#the 1% are fucking stupid and outnumbered

[professionalnooneatall]

"Life is about 'passing,' now. In a way it always was. Passing for a Red Stater. Passing for straight. Passing for whatever the majority was. Passing for an ally to an angry and violent minority so they don't physically attack you."

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 35

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,090ish

Summary: You and Logan fight to save Mariko.

Warnings: wounds, fighting, near death experiences

Notes: I have loved all the reactions I've received! Please keep them coming. They all mean so much to me! This is the last chapter before we start on the two different endings! Ending 1 will come out before ending 2. Also, before the ending 1 starts coming out, I'm going to post the one-shot for this series about their everyday lives from the ten year gap.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

You gasped as you woke up naked on the medical bed you had died on. Looking around, you could tell that you were alone. Meaning that Logan had followed through with going to save Mariko, which was what you had asked of him. You were honestly surprised that you had risen from the dead again, but you couldn't waste any more time. You needed to get to Logan.

You quickly found some clothes to wear and the location of Yashida’s birthplace. Thankfully, rich people always had a few cars lying around, and you were off. Racing to get to Logan before he did anything incredibly stupid.

~~~

Logan’s anger was fueling him forward. He needed to rescue Mariko and finish off Dr. Green. He needed to get his revenge for you. When Logan arrived at the town, he was met with Harada, waiting in the streets for him. Logan could sense that there were others nearby, hiding in the shadows.

“I see you’ve come to fight,” Harada stated, coming towards Logan. “It’s pointless. You’re outnumbered. The Black Clan has protected the House of Yashida for 700 years.”

The Black Clan began emerging from the shadows, from the alleys and the rooftops.

“Is that all the men you brought?” Logan challenged. “I’m going to get to Mariko.”

“We are grateful for your protection of Mariko. But there is one more sacrifice you must make for her family.”

“Go fuck yourself, pretty boy.”

Harada yelled, and the fighting began. It didn’t take long for the other Black Clan members to jump down and join, with more continuing to appear on the rooftops. Hard ordered them to begin firing arrows as Logan started to run through the streets. Logan got halfway through town before the arrows began to have heavy wires attached. Logan grunted as he tried to continue on despite the resistance of the wires. He groaned as a poisoned arrow hit the middle of his back. His vision began to blur, but Logan continued to move forward. The Black Clan continued to shoot wired arrows into his back until Logan collapsed face-first into the snow.

~~~

You followed the tracks of a fight in the snow once you reached the town. Your heart clenched at the sight of the clear marks of someone being dragged. You knew it had to be Logan. You continued to follow the tracks, slipping into the large house on the hill. With your powers fully restored, it was easy to take down the Black Clan members in your way. Eventually, you reached the center of the building, revealing to be a large, open lab spanning the whole building. 

Glancing down, you saw Logan locked up in some machine that kept his hands facing outward. You could see him moving slightly and groaning like he was waking up. With a sudden tug, you could see Logan trying to free himself. Slowly and quietly, you began to sneak down.

“Stand back," Dr. Green ordered the nearby Black Clan members as she waltzed up. “There is no need.”

“Where’s Mariko?” Logan demanded. “Where is she?”

“Are you pinning for someone who is not your wife? For shame. Where is your wife anyway?” Logan simply growled. “Did she not make it? Too weak?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Dr. Green smirked before looking away at the giant samurai nearby. “Impressive, no? He is made of adamantium, just like you.” Logan continued to try to break free. “Oh, Logan, you know what, I get it. You’re frustrated.” 

She pressed some buttons, moving the machine that Logan was stuck in forward. The machine pulled his arms forward, away from his body. Logan kept heaving breaths as the machine kept him still, drilling into him and inflicting pain.

“I know Mariko is here,” Logan panted. “I want to see her.”

"You want answers,” Dr. Green stated.

“Yes, I want answers!”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could say more, but I was hired in part for my discretion.” Dr. Green leaned forward, up against the machine, taunting Logan. 

“I’m sure you were."

“That and a certain talent for combining biochemistry and metaphysics. High-grade toxins are my specialty. It helps to be genetically immune to every poison known to man, as I am. And immune to the toxin of man himself… as I am.”

“I’ll tell you what, you twisted mutant bitch, why don’t you open these bracelets, and we'll see who’s made of what?” Logan released his claws. Almost as soon as he did, the machine clamped down further around his fists, preventing his claws from retracting.

“The claws,” Dr. Green smiled. "Now we can begin. The suppressant bug you found inside of you and your wife was mine. You took it out on your own. I didn’t see that coming. Did you take your wife's out, too? Is that why she’s not here?”

“You don’t deserve to talk about her!”

“You are strong. You have courage. Real courage. But that won’t help much now.”

The giant metal samurai ripped itself free from the wires it was connected to. It stomped over to Logan, going around him, before stopping in front. You arrived on the same floor they were on in time to see the giant samurai pull a huge sword out and line it up with Logan’s claws. Your eyes widened as you noticed the sword heat up as it lifted. You rushed over and threw yourself between Logan and the samurai.

“Stop!” You shouted. 

The samurai lost its concentration, hitting the back of the machine Logan was in, throwing you, Logan, and Dr. Green around while the samurai fell back. Logan grunted as he landed on his knees.

“Y/N!” He yelled.

You looked up and over at him, shooting him a smile. “Hey, handsome,” you breathed out. “Miss me?”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, he noticed the samurai getting back up. Slamming the leftover wrist clamp against the stairs, it came clattering off. He ran over to you and grabbed your hand, tugging you up harshly to stumble against his chest. His lips quickly captured yours for a brief kiss.

“You gotta stop doing that, sweetheart,” he whispered. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, honey,” you replied with a smirk.

He smirked back. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” The samurai stomping closer caused Logan to start to drag you in the opposite direction. “Run! Go!”

You and Logan ran side-by-side. You noticed Dr. Green rushing to cut you off. You threw your hands out, launching her over the railing and down a few floors in a ball of flames. Harada and Mariko rushed out of a room a few floors up.

“Go!” Logan urged, waving them off. “Run!”

The two of you began running down the stairs. The giant samurai jumped down to the level you had reached. Logan let out a roar as he flung himself at the samurai, causing himself and the samurai to fall down a few levels.

“Logan!” You screamed, looking over the railing to see him squaring up with the samurai. 

You spun around and tried to take the stairs two at a time to get to Logan. You could hear him groaning, straining to keep the samurai’s sword still as he used his claws as a shield. You reached the floor in time to see the samurai pull out a second sword that was quickly heating up. Using the railing, you launched yourself onto the back of the samurai and took hold of the heated sword with one of your hands. You focused on heating the sword up further, causing it to begin to lose its shape. It dropped the melting sword and reached back. It grabbed you and threw you over the railing.

“Y/N!” Logan roared.

You cried out in pain as you harshly landed a few floors down. You could hear Logan and the samurai fighting for a few moments before you heard a thud close by. Logan was quickly kneeling beside you, checking you over.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes still frantically searching you over. He carefully helped you sit up.

“Honestly, I’m ready to go home,” you responded.

He let out a hearty chuckle. “Me, too, darling.”

The samurai dropped down onto the level the two of you were on. Logan pulled you up and dragged you over to the electrical boxes. Using his claws, he ruined the boxes, turning off most of the lights in the building. You and Logan quietly hid behind nearby posts as the samurai searched for the two of you. The samurai passed the two of you, allowing Logan to jump on its back and retrieve another sword it had. 

“Y/N!” Logan shouted. 

He tossed you the sword, and you caught it. Holding it with both hands, you began to heat it up. The samurai spun around, kicking Logan down, allowing you to cut the head off the samurai. Logan launched himself at the samurai again, forcing him and the metal monster down to the bottom floor. The samurai slammed against the wall, breaking a hole into it that Logan was launched through.

“Logan!” You yelled.

You ran down the flights of stairs as Logan climbed back into the building. You dropped to your knees in front of him, the two of you quickly wrapping your arms around each other. In a blink of an eye, the samurai grabbed your ankles and tore you from Logan’s grasp.

“No!” Logan shouted, hands barely brushing against your arms as you’re torn out of reach.

The samurai spun you around and grasped onto your hands. The metal clamped against your wrists, and three drills from each of the metal hands appeared and began drilling into your fists, right into your bones. You screamed out in pain.

“Let her go!” Logan demanded.

The middle of the samurai opened up to reveal Yashida.

“Logan-san,” he greeted. “Don't look so shocked. With you at my side, I survived Nagasaki. Surely, I could survive this.” You let out another scream as the drills pushed further into you. “It’s alright. It won’t take long.”

“What are you doing to her?!” Logan didn't know what move to make without hurting you.

“Dr. Green and I have been waiting. It’s only this armor that's kept me alive. We built it to make me strong so I can take what you would not give. And transfer your unwanted healing to my body. It’s only by mere coincidence that your wife could also provide what you would not give. My legacy must be preserved. Your mistake was to believe that a life without end can have no meaning. It is the only life that can.”

Logan was watching as the life slowly drained from your body. You were growing older while Yashida was growing younger. He couldn’t get his eyes to look away from you. He couldn’t force himself to move.

“Logan!” Yukio shouted, throwing one of the large swords in his direction.

Logan caught it, gripping it with both hands, causing it to heat up. He stood up and, with a shout, threw the sword into Yashida’s head. The metal hands retracted the drills and let you go. Logan caught you before you could collapse onto the ground. Yashida stumbled back, gasping for breath, before falling out of the building to his death.

“Sweetheart,” Logan shook you, trying to get you to gain consciousness. “Wake up… I really can’t handle this again… I need you to wake up.” Yukio slowly came over, watching the scene. “Come on, honey.” 

The only hope Logan had was the fact that you were still breathing. You had to wake up. Yukio placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“We need to get her some medical attention,” Yukio said.

Logan nodded, hoisting you further up into his arms before standing up. Yukio led the way out, where Mariko and Harada were waiting safely.

“Logan! Y/N!” Mariko exclaimed, rushing towards Logan. “Oh my gosh!” Mariko looked you over, immediately seeing your increase in age. “We need to get her to a hospital.”

“No,” Logan pulled you closer. “Too dangerous.”

“Logan, I have my grandfather’s business under my control. I have resources. The two of you have helped me so much. Please let me return the favor.”

“Mariko can help,” Harada agreed.

Logan scoffed. “Not really caring for your word right now, bub,” he muttered.

“Trust me,” Mariko pressed. “I won’t let any happen to either of you anymore.”

~~~

Logan snarled at anyone who tried to pry you from his arms the moment Mariko had the group escorted to a private wing of a nearby hospital. Yukio and Mariko had to work together to coax him into setting you on the bed. He insisted on staying near you the entire time. 

The doctor Mariko had called in specialized in mutants, giving Logan hope and making him even more cautious. Logan’s eyes created a rotation going from your rising chest, your face, to the monitors and back. He wanted to know everything and not miss a second of anything. He stood on the edge of every room you were brought into, like a constant guarding shadow. Mariko and Yukio took turns trying to get Logan to rest, but he couldn’t leave you.

It took a few hours for the doctor to get any results from the tests they had run. The doctor informed the group that you were slowly healing and de-aging. They said that you’d be fine in a day or two and would most likely sleep the entire time. The doctor encouraged the group to keep you there until you woke up, and Logan reluctantly agreed. 

“There's one other thing,” the doctor added, after updating the group. “I talked to Dr. McCoy on the phone, and he informed me of the incident that happened ten years ago when Y/N returned from the dead like a Phoenix.”

“What about it?” Logan asked. 

“Was that the only time?”

“No. She did it about a day ago.”

“That would explain what we saw in the blood we took.”

Logan took a protective step closer. “What did you see, doc?”

“Mr. Howlett, your wife is a powerful mutant, but when she rises from the dead like that, it sucks away at some of her abilities. The tests we ran and compared to previous tests that Dr. McCoy had run, show that her mutation is slowly decaying.”

“Are you saying that she’s dying?”

“Not exactly. She could still live another hundred years as long as she is careful. The more she rises from the dead, the faster her mutation will decay, meaning the faster—“

“She’ll die… Can she use the other parts of her mutant?”

“Of course. But I would be wary of bringing her into any more life-threatening situations. I have sent our findings to Dr. McCoy for his records, and so that he can keep track of Y/N himself.”

Logan clenched his jaw as he stared at you, processing the information. Mariko stepped forward and placed a hand on Logan’s back.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Mariko said.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “I’ll be around if there’s anything you need.” 

The doctor left as Logan walked over to your bedside. You were slowly returning to the woman he knew. But, even if you hadn’t, Logan would have loved you anyway.

“I need to take her home,” Logan murmured.

“I’ll have the plane ready for as soon as she wakes,” Mariko said.

“No,” Logan shook his head. “I need to get her home now.”

“Logan—“

“I appreciate what you’ve done. But it’s my duty to take care of her and the best way I can manage that is at home.”

“If you’re sure.” Logan nodded, causing Mariko to sigh. “I’ll go make the calls.”

Mariko left to go to as she said. Logan gently took your hand and lifted it up, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“We’re going home, sweetheart,” Logan whispered. “And we’ll never leave again.”

~~~

You needed to move, but you were trapped. The familiar weight of Logan’s arms around your waist was comforting, with his head resting on your shoulder. But you felt like you hadn’t moved in days; your muscles were stiff. As you slowly opened your eyes, you quickly realized that you were no longer in Japan. You were home. Logan’s head was on your shoulder, with his arms around you, keeping you against his bare chest. You lifted your arm and began scratching Logan’s arm. He groaned as he began to wake.

“Sweetheart?” He mumbled into your neck.

“It’s me,” you whispered.

Logan’s head lifted to fully look at you as his arms tightened around you. “You have to stop worrying me… I can’t take anymore.”

“I'm sorry. I’ll try hard not to.” Logan leaned down and kissed you softly. “When did we get home?”

“Last night. The doctor cleared you, and I wanted you home.”

You reached up and cupped Logan’s cheek. You could tell that the concern was still lingering. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I know, darling.” Logan grabbed your wrist and turned his head to kiss the palm of his hand. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Logan then explained what the doctor had found out about your ability to rise from the dead. You could feel Logan trembling as he spoke, like he was finally letting all his concerns out. Once he was finished, you pulled him to lay on top of you. Logan was careful not to fully put his whole weight on you but appreciated you holding him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you quietly promised Logan.

“No more danger,” Logan muttered. “No more missions.” He pulled back enough to allow your eyes to meet. “I need you safe. I need you here.”

“I won’t promise that unless you can promise the same thing… I can't lose you either.”

“I’m not the one with the habit of dying.”

“I promise I don't try to.”

“I know, sweetheart… Alright, no missions. No danger. For either of us.” He leaned down and gave you a brief kiss. “I never asked, how are you feeling?”

You smiled up at him. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll let you know if it changes, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I do have one thing, though.”

“Anything.”

“Can we stay in bed all day?”

