#this one is likely to be an extended series of sorts. heres to praying that I don't burn out and abandon it like last time

[jozor-johai]

Revisting the Rat Cook, Part 7: A dead Hound and a "drowned rat"

If you're only interested in Sandor and Arya, you can read this part alone, although my arguments are built on the analysis of rats and dogs as symbols that I laid out in the last part, so it works better reading that part first. In a way, this is a second part to that post.

As always the meaning is more complete in the context of the series. In Part 5, I laid out my analysis for "rats" as a symbol in the context of a power hierarchy in ASOIAF, and you can find links to the rest of the series here.

A dead Hound and a drowned rat

While his dog brother, Ser Gregor, spent ACOK hunting down the ratlike Brotherhood Without Banners, Sandor Clegane spends ASOS hunting down one rat in particular, and through the entire last post I’ve been avoiding this very notable instance of a “dog” hunting a “rat” in order to give it special attention now.

Sandor Clegane’s status as “dog,” at least in the beginning of his story, is indisputable. As mentioned, Sandor is dripping with dog imagery throughout the story, from his “hideous dog’s-head helm” to his three-dog sigil.

The rat in question, like the Hound, has an equally apt nickname.

Consider the metaphoric imagery of rats being associated with the smallfolk who are trampled on by the great Lords, as well as when rats are literally in danger of being trod upon by Jon in ADWD Jon IV:

Careful of the rats, my lord." Dolorous Edd led Jon down the steps, a lantern in one hand. "They make an awful squeal if you step on them.

or Jaime in AFFC Jaime III:

As Jaime entered, he almost trod upon a rat.

Put another way, given an instance where this extended metaphor describes “rats” of the world as continually underfoot, then it would be incredibly consistent if the imagery of being rat-like was continually applied to a character whose nickname is literally Arya Underfoot.

-

In fact, Arya is frequently compared to a rat throughout the first three books. I have been saving nearly all of these Arya quotes for this part, but bear in mind that nearly all instances of her being a “rat” corroborate our earlier interpretations—she is called a rat when she is mistaken for the powerless smallfolk, when she is starving, and when she feels utterly without agency.

In Harrenhal, Arya even leverages her position of non-power in order to revolt, as with the “weasel soup,” itself a callback to the Rat Cook story, where vengeance is brought from the kitchens to be wrought upon the rulers. Not only that, but throughout her story she shares the Rat Cook’s lust for vengeance, praying every night since ACOK Arya VI for the chance to kill those who have wronged her.

In AGOT Eddard III, Renly names Arya not only a rat, but a rat who takes on an Andal Prince, keeping with our Rat Cook narrative:

“Perchance later you'll tell me how a nine-year-old girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river.”

In discussing the smallfolk’s status as rat, we already looked at this quote from AGOT Arya III, where the guards of the Red Keep liken Arya both to the smallfolk of King’s Landing and to rats, one and the same:

Boy, how did you come here? You have no business in this part of the castle." "You can't keep this sort out," one of the red cloaks said. "Like trying to keep out rats.

By AGOT Arya V, after she flees the Red Keep, Arya has integrated herself into the world of the smallfolk nearly completely, making her a gutter rat:

"You be keepin' your filthy hands off. The gold cloaks know how to deal with thieving little gutter rats, that they do."

As a “gutter rat,” the image of Arya as a “wet rat” remains, only now, perhaps, permanently wet from living in the gutter. Since the gutter is the entry path to the sewers, the epithet also parallels Daenerys' forces of freedmen, who she calls “sewer rats” when they take Meereen.

Arya remains a “gutter rat” into ACOK, beginning with Arya I:

"Where's a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him a sword?"

This title is reiterated again in her next chapter, ACOK Arya II:

The Bull scowled at her. "Why should she want you? You're nothing but a little gutter rat!"

Again here, consistent with the symbolic associations, Arya’s status as “rat” means that she is someone wholly unworthy of attention or fear.

-

Even more interesting, in the context of her new companions, is how consistently the symbols from the “Rat Cook” story appear in Arya’s journey throughout ACOK.

Arya’s entire story through the second and third books contains the main characters of the Rat Cook story, rearranged: Arya herself is the “rat," and she is accompanied by a boy named Hot Pie, as well as Gendry, who is an (illegitimate) Andal Prince.

Gendry, the Andal Prince of the “Rat Cook” analogy, is also named a “Bull,” a role which has sacrificial connotations that have been pointed out by many others, and so I will not reiterate here. That sacrificial undertone takes on even more damning qualities in the context of the "Rat Cook" story, though—that “prince” ended up dying a the hands of the Rat Cook, sacrificed as a proxy for his father so the cook could take out his vengeance against the King. Gendry’s constant proximity to these “rat” and “pie” characters make it feel like his death is haunting him from the moment he leaves King’s Landing.

Since we have already established the Brotherhood as rat-like characters themselves, Gendry leaving Arya’s company for theirs simply means that the "prince" changes hands from one “rat” to another group of “rats." Given the prince's ultimate fate in the “Rat Cook” story, these symbolic associations only reinforce the idea that this “Bull” might end up becoming a metaphoric, sacrificial, steak pie.

-

Once Arya and Gendry part ways, Sandor does as dogs do and catches this “gutter rat.” Yet, contrary to every appearance of the metaphor in ASOIAF, Sandor does not kill Arya “as a dog would kill a rat.” Rather than make this metaphor inconsistent, however, their relationship raises a different question: is Sandor really still a dog, once he has no master?

In ACOK Tyrion XIII, Sandor disobeys for the first time—and in that moment, doffs the helm of “the Hound”:

"Who commands here? You're going out." "No." A shadow detached itself from the shadow of the wall, to become a tall man in dark grey armor. Sandor Clegane wrenched off his helm with both hands and let it fall to the ground. The steel was scorched and dented, the left ear of the snarling hound sheared off. A gash above one eye had sent a wash of blood down across the Hound's old burn scars, masking half his face. "Yes." Tyrion faced him.

We have earlier established how important obedience is to the "dog" metaphor, and here Sandor literally removes his “dog” imagery as he begins to separate himself from his “dog” status; the act of disobedience and the removal of the “Hound” helm are one and the same. The helm itself has even been abused to symbolize the Hound’s abuse here: perfectly matching Sandor himself, the steel of the helm is “scorched and dented”, with one ear entirely missing.

If the helm was not enough, Sandor sheds a second layer of his identity as he is born anew in the Brotherhood’s cave. The Brotherhood accuse the Hound of all the crimes which the Lannister’s other “dogs” have committed, seeing the Hound, in his doghood, as an extension of the Lannister’s force when naming the Hound’s victims in ASOS Arya VI:

"People," said Lord Beric. "People great and small, young and old. Good people and bad people, who died on the points of Lannister spears or saw their bellies opened by Lannister swords." "It wasn't my sword in their bellies. Any man who says it was is a bloody liar." "You serve the Lannisters of Casterly Rock," said Thoros.

In truth, their complaints are misplaced, at least at an individual level, as Sandor no longer serves the Lannisters, no more than he is their “dog” any longer. He, perhaps rightfully, names himself innocent, but the Brotherhood, agents of these people, say that the Cleganes are inherently guilty—while also drawing attention to the “dogs” on his arms:

"I was not at Sherrer, nor the Mummer's Ford," the Hound told him. "Lay your dead children at some other door." Thoros answered him. "Do you deny that House Clegane was built upon dead children? I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne. By rights your arms should bear two bloody infants in place of those ugly dogs." The Hound's mouth twitched. "Do you take me for my brother? Is being born Clegane a crime?"

From the perspective of these so-called “rats,” these “dogs” are culpable enough for their attachment to their master, the Lannisters, by way of how they both obediently enact and also benefit from the brutality which earned them that preferred status.

Beric tests Sandor's innocence in the eyes of R’hllor—whose domain is fire, and whose “judgment,” therefore, might be interpreted by the behavior of fire in the scene. Sandor, as he says, is innocent of the crimes that the Brotherhood lay at his feet (if not the murder of Micah, which Arya confronts him with). Appropriately, given that innocence, Sandor Clegane emerges from the fight alive… but not wholly.

Though Sandor is innocent, the Brotherhood is also right that House Clegane was “built upon dead children,” and that the actions of “the Hound,” as a Clegane and a Lannister dog, are tied to the actions of his masters, whose will he was carrying out. He may not have literally done those crimes, but as a dog, he was no different.

Appropriately given that guilt, the fire claims Sandor’s dog-sigil shield, symbolically killing Sandor’s last ties to that house and the Lannisters:

"His shield is afire," Gendry said in a hushed voice. Arya saw it in the same instant. The flames had spread across the chipped yellow paint, and the three black dogs were engulfed.

As with his rebirth in fire at Battle of the Blackwater, Sandor survives this trial by combat, while the Hound, and House Clegane, burns away.

-

Arya, like the Brotherhood, wrongfully believes that Sandor has remained a dog, as she thinks in ASOS Arya IX:

It has to be the Blackwater, Arya decided as she watched the rain lash the river. The Hound was Joffrey's dog; he was taking her back to the Red Keep, to hand to Joffrey and the queen.

Arya's mistake reveals how much Sandor has shed his role as “dog.” If Sandor were still a dog, then, as Arya points out, his hunt for her would be to return her to his master, like a good dog would do, like the dogs the Brotherhood hides from. Instead, though, Sandor, only tenuously still “the Hound,” has hunted her for his own reasons, to ransom her for his own gain, because he is becoming his own man.

His own dog, perhaps, in his own words from ASOS Arya IX:

"If I'd had any wine, I'd have drunk it myself," the Hound told him. "I can give you water, and the gift of mercy." The archer looked at him a long while before he said, "You're Joffrey's dog." "My own dog now. Do you want the water?"

Like the Unsullied, Sandor becomes his own master. The Unsullied went on to kill their their former masters in Astapor, and interestingly, Arya herself unknowingly wishes for that exact thing earlier, in ASOS Arya III:

"I wish I had a good mean dog," said Arya wistfully. "A lion-killing dog."

Arya wishes for a dog who might kill lions. Whether or not the Hound will actually kill Lannisters, we see Sandor go on to kill “lions,” in the sense that the smallfolk mean it, when he turns on his brother’s men at the end of ASOS. In Sandor, as with the Unsullied, “doghood” is mutable.

-

Like Theon-Reek-Theon, whose new identity is reborn as the previous one dies, Sandor is born anew even as “the Hound” dies, as is reported by Elder Brother in AFFC Brienne VI:

The Hound died there, in my arms.

Brienne mistakes the meaning here, and also makes an interesting observation about the Hound’s role, confirming our understanding thus far:

Destriers were trained to kick and bite. In war they were a weapon, like the men who rode them. Like the Hound. "It is true, then," she said dully. "Sandor Clegane is dead." "He is at rest." The Elder Brother paused.

Brienne makes the astute observation that as a "dog," the Hound himself is a weapon, “trained to kick and bite” (though not the hand that feeds him). As for Sandor Clegane, it's possible that Elder Brother’s words here are actually a correction: Sandor is not dead, Sandor Clegane is finally “at rest,” finally escaping the world in which he was required to bite, finally able to separate himself from the role of “dog” as fully as he removed his helm after the Blackwater.

Considering that the Hound loses his dog’s head helm, his dog-sigil shield, and with it, his status as “the Hound” as he turns traitor to his former liege lord, and considering that this former “dog,” having found the “rat” he was searching for, begins to care for her rather than kill her, then the difference between being a “dog” and a “rat” may not be so different from the perspective of the dogs, either, regardless of what the Hound might have said to Sansa in ACOK.

The nature of Brienne’s search for the Hound in AFFC reveals the truth of this separation between the individual and the role they play in the hierarchy. Her destination was not Sandor, but a different “Hound” altogether. Because, however, what is dead may never die, the eternal role of “the Hound” is one which others are all too willing to take up in his stead.

As for the fate of “the Hound,” we see how this mutable nature works in the reverse, too. The latest owner of the dogs-head helm is Lem Lemoncloak, who Thoros had named a “rat” by proxy, and though we get to see little of it, Lem, appears to be a rat who has just become a “dog”—perhaps Stoneheart’s dog.

-

Returning to Arya, though, she transforms again after being “caught” by Sandor. Rather than remain a “gutter rat,” she is a drowned rat in ASOS Arya X:

She looked more like a drowned rat than a lord's cupbearer these days. A drowned boy rat.

Like the Rat Cook, Arya once served a lord but has become a rat. Arya’s changing states within her rathood is consistent with our understanding of how rat-status is a mutable condition, an understanding deriving both from the “Rat Cook” story itself, in which a cook becomes a rat, but also from the example of Reek, who was a man, then a rat, then a dog, then a “Prince” in Winterfell.

Arya's rathood so far follows a linear progression towards this destination. She began as a “wet rat,” besting princes in rivers, later a “gutter rat," awash in the filthy water of the city—now, as she leaves Westeros, she is fully submerged: a “drowned rat."

Like with our other “rat” Reek, once Ironborn and returned as a “ghost,” calling Arya drowned evokes the Drowned God, and therefore one phrase in particular: what is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger.

As with Reek, Arya’s “drowned” state is literal death than a loss of self—one which becomes even more complete as she joins the Faceless Men. Like Stannis’ siege and other instances of the “rat,” the “rat” symbolism in Arya’s story is a rejection of death, and a vow to cling to life, or to come back.

Over the course of ADWD, I mentioned earlier how we see Reek regain that personhood again, slowly becoming Theon once more, a long story made short in his chapter titles: Reek, Reek, Reek, The Prince of Winterfell, The Turncloak, A Ghost in Winterfell, Theon.

Arya’s POV chapter titles follow a parallel trajectory, beginning with AFFC: Arya, Arya, Cat of the Canals, The Blind Girl, The Ugly Little Girl. From AGOT to ASOS she was a wet rat, gutter rat, then a drowned rat. Once “drowned”, she had her name, then a different name, then no name at all.

Since her visit to the Faceless Men and subsequent loss of identity comes after her status as a “drowned rat,” we might expect that although “Arya” is dead, she will also “never die,” and instead return—an idea corroborated by Theon’s example as well. Like the Rat Cook, Arya may also return searching for vengeance, but, as Old Nan says, “a man has a right to vengeance.”

-

Considering everything discussed in the last part about dogs, rats, slaves, and masters, it is also interesting that this particular “rat,” Arya, would end up in an organization that began in slavery, as told in AFFC Arya II:

“We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freehold's nights of old.”

Consistent with the themes present in the “Rat Cook” story, the strength of the Faceless Men challenges the expected origin and hierarchy of power. Like the “rat,” as discussed in part five, The Faceless Men draw their agency from the fact that they are unknowable and unnoticeable, even from their beginnings in Valyria without agency and without even full personhood when they were wholly overlooked at the very heart of civilization.

The Kindly Man's version of this story, though, focuses on a different subject, following the same structure as the “Rat Cook” story. In the telling of the Rat Cook, the fate of the Andal King is never revealed—Bran recalls nothing of whether the King learned the fate of his son nor the repercussions of the Rat Cook’s vengeance. Instead, the story continues with the fate of the cook and his transformation. Similarly, the origin story of the Faceless Men follows the fate of the slave, not the slavers:

"The slaves were not crying out to a hundred different gods, as it seemed, but to one god with a hundred different faces . . . and he was that god's instrument. That very night he chose the most wretched of the slaves, the one who had prayed most earnestly for release, and freed him from his bondage. The first gift had been given." Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!" "He would bring the gift to them as well . . . but that is a tale for another day, one best shared with no one."

Arya’s reaction, and her conviction that the slave should use their teeth against the masters, echoes not only the vengeance of the Rat Cook but also Dany’s story in particular. Dany, at least, seems to want to act out Arya's wish as she turns legions of slaves against their former masters, just as the Rat Cook turned against his own, as Sandor turned against his own, too.

Given the nature of Arya’s “drowned” state, the apparent “death” of the Hound, and Theon’s rebirth from Reek, it’s also interesting how this story begins with the presumed death of a slave in the mountains of Valyria as a precursor to the deaths of the masters. Although the nature of the Faceless Men as an assassin guild implies that this may have been a literal death, the exact words used were only that the slave was “freed from his bondage.”

Given that “the Hound’s” death was not the death of Sandor, who instead became specifically “at rest,” and given that though Arya is losing her face and believed dead, there is still a girl in Braavos who dreams of Arya Stark’s wolf, it’s also possible that in some way, this first "death" at the hands of the Faceless Men was somehow a death of self and an induction into the leagues of the non-people, no-one’s, which make up the Faceless Men.

Of course, in a way, the highborn already consider the smallfolk and slaves to be unnamed non-people. The smallfolk in Westeros are literally unnamed, having only a first name and no family name; all of these institutions, and Reek as well, who must remember his name, tie names to roles and identities, and these identities to strata on the hierarchy of power. The Faceless Men ignore and transcend this hierarchy altogether, choosing to have no name at all. To overcome the limits of that status, sometimes an entire rebirth is necessary—perhaps like the rebirth from a man into a rat, large as a sow.

I don’t believe we have enough information to appreciate the full significance of that first act of the first Faceless Man. However, I can say that Reek, Theon, Sandor, and “drowned rat” Arya have taught us that what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger, and just as a rat may be raised up to become a dog, a defeated dog may be reborn a vengeful rat.

Concluding my thoughts on dogs and rats from this part and the last, a man made into a dog may hunt rats in exchange for bones, but it's easier for a dog to become one of the rats than it is for him to be raised up onto the high bench. Perhaps, no longer wishing to be a Hound, a man might finally find peace. If peace is not an option, however, and should the dogs and the rats begin to fight together, realizing, as Tyrion begins to, that a collar is a collar whatever the material, then the lords and masters of the realm should begin to fear for their vengeance.

-

In the next part, I'll return to a more tight focus on the "Rat Cook" story, this time talking about the various "rats" in the walls of the Red Keep, including Littlefinger's understanding of these power dynamics and Tyrion's transition from fearing rats to becoming one.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #25 – Free Day!

It’s the final Sunday of September, which means our last Free day!

One last time, let me remind you that this year, since I was not able to dedicate the whole of Write 2022 towards my alternate universe characters detailed in this post here, I’m using the free days to create a series around them.

This picks up directly where Day 18’s response left off

“All right, Y’shtola. What sort of dastardly pirate have you found for us in Limsa?”

“Amusing as ever, Thancred.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not…..entirely”

“Ha!”

“If you are quite finished….my potential comes to us via the Upright Thieves. Her name is Rheika Aliapoh, and her skills at infiltration, subversion, and knifework rival Thancred’s”

“Oh come on, now that’s just hurtful-“

“Thancred, I beg of you, pray stop interrupting Y’shtola every fifteen seconds.”

“Very well, Papalymo, but only because you asked so kindly.”

Sigh “Y’shtola, how did a Keeper of the Moon end up in Limsa Lominsa’s spy ring?”

“Details of her past are hard to come by, but thankfully her cohorts know of me, and h ave been forthcoming with what they know. They rescued her from a slave ship.”

“Twelve forfend…”

“Apparently the crew was looking to profit in the wake of the Calamity and kidnapped a number of refugees, orphans, and similar souls. The Upright Thieves were able to save them all and return them to safety….all but Rheika. She had nowhere to go, claiming that the fires took her whole family. Jacke took pity on the girl and the group took her in, training her in their combat arts as a focus for her grief. She has been part of them ever since.”

“How did you come to meet her? Has the situation in Limsa grown so dire as to warrant their intervention?”

“Not yet, thankfully. The Thieves have come under fire, so to speak, from a small but vocal portion of the Yellowjackets who believe their methods are barbaric and outdated, no better than the pirates that refuse the Admiral’s call and prey on Limsan vessels. The thieves have enrolled a small number of their members within the Adventurer’s guild as a sort of “outreach program” to show their devotion of the betterment of the city-state. That is how I met Rheika.”

“Is their goodwill attempt actually working?”

“It has not silenced their detractors, no. But they do not seem to be growing in number, either. Their latest counter is that the Thieves are using the cover of the effort to spy on the populace. Which, to be fair, they are, albeit not in the manner claimed.”

“Hang on, if she was raised by the group, her loyalty to them’s gotta be strong, right? Why would she want to leave them to join us?”

“A fair question, Yda, and indeed she intimated that she would never want to when I made subtle overtures to her. However, Jacke realized my intent as well, and believes that becoming a member of our organization will be good for her, and has agreed that, if we vote to extend the invitation, he will do all in his power to encourage Rheika to accept. He believes that it would be good for her, to help her continue to heal from the tragedy of the Calamity, in ways the Thieves cannot. And we would benefit from her considerable skills as well, of course.

“What do you make of her, personally?”

“That is perhaps the biggest sticking point. I will not lie, Rheika’s personality is….rough. She cares little for diplomacy or social niceties, unless she is performing them as part of some information gathering effort. She does not trust easily, and according to Jacke, had a habit of disobeying orders when she first joined the Thieves. I say ‘had’, because she seems to no longer have that issue with Jacke, at least, but the concern that she may do so within our ranks is there. “

“Sounds like ‘prickly’ is the best word to describe her overall, then.”

“Much as I dislike labeling people with single-word descriptors, I find that in this case, it is accurate. That being said, I believe with time and the assistance of Jacke’s persuasions, we can win her trust, and that what she brings to our table skillwise will be more than sufficient to compensate for personal disagreements until such time. Ultimately, Rheika does enjoy helping innocent people from the predations of others, and I think giving her a chance to do so on a larger scale will ultimately cause her to accept our offer.”

“Very well. If there are no objections? Then I thank you all for your continued efforts, and hopefully will see you all soon, hale and with new allies. This concludes our meeting, may you walk in the light of the Crystal!”

[kiribaku-queen]

The Blood King and his Queen [1]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.4K

Summary:  From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: Hello my loves! And welcome back to another, rather long, series! I had so many inspirations for this piece that I couldn’t wait to share with you all! Be warned, this might be a 20 part series, maybe more maybe less but we’ll see what happens! I hope you fall in love with this story as much as I do!

And shout out to this amazing artist for the art! I am literally BLOWN AWAY by this art! I can’t stop looking at it! It’s so amazingly well drawn. Just... yes, yes, yes! Please support this artist if you ever want art done! Pricey but just look at this art. So worth it! Check out the end of the chapter for the full image without text!

Also!!!! Check out my side blog if you’re curious about what fics I’m reading! You’ll find alot of j u i c y stuff and please support my friends by reading and commenting on their stories as well! Love <3

                                                                                                         [next]

Nothing started your morning off better than the princess screaming her head off first thing in the morning. You, along with other servants, rushed to aid the princess in her time of distress. Although, it was never something to worry about with her. It was always something minor, like her hair was styled incorrectly or she didn’t like the color of clothes her servant picked out. Of course, this time, she was making a fuss that her perfume didn’t smell right.

“Your highness, I promise you, it’s the same one,” one of the servants who aided her in the morning pleaded for her life.

“No! You must have switched it out because it smells nothing like mine!” the princess screeched. The princess was so outraged that she started throwing everything and anything that was around her. Clothes, jewelry, candles, mirrors, anything she could get her hands on, she threw it. You and the other girls that just arrived could only watch in horror as her whole room becomes a mess with her belongings, some broken some completely shattered.

You wanted to say something. But you knew you couldn’t. If you stepped out of line or even talked back to any of the royals, you were surely to be punished severely later. Yet, you wanted to say something so bad. It was on the tip of your tongue. Because you knew the reason why it may smell different to the princess. To help your fellow friend in desperate need, you were going to say it. You pray to the gods that what you were about to say was right.

