#so if she chose to give up her old life because of some imminent danger it wouldn't have been because SHE was the one in danger

[mymarifae]

so does anyone else want to talk about the big ass clue about march 7th's past dropped in the clockie movie saga side quest of all places or

because like i'm sorry girl What Did You Just Fucking Say

[luminnara]

I wonder what Dick would be like trying to flirt on the lead up if the mission, trying to be smooth and cool before screaming next to Weasel. The back track of trying to be cool again after than freak out would be glorious and I would probably fall for it, lol

Dick Hertz x fem!reader

This ended up way longer than intended and I am not mad about that lol

Sfw but raunchy!

Requests for oneshots and HCs are open!

You were no stranger to the concept of the suicide squad.

Thanks to your own colorful past, and powers that you couldn’t always quite control at first, you were stuck serving out a long ass sentence at Belle Reve, the shittiest shit hole of them all. Your only escape from the mundane, high-security monotony was the occasional mission from Waller.

The Suicide Squad—more officially known as Task Force X—was the latest installment in Amanda Waller’s series of highly classified, top secret, black ops teams. She chose Belle Reve’s most infamous criminals, many of whom had extraordinary powers and even more extraordinary reputations, and tossed them together on incredibly dangerous missions. You knew she didn’t care whether you lived or died, but successfully completing such impossible tasks always cut time off your sentence, and with nothing else to do with your time, you always thought it was worth the risk.

And besides...you hadn’t died yet.

So when Waller approached you during your daily yard time, you already knew what to expect.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumbled as you followed her into the exam room and plopped down in the same old chair. “I know the drill. I go off mission, you blow my brains out.”

“—with the explosive device implanted in the base of your skull. Correct.” Waller said, unimpressed.

“And what, you have to give me a fresh one?” You raised an eyebrow as the doctor made you lean forward. “Lose the button for the last one or something? Or are you afraid that just one won’t do the job?”

Waller looked even less impressed. “I suggest you put a lid on that attitude today.”

“Why?” You winced at the feeling of a thick needle pushing into the back of your neck. “Jesus, fuck! Seriously, how many little bombs do I need in my head?”

“Good luck, puppy.” The doctor sneered as you stood up to follow Waller back out into the corridor.

“This is a black ops mission.” She continued with her usual spiel. “Your commanding officer is Colonel Rick Flag.”

You gasped. “The Colonel Rick Flag?”

She turned to glance at you.

“I have no idea who that is.”

You could hear her sigh in exasperation. “Suit up and go outside to the transport. You’ll meet the rest of the team and fly out to Corto Maltese.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Yeah, the Suicide Squad was a nice distraction from your shitty everyday life...but putting your ass on the line for someone who didn’t give a shit whether you lived or died, and who was always hovering above the button that would splatter your brains all over the wall, wasn’t exactly the greatest feeling in the world.

Waller waited as you ducked into a room to change. There was a black box waiting for you, and upon opening it, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of your old gear. The dark gray leather suit fit like a glove, and your gun had been cleaned and polished after your last mission, the painfully bright fluorescent lights reflecting off of the barrel with a gleam. You grabbed your gloves and strapped your ammo belts on before buckling a gray carbon fiber mask on.

Wearing your own stuff always lifted your spirits. It was the suit you’d been arrested in a few years ago back in Metropolis, and after seizing it, the feds had been nice enough to give it some upgrades with newer tech. Anything to make you a better government-sanctioned killing machine, you guessed, and it’s not like you were gonna turn it down. After all, killing was how you ended up in Belle Reve in the first place, and it was one of the only things you were good at...it just made sense for Waller to want to put your near-inhuman skills to good use.

You walked out to join her again, lugging a canvas bag of equipment and supplies along behind you.

“Pick that up and carry it correctly.” She snapped as the doors at the end of the hall opened.

“Why don’t you eat my—“

You interrupted yourself by groaning at the bright sunlight as it hit your eyes, raising a hand to shield your face as you managed to spot an armored truck waiting for you.

“You’ll have a lot of new teammates.” Waller called after you. “Be on your best behavior. I’m not responsible for anything they do to you.”

“Probably just a bunch of old farts like always!” You yelled back as you jumped up into the back of the vehicle.

Two guards sat down on either side of you as you got yourself settled in. There was another woman already waiting, her skin orange, her hair in a high ponytail that seemed to be pulled through the top of her helmet. She was regarding you with very little interest, and that was absolutely fine with you. You had a few friends within the Belle Reve prison complex, and you weren’t necessarily looking for more.

The ride was short and uneventful. You passed through a few gates that took forever to open, waited for a few security checks, the usual shit. When the truck came to a halt and you hopped out again, you were at a small airbase hosting a few hangars for planes and helicopters, one of the latter already sitting outside. Guards from Belle Reve were lining the circle of armored vehicles, and as yours joined them and the back doors were opened once more, you grimaced at the bright sunlight.

“Afraid of a little sun?” The orange woman laughed, baring her teeth at you.

“Hurts my eyes,” you mumbled, jumping down after her.

You landed on pavement, looking down at your feet in an attempt to avoid the oncoming headache you knew was imminent. When your shoulder rammed into someone, though, you had to look up anyway.

What you saw wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.

A good looking blond guy was looking down at you, a cocky grin on his face. “Whoa, didn’t realize we were getting a babe this time!”

You glared at him, grateful for the mask covering the lower half of your face.

He couldn’t see you blush that way.

“Little girl’s got some ammo, huh?” He reached for one of the belts strapped across your chest,

Your hand flew up to grab his wrist and you held him in a Vice-like grip, your glare more pointed now. “Touch me, and you can see some of it from behind your eyeballs.”

Blondie whistled lowly, relaxing his arm. “You’re tough, huh? I like that in a girl.”

You dropped his wrist and rolled your eyes. “Still gonna like it when I’m ripping your balls off?”

You could swear he was swooning on his feet. “Baby, you are a goddamn tease...”

“Oy, Dickhead!” An Australian voice rang out, “back off!”

His grin faltered for a moment, obvious disappointment flashing over his face. “Oh. Got a man already. Damn.”

“Who, Boomer?” You grinned, unclipping your mask as you turned to wave at one of your only friends. “Nah, I’d never fuck that wanker.”

“I heard that!” The gold-toothed Aussie yelled.

You let out a loud laugh as you looked back to blondie.

You were caught off guard by the actual, genuine look on his face. He was admiring your smile now that your mask was off, his eyes lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second longer than they should have. He was trying to be smooth, you could tell, and most people wouldn’t have noticed something so slight...but you were an assassin working your way through a couple life sentences, and you weren’t most people.

It all only lasted a moment before the cocky grin was back. “So, after this, you wanna come back to my cell, maybe we could, you know...” he waggled his eyebrows at you, making a hip thrusting motion you almost couldn’t believe a grown criminal was making.

“Maybe focus on not dying first, slim.” You patted his chest before turning towards Boomer, leaving blondie to stare after you—or more precisely, your ass—with a dramatic, longing look.

Your friend was regarding you with an amused expression. “Flirtin’ on the job? Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“Shut up.” You punched his arm a little too hard and he winced. “Who is that guy, anyway?”

“Dick,” Boomer said, rubbing his arm.

“Don’t call me a dick—“

“No, dumbass, that’s his name. Richard Hertz.”

“...very funny, Boomer, but there’s no fucking way his parents named their kid Dick Hertz.”

Boomer shrugged. “Believe me or don’t, I don’t care. Either way, it’s the truth.”

You scoffed and stole a glance over at your new admirer. He was tall and pretty well built, platinum blond hair short, lips pulled back in a grin that showed off straight white teeth. He was dressed in all black, two guns holstered to his chest, and as he messed with a Belle Reve guard by pretending to reach for one, he looked like an overgrown child who should not have been allowed to hold onto firearms.

“Please tell me he’s got a cooler name,” you groaned.

“Why? So you can scream it at night?” Boomer cackled. “He goes by Blackguard. He’s pretty strong from what I hear. Prolly pretty fun in bed, too.”

You wrinkled your nose and rounded on Boomer. “Shut up.”

“You like him.” Your friend grinned. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Just remember to name your kid after good ol’ Uncle Boomer.”

You gave him a rough shove and he stumbled back a few steps, laughing like a madman the entire time.

“Hey!” One of the guards barked at you.

Rather than pushing your luck with your armed babysitters, you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. More cars were pulling up, dropping off the rest of your comrades, and while Boomer was distracted with them, you stole another glance at Dick.

He was still messing with the same guard, and was receiving some harsh warning glares in the process. Was he a complete idiot, or was he so cocky because he could actually handle it? He had to have ended up in Belle Reve for a reason. It wasn’t the type of place you went to for innocent misdemeanors. And if he was chosen for a Suicide Squad mission, that meant that his sentence was long enough to warrant risking his life to lessen it...and it also meant that he was useful.

When he winked at you, you realized with a start that he had totally noticed the way you were checking him out.

Fuck.

“Time to load up!” A voice yelled, saving you from any further embarrassment.

A few minutes later, you were strapping yourself into your seat on the chopper, pretending not to notice as Dick struggled with his seatbelt across from you. The guy sitting next to him had to help, and when you finally couldn’t help yourself, you let out a quiet laugh from behind your mask.

Dick’s head shot up to look at you, that cocky grin plastered to his face again.

“Wish you were over here helpin’ me,” he said bravely. “Rather have your hands down by my—“

“Dick.” Colonel Flag warned as he stood above you all with his gun in his hands.

Boomer let out a loud laugh at the unintentionally dirty euphemism and you snorted.

“What? Just makin’ some conversation,” Blackguard said, leaning towards you with a wolfish glint in his eyes. “You don’t mind, do ya, Princess?”

Your cheeks were heating up behind your mask, and he could see the way your eyes crinkled slightly with your smile.

God, he wished he could see your smile again.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late!” A familiar voice said. “Had to go number two.”

“...Good to know.” Flag sighed as none other than Harley Quinn herself hopped in.

“Harley!” You called, reaching for her with grabby hands as she looked for her seat.

“Hey there, baby!” The pale blonde woman greeted, slamming her equipment bag into Savant’s head. “Hey, Boomer!”

“What’re you doin’ back in prison, Harls?” Boomer asked, hanging onto the nylon mesh cage behind him as he stretched his arms out.

“Got road rage. In a bank.” She finally found a spot between you and Javelin, and as Flag checked everyone over, the chopper took off into the air.

The lighting was dim and red, the thrumming of the helicopter blades blending in with the white noise of the pressurized cabin. Save for that, it was quiet for a while, everybody either sizing each other up, or, in Dick’s case, imagining how you looked under your suit.

“So, uh...how much longer you in for?” He asked you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I don’t exactly think I should be talkin’ about sneakin’ into your cell while Flag is here to rat me out about it,” Dick grinned.

You caught the colonel rolling his eyes.

“Hey, that never stopped anybody,” Harley said brightly.

“Boutta be in a whole big ass jungle,” Boomer elbowed you in the side. “Plentya room in there to be alone.”

You groaned as Dick gave you a sly grin.

“Y’know, this mission’ll be over in no time.” He said, stretching his arms out behind his head. “I’ve got some wicked ass powers. I got this.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, recognizing the way he was trying to peacock and impress you. “Not worried about anything?”

“Baby, I’ll carry this whole team. Just you watch.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Dick.” You bit his name out as more of an insult, but he didn’t seem to care, giving you another wink.

He obviously thought that his flirting and posturing was working...but you were pretty sure he was just annoying. Cute, but annoying. Maybe good for a hook up here or there...but that was about it.

“We’re in a butcher’s freezer, Harls!” Boomer called from the other end of the bench. “Surrounded by dead hogs hangin’ on hooks. Only they don’t know it yet.”

“Leave ‘em alone, Boomer!” She called back with a laugh.

You chuckled at your friends, leaning your head back as you settled in for the flight. Harley was complimenting Javelin’s accent, you still didn’t know what TDK stood for, and Boomer was just starting to mess with him about the fact that all names were made of letters when the freaky weasel-thing next to Dick stole everyone’s attention.

It was one of the strangest creatures you had ever seen. Human height, covered in mangy brown fur, with big bulging eyes and a mouth full of sharp little teeth all made it both fascinating and concerning to look at, and as it made a few disgustingly wet retching sounds, Dick nodded towards it.

“Yo, is this a dog?” He asked.

“...What?” You asked in disbelief. He had to be fucking with you, right? There was no way he meant it.

“Is this thing a dog?” He repeated.

“A...a dog?”

“Yes.”

“What...what kinda dog do you think it is, mate?” Boomer asked.

“I dunno, I’m not familiar with all the breeds.” Dick gave him an incredulous look.

“I’m gonna go with Afghan hound.” TDK said.

“Since when does an afghan hound have bloody thumbs?”

“Oh my god, is it a werewolf?” Harley asked excitedly. “I’ve wanted to meet a werewolf for ever!”

Dick was already up and struggling against his restraints. “Yo, they sat me next to a werewolf?!”

“That’s not right,” TDK agreed as his neighbor slammed into him in his desperate attempt at an escape.

Boomer was laughing loudly, and you couldn’t help but join in. “You’re seriously scared of werewolves?”

Dick glanced up at you as he tried to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Yes, I fuckin’ am! So fuckin’—get me out! I do not fuck with werewolves, there is no fuckin’ way—“

“Maybe you should hop onto your new girlfriend’s lap!” Boomer cackled, jabbing a finger towards you.

“Poor baby,” you cooed, and as you saw the look in Blackguard’s eyes, you were pretty convinced that he was about to try to tear his way out so that he actually could.

“Hey, hey, he’s not a werewolf!” Flag yelled over the commotion. “He’s a weasel, he’s harmless! I mean, he’s not harmless, he’s killed 27 children, but I—I think we got him to—I think he’s agreed to this, so relax.”

“Thought you were super tough?” You asked as Dick calmed down and caught his breath. “Gonna carry the whole team?”

Rather than the snarky flirtation you expected, he actually looked a bit defeated. When you raised an eyebrow, though, he took the prompt, and the most desperate backtracking you had ever seen began.

“Yeah, well...” he scoffed, trying to give you a cool look. “Caught me off guard, that’s all. No big deal.”

“Off guard? Isn’t guard, like, in your name?” You teased, your smile genuine behind your mask. Alright...he was winning you over now. He was an idiot, but...maybe he was a lovable one.

He faltered for a second. “I-I mean, yeah, well...”

Flag was shaking his head. “Get into position to drop!”

Everyone unbuckled themselves and collected their things, lining up to jump into the ocean off the coast of Corto Maltese. When you saw that Dick was back to struggling with it, again, you smiled to yourself and leaned down in front of him.

“For what it’s worth...” you said as you pulled up on the metal tab, your hand dangerously close to his crotch, “I wouldn’t mind shacking up somewhere in the jungle with you.”

He stated at you with wide eyes, disbelief written all over his face. He really was cuter when he wasn’t putting on such a dumb, cocky facade, and he jumped up as quickly as he could to follow you.

You just laughed as you straightened up and walked away, Blackguard right on your heels. As the door opened and the big, dark ocean came into view below you, you felt a hand brushing against your hip and a firm chest press up against your back. You realized you could have stayed right there forever, patiently waiting to see how far he was brave enough to go...but you were both members of the Suicide Squad, and you had a job to do.

“I’ll see you down there, Dick,” you said, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

“See you on the other side, baby,” he grinned.

[frumfrumfroo]

I wrote a thing (Leia and Ben reunion angst)

.

Lamentations

Leia Organa hadn't really planned on getting old.

Not that she’d particularly expected to die young, either. The possibility (even probability) was certainly very real considering her tireless campaign to put herself in the thick of imminent danger, but logical reasoning about the likely outcome was never any match for her ambitions in life. Sheer bravado and the arrogance of youth had always been more than adequate to the task of pushing the reality of death from her mind. Even when fear or doubt got a grip, she had taken for granted that her rude good health and unshakeable self-assurance would continue in perpetuity as long as she managed to survive.

She hadn’t counted on a day dawning when she could no longer take matters into her own hands if need be. When tenacity might not be enough.

Now, hobbling down a corridor with the cane she hated but couldn’t yet do without no matter what her pride said, finding it slightly hard to catch her breath, she felt the years like anchors on every limb. She felt the weight of her choices pressing her shoulders down from their habitual imperious uprightness into an aged stoop. 

She was on her way to meet her own son for the first time as a grown man and the harm she had done him, her failures as a mother, trailed her like a colossal shadow. She sensed the cold presence of the past looming over her, its encroaching guilt nipping at her heels, and it made her feel more ancient than the deepest rivers of the Force. As if her bones were formed from brittle primordial rock, apt to shatter with a touch.

If Han were here he’d cut her down to size for thinking she was the one keeping the whole universe together, for trying to bear every burden, fight every good fight. He’d depreciate himself and distract her from her navel gazing, bounce her back into reality and remind her not everything depended on her. But small things did. Smaller things than she ever remembered to notice. He’d kiss her on the forehead and forgive her for her self-importance. Han had kept her human when single-minded, hotheaded determination threatened to turn her into some kind of overbearing political droid.

But he wasn’t here and never would be again.

When the girl, Rey, repeated her story of what had happened on Starkiller Base, this time after her sojourn on Ahch-to, and in much more detail than before… It was the first time Leia wondered if she ought to blame herself a lot more personally than she ever had, if it were her fears and hurts, her emotional retaining wall which created an opportunity for Snoke. Perhaps it wasn’t so inevitable, the enemy wasn’t so crafty, and she had simply abdicated her post as guardian. Every far-flung, bleeding heart responsibility she’d voluntarily taken on in her life- some she’d deliberately snatched out of other, more cautious hands- and she’d shunned the one which had the strongest, most natural claim on her. It was the one job she was worried she couldn’t do.

He’d been so small when she’d pulled his childish, clutching fingers away from the folds of her dress and pressed him firmly towards his uncle. He’d been only just as tall as her chest, gangly and skinny in the aftermath of his first growth spurt. His eyes had looked huge in his slim face, enormous and soulful pools of hazel gold and brown. Pleading. She remembered putting her hands on his shoulders and smoothing back his hair as she looked at him and tried not to notice the sheen of unshed tears, the trembling of his lower lip. She’d decided this was best for him and so she had turned a deaf ear to any potential entreaties, unwilling to be swayed from wisdom by sentiment. It had to be done. For his own good, she had to pretend this didn’t hurt. She couldn’t waver.

All her life she hadn’t had time for her sorrows, all her life she could ill-afford the luxury of indulging her feelings. When was it time? When had she fought for long enough?

When she won. That was always the answer. She’d rest, she’d have a life, when she had made a universe worth living in. When she’d made things right. What could be more important?

“There’s always some new crusade, though, isn’t there, sweetheart?”

Han’s voice, sharp on the endearment which he’d always used equally often in chastisement as in affection, laden with barely concealed hurt. She heard his pain, but she chose not to listen to it.

She’d thought there’d be time to make it up to him. She thought they would wait for her, her family, that her life would wait for her.

Her step faltered when she found herself standing outside the room in the med suite where Ben was recuperating. He was mobile now, his wounds were closed and his ribs were healing. He’d needed a lot of rest, more for mental and spiritual exhaustion than physical damage. He’d become a conduit in the Force the like of which was only heard of in legend and there had been some question if he would survive. She’d kept abreast of his condition since she’d been told of his arrival three days ago; he’d been in her every thought and breath and prayer, but she couldn’t visit. There was too much to do, too many people to oversee and decisions to make. She had plenty of excuses to keep avoiding the reckoning. 

Reportedly Rey hadn’t left his bedside once, never further from him than the fresher in the corner of the room. Poe said she was like a wild animal with a cub, hovering protectively over his prone body and questioning anyone who wanted to get near him. She’d maintained a death grip on his hand which only loosened slightly when she fell asleep in her chair at his side. Her own injuries were tended by a droid, under protest and without anaesthetic.

Leia leaned against the corridor wall and tried for what felt like the latest in several trillion attempts to come to terms with what Rey had told her about Luke. About Ben.

And she knew she deserved to blame herself. She knew. If he’d thought he could come home, he would have, and who had made him think he couldn’t? Han had fought for him and she’d have to tell him that no matter how painful it was to admit, she’d have to make sure he understood it wasn’t his father’s idea that Anakin’s blood flowed with latent corruption- not until she’d convinced him it did. Not until her secret festering fears clouded over the dawning love and hope they’d sacrificed so much to have.

The supreme necessity of forgiveness, of giving it and receiving it both, had become the hardest lesson she would ever learn. Her famously indomitable righteous anger had perished with a whimper, suffocated itself in weariness and despair; it was only fear that lived forever. It was fear which chained love, shackled hope, and bound the soul in darkness. And forgiveness drove out fear.

If Ben could forgive her, it seemed a mere pittance to forgive him.

When she rounded the corner the kids were silent but clearly communicating, the power of their connection like a subtle crackle in the Force which raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Rey was sitting on the edge of his cot, their heads very close together and her hands clasping both of his. Leia absorbed Rey’s mood first because it didn’t hurt nearly so much to look at Rey. The smile on her lips and the contentment in her eyes spoke of a peace the girl had never shown before. There was a confidence about her now, a knowingness. Leia had sensed she was searching for something from the moment she’d first seen her, noticed the void she was trying to fill. Leia had an eye for pressure points in people. She’d made use of Rey’s in hope that it would help her reach Luke. There might be an apology owed in that quarter too, but all thoughts of Rey vanished when Ben noticed her presence.

His head turned towards her and his face froze in an expression between horror and anguish, his pleading eyes just as she remembered them. He had a lot of his father in him, so much that it was striking, and a stab of agony lodged itself between her ribs that felt like her heart being pierced. But there was also so much of her in those eyes, in the slope of his jaw and the shape of his chin that she almost felt as if she were looking into a kaleidoscope reflection of her younger self. The certain, unshakable self she still half expected to see in the mirror before she turned on the vanity lights. He was a perfect marriage of her features and Han’s, with his broad cheekbones and regal profile, his full mouth and deep set eyes. 

It was probably because he seemed in that moment somehow both a mirror and the spitting image of her husband that it was the shame which hit her first. She couldn’t help but spin around and cover her mouth to try to swallow a cry.

There was a tiny gasping noise from behind her and then Rey’s voice murmuring something. She couldn’t focus on the words, couldn’t understand what was being said, but she knew the sound of pain was from Ben. He thought she couldn’t bear to look at him.

And she couldn’t, but not for the reasons he must be imagining.

She gathered her dignity and forced herself to look again. He was clutching his blankets where they pooled at his waist, his long black hair falling in soft waves which framed the drawn pallor of his face very starkly. He looked ill and frightened. Vulnerable, a child again.

“Ben,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling boy. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t know how long she’d been weeping into her hands when someone began to gently pry them away from her face, but her cheeks were wet and her eyes stung. She raised her gaze only to be confronted with a wide expanse of chest covered in the soft, oversized hospital smock which was standard issue for checked-in patients. She looked up, and up, and up to meet his eyes and couldn’t remember ever feeling so small in her life. 

Leia was a short woman and used to fighting to get the world on her level, but this was her baby. She’d carried him in her belly, held him in her hands, she’d last seen him when she still had to crouch to speak to him eye to eye. His once little fingers now dwarfed her entire arm where he was holding her wrist and he towered over her to such an extent that the top of her head barely reached the middle of his sternum. Her baby was grown up and she hadn’t seen him in person since he was ten. Since their heights had been the inverse of this tableau. He’d become a man and she’d been there for none of it. She’d chosen not to be.

Ben was leaning down, studying her with trepidatious concern, and she couldn’t help but reach up and touch his face. She put his hair behind his ear and cradled his cheek in her palm, feeling the living warmth of his skin and the tickling sensation of a hot tear which rolled down from the corner of his eye and under her thumb.

“Look how beautiful you are,” she said, almost without meaning to.

He ducked towards her hand, hiding behind his hair.

She wrapped her arms around him and he folded into her, dropping nearly to his knees so he could hug her back, so tightly that it almost hurt. He was very strong, the harsh conditioning of a footsoldier obvious in the broad muscles of his back beneath her hands, and it hurt to think how badly he must have needed to be, how much he’d needed to rely on himself and his ability to fight. How he’d never been safe anywhere from the moment he was born.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. He sobbed hard into her shoulder, as if the words had broken a dam inside him. Deep, wracking sobs that shook his whole body and made her hold him as close as she could and whisper to him the way she had when he was a fussing infant, when the nightmares she never dared to tell her brother about had gripped him in their malingering claws. When the fear of darkness which ended up swallowing their little family encroached too close. “Shhsh, shhsh, it’s all right now.”