Logan gave a hardy laugh as he wrapped you in his arms and rolled over so you were on top of him. “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

Ending 1 next chapter > (days of future past - completed)

Ending 2 next chapter > (logan & deadpool and wolverine - completed)

[knightofmidnightsun]

When I go, bury me six feet in snow [1] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: You, Bucky, Sam and Helmut had a simple plan and yet… It all went wrong. Now you're in the middle of an unknown land, surrounded by snow and with Zemo as your only company. What could be worse than that?

Warnings: Description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. description of and violence, injury/pain, description of burning wounds, description of hypothermia and drowning in cold water, self-blame/guilt

Word count: 9K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2]

The sudden, searing pain in your back snapped your eyes open. It took a full minute for the blurriness in your vision to fade, allowing you to comprehend your surroundings.

Snow. It blanketed everything around you, a vast, desolate whiteness. The sun glared down, its blinding rays almost too intense to bear. For a moment, you couldn't remember why you were there, in the middle of this unknown land. But as the pain in your back spread to your legs, the memories began to creep back in.

You had been on an aircraft. Chaos had erupted, a blur of violence that left you disoriented, unable to distinguish friend from foe. You recalled familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all intent on knocking you down, with James, Sam, and…

Then it hit you—the plan.

The fucking stupid plan. You kept repeating the phrase to yourself as you got strength to stand up. For a moment, you almost fell before deciding to continue where you were and embraced your knees, the tiredness filled your bones and nerves. It was impossible to get up without feeling like the bones in your legs would break in any second.

When you finally thought you were ready to try standing again, you choked on a mouthful of icy water. Yeah, maybe it was better to stay put for now.

"Cap," you pressed a trembling finger to the earpiece, trying to contact Sam, but were met with silence. "Sam? Are you there? James?"

Again, nothing, you groaned. Where the fuck they were? Why Sam and James weren't answering you?

"We lost their signal" The voice made your skin crawl. You knew exactly who he was.

A flood of memories from the aircraft surged back: clinging to the edge as the wind howled around you, your fingers gripping the metal as if your life depended on it—because it did. You had seen Zemo, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back from the brink, only to be shoved by another attacker, falling with you into the icy sea below.

It wasn’t a dream. It was all too real.

You and Zemo had fallen from the aircraft. Sam and James were still up there, as far as you knew, but now they were outnumbered. Anything could have happened to them… Even…

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for how badly you’d botched the mission.

As you fell, you had prayed for an end, for the sea to swallow you whole and let your body vanish into the abyss. But here you were, still breathing.

Both of you, alive. On a frozen beach, soaked to the bone after nearly drowning.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zemo approaching, brushing snow off his clothes. His purple mask was gone, likely lost in the water, or perhaps he had discarded it, deeming it unnecessary now that the fight was over.

At least he wasn’t in any better shape than you. That was some consolation.

"Do you know where we are?" You asked him, forcing yourself not to shiver as the cold gnawed at your bones.

"I… No, I do not," His voice carried a note of discontent, a rare admission of uncertainty from someone who usually exuded control, "Perhaps Antarctica, if I recall the aircraft’s route… But I can’t be sure."

Even Zemo, with his fur coat and multiple layers, was shivering. His clothes were as soaked as yours, and it did nothing to help your situation.

“Great,” you muttered, scanning the endless expanse of snow. There was nothing—no buildings, no signs of life, just an infinite white void. “I can’t believe I’m going to die of hypothermia in the middle of nowhere with you. If you hadn’t held me back…”

“Hold on,” Zemo interrupted, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp. “Who was the one who got distracted and was the first to be thrown off the ship? That was you, as I recall.” He took a step closer, scrutinizing you as you struggled to stay upright. “I was trying to help you, and look where it got me, hm? You should be thanking me.”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the desolate landscape around you.

You were tempted to ignore the pain in your legs just to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you shot back, turning your head away. Your hands cracked as you clenched them into fists, the cold seeping into your bones. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. I was ready to fall and die or get back to the aircraft and plan an escape.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He was silent for a moment, as if weighing your words.

“Neither of those things happened,” he said finally, a plume of cold breath escaping his lips. “Our priority now is finding shelter before we freeze to death.”

“But what about Sam? Or James? They’re still up there, as far as we know.” You pressed your hands into the snow, trying to summon the strength to stand. “We need to think of a plan to help them.”

“We can’t help them if we’re dead,” Zemo replied flatly, resting his hands on his hips. “Finding shelter is our only option.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the baron was right. There was no way to survive the journey back to Sam and James if you froze to death first.

Your limbs trembled uncontrollably as the cold invaded every nerve, turning them to ice. It was a pain sharper than any burn.

“Alright,” you conceded, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Just… Give me a second.”

You took a deep breath and pushed against the icy ground, trying to stand. The moment you put pressure on your legs, searing pain shot up from your calves to your thighs, as if your very bones were being torn apart. Your muscles screamed in agony, nearly knocking you back to the ground.

You bit your lip, stifling a cry, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and your feet slipped on the ice.

For a moment, everything went black. The world narrowed to the sheer, overwhelming pain in your legs, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. But then, you felt a firm grip on your arms, steadying you, holding you up.

Zemo’s hands were surprisingly gentle yet strong. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his breath visible in the frigid air as he rushed to your side.

For a brief moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—panic, perhaps, or worry—before his expression returned to its usual guarded blankness. His brows furrowed as he studied you, trying to assess the situation.

You were too focused on the pain to care what the baron was thinking.

“Oh mein Gott,” he whispered, his voice low but laced with concern. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Well, you could tell the pain wasn’t because of the sea dragging you to the coast. Despite the coldness, if that was the case, your arms and torso would hold the same pain.

The damage had been done long before you hit the water.

Your mind drifted back to the fight on the aircraft. James had been battling Max Fury, Sam had been trading blows with Lightmaster, and Helmut had been deflecting attacks from Doctor Octopus. That left you facing the Tin Man—now known as Crimson Cowl, though he was still Ultron in all but name.

Despite being an android, you had been holding your own against him. You weren’t a super soldier, but your mutation gave you agility and elasticity. You could leap high, dodge quickly, and move with a fluidity that made you hard to pin down.

Your friends used to say you were like sand slipping through their fingers—impossible to catch.

You had been doing well against Ultron… Until you weren’t.

The android had grown impatient with your dodges and the minor annoyances you threw his way. Your goal wasn’t to defeat him—you knew that was impossible—but to buy time until James or Sam could deliver the final blow.

But Ultron was a machine, built by Tony Stark, and smarter than most people. You should have known that eventually, he would memorize your pattern and anticipate your next move.

It happened in an instant. As you prepared to leap to your next position, a blinding blue light seared through the air. The next thing you knew, your legs were on fire. You screamed, the agony tearing through your lungs as the laser burned through flesh and bone.

You faintly heard someone call your name, but it was distant, the words muffled. The last thing you remembered was one of Doctor Octopus’ robotic arms slamming into you, knocking you off the aircraft. The rest was a blur.

“My regeneration won’t work with both the burn and the hypothermia at the same time,” you muttered, daring to look at your legs, still covered by the remnants of your uniform.

The damage was bad. Worse than you had imagined.

“All the more reason to start moving,” Zemo said, raising his brows as if to emphasize his point. “Hold on to my shoulders. I’ll try to do something about your legs to buy us some time.”

“You don’t need to,” you muttered, your jaw trembling from the cold. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Zemo replied, guiding your hands to his shoulders. “I can see that.”

Before you could protest, he tore a strip of fabric from his coat and knelt down beside you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, your mind too numb with cold, until he began wrapping the cloth around one of your burns, tying it tightly.

He repeated the process on your other leg, his movements quick.

“Since our clothes are soaked with cold water, it’ll help cool down your wounds,” Zemo explained, rising from where he was and taking your arms so he could help you walk properly. “Before we go, we’ll need to shed some of our clothing as well. Despite the temperature, it’s better to carry as little soaked fabric as possible.”

You shuddered at the thought, your teeth chattering uncontrollably. The idea of removing any layer of warmth, no matter how wet, felt like a death sentence. It got worse when you imagined you had to go through this with Zemo from all the people.

But you knew he was right. The waterlogged clothing clung to your skin like icy shackles, draining what little warmth you had left.

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting Zemo’s hands guide yours to the clasps of your jacket. It took all your concentration just to undo the first one, your fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold. Faintly, you could feel his cold fingers against your skin, bringing a little to almost nothing of warmth, his hands moved with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused on the task at hand.

In a way, his calm demeanor in the face of such dire circumstances was almost comforting. But it was fleeting—a brief, circumstantial comfort in a ride-or-die situation.

The moment your jacket fell to the snow, the cold hit you like a slap. You gasped, hugging yourself instinctively as if your arms could shield you from the elements. The wind cut through your remaining layers, turning your skin to ice.

Zemo didn’t flinch. He shed his coat and outer layers with the same methodical precision, his movements devoid of hesitation, as if the cold tormenting you barely registered with him.

When he finished, he glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your condition. For a second, you thought he would jest.

“We’ll move as quickly as we can,” he said instead, more to himself than to you, “Lean on me. I’ll support your weight.”

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you focused on his shoulders. “I can do this on my own. I’ll be fine.”

“As fine as when you first got up?” he asked, and your lips pressed together in silence, refusing to answer. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Without further hesitation, he took one of your arms and draped it over his shoulder. You noticed that his skin, though chilled, still radiated some warmth. The baron wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to rely on, but as you clung to him, you realized he was the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the snow.

“You will thank me later,” Zemo smirked down at you.

Despite your will to punch him, you prioritize your life.

Each step was a struggle, your legs barely cooperating as you trudged through the drifts. Zemo’s grip on you was firm, almost too tight, as if he feared you might slip away at any moment. Your feet felt numb, each movement sending jolts of pain up your calves, but you forced yourself to keep going. The thought of stopping, of giving in to the cold, terrified you more than anything.

You glanced at the baron, time and time again, remembering what happened in the mission. What went wrong and triggered the fight, Sam and James trying to fight as they planned for a solution that would save all of you from dying, Zemo buying time and you… Well, you were trying to do your best to think about an escape plan as you dealt with the android. In the end, you were trying to help, in some way, to not be a burden.

And that was exactly what brought you in that situation. You and Zemo, your gaze locked at him again. You recalled the feeling of his fingers clasping your wrist, trying with all his might to pull you back to the ground but falling with you instead.

After that, all was a blur, you felt the air lack your lungs as you screamed. You felt arms holding you tight and a breath next to your ear. You really thought you would die after that. Except that, you didn’t.

“Do you think we’ll find anything out here?” you asked Zemo through chattering teeth, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything, to keep your mind off the cold and the pain.

Zemo didn’t answer right away. He was focused on the horizon, scanning the endless white expanse for any sign of shelter or civilization. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, before he finally spoke.

“There must be something. A research station, perhaps, or a temporary base. This region isn’t entirely uninhabited.”

It was a slim hope, but you clung to it, letting his words push you forward. You had to believe there was something out there—a place where you could rest, recover, and find a way back to the others.

But with each passing minute, that hope began to fade. The snow stretched on endlessly, the landscape unchanging. Your legs ached, muscles screaming with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. The cold was relentless, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for you to falter.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened on the airship, about your friends, and what could have become of them. By now, they could be prisoners, tortured, or worse… dead. All because of that stupid plan—it was doomed from the start, but still…

If something had happened to them, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d rather die here and tell Zemo to go on without you.

“Keep moving,” Zemo urged, his voice sharp. He gave you a slight tug, pulling you closer as if to share what little warmth he had. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

“I’m tired, Zemo,” you groaned, your voice trembling as the cold seemed to freeze the tears in the corners of your eyes. “The cold… It’s draining me. Maybe we’ve finally found my real weakness.”

“Don’t say that,” Helmut shook his head, his tone firm. “You’re insufferable, but I won’t let you die here.”

“Maybe you should,” you closed your eyes, your feet dragging through the snow as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my fault after all. It’d be better if you leave me here and go by yourself, find some shelter, and try to save the rest of our crew.”

Zemo stopped walking, forcing you to halt as well. His grip on your arm tightened, but he didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you could afford to acknowledge.

“I’ve lost too many people on my account already,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a trace of something deeper, something almost vulnerable in his tone. “I won’t lose you as well. Especially not because of your self-pity.”

The words stung, not because they were harsh, but because they were sincere. Zemo’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern.

“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes. This mission was flawed from the start, but we’re in this together now,” he said, moving closer, his breath visible in the frigid air. “So, stop blaming yourself. That won’t solve anything.”

“How could it not be my fault?” you asked in a strained whisper, “Do you remember how the plan started to go south? I brought this on us. Who knows what’s happened to Sam and James? What could they be doing to them? By the time we find somewhere safe, they could already be dead. You’ll find shelter faster without having to drag me along as dead weight.”

Zemo’s eyes hardened, his grip on your arm tightening. He took a step closer, his presence imposing and bringing you more shivers than the cold.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold air with a sharpness that made you flinch, “We all made choices that led to what happened. Blaming yourself won’t change the past, and giving up now certainly won’t help your friends.”

You tried to pull away, but he held firm, forcing you to meet his gaze. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, no condescension—just a raw, unyielding determination.

“Don’t you ever suggest me to do such a thing again.” Zemo whispered, his voice low, almost a growl. “Understand?”

Despite everything, you could see a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“We’re not dead yet,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “We still have a chance. But only if we keep moving.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. Zemo’s words were harsh, but they were the slap of reality you needed. He was right—giving up wouldn’t save Sam or James. It wouldn’t change anything.

With a deep breath, you nodded, accepting the painful truth. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zemo’s grip on your arm loosened slightly, and he gave you a small nod of approval. Together, you started walking again, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but you pushed through, determined not to slow him down.

The cold was relentless, but so was Zemo, his presence beside you reminding you to not stop no matter what. You kept your focus on the horizon, refusing to let your mind wander back to the guilt, carving its way into your chest.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the silence was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the crunch of snow beneath your boots. The world around you was eerily quiet, the storm having passed but leaving behind a desolate, frozen wasteland.

Suddenly, Zemo halted. You almost stumbled, but his arm shot out, steadying you once more. Looking up, you noticed his eyes narrowing as he focused intently ahead.

“What are y—”

Before you could finish, Zemo pulled you down with him, pressing you into the snow behind a small drift. The cold burned against your already frigid skin, and you struggled to suppress the groan of pain that threatened to escape your lips. Your burns flared with agony, the icy ground amplifying the sharp, relentless pain. But you swallowed it, forcing yourself to stay quiet as Zemo leaned closer, his hand firmly covering your mouth.

He nodded towards the snowy expanse ahead, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to a single point in the distance. Your vision was still hazy from the pain, but you squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing.

There, amidst the endless white, was a figure—a person dressed in a suit that was all too familiar. Dark blue, red stripes, a white star… Shit.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and your blood ran cold.

“Of all people,” you muttered, dread coiling in your stomach.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, a silent signal to stay alert. “This complicates things,” he said under his breath.

