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maelstroms-blog · 1 year

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Chronic pain Hob is something i hold dear, inspired by @softest-punk chronic Hob fics

Enjoy

The walk to the park wasn't long, even less when he had company. Hob glanced at his cosmic entity boyfriend, despite his stoic demeanor, there was a light in his blue eyes, a light that only Hob was allowed to see.

Feeding the birds had become one of their favourite past times, walking hand in hand to sit in what Hob affectionately called 'Dream's brooding bench.'

The words had been met with his iconic pout, yet he still gripped his hand. The image of Dream feeding the birds like the softie he was, it filled Hob with a warm feeling he hadn't felt in centuries. It didn't matter how many loaves he had to buy, he would purchase every bakery in the country just to see Dream smile.

But today was different.

He should have known when he awoke to a familiar ache, radiating from his knee. Despite his history with said knee, he pushed it to the back of his mind. Him and Dream had a day planned, and he would be damed if he'd let a little ache stop him.

He hid his limp, especially when he saw Dream waiting for him, out the New Inn. He was dressed in his usual black attire, hands shoved into his coat pockets. But those beautiful, blue eyes sparkled like the night sky when he spotted Hob. He pulled out a pale, thin hand and reached out to him, beckoning him closer. The sight alone was enough for Hob to forget about his pain, and everything else around him.

'Hello, duck,' he grabbed Dream's hand, smiling when he squeezed back. For this, he could ignore a little knee pain, just for a few hours. He's managed for a lot longer.

Hob was doing pretty well, they fell into their usual habit, Hob talking, Dream listening. Every so often, he glances at Dream's face, admiring his profile, his pale skin, perfect, rosebud mouth and those cheekbones. Hob isn't ashamed to admit that he stumbled a few times. Because of this, the pain returned with a vengeance. A particular spasm made him wince. He leaned on his other leg, trying to relieve his bad led in any way possible.

He must not have done a good job of hiding, a deep voice broke through his haze,

'Hob, are you alright?'

Hob blinked, forcing his face into a more neutral expression,

'Course I am, love, why do you ask?'

'You have been limping for the past few minutes, and you hissed, as if in pain.'

Hob mentally swore,

'I'm fine, just woke up with a stiff knee is all.'

Dream did not look convinced.

'A stiff knee?' A dark eyebrow quirked up, disappearing under a strand of black hair,

'A stiff knee would not have you squeezing my hand to such an extent.'

Confused, Hob looked down at their joined hands, he was clutching Dream's hand so tight that his knuckles looked ready to burst from his skin. Hob gasped, yanking his hand away. Along Dream's palm, he saw, with horror, the half moon imprints of his fingernails.

'Oh, Dream!' Hob started, sick with guilt, 'I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking.'

Dream said nothing, he just watched as Hob took his palm and gently rubbed at the marks.

'Forgive me, I didn't know,' his heart was racing and in his panic, his knee pain returned full force.

Dream gently removed his hand from Hob's grasp and placed it on his shoulder,

'Be honest, are you in pain?'

Hob gazed into those eyes, another lie ready on his tongue. He swallowed.

'...yes.'

Immediately, Dream's expression changed, his eyebrows knitting together in concern,

'What happened?' Anger flashed in his eyes, 'Who hurt you?'

Hob shook his head, 'No one, love, well, no one living at least.'

He couldn't help but smile at his lover's head tilt,

'It's just a flare up from an old war wound, don't ask me which one, they all sort of blurred together.

'Why did you not tell me?'

Hob rubbed the back of his neck,

'I didn't want to cancel our day,' he quietly admitted, Dream heard it clearly, and in an instant, his eyes shimmered.

'Don't worry, I'll be fine, we'll be sitting down in a minute,' he grabbed Dream's hand again, making sure to be gentle,

'Come on, we don't want to keep the birds waiting.'

As he turned to cross the street, he found himself colliding with his bedroom wall. Through bleary eyes, he caught sight of sand disappearing into thin air.

'Ow,' he rubbed his nose, luckily, his bad knee was safe, still aching, but safe.

'Apologies,' Dream gently turned him, 'I did not expect you to walk away.'

Still a little dazed, Hob merely said, 'It's alright, duck,' he tried to walk out of the door,

'But we better head to the park before it gets dark.'

It took just one step for Hob's knee to give up, it buckled and Hob fell. He would've landed on his hardwood floor had it not been for Dream's quick reflexes. Hob swore, aloud this time, he looked up into Dream's face, embarrassed at the worry visible there.

'I'll be alright in a minute, I just need to-,'

Hob suddenly felt weightless. Did he just die? Was this his soul leaving his body?

No, it was Dream, holding him bridal style. Hob blushed deeply,

'Dream!'

The Dream king did not listen, carrying him effortlessly despite Hob being the bigger of the two. His protests were ignored as he was put to bed,

'Dream, really, this isn't necessary.'

With a sudden pinch of sand, his skin felt chilled.

His clothes were gone. Hob couldn't help letting out an undignified yelp, pulling the blankets around him.

'Be calm, Hob Gadling, it is not anything I haven't seen before.'

Hob shit him a glare, even at the tiny smirk on his lover's face. With another pinch, he was fully dressed, this time in his comfiest pyjamas.

'Be at ease, I shall return momentarily,' with a swish of his coat, he was gone. Hob made to follow but his knee protested, loudly. He gritted his teeth to stop him from crying out, now that he wasn't moving, he could feel every stab of pain shooting up his leg. He pulled up his pyjama leg, carefully, the cool air did nothing to ease the heat radiating from his swollen knee. The long, ugly scar standing out even more from his tanned skin. He didn't dare touch it.

Dream reappeared without a sound, holding a mug of hot tea and some painkillers. Resigned to his fate, Hob silently accepted the tea and downed two tablets, dry.

'You don't have to stay with me,' Hob grimaced, 'You can go onto the park if you want.'

Dream looked offended,

'Why would I leave you here to suffer alone?'

Without another word, he placed his hands on Hob's knee. He tensed, then found himself melting into his touch. Dream's hands warmed until they rivalled his hot water bottle. The relief almost brought tears to his eyes.

'You will answer me honestly,' Dream started, his voice deeper, 'Why did you not inform me of your pain?'

Hob was quiet at first, just sipped his tea, but, whether it was from Dream's penetrating gaze or his magic hands, Hob found himself spilling his guts.

'This was our first day off in weeks, I didn't want to cancel on you, just because of a bum knee,' sadness washed over him,

'I'm sorry for disappointing you.'

The heat suddenly disappeared, Hob looked up to see Dream staring at him,

'You are correct, Hob Gadling, I am disappointed.'

Hob bowed his head, only looking up when a cold finger touched his chin, he forced himself to look up again, meeting star filled eyes.

'I am disappointed because my lover thought I would rather have him suffer in silence than tell me of his pain,'

'But our day-'

'There will be plenty of opportunities to feed the birds, but there is only one Hob Gadling.'

He gently cupped Hob's face,

'I need you to be happy and healthy, I don't ever want you to hide your pain from me, I want you to tell me so I can help. You always tell me I am good at listening, so, why do you not take advantage?'

He ended with a cold kiss to Hob's forehead,

'Please, let me help.' The words were quiet, it could have been his imagination but he knew Dream's voice. Hob looked up, into Dream's face, too choked up to speak, he merely nodded.

Satisfied, Dream changed into his own sleepwear, stolen from Hob, and lay down next to him, resting his head on his shoulder. He pressed his long legs against Hob, easing his knee with warmth once again.

'Rest, Hob, the birds will still be there tomorrow,' and with that, Dream snuggled in closer. It might have been the medicine, his bed or his lover's influence, he felt his eyes grow heavy. He placed his mug on the bedside table and buried his face in Dream's messy hair,

'Thank you,' he mumbled, sleep pulling him under. The last thing he saw was those blue eyes, gazing at him lovingly, those two stars followed him into the Dreaming

********

'This isn't really what I was picturing,' Hob admitted, peering through a haze of what Dream called "the orbs". The pair were sitting in Fiddler's Green, the grass as soft as clouds and the sun as warm as Dream's hands were, surrounded by the Dreaming's entire winged population.

Dream looked up, scratching the chin of a tiny, purring gargoyle,

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' Hob had to choose his words carefully, wary of the eyes on him,

'I was sort of picturing real birds,' he whispered.

Dream smiled, 'It matters not, they are winged creatures,' the gargoyle snatched a crust from the Dream King's hand, nibbling it like a hamster.

'What about me?' Matthew cawed, perched on Dream's shoulder,

'Sorry, Matthew, I don't know if you count,'

'And you do not like bread,'

Matthew ruffles his feathers, 'It would be nice to be offered.'

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #ferdinand kingsley #tom sturridge #dream x hob #neil gaiman #dabble #criticism welcome #the sandman comics #comfort

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 5 months

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Do you think that Tom Riddle was friends with anyone in the orphanage? I know that Dumbledore claimed he was terrorizing all the other children, but isn’t possible that the cave incident with Dennis and Amy may have been a ‘hey, let me show the other kids a cool magic trick’ gone horribly wrong?

It's impossible to know.

The beautiful thing about Dumbledore's memory selections is that he a) has an agenda b) openly admits he's making it all up and has no evidence for anything he's saying but it sounds really cool, Harry.

The cave incident especially, Dumbledore is told something happened by Mrs. Cole, who gives 0 details as she doesn't know what happened herself, we're not even sure it happened in that cave (Dumbledore just thinks it'd be really cool if it did), and we have no idea what it was that happened. We know they didn't die and were a bit funny afterwards but anybody's guess is a good one.

We do know Mrs. Cole didn't have a great impression of Tom, and she at least implied Tom was a loner/a very taciturn child, but she was also confounded at that point (as she'd been asking Dumbledore too many questions about this weird human trafficking boarding school she'd never heard of where Tom had gotten a scholarship he'd never applied for??? Since birth??? Who are you strange man dressed like 1940's Elton John???) And Dumbledore... was asking very leading questions to a confounded person who he then prompted to get drunk during the conversation in question.

So, I'm not even sure we can trust that conversation all that much.

We do know that Tom left the country in his twenties after Borgin and Burkes and that Dumbledore lost track of him for decades (briefly he popped in again in 1957, supposedly was meeting friends???? in pubs and Dumbledore purposefully double booked him for a job interview he never intended on giving Tom, then doesn't show up again until Voldemort really makes an appearance). But that doesn't mean he didn't keep in contact with anyone that wasn't Dumbledore/Dumbledore didn't know about, wasn't living any kind of double life, or... basically anything.

It's one of those I throw my hands in the air and say "It's possible". Because we really know jack shit about Tom Riddle, even after all those memories.

My personal feelings would be it's possible but doubtful it would have lasted into adulthood or even Tom's Hogwarts years. He'd be gone for most of the year at a boarding school he can't talk about, getting this ritzy scholarship no one gets to get, and would just be on a different life track from everyone else in the orphanage. This is the sort of situation where people would very much drift apart.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #tom riddle #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #meta #headcanon #opinion

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 7 months

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Omg I got an Idea, Can I have some headcanons for a human! reader criticizing patriarchy! ken's ways and how their kind of fucked up? (Also I need them explaining that they're basically saying house house in the Mojo Dojo Casa House name lol,)

- Kneecaps anon

Ghgjjd okay so I know Sasha and Gloria already informed him of that in the movie, but this prompt was funny to me

.....

At first you were reluctant to follow this random guy named Ken to "Barbieland" after he asked you a billion questions about horses and patriarchy.

He insisted on showing you how the Kens were treated, convinced that once you understood everything you'll sympathize with them more.

In the end, you went with him out of genuine curiosity, finding out that this supposedly imaginary pink utopia was, in fact, not-so-imaginary as you transverse the different landscapes together.

Although at one point you had to man the 2D speedboat as he got seasick.

When you both arrive, Ken goes on to tell everybody what he learned while you get lost exploring Barbieland.

You didn't think he'd take your jokes about the patriarchal structure of human society seriously..

But he clings to them as facts and radically transforms the doll world, and within hours it becomes Kendom Land.

You don't know how it all happened so fast, though you got irritated quickly over what he's done to the place you were just starting to admire.

Especially when he takes on a macho persona and dons that silly fur coat, before stealing Barbie's dreamhouse and reintroducing it to you as his "Mojo Dojo Casa House".

Something about that definitely irked you.

"You know "casa" is just Spanish for house, right?"

"Yeah, duh." He rolls his eyes.

"But you're already saying "house" anyways."

"...and your point?"

"My point is that you're pretty much saying "mojo dojo house house"."

"No I'm not. Because it's Mojo Dojo Casa House." He pouts, before asking a nearby Barbie to "brewski beer" him (to which you tell her "do NOT" and shoo her away).

You quickly remember you're arguing with a children's toy....so he was definitely going to be stubborn like a child and you'll just have to put up with it for now.

Ken couldn't brainwash a human, although he's still gonna argue with you and have petty temper tantrums whenever you keep criticizing the way he's running things.

"I'm just saying, this is NOT how men act in Century City at all.." You try explaining as he pouts, sorting through his western and denim outfits. "You just took whatever ideals you liked about them, dialed them up to 11, and forced them onto everyone here."