His voice cracked when he finally managed to tell her, “It’s me- I'm sorry; it’s me, it’s me, it’s me. How can you stand it, how can you stand it?”

Leia suddenly found herself meeting Rey’s penetrating gaze over his head. If there was judgement there, it was less harsh than it justly could have been.

“I should have protected you. I didn’t protect you.”

“Mother,” he croaked with enormous difficulty, “I killed him.”

Her stomach rolled over and her vision blurred with fresh tears, but she held him with her, gripping the fabric of his shirt with white-knuckle intensity. “He loved you. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

His face collapsed like wet linen and he slid to the floor at her feet, burying his head in her skirts. There was a mantra of apologies and self-recriminations amongst the desperate sobs and she lowered a shaking hand to stroke his hair. 

“Ben, don’t. Please. Please don’t. Your father knew, he understood.”

Red eyes peeked up at her, his chin was trembling and those same fingers were clutching her skirts again and she wished she could go back to that day and tell herself her child needed her more than the galactic senate ever would. He needed honesty, his mother and his family, not a comfortable lie, a Jedi master or a carefully constrained destiny. She wished she’d seen him as clearly then as she did now, that she hadn’t been too afraid to look. She wished Han could be here to celebrate beating the odds one last time.

“If he could, he’d tell you this was the fairest trade he ever made.”

[bvckys-doll]

Freak the Freak out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x mutant!reader (guest appearance by Alpine)

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Never call a mutant a “freak”. You will regret it.

Warnings: 1% angst, mention of cock warming, a bit of language, Bucky being a cute boyfriend (if that’s a warning) so fluffy/pre-smut ending

Author’s note: Finally I can give you another Bucky one shot. Wrote all my exams and i’m waiting for the final results. Now i can focus on my writing again. So happy. Hope you like this! Reblog, comment, like! Love you! <3

You can find my main masterlist here! (because i’m too dumb to put a link in my bio)

Being a mutant has its perks but also its bad sides as well. Not every day is a good day but not every day is a bad day either. Over the years while (Y/N) lived with the Avengers in their huge headquarters, she had managed to get her forces under control to a large extent. Still, it was never a good idea to tease her. She would not describe herself as sensitive, but there were certain situations where she could not always hold herself back. Like that one time when some guy insulted Bucky in front of her, she almost killed him by accident. Luckily, her friends and her boyfriend stood by her side.

James could understand very well even though he didn't have a secret power to control except his strength. Still he knew how hard it was to control his feelings when it came to his family and friends. (Y/N) also spent a lot of time with Bruce since he mastered the art of controlling your own anger issues.

However, unfortunately, there were situations which could not always be avoided and none of the others knew that such a situation was imminent.

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Violet Finegan was a beautiful and talented young woman but also the daughter of one of the biggest billionaires in the United States, Andrew Finegan, and the new protégé of the Avengers. After her father contacted Tony as they were old colleagues, Tony decided to help him after a very long and extensive discussion with Andrew. Apparently he had made a deal with a certain mob boss and that had put him in a very dangerous position and now he and his daughter Violet had a death threat on their hands.

It had already been two weeks since Violet had moved to the top floor and taken it up completely. Not that anyone was complaining, (*cough* (Y/N) *cough*), but the other members of the Avengers were used to sharing a floor with two others. Why would someone need so much space?

She even considered on bringing her entire household with her and it was annoying. (Y/N) tried to like her. She tried very hard but since Violet wanted everything she casted her eye on, she chose him. James Buchanan Barnes. Or like (Y/N) liked to him: her boyfriend.

From the first moment when Bucky shook her hand and Violet smiled at him a little too long, (Y/N) knew. She knew that girl would be big trouble.

Since her first day at the headquarters, Violet always tried to find an excuse to be alone with James. Sometimes she would ask for help even if Bucky couldn't help her in the slightest - like when it came to the modern technology.

But slowly but surely it was too much for (Y/N)'s liking.

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“James is a really good listener, don't you think?“ Violet was leaning against the wide kitchen island while (Y/N) was about to make herself a cup of coffee. The young mutant had just taken a shower, her hair was still a little damp, after the long training session with Steve, Sam and Bucky down in the training area. (Y/N) was sure she would feel the blows for weeks.

For a short moment, (Y/N) let her eyes wander to Violet who apparently was trying to provoke her with her winning smile before (Y/N) replied with a charming smile on her lips “Well, i should know it. After all, he is my boyfriend, isn't he?“

“Are you really sure about that? The way he's been acting, I'd never assume he had you as his girlfriend.“ Violet chuckled and watched (Y/N)'s reaction carefully to plan her next step. She loved to drvie people crazy over and over again. She knew that she had an effect on men when they were around her and Violet loved it. Nothing gave the young lady more pleasure than that. Nevertheless, (Y/N) tried not to be upset and fished her favourite cup from the shelf, which Bucky had given her for Christmas last year. She took a deep breath and stared at the coffee machine to stay calm before reacting again to Violet's statement “Why? How is James acting?“

“Well...“ Violet began, still smiling and thinking before she went on “he's been pretty attentive the last two weeks i've been here. He always listens to me when I need help or comfort. After I had a nightmare the day before yesterday, he even came to my floor and made me a tea afterwards downstairs in the kitchen. He is such a gentlemen. I was even allowed to play with his cat. She's crazy about me.“

Exactly at the same moment the said cat came toddling into the kitchen around the corner. With one leap, Alpine jumped onto the kitchen island and stretched herself while Violet tried to stroke her fur. But before her fingers could even touch her snow-white fur, Alpine hissed at her briefly and reared up. Laughing, (Y/N) watched Violet as she retreated in horror and watched Alpine jump onto the other dresser and then nestle to (Y/N)'s side. Triumphantly (Y/N) stroked the little one through her white fur coat with a smile on her lips and tickled Alpine behind her ears which she loved above all else.

“Yes, I see it. Alpine seems to really love you.“ she laughed softly as Alpine curled up next to the warm coffee machine and dozed a little. (Y/N) could literally feel it seething in Violet when one of her first lies came to light before (Y/N) asked her “And when exactly was Bucky supposed to have been with you the other day? You know he was with me all night. I would have known if he'd left.“

“How do you know that? After all, he was the Winter Soldier for a reason. You never saw him come or go.“ Violet replied briskly as (Y/N) raised one eyebrow and answered with a smile “Let me put it this way, Bucky was busy with other things at the time. So when I say he was busy treating my pussy, I don't mean Alpine. I know it's really none of your business but James loves cock-warming and if I say I would have noticed it, then I mean it.“

Now Violet was completely speechless and her mouth was open. No one had ever talked to her like that before and she wouldn't take any shit from (Y/N).

“S-still, I wonder what James sees in you. Look at yourself. You're not even pretty. You're...just a freak like little Maximoff and her brother. You've caused us enough trouble for years. We'd all be better off without you anyway.“ Violet growled at her poisonously and glared at (Y/N) with her dark brown eyes.

All of a sudden a glass of water that stood next to Violet burst into a thousand little pieces. Violet cried out in panic when one of the splinters caught her arm. (Y/N) had clenched her hands into fists as Violet held her arm and whimpered softly. With a serious voice (Y/N) turned completely towards her while her eyes light up in a dark blue “No one calls my friends...freaks..“

Fearful Violet retreated towards the door when her gaze caught the scene outside. Through the wide glass facade she could watch as the sky slowly closed in and dark clouds gathered in the sky as a loud thunder could be heard. With eyes widened in fear, Violet's gaze shot back to (Y/N) who now slowly but surely came closer to her.

But before anything worse could happen, some of the other team members stormed into the kitchen. With wide eyes Bucky watched his girlfriend while her gaze was still fixed on Violet with blue glowing eyes. Immediately he went over to them and moved between the, so that (Y/N) turned her gaze to Bucky who calmy reached for her hands which were still clenched in fists.

„Easy, tiger. We don't wanna cause a commotion here.“ he stroked her arms briefly. That's when Bucky noticed how tense she was. Carefully, he put his hands on her cheeks and put his focus on her (y/e/c) eyes as her gaze kept wandering over to Violet. Gently he kissed the wrinkles that had formed between her eyebrows, noticing how she started to loosen up. Slowly he saw the darkness in her eyes dissolving and she calmed down as Bucky watched her and took her hands in his. Soothingly he stroked the back of her hand and kept eye contact with her as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“It's all right, baby doll. I'm right here. I got you. No one's gonna hurt you. We have everything under control.“ he whispered in a soothing voice as a sob came over her lips before (Y/N) buried her face in Bucky's chest and clawed her fingers into his shirt. Calmly he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and kissed her forehead while Violet stood behind them, completely bewildered, not knowing what to say. In the end she was the one being attacked by (Y/N), not the other way around?!

“Miss Finegan? Come with me. We're taking you to Dr. Cho.“ she heard Steve's formal voice behind her and turned to him. Before she could say anything else, he added “We treat all people here with respect. No matter how different we may be. We are all equal here. Tony will see that you're placed elsewhere. Someone who insults or otherwise harms any part of our family has no place here.“

Violet looked at Cap in horror and tried to defend herself “But she started to att-“

“Just get out of here, Violet“ James interrupted her briskly and held (Y/N) in his arms who was holding onto him for dear life. He had to keep himself from getting angry. Without saying another word, Steve led Violet from the kitchen upstairs to Helen's office.

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

Later in the evening (Y/N) and Bucky were lying in his bed together, with Alpine lying right between the two of them. They were taking turns in petting her to keep her satisfied. Another episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine was playing on his television but not even Jake's adorableness could distract (Y/N) from what happened before.

At first, (Y/N) didn't even notice how Bucky kept glancing at her as she stroked the white cat's fur, making her purr contentedly. Only after a few minutes did (Y/N) catch his gaze and immediately knew what he wanted. Sighing she looked back at Alpine “Honestly, I don't really wanna talk about it“

“Then let me do the talking and you just listen, okay?“ Bucky sat up properly and leaned with his back against the bed wall which caused Alpine to slip from his lap and cry out in outrage before she attacked Bucky's metal arm and gnawed at it, which didn't bother him of course. (Y/N) stayed on her side and looked up at him as he started “Steve showed me the footage from the security camera earlier before you lost control.“

“I haven't lost control over my powers. I wanted to hurt her. That was on purpose.“ (Y/N) interrupted him immediately and looked back at her hands, which were somewhat scarred from the last mission. Bucky sighed and looked at her “I understand you. I would have done the same thing, but...we have to learn to control our anger. Next time...just kick her in the shins and she'll have a nice bruise.“

(Y/N) smiled to herself and then looked up at him “That sounds like a good alternative. But she is not the only one...I'm sure there are still enough people who think like her. That...we're nothing but a bunch of stupid freaks that get kept around here so we don't blow shit up or anything.“

“Hey...“ Bucky leaned over her and stroked her cheek whereupon Alpine jumped out of his lap and snuggled up on her blanket at the end of the bed. “You are not a freak, baby doll. Not you. Not Wanda. Not Pietro. How many times have you saved people's lives. They should be more grateful. And if anyone calls my beautiful, wonderful, adorable girlfriend a freak again, I'm gonna rip their heads off with my damn metal arm.“

“How romantic, Sergeant.“ (Y/N) smirked as he grinned back at her “Yes, I was a real romantic back in the days.“

Smiling, he leaned down to her and kissed her gently on the lips while she ran her fingers through his hair and pulled at it briefly. A soft growl escaped Bucky's throat as he mumbled into the kiss “Don't start something you can't finish, baby girl.“

“Oh don't worry, sweetheart. I can.“ (Y/N) replied while they continued to kiss whereby she moved her other free hand into his sweatpants. But just before she could go on, she paused as Bucky started to kiss down her neck and collarbone “Wait...if Steve overheard the whole confrontation between Violet and me...then-“

“Yeah, sweet cheeks, he heard everything. He said he'll be permanently damaged because of you because he won't get that scene out of his head.“ Bucky laughed and buried his face in her neck as (Y/N)'s face turned red.

Poor Stevie...

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So i’m thinking about creating a permanent taglist so if you want to be on it, send me an ask or reply to this post! Thanks!

[sapphicwhump]

Deception of Luna

Fandoms: Destiny, Destiny 2 Tropes: F/M, trauma recovery, heavy angst, light fluff, creepy whumper, cosmic horror elements, whumpee/caretaker intimacy TWs: flashback, explicit noncon, implied death of loved ones, implied misogyny

Read on AO3

        Lich-5 considers herself to be quite lucky. At least with her assignments on Luna; not so much with her loot. She speeds across the lunar surface on her Sparrow towards Archer’s Line, having just received a bounty to clear out the Fallen there. There are three of the usual crimson phantoms en route this time; each one cowers and screams in terror as her Sparrow plows by. To her, these nightmares are just nameless red silhouettes that occasionally make creepy noises; none of them are the slightest bit recognizable. The larger ones, the ones that appear as long-dead enemies rather than Guardians, have names she can recognize from her historical studies, but nothing more than that. Despite her own experience, Lich knows that most of her fellows don’t see them that way.

        The Pyramid of Luna is a nasty piece of work, to say the least. She would call it sadistic, but it would be improper of her to anthropomorphize such an alien being. The nightmares it spawns are drawn directly from the Guardians’ most painful losses; vanquished nemeses, outlived mentors, lost loves, and a myriad of others now walk again on Luna. In every case, their passing had left wounds on the people they left behind, and now the Pyramid has made those wounds fresh again.

        The worst part, Lich thinks, is that doing so offers it no tactical advantage. The Pyramid doesn’t need to crush Guardians’ morale; it could crush them all very literally if it so chose. This thing’s kind had caused the Great Collapse of humanity’s golden age; surely the Last City of today would be no trouble for it to exterminate. The only thing keeping them all alive is this Pyramid’s continued desire to bide its time. And in that time, it’s chosen to reopen their old wounds because it’s fun.

        The reason Lich-5 considers herself lucky is because she doesn’t have many wounds that can be reopened. She'd been resurrected just after the Red War, into a world struggling to recuperate, to make some amount of sense out of the tremendous loss. Her roommate Windy isn’t a particularly old Guardian by any means, only a few years her senior, but that still puts his resurrection date solidly before the War. She doesn’t pry him about it, but she’s aware that the majority of people he knew had been permanently Returned To Light by the forces of Dominus Ghaul. Windy avoids assignments on Luna like the plague, as do many of her elder acquaintances. She’s met Guardians who were resurrected in the Dark Age, now hundreds of years old, who have pushed on through every defeat humanity has ever faced since the Collapse. Lich herself recently turned three.

        Will she live to be hundreds of years old? If she does, how much will she lose in that time?

        She’s coming up on Archer’s Line now. There’s already some Guardian activity here; in the distance, she can pick out the dull gray bulk of a male Titan’s armor against the background of lunar dust. Ignoring his presence, she drives into the old K1 Logistics facility and gets to work.

        Clearing the facility takes under ten minutes. She emerges from the front entrance with her armored Warlock’s robe dotted with scuffs and splattered with Fallen Ether. Her bounty objectives aren’t quite complete yet; there are still a few Fallen skittering around the Lunar surface that’ll have to be dealt with. She’d think that life-or-death combat would be too stressful to become boring, but when that death isn’t much more than a temporary (if painful) setback, the repetitiveness of it can get a bit dull.

        Just gotta get it done, then I can relax. The rewards from these last few bounties should be just enough to afford that fancy new armor set she’s been working towards, and then she won’t have much to do until the next big crisis inevitably hits the Sol system. She’s already thinking of a few new science projects she could start work on during her extended down time; monotonous work like this does little to satiate her burning curiosity.

        The Titan she saw earlier seems to be approaching the K1 facility now. He’s welcome to loot the place if he wants; she only went in to get her bounties done. It’s nice to see another Guardian out here; the presence of an ally makes her feel slightly less alone in this gray hellscape, even if they don’t interact.

        The boxy silhouette of his armor strikes her as oddly familiar. It’s possible that she’s seen him somewhere else before; there aren’t an unlimited number of Guardians in Sol, and Lich has met quite a lot of them.

        Wait a minute—

        Recognition shoots through her neural network like arc lightning. Instantly, her every piston is tense, all sensors on high alert. It’s him. Why does he have to be here?

        She takes it back. Having another Guardian here isn’t nice at all, not when it’s him in particular . Lich quickly ducks back into the empty facility, taking cover from the imminent danger behind one of the large storage containers strewn about. She needs to be in a place where he isn’t in her line of sight.

        Maybe she isn’t so lucky. Of course the phantoms wouldn’t reopen old wounds, only for another Guardian to do it instead. Taking stock of her emotional state, she abruptly realizes how much she’s shaking. She forcibly steels herself, struggling to regain her composure while cursing her own weakness. Simply seeing a Titan, even if it’s him, should not frighten her to the point where she’s struggling to even function.

        Lich is ashamed to admit to herself how much sway he still holds over her mental state. His existence is a disgusting muck polluting the back of her mind; just being reminded of him feels like wading through a stagnant pit of human sewage, from which she can never truly escape because it’s in her head. Thinking about it more only makes it worse, causes her to sink deeper. She can forget him, at least temporarily, but then eventually something random always jogs her memory and she'll be back, trapped again in that pit of sewage.

        She considers abandoning her objectives and transmatting back to her jumpship, still safely parked at the landing zone. But it’s this part of Luna that needs to be cleared of Fallen, and that fancy new armor set won’t be on sale forever, and she really shouldn’t be so pathetically weak to let this get to her. No, she’ll stay, to earn her extended down time if nothing else. She just needs to calm down and wait here until he—

        “Oh hey, Lich. Long time no see.”

        If Lich had a heart, it would have stopped beating at that exact second. His voice, just his fucking voice, almost throws her back there all by itself. He’s so insufferably casual with his greeting, like she’s just any other acquaintance to him.

        “Hey. You mind leaving me alone?”

        “Woah, relax. I’m just finishing up these bounties.” Condescension drips off of his words like spoiled milk.

        “Yeah, well, please stay away from me while you do that.”

        His tone sours, sounding almost disappointed. “Well you’re being awfully frigid.”

        “Of course I fucking am!” Lich fumes, rage momentarily cutting through her fear. “What did you expect, that I’d be nice to you!?”

        The Titan pauses. “Well… yeah, kinda. I at least didn’t expect to be jilted like this.”

        For a brief moment, Lich sees red. Her trembling has elevated to a truly intolerable level, and she’s currently about five seconds away from drawing her Dawnblade on this man. She knows that getting violent with him would almost certainly end poorly for her, though. With great effort, she puts together a facade of something resembling calmness.

        “Look… I think I’ve got a pretty good reason for not wanting to see you. Please leave, and never try to interact with me again. I know I’m never gonna get justice, so I just want to move past this and get back as close to normal as possible. You’re making it rather difficult to do that right now.”

        “Justice?"  He cocks his helmet to the side in what looks like disbelief. As if he has any right to act surprised by any of this. She can practically feel him rolling his eyes at her underneath his blank faceplate, and it makes her synthetic stomach turn. “Fine, fine. If you wanna be like that, it’s not my problem.”

        He proceeds deeper into the K1 halls, finally giving Lich a reprieve from his vile presence. She turns to leave in the opposite direction, but stops short when she catches the Titan muttering a final insult under his breath.

        “Fuckin’ melodramatic bitch.”

        She whirls on him. “Fuck you, asshole!” she spits over her shoulder, still heading for the facility’s exit. “If I ever see you again, it’ll be too soon!”

        The Titan is mercifully quiet. Lich is almost at the door; just a few more Fallen slain, and she’ll be able to go home and do her best to forget that she ever saw him again.

        “No, fuck you.”

        Lich barely registers the Titan’s words in her audio receptors, and she doesn’t notice the suppressor grenade roll between her legs until it’s too late.

————————————

        Windy’s day has been restful, to say the least. He lays sprawled out on the couch of his and Lich’s shared apartment, his usual combat armor doffed in favor of boxers and a tank top, lackadaisically swiping through the datapad in his hand. On one tab is the sidearm section of Omolon’s digital storefront; on another is a gallery of images displaying a nude Awoken. He lifts his can of alcoholic liquid from the coffee table and pours the last of it down his throat, sighing in satisfaction. It’s kinda nice to stay home for once while Lich goes out to grind away at bounties.

        Fuck, he needed a day like this. He’s been seeing less than his fair share of action recently, but continuously dodging Vanguard assignments on Luna has been anxiety-inducing enough on its own. After his first visit, he vowed to make every effort he possibly could to never return. The Vanguard had assigned him a strike against the Hive on Luna today, and so he had to call in one of his favors for a friend to take his place in the fireteam, hence his current position at home while Lich is out and about.

        An Incoming Communication notification buzzes at the top of his screen, and he quickly closes the pornography tab before answering. It’s from Phylactery. That’s odd; Lich’s Ghost hardly ever lets themself be seen, and speaks even less. If Lich had a message for him, she’d give it herself.

        “Hey, how’s it going?”

        The Ghost doesn’t waste any time on pleasantries. “Lich needs immediate evac from K1 Logistics on Luna.”

        Windy instantly bolts up from his slouched position. “Wait, what’s going on? Can she transmat out?”

        Phylactery is doing their best to keep their tone clipped and curt as usual, but Windy still picks up on the desperate way they hurry over their words. “No, she’s currently catatonic. We’re stuck here until someone can provide an evac.”

        “Catatonic?"  Windy balks. “What the hell happened down there?”

        The Ghost’s distress is evident. “I’m not quite sure. Lich saw something; I think we were attacked, but she still isn’t cognizant enough to give me the details. I felt something suppress our Light. I was knocked unconscious, and Lich… she’s not recovering. We need you here as soon as possible.”

        Fear grips Windy’s gut. Suppressed Light means that an RTL is on the table. He’s got enough dead friends walking around on Luna without Lich joining that long list.

        “It’ll take me awhile to get there; can you call any nearby Guardians for backup?”

        Windy can detect a wince in Phylactery’s tone. “No, this… isn’t the kind of thing that a random stranger would be able to help with. Might make matters worse, even.” the Ghost quietly speculates to themself. “What she really needs right now is someone she trusts.”

        Well that’s cryptic. He knows he’s not getting the full picture of events, and stumbling blindly into danger has always been more of Lich’s thing than his. He doesn’t exactly have time to press the Ghost further, though.

        “Already on my way. Just gimme like twenty minutes to get there.”

        “Right, thank you.” Phylactery seems relieved to no longer be discussing it.

        Windy is already in motion as he hangs up the call. He drops the datapad on the cushion beside him, then vaults over the back of the couch in his usual manner. He doesn’t bother taking the time to change out of his boxers and tank top before exiting the apartment; he’ll don his armor in his jumpship. The residents of this housing block have seen far weirder things than his underwear, anyways.

        Fuck. On Luna. Guess I won’t be able to avoid it after all. Dread constricts around his gut like a snake as he approaches the Tower’s hangar, a sensation that he knows won’t dissipate until he and Lich are safely back on Earth. For now, he tries to shove it down as best he can. His current priority is making sure that his roommate doesn’t get RTL’d; once she’s safe, he can go drown his worries at the nearest bar and put this all behind him. He distracts himself by planning out the route he’ll take there, what drinks he’ll order, who he might meet up with...

        As he’s exiting the Earth’s atmosphere, Windy briefly speculates that maybe finding a therapist would be a better use of his time than just getting drunk again, before he blasts off at near-light speed for Luna.

  ————————————

        Lich-5 awakens to the sensation of an immense weight on top of her, as if she’s trapped underneath a boulder. She’s laying stomach-down on the couch where she fell asleep, being pressed down into the cushions by the heavy object above her. She’s in an apartment typical of one of the Last City’s massive housing blocks, although not the one she shares with Windy. Night has long since fallen outside, casting the living room in darkness. What little illumination remains bathes everything in an odd vermillion.

        The Titan’s apartment is small, but his couch provided an adequate place to crash for the night after a particularly wild bar crawl. Lich can’t get drunk, but flying her jumpship home while exhausted would be just as dangerous. When she proposed the idea of crashing at a nearby friend’s place, one particular Titan was eager to offer. He’s new to her group of drinking buddies, and so it struck Lich as unusual that he would so readily invite her over. Once at his apartment, she figured out his reason pretty quickly.

        Tucked away in her backpack at the foot of the couch, Phylactery sleeps soundly, enjoying a well-earned rest after a long day’s grind. Lich is currently not being afforded that same rest. The weight on top of her shifts around erratically, fiddling with something, trying to get it open. She’s nearly driven to panic, but her fear keeps her frozen in place. Just pretend you’re still asleep, her mind unhelpfully provides. Play dead, and soon the predator will go away.