There was John Walker, the U.S. Agent, his uniform enhanced for the freezing conditions, standing out starkly against the snow. The sight of him sent a jolt of fear through you. If he was out here, that meant they were already searching for you, and they hadn’t found your bodies yet. They knew you were still alive.

He wasn’t too far from you and Zemo. He intently watched his surroundings with narrowed eyes, inching closer in your direction. That wasn’t a good thing.

Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle tensing as Walker’s gaze swept over the area. Zemo’s hand remained on your mouth, a silent reminder to stay quiet, to not make a sound. You could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

Both of you hid back to the small drift, you’d need to start your prayers.

Walker’s steps were deliberate, each one bringing him closer to where you and Zemo were hidden. The snow crunched under his boots, a sound that seemed deafening in the eerie silence of the frozen wasteland. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound almost drowning out everything else.

Zemo’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression cold and calculating. He slowly moved his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a finger to his lips. The message was clear: stay silent.

You nodded slightly, barely daring to breathe as Walker came dangerously close. The snow drift that hid you wasn’t large, and if Walker got too close, he would easily spot you. The weight of Zemo’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you, keeping you from bolting out of sheer panic.

The world seemed to narrow to the sound of Walker’s footsteps, the crunch of snow, the biting cold, and the tension between you and Zemo as you both held your breath, praying that he would pass by without noticing you.

You could almost sense his presence looming over the snow drift that hid you and Zemo.

Then, just as it seemed Walker was about to discover your hiding spot, you heard another set of footsteps crunching through the snow, approaching Walker from behind. Your heart raced as you strained to listen.

“Walker,” a gruff voice called out, and you recognized it immediately—Abner Jenkins, better known as the Beetle. The sound of his mechanical suit hummed lowly as he approached.

You heard Walker’s steps pause, followed by a low, annoyed grunt. “What is it, Jenkins?” His voice was tense, betraying his frustration at being interrupted.

“We’ve got orders,” Abner replied, his tone clipped. “Madame Hydra wants them alive. We’re to take them back to her—no exceptions.”

Then, you and Zemo heard the distinct sound of a shield being stowed. It took a moment for you both to realize that Walker had been holding it the entire time. God knew what his intentions were if he had found you before Beetle stopped him.

Zemo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly at the mention of Madame Hydra. You could feel the unspoken understanding between the two of you: this was far more dangerous than you had anticipated.

“And what about the others?” Walker asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were wary of being overheard by anyone else in the area.

“They’re searching too. We’ve spread out to cover more ground, but the baron and the girl likely headed this way. We need to find them before we are met with a storm.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the tension in the air thickening. You could hear Walker’s heavy breathing, followed by a begrudging sigh. “Fine. Let’s move. We’ll search further ahead.”

The sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow grew more distant, fading away into the howling wind. You and Zemo stayed perfectly still, not daring to move until you were sure they were gone.

After what felt like an eternity, Zemo finally released the breath he’d been holding and carefully removed his hand from your shoulder. “They’re hunting us,” he murmured, his voice low and cold. “And it seems they’re not the only ones.”

You nodded, your thoughts racing. “But that means Sam and James are alive too. They said Madame Hydra needs us all alive, they already have them or they escaped as well.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating the situation. “True, but that also means we’re walking into a trap if we continue in that direction. They’re likely covering the area ahead.”

“So we go the other way,” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Zemo’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “It’ll take longer, and it’s more dangerous in this weather, but it’s better than facing Walker and Jenkins head-on.”

With the decision made, the two of you began to carefully backtrack, moving away from where Walker and Abner had gone. The cold bit into your skin, but the sense of urgency kept you moving. You couldn’t afford to be caught, not by them.

Not when you knew there was so much more at stake.

The biting cold gnawed at your exposed skin, a relentless reminder of just how perilous your situation had become. Each step you took away from the place where Walker and Abner had nearly discovered you felt like a small victory, but the fear gnawing at your insides refused to subside. The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the dread coiling in your gut.

Zemo's presence beside you, his arm supporting you, was the only thing grounding you in the moment. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as if every step was a move in a larger game. He seemed impervious to the cold, his expression calm and focused, in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. You knew you couldn’t afford to let your guard down around him. Zemo was as dangerous as the environment itself, maybe even more so.

After all, this was Zemo, Helmut Zemo—the man who had manipulated and deceived some of the most powerful people you once knew. But out here, in this frozen wasteland, what choice did you have left?

The burn wound on your side throbbed with every movement, a constant reminder of the injury you had barely survived. The pain was sharp, radiating from the angry, blistered skin, but it had dulled to a persistent ache, almost as if it had become a part of you. Zemo had helped bandage it, his hands steady and sure as he worked. He had saved you, in his own way, but the trust between you was fragile, a thin layer of ice over treacherous waters.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your mind kept cycling back to Madame Hydra.

Her name alone sent a tremor through your already trembling form. You didn’t know much about her—few did—but what you had heard was enough to fill you with a cold dread that rivaled the harsh weather. The fact that she was involved meant that things were far more complicated than a simple mission gone wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was all part of some larger plan, that you were pieces on a chessboard in a game only she knew how to play.

Zemo had to know more than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers. Not when every moment of delay could mean Walker, Abner or any other member of the Master of Evil catching up with you. Not when the only thing standing between you and certain death was the man whose arm was currently draped over your shoulders, keeping you upright.

“Keep moving,” Zemo’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, but there was an urgency to it that snapped you back to reality.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, labored gasps, each one stinging your lungs with the frigid air. The pain in your side flared again, but you bit down on a cry of pain. You wouldn’t give in to it. Not now. Not when there was still a chance.

The idea of seeing Sam and James again was the only thing that kept you from collapsing in the snow. You pictured their faces in your mind, the way they had always been there for you when everything else had fallen apart. They were your family, the only thing left in this world that mattered to you. The thought of them out there, possibly alive, was the small flame that kept burning inside you, refusing to be extinguished by the cold or the fear.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly as you stumbled, bringing you back to the present. You glanced at him, catching the briefest flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or calculation. It was hard to tell with him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t cruelty. Not yet.

You were still useful to him, and for now, that was enough. It was what was keeping you alive, right? You were Sam and James’s friend, you were a mutant with good abilities when not injured by burns, you knew a thing or two that he didn’t yet. He needed you as you needed him.

It was the only reason for him to had chose to reach for you when you were hanging by the edge of the airship. His eyes wide open when they met yours, without any hesitation cowering over the edge and reaching his hand to grip your wrist, in an attempt to stop you from falling off the ship. Someone like him wouldn’t do such a thing for her.

If you died, none of your friends would forgive him, that had to be the reason for him to be so kind to you so far. Helping you to get up, taking care of your wounds, sustaining her body as you walked together…

There was any other logical explanation.

The snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, covering the landscape in a white blanket that stretched out as far as you could see. The world had been reduced to shades of white and gray, the horizon barely distinguishable from the sky above. It was easy to lose your sense of direction out here, easy to give in to the overwhelming feeling of isolation.

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, something called your attention.

An orange glow appeared on the horizon, faint at first, almost imperceptible through the swirling snow. You squinted, trying to make it out, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of it.

Fire. Light. Shelter.

“Zemo,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out, “there, do you see it?”

He followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant glow. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. “It could be a fire. Perhaps someone is there.”

A glimmer of hope ignited within you, though it was intertwined with anxiety. A fire could mean warmth, safety, or a place to rest—yet it could just as easily signal danger, another trap in Madame Hydra's web, waiting to ensnare you... Another peril to complicate your situation.

Zemo seemed to sense your hesitation. “We have to investigate,” he said firmly. “It may be our only chance. But we proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” you agreed, though the word felt heavy, laden with the weight of everything that could go wrong.

The two of you pressed on, your steps slow and cautious as you moved toward the distant glow. The snow continued to fall, thickening the air around you, muffling the world in a cold, suffocating silence. Each step felt like a battle against the elements, your muscles aching from the strain, your body screaming for rest. But you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you reached that fire, that glimmer of hope in the endless white.

As you trudged forward, the glow on the horizon grew brighter, more distinct. It wasn’t just a trick of the light—there was something there, something real. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through you, giving you the strength to push forward despite the pain in your legs and the exhaustion that threatened to drag you down.

But as you drew closer, something else came into view, something that made your heart sink. A large, dark expanse stretched out before you, the snow-covered surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was a lake, frozen solid under a thick sheet of ice.

The fire you had seen was on the other side, inside a small wooden house taunting you with its proximity.

Zemo stopped beside you, his gaze fixed on the frozen lake.

“What do we do now?” you asked in a low voice, you glanced at the baron, “If we go through the lake, we might fall into the water but if we try to contour it, we could never find another way there or any other place for the matter”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed as he considered the options, his mind clearly racing through the possibilities. The frozen lake stretched out before you like a vast, treacherous barrier, its surface deceptive in its stillness. The fire’s warmth seemed tantalizingly close, yet the journey across the ice was fraught with danger.

“We can’t afford to lose time,” Zemo finally said, his voice edged with urgency. “The cold will kill us if we stay out here much longer.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of crossing that ice sent a chill down your spine. One misstep, and you could end up submerged in the freezing water below, with no chance of escape. It would be a slow, agonizing death.

“But if the ice breaks…” Your voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air.

Zemo glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of resolve in his gaze. “We’ll move slowly, test every step. If the ice shows any sign of giving way, we’ll retreat. But we don’t have the luxury of finding another way. Not in this weather.”

You forced yourself to nod, there was no real alternative, you had no other choice. The idea of backtracking and trying to find a way around the lake seemed impossible, especially with the storm worsening by the minute. The cold was biting, seeping into your bones, and you knew that any delay could be deadly.

Zemo's face was a mask of stern resolve, his features composed into a calm that bordered on the unsettling. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he assessed the situation. The line of his mouth was tight, giving nothing away, but if you looked closer—if you dared to search beyond the surface—you could see it.

A faint crease at the corner of his eye, a subtle tension in his jaw that hinted at something more. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but a glimmer of concern that he couldn’t entirely hide. It was the kind of worry that didn’t scream out, but whispered in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Whatever he was thinking, it was enough to push him forward, enough to make him the first to step onto the uncertain ice, determined to lead the way despite the risks.

You released your grip on Zemo's shoulder, realizing that both of you together would put too much strain on the ice. The weight concentrated in one spot was a risk neither of you could afford.

The separation made each step harder, more uncertain. With each inch of distance that grew between you, the more vulnerable you felt, the bitter cold gnawing at your strength.

Zemo, sensing the need for caution, took a step ahead, then stopped to look back at you, his gaze never wavering until you caught up. Only then did he move forward again, the pattern repeating with each careful step.

The wind howled around you, whipping snow across the frozen lake, and your heart pounded with each delicate movement. You matched Zemo’s rhythm, taking your time to ensure the ice held beneath your feet. But your progress was slower, your body weighed down not only by exhaustion and pain but by the growing fear that the ice might not hold.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed across the lake, splitting the silence. Your eyes widened with alarm and Zemo froze, as the ice beneath his feet began to fracture. Quickly, he shifted his weight, moving to a more stable section before the crack could spread further.

“Don’t step here!” he warned, his voice cutting through the wind.

It wasn’t like you were planning to do so.

You avoided the spot, carefully navigating around it as your pulse quickened. At first, it looked fine, you both were going well so far. You didn’t take your eyes off Zemo's back, not for one second, just like he didn’t stop looking back at you time and time again. Not at all.

Then, from afar, a distant voice reached your ears. The voice was very far from you both, you couldn’t discern for sure who was and what the person was saying, but it came from where both of you were before. So, it wasn’t difficult to not assume the worst.

“We have to be quick,” you whispered to the baron. Even knowing it would be a difficult task to you, you knew that there was no better alternative.

Zemo nodded, it wasn’t the time to disagree with you.

You picked up your pace, each step a calculated risk on the treacherous ice. The cold air bit at your exposed skin, your breath visible in the frigid air. The ice groaned under the weight of your footsteps, each sound sending a shiver down your spine. The memory of the crack beneath Helmut's feet was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

As you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sense of impending doom hanging heavy over you. The distant voice continued to echo in your mind, urging you to move faster, to escape whatever threat loomed behind you. But the ice was unpredictable, each step requiring your full attention, leaving little room for anything else.

You glanced back at Zemo, his determined expression mirroring your own. He was focused, his eyes scanning the ice for any signs of weakness. You could see the strain in his features, the tension in his body as he led the way.

As you hurried across the ice, the ominous crack beneath Helmut's feet earlier seemed to chase you with relentless determination. The fissure, which had once seemed distant and harmless, now raced towards you with terrifying speed.

Then, it happened. Of course, it would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the crack reached your feet, and before you could react, the ice gave way entirely, plunging you into the frigid abyss below.

The icy water enveloped you, its cold grip a thousand needles stabbing into your skin, seizing your lungs in a vice of unbearable agony. It was a pain more excruciating than the searing flames that had scarred you, a sensation of burning from within as water replaced the air in your lungs. Panic set in as you thrashed, trying to find the surface, but the water was disorienting, pulling you down into its dark depths.

Your vision blurry, the world above a distorted, unreachable realm.

You could feel the burn in your chest as you struggled to hold your breath, the cold seeping into your very core. It was like being on fire, the water a cruel, icy inferno. You fought harder, desperate for air, for warmth, for life.

In a snap of fingers, you didn’t want to die anymore and were fighting to live.

Just when you thought you couldn't hold on any longer, through the haze of your despair, you felt it—a strong hand gripping your wrist, pulling you back from the brink before the waters guided you away. The touch was firm, reassuring, and it brought you back to the present. You remembered Helmut's concerned eyes, searching for yours when you were suspended in the air, holding the edge of the airship with all your might.

You would never dare admit it, but at first, you had thought he would take your hands off the edge and let you fall. But you were surprised when he started to pull you back before being hit and falling with you out of the ship. The determination to save you was what doomed him to be there with you but the glint in his eyes reassured you that he didn’t regret it.

You clung to that memory as you were dragged from the water. The relief of knowing that perhaps he did care for you. Perhaps.

You broke the surface, gasping for air, coughing up the icy liquid that had filled your lungs. Helmut's voice cut through the haze of your shock, steady and grounding. "Are you alright?" he asked, his grip on your wrist unyielding as you trembled violently.

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped deeper. You felt as though you might succumb to death at any moment.

Helmut's eyes scanned the area, calculating the distance to the shore and assessing the condition of the ice. His jaw tightened with resolve as he realized the urgency of the situation. He seemed to be weighing the risks, determining if you could make it across before the cold claimed you. Obviously, you’d start to see your nails following in the middle of the way and when you reached the land… God knows what would be of you.

You saw a flash of determination in his eyes, despite the odds, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. It was as if he had already decided what needed to be done, even if it seemed reckless. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating the likelihood of success and the potential for disaster.

Before you could ask what he was thinking, without hesitation, Helmut tightened his hold on your wrist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Cradling you against his chest, he simply took off across the unstable ice, each step a gamble as the surface threatened to give way beneath you.

