting toward them with Michonne following and Carol quickly getting the Kingdom’s first aid.

“Dog got out and Connie was following him and I was following her. We didn’t have good feelings and h-he found them. L-Like this” Kelly frowns feeling the tears fall along with her sister who hasn’t stopped sobbing since they found Y/N.

Daryl couldn’t keep it together. He broke down in tears lifting Y/N’s head seeing what that monster did and the fear kicked him down making him check their pulse which made them all fall quiet.

“I-It’s still there w-w…we gotta—-“

“Everything’s ready inside let’s go!” Carol yells, leading to Daryl suddenly taking Y/N into his arms which they least expected for anything to come out of their unconscious self.

But when the pain returned, so did they.

Stop. STOP Y/N suddenly screamed in pain remembering their ribs and moving from one to another after a resting period brought back the excruciating feeling coursing through their body.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry I’m sorry” Daryl kept repeating the entire time he handled Y/N and the entire time others treated their injuries.

As much as Siddiq had his own injuries, he cared about Y/N and wasn’t going to let them slip through the cracks so once he was patched up since they’ve arrived back the first time. He went straight to work on the major wound on their face knowing his stitch work would scar and they’d have to live with that forever.

“This…this was revenge…or something close to it. This wasn’t just because we kept Lydia with us. There was more to it” Michonne frowns helping Daryl keep Y/N still enough for Siddiq to work as Daryl kept quiet while he thought of the many different ways to destroy the Whisperers.

“Beta fucking touched my kid. He’s going to pay for that” Daryl frowns moving out of Siddiq’s way when he finished the stitches and went to get the any type of heavy duty bandage they’ve got. Only for him to notice they’re awake and the tears streamed down their face. “Hey…hey you’re safe now…I-I promise”

“…he stepped on me…held me up by my hair threatening to cut off my head…made me watch my best friend get on a pike…” They kept their voice at a low whisper knowing Carol and Ezekiel were in the room watching them get treated. “…he stabbed me with my own knives and left the last one…in my face…where I couldn’t build the strength to take it out safely…when a walker was drawing close…” they continued but the exhaustion got the best of them once more. “Please don’t leave me dad…”

Daryl choked on his tears hearing that last part as he kept close to them resting his hand gently on their stomach letting the rise and fall of their body reassure him that they were still breathing. But reassure them as well that he wasn’t moving from his spot.

“I ain’t leavin’. I’m right here”

It’s been months since the massacre, and Y/N’s accident. They still haven’t talked about it to Daryl, Carol, or anybody. Hell nobody can talk about the massacre, especially those who’ve lost somebody. But part of Daryl wanted to know what happened to his kid, what that monster did to them.

“You’ve gotta eat something”

“Are you projecting cuz Y/N won’t eat?” Lydia frowns at the plate set in front of her by Daryl.

“Just eat…” Daryl sighs. “We’ll be leavin’ soon” he states going to check on his kid.

Carol carefully adjusted the beanie on their head as they kept fixing the gaiter mask to cover their left cheek. She frowns knowing why they are covering up half their face and it wasn’t because of the cold weather do to the storm approaching.

“Hey”

“Hey, we’re ready whenever everybody else is” Carol gave a half smile in the archer’s direction before putting the scarf she made for Y/N around them as Daryl couldn’t help but notice how tense they got when she did such. “Go make sure you’ve got everything while I talk to your dad a sec” and with that Y/N left in a quick manner into one of the buildings as Daryl couldn’t help the worry pouring out of him.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“About what? They’re not ready to talk about it…”

“Yea think…they’re ever gonna be?” Daryl frowns as Carol hesitantly hugged her best friend expecting him to pull away but he returned the gesture. He really needed it.

The group sets off to Hilltop where the Kingdom folk will have a fresh start and plenty of more feelings floating around. The obvious ones Carol has toward Lydia as it took Daryl reminding her that Henry wanted her to be with them. And when they reached the Sanctuary for some time to recuperate before setting off once again, Carol couldn’t keep it to herself anymore.

“I feel like I’m starting to lose myself again…” Carol says in a low whisper after talking about how losing Henry returned a lot of dormant feelings.

“If…” Daryl sighs. “If it makes it easier, I’ll take my kid and Lydia protect’em on my own” but his tone made it obvious that he didn’t want to leave after being separated from everyone for so long. Especially when his kid was also with him. Another moment in time he doesn’t entirely understood how they felt during it.

But when the group had to make the risk by going through Alpha’s territory, that’s when the unsettling feeling returned to a few. Y/N especially when they took a second to look through the group realizing that Lydia was missing and took it upon themselves to go find them. Even if it meant fearing what unwanted territory could hold for them.

Lydia found herself crouched down to the level of a frozen walker in the snow as she reaches toward its begging bites.

It’s all my fault…it’s all my faul—- Lydia was literally pulled out of her thoughts as she falls back into the snow lifting her head to find the Dixon kid crushing the walker’s head repeatedly. “Y/N what are you…” she frowns watching them finally relax as their hands started to shake from anger before turning toward the girl making her flinch.

Y/N was instantly shot with regret as they gripped their scarf for a moment before holding their hands out for Lydia. She took them hesitantly letting them pull her up. But they were dodging the question.

“What are you doing here?” Lydia asks as Y/N hasn’t let go of one of her hands pulling her back into the direction of the group. “Y/N please…”

Y/N kept going. Tightening their grip when Lydia would try to pull away but when she pulled once again. This time crying out—

“What are you doing here?!” Lydia snaps making Y/N let go of her hand as they turn to look at them with the blank expressionless look on their face that wasn’t covered. Letting Lydia take the floor to explain to them why she strayed away. “Y/N please…why did you follow me out here? Why you? After everything my mother did to you and Carol and Ezekiel…everybody. Why are you trying to bring me back after everything they’ve done?”

“You’re not them” Y/N frowns pulling the gaiter mask down to talk more clearly but Lydia got a good look at the scar that Beta left and what they did in their weaken state. “I can’t…I don’t want you to die” they broke down in front of her as she felt herself reach that point as well. “Henry saw the good in you that came from all the shit that life dealt you…I get that entirely. And I ain’t letting you go and ain’t letting anybody mess with you”

“You don’t have to…you really don’t”

“I want to…” Y/N extended their hand as Lydia took it carefully watching them put their mask back on before leading the way back.

And with that, Carol kept her distance from the two as she followed the second Y/N disappeared as well. She didn’t want Daryl to leave with them because of what happened to her boy, but it was going to take time to steer away the blame.

When the group made it to hilltop and Daryl found the two sticking together feeling a bit relieved that Y/N didn’t hate Lydia or blamed her. But he knew they blamed themselves for it. Y/N caught his attention and separated from Lydia for a moment, running at full speed to Daryl who crushed them in his embrace. He sighs holding them close resting his chin on top of their head.

“Feeling alright?”

“Can we go home?”

“Mhm. We’re leavin’ in a minute. Then we’ll be home”

“Can Lydia stay with us?” Y/N looks up at him watching him nod before hugging him tightly once again. “I…I wanna talk about it. But I’m still not ready”

“I’ll be there when you are” Daryl reassures rubbing circles on their back keeping them close for a little while longer before the Alexandria group headed back home.

After returning home and the small meaningful moment of a snowball fight, Daryl watches Y/N get everything set up for both Lydia and Carol to stay in their place as Carol sat at the table with a cup of tea made by the man himself.

“Think you’ll be warm enough tonight?”

“Why?”

“Cuz Dog is gonna stick with Y/N.”

“Dog likes them more”

“I remember visiting the two of you at night and you’d be awake keeping an eye out while Dog curled up by Y/N” Carol smiles warmly for the first time in a while. “He’s like a therapy dog”

Daryl chuckles sitting across from Carol remembering the countless times Dog wouldn’t leave to check the snares with him because Y/N was still asleep. He was glued to their side just like he was glued to his when they first met.

“Maybe he’ll help their nightmares…gotta apologize in advance for how bad they’re gonna get”

“They’ve got a village. They’ll be fine again…we’ll all be”

Daryl couldn’t help the smile to break out for the moment upon hearing that.

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN’S RECKONING - Chapter 3: The Cold

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Cassian struggles to wrap his head around his dire situation. Jyn begins to suspect something terrible has happened.

So grateful for all the feedback I've gotten so far!! Thank you to everyone who has left me a comment or sent me a DM.

This is a whumpy fic. Please heed the warnings posted on AO3 for your own well being.

READ THE FIC ON AO3

——————–

CHAPTER 3: THE COLD

He had been taught methods for surviving harsh interrogation. He was currently subjected to deprivation and exposure, designed to weaken him emotionally and make him so desperate he would confess anything in exchange for a reprieve.

The Empire would need a lot more than cold and dark to break Cassian Andor.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny that he was miserable. He had never been so frozen in all his life. The metal floor under his bare feet was so frigid it almost burned his skin—ever since Narkina 5 he hated going barefoot. And being strapped to a chair created pain in unexpected places like his neck, shoulders, and lower ribs. Cassian tried not to fidget. This is just the beginning, he told himself. He needed to conserve as much energy as possible.

When the lights first went out, his mind began racing. He couldn’t pinpoint a cogent thought structure; his brain felt like a traffic jam, full of chaos and emotion. Nothing useful nor harmful rose to the surface. But finally, after getting his breath under control, he managed to get his thoughts under control as well. There wasn’t really any need to further evaluate the situation. He was well and truly sunk unless someone came to his rescue—which would be insane. No one would risk it.

Jyn would risk it.

But he didn’t want her to.

In truth, he wasn’t even certain he was still on Tarkin’s star destroyer. He could literally be anywhere in the galaxy.

He twisted his wrists against his restraints, testing their strength, accidentally forcing the binds to bite into his flesh.

Cassian suddenly missed K.

He wasn’t sure why the droid popped into his head, but thinking of his friend made his heart feel heavy. He wished the door would swoosh open and K’s gangly body would lumber in. “At least the Empire gave you a shower,” he would have said, his voice clipped and sarcastic.

Thinking about the ‘shower’ made Cassian go very still as his awareness shifted. To his horror, he noticed something was happening to his wet hair.

It was growing thicker.

At least that’s what it felt like.

Fear stabbed through Cassian as he suddenly understood; it wasn’t getting thicker, it was freezing.

The room was slowly growing colder and colder. The water droplets trailing over his skin started to crystalize. His hands and feet ached. His nostrils stung with each breath.

They wouldn’t freeze him to death yet, would they? They hadn’t even asked him any questions.

Cassian tried to push down his dread. There’s nothing you can do to stop what’s happening. Don’t waste your energy.

Right now, he could control only his own thoughts, so he forced himself to think. He started by recapping everything he kept in his gear, making a mental list. But gradually his thoughts trailed away, moved into forbidden territory. He pictured Jyn’s fingers intertwined in his, and he instantly felt weak. He was surprised how fiercely and how quickly his heart yearned for her, for the friendship that had blossomed and carried them through one of the most frightening ordeals of their lives, for the comfort and familiarity he felt standing by her side or when she smiled at him from across a room. He was never flushed or excited around Jyn. Rather, he became centered and calm, which is how he knew his feelings for her were unique. She allowed him to be still, to be himself, to exist in his flaws.

But now there was little chance he would ever see her again.

Was there any possibility he could survive Tarkin? Should he force himself to withstand by clinging to the hope of being with Jyn? Or was it best to let her go, to accept that thoughts of rescue were delusional?

He was torn from these ruminations when the nozzle above suddenly turned on again and rained another spate of freezing water. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, firstly because he had no warning in the dark that it was coming, and secondly because each water droplet felt like a needle pricking his skin. He was left sputtering from the unexpected pain, air ripping from his lungs in panicked gasps.

There was no relief.

He could not escape the suffering, the cold, the fear of loss.

The only thing that kept him from dipping into despair was pride. He could not give Tarkin the satisfaction of breaking him this quickly. So, he set his teeth and endured.

Shivering violently drained his energy. He fought to keep his eyes open, but eventually he drifted to sleep, dreaming that Jyn walked in circles, searching for him in a blizzard.

——————–

In fact, Jyn was walking in circles. She and the rest of Rogue Crew spent many evenings in each other’s company, sometimes eating a meal, sometimes playing sabacc. But tonight, everyone watched as she nervously paced between their clustered sleeping racks.

“He’s long overdue,” she finally said angrily.

Everyone looked up at her but no one had the courage to speak.

“Something’s gone wrong.”

Bodhi raised his hand like a school boy, timidly clearing his throat. “Cassian has been out of contact before.”

“But this is different,” Chirrut interjected.

Jyn stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the monk she had grown to trust with her life. “What do you mean? Can you sense something?”

“He’s not a Jedi,” Baze stated matter-of-factly.

“No,” Chirrut nodded, “I’m not a Jedi but I can sense each and every one of you. We have been together long enough for me to see you all in the Force.”

Jyn sat down next to him, her tone growing desperate. “Tell me,” she asked without demanding.

“Cassian burns blue like the hottest flames. But he’s fading; he’s harder to see, harder to discover.”

Jyn forced herself to keep breathing even though Chirrut’s words choked her with terror. The thought of Cassian suffering was unbearable, but the image of him fading away and dissolving from existence made her blood run cold.

“We have to do something, then.” Bodhi leaned forward, ready to take action.

“What can we do?” Baze asked.

“How overdue are they?”

“Hours,” replied Jyn. “They’re well outside the envelope of their mission parameters.”

“Why hasn’t anyone else raised the alarm?”

“I assume it’s because they don’t have an extraction plan.” Jyn couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone. The Rebellion didn’t care how much Cassian had already sacrificed; to them he was expendable. “All they’ll do is sit by their wireless radios and hope one of his crew members checks in.”

“We don’t sit around,” Baze asserted.

Chirrut rapped his staff on the floor in celebration of his friend’s spirit.

“What should we do, little sister?” Malbus asked, trusting Jyn’s leadership.

“I want to talk to Mon Mothma. She’s the council member most likely to approve a rescue.”

“Then we go together,” Chirrut said. “The Force will lead the way.”

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE EXPENDABLE” - Tarkin tries to loosen Cassian's tongue. Jyn needs a powerful ally.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3 - Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 "The Detritus"

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

READ CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 "The Reprieve"

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 "The Reach"

READ CHAPTER 19 "The Hologram"

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

[shywhumpauthor]

Whumpuary Series Pt. 12

Prev. || Masterlist

Ayyy Whumpee’s got a name! Finally!

Cw: torture, burns, gags, restraints, thoughts/acceptance of death, self sacrifice for a cause, kinda sensory deprivation (noise canceling headphones?)

Noah knew their intel was the only thing keeping them alive.

If it wasn’t for the snippets of information tucked in the back of his mind, guarded with the strongest defenses he could muster, Whumper wouldn’t have killed him already. He would have killed him the moment that first day in his office, he would have pulled the trigger. Noah knew the whole spiel, despite how Whumper fixed to cover their intentions.

“Tell me who you work for, Noah, and I’ll let you rest. Tell me this, tell me that, tell me, tell me, tell me, and all your pain will end.”

Spill your secrets and I’ll spill your guts, more like it.

Noah was good at keeping his mouth shut. It’s what had kept him alive for so long, both in the compound and before. He knew there were times where it was better to sit quietly, let whatever was happening happen and pray that the consequences weren’t too awful. Don’t throw kerosene onto a fire unless you want to burn the place down, right? A lesson he had learned rather quickly on, and one he hadn’t forgotten easily. Respectful, submissive silence. Pride, dignity, those had been stripped away from him long ago, so it didn’t matter much now anyways. Whumper could do whatever they wanted to him, and he wouldn’t crack.

If he were to speak, to tell Whumper the words that laid just behind his pressed lips, it would be over. His life would be over, the cause he was willing to sacrifice so much to. Not that his life seemed to matter much in the eyes of, well, everyone, but the cause. He clung onto the cause like a match in the dark, letting it light the small way in front of him, though it did little against the pressing void of unsure.

Noah didn’t want to die. Of course not. But he knew there was only two possible ways out of this, this awful situation. Escape, which was just about as probable as Whumper up and deciding to let him go, or death. The cold release into the unknown. He didn’t want to say he was prepared for it, now could one ever really prepare for the sharp transition from life to death? But the looming fate had become less threatening over time. Almost comforting, in a manner, knowing it would be waiting for him once he was ready to shift from one hell to another. Or rather, when Whumper was ready for him to.

This was Whumper’s game. By keeping their mouth shut, Noah wasn’t refusing to play. They were delaying their turn. There was no timer, no little glass filled with sand ticking down the seconds. It wasn’t just Whumper’s game, it was Whumper’s board. The cards were stacked, dice weighted. The rounds were long and exhausting, grueling in both a physical and mental manner. The end was nowhere in sight

And right now, Whumper was winning the match. They were playing chess, and Whumpee couldn’t even figure out the rules to checkers.

Noah was in a room, not all unlike Whumper’s office. Same minimalistic design, same dark wood furnishing. There were no windows, which wasn’t all that surprising, but the room didn’t give off a cramped, claustrophobic feel like most did.

There was a table in the center, nearly stretching the length of the room, six leather chairs on each side and one at each head. On the table there were a few decorations, open laptops and paperwork, and an odd succulent centerpiece placed to add to the office feel. There were two doors, one on the far short wall and another wider one on the wall left of where Noah was now situated.

People sat around the table, all but three of the fourteen seats occupied. Dressed to business formal, Noah didn’t see a single person without pressed slacks or some sort of tie.

Whumper sat at the seat closest to him, the head of the table, laptop open in front of them. By the way their shoulders moved, Noah could tell they were speaking, but with the headphones pressing tightly over his ears, all sound was muffled and incomprehensible. Not that it really mattered, Noah was sure that even if he could hear, he wouldn’t have been paying much attention.

What was this? The question bounced around his mind, echoing like a rock tossed in a cavern, breaking the muted silence. Nothing much had happened for the last few weeks—the usual torture and interrogation, the pain, the starvation, all stuff Noah was growing increasingly accustomed to. Lashes of the whip didn’t exactly seemed to hit the same—no pun intended—when they fell upon layers of scar tissue and gashed skin. But this morning, two guards had entered their cell in the usual intrusive manner, grabbed their arm and dragged them out into the compound, up the stairs and then up another flight, and eventually into the conference room where they now were.

Their arms were tethered to either side of them, wrists wrapped tightly in bare chains that pinned their limbs directly against the metal bars. They kept having to flex their fingers, the remaining ones, to keep the circulation from cutting off completely. Another chain looped around their neck, though it was looser in comparison the metal still pressed awkwardly against his throat, the links leaving little red marks where they rubbed against the bruise littered flesh. His shirt was gone, an exposure he had grown rather used to in the past months, back forced flush against the radiator. It was warm, uncomfortable, but not yet burning. His back, damaged with scars and gashes alike, scabs that split open with as little as a wrong twitch, ached not only from the position of being forced to sit stretched upright but where the bars individually dug.

Whatever, though. It wasn’t the worst thing Whumper had done to him.

The quiet was almost nice. Almost. No one was looking at him, no one mocking his suffering. Only a soft muted hum managed to slip past the headphones, little wisps of the conversation he wasn’t a part of. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine those wisps becoming the lapping waves of a quiet stream, the trickle of water through a creek. The bars against their back would be the bark, the only pressure against their wrists the cuffs of their sleeves, bunched up slightly so they wouldn’t get wet when they dipped their hand into the quiet waters.

He didn’t close his eyes though. A world of peace, resting just beyond the darkness, but he couldn’t close his eyes. Whumper’s attention wasn’t on him right now, which was a relief of its own, but that could change in a moment. Would change in a moment. It wasn’t a possibility, it was a probability. Bound to occur at one minute or the next, the only variable in the equation was the when.

Noah was good at keeping his mouth shut, but his eyes open. His eyes open, gaze distant to the scene around him, every thought flitting back to the river in his mind. The lapping water free running over the riverbed, the soft breeze cooling the metal slowly heating under his back.

Then Whumper looked back, glancing over their shoulder as they turned in the chair. Their mouth twitched up into a smirk, lips moving with words unheard. They waved a hand across the table behind them, speaking to those sitting around for a moment before pushing up from their seat, and stepping over to Noah’s right. With the way the chain snared his neck, only allowing him a little leverage as he tried to follow Whumper. They stopped at the wall, hand raising to fiddle with some little box built into the wall—Noah was sure he could guess what it was. He forced his gaze back ahead, not giving Whumper the satisfaction of eye contact as they stepped back in front of him.