        The predator does not go away. She feels a sudden spike of pain, and the irregular shifting of the weight quickly becomes paced and rhythmic.

        Lich can’t pinpoint when or how her view shifts, but at some point she finds that she’s above herself—literally. She’s watching the scene unfold from a third-person perspective, her disembodied consciousness hanging a meter in the air over her incapacitated frame. She can’t compel herself to move a single piston or servo, her physical form refusing to comply with her immobilized will.

        Long ago, in a time before she could remember, Lich had had nightmares in which she was pursued by an extreme danger, only to find her limbs paralyzed and unresponsive to her attempts to flee. This is a lot like that, only it’s not a nightmare; this is real life and the danger is directly on top of her. There is no chance to flee; she’s already been caught.

        The Titan’s head, now free of its helmet, rests on the couch next to hers. Despite the warmth of his breath, a chill runs through Lich’s system. She can feel his wet lips graze against her artificial skull as he begins to speak.

        “The Light does not hold its wielders to any standard of morality.” he whispers into the side of her head, where the ear would be if she were human. There’s a horrible wrongness in his tone, like multiple beings trying to speak through one mouth. “In the Dark Age, the Warlords inflicted terrible violence upon the innocent, just as he inflicted violence upon you.”

        The motion gradually escalates in speed and magnitude, pressing Lich further down into the couch cushions with an oscillating rhythm. Her pain briefly increases as the pace picks up, but it quickly turns dull, and a sensation of warmth grows in its place as her own body turns against her. He’s speaking again, those wet lips and warm breath directly on her audio receptor. He doesn’t pause for air as he produces the words, regardless of his physical exertion.

        “In Light, there is only pain.”

        There’s a groan from above her, and the weight slumps, ceasing its rhythm. Lich silently breathes a sigh of relief, although she’s still far too overwhelmed with disgust to really be relieved by any of this. She knows on some level that it’s only been minutes, but her dilated sense of time has stretched the ordeal into what felt like hours.

        The floorboards creak next to her, and the Titan exits the small living room, although Lich still remains effectively paralyzed. A heavy exhaustion has seeped into her chassis, now even worse than the one she was trying to cure by crashing here. Still unable to will herself to move, it isn’t long before unconsciousness claims her again.

  ————————————

        Windy summons his Sparrow within the second he touches down on Luna. His stomach churns as he exits his jumpship, doing his best to keep his eyes on the ground and away from the lifeless red Guardians hanging motionless over the landing zone. The Pyramid must know this is a center of Guardian activity, and so the nightmares swarm here like some kind of macabre flock.

        He passes three more of the crimson phantoms on his way to the dot Phylactery marked on his heads-up display. He gives each of them as wide of a berth as he reasonably can, trying to keep them in his periphery while still steering the vehicle on course. If he looks at one too closely, there's a decent chance he’ll recognize it. He fails to give the third one enough room, and winces under his helmet as it wails at him for help in a voice he’s pretty sure he can put a name to.

        Phylactery’s coordinates lead him to the K1 facility at the far end of Archer’s Line. A short distance in, he finds his roommate’s distinctive hive-bone helmet lying discarded to one side. It’s not until he proceeds down a hallway and searches behind a storage container that he finds the Warlock it belongs to. She doesn’t appear to be in any immediate physical danger, although he wouldn’t think it purely by her posture; she’s curled up in a fetal position on the floor, trembling violently, the shutters over her optics squeezed as tight as they’ll go.

        One of the red phantoms looms over her cowering form. This one is clearly a Titan, and Windy can’t restrain his relieved exhale when he fails to recognize it. It does not turn to acknowledge him as he enters, keeping its blank gaze fixed on the ball of a Warlock curled behind the box.

        It takes Windy a moment to realize that Lich is crying. Her digital optics don’t feature tear ducts, but the anguish in her soft vocalizations is unmistakable. It’s a sound that he doesn’t hear often, but still far more than he’d like.

        Windy steps straight through the phantom towards his friend, passing through it as if it’s not even there. The spectral Titan’s body offers no resistance and induces no sensation. The thing recoils in a mimicry of pain, then disperses into maroon wisps as if it were mist. The instant it vanishes completely, her optics fly open.

        The first thing that Lich sees is Windy leaned over her, right where he had stood, offering her a hand.

        "W-windy?" She accepts the hand graciously, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

        “Phylactery told me you needed an evac.” The somber concern in his tone catches her by surprise, and she briefly feels a pang of guilt for causing him to worry this much.

        Lich emits a single humorless laugh, barely holding in a sob behind it. “Yeah. You could say that.” She’ll have to thank her Ghost for their forethought later. She takes a moment to collect herself, brushing the lunar dust off her robes and trying in vain to suppress her shivering.

        “You didn’t have to come for me.” she tells him frankly, refusing to meet his sympathetic gaze. “I know how much you hate this place.”

        “Lich, it’s fine. There is nothing in all of Sol that could make me leave you behind.”

        For a moment, Lich looks like she’s about to cry again, before she closes the distance between their bodies and embraces Windy in a tight hug. He tentatively returns the gesture, protectively wrapping his arms around her back, and her hold on his torso quickly turns into a death grip. She’s no longer crying, but he takes careful note of the way she still shivers and shakes in his embrace.

        Lich buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding away from the world in the rough fabric of his Hunter cloak. Her chemical receptors flood with the particles that cling to the garment; it smells like his shampoo and sweat and the dust of a hundred worlds, all composing into a unique odor that is very distinctly Windy. His smell is grounding, bringing her attention back to the here and now.

        “So, did the nightmares get to you?” he asks, tracing his fingers over the top of her fiberglass cranium in the way he knows she likes. He immediately withdraws his hand when she unexpectedly flinches away from the gentle contact. “I thought you hadn’t lost anyone.”

        Lich shakes her head gently against his cloak. “I, uh… I saw him again.”

        Windy’s blood freezes. Then the phantom Titan was—

        “Oh shit, Lich, I’m so sorry.” He suddenly feels very conscious of the way he’s holding her.

        Windy can’t forget the morning that Lich had nearly collapsed into their apartment, utterly disheveled after a long night out, and he had to delicately explain to her that sex is not a required payment for a male friend lending you his couch to crash on. Working through that day had been a painful experience for them both, although Windy has no illusions about which of them had it worse. Despite his seniority as a Guardian, dealing with this particular type of violence was entirely outside of his expertise. To his knowledge, aside from him and Phylactery, she’s never told another soul of what happened that night.

        “This fucking Pyramid.” he spits out venomously, staring out at the lunar expanse beyond the facility. That fucking Titan. Hate festers within his ribcage like rot. At the time, he’d had half a mind to bust down the Titan’s front door with his Golden Gun in hand, ready to vaporize both him and his Ghost. But Lich needed him more than that Titan needed a bullet, and so the obligation to support her had stayed his hand.

        With the Pyramid, though, it’s so much worse. Even though he couldn’t act on his impulse against the Titan, at least there had been some degree of hope there. With how utterly infinitesimal he is compared to the Pyramid’s world-ending might, he doesn’t even get the luxury of a revenge fantasy.

        "It was like—" Lich begins to speak, but stops short as her chassis is taken by a violent shiver. Windy can almost feel the intensity of the chill that runs through her. "Like being there all over again."

        His attention snaps back to her, and all the hate goes cold. His rage is not what Lich needs right now. Staying angry is impossible when she’s still so visibly distressed. He mentally reminds himself that this is her pain, not his; she’s the one who gets to have the revenge fantasy, if she so chooses.

        “Yeah. I... get what that’s like. It sucks, but the suck is ultimately temporary. You’ll get through this.”

        The pair are silent for a moment as Lich’s mind swims. She really wishes she could take his words to heart, but the memory of him freshly burned into her mind is all she can focus on. She tries to clear her thoughts by concentrating on the steady rise and fall of Windy’s chest, while her own remains eternally still. She reminds herself of what’s real: he’s here, holding her in his arms, and soon they’ll be home safe. The danger has long since passed, and was never even here in the first place.

        “I feel disgusting.” Lich voices the thought aloud, her gaze remaining firmly downcast. “I’ve felt disgusting since that night. I don’t know if it’s ever gonna go away.”

        Windy winces, sucking in a quiet breath through his teeth. "That… I lack experience with. But, from the experience I do have, I can tell you that it’s not true." Now he’s the one to strengthen the embrace. Through the heavy weave of her robes, he soothingly runs a hand up and down her mechanical spine, and is relieved when she relaxes into the touch rather than flinching away. "You’re smart, and beautiful, and brave, and you can be really really annoying when you want to be, but I still care about you. You’re the furthest thing from disgusting that I can imagine. What he did doesn’t make you any lesser as a person; you’re still the same Lich I’ve always known.”

        Lich tries to form a response, but words fail her, immediately getting caught in the knot that’s formed behind her speakers. She settles for simply holding Windy close, savoring the feeling of their arms wrapped around each other. Some part of her is still trapped in that sewage pit, but it’s further away now, distanced from her by the closeness to him. For the briefest moment, she believes with absolute certainty that everything he said is true, and almost manages to clamber her way out.

        “Y’know, if Guardians really are amoral, you’re a pretty good counterexample.”

        “Hm?” He turns his head towards hers with a raised brow.

        “Ah, nevermind. Symmetrist ramblings.” Windy can’t help but notice another chill run through her.

        It’s a long while before Lich feels stable enough on her own to leave his arms. When she finally begins to move away, he retracts his protective embrace, allowing her to separate from him without resistance.

        "You ready to head home now? I'll ride with you to the landing zone and fly us back to Earth. We can pick up your jumpship later."

        Lich releases an extended sigh, exhaling her residual tension into the thin lunar atmosphere. “Sure. Thanks for all this, by the way. I… needed to hear that.”

        He gives her a warm, relieved smile. “Don’t mention it.”

        Lich finally escapes from K1 Logistics with her hand firmly in Windy’s. While the Sparrow is intended to be a single-occupancy vehicle, that’s never stopped particularly affectionate Guardians from riding them two at a time. Lich and Windy share the single seat, with her clinging to his back, holding on with her arms wrapped around his midsection.

        The ride back to the landing zone is short, but both Guardians savor it. The red phantoms don’t cause either of them much distress on their return trip. Holding each other close, the nightmares seem just a little bit fainter.

[eomerra541]

I wanted to share a portion of the first chapter of Blood and Ink with you all!! Zierra LeFay is my leading lady in this fanfiction with a two-world plotline. Middle Earth and a fantasy style Earth. Hope it draws you in!!!!

YTD 2019, October 31st

Location: Hillsboro Oregon, USA Bishop/LeFay/Boleyn Coven

"So, what do you think?" Zierra had been facing her over-the-door mirror and swiftly turned to look at Tutela, who had taken her most frequent form as a black cat. Her tail swayed as she meowed approvingly, rubbing herself against Zierra's leg. Her vibrant eyes smiled as she seemed to almost break out into a gentle grin.

"You're totally right. I look gorgeous." Running a finger through her dark curls, Zierra adjusted the waist armor that was snug against her maroon long sleeve tunic. Zierra's black pants were tucked beneath a pair of black leather boots that dawned a hidden pocket inside meant for a small weapon but she used it to hold her cell phone(she was a witch after all… Zierra was a weapon all on her own).

Moving toward her dresser, Zierra grabbed two silver wrist guards, placing them over the sleeves of her tunic before tying the leather strings. She then reached for her satchel, double checking to make sure all the essentials were still inside before readying herself to leave.

To Zierra, Halloween was much more than a chance to dress as her ancestor Morgana LeFay(though she thoroughly enjoyed that part). It was also her birthday and a day when witches, like herself, felt a sudden boost to their magic. For All Hallows Eve was one of the nights where the universe's magic was at its most potent.

Grinning, Zierra motioned for Tutela to follow. "Vamonos, let's get to the coffee shop."

With a nod, Tutela moved toward the open window while Zierra headed for the door of her one bedroom apartment. Grabbing her keys, Zierra watched as Tutela examined the area, making sure no one would see her transformation, before taking the sudden form of a blue jay, flying about and patiently waiting for Zierra to meet her outside. With Tutela outside, Zierra used to magic to close the window and made her way outside

Zierra's apartment was located near the Trimet( Tri-County Metropolitan Transportation District of Oregon) at Orenco Station, an urban neighborhood filled with decades old brick buildings as well as those with wide windows and a modern appeal.

It was within walking distance of her work as an RN at a senior living facility, and an even closer walk to her mother's coffee shop, LeFay Lounge. Orenco Station was by far her favorite neighborhood in the Portland area, and as Zierra stepped outside, she smirked taking it all in. It was a view sje wouçd admire for years to come.

Her eyes fell on Tutela before she began to walk toward LeFay Lounge. The lively street was filled with evening joggers, mom's taking their kids out trick or treating, as well as a young man playing his guitar for money. She threw in a few dollars as she passed while Tutela flew overhead, keeping her flight patterns headed in the same direction as Zierra, without looking as if she were following her.

Taking a right, she could see her mother inside the coffee house just ahead. She was nervously pacing the floor while typing some message in her phone. The sudden ping from inside the pocket of her boot made her realize Ellie, Zierra's mother, had been texting her.

Reaching for her cell, Zierra glanced toward the screen.

I thought you were gonna get here before everyone else?!

Zierra's mother had never been the controlling or worrisome type, always trusting her daughter to do the right thing. More than that, Ellie had an amazing truest gift(every witch can do most spells but every witch also has their own strength known as their truest gift) of foresight and was always one step ahead. She knew when danger was truly imminent and when to roll with the punches. Still, that didn't mean Ellie could foresee every outcome. The future was often unpredictable and depended on the decisions of others(if everything was black and white, Ellie would have been able to protect her husband from his untimely death). Nevertheless, it was because of that special gift that if Ellie was worried, Zierra ought to be as well.

"Ay dios mio." She said, quickening her pace. She gazed toward Tutela, pursing her lips. "We better get in there fast. I'll let you in from the back." Tutela made a loud chirp in reply just as Zierra took a deep breath, hoping it wasn't too serious before reaching the front door.

Inside the shop, lanterns adorned the walls along with quotes written in an Old English font. The floor was made of stone, and the arched ceiling was painted to look like the night's sky. In every way, the coffee house symbolized their great heritage of Medieval Times.

Ellie, who had been facing toward the large fireplace, quickly moved toward her daughter as she entered. "Zierra, we don't have a lot of time." Ellie's voice sounded panicked before she fixed her eyes on the large glass window that showcased her coffee house. She raised her hands as a gold mist began to emit from Ellie's fingers before floating toward the walls of the building, circling it entirely.

The Glamour Spell was used to keep those without magic from ever witnessing or hearing the practice of magic. From outside, LeFay Lounge would appear silent and still, without a soul occupying it, concealing their every action, no matter who arrived for the meeting or what magic they chose to use.

"Mom, what's going on?" Zierra asked worriedly. She hadn't seen her mother this distraught since the night their father died.

Turning to face her daughter, Ellie looked anxious. "Zierra, I've just had an awful vision. It was about you, and it's going to happen soon."

Zierra, seeing the sudden fear in her mother's eyes moved forward. Her mother reached for Zierra's hands before continuing. "In the vision you were standing before a hideous creature with flesh that looked burned. Its' fangs were long and it had stocky legs. It wanted to kill you. It wanted to eat your flesh." Ellie's breath seemed to hitch as a tear fell across her cheek. "You used your magic to defeat it but then as many as fifty came toward you, with some riding on the backs of unnaturally large dogs." Ellie shook her head as her eyes closed for a moment, carefully remembering every detail. "I- I thought at first they were werewolves but their structure wasn't quite the same. Not to mention wherever you were did not look familiar at all."

Zierra could hardly keep up. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to comprehend her mother's words. "Mama, calmete." She placed her hands on her mother's shoulders. "What are you talking about? What creature? Werewolves? I thought they were extinct?"

Ellie drew in a breath, feeling frantic. "No, I'm saying I thought it was a werewolf." She waved her hand as if to move on. "That's not what's important Zierra, I'm trying to tell you something bad is going to happen, and whatever those things were, I have never seen in all my studies of magic."

Zierra bit her lip. This was supposed to be a typical meeting between three joined covens. Those that were direct descendents of Bridget Bishop, Anne Boleyn, and Morgana LeFay. She thought she'd get to celebrate her birthday as well as Analise Bishop's(they'd both been born on All Hallow's Eve and as such their magic was a great deal stronger than even those on the councill). She thought the two of them would finally be initiated into the councill, as it was typical on a witch's twenty fifth birthday. Instead, she began to fear for her own life.

"Have you told the council your vision? What did they say?" She asked, hoping the coven could help. Whatever her mother had seen, she strongly wished to prevent it.

Ellie gripped her daughter's hands, her eyes growing large at Zierra's question. "You can not even mention my vision! We have to figure this out on our own and be ready for anything that might happen tonight."

Zierra was growing more concerned by the second. "Why aren't you going to bring this up to the councill? I thought all visions of foresight had to be shared-"

"Not when I think a bloodwitch is the reason these creatures were created!" Ellie interrupted.

Zierra furrowed her brow. Analise had been the first bloodwitch in centuries. They were uncommonly rare and could use their own blood to spark life to inanimate objects or bring back dead things(though no matter what they brought back to life they were never entirely the same, their bodies needing constant repair). The two girls had never truly gotten along but Zierra wouldn't suspect Analise of wanting to harm her. Analise had always been full of herself but given that they saw each other a few times a year it just didn't make sense. Analise was a beautiful girl with her own damn life in Rio De Janeiro! She had money, power, and popularity and was miles away from Zierra.

"Mom I don't understand-" Before Zierra could continue, a blue flame suddenly formed within the large fireplace to her left before the stone began to expand. Then, stepping beyond what Zierra knew as Doorway Flame, a woman with red hair and pale skin gave them both a warm smile.

"Merry Hallows Eve, Zierra and Ellie." Lisa greeted. "And Happy Birthday, Zierra."

"Merry Hallows Eve." Zierra and Ellie replied in unison.

Lisa's smile began to fade, taking in Ellie's blotched face. She knew she must have been crying. "What's wrong Ellie?"

Ellie composed herself, giving Lisa a wide grin before waving her off. "Oh we were just reminiscing of when Byron was still alive." She lied.

Lisa's head tilted as she gave them both a look of sympathy. "I can imagine how hard it must be to not have him here for a day like Zierra's birthday." Lisa turned to Zierra just as the others began to arrive. "I heard about you finishing your degree. Congratulations on becoming an RN and for snagging such a prestigious job right out of the gate!"

"Thank you." Zierra answered with a smirk. "I did apply on a friday the thirteenth." She admitted, which was açeatd a day of luck for witches and wizards.

Soon each young descendent(future council women when they were of age and maturity) and council members began to arrive, totaling thirty women. There were ofcourse male descendents, but their magic was typically never as strong(an old curse caused by Mordred was responsible) and as such it was always women who led councils across the globe. They greeted each other kindly, taking seats at the many tables in Ellie's shop, with Ellie LeFay, Lisa Boleyn, and Octavia Bishop standing near the fireplace as the head council women.

"Zee!" Zierra spun around when she heard her cousin's voice, who immediately wrapped her arms around Zierra. "Happy birthday, gorgeous!"

Zierra released her cousin with a pleasant grin, momentarily pulled from her troubled thoughts. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Aliyah's costume.

"You look, muy bonita!" She exclaimed, remembering the dress as one of Regina's from their favorite TV show, Once Upon a Time (The pair loved the world's interpretation of magic and all the irony behind its hidden truth)."I think you could give Lana Parilla a run for her money!"

Aliyah slowly spun around to give Zierra a full view nodding as she spoke. "So true, cousin. So true. But it's not just the party that has me looking so spectacular." Aliyah's smile was wide and filled with excitement, she gripped Zierra's forearms biting her lip. "I'm going to ask Ezra to marry me!"

Zierra's mouth fell open. Ezra Leveau's- who was a half witch half Faery- ancestry came from Marie Laveau and his coven held a council with two other families in France. His mother's marriage to Veyro, an ambassador for the Fae kingdom, had also helped solidify a peace treaty between both parties.

Zierra had been so happy to see them together. And though it had only been six months since they started dating, anyone with eyes could see it was meant to be. "Does that mean you're asking him-"

"Tonight? Yes! And at the Festival? Also yes!"

Zierra practically screamed before giving Aliyah another hug. "Yey! I am so happy for you both! Seriously he is perfect for you! And at the festival no less! Which I get to see happen!"

The two girls sat at one of the round tables, still giddy from excitement just as Analise Bishop had taken the last chair. Zierra's smile immediately dropped as fear crossed over her eyes.

"How were your summers girls?" Analise asked quietly, looking down at her black polished fingernails. Her skin was painted green and her dark hair was fastened into a beautiful dutch braid. She glanced at Aliyah first, waiting for a reply.

"Paris was just as romantic as they say." Aliyah answered with a reminiscent grin. Despite how annoying Analise's ego could be, Aliyah had never been rude to her. It wasn't in her kind nature. But as she looked toward her cousin, Aliyah was quick to notice Zierra's sudden apprehension. Her body had stiffened and her eyes were momentarily filled with vigilance and though Zierra had been quick to recover, Aliyah was much too close to her cousin to miss it.

"I got hired at a senior care center. It's great money and I'll always have the same shift, unlike if I took a job at a hospital. It was a gig most wouldn't have fallen into having just finished school but I did apply in a day if luck, so I was bound ti get it, but I plan to stick around."

"Oh yeah, you finished your nursing degree." Analise stated. She glanced Zierra up and down as if she were beneath her. It was the same self righteous expression Analise often carried, but this time her eyes seemed sinister and it only caused Zierra's fear to grow; her mother's strange vision painting gruesome images inside her head as she contemplated whether Analise would ever want to hurt her. What would she gain from doing so? She asked herself, not able to come to a rational conclusion.

"Love the costume by the way, and happy birthday." Analise added, taking Zierra by surprise. Her smile seemed genuine and the darkness she had seen a moment before was gone "Don't I look ravishing in green?" She winked, gesturing to her costume as The Wicked Witch. Maybe I hadn't seen it at all, Zierra considered. But mom seemed really scared.

"Thanks, and happy birthday to you as well.' Zierra's eyes narrowed for a moment. She truly didn't know what to think. The two had never had any bad blood. So why now? Trying to hurt Zierra meant Analise risking her position on the council and giving up even the slightest opportunity at power felt out of character for Analise. Still, her mother's vision kept Zierra on guard. She gave Analise a slight grin before nodding, turning her attention to her mother who was about to speak..........

Here's a link if you want to read more!!!!

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13695267/1/Blood-and-Ink

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 12 - Intriguing Intruders and Intruding Intrigues

Ah, yes. Welcome to chapter 2. No, you didn't read that wrong. This begins with the second scene I've ever written for this AU. We've come a long way since back then, especially considering that it was only a little under two months ago and this fic has since taken over my life. Also, thanks as always to @persony-pepper​  for betaing! Now enough of me rambling, here's the chapter:

Summary: Jaskier's liege lord comes to Lettenhove and our beloved ex-bard is struggling to keep it together.

Read on AO3

prologue | previous | next

"Where is he?" Jaskier panted, wincing at how his side ached after sprinting up a flight of stairs. He used to be able to hold his own against a witcher on a horse, for Melitele's sake, what had happened to all that stamina?

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, I don't know," Marta answered, her eyes widened in panic. "I've been lookin' for 'im for the past hour. He's nowhere to be found."

"Shit," he cursed, startling the surrounding servants. "Fuck!" he cursed again, just because the first one hadn't been enough to actually voice his frustration. He kicked the wall and howled in pain. "Fucking shit! Start over," he ordered. "I want that damned witcher and I want him now! Marta!"

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Is my cousin presentable yet?"

"No, m'lord."

"Then see to it that she is. You have half an hour; the green dress, if you will."

He turned on the heel and raced down the stairs again, cursing quietly. He shouldn't be surprised, really, that Geralt chose today of all days to all but disappear from Lettenhove. 'That's not fair,' he reminded himself, 'you didn't know eith-'

"Fuck!" His foot slipped on the slippery stairs and he would've taken a tumble down the stairs hadn't he collided with a bulk of muscle.

"Careful, my lord," Geralt said, and held him firmly by the shoulders. "Else a twisted ankle will be the least of your worries."

"Geralt!" Jaskier started a futile attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. "Where have you been, you donkey?"