“Princess, if I may,” you started. The princess stopped what she was doing, midair, to give you the coldest stare you have ever received from her. You gulped. Well, too late to back out now. You bowed down your head respectfully while extending your hand to take the perfume. You don’t know why the princess decided to trust you at that moment, but she did. She nodded her head, allowing one of the servants to retrieve the bottle and place it in the palm of your hands.

“I believe it’s because your clothes already have a different perfume on it.” you explain. You pick up a different piece of clothing, one you knew was clean and free from previous scents, and spritzed the perfume onto it. “Here, does this smell like normal?” you offer the piece of clothing to the princess. For a moment, she stares at it, not believing your words. But she forcibly takes it anyway and smells it. The look of realization hit her harder than when she smashed her mirror against the floor. She spares you a second glance before handing off her perfume to someone and faces away.

“I would like to be left alone,” the princess states. After a synchronized bow from all her servants, you left the princess’s quarters and back to your own. When you were far enough, you let out a big sigh of relief. Man, that was scary. You probably shouldn’t be doing that again any time soon. Your friend hooked arms with you, the unexpected force made you loose your balance.

“Your intuition was spot on, once again,” she stated. You could only roll your eyes.

“I was just trying to help the situation,” you explained.

“Yeah, well if only the princess could use her brain once in a while, then she would have figured it out herself,” your friend puffed out her cheeks in annoyance.

“Well maybe her highness wasn’t feeling herself this morning,” you tried to defend her. But really, there was only so much you could defend her on.

“Oh, please, (y/n). You know that’s how she acts all the time. You act more like a princess than the princess herself,” your friend finally let the cat out of the bag. You quickly slapped her hand and checked your surroundings. Phew, no one of importance was in sight.

“Oh hush now. Don’t say things like that,” you scold her, giving her a stern look.

“What? You know all us girls think that. It doesn’t help that you look almost exactly like her. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were the princess instead.”

“Good gracious! Really? How could you say that so loud? What if someone overhears you? Then both you and me could get in trouble,” you warned. You knew your friend couldn’t care less. It was always gossip coming out of these girl’s mouths. That’s how news spreads fast around here. And you didn’t mind the gossip. Actually, you participated in the gossip too. There was a lot of downtime when you weren’t attending to the princess. So what do you do instead? Gossip. But you couldn’t have this type of gossip going around. This was dangerous.

The main girl who caused the princess to get upset, finally left the room. She was visibly traumatized by the whole event. Who wouldn’t be? Dealing with the princess is something else.

You noticed that the girl was bleeding from her finger. She must have gotten it when the princess was throwing glass around the room and it some pieces cut her.

“Come with me,” you gently grabbed her by the arm and led her to a room that was filled with different plants and bottles. The aroma immediately felt welcoming to anyone who stepped in. You went to a part of the room that you knew well and pulled out a bandage.

“This should do the trick,” you say as you finish wrapping her finger up.

“Thank you. How did you…”

“Oh, I learned a few things from the royal doctor. Sort of like an apprentice?” you explained. Being a servant isn’t the only task you knew how to do. On your spare time, you would come to the royal doctor and assist him whenever needed. In return for your volunteer, he taught you everything he knew about medicine. It was still a lot to process, but at least you knew how to do basic first aid.

“Are you even allowed to do that?” the girl asked. You thought for a minute. Was it? It wasn’t stopping you now.

“Well I guess it’s our little secret,” you put your finger to your mouth and gave a small wink.

After properly getting ready, you and the girls rushed to the princess’s side for it was your job to get her ready to be sent of and wedded. And she was not getting wedded off to just any prince. It was the rumored Blood Prince. Ah, yes. You heard much about this Blood Prince. He was the most vicious out of all the princes in the kingdom. Even more so than his eldest brothers. He was rumored to have sharp teeth and eyes that could kill with a single look. He was told to have scars marked all over his body from the battlefield. An ugly being, you imagined. Big, scary, intimidating, ruthless. God, you felt sorry for the princess for marrying such a man. You couldn’t imagine yourself marrying that type of person. Hearing stories about him made your blood run cold and chills down your spine.

You entered the princess’s room where a beautiful, white wedding dress, flowy, magnificent and perfect in all the right ways, was being fitted on the princess. You watched in awe because she looked absolutely fantastical in the dress. What a dream it would to be wear that dress only once in your life. At the same time her dress was being fitted, some servants were doing her hair and putting decorative pins and head pieces on. It was very chaotic in the room, with servants running everywhere, but it was all worth it for the princess to look this way.

You were preparing water for her hands and feet to soak while some of the girls that came with you were deciding which robe that best fits with her wardrobe.

“Your highness looks so lovely,” you commented, gently soaking her hands into warm bowls of water.

“Of course! I have to look my best for a special guest this afternoon,” the princess said in a cheery voice. You tilted your head slightly in confusion. You weren’t aware that the Blood Prince was coming to the palace. You thought the princess was being sent to him instead. You looked up and came into contact with a friend and she was speaking with her eyes.

She doesn’t know. She signaled to you. You frowned.

She doesn’t know?

She does not know.

Your mouth was left slightly ajar. The princess does not know that she is off to be engaged any moment now? This was a dilemma. She thinks a guest is coming. That’s why she’s dressed so much fancier than usual. But when she finds out that she is to be engaged, she’s going to wreck havoc in the palace. Now you really didn’t dare say anything now.

After finding out that very important piece of information, you could see that all the girls in the room knew, besides the princess. The tension in the room was growing increasingly more uncomfortable as time went on. But the princess was so air headed that she couldn’t read the room.

The princess was over the moon with happiness. And it was only because she could wear her fancy and expensive gowns that she can’t wear on the daily. She was skipping down the long corridors, humming a tune to only she knows as you and other servants follow behind her.

“Isn’t this dress beautiful? I feel like I’m in a wedding dress!” the princess exclaimed. You couldn’t help but raise a brow. Well, it’s because the princess is really in a wedding dress. But the princess did look beautiful beyond compare. She almost looked ethereal dancing in front of you like that. As the princess was dancing down the corridor, she passed by one of many large windows that gave a view of the front of the palace. A carriage was waiting to take her away to her fiancé, but she didn’t know that. Or did she?

She stopped in her tracks to take a better look at the carriage outside. A frown laid upon her lips and her eyebrows rightfully furrowed.

“Is that my carriage down there?” she questions. The ladies around you looked at each other, not knowing what to say. But even if they did know what to say, who was going to say it? One of your friends cleared their throat and bowed down to respond to the princess.

“It is, your highness,” she said.

“Whatever for?” a round of gulps could be heard from everyone there.

“For…your trip to your betrothed,” the girl’s voice shook from fear that the princess was going to blow up.

“My betrothed?” the princess repeated.

“Yes, your highness.”

“As in, to marry?”

“Yes, your highness.”

It was quiet. Nothing more came out of the princess’s mouth. And that scared all of you. This was not the normal reaction you were expecting. You expected her highness to rage, cry, scream, yell, destroy everything around her. But no. She was silent, like her tongue was ripped out of her throat.

In one quick movement, the princess turns around and dashes back to her bedroom. And who does she bring along? You! Before you could comprehend anything, the princess had taken you by the hand and now you were running down the corridor with the princess. The other ladies were running after you. When you turned back to look, you even saw a couple of guards running as well. But it was too late for them. The princess got to her room first, slammed the door closed, and barricaded the door with chairs to prevent anyone from coming inside.

“Your highness,” you call, out of breath from the sudden running. The princess didn’t answer you. She started taking off her dress, sending you into complete shock.

“Your highness! What are you doing?” you panicked. She only glared at you while not stopping what she was doing.

“Enough talking. Just take off your clothes,” she ordered you. You bit your lip. You had no idea what was going on but if she demanded it, then you had no choice but to obey. So, you stripped yourself of your filthy clothes and laid them on the floor. While you stood in front of the princess naked, she was getting the remaining of her clothes off. Then, she passed you her dress.

“Quick, put it on,” she said. You hesitated at first. You? Wear something only a princess could wear? But you couldn’t stall any longer. As quickly as you could, you put on the flowy wedding dress while the princess put on your peasant clothes. Banging was coming from the other side of the door, which only made both of you panic even more. If they came in while all this was happening, you would get into so much trouble. As soon as you both got situated in your new outfits, the princess gripped your shoulders so that you were looking her right in the eyes.

“Listen to me closely. You are going to take my place. I’ll be you and you’ll be me until you come back,” she shouted at you in a whisper.

“Your highness?” you began but she shut you up because she wasn’t finished.

“Your mission is to make this prince hate you so much that he calls off this marriage. Then you’ll return and everything will go back to normal,” she continued. It looked like she wanted to say more, but your time together was cut short. The guards had already pushed their way through the door and charging their way towards you. The princess, who was now dressed as you, quickly covered your face with the veil. The veil was thick enough that no one could see your eyes or face.

“Take the princess,” one of the guards ordered. The real princess bowed her head down, faking it until the end. The guards went straight up to you, grabbing you by both of your arms and forcibly escorted you out to the carriage.

And so there you were, on your way to some unknown kingdom, about to marry some man you didn’t even know. All because the princess ordered you to. No matter how much you hated the idea, you couldn’t even voice your opinions to her. You were in no position to do so. Before you left the palace grounds, you looked back, hoping that this was all some sort of sick joke. But the princess was looking down at you from the window, giving you a nod of trust. She trusted you. You had to fulfil her request.

This is how you found yourself in the presence of the most vicious Blood Prince, Bakugou Katsuki.

A/N: Let me know if you want to be put on a tag list! And leave your thoughts below about the first chapter! What did you think so far? How do you think the story is going to go? What did you think about the art? Speaking of art, here is the full image unedited! Are you in love with it just as much as I am?

[clarawatson]

It Only Takes A Taste (3)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: Jack comes for dinner, I guess. W/C: 2345 Warnings: none yet! A/N: this one got a little long, oopsies. AO3 Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

The bed had been so warm and comfortable you hadn't wanted to get out, but the thought of seeing Aaron again made your heart grow three sizes. You'd been texting back and forth for the last couple of days, just small awkward stuff. He likes to text emojis. He's precious. Of course he's precious. 

He comes in as you're serving your first customer of the night—a sobbing thirty-year-old man who can't even order his pie without spluttering in tears. Is it favouritism to get excited by Aaron turning up? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes. 

"Hello," you smile. There's a hundred things you could have called him, but he's too cute and your brain doesn't want to work. 

"Hi," he grins back. "Can I have a coffee, please. Here."

"Yes you can." Aaron splits his bill between the counter and the tip jar. "How was your day,  Aaron?" 

"Boring paperwork. Couldn't concentrate."

Concern furrows your eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No! I kept thinking about seeing you." There's that sunshine smile again. You might even match it yourself. He points to the cake that's still in the display tin. He's in earlier in the night than usual, so there's a lot more range to choose from. "Is that carrot cake?" 

"Sure is. Do you want some?" 

"Please." 

You serve him a slice and let the coffee machine splutter and fight with you. He stabs his cake with his fork and looks like he has an out of body experience the moment the cream cheese icing hits his tongue. That's a face you want to see again under different circumstances.

"Joe?"

"Me! And Joe's recipe. I sort of mixed it together and prayed."

"Then mark me a religious man." Aaron smiles. You can't held but smile back at him.

"It's a bit early for you to be in," you say. It's not an issue, just means you got the earlier shift. Finishing at 1am instead of 7am. Plus, Aaron looks nice in the daytime. Very nice. The afternoon light suits him.

"Didn't have a case," he shrugs. 

You've googled him since getting his business card. “Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner, Section Chief of the BAU”. The fuck did that even mean? BAU was the Behavioural Analysis Unit, which was still mainly a mystery, but you think it’s maybe just an over-glorified way of saying ‘they look inside people’s heads and hope for the best’. He’s got a handful of news reports that you’ve practically memorised. 

Okay, that’s a little obsessive. Don’t admit that to him. 

He wasn’t the ‘untouched by darkness’ that you’d thought of him before, his work face held all the darkness his smile did not. You hoped you never had to see the serious man who stood before the cameras. 

“How’s Rita?” Aaron asks. He’s cut the top off his carrot cake, saving it for later. He looks at it longingly every now and then, then he scoops just a little bit of the cream cheese and lets it rest on his tongue.

“She’s good. Restless. She’s happy for the due date to arrive.” She’d also asked you to be the baby’s godparent. Rather forcefully, actually, it had felt a bit strange. That was the only reason you hadn’t jumped at the opportunity. You’d do anything for Rita, but saying yes in that instant would had felt strange. Almost… wrong, maybe.

Aaron knows you’re thinking about it. He puts his fork down and shifts in his chair, waiting for you to continue. He doesn’t fill the silence between the two of you. You think about telling him, but then Lola’s bustling through the door and grabbing her apron.

“Hot stuff, when can I go for a smoke break?” is the first thing Lola says to you. She pulls chewing gum out of her mouth (yes, pulls. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and pulls it out as far as it will go without snapping) and Aaron moves his cake around his plate a bit. Does he not like it? Don’t be silly, he asked for it. Requested it. Whatever. You put his three cookies into a plastic bag and slide it across the counter to him.

“Lola you only just came in.”

“But I want to know,” she whines like she’s a teenager with an after school job, not a thirty-five-year-old woman who works at the diner full time. “Hey, Rita’s been acting weird, right? Is that a pregnancy thing, or?” Lola rubbed her nose on the back of her wrist and sniffs. An action you’re all too familiar with by now, and of course she was doing illegal substances in the bathroom before she started her shift when there’s a legitimate federal agent in the diner.

 “Oh,” Lola says as she looks at Aaron. She looks at you, raises her eyebrows, and nods like she’s impressed. “I take back telling Rita she was a liar." Even without knowing the context of Rita and Lola's conversation, you know Rita had told Lola how pretty/handsome/gorgeous Aaron is. "I’m going to go clean some tables.”

She grabs the cleaning supplies and heads out into the dining area. The door swings open, banging against one of the booths, and you’re immensely glad Lola doesn’t scream 'watch it’ at them. A curly haired blonde woman (gorgeous, mind you) touches Aaron’s shoulder and he sits up straight, smiling, and your heart plummets a little bit. Just the tiniest amount. 

“Jack insisted we switch over here before I go to parent/teacher interviews.” As if on queue, a well mannered, sandy-haired boy sits next to Aaron and grins too much like Aaron. Aaron’s son. You can put two and two together. Profiler or not.

“How was school?” Aaron asks. Jack shrugs.

“It was school.” He learnt that from his dad, there’s no question. 

“Well, in that case. Jack, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is Jack.” Jack extends a hand to shake in greeting and looks really shy about it. You shake it quickly so he doesn’t feel like a kid who’s been roped into doing adult things. There’s a pile of colouring-in pages Joe’s printed off at the local library beneath a cup of crayons that Jack’s eyeing off. 

You grab a sheet and a crayon, raising an eyebrow in invitation as you turn around to Jack. 

“Yes please,” he says, grin growing across his face. “Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. Wonderful manners.” Jack grins even bigger and you think he, too, might combust just like his dad. Stardust! That’s the movie you were thinking of. When Yvaine sees Tristan she shines, literally, the star inside of her just can’t be contained. That’s Aaron and Jack, and the way they look when they smile. 

Aaron’s sister-in-law looks at you with a cocked head, like a curious cat. Like she’s waiting to pounce. But… curiously pounce. Like she's sussing you out. She extends a hand in greeting.

“Jess. Aaron’s talked about you.”

There’s no response but to look sheepish. This seems to greatly please Jess, who smiles softly and rubs the back of Aaron’s head affectionately. They have a long history together, it’s too familial to be just a relationship born through marriage. 

“I’ll see you later then, Rockstar,” Jess says.

“Bye,” Aaron and Jack say together. Aaron rests his cheek on his hand, watching you as Lola hands you three orders she’s taken while you’ve been talking to Aaron. Jack leans over and whispers to Aaron about his homework (it’s a whisper that belongs on a stage) as you wrestle with the coffee machine. 

It’s been grinding it’s way down to not working for a while now. Ever since you met Aaron, actually. Joe’s said he’s going to fix it, or get a new one, but everyone’s in a state of non-commital until Rita has her baby.You’ve got no idea why, it’s just the way things are. Good luck, maybe? Or luck in general? 

Somehow you get Aaron talking about Shakespeare. It might have been Jack’s doing, to be completely honest, but one moment you’re trying to make the froth… well, froth… and the next you're listening to Aaron talk animatedly about Othello. Jack's young enough to not think his Dad's passion is embarrassing. 

"Have you watched Othello?" Jack asks, a question that Aaron's neglected to ask you. "I'm not old enough to yet." 

"I haven't seen that one yet, but I've seen Much Ado About Nothing."

"Is that the one with the olive gardens?" Jack asks. Aaron frowns, eyes searching for the answer in that big beautiful minds tonight.

"Yes," he says finally. "That was the one with the olive trees."

Jack giggles. "There was kissing in that movie." 

"Lots of it," Aaron agrees. You're not sure you're talking about the same film, but it's cute to see the two of them interact. 

"With the guy who plays Lockhart in the second Harry Potter movie?" You ask. Jack laughs just like his father. It's all light and mirth. He nods in confirmation. 

"His name is Kenneth," Jack says like he's familiar with him. When Aaron smiles, you know Jack's his whole world.

It’s not long before Aaron realised he’d brought Jack in without asking if he wanted anything. The afternoon rush had died down, leaving you in the space between out-of-work and dinner. You make the most chocolate-y hot chocolate you can for Jack when Aaron says he can have one. Well, Jack says the best bit is the froth, so it’s more child-size-hot-chocolate-in-an-adult-mug-full-of-froth. Jack loves it. He slurps at the chocolate, which leaves a giant frothy mustache over his top lip that won’t go away no matter how much he licks at it.

When he’s done you let him come around to the kitchen to wash his face, because no amount of wet napkins is going to fix that mess. Jack can’t reach the sink, so you fashion a step out of old milk and bread crates. Joe gives him cake batter to taste before realising that he actually has no idea who Jack is. Aaron watches from the kitchen door with a smile on his face. You don’t catch it until Jack jumps off the crates and takes your hand, leading you back out. Aaron’s fingers brush your hand as you pass him. Electricity sparks between the two of you that's completely unavoidable. The two of you recoil involuntarily.

Aaron gives you a small smile of apology. You give exactly the same one back. Lola legitimately gasps like she too felt the electricity between the two of you. Surely that was just something that happened in movies? Or in books? That’s not a real thing, right? But Aaron brushes past you again, as if he’s making sure as well, and it’s there again. Only it’s like your whole arm becomes pins and needles, not just a quick lightning spark.

If it’s like that every time you’re with him, your not sure you could even go beyond lusting after him and giving him coffee and meals every now and then. Aaron drops his gaze, then follows Jack to the front of the counter. 

They stay for dinner (because Jack insists, he wants the nachos) but the rush comes early and there’s really not much time to talk to them, so you almost miss them leaving. Almost. You’re serving the angry couple at table three (are they angry at you, or each other? Who knows, you don’t, but they’re taking it out on you) when Jack taps your hip. 

He’s very patient as you finish the order (somehow you figure out what they want between the curse words) and bend down to him. He hands you a folded piece of paper.

“This is for you,” he says. “I did it.” You’re about to unfold it, but he insists that it belongs in your apron pocket until you can look at it with no rush. That’s a kid who knows what it’s like to have a very busy parent. So you tuck it away safely and mess with his hair, which makes him grin from ear to ear.

“See you later!” Jack yells as he runs to Aaron, who’s waving goodbye with a doggy bag full of Jack’s unfinished dinner.and his keys between his fingers. 

“I’ll see you later,” he mouths as the noise in the diner starts to rise. Without thinking you blow him a kiss, which he catches effortlessly and kisses the fist closed around it before slipping out. 

When you get to the kitchen Lola’s already in the midst of teasing you. 

“You like him,” she says with all the confidence in the world. There’s not point denying her, so you just nod. It’s met by a chorus of ‘ooo’s which, to be honest, you really didn’t need. It made the diner feel far too small.

When everything dies down you remember the paper Jack had given you. You wipe the milk and spaghetti sauce off the counter, then make sure it’s dry, and unfold Jack’s page. It’s the generic colouring page Joe’s printed out, but Jack’s tried to make the generic waitress look like you. Well, you if you had purple hair and green skin. It’s a start, you guess, there’s an apology from Aaron on the back. Makes it worth it.

You move a couple of postcards on the corkboard aside and put Jack’s picture there instead. Joe pretends not to notice, but when Lola goes out the back with one of her customers, Joe comes round the front and presses a finger to the page.

“Good kid,” Joe says. He nods a couple of times then turns to you. “You know he and his dad come as a package, right? You fuck up one, you fuck up both.” Joe’s first wife had three kids that weren’t biologically his. He’s still mad at himself for not taking the kids seriously and only turning up for their mom.

“I know,” you say. 

Joe strokes your cheek as he passes and kisses your forehead. It’s all the praise you need. 

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

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[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  ���With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

[melzula]

Secret Tunnel

sequel to Fire Lilies

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

warnings: lots of fluff, lots of angst, forbidden lovers au

notes: tysm for all the love on fire lilies. I hope you guys enjoy part two! once again, most of this isn’t canon to the series

summary: “Built a path to be together.”

A month has passed since you last saw Zuko, and life in the Southern Water Tribe hasn’t been easy. Your father has been worn thin preparing the nation for battle, planning war tactics and training the troops in combat. Any and all male water benders are sent to the front lines, and all bending among women is now forbidden. Your father says it’s a way to protect you, to prevent the Fire Nation from separating children and mothers, to make them believe that there are no female water benders, but to you it seems as if he’s leaving you completely defenseless. When the men are gone and the women and children remain who will stop the Fire Nation soldiers from raiding your home and burning it to ash?

Guards accompany you no matter where you go now making it impossible to sneak out, and their constant presence reminds you of the dark times that lie ahead for you and your people. Your father will be leaving soon, your bending is forbidden, and your heart longs for Zuko’s comforting presence. What you wouldn’t give to be cozily wrapped up in his warm embrace. Wherever he is and whatever he’s doing now, you hope that he‘s okay and that he hasn’t forgotten about you. Each night before bed you pray to the moon begging the spirit to keep him safe, and it is the only thing that brings you solace during your time of heartbreak.

The village is silent and the air is heavy with tension and anxieties as the men prepare for their early departure tomorrow morning. Many families have turned in early for the night to make the most out of what little time left they have with their loved ones. Downstairs the servants are setting the table for a meal of arctic hen and seaweed noodles, but you don’t plan on accompanying your parents to dinner. Your stomach is too unsettled to hold any food down, and you often find yourself too upset to eat. Instead you stand on your balcony and stare out at the endless sea before you, imagining what it would be like if Zuko were here to enjoy the view with you.

A tiny speck appears in the distance causing you to squint your eyes in an attempt to get a better look, and as the figure grows closer you realize it’s a messenger hawk with the Fire Nation emblem displayed proudly on its breast. Your body is buzzing with joy and excitement as you eagerly untie the scroll from the bird the minute it lands on your balcony. The ribbon that seals the paper closed is quickly tossed aside, and your eyes water at the sight of the familiar handwriting.

“My beloved Princess,

By the time this letter reaches you our people will be hours away from war. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and each day we’re apart only reminds me of how passionately my heart burns for you. I never wanted to leave you, but I wanted to show my respect to your father. I know we are forbidden from one another, but I want to see you. If you wish to see me too then please meet me on the west end of the south pole in three days at night fall. There’s something I want to show you.

Yours always,

Zuko.”

A tearful smile curls upon your lips as you clutch the letter tightly to your chest, whispering a quiet thank you to the moon that begins to rise amongst the stars. Already your mood has improved greatly at the thought of seeing Zuko again, and you don’t hesitate to grab a scroll and calligraphy brush so that you may write back. Your message is quick and simple, it has to be if you want to send it back in time without getting caught: “I can’t wait to see you.”