"Forced?? Take a look around, [y/n]--the Kens are happy! We embraced those ideals because we never got to have ANY of these cool things under the Barbies! If not for the multitude of...limitations in the Real World, I could've been the next president of California-"

"Don't you mean United States?"

"...no, I mean your country of California."

"......you seriously think California is a country? It's a state."

He does a double-take. "It is...? I thought Los Angeles was the state.."

'Oh for crying out-'

You realize the dolls had seriously misconstrued ideas about the Real World if they got the basic geography of it wrong.

But you're not gonna sit here and school him on everything. That wasn't your job and you do have your own life to get back to, anyways.

So you just...leave Kendom in the reverse order you arrived.

You'll let him live out his fantasy, but didn't want any part of it.

Especially upon seeing a group of construction worker Kens building a brick wall up and not sideways.

#clanask #kneecaps anon #barbie x reader #barbie movie x reader #barbie ken x reader #ken x reader #ken carson x reader #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling ken x reader #headcanons #platonic

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pedros-husband · 10 months

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Rows and rings

agent whiskey x male reader (SFW)

a/n: just wanted to say that i appreciate all of the reblogs and love i've received, also i am new to tumblr so I haven't quite figured out all the different things and ways to interact, so please be patient with me, thank you <3.

Summary: you had supposed to been on a date, this was the third time he didn’t show, and your pissed, rightly so, but for reasons a little deeper than face-value. Or at least the ring in your pocket says so.

prompt: 'do you ever mean the things you say?'

This fic is ftm trans inclusive (no Amab language used)

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it had started out as a small argument. you had been mad because jack forgot another date you'd planned. third time this week, actually.

His excuse was that he'd been busy with a mission, not having enough time to be worrying over 'stupid things', in his own words. but you weren't mad he'd forgotten, you were long past the point of being mad over things like that, no. you were mad because he had promised you not to forget or cancel. and you were a man of your word, whiskey knew that. he also knew how much you valued honesty and not doubling back on plans once they've been made.

when you first started dating you made it clear to whiskey that if he promised something he had to stick to his word, mostly because you had trust issues from past relationships but you'd never indulged in telling jack the details-it was never necessary, he always stuck to his word.

And to a degree you understood that jack's job was demanding and took priority over lots of things, and sometimes things happened out of the blue, but this wasn't like that. You had made sure to inform ginger and Tequila that Whiskey would be off duty for this night, just a few hours, it was no big deal. at least it was supposed to be no big deal.

Even though you were pissed that he technically lied that actually surprisingly wasn't your main source of anger. you'd been planning to propose to jack for a while, knowing he's too busy to even think about doing it after 4 years of patiently waiting you'd taken the matter into your own hands. both of you knew you were made for each other. jack reminded you constantly that you were the only man for him and he’d never even look at another man or woman the way he looks at you, and you believed him. which was why it was so infuriating that his behaviour was causing this tension in your relationship over the past week.

with the gradual build up of anger after each forgotten date your anger finally boiled over tonight. he was sat in the living room spread out on the couch, 6 hours late. you burst into the room and slammed the door shut, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed.

'jack daniels, you give me one good reason not to leave your ass right this damn second.'

he looked up from his position on the couch, groaning and rolling his eyes. 'look sugar, I'm sorry i really am but can we not argue right now, it's pretty damn late and this cowboy needs his beauty sleep' his accent is thicker from exhaustion as he stands up and moves to push past you, but you hold your ground and put a hand on his shoulder.

'no way jack, you promised me. you said that this time you were going to make time for me, it was planned out!' there were tears pricking in your eyes- this week had been so stressful with the build up of anxiety over the proposal and the repeated dissapointment of him forgetting each time.

'darlin', i said, not.tonight. and besides, it's a one time thing, i haven't lied to ya before, no biggie.'

'jack, it's not a one time thing, this is the third time this week! i understand work is important but i'm your boyfriend and i deserve your attention too sometimes! i mean: do you ever mean the things you say? c'mon, we're not kids jack.'

'your being a jerk. i am a man of my words, don't you ever, even insinuate that i'm not. i am loyal to my country and to my work, i can't help that you aren't always first.' jack practically spits in your face, gruffly shoving you backwards so he can move past you, but instead of heading to the bedroom he heads to the door. in a dazed panic you yell, tears starting to roll down your cheeks, ' i was going to propose!'

silence.

'you... you what?' he turns to face you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and disbelief, hand paused on the doorknob.

you take a deep breath, wipe your tears away and continue 'i was going to propose to you. originally on Monday, then Wednesday, then Friday, then...tonight... look jack... i know your busy and i know i may be being a little overbearing right now, iIve just been so stressed this past week and you know i haven't been getting as much sleep an-' as you talk he strides over to you, and cuts you off by pulling you into a deep kiss, hands gripping your waist tightly.

the kiss isn't slow and passionate, it rarely ever is with jack. but it isn't filled with lust like usual, it's more, tender and, apologetic. he glides his hand up your back and lets it rest on the nape of your neck. you kiss back eagerly, hands finding their way into his shortt brown hair, before one falls back down to the pocket of your jeans and you break away.

'i-i'm sorry sugar... i ain't good with apologies an all that, but i really am. i shoulda' gone on the date the first time, shoulda given you more attention. i want you and only you, but i haven't been acting like i do, so im sorry.' jack whisper averting his gaze, as he drops his hands and puts them in his pockets sheepishly.

you sigh and pull out a small box, getting down on one kneee. 'i know this isn't as romantic as the fancy date i planned, and its abit more tear-filled and chaotic, but i love you no matter how stupid you are, no matter how many dates you miss. Jack Daniels i knew from the moment i met you that you were the man for me, and i would be so happy if you would marry me. so, will you?' you look up at him with hopeful eyes, opening the little black box to reveal a small golden band.

jack smiles and pulls you up nodding his head and kissing you on the lips over and over, in between each one whispering, 'yes, yes a hundred times yes'

after he finally calms down and you put the ring on his finger, you lead him to your room and slowly change into your pj's, a comfortable silence hangs in the air, but your both smiling like idiots the whole time.

you get into bed and he immediately pulls you into his chest, holding you tight and burying his face into your hair, fiddling with the new ring on his finger.

'i love you, sugar... and i cant wait to be your husband.' he whispers into your hair, closing his eyes as he inhales the scent of your sweet smelling shampoo.

'i love you too jack, and i can't wait to be your husband too.' you mumble, eyes heavy as you slowly drift off to sleep in the comforting embrace of your fiance.

#agent whiskey #male #male reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey x male reader #pedro pascal #gay #gay men #mlm

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sincerelylivvv · 1 year

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pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: rafe is at a total loss when he finds out you're sick; the thought of losing you was once something he constantly avoided, but now is the only thing on his mind

warnings: reader is dying, some language, mentions of religion

wordcount: 2,796

a/n: based on the song 'pray' by sam smith. it's not specified exactly what the reader is dying from, but yknow, she is dying. feel free to leave some feedback! if possible, i may write a another part. if you have any requests, send them in! and super sorry if this is hard for anyone to read, if you are uncomfortable, please do not feel the need to continue reading. If you would like to be tagged in any future fics, just let me know. I love all of you

I'm young and I'm foolish, I've made bad decisions I block out the news, turn my back on religion Don't have no degree, I'm somewhat naïve I've made it this far on my own

Rafe Cameron was no stranger to being alone. He learned at a young age that you can't depend on anyone fully; there's always someone wishing ill on you and then waiting to kick you when you're at a low point. Through the years, he's turned to not-so-healthy habits to cope with how shitty his life was. He was young, careless, stupid. But he figured how much shittier can his life actually get? He dropped out of college, his family hated him and even his friends grew to have a certain distaste for him.

He remembers how his family used to attend church on Sunday mornings. When he was a kid, he'd be in a different section of the church with others close to his age. They'd participate in whatever activity was going on at the time and through the couple hours they were there, would be given snacks to keep them from going hungry.

Through all of the poor decisions he's made, he was still content with himself. He made it this far on his own and knew he could go farther if he pushed himself enough. He never was the kind of person that would back down from a challenge. His now? To become someone his father could say he was proud of. Or at least a person that didn't cause distaste within his toxic family.

He thought heavily about leaving the island, thinking a new start would be good for him. A different place with different faces; people who know nothing of him than what he let them know. He could go back to college or maybe start a job straight off the bat, which may be a better option for him due to the circumstances he finds himself in. He doesn't have much money, no one to confide in, and no certain direction to go in.

Until he met you. You were the daughter of a multi-millionaire businessman. Your dad first started out small, starting a mediocre landscaping business, and eventually had the opportunity to go to college. After majoring in both business and communications and secured a job on Wall Street. He then went on to start a chain of five-star hotels located throughout the country, and eventually sold his landscaping business. He met your mom after she applied to work at one of the hotels and the rest is history.

He met you at a party. You and your parents were on vacation and staying in the house your dad bought as a gift for your mom. He remembers how excited and at ease you were, with a cup of the spiked juice in your hand. Your hips were swaying along to the beat of the music, laughs tearing out of your throat in utter joy; and he was captivated as soon as he saw you.

He wished he could say he was the one to go up to you, but that wasn't how it turned out. You and your friends had been walking towards the drinks, which just so happened to be close to where he was standing, and in a complete accident, you knocked his drink out of his hand when walking by him.

"Shit! I am so, so sorry about that," you rush apologetically. "I wasn't watching where I was going, and God everything is kinda swaying right now. I can go grab you another drink-"

"Nah, don't worry about it." He smiles. "Accidents happen. And you look a little past the point of tipsy. No offense."

The laugh that tore out of your throat made his stomach flutter; it was beautiful and graceful and everything he was the exact opposite of. "Trust me; none taken," you grin back.

But lately, that shit ain't been gettin' me higher I lift up my head and the world is on fire There's dread in my heart and fear in my bones And I just don't know what to say

That moment on the beach was the moment he knew he wanted you; forever and always. It was the start of a beautiful and bountiful relationship, which he was by no means accustomed to. He was used to short-lived relationships, more so hookups, so this was all to him.

You caught on to that pretty early on, as hard as Rafe tried with you, he fell a little short sometimes. But he did try really hard, there were just those few key tells he had that made you contemplate whether he had ever been in anything serious before. And eventually, it was brought up in conversation, and just like you had thought, he had never done anything like this before. Not that it bothered you; relationships weren't easy, especially if you were new to them, but you were patient with the boy.

Though he had bad trust issues, he grew to learn how to open up with you. You were there for him no matter what; always so kind and understanding with everything he talked to you about. It was strange for him, unfamiliar. But he was grateful nonetheless.

The day he found out the news hit him like a train. And though he thought he knew what panic attacks were, which maybe he did, he never had one as bad as this. His vision became very narrow with black spots clouding his eyes every now and then, and the world around him was both moving too fast and too slow all at the same time.

It hurt you to tell him, but it hurt him even more knowing there was nothing he could do to help. All you've done for him, and he would never have the chance to give back to you.

You tried your best to stop the sniffles that came from you, desperate to hide the sadness that was written on your face. Your hands cradled his, warm and soft over ones that were rough and brittle, and you gently pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Is there anything I can do, Rafe?" Your voice was quiet and calm, and Rafe sat shocked at how you could be so relaxed.

"How are you so…so at ease when you're-" His voice breaks, sobs quickly pouring out from him.

"Oh, Rafe." You maneuver to sit on his lap, thighs on either side of his, and your head now lying on top of his own as his tears wet the sweatshirt you're wearing.

His clammy hands cling to every inch of you, desperate to hold on to you for as long as he could. Maybe if he held you long enough, you wouldn't leave. The both of you would carry on as if you wouldn't be gone in a few months, and the pair of you would do what he dreamed of doing with you.

But that wasn't the case, you would be gone, and a part of him with you. He wondered what he did to have such heartache brought on him, to have the only good thing in his life taken from him and would be forced to move on as if you weren't gone. As if he was still whole.

"It'll be okay, Rafe."

Maybe I'll pray, pray Maybe I'll pray I have never believed in you, no But I'm gonna pray

Rafe never would have thought he'd be back in the church he grew up in. But he thought if there was a God, maybe He would have some empathy and listen. The both of you started going together in the beginning; it took you off guard when he asked you about going, but again, you wanted nothing but to support him. Eventually, you got too sick to go. So, two then became one.

He never prayed so hard. In fact, he never prayed at all. Even when he was forced to go as a child, he never prayed. But he wanted to keep you here and all to himself. He knew it was selfish, but he came to the decision that he never was one for selflessness.

It was after a Sunday service that he thought he'd stop by to see you. Stepping out of his truck, he approaches the door to your house with a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. First, he heard your dog bark, little Daisy, and then he was met with the warm eyes of your mother.

"Rafe!" The woman exclaims, joy radiating from her body. "Come in, come in," She ushers him inside. "How've you been? Y/F/N told me you were thinking about working for the company."

Rafe nods, "Yeah, we've been talking about it. I guess it'll…I don't know, depend on how I am after-" He stops and the woman in front of him flashes a sad, knowing look.

"Of course," She agrees. "No rush at all. There will always be a place for you. You have my word." She gently pats his shoulder, and all is quiet for a few moments before she makes a 'tsk' sound. "Well, Y/N is in her room, for now. She's been asking to go on a walk around the garden for a while. Maybe you could join us," She proposes.