"Training your horse, my lord," he replied, making no move to let go of him. Instead he calmly looked around, taking in the bustling servants. "What's going on?" He pulled him closer to the wall, to let two men hauling a heavyweight chest pass through. "Are you preparing for war?"

'If only.' He scoffed and smacked at Geralt’s hands. "No. Witcher, you need to leave."

"What?" That finally made him soften his grasp, though he did not lift his hands, nor did he move from where they were crammed onto the same step. "Why?"

Jaskier passed a trembling hand through his hair. It was sweaty already, not a good way to start the day when- "There are guests on their way," he explained as calmly as he could. "I don't know which of my imbecile neighbours chose this exact time for a visit, but there's nothing I can do about it now."

"And why do I-" His hand shot out and caught a young lad by the elbow. "Are those my swords?" he growled menacingly. The poor boy looked as if he might piss himself.

"Yes, I- Geralt!" He tried prying the butcher's hand away without too much success. "Let go of him this instant, you're frightening him!" The witcher complied slowly. "Stop glowering, they are acting on my orders. And you, run along now, and hurry up for Melitele's sake!"

The lad took off again and Geralt crossed his arms and glared. "Why?" he asked again. "Where's he going with them?"

"To your new rooms in the North Wing. Ci- Cousin Fiona is also moving, she'll be living with my sisters." He waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off before he could even start to speak. "It wouldn't make sense otherwise. I wouldn't leave her with you when Józia and Janka are there to take care of her. And as my best friend it's only natural for you to be accommodated close to my quarters."

The witcher frowned, still not convinced. "Why do I have to leave then?"

"Because I do not know who is paying me a visit and what intentions they bear. No-one will look twice at dear Cousin Fiona, but you-"

"My lord, there you are," Jakub came to a halt a few steps below them.

"What?" Jaskier snapped.

"Your visitors. They're bearing the banner of Hangfelt."

Fear gripped him like an icy hand, choking the air from his lungs. "Fuck." He'd known this was inevitable, but still- "Go, Jakub, inform the kitchens right away. I will not be accused of lacking hospitality." He manservant bowed curtly and hurried away.Jaskier turned to follow him.

Geralt caught him by the shoulder again. "What's so important about Hangfelt?"

Jaskier winced. "That's my liege. You need to leave, now."

He frowned. "I don't understand-"

Jaskier was beginning to lose his patience. 'Gods above and below, he's been roaming this continent for almost a century. Should be more than enough time to get a basic grasp on petty politics,' he thought. He almost told him so, too. Almost. "That's not important right now," he hissed and tried to push him away, "we're running out of time."

The witcher didn't seem overly impressed by this display of his measly human strength. "Please, my lord, let me try-"

"You don't need to understand!" he snapped, and Geralt visibly recoiled. If nothing else, it did soothe Jaskier's temper a bit. Wiping his sweaty hands on his breeches, he tried to explain: "My liege, Geralt. Lettenhove is his castle. If he suspects something, anything-" He took a shuddering breath, steadying himself. With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he continued: "If he demands that I hand you over, I won't be able to refuse. I won't be able to protect you from him, do you understand?"

Geralt paled visibly. "Fiona-"

"She'll be fine, she's family. Protected by my name and castle peace and all that. No-one can lay a finger on her without my leave. The Count is not a bad man, he won’t hurt us and break the law: we’re protected by King Vizimir’s peace. But you are not. So, witcher," he straightened himself, "you need to go."

He set his jaw and the grip on his shoulder tightened. "My lord."

"Take your swords and a cloak, and for Melitele's love, stay out of sight. Of his guards, and his men, and most importantly himself. I'll come find you in the woods once all of this is over. Alone. Do not come seek me if there is another person with me." He faltered, taking in Geralt's squared shoulders, his kind eyes, his attentive expression. "I-" Suddenly, the urge to exchange the grip on his shoulder for a tight embrace to calm his fluttering heart became very hard to fight.

"My lord?" Geralt's voice startled him from his trance. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered curtly and bit down hard on his tongue, to shake those ridiculous thoughts. "I have places to be, witcher, and so do you. Unhand me and leave."

Very slowly and very reluctantly Geralt did as he was told and freed Jaskier from his grasp. He allowed himself to wonder, only for a moment, if Geralt might have felt overcome by the same sort of sentimentality. 

'No,' he told himself decidedly as he sprinted down the stairs of his tower, 'do not think about that. You're Jaskier the Bard, not Jaskier the Fool, Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove. If Geralt had no affection to spare before, he surely won't have any now.' 

In the courtyard, what appeared to be the entirety of his staff was bustling around, all doing their best to make the castle presentable for its rightful owner. 

There weren't a lot of orders for Jaskier to give, they all knew what they were doing. The air was filled with the rich smells of half a hundred different delicacies to flatter Lord Hangfelt's noble palate,  and servants hauled casks of wine and ale alike that would surely not even see the first snow. Wiktor was making space in the stables for at least a dozen horses more, as Jakub was berating some chambermaid for one reason or another. It was a good thing Jaskier had already warned them that his visit was rather imminent after his return from the disastrous parlay. That way they weren't completely unprepared.

Still, he winced at the memory. The meeting hadn't been dangerous or anything, gods forbid, he'd never have brought Ciri if there had been so much as the slightest sliver of the chance. It had even been fun, truth be told, until the Baron had begged a word in private with him. Unpleasant didn't even begin to describe the whole affair.

"Why?" Jaskier had asked cheerfully, "Are you afraid to get your ass handed to you by a little child again?"

Daniel of Dergetten had frowned at that but not dignified it with a response. Not until he had sent Ciri ahead, at least. Then his old childhood friend had leaned close and hissed: "What on earth are you playing at, Julian?"

"Me?" he had laughed. "Nothing, dear friend. I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"What happened to your sharp wits? Fucked them away on the Path? I thought the man who graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt would know better than to believe himself the only one capable of thinking around here."

"Speak plainly."

"Sheltering a witcher in Lettenhove, Jaskier?" he had mocked. "Beneath a mantle of protection that is not even yours to give? Aleksander hasn't forgiven you for your last insolence, yet. What was the year again? 1252? This impertinence might just be enough of an insult for him to finally set you aside. Unless-"

"That's quite enough, Dergetten," he had bristled.

The bastard had only smiled. "Is it, Pankratz? I know where my loyalties lie, as does the Count. Do you?" The memory of his smile choked the air from his lungs. 'Foolish,' he told himself, 'you're a foolish man, Julian Alfred Pankratz, to think you can hide a secret such as this from your liege.' Which meant, there was only one thing he could do.

It was true that Count Aleksander Milas had been lenient in the past when it came to Jaskier's particularities that distinguished him from the rest of his peers. He quite liked his songs, had even encouraged him to tutor his son - which Jaskier had firmly declined - and he hadn't given him too much of a hard time for his prolonged absence from Lettenhove. Upon his return his liege had only laughed, not cruelly, when he had knelt at feet to beg his forgiveness for his negligence. And when his father had died, not two days later a servant had summoned him to Hangfelt to swear his fealty — despite Jaskier's protests that his sister Janina would be much better suited for the title.

"Nonsense," Lord Hangfelt had answered, "how could I accept her oath when the rightful heir is right here?"

So, he had sworn, and Hangfelt had promised a visit once the mourning period was over. He was only off by three days, probably spurred on by Daniel of Dergetten's dutiful report, the little traitor. As a consequence, though, Jaskier was still dressed all in black, as were his sisters. Ciri's green dress was an almost offending speck of colour when she stepped out into the courtyard.

"There you are," Jaskier exclaimed and strode over to her to put an arm around her shoulders. "Come, you'll stand at my left side."

She nodded and together they crossed over where Janina and Józefa were already waiting. The four of them surely made a pretty image, he thought, all of them with their pale skin, dark hair and bright eyes. 'Ciri fits right in,' he noticed, satisfied with the illusion he'd conjured. 

Waiting like this, prettily lined up for their lord to inspect like cattle on a market's day, was torture of the cruelest kind. The urge to fidget hadn't been this strong in him since before he'd left. Images of memories long forgotten flooded his mind, the five Pankratz siblings diligently queueing before their father's high chair to receive his judgement after a day of deeds and misdeeds. It had always been him who had misbehaved most, if wandering off in his mind and quietly humming as he worked could be counted as misbehaviour. It had also always been him to step forward to take the blame and consequences for whatever crime his sisters had committed. It hadn't been his fault more often than not. 'My responsibility to bear nonetheless.' 

When he finally found the strength to abandon those hurtful memories he bowed down to Ciri. "You'll have to curtsy," he informed the princess quietly.

"I know," she replied, barely moving her lips. Absentmindedly he wondered how many stiff ceremonies she had already suffered through. 'Surely too many,' he determined. 'Even one is one too much.' "I've seen it many times."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "You do know how, don't you?"

She grew rigid under his touch. "Of course!" she repeated. "I've seen it many times!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. It was Jakub who saved him from the embarrassment of having to explain to a princess how to bend her stiff royal knees. "They're here, my lord," his servant told him quietly.

"Good," he answered. It wasn't good at all. Still, he shouted: "Open the gates!" He heard Jakub repeat his order, and then Marin, too, and then the large winches sprung into motion and opened the heavy oaken gates for the Count and his companions.

As soon as the winches stopped moving, a party of roughly fifteen riders poured into the courtyard. A standard bearer came first, then the Count himself, along with his son and heir, the spitting image of his father. Well, if one ignored the fact that his father was in his forties, overweight, and balding, and not a strapping lad of fourteen years- 'Oh, fuck no, you won't,' he thought and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened.

Behind them followed some brothers or cousins or friends Jaskier couldn't quite remember from his youth, half a dozen guards, and- He nearly cursed out loud when he saw there was a woman riding with them. 'Hangfelt, you bastard.'

To his deepest regret he had to postpone his harangue, though, because Aleksander Milas, the Count of Hangfelt was already dismounting and it was time for their act to begin.

Jaskier stepped forward to greet him with a smile as if he was an old friend and not his garroter. "My liege," he said and bowed with a flourish, "Lettenhove is yours."

"Pankratz!" Hangfelt laughed and displayed his crow's feet for everyone to see. "How good to see you again!" He pulled him into a tight hug that made it difficult to breathe. "How have you been?"

"Fine, my lord," he gritted out and did his best to make a sad face, "as much as the circumstances allow it. Though we are still very heartbroken for the passing of our father."

"And I expect no less, my loyal servant. Which is why I postponed this visit as long as I could. I would not want to disturb your grief."

"You could never, my lord," he answered but the Count had already moved on to his sisters, who were still curtsying deeply. Jaskier nudged Ciri with his elbow to get her to do the same.

"My dear Lady Goldfurt," he said as he beckoned Janina to rise. "I see you still enjoy your brother's hospitality. Is your husband's town so unappealing?"

"Not at all, my lord," her voice and smile were icy, "I am only here to help my brother settle in. He has been away for so long; he hardly knew his way around the castle upon his return."

That made Lord Hangfelt laugh. "Is that true? Have you forgotten all about your home while away on your little adventures?"

"Hardly, my lord," Jaskier forced himself to say. "But it is good to have familiar faces surrounding me."

He nodded. "And what pretty faces those are. Lady Józefa!" He kissed her on both cheeks and Jaskier found himself admiring her self-control. She didn't even flinch from his slobbery mouth. "Has your brother still not found you a husband, Madam?"

"Alas, he has not," she answered jovially, truly an accomplished actress. "Though I trust he will soon correct that mistake. Come spring, perhaps?"

"Sooner still, I hope. I would love a spring wedding. Speaking of weddings, you do remember my sister, Pankratz? The Lady Alina Milas."

The lady in question dismounted her own horse and came over to them. She was Aleksander Milas' step-sister, almost two decades younger than her brother, and the heiress to a rich estate. And his betrothed, whom he had stood up one beautiful autumn evening in 1252 on their wedding day. 'Shit,' he thought and bowed to kiss her hand. This day was growing worse by the minute. He didn't let that show, though. "How could I not? Is it me, Lady Alina, or have you grown thrice as beautiful since our last meeting?"

"Surely I have," she answered coldly. "I was six years old when you last saw me. Though not for lack of opportunities, I remind you."

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Hangfelt just laughed again. "Look at you, Pankratz! She hasn't forgiven you, yet. Well, maybe it is not too late. You are still unmarried, I've heard."

"I am. Though let us not talk of such a joyous occasion yet. You see, my sisters'-" He halted for just a moment, shooting them an apologetic glance. "- delicate nature is still rather frail after our father's death. I wouldn't want to disturb their mourning with festivities."

Lord Hangfelt pouted, which looked ridiculous on a man of his age and size. "You speak of mourning, yet still you have invited guests to your house. I think we haven't been introduced yet?"

"My cousin, the Honourable Fiona Nowak. I met her three years ago in Verden and, after I heard the war had left her orphaned, I had her brought to Lettenhove. It has lessened our grief greatly to have her with us."

Ciri rose from her curtsy and let the Count kiss her knuckles. She obviously had learned self-control from Józefa, for her face didn't so much as twitch. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, Madam."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," she answered and Jaskier could feel the whole courtyard hold its breath, "it was not your sword that slew my mother."

Hangfelt blinked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I see the family resemblance now! A steel-tongued brat for our silver-tongued lordling. Have you given up your verses and songs yet?"

"Almost, your Lordship," he answered with a forced smile, "there is only one person in the world who might move me to a ballad these days."

"A lover?" he teased.

'If only.' "An old friend."

He frowned. "Not the witcher, I hope."

Jaskier forced himself to smile. "Precisely him."

"Speaking of steel and silver and ballads, then, where is he? Has he left so soon again?"

"Not at all, my lord. Though, he left before sunrise this morning. He does not like to spend the days in company, especially not while he is mourning."

"Mourning?" one of the members of Aleksander Milas' party called. "Are you quite sure he can even feel?" Roman, he remembered the brat was called, the Count's youngest brother and just out of his swaddling clothes when Jaskier had left.

'I am, you prick, and I am quite sure with such a comment you'd have angered him enough for him to gut you for me. He can feel just fine.' He pitied that he couldn't say that to his liege's brother. Instead, he opted for: "I believe he thinks himself guilty for the death of Princess Cirilla."

"Ah," the Count said and dropped his voice compassionately. "I've heard the tales. They say she was raped by half a hundred men before the bastards killed her."

His eyes grew wide and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened. "My lord, not in front of the child, if you please," he said just as quietly. "She's gone through so much already."

"Of course." He straightened himself. "Speaking of children, have you met my son, yet, Pankratz? Aleksander, Lord Retton."

"I'm afraid I have not." Jaskier bowed again, when the lad stepped forward, looking very out of place with his gangly limbs, too large ears and peach fuzz on his upper lip. 'Gods, and I went to Oxenfurt at that age!' he recalled. Twenty years later, the thought of sending a child to that place filled him with terror. He was glad that the boy could not see the grimace on his face. "At your service, my lord."

"Rise, Lord Lettenhove," he said with a thin voice. 'Gods, he's nervous,' Jaskier thought with amusement. "You, uh, have a beautiful castle."

'What pretty lines he has learned.' He had a hard time not smirking when he answered: "I am pleased to hear that. Are you looking for a new keep for yourself, my lord?"

The lad frowned deeply, obviously not understanding the jape. "Not at all."

"No? Are you then making plans for the future, my lord?"

Helplessly and quite confused Aleksander the Younger looked up at his father, who in turn had a hard time to keep from laughing. "Enough of the teasing, Pankratz," he chided softly. To his son he said: "I told you to guard your tongue with that one. Twisting the words in your mouth is his easiest exercise."

"I would never, your Lordship," Jaskier said quickly, smiling openly now.

"Now, don't add lies to the never-ending list of your sins. We're hungry and we're cold, so keep your mouth shut and lead us to your hall and serve us your best wine. We've deserved it."

Jaskier bowed again. "It would be my pleasure." He turned to his former betrothed. "Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour of accompanying you?"

She scowled and for a moment he feared she might decline, but then she took his offered arm. After a glowering stare of her elder brother she even dignified his formal phrases with equally stilted responses as the Count led the way to the hall as if he owned the place. 'Which he does,' Jaskier reminded himself.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Aleksander the Younger stumbled over his words to ask Ciri to walk with him, who graciously accepted and giggled stupidly. Then, as she took his arm she made a barbed comment that the boy did not understand but that made Janina gasp in thinly-veiled horror. He couldn't quite rid himself of pride welling up at that, despite the curtain lecture that surely waited for him once the Count left.

In the hall Jaskier hurried to pull the lord's chair back for the Count and tried to ignore the jealousy seeing him at the head end of his table, his heir at his right-hand side. 'You never wanted the stupid title anyways,' he told himself, 'so there's no reason for jealousy now.'

He himself sat down at his liege's left, with Lady Alina at his side. Opposite to them was Ciri next to Aleksander who looked just as miserable as Jaskier felt. As soon as the other guests had resolved their brief argument about who got to sit next to Józefa and had all settled into their seats, the food was brought out.

It was a lot, much more than needed to feed such a small party and Jaskier felt a little bad for wasting it. But that was the way things were and he could do nothing about it. So he had his guests’ plates and cups filled and kept full, maybe a bit too much so. Roman Milas was drunk before the hour was up.

After lunch the Count got up. "I'll be going on a hunt," he declared, "and you will come with me."

Jaskier's head snapped around. "Excuse me?" he answered with a frail voice.

"I believe you understood me quite well. We're going hunting, Pankratz."

'What for?' he wanted to ask but didn't dare to. It was late in autumn already, there were no hunts this late. Besides, there were no hounds in Lettenhove and they hadn't brought any with them either. 'We're not hunting for game, then,' he thought grimly and fought the urge to divest himself of his lunch again. "Of course," he answered instead. "My pleasure."

He left Ciri and Alina with his sisters and led the Count and his friends outside again, praying to all the gods he knew. He prayed that Geralt had finally learned how to listen to a fucking order. He had no idea what his liege could want with the witcher — and he had no desire to find out either.

It took all his carefully composed self-restrain not to let the anxiety that roared within him rise to the surface. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he told himself, ‘he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. He has to be.’ Instead he tried to busy himself with what he did best: telling stories. Joyously he japed and jested, and he would’ve jigged to, were his feet not planted firmly in his stirrups. 

Aleksander the Elder called for all the raunchy stories of his time in Oxenfurt and he gladly delivered. And when he and his friends doubled over in their saddles with laughter, Aleksander the Younger appeared at his side, shyly asking whether he could tell him about the Academy. The boy wasn’t stupid, Jaskier soon discovered to his surprise, on the contrary. ‘He’s just young,’ he realised, ‘and it can’t be easy to find your voice with a father as loud as his.’

Still, the worry in his chest did not subside and he kept looking to the sky, where the sun inched towards the horizon far too slowly for his liking. Apparently, the Gods had heard his prayer, for they returned some hours later with empty hands and empty stomachs. Dinner was hastily brought out for the hungry hunters and after that the nobles retreated to the fireplace room in the East Wing.

Hangfelt claimed Jaskier's armchair and Aleksander Geralt's, so Jaskier was left standing awkwardly for a moment before begrudgingly retreating to the divan where Alina sat. Like that he was forced to continue the polite conversation, that quickly turned into the dullest interaction of his entire life, until she mercifully begged her brother's leave to retreat for the night.

“You may go,” the Count conceded. “Aleksander, go with her.”

“Father,” he whined pathetically, “you promised I could stay.”

“I promised you could stay the evening,” he growled. “The evening’s over, which means that women and children are going to bed.”

Jaskier hid his smirk and jerked his head in the direction of his sisters and Ciri. The princess was on her feet already and floated over to their guests. “Lord Retton,” she curtsied quickly, “Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour to show you to your rooms?”

Aleksander the Younger frowned and Jaskier smiled proudly. There was no way the young lord could politely refuse such an offer and he damn well knew it. So, he and Lady Alina went with Ciri and his sisters, and left Jaskier alone with Hangfelt and his men.

That finally gave Jaskier the opportunity to talk to the Count himself. "Lord Hangfelt," he said quietly, "might I talk to you in private?"

He scowled but nodded graciously, and allowed Jaskier to lead him to his study. "A drink, my lord?"

"Gladly," he answered as he sat down in Jaskier's chair by the window.

Jaskier poured two goblets of his best liquor — he'd need the courage — and brought them over to his lord. "Your witcher hasn't returned," he remarked as he accepted the drink; their cups clinked together, "and yet it is already dark. He's not very well trained."

"He's not an animal," Jaskier exclaimed indignantly before he could stop himself, "nor is he a prisoner. He may come and go as he likes."

"Not a very grateful guest, then, if he doesn't even come to greet his host's lord."

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to think of a witty response. He wasn't fast enough though, for Hangfelt continued: "Hm. So, that cousin of yours... She does look an awful lot like you."

Jaskier tensed. 'Shit, I should have shut that rumour down as soon as it left Janina's lying lips.' "I suppose she does," he answered diplomatically.

That made the Count smile brightly. "Well?"

He hesitated. "Well... what, my lord?"

"Are you going to legitimise her?"

"Oh." Truth be told he hadn't even thought of that. He cursed silently. Well, maybe- "I haven't decided yet."

"Well, decide quickly, then. I like you, Pankratz. And as luck would have it, the betrothed of my dear Aleksander passed away from a fever a few months ago. I haven't decided on another match, yet."

For a few short moments Jaskier was stunned into silence, convinced that his ears had to be betraying him. 'Why would the Count want to bind me to his family tree?' Before he had even the chance to gather a clear thought his mouth blurted out: "What would you get out of it?"

Lord Hangfelt laughed. "Ever the clever man. Why, I would get Lettenhove back for a start.”

“Well, my lord, if you want it back, why not just take it?” He forced himself to smile. “You know just as well as I do that doing so is completely within your rights.”

“What, and just throw you out?” He shook his head. “No, Pankratz, I don’t think I’m keen on aggravating you anytime soon. Or your sisters, that is. I can’t afford a feud with neither Goldfurt nor Kerton. Not to speak of his Majesty’s uncle, who is so very fond of your Jolanta. And, judging by your reputation, you’d just flee to Oxenfurt and write a horrible cycle of smear poems that would ruin my reputation beyond measure, but not before seducing at least three of my siblings and my mother.” There was an amused twinkle in his eye. “Is that an accurate assessment?”

Jaskier quickly hid his smile. “I believe so, my lord.”

“I know four things about you. First, you were endowed by the gods with a vivid imagination and a silver tongue. I know about the games you play and it’s folly not to fear you. You could be more lethal than your witcher still. Secondly, you’re too clever for your own good. You graduated two terms early, summa cum laude, with begrudging recommendation letters from all your professors. While simultaneously managing to climb the steps of the Academy to the rooms above the vice-chancellor’s office. Don’t give me that look, Pankratz, I did my research. Thirdly, you know how to survive. You did that for sixteen years while trailing behind a witcher like a lost puppy and fucking your way through nigh every marital bed of the Continent. That’s rather impressive. And lastly, you are filthy rich. In fact, you’re the richest vassal I got and I know that you know how to become richer still. Is that about right?”

He nodded slowly. “Colour me impressed, my lord,” he answered, “I believe you’re seeing right through me.”

“Good.” A smile spread on his face. “So, Pankratz, I have to retract my earlier words. I do not want Lettenhove back. I want you. For good. And I want you to put that clever little brain of yours to good use. I think we can go far, you and I.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So, why don’t you tell me why you actually wanted to speak to me and we work out a trade?”

“A trade, huh?” he repeated quietly. That was a much better bartering position than he’d imagined himself to be in. “It is true that there is something I wanted to ask of you, though does it not require Fiona to wed your Aleksander.”

“Why ever not, Pankratz? I took you for an opportunist! Wouldn't you like your grandson to be a Count?"

Jaskier's head was spinning as the whole extent of the offer became apparent. He should, he guessed. As a Viscount, that was. He should be delighted with the opportunity to get Goldfurt within reach. If Ciri truly were his daughter, he probably would have agreed without thinking twice about it. 

But she wasn't. She was Ciri, sweet little Ciri, who had suffered so much already, who slept with stuffed animals and clung to his lips with whatever story he told; brave little Ciri, who'd be just as deadly with a blade as her father once she was grown. He couldn't barter her away. Never. Not even to- "She's only ten years old," he said quietly. "I don't want to take that kind of decision quite yet."

Lord Hangfelt snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. She’s more than old enough for a betrothal. Alina was scarcely ten months old when our fathers brokered the engagement."