You securely attach the letter to the messenger hawk before sending it back on it’s way, a hopeful glint in your eyes as you watch your note make its way to your lover. In three days you’ll be reunited with Zuko, and the thought is enough to give you the strength to get through the tough days ahead.

~~~

With the absence of your father as well as the majority of the troops only a few soldiers are left behind to watch over the village and even fewer are left to keep watch over you, thus making it easier for you to climb down your balcony and travel the journey to the west end of the South Pole. The sun is just beginning to set as you weave your way through the hidden corners of your village. You had told your mother and your nursemaid that you were feeling ill and would be resting for the remainder of the night, requesting that you be left undisturbed and unattended. They bought it, and now here you were just moments away from meeting Zuko.

The east end of the South Pole is hidden from the mainland by the mountains and provides the perfect cover for your little secret rendezvous. Zuko already stands waiting, his golden hued eyes widening at the sight of you and his legs immediately stumbling in the snow as he rushes to greet you.

“Y/N!” He exclaims before immediately lifting your figure off the ground in a tight hug. Joyous laughter escapes you as you rest your hands upon his shoulders and allow your forehead to fall against his own. Tearful smiles are exchanged, a subtle blush dusting upon Zuko’s cheeks as you gift him a delicate kunik in appreciation for his presence.

“I was so afraid I’d never be able to see you again,” you admit quietly, hands now moving to rest upon his chest as he sets you back down on your feet.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Zuko apologizes. “Running off unnoticed to the South Pole isn’t exactly easy, but I’d go to the ends of the earth if it meant I’d get to be with you.”

His confession earns a shy smile in return, and Zuko takes a moment to cup your face in his hands and press a fond kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Zuko. More than anything. I’m just so afraid of this war tearing us apart.”

“That’s why I wanted you to meet me here today,” admits thoughtfully. “I’ve found a way to make sure no war ever comes between us.”

“You have?”

“I have,” he nods. “Follow me.”

Your gloved hand takes hold of Zuko’s own warm one as he guides you through the snow and towards the mountains in the exact direction you came from. Though you’re a bit confused, you say nothing and follow along until he finally stops in front of what looks to be like a cave.

“A cave?” You question with the tilt of your head. You watch in awe as a flame lights itself in the palm of Zuko’s hand in order to illuminate the entrance.

“At first glance that’s all it is,” Zuko nods, extending his hand towards the entrance and revealing how deep the cave really is. “But if you look closer...”

“A secret tunnel!” You gasp. “How did you find this?”

“Apparently we weren’t the first Fire Nation and Water Tribe couple to be separated,” Zuko smiles faintly. “I went to my Uncle for guidance, and he told me the story of the two forbidden lovers. They were complete opposites, yin and yang, water and fire, but they brought balance to each other. Their love was new and exciting for them, but unnatural in the eyes of their people. They were broken up and ordered never to see each other again.”

“What happened to them?” You ask in awe, eyes widened ever so slightly with intrigued interest at his story. He doesn’t miss the way you clutch anxiously at the sleeve of his robes, smiling ever so slightly at just how innocent and childlike your wonder can be.

“The water bender, Varrick, found this cave. At the pit of it was a body of water that went out to sea. He froze the water then created a sort of tunnel through the ice that led out into the ocean. His best friend was an earth bender, and with his help they created the remaining length of the tunnel to reach the Fire Nation with rocks from the ocean floor- they would be able to withstand the heat of the nearby volcanoes unlike the ice. He built an underwater pathway just to see her.”

“And so with each new moon the lovers would go through the tunnel and meet halfway to be together in secret. This was Varrick and Elza’s tunnel, and now it can be ours.”

“Oh, Zuko,” you utter softly, looking up into his gentle eyes as he takes both of your hands in his own.

“I’m willing to make the journey to see you. We can meet under every full moon, or every half moon, or every night if you’d like. I don’t care as long as I get to be with you.”

“Let’s meet once a week,” you agree with a nod. “I don’t think I can wait for every full moon.”

“Neither can I,” Zuko chuckles softly before leaning down to press a loving kiss to your lips. His arms snake around your waist as you reach up to drape your arms over his shoulders, savoring the feeling of his lips upon yours for as long as you can.

The stars twinkle beautifully in the sky over the two of you as you share a kiss in the entryway of your secret tunnel.

~~~

Another month has passed and the war between your nations still rages on, but it doesn’t stop either of you from meeting each week in the secret tunnel. When the sun sets and the moon begins to rise in the sky, Zuko meets you halfway and greets you with a passionate kiss. You sit and talk for hours, sometimes with Zuko’s head in your lap or your head resting against his shoulder. It is always peaceful and always romantic, and for a minute you can almost forget the war on the outside of your little tunnel.

A knock on your door interrupts you from tying your hair up in the way you know Zuko likes for your rendezvous later that night, and with an impatient sigh do you allow entry into your room. Your mother, worn and tired from the absence of your father, stands in the doorway with a giddy smile on her face.

“Mother?” You prod cautiously. “What is it?”

“Your hand has been asked for in marriage, and I’ve given my blessing!” She cries gleefully, ignorant of the way your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach at her revelation.

“No...”

“Finish getting yourself ready, your fiancé and his family will be coming over for dinner!”

She shuts the door behind her, leaving you to stare blankly at your reflection in the mirror. You’re being married off to someone you don’t know, someone who isn’t Zuko, and your mind isn’t sure how to process the information. Silent tears begin to stream down your face as you finish doing your hair.

You have to see Zuko.

~~~

Zuko finds himself seated amongst the Fire Nation’s top generals, yet his heart is racing with excitement as he agonizingly counts down the minutes until he can see you again. This visit would be different than most because this time he planned to propose. The two of you were much too young to get married, he knew that, and he’d wait how ever long it took until you were ready. But he wanted something that would tie you together no matter how far apart you were, something that showed you just how serious he was about your love, something that assured you you’d be together forever.

But then your life had been threatened, and everything changed.

“Rumor has it there’s still one water bender left in the Souther Water tribe, and many believe it to be their Princess,” one of the generals reported. Zuko’s eyes widened at the mention of you, but he did his best to remain stoic.

“Then we’ll threaten to burn her village to the ground until she surrenders herself as prisoner. And then we shall execute her.”

“You can’t!” Zuko shouted, rising from his seat and effectively startling the men around him. Harsh glances are sent his way as the Prince slowly sinks back down into his seat like a scolded child.

He had spoken out against a war general, and now he was expected to duel in an Agni Kai.

~~~

When you meet in the secret tunnel that night your embraces are frantic and distraught. No words are spoken for a long while as Zuko holds you in his arms, but both of your faces are stained with tears. He pulls away to look at you, delicately brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before resting his hands upon your cheeks. He should have been proposing to you right now, he should have felt like the luckiest boy alive. Instead all he felt was fear and dread at the news he was about to give you.

He should have noticed the betrothal necklace delicately wrapped around your neck.

You both open your mouth to speak and deliverer your news at the same exact moment.

“I’ve been challenged to an Agni Kai.”

“I’m engaged.”

*part three

| tags: @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @multi-fandomstan @eridanuswave @royahllty @lozzybowe |

[heliads]

One Moves On Chapter Four: Crow Rock

Stiles Stilinski doesn’t know what to think when he’s taken by the Ghost Riders. He’s grateful to be joined by Y/N L/N, although when he finally escapes, no one seems to remember her at all.

previous / series masterlist / next

Now that he’s finished his research, Stiles isn’t sure what to do next. Does he drive over in a fit of glory and bad decision making, hope to find Y/N and pray she hasn’t left before he gets there? Does he risk traveling without a pack to one of the areas with the most supernatural activity other than Beacon Hills? 

In the end, Stiles decides to just go. Deliberating and hesitating won’t do him any good, not when Y/N is still out there, weaponless and with no idea where she is. Stiles spends a haphazard half hour running about his house, trying to put together supplies he might need for the trip, before finally stumbling over to his Jeep.

When he finally makes it out, keys clutched in his hand, Scott is waiting for him.

His best friend is leaning up against the driver’s side door, arms folded across his chest. Stiles’ steps falter. “You knew I was going?” Scott lifts a shoulder. “Your dad called me, said he was worried. We knew you’ve been concerned about Y/N, but we didn’t know that you would go this far. Where are you going, Stiles?”

Stiles holds up a hastily printed map. “Actually, I’m going to a town called Crow Rock. Good supernatural activity, and I followed the law of triangles-” Stiles’ voice dies off as he takes in the look on Scott’s face. “The law of triangles, which is a very reputable law from a very reputable manuscript which we all know about. Right. Well, I know how it sounds but trust me, it’s going to be alright.”

Scott sighs. “I want to believe you. Honestly, I do. But Y/N died months ago. You have to know that. I didn’t even know you cared this much about her. I’d call it grief, but you watched her die some time ago. She’s already buried.” Stiles frowns at him. “Is she? Where?” Scott fumbles for a moment. “Uh, in some cemetery.” Stiles presses his advantage. “Which cemetery? If we saw her buried, where is she?”

Scott’s brow furrows, and he stares at Stiles in bewilderment. “I can’t remember. I know where Allison and Aiden and all the others are buried, but I don’t know where she is.” Stiles throws his hands in the air. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t know because she isn’t dead. We never buried her so of course we can’t remember the cemetery. Scott, you have to believe me. She’s out there somewhere and I have to bring her back.”

Scott’s face softens. “You’re sure this will work? You know where to find her?” Stiles nods fervently. “I’ve done my research. Sometimes, people are pulled away from rifts by something called etheria. I was able to make it back safely from the Wild Hunt, but she wouldn’t. She’s not the first either- these victims, they call them etherials or something, have been disappearing for centuries. I’ve managed to track down another hotspot where she might be located and I think it’s my best shot at finding her.”

Scott nods once, then claps him on the shoulder. “I think you can do it.” Stiles looks up at him. “Really?” Scott smiles trustingly. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve put in a considerable amount of time for research. I think if anyone could track down an etherial who everyone else thinks is dead, it would be you.” Stiles grins. For some reason, hearing his best friend’s belief in him is enough to give Stiles a boost in confidence.

Scott steps away from the door of the Jeep, allowing Stiles access at last. “I just wanted to check with you before you go. To make sure you knew what you were doing.” He glances at the map, taking in the location of the hotspot. “There’s going to be a lot of supernatural trouble there. You sure you don’t want a backup group?” Stiles shakes his head, smiling. “I’m good, thank you. I think this is something I have to do by myself.”

Stiles climbs into the Jeep, giving himself a moment to think. This is it, the last moment before he sets off on his journey. He’s spent so much time preparing that it’s strange to think that this is his stepping off point, the last opportunity he has to back down and say that this is too dangerous, or that the chances are too great that he will fail.

Stiles turns on the ignition in a roar. Scott waves goodbye as the Jeep disappears down the road.

Stiles has only been driving for an hour or so before he notices a shift in the air. It’s not much, barely there, but yet something is not right. It’s like the atmosphere of the car has become quieter, even more silent than before. No one has entered or left the vehicle to warrant this silence, but it’s still enough to make Stiles feel slightly uneasy. He’d felt it a little when he was crossing over the boundary to Beacon Hills, a slight change in the energy as if by leaving he was passing through a barrier of some sort.

Stiles supposes it makes sense- you leave a hotspot, you might notice some change. Stiles doubts he would have noticed it had he not just been taken by the Wild Hunt or even gone without his temporary possession by the Nogitsune. He has a feeling that sensing this change in supernatural activity is an ability usually attributed to the supernatural, and the fact that he, a supposedly ordinary human, can sense it sets Stiles’ teeth on edge.

Stiles becomes aware of another change about fifteen minutes later. He sits up straighter in his seat, trying and failing to figure out what exactly is filling him with unease, and then he sees the sign. It’s faded, paint crumbling off of a metal backing. Even with the weathering of the sign, Stiles can still read the derelict letters: Welcome to Crow Rock. Stiles has made it at last.

The Jeep rumbles on, past the sign and onto the twisting roads. Scott, Lydia, and Malia had told him about visiting Canaan while he was still in the thrall of the Wild Hunt, and how the entire town had given off the uncanny, almost sinister energy of a ghost town. Stiles has no idea what it must have been like to walk those streets, but he has a suspicion that it would be pretty similar to how he feels right now, driving down the blocks and avenues in his truck.

Stiles has looked at images of Crow Rock from larger topographical maps, and realized that the town itself isn’t actually that big. He’d been happy then, thinking that maybe this was one instance of luck for himself and that it might not take as long to search the town for Y/N, but that hope is starting to wither away from him now. The town may be small, yes, with fewer hiding spots, but it also means fewer people to watch him. With fewer bystanders, the chance of supernaturals backing down from a public attack grows slimmer and slimmer with each mile Stiles travels within the town.

Stiles intended to drive to the center of town, where the hotspot of supernatural activity would most likely be the highest. However, as he goes he finds that certain roads are blocked off or congested with traffic that miraculously vanishes a few blocks down. He’s forced to take alternate routes, driving him on a convoluted path away from the entrance. It gives Stiles a sneaking suspicion that he’s being intentionally misrouted, that something is drawing him close.

Stiles has just taken a turn into a new street when he’s forced to come to an abrupt stop. A construction barricade has been laid across the road, orange and white paint signaling that he can travel no further. Stiles checks his rearview mirrors, ready to make a U-turn and get onto another road, when he freezes in place. A group of people is slowly spilling out into the road behind him, and they come to a stop at the main road, blocking off any chance of escape. They all consider Stiles with identical glares. This is not good.

Seeing as he can’t drive anywhere without mowing down this group of people, Stiles turns off the ignition and starts to climb down out of the Jeep. All of his instincts are screaming at him to stay in the car, to not give up the one piece of shelter he still has left, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. At least he’d be able to run on foot- if he remains in the Jeep, he’d just be a sitting duck.

Stiles walks away from the car, coming to a stop a few yards away from the group. One man steps forward, glaring at Stiles with an almost animal rage. “You should not have come here, human. You reek of enemy packs.” Most people would be smart and hold their tongues, choosing to live instead of delivering a supposedly witty retort. Stiles prefers to save his academic success for the tests in school.

“I think it’s kind of mean to go up to people and tell them they smell. I mean, I showered this morning, I can’t be that bad.” The man raises an eyebrow. “You are a human with a death wish, I see. It is not wise to pick a fight that you cannot win.” Stiles shrugs. “I’m just a tourist, man. I can see why your driving tours got such low reviews on Yelp.”

The man scoffs, the sound skidding deep in his throat like the roar of an engine. “I am quickly tiring of you. I will give you one minute to leave this town. If you are not gone by then, you will be dead.” Stiles shakes his head slowly. “I can’t do that. I’m here for someone.” The man roars at him, the sound echoing off of the buildings around them to culminate in a low din of noise. “Then you will die here instead.”

The man charges towards Stiles, claws already starting to extend from his fingers. Stiles takes one look at him and decides to do what he does best: run. He spins on his heels, dashing towards his Jeep with every ounce of energy still left in him. He’s almost there, one hand flung out towards the door, when a werewolf skids to a stop in front of him. It lets out a piercing howl, the sound of an animal about to attack.

Suddenly, a knife slams into its throat, and the wolf slumps sideways. Stiles’ head jerks up as he looks for his savior. A blur of flashing knives and running limbs appears out of nowhere, and a figure grabs the knife from the werewolf’s throat to throw it at another approaching wolf. Then the figure turns to Stiles, and he feels like he could dance with joy.

“Y/N?” She flashes him a grin. “Great to see you. Get in the Jeep.” Stiles doesn’t think twice, diving for the door and throwing himself in. Y/N climbs into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed just before a werewolf can slash her to ribbons. Stiles turns on the ignition, thanking everything holy and then some that the engine doesn’t fail him. He begins the turn to direct his car back towards the road, and then hesitates.

Y/N stares at him. “What are you waiting for? Do you enjoy being killed by enemy packs?” Stiles gestures towards the road. “The werewolves are blocking all the lanes!” Y/N’s eyes widen in something like incredulity. “Then run them over!” Stiles returns her startled gaze. “They’ll wreck my car!” Y/N grabs his hand, forcing it back onto the wheel. “If you stay here, they’ll wreck your car by dragging your dead body out of it and tearing it to shreds. Drive!”

A wolf howls nearby, raising his hand to slash at the metal body of the car. This is enough to motivate him, and Stiles slams a foot on the gas. The Jeep lurches forward, and the werewolves are forced to dive out of the way lest they get flattened by the wheels. The Jeep races around corners and through straightaways before they finally lose the enemy pack and the roads become deserted once more.

Stiles stares at the windshield unseeingly. His hands still shake from the close call. “You know, I don’t think I used my turn signal once during all of this.” There’s a quiet sound next to him, and for a second Stiles thinks that Y/N has started sobbing. Then he looks over and realizes that she’s doubled over in silent laughter. She manages to choke out two words. “Turn signal?”

Stiles stares at her for a second, then starts laughing too. Maybe it’s the thrill of yet another near death experience, or the rush of gratitude that he’s managed to find her at last, but all of a sudden every single thing in the world seems funny. He has to divert his attention back to the road in a jolt lest he run over a suicidal squirrel, which just makes them laugh even harder.

At last, they approach the sign announcing that they will shortly be leaving Crow Rock. Y/N’s laughter dies on her lips as she stares at the sign, then speaks abruptly. “Stop the car.” Stiles stares at her as she jumps out before the wheels have even stopped moving. He puts the car in park just a little bit beyond the sign, then leaps out after her. “What are you doing? Do you like the idea of being slashed to bits by the enemy packs?”

Y/N shakes her head, staring at him with quiet grief. “I can’t leave the town.” Stiles walks back over to her. “What are you talking about?” Y/N looks at him, and Stiles realizes that she doesn’t look afraid or even disappointed. Her face only holds a calm acceptance of a depressing fact. “I can’t leave. I’ve tried before, but the town won’t let me. Look.” She moves to step forward, past the ‘Leaving Crow Rock’ sign, but her feet refuse to budge. It’s as if she’s trying to walk into an invisible wall.

“I’ve tried to leave, ever since I showed up here, but I can’t. It’s like the same magic that brought me here intends on trapping me here forever.” Stiles’ eyes widen. “It’s the etheria. All those manuscripts talked about how people would be yanked away to other hotspots and never return. I thought they just meant that it was the olden days or whatever and that long of a distance was too far to travel without cars or something, but they literally meant that they couldn’t leave.”

Stiles shakes his head, unable to accept this. “I’m not giving up, not now. I’m not losing you again.” Y/N laughs quietly at that. The sound is bittersweet and tears at his heart. “I don’t think you have a choice, Stiles. There’s no way around this.” Stiles’ pulse is thundering in his veins. “No, I’m going to make a choice. Even if I have to do it all myself. No one is supposed to remember the etherials, but I remember you. We’re the exception, Y/N. I am not leaving you again.”

Out of some impulse, Stiles steps forward, wrapping his arms around Y/N and pulling her close. She stiffens for a second, then returns his embrace. After so many days of hearing everyone tell him that she was dead, that she didn’t exist, having her so close is like a dream or an impossibility. They stumble slightly as a strong wind hits them, shifting slightly but not letting go. Y/N gasps quietly, the sound torn away from her chest. Stiles looks at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Y/N shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know. I feel like-” Her eyes widen as she stares at the sign to Crow Rock, the sign that is now behind them. In that brief moment, when they’d moved to avoid the wind, they’d moved over the town barrier. It had just been mere inches, but it was enough. Y/N stares at him in awe. “How did that happen? It’s never happened before.”

Stiles can just smile at her, feeling relief crest over him like a wave. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re the exception. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think I’d like to go home.” She beams at him. “I think I’d like that a lot.” Stiles reaches out, wrapping his hand around hers to guide her back to the car. They’re together at last, and they can finally make their way back to where they belong.

one moves on tag list: @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​, @blahhhhhhhaaa​

[smxmuffinpeddling]

Tally really couldn’t believe she was doing this. She ran out of the shop, prize clutched in her arms as though she had robbed the damn place. Ducked her face in the crowd like a criminal as if she hadn’t just dropped big bucks for the thing she held to her chest like a secret. She was doubting her decisions already, but it was too late to chicken out now, so she made haste back to base where she could stash her newest possession safely.

Tally was nothing if not a slave to her impulse control. One minute she was laughing to herself, shaking her head at the ridiculous item in the shop, the next she was at the register with sweaty palms, dying of embarrassment as the cashier flashed the tiniest of smirks at her. Thankfully the bag was discreet, but that still didn’t stop the intrusive feeling that everyone she passed knew exactly what was in the bag.

It was all Abigail’s fault for suggesting the shop in the first place! “I barely go there, since I can get all the playthings I need,” she had said with her trademark high Atlantic smirk. “But now that Adil and I are dating, I actually have to get creative.”

“I doubt that, I know he adores you,” Tally replied with a sappy look. “But why do you think I need a… a new… thing-”

“Because you deserve it, Tal,” Abigail was quick to say. “After all that Alder drama, you deserve to take the edge off. Or find someone who looks just like her, whatever floats your boat.”

Tally’s face was as red as her hair at that point as she weakly denied everything. “She doesn’t float my boat, okay, we’re just linked forever in a way that I think means more to me than it does to her...”

Abigail raised both her brows at her.

“Yeah, what was the name of the shop again?”

A series of questionable decisions later and here she was, stumbling through the halls of Fort Salem, praying to goddess that she could make it to her room in peace so she could open this package and really go to town-

“Craven,” The soft utterance of her name shot right through Tally’s spine like the lightning work the owner was known for. General Alder approached her with careful steps, stopping a respectable distance away as they regarded each other.

Tally sucked in a panicked breath. “General,” she squeaked out before clearing her throat, rearranging her package so that she was holding it behind her back. This was absolutely the worst possible scenario at this moment in time. Sure, she was thrilled, just like every time she could steal the General’s attention for a brief time, even if they were at each other’s throats. Even when every encounter left Tally with more frustrating questions than answers.

But this night in particular it was impossible for Tally to look into those knowing eyes. She tried to be casual. “Fancy seeing you here… in this place where we both live?” Tally cringed at herself as her eyes darted everywhere except the General.

“Indeed,” Alder replied forgivingly at the odd greeting, tentatively stepping closer to Tally in an attempt to catch her eyes. It worked, their gazes locking long enough for Tally to notice that Alder appeared a touch nervous, as if mulling over what she wanted to say. Since their last few encounters, they usually danced around each other. It was as though Alder had no idea what to make of Tally, one moment hotly accusing her of not caring and then saving her life the next.

“Craven,” Alder repeated, again sending shivers through Tally. “I was hoping we could discuss certain matters further,” she said in a vague way that made some heat return to Tally’s veins. They’ve ‘discussed’ things in circles before. Though the General appeared more open to her now, extending an olive branch towards the cadet. A truce after Tally saved her life. “Perhaps in my office over a drink? If you’re open to that.”

Tally swallowed, searching the older woman’s face. “I’m always open to that,” she said, a touch of fondness in her tone. Relief through Alder’s posture betrayed the General’s feelings, a smile twitching her lips. Tally smiled back, but then she remembered exactly what she was holding behind her back and her eyes widened and her brain fumbled. “UH, well, maybe not tonight, I have a- something to do, I have plans. Yup. Sorry,” she apologized with a grimace.

“Of course,” the General said with a nod. “Don’t let me keep you from your… plans.” Alder glanced downwards with a twitch in her brow, noticing Tally’s oddly suspicious behavior for the first time. “Please feel free to drop by anytime… Though you already do,” she said with a twinkle in her steely blue eyes that had Tally flushing from all sorts of different guilts.