Noah hoped they would just return to their seat, continue whatever stupid meeting this seemed to be, but luck was clearly not on his side today, as instead Whumper stopped right in front of him, their foot stepping against the short chain that bound Noah’s ankles, pinning his legs. So he wouldn’t kick? Even Whumper knew, he wasn’t that stupid. That would practically be asking Whumper to break their shins, to nail their ankles to the floor with long stakes, take a hammer to his knees, whatever. No, Noah wasn’t that stupid.

Apparently Whumper didn’t seem to agree with him, but that didn’t matter.

Whumper was speaking now, but only a low mumble of sound made it past the headphones. Noah was almost glad, to be honest. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen to whatever bullshit Whumper was going to go on about now. Noah’s gaze fell to rest on a point in the distance, just above Whumper’s head. He didn’t want to look at them right now. Not even as Whumper’s hands moved up to their tie, undoing the silk knot before sliding it off their neck. Before Noah could think enough to question, Whumper’s hand shot forwards and grabbed him by the jaw, a small gasp giving them the chance to pry their thumb between Noah’s teeth, and force his mouth open enough to then shove the fabric between his lips.

The chain dug against his neck, skin pinching between the links as Whumper wrenched his head down, nearly choking him as they tied the strip of fabric into a tight knot against the base of his skull.

Whumper pulled back a moment later, their hands retreating and allowing Noah to raise his head. The fabric rested awkwardly between his molars, pressing down his tongue, the foreign object nearly making him gag. Whumper just smirked, raising a single finger to their lips, an undeniable “shhhh” pairing the moment even though Noah couldn’t hear it, and Whumper turned around, taking their seat once more.

And just like that, Noah had been reduced to a shadow, just as much a decoration as the dingy succulent at the table. The cloth didn’t muffle his groans much as the metal behind him heated up, up, up until he could swear it was red hot, searing his flesh with just a graze. If the commotion was a problem, no one at the table acknowledged it as he squirmed and leaned forwards, trying to get a bit of distance between himself and the metal grate, but the chains did not allow such leverage.

He was nothing, sitting there indifferent from the empty air, left to suffer in silence in a room full of people.

——————————

Next

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff

At one point I’ll update these links :p

[mocha-gladiator]

"Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends."

-Fellowship of the Ring

thinking about this ^^^ and how I'd like to have a non-violent character with great power in a very violent fantasy environment. It's actually more difficult to write than I anticipated because there's so many things that will eat you in there and normalized cannibalism and child abuse and things that just really get even myself worked up and the character has to have the restraint to keep himself from getting angry in the first place so it doesn't snowball.

each of my characters has a different approach to fighting.

- Ka won't fight no matter what you do to him unless he has to stand up for someone else, then god rest your soul.

- Cairo is just "violence is okay and murder is a treat."

- Argon is interesting to me because he's calm and cold as a frozen lake if you taunt him, bother his friends, shove him, slander his name, anything. But there's a line. And you won't know where that line is until you realize you're looking down at your own body.

- Cyprien will try to defend himself and then get upset thinking he looked like a jerk and then avoid the place/person where he got his ass whooped like the plague until something changes.

- Typhon's method is to act as a shield in any situation. It's less about him and more about anyone who might need him. In a verbal, passive aggressive situation he can lighten the mood with incredible ease, or ease the tension by addressing the problem. "Is there something we can do so you both feel more comfortable?" But in a fight, he's literally just a meat shield.

- Rhoda has guards at her beckon, and can have whomever is actually violent removed (and executed quietly), but her problems lie in more complex social situations. An outsider might think her enemy was her best friend from how much they laugh together, but she's really got to dance through her words to keep it that way.

Circling back to the main point, Sorien is still new and being given flesh, and I don't know how to write him as non-violent in a place that is quite literally dog-eat-dog.

I would like to write him as someone "not safe, but good," but as a former human he is going to make mistakes. Even characters that have eaten children will beg for mercy and pity and cry for their mother when they sense their own demise, which would leave anyone wondering if they did the right thing.

[sonicasura]

Like with the Fierce Deity Characterization Poll, I'll be providing some context for First's Residual Reincarnation Poll. This is long hence the cut.

For those who haven't read the Skyward Sword prequel, First is the Link where the Hero's Spirit originally came from. He was considered a traitor to his people for something he didn't do, a 'Will By the Gods' to strengthen his spirit. And his heroic spirit was 'blessed' to constant reincarnation by Hylia so double whammy when Demise threw his curse in.

This sudden reincarnation is spurred from his spirit being split in twain, everything that can be seen as heroic was torn away which left everything else behind. Wrath, loneliness, hatred, rebellion and such can become quite volatile without their missing half. These remains seek the stolen parts of First's soul thus follow each incarnation.

Reason? Companionship, let the truth of their origins come to light. I Am Thou and Thou Art I. The connection between First to his Hero's Spirit incarnations are linked to their very core. He knows where his missing half is at all times and seeks them out.

Those that follow Hylia or tries to enforce Destin will always attempt to repel First in whatever way they can. Most detrimental is telling the current incarnation of Link to view their missing half as a threat. Once they first meet is when the connection begins to solidify. First and his reincarnations shall start to feel each other's physical pain, if one gets hurt so does the missing half.

Their feelings soon follow, then memories, power, the opposite's visage and finally spiritual unity. It is how First's remaining soul can recover from the damage done to being split. To reclaim every lost piece as the two can never become one again unless the Goddess's spell is broken.

Now each residual incarnation has a key issue that needs help from their missing half to fully rectify. Something which can only be done as the form and deepen this lost bond. Link must take the role of First's moral guide.

Lamortmon, Loss of Control

The owl rabbit beast, Lamortmon, is a berserker whose primal instincts are in the forefront. Any negative view(not from Link) on this First iteration is a death sentence as he won't stop until the offender is dead or his missing half holds him back. (Fitting since Lamort means Death in French) He completely despises this because his restraint has been taken.

First is very protective of the Hero's Spirit akin to a mother bear. Absolutely ferocious if his Link shall be harmed by others. He can only focus on the Hero's Spirit wellbeing and has to be to taught to take others into account.

The current Link has to reteach the reincarnation control, that First can ignore how people view him as a monster. Show them he is more than a vicious beast and is a person like everyone else. Doing this grants the current Hero's Spirit incarnation the power of First's Storm Beast, wind element swords fueled by the user's emotions.

Scar of Vendread, Lack of Reasoning

Vengeful remains given life, Scar of Vendread, is First's original body twisted by wrath. He bears no reasoning as he will mercilessly torn apart or even DEVOUR any potential threat. First mainly feeds on the undead to repair any damage done to his body and even go after living creation if no corpse is available to him.

First acts like a servant to his current incarnation. Whatever Link wants him to do, he'll do it with no issue. However if something is detrimental to his incarnation's wellbeing, First won't follow any command and instead care for the Hero's Spirit. A quite awkward caretaker who doesn't remember how to care for others.

Link has to help First reclaim his morality. That there are ways to solve a problem without hurting others. He always has an option even in the worse moral situation possible. Doing this grants Link First's immense regeneration, to reclaim life and lost magic when on his last legs. A second chance.

Chien Pao, Lack of Concern

Broken blades engulfed in snow, Chien Pao, is First's hatred imbue to his broken original sword. A spirit driven by hatred that does what he wants without care for anyone else but his incarnation's wellbeing. His forceful aura makes everyone either retreat or face him with their defenses weakened.

First is a playful snowy feline who is quick to anger if outsiders interrupt him. He likes to frolick in snowfall or avalanches he creates for him and the current Link to merrily enjoy. First will begrudgingly behave himself for the sake of his missing half.

Link must teach him how his actions can affect others. To be responsible with such fearsome powers and when to use them. If Link accomplishes this then First's ice imbued blade is his alongside the ability to devastate opponents through the power of wrath.

Magnamalo, Loss of Morality

The barbarous beast that breathes hellfire, Magnamalo, is First's malice taken form. He voraciously feeds on the life force of others from animals, monsters, to even people if the latter garner his rage. First's hellfire can burn someone down to their souls and cut down them mercilessly.

He acts like a ferocious protector to his current incarnation. Only Link is given the beast's compassion from First while any 'companions' are ignored or threatened if they get too close. He shall be the Hero's Spirit blade to strike, rage to burn and shield to protect.

Link must teach First that he can trust others. To show their people out there who sees him as more than just a tool or monster. Doing so grants Link First's mastery of hellfire and wield as an extension of his being.

Myotismon, Lack of Compassion

The vampire king, Myotismon, an entity born from cruelty and hate First endured. He will inflict or brutal torture against those that get in his way. Draining blood and life force of those the vampire sees are below him.

Link is considered First's personal treasure. The only person who deserves his kindness, love and care. If Link doesn't want him to harm someone, then First will back down with little issue.

The Hero's Spirit must teach his missing half compassion once more. How everyone should be treated as an living being unless given the proper reason not to. Doing so grants Link First's vampiric power, to weave darkness and command the beasts of night such as bats, wolves, etc.

When delving into Linked Universe territory, First will accompany one of the Links as the Chain come together. His actions are much different around the group than with other people. First will equally share any compassion and care amongst them.

If one Link has an issue or there's a problem that drives a wedge in the group, First will immediately address it. Any turmoil to his fractured spirit isn't something he'll tolerate if he can do something about it. Just like with the Link he came, the residual reincarnation will form a connection amongst the rest of the Chain.

First's pain is equally divided amongst the group that it feels more like an itch. He can share one Link's feelings, emotions or even memories to the other if it can solve an issue amongst the group. But once the bond between the Chain and First is strong enough, the hero can finally retake his true form.

The hero's original personality returns as his spirit has fully recovered from the split. First will seek to break Hylia's spell and Demise's curse so this endless reincarnation of suffering can come to an end. That they can live in peace should their spirit naturally reincarnate as the hero's responsibility wouldn't thrust onto them if trouble emerges. An escape from a terrible fate.

That's all I have for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you later!

[llamagoddessofficial]

So a Question regarding the Prison AU

What if theoretically, MC was severely injured by a rouge prisoner of maybe even a misfire. Something that actually really hurts her and since they do have a medical ward she’d sent there on a gurney passing Sans’s and Red’s cells and well the smell of MC’s bleeding blood wafts into Skull’s cell….

What would happen if they see/smell that MC was severely injured?

Sans: First time in a long, long time he’s felt genuine panic. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t have control over a situation he was in- hearing that she was that badly injured sends a jolt of fear right to the centre of his Soul, a stark reminder of her career choice. He doesn’t waste time in subtlety; he pulls all his available strings to get himself into that ward to see her and make sure she’s okay. He’ll bring her anything she wants... anything to help her recover, it’s a rare glimpse into what Sans looks like when he’s scrabbling for control.

... He doesn’t know what he’d do without her. He can’t lose her, not at this point, she’s the only thing that makes him feel alive.

Red: Whoever's responsible, be it a prisoner or a guard, they’d better hope & pray that Red's friends don’t manage to pull him off them before he kills them in his first bout of unrestrained rage. Because if they survive his initial attack... he’ll have gathered enough awareness to decide he should make their death much slower and more painful. Maybe stretch it into weeks... maybe make it months. What’s the use in adding all those years to his sentence? He can do much worse. From that point on, whether inside the prison or free to leave, unless Mc intercedes directly on their behalf their life will be hell.

He knows she’s hurt, and it kills him inside that he can’t get to her. He can’t even see her... he can’t tell her its going to be okay. All of his building rage from feeling useless and a bad mate means his cruelty toward the perpetrator is unparalleled, and frightens even some of those closest to him. He’s got a broken heart’s worth of fury to take out on the fool that dared to harm his sweetheart.

Skull: The smell of her blood puts him into a frenzy.

Using only his bare claws, he tears through his restraints, muzzle, the room locks and eventually the reinforced door, breaking out of his room and leaving the little chamber for the first time since his incarceration all those years ago. The entire prison is put on alerted lockdown and every exit is sealed, but he doesn’t care about that; tracking her scent like a bloodhound and knocking guards out of his way like bowling pins, he eventually finds his way into the emergency medical ward.

... The doctors definitely weren’t expecting to see Skull enter the ward, wild-eyed and with tranquilliser darts sticking out of him in every direction like porcupine quills, or splinters. They back away from him like he’s a wild bear... honestly, they’d probably prefer a bear, but he doesn’t care about them. He doesn’t even seem to see them. He makes his way to her gurney... he doesn’t say a word- once he can hear her heartbeat and smell her breath, he’s content, eyelight visibly dilating in his socket. Seeing that she’s alive is all he needed.

He succumbs to the sedatives while sitting at her bedside.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 28: Summer Changes (School)

AO3

Prev

A week after the Disney movie marathon, Marinette was finally back on patrol. No thanks to her dad though. If it was up to him, she’d probably never patrol again. Luckily for her, (unluckily for him) her brothers were adamant on her coming back to the field. Which led to her current problem. Hanging upside down from a gargoyle near Wayne Enterprises.

“Ukht, what have you done?” Damian asks, and though she can’t see his face, she can tell by his voice that he’s exasperated. Join the club, she thinks, at least you’re not upside down.

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asks, trying desperately to turn around so that she can talk to him. It was really awkward talking to someone when you couldn’t see them but you knew they were near you.

“Because you are the one hanging upside down,” Damian says flatly. She huffs.

“It’s not like I want to be, Robin. It just kind of happened,” She says.

“And how exactly did it happen? I have never seen your yoyo betray you like that before. Not even in the videos when you were still very new.” Damian says, and she swears he’s smirking. He’s definitely laughing at her on the inside, and as much as she wants to be frustrated, she can’t. It wasn’t easy amusing her little brother (unless you were an animal) so she wasn’t about to ruin it.

“Hood made a bet relating to this exact gargoyle and I’d never been this way before and I just, I don’t know. Somehow I misjudged where my yoyo was going and next thing I know, I’m tied up and Hood is gone.” She says, sighing.

“Where did he go?” Damian asks.

“Over here so I could record the dumbass trying to untie herself.” Jason says with a snort, she manages to turn just enough so she can see him and stick her tongue out at him. He chuckles. “You’re the one who somehow tied herself up with a magic string, I’m just getting the proof so I can show Wonder Woman.” He says and Marinette’s jaw drops.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She screams, struggling against her yoyo, finally able to get the string to loosen slightly.

“Oh, I’d dare.” Jason says and Marinette just knows he has a huge smirk underneath his stupid helmet.

“But Wonder Woman is the coolest person ever and she can’t see me like this!” Marinette complains, trying not to grin when she feels the string start to move the way she needs it to. She ignores Jason’s next remark, instead focusing on the string and- yes! She free falls for a moment, laughing at her brothers’ panic before she swoops up and jerks Jason’s phone away from him.

“You little shit!” He calls after her, starting to chase her.

“You’ll get it back once I delete the videos!” She calls back, laughing as she continues swinging through Gotham, a warm feeling in her chest as she looks over the city that has quickly become her second home.

---

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A voice screams, making Marinette jump out of bed with a yelp. She clutches her hand over her heart, glaring at her oldest brother.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t make it past my fifteenth birthday?” She asks with a huff. Dick just grins.

“Happy birthday kiddo! I can’t believe you’re already fifteen!” He exclaims, picking her up in a giant hug. She wants to complain, ask him to let her down, but it’s nice, so instead she returns the hug the best she can. Until she glances out the window.

“Richard Grayson.” She says in a tone she usually reserves for enemies. She feels him stiffen, the hug turning into more of a restraint than a cuddle.

“Yes?” He says.

“Did you honestly wake me up, before the sun, because it’s my birthday?” She asks.

“Yes?” He says, his voice cracking slightly. She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh.

“Dad has a no killing rule.” She says, and suddenly she’s back on the ground.

“Oh would you look at the time, Mar’i needs another bedtime story loveyousomuchgottagobye.” Dick rushes out, practically sprinting out of her room. She just smiles and shakes her head. She’d learned intimidation tactics from Jason and Damian, who both claimed her size made her an easy target against bad guys. They were right, of course, so she was fine with a few extra lessons. Seems they were working. Deciding to call her Maman and Papa since she’s already awake, she frowns as it goes straight to voicemail. It would be nearly eleven in Paris, so the bakery shouldn’t be too busy. She quickly checks the Akuma Alert App to make sure she hadn’t missed anything while she slept. Nothing. So why weren’t they answering? She had assumed they would be waiting for her call since it was the first birthday she’d spent without them. Sighing, she lays back down on her bed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

As she lays there, she frowns as a realization hits her. This was the anniversary of her birth mother’s death. Her mood instantly sours and her stomach churns. It was the first year that she could do something about it, the first year she could visit her grave. Quickly making a decision, Marinette throws on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Hopefully no one would spot her.

“Kaalki.” Marinette calls out quietly, not wanting to wake Tikki (who had somehow slept through Dick’s intrusion).

“Oooo, Guardian, are we sneaking out?” They ask, an amused smile on their face. Marinette frowns.

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason.” She says, and Kaalki snorts.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be of assistance.” They reassure her. Marinette smiles and calls the transformation, opening a portal in the cemetery where her birth mother is buried. Her Maman had taken her once, right after telling her she was adopted. It was extremely hard to avoid being akumatized that day, and Marinette steels herself before dropping Kaalki’s transformation. Today would probably be even harder. Pulling the hood over her head to try and hide her identity, she glances around the cemetery, unsurprised to see the small place empty. Despite its small size, it was well taken care of, with beautiful trees adding shade and creating a melancholy feeling. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the tombstone in the far corner, underneath the Willow tree. Bridgette Le. Died July 9th. Marinette barely notices the tears that start to form as she sits down, tucking her knees into her chest.

“Hi Mama. I-I’m sorry I haven’t really been by to see you much. Did you know I’ve been spending the summer with Dad? Sometimes, I wonder if you would’ve been okay with that. None of us really know why you left, why you didn’t tell him. I’m not blaming you, I just wonder if you would’ve been okay with me knowing him.” She talks, though she knows she’ll never hear a response. And she tries to pretend that fact doesn’t hurt her. “I have brothers. Four of them. They’re all great in their own ways, but they all also make me want to rip my hair out. Three of them are older, Damian’s younger than me. He kinda acts like a big brother at times though. And I have a big sister, Cass. She doesn’t say much, but she’s awesome. She’s in Hong Kong right now, so most of our conversations have been video calls. I have a niece, too.” Marinette stops, wiping furiously at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. At all. But knowing her birth mother would never be able to be part of her life, would never know any of these people like she did- it was hard.

“Guardian, please breathe.” Kaalki says, floating up to sit in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette blinks at the Kwami before listening to them. If they were worried, then Marinette was more lost in her head than she originally thought.

“And today’s my birthday. I was excited at first, and then I remembered the other thing that this day was. Remembered that it’s also the day you-” Marinette pauses, and grits her teeth. “I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry that I caused your death.” She chokes out, dropping her head onto her knees, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to break out of her chest.

“We need to go. Marinette, we need to go.” Kaalki urges, patting her cheek urgently. Marinette calls the transformation and falls through a portal, closing it quickly to keep the butterfly that was surely after her from following. She definitely didn’t need to test how far the victim had to be to be akumatized. The second she lands, she lets the transformation drop and the sobs break out.

“Shit Pixie.” Jason curses, and suddenly she’s wrapped in a warm hug, sobs tearing through her as she continues to apologize.

---

Jason Todd had been through a lot of weird shit. Waking up in a pool of green water after being fucking murdered by the Joker, was weird. Emotional baby sister falling through a portal into the room and sobbing? Also weird. But also heartbreaking. He grabs onto her and just holds her, desperately trying to give her some type of comfort.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Pix. I got you.” He mumbles, holding her close. Damian rushes in, sword drawn, face scrunched up when he sees them. Jason shakes his head, this wasn’t something that they could fix with a sword. He wasn’t exactly sure why his baby sister was crying so hard, but he had caught a couple of muffled apologies, so whatever it was, he didn’t think it was something that he (or Damian) could kill. Or, rather, maim, since she was against murdering people that were against her for some reason.

“Has anyone seen Mars, she’s not in her room-” Replacement starts, freezing as he walks into the room.

“Excellent situational awareness, Drake.” Damian mutters, glaring at him. Jason shoots both of them a glare, now was not the time to be fighting. Especially since the kid’s other parents were on their way to celebrate her birthday. If they showed up and she was sobbing, they’d take her home and never let them see her again. And Jason was NOT going to let that happen.