'And what grief that betrothal brought,' he thought bitterly. ‘My bride was not even old enough to agree to an engagement when I could already be married.’ Another reason why he had chosen to hide in Oxenfurt for four years, though not before his father had forced his hand to sign the damned thing. "Allow me a bit more time to think about it. Please, my lord. I only just got her. Seven years I didn't even know of her existence. Don't take her from me just now. I can offer you something else in its stead."

"Tell me about your demand and we can see about that payment. How bad is it? Treason? Spying? Did you kill someone? Not a member of the court, I hope, I can't help you there."

"None of that, my lord, you'll be glad to hear. It's…” He wet his lips nervously. "Five generations ago my ancestors were granted this keep for their loyal services to your family. They have kept their peace, collected their taxes, furthered their interest. I have done nothing less. These ancient walls have protected those who bore my name ever since. Refugees were among them, and traitors, too, yet with your blessing no foe dared disturb the peace of this keep."

"Yes, as it is tradition."

Jaskier closed his eyes and swallowed his pride. 'Geralt could do it,' he told himself. 'And if the stoic witcher can, so can I.' Slowly, he went to his knees. "My liege, I am asking your leave to extend the Castle Peace that protects me and mine to Geralt of Rivia, as well."

"So, that's why he's not here." The Count of Hangfelt was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I thought as much, but gods above and below, Pankratz, you are beside yourself with fear. He's a witcher, he will be alright! What are you so afraid of?"

'Why don't you tell me?' he thought angrily. 'You're the one who's been searching for him for the better part of the afternoon.' But right now was the time for humility and humiliation, not anger. "Might I be allowed to finish my plea, my lord?" he asked, his eyes firmly lowered onto the carpet.

He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Well, then, wordsmith, talk away."

"The Witcher Geralt of Rivia is my dearest friend, whom I have known for almost half of my life. I love him like I would a brother. He arrived on my doorstep tattered and torn from the war that divides our beloved Continent, with bloodhounds on his heels. They turned around as soon as Lettenhove came in sight, but I do not know if they will stop without knocking a second time. It is not only Nilfgaard who calls for his head, but other factions, too, closer to my borders than I would like. I would like to protect him from these threats and any that might follow."

"You're asking for a lot, Pankratz, you know that," Aleksander Milas said quietly.

"I do, my liege."

"And how do you intend to pay for that?”

He swallowed. "I-" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, but it did not help the dryness of his mouth. 'It's for Geralt,' he reminded himself, 'for Geralt and Ciri.' With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he said: "I accept, my lord. I will become a part of your family and help you with your ambitions. If your sister would still take me after the insults I have bestowed upon her."

"Hm," the Count said. “That’s a lot you offer for a bit of protection for your witcher.”

“It is,” he agreed quietly. “You said it yourself, four sixteen years I trailed after him like a lost puppy. He is very dear to me.” After a small pause he added: “Though I certainly wouldn’t be disinclined to another holding or two in exchange for my service.”

"Fine," the Count conceded after a moment of consideration. "Wed Alina if you're so fond of her, then. I'll draw up the contract."

Jaskier clenched his teeth. 'Shit.' That meant that there would be at least half a dozen clauses in it that he wouldn't like. Maybe if he talked to Geralt- No. He wouldn’t do that to them. He bowed his head instead. "I would be honoured," he answered.

The Count held out his hand and Jaskier took it with numb fingers to kiss the signet ring. "Belleteyn is a wonderful date for a wedding."

"I am inclined to agree, my liege."

"Get up now, liegeman, and go fetch your witcher. He'll have nothing to worry about from me tonight. And tomorrow he can swear to you and he will be safe."

"I am grateful for your generosity," he answered honestly.

"I'm certain you are. Now, stop frowning, this is a joyous day."

It was an order, but Jaskier couldn't find it in himself to follow it. 'A joyous occasion?' he asked himself. 'I sold my hand in marriage to shield Ciri from the same fate, and for what? To protect the man, I have loved for half my life with whom I can't lead a conversation that lasts longer than five minutes. Pray tell me, my lord, what is joyous about that?'

[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

Merlin (BBC) fic part 2

You were the one to teach me how to use knives

Summary:  Merlin chose to save Mordred against the dragon's advice. He should have made the same choice for Morgana. In which Merlin is more than a little fed up of old men and old dragons telling him what to do, and gives Morgana some hope. Maybe it won't change the dark path she's destined to walk down... Or perhaps in doing so, Merlin saves all of Albion from her wrath. Featuring the emotional catharsis and continuity we were denied in canon and a systematic re-writing of what could have been

Chapter summary: The Nightmare Begins (Part Two)

Morgana has dinner with Uther, Merlin comes up with a plan to start their magic training and Arthur becomes increasingly concerned about Merlin and Morgana's relationship...

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387470/chapters/70231440

Fic under the cut

Merlin had told Morgana that he needed a while to gather the materials for her training- which translated in his head to working out how on earth he was going to fit this into his crazy schedule and help Morgana without revealing his own magic- and bade her goodnight. The smile she had given him as he left, the way her gentle accent curled around the words thank you, made him even surer that he had made the right decision. The terror that Morgana could betray him, that even though they technically could both take each other down, no-one would believe him and everyone would believe her, was an easier weight to bear than the guilt at letting his friend suffer. He thinks Arthur might break him out of the dungeons anyway. Exile him, probably, which wouldn’t bode well for their shared destiny, but at least he’d live. Merlin really needed to work on learning that teleportation spell, that could get him out of an execution if it looked like Uther was going to hack him to bits imminently.

He slept easy for the first time in a while, though that made it all the more difficult to get up in the morning. Still, he made it to Arthur’s bedchambers before the Prince had woken up, though Merlin did not think it was because he was on time. Arthur had been up late looking for the sorcerer who might have started the fire in Morgana’s rooms the night before, on his father’s orders. Which was another problem Merlin needed to resolve.

“Good morning Sire!” Merlin yells, cheerfully, throwing open the curtains. Arthur grumbles, sleepily pulling the covers over his eyes. “Breakfast is on the table!”

Unlike usual, once Arthur has resigned himself to the waking world, he gets up and dressed fast enough that Merlin doesn’t even have chance to tease him about not being able to dress himself. He wolfs down his breakfast as Merlin quietly gathers the laundry, not wanting to interrupt Arthur’s focus, especially as it looks like Arthur wouldn’t be in the mood to banter back with him.

“I need to report with my father and then rendezvous with Sir Leon. Do your usual cleaning duties in here.” Arthur says, not even sparing Merlin a look, merely a distracted wave of his hand to encompass that by ‘here’ he means his rooms. He strides out the door, and doesn’t return for a very dull hour in which Merlin, for once, actually does all of his duties and is left anxiously polishing Arthur’s sword just for something to do with his hands. What if someone suspects someone he knows of magic? Uther will not listen to anyone when it comes to magic as it is, let alone when Morgana’s life is in apparent danger. As ever, neighbourly feuds will have everyone accusing each other of witchcraft in the lower town, and Merlin can definitely imagine Uther deciding to execute anyone with even a sniff of suspicion just to be sure. He’s not worried that someone will accuse Morgana of starting the fire herself; her position in court prevents that, but Gwen is only recently starting to escape the shadow of sorcery that followed her since her father’s death, and if she comes under suspicion again he doubts even the combined efforts of Arthur and Morgana could stop Uther’s wrath.

Eventually, Arthur comes back, Leon in tow, the both of them already mid-conversation.

“Are you sure this is all of them?” Asks Arthur, unravelling a scroll.

“Names and last known dwelling places.” Confirms Leon.

“My father suspects the fire was started by sorcery.”

“Indeed, sire. I’ve included the details of everyone we suspect of consorting with sorcerers, witches or druids.”

Arthur purses his lips. “Gather the men. We’ll arrest them immediately.” Leon nods and leaves, and for the first time that day Arthur finally looks at Merlin. “I thought I told you to do that yesterday.” Arthur says, pointedly.

“I didn’t have time.” Merlin considers, for a bizarre moment, telling the truth of I was too busy having an emotional crisis of whether to acknowledge the Lady Morgana’s magic or not considering it’s possible that she will ruin our destiny but swallows it down. He searches for a chore he could have done out of Arthur’s sight. “I was cleaning the stables.”

“That’s strange, because a little bird told me you were somewhere else.” Arthur turns away from Merlin to shrug off his jacket, and Merlin makes use of his distraction to unroll the scroll with his magic to try and scan the list of names, and make sure Gwen’s wasn’t on it. Not that Merlin thinks Arthur would have given the order to arrest them if hers was on the list, but it’s possible he hadn’t had a chance to look at it properly himself yet.

“Mucking out the stables is strange and a talking bird isn’t?” Merlin quips, distractedly, trying to find the letter G upside down.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, turning back before Merlin can finish, “what have we said about you trying to be funny?”

“I shouldn’t.” Merlin says, with what he hopes is a sheepish smile, but has a feeling it’s coming across more as cheeky. Arthur raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, and turns back again to fiddle with his belt. Merlin once more attempts to read the scroll, but is distracted by Arthur’s next words.

“So, where are my flowers?”

“Your flowers?” Merlin repeats, barely registering his own words.

“I heard Morgana got some.” Arthur says, with strange emphasis on Morgana. He pulls back on his red jacket and looks expectantly at Merlin who quickly lets the scroll roll shut. “I assumed you were putting them in all the rooms.” Merlin had honestly completely forgotten about the flowers he’d taken up to her the day before, his guilt driving him to do at least a small act of kindness for his friend. He also knows that Arthur knows he was doing nothing of the kind. Gods curse it, he thought he’d gotten away with it, hiding the flowers in his waistband. Sometimes Arthur’s perceptiveness makes Merlin very, very worried for his secrets. Other times… Arthur is as dense as a brick wall. “Or is she the only one to receive a token of your affections?”

“Yes.” Merlin says decisively, and then realises what he’s just agreed to and quickly backtracks as Arthur develops a delighted grin. “Uh, no, no, no. Uh, what? It’s not a token of anything! Affection or otherwise.” It really hadn’t been. Merlin was aware of how beautiful Morgana was, he had eyes but he was no fool. He had no time for romantic thoughts of any kind, and even if he did, he’s never even consciously considered Morgana in that regard. It was so far from the realm of possibility… And when his reality included a talking dragon on a regular basis, that was a serious statement to make.

“I see.” Arthur says, his tone tinted with smugness, but Merlin was still preoccupied trying to see the list to take note of it. “So why were you trying to hide them from me yesterday?”

“I wasn’t…” Merlin says, paying to attention. “I mean, I was. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.” Didn’t want to have to deal with Arthur calling him names when he had lots of errands to run.

“What’s the right impression?” Arthur says, tone a little dangerous, but Merlin doesn’t pick up on it. He’s almost made it to the bottom of the list without seeing Gwen’s name.

“That I was trying to cheer her up after the fire.”

“Pick them yourself?” Arthur inquires, spinning so fast Merlin barely has a chance to let the scroll close again. It shuts with such force that it drops to the ground, but thankfully Merlin finished reading, and Gwen definitely wasn’t on that list.

“Maybe.” Merlin beams, trying to look as innocent as possible, and far away from the scroll. His mind finally catches up with the conversation he’s been having, and he can’t help the defensiveness that seeps into his tone. “I was only trying to be nice.”

Arthur nods, but his eyes clearly say he doesn’t believe him. After a moment, though, all he says is, “Sword.” Merlin hurriedly hands it over. “That’ll be all.” Merlin nods and goes around the table to leave, mind already racing about what to do with Morgana. He’s glad to know Gwen is safe, but it still doesn’t sit right in his stomach, knowing innocent people are about to be detained for a crime that didn’t happen.

 Merlin furiously scrubs at Gaius’ leech tank, desperately trying to think of some way to talk to Morgana privately that wouldn’t be horribly inappropriate. He thinks he’s got an idea about how to circumnavigate the issue of getting to her chambers for training, but it’s risky, and he has no idea what to do about all the people being arrested. Luckily, before he has to do anything, Morgana comes to Gaius’ chambers instead. Merlin inclines his head at her, not being able to do much else when he’s up to his elbows in leech tank gunk. “My lady.” Merlin doesn’t know whether she managed to sleep last night, but she’s looking remarkably better anyway, even though her expression is worried.

“Merlin, is Gaius here?” Merlin shakes his head.

“No, one of the prisoners was badly injured when the guards arrested them so he’s tending to them in the cells.” Morgana nudges the door to behind herself, clasping her hands in front of her stomach.

“If,” she says, hesitantly, “if I was right and it was me who started the fire, then it’s my fault all these innocent people are being arrested. Uther will never let all of them go, even if they all have alibis. It would look weak.”

“I’ve been wracking my brain all day but I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, not without risking yourself. And even if you confessed, I’m sure he would think you had been enchanted.”

“Merlin, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if someone got hurt because of me- Gods, someone else has already been hurt because of me-” She cuts herself off, distraught, and Merlin aches to comfort her but there’s nothing he can do.

“Can you think of anyone Uther might be convinced? You know him better than probably anyone except Arthur.” Morgana shakes her head.

“The only way he’d change his mind is if it looked stronger for him to not do this which-” She cuts herself off, eyes widening.

“My lady? What is it?”

“What if… I have an idea.” Before Merlin can say anything, Morgana’s sweeping back out of the rooms again. “Leave it to me!” She calls, without turning around, and Merlin has no choice but to trust her.

 Morgana knows she looks stunning as she floats into the great hall on satin-clad feet. There are many ways to defend oneself, and much as she might prefer a sword, Morgana’s become an expert in using her words and looks to her advantage too. She hasn’t felt particularly beautiful lately, her exhaustion dampening her spirit as much as her physical appearance, but the hope- and fear- that Merlin has ignited in her stomach has reinvigorated her. She feels sick with terror, but with the hope has come some perspective, and there’s parts of Merlin’s speech to her last night that have given her pause. The situation she is in is precarious, but if she could have magic without having learnt it, then there must be other people like her, and they have none of the privilege she does. Of course, being trapped right under Uther’s nose is not something many have to survive, but she knows that unless Uther saw her using magic with his own eyes, there’s little chance anyone could throw an accusation at her that’d he’d believe, or even tolerate. Half the town could know she had magic and it still wouldn’t get back to Uther, not when everyone knows they’d be risking their own skin to try and get her.

Uther smiles broadly as she comes to sit at the dinner table, sweeping his arms wide. “Morgana! I didn’t know you would be joining me tonight.” She’s skipped out on many meals in the last few weeks, having no appetite. She doesn’t really have it back yet, but she has a mission here tonight that has nothing to do with food.

“It’s been too long, my Lord.” She says, smiling back. There’s been a tension between them since Gwen’s father’s death, a tension that has not dissipated despite the length of time. Morgana knows that tension will never ease. She may have found enough goodness in him, enough affection- enough weakness that dark voice in her head whispers- for him to not let Tauren and his band of sorcerers murder him outright, but she had held Gwen close as she’d cried for too many nights to ever forget. In the long hours that she lies awake, too terrified of her dreams to let herself fall asleep, Morgana tries to weigh up how much of her decision to stop Tauren was based on her affection for the man who’d taken her in and raised her since she was a little girl, and how much of it was realisation that the plan was not well thought out, was too messy. She’d been so blinded by her rage that she’d let it get the better of her considerable intellect. If she’d let them kill him, not only would she have been rewarding the man who was partially responsible for Tom’s death, she also might have led to the downfall of the whole of Camelot. Though she is a lot more disparaging of Arthur than Merlin is- and she does truly marvel at how Merlin, despite spending more time in Arthur’s company than anyone else, and spending most of that time insulting Arthur and pointing out all his flaws, believes that Arthur is going to make a great king- she still doesn’t wish him harm. She knows he is a better man than Uther, always has been.

(She’d found him, shaking, hiding in an alcove of one of the turrets, when he was fourteen. They’d been at an awkward phase in their relationship; her, haughty and more aware of the year she had on him than ever before, cross with him for the ways Uther was increasing Arthur’s combat lessons while hers languished because she couldn’t be cross with Uther, beginning to realise many members of the court expected the two of them to marry when they were both of age and hating how little control she had of her own future, him, arrogant and headstrong, tactless and defensive when she mocked his bully-like behaviour, all the while knowing most of it was bluster to hide how terrified he was of disappointing his father. There had been a lot of whispers in the last few days, odd snippets she couldn’t quite put together, conversations she knew she was being left out of. Her temper had flared, and spitefully she hadn’t wished Arthur luck, even though she knew he was beyond nervous about leading his first raid.

The raid had been back for hours though, and she’d been there on the steps to greet him in, heard the way Uther had- in an extremely rare show of fatherly affection- clapped Arthur on the shoulder and said he was proud of him. Arthur should have been ecstatic. Instead he was cowering- and Arthur never cowered- his pale face looking torn between being sick and bursting into tears. She’d grasped his hands, and it was like when they were children again and she’d helped him back to the castle when he’d fallen off his horse and broken his ankle- lied for him and said the horse had been spooked instead of Arthur still not being confident in his riding yet- and asked him what was wrong. He’d told her everything, told her that Uther had described the druid camp as if it was full of evil sorcerers dancing around cauldrons practicing dark magic under a blood moon, but when he got there and his men had attacked he’d only heard terrified screams, that of all the druids there only a few had had a chance to use their magic to defend themselves and not a single one of his men had come home with more than a sore head, that there had been women and children and though he’d tried to get his men to stop his father’s knights had shown no mercy, and that it was not a battle but a slaughter.

Morgana had cradled him to her, fury burning hotly in her chest, and despite all her attempts in the last few years to be taken seriously, suddenly aware that the both of them were still just children, and they shouldn’t have to go through this. Of course, she was still in the denial phase then, sure the blame for this slaughter should be on the men Arthur had taken with him and not the King they served. Neither Morgana nor Arthur ever spoke of that night again, but Arthur never went on another raid of the druid camps, and that spark of fury ignited in Morgana’s chest never burnt out.

“Are you recovered from your scare the other night? I assure you, we have all the possible people associated with the attempt locked up, and we will find who was responsible.”

“I am fine, thank you, my Lord, but I actually wanted to talk to you about that, if you would hear me out?” Morgana waves off the maid who comes to pour her wine, and Uther gestures for her to go ahead, relaxing back in his chair but still giving her his full attention. She hates the way a part of her still trills happily at knowing she has his attention and ear, a position many have coveted and few have earned. Though he rarely, rarely agrees with her, or takes her words on board, not like he does with Gaius’ advice or even some of Arthur’s military strategies, she can push him a lot further than anyone else before he snaps at her, hear her out on a topic he wouldn’t even let Arthur broach even if nothing comes of it. “Obviously, the most likely cause of the fire was sorcery.” His eyebrow quirks a little in surprise; she’d usually the first to suggest it wasn’t, but he nods in approval. “But there is a small chance it was the storm or the attacker started the fire naturally.” She bulls on before he can protest. “And it seems to me that a sorcerer who is proficient enough to have started the fire from inside the castle and escape before I alerted the guards, is unlikely to be found. If any of the people you’ve brought in have information, the information they have is probably already useless. If we actually want a chance at catching the sorcerer, we need to let them believe they got away with it. We now have a comprehensive list of people suspected to know something about sorcerers, why not keep tabs on them? Keep listening? We might end up reeling in far bigger fish.”

“And leave you vulnerable?”

“Am I not more vulnerable to the sorcerer if we have no way of identifying them? And besides, if it was a non-magical attack, we’ll be lulling them into a false sense of security too. And if it was an accident, there’s no harm done.”

“I can’t just let them all go, Morgana. It would look like I had given up on finding the culprit.”

“Can’t you release a statement that Arthur or the knights killed the sorcerer responsible in a scuffle? You could even say they found them based on information given by the prisoners, to stir up some mistrust between them all.”

Uther hums, hand on his chin. “It’s an interesting proposition. I will see if the guards manage to elucidate any useful information from them first, but you might be onto something in making them paranoid. They’re more likely to slip up and we may end up capturing more sorcerers. I will consider it. Now onto more pleasant manners?”

 “Gaius.” Merlin greets, not knowing on the other side of the castle Morgana is suffering through a meal with her adoptive father in order rescue lives that are only on the line because of her.

Gaius blinks suspiciously at Merlin, glancing around his workroom as he closes the door behind himself and sets his bag of herbs down on the desk. His gaze catches on the leech tank and his eyes become even more narrowed. “Merlin.” He replies. “Why is it that I’m more surprised than pleased that you appear to have done everything I asked you to?”

“Arthur’s been busy all day arresting people and didn’t set me much to do. It had to happen eventually.” Merlin smiles, attempting to patch over the awkward tension that has lingered between them for the past couple of days after Gaius forbade Merlin from talking to Morgana. “Also, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Gaius frowns, but just starts over to the cauldron to start their food. “What is it?”

“You said that it’s too dangerous to talk to Morgana-”

“Merlin-” Gaius warns, but Merlin holds his hands up.

“But your sleeping draughts clearly aren’t working for her anymore, and innocent people are being interrogated because of her. I’ve seen you making those draughts enough times, Gaius, I know you can’t risk increasing the concentration anymore without putting her into a coma.”

“I have always done my best for Morgana-”

“I looked up some alternative remedies.”

“Alternative remedies? Merlin, I assure you, if there was anything more science could do I would know about it-”

“I know.”

“Merlin you had better not be suggesting a magical remedy-”

“I’m not, for god’s sake would you just listen to me for once!” Merlin yells, and Gaius drops the ladle into the cauldron in surprise. “You’ve forbade me from talking to Morgana and it’s like you don’t care about the way it’s tearing me into pieces to watch her get more and more afraid. I know exactly what she’s feeling-”

“Yours and Morgana’s situations are very different Merlin-”

“Yes, because she has no-one and I have you!” Merlin breathes heavily, trying to soften. “Everything I know that is good and light about magic I learnt from you Gaius. I was so lonely before I came here, spent every day terrified that Cenred’s soldiers were going to knock down the door and drag me away because I hadn’t been careful enough. I’m still living in fear but at least I can talk to someone who understands it.” He huffs a humourless laugh. “Even you don’t know what it’s like to be born with magic, to have no control. It took me years before my magic stopped reacting every time I got spooked, and I still do it non-verbally half the time. Morgana’s magic is coming out because she’s scared.”

“Merlin, she is safer in ignorance-” Merlin holds up a hand.

“I disagree with you but that’s not what I’m saying. I was looking into meditation rituals.”

“Meditation rituals?” Gaius is stopped-short, not expecting this at all.

“Perhaps if she can calm her mind before she goes to sleep, her magic won’t flare up. There are chants or incense candles,” at Gaius’ arched eyebrow Merlin swiftly corrects, “though of course I won’t suggest those for a while-”

“They all sound like utter codswallop Merlin. I thought, as a physician’s apprentice, you’d know better to buy into these contrived rituals-”

“I don’t; but what if she does? Placebo effect, Gaius. We both know that what’s causing her nightmares isn’t something you can treat. It has to come from her. There’s nothing to lose; there’s no danger, and nothing else you can suggest to help her. It could be in conjecture with her potions.” Gaius still doesn’t seem confessed. “Please, Gaius. Please let me do something to help her.”

Gaius releases a gusty sigh. “I’m glad you’ve looked into something non-dangerous to help her. And… You are right that I can’t treat her with anything stronger than what I’m already giving her.” He points an imperious finger at Merlin. “But I don’t think this will work. And besides, I don’t have time to be traipsing through the castle each night to perform some elaborate ritual.”

“No, but I will already be on that side of the castle after getting Arthur ready for bed.”

“You want to do it?”

Merlin grins cheekily. “You can count as my first apprentice-physician job. You just have to get Uther to approve it.”

Gaius huffs again. “Fine.” He says shortly. “But that’s the last I want to hear of this, Merlin. If it doesn’t work, that’s it.” He warns and Merlin’s grin widens.

“Yes! Thank you, Gaius!”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He grumbles. “Uther still has to approve it.”

There are more guards than ever at the staircase up to Morgana’s rooms, but, despite the fact that Merlin isn’t even holding a potion, they accept the excuse that he’s delivering Morgana’s usual sleeping draught without question. He hurriedly knocks on the door, and Morgana answers dressed in emerald green, her eyes light with something he hasn’t seen in a long time on her face.

“Merlin.” She smiles lightly, small but there, and Merlin’s stomach clenches at the thought he’s put it there. He should have talked to her earlier. He could have spared her some sleeplessness. He can’t imagine why he would ever regret this. She opens the door wider to let him in, and he slips through the gap with a bow of his head.