"Yeah of course," Rafe smiles. "Mind if I go see her?"

Rafe's brow cringes and his shoulders drop. "Yeah," He mumbles. 'I know the feeling,' he thinks.

"Well, best not to keep her waiting." Your mom motions to the steps.

You had been staring out the windows of your room when you heard the light knock on your door, and before you could even speak, Rafe pokes his head into the room. "Mind if I come in?" He grins.

Your tired face lights up upon seeing him, and with rapid nods of your head, Rafe makes his way over to you.

"Pretty flowers," You comment. "Who're they for?"

"A pretty girl," Rafe answers and lands a swift kiss on the crown of your head. He pulls away and smirks cheekily at you. He then bows his head once more and begins peppering light kisses over your face, basking in the giggles that flew from your mouth.

Eventually, he presses one last kiss to your lips before pulling away once more, sitting down the flowers he once held on the nightstand beside the hospital bed your father had put in your room.

He sighs as he sits down in the chair beside you. "How you doing, sweet girl?"

You do your best to shrug, "I'm doing good. A little tired." You try to smile, but Rafe is quick to notice the twinge of pain that briefly crossed your face.

His eyes dance across your face; your color has dulled slightly, and your eyes are heavy and defeated. "I'm sorry," He finally says. "Your mother told me about your walk today, though. That's something to look forward to." He's fast to change the subject, not wanting to think about how bad you're doing and how broken he is at the sight of you. He hates seeing you in such a state; a girl who was once so full of love and life and everything pure in the world was now lying sick in a bed.

You grin a little, "Yeah, I'm excited. I've been dying to get out of this bed." You then wince at your words, "Yikes, bad joke," you attempt to laugh it off upon seeing the flash of pain across your boyfriend's face. "Well, um will you be joining us?"

Rafe chuckles, grabbing onto your hand and rubbing soothing circles on the back of it. "Wouldn't miss it."

I'm not a saint, I'm more of a sinner I don't wanna lose, but I fear for the winners When I tried to explain, the words ran away That's why I am stood here today

Rafe knew he wasn't that great of a person; not one anyone would go out on a limb to save, but he still had a sliver of hope that some miracle would save him from the nightmare you and he were facing.

Every night and every Sunday morning, he gave his best shot at asking, begging, God to save you. He always talked about knowing he didn't deserve such a huge ask, but that you, at the very least, deserved something better than this. He would include all the plans he still had with you; proposing and getting married, having kids, spending the holidays with you, but above all, growing old with you.

He hoped that his plea would at least sway someone enough to pull through will a miracle; he had even stated a few times that he would be more than willing to take your place. Just as long as you stay and you're happy.

His pleas of hope and desperation are the only reason he's always stood firm in that church that he hated so much There wasn't enough money in the world to make him go to church, but that was before he met you. And it was sure as hell before the revelation that he was gonna lose you one day and there was nothing he could do about it.

Won't you call me? Can we have a one-on-one, please? Let's talk about freedom Everyone prays in the end Everyone prays in the end

Rafe was beyond angry.

He recently found out from your father that you were only getting worse, and the doctor that had been taking care of you revealed that there wasn't anything more that could really be done

So all that time he spent praying for you? He got nothing out of it.

Sometimes, he thought that it was kind of funny how he once begged his father for things, most small, but never got it, and then had to beg and plead with someone else for your well-being and still didn't get anything.

The most recent night he saw you was the worst. You looked bad before, but now? You looked terrible. Your face began sinking in, arms and body became smaller due to you not eating much. And even when you did, you threw most of it up.

You hardly talked now. You were always somewhat quiet but still knew how to have a loud, breathtaking presence. That wasn't the case anymore, though; you were hardly ever awake, on account of you not having much energy, and when you were, you wouldn't say much. Usually just a quiet 'hi' and then would look out your window.

It killed Rafe to see you in such a state. To not be able to have a conversation like he used to. But he learned that while you may not be willing or able to talk, you still enjoyed listening to him. He told you all about the apartment he was able to get, with the help of the job your father gave him, and how he got a dog he named 'Posie', and even brought in pictures of her to show you. She was an older King Cavalier Charles Spaniel, and almost completely deaf, but he loved her, and so did you. Sometimes, he'd even bring her over for a playdate with Daisy, which always brought a brighter look to your face.

He didn't know what particularly triggered it, but he finally, completely and utterly, broke down. On the floor of his bedroom, heavy breaths and thick tears fell all too quickly. It was the type of crying that went from loud, heart-wrenching sounds to nothing at all. And with all the strength he could muster up, he begged, unknowingly for the last time, for someone to help you. This time, not specifying who, just someone bigger to help the sickness that still plagued you.

'Just a fucking one-on-one, please', He thought over and over again. The mantra was recounted in his head for what felt like forever, until he eventually fell asleep.

That was until he picked up the phone call, in which your mother finally told him you had gotten better, only to finish with the words, 'she passed during the night…in her sleep. I'm so sorry, Rafe.'

tagged: @scenesofobx @casualcloddeputyherring @x-lulu

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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dirtyoldmanhole · 8 months

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so i've been low key pondering over what is it about gunter that twigged my 'dude, you are a freak nasty kinky fuck (solidarity 🤝)' radar from day one.

ergo, have an old school ~*krad does a character analysis essay*~

under the cut for kink talk and also sheer length !

introduction

why would I want to lead into this reading?

gunter is honestly, to me, an extremely cool subversion of his own FE archetypes on top of (imo) what types of characters are "allowed" to be kinky. a good chunk of FE characters, particularly jeigan archetypes tend to be one note about their devotion to their lords and/or country, and a little stuffy/uptight. when they do have a personality, they still tend to be pretty "safe" nurturing caretaker type of archetypes (eg, titania, and i say that loving her as a character).

of course, nothing wrong with liking said archetype; my tastes just happen to run differently.

gunter is explicitly both those things (could be read as uptight and a caretaker) and still, fascinatingly -- has his darker sides. you don't have a whole-ass ingame cgi and arc of going ham as the possessed yandere villain with a pretty consistent sexual undertone and still keep a ~purely wholesome~ reputation.

so what's the in-game canonical nods that started pinging the radar?

point one: i'm still not over the whip reference in his corrin supports

the tl;dr of his fcorrin C-A support is they pick up an old game of theirs since her northern fortress years -- playing catch with an old leather ball. it isn't until the A support that you hear gunter made the ball from a whip that garon handed to him to whip corrin as discipline.

this assumes several things: (1) gunter knows his way around whips (2) to the point of most likely whipping somebody in discipline before, otherwise why would garon be so convinced he'd follow through? and then

(3) nintendo why the fuck would you add something like this if you didn't intend on us reading some kind of vibe here LMAO. the fact that treehouse kept this line while "sanitizing" most other deeply horny fates scripts makes me inclined to think they knew they'd be breaking gunter's entire characterization if they'd tried to bowderize it, or they just didn't give a shit, thinking that they could probably get away with it since he's not niles-popular. (both can be true).

while it doesn't mean everyone with a passing interests in leather and whips is automatically some flavor of kinkster. just. speaking from IRL experience, the crossover between the groups is also a wee bit higher than the background population. either they tend to be a younger man looking to be "badass" like indiana jones, or their job involves some flavor of implement or ... yeah.

point two: mcorrin/fcorrin script differences & gunter harboring feelings for fcorrin (always has been.jpg)

additional script differences cost money. companies like nintendo hate spending money especially when there's a finite budget, and doubly so for non-popular characters.

so ime, when there's a clear difference between scripts in a non-obvious spot, and it's there in both the JP/EN versions like gunter's final revelation talk with mcorrin and fcorrin, i pay attention. that's nintendo more often than not underlining something and saying "hey, this matters to characterization".

cue this bit after you bring gunter back from the brink of being possessed and talking some sense into him:

Corrin: Whatever your motivations, you stayed by my side and helped me. Your intentions may have been dark, but you were still good to me. (If Corrin is male) Corrin: And that's what you'll always be—my friend. (If Corrin is female) Corrin: You'll always be important to me. Gunter: But, I... I killed Scarlet... Corrin: I know, but you were under the control of Anankos. You weren't you. If you truly wish to atone for what you've done, you must live. Live for Scarlet's sake. Live for the family that was taken from you. I need you to help me fight Anankos. To protect all the people he could still hurt. (If Corrin is male) Corrin: Let's go. Our final battle awaits. (If Corrin is female) Gunter: ... Corrin: Let's go. Our final battle awaits.

now obviously, with a literal "dot dot dot" line, you by definition have to read into the sentiment. one could just as easily argue that here....

.....

nope, i got nothing, lol. m!corrin gets a very pointed "you're my friend" line, and if nintendo wanted to dissuade from the romantic/sexual subtext, they could have awkwardly tried to stick to their more neutral "you're my mentor/father figure/etc" guns which read way more platonic, especially if you kept it the same for both.

that script change is only for f!corrin, and gunter has a few other script mentions where f!corrin gets something extra from him. this combined with f!corrin's particularly sexual-subtext-ladened support chain with the whip-ball (versus m!corrin's pretty platonic "feed the poor kid") vibe hints that he's always held a flame for f!corrin, which leads into asking some pretty interesting questions about his tastes.

it's some kinda vibes all right!

imma also be honest: (possessed!)gunter gets a little sexually subtextual in general. there's other revelation quotes like this during the confrontation --

Gunter: I would tear every last bit of innocence away from you.

(dude) (wow)

-- and the gothic horror camera angle/framing of certian scenes with him alone with corrin, most pointedly when corrin's alone with him, anankaos channels himself through gunter, the screen goes white, and corrin wakes up with him leaning right over her, practically on top of her. all of these add up to one hell of a sexual subtext in the last three chapters.

i could break this down further into shot by shot visual analysis since that's my field as a design manager, but this essay's long as is (and I'll cover this in the current revelation liveblog anyway).

point three: there's a suspicious amount of nohrian characters that have explicit kinks

there's xander with his JP crossdressing supports. niles with his ... nearly everything in his quotes, bless him. and camilia too on the ladies side what with her sadisim and S/M behavior, more blatant in the JP script side which is (ime) the more faithful one.

I'm probably missing an example here (garon also felt weirdly sexual for a FE dad/final boss, somewhat usually lampshaded in the comments of the 'azura dances for him' cgi movie), and that's not even mentioning the faceless which -- i don't know about you, but i've seen actual folsom BDSM gear less kinky than that enemy design.

clearly: nintendo's not exactly afraid to lay some sexual subtext with nohrian characters. hoshidos generally don't get this treatment, this often.

is it likely part and parcel of how they intended to "villain code" nohrian characters, since adding kinks to an antagonistic faction has a long history in media to make them feel more "othered" and dangerous? most likely!

regardless, i absolutely get why they'd layer in that vibe with gunter especially in revelation's route when he's one of the final bosses. adding an edge of sexual menace is an easy if cheap way to butter on that foreshadowing, and it separates him from the "nice(r) guy gunter" in the conquest married route.

sort of.

to which ...

point four: there is no polite way to get around the incesty caretaker daddy vibe in their married route so imma just say it lmao

[ just gestures wildly at his A-S support chain with fcorrin ]

somebody who is completely vanilla is not uhhh, going to have that love conversation/confession right after a literal 'father figure' mention :'D

people are entitled to their own tastes, and while i'm the type to bounce in when people bounce out "because it got too creepy", i do think it's pretty telling that there's a hell of a lot of people that got twigged out of their support and don't generally pursue it unless if they're completion fanatics. even if I'm reading way the hell into this -- they're responding to something, that's for darn sure.

one more thing to point out with the supports --

Gunter: And since you missed, you must answer a question I have for you. Corrin: All right, ask away. Gunter: Is there anyone in camp that you have particularly strong feelings for? Corrin: Wh-what? Why would you ask that? Gunter: Ah, I'm the one who is asking questions.

by itself, that last line could read fairly platonically. but with everything else.... whew. this is a man who's very aware of power dynamics. speaking of --

point five: just trust me bro

call it uhhhh prurient interest, but there has been quite a few times when i've nailed a (IRL) person's interest in kink by that version of a gaydar :P just a little too many times for it to be coincidence.

if you're asking me, the tell-tale hints are usually :

(a) a hyper-awareness of power dynamics compared to normies,

and

(b) hints of adjacent interest/sub-cultural aesthetics. (eg, goth and alt-fashion, common kink implements that can be hidden in plain sight like handcuffs, whips, boots, leather as a fashion).

and obviously we're talking about a fictional character which changes the conversation (characters being built from the ground up to serve a plot. rather than a fleshed out autonomous human being with their own set of preferences that can change over time), but listen, mate -- if my kink radar was a geiger counter, gunter here lit up like fucking chernobyl. :P

all I have to do is point at the whip bit to (5b), and regarding point (5a) ... well. you know the interesting thing about kinksters is that in addition to power dynamics, some of them have a particular thing about titles?

you know who else has a whole very specific thing about titles?

in conclusion

now, all that said, could it be wish fulfillment? absolutely. and it does need to be said -- i dig the character a lot for many other reasons! but i'm focusing on this kink angle in this essay as frankly, it's not a popular topic to talk about in fandom, and it's a fascinating itch to scratch at.

there's the sense in wider media these days that anyone over the age of 40-50 isn't allowed to have a sex life much less something as edgy as kinks unless if they're a complete monster, which is both as untrue as it is unfair. shame never helped anyone -- and i've always been partial to my messy favorite characters who never apologized for what they were. once a villainfucker, always a villainfucker.

either way, there are distinctly too many coincidences for me to write him as anything but, and I'm having fun in this sandbox ~

thanks for reading!