“Anyone know if M’s decided to not kill me yet?” Dick asks, walking into the room with a huge grin that falls the second he sees what’s happening. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently none of his brothers could read a fucking room. Instead of staying at the edge of the room like Damian and Tim, Dick walks over.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay. We’re here.” He says softly. The kid pulls away from him, though he can tell it’s a little reluctantly, before launching herself at Dick, her sobs starting to die down. Jason lets out a short huff, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of what could have set her off. There were no akuma alarms, but she fell out of a portal. Which means she was out of the manor when she got upset. He watches as Dick pats her hair gently and whispers to her. God, he’s such a dad. Then again, he’s been mother henning him and their other brothers for years, so it’s not really a surprise.

“I’m sorry guys.” Marinette says suddenly, her voice small as she stays hidden in Dick’s arms.

“No need to apologize, Pixie Pop.” Jason reassures her. She finally pulls away from Dick and Jason’s heart, honest to god breaks at the broken look on her face.

“She died in childbirth, you know.” She whispers, and suddenly it makes sense. Why she was sitting there sobbing on her birthday, why she’d fallen out of a portal.

“That is not your fault.” Damian says firmly, walking over and standing face to face with Marinette, something Jason knew annoyed the girl. Damian was two years younger, but a little taller than her. She didn’t seem to mind now, though.

“But it was. If I hadn’t been born-” She starts and Jason frowns at the thought.

“The world would be a much shittier place.” He says with finality, not leaving room for her to argue. “Pix, you’re amazing, and the world would really suck without you. Never be sorry you were born.” Jason says firmly, stumbling slightly when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you Jay.” She mumbles, and he can tell she’s crying again, but this time it’s not sobs, so he thinks it’s fine.

“Come on, let’s all watch a movie.” Repla- Tim suggests and Jason raises an eyebrow at the idea, briefly wondering what kind of movie he’d pick. They all pile on the giant sectional that Bruce had bought specifically for impromptu movie nights as Tim sticks the DVD in. Jason just snorts as the title card for “The Addams Family” comes on, settling back in the couch, ready to watch one of the greatest movies ever.

---

“Thank you again for flying us out here for her birthday.” Sabine says, smiling at him. Bruce returns the smile and nods.

“Of course, thank you for letting her spend the summer here. I know she’s appreciated the break from her classmates.” He says, his smile quickly fading at the confused look on both Sabine and Tom’s faces.

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“Marinette hasn’t told you?” Bruce asks, suddenly regretting bringing it up. Why hadn’t she said anything? They were her parents too. Sure, she’d made it clear they couldn’t know about Ladybug, but her class wasn’t a hero problem. They were a civilian problem.

“We knew that she wasn’t hanging out with them as often, and that she didn’t talk about her class as much as she used to. We just assumed that she was busy.” Sabine says, her face a mixture of sadness and anger.

“My apologies, I assumed she’d talked to you.” Bruce says, feeling as if he had crossed a line. Would they be mad at him, for her telling him something she hadn’t told them?

“She’s always looking out for others first,” Tom finally sighs, a tired smile on his face. “She probably thought she was saving us from being akumatized.” Bruce’ jaw clenches. Had Marinette really suffered in silence to avoid being forced to fight her parents?

“We can continue this conversation later, right now we should focus on her birthday.” Sabine says, placing a hand on Tom’s arm. He nods and Bruce makes a note to talk to the two about the possibility of her switching schools.

“She’s probably in her room.” Bruce says, leading the two towards the stairs.

“Actually, Master Bruce, the children are all in the informal sitting room. I believe they snuck down to have a movie night after Master Dick woke Miss Marinette to wish her a happy birthday.” Alfred says, Bruce watches his face and knows that’s not all, but doesn’t press. It had to be something that he couldn’t talk about in front of the Dupain Cheng’s.

“Of course they did. Thank you, Alfred. Alfred, this is Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, Marinette’s parents. Tom, Sabine, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the man who raised me.” Bruce says, smiling at him. The three exchange pleasantries and soon Bruce is leading the two to the sitting room. He pushes the door open gently, careful not to let it slam. He spots a sword on the floor near Damian and quickly grabs it, moving it away. If he was woken up suddenly, he would still panic and attempt to fight his way out.

“She looks so peaceful.” Sabine whispers, and Bruce smiles, a genuine smile, he didn’t have to fake a smile when most of his children were together and safe and happy. Or, quiet, at least. It was rare.

“I’ve found them like this several times.” Bruce admits, pulling out his phone to show the two all of the pictures he’d taken of the kids piled together sleeping. Sabine and Tom smile widely at the pictures and Bruce quickly sends them their favorites.

“B, I swear to god, I can sense you in here. Let us sleep.” Jason mumbles grumpily.

“Sorry Jason, Marinette’s parents are here so it’s time to get up.” Bruce says, amused at the way his son’s hair was attempting to defy gravity. Jason looked around sleepily, waved lazily at Sabine and Tom, and then collapsed back on the couch. Bruce sighs. “Would the two of you like to have a cup of coffee while we give them a few more minutes to sleep?” He offers.

“That would be lovely.” Sabine says, and Bruce leads the two to the kitchen, hoping Tim (who had sat straight up after Jason flopped down) would take the hint and wake up the others.

---

Marinette sighs happily as everyone sits down at the table for dinner. The day had been amazing, despite the rough start. And her Dad had even flown her Maman and Papa out to spend the day with her. They couldn’t stay for long, they had the bakery to run after all, but it was still nice to see them. Marinette glances at the end of the table where a place was set, but no one sat.

“What’s with the extra plate?” Jason asks, turning to Alfred who was sitting in the chair next to it instead of his regular seat.

“It is for Miss Le.” He says, and she can almost feel everyone freeze. Her throat tightens, but she still smiles at him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says quietly. He nods.

“You are quite welcome, Miss.” He says. She clears her throat and looks back at her Maman, noticing that her smile was also a little sad. It had been all day, but Marinette was certain it wasn’t anything to worry about. Bridgette had been close with her Maman, surely she was just mourning her today, openly for the first time in a long time.

---

Marinette groans at whoever is trying to wake her up.

“Five more minutes.” She mutters, burrowing deeper under the covers. It was summer break, why wouldn’t anyone let her sleep?

“Come on sweetheart, your Papa and I want to talk to you and Bruce.” Her Maman says, and she immediately sits up. Was she in trouble? Had her Maman figured out the whole Batman thing? Had she figured out the Ladybug thing?

“Uh, okay.” She says, sliding out of bed and stepping into slippers. She wasn’t sure how serious the conversation was, but since her Maman didn’t stop her from walking out of the room in her pajamas, she relaxed slightly. It couldn’t be that serious, right? She follows her Maman into her Dad’s study, glancing wearily at the clock in the corner. Her Maman was often too observant. Hopefully she didn’t notice anything odd about the clock. They all sit in silence for an entire minute until Marinette can’t handle it anymore.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks hesitantly, looking between her parents’ faces.

“Of course not, we just- We noticed how different you are.” Her Maman says and Marientte frowns, furrowing her eyebrows. Different? She was different?

“How?” She asks.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months honey. Your smile reaches your eyes, you talk freely, you seem peaceful.” Her Maman says softly, and Marinette blinks in surprise. Had she really been so easy to read in Paris? Had her parents really been able to tell? She’d wanted to hide it from them, not let them see how everything was piling on her, crushing her. She didn’t want to worry them.

“What do you- how-” She stumbles over her words, trying to figure out where she messed up.

“We didn’t know why until we talked to Bruce.” Her Papa says and she turns to glare at her Dad, feeling a little betrayed. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Marinette, you didn’t tell me not to tell them about your class.” He reminds her, and she huffs.

“Guess we can cross mind reader off the list of things you can do.” She mumbles, making her Papa snort.

“It wasn’t just that though. We’d seen how restrained you had become, how you never went out with friends and you stopped talking about them.” Her Maman says softly. Marinette grits her teeth, hugging herself to try and hold herself together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” She says, her voice barely audible. That wasn’t the main reason though. She didn’t want to fight her parents, and if they knew everything going on with Lila, they’d definitely be akumatized. She couldn’t fight them. Not if she could help it.

“What would you say about transferring schools?” Her Maman asks suddenly, and Marinette jerks her head up, looking at her with wide eyes. Transfer schools? It would be great, amazing, fantastic, but- but her classmates would still come to the bakery. Still give her the same odd looks they’d been giving her since they found out that she’s a Wayne.

“What school?” She asks, because yes, that makes a difference. Chloe had transferred schools not long ago, and Marinette did not want to trade Lila for Chloe. She’d rather not deal with either of them, if she was being honest.

“Gotham Academy.” Her Maman says, and Marinette feels lucky that she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have definitely done a spit take. Gotham Academy? As in, live in Gotham year round? What-

“Are you giving me up?” She asks, suddenly hurt. Her Maman’s eyes widen and her Papa pulls her into a giant hug.

“Of course not honey.” He says, rubbing her back gently and squeezing her lightly.

“We asked Bruce if he thought Gotham Academy would be a good school for you. He offered to let you fly home some weekends, and any of the breaks you want. Or to fly us out here if you have time off school. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to make a decision right now.” Her Maman reassures her as her Papa lets her go. Marinette turns to look at her Dad, his face unreadable.

“Would you really be okay with that?” She asks, and he nods.

“We all just want you to be happy, Marinette. Wherever that may be. And we’re all willing to work together to do that.” He says and she smiles, letting out a soft sigh.

“I- I’d need to think about it a little more,” She says, running through the idea in her head. It seemed perfect, besides the whole ‘bouncing back to Paris for attacks’ thing. But she’d been doing it all summer, it had been fine so far. And maybe, maybe, Hawkmoth would even be defeated by the end of summer. No matter what, things were changing and Marinette was trying her best to keep up.

Next

Tag list:  @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: Aberration (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ SMUT!!! Details of torture, description of injury, blood, murder, discussions of death, alcohol, penetrative sex, hurt/comfort, Javi has one one to deal with big emotions and thats it.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Aberration: a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected, typically an unwelcome one.

<-- Previous Chapter  // Masterlist //  Next Chapter -->

---

Everything had felt off about this raid since the beginning. You had put the feeling down to nerves, it would be the first raid you were involved in that was outside the city limits, four hours outside the city into the jungle. A friend of Javier’s had gone missing a week ago, her ties to the cartels meant her abduction was important. As soon as a call came in mentioning her name and a possible location, Carrillo and Peña were immediately on it despite hesitation from you and Murphy. You never trusted calls from anonymous callers, especially ones calling a group of police into the jungle where nobody could find their bodies were it to go south.

You went along, not wanting to miss out on a trip into the jungle. Three months in the country and you had barely stepped outside the streets of Bogota or Medellin. Summer was coming fast, the humidity once you got under the canopy was immense. With a Kevlar tact vest on top it made for an entirely uncomfortable situation and made everyone more irritable before anything had even gone wrong.

The raid was a complete bust. A trap. If it wasn’t for Carrillo’s forward thinking in bringing twice as many men as usual, you wouldn’t have made it out alive. It was messy, more damage was done than necessary and the gains were pitiful. You didn’t find the girl or anything of interest, just more dead bodies. It was a setup, by the time you drove all the way back into Medellin whatever they had needed you out for would have happened. 

It had taken all day to get out there, for nothing. Exhausted and frustrated, you walked back to the truck. Javier was pissed. You had been so sure she would be here you’d even grabbed some spare clothes from your locker for her so she could wear something clean on the drive back. But she wasn’t here. 

You opened the door and went to climb up when you noticed Javier talking to one of the soldiers. You couldn’t hear what was said over the noise of engines but you quickly realised something was up when Javi began to walk back towards the house you’d just come from. You shut the truck door and jogged to catch up with him.

“Javi! What are you doing?” You called after him, “We’re done here,” Javi didn’t stop walking.

“You’re done. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” He said, a new determination that he hadn’t had before was set in his eyes that only made you more suspicious. He started to walk away from you again.

“Peña! What is going on?” You grabbed his arm and stopped him walking away any further. He glared at you, jaw clenching. He pulled his arm out of your grip harshly and started walking away again. Then it dawned on you. “They found her?”

“Carrillo’s got the asshole who took her. You’re going to get in the truck and go back to the city. This is nothing to do with you,” 

“I’m not done until you are, Peña,” You insisted.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” He spat.

“Learnt from the best,” You smiled sarcastically. He sighed, ran his hands over his face. You waited for an answer, one hand on your hip, impatient.

“You know what? Fuck it! Come with me,” He exclaimed, “You want to see the real shit? Fucking come with me now. Don’t talk, don’t fucking breathe unless your told,”

You gulped down any rebuttal and nodded, shocked by his outburst. He turned around and began walking, you quickly followed behind.

You wished you had just done as you were told. Had listened for once. You had never regretted something so quickly in your life. 

Carrillo had found the missing girl's body in a ditch at the back of the ranch, alongside her panicking murderer. Caught red handed, he had only survived a short chase before being captured. Carrillo and Peña had known the girl for a long time, this was personal. 

He dragged the man inside, hands tied behind his back on a chair. All remaining soldiers had been sent back to the city, as you should have too. Carrillo had done a number on the man before you entered. Welts had grown on his face, blood dripping from his mouth. The man in the chair smirked as you and Pena entered, a gargled chuckle slipping from his lips.

You had to remain calm and collected, like the sight of Carrillo looming behind a bloodied man didn’t send shivers down your spine. You had asked to come after all.

You stood in the corner of the room; arms crossed over your chest trying to look intimidating. Not that you needed to be, the two men did that well enough on their own. Peña stayed with you on the side-lines for a short while, watching Carrillo take the man apart. Peña asked questions, his voice heavy and loud, booming against the walls of the empty house. The man didn’t answer, laughing at them for thinking he would break. Eventually Javier lost all patience and joined Carrillo in torturing the victim. 

You had heard of Carrillo’s more uncivilised methods; you had seen the aftermath left on his clothes before. It was scary to watch but nothing matched the fear Javier instilled in you. You had never seen him so angry, almost unrecognisable as he stalked around the man barking questions at him. He screamed at the man’s insolence until he was red in the face. You were terrified, fear pulsing through you. You were stuck the wall and had to force your eyes away as a resounding crack echoed through the room as a hammer met the man’s hand.

Vengeance spurred the men on to no end. You stood and watched them force information out of the man. Every punch, every cry, every word spat at the man chipped away at you. You had prided yourself on being unshakable. You weren’t scared of anything. But being trapped in a room with two men fully capable and willing to kill you, shook you. Not to mention the horror they were producing in front of your very eyes. 

It was pointless. Entirely gratuitous. The man was incapable of speaking, his jaw broken already. They weren’t going to get anything else from him but they continued until even his sobs of pain were quiet. Tears prick your eyes and you bit your tongue, not daring to make a sound. You looked up for a second and locked eyes with the dying man. Blood covered his face, jaw cracked and hanging loosely in his skin. His body twitched, lying limp against the restraints. It was worse than any horror shows you’d ever seen, but you couldn’t look away either. You knew he’d done terrible things, a trafficker of people and drugs; he’d murdered the men’s friend and yet you found yourself thinking he deserved better than this. 

A gunshot went off suddenly, making you jump and turn away quickly. Blood splattered onto the floor and onto your shoes making you jump out the way. It was over. 

Stepping back into the sunlight your head felt full of cotton. So impossibly loud with thoughts but with no room to breathe. You wanted to scream; let all the horror you had seen out. But you couldn’t. 

Carrillo and Javier rinsed their hands under a tap outside, red tinged water stained the earth below. You scuffed your shoes in the dirt hoping it would hide the blood until you could clean them or throw them out entirely. You kept your distance from them, arms wrapping around your chest to self-comfort. The two men muttered to each other, Javi catching your eye for a second. You couldn’t look at him, averting your eyes you didn’t see the remorse in them.

You should never have seen that. Not so soon. You wondered how often Javier had done that, he didn’t seem phased at all. Nobody did. You felt a little childish for getting upset, for reacting like a normal person, so stayed silent.

Two men came and collected the body from the house, throwing it into the ditch they had found the girl's body. Wild animals would take care of the rest. Once it was done, you cleared out. You silently followed Javier back to the truck. You were hesitant to be alone with him, the savagery of his actions settled in now. You sat in the passenger seat, shaking. You refused to even look at him, keeping your eyes on your lap, picking out the dirt from under your nails to distract yourself.

Javier didn’t know what to say to you. He’d regretted the decision to let you come along almost immediately. He’d shocked himself with his own depravity, Helena had meant a lot to him and Carrillo too. In that room something overtook him, he’d forgotten you were there until the bullet went in the bastard and he came back to reality.

Now you sat next to him, shaking, and trying not to cry. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut. He drove for an hour before it became unbearable. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. A stupid question, obviously you weren’t but he didn’t know what else to say. You had asked to come with him, it wasn’t entirely his fault. He couldn’t apologise for what had happened. He just wanted you to talk to him. 

Your bottom lip trembled as you tried to find words. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to show weakness but you couldn’t hold it together any longer.

“You can’t do that Javi! Y-you can’t do that to people!” You cried. Tears spilled as the words tumbled out your mouth and you sobbed, overtaken by emotion. It broke Javier’s heart. “How could you do that?”

Javier sighed heavily and shook his head. He should have expected it would end like this. He had no answer for you. His silence made you quiet again. You turned away from him in your seat, watching the jungle faze out again into green hills and cattle ranches. Frustrated, Javi switched the radio on to fill the silence.

You didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey. Four hours of driving stewing over your own thoughts. You wanted nothing more than to go to bed, curl up under the cover and pray that it was all some horrible nightmare, or some premonition. You could wake up, redo the day, and know not to go back there again and relive the horror.

Javier wasn’t sure what to do, this was the first low you’d hit. A big one at that. As if he wasn’t upset already about the brutal death of his friend, guilt was now eating him alive. He shouldn’t have ever allowed you to come, should have left you at base with Steve. You had to be stubborn. You had to be defiant. All day you had been getting on his nerves, the mission went badly and he was so angry your final pestering made him snap. He didn’t have the patience or the foresight, when the intensity of a situation overtook him it was all he cared about. He didn’t think about the consequences of his actions beyond revenge for Helena. This was yet another reminder of how badly the job of being your mentor was suited to him.

Finally, he parked the truck in the garage and followed you up to the apartments. Your cheeks were stained with tears, you shuffled inside obviously in your head and upset. Javi wouldn’t let you go just yet. 

“Rookie come and have a drink,” He said, breaking the hours of silence. He unlocked his door and pushed it open with one hand.

“I’m going to bed,” You replied quietly, already walking up the stairs to your apartment.

“It wasn’t a question,” He said firmly. You stopped on the stairs and sighed, not bothering to fight him anymore you turned around and ducked under his arm and into his apartment. 

Javier’s apartment was very similar to yours only bigger. Everything was practically in the same place bar the surprising amount of crap dotted around. You always assumed Javi just didn’t care enough about his living space to keep anything more than he needed. Ten years in Colombia had meant he had collected a lot of random things, there was no real organisation to it at all- bottles on a bar cart with glasses haphazardly stacked higher than was safe, books squashed onto a shelf all covered in dust. There was a small photo of some smiling people, his family you assumed, hung on the wall.

He bought out two beers, passed one to you and offered a seat couch to you. You sat down on the edge; Javier relaxed into the other side. With your mind still spinning, you didn’t want to drink. You awkwardly picked at the paper label, losing yourself in images of brutality playing in your head..

Javi didn’t really know what to do now. He wasn’t one for talking things out; he had hoped you would want to. He knew how he wanted to work it out, how he usually got through moments like this but he couldn’t think about that now. Javi felt it was his duty to help you, but he didn’t know how just yet. He watched you lost in your thoughts, gears visibly turning in your head. Finally, you gave in, collapsing backwards on the leather couch and sighing heavily. 

“I’m sorry Javi, you must be tired of me arguing with you all the time. I didn’t want to see that, you were right not to let me,” You said, finally turning your head to look at him. In the low light of his apartment tear streaks glowed on your skin. “I don’t know what I expected,” you laughed humorlessly. Javi shrugged and sipped the beer in his hand. 

“It gets easier,” 

“That’s horrible,” you replied sadly. 

Javi hadn’t thought much on the subject- it was best not to. He’d become entirely desensitised working down here and hadn’t noticed at all. It seemed like normal. Surely everyone knew what bones sounded like smashed under hammers, everyone knew the gurgle and hum of the last breath as someone choked on their own blood. But they didn’t. 

“I guess so,” He shrugged.