“Stop it,” you shouted, your eyes open wide when met by the crack in the ice left by every heavy step that Zemo took, “You will kill us both, stop it.”

Your protests and screams of defiance fell on deaf ears as he ran, the ice cracking ominously but miraculously holding until you reached solid ground on the other side.

What the…?

Once safe, you could only stare at the baron in stunned silence, your mind grappling with the whirlwind of events. It was difficult to process what had just happened with you, what you saw and what could have been of both of you.

Zemo was insane, but he was a smart type of insane.

Helmut's voice broke through your daze, "We need to get you warm.”

He continued to carry you until you reached the hut.

The hut was small and rough, built from weathered timber and stone, tucked away as if nature itself had hidden it. The air inside was thick with the scent of wood smoke and damp earth, mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of recently cooked meat. Animal pelts, a sign of a hunter's presence for sure, were strewn across the floor and draped over the few pieces of rough-hewn furniture. A rack of hunting rifles and a collection of traps hung on one wall, their metal gleaming faintly in the dim light.

The fire in the stone hearth was still smoldering, the embers glowing a dull red, suggesting it hadn't been long since it was tended. A pot of stew, now cold, sat to one side, its contents barely touched. The hunter had likely left in a hurry, not more than ten minutes before your arrival. Helmut's eyes swept the room, taking in the details, his mind working quickly.

He set you down gently on a sturdy wooden chair covered with a thick fur, moving swiftly to restart the fire. The cold had seeped into your bones, and you shivered uncontrollably as you watched him work. He shrugged off his coat and your shirt, hanging them nearby on an iron hook to dry. Each movement was deliberate, efficient, as if he had done this many times before.

You knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t in his record anything about almost dying in a cold environment.

Helmut found a few logs of wood stacked neatly in the corner and added them to the dying embers, coaxing the flames back to life. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth began to spread slowly through the room, providing a small but welcome relief from the biting cold.

You watched him through a haze of shivers, he found a heavy wool blanket and wrapped it around you, then knelt to remove your boots and wet socks. The initial sting of the cold was sharp, but as the warmth from the fire began to reach you, the agony of hypothermia started to ease. Your body was wracked with shivers, muscles spasming as they fought to generate heat.

Helmut stopped to watch you, gauging your condition. Seeing you still trembling uncontrollably, he didn't think twice before stripping off his own shirt, the last layer on his torso. He settled beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around you to share his body warmth.

You protested, your voice a shaky whisper, "You'll get cold too... Why are you doing this?"

"It's the quickest way to warm you up," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "Skin-to-skin contact will help raise your body temperature and save you from hypothermia faster."

For the first time since the fall, you felt your regeneration slowly starting to act, trying to push the cold away from your nerves. So, you didn’t argue with him about that, letting him hug you and hid beneath the blanket by your side.

You shared a strange but comforting silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire in front of you. Gradually, the cold receded, no longer an unbearable ache in your bones. You still felt the chill, but it was no longer the paralyzing freeze that had gripped you before. You began to feel far better than before, your body responding to the warmth, your movements less restricted by the cold.

The warmth also reminded you of the burn wounds on your legs, the pain a dull throb now instead of the sharp agony it had been. You flinched at the sensation, letting your legs drop completely to the floor instead of hugging them.

Zemo noticed, of course.

"We'll take care of those burns properly," he said, taking a look at them beneath the tears of his coat, "Once I'm sure you're alright, I'll find a medical kit around here."

You knitted your brows, watching his face beneath your eyelashes. He remained with the same eyes full of uncertainty, concern, clearer than before. The ones you had met in the airship and found when he held you close before colliding to the cold sea.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked again, your voice laced with confusion and low.

Helmut looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "It's important to treat burn wounds properly to prevent infection and promote healing. You need to stay hydrated, keep the—."

"No, I mean…” You interrupted him, pressing your lips in a thin line, “why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire, the crackling of the wood as it burned. Helmut's eyes met yours, and you saw something there—something unspoken but deeply felt.

“What do you mean?” he asked you back, furrowing his brows.

“You could had ignored me when I was at the edge of that airship, instead you chose to ignore that Doctor Octo-something and came to me, tried to help me even if it meant you going down with me as well,” you shook your head, bewildered by your own words, neither you believed they were true, “Then, when I couldn’t even get up because of these burns, you helped me move forward, without questions or hesitation”

“I—” Zemo opened his mouth, but you were quick to stop him from saying anything.

“The same thing in that lake, there could be John or one of the others when we heard that voice, the smarter thing you could had done when I fell, was to go without me and survive alone,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again, “But you didn’t do it, instead you risked your own life to get me back and ran with me on your arms until we arrived here”

Helmut didn’t look away from you, his lips sealed as he processed what you had just said.

“I still don’t understand your point,” finally, he says, taking a tighter hold of the blanket.

“Why?” you asked again, “Why did you do all of those things for me? I thought you hated me.”

Zemo’s eyes held yours, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The firelight danced in his gaze, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more unreadable than usual. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he was carefully weighing every word he was about to say.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally responded, his voice quieter than you expected. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

You frowned, yes, you did know that, “It doesn’t explain why you’ve risked so much for me.”

He sighed, a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of more than just this conversation. “You’re part of this mission. And as much as I disagree with your methods, or your allies,” he paused, almost as if choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen your commitment. Your… Hm, courage. I respect that.”

His words were measured, calculated, but there was something underneath them—something that felt almost... Personal. But before you could dissect it, he continued.

“We’ve all made sacrifices. This mission, these battles—it’s taken something from each of us. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. It wouldn’t make sense to leave you behind when we’re so close to the end.”

The logical reasoning made sense, and you wanted to believe it was as simple as that. But there was an undercurrent in his words that tugged at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“You trust me,” you said, more a statement than a question.

It… It couldn’t be it, right?

Zemo’s expression softened just slightly, but it was enough for you to notice.

“I do,” the confession sounded like a sacrifice for Helmut, but he kept going, “You made decisions even when your friends pointed out the risk, how untrusting it would be. Despite that, you did, time and time again.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you said, looking away, “I was the first to get exposed by John and the others, he instantly noticed me and that’s why the whole fight started.”

“But he wasn’t going to attack until I fired at him, before he could think about hitting you,” he pointed out in response, “Is that really why you’ve been self-reproaching since I found you? I thought you had changed your mind after I talked to you there. I’m more guilty than you are, as Sam, as James…”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Zemo had a way of cutting through your defenses, making you question the very things you were sure of. You had been blaming yourself, replaying the events in your mind, searching for the moment you could have done something to keep everyone safe. But here he was, taking part of the burden, as if he, too, felt the weight of every choice made.

It was unnerving, this sudden realization that maybe you weren’t alone in this guilt.

“I still don’t understand why you saved me,” you confessed quietly, the words escaping before you could stop it.

Zemo’s eyes flickered with something—something almost vulnerable, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Because leaving you behind wasn’t an option,” he replied, his voice steady, resolute.

The room felt smaller, the fire’s warmth pressing in on the two of you. The tension hung between you, thick and heavy, but neither of you made a move to break it. You studied his face, trying to find the exact moment when the man who had once been your enemy had started caring about you—really caring. But all you saw was that same enigmatic expression, guarding whatever he truly felt.

Maybe he didn’t even know himself.

“You’re not so bad, Helmut,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, “Not at all”.

But he heard you, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“And you, mein schatz, are far more trouble than you’re worth,” he teased lightly, though there was no real bite to his words.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. The moment passed, and as you both settled into a more comfortable silence, you felt a strange sort of contentment—a realization that somehow, amidst all the chaos.

“I trust you too,” you whispered to the silence, a quiet confession.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally took hold. The thought of Helmut didn’t leave you as you drifted into sleep, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold.

Neither you left his mind when he watched you closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulders. He looked away, not able to hold back a smile.

next chapter: Wasting our chances >>

[justagirlinafandomworld]

Stranded (pt 2)

Characters: Hunter Female Reader, Soldier Boy (Ben), mentions of Dean Winchester

Word Count: 680

Summary: You are stuck in this strange world trying to find a way home. And your only help is from an asshole with a familiar face. pt 1.

Warnings: Soldier Boy being a dick. Also, I’ve never seen The Boys, so could be OOC I have no idea. Language.

Bingo Square Filled: @jacklesversebingo - "Technically it wasn't on fire." "Of course, it wasn't on fire! You completely blew it up!"

A/N: Special thank you to @princessmisery666 for reading through this and pulling more from me so that this went from 260 words to 680! All mistakes and general frustrations over this not being a full story are courtesy of yours truly. 💋

“I said I’m resting,” you repeat with vigor you just don’t have. Every breath, every step is hard enough there is nothing left in your reserve to duel with. Which is unfortunate because since meeting this guy, he has turned every single word you’ve spoken into a fight.

“Don’t take that tone with me, I’m not the reason your dumb ass is still stuck here.”

Oh my god.

You wish you had a liquor bottle – didn’t matter the kind as long as the glass was thick so you could chuck it at his stupid head.

You dropped to the ground, your back to a tree after checking the area was clear. You had been walking for hours. That there had been no sign of life through the trek was suspicious.

“Your one way home just went up in flames,” He continued.

And you couldn’t help it, you seriously couldn’t because how the fuck dare he be the one who is pissed –

“Technically,” the word ground out of clenched teeth; now you were the one picking a fight. “It wasn’t on fire.”

And that got him to turn those dark eyes on you, full of a rage that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Of course, it wasn’t on fire! You completely blew it up! The whole goddamn building just gone.”

“Saving your life,” you snapped.

And that’s when his face froze. The rage glittered in his eyes and his upper lip pulled back in a snarl. You swore even the wind quieted and the air grew thick.

“I don’t need saving.”

The intensity hit you square in the chest, shaking your breath as you exhaled slowly. A tick in his eyes shifted his expression to something smug.

“And let’s not pretend you did it for me.”

That had you finally dropping your gaze. Flashing back to that moment, back in that tower, standing six feet away from your ticket home…and seeing him, Ben – what a fucking stupid name – outnumbered, bleeding, laughing. You owed this guy nothing, fucking nothing. But the hallow sound of a man laughing in the face of death had twisted something inside of you.

And instead of going home, instead of returning to the bunker and the Winchesters, to Dean – you had set the lab to self-destruct. Causing panic, breaking up the force that had temporarily united against…

His chuckle had your eyes flitting back up to him.

The scowl felt like it was becoming a permanent mark on your face, the fire had returned to your glare, ready for whatever bullshit he was about to throw your way.

“I’ve met a lot of stupid people in my time, but you,” He paused for dramatic effect. The condescension building for his strike. “Lady, you take the cake.”

You bristled and cursed under your breath before pushing yourself back up to your feet. This piece of shit wasn’t letting you rest anyway. You took your time, favoring a knee and testing your weight on the opposite leg. Feeling steady enough to proceed on the journey, you leveled your gaze back up to him and held.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” you said. “For saving your ass.”

The smugness disappeared, foiled again into rage. That there was no in-between with this guy was a trip. He stepped towards you, intending to invade your personal space, but you stepped around him, his heated words chasing you as you did.

“Fuck that, I wasn’t thanking you for shit!” Then when you didn’t turn around, “My ass didn’t need saving!”

And maybe that was true, this was a world of superheroes after all, and he was apparently the first and greatest. But your instincts had never led you astray before. This ferocity over one detail of owing someone his life, he wouldn’t care if it wasn’t true. You didn’t know what would have happened to him if you had left, but his reaction tells you that he knew damn well the consequences.

“No one ever asks,” you say, pushing forward through the woods. “But people like me, we save them anyway.”

[machiroads]

The number of neutered creatures in my household now outnumbers unneutered creatures 2 to 1 😎

Over 5 years after deciding I did not want to bear children, and almost 3 years in the Socialized Medicine queue for elective surgery, I finally got my tubes removed yesterday 🎉

I had to bring in a urine sample, and you don't realize how hot the human body is until you have to handle a mason jar full of fresh piss

The vibes of the hospital building itself were fuck-awful, which is approximately what I expect from a brutalist style building built in the 1980s. (Half the buildings at my alma mater were brutalist, I did my time in Concrete Jail.) Strangely dimly lit, beige af. I would have loved a splash of Children's Hospital Red.

The staff were all wonderful. The admissions nurse was like "Do you work in medicine? You sound like you know what you're doing." Which. Is very funny. Because I do not work in medicine, I have just done The Research. for My Fictions.

I randomly read a Reddit thread a couple weeks ago about getting the IV in on the first try, and I jinxed the anesthesiology person (I think she was a med student or a resident) by saying "Gonna get it in on the first try? :)" and she was like "haha of course :/" and then. She blew the vein in my left hand. After I told her and the main doctor that the phlebotomy people at the blood clinic prefer the right side, and after she spent like 2 minutes tapping around on my hand. My bad.

The first and last conversation I had with my mother on this topic was 5 years ago, she told me "don't do something you'll regret". Waking up, and still loopy on anesthesia, one of my first thoughts was a very teary "I'm free". In vino veritas.

The gas they inflated my abdomen with is actually more painful than the incisions themselves. Gum + hot tea + heating pad were my BFFs yesterday. I'm feeling a lot better today already.

I'm booked off work until next Monday and everyone has been very nice about my "minor surgery" and I feel kind of bad cuz it's like. There's not actually anything wrong with me, I'm getting elective surgery to sterilize myself. But regardless, it was nice to know they care. The only people I actually told what I was having done are my boss (who also doesn't have kids at 40+) and my tech (who is also on the fence about having kids). My in-laws also know, by virtue of proximity and my husband having to play chauffeur + chore boy on a long weekend lol.

My period is scheduled for next week so I'm glad I have the whole week off lol. We'll see how well tramadol does for cramps because they gave me 30 capsules and I definitely feel like I won't need that many for the surgical pain. It's actually kind of nuts how much cheaper actual opioids are than my stupid dermatologist-prescribed acne cream. 30 bucks for 30 pills versus like 170 bucks for a little tube of cream (before insurance).

I have a whole whack of YouTube videos and AO3 tabs that have been waiting for attention, so hopefully I can chug through a bunch of that this week 💪

Anyway thanks for reading my rambles, here's a bonus Nurse Scout giving 0 fucks that I have abdominal incisions

[changetheprophecy81]

Unpopular opinion

Ron and/or Hermione should have died in the deathly hallows. And I say this as someone who loves these characters (probably Hermione more than Ron), but here me out

Now let's be fucking real, I really like ron, but he really wasn't skilled or prepared enough to fight in a war against voldemort, be it magically or mentally. And that's ok! He's still 17, he's not meant to be fighting a war. And to some degree he probably knew that the chances of him actually making it were pretty slim too. But he still stuck with Harry anyways coz there's no way he was going to let his best friend go through with this alone. Because that's who ron is, he'd rather die fighting beside his best friend, for his family, his muggleborn gf and for the cause than play it safe and hide.