“My lady.” He waits until the door closes. “I heard the prisoners were being released tomorrow. Should I assume you have something to do with it?”

Morgana’s smile widens, eyes sparking with a hint of mischief. “Yes. But…” Her face falls. “It comes at the price of increased guards. I convinced Uther that he’d gain more information from the prisoners by spying on them than interrogating them. Hopefully with enough time he’ll have to come to the conclusion that there was no sorcerer who attacked me. In the meantime, I’m being heavily watched. I’m not sure when on earth we’d get a chance to…” She flicks wary eyes at the door. “Talk.” She finishes, word inlaid with meaning.

“I might have solved that problem.” Merlin says. “Gaius is going to approach the king about a new remedy suggestion he has for you; meditation rituals. As Gaius doesn’t have time to be traipsing over here every night and I’m close by coming from Arthur’s rooms anyway…” Merlin shrugs. “So long as the meditation seems to work,” he says, with a meaningful eyebrow raise, “I’ll be permitted to help you clear your mind before bed each night, when I’m not on a mission with Arthur of course.”

Morgana’s eyes well up. “Gods, Merlin… Thank you.” She shudders through a sigh. “I… I was always taught that magic was evil. That it corrupts the soul.”

“Uther taught you that.” Merlin says, gently. “Just because he decreed it, doesn’t make it so. Magic is a tool. It has the potential for great darkness. But it also has the potential for such light.”

“You… You don’t look at me as though I am a monster.”

“My lady- I never will. As long as you can promise me you will only use your magic for good-”

“I promise, Merlin. Maybe- Maybe one day magic will be seen primarily as a force for good.” Merlin swallows, can’t meet her eyes because he wants it so badly himself. He thinks, for a split second, about telling her about his magic, wavers on the edge, but can’t quite make himself teeter over.

“It’s good to have you back.” He says, instead, voice a little hoarse. She doesn’t ask him to explain what he means when she hasn’t left the castle, because she knows he’s referring more to her joy than anything else. She reopens the door for him.

“Thank you, Merlin.” He leaves, smiling. “Sleep well.”

 Arthur had known something was up with Merlin when he’d been humming as he folded Arthur’s laundry and not saying a word of complaint. He let Merlin’s distracted and cheery behaviour go, only to follow him when he left Arthur’s chambers. When he didn’t turn down the corridor to go back to Gaius’, Arthur’s feet quickened, stealthily tracking him through the corridors. Honestly, it was a bit disconcerting how easy it was for Arthur to avoid the scrutiny of the guards; he really needed to train them to look around. Were their helmets obscuring their peripheral vision? Perhaps inside it would be better for them not to wear the full metal ones. He’s distracted enough by these thoughts that it takes him a moment to recognise the staircase Merlin’s headed up; to Morgana’s rooms.

He overhears the brief conversation with the guards and, to be fair to them, he himself would not think anything were remiss… If he didn’t know Merlin had come directly from Arthur’s chambers and hadn’t picked up any sleeping draughts on the way. He waits for a couple of minutes, but when Merlin still doesn’t come back down, he strolls out and dismisses the guards at the end of Morgana’s staircase to wait for Merlin himself.

When he had confronted Merlin about the flowers, he’d mostly been teasing him, but now his concern is genuine. He casts his mind back, trying to work out whether he had ever noticed anything between the woman he regarded as a sister and his manservant, but he realises to some chagrin that Arthur had always been preoccupied with Gwen whenever the four of them were out together, and he couldn’t recall anything of the sort. Anxiety had a strange way of stretching time, and by the time Merlin finally comes back down the staircase, dopey smile on his face, Arthur’s convinced he’s been in Morgana’s rooms- unchaperoned- for entirely too long.

“This has to stop.” Arthur says, as Merlin’s feet hit the last step, eyes flicking up at him. Merlin flinches, having clearly not seen Arthur, and Arthur doesn’t enjoy the twinge of guilt that flares at the loss of Merlin’s smile. Arthur pushes himself off the wall but uncrosses his arms, trying to be firm but not threatening. It’s not as if he doesn’t understand. But… Arthur clings to the tiny hope that one day he could court Gwen openly, marry for love, even if it isn’t likely. For Merlin and Morgana, however, there is no hope at all. Morgana will have very little choice in who she’s married to, and the choice that Uther might allow her would only ever be between different noble options. He’d never let her be with a servant. Though Arthur would never dishonour Gwen in such a way, if anyone found out about the two of them, only Gwen would be disgraced. If someone found out about Merlin and Morgana… Morgana would be disgraced and Merlin would be executed. “The king would have your head if he found out and there’s no point denying it.”

To Merlin’s credit, he does manage to look legitimately confused. Arthur stops just shy of touching him, and waits for his response. “Denying what?”

Arthur’s eyes flicker over his face, reluctantly impressed with how Merlin’s mask doesn’t even flicker. “Your affections for the lady Morgana.” Arthur states, because there’s no point beating around the bush. To his surprise, Merlin’s confusion softens into a grin and he scoffs, turning away from Arthur like he thinks it’s just a joke.

“Right.”

“Take a bit of advice from someone who knows about women-” Arthur says, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and attempting to be a little kinder. He wants Merlin to know he won’t tell his father, not when Merlin’s kept so many secrets for him, but that still doesn’t mean this can continue.

“If such a person existed, I would.” Merlin quips, and Arthur rolls his eyes, feels like shaking him. It is not an unusual feeling.

He continues as if Merlin hadn’t spoken. “Stick to girls who are more,” he casts his eyes around, “how can I put it,” he ends up catching Merlin’s eye as he finishes which makes what was supposed to be advice now seem mostly insulting, “on your level.”

Merlin looks so unimpressed that Arthur thinks he must be taking lessons from Gaius. “Thanks.” He says, not thankful in the slightest.

“She can’t be your friend,” Arthur says, and now when he looks away he’s not sure that he’s talking about Morgana anymore, “let alone anything else.”

He’s brought out of his reverie by Merlin. “Yeah. I know.” Despite that Arthur came here to caution Merlin, he’s getting the strangest feeling that Merlin is also cautioning him in return. And… And that now he’s not talking about Morgana or Gwen but… His relationship with Merlin. Arthur clicks his tongue, uncomfortable at how suddenly he’s lost the reins of this conversation, and of how aware he is of his own hand on Merlin’s shoulder that might have been there a little too long now he thinks about it.

Arthur pats Merlin’s shoulder in a friendly slap, imagining Leon in Merlin’s place, and jokes, “You can’t hide anything from me, Merlin.” He walks away to the sound of Merlin’s laughter.

Merlin watches Arthur go, wondering whether Arthur will address this whole strange conversation again when he finds out that Merlin really was just going to Morgana’s rooms to help her sleep, and his smile slowly dies as he thinks of Arthur’s parting statement. All his elation over the past day- about peeling open one of his layers to Morgana- fades as he remembers just how much he’s still lying to Arthur. The Merlin of a year ago would be incredulous in the face of the affection that warms his stomach when Arthur shows a hint of caring towards him, but, as Arthur said, there’s no point denying it now. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Merlin whispers, to Arthur’s retreating back, wishing he lived in a world where he could repay the trust Arthur gives him.

[selemina]

So how about you tell me a bit about what you're upto? What's going on in your campaigns this week? :3

This week nothing, because I have been busy with real life, I didn’t have time to prepare. ^^’ But I can tell you what happened in the last sessions up to this point!

The quarantine story arc started with everybody going to a student fashion show. Alexia and Isa had been invited to be models, but once there and with a few events, both Permid and Lyn also asked to join. However, in the middle of it, they realized their tech wizard Raph was... not online. Which was impossible : Raph is ALWAYS online! They tried to contact people in Saclay and couldn’t get anybody. Worried, they drove with a few other people from Saclay, over to a secret entrance. (I took some liberty with reality, based around the historical fact that there are aquaduct networks that used to bring water from Saclay to Versaille’s castle for the fountains of the palace. :) ) Using those tunnels, they managed to get inside... All of Saclay was under a severe quarantine : no radio, no internet, no phone lines... Everything was cut off. Knowing this had to be about the magical events happening around town, the group realized they would be hunted down sooner or later. In any case, Salin and Saka (both from Mira) coulldn’t be found by the government, so they offered to get a few of the kids and go over to the other world, Mira, to hid in there for a week or so until the search let up.

Saka, Isa, Lyn and Permid agreed to go with Salin to Mira, while Ivan and Alexia decided to stay to keep an eye on things and protect who needed it. They also had not heard about Damiana in a while...

The A team, in Mira, landed at the White tower as usual, where Master Kavoleg was in the middle of a meeting with representants of each nation, informing them about the existence of Earth, and the imminent crisis it faced of having magical resurface, all unsupervised and without direction. After most left, they met the Human representant of this council :

He seemed very curious about this new human-only world with no magic. They all discussed the current state of things, and the worry that if there was already a military presence during this “quarantine”, things might be a little difficult to resolve peacefully...

Still, since they had a week of down time, Saka asked to start looking for his missing brother, Sisik, that had last been since just before the whole thing. They headed to the port town where he had been seen last, and started looking. They heard about the fact that Sisik was looking into disappearances that seemed to target specifically magic users, and just as they exited the building, someone tried to get saka alone in an alleyway. While Isa was 100% here to help, Saka and Permid saw right through it, and managed to stop the kidnapping attempt peacefully (I will never say enough how proud I am of my players for going out of their way to not be murder hobos! ;W;)

They learned that those kidnappers had no real idea who they worked for, they were just there to subdue people and pass them over to someone else, and got a better cut if the people were magic users. They handed the kidnappers to the town’s guard, and Saka immediately stormed out, realizing that this was a serious issue, and his brother might be somewhere in there. He went to the Axis outpost, and was told that if he could provide something that belonged to Sisik, they could attempt to locate him.

Which meant They had to go back to Saka’s home, in Iridescence, the land of dragonborns. A place he had avoided at any cost for three years... Still, for his brother, he pushed through and went, with the others in tow. It didn’t take very long for his anxiety to return to be explained, as they ran into his ex-lover, Zahz. Apparently their relationship had been toxic, between Zahz’s abuse of control, and Saka’s desperation to be loved at any cost, and the break-up had been messy. But it had been enough of a shock that Zahz had decided to work on himself, or at least start the process to become a better person. The two awkardly reconnected, wary of falling into old habits but still very much in love with the other. Saka also visited his parents again after 3 years, and after some scolding for not giving news himself, he was given one of Sisik’s baby teeth to help locate him.

The process didn’t seem to go through, until Permid realized the problem was that Sisik was in a different plane of existence. With Salin’s help, they devised a spell to locate the plane in which Sisik was being held, and once they had this information, they adapted the locate spell to be able to reach Sisik. They very quickly realized he was in the Underdark (which I THOUGHT was a different plane for some reason, so woops, now the Underdark is a different plane in my world. XD), and that his magic had been drained from him to the point of leaving him barely alive. There was also mention of a Wish spell, that left Permid very worried... Saka on the other end focused on the fact that magic drain at this degree was not only against the Axis’ codes, but also a warning sign of a potential catastrophy about to happen. He made a report to his superior in the Axis, and called for backup. They agreed to start organizing a strike team to take this threat down and save the captured civilians, giving the group a few days to get ready before the attack while they located precisely where the prison was.

Lyn, Isa and Permid had a moment of hesitation : they came here to hide for a while, not to be part of a strike team and potentially kill people! Salin reminded them that they always had the opportunity to leave if they wanted, but she would be doing everything she could to keep them safe and away from the main battle. In the end, they decided to stay and assist Saka. -Which Salin was very glad for, as it would force Saka to hold back to keep them safe too, keeping him from putting himself in danger recklessly like he had a tendency to. A little bit of manipulation Zahz reproached her later, but to each their way of keeping their friends safe. ;)

The B team had their own adventure in the meantime! :) As a doctor, Ivan realized very quickly that the Tieflings under his care were being brought to a field hospital the government had put in place, away from prying eyes, essentially in a temporary military base. VERY unhappy about this, he started organizing a passive resistance with the nurses and other doctors, while making sure he could go to said hospital and visit the tieflings himself.

Damiana, who had started showing tiefling traits, had been kept in her own room without any phone or internet for a week now by her very religious grandmother, in the hopes of forcing the devil out of her. All it did was push her to escape her house once she heard that her family wanted to send her to a covenant essentially, so god could help her repent. None of that for Dami, thank you! She eventually found her way to the student dorms, and was given a place to stay for the moment, and a way to disguise herself to look like she used to.

On her side, Alexia had been keeping an eye on her and her patron’s territory : the school. To their credit, the military presence here wasn’t abusive, just checking for anybody’s ID as they passed by. Soon, though, a different kind of government official showed up, walking straight to her : enter Special Agent Dyla Ross, that I’ve spoken about at length already. XD He presented himself, and asked Alexia, as a person of interest, to follow him to the field camp. There, a small firing squad suddenly appeared, weapons trained on her, and got ready to fire. Alexia decided to protect herself with mage armor, while Ivan (who was just coming back from the field hospital and saw his student in danger) rushed over, projecting an illusion in front of her for added protection. The weapons clicked, unloaded from the start, and the firing squad moved back into their hiding spot while Dylan casually walked back in. This had been a test to see what their first reflex to danger was : if they had attacked the firing squad, it would have looked very bad for them, but instead they chose to be safe. He then got them both into his office and got as much information from them as he could. Ivan being very forthcoming and open with information, even helpful, seemed to surprise Dylan deeply, but he appreciated it. There was only one attempted lie, that Dylan dissuaded quickly. Ivan offered to send Peter his way, since the vampire was originally from Mira, to get more intel on the new world.

The next day, Alexia and Damiana met a new friendly face over breakfast : Tethys, an exchange student that seemed to also have magic abilities. Shortly after, Dylan showed up again, offering to drive the kids over to the atomic research facility next to the Synchrotron to test out some theories about magic. Under the supervision of Archeon White talon, Permid’s dad and local scientist, they set up different dummies and tries spells on them. Everything was recorded in any ways science knew how : heat, motion, air displacement, visual, slow motion... After a few shots, Dylan got on the field and asked to be fired at with magic. Everybody immediately protested, but he insisted. He tried to use deflect missile on a few things, quickly realizing he could not actually catch magic, and after a round of test got himself healed on camera for the record.

They then drove to Ivan’s house (because Dylan wanted to try and see Peter again), where the doctor and Dylan spoke some more while the team welcomed a second new face : Shanti! :) Recently turned tiefling too, plagued by voices in her mind for a while, Shanti got to meet Omnideus and become a cleric like Ivan. They caught her and tethys up to speed, and everybody turned in for the day.

Next day! :D While Shanti was getting used to the new house, Oni came by the see if she needed anything (since he’s been adopted more or less by the Standons, and is still looking for purpose). After a short talk, shanti noticed Omnideus staring ominously in the direction of the school, and they both hurried there. At school, a fire alarm had gone off, and Alexia, Dami and Tethys started evacuating, when Alexia was informed by her patron that something bad was going on. They quickly realized there was a student in distress, in the middle of a wild magic surge, unfortunately wrecking havoc on the school ground as she looked for help. They got there, along with Shanti while Oni kept the military forces from doing anything stupid and making things worse. Damiana figured out that they needed to help the student focus on a spell to expel the excess magic, and with reassuring words and a comforting, confident presence, they helped her calm down enough to cast a spell, resolving the surge as peacefully as they could. (Rip school windows) And guess who showed up! :D Dylan, again, having heard that something was going on at the school. He took in the situation, forced to recognize that these kids knew what they were doing. He also confronted Alexia about things she was not telling him on purpose, and as a show of what her patron could do, she made the statue right behind her brandish its stone cane straight at Dylan’s face, not touching him but barely. (Dylan had to recognize that yeah, ok, she was being honest about her patron being In the statue...)

He then told them to all come at the field camp tonight, as they needed to discuss how to handle this whole situation, and make a proper plan before his superior, the General in charge of the quarantine, showed up to demand a report and a plan of action.

And that’s it! :D So next time will be a big session : between storming the underdark fortress and deciding on what the world should know of what’s going on here, big things are going to happen, as we reach this arc’s finale! :D And after that.. Beach episode on Mira! ;) (And then we move to the next and final story arc! ;) )

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 8

08: Legacy

Summary: Y/N now knows who burned the Kappa sorority house down, but more pressing matter comes to life.

Warnings: nothing too great, bit of angst?

Word count: 1600

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST    

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Mouth wide, both Ethan and Grayson stared ahead at the beautiful woman before them who had her fists clenched as well as her jaw, her eyes virtual daggers for their souls as she came closer. Slamming the door close behind her with her elbow, she stood before them with a fire brewing inside her veins, the fumes almost visible as her nostrils flare.

"I, uh...burned down the Kappa house." Ethan admits with a small stutter, feeling dread take over inside his heart. Never had he been so afraid since the day his father cast him out of Mount Olympus. Never had he cared so much what will happen as he did now. No mortal made him pray to the old gods or new as she just did and it's not because he's afraid of her...but her reaction. He's terrified she'll hate him for what he did and that this will cause him to lose her forever.

"Please say something." Noticing the pause she imposed, the silence that gnawed on him and crawled through his skin, Ethan sighed deeply.

"Have I lost you? Please, tell me. I can't bear the silence."

But then her face washed out all emotion, turning impassive for a moment as her mind turned into a hurricane.

Y/N found herself back inside her head, inside the dreaded dreams she has, but this time she was awake. She was fully awake and yet trapped in the hectic mood she couldn't control.

Instead of the darkness, she found herself at the ledge of a building, the choice to jump imposed by the lack of solid ground around her. The building only had this one edge, high up in the sky where no one could hear her. No one could save her.

"Hecate?" She calls out, knowing this is her work. And like magic, she finds she's no longer alone.

"This your way of helping?" She turned to her left, toward the goddess who appeared out of thin air.

Hecate chose a body tight black dress, no more purple lace. Her paleness clearer in broad daylight, make up smeared slightly around her green eyes. Her hair half pulled up in a curly mess at the back of her head, but her lips curled to the side as they always seem to be.

"When I'm in control, you're safer. So, yes. It is." She smirked, walking closer on the ledge like the danger of falling to her death somehow doesn't apply to her.

"Look, whatever your message of today is...I have a pressing matter to attend to and I'd like my body back." Y/N snapped back, ignoring the smile growing on Hecate's face.

"I know. But I'd like a word in first."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N turns to Hecate. "Why would you want a word with Ethan? What are they to you?"

Breathless, Y/N finds herself struggling to balance. One misstep and she's dead. She had to be careful and play this game better. She had to be smarter.

"Finally catching up, are we? Maybe you should ask your precious Dolan twins about me? Or start a little easier? Ask for their age. Their family." She emphasizes.

Before she has a chance to question her, Hecate disappeared, leaving Y/N alone on the ledge.

"Hello boys." Hecate smirked, finding herself face to face with her lying, cheating consort and his brother, the partner in crime.

"Hecate." Apollo groans, turning around in frustration while Hermes remains rooted in his place, staring at her.

"I thought I told you to leave her alone." Hermes speaks through gritted teeth, not moving an inch as Hecate nears him, placing her palms on his chest and runs it up and down his body slowly like it's her playground, her possession.

"I'm in mood for raising hell. It gets boring back home." Her smug smile widened, her lips coming closer to Hermes' shamelessly.

Unable to handle her hands on him any longer, the touch making him physically ill, Hermes gripped her wrists and pushed her away, watching her smile turn into a wicked grin.

"I thought you liked this body. You didn't mind touching everything she offered you just a little while ago. In fact, had you persisted, you'd know how her insides feel like quivering around your cock." She blew the lid off of Apollo's patience who turned around in his rage and grabbed her by the throat. He backed her up into the wall so quickly,   slamming her into it, ignoring her cackling.

"You can't hurt me, fool! Anything you do to me, you do to your precious Y/N." She sneered, reminding him to behave and as her words reach him through the mist of his hate, his grip relents and his arms fall to his sides.

But as Hecate is about to speak, she finds herself choking, losing breath as she desperately claws at her throat that's now void of Apollo's hands.

"What is happening?" Both gods fall to their knees, beside their love who has been overtaken. Hermes pulls at his hair as Apollo cups her face to look into her eyes, finding a body but no soul in them.

"I think...Y/N is fighting back." Apollo mumbles in his confusion, his eyes flickering to his brother who is at his wits end

"That was rude." Hecate snickers, pushing back her hair as she found herself back on the ledge, Y/N rather comfortably grabbing at her throat. She used the chance once the goddess appeared, hoping to put a stop to her control. She didn't even hesitate.

Snapping her fingers, Hecate immobilized Y/N, simply stepping out of her strangling attempt.

"Have you ever heard of my lying, cheating husband? Consort Hermes?" Hecate begins, wanting to tell her story to someone at least. She's been silenced for far too long and her own lineage had no clue what she's been through. She found it to be the perfect time to speak out on her reasons for the hostile takeover. None of her legacies found Hermes before and she has to take advantage of the situation at hand.

"I was the daughter of two titans and yet they refused to give me a seat on Mount Olympus. They called me a witch. A necromancer." She sneaked closer, her heels clicked against the cemented ground.

"But then I heard Persephone scream. I helped them realize she's been taken...and by who. Hades, the old loner." Snorting, she smiles, allowing Y/N to take control of her body enough to relax her arms and breathe as she continued on.

"They wanted to award me with a title. They would call me a goddess, but it came with strings attached...only if I married Hermes. They hoped it would make him settle down and let up on torturing mortals. That somehow I would be what breaks up the famous Apollo ~ Hermes duo. I wasn't." Hecate narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, turning so she could gaze down the fall guaranteed should one step off the ledge.

"I didn't even love him at first. He was way too arrogant and willful. If I were forced to wed, I'd have thought Apollo or Artemis would be given to me as reward, but they gave me a ferryman - Hades' worker bee...a mailman. He had no respect for mortals, nor my craft. But he was ethereal, even for a god. So damn beautiful and charming and I fell for the act." Y/N frowned, realizing the description sounds way too familiar for she has someone particular in mind. But the pain Hecate holds is familiar too, with a difference as to who she lost.

"I thought he loved me, that he'd change. I mean, he could hardly keep his hands off me." Hecate trails off, her lips setting in a thin line.

"Turns out he could hardly keep his hands from any female that would have him. And then he got himself banished to Earth and I married again, forced once more to take some fool as my consort. At least this fool loves me and allows my bloodline to grow." Sighing, Hecate waves her hand and with the flick of a wrist, Y/N got a chance to move again.

"I'm going crazy, aren't I?" Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, realizing this hallucination feels far too real to ignore. Many people lose a piece of their sanity after a great loss, but she didn't think the effect would show years later.

"No. I'm just opening your horizons." But before Hecate finished, Y/N threw herself at the goddess, tumbling them both over the ledge and into the unknown abyss as her view blurred. A great outburst of power came with Hecate's raging scream, the fall imminent.

Breathing in a sharp, deep breath, Y/N refocused her blury vision only to find Grayson before her, his hands on her face.

"You're back." He breathes out, relieved as a smile breaks on his lips. Hermes raises his head fast, lips parted as he looks over the girl whose eyes watered and her lips quivered. She nodded, wondering what they must have seen and if they think she's completely mad as she does.

But before she has a chance to speak, they're interrupted by a woman in her early forties who seems to be shaken as much as they are.

"Y/N?"

She stands up, feeling her chest tighten at the sight, unsure if this is the final straw and she had finally lost her mind.

"Mom?"

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Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart  @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch   @fallinginlove-16  @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid  @dinnerwiththedolans  @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck  @godlydolans @flowery-dolan @dominatedolans @buckysjuicyplums @ethanhes @dolandolll

[bae-roman]

I need the Nadia profile HC from you. Like her age, temperament, how she treats Roman and bunny, her powers etc

* Sorry this took SO long girly! I hope it was worth the wait! 

In the bunny x Roman AU, season 2 didn’t happen

Her temperament/ how she treats Roman and Bunny

I think that at some point, as Nadia got a bit older Roman became a more aware of what he was doing and more comfortable with being a father so once he stopped keeping her in a soundproofed box for a room, and started to actually act more like a father than a warden, him and Nadia became a lot closer.

Don’t get me wrong, he didn’t turn into super dad or anything like that, he still had nannies there 24/7 but he now did a lot more. The main thing was bedtime, he always tried to be home to put her to bed for the night.

So once those changes took place, Nadia became such a sweet little baby.  She was always so smiley and giggly and was SUCH a daddy’s girl.