“Yes, I will definitely be doing that. Soon,” she promised, sweat breaking out in her brow the longer she was under the General’s knowing gaze. “I’m just gonna, yeah,” she scooched away, eager for the last stretch of space between her and her room, praying none of her bunkmates were present.

But then somewhere between trying not to appear too hurried and waving hi to the biddies behind Alder, Tally’s feet tangled themselves up in nothing, and Tally was sent pitching forward. Her hands flew out to catch themselves, though someone caught her first. Sarah Alder’s firm grip around her waist pulled her back to her feet. “Steady, Craven,” she uttered, voice warm like the whiskey she was so fond of. Tally’s hands gripped back at Alder’s shoulders instinctively in that moment of unsteadiness. Now they were face to face and the proximity short-circuited Tally’s brain enough that she nearly missed that the bag in her grip was much lighter now. And very much empty.

The biddies tittering near them had Tally ripping her gaze away from Alder’s, and the sight of her package being picked up and traded among the biddies nearly had her scrambling away. “THAT'S, That's- that’s not mine, I don’t even know what… I was just holding it for someone in the coven, it’s uh-’ Tally panicked as Alder kept her close with the hand on her waist, preventing her escape.

Curiosity burned through Sarah as the mystery box made its way down the line of biddies, each of them reacting in different equally maddening ways. Finally, it was passed to Alder, who gratefully accepted it from her snickering senior biddy. On one arm Alder held a deceased Tally, who was wishing someone would wind strike her through the nearest window, and on the other, she held the box of a newly purchased dildo.

But not just any dildo, no, it was far worse. For on the box Sarah Alder observed a picture of her own face, headlined with the words  “The General Daddy Alder 4.0”  and a not so clever tag line of "Find your voice… And lose it too!”   She briefly wondered when she had approved her likeness for such a product. Against her own better judgment- and Tally’s horrified squeak- she turned the box over to read the description.  “Slide all 8 inches of the General’s ribbed motherland right into your Fort Salem-”  No, she couldn’t possibly continue reading.

The General cleared her throat, suddenly awkward and releasing the cadet in her arms. She was much more adept at hiding her flustered feelings burning in her chest. Tally, on the other hand, looked as though the Tarim’s earthwork would swallow her into the ground any second. Alder held out the box to Tally. “I believe this belongs to you?”

'Goddess, just kill me now,' Tally thought to herself.

Tally muttered a mortified thanks and accepted the box back, and at this point, the smile that was slowly cutting smugly across the General’s lips was impossible to contain. They stood in place for a few extra seconds of tortuous silence until Alder cleared her throat once more in an attempt to swallow her smirk down.

“I will leave you to it then," Alder said, voice laden with innuendo.

“Yeah. Er, no? Since it's not mine, obviously!” More like leave her to throw herself off the nearest cliff. She could barely move as the General strode away from her, an extra bit of swagger in her step. It didn’t help that each biddy gave her a look as they followed with either cheeky smirks or disapproving frowns.

“Oh, and Craven?” Sarah turned back to Tally, a rare grin on her face that threatened to send Tally's knees buckling again. “Mine is bigger.”

Tally never ran to her room faster.

[kazuhera]

first dates — kaedehara kazuha.

wc: 674 from: first dates series (ft. genshin impact boys)

kazuha’s fingers ghost over the back of your hand as you walk side-by-side. you can feel the electricity tingling between the two of you, but you forcefully ignore it, pretending not to notice the hesitation in his steps and bashfulness in the way he keeps his eyes away from yours.

you rack your mind for something to say when he suddenly stops in his tracks, a few steps behind you.

“hmm? something wrong?” you ask, and turn around to see him holding a beautifully red maple leaf.

you take a second to admire the perfect picture kazuha made, strands of his soft white hair fluttering in the gentle breeze as he appeared lost in thought, gazing at the leaf.

“oh—i just happened to catch this leaf,” he said simply, looking up at you with widened eyes. he looked so pure, a simple happiness emanating from him as he stood there.

“here,” he said, extending the leaf towards you. “please—take it. it reminds me of you.”

you felt your heart stutter a bit in your chest as his warm words reached you, and you couldn’t help yourself from smiling as you took the leaf from him, holding it gently between your fingers.

“it reminds you of me? what do you mean?”

kazuha paused, as though caught off guard by the question.

“hmm,” he started, taking a couple of steps to catch up to you, and his hand gently met the small of your back as you both started walking again. “there’s not really one concrete thing. i…i’ve always been drawn to maple leaves, i think. they have a sort of natural beauty to them.”

as if realizing the implications of his words, his cheeks reddened and he looked down quickly. the sounds of leaves crunching beneath your feet filled the air as you took his words to heart, studying the seamless transition of colors in the leaf. kazuha truly caught a beautiful leaf, you thought—you’d never seen such a gorgeous mix of fall colors in one leaf before.

“thank you, kazuha,” you smiled. the sound of your voice seemed to bring him back into the moment, and he lifted his head to look at you. “this leaf is really beautiful.”

he smiled, a genuine smile that took over his cheeks and brought a soft glow to his eyes.

“are you hungry?” he asked. “should we get something to eat?”

though you weren’t particularly hungry, you were nearing liyue harbor, and the smells of liyue’s renown food carts never failed to rope you in.

“maybe a snack?” you proposed, your mind already wandering and thinking about which of chef mao’s tasty creations you wanted today.

“sure,” he smiled in response. “y’know—i’m still not super used to liyue, but i have to say that the food keeps me from being too homesick.”

“really? what’s the food in inazuma like?”

“it’s wonderful, don’t get me wrong… but i do really love liyue’s cuisine.”

“i’m glad then,” you said. “maybe… maybe i can bring you around other places in liyue? there’s a teashop i love near qingce village.”

you’d blurted that out without thinking, and your cheeks grew warm as you waited for kazuha to respond.

“that sounds great,” he said finally, his heart skipping a beat. he prayed that his face didn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions you’d unknowingly set off. “i’d love to.”

you beamed, deeming it impossible to further hide your feelings.

the two of you walked in silence for another minute when his hand crept to yours, gently taking your fingers in between his.

“if you’re okay with it, i’d like to bring you to meet captain beidou one day,” he said earnestly. “i think you’d really like each other.”

captain beidou!? the captain beidou of the crux fleet? your mind reeled in nervous excitement—you knew how much captain beidou meant to him, having saved him from his escape from inazuma.

you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, turning to him with a sparkle in your eyes. “i’d absolutely love to, kazuha. i’m free anytime.”

masterlist

taglist: @reddriot​ @ererokii​ (dm or send an ask to be added to my taglist!)

[alirhi]

random story snippet

@goblin-tea this is part of that story I was talking about/sending you bits of. I'll get into the better stuff (imo) in a bit, but this is a much better example of what the main characters are like than what I sent earlier lol

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she mumbled, still clinging to Audrey’s hand as she nervously followed Fiona’s example and took a moment to study the immediate area.

“No shit, Sherlock,” the blonde growled, yanking her hand away. Rebecca could stand there like an idiot if she chose, but damn it! She was going to explore and find a way home, right now. Clearly, her friend’s oh-so-brilliant spell had backfired quite horribly, and now they were lost, with no idea of where they were, when they were, or what was going…

Her thoughts were jarringly interrupted when Rebecca suddenly let out a short, high-pitched scream, causing both of her friends to jump.

“WHAT?!” Spinning to face the taller woman, she took a deep breath in preparation to chew her out, and then promptly hid behind her. “…Is that a dinosaur?”

“Deinonychus,” Rebecca confirmed in a reverent whisper. Her screech had been from excitement, rather than fear; the giant grin on her freckled face was evidence enough of that. Though she knew she was the only one who cared about the details, she still explained in a rush, “Fast, smart, and very deadly carnivore from the late Cretaceous period, probably the basis for the oversized velociraptors in Jurassic Park… A raptor’s colorful feathers make it look like a ridiculous, disproportionate toucan, which is probably why the producers chose to make it look more like our friend here. Fossils of the deinonychus have never been found with any indication of feathers.”

“It does have feathers, you walking Wiki!” Audrey hissed, stepping back. No way in hell was she going to stand there like an idiot and get eaten by some parrot on crack.

Fiona remained rooted in place beside the other redhead, though she did stoop to pick up Rebecca's forgotten staff, just in case the curious animal decided to attack. A tiny smile played at the edges of her lips at the toucan comparison. It did sort of look like one, in a weird way…

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, their nerdy friend nodded. “Yeah… Most of this type of dinosaur did, so paleontologists kinda figured the deinonychus would, too.”

The prehistoric bird of prey studied them, almost seeming to ponder something. Just as Rebecca was about to make a Philosoraptor joke, the fascinating – if deadly – beast twitched, letting out a series of loud clicking noises.

“…Huh. Whaddaya know. That dude on youtube was right…” An answering call echoed from somewhere to the left of the three shivering girls, and startled the amateur paleontologist out of her daze. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Both of her friends shot her nervous glances, reluctant to take their eyes off of the giant predator. Why wasn’t it moving?

“Run.” When Fiona shot her an incredulous look, Rebecca shook her head. Normally, yes, she would caution against any sudden moves around a wild animal, but this was different. More clicks from their right, answered by the one animal they could see, illustrated why. “He’s calling in reinforcements – run!”

That was all the motivation the shivering blonde needed. With a terrified shriek, Audrey turned and bolted into the forest, Rebecca and Fiona hot on her heels.

“I think it’s safe to assume,” the oldest woman gasped out, jumping over a fallen tree limb, “that we’ve somehow been sent back too far.”

“Ya THINK?!”

"Now's not the time to get snippy!” Her lungs were burning, her legs cramping, and though she could hear the creature gaining on them, she had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t putting forth much effort. She and her surrogate sister were both overweight to the point of obesity, and as such, speed wasn’t exactly on their side. In fact, it had been one of the things they’d hoped to go back and change; if they never got fat, they wouldn’t have to deal with the health problems associated with it or the hassle of constantly trying and failing to lose it.

Risking a glance to the side, she noticed Fiona keeping pace with them, and winced. She was hanging back to help them, she knew. By far the skinniest and healthiest of the three of them, she was lightning fast compared to the other two. While both her companions were morbidly obese, Fiona was lithe and fit, with legs like a gazelle. She was going slowly so she could defend them with that big stick if she had to. That was the only logical explanation Rebecca could come up with. The fact that the 'big stick' was her own walking stick was momentarily lost on the eldest of the three.

Mother above, she prayed desperately, if there’s even a trace of magic left in my blood, please, please unleash it now to give us speed.

Too angry and frightened to bother with logic, Audrey just rolled her eyes, yelping when it caused her to trip over a rock and nearly sent her sprawling. Fiona caught her by the arm and helped her steady herself, and she managed a tiny grateful smile, even as she snapped at the redhead, “Shut up! It’s your fault that we’re in our own personal Jurassic Hell, being chased by a fucking raptor!”

“Cretaceous!” Rebecca snarled, dodging around a rather intimidating thorny bush. “And it’s not a raptor, it’s-”

“I DON’T CARE!”

“It’s actually quite fascinating,” Rebecca asserted through wheezing gasps for breath, “if you think about it. We finally… get to see… proof… that dino…saurs… were more like…flightless…birds…than…”

“I don’t give a shit if we’re being chased by an ostrich or a crocodile!” Audrey screeched before her friend could finish. “If I end up something’s lunch, it’s your fault! And you know what? Fuck you! Fuck your stupid spell. Fuck your obsessions. Fuck your fucking imaginary friend and the horse you both rode in on for good measure!” Even in a life-or-death situation, somehow an old inside joke popped into her head, and she managed to suck in a deep enough breath to scream, "AND YES, HE'S NAMED 'SIDEWAYS'!"

“Guys, this really isn’t the time to be arguing,” Fiona pointed out as calmly as she could, glancing over her shoulder to see how they were faring. It wasn't good. She could deal with Audrey and her rather offensive temper tantrum later, she decided; escaping the turkey-sized ball of feathers and teeth chasing them took precedence.

“Sorry…” Pouting a little, the blonde risked a glance back, and nearly wet herself when she saw that their prehistoric pursuer was getting closer and closer. “Oh, fuck me…” Something brushed the side of her head, and she jumped, but it was only a leaf hanging down from another large tree.

Wait. Leaf…tree… She glanced up, relieved to see that the branch was low enough for her to grab hold. Circling around so that she wouldn’t get caught by their feathered menace, she pushed herself just a little bit more and managed to haul herself up onto the branch. “Guys!”

“What are you doing?!” Rebecca cried, having been too focused on running to notice where Audrey had gone. Fiona had been taking up the rear, focus switching between the others and the predator, but had been looking primarily in the latter’s direction for a few minutes. When she turned and saw only Rebecca standing there, she froze and glanced around. As they spotted Audrey in the tree, they also became aware of the fact that their enemy seemed a lot closer than before.

“Can raptors climb?” Audrey called out, wincing as she watched the scene unfold. Though she had long legs and strong, muscular calves, Rebecca outweighed her by a good fifty pounds, and it was visibly taking its toll. She was tiring, and the blonde just prayed she could pull herself up to safety before that thing or its as-yet unseen companions ripped her apart. She had plenty of reasons not to worry too much about Fiona.

“Come on.” Urging her tiring friend on, the skinnier redhead decided to take at least this one cue from Audrey and circled around the trunk of a massive tree, making sure Rebecca followed. It confused their attacker, bought them a little time, and kept them from getting out of earshot of Audrey.

At her friend’s soft, gentle reminder of what she’d been asked, Rebecca frowned. She wanted to remind the treed woman that they weren’t being chased by a velociraptor, but dismissed it as a waste of time. Instead, she considered her question as she doubled back.

Could this breed of dinosaurs climb? “I…I’m not sure,” she panted, one hand coming up to press against her chest. “I don’t think so. Their arms are probably too small to pull them up.”

“Then get your ass up here!”

They reached the tree, and Fiona quickly jumped up like it was nothing, setting the staff aside and braced across two nearby branches to keep it from falling. She and Audrey then each stretched out an arm, hands extended to grab Rebecca’s and pull her up as the youngest of the three continued, “And pray Jurassic Park was wrong about more than just the raptor’s appearance, cuz here he comes, and if he brought friends, you’re toast!”

“It’s not a raptor!” Rebecca reached for their hands, though she harbored little hope that she could actually get her fat ass up there. With or without their help, in her mind, she was dead.

“Please note, you’re the only one who cares,” the other young woman grumbled, grasping her friend’s wrist and exerting every bit of strength she had left to pull her to safety. Rebecca had virtually no upper body strength, and without Audrey and Fiona, would never be able to make it up onto the branch, despite being taller than both of them.

She almost dropped the larger girl when she suddenly yelped. Fiona glared at her, trying to compensate by taking more of their friend’s weight until she got a better grip on her arm.

Still a bit startled, she searched Rebecca’s eyes for some sign of what the hell that had been about, and found only fear. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Pull me up! Pull me up!” Refusing to say anything else, she gritted her teeth and pushed with all her might, kicking all the while. What she knew the blonde couldn’t see from her perch was that the dinosaur had caught up to her while they both struggled, and had grabbed hold of her calf with its sharp claws. Suddenly, she was glad for the long leather boots that, only moments before, she’d been cursing.

As the creature went for Rebecca again, Fiona grabbed the staff and whacked it as hard as she could over the head. It turned on her for a moment, but before it could do anything, Rebecca kicked it in the face. Taking advantage of the opportunity she’d just created, she stood on the hungry animal’s head and pushed off. At last, she was seated on the rough limb, with the deinonychus just barely out of reach. Gasping desperately for air as she turned and clung to Audrey, she glanced down at the bewildered creature and managed a breathless “thanks!” The moment Rebecca was safely out of reach, Fiona crept along the branch and headed for a different one. The tree was old and strong, but the three of them in the same spot could easily snap the branch and send them right to the dinosaur’s clutches.

Once she settled on another perch, they sat there for a moment, contemplating their luck, both good and bad, and watching the hungry animal watch them. All three knew that with a little effort, the thing could probably reach the two on the lower branch with those lethal, powerful jaws. Since it had clearly not yet figured this out, none of them really cared. Audrey was exhausted and sore, the entirety of her plump body throbbing unbearably now that adrenaline had begun to flee her as she had fled the dinosaur. Fiona was desperately trying to get her breath back, and though she felt fine otherwise, she knew she’d feel like she’d been hit by a bus in the morning. Rebecca, too, was exhausted and sore, though the pain in her muscles and joints hadn’t yet registered. Her gaze shifted from the restless animal to the long jagged tears in the back of her skirt, which she studied with a sort of numb, detached fascination.

“Well,” she said finally, still scarcely able to breathe. “That was exhilarating.”

Fiona laughed.

“Exhilarating?” Audrey gaped at her. “Are you fucking kidding me? We just almost became something’s soon-to-be-fossilized lunch!”

Shrugging, Rebecca glanced down at the prehistoric lizard…bird…thing. And suddenly she felt pity for it, and all the living things around them. After a long silence, during which the deinonychus finally lost interest and stormed off in search of easier prey, she finally murmured, “We survived, didn’t we? That’s more than anything else in this time period can say.” Where were its companions? The question bubbled up out of nowhere, and once formed, refused to be dismissed. She'd heard it call to someone, and heard an answer... Or had she? Had she imagined it all?

“We don’t belong in this time period!” Audrey's reply startled her out of her confused reverie. Her voice was shrill, expression aghast as she stared at the other woman as if she’d lost her mind. Perhaps that was obvious. For a second, she considered that maybe shehad gone mad, and this whole nightmarish situation was just a scene playing out in her ever-overactive imagination.

Then she shifted, and the ankle she’d twisted when she tripped on a rock sent a twinge of pain up her leg. The idea of any of this being anything less than horribly, undeniably real was scrapped, and she glanced around. She would merely search for makeshift supplies, she decided. She would rewrite Rebecca’s stupid spell, and get them back to the present. If this experience was meant to teach them anything, she was sure it was that the past can’t be changed, which she was suddenly ready to accept as Gospel truth. Life sucked, but they could make it better if they just focused less on whining about it, and more on actually doing something about it.

A strange weight on her mind drew her from her thoughts and she turned to look. Rebecca was staring at her.

Huffing a bit, she gestured to her shredded clothing. “That’s going to get infected. You’ll probably die before the week is out.”

“Thanks, Captain Optimism,” the other woman growled, rolling her eyes.

“We don’t have anything to wrap it with!” she snapped, interrupting her friend’s attempt to assure her that she was fine.

“I can rip something if you want,” Fiona offered, gesturing to her clothes.

“We have no idea what’s poisonous and what’s not,” Audrey continued to rant as if the other young woman hadn’t spoken, “We’re about sixty-five million years away from peroxide, never mind penicillin. And all of this is assuming you just get some kind of nasty infection. Every carnivore with at least one nostril can probably smell all that blood for miles. If we don’t get the hell back to modern times, you are going to die!”

To shut her up, Rebecca sighed and reached down, shoving her torn skirt out of the way to show the long scratches across her boot. She could see them alright through the slashes in her skirt, but clearly Audrey was less observant. “I’m not bleeding, genius. He was aiming to grab, not gut; he didn’t get through the leather.” She gestured, but wasn’t the least bit surprised when Audrey only shook her head and looked away.

“I’m just worried about you,” she whispered, much more subdued as the fight slowly drained from her. “You got lucky this time, but as long as we stay here, we’re in danger every second, from everything.”

As if only just then remembering that Fiona was there, she whipped around and stared up over her shoulder at her. "And how the hell are you still corporeal? How were you ever in the first place? I mean, nice to meet you, I guess? But what the actual fuck is going on?!"

[stillness-in-green]

Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Part Two)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front

Introduction and Part One

PART TWO: Logistics Problems

The Initial Arrests

Looking over the events above, one thing becomes apparent almost immediately: the only one that involves numbers even resembling those at the villa are the Rice Riots, and arrests there were scattered across two months. The only thing I could find that even came close to the idea of arresting the entire PLF in a day was a mass detainment in India in 2011: in the run-up to a separatist rally[7] that had stated its intention to be a “Million Man March,” police reportedly detained 100,000 people to stop them from attending. To do this, they used auditoriums and stadiums, not actual detention facilities.

And you can see why! We see a few pictures of the Gunga Villa group in the aftermath, but they’re pictures that raise more questions than they answer. Consider this one:

The detainment and relocation of the PLF. (Chapter 296)

This is but the tiniest fraction of the people captured, but every single one of them has had their hands and arms bound. The ones we see in the basement are restrained similarly. Where did all those restraints come from? Who got them all here? Were they, perhaps, made by the man in the center, who conspicuously has lengths of the same restraint wrapped around his wrists? If so, how did he make them all so freely, when most similar quirks we see rely on a certain amount of body mass or caloric intake?

Or take those transports in the background. How many people can each hold, and how long will it take to move a group of 17,000 into secure facilities? How are those 17,000 being kept docile all that time, especially once they’ve been moved onto the transports? Will there be a hero onboard every one, making sure the prisoners don’t get the opportunity to plan amongst themselves? Were there similar transports parked at every other raid site across the rest of the country? Enough of them and their assigned heroes to move the other 98,000 people?

Consider what we know about the Paranormal Liberation Front.[8] While easiest to compare numerically to widespread protest movements, they’re unlike any historical mass arrest in that context because they are, every one of them, combat-trained and ready to give their lives for the cause. There's no one there to tell them all to stand down, at least not that we see give such an order. Trumpet, perhaps, could have, but why would he have done so? Re-Destro gave the order back in Deika, but Re-Destro seems to have lost consciousness following his battle with Edgeshot, and I much doubt he’d have given the same order here as he did when facing Shigaraki in any case.

My Hero Academia has a long history of treating police custody as something like a status effect, like once a villain has been subdued, they’re In Custody, and magically become incapable of attempting to mount an escape. But why should this be so? There’s a relatively common misconception I see in fanfic that the police have “quirk cancellation restraints,” but let’s be clear: no such device exists in the series. This is the ostensible reason All For One and Muscular are restrained so unforgivingly; it’s why the prisoners in Tartarus have guns pointed at their heads at all times. It’s why Overhaul’s drug was such a big deal and it’s why the only way to stop Gigantomachia was to drug him or have Best Jeanist bind him in steel cables.

There is no way to stop someone in MHA from using their quirk except convincing them not to, via diplomacy or intimidation, or rendering them unconscious. Which of those tactics, pray tell, is in use here, such that the enormous numbers of people at issue remain subdued until they can be moved to secure facilities?

The Liberated Districts

Another problem quickly presents itself. We’re told that the PLF’s “other bases” around the country were hit, but we weren’t shown what that looked like. We saw Slidin’ Go and another hero in a prisoner transport; we know from bonus material that people like Class 1-B and Mirio—and presumably any number of other high school hero interns from around the country—were involved in those other raids. Still, we didn’t see what those base raids actually entailed.

That’s not surprising, because “base” is not really a very accurate word to describe the scale of the problem. See, with the intention of the raids being to put a stop to the PLF in one fell swoop, rather than risk a drawn-out conflict with a force that Hawks describes as, “On par with, maybe even greater than,” the power of their hero-saturated society, the Commission would have had to take into account an aspect of the MLA that readers learned about during My Villain Academia: what Trumpet calls “liberated districts.”

Deika was a liberated district—an entire town where an enormous chunk of the population was made up of members of the MLA. Ominously, the fact that Trumpet had a ready term to describe it—“a” liberated district, not “our” liberated district, or even “the first” liberated district—suggests that Deika was not the only one.[9] Further, Curious describes what we can expect the heroes would have to contend with in such areas: people who look like everyday civilians but are actually combat-trained warriors. Combat-trained warriors not gathered in one conveniently isolated compound or solitary building, but scattered across miles of homes and businesses, schools and parks, anywhere that an ordinary person might be found spending their day.