“I’ve never seen someone die before,” You said after a moment of silence. “I’ve shot people but they didn’t die. Or I didn’t see it if they did. It’s a lot less dramatic than I thought. It’s just... over,”

“First time I saw it was back in Texas,” Javi said, “Couldn’t have been much older than you, watched him bleed out on the side of the road,”

“What happened?” You asked. 

“Kid was caught with some weed, ran into the highway and got hit by a semi before we could catch up,” You saw his eyes glaze over for a moment as he remembered before he shook his head and looked up again.

“That’s rough,”

“Like I said, you get used to it,”

You sat quietly drinking together for a few moments, neither you or Javi knew what to say. 

The mixture of anguish and alcohol was not good. You could feel yourself heating up just looking at him. The thought of touching him, losing yourself in him, taking your mind off the tragedy of the day, was intoxicating. If you stayed any longer you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself going for it. You could go upstairs, cry into your pillow and hope your hand would do a good job releasing the pent up energy in you. Javi set his beer down on the floor and turned to you again, eyes wandering obviously over you as you sat opposite. You could feel your self control slipping.

You stood up quickly, Javi watched you curiously. A sudden wave of need overcame him at the thought of having to spend the rest of the night alone. It shocked him. Urgently, he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks before you could announce your departure. You looked down at him, his eyes were wide and shining in the light as if he was trying not to cry. Locking eyes with him you knew what was about to happen, there was no escaping it anymore. In an instant he pulled you sharply down onto the couch and into his lap.

The kiss was desperate and messy. Javi moaned into your mouth, relief flooding his body as you kissed him back. A voice in his head told him to stop, but he couldn’t. Grief, remorse, and lust had taken over entirely. He needed a release, wanted to show just how sorry he was for what he had done. He shouldn’t be kissing you, shouldn’t be pushing your hips onto his, but he wanted to escape.

You needed it just as badly as him. You clung to Javi, grounding yourself in his touch. If he held you, he couldn’t hurt you, couldn’t scare you again. Your hands came to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal warm skin underneath. He helped you, throwing the item away before he pulled your shirt over your head and joined his shirt on the floor. 

You explored the new territory enthusiastically, feeling his strength beneath your hands as you kissed him. You pulled on his hair at the nape of his neck as his tongue explored you mouth making him moan again. He was much more vocal than you expected, each time it made your pussy flutter in anticipation.

Javi kissed you quickly, moving down your jaw to your neck and mouthing over the exposed skin above your bra. He didn’t move to take it off, just enjoying your taste. You bucked your hips sharply into his growing bulge, making him hiss and bite you. You whined, wanting him to do something and stop teasing you. 

“Have you got-?” You asked quickly. There was no need to pretend like you didn’t know what you both wanted now. 

“In the drawer,” He pointed at the side table next to the other couch. Part of you wanted to make a joke about his apartment being covered in condoms but now wasn’t the time. 

You stood up out of his lap and over to the drawer, pulling out a package and throwing it at Javi. He’d taken off his pants in the time you were away. He watched you with hungry eyes, stroking his cock idly watching you. Overcome by need, you shoved your pants off leaving them on the floor before scrambled into his lap again.

He kissed you quickly, chased kisses down your jaw and neck. Your mind wandered, remembering for a moment the blood and screams, the fear Javi had put in you watching him torture that man. The same hands you had watched drip with another man's blood were now groping your ass. You screwed your eyes shut, pushing out the thoughts and slowly sank onto his hard cock. 

Javi sighed, biting his lip to stop himself saying something stupid. You felt amazing around him, warm and wet. All doubt he had before left him entirely, he was consumed by you. He nearly lost his mind entirely at the pathetic noise you made when he shifted you up slightly. All his focus went on you. 

“Lo siento, hermosa,” Javi mumbled as he kissed your neck. You only nodded, whimpering as you circled your hips around. Javi’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, cursing your name. You were far too good at that. “Again,” He panted, you complied and drew another moan from his lips.

Neither you nor Javi would last long, but that wasn’t what this was about. It was taken what you needed from each other, affirmation of life and trust. His head rested in your chest, lips kissing your sweaty skin as you ground onto his cock. His hands held you close, heavy on your back as you moved above him. You moved faster now, long strokes of your hips up and down over his cock. Gasping breaths and the slap of skin on skin filled the room as you and Javi lost yourselves in each other.

Your legs began to shake as you neared your high, you gasped his name. Javi shifted under you, getting leverage, and started cantering up into you, his hands holding you still. You moaned loudly as he hit a new spot that had you reeling. Javi settled back against the couch, fucking you harder and watching with delight as you fell apart. 

Your orgasm rolled over you like a tsunami wave. So good you swore your soul left your body. You cried out, pussy fluttering around Javi’s cock pulling him along with you. Javi stopped moving, pulled you close and kissed you hard, moaning into your mouth as he spilled into the condom. You bucked against him, dragging out the lasts of your high.

Finally, you stilled, coming back down to earth again. Resting your forehead on his, you giggled as endorphins took over. Javi smiled, kissed your forehead before you tilted your head to catch his lips again. The kiss was sweet, urgency gone now. He kissed you languidly, fingers brushing over your cheeks. He was calm again, all anger and frustration fizzed out in your shared orgasm.

He lifted you off his cock, you whimpered at the loss. You lay limbless on the couch, watched him pull on his pants before he disappeared into the bathroom. 

You didn’t feel anything, no worry no anger. You were on clouds. You couldn’t find it in you to worry about any of the inevitable consequences of what just happened. 

You redressed while Javi was gone, feeling a little exposed entirely naked except your bra on his couch. You laughed to yourself when you saw where your shirt had ended up, draped over a lampshade. You pulled it on, and were halfway through buttoning it up when the bathroom door opened again.

“You good?” Javi reappeared, a satisfied smile on his face. You nodded.

“Good,” You replied with a smile. “You?” He nodded and settled back on his couch, lighting a cigarette, and taking a drag. 

There was a silent understanding that nothing that had occurred today would ever be spoken about again. It was done. Apart from the bruises Javi had left on your neck, there was nothing left of any of it. You had both needed the stress relief, your trust was back and you could move forward with a clean slate. 

---

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[beautifulterriblequeen]

A Tiadrin theory

I woke up this morning with a sudden headcanon about Tiadrin, and as I poked at it, it filled out nicely, so I’m gonna go ahead and call it a theory at this point.

It gets angsty, as all good Moonshadow theories do. If your heart doesn’t weigh 6 tons by the time you reach the end of this post, I didn’t capture the feeling properly.

Several bits of detail flutter around this mysterious woman, and I’ve theorized various versions of her circumstances, her relationship with Runaan and Ethari, her former position before the Storm Spire, the reasons she went there, and the reasons Runaan was so hellbent on avenging her dishonor.

I don’t think any of them landed as well or tied together as neatly as this one, though. Hence “theory” instead of just “headcanon.” Here we go:

FIrstly, some meta information. This is a fun tweet, but in this post I’m looking directly at “belief systems as sources of both comfort and restraint” and at the “weight of guilt” and “cycles of trauma” lines, in regards to Moonshadow culture, and specifically Moonshadow assassin training.

And raise your hand if you’ve been looking further afield than the front-and-center Janaya-with-Soren nod from “ripped women who teach soft boys to stab,” because I have. TDP is full of parallels and imperfect mirrors.

So, in the spirit of soft yet angsty cycles and the ripped women who perpetuate them, Theory Part I: Tiadrin trained Runaan, because she was the leader of the assassins before he was.

She’s referred to as a mastermind. Assassin leaders need to be good with plans of all sizes. We’ve seen how Runaan silently adapts to chaos and doesn’t tell anyone what his new plans actually are. He’s a good leader. But he also had to learn those skills from someone. Whoever instructed him was a tactical genius, and also very Moonshadow, and Runaan was an adept student.

Also, Tiadrin is a goddamn badass. She’s several inches shorter than Lain, Runaan, Ethari, and Viren. But she is a powerhouse in battle. She knows her physics well enough to drag this 6′2″ human battle mage skidding across the floor. Monster thighs, monster intellect.

As a 5′4″ woman who trained in jujitsu for several years, let me just say: gender equality in battle is great, but physics does not care. It will crush your popsicle-stick ass if you try to chuck a 250 lb person across the room and your math is off. The most accurate fighters are the ones who know how hard physics hits back when you’re sloppy.

Tiadrin earned every inch of respect, and every inch of her thigh circumference, the old-fashioned way. She worked for it, all day every day. Runaan does the same thing. He might have half a foot of height on her, but he trains like the world will crush him if he’s not perfect. And that’s very Moonshadow assassin in its own right, because it will, and it tried. Tiadrin knew what she needed. And she knew what Runaan, soft boy that he is, needed. And she made sure she trained it into him, all day every day.

Tiadrin is one of the reasons that Runaan survived the fight in Harrow’s chamber. She made him the fighter he is, the person he is, and that was just enough to pull him through... so he could see his own mentor trapped in a coin. Yay, thanks Viren.

Theory Part II: Runaan’s squad was made up of all the elves Tiadrin has personally trained, or trained by proxy.

If Tiadrin was Runaan’s trainer and mentor, then her honor was his honor. And when she supposedly faltered and fled at the Storm Spire, that suddenly cast him, as an individual assassin and as the current assassin leader, in a terrible light. If his mentor was a coward, what did she teach him? Would he also duck and run when things got hopeless, and abandon his duty?

The doubt that must’ve swirled around him when the village learned the terrible news about Lain and Tiadrin must’ve sliced right through him. Thousand-yard stare, biggest internal Oh No ever. Runaan lives to serve his people, and to have them doubt him, after all he has done to train them and protect them from harm, would be the worst kind of pain. He had to make it right.

But not just him. Assassins seem to take solo missions even for their first kill, if Eljaal’s covered shoulders are any indication. You can Moonshadow your feels if you don’t have to watch your friend kill someone, if you don’t have anyone watching while you stab someone to death. You can pretend it’s all serene and just and smooth and valid and honorable. You can hold to your love of life and dance right past your embrace of death, if no one else sees it. But Runaan’s mission had 6 members. They were definitely going to have to watch each other murder people. Why?

Tiadrin’s honor was their honor. An extended family of brothers, sisters, cousins, fosterlings, anyone who was drawn to Tiadrin, or her to them, bonded together over their family feels and protective instincts. They were family. And then their leader fell, her honor crushed.

They had to make it right.

They all carried Tiadrin’s honor with their own, taught by her personally, regarded as honorable assassins. Until she seemed to have a fatal flaw in her character. Then everyone wondered if that flaw got passed down, too. The assassins had to prove that it hadn’t been, for the sake of their people, and for all of Xadia who trusted them to take out threats in the dark. They had to go set right Tiadrin’s “mistake” and take Harrow for Zym’s death. All of them. Every single one, no exceptions.

No exceptions. That’s why Rayla had to go, too. Tiadrin taught Runaan everything he knew about being an assassin, and when she moved to the Storm Spire, Runaan dutifully passed Rayla’s mother’s teachings to Rayla herself, feeling like part of the family, an essential connection between mother and daughter, between assassin mentor and mentee. He tried to get it just right, just perfect, so Rayla would feel like she’d been trained by her actual mom as much as possible. Not just because Tiadrin was Rayla’s mother, but because Runaan respects Tiadrin’s prowess so much. She was the best, and every bit of Runaan’s efforts to be his best reflects his respect for her.

You don’t get to be the assassin leader unless you’re the best there is. Runaan knows that from both sides. And just like Tiadrin did with him, he does his best to teach Rayla everything she needs to stay safe and alive, so she can do her duty too, and come home safe to her family every day.

And, in the end, part of that duty had to be avenging her mentor’s mentor, her own mother, by accompanying Runaan on his mission. Her lessons were from Tiadrin, one step removed. If there was a flaw in her training, no one would trust her when it was her turn to lead the assassins, and she’s not even done training yet! Rayla understood Moonshadow honor, assassin honor. She was driven to ask Runaan to take her with him, and he could see exactly where she was coming from. Their honor was tangled up with Tiadrin’s. They couldn’t back out. They had to go to Katolis, them and everyone else Tiadrin had trained.

That’s why the binding ribbons came out. They were in a do-or-die situation, in the most literal sense.

They could not go home in failure. If they all failed, it would take out a whole line of assassin training, possibly the same one that had lasted for countless generations (okay maybe we can count them and there are like 30) and crush the Moonshadows’ spirits. And they’d literally rather die than see that happen. They were all ready to give their lives to restore Tiadrin’s honor, and their own, because without her legacy, there would be such a crater in the assassin corps that it might never recover.

Yes, this is basically my angsty “Runaan’s found family went into battle together and most of them died” headcanon again, but this time with a solid theory behind it. I’m not sorry. I love this angsty idea, it’s horrible. Do you see the cycle of trauma? I’ve got one more part to add, which may make it clearer.

Theory Part III: Assassin leaders always go serve at the Storm Spire once they successfully train their own replacement.

In this theory’s version of Why Laindrin Went To The Storm Spire, Tiadrin was always going to end up at the Storm Spire, once she became the assassin leader. That’s where the veteran assassin leader goes, see, to liaison between the dragon throne and the current Moonshadow leader. They know the assassins’ skills far better than any Skywings or dragons do, and they know the leader in charge of them, so they can give guidance or direction as needed, or simply phrase the Dragon King or Queen’s request in such language that the assassin leader knows intuitively what really needs to be done.

Yeah, Tiadrin writing Runaan mission directives. I can see it.

Tiadrin’s mentor would’ve left for the Spire when Tiadrin got promoted to leader. The person she trusted most in the world, who had trained her, left her behind, only to communicate by long distance. Moonshadow deniability, amirite--we’re not stabbing people, we’re sending tactical correspondence, yep that’s it. But Tiadrin was still surrounded by Runaan and the other young assassins, and she bonded with them all, and life was bright.

Then, the shadow came once again. Runaan was an excellent student, and she knew he was ready. Maybe she delayed, and delayed, Moonshadowing her reasons. Maybe she wanted the chance to bring life into the world, to try to balance out some of the death she had dealt. Maybe she wanted a few more years of domestic life in the Silvergrove with all her favorite elves, to bolster her heart for the years to come. Maybe her mentor at the Spire was up to shenaniganry in dragon politics and she wanted to buy them more time to lay those plans in place.

Knowing Tiadrin even the slightest bit, I will assume it was all this and more. But eventually, she couldn’t put things off any longer. She had to go fulfill her duty to the dragon throne and join the Dragonguard as the representative of the Moonshadow assassins who had bound themselves to the protection of Xadia long ago. She had to walk away from her bright life, her family, her friends, her allies, and climb up into that misty stone tower, to spend who knows how long away from everything she knew and loved.

And she did. She chose to walk away, for love of Xadia. She took her beloved husband with her, but she left the Silvergrove, Xadia’s protection, and her own daughter’s upbringing in the hands of the elf she chose to replace her. The soft boy she’d taught to stab, who would teach her baby girl to stab, too.

Because this is The Way.

I know I’ve had an angsty headcanon that assassins don’t retire. But, consider this: maybe one of them can. One of Tiadrin’s many plans could have been counting on Runaan’s extreme prowess and devotion to Rayla. If Tiadrin knew that she could return to the Silvergrove in peace and retire there with Lain once Runaan trained Rayla to take his place as the assassin leader, then she could live in the Silvergrove again for the rest of her life, and also get to see Rayla grown big and strong and become the assassin leader herself, another proud elf in a long line of honor and tradition. She might feel that was a big accomplishment, considering the dangers they all face. And it would be.

Yes, this would hinge on the fact that Runaan would have to leave the Silvergrove to replace Tiadrin at the Storm Spire, to serve as Rayla’s liaison to the dragon throne. Cycles of trauma, remember? Tiadrin can’t have all of her family back in one place, ever again. She has to love and train someone enough to put them through the life that she’s having to live, and she has to be strong enough not to let that break her. And then, she has to choose between them. She chose Runaan first, so that she could hope to choose Rayla later. She trusted him with all the future happiness of her heart. And he did his best with it.

But they didn’t quite make it, in the end, because of Viren.

I know this has been a lot of angst. I know. But there is a moonlit lining to this theory, and I think we all need to consider it. If there is a cycle of taking the assassin leader out of the Silvergrove to serve the dragon throne for ancient promise reasons, then if that ancient promise is ever rescinded or redressed in an effective way, the family won’t need to keep yeeting loved ones out of its orbit. And if assassins cease to be a necessary evil as a result, then no one will have to leave, or stab, again. At least, not for the same angsty reasons. They could stay together and never need to leave again.

It won’t be easy to break such a cycle. It might be impossible. But if anyone can manage it, it’ll be Tiadrin, and her family.

extra headcanon for this theory:

Tiadrin, packing up for the Storm Spire: One last thing, Runaan.

Runaan, stoically attentive because what are feels on the day your mentor leaves you: Yes, Tiadrin?

Tiadrin: Ethari will need to pick an apprentice to replace him, too. He should start looking now.

Runaan: Why? Only the Silvergrove’s Master Craftsman gets to pick an apprentice, and Ethari isn’t--

Tiadrin: *wink” Not yet, he’s not.

Runaan: Tiadrin, please, what have you done?

Tiadrin: I want to come back here someday, Runaan. I want to see your good work with Rayla. And I can’t do that if you flat-out refuse to leave your husband when Avizandum calls for you to replace me. So he needs to be ready to leave, too.

Runaan: I, I, I would nev-- I couldn’t--

Tiadrin: *patting his shoulder briskly as she strides out* Mmhmm, sure thing, kid. The council votes him in next Thursday. Be good while I’m gone! I want to find this place exactly the way I’m leaving it. Lain, honey, get your coat!

Lain, in the next room: Yes, Tiadrin!

Runaan, soft-eyed, to the silence in her wake: Yes, Tiadrin.

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

75 and 94 with Sith Anakin :)

Thank you so much for requesting this because this has to be one of my favorite Anakin stories I’ve ever written. It’s super sad, but I still hope you enjoy! :D

This was not how you wanted today to go. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult mission. Get the supplies, and get out. Was it a dangerous place? Of course, but everything was these days with the Empire marking their territory wherever they went. But never in your wildest dreams had you expected there to be Inquisitors hiding there, and never had you expected to have to deal with two. As good of a Jedi as Ezra was becoming, he wasn’t able to take on one by himself yet, and you had done the best you could to make sure he was out of harm’s way before surrendering. 

You knew Kanan would kill you for it if you ever saw him again, but you cared more about Ezra staying alive than getting killed yourself. 

They had stripped you of your lightsaber and cuffed you, leading you to a star cruiser that they mentioned belonged to Lord Vader. They seemed to enjoy talking about what he was going to do to you, and how they hoped they would get to watch.  

Having heard of Lord Vader, the atrocities he had done, the only thing you could do was hope that you could find a way to annoy him enough to make your death as quick and as painless as possible. After all, you didn’t fear death anymore. 

Not when it would bring you back to the love of your life. 

You showed no resistance as you were shoved into an interrogation chair and strapped in, all fight drained out of your body. What was the point? Unless the Ghost Crew could pull off another miracle, you were about to die. You just had to make sure you didn’t give up any Rebellion secrets while you were doing so. 

Eventually the two Inquisitors left you with your thoughts, and you took this moment to close your eyes in meditation, saying a final goodbye to those you loved. Obi-Wan, your oldest friend who had saved your life more times than you could count, Ahsoka, the girl you had watched become a warrior with the kindest heart you knew, Rex and Rutt, the two clones who had laid down their lives for you. Then there was the newest, but some of the most important members of your family. Hera, the sister you never knew you needed, Zeb who always could make you smile no matter what the situation, Sabine, the selfless and talented woman who always put others first, Ezra, the young and incredible Jedi you had been helping to train, and then there was Kanan. Sweet, amazing, Kanan who had done more for you in the past few years than you could remember. 

A tear dripped down your face as you could almost feel the man through the Force, a flicker of anxiety and turmoil from miles and miles away. You knew he wouldn’t want you to give up, you knew he would try to save you, but if it was time . . . It was time. 

Your only regret was knowing that you were leaving behind the most important -

You heard him before you saw him, his boots were heavy on the shining black floor. The darkness surrounding the man in the Force was suffocating, and you dropped your head, trying not to drown in it. “A Jedi, surrendering . . . I never would have expected it.” Was all he said from behind you, the voice diluted with a modulator from the mask you knew he wore. 

“What did you expect? Me to let you kill my friend? I suppose that’s what the Empire would do.” You responded, your voice shakier than you would have liked. 