Once she started walking, she would literally tail Roman around the house and clung to him whenever she could, it was adorable. The only time she really had tantrums were around bedtime or when Roman had to leave.

Anywayssss by the time she met Bunny, she was around 14 months. I won’t go into much detail about how they first met because I talk about that in another request I’m working on but Nadia really is such a charmer and Bunny loves babies, so it goes quite smoothly.  

Nadia bonds to Bunny pretty quickly and vice versa, and by the time they actually meet Roman is already sure of his feelings for her so it was only a matter of time until Bunny moved in.

So ok skip to Bunny living with them for a bit, and she is basically Nadia’s mother at this point. She loves her so much and Nadia completely recognizes her as a primary caregiver. She is still 100% a daddy’s girl though.

Also, Nadia is like… really smart. We’ve all seen the part in HG where she spelt her name in blocks so going along with that, I HC that by the time she’s 2, she is fully capable of reading books means for kids much older and there are have been a few occasions where either Bunny or Roman had absentmindedly been adding something up out loud and before they can total it, Nadia just yells out “7,238.”

Nadia has always been significantly more cognitively developed than other children her age but Roman had never been around babies so he genuinely had no idea. Then when Bunny first comes along she’s so shocked because “Roman… your baby is a genius” and in response he just shrugs and is like, “Godfrey genes” and she has to literally show him the developmental checklist of where most 2 year olds are at and where Nadia is at before he actually realizes that this isn’t normal.

So by the time Nadia is just a little older than 2 years old, she’s calling bunny mommy.

There is also totally a period where Nadia started to call her Bunny too because Roman rarely uses her real name anymore.

I feel like Bunny is also much more of a hands on parent. Like Roman has never changed a diaper, and though he has been trying to get better, and has had a drastic difference because Bunny kinda gave him shit once, she’s usually the one to give her bath time and feed her in the mornings before work, etc. They no longer have round the clock nannies anymore though, just the one to watch her while they are both away from the house. Once Bunny and/or Roman get home, the nanny leaves.

Nadia as a sibling

So when Roman and Bunny have their son, both Roman and Bunny are shocked that Bunny doesn’t return after her maternity leave. Nadia, of course, loves this though. At this point, they let the nanny go, it’s just Bunny and Roman and the kids.

Nadia absolutely adores her baby brother. She’s a little upset when he’s first born because she can’t play with him yet but when Bunny and Roman tell her that she can read to him? She’s THRILLED.

Nadia loves to read from a young age and adores being in the spotlight so the fact that she now has an audience to read to? Amazing.

Of course, there is a bit of jealousy that comes along with no longer being the only child, but Bunny always makes a point to involve Nadia in everything she does with the new baby and Nadia loves it.

She even likes to watch Bunny change his diaper and always asks if she can do it.

She is the typical bossy older sister. As he gets older, she likes to teach her brother how to do everything and is really just so so sweet and caring with him.

This applies to all her other siblings as well. The older she gets, the more responsibility she takes on with them, and not because Roman and Bunny expect her to at all. She loves to teach them anything new and playing their little games with them. 

Growing up

So later on when the she starts pre-school, she thrives. Roman has to do the eye-thing to the teacher because a few days in, she calls him and Bunny in because Nadia is like this wunderkind and the last thing Nadia needs is to be studied by experts. This becomes a yearly occurrence.

Nadia really thrives at school though, not even just academically but socially as well. She’s so friendly and loves that she gets to play with other kids her age for the first time so she quickly becomes quite the social butterfly.

This is a trait she carries with her throughout her life.

As Nadia gets older, she develops a strong interest in the arts. Bunny put her in Ballet as a young kid and it’s something she still enjoys as she gets older. She loves to paint and draw and actually becomes quite good at it. As the years go on, more and more of the Godfrey house becomes covered in her paintings. She also plays the flute, piano and violin.

Like everyone else, she has her rough stages. Things get especially touchy when she starts to ask about her birth mom.

Roman and Bunny struggled quite a bit about what to do when this question inevitably came up. Bunny told Roman it was really up to him how much he wanted to tell her and they both agreed that knowing the true cause of her birth would do no one any good. Letha was never kept a secret, there was a framed picture of her in Nadia’s room and it had never been a secret that Bunny wasn’t her biological mother. Nadia wasn’t one to hold back on asking something she wanted to know, so when she was around 12 she finally asked them about her birth mother. The story Roman chose to tell her was that he and Letha were cousins. When Letha got pregnant, she didn’t tell anyone who the father was. When she finally had Nadia, she loved her more than anything but died a few weeks later due to an illness completely unrelated to Nadia’s birth (they didn’t want to even risk a chance that Nadia would blame herself for Letha’s death). After Letha died, Roman took her in and raised her as his own.

Of course this was… distressing for Nadia to hear, but she had to know sooner or later. She would always struggle a bit with this topic but as she got older, knew that no matter what, Roman and Bunny were her parents. 

Roman being her biological father was something she would never find out.

Powers/skills

In terms of powers, since season 2/3 didn’t happen they didn’t know about her whole eyes will kill you thing that early on. It wasn’t until she was maybe 5 that they learned about it. The eye thing only made itself apparent when she was in serious danger. This hadn’t really happened until one day when a rabid raccoon managed to get into the yard while she and her brother were playing. It snuck up to them so quickly that Bunny didn’t even see it until after Nadia had already killed it. When Bunny ran over to check on the kids, she saw Nadia with a single stream of blood coming from her nose.

Later that night, Roman and Bunny questioned her about it but of course, she didn’t really know how to describe it. Just that “it was going to hurt me and baby brother so I made him stop with my head”

They took her to Pryce to run some tests and found out about her ability. The last thing they wanted was for a young child to be able to literally kill people with her mind so Roman had to end up doing his eye thing to her. He mesmerized her so that she would never do it unless she was in imminent danger and there was absolutely no other option.

So on top of that, she had an eidetic memory. She was cognitively advantaged and was able to easily pick up and excel at many skills, especially anything that had to do with like learning techniques.

She also had all the other upir powers like super strength after she fully transformed into and upir. She was never able to do the whole eye hypnotizing thing though.

Overall, Nadia was just a really happy, easy kid. She gave them false confidence in having more babies because she was just so perfect and then when her siblings came along, they were all such handfuls and Roman and Bunny were like wtf.

Roman would later confess to Bunny that he was SO relieved she turned out to be this wonderful happy kid because he was so terrified that the way he had handled her the first year of her life had ruined her.

[immortal-imagines]

The Lucky Boomerang - Part 6

Summary: It was widely known that Captain Boomerang didn’t work well with others; a true statement, until one particular accomplice caught his attention. His decision to spare her caused the pair to become deadly. They were nearly as famous as the Clown couple themselves. Renowned for her easy escapes and incredible stealth, Lady Luck was an appropriate partner for the Aussie bank robber. Their luck changes when a certain metahuman brings them both to Belle Reve Penitentiary and they are forced into joining Task Force X. (Side note: In this imagine, Boomerang is at Belle Reve)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

(Captain Boomerang x Reader)

Warnings: Mild swearing, Mentions of child abuse

Word Count: 1,397

A/N: I know it’s been a while, but I’m back! I love this story and I want to carry it on. I’m sorry for the lack of posting, but I’ve just started uni, so life is pretty hectic! I’ll try my best to get chapters up more regularly now though.

(Y/N) got to her feet and strode into the centre of the action. Boomerang noticed her sudden burst in confidence and chucked. “Here she comes,” he grinned to himself. (Y/N) motioned to the others to step behind her and the followed suit, each exchanging curious glances. Flag called for his men to do the same. (Y/N) raised her arms in front of her and snapped her fingers. The bubble-headed monsters flew in all directions, some hitting walls and cars, while others just burst on the spot.

A moment later and they were all dead.

Harley erupted into vicious applause. “That was amazing!” she exclaimed. The rest of the squad were lost for words. They stood open-mouthed, all except Katana who never displayed any emotion and Flag who knew about Lady’s talent. “Well done, babe.” Digger scooped (Y/N) into his arms and planted a kiss on her cheek. Setting her down, he turned to Diablo. “Hey, you were some help, Princess,” he scoffed. “It’s better this way,” The tattooed man retorted. “Ah you’re the ‘Fire Bloke’, eh?” Digger mocked. Diablo nodded. Boomerang pulled out his lighter, waving it in front of the other man’s face. “Oooo, look, fire!” (Y/N) swatted her boyfriend’s hand. “Stop teasing him, Dig. You of all people should know how it feels to control powers. You never taunted me.” Boomerang nodded. Only Lady could bring him to his senses. She could stop him before his mouth got him in trouble.

A slight distance from the group, Flag and one of his soldiers were having a heated discussion. Harley decided then would be an appropriate time to interrupt. “What are they?” she asked, pointing at the now black puddles. Flag shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“That’s bullshit,” Deadshot jumped in. “That thing has on a $3000 watch. Is that a person?” The group fell silent at his words. The fear was evident among this group of criminals. Whatever could turn a person into a monster like that terrified them all. “It was, now it’s not,” was all Flag said. “Now, we’ve got a job to do, so let’s keep moving.”

The soldiers dispersed, leading the way for the rest of the group.

They walked down a street lined with expensive looking shops. (Y/N) stared up at the brightly lit windows and wondered what it would be like to be one of the people who shopped there. They were people with freedom, with homes and families. She wished she could be one of those people. They had normal jobs and didn’t fear death or capture at any second. They were normal.

Flashback:

“What did I say about taking your brothers things without asking, (Y/N)?” The eight-year-old girl stared up at her mother, who had a hold of one of her pigtails. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t hear you when you mumble like that!” Her mother screamed in her face, spit showering the girl’s face. When she didn’t reply, her mother shook her violently, before flinging her over her shoulder. She opened the door to the pantry and pushed her daughter inside. “You can stay in there until you’ve learnt your lesson!”

Hours passed and (Y/N) stayed quiet as a mouse. However, so did the house. Not a word, nor creak of a floorboard was emitted from the entire building. It was dark in the cupboard, but (Y/N) could see a slip of light under the door. She led on her stomach and pressed her small face as far to the ground as she could. Squinting one eye, she tried to see through the crack. All she could make out was the kitchen. It was empty.

(Y/N) allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cupboard. She wanted to find some tool she could use to break herself out. From the many times she had spent in this exact spot, she had taught herself a few tricks about getting out. (Y/N) found the pot of spaghetti and took a piece. With some jiggling about, she heard the lock on the door click. It swung open and she smiled to herself. Free at last.

Usually, when her mother punished her like this, she was forgotten about. Her mother would either drink herself into oblivion or simply fall asleep. This time, however, was different.

(Y/N) tiptoed around the silent house in search of her mother. She searched the kitchen, living room and bedroom with no luck. Then, she ventured to her brother’s room. He was two years younger than her and always the favoured child. She peered through the door, to be greeted with an empty room. His bed remained untouched and his toys were spread on the floor where he’d left them.

(Y/N) slowly came to the realisation that she was alone. Her father had left years ago, after his drunken wife became too much to handle. He never particularly cared for his children either. Now her mother and brother had left too.

She sat on her bed, duvet wrapped around her small, shaking body, and stared at the wall in front of her in silence.

Present Day:

“(Y/N)?” Boomerang stared at the girl he loved, who had stopped in front of a store window. Her eyes were watery, swimming with tears and memories. He squeezed her hand gentle and urged her on, before Flag could notice the delay.

Harley saw (Y/N)’s sudden mood-change and before anyone could stop her, she shattered the store window with her baseball bat. The soldiers whipped around, their guns pointed in her direction. Seeming unfazed by the imminent danger facing her, Harley leaned forward and grabbed a silver purse from the display. “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Flag raised his eyebrows in dismay, before signalling to his men to stand down. Harley rolled her eyes, “We’re bad guys! It’s what we do!”

The group carried on walking. Harley bounced to (Y/N) side and held the purse out. “Here, I thought this might cheer you up.” The blonde’s eyes were bright and hopeful. She’d never had a best friend before, unless you counted her ‘puddin’. She wanted to ensure this friendship stayed. (Y/N) smiled half-heartedly at Harley’s sweet gesture. “Thank you,” she said as she took the purse from Harley’s awaiting hands.

“Our body is at the top of that building,” Flag addressed them, pointing to a tower block.  “Flag, who’s up there?” Deadshot asked. “It’s none of your concern,” was all he received in response.

Harley took it upon herself to taunt Croc. She was easily bored and needed something, or someone, to play with. Seeing as she didn’t want to toy with her new best friend, and Boomerang certainly wouldn’t stand for games, she decided on another target. “Why do you eat people?” She swung her bat over her shoulder as she addressed the reptile-man. “Gives me their power,” he growled.

(Y/N) decided to zone out of the rest of that conversation. It could only go one way and that was south. However, she couldn’t let herself get lost in her own thoughts. That was a dangerous place to be, as she’d learnt many times on the past. She chose to focus on the man next to her; Digger. They were partially free for the time being and she wanted to make as much of that as possible. “Hey, Dig?” Digger raised an eyebrow to acknowledge her. “What do you want to do if we ever get out of here?”

“What do you mean, doll?” His thick accent laced over her nickname and (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile.

“I mean we couldn’t go back to robbing banks because I definitely don’t want to end up in that shit hole again.” Digger nodded, seeing where this was going before she even continued. They’d had this conversation a few times before, or at least tried to. It always ended in a disagreement and he didn’t want that tonight of all nights. “How about we cross that bridge when we come to it?” Boomerang compromised. (Y/N) looked disappointed, but nodded. The Aussie wrapped his fingers around hers.

The tower block was looming closer. The group prepared for another fight. Most had relaxed somewhat, due to their new knowledge of Lady’s powers. This was the exact opposite of Flag’s plan. He wanted the whole group together on this. Little did he know that Harley and (Y/N) had a different plot.

Tag List:

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @thranduilxlegolasx @squireboredom @tokentransboy

[eternalravendreamer]

Skin Care (WIP) (Slight gore??? tw?)

I had a Langst idea. Big families are cool and all, but because of the genetic variation, it increases the likelihood of genetic disorders and mutations resulting in diseases (I’m a bio major). Lance has a big family. And seems to put an emphasis on skin care. So why not give him a skin disease? Note, I don’t know if the symptoms and condition I’m giving him actually exist. The only reference I have for skin conditions is my mom’s Lupus.

Lance rushed down the hall to Allura’s room, catching her just as she was about to enter it.

“Hey, Princess! Listen, this is probably going to sound awkward because I’m kinda frazzled right now but do you have any skin lotion or anything similar I could borrow? It’s kind of an emergency.” She drew back in surprise, her face scrunching slightly.

“Lance, I really hope this is not another one of your flirting attempts. Besides, I know you’ve been using food goo to make facial masks.” Lance sighed, he should have known it wouldn’t be so simple as just asking.

“I’m not flirting! And the face masks are good enough for my face but I don’t have the time right now to figure out how to make them work for my arms and legs, I thought I’d be able to make the cream I had with me when Blue brought us all to space last a little longer-”

“What, you just...carry skin cream around with you?” Allura almost looked amused at the thought.

Lance could no longer contain his frustration, if he didn’t get skin cream soon he was going to need a pod, “I HAVE A MEDICAL CONDITION!”  

There was a beat of silence before Allura screamed in panic, “YOU WHAT?!” Lance opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off by the sound of someone - or multiple someones - running towards them.

‘Shit shit shit, no, I’m not ready yet, I didn’t want them to know...!’

Lance ran before they get there, leaving Allura to call out for him. Shiro soon appeared beside her, with Hunk, Keith, Pidge, and Coran trailing close behind him, bayards and a training gladiator staff at the ready.

“What’s wrong?! We heard yelling!”

“Lance was asking me if I had any skin cream and said it was an emergency. I...I assumed it was just his usual shenanigans, but then he said he has a medical condition and I just...panicked, I had no idea!” There was a shared look of relief and confusion. Relief because there was no imminent threat, confusion because Lance had what now? Then a horrified look of realization dawned on Hunk’s face.

“Oh. Oh shit, oh SHIT. How could I have forgotten that?!”

Pidge sensed that something was wrong and grew anxious, “Forget what?!”

“Lance comes from a big family, yeah? And his dad was born with this weird genetic mutation. It messes up the development of a random body tissue, in Lance’s dad it attacked his heart. In Lance’s niece Paloma it was her ears. Lance has it too. For Lance it affects his skin. I...it’s not my right to tell you all about it, I won’t do that to Lance. But I will tell you that his cream is medical, and if he’s run out then things could go bad reeeeal quick.”

“Define things going bad. Like, on a scale of one to ten.”

“Lance hates asking for help because he worries about being an annoyance. He literally won’t ask for help until the situation reaches at least a 7.5.”

“I’m the team leader, I’ll go talk to him. Allura, we...really might need that skin stuff he asked for.”

“I’ve got a new bottle, not even opened yet. I’ll go fetch it. He mentioned that his bottle only just became empty, but he’s been going out of his way to make what he had last.”

“In that case, Coran, didn’t you mention that the Castle has some weird scanner-replicator machine? Lance’s skin cream was medicated. Non-medicated lotion will work for now, but he needs the medication in his cream.”

“It would depend if there’s enough left in the bottle for a scan, but we can certainly try!”

“Lance? You okay, buddy?”

“Uh, hey Shiro. You need something?”

“I...heard about what happened. Allura has some skin cream you can have, and if you give the empty bottle of yours to Coran I’m sure he could try to replicate it.”

“...just get it over with, Shiro.”

“Get what over with?”

“You’re gonna tell me it’s too dangerous for me to be a Paladin, a pilot. That I’m a liability and shouldn’t be here. Go on, I heard it all the time from Iverson back at the Garrison.”

“What?! No! Lance, I would never say that. I don’t even know enough about your condition to make that call.”

“My...my dad was born with a genetic mutation, and I inherited it. It doesn’t affect people the same way every time. It causes a random body system or tissue to not develop right. For my dad, that meant being born with a bad heart and needing a transplant when he was 24. My niece Paloma, her ears didn’t fully develop and she was born deaf, but was able to get a cochlear implant. For me it means that my body has a hard time producing new skin and upholding what I already have. I also can’t produce scar tissue, it’s just not possible.”

“Then what happens when you get hurt?”

“The blood clots and forms a scab like normal, but it doesn’t scar. The scab stays there and gets all gross until new skin finally sets. Usually takes about two, three months. For serious injuries, I...need skin graphs. I got them a lot growing up.”

“But if your body can’t make new skin fast enough, wouldn’t taking skin from somewhere else just hurt you double?”

“...not my skin. Organ donors. People who donated their bodies to science. Cadavers. Dead people, Shiro. So much of my body used to be the skin of other people, total strangers. Whenever I had a growth spurt, because I just HAD to be so tall and lanky, there wouldn’t always be enough skin to stretch over me and I’d have to be hauled off to the hospital. I was like a goddamn patchwork quilt. Some kids called me Frankenstein. Joke’s on them, Frankenstein was the doctor. Eventually my body would catch up and the dead skin would shed, but sometimes...I still look in the mirror and don’t feel like my body is all mine.”

“That....that’s terrible. Lance, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell any of us besides Hunk?”

“Because I was okay! The cryo pods speed up the healing process, which includes skin growth. I haven’t had any problems this whole time, and I was scared that if you all knew, you’d say the same things as Iverson. That my condition makes me a burden and that I shouldn’t be allowed to be a pilot. I was only allowed into the Garrison with my condition because they had already offered me a full ride scholarship by the time they found out.”

“Lance, you were chosen by the Blue Lion. All five of us were in that cave, but she chose you to fly her. You are undeniably a Paladin of Voltron. Your condition means we need to have extra caution, yes, but it isn’t a burden. If the pods are really helping your skin so well, maybe Coran, Pidge, and Hunk can figure out something for when your life isn’t in immediate danger.”

“Soooo like the fact that I didn’t realize my skin had gotten too dry and now there are cracks on my arms that are bleeding?”

“WHAT?! LANCE WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY YOU WERE BLEEDING, SHIT, SOMEONE GET THE BANDAGE GAUZE!”

“Shiro did you just curse?”

“I’ll remember to put a dollar in the swear jar when we get back to Earth, now show me your arms.”

The cracks looked like the ones old people got on their hands during dry winters, or like when you over-wash your hands. But they were everywhere, like spiderwebs across Lance’s arms, and were thick with fresh blood every time he so much as twitched a finger. Shiro was horrified.

‘God, it looks like someone mutilated him. How is he not crying from how painful this has to be?’

“Are you...are you bleeding anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so. You learn to ignore the pain, after awhile. I used the last of my medical cream on my legs, the sand on that last planet we went to without armor did not agree with my skin.”

“Right...for now, let’s wash and dress your arms. Do you think they’ll need the pod?”

“Well, unfortunately the cracks are right along my vein lines, so unless I wanna bleed out trying to hold my bayard...probably gonna need something, yeah.”

[prize-winning-conker]

Speaking of that daft column, it’s now more an essay, but ehh. He’s given me free reign so may as well make it count and make sure I upset someone. Think it’s done so have it early...

I was eight years old and in hospital, the cliché picture with a band aid on forehead and arm in splint. Mom hadn’t sat the entire time she’d been at my bedside - all three hours to that point. Lovingly fretting, you ask? Nope. Glaring down at me. I knew she was, her arms were folded and her weight shifted from one foot to the other as her exasperation grew, but I hadn’t dared to look all the way up to check. Eventually she cracked. 

“What have I told you?” 

That day would be the first time my mom’s most important lesson made sense to me, though it would take a number of years for me to fully absorb it. 

We were at recess. A group of classmates pulled me to one side. Their frisbee had got stuck in the tree, too high for anyone to throw a ball and knock. Could you fetch it for us? I wasn’t sure, it was pretty high and far out on the branch. But you know how to climb trees, they said, you climb the highest and fastest out of everyone. Won’t you help? It’s not fair if you don’t, you only need to shake the branch a little... They had a point. I was the best, and it wouldn’t be hard for me to do. They wouldn’t get it back that recess otherwise, so I agreed with a smile. 

It was high up. Even with my speed, by the time I reached the branch in question the gaggle of classmates had swollen to half the playground cheering me on, finally attracting the attention of horrified teachers. One called out, I panicked at their tone and slipped, slamming my head on a branch and landing with one arm outstretched futilely to break my fall. 

Apparently I went thud. I don’t remember that last part, though my classmates would argue over the exact noise for a week. I do remember being pinned to a board in the back of an ambulance, trying to get the paramedics to understand my mom was going to kill me if she found out. Too late, they said, she was on her way to the hospital. She’ll be there already, I said, to which they laughed. They stopped with a choke when they opened the back of the ambulance and there she was, glowering up at me with her jaw set. That was the last time I would look her in the eye for the next few hours. 

We said nothing to each other, save her sharp ‘well?’ when I was expected to answer a question she couldn’t. I passed through the hands of baffled trauma teams then X-ray staff to the children’s ward doctors. They could find nothing wrong with me other than a mild concussion, an associated graze, and a sprained wrist from my failed attempt to completely break my fall. I was very lucky, they repeatedly told me, I should have been killed from that height. I was to stay in overnight for observation. I guess they thought they’d missed something. After checking me over for the umpteenth time the final doctor left, then our stubborn battle began in earnest. 

I’m not sure why she caved first for once. Maybe because the other adults were doting on their poorly kids and glancing over like she had two heads, or because some of the other inmates were whispering about the chill in the air as her eyes bored into my skull. Most likely she knew Dad’s imminent arrival would undermine whatever lesson she had planned, his hugs and kisses ruining the gravitas, so she started as though I’d made a noise first.

“What have I told you?” 

It wasn’t a riddle. We’d talk after every episode of my favourite superhero cartoons, each time my Uncle appeared on TV as The Great Saiyaman, when I’d slip and call the martial arts and ki-techniques she was teaching me ‘superpowers’. Her mantra formed the closing lines of the bedtime stories of my parents’ hard-won battles.

You always have a choice, she’d say. But she didn’t understand, I did choose! It made sense to help. I was the best at climbing and was the only one who-- She grabbed my chin in one hand, forcing me to look her in the eye, her usual move when she wanted her words to stick. I think that’s when she got reported for her unorthodox parenting style, but that’s another story.

“That isn’t giving yourself a choice. You don’t have to risk yourself to help anyone, do you understand me?” 

I now appreciate why my mother was so vexed that day. It wasn’t at me, more it was with herself at not hammering home the message hard enough and soon enough. 