That is an entirely different can of worms than raiding one single building; thus it is here that the logistics really start to strain. Mass arrests of a civilian populace don't work at all the same way as a round-up of people all in a single area—how do you arrest an entire town? Well, there is such a thing as martial law, or military occupation, and maybe those tactics would work if the PLF had sent all their ace combatants to the villa and all the people remaining in the target city were terrified and unarmed civilians who could be ordered to keep inside their houses until further notice lest they start getting shot. That is not at all how the bulk of the PLF—that is, the ranks of the MLA—have been portrayed, though.[10] Again, Re-Destro and Curious characterize their 116,000 warriors as all being trained, combat-ready, prepared to rise up to answer the call. That is not a population that you're going to keep cowed with a certain minimum police presence, especially as time drags on.

Anyway, an occupation is clearly out-of-keeping with how the text presents the operation being run. We’re given no reason to assume other raids were any different than the ones we saw: a team of heroes launches a coordinated assault with a backline set up to catch stragglers. We’re told, after all, that the other sympathizers were “rounded up,” so extended detainment-in-place clearly wasn’t the intention. That just returns us to the problem, though.

According to Trumpet, Deika was 90% MLA. Presumably it was one of their higher-concentration bases, yes, but the situation isn’t any simpler in places that are “only” e.g. 80%, 70%, 60% inducted. It only becomes complicated in different ways.

Imagine a 70% liberated district. PLF-adherents are in the government, the municipal operations, the schools, the stores. How does this town keep running in a state of mass arrest? If the 70% are removed, what are the other 30% to do? Is the town even livable in that state? Will the remainder have to relocate? Can they afford that, and if not, what measures will be taken to help them? How quickly can those measures be enacted?[11]

The liberated districts present a bevy of other problems, too, but we’ll come back to those in Part Three.

Detainment Facilities

Let’s look at some more real-world facts and numbers.

As of 2018, Japan had 184 penal institutions, a term which covers prisons, detention houses, and juvenile facilities of either type. There are 70 prisons, 108 detention houses (eight of which are major facilities; the rest smaller branch locations), and 6 juvenile facilities. Their official capacity—that is, the number of occupants they are considered able to house without becoming overcrowded—is roughly 89,000. Their current population is around 48,000.

This puts Japan’s prison density—how close they are to being at full capacity—at 54%. They could not even double their occupancy without becoming overcrowded. Looking back to our PLF numbers, this tells us that real-life Japan could take an influx of 17,000. They absolutely could not take an influx of 115,000.

Here’s another way to look at it: in Japan currently, the rate of incarceration is 38 people per 100,000, in a population of 126 million. Adding the PLF to those numbers would mean they're incarcerating 130 per 100,000—more than triple the amount.

There’s another problem on top of the capacity issue: in Japan, penal institutions are divided up by what kind of prisoner they’re intended to house. Remand prisoners—that is, pre-trial detainees—are to be housed in different facilities than convicted prisoners. Convicted prisoners are sorted further by demographic traits, the type of offense they’ve committed, whether or not it was their first offense, and so on. For example, there’s an entire prison in Chiba Prefecture dedicated to housing men convicted of traffic violations; elsewhere, even murderers are subdivided according to criminal affiliation and likelihood of reoffending.

The relevance here is obvious. The problem isn't merely that there is limited prison capacity, but that that capacity is further limited by what space is available in the correct type of prison. And I am very prepared to bet that All For One prioritized targeting prisons that held violent offenders; he even implies as much when he describes the people he freed as violent escapees.

Speaking of All For One’s prison breaks, let’s take a look at some canonical numbers. They offer both information that mitigates the problems above, but also present new reasons to be concerned.

All For One, the night of his escape from Tartarus, targets seven other prisons, managing to free at least some inmates from six of them. Including the Tartarus escapees, 10,000 convicts are freed.

10,000 from seven prisons. Consider again the numbers above: Japan currently houses less than five times that many in twenty-six times as many penal institutions. In general, prisons don’t hold anywhere near those numbers—the largest one in Japan houses just barely over 2,000; even one that houses 500 is considered to be a large inmate population.[12]

I did some math based on the numbers I had available, and my rough estimate is that, in Japan, about 88% of the carceral population—42,000 people—are housed in the for-real prisons; the other 12% are remand prisoners and a negligible percent are incarcerated minors.

The MHA numbers are wildly, wildly higher. Now, this makes sense. In this post by @codenamesazanka, she notes that the first My Hero Academia movie describes Japan’s crime rate as a somewhat vaguely defined 6%, and estimates that this means the crime rate in MHA’s Japan is seven times higher than in real life—and that this is drastically lower than anywhere else in the world thanks solely to All Might! In other parts of the world, the crime rate is over 20% at minimum. So it seems reasonable to assume that Japan’s carceral capacity has increased likewise. Not, I think, to the degree that they automatically have the prison space to match their crime rate, but certainly more space than in real life.

Assuming, then, that MHA’s Japan has far more and/or far larger prison facilities, that also means they must need that kind of space—which means the space is already in use. Which, again, takes us back to the problem of overcrowding. If not—if the country is easily capable of dumping 115,000 people in prison without even causing a ripple of difficulty—then that implies its own deeply harrowing things about the rate of incarceration in the country. Either way, it sounds like a country that badly, badly needs to find a better way of doing things.

Legal Proceedings

Here’s another issue to consider: the legal proceedings. See, Edgeshot says this:

The hero Edgeshot explains why protecting the country requires these sixteen-year-olds be on the frontlines in a fight with people absolutely ready to kill them. Words cannot describe how much I wanted Re-Destro to knot this guy around a tree. (Chapter 263)

“If any of them get out, they could keep terrorizing other places.”

So assume for a moment that everything went exactly according to plan. Virtually all 115,000 members of the Liberation Front got rounded up, there’s easily enough room for them in Japan’s correctional facilities, and now the entire organization is awaiting trial. What happens next?

The Judicial Process

To provide some context for those of my readers whose only exposure to the judicial process is pop culture depictions, the very first thing that should happen after a person is arrested in the U.S. is a pre-trial appearance, at which people are formally told what the charges against them are and bail is set or denied. Non-violent offenders, provided they have someone able to post bail, are usually able to await their trial date at home, albeit under travel restrictions. Typically this pre-trial hearing should be within two business days; if a detainee hasn’t seen a judge in that time, the prosecutors’ office is obligated to let them go.[13] This doesn’t necessarily mean the person is off the hook entirely, of course; they can be arrested again later. It just means they’re free to go for the time being.

I don’t think for one second that Japan’s legal system can handle processing an influx the size of the PLF in just a few days. For comparison’s sake, in 2018 (the same year all my incarceration numbers come from, incidentally), 206,000 people were arrested in total, for the whole year. So will the overflow just be let go? Released to their homes to wait for the police to come back when they have more time? Yet that doesn’t seem to track with how Edgeshot was talking, does it?

On the one hand, if you look at the numbers from some of my historical analogues, it’s very consistent that only a small portion of people swept up in mass arrests in Japan ever actually reach trial. For the Rice Riots and the March 15 Incident, that portion is about a third—quite sizeable, given the numbers involved—but the others are lower still: the long-term arrests under the Peace Preservation Laws saw only about a twelfth of those arrested actually brought to trial; for the Righteous Army, it was less than a tenth.

Frankly, you don't arrest those kinds of numbers and then actually prosecute all of them; you arrest them to scare the shit out of people, and then you try the ringleaders and whichever others you have the most dirt on. This is the pattern in every other instance that involves over a thousand people being arrested.

On the other hand, even setting aside the fact that people can apparently be dropped in Tartarus without trial now,[14] a significant difference between the U.S. and Japan is that pretrial detention can stretch on and on and on in Japan. Legally speaking, charges should be filed with 72 hours, but prosecutors can request ten more days twice, then repeat the process over by adding other potential charges about which they need to question the suspect. So, yes, I suppose that, if the authorities do have the facilities to keep the PLF in, there’s nothing stopping them from dragging this detainment out indefinitely—it just isn’t very in-keeping with the historical record to do so with all of them.

As you might expect, lengthy detainments are a massively controversial aspect of the Japanese legal system to human rights activists both locally and abroad, since the loophole of detainees not yet having been charged or tried allows police to get around a lot of the rights that are supposed to be guaranteed, particularly the right to legal representation.[15]

So, now that I’ve brought up the right to legal counsel, here’s another procedural issue: due to a generally non-litigious culture and a very difficult bar exam, there's a dearth of attorneys in Japan. Defense attorneys have a particularly hard time; thanks to the presumption of guilt of those arrested by police, and an oft-vicious ostracization of criminals, it's seen as something of a blemish on one's character to willingly defend the accused, so defense lawyers are frequently unpopular and underpaid. I have to assume MHA is facing similar problems.[16] Good luck finding all the people you need to investigate and defend the new glut of people in the system, though!

No, the reason real-life Japan’s legal system can go on functioning even with a shortage of lawyers is, I suspect, that compared to how long pre-trial detention can go on, trials are fairly quick. Legally, they're required to last no longer than a few weeks. There is, however, concern among some in the legal profession that cases are not being examined closely enough, leading to preventable errors and miscarriages of justice,[17] due to both the haste with which trials are conducted and aspects of Japan's “lay judge” system.

Lay judges are a unique feature of Japan's legal system, in some ways similar to—and in other ways very distinct from—a jury of one’s peers. As in a U.S. jury, lay judges are a panel randomly selected from the citizenry to hear evidence and render judgement. However, where jurists are a passive audience to the presentation of the case, only debating the merits behind closed doors after the case concludes, lay judges are encouraged to take active part in the trial process, empowered to question witnesses and challenge evidence. The lay judges are joined by a smaller number of professional judges; a verdict requires a majority vote of the judges' panel, in which at least one vote is that of said professional judges.

As to what this has to do with concerns about justice, consider, if you will, how the requirements of a system that demands active involvement from its participants might intersect with the (self-)perception of the Japanese people as modest and not wanting to “make trouble” for others, particularly when combined with a widespread belief that suspects would not be brought to trial if they weren’t guilty. Additionally, in the specific context of My Hero Academia, consider how bias about villains or “villainous quirks” will influence such judgements.

I’ll talk more about the presupposition of guilt in Japan and how it relates to the treatment of suspects by both officials and the public in Part Three, but for now, let’s consider the trial itself. What will the charges be? What will the sentences be? How long will the PLF members be in prison? And will that time in prison do the slightest thing to prevent them from going right back to what they were doing when they get out? Are they just going to be imprisoned indefinitely? Until they say they change their minds?

When I began my research, there were two main things I wanted to examine in regard to crimes the PLF at large might be on the hook for: membership in an illegal organization and conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism.

Japan and Illegal Organizations

So here’s the thing: Japan doesn’t criminalize membership in organizations categorically. Because of the government’s history abusing laws to crack down on labor organizations and political dissent—e.g. the March 15 Incident—any attempts to legislate the process of banning criminal organizations get significant pushback from freedom of speech advocates. After all, critics say, the police may say that your community activist group doesn’t count as a terrorist organization now, but what’s actually stopping them from categorizing it as such in the future?

Now, that’s not to say Japan doesn’t have ways to regulate such groups at all! I’ll talk more about this later on, but briefly, groups that are found likely to be advocating for “terroristic subversive activity” can be forcibly barred from e.g. printing their organizational material, holding public assemblies, or owning property under the group’s name. One thing that isn’t mentioned in those prohibitions, though, is actual membership in the organization. That’s because, as I said, Japan is hugely gun-shy about criminalizing membership in any sort of organization, even organizations that have been declared criminal.[18]

It’s illegal to pick mushrooms on conservation lands if you’re doing it to raise money for your terrorist organization. It’s illegal to use protest sit-ins against new apartment buildings if you’re doing it on behalf of the mob. But it is not illegal to simply be a member of a terrorist organization or the mob—not even if that group has been formally dissolved by the government.

We can see a few places where this holds true even in the universe of My Hero Academia. The Shie Hassaikai is, like many yakuza groups, under police surveillance, but not barred outright from existing. Likewise, whatever prohibition there might once have been on printing material in support of the Metahuman Liberation Army has clearly lapsed, otherwise Curious would never have gotten away with reprinting Destro’s memoir.

Being a member of the MLA was likely not illegal as such, not any more so than membership in Aum Shinrikyo (currently calling themselves Aleph) or yakuza groups are in real life—they’re surveilled, sure, their activities curtailed, absolutely, but banned outright? Not so much. And membership in the PLF certainly wouldn't be banned even if it were legal to ban such memberships, seeing as it's brand new and, at the time of the raid, would not yet have been targeted for restrictions on its activity, lest such targeting tip the group off that the government was aware of its existence.

Keep that last point in mind; we’ll be coming back to it later, too.

Conspiracy

So, if membership in the PLF isn’t illegal in and of itself, what else can the government use to charge the 115,000 people they preemptively arrested?

Well, in general, for someone to be tried for a crime, they need to be either caught in the act or caught in an attempt. An attempted crime is something that is in immediate danger of happening—for example, if someone tries to kidnap a baby from the pediatric wing of a hospital but is caught by security before they make it out of the building, that’s an attempted kidnapping. An attempted crime may or may not be punished with the same severity as a successfully enacted crime, depending on the nature of the offense and the local laws.

What an attempted crime differs from, however, is a planned crime. If someone was planning to commit tax evasion but decided not to, they cannot be charged with tax evasion. This is how most criminal charges work—you can’t be charged with something you didn’t at least try to do, regardless of how close you came to it, and a policeman who tries to goad someone into such a crime should rightfully be running into charges of entrapment.

There are, unsurprisingly, some exceptions. It’s not uncommon for countries to criminalize planning insurrection or treason, and in cases like that, police are under absolutely no obligation to wait around for an active attempt before they respond. They can and will move as soon as they have sufficient evidence to get an arrest warrant. For lesser offenses, though, the legality of the advance-planning of a crime varies from country to country, and this is where we start getting into conspiracy.

Conspiracy in the legal sense has a couple of elements: it must be something that 1) two or more people 2) knowingly 3) discussed a plan for, which 4) led at least one person in the group to commit a “preparatory action.” i.e. do something to advance aforementioned plan.[19] All of these elements have to be proven to get everyone in a group on a conspiracy charge, though not all members of a group have to be in on all parts of a plan. If these elements are met, then everyone in the group can be charged with any and all crimes committed over the course of the plan being carried out, regardless of each member’s individual involvement.

What all this means for our purposes is that, because the heroes made the first move, they have to get the PLF on something that is illegal to even plan, not something that only becomes illegal in the attempt.[20] Huge portions of the PLF may wind up being released if the police can't conclusively prove not merely their association with the PLF, but also their direct knowledge of the relevant plans—not difficult for the ringleaders, obviously, but much dicier when you start getting out into the liberated districts. If the prosecution can't prove that knowledge, and lacks confessions otherwise—and as I’ll discuss in more detail later, a confession in and of itself is not considered sufficient; there has to be corroborating evidence[21]—huge swathes of those people are going to get cut loose.

So what are police going to be looking for? What crimes can the PLF be charged with under current law, and what are the sentences for such crimes like?

Prior to 1952, conspiracy was only illegal in the following cases: insurrection, treason, or aiding/abetting/instigating either of the above. Conspiracy to commit treason as a charge is right out—everything the PLF is doing, they’re doing for their own sake and for the sake of the future of Japan, not for the sake of a foreign power. Conspiracy to commit/instigate insurrection is more debatable, but, surprisingly, shakier than it might appear at first. This is because of the specific, legal definition of the term.

Japan’s Penal Code defines insurrection as rioting for the purpose of overthrowing the government, usurping the sovereignty of the State, or otherwise subverting constitutional order. The middle clause, the one regarding territorial sovereignty, is obviously not at issue—the PLF is not attempting to stake out land for a new country and secede. It’s the rest of the description that’s debatably more applicable, but still, to my eye, not an easy guilty verdict.

Firstly, per Hawks’ description of the plan, the PLF at least wants the government and the constitutional order intact enough for the Hearts & Minds Party to “storm the political world,” which to me suggests that their target is public opinion, not the intangible apparatus of the government itself. Further, even if you did argue that their manipulation of public opinion constitutes subversion of the constitutional order, you’d also have to argue the rioting part, and we have no idea whether any of the PLF’s plans actually involved a significant number of people mobbing in public as opposed to e.g. small strike teams.

So is the PLF off the hook? Not hardly! The Penal Code was established in 1907, after all—it’s been expanded lots since then, and those expansions are where the PLF really starts to run into trouble.

The Subversive Activities Prevention Act of 1952 criminalized a number of conspiracy-to-commit crimes—crimes like arson and homicide—if said crimes were to be undertaken “with the intent to promote, support or oppose any political doctrine or policy.” For example, conspiring to burn down a bank was not criminalized. Conspiring to burn down a bank as an act of protest against a new tax law became illegal as all get-out.

This gets us where we need to be for the PLF, as, on top of the crimes laid out in the 1952 act, I am very prepared to believe that acts of villainy (that is, illegal quirk use) in advancement of political ends have been folded into this particular branch of Japanese law.[22] So then, what kind of conspiracy charges are we looking at here, and what associated crimes?

I see two major possibilities at this point, and they hinge on exactly how much the prosecution ties Shigaraki’s attack on Jaku and Gigantomachia’s destruction to the run-of-the-mill PLF member sitting in a backwater town somewhere doing nothing more involved than e.g. quirk training and attending weekly meetings to get updates on where the plans stand for their local regiment’s part of the big push the following month. It’s difficult to say how feasible it is to make that connection—there are provisions in Japanese law for group criminal liability, but they tend to require things like joint actions, or specific knowledge and intent regarding the crime in question.

Obviously, random PLF members nowhere near Machia’s path of destruction didn’t take joint actions to abet it, so the pertinent question is, was Machia going on a rampage part of the plan? How about Shigaraki’s destruction of Jaku? If so, how much did random PLF members know about it? How specific does that knowledge need to be? If, say, the original plan had Shigaraki decaying the greater part of Hosu, does it still meet the specific knowledge requirement if he wound up decaying Jaku instead? If Machia was supposed to stampede across Tokyo, do the PLF members who chased after him count as furthering a conspiracy to do so when he stomped across Osaka and Kyoto instead?

Frankly, I don’t think we can say for sure how much a randomly selected member of the rank and file would have known. Any knowledge they had would have been many steps removed from the people actually making the plan; I would tend to think that the outer reaches of the PLF mostly knew about whatever plan their specific group would be tasked with, but would have much patchier knowledge of plans beyond that immediate sphere. As to how much that matters to the courts? Well, let’s take a look at the final logistics problem: the sentencing.

Sentencing Standards

First things first: I absolutely do not think the death penalty is on the table for the rank and file. People like Shigaraki and Dabi, yes, based on their pre-PLF crimes alone; Re-Destro and the other lieutenants are certainly a strong possibility. But the rank and file? No. Looking at our historical referents, it has never been the case that every single person involved in a mass arrest incident has been sentenced equally harshly, even in the case of the February 26 Incident’s outright uprising against the state! And that was in a time where human rights were considerably less enshrined in the constitution; in the modern day, the death penalty is usually reserved for murder cases,[23] typically only those involving multiple murders or particularly aggravated cases involving torture or ransom.

Whether or not the courts could attempt to punish all of the members of the PLF for all the deaths caused by Shigaraki and Gigantomachia under group criminal liability provisions, the degree of mass international outcry sentencing 115,000 people to death would involve is difficult to fathom. Egypt's 2014 mass trials of the Muslim Brotherhood are a good referent, and they “only” involved about 1,200 people.[24] Multiplying that number ten times over? I very much doubt Horikoshi is prepared to even imply that the system all these cute kids want to grow up and join is anywhere near that grisly and authoritarian.

Anyway, if the MHA government were that quick to hand down death sentences, I very much doubt Stain or All For One would still be alive—or, indeed, that Tartarus would serve much function at all. It's described, after all, as a place that houses those who threaten Japan's security on a fundamental, national level. That's the kind of thing countries keep death penalties around for.

That said, let’s assume for the time being that Shigaraki and Machia will be treated as their own thing, and what the PLF are going to be tried for is more in tune with the plan as Hawks laid it out. Remember again that the heroes attacked preemptively. This means that, in this scenario, all the conspiracy stuff is on the table, but it’s the only thing on the table—because it’s all the PLF had time to get to! There might be a few other charges—for example, if the black market support good proliferation is part of their plan, and the weapon proliferation is already underway, the whole group could feasibly be charged with whatever crime covers illegal weapon distribution. However, whatever crimes those support goods would be used to commit haven’t happened yet, so on that front, the PLF is still only on the hook for planning them.

Here, then, is what the Penal Code and its relevant revisions have to say about conspiracy sentences:

If they do wind up getting the group on conspiracy to incite insurrection:

A person who prepares for or plots an insurrection is punished by imprisonment without work for not less than 1 year but not more than 10 years.

(…)

A person who aids the commission of any of the crimes prescribed above by the supply of arms, funds, or food, or by any other act, is punished by imprisonment without work for not more than 7 years.

So that’s kinda bad! Not as bad as if they’d actually gotten to the insurrection, which is when death penalties and life sentences for ringleaders and key figures start cropping up, but still pretty bad! Seven years in prison is almost certainly enough time for a lot of those people to do some serious reconsideration of their life priorities!

As I already said, though, I think the insurrection charge is shaky. So what if they wind up instead charging the PLF with conspiracy to commit villainy for political aims?

Well, that’s why this whole section is in the logistics portion of this essay, because the sentencing for politically motivated villainy probably looks a lot more like this:

If it’s a crime on the level of, for political aims, preparing, plotting, inducing, or inciting:

Arson, illegal use of explosives, homicide, or robbery involving assault or intimidation: imprisonment with or without work for a term not exceeding five years.

A public disturbance: imprisonment with or without work for a term not exceeding three years.

A hazard for a train, tram, or vessel: imprisonment with or without work for a term not exceeding—oh, three years again.

The assault or intimidation of a public employee in the performance of public duty[25]: spoilers, it’s imprisonment for not more than three years again.

Five years or less. Three years or less.

Is that enough time to make people reconsider their life choices? Especially people who have been raised all their lives to follow the cause of Liberation?

Remember that when the heroes attacked, the intention was a clean sweep, a preventative tactic to stop the villains before they could enact any of their terroristic plans. Yet if they intended to stop things at a point where only conspiracy would be punishable, is three years in prison all that Edgeshot thought these people would be in for when he said that if a single one of them escaped, they might go on to terrorize other places? What was Japan’s government and/or the Hero Public Safety Commission planning to do in three years, or five years, or ten years, when 17,000 to 115,000 people were released en masse from prison, free to return to their lives? It certainly seems like they had more stringent consequences in mind, does it?

Of course, there are other factors to consider.

Lots of these people would, presumably, be up on multiple charges, compounding their sentences. Certainly, if Shigaraki and Gigantomachia are tied to the rest of the group, their tolls of death and destruction could potentially be applied to any and all co-conspirators. And maybe the penalties for conspiracy to commit politically motivated villainy are worse. Maybe the prosecutors will push for insurrection conspiracy charges regardless of their applicability, and the Japanese courts will just let them, because there will be a profound thirst for “justice” after Gigantomachia’s rampage and a few human rights violations or abuses of the law will seem like just what the Paranormal Liberation Front members had coming to them.

Maybe, behind the immediate logistical problems presented by this mass arrest, there are a whole fleet of problems of a different nature.

Next time: let’s talk ethics.

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

Footnotes (Part Two)

[7] Whose supporters were eventually successful, by the way. Look up the Telangana movement.

[8] For example, “Skeptic can access such high-tech satellites that he can get up-to-the-minute views on the heroes approaching Gigantomachia, but he somehow didn’t notice a literal hero battalion bearing down on the villa until they were charging out of the tree line? Seriously?”