He chose to ignore your words, his footsteps pacing back and forth behind you, allowing you just a glimpse of black and the silver flash of your lightsaber in his hands. “Where did you get this lightsaber?” Vader asked. 

Was that the question that he wanted to open with? You would have assumed there would have been some threatening, the usual, tell me what you know about the rebellion, where is the secret base, blah, blah, blah. Not where you got your lightsaber. After all, that answer was so obvious you didn’t feel the need to respond. 

“Do I need to repeat my question?” Vader asked once more, his voice calm, and didn’t even give you a chance to respond to him. You felt a pressure around your throat, growing stronger with every passing moment until you couldn’t get any air into your lungs. You started coughing, your hands trying to fly to your throat, but unable to strapped down at your sides. Tears of panic formed in your eyes as you struggled against an unforeseen force, but then as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone, leaving you gasping for air. “Where did you get this lightsaber?” 

You were scared. You hated to admit it, you knew that Jedi weren’t supposed to feel it, but you were. The darkness Vader seemed to emit almost smothered you in your entirety. You had never felt someone so dark, and your fear, as it always had when it reared its ugly head, made you lash out. “Where do you think I got it? A market? I made it! Went to Ilum, found a crystal, constructed it myself -” You choked out before he interrupted you. 

“You’re lying!” The sudden burst of emotion in his voice shocked you. From what you had heard about Vader he was always calm, precise, even when he was in the midst of torturing someone. “I know the woman who made this, and she is dead!” 

“Oh, so I’m dead? Good to know. It’ll save us a lot of trouble here then won’t -”

You felt a hand grip your hair, tugging it up sharply until you were face to face with the mask Vader hid behind, and in that moment . . . something changed. 

The dark, terrifying, intimidating, Darth Vader gasped out your name in a low, weak voice and collapsed to his knees in front of you. 

This version of Vader frightened you even more than the one you had seen earlier. “W-what are you doing?” 

He didn’t answer you. For several moments, he stared at you through those black lenses, and you wondered how he could even see you through them. You knew he was though. You could feel his gaze piercing your skin like a glacier, sending chills all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You didn’t want to look at him any longer, hating the way it made you feel, and that was when his head dropped. You watched him with confused eyes as his gloved hands went to his helmet and began to lift it off, something you knew he never did, to reveal a head of dirty blonde waves, the ends of them brushing the shoulders of his dark robes. 

Then, he lifted his head, and you were met with achingly familiar eyes, even with their change of color. 

That was when the fragile pieces of your life came crashing down around you. For several years now, all you had ever been sure of, was that Anakin Skywalker was dead. Your Force connection with him had been so strong. It was the only explanation for it blinking out of existence the way it had, ripping what felt like a part of your soul along with it. Obi-Wan had told you that he was dead. That the Emperor had killed him. 

Yet here he sat, on his knees in front of you, looking as fragile and distraught as you felt. You had stared into that handsome face too many times to confuse it with anyone else. You knew every single inch of that man, he had been seared into your memory, and there was no doubt in your mind that despite everything you believed, it was Anakin in front of you. 

“The Emperor . . . he told me that you were dead. That Obi-Wan had killed you.” His gloved hand went to your cheek, touching you as if you were made of glass. “If I had known . . .” 

His touch, something that you had longed for, dreamed of for so long, tore you apart. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening no matter what you were seeing. Was Vader putting these thoughts in your head somehow? There were three people in the whole universe who knew how deep and strong you and Anakin’s love had been. How could he have found out something so personal to torture you with? Because that’s what this was, the deepest torture you had ever had to endure, and you knew, if Vader kept this vision going he could get whatever he wanted from you. As long as he let you stay here with Anakin. Tears started filling your eyes once more as you looked at him, his face even more vibrant than it was in your memories. “I wish this was real,” you whimpered, your fingers itching to touch him, but unable to in your secured state. Instead you leaned into his touch, nuzzling against his gloved palm. “All I’ve ever wanted was to see you once last time.” 

Then something incredible happened. Anakin reached out, and undid your restraints, catching you in his arms as you collapsed. “This is real! I am real!” He said, squeezing you so tight in his arms he could have broken your ribs, but you didn’t care because it felt so good. You were right back where you belonged, safe, comfortable and free in Anakin’s arms. 

Free . . . 

He had let you out of your straps. Vader never would have let that happen, even in a vision. It would be too dangerous. Your eyes shifted to the helmet that lay at Anakin’s side, and your world collapsed once more. “No . . .” You murmured, shaking your head. “Please no, no, no,” you murmured the word over and over again, tears dripping down your face in a stream as your hand reached for the helmet, holding the cold metal in your hand. You pulled back enough to look into those eyes, those red and orange eyes that now seemed so different. “Anakin, please tell me you’re not Vader. Tell me you’re not the one -”

“It doesn’t matter,” His hands cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “It doesn’t matter, don’t you see? You’re alive, and now we can put everything behind us! We can do what we always dreamed of doing -”

There was so much desperation in his voice you felt your heart shattering again. It was too much, trying to reconcile the man you grew up with, the man you loved, with all the things that you knew Vader had done. “You’ve killed so many . . . Killed Jedi . . . People we knew . . . destroyed villages . . .” You couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. Your emotions were drowning you, burying you underwater with each and every new atrocity that you remembered Vader had committed and bringing you to a conclusion that left a giant, gaping wound in your chest. “Anakin, you’ve become a -”

“No!” The anger and frustration in his voice had you cringing. “Don’t you understand?! I had nothing! Ahsoka was gone, Obi-Wan was gone, you were gone! What was I supposed to do?” 

“Not turn to the dark side! Anakin, you’re breaking my heart all over again . . . How could you do those things?” You sobbed, trying to pull away from him when every bone in your body craved to keep being held by him. 

His grip became tighter, crushing you to his chest. “You were dead, and it was the Jedi’s fault. They deserved everything they got.” 

His words shook you more than anything else he had said. He had done all this . . . Because of you? He had turned to the dark side, destroyed villages, people, tortured hundreds . . . because he thought you were dead. 

Despair ripped through your body, as you came to the realization that all of this was your fault. If only you hadn’t believed Obi-Wan when he told you Anakin was dead. If you had gone looking for him yourself instead of escaping to Tatooine to hide from the Empire, none of this might have happened. “But I’m not dead, Anakin . . . I never was.” You looked up once more, meeting his gaze through your tears. “What other lies has the Emperor been telling you?” 

You watched as he absorbed your words, but his face was unreadable. 

“Lord Vader!” A panicked voice broke through the bubble the two of you had created and you flinched as Anakin’s hand shot out and sent the intruder flying backwards against the wall and pinned him there. 

“What do you want?” Anakin hissed at him from behind the chair, and it was then that you realized why he had pushed the guard back in the first place. He hadn’t wanted him to see the two of you. 

“Rebels!” The man croaked out, and you glanced over to find Anakin’s hand clenched in a fist, choking the man the same way he had done you. As soon as Anakin saw where your gaze had gone, his fist immediately uncurled. “There are Rebels on the ship. They’re trying to take the bridge!” 

You couldn’t even be grateful. You knew who it was. Kanan’s Force presence was getting stronger with every few seconds that passed, but all you could feel was pain, and not just your own either, now that you knew Anakin was alive, you could feel him. Not like earlier, when you had both been Jedi, the dark side shrouded him in too much blackness for that, but you could feel something . . . pain and confusion that echoed yours. “Stay here.” He instructed you, reaching for his mask. 

You grasped at his arm, stopping him. “Ani,” you gasped out, the first time the nickname had been directed at him in years made him stiffen. “Please don’t. Please. I’m begging you not to hurt them. They’re trying to save me, that’s it.” 

Anakin stared at you and for a moment his gaze softened, but as soon as you had seen it, it vanished again. “You have always been mine. I’m not going to let them take you away from me again.” Anakin leaned forward and you shivered as you felt those soft, familiar lips press against your forehead. “I’ve lost everything. Now that I know you’re alive, I won’t lose you too.” 

He stood up, pulling away from you, and placing the mask back on his beautiful face. “You were always mine too, Ani . . . Can you still say that?” You whispered to him. 

Anakin didn’t respond, merely stood there and stared down at you for a moment before leaving you, shutting the door behind him. 

You collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor, you fist hitting it as you screamed and sobbed out your pain. Never had you realized how cruel fate could be. First it had tortured you with his death, and now it had done something even worse. To have him dangling in front of you to snatch him away again was pure torture. It seemed as if you had now lost him even more than you had all those years ago. You were so lost in your own grief you didn’t hear the door opening, didn’t hear the call of your name until you were hauled off the ground and upright. “It’s me! It’s me! We’ve got to get you out of here!” The familiar voice said, shaking you somewhat to grab your attention. 

Finally, your vision cleared enough, and you saw the man crouched in front of you, concern in every line of his face. “Kanan . . .” You gasped out, flinging your arms around his neck. “Please, please get me out of here.” You pleaded, clinging to him as if he was your lifeline. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” You heard him say, gripping you tightly in his arms. “We’ll get you out of here. The Ghost is waiting.” And without another word, the man lifted you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. “Sabine! Clear a path!” He called out to the woman you hadn’t even noticed. 

Relief filled your body for the briefest moment until you remembered something. If Kanan and Sabine were here . . . “Who’s on the Bridge, Kanan?! He’s going after them! They’ve got to get out of there!” You almost screamed in panic, flailing for a moment as you tried to get out of his arms. 

“Nobody!” He tightened his grip on you. “It’s R4 and Chopper! They made a distraction, and then they went back to the ship. Everyone’s safe, we’ve just got to get you out of here.” 

You collapsed against him in relief, burying your face in his shirt as you clung to him and closed your eyes. You didn’t want to see anything. You didn’t want to risk seeing him because you knew he must have felt you leaving. Your suspicions were confirmed as Kanan ran up the ramp to the Ghost and it began to close as soon as you were all clear. 

He screamed your name, loud and broken through the Force, and it forced your eyes open, staring into those black lenses from across the ship once more until the ramp blocked your view and Hera shot the ship into hyperspace. 

Kanan had heard it too. In fact, Ezra, who had joined the two of you, was covering his ears. “What the hell was that?” He asked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, all you did was hold on to Kanan, burying your face in his shoulder as more tears fell down your cheeks. 

Never had you felt so broken, so tortured, so weak. You had been crushed by everything that had occurred, and you had no idea what to do about it. The only thing that managed to pull you out was a fragile voice. “Mom?” 

You lifted your head from Kanan’s shoulder, shock filling your eyes. “What are you doing here?!” You made Kanan put you down, running over to the little boy and gripping his shoulders, checking him over for any injuries. 

“He stowed away.” Kanan answered you. “He overheard that you were kidnapped and wanted to make sure you got home. We never let him out of the ship though, I promise.” He assured you. 

“Who was that man? That was screaming at you? I felt weird when I saw him . . .” 

Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead against your son’s for a moment, and then pulled back, looking into those familiar blue eyes that you had seen the dark version of moments earlier. “Don’t worry about it, Ani. Why don’t you go with Uncle Ezra for a bit. You two can practice lifting stuff, okay?” 

Anakin nodded, concern still on his little face, but he allowed Ezra to lead him back up the ladder. You brushed your tears away as you watched them go, turning back to Kanan when you felt his warm hand on your shoulder. “I’ve never seen you like that before . . . What did Vader do to you?” 

You placed your hand on top of his, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell you later, but first we’ve got to get back to base. I’ve got to talk to Ahsoka.”

[swimfuel]

Hey!! The X-men are literally my favorite thing and I was wondering if you could elaborate on how Scott is a knight of doom

YES OF COURSE!!!! i'll put it under a cut since i tend to ramble a bit & i'm pulling a bunch of explanations from people smarter than i am

the knight weaponizes their aspect; they have an inherent understanding of their aspect that allows them to exploit it completely. doom is the aspect of systems, restrictions/limitations, sacrifices, and endings.

one of scott's core themes is reclaiming his restrictions in order to serve others/the greater good! he takes the possible liability that are his faulty powers and shifts them to become an advantage, largely through the strength of his restraint and discipline. his role as a tactician and the way he sees sacrifices (more on that later) also mesh EXTREMELY well with the knight of doom.

i feel like the Wh*don run (specifically astonishing x-men #22-23) really highlights how scott can turn a situation on its head through exploiting his disadvantages to the point where they become tactically advantageous!! like, let's count the ways:

the ship the x-men stole from kruun is obviously bugged, so his team won't be able to communicate without being overheard. he realizes this, and uses that restriction (being overheard) as an advantage, by falsifying their course of action.

he has been left "without his powers"—he presents a restriction that lowers the guard of his adversary and grants him entry to their home base. he then subverts this by exploding the shit out of everything when an opportune moment arrives

HE LITERALLY EXPLOITS DEATH...... HE EXPLOITS HIS OWN DEATH...................FOR THE GREATER GOOD..........DUDE???? someone get this man an advil

some more thoughts, followed by some examples by people smarter than me:

he exhibits a similar pattern of idolization/realization with xavier irt karkat/HICand dave/bro.... not sure if this by itself is a knight-y thing but i think the consistent disillusionment with their role in defending their aspect is interesting (aka knight burnout, more on that later)

he is def willing to sacrifice shit for the greater good of mutantkind. the shit in question sometimes being his closest friends and allies. the examples that stick out to me are how he allowed beast to get tortured (utopia era) while executing his plan to solve All His Problems At Once & also when he sent x-force to the future to defend hope knowing it was going to be a one-way trip

that entire issue revolving around just how GOOD scott is at self-repression😭😭😭 i'm pretty sure it's post-schism utopia era i don't remember the exact issue WAIT NVM i'm pretty sure it's uncanny #518

seeing phoenix!scott as an inversion to (rogue of) life is also an interesting concept (unchecked growth!)

the amount of responsibility he feels he has to take on (partially due to his idolization cycle w xavier/xavier's dream) is also both knight-y and doom-y

and of course the instinct to protect the people around him --> being expanded into the whole of mutantkind (which, in turn, expands his sense of obligation)

everything leading up to revolutionary cyclops is also very interesting through this framework because its reminiscent of the knights & doom players in hs! the "taking on an insane burden" (phoenix force, whatever whammied mituna) -> the "resignation to the fate handed to him by his aspect" (his stint in prison, dead daves, sollux in general) -> the "refusal to accept that fate" (prison break, dave not wanting to use time travel, sollux fucking off into the dreambubbles, karkat coming to terms w his relationship w leadership) --> experiencing knight burnout at the end of revolutionary era going into death of x

im not sure exactly how to put it into words but everything about his childhood/teenhood... like being surrounded by forces seeking to control him and use him for their own ends..... idk

(from @/land-of-classpects-and-analysis, sections highlighted red are of particular interest)

HIS GIANT STINKING MARTYR COMPLEX.....DUDE😭😭

side note & ive mentioned this before but scottjean is an interesting parallel to davejade in a way i cant verbalize

Then there are the ones who may accept [the fact of inevitable human suffering], and so choose to live in high alert of any danger - any threats - as well as living in fear of what harm may befall them and/or their loved ones. It is this third and final group of people that so deeply marks that of the Knight of Doom.

Now, this might cause a few eyebrows to become quirked. After all, a Knight? Being fearful of something - nevertheless that thing being related to their Aspect? Knights do often present themselves as ruthless and fearless warriors, yes, but that is only because their Aspects and the world around them raised and called them to act as such. 

... A key factor in the Knight’s life, specifically before their journey truly begins, is that they are already well equipped with their Aspect.

... The Knight of Doom is one where their Aspect being all around them is far more bittersweet than anything else.

... What is important to acknowledge is that the facade the Knight of Doom puts up is not only to hide the fear they have for their Aspect, but it is most definitely there to hide the grief and pain they have not yet completely finished going through. Whether it’s been weeks or years, the Knight of Doom is someone who would rather hide themself away from these feelings than find a way to truly mend and heal them ... they have built a false wall between them and their suffering strong and thick enough to partially block it from their memory. 

... Knights are known to become extremely stubborn whenever people try to order them around and pressure them into doing something, and the Knight of Doom is no different - especially if they believe what they are doing is for the greater good. 

(from @/dahniwitchoflight)

Dahni’s Explanantion: “Doom can be a negative force that rejects and harms, fostering a sense of hostility or sadness. But, it is also the idea that you can pull backwards and cautiously and wisely withdraw into your own self.  It can be the idea of Control taken from the sharp Black and White Restrictions that everything in the world gets sorted into. It understands community necessity and need, responsibly pulling back and lowering you down into its lap to help wind yourself down. Doom then is an ultimate gentle Equalizer, instilling its players with an internal sense of Acceptance and eventually true Wisdom.”

Knight of Doom: One who Exploits with Doom or Exploits Doom

Knights hide a fear of a perceived fundamental failure with their Aspect behind a shield of confidence and obsessive effort. Their challenge is to learn to take it down a notch and to understand that they are skilled enough

A Knight is very skilled with using the rules and limitations of any game or session to their advantage. They skillfully fulfill any responsibility or obligation required of them with ease. They might use their natural caution and pessimism to make realistic choices and endeavors. They use and exploit any rule or limit that they can to their advantage. They might also be very good at exploiting any sacrifices made or any obligation or responsibility that they are held to. They might be very good at avoiding any unnecessary thing or person and are very good at recognizing when something is too futile to even bother with.

Likewise they might only focus on the necessary things in their game or session so they are likely to not do much unless it’s absolutely necessary. They would very likely be very meticulous with themselves about following the rules properly and constantly restrict themselves, maybe thinking they aren’t following the rules properly enough or not following the right ones. They might sacrifice anything they consider unnecessary about themselves or the way they live, sometimes even going too far with it, in order to be considered or thought of as less useless. They’re always trying harder and holding themselves to extreme self-imposed standards.

They would likely wait for the opportune moment to strike, though they are slow to move or act, they always will when something necessary needs to happen. Out of all the Doom players, a Knight of Doom seems like the one most likely to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. A Knight of Doom can also expertly use and exploit fire, bombs and explosions to their advantage, maybe they create flashy distractions during fights. They might even use decaying or dying things to their advantage.

(from @/communistvriska)

Role in the Session: Rather like the Prince of Doom, this role’s title kinda has “edgelord” written all over it, but that’s not a set-in-stone character trait. The first thing that comes to mind re: what the Knight Class and the Aspect of Doom have in common is a strong sense of obligation. The Knight of Doom is bound to take their duties and responsibilities Extremely Seriously, perhaps rather too seriously at first ... Knights also tend to be very protective of both their Aspect as a concept, and of themselves and those close to them; while the Knight of Doom isn’t likely to be outwardly aggressive, given Doom’s reserved, slow-burn tendencies, woe betide those who try to deceive or confound the Knight or their allies. One of Doom’s internal contradictions (which I find personally fascinating) is that the aspect is associated both with cynical resignation and with a profound albeit restrained sense of passion and persistence. Doom is what’s left after everything else gets burnt away.

The Knight of Doom will likely be a very skilled combatant, as the Knight is a class strongly associated with Strife / battle, and Doom is one of the more overtly destructive Aspects. I’d put them in the Top 5 Roles to use a cool flamin sword, at least. They’re not going to be eager to fight, per se, but they’re not going to have much trouble scaling the echeladder when it comes to that either. Internally, they’re likely to struggle with a perceived (but largely imagined) inability to fulfill their duties, and they could well stumble once or twice in their quest to be perceived as reliable and stoic, or as someone who their friends can lean on. They’re probably doing more than enough already, but if they’re not careful they might overexert themselves and take on too heavy a burden, and they’re liable to be crushed by their own expectation that they face their challenges alone. This is going to factor into their capital-Q Quest and the environment of their planet, and will be the biggest obstacle in their path to Ascension. A Knight’s duty is to protect their co-players, but their co-players also have to support them.

[bnhayyy]

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click 

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now… 

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

*

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

*

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do. 

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

*

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

*

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

*

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

[mtraki]

Brain chemistry is messing with me... got me in the bad feels looking at dark roads... So let’s try and drag ourselves out of it through hyperfixation!  It’s time to rant about Agent 47′s brain chemistry-- specifically all the serums and antidotes that artificially change it! (It’s a rant... I won’t take up space on your dashboard scroll if you don’t want to see it, but if you do, please check out under the cut.  Spoilers for the comics and Hitman Season 2-3 are unmarked...)