Now coming to Hermione, things get a tad trickier here. Yes, she is very skilled and powerful and quick on her feet. But is she powerful enough to take on an army of adult DEs who've trained for years and have experience from the first wizarding war? To win against the darkest wizard who ever lived, who's said to be worse than Grindelwald, who's the most powerful wizard in the whole world after Dumbledore? No, I'd say she isn't. Because she's also fucking 17, she's not even done with school yet. But I think she'd live longer than Ron, or that there's a better chance of her making it out alive. But if she did die it would be extra heartbreaking coz a) Harry (and the readers) just lost 2 of the people who had been there from the very beginning, b) Hermione's parents would live on in Australia, not remembering that they had a daughter, not knowing that their daughter gave her life in hopes of saving her friend and creating a better world.

I majorly have 2 specific reasons for being this sadistic. The first one is the fact that the plot dumbs down it's main villain and his followers just to make the kids win. Voldemort (during Harry's time) is probably the dumbest villain ever written, he doesn't live up to his hype. People have already discussed how stupid his gof plan was. In ootp, during the DoM fight Lucius says that voldemort can't come get the prophecy himself coz the ministry is filled with ppl and he would risk revealing himself. But it's possible for 6 mostly dumb teenagers and an army of DEs, (who hv just escaped azkaban and are sought after by the ministry) to enter in undetected? Doesn't 👏 make 👏 any 👏 sense. The supposedly feared DEs who were trained by voldemort himself can't win against a group of teenagers. It's surprising how long it takes them to take the kids down in the DoM battle. The thing is though, this is out of character for ALL of them. It seems like they were dumbed down just so the MCs could make it out alive. Voldemort during the first WW started out as absolutely no one to having the highest class of the wizarding society obeying his every command. The whole wizarding world was so afraid of him that they wouldn't even say his name. The DEs picked out member after member of the original ootp, mostly coz they were outnumbered but also coz they're fucking death eaters. And ur telling me these guys can't fight kids? Pathetic. Also it doesn't make sense that most of the adults from the first war are dead but all the kids live. Like did the war become safer or sm shit? Instead i would have loved it if the trio got away with things in the first few books, but then realised what a war against voldemort actually means later on. But they won't back down, and they'll still stick with their friend and fight for each other and the cause anyways, and that vil have real, legitimate consequences

Now, the second reason is that it would have been an amazing but heartbreaking callback to book 1. Ron sacrifices himself in a game of chess and Hermione says that there are more important things than books and cleverness, like friendship and bravery. Ron's line of "It's you who has to go on Harry, I know it! Not me, not Hermione, you!" would have also come full circle. Back then they were still 11, so they could still get their happy ending. Now they're in a real war and the stakes are higher, but they'll stick to what they started anyways. Ron sacrifices himself so the other 2 can move forwards, Hermione's intelligence gets her further but she still needs to part with Harry. Harry needs to leave them behind and face voldemort alone because that's how it was always meant to be

And finally, it would have given us a more bittersweet ending to the series instead of that vanilla 'all is well' epilogue. Harry has lost almost every one he loved. But there's still life, there's still hope, and he lives by cherishing their memories and making their sacrifice have meaning. Kinda like the ending of the hunger games. Ik this is a kids book, but Harry Potter as a series is incredibly deep and deals with a lot of fucked up shit, so I think it could handle it if it was written well.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[stillness-in-green]

Minor advisor note: Katana Advisor was in episode S7EP15, for a brief still among the Villains captured...except they got his colors wrongs XD You still know its him from his head shape and neckbrace armor/but they still messed up his color scheme.

So I finally had the free time to go dig this episode up!  I had to watch most of the episode to find the shot you were referring to, and then ducked back to the previous episode as well, as I’d always intended to at least watch Scarecrow’s big speech moment.  Unsurprisingly, I have some thoughts.

Firstly, regarding Katana Advisor, I can only laugh and shake my head.  Great job, Bones—add in a brand new shot of people getting captured, but the only established character whose capture might possibly be relevant has the wrong colors, so you can’t even conclusively say that it’s him.  Impeccable work: Net Zero changes to the material.

(I agree that it’s obviously supposed to be him—that neck brace is very distinct—but I elect to ignore the implication because I will take any crumbs I can find that any given distinct MLA character is still in the wind at the end of the series.  Not that I consider myself beholden to the anime’s garbage take on the MLA anyway, but still.)

That aside, hit the jump for the rest!  There’s one particularly big one—a translation error in one of Scarecrow’s lines that in turn drew my attention to an issue with Viz’s translation of the same line in the manga—that I’ve saved for last.

O I enjoy that the anime makes it even more clear that Spinner did not run over any-damn-body.  Like, that assumption was so omnipresent when people were talking about that chapter in the manga, but it never stood up to a close read of the actual details of the art.  Does it make Pig Nose Guy’s crisis of conscience even more obviously dumb and contrived?  Oh hell yes.  But the hospital plot was that anyway, so I appreciate anything that makes it easier to explain why.

O Speaking of the human chain, chatting about the moment with Nal made me realize a particularly egregious thing about the set-up with the hospital.  So like, the medical staff are willing to risk their lives for their patients, right?  To the point that they’ll do a real damn stupid human chain instead of, say, trying to use all the chairs and benches and desks you’d find in a hospital to put together a fucking barricade, all for the sake of making a point?[1]  But you know who very pointedly is not behind that human chain?  You know who we never see a single person inside the hospital trying to defend?  Kurogiri, that’s who.        I guess the doctors just didn’t count him as a patient who needs to be protected, huh?  Honestly, where is the brave whistle-blower hospital admin who’s going to give a bombshell interview about how Central Hospital begged the Heroes and the police to move Kurogiri somewhere else only to be refused, because one of the Heroes is personally attached to Kurogiri, and also because Hawks and Tsukauchi knew that Villains attacking a hospital would do irreparable damage to their cred, and that would be important for legal proceedings in the aftermath of all this?       1: Not at all how this would go in real life, especially given the conceit that the only patients left in the hospital are those whose condition is so delicate that they can’t be moved.  But I guess  Horikoshi was too busy asking his EMT contact about open-heart surgery on the battlefield to think to ask about hospital procedures in the event of an active terror threat.  Also putting together a barricade inside the hospital would imply that the staff believe there’s any chance the defense force, who are outnumbered 75 to 1, could fail, and we all know from BNHA’s endgame that being proactive in the face of danger voids the Hero Protection Warrantee.  Only those who are patient and wait for help to come actually deserve help; trying to help themselves makes them Villains.

O Scarecrow’s first appearance in the scene is so, so funny.  He just floats downward into the frame.  He’s not rappelling downwards using webbing, he’s not climbing down with his spider legs, he doesn’t have insect wings; he just drifts down like he has some kind of flight quirk.  You know, the dude who will be defeated by knocking him off the roof of a tall building.

Why did you think it would help to knock this guy off a roof, Koda?  He can clearly just hover right back up there.  Perhaps his flight operates under similar principles as hot air balloons?  Did attacking him with birds deprive him of most of his gas?

O WHERE IS HIS GODDAMN SALUTE.

THIS IS NOT THE LIBERATION SALUTE.

O I notice the anime kept the scene with the handgun—including actual bullet sounds!—despite the fact that that plot element goes absolutely nowhere, and in fact they also see fit to add police-issue lightning rifles.  (Which, wow, that sure is a choice.  Love to just make police look worse by electrocuting unarmed civilians.  What, they couldn’t get a good supply of teargas ready in time?)

O It is so, so funny to me that the anime has finally, seven seasons in, started to care about dramatic lighting, but they’re stuck with the fact that the hospital attack happens in broad fucking daylight, before the other battles really start mucking with the weather.  They do their best with a bunch of lit fires, using the orange light and smoke to suggest sunset lighting and distant stars, but that doesn’t change the fact that The BNHA Anime Cloudscape is lurking just beyond the haze.

This becomes extremely clear when the smoke instantly evaporates the red hot second the mob finally stops for good.  Check the before and after here:

Hysterical.  I guess all these people had to do for the light to shine on them was to stop rioting!  Being good civilians who meekly endure their mistreatment and wait for salvation to be handed to them from outside can literally make the sun come out!  Who needs One For All punches to change the weather?  Apparently enough civilians can replicate the effect just by feeling bad enough about themselves.

O I was being fairly annoyed about the BGM scoring Spinner’s internal monologue right before he makes the last push through to Kurogiri.  Like, it was so plainly ominous and scary, emotionally keying the viewer to view Spinner’s reflections as foreboding a horrible change of the tides.  As someone who was mostly grieving for Spinner in that moment, it rubbed me the wrong way pretty badly. 

...And then that music just kept on playing as the POV of the scene switched to Present Mic and I remembered that Spinner’s last push doesn’t actually come until after the incredible bit where Yamada Hizashi confirms that Spinner has been incapacitated and then apparently decides he needs to kill Shirakumo Oboro anyway, just so his existence can no longer trouble their mutual friend.  And that, dear readers, made me way more forgiving of the ominous BGM!

O I would like to give Shimono Hiro, Dabi’s voice actor, a fucking medal for his line deliveries immediately before and after he goes through Kurogiri’s warp.  The laugh when he realizes he’s going to get teleported to his dad is breathy, pervy, a perfect encapsulation into a single two-syllable sound of his deranged anticipation for tormenting Endeavor some more.  Then his, “Otou-san!” as he appears before Endeavor is even better: high-pitched, off-balance, questioning and eager like he can’t believe his good luck.  Truly, Shimono-san understood the fazacon assignment and he delivered.

O The closing sequence is…really strange.  It’s like it’s pretending that it has a visual theme of reaching out to others, hands extended to those in need, and then the viewpoint cuts to a wider angle and you realize all the characters who were reaching out are actually just sinking down through clear water, their arms floating a little above their torsos.  The last shot, of Deku settling to the sea floor and smiling serenely with his eyes closed, is especially bonkers.  Like, what’s the message here?  That no one involved has any agency in what they’re doing, but are just going with the flow established by other people?  Deku reaches rock bottom, at peace with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to try to do hard stuff like “save Shigaraki” anymore because the grown-ups have sorted it all out for him?

I mentioned this in my chat group and Nal pointed me to the lyrics of the song, which use the word rokutousei, “sixth-magnitude star.”  While a bit of research suggests this is actually a not uncommon bit of metaphor in Japanese songs—I found at least five different ones that used it in lyrics, title or both!—personally, I was immediately reminded of Gundam Iron-Blooded Orphans’ third intro, Rage of Dust, which uses the same term but with a wholly different emotional tenor, and one that I dearly wish the Heroes could have emulated the energy of. 

The difference is that BNHA’s closer, itself titled Rokutousei, is about the sixth-magnitude star (or rather, the singer who is comparing themselves to it) searching for someone else, with an overarching tone of wistfulness, while IBO’s Rage of Dust is about said star screaming defiance and vowing not to flicker out and die quietly, shouting its existence and will in the face of a system that would as soon grind it into dust without even noticing.  Rather than dust, become stardust, proclaims the song, carrying on the dreams of others.  And that defiance, that refusal to let themselves be exploited by the more powerful figures around them, fits perfectly with the struggles of IBO’s main characters.

And like, okay, sure, Rokutousei having a tone of, “I’ll do it, I guess, I hope, I mean, at least I’ll try, even though there’s such a lot against me, so much so that I’m already feeling wistful about how likely I am to succeed, but at least trying is beautiful and meaningful, right?” is certainly on-brand for BNHA’s endgame and Deku’s failures in particular, but good lord is it ever an odd tone to intentionally strike.

The essential difference between these two sequences: Deku letting himself drift aimlessly, eyes closed, arms lax at his sides vs. Mikazuki stubbornly dragging himself through the dirt with his one good arm, gaze fixed and hand grasping for the giant robot that allows him to fight for his future.

O While I think he performs it perfectly well—indeed, my biased heart found his Yamero, yamero! pretty wrenching!—I still don’t like that Scarecrow is clearly being interpreted by the anime as an older man.  There’s nothing about him that looks especially old, insomuch as we can tell from his physical appearance, and neither is there anything I recognize in his word choice that suggests he’s a crotchety old man, either.  It's a taste call, mainly, but man, I just like it better when he and Spinner and Shouji are all young men with diverging views on their oppression.

O Finally, the sub I watched had a whopper of a different translation of one of Scarecrow’s lines.  @codenamesazanka turned up the raws for me, and we found that while the anime very obviously got it wrong, the Viz translation, too, was pretty eyebrow-raising.  It’s one of those localization moments that leaves with the, “Oh, Caleb Cook, I want to shake your fucking hand….with a joybuzzer,” feeling I periodically had to wrestle with back when I was still doing chapter posts.

The line in question is this one:

Note how blatantly horrible this is, so nakedly manipulative that it stops even being very effective manipulation because no one could possibly say, “Don’t stop to think!” in good faith?  Well, that’s probably because the line wasn’t originally that bald-faced.  Even Translator Sis, who normally more or less agrees with C.Cook’s choices (certainly compared to the fan scanlations!), had a real :grimace_emoji: moment and said it was the kind of translation that could only come from a place of bias against the character.

The Japanese line here is, “Yamero yamero reisei ni naru na!” which would more literally translate to, “Stop, stop!  Don’t calm down!”  The first bit is straightforward: a simple repetition of one word that (particularly as delivered quite well by Scarecrow’s voice actor!) really gets across his desperation and panic that the highly important mission he was spearheading is falling apart in front of him.  It’s much more openly emotional and unchecked than Viz’s, “Enough nonsense!”

The bigger issues is the second part.  Reisei ni naru is basically a verb construction about cooling off, calming down, collecting or recovering oneself when emotions are threatening to cloud one’s judgement—Scarecrow’s line is telling the mob to not do that.  I can certainly see where Caleb was coming from—it’s still a very Bad Guy thing to say!—but there is a clear difference between telling people to not let their passion evaporate and telling them outright not to think.

It feels a bit like a response to a tone policing argument, Shouji begging the crowd to be calm and think rationally because this sort of display of anger isn’t helping.  And Scarecrow frantically tells them not to collect themselves and be rational because what has that rationality ever offered them?  What is it offering them now?  It’s just a prelude to telling them to go back home and endure their pain some more.

In much the same way as the idea of light/shadow/illumination is being argued between Scarecrow and Shouji, similar ideas of emotional temperature are implicit in the kanji used in the characters’ word choices. Netsu, 熱, literally meaning “heat,” is the word Scarecrow uses for the emotions of the crowd, their fevered zeal and passion—Spinner uses the same word later in the chapter when reflecting about how he was swept up by passion and followed Shigaraki. Reisei, conversely, contains the kanji for “cold,” 冷.[2] It's not about thinking or not thinking; it's about ferver vs. composure, passion vs. presence of mind.

2: The same 冷 is the kanji used for Rei's name, incidentally.

Notably, the idea of thinking does come up in the chapter also, and it's very much not Scarecrow telling the crowd not to think. Rather, he exorts them/Pig Nose Guy to think of the mistreatment they've suffered, to think only of that; Pig Nose Guy uses the same verb (考える, kangaeru, meaning to think about, to contemplate, to reflect on) when he replies that he is thinking about it.