[9] Frankly, another 2-3 Deikas is the simplest way to explain how they can have a group that big and still be totally unknown to society at large. Far easier to maintain a cult’s required isolation and secrecy when your strongholds are more “this town and everyone you know and love in it” and less “this fancy resort that everyone has to drive thirty minutes to an hour to get to from the totally normal towns they actually live in.”

[10] And frankly, I don't know that that the, “All their really good combatants are at the villa,” assumption is even justified, given that you'd think the people at the villa for the “conference” are more likely to be the people who are going to be involved in coordinating the upcoming assaults—lots of great combatants, sure, but also people who are going to be doing the organizational work, the supply work, etc.

[11] Presumably, at this point, our hypothetical 30% will be instructed to relocate to one of the hero school shelters, but that obviously wouldn’t have been in the plan from the beginning, given that the shelters were only opened after heroes started retiring in droves.

[12] For comparison, a mid-sized prison is considered by the American Jail Association to have 50 to 249 beds, and we’re way more prone to incarceration than Japan is.

[13] For example, in 2005 in Baltimore, so many arrests were being made based on quality-of-life crimes like loitering that the system couldn't keep up, leading to thousands of people having to be released because they just couldn't be processed in time.

[14] When AFO was first brought in, we were told that his remand to Tartarus pre-trial was without precedent. However, Chapter 297 describes Tartarus as a detention facility that only calls itself a prison—remember, in Japan, remand prisoners are supposed to be kept separate from tried and sentenced prisoners. Thus, Tartarus should be reserved only for those who are sentenced to it, or it shouldn't contain sentenced prisoners at all. But with 297, we find that such is no longer the case, as people can be put there “regardless of their sentencing status.” It's unclear whether this change was a rapid case of slippery slope in-universe or whether it's a simple retcon.

[15] Suspects get one visit from a “duty lawyer” for free during detention, but otherwise, the right to counsel only kicks in after charges are filed, and lawyers are not allowed to be present during questioning.

[16] Among many other factors, it would certainly help explain why All For One hasn't even been brought to trial yet. Hell, we don't even know if he's really been formally charged, though Pixie Bob’s comment back in Chapter 184 could easily be interpreted as meaning that the questioning process is still ongoing. AFO needs a Yasuda Yoshihiro, clearly.

[17] Though both acquittals and convictions can be appealed.

[18] An “organized criminal group” per Japanese law has a few qualifications to meet. They need to be committing crimes in an organized fashion, obviously, and there are laws determining which crimes qualify, but further, they need to be a sustained organization, one in which members have assigned roles and duties such that those duties advance a common cause sought after by the organization as a whole. Ergo, a yakuza group definitely qualifies, while an impromptu group of people who got together to murder their boss but who have no further common cause afterward does not. Groups like the Metahuman Liberation Army and the Shie Hassaikai obviously meet these standards, but e.g. the League of Villains, lacking much in the way of a common cause or defined roles, might not.

[19] Like buying a ski mask if their plan to rob a bank involves ski masks.

[20] This, obviously, applies only to members of the PLF who haven’t already broken other laws. The League is boned no matter what. Likewise, there are laws against e.g. harboring criminals that could be brought to bear against whoever maintains the villa, and so on and so forth.

[21] Though one huge issue is that other peoples' confessions can be counted as evidence against you, and yours against others.

[22] A highly controversial anti-conspiracy law in 2017 criminalized the planning of a whole array of new crimes, some bizarrely innocuous-looking, but because it was aimed mostly at the yakuza and other groups engaged in human trafficking, the new roster was generally criminalized on the basis that they were crimes intended to gain some material benefit for the organization planning them. The PLF’s plans were going to do a lot of things, but provide material benefit—a legal term for something that has monetary value—is decidedly not one of them.

[23] Though there are 19 offenses for which it is legally invokable.

[24] The greater majority of the sentences were commuted to “only” being life sentences, but that only by virtue of a relatively powerful upper court, which Egypt’s president has been working to diminish ever since. The state of fair trials and humane prison conditions in the country is pretty appalling right now.

[25] Continued, “committed collectively by carrying any deadly weapon or poison, against any person engaged in prosecutorial or police duties, any assistant to such official, any person who guards or escorts persons in legal custody, or any person engaged in an investigation under this Act.” There are a lot of riders on this one.

[thefallenbibliophilequote]

The Last Word- part 3

Bucky x Reader

Summary: you and Bucky never get along, it’s not that you hate him- it’s just that he always finds ways to get on your nerves. You’ve had enough of it. But, funny thing about feelings, they often tend to intertwine with others in ways that you can’t really expect.

Word count: 3,956

Warnings: language, probably bad writing too, implied sex- one line tho.

A/N: I refuse to apologize for the amount of avatar and Taylor references. This is the last chapter, the end of the first series I’ve written. I’m excited both in the good way and in the nervous way because I don’t know if this is any good, I had no beta for this one.

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading this series! I really hope you liked it, let me know what you think! I hope I did this series justice because I really enjoyed writing this storyline. Next up is a WoC and Time Travel challenges. I am actually happy with the foreshadowing I managed to do in this series.

Preview  part 1  part 2

Part 3- The End

Bucky is a supersoldier, an assassin. He was trained to notice everything. The shift was sharp, he couldn’t really pinpoint it, but he couldn’t miss it. He noticed the change.

It was in your attitude, in your movements. It was in the way you entered the room, in the way you retorted to his remarks. It was in your response in the comms, it was in the tea you made. It was in the way you dressed and in the place you sat during lunch or movie nights. He just didn’t know what it was.

Him mind wandered to the last mission. There was no way that you knew, he was careful.

You lay on your bed, arms crossed over your stomach as you pondered over the events of the day.

Tony approached you with his tablet alongside with Wanda.

“So, where did you go this time, sunshine?” Tony asked. You almost choked on the question, your mind still a bit fuzzy.

“I- I went to my room; it’s safe.” You reasoned. Not sure with who. You looked at Wanda as you replied, and slightly shook your head at her confused eyes.

They let you go after that, and you teleported to your room.

You haven’t left it since.

Did your own mind betray you? You were smart enough than to deny the clear implication of the recent event. Were they all right? Did you just decide to ignore these secret feelings that you apparently had? Another possibility crossed your mind as you recalled your last mission. Merely two days ago.

“How did we miss the hostages?” you whispered into your comm as you took in the new information Natasha gave you and Bucky.

“There is no time to call for backup,” Natasha replied to you and Bucky.“Y/N, teleport yourself and Bucky into the building and neutralize the hydra agents, give me as much time to take out the hostages safely as you can.”

“Copy that,” Bucky answered and you held onto his arm and teleported yourself inside the building; Taking in the tables with the lab equipment, and the agents with the loaded weapons.

It was the silent communication between you that made you act so well on the field. You teleported onto the other side of the room- capturing the attention of the agents-  giving Bucky the advantage over them. He took out agent after agent, dodging bullets and throwing knives.

You teleported behind the agent to your side, leaving the other agent vulnerable as they took out each other while you smiled wickedly. Another agent came to attack you; you were close enough to take out the magazine out of the firearm. He in turn knocked the end of the barrel to your head and you stumbled backwards onto a table. You hissed as you touched the blood. Looking at the chemicals, you prayed to the Norse gods that this will work. Two chemicals soon collided on the face of your attacker and you saw the bubbles of the acidic reaction.

Yay.

Wrapped up in your little victory, you failed to notice the agent behind you raising his gun, Bucky came to your side, his right arm securing you as he spun you around and hid you away from danger with his own body. His metal arm raised and you heard two gunshots, followed by silence.

Bucky turned to look at you then, noticing the blood on your forehead.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just a little blood.” Your breath was heavy when Bucky took a step backwards from you, taking the heat from his chest and arm with him. It was then you saw the agent on the floor. One bullet went straight through his heart.

“I’m sending the hostages your way, is everything clear?” Natasha’s voice sliced through the silence.

“Clear.” Bucky sighed.

That must be it. Is it not? He saved you, so you felt safe. That must be the reason. It was hard to convince yourself, that was a convenient excuse of a lie and you knew it. You curled up under the blanket and fell to a light nap.

It was only a week since your discovery, but it felt like an eternity. From time to time you felt Bucky’s gaze on you. You knew you were acting different, but what else were you supposed to do?

The teasing hurt more now, so you settled. You sat on the very end of the table, making sure to be as out of sight as possible on movie nights. You used other mugs when yours was too high to reach and he was around, when he wasn’t you just grunted and asked another person to help you get it. He was making it difficult. He was making you so damn frustrated but doing what you used to do will only make you feel worse. Because, it was not just a game of hate to you anymore. It wasn’t just insults you can throw around and shrug off. Because now that the bubble burst, you began noticing all the other signs- the way you’d never take the last slice of pizza when you know he is just coming back from a mission. The way your eyes would linger on his body a little more than they should when you were at the gym. The way you smirked and hid a smile whenever you saw a frustrated Sam walking by, and heard Bucky laughing from the next room. The way those blue eyes made you angry but, in reality it’s not real anger. The way your smiles of victory were always genuine and wide. It was all right there in front of you, the guy with the exact same smirk and mischievous eyes you noticed ever since the very first day you met him.

Now you still returned his remarks though, it felt good for a bit, then it would hit you when he smirked at you. So you did it less often now.

One day a solution crossed your mind, find a way to move on.

With every day Bucky started to notice more changes. You no longer wore shorts, or dresses. The purple dress was never seen as well, even when you went out with Natasha to a club. You used to stay behind from things like that, but now he saw you going out more and more. He heard you fighting in the gym late at night, rather in the day like the rest of them, when he was walking the tower after a nightmare.

“Well what do we have here?” he decided to approach you one night after a particularly bad nightmare, smiling as he discovered you in the gym again. You seemed to ignore him completely.

You kept throwing the different knives at the target, getting more aggressive as it moved backwards.

“You know,” he smirked as you hit another target, right in the heart. You turned to choose a different dagger. “I can provide a different way to release that anger.”

You knew the heat in your cheeks was from the workout. It didn’t provide any comfort with the words he was saying. You knew it was just him being a cocky bastard. You threw the dagger, hitting the target straight through the heart. Oh the cruel irony.

“Fuck off, Barnes.”

“Oh come on, you’re clearly off your game. What happened? Did you finally realize you are no match for me?” his arms folding.

“I just realized that you are not worth my time, it’s quite simple really.” You turned to him with his stupid blue eyes. “Now if you can please leave me to train alone, that would be grand.”

“Suit yourself sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.” With that Bucky walked away, you sighed. His smirked fell a bit, he shrugged it off.

“So, you see, I was just a class below Mr. Stark at MIT.” The blonde held a smug look as he told you how he got his job.

“Oh so you know Tony?” you asked him, leaning on the high receptionist desk at the ground floor of the tower.

“Yeah, of course, he remembered me from back when we were in college! Of course I know him personally!”

Lie. You let it pass. He was good enough looking, and he is smart if he managed to work in Stark Industries, so you decided settling a bit wouldn’t be that bad.

“Wow, that’s so great!” you smiled a bit. The guy was genuinely cute so hopefully this could lead somewhere. “I heard your division managed to sell the latest product to that one company- Beifong?”

“Yes! It was a huge deal in the office, we brought cake and everything!” he smiled excitedly about it. “It was actually from this Argos Bakery, they have the best pies there!”

“I heard about it! I always wanted to go there actually.”

“Well-” the blond got cut off.

“Hey, Y/N!” you mentally cursed as you heard the approaching voice. “Well what are you doing here?”

Bucky gave you a side hug and you groaned lowly. You could already see the guy in front of you stand up straighter now.

“I’m here talking to Brian.” You replied sending a tight lipped smile towards the soldier, hoping the guy wouldn’t get scared off. You were so close.

“Brian, huh?” you could see the dangerous flicker in Bucky’s eyes when he gave you a look before catching Brian as his victim. He took his left arm off of you before extending it towards the poor guy. “It is very nice to meet you!”

“It is nice to meet you too Sir-” he gulped nervously as he took the Winter Soldier’s arm, you could see it tightening by the second. “I mean- I mean Sergeant, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky let his hand go, an amused smile covering his face, and you saw Brian’s hand was much redder than before.

“I see you’re an engineer?” Bucky’s arm found your shoulder again. That motherfucker.

“Yes Sir- Sergeant.”

“My friend here is more into chemistry, isn’t that right doll?”

“I like all sorts of subjects actually, Bucky.” You shot him a glare before smiling towards Brian. Your smile fell when the blue eyed devil next to you asked the next question though.

“So, where did you go to school?” Bucky mused, icy eyes glaring at the guy.

“MIT, I got a Masters in engineering.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Is that so?” you saw the mischief in his eyes. He was too smart for your liking, you concluded to yourself. “Do you know Tony then, I assume?”

A hunter put his pray in a corner.

“Yes, of course I do.” He smiled at you, probably trying to keep his act up. He thinks he can impress the soldier.

You were going to kill Bucky, you decided. Preferably with a dagger, but you weren’t picky.

“Well that is so great! We work with him, wait-” the asshole smiled at you, oh and what a dangerous smile he had, his tongue sticking out for a second to lick his bottom lips. “Why won’t you come with us, we can all seat and talk with him, I’m sure he will be happy to talk to you.”

Abort mission. Abort mission.

“Umm-” you both saw as Brian tensed up and swallowed, gulping as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I should probably get back to work, I really need to finish some work. Right now.”

And the prey is gone as the hunter went for the kill. He quickly turned around from you and Bucky who was waving at him. He all but ran towards the other side of the floor, and entered the first elevator that got there.

“Bye, Brian!” next to you Bucky was chuckling.

You took a step forward as he went ahead, but it was a rather fruitless attempt. You heard Bucky laugh behind you as he put his left hand yet again on your shoulder.

“If you won’t take your hand off of me, I will make it so Shuri will have to make you a whole new arm. You turned your head slightly to glare at him from behind your shoulder.

"Ooo feisty!” Bucky commented and he took his hand back as you turned to him.

“Now why would you go and do that?” you were fuming. Well, there goes your chance, and there he is smiling at you his eyes wrinkled at that.

“You-” he let out another chuckle, followed by a more serious smirk. “You didn’t actually think I would forget the promise I made you, now did you? I am a gentleman after all, a true man of my word.”

“And what promise is that?” you crossed your arms defensively.

“That I will always get the last word of course,” he stepped forward a bit. “That guy seemed great, oh what a shame you won’t get any from him.” He shrugged.

A groan, wait or was it a growl? Whatever came out of your mouth was somewhere in between, fuelled by frustration.

“Fuck you, Barnes.” You went around him towards the elevators to get to your floor.

Wanda spotted you, and held open the doors. When they closed behind the two of you, she spoke up.

“It’s been a little over a week darling, do you want to talk about that?” She was always so gentle.

“No.”

The Beifong Company was a family business, extremely rich. Tony decided to throw a little event for the family. To his dismay, Pepper told him it should be classy, charming rather than gauche. So of course, she took over the planning, dress code, and invites. To his delight though, the Beifong’s 16 year old blind girl- Toph, was much more to his liking. Tony and her got along very well once he realized how different the young girl acted when her parents were out of earshot, with the sarcasm and her snarky remarks matching Tony’s perfectly.

You never thought you’d see the day, an elegant party at the Stark Tower. Everyone was dressed to the nines, some were dancing along to the classy band Pepper hired, while others were eating and talking.

It looked surreal, like it was made from starlight. You found yourself drifting from the conversation. Your mind going to places, to people, you tried to run away from.

“Y/N? Are you with me?”

“Oh, yeah sorry Sam” you smiled at him.

“So as I was saying, how is your training going?” he picked up his glass of champagne, well it was filled with beer, but it was a glass you drink champagne in. He wanted to look classy, or so he said.

“Oh, it’s going better; I am figuring it out more. I guess you’d understand it but I am just working on controlling my emotions and figuring them out so I can control this power.” You explained, with his former job it was easier for him to understand how you figured out how your powers work.

“That’s great to hear! I’m proud of you, but I have to ask, is there something else going on with you?” the concern in his voice caught you off guard. You thought maybe everyone would just accept it. It has been two weeks since your little discovery, you focused on your own work and when you didn’t you focused on anything but Bucky- which isn’t how your mind decided to work. The more you tried to get to know other guys, going to clubs, you never got it. The more you ran away from him in your head, you just crushed into him, it’s a cruel circle.

Luckily you have some progress tonight. Yesterday a cute guy named Sokka came to the tower to talk about security detail for the Beifong family. He was really cute, funny, and really observant to the point that it impressed you a lot. So you talked to him and you two ended up planning on meeting here. You haven’t seen him yet though, maybe he went to make sure the family was safe, you couldn’t see the Mr. and Mrs. Beifong here either.

“No, I am completely fine,” a light bulb lit up. “I learned about myself so much these past couple of weeks, I am bound to change a bit. It’s a good change that happens after a self discovery.” You assured Sam.

It wasn’t a lie, and you patted your shoulder for the good excuse. There certainly was a discovery but it wasn’t directly related to your powers…

“If you say so, I am happy as long as you are.” He nodded to you, you smiled weakly in return. “it looks like someone is coming for you though, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

He winked at you and got out of the stool.

“May I sit with you?” you turned to look at him.

“Sokka, yes of course” you smiled at him, your cheeks reddened as you blushed a bit.

Bucky was on the other end of the room, leaning on the wall, drinking useless alcohol as he looked at you at the bar. Natasha walked and stood next to him. A few moments passed before she spoke up.

“So, how’s the wound?” Bucky’s jaw clenched a bit before he sighed.

“You know I heal fast. Why am I not surprised that you noticed though?” another gulp of the drink.

“Even a supersoldier can’t hide a bullet wound from me,” she huffed. “Why hide it?”

“She didn’t need to know.”

“I noticed it though, as I was with the two of you on that mission when it happened two weeks ago.”

“She didn’t.”

“Yeah well, she is blind to it…” Natasha now looked at him. “Are you?”

The soldier looked at Natasha for a moment, before returning to gaze at you.

“I wish I was.”

Bucky left shortly after that.

“Wait so you saved that judge? I saw her on TV the other day. How did you even notice the shooter from that far away?” you looked at him in awe, ignoring intruding thoughts.

“I spotted him when we drove her there, he was entering that building, I assumed he was going to the roof especially with that rifle case, so I send the car for another spin as I followed him.” He rubbed his neck as he smiled you.

“It’s really impressive you know, not a lot would’ve noticed that.” You looked at your hands, you may not be over him yet, but you had to eventually “Would you maybe like to go out sometime? Maybe we could go somewhere with less superheroes and bosses?”

“That sounds really nice but-” He looked you in the eye, contemplating his words. “I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever it is you have with your boyfriend, his name is James Barnes right? He seems nice, a little scary if I’m being honest. I’d love to get to know you and be your friend, but I’m not going to do what you’re suggesting, you two look like a cute couple though.”

You barely heard that last part from the blood rushing in your ears.

“Did he say something to you? I’m going to kill him!” you rose from the chair, he couldn’t even say a thing before you teleported, the only thing in your mind is Bucky.

You found yourself not in the party, actually you found yourself very far away from the party, in the hall leading to the roof door. You didn’t ponder on that, rather you practically shattered the door as you opened it and closed it behind you.

Bucky stood in front of you, confusion laced with intrigue, the collar of his white shirt slightly open, the tie and jacket tossed on a nearby chair.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he saw your red face.

“You have some nerve to ask me that you fucking asshole, how dare you?” you fumed at his question, playing it innocent ha, as if.

“What the fuck are you talking about doll?” his voice now raised.

“You went ahead and talked to him, didn’t you? Why are you ruining it for me when all I’m trying to do is- that’s not important” you caught yourself in time, you didn’t need to handle that on top of everything, you just wanted to move on and he wouldn’t let you do that.

“Talked to who? Are you blaming me for everything right now?” he moved from his place by the ledge now.

“He said he is scared of you! He said it’s because I’m your gal or some shit! Did you tell him to say that? You’re a fucking jackass James Barnes.” You accused and walked towards him. It’s like he is putting salt in your wound, telling Sokka he was your boyfriend? Out of all the things, he had to say that.

“I didn’t talk to anyone, especially not to that guy you were with!” He yelled back at you, hand flying around with his frustration, god the things you bring out in him.

“You’re one hundred and fucking two, and you are a lying asshole.” You shook your head as he stood in front of you.

“I’m no liar!”

“Are so!”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

“I am not a bloody liar, plus I’m 103, learn to count.”

“Oh you always have to get the last word right? You’re unbelievable!” you tried pushing his chest back, it didn’t really work and you huffed, crossing your hands.

“Doll, I told you I always win and get the last word, that’s nothing new.” His frustration didn’t fade, and neither did yours even when he cracked a small smirk. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, his blood was boiling. You took another step forward.

“Never,” you shook your head, eyes determined on his. His blue eyes won’t break you. You weren’t going to run this time. “I won’t let you win, I’ll always be here to stop that! You’ll never get rid of me!”

“I’m counting on it.” He growled as he grabbed your face and his lips crushed into yours, he kissed you hard. Shocked, you stood frozen in his embrace, but when his tongue brushed your bottom lip you melted against him, body melding perfectly with his as you put your hands on his chest. His heart racing just as fast as yours.

You were left speechless at his sudden admission.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” He breathed against your lips, before pulling another breathtaking kiss from you, shivering but not from the cold wind. Kissing you for what felt like forever, you could only wish it was.

Your eyes were still closed when he leaned back and said-

“Told you I always get the last word” you opened your eyes to a smug Bucky who had the audacity of walking away towards the door.

“That does not count! You can’t just do that and just walk away like that!” you yelled after him, huffing, you could feel the butterflies in your stomach and his lips on yours.

You teleported right in front of him, stopping him in his place as you smiled, still a bit breathless.

“I told you you’ll never get rid of me” you leaned in, arms wrapping around his neck as he smiled.

“That you did, Doll” his hands finding their place at your waist, he closed the short distance.

He kissed you again, and again, and again. No words were needed as all the pent up emotions were poured into the kiss and made up for all the words you never said.

tags: @callmeluna​ @sstanbarnes​ @buckys-other-punk​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @easygoingtheatre​ @that-one-person​ @justab-eautifulmess​ @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love​ @wipplogg​ @supraveng​ 

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 4

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything

Description: George takes you on a secret trip to the Three Broomsticks.

                                                              X

“Hey, what are you doing?” You were sitting in the library taking notes and completing your assigned reading.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you responded, peeling your eyes from the text to shoot George a look. 

“I could use your help.”

“My help? What could you possibly need my help for?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out.” Your curiosity peaked as you raised an eyebrow at him. He gave you a pleading look and moments later you agreed. You packed up your things and followed him out of the library. You assumed you were heading to the common room but George grabbed your hand and pulled you around a different corner. 

“Where are we going?”

“We may or may not be sneaking out.” 

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Just wait. It will soon become clear.”

You reached an isolated hallway in the castle where the One-Eyed Witch statue was perched. 

“Here we are.”

“Here?”

“Yes. Now I will be lookout so you can go first.”

“Go where?” Instead of answering your question he cast a spell and the hump on the witch opened up, creating a passageway. 

“Climb in there when I say go. I’ll follow you down a few seconds after.” You decided not to question his instruction. You trusted him and knew your window of opportunity was limited. He gave you the signal and you hoisted yourself up and slid down into the statue. You fell down the corridor and let out a little squeal, unsure of what was ahead. After a short slide, you were airborne and barely landed on your feet. The ground was rough and uneven. You stood up, wiping the dust off yourself and you cast the Lumos charm to illuminate the hallway. You heard movement a few seconds later and George landed swiftly right behind you. This clearly was not his first time.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded and curiously looked around.