The focus of the rant is thus: “Exactly what did Ether’s antidote do?” ‘That’s easy, MT,’ I hear you tell me, ‘It brought back 47′s memories that were wiped by Ort-Meyer before he escaped the lab.’ Forgive me, strawman Reader, (but as always, thank you for your faithful engagement) but I don’t think it’s that simple...  Maybe because I overthink things, or maybe because the details aren’t adding up... Let’s discuss. In the cutscene in HITMAN 2 (Hitman Season 2) ‘Long Shot’, Olivia and Lucas provide a syringe from Ether Biotech Corporation.  According to their information, Ort-Meyer’s estate and his research were granted to the corporation (through Providence) after his passing.  The syringe is supposed to be an antidote to what Ort-Meyer used to wipe 47′s memory.  Using the syringe, 47 is able to remember Janus, the first Constant of Providence, so they can go get his info on the Partners... and kill him. ‘Yes, MT,’ you say, ‘so it’s easy.  The answer is right there.’ Well, please bear with me... In the next cutscene ‘Gifts and Curses’, our leading ladies Diana and Olivia are doing the real work (tracking Janus’s coffin) while our lads are being moody.  Lucas asks 47 if he’s all right and 47 says, “It comes back in flashes.  Fear.  Anger.  But like it happened to someone else.” Later, in ‘Precautions’, Lucas and Diana talk about how Lucas has feelings about the things he’s done, and 47 does not-- a parallel is drawn between these feelings and “having a conscience”. In ‘The Ark Society’ mission, on the Isle of Sgàil, as you’re marching Arthur Edwards, the Constant you are abducting, to the harbor, he’ll fish around for information by giving some of his own.  For the purposes of my rant, there is an exchange I want to focus on: Edwards: “...Your murdered him [Janus] to get to me.” 47: “Not just that.  He had it coming.” Edwards: “Interesting.  It was my impression that you were cured of such... sentiment.  The ‘good doctor’ built his serum specifically to target the seats of your emotions.  Has Miss Burnwood’s sense of justice rubbed off on you, I wonder?” This is where I feel the need to stop and point out that there are TWO DIFFERENT SERUMS at play here, that were forced on 47 at TWO DIFFERENT TIMES in his forgotten past.  This is shown in the comic series. SERUM #1) This serum was given in 1989, after 47 and 6 failed to take over the Institute.  47 sacrificed himself so 6 could escape (though he was presumed dead) and instead of being killed like he expected, due to pressure from Janus (who spoke as Constant for the Partners of Providence) Ort-Meyer instead used a serum to stifle his and the remaining clones’ emotions.  This one was an injection to the neck (like the antidote).  Here are his exact words: “I gave you something most people lack: a true purpose.  And you cast it aside.  For some misguided dream of freedom.  Why?” “It’s that storm inside you.  All those feelings I fought so hard to lock away.  Raging, driving you.  So now I must wipe them out entirely.  A small chemical insult designed to target the amygdala, the hypothalamus, the cingulate gyrus.  The seats of emotion.  I’ve just sawed the legs off them.  Do you understand, 47?” “Your memories remain intact.  But now they’re a series of events with no significance.” The effects of this serum were devastating.  With the singular exception of 47, every other clone more or less lost the will to live.  They died of starvation, dehydration, infected bed sores... losing any and all motivation for anything.  Meanwhile, 47 became an apex predator of murder, stating that the opportunity to complete the assassinations handed down by Providence through Ort-Meyer were the reason he went through each day.  He had a hand in the deaths of a good number of clones, either via poisoning or smothering. SERUM #2) This serum was given in 1998 (that’s nine years after the first one) after Providence demands Ort-Meyer give them 47 as the only success of his very expensive perceived failure.  Ort-Meyer gives this serum, without the permission of Providence, very specifically so that 47 will not remember him to assassinate him.  This serum is given orally, and through a hose and pump apparatus.  Here are his exact words: “I only need one more day, and a moment alone.” (This is included strictly to point out that 47 must have escaped that exact same day) “I raised you as my own.  Taught you everything you needed to thrive in this fallen world.  And now I have to take it all away.  You would come after me.  It’s the only way I can be free from having to watch over my shoulder for the rest of my life.  It feels like drowning at first.  Don’t struggle.  I’m going to make you perfect.  Now you have all the potential in the world.” 47 wakes up later to the voice of Ort-Meyer over the intercom.  He implicitly trusts the voice, as he knows nothing else.  He knows about the existence of nothing outside of the room and the voice.  He starts making associations as he goes on, and points out that he understands how some things work (”The mechanics of breathing, the science that makes remotely operated restraints possible.”) and the justifications behind their existence (”Somewhere deep down, I even understand the need for them.”).  As he makes his escape, he observes that their is familiarity in the sensations of killing.  Out in the world, he continues killing on his own for about a year, claiming that his work is his only indulgence and that he doesn’t need things, friends, or stories.  He does also claim to have a few stray memories that haunt him-- elicit emotional responses in him (which we also see in Absolution with the whole “doctors” flashbacks). Edwards should not know about the mind-wiping, and his dialogue does not betray that he does.  Lucas apparently knows about both, but I’m going to attribute this to “Lucas became personally invested in learning what happened to 47 specifically after learning he was alive and working for ICA, so put the pieces together once he stole the data from Providence” because he wasn’t around for either serum.  Meanwhile, Edwards doesn’t have many reasons to worry about 47 until he starts trying to use his past as a lure for Diana.  Because his angle is to eventually reveal that it was 47 (AND 6... they were on the job together, per the comics) who killed her parents, and the fact that that juicy reveal would hurt that much more if he could reveal it as something 47 knowingly hid from her... I don’t think he’d go out of his way to discredit Janus’s reporting on the situation that only the first serum was given, and something else happened that allowed 47 to escape into the wild.  Janus is apparently Edwards’s beloved mentor, after all. ‘MT,’ I hear you say, ‘You’re rambling.  What’s the point here?’ The point is that 47, a man who does not mince words, makes the observation, when asked, that he remembers fear and anger.  These are the things that stand out to him in his memories.  The emotions.  This is in violation of the first serum’s properties as well as the second. Now, why is this happening?  Perhaps the first serum has an effective lifespan, and perhaps it’s wearing off.  Perhaps 47′s human (arguably superhuman, per some sources) brain is adapting to make necessary associations despite the “chemical insult”. Or... was this antidote supposed to also be an antidote for the first serum?  It is noteworthy that 47 starts behaving in ways that suggest more emotionally-driven motivations after the antidote is given-- at least it seems that way to me.  This seems especially the case at the very end of HITMAN 3 (Season 3), ‘Untouchable’, when 47 is confronted with his guilt, with his feelings about what he perceives Diana’s thoughts and feelings to be, and with his choice in the end concerning Edwards in the final confrontation.  No matter what he chooses, he owns his choice and all the baggage and consequences that come with it.  At the very end, in the cutscene 'New Deal', he tells Diana that he isn’t ‘Agent 47′ anymore.  That he chooses this path because he can. Perhaps I’m very much misunderstanding the themes, here, but 47 not remembering his past never struck me as something that held him back from choosing something else.  It has always been his inability to connect with others in any way outside of infiltrating their spaces and killing them... with very, very few exceptions... that has kept him from choosing a path outside of murder-for-hire (perfectly executed, of course ;) )  So I’m left at the end with the conclusion that 47 is now able to operate as his own conscience because he now has a... mostly usable independent sense of morality-- which requires a certain level of empathy. So... again: what’s the deal with the antidote?  Is it two-in-one?  This would be fine, (Okay, not really, I would then have to rant about how this only makes sense as a convenient plot device because for which person BESIDES Agent 47 would such an antidote be useful unless they also work with the first serum... and oh boy IMPLICATIONS... I know we keep crashing their stock but can we crash their production too?) except the antidote is only referenced as working to return 47′s memory... and his ‘warmer’ dialogues through the end of 2 and into 3 with his allies is simply treated as matter of course-- nobody points it out. I don’t know if this is a problem with my perspective, the writing, or what... But it seems like Lucas knows and doesn’t know about both serums at the same time (he comments specifically about 47 remembering things... but not him behaving more emotionally engaged)... Or like the games smooshed both serums together while the comics had them separate.  This isn’t like the whole “we don’t talk about Absolution though we do wink and nod that it mostly happened in canon” thing.  The comics were written as a companion for the HITMAN: World of Assassination trilogy! I know how I’m treating it for 'Monstrous’ (because if I don’t, I’ll go crazy and rage-quit the fic) but it still bothers me...  Anybody got any ideas?  Nuggets of lore I missed?  Am I the only one stressing out about this??

[wesokkasimp]

impulsive (part one)

TW!! mild swearing, mentions of death, bad makeout scene

word count: 8766

You woke up to a splitting headache. For a few minutes you couldn’t concentrate on, much less remember, anything. All you could do was focus on the pounding in your head while you pitied yourself.

Then, it all started to come back, bit by bit. Azula had split off from you, Mai, and Ty Lee to find the Avatar, tasking the three of you with finding his friends. You had found and fought them pretty easily, but things took a turn for the worse when the sky bison flung your comrades into the water. You  were spared from the lake, but had been knocked unconscious by the male Water Tribe peasants toy. That was probably where your headache had come from. But that didn’t answer the question of where you were. Suddenly, your thoughts were cut off by a shout.

“Guys, something’s moving in the tent. I think she’s awake!”

Okay, that was definitely not Mai, Ty Lee, or Azula. Something wasn’t right.

You tried to sit up and stretch, but found that your hands had been bound. You realized that your ankles were bound, too. An uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. It couldn’t be…

The tent flaps began to shuffle. As an unfamiliar figure entered the vicinity, you caught bits and pieces of conversation. Spirits of the islands, now was not the time for a migraine. 

“Are you sure she’s awake?”

“She doesn’t look conscious…”

“Is she falling back asleep?”

“Hey! Whoever you are! Don't…”

****************************

You woke up again, this time with a milder headache and a clearer mind. Unlike the last time you woke up, you were not alone in the tent. The waterbender you had fought with Mai and Ty Lee was sitting by your feet. As if on cue, she noticed that you were no longer passed out.

“Hey, you’re awake again! How are you feeling?” the girl spoke, genuine concern lacing her voice.

“Who are you? Where did Mai and Ty Lee go?” you mumbled.

“My name’s Katara. You and your... group fought me and my brother yesterday. Sok- er, my brother hit you with his boomerang and you were knocked unconscious. Appa knocked your friends into the lake, and they were taking a while to get out of the water. We didn’t just want to leave you there, but we had to get going to see if Aang was alright. So we, um… Took you with us.” the evidently uncomfortable girl explained.

“What’s an Appa? Who’s Aang? And most importantly, who gave you the right to kidnap me!?” you barked at the now annoyed peasant.

“H-hey! We may have just saved your life, so I would be a little more grateful if I were you. My brother hit you pretty hard, I had to heal some of your head injuries after we set up camp. Appa’s our sky bison, and Aang is the Avatar. Y’know, the person you’re trying to kidnap?” the Water Tribe girl snarked.

Suddenly, a boy entered the tent. You recognized him from your fight at the lake the other day, and he looked similar to Katara. He must be her brother.

“Did she finally wake up? I heard shouting.” the boy asked his sister.

“Yeah, she did. Now, if you could kindly untie my hands I can leave and we can pretend this never happened,” you huffed, not wanting to waste another second with these low-life peasants.

“We can’t just let you go! You’ll probably try to kidnap Aang, and even if you don’t, you’ll definitely tell your little girl gang where we are! We need to stay here for a while so that Aang can learn earthbending, Toph said that he’d pick it up quicker if he learned all the basics in the same spot,” the boy sneered.

“Who are you? And who’s Toph?” you asked, seemingly innocent. In reality, you were gathering possibly useful information to give to Azula when you were finally released. 

They would release you, right?

“I’m Sokka, the guy that hit you in the head with a boomerang,” he stated smugly, pride washing over him as he watched you scowl. “Toph is… Well, I’ll just get her in here.”

After a few uncomfortable beats of silence with the waterbender, the boy entered the tent again, this time with a small girl following him.

“This is Toph. She’s teaching Aang earthbending,” Sokka sighed. He was clearly already exasperated.

You took in the girl standing above you. She was quite small and delicate looking. As your eyes traveled to her face, you noticed her eyes were glazed over. Realizing she was blind, you let out a hearty cackle.

“What’s so funny?” the girl demanded. It seemed she also had a bad temper.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed. “I just think it’s a little funny that the best earthbending teacher the Avatar could find is a tiny blind girl.”

A chunk of earth shot up from the ground and smacked you square in the forehead the second you finished that sentence.

“Hey! H-how can you see where I am?” you squeaked. Perhaps you had underestimated this girl.

“I see everything with my feet, dunderhead. Ever heard of seismic sense? You’re lucky that’s all I did, because trust me, Princess, I’m capable of a lot more,” Toph chuckled.

Okay, this girl was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Your gut was telling you, and your gut never lied. You made a mental note to report all of this to Azula.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I really need to get going. I know you guys don’t trust me, you’d be fools if you did, but what are you going to do with me? I’m a world class combat expert, I’ve been in worse situations, so unless you're planning to keep an eye on me 24/7 and  putting better restraints on me I’ll probably escape by dawn,” you drawled. 

“She has a point, y’know. Azula is the princess of the Fire Nation- it would only make sense for her to have the best team of warriors money can buy,” Toph stated.

“Azula isn’t paying me,” you scoffed. “I’d never accept pay. Serving beside someone in the royal family so closely is the one of the highest honors someone could get- that’s payment enough.”

“You think hunting down and kidnapping the world's last hope for peace is honorable?” Katara said, shooting you the deadliest glare you’d ever received.

“The Avatar isn’t the world's last hope for peace. If the other nations would just cooperate with the Fire Nation-”

“How could you expect us to cooperate with conquest?” Katara screeched, cutting you off in the process.

“Look, now is not the time to get into this argument. Right now, we need to figure out what we’re gonna do with…?” Sokka sent you a questioning look as he realized you hadn’t shared your name yet.

“Y/N.” you sighed.

This may be harder than you initially thought.

****************************

The group had come up with a temporary plan. They replaced your rope restraints with earth ones Toph made. They already had a night watch system in place, so they decided that whoever was doing night watch would simultaneously watch you.

You didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, so lucky you got to stay up through all four shifts. Katara had the first shift. Her shift was uneventful, it seemed she didn’t have the best social skills. She reminded you of Azula in that way. A lot of ways, actually. They were both 14, powerful benders, and overshadowed their older brothers. You couldn’t be positive about anything, but you were pretty good at reading people, and from the small amount of time you’d spent with these four misfits you had picked up a bit of jealousy on Sokka's end. Probably because his sister was a bender and he wasn’t. It was understandable- you’d probably be jealous of your own older brother if he possessed bending and you didn’t, even if it was a weak element like water. Lucky for you, you had firebending, the most superior element. Although you supposed it would be nice to be an earthbender right now. You had been thinking for hours about a way to escape with your firebending, but so far it had been in vain.

The next person on the night watch was Sokka. Unlike Katara, he attempted to make small talk with you.

“So, how long have you known Azula?” the watertribe peasant questioned. You thought about the question, and after deciding there wasn’t a way your answer could be used against you later, you answered,

“About two months. She knew Ty Lee and Mai from The Royal Fire Nation Academy for Girls. I went there too, but we didn’t know each other. When her father asked her to hunt down her brother, she saw my name on the top of a list of elite soldiers. She asked me to join her team, and I accepted.”

“You were in the military?” Sokka asked. His eyes widened, probably wondering why someone as young as you was in the military. After all, you were only 16.

“Yup. My family was pretty poor, until some soldiers came to our house one day and saw my brother and I were firebending prodigies. We got moved to a fancy housing unit near the Fire Nation Royal Academies. After I graduated three years ago, I was enrolled into the military,” you answered. You didn’t know why you were telling him all this, but Sokka was surprisingly easy to talk to.

“Wow. I can’t imagine joining the military that young. In the Southern Water Tribe the minimum age for joining is 17,”  Sokka replied. “I actually tried to join when I was 13, but my father made me stay.”

“That was a mistake on your tribe's part. You’re a strong, able, young man. You could’ve been trained in a few months and then your tribe would’ve had another set of hands,” you stated cooly. 

The boy only hummed in response. He knew it was pointless to try and get you to understand why sending a child into battle was wrong. He knew how the Fire Nation carefully bred its children to be cold-hearted, logical, and violent. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about you. On the surface, you seemed like every other Fire Nation noble he’d come across: arrogant, cocky, and ruthless. But underneath, he saw more. Remorse? Guilt? Like you knew in your gut that what you were doing was wrong, but the Fire Nation had trained you to trust them and only them? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had seen something similar in Zuko. It was more apparent in you, though.

The rest of Sokka's shift went without a word. The third shift belonged to the Avatar himself. This was the first time you really got a good look at the boy. He was shorter than you expected, but besides his height everything about him radiated maturity. You thought about what he had gone through to get that maturity- learning about the genocide of his people a century after it happened, the Northern Water Tribe fiasco, and being hunted down by two of the worlds most powerful firebenders. All in a few months, on top of the normal stresses of being the Avatar. You felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Even if your loyalties belonged to the Fire Nation, you had never thought the genocide of the Air Nomads was anything less than barbaric, even if you would never dare say that out loud. But the Fire Nation had evolved for the better. Things were different now.

Right?

“You must hate me,” you chuckled darkly. Your voice was humorless.

Aang looked confused as he asked “Why would I hate you?”

“I’ve been hired by someone to kidnap you, and wholeheartedly agree with what they're doing. Don’t worry. I’d hate me too,” you replied.

“I don’t hate anybody. I could only hate someone that truly had no good in them, but there’s good in everyone. Even you,” the monk said. He smiled up at you.

You were surprised at his words. You shouldn’t have been. He was a pacifist monk, after all. Not many people had ever tried to see good in you. Why would they? You were a soldier that served your nation loyally. Nothing more, nothing less. There didn’t need to be good in you. In fact, it was better if there wasn’t any good or bad in you. As long as you stayed loyal and obeyed the Fire Nation, everyone seemed perfectly content with leaving you be. 

The rest of Aang's shift went by without another word between the two of you until the very end. Aang started to stand, eager to get back to sleep, when you started to speak,

“Hey! I just wanted to, um, apologize.”

Aang's eyes widened in surprise. Was it possible? Has his ~inspirational~ words touched your heart this quickly? Reversed the years of brainwashing and abuse the Fire Nation had exposed you to? Maybe you would even willingly join their team! Maybe-

He was cut off by your explanation, “What happened to your people, I mean. Not, uh, trying to kidnap you.”

“Oh,” the young Avatar replied. “It’s alright. It’s not like it was your fault.”

Okay, not exactly what he was looking for. But hey, at least there was some good in you. Not wanting a race of people to be brutally murdered or wishing an entire culture to be wiped out was… a start.

Finally, the fourth shift started. Toph. You didn’t have much respect for any of these kids, but Toph was definitely the one who had garnered most of your respect. Despite her lack of sight, Toph was the most powerful earthbender you had ever seen. In a way, her blindness enhanced her abilities by heightening her other senses. She didn’t take shit from anyone, which was something you were insecure about. Being in the Fire Nation militia, you had to take shit from your superiors, unless you wanted to be discharged. Or worse.

It seemed that Toph was not a morning person, so about 25 minutes after her shift started, Toph dozed off.

For a second, you couldn’t believe your eyes. What luck after such a pitiful few hours! But there was still the problem of your restraints. You hadn’t really taken in the campsite, as you had thought you wouldn’t have the chance to escape. While you were looking around, a sharp rock caught your eye. Perfect.

After scooting over to the rock, which took more time than you would like to admit, you raised your arms and brought them down hard upon the rock. The restraints broke instantly. After doing the same with your ankles, you surveyed the land. You figured you only had about an hour until somebody woke up, so you had to get moving quickly. You had a pretty good sense of direction, and that sense was telling you to go west of the campsite. You began spriniting in that direction. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sprint like this for long, but you had to get a head start. Once “Team Avatar” realized you had left, they might go looking for you on their giant flying bison.

 ****************************

You had been traveling for two days now. You weren’t anxious about a Team Avatar member hunting you down anymore. That was a worry of the past. Now you were more concerned with getting something to eat. You had  found some hope when you came across a town, only to be disappointed after finding it was abandoned. Even though you were hungry and thirsty, you were also absolutely exhausted, and this town could provide shelter. You walked into the first building you saw, ready to pass out as soon as you hit the floor. In fact, you were so completely out of it that you didn’t notice the building was already occupied. You simply entered, found a nice corner, and hit the deck.