#meta #gunter fire emblem #fuck it throwing this one in the tag

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starrywangxian · 1 year

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warning: the last of us spoilers!! (episode 9 in particular)

to the new people who are adding to the moral dilemma debate at the end of tlou from the show, first of all: hello! second of all, you're missing some points about the importance of the sciencists' dumbassery and joel's ain't no one touching my daughter rampage and hopefully i'll explain what those missing points are.

1. the cure wouldn't have worked.

you're very right, cures are impossible for fungal infections such as Cordyceps, however the key missing detail is joel didn't know that. joel is not a scientist nor did he know how the fireflies were going to make this cure. as much as i love the "we're all fucked" segment in the first episode and the scared scientist from episode 2, none of this context happens in the game so, it's not general knowledge that fungal infections cannot be treated let alone cured. it's a good point but it's not relevant to joel's moral dilemma because he doesn't know that the cure wouldn't work. when he's in his rampage, he's not thinking "silly, fireflies. this cure won't work! you can't cure fungal infections" because if he did, i'm sure he'd at least try to tell them first. and anyway, FEDRA really don't want to tell people that there is a way to cure this infection and then not do it. more people would join the fireflies that way and the QZs would quickly become under new management. so FEDRA are certainly not telling people that fungal infections cannot be cured (heck, FEDRA aren't even telling people about the different infected - ellie didn't know what a clicker was, pre-museum).

2. the scientists dropped out of med school.

yeah, they probably did because med school, as we know it today, hasn't existed for 20 years. doctors are most likely taught in the QZs - the place the Fireflies are currently bombing - and these courses are probably taught by FEDRA or at least the government, which are the people that are killing the fireflies by the masses. even if the fireflies running the tests and doing the operation on ellie did go to FEDRA med school, they most likely were not taught how to do precise biopsies or extraction surgeries as in an apocalypse, they probably want to train their doctors to do more practical operations and ones they're most likely to come across, or maybe they just forgot! it's been 20 years! plus the fireflies aren't exactly in the best place right now (FEDRA are doing a good job of killing them all), so they're probably too desperate to go through it thoroughly. so are these firefly scientists good scientists? no. but they're trying their best with the resources and expertise they have and most importantly, the exact procedure that ellie goes through does not matter.

ik it's a pain that there's a few holes and flaws with the plot but these little bits really don't have that big an impact and if these little details were accounted for then the impact on joel's decision wouldn't be as big as the writers wanted it to be.

the moral dilemma joel faces has to be a big deal: we spend all this time travelling across the country for this cure, just for one man to murder everyone in his path for his newfound daughter. that's the point here! the writers want us to think about sarah; joel didn't get a choice with sarah, she was taken from him but this time, he can save her. he has a choice and he'll do whatever it takes to make this time different. in those moments when he guns down everyone he sees, he's not seeing them as people with loved ones and hobbies; they're obstacles, they're threats to his ellie's safety. (think "you'd just come after her").

he doesn't care about these people, he only cares about ellie. joel did save the world that day, it's just that his world was that little girl. honestly, a lot of joel's reasoning is explained in part 2 of the game so if you're really hung up on it, give it a play (or wait until season 2).

my point being here is, the writers wanted to create a situation that 1) reminds us of sarah, and 2) makes ellie and joel's relationship very tense afterwards. because ellie knows that joel is lying about the fireflies and this creates a big rift in their relationship. the choice joel made has to be big to have this same impact. ellie is willing to sacrifice herself for a cure, even if it doesn't work because she already believes that she's getting more than she deserves. she should've died with riley that day, and then with tess, sam and henry. all these people she's seen die should have been her all those months ago. but joel can't let that happen, he can't let another daughter die. and boom the tension flowers! this moral dilemma is showing us how deep joel's feelings go; he'd kill half of salt lake city and doom all of humanity to death for his little girl, even if that means going against what she wants.

so to summarise, no one knows that the fungal infection cannot be cured, the little details that you're hung up on about the science do not matter and the writers needed to create this big moral dilemma to really test the love that joel feels for ellie.

*breathes* so any questions?

#please don't ask questions #it's 3am and i wrote this in like 10 mins #idek if this makes any sense #i don't normall write big long text posts like these #if this doesn't make sense just pretend it does for my sanity #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #spoilers #tlou spoilers #hbo tlou #hbo tlou spoilers #starrywangxian

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junmoonhui · 1 year

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Soulmates Redefined

Pairing: dino (lee chan) x gn!reader

Context: my first english svt fic ahhh reader is from abroad who got a job in korea, and recently moved in with Dino due to unexpected circumstances; drunken musings lead to unexpected conversations and confessions (wc: 2.2k)

Warnings: alcohol TW!!! some swearing, kissing (under the influence), not proofread and written at 2 am, pls let me know if i accidentally included something that is not gender neutral or other possible triggers

The alcohol left a cool feeling as it touched my lips, and warmth as it spread through the rest of my body. My mind grew slightly more unruly with every milliliter of scotch I took. Beside me, Dino swished his glass, ice hitting the sides with faint clanging sounds against the nighttime air.

He let out a sigh with his next sip of alcohol, gazing at the stars above his—sorry, our—apartment balcony.

"Do you ever think," he said, another random musing interjecting our tipsy conversation, "how life was so carefully calculated, how the sun is just bright enough, and the earth hot enough to enable life; how our ancestors had worked through and discovered so much to give us every piece of technology we have; how our present was decided by small decisions in the past, and how one minor alteration in any of those decisions could have lead to something very different to what we know today? And yet here we are, in this moment, drinking together at 12:03 am."

I giggled at his thoughts. "Wow, you really love history, don't you?"

"I'm serious!" He said. "I mean think about it, what would have happened if you hadn't spent a semester of college here in Korea? What if you hadn't accepted Hybe's job offer to become a song-writer?"

"What if I invested in a better apartment instead of settling on the cheapest rent I could find, only to find out one month later that we would be evicted for the construction of a new commercial building?"

"Exactly! And now you have to move in with me—leading to this moment."

I smiled and ruffled his hair. "How drunk are you, really?"

"It's not just that," he said, lightly grabbing my hand and ignoring my question, "do you ever think about how the universe works so mysteriously yet perfectly around you to meet specific people? And every person you meet has a purpose—someone to learn from, a specific and unique experience. And someone, who could be living far away, is suddenly right beside you. Eight billion people, roughly 200 countries, and yet most of us manage to find the perfect person for us to be the best version of ourselves, no matter where we came from. All because of decisions you made from the signs the universe had given you."

I don't know if it was the alcohol, or the fact that his hand continued to linger on mine as he spoke. But whatever was clouding my judgement made me think his dark brown eyes grew softer with every word as he continued to look into mine.

I felt a warm blush spread across my neck—or maybe it was the alcohol?

He was always so passionate, one of the many things I loved about him. Maybe one day he'd get to know that; maybe he won't.

Among all of this, one thought broke the blissful silence. "I don't believe in soulmates."

One. Two. Three seconds. Five seconds. Eight seconds had passed, and all he did was stare at me. Once his slightly intoxicated brain had pieced together what I said, he gave out a hearty laugh.

Oh that laugh. If only he knew how much brighter my days become every time he lets out that laugh. He's my sunshine—just a bundle of pure, genuine happiness giving me warmth and comfort.

But he doesn't need to know that. Right?

I smacked his arm. Gosh, he's really been working out, huh?

"I'm serious!" I said, a small smile gracing my lips. I can't help it, he makes me happy.

He bit his lips to contain his laughter. "Okay, y/n, who hurt you? I mean really, have you never really thought about finding the one?"

I shrugged. "I just think there are more romantic things that the concept of soulmates."

"More romantic that the thought of one imperfect person finding another imperfect person in this cruel reality, meeting because they were destined according to whatever divine power has a hold on this universe?"

It was my turn to bite my lips, this time out of thought. I swirled the glass on my hand.

"It's not that I never thought about it," I said. "I really have thought about it, and when I had my first boyfriend, I thought he was the one. He was almost perfect in every way. Like he was made to be specifically for me. Then things started to not make sense—we couldn't make time for each other, we couldn't communicate as well as we used to."

I took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know where it started, or how long it had been happening. And that's when I realized finding the one is not as magical as everyone makes it to be."

Dino's hand continued to hold mine, his thumb now rubbing circles against me palm. "So..." he drew out, "what would you do if you finally found the one?"

I felt his hand tighten for a millisecond. He looked at me expectantly. I took another sip of my drink.

"Honestly," I said, "I hope I never do find the one."

His hand slid away from mine. I saw a flash of hurt in his eyes before he looked away. The corners of his mouth drooped ever so slightly. All of this I could chalk it up to the alcohol messing with my head. But no, it was too vivid. His entire aura changed, as if a cloud moved over my sunshine. Even in my intoxicated state, I could tell he was upset.

Did I hurt him? I never meant to do that. What did I say wrong? Or maybe it was like a kid discovering for the first time that Santa isn't real, that there were no magic elves to make them anything they want, no jolly old man to spread the joy.

My hand grabbed his, making him look at me. "Chan-ah, it's not that I don't want to believe in soulmates. I think it's really nice to think that somewhere out there, there's someone who can make you unexplicably happy—that when you meet them, you just know."

"So why don't you wanna meet them?"

I placed my drink down on the table, moving closer to him. "It's not that I don't want to meet them. I just learned to not expect to meet them at all. I stopped waiting for the universe to push me in the 'right direction' or whatever the hell that is. I stopped waiting to find the one. Because instead of the one, I'd rather just find someone. Someone who I can be myself with. Someone to build a relationship with. Instead of a romance written in the stars, I'd rather have a romance written with my partner. Find someone, build a foundation, make compromises. Adjust. Grow. Until we can both be the best version of ourselves. I think it's about defeating the odds in this cruel world and whatever divine power out there controls this universe, without a single knowledge if the two of you would even work. Yet you love each other enough to make it work. You've built a strong foundation for your relationship, something that could withstand anything that comes your way. I think working hard and creating relationship from scratch is more romantic than any preordained destiny. And maybe the fact that having a preordained destiny scares me a bit, thinking I have agency over all my actions only to find out I was meant to end up with a certain person all along. It's more romantic to have a true choice, and be able to wake up everyday and still choose the same person, over and over again."

Dino let out a sigh—of contentment or contempt, I don't know. But if the smile on his face, the twinkle in his eye, and the shifting closer to me were any context at all, I'd say the former.

"I understand," he said. "And that makes so much more sense now that I think about it. It's always been satisfying how Seventeen has gotten to where we are, even though we didn't start out as strong as other groups. And yet here we are now, at the same level as them. It would have been easy to be famous from the start, but building ourselves up from where we were to where we are now—it's a satisfying feeling. And I'll always be thankful for our experiences. It almost seemed impossible with 13 different from 13 different places with 13 different experiences and views in life."

"And yet you made it work. You continue to choose each other."

"We choose each other." His hand moved to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

"We still choose each other," he said again, a hushed whisper this time. His hand lingered on my cheek. His eyes continued to stare into mine.

For some reason, be it the alcohol or the universe or just my own damn intuition, I had a feeling he was talking about something else the second time he said it. Someone else... me?

This time, I was sure it wasn't the alcohol or disorientation. I was sure he slowly moved unto me, heavy-lidded eyes closing as his lips pressed against mine. It was a soft kiss, no excessive movements. Just his puckered lips pressing against mine.

He pulled away for a second, leaving me wanting more, only to be satisfied again as he tilted his head to deepen our kiss. One. Two. Five. Seventeen. Three eighths. Square root of pi. Oh fuck it, time meant nothing anymore as he continued to kiss me. It could have been a second, it could have been a minute. Whatever timeframe it was, nothing else in the world mattered. All my attention was on him and his lips on mine. I could only hope he felt the same.

He pulled eventually pulled away, his eyes still half closed. He put his forehead on mine as he continued to look deeply into my eyes. He smiled and let out a soft chuckle.

"You make me happy," he said. "For whatever reason it is that you're hear, the universe or just you choosing to be here, I'm happy that you are. Everyday I learn something from you. You make me a better person. And everyday I hope to be the same kind of person for you."

"Dino," I said softly, cupping his cheek, "you do make me happy. And maybe part of the reason why I choose to be here is because of you. I don't know if you're the person I'm supposed to end up with, if that's even real. But I do know that I like you. A lot. And I'm willing to make it work if you are."

"I am." He pressed a kiss again. "I really am."

I could see tears start to form in the corner of his eyes. I wiped them off as soon as they came.

"You know," I said, "I'm surprised you thought I believed in soulmates. I've never been the type to wait for the perfect thing to fall into my lap. It's part of the reason why I became a song-writer. Instead of finding the perfect song, I'd rather just make it myself."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. "For someone who doesn't wait around, you sure waited for me to make the first move."