“Okay, I tried to keep my questions to a minimum, but where the hell are we going?”

“Hogsmeade of course.”

“Hogsmeade? Why?”

“Now I know you’re aware of the party happening tonight.”

“Of course.”

“Someone’s gotta supply the butterbeer.”

“Ah, I see now. And pray tell why am I accompanying you on this journey instead of Fred?”

“Fred’s been avoiding me lately. I offered to get everything tonight so I imagine he’s spending time with Lee and some of the other Gryffindors.”

“Anything happen?”

“We just got into an argument. It’s fine.”

“That’s not like you two. You never fight. Seriously what happened,” George was quiet, putting his words together carefully. It didn’t take long for you to jump to conclusions. “No…no. This isn’t because of me is it? I don’t want to drive a wedge between you.”

“No, it's not because of you.”

“If it was, you would tell me right? There’s an easy out clause for a reason, we don’t have to go through with this if it’s causing tension.”

“It’s not because of you. I promise,” he lied.

“Okay. That’s all I needed to hear,” you said.

“So, will you be my date to the party this evening?” 

“I sure will.”

You made your way through the dark and dusty corridor until you reached a stopping point. You were expecting a doorway or something but the hallway just stopped. You looked at George, about to ask him where to next and you followed his eyes up the ceiling.

“You’re joking,” you spoke. He shook his head back and forth. There was no way you could get up there. George stood up on his tiptoes and reached his long arms up to displace a trap door. “Come here,” he instructed you. You moved closer to him as he crouched to the ground. “Sit on my shoulders. I’ll hoist you up through the door.”

“Are you sure about this George? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What, you don’t think my broad man shoulders can handle it?” he joked.

“No, it’s not that-“

“Just hop on. You’re light as a feather.” You slowly put one leg over his shoulder and braced yourself before swinging over the other. You gently rested your hands on his head, to keep balanced. 

“You ready?” he asked.

“Go for it.” 

He slowly stood up and took a few steps forward until he was directly under the trap door. He fully extended his legs and you were looking into a dusty shop room. You held onto the sides of the trap door and hoisted yourself  up ever so slightly, extending your legs. You climbed out and dusted yourself off when you saw George’s fingertips claw the side of the opening and soon he was pushing his torso through the hole in the ground. You offered him a hand but knew he didn’t need it. He had done this so many times before, he had the process down. 

“And where are we right now?”

“Honeydukes cellar. Fred and I know the owner. He lets us come and go as we like in exchange for free marketing. That’s why we always have free samples of the latest sweets.”

“How do you have all these connections?”

“Dunno. Fred and I have a knack for getting into trouble and then talking our way out. Make a lot friends doing that.” George placed the cover diagonally over the trap door and led you upstairs. The shop was closed but he continued walking through the aisles towards the front door. He magically unlocked the door and you made your way to the Three Broomsticks.

It was a cool night, but the air wasn’t as crisp as you expected as you walked through the quiet village. You made small talk as you walked down the empty streets. Most of the shops and stores were closed at this time of night. As you neared the pub, you heard the buzz of the regulars and drunks carrying on and having a laugh. Part of you wanted to stay and enjoy a butterbeer here with George, but you knew there wasn’t exactly time for that.

“Madame Rosmerta! And how are we doing this fine evening?” George said as you approached the bar.

“No! No, you’re not getting any more butterbeers! I told you last time.”

“Now that is not fair. You know this is a special occasion. We’re hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. We have to make sure our guests enjoy themselves and have a good time.”

“I don’t care. You’re not getting anything this time.”

“Oh, come on. You’re making me look bad in front of my new girl.” She stopped pouring beers, turned to look at us, and cocked her eyebrow. You shot her a smile, trying to help George’s case.

“Now, I recognize her. She’s always in here with a group of giggling girls. What’s your name love?”

“Y/N,” you answered.

“Well Y/N, you’ve got yourself a good one. Underneath all the pranks and scheming, Georgie’s a catch.”

You nodded at her statement and looked at George, trying out your acting skills, “He’s so good to me. I’m a lucky girl,” you said rubbing his shoulder.

Madame Rosmerta looked charmed and you could see her starting to soften up. “All right, all right. You’ll get your butterbeers. But this is the last time, you hear me?”

“Rosmerta you are truly a saint. Thank you.”

“Save your flattery. Meet me around back. Y/N, look after the bar.” You shrugged and agreed as she led you behind the bar and gave you nowhere near as much instruction as you needed. You made conversation with the patrons as you poured refills and collected empty mugs. You had to admit, it was a little bit fun. Once everyone seemed to be taken care of, you snuck out from behind the bar to look for George. Surely you would be on your way out soon. You headed to the back office and saw George carrying a crate filled with bottles of butterbeer.

“She’s beautiful that one. You make sure you treat her well, ya hear? She deserves a good guy to take care of her,” you heard from around the corner. You waited a moment to hear his response, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Trust me, I won’t hurt her. She’s special.” You grinned at his response for a moment before returning to reality.

“So everything’s all taken care of back there. Glasses are full, bar’s wiped down, and everyone’s happy. Well…almost everyone. Keep an eye on Henry out there. He’s about to start weeping over his ex-wife.”

“Ah, I suppose it is about that time,” George chuckled.

“You handled everything?” she asked you, stunned.

“Yeah, I think. Everyone seems to be in good spirits.”

“No one’s ever done that before, aside from me of course. Listen here, if you ever need a job in the future, you come straight here and I’ll hire you on the spot.”

“Wow, I will keep that in mind. Thanks!”  

Rosemerta gave George a pat on the back and came over to give you a kiss on the cheek, “You best be off. Have fun tonight you two.”

“Thanks again Rosemerta,” George said as you made your way out the back door.

“And if you get caught with that, it didn’t come from here!” she added. You both laughed as you stumbled outside into the cool breeze. 

“She loves me,” he stated as you walked through the empty road.

“Oh is that so.”

“Oh absolutely. I mean every time, without fail, she starts with a stern no. Then I talk to her a little bit and she remembers how much she likes me, minutes later she’s shoving a crate of contraband into my hands. Look, she even put a bottle of Firewhiskey in this batch.”

“Wow, well done George.”

“I should say the same to you. You really know how to tend a bar. Anytime Fred steps behind there to hold the place over, about five different things go wrong and there’s always broken glass and some sort of spill. Rosemerta returns and goes ballistic; until Fred reminds her that he is indeed a wizard and magically cleans everything up. But she was thoroughly impressed with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she asks for you next time around.”

“I would be more than happy to accompany you. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up taking her up on that job offer.”

“I’m sure you can do a lot better than running a bar. What’s your long term plan?”

“To be honest, I have no idea.”

“That’s a joke. You’re a Gryffindor prefect. You’re brilliant in all your classes. You have so much ahead of you and you don’t know?”

“It’s not like that’s uncommon. Are you telling me you already have a plan post-Hogwarts?”

“Course I do. Fred and I are opening a shop where we can sell our brilliant products.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“That’s actually great. I wish I had that kind of clarity.”

“Well, what are you good at?”

“I’m fairly decent at every subject, but I don’t feel a strong connection to one subject over the others. Maybe charms or transfiguration if anything.”

“What do you like? And don’t just limit yourself to school. Just in general.”

You had never really thought about it before. Whenever the subject of the future had come up you changed the subject or completely stopped thinking about it.

“I suppose…I like people. Being around people and talking to people. That’s not much to go off is it?”

“It’s a start. You’ll find your calling soon enough. You’re smart and personable, people love that combination.”

“Thanks George. That is oddly reassuring.” 

By this point you had reached Honeydukes. You led the way inside and you ended up scanning the aisles, salivating over all the sweets.

“Here,” George said, handing you a giant, heart-shaped lollipop. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Wow, stealing candy for me. You’re too generous,” you joked. He rolled his eyes and you gave him a genuine thank you as you made your way back down to the tunnel.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 7)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary:  This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s  abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character  is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a  devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the  universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of  course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Ik I’ve been uploading a lot of chapters out of schedule, I’m sorry. The Saturday’s ones are never gonna falter, but I wanna upload a lil bit more and a lil bit more often. And on every two weeks on tuesdays I’ll keep uploading spinoffs, but I might upload an extra chapter during the no-spinoff week if the story is going too slow lol.

Anyways, idk if anyone reads these lol, but I’m gonna ask anyways that you please let me know what you think, and hope you enjoy this chapter/story. Thank you!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927​

King Ivar talks in his sleep, who would have thought? His voice rouses you from a restless sleep, thinking for a moment he calls for you but it’s just rumbles as he tosses and turns. You sigh in the darkness, and suddenly it feels like the shadows are heavier than before, more suffocating, more…more real.

You don’t know where you are walking to, but you don’t stop until your bare feet touch the wet and cold sand.

With your knees pressed to your chest you keep your eyes on the waves breaking near the coast, closing your eyes and imagining the lull of the ocean is the same as the one you heard from the temple in Eleusis.

But the sand is rougher under your bare feet, the waves louder and more enraged, the wind is more biting and less forgiving. And you are alone, alone and defeated on a foreign land of cold and death.

So you open your eyes, because this isn’t home, and reach with cold fingers for the gifted knife you kept in your person despite the knowledge if anyone here wanted you dead you would be so.

Keeping your gaze on the horizon, you take a hold of the wind-swept tresses of your hair and cut a lock at the end of it. A mark of mourning and a mark for all the deaths you are responsible for.

Holding on tightly to the strands of grief, you extend a hand, a farewell to the Greeks that are not to return, an offering to this land that has brought you nothing but sorrow and heartache.

When you open your hand, the hair flows in the cold winds away from you, and you allow yourself a small prayer in Greek to Macaria to bless their sacrifice, to Thanatos for safe passage, to Persephone for warmth, to Hades for mercy.

And, in a selfish moment, you pray to every God in the Underworld not to summon you home just yet. For if the Fates allow it so, you will see to it yourself that the blood spilled is paid forth.

Because if the King’s word is to be trusted, sooner or later you will walk out of his land a free woman. You will return to Greece, even if you have to wade through blood to do so.

You close your eyes, and the faint smell of snowdrops fills your nose, reminding you of spring and loneliness, of teardrops and homesickness.

A part of you tries to follow the tug on your heart and listen to what the Gods try to tell you, but you’re left cold and alone when you try reaching for the Pantheon you’ve come to know your whole life.

The sound of gravel ruffling behind you startles you, and you turn around with a gasp and a strong grip on the knife Ivar gifted you, ready to at least leave whoever is coming to hurt you with a scar to remember you by.

But it is Ivar who approaches you, strong arms dragging him forward as he moves over the cold sand. His eyes stay on yours as he moves, reminding you for a moment of a serpent approaching its cornered prey.

Still, even if your mind refuses to accept it, your heart lurches in relief, and you loosen the tension in your body. Still you remain quiet as he finds a place sitting at your side, moving his legs with ease to stretch them in front of him.

You lower your gaze to your hands, and only then notice the wrong hold of the knife made you injure yourself. The faint streaks of blood in your pointer finger and near your thumb bring to the front of your mind the sting that comes with the wound you opened by holding the hiltless knife the wrong way.

After a moment of consideration, you bring your hand to your mouth and lick off the blood, letting the knife fall on your lap.

Stealing a quick side glance to the Viking has you finding his eyes on you with a strange sense of intensity in his gaze, a quiet sort of…something. You shrug it off, and stay quiet, but his irritated question is quick to break the silence.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

You’re startled and annoyed at the entitled tone of his voice, but you still shrug.

“I am a free woman, am I not?”

“So you were trying to escape?”

“You would stop me.” You reply without hesitation.

“And yet you still don’t fear me.”

“If you wanted to kill me you would have already, if you wanted to use me as leverage for court games you will need time to do so,” You swallow the shame, the dread, and continue as your eyes look blindly ahead, “And…and if you wanted to take me, you could have avoided all this and just asked.”

Silence stretches between you, and in a moment of weakness you turn your gaze to find his clear eyes already set upon you, seeking and demanding as they always have been.

“You wanted me.”

The tone of surprise, the slightly parted lips that draw your gaze down to his mouth, the way his eyes search your face; it all makes your foolish heart see him in a new light for a fleeting moment, in the light of the man you met in that moldy cabin that was never yours to begin with.

But you remind yourself of what brought you here, of what he truly saw when he looked at you: a foreign witch to conquer.

So, you remind him that the woman he met, the woman that lingered for moments too long on the lure of his eyes, on the curve of his smile, on his expressive gestures; the woman that thought foolishly she could be anything other than the name and titles bestowed upon her; the woman that started to trust him; that woman was gone the moment he put chains on you.

“I wanted the man I met in Aneridge, I have no idea who you are.”

And with just a few words, any trace of softness, any trace of vulnerability, any trace of that strange boyish glances he used to throw your way when you were just a Priestess and he was just a Viking, are gone.

King Ivar curls his nose in anger, lifting his head a bit as he warns you,

“I’m growing tired of your games, Priestess.”

“Kill me, then.” You bite out, even as your voice wobbles. Because you have heard the stories, you have heard the tendrils of voices not quite human reaching your ears. You know he is as cruel and as dangerous as the whispers say, you know he carries the favor of the Dread Lord, you know he was born to be ruthless, to die and return, to suffer and conquer.

But there’s a part of you that wants to test him, dare him.

Use your strength against me, hurt me, kill me. Make me know what I am to feel for you, make me disgusted, make me fearful. I’m tired of hope.

But Ivar just smiles, a cold and angry smile but a smile nonetheless, and turns his eyes head, choosing silence to reign between you until the sun comes up over those distant waves.

____

You approach the city encased in tall walls, and though awe at its size and life pulls at your heart, you cannot help but feel you are walking blindly into a cage.

There’s so many pale and distrusting eyes set on you, gazes persisting on the things that make you different to them: your dress, your hair, your face, your skin.

And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that even in the way you are brought to port you are separated from the other prisoners, from the Christians the Varangian has brought from across this sea. You sail in the same boat as their King, there’s a distance between you and the rest of the men and women in the ship, you are washed and unbound.

You stay silent, and watch raptly as the King moves away from you as the boat docks, discarding the crutch so he can lift himself up to the pier, and standing up again with help of the crutch and a nearby barrel. He lifts his gaze and immediately finds your own, and a cruel smile starts to spread over his face as he stretches a hand in a mocking gesture to help you up.

“Priestess.”

You take your eyes off his instead, and look down at your dress as you grab your skirts and lift them so you can safely move towards the pier. Standing at the King’s side -because you know he would not hesitate to call you to order, to demand your presence where he deems it so, to tug on the invisible chains around your wrists- you take a moment to look over the lively pier, filled of families reuniting, stands of fishermen selling their captures, slaves carrying baskets of goods around, lives blossoming past the winter that seems to pierce the air of this place.

“So this is to be my new prison?” You ask instead of voicing any other thought, a little delighted in the way you put the King on edge.

He doesn’t hesitate in reaching down and grabbing onto your arm, lifting your wrist between the two of you, his blue eyes challenge yours.

“You’re not a prisoner,” He repeats the lie, and although the mark of your struggle against the chains once set upon you is still there, he seems to want you to believe you are free. “You are my guest, Priestess.”

“Guest.” You repeat, and his eyes narrow, his nose furrows. It is too easy to draw out his rage, to get to see ragged edges and bled truths. And you will always prefer rage, prefer anger and chaos, over the mocking cruelty that’s the mask of the King of Kattegat.

He starts walking and the people move as to open a path for him, and considering your only option is to be left alone surrounded by these intimidating and foreign people, you bite your tongue and follow.

“You should be grateful, Priestess, your life could be so much worse, were you at anyone else’s mercy.”

“I know this is a mercy even if you have none,” You acknowledge, and the King stops walking, looking at you over his shoulder as you calmly walk to his side. You meet his eyes, and clarify, “I will still not thank you.”

He grunts as he turns back around, a movement of his head as he arranges his legs to move with the help of his crutch, and even if his back is to you, you still know he is gritting his teeth, the anger written in the lines of his back, in the huffs of air that leave his lips.

“I know, you still choose to hate me.”

“Ivar,” You call out with more softness than you intended to. After the King hesitates for a moment, enough for you to know he is listening, you reach his side again and in a voice that is almost a whisper you offer, “I will never look upon you with anything other than hate, as long as you are the one with all the power and I’m relegated to following your commands.”

____

You are given time as the King addresses his people to clean yourself up and dress up in some fresh clothing. The dresses that are offered to you, the hair ornaments, the earrings and the bracelets, they all scream of foreignness, of being away from home; so you choose to keep your old and stained red dress.

You are brought to the loud and vibrant main hall at the King’s request, and it is with a gesture he orders you to take a seat on one of the tables by his side, though he remains on his throne. You eye the people around you, laughing, drinking, dancing; the world around you moving on and on as if yours hasn’t flipped upside down.

And the stupid, childish, reckless part of you that has made you commit so many mistakes along the way; that part of you wants to refuse him, wants to stand your ground and deny him of any power over you.

But the ambient presses down on you, like the air when you reach a mountaintop, and the people are too loud and too foreign, and the only thing you’re familiar with in this cold and strange place is the eyes that burn like Greek Fire of the King.

So you take your seat at his side.

The way his cruel smile widens, regarding you like a dog that performed a good trick makes your blood boil. Your hands curling into fists and your lips pursing without your intent only seem to entertain him further, which makes the silent interaction a vicious circle you cannot seem to break out of.

“Good girl.” He mocks, because of course he does, because you are an open book and he is a cruel and insufferable man. But you refuse -and so does your self-preservation- to run your mouth, and instead play a game, like you were taught to.

“There’s a first time for everything.” You answer around a smile that the King starts to return, but a voice from somewhere further back in the hall brings your conversation to a close.

“The witch seems fiery. I wonder if she is that hard to tame.”

You were meant to hear those words and the laughs that follow, you were meant to feel the threat, the humiliation. You know this, but even knowing it cannot keep the crawl of your skin, the shame clogging your throat.

The Christians called you a Heathen. These Vikings call you a Witch. There may be a difference, but you cannot see it. Both will try to beat you or rape you into submission, both will see foreign as inferior.

Although you may not see the man that said those words, it seems that that King Ivar does. The cold eyes of someone that has killed for less and would again set on the warrior behind you, and even if curiosity begs for you to turn around and see their expression, you hold your place.

A mumble of apology reaches your ears, but it is not meant for you, so you say nothing. The King shows a quick and purposely false smile before raising his voice,

“Leave us.”

A multitude of questions arise, but again a glare from the volatile King silences any real questioning, and the room feels so much larger and cavernous once the men have left.

Ivar turns to you, studying you.

“So, Priestess.”

The tales your father used to gift you with of unarmed prisoners being thrown into a coliseum against lions and wolves and all kinds of predators are brought forth to your mind as you stand alone in that empty and cold hall.

“So, Viking.” You quip back, crossing your arms to hide the nervous tremble of your hands.

He studies you for a moment, finally asking, “What will you use your freedom for?”

“For the gift to choose, without fear you selling or giving me away like a barn animal.” You reply dryly.

“I can still do that.” He is quick to say, dangling threats over your head like it truly entertains him.

“Not without breaking your promise.” You say, not aware of how much relief his word gives you until this moment.

The King narrows his eyes, annoyance clear in his pale gaze, and stands up from his throne.

You hold your ground as he approaches you, but he instead chooses to sit in one of the chairs in the now empty table. Ivar motions with a bloodied hand for you to take a seat as well, the movement a flourish in mock recognition of your noble birth.

You sit, albeit stiffly. Drinking what you assume to be mead from a goblet, the Viking King regards you sideways.

“And what are these choices you will make, now free?”

You answer with the first thought that comes to mind, realizing too late you give away a little of yourself in the process.

“Find out what the Christians have done with Attica’s ashes.”

“Your kingdom?”

“My kingdom.” You sentence, and even after over a year of denying the people that traveled with you the right to call you Anassa, you realize now that you have been, albeit crownless, acting like it for so long.

After a few moments the Viking narrows his eyes, “You will not return there anytime soon.”

If it’s a taunt, if it’s a threat, you can only hear the stubborn possessiveness of a child refusing to let go of a new toy.

“But I will return.” You promise.

“How are you so sure?”

Looking to the hall around you, you ask, “You returned here, didn’t you?”

You could swear the King looks intrigued, impressed even, for a moment before he dismisses you with a gesture of his hand. He believes you, though, of this you are certain.

But he says nothing else, shrugging his shoulders and drinking deeply before engaging in discussion with one of the men at his other side.

You keep your eyes on the King, and although for a moment you are distracted from the braces around his legs, and the way they do not seem to work normally, when your eyes continue a path upwards and reach his shoulders and arms, you realize he does not need his legs to fight like the men that decimated Stithulf’s army.

You continue your path to his face, and study the braids that trail through the top of his head to the back of it, the proud edge of his nose, the shape of his lips, for a moment tainted with mead his tongue licks away.

The sound of tables and chairs being dragged brings your attention away from your…ogling. You lift your gaze to see two men in the middle of the hall shake off their upper armor and in the midst of laughs and cheers from the others, struggle and wrestle for victory in the middle of the hall.

It seems you are no longer the novelty in the room, and you allow yourself to relax in your seat for a moment.

_____

Hi, hope you enjoyed! I use flowers and animals a lot to point towards the Gods, either Norse or Greek, so: snowdrops are, according to where I searched, symbols of Freyja, created from her tears when she was first brought to Asgad from Vanaheim, and in her homesickness when the tears fell to the earth the flowers bloomed as snowdrops.

Also friendly reminder this Tuesday I’m uploading Ivar’s PoV of the Prologue! I would love for you to read it and tell me what you think. If you want to be added to the taglist, of course please let me know.

Thank you, hope to hear from you, and hopefully I’ll see you Tuesday! :)

[themadauthorshatter]

I'm starting to really love this series, so I just have to keep going.

If you haven't read Parts One and Two, go catch up on them and come back for this part, Part 3

Quick recap time: Charles has gotten better with his day off and got wind of the plan to stop the Toppat's heist on the Aztec sapphire, a gem Henry was very keen on getting despite it not being his main target. Despite some salt from Captain Canterbury, the mission was a success. Regardless, Henry was victorious against Charles in their second encounter, leaving him with a challenge to his philosophy of being in the government while Charles left him withoit the gem he'd tried to steal.

Got that? Great!

... LET'S GO CHECK BACK INTO OUR PROGRAM!!!!

This time, we start off with Henry as he rocks back at forth in the chair at his desk, very much brooding over how he got dooped by Charles, even when the pilot was literally right under him and almost completely helpless.

He focuses on this, eyes narrow and hands together and against his lips, kind of looking like he's praying or pretending to be Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock Holmes, as he rocks more his his chair.

Looking back on it now, he REALLY should've put that sapphire in his pocket, not his hat.

Henry just shakes his head and takes one leg off the other so he can lean his elbows on his knees and lace his fingers together, tight enough to make his knuckles white.

Charles is not stupid. Somewhat gullible, guven how he trusted Henry to actually take down the Toppats, but not stupid, if what he said is any indication.

Rather than be blissfully ignorant, Charles is fully aware that there is an evil in being good and, in some sick, twisted incidents, vice versa.

But rather than see the world the way Henry does, that if the world takes something from you, what's stopping you from takimg it back, Charles sees the world as essentially the opposite: if the world takes something from you, instead try to give to others what it is you lost in hopes of some sort of alternative to what you lost in the first place.

It's convoluted, it's messy, and it makes Henry roll his eyes, snicker, and shake his head.

Poor Charles, he thinks. That just isn't how the world works, and he can't see it.

That stops Henry and makes his eyes shoot open.