While you may not have noticed the other occupants of the decrepit building, they noticed you. Well, one of them. A certain banished prince, to be exact. 

He watched as you slept, not even sparing him a glance before you fell asleep. It was a bit shocking, to say the least. Any normal traveler would walk in, realize the building was occupied, apologize, and find another place to rest. This behaviour was suspicious. Too suspicious to not give you a quick once over.

Zuko walked over to you as quietly as possible, even though he didn’t need to worry about his volume. You were an impressively heavy sleeper, especially when you were exhausted like this. He crouched over you, taking in your features. His face softened for a moment as he saw the pure exhaustion gracing your eyes, hardening again soon after. What did he care if you were well rested or not? You were just some random traveler. He looked around in your corner and saw that there was no weapon. You didn’t even have a small travel bag.

Assured you were no threat, Zuko walked back over to his sleeping uncle and decided to turn in after a long day of training.

 ****************************

You woke up feeling more refreshed than you had in days. That was the best sleep you’d had in, what, seven weeks? You began stretching your limbs, feeling ready to continue your search for Azula. Then the hunger pains hit.

You doubled over, letting out a small moan of pain. That small moan, however, was all it took to awake the Dragon of the West.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he looked around to make sure his nephew was okay. The prince was sleeping peacefully beside him. As you let out another hiss of pain, Iroh whipped his head around to see you, a young girl, clutching your obnoxiously loud stomach. He had conquered enough small Earth Kingdom villages to know what starving looked like, and that’s exactly what he was seeing. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he all but whispered. You whipped your head around, suddenly on high alert.

“I apologize, I did not mean to startle you. But I noticed that you seem quite hungry,” your stomach growled in response as Iroh spoke. “My nephew and I have a little extra food to spare, as well as some exquisite tea. Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

Under normal circumstances, you would have been way more skeptic of an old man you’d just met offering you food. But you hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the night before you got kidnapped, and this weirdo was your only option. 

“I suppose,” you sighed.

“Wonderful! I will get started on breakfast. Would you like ginseng, green, or jasmine tea?”

“Jasmine,” you responded.

“Good choice. Jasmine is my nephews favorite,” the old man replied, a fond look painting his face.

As Iroh started breakfast, you couldn’t help but feel as if he looked familiar. Perhaps he had been on the news? Or possibly one of your textbooks? You shook off the feeling immediately; no. It wasn’t possible some filthy traveler had made it into a textbook. You laughed internally at the thought.

About 45 minutes had passed since Iroh began preparing breakfast, and he had finally finished cooking the meal. You walked over to the corner of the room the old man and his nephew had been staying in as Iroh beckoned you over. When you got close enough to the younger man to get a good look at him, you got that same familiarity ebbing at your insides. It wasn’t an unsettling familiarity, just… strange. But you supposed everything about this situation was strange. 

Just as you began to sit, you were interrupted.

“I’m sorry, young lady. But could you wake up my nephew? As you can see by the bandages, I got hurt quite badly recently and cannot move around very well,” the old man said sheepishly.

“Sure,” you replied. This old man seemed nice enough, and he was making you, a complete stranger to him, breakfast. So you didn’t mind waking up his nephew. It was an easy task.

Or so you thought.

As you walked over to the sleeping boy and crouched over him, your breath hitched in your throat. Oh wow. This boy was quite the looker. His scar made him look all the more badass. You shook off these thoughts as quickly as he came. No. You didn’t have the time to pursue relationships with boys you didn’t even know.

You put your hand to the sleeping boy's arm gently, shaking him just enough to wake up. Waking him up wasn’t the hard part. The hard part came after he woke up.

You know, the part where he proceeded to attack you.

You let out a squeak of surprise as he leapt onto you, pinning you to the floor in the process. All your normal reflexes and strength had gone with your full stomach. On top of that, you didn’t want to hurt this guy, spirits forbid his uncle reclaim your breakfast invite. His arms were by the sides of your head to keep from crushing you. He leaned down to your face.

“Who are you, and what are you doing?” the boy growled into your ear, his voice extra raspy considering he had just woken up. He sent you a glare that rivaled the one Katara had sent you the other day.

“Lee! This is not how we treat our guests. I invited this young lady to sit with us for breakfast and asked her to wake you up,” Iroh scolded.

“Uncle, you can’t just go around inviting random people to sit with us at meals!” Zuko protested. “It isn’t safe.”

“Hush, nephew. She’s joining us and that’s final,” Iroh retorted. 

Zuko sent you a final glare before getting off of you.

The meal was pretty silent at first, not that you minded. You were pretty focused on stuffing your face. After a few minutes of comfortable silence passed, Iroh started some small talk.

“So, young lady. I don’t believe you told me your name. What is it, if you don’t mind me asking?” Iroh inquired.

“Y/N,” you responded. “I don’t think I caught your name either.”

“Mushi,” the man responded. “And this is my nephew, Lee.” he gestured to the boy sitting next  to him. Said boy sent you another glare. You sent him your snarkiest stare back.

“So,” you began, “Mushi. Where are you from?”

“I come from a small village in the Earth Kingdom, you’ve most likely never heard of it. My nephew and I left a few years ago in search of a better life,” Iroh answered as his gaze traveled to the small travel kettle. “Oh! The tea is ready.”

Mushi took the kettle off of the fire. Huh. Fire. That wasn’t there when the old man had first invited you to breakfast, and you hadn’t heard him trying to make a fire. Unless he was a firebender, which was impossible considering he was from the Earth Kingdom, how did he start a fire so easily?

You brushed it off. He probably just had a lot of experience or something, right? Yeah, yeah. Sure. Instead, you turned your attention back to  ‘Mushi’ (you suspected that wasn’t his real name), who was pouring some jasmine tea for his nephew. The smallest fond smile graced the boy's face as his uncle poured his tea. His smile was a nice change of pace from his usual scowl. You wished you could see him smile more.

Wait, no. What were these thoughts? You couldn’t go around ogling at boys like a school-girl! It was simply out of the question. You had one purpose in life: Serve. The. Fire Nation. Maybe someday your parents would arrange a marriage for you or something of the like, but you had no intention of falling in love.Wishing someone happiness and a crush were two very different things. Besides, you could never fall in love with someone just because of their looks. You weren’t that shallow. 

Once you had finished breakfast, you walked back over to the corner you claimed to pack up. After noting that there was nothing to pack up, anxiety started to settle in. Realizing you didn’t even have a weapon to defend yourself with, you started to feel full on panic. You had been so preoccupied with escaping Team Avatar and staying alive that your lack  of, well, anything had slipped your conscious. 

This was not good. You were in the middle of nowhere with nothing  but the clothes on your back. 

Mushi must have taken in your state of dismay, because he walked over to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“You seem a little lost, Y/N. Is there any way I could help you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. But I think I’m going to have to stay in this town another night until I can figure something out,” you sighed. Every moment you became more and more anxious about how Azula would react if- no, when you returned. Would she be angry about it? Or did she view you as a disposable tool? You hoped for the latter. If that was how she saw you, maybe she would be pleasantly surprised when you returned. While “disposable tool” might not have been the exact way you described yourself, it certainly was close to that. Serving your country was a noble thing, and if you died doing it, it would be an honorable death.

“I think you are making a wise choice. It would be foolish to go out traveling with no resources. However, because you are staying, I do have to tell you something. I have not been completely honest,” the man muttered, looking at you sheepishly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, incredulousness gracing your features. How could he have lied? He’d barely spoken to you, for spirits sake!

“My name’s not Mushi, and my nephew is not Lee. We’re not from the Earth Kingdom. Our names are Iroh and Zuko, and we hail from the Fire Nation,” Iroh explained.

“Oh,” you said, relieved it hadn’t been something worse. “That’s fine. I’m from the Fire Nation too. But why didn’t you just tell me in the first place?”

“I was not sure if you were from the Earth Kingdom or the Fire Nation. Most people are not comfortable revealing that information to strangers. People from the Earth Kingdom do not always react kindly to Fire Nation citizens,” the old man replied.

“Damn right,” you scoffed. “Personally, I think they need a little lesson in respect.”

Iroh hummed in response, not showing any other sign of agreement or disagreement. He didn’t want to scare you off or fight you, but he also didn’t want to show any agreement with what you’d just said.

“Are you a firebender? I’ve been teaching my nephew, so if you’d like to train with us, you’re more than welcome,” Iroh inquired.

You thought about the offer. You hadn’t trained in a week. You had decided not to bend at all while you were traveling to conserve energy, so your bending was probably a little rusty.

“Sure, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you responded.

“Great! My nephew and I are currently working on a special technique that we started yesterday. We’re redirecting lightning. I actually made it myself,” Iroh replied eagerly.

“Wait, you can redirect lightning? Does that mean you’re a lightning bender?” you asked, dumbfounded. Lightning bending was one of, if not the most, powerful forms of bending. Because it was so powerful, the only people who got to learn it were members of the Fire Nation royal family.

“Yes, I can conjure lightning. But I don’t do it often,” Iroh chuckled.

 Then it all began clicking into place for you- of course! Prince Zuko and former heir to the throne General Iroh! It hadn’t clicked sooner because of Prince Zuko’s banishment. You hadn’t heard his name in a few years, and he had just kind of left your consciousness. 

“So you’re General Iroh? The Dragon of the West? The only man to ever conquer Ba Sing Se?” you squealed. General Iroh was a hero of yours. He was a strong asset to the Fire Nation and an even stronger bender. His loss of Ba Sing Se had been disappointing, and you personally thought he should have stayed. Still, losing a son must be hard. The loss of Lu Ten, whom you had thought was going to be the Fire Lord one day, was devastating for the entire Fire Nation. On top of all that, he was stripped of his heir status. The details on that had always been shady, as Fire Lord Azulon never mentioned anything about his wishes for Ozai to become the Fire Lord while he was still alive. Not to mention Fire Princess Ursa disappearing right before Ozai’s coronation. Still, reading into it too much was a waste of time. Fire Lord Ozai was a strong leader, and that was what the Fire Nation needed.

“Uh, yes. I did conquer Ba Sing Se for some time,” Iroh replied, trying his hardest to hide the discomfort that had now taken over his face. “But let's not focus on that. We should get to training.” he urged.

You walked outside with Iroh towards a cliff, where Zuko was waiting. As he spotted you, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Surprise quickly turned to annoyance as he said,

“Uncle! Was inviting her to breakfast not enough? Why is she out here?”

Iroh looked impatient while saying, “Zuko! Where are your manners today? Y/N here is a bit stranded, so for the time being, she will train with us.”

Realizing his uncle had called him by his real name, Zuko sent Iroh a glare, but he didn’t say anything about it. Zuko didn’t want to give himself away completely.

“I just remembered- you need to be in a calm state of mind for today's exercise. I need to go make some ginseng tea!” Iroh said, hurrying back to the decaying building to start the drink.

You groaned internally. You had grown quite fond of the old man already, but you couldn’t say the same for his nephew. 

An uncomfortable silence took over as he just stood there awkwardly.

“So, how long does it take for your uncle to make tea?” you asked, hoping to quell the silence and get an estimate of when you could begin training.

“Half an hour for ginseng. He likes to get it just right,” Zuko answered. He was clearly annoyed by your presence, as he has hoped to work on the lightning technique his uncle created. But alas, he couldn’t give away that he was from the Fire Nation. I mean, really? Why had his uncle agreed to letting you train them? A free meal was courteous enough, no? Now a whole day of training would be wasted on teaching some random girl the basics of hand to hand combat.

“Is he coming back while the tea steeps to get us started?” you sighed.

“No, he usually stays by the tea. He doesn’t want anything to happen to it,” Zuko explained.

“Well, in that case, do you want to get started without him? Just to warm up?” you asked.

“Sure, why not?” Zuko mumbled sarcastically. Was a moment alone with his uncle too much to ask for?

As Zuko got into a standard position for hand to hand combat, you crossed your arms and shot him a confused look.

“Spirits, don’t tell me you don’t even know basic fighting stances,” Zuko groaned.

“Of course I know basic fighting stances!” you countered. “But why are you in a hand to hand combat stance? I thought this was a firebending session.”

Zuko froze. “You know I’m a firebender?” “Uh, yeah! I also know who you are, princey, in case you haven’t picked up on that either. Now are we starting or not?” you cried.

Zuko stayed frozen. “How do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“Your uncle told me, idiot. You were also the heir to the throne of the country I live in for a hot minute. It took me a while, but you’re not unrecognizable,” you replied. 

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

After another few minutes of awkward silence, you spoke again.

“So hottie, are we sparring or not?” you asked, now impatient.

Zuko started to nod before he realized the nickname you had just given him.

“What did you just call me?” He tried his best to sound intimidating, but it was challenging considering his voice had gone up an octave.

You smirked. “Hottie. Y’know, short for hothead?”

“Oh,” Zuko sighed. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.

“You’re also, like, totally hot,” you said nonchalantly. You knew you shouldn’t have been flirting. That’s what you had been telling yourself all day. But he was just too easy! His cheeks flared up immediately after you called him hot. And you never got to flirt! You were always too busy training, or on a mission. Besides, it’s not like this will go anywhere. You’ll have your fun for an hour or two, and by the end of the day you will have figured something out and leave. 

While you were trying to justify your flirting, Zuko was busy having an existential crisis. He was, for lack of a better word, bamboozled. Just… what? How could anyone, much less a pretty girl like you, find him attractive when he had a giant fucking scar covering a third of his face? He had barely even spoken to you, and his words had been cold at best. Why did you still find him attractive? Though he supposed he was thinking the same about you. Sure, he found you annoying and maybe even a little arrogant, but he recognized your attractiveness. 

“O-okay. We can get started now,” Zuko stammered, his blush quickly spreading.

“Alright,” you giggled. “But be warned, I’m a little rusty.”

You and Zuko got into position swiftly. After stretching, Zuko got into an intermediate bending stance. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

As the first plumes of fire left your hands, you felt feelings you only ever felt while firebending. Grace. Comfort. Complete and total warmth. Firebending had always been a form of escapism for you, and it had killed you to temporarily stop. But now, as you focused on the flames erupting from your hands, you felt a sense of peace.

Zuko was surprised by your skill. He outmatched you, but not by nearly as much as he thought he would. It was clear you were naturally gifted at firebending; your elegant movements said that much. Zuko had the best private teachers money could buy at his disposal growing up, so he being better than you was a given. He assumed you went to one of the many Fire Nation public schools growing up, but after seeing your bending, he realized you must have gone to a pretty good private school.

After the quick warmup, Iroh came out with the tea.

“Sorry I took so long. Ginseng is always fussy,” the retired general sighed.

“Nephew, since I already told you all this yesterday, how about you take your tea and meditate for a few minutes while I catch Y/N up to speed?” Iroh asked.

“That works,” Zuko said. Oddly, after the brief spar with you, Zuko found all his annoyance at you disappearing.

 ****************************

It had been a grueling day of training. You were a fast learner, but it appeared that you were not going to master this technique any time soon Zuko tried to help you, but so far it had been to no avail. Iroh left to rest about half an hour ago, after raising his eyebrows suggestively at Zuko, who rolled his eyes at the gesture.

“You’re not getting you chi low enough,” Zuko groaned. This was the fourth time he was explaining this to you. “You need to let it travel through your stomach.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” you cried, growing frustrated.

“Just- I’ll help you,” Zuko mumbled, trudging over to where you were standing. He positioned himself behind you, putting his hands on your arms.

“It’s like this,” he explained. He guided your right arm a bit higher, and put your left arm at a much lower angle. His arms dropped from your arms to your waist.

“You have to guide the chi lower,” he repeated.

You did the motion again, making sure your arms were in the position Zuko had put them in. The places he had touched were still tingling from his warm, rough hands.

“Good job,” Zuko muttered. His hands were still placed firmly on your waist.

“Well, you’re a pretty good teacher,” you giggled. Y/N, you thought. You were trying to have as much fun with this boy as you possibly could.

“Is that so?” Zuko murmured, suddenly feeling confident. He didn’t get to have much fun either. And his uncle was always teasing him about not being good with girls. Maybe with you, he could kill two birds with one stone. Have some fun and get some practice around girls. He’d need it someday, to court his future Fire Lady. “Maybe I could teach you other things. Like firebending.”

“I know how to firebend, Zuko,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“You don’t know anything too advanced, though,” Zuko retorted.

“True, true. I guess I could take you up on that offer. But with all the things you’re teaching me, I’m going to have to teach you a few things in return.” “Like what?”

 You smirked, tilting your head back until it was under Zuko's chin. “Oh, you’ll see. But for now, teach me some firebending.”  

Zuko's heart inexplicably started racing at your mysteriousness. Was he simply nervous that he didn’t know what you were going to be teaching him? Or was it the way your voice went a little lower? The new close proximity of your faces? The knowing smirk on your face?

Still nervous, Zuko took his hands from your waist. “Okay, in that case, I’ll teach you something I invented. I call it fire daggers.”

 ****************************

“You’re doing pretty well. You just need to push a little more chi to your wrists,” Zuko explained. He had been teaching you how to create fire daggers for about 45 minutes, and you had almost mastered it.

“Okay,” you replied. You took a deep breath, and tried your hardest to focus all your chi to your hands. You felt the warmth become more concentrated around your palms, and finally, you let out two, very concentrated fire daggers.

“Finally!” you exclaimed. “Wow, you invented this?”

“Yeah, but it took a while to perfect,” Zuko admitted. “So, what are you planning to teach me?”

“Oh, can we do it after we eat? I’m starving,” you said, careful not to tell him what you had in mind.

“I’m actually not very hungry. But you go eat with my uncle. I’ll train until you can come back.” “Sounds good.” You headed to the shabby building, leaving Zuko to train. As you were walking, you began thinking of what you would teach Zuko. You hadn’t planned that far ahead. Spirits, what about this boy made you so impulsive? Oh well, you’d think of something.

“Hello, Miss Y/N!” Iroh greeted.

“Hey, Iroh,” you responded. “What’s cooking? It smells good.” 

“Some jook,” Iroh replied. “Where is my nephew?” “He’s still outside. He’s not hungry so he’s training some more.”

“Classic Zuko,” Iroh sighed.

He served you a bowl of jook, which you happily began to eat. As you were eating, your mind wandered to other places. Team Avatar, to be exact. You thought about how they treated you. Sure, they put cuffs on you, but that was expected. They weren’t complete fools. You thought more about the way they had tried to make you comfortable. They offered you water, like, every fifteen minutes. And food, which you had refused. That wasn’t a good idea in hindsight. Sokka had even tried to make you more comfortable by making small talk, and Aang had been polite when you initiated conversation. If it had been the Fire Nation who captured them, there would be no such hospitality. Why had the enemy been so kind to you? Maybe- no. How could you think such a traitorous thought? Still, now that it was on your mind, you had to let it out.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you asked, fidgeting with your spoon.

“Of course. What is on your mind?” Iroh questioned.

“Do you think this war is… right?” you sighed, not meeting Iroh’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” “Just… I was captured a few days ago, by the Avatar and his group. And some of the things they did and said got me thinking. Is it possible that the Fire Nation is in the wrong? We refuse to see good in anything but ourselves. I was taught from a young age to never show mercy; that mercy is weakness. But the Avatar and his friends were nothing but hospitable to me. I mean, what is the reason for this war? Conquest? Why are we trying to conquer the world? My school books say the Air Nomads were planning to invade us, but the more I think about that, the more absurd it sounds. They were pacifists, for spirits sake!” You hadn’t planned on saying all that, but once you started talking, you couldn’t stop. You felt confused, and now angry. Had the Fire Nation really been lying to you this whole time? Was everything you knew a lie? You felt like you were suffocating, shocked by the things that had come out of your own mouth. If you weren’t a faithful servant to the Fire Nation, who were you?

Iroh stared at his bowl of jook for a few seconds, contemplating what you had just said. Then, he spoke.

“Morals are something you must develop for yourself. Take a look at the facts and your own life experiences, and form a code of ethics to follow. I know how difficult it can be to question what you were taught, but we must always be bettering ourselves. Don’t take the easy way out, and always remember to trust your gut.”

You understood what Iroh meant. It’s easy to just follow someone blindly, especially if they’re manipulating you. Developing your own moral code, while harder, would be more fulfilling and worthwhile in the end. 

“Thanks, Iroh. I have a lot to think about,” you breathed at a barely audible voice.

“Of course, take your time.”