Caleb correctly communicates the idea of thinking in that exchange, so it actually reads a bit weird to have Scarecrow, over the course of two pages, go from telling PNG to think to telling him not to. It comes off as Scarecrow's rhetoric failing him so him just desperately flailing for whatever words he can find, even if they blatantly contradict what he literally just said. That instant, hypocritical contradiction is not there in Japanese because he's talking about two different things!

I'm happy to know this—“Don’t stop to think!” is one of the very worst lines in that whole stretch of chapters to me!—but I do wish I'd known it much sooner. I was so cynical about Horikoshi's writing of the erstwhile MLA by that point that it never even occured to me to check the Japanese! So thanks for that, I guess, wild mistranslation by the anime subbers! XD

And thanks as always @shockersalvage for the ask! Who knows when I would have realized, if ever, if you hadn't given me the anime update to go check!

[askshoutyasshole]

would you rather fight 1 horse-sized duck, or 100 duck-sized horses? (no weapons, to the death)

THIS IS A FUCKING STUPID QUESTION. ONE MUSCLEBEAST-SIZED QUACKBEAST, OBVIOUSLY. THEY MIGHT BE SMALL IN STATURE, BUT THE MUSCLEBEASTS OUTNUMBER ME BY A FUCKTON. 100 IS THE SIZE OF A SMALL BATTALION. PLUS, THEIR HOOVES ARE BASICALLY BUILT IN WEAPONS! WHAT DO QUACKBEASTS HAVE? A BEAK? FUCKING *FEATHERS*?  IT’D BE TOO BIG TO FLY AWAY, AND I CAN JUST DODGE ITS PECK ATTACKS. EASY.  I’VE EVISCERATED A LOT OF IMPS WITH MY BADASS SICKLE, AND LET ME TELL YOU, THE THING YOU WANT TO AVOID MOST OF ALL IS *BEING OUTNUMBERED*. IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW “EASY” THE ENEMY IS, YOU CAN’T KEEP YOUR EYES ON YOUR BACK AND FRONT WITHOUT CLONING YOURSELF.  AND IF YOU *DO* CLONE YOURSELF, IT’LL LIKELY BE SOME SHITTY USELESS GRUB VERSION OF YOURSELF, SO THEY’D BE USELESS IN A BATTLE ANYWAY.  diid you ACTUALLY con2iider draggiing our ectoclone2 iintwo battle?  NOT RELEVANT! ANYWAY, THIS QUESTION IS STUPID AND THE ANSWER IS OBVIOUS.

[thatboomerkid]

Would you rather fight 1 walrus or 1,000 fairies?

okay so I don’t want to brag or anything but I am like 99% Homo Sapiens and we’re absolutely the most terrifying species on this stupid dumb planet and i one million percent assure you that we know how to kill a walrus or even several walrus

probably it involves guns, but a competent human could i suspect do it with a stick and i personally would use 43 solid uninterrupted hours of tactical nuclear orbital bombardment as is the way of my people

shit, walrus are probably endangered (note that I will NOT be looking up whether the common walrus endangered or not but i COULD IF I WANTED TO which i do NOT)

hell i bet we could probably kill ALL the walruses if we really wanted to using the ancient Homo Sapiens art of “apply murder / repeat / repeat / repeat / giggle / have a snack / fuck / repeat” and i bet we outnumber them at least 2 to 1 probably more

but i am profoundly wary of tinker bell , as are all right-thinking persons, and i do not fuck with anything that can magic me even a little bit (which is how my bloodline has survived since at least the 1970s)

so no thank you i will not be fighting even a single one of the fair folk, the kindly ones, the good neighbors, the chill fuckin sweet bros who are very much respected and have fuck all nothing to do with me nor the affairs of my household good day sir

[paasrin]

SANTA TELL ME [pt. 1]

@ofduskanddreams I was so excited when I knew that I was gonna write for you, like really excited. I'm sorry I got a bit late but I hope you really, really like it.

This is the first part of a multi chapter fanfic and I hope that you really enjoyed it.

Warnings: English is not my native language so I'm sorry for any possible spelling mistakes.

Azriel didn't expected his life to be like this when he was a child.

Well, maybe it did, but definitely did not expect to be a courtier in his work just to make alliances. He, as a matter of fact, was a better courtier than his brother was, he loved Cassian, but he was an asshole and sucked in all the aspects of the work it has to be done.

He was okay with being a spy, with interrogating and murdering people, well, not okay with it, but he learned that it was for the better for the Court and did know his job was relevant and it had to be done. Sometimes he thinks of it and doesn't know what to do with his life if it wasn't for the job he has been doing for the past five hundred years.

But having to work even in the holidays. He was maybe not a big fan of the rumbling and the stupidity of all the things he had to endure during solstice, but was one of the only holidays he had, and maybe was a little angry with Rhys for accepting in his name to go a week into the Winter Court to see the holidays there and make a treaty between the Winter and Night Court, but it did pissed him off.

He was expected to accept it since Mor was back from the fucking Continent and Amren wouldn't go, and his brothers and his mates were obviously out of question being the first solstice as a pair for Cassian and Nesta and being the first solstice of Nyx, so he was the better option. Well, the only option available, cause Elain was out of question again.

Between the three of the brothers he was the most patient one, since his life consisted in waiting and waiting for his job to be done, but he was done waiting and wanted to scream to Rhys for the fuck he happened to be the solstice.

That he could join them for the night after solstice for the annual snowball fight, and definitely he would make them pay for this, cause Cassian agreed it was a good idea to make it happen.

But tonight he did not have any patient, so when he throws the glass he has on his hand to the wall it shatters in many pieces, oh how he wanted it to be one of his brothers, he was fuming.

And nobody could do anything about it, not now that the answer had been sent to the Winter Court.

He needed something to calm down, or it will be a very long week. Seven days, he had to survive in the Winter Court for seven days before he could wipe that attitude off Rhys's and Cassian's face with the floor.

Oh how he hated them in this fucking moment.

He hated not being in control, he was a fucking control freak, how could he not when all his choices where out of his hands for all his childhood and early adulthood, even now he hand not all the control in his fucking life. He adored his family, he really did, but not now, not when they make decisions for him without even noticing until the night before he had to go.

Oh he would not go unnoticed. He had a clear idea of what to do hen he arrived, but definitely he would destroy Cassian and Rhys in the annual snowball fight, he had won many before and would won many after this one. He outnumbered the other two of them, not even adding up his victories did they compare to Azriel's.

He didn't tried to sleep, it was useless, he knew he couldn't sleep in this fucking situation. So he started thinking of anything he could've forgotten, even though he knew he hadn't forgot anything.

When he had calmed down he picked a book of the library he had in his plain room, he had read it at least a dozen times, but he hadn't get any knew book that caught up his attention a simple bare minimum, so he kept re-reading the books he already read.

He spent all the night reading till the sun was up, then he had put down the book and took his bag full of clothes, plans, and information he had not memorised. If he was being honest, he remembered quiet well, but being an asshole knowing almost everything normally made people feel uncomfortable, so he pretended most of the times he didn't knew, other times he was extremely cocky about it, reaching the top level of being an asshole.

Cassian was already up when he came out of his room, but choose to ignore him, he really did not wanted to talk to someone so early, he would shout at him if pushed far enough, and he would push, even though he knew it was not good for any of them.

He was gonna go out for several days and eve though it was all bullshit it was better than having to see all happiness around him revolve while he was unsure about everything.

The bag on his shoulder didn't felt like any weigh was there. A remember of all the little things he needed to be set up in another place. A feeling of discomfort waved from his chest. His life was a scattering mess again and again and again, and he couldn't pull from the waves that were pushing and pushing him far below from the surface.

He loved Nesta and Feyre like her sisters, he really did, but before them he was taken care by Rhysand and Cassian even though he did in fact not tell anyone he was hurting, and here they were, far apart from each other, maybe it was unintentional but he did not wanted to go to the Winter Court. It was freezing there, and when it was really winter in all the other courts it was almost unspeakable how his hands really hurt with all the extra freezing.

Not any gloves could fix that shit.

So he started flying, snowflakes in Velaris were merely starting to fall, and when he was out of reach of the city he had called home for centuries now, he winnowed far away. Just when he reached the border of Nearon, the capital of the Winter Court, he started to feel his hands begin to frozen up.

How he hated winter and how he loved it at the same time.

He hated how it make him shiver every time he saw something like a cave or a hole on the ground full of snow, he remembered very well how it was back in his fathers house, the cell full of worms and snow in winter. He hated how his hands ache all this time after the incident with his step brothers, he hated the memories of all of that. He mostly hated winter.

But he loved it when it was not freezing but chill outside, late winter reaching spring, with the chill and the sun bathing all his body without being feeling hot. The snowball fight was the only time he loved snow.

He looked his surroundings, while his shadows explored all the zone. In less than ten seconds there were two white heads that caught his attention. Kallias and Viviane, High Lord and the Lady of the Winter Court.

"Shadowsinger, a pleasure to see you" said Viviane with a wide smile.

"Pleasure is mine" he said with a nod.

It didn't take him long to have it his own way while both of them started speaking of something about the holidays. Azriel was unsure why but his shadows were starting to wander far, far away from him.

"This week we wanted that our visitors meet our traditions so that they could maybe catch some for their Courts, and maybe start a new trade way." Kallias didn't say anything else.

He didn't comment, but was in fact curious of who else would be visiting in this holiday another Court for work and allies purposes.

It wasn't till he saw the palace from far far away that he smelled a smoky scent. Burnt wood, cinnamon and leather, that what it smelled like, and he knew quite well who that scent belonged to. If the holidays weren't terrible enough they might just get worse.

Eris Vanserra was grinning in their direction. Azriel couldn't be more pissed of.

[siriuslystarbucks]

Offer

Written for @prongsfoot-microfic prompt June 22, 2024: Offer

I have an offer you can't refuse, Riddle wrote. James had rolled his eyes when they got the message. What can Riddle have to offer that they won't say no to? What can he possibly be so certain of? James can think of a dozen things the family wants, but none of them would be in Riddle's possession, nor would they be handed over in such a manner.

James thinks they shouldn't even show; Father says, Better safe than sorry, and insists that it's the best way for their family to respond. They're a family, not simply organized crime like Riddle and his. The Potter's need to be more cautious because losses mean something to them. James dutifully nods in agreement with Father, but he still thinks it's a mistake to go. Riddle has his fingers in more pies than them-- not to mention more people-- and now he's trying to push them around. Upstarts don't tend to last, but Riddle's a bit like a cockroach that way, and now he wants to see what he can do to the existing family. Utter shite, but there's nothing James can do about it.

"Ready?" Father asks.

James nods firmly. He thinks the meeting is stupid, but he's going to take it seriously. A couple cousins accompany them as they go to the rendezvous. None of them know what to expect, other than Riddle's men outnumbering them.

Riddle's already there, all but one person standing. The only one on the floor is bound and gagged-- hostage. No one in the family is missing so who...? With a smile like a shark, Riddle motions for another light to turn on. It illuminates who they have, and James's heart stops cold.

Sirius. Fuck, why did they get Sirius involved with this?

James's eyes jerk up and scan Riddle's men, easily pinpointing someone who's related to Sirius. He has no idea what his name is or how they're related, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

There are three bright spots in this otherwise horrible meet-up. 1. They're here to hand Sirius over for something, which means that soon, Sirius will be safe and by his side. 2. Sirius doesn't have any obvious injuries, not even bruises. 3. Father knows who Sirius is to James; he doesn't need to be told to negotiate for him because he already knows and loves Sirius.

Those are three good things to have going on, but it doesn't stop the bubble of rage and fear from rising in James. If they hurt Sirius at all, he's not sure he can let that go. Whatever relative that is standing by with a self-satisfied air, will be dead within the year.

"Shall we begin?" Riddle says.

"Hand Sirius over, then we can talk," Father replies.

Riddle inclines his head in agreement, and in a few seconds, James has Sirius in his arms.

He tunes out his Father speaking to cut off the gag and ropes. He pulls them free as tenderly as he can, not wanting to hurt Sirius.

Hands free, Sirius wipes at his chin, clearing off the drool that necessarily comes from wearing a gag, and scarcely after he's started, James is holding him, hands on either side of his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly. He doesn't want to interrupt the negotiations, but he has to know if Sirius is all right.

"I'm fine," Sirius whispers back.

"I'll explain when we get home." He can't explain now, no matter how much he wants to. Sirius deserves to hear the truth, but they can't have that conversation in front of other people.

Sirius nods, but there's something in his eyes that makes James think he might know a bit already. Oh, what's he thinking? Of course Sirius knows a little; he's far from stupid. "And I'll be safe with you?" he asks, teasing.

"Always," James promises.

[ihavenocluewhatiwanttobecalled]

We Outnumber Them

When you think about it, it's real fucking dumb for those shitheads who can't accept difference to think that they can beat us. That they can use and abuse and torture and murder us.

Yep. Fucking stupid bitches and bastards who can't accept it when someone's even the slightest fucking bit different from them. We're coming for you shitheads, you realize that, right? We who are different. We outnumber you, you know that, right? Those whom society wants to be forgotten, to live in poverty, to die, to go away. About 1% of people are trans or gender non-conforming. About 10% of people are LGB or ace or some other variety of not-straight. A whole lot of people are not white. Or are not Christian. Or are disabled. Or have a disorder. Or are intersex. If all of us unite, we can take our rights. They cannot stop us. If we combine, we'll outnumber them. We outnumber them. This is why intersectionality is important. This is why it's important to not fight over "who has it worse." Becuase all of us have it bad. If we fight over who has it worst, we'll be divided. "Divide and conquer" means the divided army gets conquered. But if all of us combine? If we stop fighting? We can win. Look at the black man on the street you encounter everyday. He's like you. He has it hard like you. Society hates him, like you. That openly non-binary person who works at the coffee shop. They're like you. They have it hard like you. Society hates them, like you. That ace trans woman has it hard, like you. That gay trans man has it hard, like you.

They all have it hard like you. They're like you. Don't fight them. If we all fight, they win. Our real enemy, the system that hates us, wins. What we have to do is unite and demand that they listen. Disrupt. Protest. Go on strikes. Do whatever the fuck it takes to make them listen. And it's real hard to listen when the protesters outnumber you two-to-one, which I truly believe we will if we all come together.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

i've been trying very hard to be brave

prompt: tortured for information, "hit them harder"

whumpee: peter sutherland

fandom: the night agent

here's something different for a change :) it's tentatively part 1 with a second bit later this month but i cannot make any promises lol. title from st. cecilia's by animal flag

Peter Sutherland is utterly alone. He is in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night, and there is absolutely nothing around him. No movement, no light. Just him and the stars. 

He wishes he knew what he was doing here. He’d been told to come here, and that is all that he knows. 

He’s beginning to wonder why he’d listened. Why he’s here, in a more general sense. 

He isn’t sure that he wants this. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. 

A sound - far off, but like a gunshot in the silence. An engine. 

At least something’s going to happen, now. 