I smacked his shoulder lightly. "And for someone who believes in destiny, you sure took matter in your own hands and made the first move."

"Believe what you wanna believe, y/n, but we complement each other very well."

"And believe what you wanna believe, Dino, but that doesn't ensure that a relationship lasts."

"I know," he said. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders before pulling me close to hime again.

"We'll make it work, y/n. I promise. You're enough reason to fight whatever destiny the universe tries to throw at me."

"We'll make it work," I said.

We stayed in each other's embrace as we finished the rest of our drinks. We talked about all the other times we wanted to confess to each other, our words lost in a fit of giggles.

"Hey," he said softly. "Can we talk about this again tomorrow? When we're more sober."

I nuzzled my head against him and pressed a kiss to the base of his neck. "Sure, on one condition."

"What's that?"

I looked up into his eyes. "I sleep on the floor."

"What? No! You're my guest I can't let you sleep on the floor."

"Well my name isn't on the lease yet, so it's your apartment. I can't let you sleep on the floor."

"Okay, okay," he said in defeat, "if we're a going to officially be a couple anyway, why don't both of us sleep on the bed?"

I shrugged. "That could work."

He smiled and kissed the top of my head.

"Let's go to bed?"

"Let's go to our bed."

"Oh and y/n"

"Yeah?"

"I choose you."

"I choose you, too."

Tagging: @ontowanderlust hi ate alia im back hehi, and @bitchlessdino you probably don't know me but I love the way you write and since you're whipped for chan, here have a chan to brighten up your day

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen lee chan #seventeen dino #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #dino imagines #lee chan imagines #dino fluff #lee chan fluff #dino drabbles #lee chan drabbles #junmoonhui fics #lee chan #dino

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lyssiesleakedmemos · 3 months

Text

Your favorite Bodybuilder is a Sadist

Real life 🌶

Rough/Sadism

Summer was approaching fast, and nothing could stop the row of girls from their life or death race to perfect their bikini bodies. Their synchronized pony tails swishing and pristine sneakers thudding against the dueling treadmills. Nothing could distract them from their mission, that was, of course, until Dave walked in.

Eying him like a piece of meat and then exchanging a series of looks that said everything they needed to say. This clearly wasn't the first time they gushed over him. I chuckled to myself from behind the front desk where i greeted him and checked him in. They would have killed for my job at that moment, and they would have looked a whole lot better in the hideous uniform. He was precisely the sort of man they were sweating for. But none of us would have guessed the sadistic urges behind the beautiful body.. even less that it would actually be ME he'd end up taking them out on.

To tell you the truth I wasn't terribly impressed with my first interactions with Dave, don't get me wrong he was never rude but he wasn't warm either and as someone forced to greet patrons all day it was clear he wasn't the friendliest of the bunch. He was undeniably attractive, a gorgeous bronze body full of rippling muscles on his towering frame.. I didn't even think that body type particularly did anything for me, but it must have because the moment he first approached me, I melted.

It was casual, but the more he came in, the more time he made for me. We had little jokes, and part of me hoped his line of fan girls saw it.

Before anything came of it I had switched jobs and as far as I knew that was that until an unknowingly fateful day came in the form of a friend request from a familiar name and a more familiar face. I was caught off guard, but when I saw the number of friends he had, i wasn't even confident it was anything more than clicking "add" on every profile he crossed. Upon further inspection, I decided it was an act of self-promotion because it turned out this man was a much bigger deal than just some hot guy at the gym.. he was a known and awarded bodybuilder with dedicated fans. Dave competed across the country and made a name for himself in a niche that he thrived at. Okay, so maybe I was impressed.

The expected happened, absolutely nothing.

Until it did.

I was out getting plastered with my best friend shortly after a break up when my phone buzzed, and through the blurs of the swirling night, I saw his name. He was at a different bar, in a different city on the same elixir. All the confidence he drank, he poured into messages confessing how bad he wanted me and for just how long that had been the case. Just like that, the bar became an underwhelming backdrop to the excitement of my phone. Back and forth, we went through venue changes all the while I questioned the reality of what was happening. "Message me when you're sober. See how you feel then"

The sunlight tore through the blinds the way it only does after a night of drinking blazing over the face of yesterday's makeup. That's when I saw the message already waiting for me, "I'm sober now, I feel no different."

Day in and day out, the messages flowed in each piece of the puzzle that was his dark twisted mind. "I have desires, I can't explore with anyone else." He trusted me like a dear friend but craved my destruction at his hands. He told me everything he intended to do to me when he got his hands on me. I was obedient and offered him a time and place.

Besides my nerves, I was also sick that day.. I warned him, but he remained unphased. He was coming over. I anxiously paced the floors, my house was falling apart, my body was no match for his, could I really let him see me nude living in squalor?Why me? Why now?

Times up, his head lights burst through the window he had arrived to take what he was promised.

After a few minutes of conversation while he downed a drink, he took me in with wild eyes. "I'm scared," I blurted. "I'm not," was all he said before kissing me. The game began, and he kissed me increasingly rough while his calloused hands explored my body. "I love your fucking tits." Peeling off my dress leaving only the red lingerie I wore just for him. Guiding my own trembling hands to feel his achingly hard cock. He ordered me to the floor, on my knees, staring up at his intimidating frame. Dave shoved himself into my irritated throat, using my head like a toy smashing into my face harder and deeper. Choking on every inch of him, allowing me only seconds of reprieve to violently gag and gasp before he reentered my mouth. He watched my agony joyously.

I could hardly take it anymore when he let me up, ripping my panties off and shoving them into my mouth. He bent me over the couch and fucked me, each crash like a punishing blow. Not a second was gentle, striking my ass and telling me what a filthy whore I was. He was more animal than man. I wondered if the girls at the gym could have handled him in his true form if they knew what I did now. He wanted to provoke me, the closer I got to tapping out the more enjoyment he got out of it. Muffled shrieks escaped through the red lace in my mouth.

Not ready to be done playing with his toy, he picked me up me up with ease dangling me upside down. He buried his face between my trembling thighs and ate me suspended in mid-air. The weight of my body was nothing to him to someone of his magnitude, especially not with the adrenaline of the hunt.

Then he threw me. He actually fucking threw me across the room. Lying there panting in disbelief I couldn't help but get a sick pleasure out up being discarded like trash with such brute strength. Part of me wanted to fight him but if this was him unchallenged I wasn't sure I'd survive crossing him.

He took use of my incompasitated state sitting on my face ordering me to lick his ass, suck his balls before burying his cock back in my throat. My throat ached but I didn't protest. Despite, everything I wanted to be the best for him even if that made me nothing more than his favorite object to destroy.

He never ran out of energy tossing me around the room, degrading me in every position like he showed up with a checklist of pent-up desires. Slapping me around till i flinched at his every move. I never knew what was coming next, and it gave him a sick pleasure. Only coming to an end when the night did.

I made a passing comment on his way out about how sore my throat was from being sick and how I could barely handle the pain of his cock. He looked at me expressionless and simply said "I know." Before hugging me goodbye, gently.

While one might think this sounds like a story that could only ever be a one-off.. I have seen him since more than once since and regularly still talk to him so this is not where this ends but I think we could also use sometime to recover before we get to the time I started losing consciousness in his car..

* disclaimer all acts were consensual and communicated beforehand had. His desire to cause pain may be controversial, but they were established prior, and I had the power to decline at any time.

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aelaer · 1 year

Note

⛓

Okay so. THREE YEARS AGO, back in early 2020 before The World Went To Shit, I posted a "whump prompt request" thing with icons to basically request fics based on the whumpy icon. I answered 2 or 3 of them before I basically stopped writing for like, over a year.

This year I'm doing my damnedest to finish the 6 whump prompts I have from early 2020 and the last (anon) prompt I have from 2019. That's my goal. (If I can get to the 2022 user-submitted prompt as well this year, that's an extra bonus).

I don't think this user is even in the fandom anymore (possibly not even on tumblr), but I'm still doing the prompt fics. As always with tumblr prompts, my tumblr followers get them first, and I'll post it on AO3 at a later time.

Obviously the prompt is chains. For 2 years I was trying another fic to fill this, but when it just wasn't happening, I threw out the original idea for this new one below.

So I've done alternate meetings between Stephen and various Avengers before, but I wanted to try something different and have a different set of Avengers meet him in different circumstances. Well, not that different because I just enjoy seeing Stephen suffer. Sorry love. But it's a different crew of Avengers, so it's at least a little different. I don't think I've seen this particular group meeting him before in this timeframe, either.

This fic stars Steve, Nat, Sam, and Stephen, and is actually written from Steve's POV! First time writing from Steve's POV so it was a lot of fun. Not betaed, but this is still about 7,000 words long, so enjoy!

—--

Ever since aliens attacked New York in 2012, alien technology was a major part of the arms dealing scene in the black market. Nuclear missiles were old school; Chitauri-powered weaponry was the cream of the crop. And as the United States' Department of Damage Control seemed to have done a very lousy job at controlling all the weaponry leaving the country the last several years, Steve Rogers figured he'd put his time out of the country to good use and clean up for them.

From all the people that came back from the Raft, only two were with him now. Clint and Ant-Man—Scott, nice guy—had families back home and went for a plea bargain. Wanda asked to be dropped off in Europe and Nat provided her with a new ID and enough money to get by for a couple months without any sort of job. Bucky—well, Bucky was getting help in Wakanda.

That just left him, Sam, and Nat. When he told them what he planned to do, they were fully on board. Nat even had some old KGB connections to get them started.

And that's how they had spent the last year, going from city to city, country to country, chasing leads on illegal alien weaponry across Asia. They started in Yemen and Oman, then went north to Syria (where they got into a tight spot and found Nick Fury of all people waiting for them. How he got to Syria in the first place, Steve had no idea.) After a tense conversation with him, he parted with him in Lebanon, then they started their way east to Iraq, Turkmenistan, and Afghanistan.

It was another old contact of Nat's that pointed them to their next destination: the state of Uttar Pradesh in northern India.

With most of their hits, it was clear that terrorists, insurgents, and other sorts who dealt with black market arms were getting types of Chitauri weapons. With their information out of India, it was less clear what the nature of the weapon was.

"From how they're discussing it, it sounds alien," Nat said as she read over her contact's notes. "And they're guarding it fiercely. But it appears they don't know what to do with it."

"Who has the weapon?" Sam asked. "Lashkar-e-Taiba? ISIS?"

She shook her head. "It's a small splinter group of revolutionists. No household names here."

Steve frowned; these small groups were more difficult to determine how to respond to. "Are they considered terrorists by the United States?"

Nat shook her head once more as she looked through the notes. "Strictly Indian. This group doesn't go beyond their borders."

"Then let's go for a nonlethal encounter, as much as possible. We're not here to say who's right and wrong about such things, so long as they're not hurting anyone in their actions."

She half-smiled. "They do have a weapon, Cap." They've likely hurt people, she didn't say.

He quirked his lips in return. "And that's why we're going to relieve them of it." In the end, it was up to the local authorities to take care of the people themselves and to put them through due process. If Steve could, he'd do the same for every terrorist, too—but he didn't have that luxury when they were caught in the middle of a gunfight, or when it was just the three of them versus dozens in enemy territory.

He wasn't happy with the fact, but he made do with what he could. He didn't particularly enjoy killing others in the war, either—and the fact that he still had to from time to time was an unhappy reality.

So when he could get through an incident without death, he gladly took it.

"All right," Sam said. "Next stop, India."

—--

Nat's connections made getting the quinjet from country to country actually possible. From there, they paid someone enough cash to both keep an eye on the jet and to keep quiet about it. These people made a living on such gigs, so after a year of seeing such deals, Steve was a lot less worried about it than when they first started.

Their contact got them a van and from there, they fit everything they needed into it to get to a safehouse and gather more intel from there.

Uttar Pradesh was a land of extremes. As the most populous state of India, it also saw some of its richest and poorest citizens, some great beauty and great ugliness, and both wondrous joys and terrible suffering. Steve didn't interact with the locals—Nat did all that if they had to, as she somehow knew Hindi as well—but he could see it in the people's faces as they went from city to village, and back again.

It took them a couple days to secure their safehouse to their liking, then another few days to find the location of their target. It took Nat and Sam another 48 hours to break into their security and tap their communications, and it wasn't too long that they got the location of the weapon.

"They're not giving any further description on what this weapon is," Nat said with a grimace as she leaned back in her chair. "I don't think the guys we bugged actually know what it is, just where it is as they were guarding the building. On the second floor, so that narrows it down further."

"That's annoying," Sam said. "I'll look up the address and see what I can find on the building. This city's large enough to have blueprints."

"Not sure how much you'll find," Nat said. "I'll drive out there and scout it out tonight."

"You can add it to what I do find," Sam said, grinning.

—---

When Nat came back from her scouting just before dawn, Steve woke up to find her thoughtful. "What happened?"

"The building was unusually busy, considering the time of night," she said. "The good news is that I found the most likely room in which they're keeping the weapon."

"Should be an easy snatch and grab?"