THAT is wrong, which Henry realizes as he stands-and fights a grunt from a sore spot where Charles punched him- and checks his corkboard for the snippets of Charles's file.

And sees that he's registered as an orphan at nine years old.

It's not that he CAN'T see it, he WON'T see it.

It's this knowledge in Charles's resolve that makes Henry put a hand on his forehead and chuckle to himself.

Maybe he is stupid after all.

Still, Henry locks his eyes on to a picture of Charles, his mind circling back to the fact Charles stole the sapphire LITERALLY from underneath him, but is entranced by the new knowledge he has on Charles.

How long will fool's courage keep you safe, Charles? Henry asks in his mind.

SPEAKING OF CHARLES!!!!

Our pilot friend is sore and injured from last night's fight with Henry, feeling that pain even from where he lies in a medic bed.

For context, he and Henry left some significant damage on each other, but it's especially significant with Charles.

Henry got away with a graze on his cheek from where Charles nearly shot him, a slightly sprained ankle, some loose teeth, and a split lip.

Charles got out with bruises, ESPECIALLY under his jaw, sore knuckles, and, what got him in the medic ward at all, two broken ribs and three cracked ribs.

I digress, Charles is glaring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the pain as he rests his head on one arm and lets the other rest on his bandaged chest.

He can't exactly take a lot of pain relief because, contrary to what he thought, Galeforce noticed Charles take an extra ADD pill and didn't want Charles to overdo it, in case there were any negative side effects. Not only has the pain somewhat kept him from sleeping, but his conversation with Henry is what really keeps him up, and the fact that Henry literally could have killed him at any point during that confrontation, but we'll focus on the conversation.

He's mostly caught on Henry's resolve to take back from the world, something that can be childish and wrong, if done the wrong way.

And maybe the idea that the world should give back to you after it takes something from you.

But that's not how it is, Charles thinks as he sighs and closes his eyes. Things happen and there's hardly any point in changing them.

With his eyes closed, Charles only feels there's someone with him when said person moves his hand off his chest and seemingly sits next to him on the bed, feeling the lower part of his ribs and stomach.

Charles groans and forces his eyes open to a squint, seeing who he thinks is a medic coming to check on him.

"Unless the General gave you the 'all clear' to let me have some pain relief, please leave me alone," he grunbles.

The person stops and gets up from the bed, Chatles sighing at FINALLY getting a chance to sleep.

That is until a knee drops into his stomach and hands snatch his throat, when he sits up coughs out of instict, and hold him down, snapping Charles awake and getting him into panic mode as he tries kicking, thrashing, and yelling to break free.

His attacker only keeps his grip, tightening it as he smiles down at him.

And who is his attacker? None other than Henry Stickmin, who drives his other knee into Charles's stomach and makes him wheeze at the loss of air.

THANK GOODNESS CHARLES SHOUTS AS HE JOLTS AWAKE, KICKING, SCRAMBLING TO THE HEADBOARD OF HIS BED, AND IGNORING THE SUDDEN PAIN OF HIS RIBS.

He pants heavily, covered in sweat, and looks all around his room in his house. After a moment of silence and some deep breaths, Charles calms down and holds his knees close to his chest as he rubs his neck.

He also has a mini 'Oh, shit, how did I get here?' moment, because he only remembers passing out in the helicopter, and gets out of bed to both make sure he's not dreaming and figure out how he got home; at least he's still in his clothes from the night before, save for his coat, sweatshirt, and headset.

Speaking of headset, Charles finds it on the island in his kitchen, next to his phone and a note.

The note reads, 'Rest again. You have the week off, General's orders. You're not allowed to come in. You're too good at you're job. We'll stop by later before the General gets there, though. Calvin and Konrad Bukowski. P.S. You drool a lot when you sleep and you're really loud.'

Charles checks his phone and has the sudden urge to punch someone in the face:

His lock screen shows a selfie of Rupert and the twins striking poses next to a sleeping, somewhat drooling, Charles as Galeforce yells at them; the lock is a thumbprint and Rupert HAD to get him back for that landing fake-out.

Charles shakes his head and chuckles at such juvenile delinquency, but groans at the fact he's suspended.

He tries to do some sort of physical activity á la push ups, but only ends up making the pain in his ribs worse.

When all else fails, Charles gives up on life and lies flat on his back on the floor.

"Damn it."

He lies there, just zoning out as he stares at the ceiling for a few hours until he hears a knock on his door.

"Come in," he calls.

Since he was given a key, in case he wanted to stop by, Galeforce enters and finds Charles on the floor, behind the side of his couch but in front of the kitchen/dining area, having a second of mini panic before seeing the pilot turn his head to him.

"How're you feeling?" Galeforce asks as he kneels down, his back to the couch.

Charles turns his eyes back to the ceiling.

"And if you say you're fine, I'm extending your suspension to three weeks. Tell me the truth, Charlie."

With as little attitude as possible, Charles explains exactly how he feels:

"My body hurts, my head hurts, I'm tired, I need to take my medicine, but I don't want to, I want to do some sort of workout, but I can't, I need to take a shower, Rupert messed with my phone, the twins said I drool in my sleep, Henry was too close to killing me last night and he's gonna come back for the sapphire, I'm not watching TV because all they talk about is the Toppat's orbital station and there's nothing new they have to say, and I really need to take my medicine. And eat breakfast. And take a shower."

Galeforce ruffles his hair and offers a stiff, sympathetic smile. "Is that everything?"

Charles, very carefully, turns and lies in his right side facing Galeforce, who is not joining him on the floor because tough love.

"Bad dream."

Galeforce softens at this. "Which one? Was it that one again?"

"No. It... It was a new one."

Galeforce is about to ask what happened, but stops himself when he notices Charles trembling from his place on the floot; probably doesn't help he hasn't taken his medicine and is laying right on top of his ribs.

And it's no wonder what the dream was about, now that he thinks about it.

"General?" Charles asks, "Is it because he got away again?"

Galeforce shakes his head. "Charlie, you got the sapphire. And you can't keep throwing yourself into a fight, if this is how you'll end up." He gestures toward Charles's chest. "Look, I get that you want Henry behind bars, but getting yourself killed won't help."

Charles nods after a second.

"I'll try to have you back in the air on more missions, but right now rest up for now. Getting that sapphire was more than enough."

Charles nods again, giving a small smile.

"And I'm not leaving until you get up and take your medicine."

With a sigh/groan, Charles holds his hand up and lets Galeforce pull him to his feet, taking his pills out of his pockets and taking two in front of him; he has to take two, three is too much and one isn't enough to keep him focused.

Galeforce hugs him and leaves, and Charles, used to a schedule to follow, flops onto the couch and groans into the cushions, before he screams at the top of his lungs.

I will repeat this somewhere, but I think it's obvious to say Charles does not like days off, even when it's a holiday.

CUT TO THE ORBITAL STATION!!

Henry struts in, back in his tech coat and normal suit, which is stylish as hell, and approaches Burt, who's busy with listening in on news reports and radio transmissions.

The Aztec sapphire is still in the government's hands, and everyone talks about how Charles hid the sapphire somewhere.

Bit of 'we the audience know more than the characters' here, Charles, of course, did not hide it. All he did was hand it over to Galeforce, but the word going around is that since Charles found it, he was the one to be responsible for hiding it.

That information doesn't sit well with Henry or the other Toppats, who each volunteer to go down to Earth for a manhunt.

Carol is one of the strongest members, so she thinks she should go.

Sven is extremely capable with a weapon, so he thinks he should go.

Right's a cyborg and wants to get Charles back for the premature start of the fight with the government, so he thinks he should go.

Reginald is one of the top members, and doesn't want Right getting hurt, so he thinks he should go.

Ellie, tired of all the noise, cuts in, "Everyone, zip it and wait for any new orders!"

They all shut up and Ellie pulls Henry aside.

"You don't have any plans on this, do you?"

Henry shakes his head and gives a '50/50' gesture with his hand.

Ellie gives him a withering scowl. "We were lucky enough to get out of there, last night. What're we gonna do? Steal from ARMED GOVERNMENT SOLDIERS?"

Henry purses his lips as he puts on his thinking cap(yeah, this is big brain time). Like I said in that break, as far as he knows, Charles hid the sapphire, seeing as how he stole it from Henry in the first place.

'We don't need to get there and search aimlessly,' he signs, though for Ellie to understand, it's, 'No search in base.'

Cue some confusion from Ellie, and Henry spins a finger over his head and holds his hands over his ears.

'Pilot.'

Ellie's confused frown turns into a smirk. "You cannot drop this guy, can you?"

Henry gives her a gesture that she understands clearly as he walks back to the other toppats:

'If I see something I like, something I want, I make sure I get it.'

TIME TO GO CHECK ON CHARLES!

He's sitting upside down on the couch with the Bukowski twins on either side of him as they watch a comedy show similar to The Office. It's dusk out, the twins arrived an hour after Galeforce left, and the three have been mostly quiet, save for some small talk.

But there's still one question on Charles's mind.

"How're things going at the base?"

"Boring," Calvin replies. "We can't decide what we should do with the sapphire. Give it back to the museum and the Toppats will steal it again. Hide it somewhere and we'll eventually forget and lose it, maybe even risk the Toppats finding it first."

"So far, we have it hunkered away in part of the armort," Konrad explians. "As in, it's IN THERE. As in, it's going to take a while to get it out. There's no way to get it out without someone or a group of people there to help, and it STILL won't be easy!"

Charles contemplates those words and rubs his ribs through his shirt, a habit he's been picking up lately in spite of himself.

"Can I ask you two... a really weird question?"

"What's up?" The twins ask as they crouch forward to meet his eyes.

Charles bites his lip before asking, "Why'd you two join?"

Both their faces drop and they glance at each other before looking back at Charles, who realizes what he just said.

"You-You don't have to tell me. I was just wondering."

Calvin shakes his head and smiles. "Don't worry about it. If anything-" Calvin sits back, his brother mirroring him as he watches. "-joining the military wasn't really at the top of our list of things to do. Two college dropouts at 19 with a record of causing mischief? No one wants THAT working for them."

"Calvin was the one who talked about it the most," Konrad continues. "I tried steering him to the police instead, but we need school for that. He signed up and I just tagged along. Didn't want anything to happen to him."

Charles looks between the two of them and is both glad amd jealous of the fact he doesn't have a brother; glad because he wouldn't be able to handle the fear of losing him, and jealous because he doesn't really like being alone.

Either way, Charles stands up and waters his plants, which the twins don't get, but don't jusge him for, and is distracted when his phone rings, from where it is on the island.

He stands as far into the kitchen as he can when he answeres, and the voice at the receiving end isn't who he was looking forward to talking to, in fact Charles literally pales and almost drops the small watering jug in his hand.

"Hey, Charles," Henry says, very coy and very warm.

AND THIS WAS PART 3! What are the Toppats planning? What is going to happen to Charles?

Hope he comes out okay😈

Would be a shame if something happened to him😈

ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed this, and thanks for reading!!!!!

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Fall Abrât

Holy buckets its been awhile since I’ve posted a chapter of ADM!!  Enjoy!

Part 31 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Link to Series Masterlist.

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MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count:  2,583

Warning(s): Language

Translation(s): Fall Abrât: Skin changer

Ishkh khakfê andu null: Pour my excrement on his head

Muin nin: My dear

~~~

The howl of a Warg woke me out of a sound sleep and I jerked upright, looking around wildly.  The night was eerily quiet around me as I scanned my surroundings.  Something was wrong.

I reached out to shake Thorin awake, but my hand came into contact with air.  Whipping my head to the right to look over at Thorin's bed-roll, I was horrified to find it empty.

For the love of Valinor, I was dreaming again, wasn't I?

My pulse picked up in anticipation of the calamity that was sure to come.  It always did.

Extending my hand, I placed it on the ground where Thorin would have been sleeping beside me, trying to discern how long he had been gone.  

Only the faintest hint of heat lingered, meaning that he had been gone for more than just a few minutes.  

The high-pitched canine yelping of several Wargs filled the air and I sucked in a deep breath.  Getting quickly to my feet, I snatched up my scabbard and drew out one of my daggers; the silver blade shining brightly in the pale glow of the moon.

Walking carefully towards where the rest of the Company ought to be sleeping, I prayed that I would find them there.  But the cold, heavy weight of dread refused to leave the pit of my stomach.  

If this was a dream, I wouldn't find them there.  

"Fili?  Kili?  Dwalin?  Bilbo?"  I called out softly into the silence, grass rustling beneath my boots as I crept carefully across the expanse of the meadow.  "Ori?  Bofur?  Bombur?  Gloin?  Oin?"  I shook my head in amusement at my own foolishness.  Oin was quite deaf and would never hear my hushed whisper.  "Nori?  Dori?  Bifur? Balin?"

But to my complete and utter horror, I found only empty bedrolls.  My heart began to pound in earnest as I turned in a circle to look at the abandoned blankets.  

Well, that explained the silence then.  I had grown used to the sound of loudly snoring Dwarves, so it was no surprise that I had woken up at the lack of such noise.  Particularly since my husband--such an unfamiliar word to call Thorin by--was undoubtedly the loudest of them all.

"Thorin?"  I whispered tremulously as my body began to tremble with the massive adrenaline rush I was experiencing.  "Anyone?"

Faint rustling caught my attention and I spun around to see an unfamiliar figure striding purposefully in my direction.  Dropping down quickly to avoid being seen, I silently moved into a position suitable for attack.

Whoever they were, they were certainly not very quiet, nor calm.  There was an urgency about them that struck me as strange.  

And they were heading straight past the bedrolls of the Company towards where Thorin and I had slept.  

Tensing, I waited for them to draw just a bit nearer so that I could jump them and get my blade to their throat.

One more second and I pounced, grabbing a fistful of hair in one hand and yanking their head back as I pressed my blade to their neck.  My victim let out a grunt of pain, their warm, broad hands clamping down on the wrist of the hand holding the dagger.

"Estel, Amrâlimê.  It's just me.  Thorin."  Thorin rasped out, and I quickly dropped my dagger and let go of his hair.  

"Thorin!  I thought you were someone else!  Where did everyone else go?  Where did YOU go?"  I asked, and Thorin made a shushing noise.

"Shh, Estel.  We need to be quiet.  There's a Warg pack on our trail.  And the burglar spotted a fell beast not too far away.  We need to move."  Thorin explained in a low whisper, leading me towards our bedrolls and beginning to pack them up.  "The wizard says there is a place where we will be safe not far away."  

As he talked, the other members of the Company slowly trickled back from wherever they had gone and began the quiet, rushed process of breaking camp.  

Fear hung over us like a dark cloud; no one bothering to mention its presence in an effort to keep the calm.  There was something else about the fell beast that they weren't mentioning, which made me wonder if that would come back to bite me in the arse.

That was normally the way things went.

~~~~

"Estel!  RUN!"  Thorin bellowed as we burst out of the forest and into a flowering meadow lit by the blazing sun.  "And for the love of Mahal, don't you dare trip over something!"  

My legs pistoned rapidly as I kept pace right behind Fili, who was in the lead of the group.  Some little part of me resented Thorin's unnecessary worry over my speed, particularly due to the fact that he was currently near the back of the group.  That and his little comment over my clumsiness stung a bit.

Something large burst through the trees behind us, and I shot a glance over my shoulder.  What I saw sent another burst of adrenaline through my veins.  "YOU DIDN'T MENTION THAT IT WAS A BLOODY GIANT BEAR!!"  I screamed in terror to nobody in particular, putting on an extra burst of speed so that I ran side-by-side with my blond-haired nephew.  

Eru, it was strange to call him that.

"This way!"  Gandalf called again as we reached the outer wall of whatever this place was.  "Quickly!"

There wasn't much need for his words as the sight of the fell beast had inspired us all to run faster.  Particularly Bombur; there was something to be said about the Dwarves natural sprinting abilities.

We all streamed into the courtyard, making a bee-line towards the door of the colossal house that stood in the middle.  Fili rammed his shoulder into the door with the expectation that it would open, only to find that it unfortunately did not.  

Bombur then ran full-on into the heavy wooden planks and fell back from the impact.  I tried to shove at the door with Fili, but was met only with solid resistance from it.  

Panic began to spread through me as the bear drew closer and closer, bellowing and roaring dreadfully.  

Gandalf and Thorin remained at the back of the group, watching anxiously as the bear continued to gain ground on us while we remained unable to escape.  "Open the door!"  Gandalf called, and  was met with the grunts of the Dwarrows as they exerted their strength against the door.

"Quickly!"  Thorin bellowed after Gandalf's command; pushing his way through the Company up to the door.  Reaching up over his head, he flipped back the bar of wood holding the door firmly shut that had somehow escaped our attention.

His eyes met mine as the doors opened and everyone fell into the doorway.  Grabbing me by my shoulders, he shoved me inside and out of the way as the fell beast came charging up to the door.  

Stumbling back, I watched breathlessly as a giant, slavering snout tried to force the doors open.  The Dwarves clustered around the door in an attempt to hold the beast back from entering the dwelling we sought refuge in, grunting with the effort of it all.

"Hold the door!"  Thorin called as his arms strained against the roughhewn planks of the door; the cords in his neck tightening and straining outwards as his biceps bunched powerfully underneath his skin.  

Sweet Yavanna, it was enough to make a lass drool.  At least, if I wasn't worried for his life.

Fili and Kili panted beside him, jaws clenched and faces contorted with their efforts to hold back the fell beast.  Dwalin pushed on the other door that the beast had stopped from closing, straining to gain even an inch.  "Come on lads!"  He grunted, and a final combined heave had the door slamming shut.  Dwalin quickly threw down the bar to bolt the two heavy doors shut, and everyone drew a relieved breath.

Kili shook back his dark hair and shot his brother a tired grin, ignoring the way his Uncle narrowly missed colliding with him as Thorin turned towards me.

Blue eyes roved over my body, finally landing on my face as Thorin reached my side.  "Are you alright, Estel?"  Thorin asked, concern lacing his words as he took my hand in his.  

I shook my head with a relieved smile.  "Yes, Thorin.  Just tired.  And you are uninjured?"  I prodded with a firm look, unwilling to allow Thorin to brush aside any sort of injury.

"Aye, Amrâlimê.  Just as tired as you, Karkith."  He replied, brushing calloused fingertips across my cheek.  

I returned his tired smile with one of my own before turning my attention to the conversation Gandalf was having with Ori and Dori.  

"--and that would be our host."

I shot Thorin a confused look as he watched Gandalf with a dark gaze.  

"His name is Beorn, he's a skin-changer.  Sometimes he's a huge black bear," I let out a scoff, disbelief of Gandalf's choice of words overriding my awe over the knowledge that we were in the house of a skin-changer.  Huge, really.  Colossal would be a better word.  "Sometimes he's a great strong man.  The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with.  However, he is not over fond of Dwarves."  

"Then why are we here in the home of an enemy?"  I heard Thorin mumble under his breath as he wrapped a protective arm around me.  "Blasted wizard can go ishkh khakfê andu null..."

Suddenly, before I could comment on Thorin's foul language, the fell beast outside ceased to shake the timbres of the door, prompting us all to look over in that direction.  Slowly, the snuffling and growling faded away.

"He's leaving," Ori murmured, his ear pressed close to the door.  Dori ran up to his younger brother and pulled him away from the doorway.  

"Come away from there!  It's not natural, none of it.  It's obvious, he's under some dark spell."  The elder Dwarrow chastised.

"Don't be a fool," Gandalf muttered, "he's under no enchantment but his own."  Looking around, Gandalf removed his hat.  "Alright now, get some sleep all of you.  You'll be safe here tonight."

There was something else he muttered as he looked out the window towards the forest, but I didn't catch it.  

Looking around to gaze at my surroundings for the first time since I had set foot into this giant house, I was awed by the size of everything.  I felt as though I had been transported back to my childhood days when everything was oversized.

Then I spotted the animals.  A soft gasp of delight rose in my throat to meet the air and I extricated myself from the arm Thorin had looped around me, walking quickly towards the goats and cattle that stood calmly chewing their cud.

Slowing my pace so as not to startle the magnificent creatures, I looked up into the soft brown eyes of a shaggy-haired cow that stared placidly back at me; mouth moving rhythmically.  

"Hello lass..."  I whispered, reaching out a hand to gently stroke the surprisingly soft hair of the cow's forelock.  "You are a beautiful girl..."  

The cow leaned into my hand, extending her neck to sniff curiously at my clothing before unfurling her long, coarse tongue to do an experimental taste.

I laughed, pressing gently against her jaw to push her away.  "Sorry lass, I'm afraid I don't taste very good."  I chuckled, glancing over my shoulder to look at Thorin as he walked up behind me.  

"Making any new friends?"  He teased, and I shot him a grin.

"Maybe."  I winked, making Thorin grin back.

As I looked at Thorin, I caught sight of something over his broad shoulder that made my eyes widen in disbelief.  Thorin took in this sudden shift in my demeanor with concern.  "Estel?  What's wron--"

I pushed past him and strode over to stand in front of the short-statured pony that seemed to be darker than midnight itself.  Holding out my hand--palm up--I let the beautiful beast take in my scent.  Then, as it gently nuzzled my palm, I stroked a hand down its neck, reveling in the soft texture of the pony's coat beneath my fingertips.

"Hello, beautiful."  I whispered in awe, looking into the unusual light blue eyes of the pony.  "You are gorgeous.  Never have I met a beast as fair as you."  

"Have you found a replacement for me already, Amrâlimê?"  Thorin asked from behind me, and I turned to look at him with shining eyes.

"Perhaps, Thorin."  I responded in jest, and Thorin smiled as he looked the pony over with a careful eye.

"He looks to be a fine pony.  But I wouldn't know, I am no expert."  He said, stepping closer to stroke the pony's nose.  "I take it you are fond of ponies?"

I smiled bashfully at the straw-covered floor.  "Fond is an understatement.  I adore the creatures.  And 'he' is actually a 'she'."  I pointed out, and Thorin chuckled.

"She looks to be a fine pony then.  Do you have the same ways with ponies as the Elves seem to have with other animals?"  

"To some extent.  I can't speak with them, or really understand them.  The best I can do is rely on their body language."  I explained, running a hand across the back of the mare.  "Thorin?"

"Yes, Estel?"

I turned to look into Thorin's questioning eyes, "do you think that someday I could have a pony of my own?"

A slow smile grew on Thorin's face as he looked at me; a slow baritone laugh filling the air around us.  "Estel, once we reclaim Erebor and rebuild it, you may have as many ponies as you desire."  He chuckled, watching as I stared incredulously at him.

"Really?"  I asked excitedly, and he nodded.  A devilish grin began to wind its way across my face then.  "You may come to regret your words, Muin nín."

~~~~

We passed a few more hours exploring Beorn's house before I finally felt the tendrils of sleep reach for me.  Even though we were several hours into the night, the adrenaline rush I had experienced while running from the skin-changer had only just worn off.

Yawning widely, I blinked wearily, wondering just where I might bed down.  There had been a nook where Beorn obviously slept--although it looked as though it hadn't been used in many months--but I was too short to clamber up into it.

"Amrâlimê," Thorin's deep rumble brought my tired gaze to rest on his features.  "Over here."

Mindlessly following him to a pile of straw, I watched as he motioned for me to lay down.  Obeying, I curled up in the comfortable--if vaguely itchy--yellow stalks, blinking sleepily up at Thorin as he draped a blanket over me before settling down beside me.

Yawning again, I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes.  "You know, it's nice to have a roof over our heads for once.  No drafts or unknown noises to disturb our sleep when we're inside."  I mumbled wearily, making Thorin laugh softly in agreement; his chest rumbling comfortably beneath my head.

"Aye, Ezzi, it is."  He murmured softly, running a hand slowly up and down my back; the motion lulling me into the sleep that was already pursuing me relentlessly.