There’s a painful double standard in the world. We tell our kids to have big dreams and to do what makes them happiest, but the moment a child shows aptitude for something society finds useful they’re cajoled and pushed. Dare to take a different path and the interrogation become endless. I don't understand, the people say, you’re so talented, why didn't you follow your ideal career? Didn’t you want to be rich, or successful, or famous, or powerful? You could have been someone. We had such high hopes. If I were you… Those words sting, no matter the context or love with which they’re said. I’ve heard them a lot the past few days from confused colleagues and I don’t expect that to stop as the news filters out. 

Like all parents in some respects, my mom was fretting over whether she was doing the right thing. On the one hand her teaching would grant me immunity to most of life’s dangers. When my training was finished forget a fall, I could get hit by a truck and not budge an inch. On the other those same abilities would put me in the position to help when no one else could. If found out I would become a commodity to society, it would be deemed unreasonable and even irresponsible of me to decline to help and I'd be trapped. Even at that young age people were already tugging at my sleeves demanding small but potentially dangerous things. Like climbing trees. They’d sensed how easily my arm was twisted and over the years the pleading escalated. I’d see their distress and agree to help with that smile. Fetching balls from busy roads. Standing up to bullies. Chasing down a friend’s stolen phone - the mugger could have turned a gun on me at any point but I did as I was asked by my friend’s wordless yell. After all, who else right then and there could have help her?

Before I could blink I had a reputation. Classmates questioned why I wanted to go to college to write and not follow my dad into the police force, or even register to be a Crimefighter. Some were even angry. You’d be so good, so famous, I bet you’d be the best! You have so much potential - you shouldn’t waste it! I don’t understand - if I were you… I’d hidden as much of my training as I could and yet because I was so easily swayed to see the ‘common sense’ in helping they knew I was capable of something more than them. Escaping the path then dictated to me by society took a strength of will I would never have gained if it wasn’t for my family’s unwavering support. Without it I may have gone on to do my ‘duty’, that smile still plastered on my face, and hated every moment.

I may have sworn off a life of crime-fighting but I couldn’t turn my back completely. My closest friends, far more gifted in this arena than myself, went through the same struggle. We didn’t want the attention or the pressure of daily Hero work, we wanted a normal life to cling to. But we’re human to a fault - we couldn’t ignore all the world’s troubles. So instead we Shadowed, the best compromise we stumbled upon. We could move freely through the world as mere citizens, helping when we chose - not when summoned. Expectation still dogged us, though. When out the public saw my all-blacks not as a way to conceal my identity but as a uniform, a promise to help. They’d hide behind me, just like they would any named Hero or Crimefighter. I may have been free to come and go but in the moment my station was not. 

Shadowing came with a price; without an identity we lack a voice in defence and we became an easy target. We receive praise but it’s sparing, quite rightly the bulk is reserved for the plain-clothed volunteers on the ground. But once, where we were a welcome boost to the effort, nowadays our presence at disasters is expected. We’d fallen into doing our ‘duty’, though not correctly as we had the audacity to hide our faces and not give the journalists a sporting chance to hunt us down, and it drew their ire. I’d have to bite my tongue reading colleagues disparage us across the pages and even I couldn’t write too empathetically, lest my identity and connections become obvious. At times the lack of public understanding drove me to tears. Yet as the years passed Mom continued to stare me down. You still have a choice. But I did choose, I wasn’t a Hero really, I just needed to stay a little longer next time. Be more thorough, be faster. Do that then it’d be okay, people would be satisfied. She’d shake her head.

Then the true insignificance of this noise I’d been bending over backwards to placate became stupidly obvious with the arrival of something far worse than some natural disaster. For the briefest of moments the nonsense fell away, and I finally understood her.

Imagine standing in front of a man thousands of times more powerful than you could ever be. He’s willing to let you and the people you care about live if you just stepped aside. “What’s worth saving,” he says, “who here is worth dying for?” Imagine wondering, after days of headlines trashing you for a mistake you were more than capable of beating yourself up over, whether there even was a point to trying anymore. Nothing would ever be enough. You could leave, you could be safe. You’re not obligated to save the ingrates on this rock time and time again. What difference could your puny ass make, anyway? Why risk your life for literally nothing? Those you care about would understand. You even plan, your foot twitches to move. 

You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because it’s your home he wants and you’ll be damned if you’re handing it over.

And that’s what my mom meant by making a free choice. Not to act because you’re asked or shamed or want to please everyone, but because this time you think it’s the right thing to do, even for selfish reasons. Especially for selfish reasons. Screw duty, unbeholden to anyone you choose to act - whether it conforms to noble expectation or not. Mom may be the type to walk away in moments like that and I know she’d rather I follow suit, but all my parents have ever truly wanted is the weight of responsibility off my shoulders. As long as I have no regrets or guilt they couldn’t be happier for me. With that one terrifying decision made in spite of the ocean of faces hiding behind me, from then on I really didn’t care what people thought of my Shadowing.

We were told we could leave that day, that we should. We’d have a better chance on the run. But until we have no other option we’re staying. Despite all its flaws this is our home and we made up our minds back then to not budge.

Next time we appear remember: we choose freely to walk through fire, toss aside that rubble, carry you above rising waters and yes, risk death literally defending the planet. All because we want to, not because it is expected of us. The words in the media and in idle chatter around us can still leave a bitter taste at times but I can safely say they won’t lead me to dwell. Say what you want to me - If I were you… but you’re not. Tough.

The name the media and public use for me is Auntie Shadow, but between us? My name is Marron, and this is how Shadowing came to pass.

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

Penance at Discharge (Post 111) 10-14-15

                        Last Wednesday evening I traveled from work in Youngstown to Cleveland to pick up Stephen and take him home after the completion of his week of testing for epilepsy.  I decided to work the full day and arrive at around 5 PM because I believe I had previously tried every conceivable pick-up time at John Muir Medical Center and a dozen other hospitals and have always still found the hospital staff woefully unprepared to discharge either Pam, Nick, Abby, Stephen or Natalie on almost every single occasion.  Because I spend my professional life using Lean Manufacturing tools to carve minutes and seconds out of processes to achieve savings, unnecessary hospital discharge delays always grate on my nerves. Luckily, in a former life, decades ago, I wore the uniform of our country and am hardwired to tolerate circumstances where a “hurry up and wait “outcome is assured.

Upon arrival in Stephen’s room, I was greeted by mysteriously mixed signals.  Stephen was already garbed in sweatshirt, sweatpants and sneakers like he was ready to head home, but he still had an IV visible on his hand.  Usually when a person is being discharged after a serious illness, removing the IV is nearly the last precautionary order of business.  Stephen, though, had checked in for testing in a relatively healthy state and had not had any unexpected issues during the tests.  His nurse soon arrived to dispel my confusion; he let me know that Stephen would be ready for discharge immediately after completing an MRI, for which he had waited all day.  Evidently, University Hospital’s policy is to assign the highest daytime priority for MRI, CT, Ultrasound and probably every other possible test service to outpatients, because, theoretically, inpatients can stay all night.  We left the hospital about three hours later at 8 PM. Not the most customer pleasing denouement to our visit, but otherwise Stephen was treated very well.

If I were a cradle Catholic, I probably would have remembered to offer up the entire experience, but, in actuality, Stephen’s hospital room was equipped with a passable selection of cable television channels so I think I passed the time treating my senses to an electronic barrage following the entertainment fasting conditions we have been living under since we moved out of my parent’s house.  I can’t remember what I watched.  Maybe I didn’t watch television at all and instead scrolled through Facebook, but I don’t think I could have whiled away three solid hours weaving through all the pages of what my friends have posted.  Usually I can only take so much Facebook as the recycled memes are often very repetitive.  Also I have a number of Libertarian, atheist and Pro-Choice friends that rake my scrolling sensibilities with morally questionable material or untruths that I generally try to identify and pass by like the doggie deposits that Natalie’s pets have peppered across my lawn – mowing my lawn is somewhat like hopscotch. For instance, I am friends with one of my high school football coaches, with whom I seem to agree and am able to “like” for less than ten percent of his posts. Luckily he has children and grandchildren, but I digress.

By Thursday morning I had largely forgotten the ordeal of disembarking from UH the previous evening. Natalie and I shared a last breakfast together as I planned to return to my regular morning schedule of 3 AM reveilles and 4 AM departures on Friday morning.  The work day proceeded and ended without significant event as I prepared notes and outlines for a leadership course that I intend to teach for supervisors this week upcoming.  At the end of my shift I felt quite relieved to be headed on only an hour commute home to Streetsboro instead of orbiting onward for an extra forty five minutes north eastward through Cleveland and only back to our cozy two-story after visiting Stephen. Normality seemed an alluring flavor after a week of passing time in extra driving and all too familiar clinical surroundings.

My phone buzzed as I was pulling into a gas station to top off my tank near the on-ramp of I-76, my tollless thoroughfare of choice from the Eastern border towards north central Ohio. I thought it would be a receptionist calling to provide information for Stephen’s follow-up appointment, but instead I recognized the heavy accent of my son’s neurologist who was calling to provide the results from the forgotten MRI.  I made her give me the date and time for the follow-up appointment first as we were both surprised that no scheduling information had been provided at discharge.  She then let me know that they had found something abnormal on Stephen’s MRI.  It was a sunny afternoon, but my soul seemed to darken with her words.

There was an unusual but small spot on his scan, that hadn’t activated with contrast so she thought it was unlikely to be cancer.  I asked clarifying questions with the concerned detachment of a person used to the responsibility of interpreting medical information for others including the patient.  The spot was not in the vicinity of the locus of Stephen’s epileptic activity as determined by a PET scan during his hospital stay.  The spot was being termed an “incidental finding” to be monitored by a follow-up MRI before Stephen’s next neurology visit in November.  The spot was consistent with the lesions often found in the brains of people who suffer from migraine headaches.  Stephen doesn’t get migraines.  The phone call ended and I resumed my drive.

As I drove, I slipped back into long practiced habits.  I finished my Divine Mercy Chaplet for the afternoon and offered a few extra prayers accepting whatever the overall outcome might be but also with hope that Stephen’s continued bad health not lead us down the cancer trail into a terminal cul-de-sac.  Then I picked up the phone and gave Pam’s mother the first call as I drove.  It is not the type of phone call that I relish making, but I prefer to give correct and realistic information directly to Barb rather than have her hear half-information from second-hand sources. I called my brother Sean next because I’ve found that giving several key people complete information is much better than giving lots of people partial information.  I called Abby as well and repeated almost verbatim what I had told Sean and Barbara.

I knew that none of them would splash the news onto Facebook, but all would be able to provide clarification once the news did hit social media.  Everything eventually ends up on Facebook.  Nicholas, unfortunately, found out that his mother had died via social media while he was on break at Straw Hat.  I hadn’t considered that possibility when I informed several family members of Pam’s death, but chose not to tell Nicholas for safety reasons. I didn’t want him driving home in a condition where he couldn’t pay attention.  I have since remembered to consider the possibility of a Facebook spill with sensitive information.

By that time I had arrived my parent’s house to pick up Natalie.  (The bus drops her off there in case I am held up at work.)  I let my parents know about the spot on Stephen’s MRI face-to-face.  That is my preference for difficult news, but personal conversations are not always possible once the pebble has dropped into the pool in our information age.  With both sets of grandparents dutifully briefed, I drove the couple of miles remaining through Streetsboro boulevards and avenues so that I could pass the bad news to Stephen.  I expected that he would have questions.  My son is in a much better place now with regard to paranoia, but I remember some very bad times with him after Pam’s death.

Instead Stephen smiled at the news and asked me why I didn’t remember watching Nicola Tesla.  At first I thought he was talking gibberish, but after several minutes of further conversation, I realized that Stephen had remembered a forgotten incident from a decade previous back when we lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana.  

A bi-polar child misdiagnosed as hyper-active, Stephen’s made a long promenade through various unsuccessful treatment plans until eventually a doctor decided that Stephen needed a brain MRI.  In preparation for the scan Stephen had to stay up all night the day previous to his test. I stayed up with him.  At about 4 AM we ended up watching a long documentary about the imminently brilliant and simultaneously wacked-out physicist Nicola Tesla.  I had totally forgotten about the entire experience.  Nothing to help Stephen’s condition was found by the MRI, but Stephen did remember being petrified by the discovery of an “incidental finding” of a spot on his brain that was not immediately dangerous but should be monitored in the future.  I guess I forgot to do so.

I spent the next half an hour reeling back in the thread of incomplete information that I had earlier cast out.  It made me chuckle to have finally found the missing bookend of experience to complete the short-lived horror from all those years ago.  An incident that had appeared to be random and pointlessly scary until its import made its comet-like return to my solar system at a time so remote that only my most distracted son remembered the original occurrence. Because there is a God, I know that everything in my life has a purpose and a reason even when the mosaic of occurrences appears too close to be deciphered from my vantage point.

Unhappily, I was reminded that life can be hard to understand in a different way on Sunday. A 16 year-old daughter of a good friend from my youth died unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage at Saturday field hockey practice at a high school in New England. I could see no purpose to the death of a young girl within a close proximity to her teammates.  I have seen the impact of that type of situation on servicemen and can’t fathom how a bunch of young women will suffer the impact of witnessing the loss of a friend in those circumstances.  Unfortunately, my imagination is probably sufficient to paint the details of the scene in my head if I try to do so:  a teary-eyed teammate sprinting for help, an adult coach working to revive or fix something in a little girl’s body that cannot be repaired, a collapsed collection of sobbing teenagers left at the scene after the ambulance has departed.  I can make no sense of what has become of the poor girl’s short and seemingly glorious years – she tutored underprivileged kids.

While there is a Mass card for her waiting for pickup in my mailbox, I have no adequate words to send to her teammates or family.  Yet I do know that flowers of love will sprout from the death of Casey Dunne in Braintree, Massachusetts just as good things have come from Pam’s death years removed and a continent away.  That does not mean that I am happy to have lost my wife, Barb’s daughter and the mother of my children.  I accept the experience and understand that good was achieved through God’s plan. While I am very happy that it does not look like Stephen will need a craniotomy, I am no longer naive enough to believe that Pam’s death was the last tragedy that I will experience. I do know that I will accept what comes and trust in God’s goodness even when my human understanding is insufficient to grasp the providence of a horrifying situation.

[mochisouls]

Lilac Meadows

Pairing - Seokjin/ Taehyung Genre - Angst & Romance [ Alpha/ Beta/ Omega Dynamics ] --- This all started on that most blissful day in these lover's lives. Those white ribbons in the church, those piano roses everywhere, that man standing near the altar, waiting for his sweet omega, as he flawlessly walks down the aisle, with a huge smile on his face, as he looks at his soon-to-be spouse with glossy eyes. You get the picture, right? It was such a beautiful sight, when two hearts became one. You see two smiling faces, even a flushed one. It's like all their emotions bursted when they were married, no words can even explain what they felt. But there's one that Taehyung told his beloved omega. “Being with you is heartwarming, touching you is intoxicating, and now— Being married to you is life changing.” Yes, it couldn't get any better as that— No, it can! After marriages are honeymoons, right? That's tradition! Do you remember when Taehyung scooped Seokjin into his arms, and they both danced to the beat of the music of the street party they found in Malibu? Even though Seokjin looked a little silly as he tried copying what those other people did? Taehyung found it adorable. And— and don't forget that time in the pool! When Seokjin felt like doing night swimming, yet at the same time skinny-dipping was in his thoughts. He took a little swim, before stopping at an area where he saw the huge full moon from afar. He didn't even notice that Taehyung was already behind him, and you might as well get your dirty thoughts on, cause you guessed right. And after that lascivious— if I may say myself, hah!— night. Another surprise greeted them, once Seokjin started feeling nauseous at every minute of his life, it got them confused. At first they both didn't believe that Jin could be carrying his child, cause being nauseous could mean anything, like— Stomach aches, indigestion, Jin ate too much food now he's puking all the stuff he stuffed in his belly in his cooking show, Seokjin getting preggers— It could mean anything, really. And when Seokjin's stomach grew a bump, they just confirmed it then— I mean, why the hell wouldn't you send your mate to the doctor if he won't stop puking? Truth is Seokjin hated doctors, that's why. At that time Taehyung had such a hard time in controlling his alpha pheromones, since Seokjin's scent became even more sweeter and intoxicating than before, yet he knew he had to be careful, and more gentle, so he wouldn't harm his husband and his child. Fuck, if only Seokjin wasn't pregnant, and still he smelled as sweet as this— Taehyung would've banged him on the wall, cuffed him, blindfolded him, and attached Jim's ankles to a leg opener, and torment him with an anal bead cock ring bullet vibrator, which for sure will knock the daylights out of him— Yet, Taehyung didn't of course. He's gentle. Yet, things got a little heated, when Seokjin had just hit his fifth month of being pregnant. His chest inflated a little, which was totally normal, because when his child gets pulled out of the safe heaven, which is Jin's tummy, the child will have to suck on his chest for milk— Everyone knows lactation, right? Milk pouring out of the mother's or Omega's chest, right? That happened two days after. Seokjin got horny, and of course his alpha didn't refuse to his Omega's needs. So, he gently fucked him, yet when Taehyung sucked on Seokjin's areola, things got heated— Taehyung tasted that sweet milk, and wanted more. He roughly sucked on his Omega's nipples, yet it got a little bruised. Yet he apologized of course. Seokjin knew about his Alpha's pheromones, because he knew his scent was too strong, and Taehyung was struggling to calm himself down. Moving on, when their first child was born, they named him Yoongi. They were both happy, and… stressed. Doing night shifts, rocking a baby to sleep 'til dawn would crack, changing diapers, feeding him. It was really, hectic actually. Yet, they both managed it, it was tiring for new parents, but they got used to it. And when Yoongi turned 6, another baby got in the works. You guessed it, Taehyung knocked Seokjin up again, yet something terrible followed up. And this is where the real story begins. Today is the day when Seokjin hits the sixth month of his pregnancy. Currently, he's snuggled up on the chest of his alpha, as they both endlessly cuddle on the couch by the fireplace. ——— “T-Taehyung-ah?” Seokjin meekly called out his alpha's name, who quickly responded with a hum, not stopping his hand from patting his sweet Omega's head. “I-I want to visit a lilac meadow some time.” Seokjin proposed, as his eyes met the youngster's, “Of course, when would you like?” Taehyung softly replied, as brushed his nose against Seokjin's. “A-anytime y-you want.” The Omega's voice swallowed a gasp, as his eyes became glossy with tears. He tried his best to not let his voice crack in sadness, or devastation, since he doesn't want anything to happen until that day comes. “Alright, for now— Rest.” Taehyung heaved out a sigh, before lowering his Omega's head for him to lean back on his chest, “I love you, Taehyung-ah. So, so much.” He bit his bottom lip, to hold back any broken sobs, or guilty, gloomy words that might erupt from his mouth. “I love you too, Jinnie. I thank you for giving out colours to my dull life.” The alpha pressed a kiss on his Omega's forehead, as he pulled him impossibly closer to him. Although it confused a lot, since the omega became more affectionate these past months, not that he's complaining. It's just really odd, yet he swiped it off his mind, and blamed it on the Omega's pheromones, of wanting the alpha closer to him, since he was pregnant again. There's so much that I want to tell you, Taehyung-ah. Yet, I couldn't. I just can't. Please forgive me.. The next morning arrived, and Seokjin was incredibly affectionate again, and even more lively, he even acted even more cutely around Taehyung. He wasn't complaining, he was just curious on why Seokjin is acting like this, he cooks them breakfast, normal— Prepares everything, normal— Spends time with him, and his family most of the time, him being happy, yet suddenly breaks down into tears, not normal. He even caught Seokjin hugging his son so much, that he even cried as he did so. Everything was weird, odd. Why was Seokjin acting like that? What's wrong? What's happening? Why is Seokjin acting so secretively? He didn't know what was happening, yet he didn't want to pressure or stress his pregnant Omega, so he just ignored all those conclusions— “Taehyung-ah, let's go to that café that we first went to when we had our first date.” Now, this may had tickle the alpha's senses. It's been 7 years already, since the last time Seokjin wanted to go back to that old café. Yet, still— He ignored his suspicion, and took his beloved omega to where they first met, and had their first date. It was heavenly, the scent that the alpha was emitting was calming, their position even made it better. Taehyung had one arm wrapped around the Omega's waist, whilst the other one keeping him still, as he lovingly left head pats on his head. The puzzling thoughts never left Taehyung's head, it's not that he doesn't trust his husband or something— He's just really, truly worried about him, he's been showing signs about something that he can't designate. He gazed down at the sleeping omega beneath him with great distress, he pulled him impossibly closer to him, as he breathed in his raspberry scent. He wanted answers.. He needed answers. ——— Time flew fast, Seokjin's pregnancy was almost complete. Yet, more pain greeted him, as the child in his stomach grew, the disease grew stronger as time flies. He hasn't told Taehyung yet, he doesn't know how. “There really won't be any solution?” “I am very sorry, Mr. Kim. But, the disease is through heredity, it's in your genes. There really isn't anything we could do.” Seokjin nodded his head in despair, there really won't be second chances now, knowing this now— He's not backing down, they formed a child, and he wasn't going to let this baby be abandoned. He didn't care of what could happen to him, if he carried on with his pregnancy, yet he knew it was going to be worth it. After giving birth, then they can talk about this— But right now, he wants to prioritize their child. He clearly just wanted to ensure the baby's safety. So, he chose to deliver the child first, before talking about this, and stressing all about it. It's dangerous, yes, yet— It would be worth it. ——— And the toll of both life and death rings.. Taehyung was the CEO of the record company Coridel Entertainment, which had just started a few months ago, the agency was going good, it had an amazing break when the former Girl's Generation member Jessica Jung signed a contract with them, and when she had to do an immediate debut, tabloids went crazy, they had to book tickets to the location where she planned, the songs for her album had to recorded and finished asap. It's been more hectic than usual, he comes home late, he rarely sees his son awake, and most of all— He can't spend more time with his beautiful husband. He felt bad that Seokjin had to handle everything alone, despite his pregnancy which was imminent. He was currently seated in his office, debating with his head if he should leave and check on Seokjin, since something unexpected might happen. Yet, if he leaves his lover would also force him to go back to work. Maybe I should just call him. Yeah, that's it. With his final decision, he stretches his arm to reach for his phone, yet his hand hasn't even landed on it— It suddenly rang! He quickly answered the call, without glancing at the caller ID. “Hello?” “Fuck— Taehyung-ah! You have to get to the hospital, quick! Fuck, Jin hyung was preparing food when blood trickled down his legs— Hello? Hello? Taehyung, you still there!?” Just as soon as Taehyung heard his mate's name, he jolted from his seat, and rushed to get to his car. He knew it, something unexpected was going to happen. Fuck, I should've trusted my guts.. When the elevator reached the parking lot, he zoomed like an eagle. The only thing that was in his head was Seokjin, he mumbler a prater as his engine roared. Wait for me.. ——— “Jesus, no, this can't be happening. Hyung— What's going to happen to him now!?” A severely hurt maknae was on the verge of tears, guess what— They heard about Seokjin's condition, and it only broke more hearts. Hoseok was silent, he was contemplating with his head, on how he should tell Taehyung this. “Fuck, why did this happen…” Namjoon let out a depressed huff, as he balled his fist and threw a punch at the wall. “Hyung!” And there it is, the ticket to hell. Taehyung's voice echoed across the hallway, as he ran towards the group with sweat dripping from his face. “T-Tae, w-we have to tell you—” “Mr. Kim Taehyung?” The alpha averted his gaze from the beta, as the doctor came out of a room with a face mask on. “Yes? H-How is he?” Taehyung's voice was shaking, he was nervous and frightened of what could happen now. When Seokjin gave birth to Yoongi, he was caught sick after a few days, and it ended badly. He doesn't know what's to come out now, Seokjin's delivery was so sudden. The Doctor's gaze dropped to floor, unsure of what to tell the alpha. “It's a girl— An alpha.” And a sudden rush of happiness filled Taehyung's chest, a million flares ignited inside him. “A girl! A girl— I have baby alpha girl, hyung! Did you hear it!?” He literally galloped in joy, as he shook all his friends. Jungkook let out a loud sob, he couldn't contain his tears as he let his hyungs comfort him. “What's with the reaction— I have to tell Seokjin hyung. Wait here—” “Taehyung, don't —” Wrong move. As Taehyung pushed open the door of the emergency room, where Seokjin was staying, the strong scent of metal, of blood hit his nose. His eyes widened in horror. “S-Seokjin… No.…” ——— —end—   (Author: Me - archiveofourown.org/users/sereinitea)