"Absolutely; this is a group of amateurs. You and Sam can probably stay in the car."

Steve snorted. "Well, if we would just get in your way."

Nat smirked, then went to get herself some breakfast. "I'll listen in today to see if anyone says anything more about the weapon."

About two hours later, Sam and Steve were mapping out their route away from the building once Nat had the weapon. From the corner of his eye, Steve saw her frowning as she listened to the tapped broadcast. He did not like that frown. "What is it?"

She listened for about ten more seconds. "It sounds like they have a prisoner."

Sam jerked his head up. "What?"

She paused as she listened, then after two minutes she shook her head. "These idiots know nothing. They think he was after the weapon, naturally, but for all they know he could be a political prisoner or hostage." She sighed. "Should've bugged someone more useful."

"This changes things," Steve said.

"A rescue mission makes this more complicated," Nat pointed out.

"Are you suggesting we leave him?"

Nat smiled slightly. "Just making sure you were aware."

"Well, I've never been one to back down from a challenge." He looked at Sam. "You'll be fine alone in the car?"

Sam shrugged. "I can keep the engine running. You sure you won't need help with sneaking in?"

"No. Show me what blueprints you found again, Sam." He had learned several things about subterfuge and stealth over the last year from Nat. He had to.

With their combined intelligence gathering, Steve was able to map out his own route to search for this prisoner. It was likely he was being kept in the basement level of the building, so Steve would start there and work his way up, if need be. As decided before, Steve wanted to go for the non-lethal route, and they had just enough drugs to knock people out to make it happen (one of the good things of running into Fury all those months ago was getting supplies of that nature).

With their plan set, all they had to do now was wait until nightfall.

—----

Nat was right: these guys were amateurs. Steve was certain that she'd be in and out of the building in five minutes, tops. He had the longer route here just because he had to find the room this prisoner was actually being held.

Half the people in the building were asleep on the second floor; those awake were either guarding the mysterious weapon (Nat had them handled) or posted around the perimeter. He only encountered one other guard on the first floor before making his way into the basement. Those he did encounter he stashed away in dark corners so they weren't easily spotted by anyone passing by.

The basement was a little busier. The stairwell led to a long hallway filled with several tiny rooms, one of which was easily seen as occupied the moment he came to the floor. Steve took out two guys in a room at a pair of computers and kept them propped in their chairs. The other rooms in the hall were empty of people, largely filled with storage and detritus.

At the edge of the corridor was another hallway and Steve carefully peered beyond the corner to see if anyone was there. There was a man sitting outside of a door playing on his phone; that was very likely the door Steve was looking for. It was child's play to sneak up at him and jab him in the neck just as he had done with the rest.

He lowered the guard to the floor before he could fall out of his chair, then peered through the small window—hole, really—within the door to take a look inside.

Well, he had definitely found the prisoner. While the light in the room was dim, he could tell that their prisoner didn't appear Indian; his skin was just too light. Steve frowned; what was a foreign national doing dealing with a group that largely dealt with Indian affairs?

It appeared that he had crossed them in some way because the man looked terrible. Bruises and bloody scrapes blossomed across his face; they appeared to be recent hurts, gained in hours or days rather than weeks or months. His dark hair was pressed damp against his head, though from sweat or water, Steve did not know. His clothes were unlike anything Steve's seen in the future so far, at least outside of movies.

Despite his poor state of being, this group had considered their captive enough of a threat to chain him to the wall itself. Steve had no idea wall fetters like that still existed. The man was leaning his head against one of his arms pulled up, though sleeping or unconscious, he couldn't say.

Steve soon discovered neither. As soon as he took the cell door key off the unconscious guard and slotted it into the lock, the man's eyes snapped open and he straightened his position as much as he was able to. And he didn't appear afraid at all. Resigned, perhaps, but not afraid. Interesting. Nat would have quite the analysis on him from just this.

The man's grim resignation turned into outright confusion as Steve opened the door to reveal himself.

"Keep your voice down," Steve warned as he dragged the guard's body from the hallway and into the cell. He carefully shut the door to make it look closed, but left it open a crack in case it locked from the inside. He turned back to the hostage. "We'd rather avoid a full on confrontation if we can."

"Captain America?" Disbelief dripped through every syllable, but he kept his voice low. And he sounded American; that wasn't expected at all.

Steve could not help his unhappy smile. "Not so sure I can call myself that anymore."

The man remained still as Steve closed the distance between them. "Let me get these off," he muttered as he brought up the key again. But he could see the problem immediately—the key was too large for the manacles.

The man was watching him and seemed to catch his realization. "I imagine that one of the leaders has that key," he said, voice flat. Not panicked at all like many others would be if they thought they were so close to freedom and were stuck.

This man was no normal civilian, that much was clear.

Steve, though, had another idea. "Hold on." He took hold of the left manacle and chain, then paused as he caught long scars on the hand accompanied by a tremor that certainly wasn't fear. "This might pinch. Brace yourself."

The man said nothing, but hissed softly as Steve snapped the chain from the manacle as the rough metal scraped against him, despite Steve's best efforts.

"Okay?" Steve said as he slowly let go of the manacle still around his wrist, allowing the man time to gain control of his arm.

"Fine. Don't worry about it."

Steve moved to the other manacle and saw the same patterns of scars on his right hand, as well. He broke the chain with as much care as he could, and this time the man remained silent at the break.

"Can you stand?"

The man was already standing—or at least attempting it. He managed to get up to his feet, but he was leaning heavily against the wall. His eyes were focused on the corner where Steve had deposited the unconscious guard near the door. Steve followed his gaze and saw that beyond the guard was some sort of red fabric in the corner.

"I need that," the man said, leaving no room for argument in his voice. With some bemusement, Steve gathered the long length of red fabric in one hand (a coat?), and with the other dragged the guard to where the hostage once sat so anyone looking in the dimly lit room would make out the figure of a body. So long as no one took a closer look, it would hold until morning.

The man took the red fabric as soon as Steve offered it to him and slung it over his shoulder. Steve caught the glint of silver of what he assumed was some sort of clasp on his coat, and while he was no expert, it looked like the real deal.

"Surprised they didn't take those," Steve said as he nodded to the ornamentation. "Lean on me."

The man did so without protest. Steve couldn't see what was causing the other's inability to fully stand, but that would have to be examined later. He did mutter, though, "They couldn't rip the clasps off. Then they thought they were maybe cursed." For some reason this seemed to amuse the man.

Right, then. "Follow my lead," Steve murmured.

He locked the door behind them and dropped the key in one of the storage rooms within the basement. Steve was slower going out than coming in, but he had been thorough in jabbing everyone and placing them in either hidden areas or in discrete positions, should anyone pass. But for all the rumors of having a powerful weapon, as their security personnel was not what Steve would consider top-rated, he wasn't expecting any change of guard anytime soon.

The building was thankfully small enough that the journey from the cell to the exit was less than five minutes, even at the slowed pace they were forced to go. From the corner of his eye Steve saw the man turn his head at the sight of one of the men stashed on a chair, positioned as if he were asleep rather than drugged.

It wasn't until they were past the building's outer fencing and around a corner that Steve breathed more easily. Perhaps the man sensed it, because he spoke for the first time since they left the cell. "Did you kill them?"

"The guards?"

"Yes."

"No. Just drugged."

Steve felt the man exhale beside him. "Good."

That… wasn't expected. But then again, nothing about this man met any of the preconceptions he originally thought about the person he would be rescuing. "What's your name?"

"Strange."

They turned another corner. "Your name is Strange?"

"Yes."

Fair enough.

"How far are we going?" Strange asked. Steve was supporting more of his weight now, his hidden injury seeming to do a number on him.

"Not far," he assured him. "I've got a car waiting."

"Great." The 'great' sounded oddly sarcastic.

The van was only a couple minutes further, which was good because Strange only seemed to be getting weaker with every step. By the time they turned the final corner to meet it, Strange's left leg fully gave out on him. Steve caught him before he could totally collapse, but he noticed Strange's attention was fully on the van.

"I'm not the only thing you're taking from that building, am I?" he asked between clenched teeth.

How could he possibly know? Steve didn't know how to answer, but before he needed to, Sam was stepping out of the van to assist him. He took in Strange's interesting fashion choices with a raised brow, then took on the role of medic immediately. "Where are you injured?" he asked as he took Strange's other arm. He spared a look at the hand and the manacle, then gripped him on the forearm as he slung it over his shoulders.

"It's complicated," was Strange's cryptic answer. "Nothing you can—" He sharply inhaled, "—help right now."

Once they loaded Strange into the back seat (with his coat on his lap—though it was rather large to be a coat, now that he took a longer look at it), Steve asked Sam quietly as they rounded the car, "You found the weapon?"

"Well, we definitely found what they were hiding, though I'm not so sure I'd call it that," he replied.

What on earth did that mean? Steve sent Sam a look, but held off on any further questions until they were out of immediate danger.

Nat had slipped into the driver's seat as soon as Sam was out of the van, and Sam gave it up with the roll of his eyes. Steve decided to sit in the back with Strange to keep an eye on him as they drove back to their safe house about thirty minutes away. Somehow Strange seemed worse resting in the van than moving. Yes, the road was bumpy and unpaved in many spots, but he would have thought walking from his prison would have been more taxing on him.

As he eyed Strange's clenched fists, tight eyes, and pallor face, he wondered where these hidden injuries lie—and if they were all physical in nature.

Perhaps more importantly, he was wondering what on Earth another American was doing all the way out there in the middle of Uttar Pradesh and far away from any sort of tourist destination (and they had done their research—this was absolutely not an area for tourists).

Apparently he wasn't the only one wondering about him. "So, you gonna tell us who you are and what on earth you're doing all the way out here?" Sam asked, turning himself partially around to look at him.

"If we could save the interrogation for when we're stopped, I would greatly appreciate it," he said without moving his eyes from the center of the windshield.

"Carsick?" Nat asked in that casual way that was anything but casual.

"Yes," Strange said, but Steve wasn't sure if he fully believed him. It was the tight anxiety in his gaze that pointed to something else.

But what it was wasn't important for him to know. Every man had his demons. So Steve said, "His name is Strange."

Sam looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Strange. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Strange said, curt and tense.

"Right," said Sam. He cleared his throat. "Well, Mr Strange, when we get to our little base, we'll take a look at you and see what we can do for your injuries."

At first, Strange didn't seem like he would reply. Then a moment later, after Sam had already turned around and Steve was getting ready to settle in for a long, silent trip, Strange said, "Doctor."

"Pardon?" Steve asked. Sam slightly turned his head.

"It's Doctor Strange."

Well, that just created more questions than it answered.

—---

Doctor Strange could barely walk by the time they made it to the safe house. His lips were pressed tight as he contained what appeared to be excruciating agony. Steve had seen that look on men's faces before in war as they lost limbs and burned from napalm fire.

What sort of wounds was he hiding underneath all his clothing?

"He can take my cot," Sam said. The cots were in a separate, smaller room to the side of the larger room that held their base of operations. Their vital equipment didn't exceed what could fit in a single van should they need to leave fast, but at this point they had acquired decent bedding, more fresh clothing, and a mini-fridge alongside the basic necessities of the trade: their tech, a well-stocked first aid kit, non-perishables to last for several weeks, and a few weapons.

Sam already had their first aid kit by his side as they got Strange to the cot, and Strange collapsed as soon as they let him go. However, when Sam started to undo his belts to his—robes, Steve guessed—to get access to whatever hurts he was hiding, Strange stopped him by grabbing at his arm. But the grip was minimal; Strange's hand was shaking badly enough to continuously jiggle the ugly manacle still there.

"Not—not hurt—physically," he panted.

Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously at the comment. "You've got bruises all over you. Look, with this weakness, you could have a bad internal bleed—"

"No," he hissed. "Listen." His weak grip readjusted itself on Sam's arm. "Move the statuette—away from me."

Steve turned a confused look to Sam, but Sam had stilled and was looking at Strange with narrowed eyes. "How did you—"

"200 feet," he interrupted. "For an hour. You'll see." With that, he finally passed out.

"Statuette?" Steve asked.

"It was what they were protecting." Nat appeared at the door and frowned at Strange as Sam, obviously, ignored his protests and started stripping him down to both attach him to a BPM and to look for any signs of massive trauma. "He shouldn't know that we took it."

Steve frowned. "He said something of the same just as we got to the van."

Nat's eyes narrowed. "Did he, now."

Steve shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense. They were supposed to be holding onto some powerful weapon."

"Whatever our intel, the statuette was definitely the only thing they were truly guarding," Nat said. "Had two men at the entrance and one on the ground below—even more than last night." She kept her narrowed gaze upon Strange. "Maybe he is what caused all the disturbance last night, too."

Steve frowned at the information. "Did anything about it seem suspicious?"

Nat shook her head. "Not from a cursory look. It's just a rather ugly statue made out of stone. Weighs no more than 10 pounds. I was saving the closer examination for when we got back here, though."

"This makes no sense." It was Sam this time, and he was looking at the diagnostics on his small handheld that he had hooked up to Strange.

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"His vitals are not what I was expecting. His blood pressure is higher than normal, which is opposite what you'd see with internal bleeding, and none of this bruising is severe. I mean, he should still get himself to a hospital when he can to double check, but I'm not seeing any obvious signs of hemorrhaging."