You slinked off to your corner, figuring you had about twenty minutes until you had to go to Zuko. You hadn’t eaten much jook. You thought about your brother, who had always been the perfect Fire Nation citizen. He never questioned the Fire Nations wishes, not for one minute. You had always looked up to him, and longed for his praise so badly, so you didn’t question the Fire Nation either. And look where that got the both of you. You were here, stranded in an abandoned Earth Kingdom village, and he was, well, dead. Killed in battle at the ripe age of 17, just as you were about to graduate from the Fire Nation Royal Academy for Girls. 

It was in that moment that you finally understood what Katara had meant. Why would the remaining two nations comply with the Fire Nation when the Fire Nation was trying to overthrow them? Complying wouldn’t result in peace. It would result in chaos.

Well, fuck. Now what were you going to do? You couldn’t go back to Azula, and your gut was telling you not to stay with Iroh and Zuko. You had to get going by tomorrow morning. 

“Iroh, I have a favor to ask,” you said.

“Anything, my dear,” he answered.

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. “Do you have, like, an extra canteen of water I could take? Or a little bit of extra food? I really need to get going tomorrow morning, and-”

Iroh cut you off. “Of course, Y/N. I’ll get a few things packed up for you, but in the meantime, I think my nephew is waiting for you.” “Thanks, Iroh,” you said, smiling. Iroh nodded in your direction as you jogged out the door.

Feeling much more optimistic and more sure of yourself than you had ever been, you sauntered over to Zuko, who was doing a few cooldown stretches.

“Oh, hi Y/N. I was just finishing up. Are you ready to repay me yet?” he chuckled. 

“Not quite yet. Follow me,” you said in a teasing tone. Zuko got up and followed you despite the confused look on his face. Oh, how naive, you thought.

You led Zuko to a crumbling wall you had spotted earlier during training. When you stopped, Zuko began speaking.

“What are we doing over here? What are you even teaching me?”

You could tell he was getting impatient with you. Oh well, just give the boy what he wants.

“Never knew you were the eager type,” you giggled.

Zuko’s witty comeback died in his throat as you yanked him by the arm towards you and effectively pinned him against the wall.

“Wh- what are you-”

“Quiet, hottie,” you murmured. “Class is in session. Would you consider yourself a hands on learner?” “I guess so,” he whispered. The almighty Fire Prince was melting into a puddle right before your eyes, at your hand nonetheless. He really was too cute for his own good at this moment. His eyes wide instead of the default glare they were set in, his entire face red. 

“Good,” you responded. You took his hands, which were hanging limply at his sides, and stationed them on your waist. You then placed your hands firmly onto his shoulders. Zuko shuddered under your touch.

“Ready for the demonstration?” you asked, serious tone not at all fitting for what you were about to do to this boy.

“U-um, well, I… ah-” Zuko sputtered. Was it only this morning he was glaring at you for joining his meal?

You rolled your eyes. “Lesson one: Talk. Less.” you stated.

You leaned in until your lips were just barely brushing Zuko’s. You could hear his breath hitch in his throat. But you weren’t done having fun with him yet.

At the last minute, you turned away from his lips, instead opting to place a feather light kiss on Zuko’s cheek teasingly. 

You pulled away from Zuko slightly with a sly smile, just enough so you could see his face. His expression was shocked, confused, and longing.

Perfect.

“You don’t have to be so stiff, you know,” you giggled. “Move a little. It-”

Zuko cut you off with his lips, grasping at your waist like his life depended on it. You gasped into his mouth before hurriedly kissing back. Sure, you’d kissed a guy or two in your life, but none of them felt like Zuko. He tasted like jasmine and woodsmoke. His lips moved against yours with passion and vigor as he let out little sighs into your mouth. Your hands left Zuko’s shoulders, going to his chest instead as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. 

You pulled away from the kiss, smiling as he chased after your lips.

“Why… did you do that?” he whispered.

“I had to teach you something, didn’t I? Did you learn anything?” you asked.

“Talk less,” Zuko said, his eyes hazy.

You chuckled. “Yeah. Remember that one.”

You walked off, leaving Zuko to contemplate what  just happened.

 ****************************

You left that same night. Iroh had gone to the nearby forest to forage for some plants, and Zuko was still standing at the wall, dumbfounded. That left the building you had stayed in empty. There was a small bag sitting in the corner you had slept in, packed by Iroh. You found a compass in Iroh’s bag, found which way west was, and started off in the direction, taking the compass with you. It didn’t matter; Zuko had one in his bag. You checked.

You weren’t quite sure where you were going. Going back to Azula was obviously not an option, but the Fire Nation wasn’t a good choice either. There would be too many things to explain to your family, and you could be sent to jail for abandoning Azula. Or worse. It would be better for the time being if you were presumed dead, not that anyone besides your parents and perhaps a few of your friends would care.

That left a few options. You could become a nomad of sorts, jumping around from town to town, never staying long. You weren’t built for that sort of life, though. The few weeks traveling with Azula had been enough to last you a lifetime. Omashu, now New Ozai, had become occupied by the Fire Nation. The Northern Water Tribe was secluded and virtually untouched by the war, as the recent invasion attempt had failed. Unfortunately for you, it was nearly impossible to get to, even by high-tech warship.  That left settling down at one of the abandoned Air Temples or Ba Sing Se. The latter seemed less lonely and more attainable, so off to Ba Sing Se it was.

 ****************************

“Fine, but you’re closing tomorrow!”

“Okay okay. Thanks, Xia!”

You washed the flour caked on your hands from hours of work, left the keys in the small tray by the back door, and began your walk back to the small apartment you lived in, apron in hand.

You had been living in Ba Sing Se for two months now. After forging some papers and departing the ferry that took you to the city, you landed a job at a small, but lively bakery that locals of the outer ring loved. Your weekly salary was enough to pay for rent, food, and a few recreational activities too. Overall, you lived a comfortable life, and you would have been happy to spend the rest of your days in the life you’d built for yourself, even if you had to pretend there was no war. 

You had been hearing about a tea shop from some of your neighbors. It wasn’t new, but there was a new employee that really knew his way around the drink. You hadn’t had a cup of tea since the ginseng shared with Zuko and Iroh, and you certainly had the money for it. Deciding to treat yourself, you walked into the store and ordered a cup of jasmine tea. After paying, you sat down at a table by the window and waited for your tea to be served. Drumming your fingers on the table, you thought about how much your life had changed in just a few short months. You had gone from a loyal servant to the Fire Nation, ready to sacrifice anything and everything for a facist tyrant, to a normal young adult working in a bakery. You couldn’t help but feel grateful you had fallen into this timeline. What if Sokka’s aim had just been a bit off and you hadn’t been knocked out? You’d probably still be out there with Azula, hunting down the world's last hope for balance. Crazy how one little action can have such a huge impact. 

As you thought about Azula, your mind wandered to her older brother. You smiled at the thought of Zuko. Your time together had been brief, but you looked back on it fondly. Sure, he could be very aggressive and intimidating, but he could also be quite shy and bashful, if you got him in the right situation. 

Looking back on the kiss the two of you had shared, you blushed. You felt giddy and slightly embarrassed at the same time. You had been so impulsive in that moment, but you couldn’t help it. He was just so cute, stuttering under your soft gaze!

“Order up,” a raspy voice stated behind you.

Ah, your tea. You turned around to accept the steaming cup, tip in hand, but something stopped you from  reaching out to take the drink from the rusted tray.

That something was the wide-eyed stare of a certain Fire Nation royal family member. 

“Oh,” you choked. “Hi again.”

a/n okay i know i said literally yesterday that this would be out in december but you never know when motivation will hit ig. this isn’t the full thing but i think that’s understandable since this bitch is loooong. the second part will probably be shorter. the other zuko h/cs will still be out before thanksgiving! requests are still open as well, but i want to finish this so it may take a little for me to get to them. thank you to @ladyamaya (sorry it’s not letting me tag you :() for requesting this. sorry it took so long. also, sorry if this sucks :)

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part seven

Okay I feel like this is where the story gets a little CRAZY because I’m deadass ignoring canon from here on out. Who is canon? We don’t know her 

Anywho, I’m thinking this might have two or three parts left? I’m shit at estimating but this story is almost done :(

Warnings: I mean. Just the general stuff that’s been happening. More angst, because apparently they haven’t suffered enough

The Soldier sneaks the four of you out to some abandoned building. It’s strange, the way the Soldier acts. He’s cold and dry, a contrast from Bucky’s rollercoaster of emotions. The Soldier is quite literally a machine, and that’s exactly what you feel.

He never moves unless he senses you’re right there with him, and his steps even faltered once when your hand slipped as you were adjusting your grip. The Soldier doesn’t talk much at all, and it lacks any and all emotion, again, unlike Bucky.

You feel disgustingly traitorous gripping his arm and bicep like this, holding him so close, but you remind yourself that you don’t have another option right now.

Steve keeps sending glances your way, more frequently now that Sam is walking on his own and fully awake again. Sam is the lookout as usual, but Steve sends a sympathetic -- or is it pity? -- look your way every time you look to make sure they’re still following.

The building the Soldier takes you to looks like an old warehouse of sorts, with heavy machinery all rusted and scattered around. It’ll do the trick.

You slip your hand from his, letting go of his arm. The Soldier looks up at you, expectant, curious, waiting for his next orders. You try to keep your tears at bay when you look into his blue eyes. They’re Bucky’s, but they’re...not. He can’t stay this way.

Steve stands to your left, waiting to see what you’re going to do. It’s another long shot, but considering the other one worked, you might as well try this.

“Soldier,” you breathe shakily, feeling worse about this situation in general than anything else. “I’m ordering you to give Bucky control. Can you give him back to me?”

The Soldier nods, but doesn’t seem happy about it. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you clench your jaw, using all of your strength. “Do whatever you need to do.”

The Soldier nods once more. He sits down on the ground, legs outstretched. He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes. You’re not sure if he’s passed out, but it looks like it, his shoulders slumping and head dropping to one side.

You feel the Soldier leaving him and you close your eyes, letting out a breath that nearly breaks into a sob. “He’s gone. He’ll be Bucky when he wakes up.” You look over at Steve, tears shining in your eyes. “I’m gonna take a walk. Come get me when you need me.”

“Y/N…” Steve says, but you’re already walking away.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk, hating that you miss the weight of Bucky’s arm around your waist. Hating that the Soldier is gone now, and hating yourself for hating that. The Winter Soldier can’t stay, you know that. The Winter Soldier isn’t Bucky, you know that. So why does this hurt so bad?

At least he would look at you. Hold your waist, hold your hand. The Bucky that’s in there now will insist he doesn’t know you, insist he doesn’t have a soulmate.

You cover your mouth to muffle your sob, not wanting the noise to echo.

You sit against the farthest wall, hidden behind some crane or something. You pull your knees up to your chest again, resting your chin on your knee as the tears start falling.

Steve told you what he figured out. Someone framed Bucky somehow because he wanted Bucky to be caught. He has no idea why anyone would want that, or how they got Bucky’s face to frame him, but he knows Bucky didn’t bomb Vienna.

You didn’t have the energy to tell him that you told him so at the time. You were too focused on savoring the feeling of your hand in Bucky’s, knowing it would be the last time.

You don’t know what the plan is next, but you know whatever it is, you’ll do it. You’ll get Bucky to safety and then you’ll...leave him alone.

It’s what he wants, after all. Even if he is lying about not knowing you, he’s still saying it. You doubt his turning into the Soldier will change anything, even if he protected you while he was the Soldier.

You have no clue why the Soldier said those were his orders -- protecting you. Or why he listened to you. If his orders are to protect you, why didn’t he stay with you that day in D.C.? Why did he run off then?

All of that aside, you need proof that the psychiatrist was posing as someone else. If you can get proof of that, and proof of how he got Bucky’s face, then Bucky is free of the bombing. Getting him free of everything else he did as the Soldier, though, that will be harder.

If he even wants it. He said earlier it was smart, a good strategy for them to come in and kill him. The last thing you want is to do something else to make him more pissed off with you.

But you have to do something.

Tears having subsided for now, you tug the neckline of your shirt down to fish for your object of desire that’s hidden in your bra. You smile when your fingertips connect with the metal, pulling it out.

You slap the device over your wrist. “Buckeye,” you whisper, and the AI comes to life. “I need you to do some digging.”

+++

Steve keeps watch through a small crack in the building. Helicopters circle overhead, no doubt searching for any sign of them.

“Hey Cap!” Sam yells.

Steve trots over with Sam to where Bucky sits, now trying to stand.

“Steve,” Bucky groans.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks cautiously.

Bucky thinks. “Your mom’s name was Sarah.” He pauses, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” he chuckles, the old forgotten memory appearing so vivid now when he looks down at Steve’s feet.

Steve sighs in relief. “Can’t read that in a museum.”

Sam stares at the pair incredulously. “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?”

“What did I do?” Bucky asks. 

“Enough,” Steve replies, refusing to elaborate.

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen,” Bucky mutters. “Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know.’”

“Where is she?” Bucky asks. “Where’s Y/N? I’ll tell you, I just-- Where is she?”

You’re already making your way over, having felt it when he woke. The rush of panic, not knowing where he was but knowing he had turned, and then the relief upon seeing Steve -- and probably also from being out of any restraints with no guns pointed at his face.

“Here,” you call out, making all three heads turn to you. You keep your distance, standing a little further back than Steve and Sam, your arms crossed over your chest. “What’s the plan?”

Bucky speaks before Steve can. “Did I hurt you?”

“Depends,” you say quietly.

He lowers his eyes to the floor. “Physically.”

“No,” you answer, too tired to start a fight. “Quite the opposite, actually. You wouldn’t let me walk two steps without you next to me.” You pause, shrugging. “Don’t sweat it. I know it wasn’t you, so. You can go back to insisting you don’t know me.”

“Y/N…”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I know it’s a lot to deal with right now.” 

Sam nods, urging Bucky to continue. “She’s here. Keep going.”

Reluctantly, Bucky does. “The doctor… He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve questions.

You can feel it inside of Bucky. The dread. You have a suspicion of his answer before he even says it.

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

“There’s more of you?” You blurt, half panicked and half disbelieving. 

Bucky nods silently.

“Who were they?” Steve asks.

“Their most elite death squad,” Bucky continues. “More kills in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

Sam nods at Bucky. “They all turn out like you?”

“Worse.”

“This doctor,” Steve says. “Can he control them?”

“Not right now he can’t,” you mutter.

“What?” Steve asks, turning his head to you. Sam shifts against the wall, uncrossing his arms.

“Well, since we’re getting secrets out of the way today,” you raise your wrist and tap the device. Above it appears a hologram, showing hospital footage. You ignore the looks of shock coming from every man around you. “That’s our guy. Colonel Helmut Zemo. He’s Sokovian. And currently in a coma.” You glance at Bucky, but he looks away. Sighing, you lower your arm, the hologram disappearing. “I’m gonna contact Tony. Say I lost you guys somewhere but that I know the truth about the doctor.”

Steve frowns. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do,” you nod. “At the very least it’ll give you guys time to get the hell out of here if they aren’t willing to help. But I am gonna try to get this cleared up. I’ll call you.”

“Woah,” Sam stops you, holding out his arm. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”

“Stole it from Tony,” you chuckle. “It was broken, but I fixed it. I needed something to help me out since I was gonna be alone.” You pause, looking to your soulmate. “His name is Buckeye.”

Without another word or glance back to see if Bucky is looking, you turn on your heel and begin jogging to the exit point of the building.

Sam shakes his head. “That woman pulls something new out of her sleeve every damn day.”

Steve watches Bucky’s expression turn from sorrow to pain to longing in a matter of seconds.

“Why’d you say all that stuff earlier?” Steve asks. “That you didn’t know her, didn’t have a soulmate. I saw your journal. You still dream about her.”

Bucky looks down again. “She’s better off without me.”

“Did you ask her that?”

The question causes Bucky to meet Steve’s eyes again. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Because she thinks you don’t want her,” Steve replies, remembering how hard you cried in the office. “Any other girl would’ve went running in the other direction after D.C., but she didn’t. Buck, she’s been holding out hope for the past two years that she’d see you again. And then when she did, you said you didn’t know her. How do you think that makes her feel?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky says, still fighting it, despite the fact that he knows exactly how it makes you feel. He feels it, too. “I wasn’t even in Vienna, and look at all this. It’ll only get worse. I can’t put her through that.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “This girl jumped off buildings for you today. You aren’t putting her through anything. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“A lot tougher,” Sam chimes, reminding the pair of best friends that he’s still there. “After today, man I would not want to get in a fight with that woman.”

Bucky laughs a little, but it dies out. “She’s mad at me.”

“She’ll forgive you,” Steve says, like he’s sure of it. “She already has, I think. She wouldn’t be helping us right now if she hadn’t.”

“He’s got a point,” Sam nods.

“She looks exactly like your drawings,” Bucky murmurs, looking up at Steve. “Got the hair wrong, though.”

“Really wrong,” Steve chuckles. “I met her at a museum. She was standing in front of the part they have for you.”

“She knew it was me?”

Steve nods. “Said she found out when her friend took her there. Seeing your face made it all click.” He pauses to shrug. “I don’t know how she did it. I mean, we thought you were dead three years ago.”

“I thought she would’ve moved on.”

“She won’t,” Steve says quietly. 

Bucky hears the underlying meaning. You won’t move on -- with him in your life or not. There will be no moving on. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to let him go.

+++

The first thing that Tony Stark says when he answers his phone is not, “Hello,” or “Are you okay?” It’s--

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” you mutter, kicking a rock underneath your feet. You tucked your AI device back into your bra a moment ago. “I ditched the guys a while ago, been trying to get a hold of you since.”

“Where did you ditch them?”

“Hell if I know,” you reply. “I was too pissed off to look. But hey, where’s the psychiatrist?” You try your best to play dumb, not in the mood to tell Tony about your (his) AI device. Not yet, at least.

“At the hospital. He was beaten up pretty badly. Unconscious. Possible coma.”

“Gotcha. Have Friday look into him.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not who he says he is.”

“Uh, can I get more information?”

“Can you give me a ride?” You ask impatiently. “And can you get Everett to listen to me about this? Secretary Ross, too?”

“Done and...maybe.”

“Whatever. Just get here.”

“I’ll have Friday start looking into it. And we’re almost there.”

“Thanks,” you exhale. “Where are you?”

No sooner than the question leaves your mouth, a black car pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down to reveal Tony in the passenger seat and Natasha driving. She looks...pissed.

You hang up the call and climb in the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for calling,” Tony replies, sounding like he means it for once. “So, Helmut Zemo?”

“Who?” You keep up the act. 

“Friday did facial recognition on the guy. His name is Helmut Zemo. He’s not a psychiatrist. Or German. He’s Sokovian.”

After having time to give it extra thought, you recall something. “Isn’t that the country you guys wrecked?”

Tony glares at you in the rearview mirror. That was clearly a sore spot. “Yes.”

“Only asking because now we know his motive, dumbass,” you roll your eyes. “Have them check his hotel room.”

“Why?”

“You wanna know more about a guy, you look at where he sleeps. Since he’s obviously not a German psychiatrist, we need to look at his hotel room. Gotta sleep somewhere when you’re out of town.”

“Getting the address now,” Tony sighs. “Friday, send this over to Secretary Ross and Deputy Task Force Commander Ross. Tell them we’re going to the hotel and to have police meet us there.”

Natasha flicks the sirens and lights on the car -- your first real sign that you’re in an undercover government vehicle -- as she floors it to the address Tony uploaded.

+++

As expected, the hotel room reveals exactly what you need it to.

Dr. Theo Broussard is found dead in the bathtub, a sight that makes you hurl into the toilet. You quickly flush and leave the bathroom, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Of all the things you’ve seen and done today, of course, it had to be a dead body that makes you puke.

Tony eyes you worriedly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you exhale, actually feeling better. “What else is here?”

A police officer speaks up, his gloved hands holding what looks like skin. “Facial prosthetics.” He places them down and together, and your gaze hardens.

“Who does that look like to you, huh?” You tap Tony’s arm.

The realization dawns on Tony’s face and he closes his eyes, muttering, “Shit.” Because he sees it perfectly. That’s Bucky’s face.

That’s so twisted, you think. What the hell kind of person does this?

Secretary Ross enters the room with the look of a man who hates being wrong. You’ll feel great pleasure rubbing it in that you’re right.

After he takes everything in, the dead psychiatrist, the prosthetics, Zemo’s identification, and on and on, he comes to you and Tony.

“We have some things we need to discuss.” He says it with his eyes on Tony, but you are having none of it.

You smile sweetly, humming. “I think we do, Secretary.”