Headlights appear on the horizon, blinding and high up. A military vehicle, maybe. 

They hadn’t said anything about the military, but he figures he should’ve guessed. 

He approaches the vehicle, waves, then wonders whether it’s stupid to wave in a situation like this. 

The vehicle stops. Peter goes to open the door, but it swings open from the inside before he grabs the handle. A few men get out, and he tries to greet them, but they don’t say anything. 

His skin starts to crawl. Something is wrong. 

But it’s too late, and there’s nowhere to run. 

Someone throws a cloth bag over his head and ties a thick rope around his wrists, and then he’s being manhandled into the vehicle and can do little more than wriggle around in the grips of his captors. 

He tries to talk to them, at first. But no one says a word. He falls silent and tries to keep track of where they’re going, counting left and right turns, but the journey drags on forever and in total silence and he’s fucking afraid, and at some point he just stops paying attention. 

After an eternity, the vehicle stops. Dead silence. Hands pull him out of his seat and shove him down. He hits the ground hard, unable to break his fall. His body sinks slightly into soft sand that does very little to lessen the impact. 

He’s hauled to his feet and dragged along, stumbling and desperately trying to keep to his feet. They walk for a long time. It’s cold, and Peter feels numb. 

The squeak of a metal door opening. Clattering. Footsteps echoing in a hallway. There are a lot of them, Peter realizes. He’s horribly outnumbered. 

He’s forced to sit on what can only be a metal chair. He immediately tries to move it, but nothing happens. It must be bolted to the ground. 

A rope around his chest, securing him to the chair. More rope around his ankles. He is clearly not going anywhere anytime soon. 

“Who are you,” says a voice, somewhere to his right. There’s a slight accent to the words, but he can’t put his finger on it. 

He says nothing. Let me see how much they already know, he thinks. 

“I said, who are you.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

A cold laugh. “You’re not in any position to be asking questions.”

Peter remains silent. 

A fist connects with the side of his head. It takes him by surprise, and his neck jerks so violently he swears something cracks. 

“My name is Chris.”

Another hit to the other side of his head. “No, it’s not.”

“Why are you asking my name if you already know it?”

He pictures a shrug to fill the silence. Receives a kick to the shin that really fucking hurts. 

“Fine. My name is Peter.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re willing to give us.”

He really doesn’t like the sound of that. 

“Last name?”

“Seems like you already know who I am.”

Another kick, this time to the other shin. 

“Answer my questions. Don’t bother saying anything else.”

“Jenkins,” Peter says, like a challenge. He’ll make them fight for every word, if that’s how they want to play. 

A punch to the shoulder that feels almost gentle, compared to the other hits he’s received. 

“Hit him harder,” he hears a different voice say quietly. It sounds…almost familiar, in a strange way. Peter strains to hear whether it’ll say anything else, but the only thing that happens is that a fist drives into his stomach with such force that he cannot breathe for several seconds. 

By the time he can breathe again, his interrogator has already moved on. 

“Who do you work for?”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t really want to waste his newly-regained ability to breathe properly on responding to a question that the asker surely already knows the answer to. 

A punch to the chest, painful and solid but not horrible. 

“Who do you work for?”

The question is repeated by several other voices, echoing around him. 

“Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

The noise is nearly overwhelming. He doubts that they’d even be able to hear his answer over all of it. 

Eventually the echoes die away. His feet are starting to go numb from the rope binding his ankles. He’s long since stopped feeling his hands. 

“Once more. Who do you work for?” The singular voice is quiet, now. And very serious. 

Footsteps behind him, and then an arm wraps around his neck, not squeezing, not yet, but there. It’s a clear warning. 

Peter barely breathes as he forces the words from his mouth. “The United States government.”

The arm disappears. Peter takes a deep breath, the cloth bag sticking to his face so that the breath is not as deep as it otherwise might be. 

And then the arm is back, and it is squeezing this time. He chokes and tries in vain to get away, to gain any room at all to breathe. 

He’s on the verge of passing out when the pressure stops. He gasps and coughs in the confines of his cloth prison. 

There is not enough air. He keeps trying to breathe and it isn’t working properly. He’s on the verge of hyperventilation, panicking and thrashing uselessly against the ropes binding him. 

The bag is removed from his head almost gently. He catches a flash of light, mottled colors and shapes that are too bright and too much, and then a blindfold is tied around his head, plunging him into darkness again, but at least he can breathe. 

He gulps in air like he is never going to get the chance to breathe again, and eventually, his lungs stop burning and his head stops spinning. 

“You will tell us what we want to know now, I think.”

Peter barely even parses the statement, too caught up in the relief of breathing fresh, unobstructed air. 

The relief does not last long. They ask another question, and he doesn’t quite hear it, and then a fist drives into his stomach, even harder than before, nearly making him vomit. 

The question is repeated - “what part of the government do you work for?” - and Peter answers truthfully. The words taste like bile, like betrayal. 

This process continues for an eternity. A question. A brief period of time in which to answer. If he answers, usually nothing happens. Sometimes they smack him, but nothing more. If he doesn’t answer, if they think he’s lying, they hit him. The locations vary. The intensity does not. 

He lies, sometimes. When they ask for specifics, when he’s pretty sure they don’t know the answer already. Bases his answers in truth, but dresses them up or down. 

They swallow every lie he feeds them, not to mention the few truths they don’t believe. He’s not giving up too much. Nothing overly damaging. 

And then, the questions and the attack stop. Just like that. He’s untied from the chair, far too exhausted to even think about kicking out at his captors, and then he’s bundled back into (presumably) the same vehicle. 

He hadn’t really cared about how bumpy the ride had been before. But now, his entire body aches and every jolt of the vehicle sends a wave of pain from his head through his feet. He feels a million different things at once. Exhausted and nauseous and numb and resigned and afraid and angry and helpless. 

He wants to go home. Wants his mom, his dad. Wants Rose. 

They dump him in the sand again. He lies with his face pressed to it, slightly warm and unpleasantly itchy, and listens as the sound of an engine grows further and further away. 

He can feel the sun beating down on him, growing steadily more intense. He needs to move. He can barely feel his legs. 

After a long struggle, he makes it to his knees. He spends some time trying to untie his wrists, not stopping until he feels them start to bleed. 

Resigned to that particular fate, he very slowly gets to his feet. His head spins, and he nearly falls right back down to his knees. 

Instead, he makes it all of ten steps before he trips over something and falls, his knees and chin connecting with something hard. 

For a few seconds, he doesn’t move, immobilized by the shock and the pain of the fall. But when he starts shifting, he discovers something wonderful - he’s hit a rock, and its shape is such that he can rub the ropes against a fairly sharp edge until they break at last. 

The second the rope falls away, he reaches up and pulls off the blindfold. 

The sunlight is blinding and dizzying. He sinks down to sit on the rock that has freed him and looks down at his hands. His palms are streaked with blood and both wrists are encircled with red loops, deep indents in the skin showing how tightly he’d been bound. 

He looks down until his eyes adjust to the light. Then he takes a glance at his surroundings. 

He’s not sure what he’d expected. The middle of nowhere, probably. Nothing around him for miles, just sand and sun and the endless sky. 

He is not more than a quarter mile from an airport. He can see its buildings, watches a plane land, watches another one take off. 

He walks towards it, noticing all the time how much everything hurts. He cannot breathe without pain. Every step is a fresh agony, but at least he’s moving. 

He doesn’t stop moving until he’s through the doors. The air conditioning hits him like a blast, and he nearly sinks to the ground right then and there. 

As it is, he manages to stagger to a single-user bathroom and bolt the door behind him before his legs give out. 

He sits propped up against the door, breathing in the cool air, for several minutes. Eventually, he gets back to his feet and leans against the sink, examining his face in the mirror. 

They’d been relatively kind to him there, actually. There’s a scrape below his left eye and a bruise on his right cheek, but he’s looked worse. 

Less good is the blood on his chin - his own doing, from the rock that had turned out to be his salvation - and the bruise already forming across his neck. 

He does what he can. Washes away the blood and blots it out of his clothing as much as he can. Messes with his collar so the bruising on his neck is as obscured as it can be. 

His clothes are sandy and sweaty, but he leaves them as-is. He doesn’t want to look at the patchwork of bruises waiting for him underneath. 

He allows himself one final moment in the bathroom, sticking his mouth beneath the tap and drinking as much water as he feels able to. He’d scarcely noticed the thirst until now. The water tastes like blood and sand and it hurts to swallow. 

The airport is hectic, and hardly anyone even looks at him twice. By some miracle, his passport is still in his pocket, and so is a small amount of cash and his credit cards. His phone is gone, and so is his bag, but at least they’d left him with something. 

It’s a clear signal, to him. Get the hell out and do not come back. 

He doesn’t even think of trying to find the US embassy, of staying here any longer. He can’t. He’s exhausted and hurting and afraid and there is a flight to JFK in half an hour. 

He gets the last available seat, smashed in between a guy the size of a pro football player and a young child belonging to the family across the aisle who won’t stop talking. 

Despite this, he’s asleep before the plane even leaves the ground. 

thanks for reading!!! i had a really great time writing this and i really wanna do a follow-up...i have an Idea but we'll have to wait and see lmao

[mx-heinous]

Ok, so I'm reading the Iliad for school, and here are my comments

Book 1

The funniest moment for me was definitely when Calchas made Achilles promise to protect him because he knew a certain someone was gonna be pissed with what he was gonna say

Anyway, I just learned that the Greeks are also called Danaäns

They refer to some people who SHOULD be kings, as princes? Odd choice

In here, Achilles has long red hair. I always interpreted him as a blonde??? It's probably just the translation. Anyway, Athena literally held him back by his hair from straight up MURDERING Agamemnon

So, the gods can just appear before select people while looking invisible before everyone else. I wonder if the guys who CAN see ever look crazy to other people

Sweet moment between Achilles and Thetis <3

Zeus, Thetis, you two REALLY aren't being discreet. Hera figured out your entire deal in one go

Hephaestus plays peacemaker and then gets repayed by being made fun of for his lameness

Book 2

They only refer to Morpheus as "Dream" here. Also, he disguises himself as Nestor in Agamemnon's dream lol. I wonder how often the gods just swoop down to Earth to pretend to be random people

Agamemnon - lord of many horses

I'm impressed that they can remember all of that verbatim

"God's messenger Rumour" Are they referring to Hermes? Probably not, but eh

The Trojans are WILDLY outnumbered, yet they still held back the Greeks for a good while

Agamemnon, you dumbass

Ok, so I also just learned that one of Athena's epithets is "Atrytone," which means "unwearying"

"Argive Helen" - didn't Helen come from Sparta? First time I've heard of this

Again, repeating stuff verbatim

I love how Odysseys's solution is to take Agamemnon's sceptre and start herding and/or beating people

Why did they even keep the hunchback in the army

"There's not an angry thought in Achilles" HA. LOL

Odysseus referred to himself in the 3rd person for some reason?

Ajax is spelt Aias here

Apparently, Agamemnon is REALLY hot, or at the very least, muscular af

I'm sorry, but I am NOT putting myself through the boat list

So Achilles has really nice horses

Iris!

THE FUCKING BOAT LIST CONTINUES??? BRO, THAT'S NINE PAGES

Book 3

Paris is also called Alexandros???

Hector calling Paris a useless bimbo!

Basically, it says that if the Trojans weren't cowards, they would've stoned Paris to death a LOOOOOONG time ago

I don't even know where Paris got the AUDACITY to not only steal someone's wife, but also ROB them while staying as a guest. Bro was raised as a shepherd. Where is he getting this ego

Y'know that moment where you THINK a plot is about to wrap up, but then you notice that the episode isn't actually close to ending yet? I imagine that's what the NPCs felt

Priam and his old man friends

I love how they describe Odysseus as stupid-looking until he starts talking

With my previous point, him continually being referred to as being as wise as Zeus

Seriously, why tf did NO ONE tell Helen that Castor and Pollux are super dead??? Like, bro, she's wondering if they aren't there because they might be ASHAMED of her! Have the decency, bruh

Sidenote: I do think that if Castor and Pollux were still alive by the time of the war, they would've gotten Helen out of there a LOT sooner, because of the experience they already had with the Theseus situation

So Priam's aware that Paris is defo gonna die

✨️Paris' fashion montage✨️

Hector dragging Paris by his own helmet LMAO

I know he's referred to as Alexandros, BUT I will NOT be calling him that since Paris is waaaay too flamboyant for a name like "Alexandros"

"beautiful throat, lovely breasts, and shining eyes" YURI YURI YURI YURI YURI

Menelaus: WHERE IS HE?! WHERE ARE YOU HIDING HIM?!?!?!

Trojans: Bruh, we don't know! Believe us, we hate him as much as we hate dying

For some reason, my school's translation has some weird nicknames for the gods??? Like, their epithets are used as last names

Apollo - Shootafar, Silverbow

Zeus - Invincible, Olympian, Thunderer, Cloudgatherer, Cronion, Flashlightning, Allwise, Almighty, Thunderer

Thetis - Silverfoot

Hephaestus - Crookshank

[destinygoldenstar]

Disventure Camp Character Impressions *Compilation* (Part 6)

<< Part 5

***

Who threw their vote on Alec then?

*thinks about it*

Jake, why'd you do that? There's no reason.

"I might be thinking about turning on the heroes, you know?"

I feel like one of them is going next episode. From an idol, like I said. But hey, at least they worked things out and they're happy now and they can work through each other's baggage together.

"Screw you VR Simulator! We're not going to Mexico! We're going to CHINA! And we're eating dumplings!"

Oh they're actually strategizing. Okay.

"Hey, we're outnumbered, maybe voting off Grett wasn't a good idea... even if there wasn't any way we could've saved her."

"We must find a way to divide them."

Get them to split the votes on you two maybe?

"Hey, you shouldn't vote me! Vote Alec! He's the bigger threat!"

Then Alec can tell another person the same thing!

And if you ARE gonna convince Ellie to vote with you (somehow), that's 3-2-1, and BOOM. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

...I keep saying I'm bad at this game, but think about it.

"This game is much more than grudges or friendships."

"Meanwhile, we're planning to toy with one of your friend's grudges and friendships."

"Fine. I'll think about it."

"But if I'm gonna flip, I'm don't have to hurt them personally. I have more dignity than to stoop that low!"

"Looks like the Disventure Camp gods are not having a good night."

Are you talking about me? Cause I didn't do that this time.

What happens if it's a tie?

ACTUALLY THAT WOULD MAKE SENSE IF THEY'RE FORCING ELLIE TO FLIP

"Well shit, they both have immunity. Guess I HAVE to flip to save myself. Sorry guys."

THAT makes sense.

"I've been trying to knock over this stupid vase for five minutes!"

You sound like me in math class fr.

"I've been trying to solve this math problem for THREE HOURS."

"I found the clue to the location of an immunity totem. It should be right here."

NO WHY WOULD YOU TELL HER THAT-

Okay he doesn't know of her thinking about flipping, to be fair. But still.