Nat looked back at Strange. "He's not faking it. He's out."

"I know." Sam worked on cleaning up some of the cuts on Strange's face because they were, apparently, the worst wounds they found. "But from what I can see, he shouldn't be unconscious. I found no head trauma, no major blood loss, and his temperature's stable."

Steve pursed his lips together in thought. The world had gotten very weird the last few years.

Nat read him like a book. "You're going to entertain his idea?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the world isn't exactly what it used to be," Steve said. "We can try for an hour. Just to see what happens."

Nat canted her head, then nodded slowly. "I know a spot. Be back soon."

—--

Fifteen minutes later, Steve had his chair at the doorway between the beds and the rest of the space as he kept an eye on Strange. Sam was working on repairing some of their surveillance tech while Nat was looking up something at the computers after having returned just a couple minutes ago.

"He said Doctor Strange, right?" Sam asked. "You think, being an American with robes and a cape and all, that he's playing at being some sort of superhero with a secret identity or something?"

Steve blinked and took another look at the red pile of cloth resting at the foot of Strange's cot. Huh, yeah, he supposed it could be a cape. A red cape like Thor's, to boot.

"I'm not so sure," Steve said as he eyed the man. "He didn't act like a civilian playing hero that got in over his head when I found him."

"Not a fake name, either," Nat said, causing the both of them to turn her way. She recited, "Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, MD, PhD. Neurosurgeon. And yes, I found images. It's him, just without the beard and a little less grey hair."

For some reason the name sounded familiar, though Steve had no idea why. He definitely hadn't met the guy before; he was pretty sure he'd remember him if he had.

Sam raised his eyebrows high. "What in the world is a neurosurgeon doing dressed like that in the weeds of Uttar Pradesh?"

"Former neurosurgeon, actually," Nat said with a thoughtful frown. "Last news I can find of him is from early 2016 after he got into a bad car accident. His hospital doesn't list him as a doctor there, anymore."

Steve frowned softly as he looked back at Strange. That would explain his hands. But as Sam said, it didn't explain what he was doing all the way out here. Then he narrowed his gaze as he saw Strange stir—or he thought he saw him move.

Then Steve blinked as he saw the edges of the red cape start rising upward. It reminded him of a cobra. He blinked again, and yea, it was definitely moving a bit like a snake. It was slinking.

"Hey uh, Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Clothing generally doesn't move on its own in this century, right?"

"Uh, what?"

"You better come see this."

Steve felt both Sam and Nat beside him as they watched the cape—definitely a cape, not a coat—extend itself upwards until it was no longer a bundle of cloth at the edge of the bed, but fully extended and covering Strange from the bottom of his neck to his feet.

This cape might've been bigger than Thor's cape.

"So that's definitely not normal, yes?" Steve reiterated.

"Yes, Steve, that's not normal," Nat repeated. "You two sure there wasn't any sort of tech embedded within it?"

"Surveillance would've picked up something," Sam said, which Steve knew that Nat knew.

"Right," she said. "I'd ah, I'd keep my distance from it, gentlemen."

"Right."

"Yep."

—------

Another twenty minutes passed before Steve heard a groan coming from the cot. He looked up from his sketch to watch a minutiae of expressions cross over Strange's face before it settled on the blank expression of a man who woke up in unfamiliar, potentially dangerous situations. Steve saw that expression all the time once, a lifetime ago.

Strange was not just a neurosurgeon, no matter where his internet trail ended. Nearly two years had passed since early 2016, after all—and much of the world had changed since then.

Steve pushed away the troubling, all-too-personal train of thought before it went somewhere dangerous. "Welcome back, Doctor Strange," he said. He kept his distance.

Strange glanced his way with a furrowed brow before a light of understanding came to his eyes. "Ah. Right." He slowly sat up, grimacing softly, frowning down at what was obviously rumpled, disturbed clothing. Speaking of clothing—the cape was floating a bit more now, its collar at the same level as Strange's head.

"Oh, good, I'm glad you're starting to feel better," Strange said, and he was definitely talking to his cape. Steve was certain about it.

"Uh," Steve started, causing Strange's eyes to focus again on him. They were no longer clouded in pain, and he could see the man had an unusually sharp gaze. "Nat was going to remove those manacles off you, but then your cape started moving…" He trailed off.

"It's a cloak," was Strange's absolutely absurd reply.

Steve was saved from replying by Sam joining him. And just out of sight of Strange, Nat lingered, listening. "Hey, doc. How're you feeling?" Steve was pretty sure Sam was mostly staring at the half-floating cape—cloak.

"Much better. Thank you for moving the statuette." He frowned at the manacles on his wrists before making something of an effort to straighten out his robes. The red cloak moved behind him and settled itself upon his shoulders with Strange saying nothing about it.

"Uh, you wanna tell us what that is?" Sam jerked his chin to the cloak as it moved.

"It's a cloak," Strange replied. With eyes that sharp, Steve knew the man was being purposefully obtuse.

"Funny." Sam crossed his arms. "You wanna tell us why it flies?"

"It's called the Cloak of Levitation. That's what it does."

Steve wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or amused by the obfuscation. He settled for something around the realm of exasperation. "Doctor Strange, please." Strange stilled his adjusting and settled his gaze on Steve. "If you would sit down with us," he gestured past his shoulder to the main room, "Natasha can remove the manacles while you answer a few questions."

Strange pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you'll let me go without answers," he said dryly, but he stood up. Steve stood as well to give Strange ample room to pass.

Steve could feel Nat stepping into line of sight just behind him. "Consider it payment for us getting you out of there."

Strange huffed as he stepped through into the main room; with his so-called cloak, his whole ensemble had an odd feeling of completion that was missing prior. "I thought the Avengers were meant to be altruistic." Steve had been pretty certain that Strange knew who the other two were, but that at least confirmed it.

Nat smiled. "Some of us are more altruistic than others." She nodded to the table where the laptops were sitting a minute ago, but were now closed and set aside. "Sit."

Steve was more than happy to leave the bulk of the interrogation to Nat. He retook his chair and Sam went back to his tech maintenance corner while Strange sat adjacent to Nat at the center table.

With her left hand, Nat slid her fingers underneath the manacle to offer some cushioning between the metal and Strange's skin, certainly raw from the metal and more sensitive with whatever lay underneath his skin now. Steve knew, only after being with her for so long, that it was yet another way she could better tell truth from lies by being right on top of his pulse.

She had never forgotten her years and years of training.

"Why were you being held in that building?" she started as she flicked open the pick.

Strange narrowed his eyes at the question. "The same reason you were drawn to it."

"And you were caught trying to take it."

"Well," Strange said, "I was not expecting to have such an adverse reaction."

Nat kept her gaze on the manacle, seemingly. Steve wouldn't doubt that she was looking up at Strange through her lashes at pertinent moments. "We came because we heard there was a powerful weapon being held there," she said slowly, "but it seems only to affect you."

Strange didn't reply, at first. "Was there a question in that statement, Miss Romanoff?"

Nat smiled. "You know my question, Doctor Strange."

Strange, again, considered his words. "And what would you do with that knowledge?"

Something that looked like true confusion flickered across Nat's expression. Steve doubted Strange caught it, but after all these years, he did. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be obtuse," Strange said, and there was an edge to his voice, suddenly. "After all, it was not even four years ago that the very agency you worked for created a weapon to kill millions. What am I to think of a person who worked for such an organization?"

The flash of something real crossing through Nat's eyes was so fast that Steve wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't just imagined it. "And all of us here were part of the team that exposed that plot." The first manacle clicked open, and Nat removed it, allowing Strange to take his wrist to rub it. "And when the worlds' governments tried to force us to sign a document that we believed endangered the world's freedom, we ran. And here we are."

Strange stared at her wordlessly, and they held a battle of wills. He had seen this expression on Nat very few times. The first she started showing it to him was when they really started working together, when—

Steve suddenly remembered. "Hydra!" At his exclamation, the battle of wills was dropped as everyone looked to him, but his eyes were again on Strange. "During Project Insight—one of their high level goons mentioned your name, your name and a few others—as he explained exactly what the algorithm was written to do." He looked at the other two. "Sitwell on the rooftop, remember?"

Realization came to them and they looked again at Strange, perhaps in a different light. "He did mention you," Sam said, pointing a screwdriver his way.

Strange cleared his throat. "That was in 2014, years before… this. They couldn't have known this would happen to me."

"And what is 'this', Doctor Strange?" Nat asked. She gestured for his left hand, and Strange gave it to her wordlessly. As she slipped her fingers underneath the metal and against his wrist, she asked, "What makes you different from us that the statue would only be an effective weapon against you?"

The silence sat. Strange said nothing, and it remained steady until the second manacle clicked open. Natasha removed it and stared at him for a moment, but when he remained still, she simply nodded and stood. "Steve can help you make arrangements to get back to where you need to go," is all she said, and turned to leave.

"Magic."

Nat stopped mid-step.

"The statuette has an adverse effect upon people who practice what you would call magic."

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Wait, do you mean 'You're a wizard, Harry,' type of magic?"

Strange's carefully blank expression fell away into a look of distaste. "The preferred term is sorcerer."

"A sorcerer is just a wizard without a hat," Sam said in return, and Strange's expression went through the whole range between gobsmacked and irritation, and back again.

Steve stepped in before Sam was completely eviscerated. "Right, so the statuette's bad news. What did you want to do with it?"

Strange seemed surprised by the question. "If it were up to me, I'd have it destroyed; were that impossible, burying it several miles deep or throwing it into the Mariana Trench is a good alternative. I'd say it could be placed in another dimension, but I'd be worried about another intelligent species potentially coming across it."

Right, dimensions. That was—something. Steve just nodded, as if all of that sounded perfectly reasonable and not completely insane.

Still, there was something Strange wasn't saying, and Steve had to make sure. "And these adverse effects—they're not permanent?"

"They're not."

"You sure?" Sam asked. "You were pretty badly off there for a time."

Strange cleared his throat. "I had been within near proximity to the object for almost a day, and the car ride's enforced closeness simply exacerbated the symptoms. They were unpleasant, but not permanent for the length of time I was exposed."

Steve narrowed his eyes; 'unpleasant' was a soldier's word for 'agonizing, but it didn't kill me so I'll be fine.' And Strange had the gaze of a man who had seen battle.

The other two noticed, naturally. They were both soldiers too. But it was Nat who prodded, to see just how much she could glean. It was almost instinctual for her to do so, Steve thought. "Sam is right to be concerned. You were near catatonic by the time the drive was through."

Strange's lip twitched upward in displeasure. He would allow some prying to establish—what? Some sort of basic trust? Whatever it was, it only went so far, and when Strange said, "I'm fine, thank you," Nat laid off with a raised hand and a slight smile.

Steve switched topics. "If you knew this statuette was so dangerous, why did you go in alone?" At Strange's quirked brow, Steve explained, "I assume there's more than one sorcerer around. You had to learn it from someone. You needed backup." Steve allowed a tone of disapproval to shine through his last sentence.

Strange heard it and rose up to it. "The statuette hasn't been encountered for quite some time, so its intensity wasn't known to any living sorcerer. Besides, we thought it was something else entirely here. If we'd known it was the statuette, we would have used a completely different strategy in retrieving it. On that note," he said, tone moving to decisive and unrelenting, "I'd like my phone call, now."

"Your what?" Sam asked.

"Well, Miss Romanoff said you'd be assisting me in getting out of here," Strange said. "To do that, I need to call somebody."

Steve nodded, though that statement led to more questions as to how Strange got out here in the first place. Did that mean there were other sorcerers in the vicinity?

They had several burner phones as part of their stash. Nat selected one not on their persons, so not yet in active use. Depending on what happened here would determine if they kept it or threw it out after this.

Strange nodded in thanks and dialed a number slowly enough that it didn't take a spy to read his movement, should he decide to steal the phone for some reason. Steve didn't think he would. Besides, if he was more concerned about keeping the number private, he certainly wouldn't have dialed it in front of Nat.

Regardless, it took about ten seconds from Strange lifting the phone to his ear for him to start talking. He stood as he did and began to slowly pace during the conversation.

"Wong, it's Stephen. I have good news and bad news." A pause. "The good news is that it wasn't the Jade of Antioch. The bad news is that it's the Empirikul Statuette."

Another pause. "Oh yeah, it's as bad as the books say it is. Can't say I recommend the experience." His cloak was swaying quite a bit. Was that natural? "The Avengers. Or, well, three former ones, I guess." Another pause. "Yeah, them. And yes. Where do you think I found a phone?" Pause. "Why would I have my wallet on me? That's an awful idea. It would've been taken from me if I had brought it."

Strange paused mid-stride as the response on the other side went for a few seconds longer than the other replies. "It wasn't—you're exaggerating. No, it wasn't that bad. The issue was the Empirikul Statuette, not the guys holding onto it. It wasn't even a day. I'm fine. But they did take my sling ring, so."