"I sure hope no one STEALS this idol or anything!" (Tom)

They're gonna steal it.

Ellie's gonna tell Fiore & Alec, "Hey guys, I know how to save you guys. Tom has an idol. Steal it from him and use it for the council." (Ellie)

That's definitely a plan!

"I trust that Ellie won't throw her own game with her silly friendship with Jake."

Watch her actually do that and own up to this.

"Yeah, um... so I REGRET what I did. And I would rather us be friends and win this together than split apart and become a monster like Fiore."

*coughs laughter*

Okay you can't make that up.

"Tom's a scumbag."

"I got breakfast!!" 💗😄

"Jake, those fish are poisonous! He's trying to KILL YOU!"

If Ellie ONLY said "Tom cheated on you lol" and that was all it took, then YES, YOU'D HAVE A POINT.

"He's been lying to you, and you're worried about keeping your promises? He's cheating on you Jake. It seems like he's been cheating for a long time."

🔥"Lemme just uh, casually ignite some more fuel to this fire. Hey Jake, remember when you got cheated on in the past? Remember how much that HURT you and DEVASTATED you? Doesn't it HURT BEYOND BELIEF?! DON'T YOU WANT TO BUILD YOUR WALLS AND NEVER TALK TO ANOTHER GUY AGAIN?!?!"🔥

"I'm an idiot!"

"You're not Jake."

"I'm just gaslighting you to BE an idiot."

"It's about Jake and all the drama surrounding him."

What are you doing? I thought you were gonna keep your mouth shut.

What's your plan? You WANT Tom to realize you're using Jake?

"Oh wait, shit! It wasn't Jake's fault this time! Welp, guess our alliance is back!"

But they already voted, so... goddammit...

"Times running out Tom. What'll it be?"

Don't play it Tom.

They're tricking you. Don't play it.

Though that's kinda bad on his end, cause that'd be him saying "Nah, fuck you Jake. Go to the bus and drive it to hell."

"Do you have any idea what you did? You got Tom mad at me AND you voted him out!"

"Do you think I get some sick pleasure from this?"

"Maybe you do!"

"I feel terrible, Jake."

"Oh don't pull that crap with me!"

"You can't just say 'I'm sowwy' and expect me to forgive you for something that HURT ME THAT BADLY."

...

Flash back to every time Jake said sowwy and didn't get forgiven.

BUT despite the hypocrisy, I'm still on his side in this argument. I'm sorry. He has every right to be pissed.

Miriam's just walking by completely out of this XD

"Eh I'm chilling. Where's my coffee? Elders can drink coffee, right? I'm just chilling and making white noise out of this."

"And none of it is targeted at me!"

...

HOW?!?!?!

HOW IS NO ONE AFTER YOU?!?!?!?!

HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!?!?!?!

YOU SHOULD HAVE THE BIGGEST TARGET ON YOUR BACK!!!!!

YOU MADE THE PLAN. YOU BETRAYED SEVERAL PEOPLE. YOU CAUSED THIS FIGHT. YOU DECIEVED EVERYONE IN THAT ELIMINATION.

HOW IS NO ONE AFTER YOU?! THAT MAKES NO SENSE.

"Don't you get it Golden? I'm the villain! Therefore I'm completely excused for everything I've done!"

SURE. EXCUSE THE BEHAVIOR OF THE ONE PERSON WHO ORCHESTRATED THE WHOLE THING.

SURE.

Oh, BYE ELLIE XD

Is this cause I gave Jake slay pass?

I know HE didn't do this, but uh...

"You know, Golden told me to get revenge on Ellie, well here you go."

I DIDN'T MEAN KILL HER.

"There's a scorpion here."

"More reason to dip."

"I'm gonna DIE." (Alec)

"See you in hell." (Ellie)

"Do you think we're gonna trust you?"

"Cause uh, I think I learned something from last time!"

"I may or may not have threatened the hotel receptionists so they would tell me the truth."

Oh my god Gabby, I love you XD

"I did all your spy work for you! You're welcome! Torture always works!"

(No it doesn't)

"I should call child protective services on you, you know?!"

Is that directed at Miriam or me cause I'm routing for Miriam to hurt you?

Would love to see that in court.

"Did you attempt murder on Mr. Jake... whatever his last name is?"

"Um, I'm a kid your honor."

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

Ellie looks so done.

"UGH, consequences for my actions SUCK."

"Bruh? Why you pissed? I only took advantage of you, triggered some PTSD, betrayed your trust, lied to you, and ruined your relationship for my own personal benefit to win money. You ask me, you being pissed at me IS TOTALLY UNCALLED FOR."

"I WAS THE PLAYING THE GAME. THEREFORE, IT DOESN'T COUNT."

I imagine they were there for hours of Jake just nonstop ranting.

"I hope you know, Ellie, I am PISSED at you. And Golden told me that she wants me to give you karma. Well here it is! I WILL NOT SHUT UP FOR THE REST OF THE TRIP."

Continued In Part 7 >>

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2

Read on AO3

Lythra should have realized it was a setup. It was too much coin, too easy of a job, especially from Trelgath—but she’d been stupid and desperate and took it anyway, despite how little she trusted the damn weasel.

Her breath caught in her throat as the figure at the end of the room lowered the hood of his cloak, teeth flashing as he grinned at her and tossed it aside. He’d waited until she’d got two dozen steps inside the old, abandoned church, too far to easily turn back and run. He had guards posted at the door, guards that stepped in front of it, blocking her exit as he strode leisurely forward, relishing his victory. There were two others that remained where he’d been standing, waiting for his dramatic reveal. 

He looked more like their mother than last she saw him—the peculiar height, the hazel eyes, the lavender-grey skin and shock of long, white waves kept vainly loose down his back. His robes were extravagant, embroidered with what she’d guess was real silver, or perhaps mithral—

He’d always been the favorite, after all. 

“Little sister. I must admit, I assumed you’d die well before you made it out of the Underdark, never mind this far south. I’m almost impressed. But it’s time to come home. Mother insists. She’s even willing to forgive you—after a decade or so of contrition.”

Fear flooded her gut but she tamped it down, buried it under fury, even as the long-healed scars across her torso panged in fantom pain. She wasn’t a little helpless thing anymore. She angled herself towards one of the windows, subtly, keeping her apparent focus on the mage. It was at least a two-story drop, but it beat letting him drag her back to Menzoberranzan for whatever their mother had planned. 

Even if she bungled it and dashed her brains on the cobbles below.

“Suck shit, Kel. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You always were so eloquent,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Now come on, there’s nowhere to run and you’re wildly outnumbered. Perhaps I will even tell Mother you’re deserving of mercy, if you cooperate.”

“And if I don’t?” She asked edging slightly towards the window. 

“It doesn’t matter to me. You can walk back home or I’ll have you tied and dragged, kicking and screaming.”

Lythra blew out a breath, edging closer to the widow, only half a dozen strides.  “Well, when you put it like that, it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“See? I knew you would see reason—“

Lythra threw herself headlong through the window before his guards could close in on her, shielding her face from the glass. She didn’t have time to dig for a feather fall potion in her bag, merely bracing for the shock of the cobbled street below.

She landed, hard, the breath knocked from her lungs even as she rolled to try and reduce the damage. She’d definitely broken something—a rib at least, and maybe her elbow by the way it throbbed.

“You feral little bitch!” He screamed, fury coloring his cheeks. A bolt of lightning shot from the shattered window above, barely missing her as she rolled to the side to avoid being fried. 

“You missed!” she shouted back, forcing herself upright. “Some great wizard you are. I wasn’t even moving, you fuck!”

“I am going to make you suffer, little sister!” He shrieked from the broken window.

She didn’t retort, instead just acting on instinct. She stretched out a hand, calling on the darkness within her, the innate evil she did her best to lock away and bury, and shot a bolt of shadow back up through the window and yanked. She heard Kelennar yelp before he tumbled from the window to the courtyard below. 

The effort of the magic made her teeth ache, her vision swim for a moment as she felt blood run from her nose, her whole body corpse-cold—it had been so long since she’d called on it. 

Long enough that she’d forgotten its cost.

She fumbled in the pouch at her hip for a moment, retrieving the Wizard’s Bane potion she’d spent far too much for. She didn’t bother trying to coat her daggers, instead just hucking it at him where he lay in a moaning heap. It exploded in a spray of glass and shimmering liquid and she knocked an arrow in her crossbow, a second lightning bolt missing her by near a foot. She grinned to herself as she fired, burying the bolt in the side of his knee.

He whipped another spell at her as she turned, this one connecting and burning across her back. She swore, knocking another arrow and shooting it over her shoulder, generally at his gut as she ducked down an alley, trying to decide the best route to lose him, at least for now. 

She didn’t know how he found her, how he was tracking her—he shouldn’t have been able to use any sort of divination, not with her amulet, unless it was a dud, which it might be for all the arcane expertise she had. She also wouldn’t put it past Trelgath to have sold her out—he was a mean old bastard and only cared about coin, and Kelennar had a lot more of  it than she did. 

She sprinted down the narrow streets, trying to gage how close they were—Kel had never been fast, and the rest of his guard had to make it out of the old abandoned church before they could give chase, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t magic himself super-speed or wings or something else fucking stupid. 

Damn wizards.

She couldn’t win in a fair fight, not against four well-trained House guards and her piddling prodigy of a brother. Not out in the open, not while running through the Outer City. Even if she’d managed to hurt him enough to prevent his pursuit, he still had at least four guards at his command and she doubted any of them were half as fragile or easily baited as Kelennar. Later, when they made camp she could pick them off one by one as they tranced, if she was clever about it and she figured out how he was tracking her. 

There was screaming behind her, and the sound of more than just her pursuers chasing her. Had they started targeting distending civilians? That was all they needed, a horde of drow tearing through Norchapel, killing innocents at random. She chanced a look behind her only to have her breath catch in her chest.

What looked like a gargantuan evil sea creature flew through the sky, its tentacles tearing at watchtowers and toppling tenement building.

It wasn’t enough that Kelennar was here to drag her back in chains to Menzoberranzan. No, he had to pick the one day a godsdamned nautiloidwas barreling through the city, the monstrosity so big it made the red dragons chasing it look like overlarge pigeons. 

She caught sight of him just as the building  next to her exploded with the force of a colliding tentacle. His eyes were wide, face blanched with fear, blood bright and crimson at his temple. He caught sight of her and reached a hand out, magic gathering in his palm and she threw herself out of the spell’s path.

Right into one of the flailing tentacles.

She screamed, as it grasped her, screamed as it dragged her up, up in the air, and then all went black. The last thing she saw was the look of horror on her brother’s face, his hand still outstretched.

~~~

Lythra glanced across the camp, surveying her new-found companions. She certainly didn’t feel any safer for their company. Most of them had long gone to bed—she glanced at the wizard’s tent, making sure he hadn’t wandered back out to brood. She might have left him in the rock she found him in, had she known he was some apparently powerful and important wizard. He seemed nice enough, but she wasn’t about to drop her guard. They were all the same, in the end—Weave-drunk and power mad, without any consideration for the damage in their wake. 

She massaged her neck, where the cut from one of her more aggressive introductions had scabbed over. Her eyes flicked to the pale elf, the lone other figure still awake, where he stood reading.

Or at least pretending to. He hadn’t turned a page in going on ten minutes. She was rather sure he was instead surveying her through his lashes, assuming her too preoccupied to catch him.

She’d have to keep an eye on him. He reminded her of a feral cat, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. A pretty, dangerous thing.

She strode over, pleased to see his eyes had begun to purple from where she’d head butted-him. His look of outraged shock had definitely been worth aggravating her already pounding head. 

He forced a smile as he spotted her, closing his book without marking his page.

So, he definitely hadn’t been reading it then. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked, almost sounding genuine. 

“Besides the worm?”

He huffed a derisive laugh. “Yes, besides the worm.”

She sighed, looking around at the others. “Could be worse.”

“Could be—Worse than curling up in the dirt in the middle of—? Well, wherever we are!”

“I take it you’re not one for camping on weekends, Mr. Magistrate,” she said with a crooked smile, doubting very much that he’d been entirely truthful about his occupation, especially after watching him pick the locks on a handful of chests. Still, she’d play along. It was better if he thought her stupid—he wouldn’t put so much effort into his lies then. 

“Absolutely not! Why would I, when I have a perfectly fine bed, decent wine, and not everything is covered in bugs?”

She huffed a laugh, enjoying his foppish indignance. She too preferred the city, but she wasn’t opposed to a few nights under the stars. 

She’d never quite gotten over the wonder of them.

“You never told me what you did. In the city,” he said primly, looking down his perfectly straight nose at her. 

“No, I didn’t,” she replied with a smile she knew would infuriate him. He scowled at her.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What do you do?”

“Odd jobs, mostly. Little errands,” she said, which was true if you considered cat burgling and the occasional Guild contract errands, which, she did. He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t press.

He sighed, and looked away. It was a few minutes before he spoke again, something in his voice shifting, though she couldn’t pinpoint what. 

“It’s so quiet, out here. No bustling streets or bursting taverns. It’s almost…odd.”

“You should rest,” she said, turning back towards the fire.

“I’m in no place to rest yet. Today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through, to process this. You rest, I’ll keep watch,” he said, softening his voice as he said the last bit. 

Perhaps if she was a trusting person, she’d have believed he meant it, that he was being kind—chivalrous, even. Instead, her eyes flicked from his face to his hip, where he had a small dagger concealed in his waistband, and then back up to his face.  Her mouth curled into a cruel smile, so faint it was barely there, but enough to let him know she saw through his ploy, whatever its reason. 

He’d made a mistake, thinking her an easy mark. Hopefully he’d realize his mistake. 

“How kind of you,” she replied, as sweetly as she could manage. 

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, irritation ever so slightly coloring his words. She smiled wider—there was very little she enjoyed more than being a nuisance. “Sweet dreams.”

She just nodded before grabbing one of the empty bedrolls that had been laid out in front of the fire and dragged it off to the far side of camp, away from him and all the others. She wouldn’t sleep—not for a long time after Astarion pretended to trance. She might be able to manage five hours, enough to keep her on her feet tomorrow. 

She tucked a dagger under her bedroll and another in her sleeve before she curled up on her side, pulling her knees to her chest. She stared up at the stars, glad for their twinkling light. They were brighter, here, away from the city’s lights. 

How long had it been since she’d been abducted? She didn’t know how long she was stuck in that pod, before being tadpoled. It could have been days, or just hours.

Her mind wandered back to Kelennar, to the job that should have been so obvious a setup. 

Was he dead? Did she care—should she care? He was her brother, after all, even he was a raging, arrogant sadist. She could hardly remember an occasion where he’d been anything but cruel to her. 

It’d be easier, if he was dead, at least. Then she wouldn’t have to kill him herself, which she knew he’d drag out into an absolute nightmare. 

It hardly seemed fair, that he was the brother that survived. She swallowed hard, trying not to think of her eldest brother. It had been her fault, after all. 

She pulled her blanket closer around herself, wishing it made her feel at all better.