Strange rolled his eyes after another pause. "Look, it could have happened to anyone. It was just my luck that I went searching rather than someone else." He huffed in annoyance. "I just need someone to pick me up. Can you do that?" Another pause. "It's not in my immediate vicinity, but it's still too close. Give me ten minutes to walk—not going to chance the Cloak right now." A beat. "Yep. Right. Bye." He snapped the phone shut and looked at Steve. "If that's all, I should be on my way."

That phone call had only made him more curious about Strange. And when Steve exchanged looks with Sam, he could see the same on his face.

And apparently Nat wasn't going to let it go so easily, either. "This area can be dangerous at night," she said. "We'll escort you to a safe spot."

"That won't be necessary," Strange said. He set the phone back down on the table. "I can take care of myself."

Sam asked, "Your powers are fully back, then?"

Strange pressed his lips together at the question. He answered, "As I said, I can handle myself."

"So that's a no," Sam supplied.

"We wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Steve added.

Strange looked between the three of them, then exhaled in resignation. "You'd follow me regardless, wouldn't you?"

Nat smiled at him. "Wouldn't want our hard work to go to waste."

Strange rolled his eyes and gestured to the door. "Lead the way to this 'safe spot', then. Away from the statuette, if you would."

"Gladly." Nat headed to the door and Strange followed. Sam followed and Steve did as well because of course he wanted to see where this went. Before leaving, he swiped the burner phone Strange had left and slipped it into his pocket.

Nat led them through the dark back alleys southward of their hideout. In a few minutes, they were at a dead-end corridor nestled between three silent industrial buildings. "How's here?" she asked as she looked at Strange.

Strange's brow furrowed and he looked at his hands and made a gesture, then suddenly a bunch of golden sparks appeared on the tips of his fingers. "Here is far enough," he said.

Steve exchanged a look with Sam, and the latter asked, "So… what exactly can you do with magic?"

"Many things," Strange said as lowered his hands again.

Steve frowned at the vagueness of the answer. "And what is it that you do use your powers for, doctor?"

Strange looked at Steve again, his gaze considering. After a moment, he said, "When I was still learning the Mystic Arts, I was told that the Avengers handled physical threats to the world, while sorcerers handled more mystical threats—a countless number of them."

Sam folded his arms. "And that statuette is one of these so-called mystical threats?"

"In a way. In the wrong hands, it could cause a catastrophe." Strange waved his hand. "But I was thinking more along the lines of extra-dimensional entities that would enjoy consuming the Earth."

Nat tilted her head. "And do you come across those often?"

"More often than you would think," said Strange.

Suddenly, golden sparks appeared in the air behind Strange up against the wall. Nat took a step back, hand on her holster, and Steve felt Sam tense beside him. Strange, however, just turned and said, "And here's my ride."

The golden sparks widened into a circle large enough for anyone to walk through it. On the other side was a room and another man, Asian, dressed in brown robes and looking exasperated. "Strange."

"Wong." Strange stepped through the circle to the other side.

This so-called Wong glanced at Steve, then Nat and Sam. "Thank you for the assistance. We'll take care of the relic from here."

"Relic?" Sam asked.

"The statuette. You won't find any use for it, I assure you."

Nat narrowed her eyes but didn't argue. Steve decided to keep it simple. "Happy to help. You can, uh, call on us if you ever need assistance." He held the burner phone up.

Strange shot him a raised eyebrow. Wong's expression, however, remained even. "You should hope that day never comes, Captain." With that, the golden circle closed, leaving the three alone in the dark once more.

"Are we just gonna let them take the statuette?" Sam asked.

Nat's lips were pursed. "They may already have. He was able to get to Strange without knowing where he was physically. And if they were able to find the statuette in the first place without any sort of scouting and they now know it's in this area, I suspect that they could have moved it since they can travel with portals like that."

"He was right in that there's not much we can do with it," Steve said as he opened up the burner phone. "We can take a look to see if it's in the hiding spot or not anymore." He pulled up the last called number. "Either of you know what country code +977 is for?"

Nat was faster with searching. "Nepal."

"Huh. They're right next door." Steve closed the phone. "Still, I'll keep this phone handy. They may prove to be useful allies in the future."

Sam sighed. "So I guess it's now the big three rather than the big two that we gotta keep an eye out for."

"What?" Steve asked as they headed out of the alley.

"Well, it was just robots and aliens before. Now it's robots, aliens, and wizards. Or at least magical 'entities', whatever that means."

Steve huffed in amusement. "Well, we certainly do live in interesting times."

"Can't argue against that."

—----

The history of going after weapons in Syria then Lebanon, and getting picked up by Nick Fury are actually from the MCU Prelude comics! Those are considered backstory canon so I definitely recommend giving them a read, they're really interesting and fill in some holes for a lot of Avengers-related stuff around AOU, CW, and IW. (The Doctor Strange ones are really great, too.)

According to Wiki, Nat spoke *at least* 11 languages. I'm not sure how much of this is from the MCU or not. But I figured her having another language under her belt wasn't the most insane thing in the world.

The "jab to instant unconsciousness" isn't a thing in the real world, but it was established as existing in the MCU in FFH, so it makes these non-lethal special ops missions much easier. It's a fun trope so I certainly don't blame Hollywood for having it.

Finally, the Empirikul Statuette is a made up item, named as a nod to the Empirikuls, who in the comics kill all magic—items, books, users, etc. So an item that makes magic inert and makes magic users suffer in its presence seemed an appropriate item to name after them.

#stephen strange #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #doctor strange fanfiction #whump #a bit at least #prompt fill #mcu #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfic

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the-badger-mole · 2 years

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On the Clearest Night: 1K Followers Special

So, I hit 1K followers! For a while, I really didn't think I'd get to this point, but I did it! Somehow... Do I get a trophy or a cash prize or....? In honor of this illustrious occasion, I've reached out to my 1,000th follower and asked them if they had a prompt they wanted me to and they chose Painted/Blue. Here's the result. Thanks to everyone who followed me because of some random post I made and didn't unfollow me when I didn't live up to your expectations. Thanks to @iromiak for being number 1,000! Couldn't have done it without you! And I promise I will continue providing the nonsense you expect from my blog until I get bored and leave forever.

And now! Tonight's feature presentation:

On the Clearest Night

He couldn't decide if she was truly a spirit or not. Zuko had come at his father's request to Jang Hui to investigate the explosion at the arms factory. When he arrived he was confronted by two different versions of the story. The soldiers protecting the armory gave a report of a dark-clad vigilante leading a highly organized team armed with sophisticated explosives acting during the night. The citizens on the other hand told a tale of a river spirit appearing in the form of a beautiful young woman healing the sick, clearing up the river and ridding them of the factory that had nearly destroyed their way of life for good. One side was near rabid with the desire for retribution, and the other side spoke in hushed awe about their savior.

"That's enough,' the boy's mother took his hand and nearly dragged him away from Zuko. She smiled apologetically. "He insists he saw the Painted Lady, but the truth is none of us got a good look at her face. The veil, you know."

"I did see," the boy grumbled unhappily. "Mama said I would have died if the Painted Lady hadn't returned to help us."

"Then I'm glad she was here," Zuko said sincerely.

Still, he had a job to do. His father had entrusted him to find out what had happened to one of the most important armories in the country and to bring the guilty parties to justice. To his relief, Zuko was able to clear the half-starved, ragged villagers of any wrongdoing. He made a note with his secretary to have some sort of aid set up for the village. The soldiers from the armory weren't thrilled about sharing their rations, but it would do until Zuko could get back to Caldera and make more permanent arrangements for relief. He would have to ask his father about assigning a minister to look into how a village like Jang Hui could be allowed to fall so far through the cracks and make sure there were no other such oversights. It was bad enough that he was beginning to hear rumbles of dissent about the draconian conscription laws, the Fire Nation couldn't afford crisis-level poverty, besides.

Zuko stayed in the village another two days, gathering as many clues and leads as he could. There was something strange about the first-hand accounts from the villagers that he couldn't quite place. It was as if they were being careful about saying too much. He heard all about the people who had been brought back from the brink of death by the Painted Lady, and about the stores of food that had been laid at the doorstep of the worst-off families. He'd heard about her ethereal beauty, but they all stopped just short of any truly pertinent details.

"The soldiers said that she was human," a young boy told Zuko. "That she was from outside the Fire Nation, but I saw her! Her eyes were silver and she floated on the river with no raft. "

"I did see," the boy grumbled unhappily. "Mama said I would have died if the Painted Lady hadn't returned to help us."

"Then I'm glad she was here," Zuko said sincerely.

The day Zuko was supposed to leave, there was a sudden stir in the village center. A small group had arrived from a neighboring village, having heard about the troubles in Jang Hui. They bore what scant supplies they could spare and interesting news.

"We've been visited by the Painted Lady," a middle-aged woman said as she passed out blankets and farming tools. "She cured a few that was ailin', and then she told us that you lot would need some help to finish getting back on your feet."

"You spoke to her?" Zuko asked, pushing his way forward to the newcomers. "Directly?" The woman and her companions blinked in surprise. Someone quickly let them know who he was, and they all dropped down into deep bows.

"Please, you don't need to do that," Zuko insisted, somewhat impatiently. "I just want to know if you got a good look at her. Is she a spirit or is she human?" The villagers of Jang Hui stilled and seemed to hold their breath. Zuko tried not to notice.

"I can't say any of us got a good look at her, your highness," the woman said hesitantly. "There was a heavy fog, and she was covered from head to toe in a long, flowing robe. All any of us who were there could see was something glowing in her hands when she touched the sick, and the red markings along her arms. Then she was gone as if she'd never been there." Someone behind Zuko let out a breath that sounded like a relieved sigh. His mouth pulled down slightly at the corners. It seemed he had gotten as much information out of Jang Hui as he was likely to get. He asked the newcomers where they'd come from, and he ordered his men to prepare to follow that trail at dawn the next day.

That night, Zuko's men went to bed early in preparation, but Zuko couldn't turn in quite yet. He made his way to the edge of the river. He'd been told that up until a few days before, it had been thick and dark with the sludge from the factory. It was unfishable, undrinkable, and useless for anything except disposing of waste, but it was the lifeline of the village. Tonight the water was still murky, though Zuko could make out the riverbed in the shallow water. In a few days more, it would run clear again. Zuko frowned. Had his father known that this factory had almost killed a village?

A rustling in the bushes behind him startled Zuko. He had spun around into a defensive crouch before he really registered what he'd heard. An elderly man, who Zuko had seen lurking near the edges of his conversations with the villagers, approached. He was frail-looking, all bent and leathery with his skin stretched tightly across knobby, arthritic bones. Zuko didn't think he was a threat, but he didn't let his guard down either.

"Do you need something?" he asked uncertainly.

"I wanted a chance to speak to you," the old man said. "I didn't think I'd get to before you left in the morning, but I think perhaps I'm meant to after all." Zuko stared at him in confusion for a moment.

"What do you need from me?" he asked, not impolitely.

"I just wanted to say that in all the years we'd been begging for help from Caldera, this was the first time we'd felt we'd been heard."

"Oh," Zuko dropped his fists and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I...I just wish we could have done more. When I get home, I'll look into a longer-term solution-"

"I am certain you will," the man cut him off. "And we would be grateful, but that's not what I meant. When the Painted Lady arrived, we were in the middle of dying, your highness. She found several of us breathing our last, and she saved us. Then she got rid of the source of our ills and gave us a second chance to perhaps thrive once again. As I'm sure you can imagine, we're a bit protective of our protector." Zuko's shoulders slumped. He was suddenly exhausted. All he wanted was to go home to his own bed and forget all about Jang Hui. He was certain this old man had much the same wish.

"I have to know who she is," Zuko said, almost apologetically. "If she's a spirit, I have to let the Fire Lord know so we can send the sages to look into this and figure out how to keep her happy. And if she's human...I know she was trying to help, but this," Zuko gestured to the looming husk of the factory. "I can't let her- or them- get away with this. I'll argue for leniency, but this was a crime."

"I understand," the old man said, shaking his head sadly.

"Do you know what she was?" Zuko pressed.

"I'm afraid I have no answer for you." The old man shrugged. "I don't know any human who could heal the dying, though."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The next few days were spent chasing rumors and picking up cold trails. It was just like old times, Zuko thought ruefully. Then he promptly shoved that thought away. It was a coincidence. Nothing more.

The Painted Lady had been spotted only once more since the visitors to Jang Hui told their story. Zuko thought he'd come close to an answer in a bustling town where he'd heard about two prisoners escaping a strangely built cell- wood, of all things in the Fire Nation- but there was even less information to be gathered than in the last two sightings. It was enough, though, to make Zuko suspect that perhaps they weren't chasing another ghost.

In another town, Zuko heard rumors of a spirit that only came out during the full moon and took the unwary in the woods. Zuko thought about investigating, but he soon caught word of another struggling town not too far away. It seemed a likely place for the Painted Lady to appear next. Besides, kidnapping people in the woods was the wrong MO. It was probably animals that snatched up careless wanderers (though perhaps, Zuko thought, it wouldn't be a bad idea to send someone to investigate soon).

The town that Zuko and his men arrived in was in terrible shape. It was in worse shape than he'd left Jang Hui in. Despite being a farming town in a year with a plentiful harvest, the people were starving. Starvation had been compounded with a wasting sickness that had already claimed what was estimated to be about a third of the population. That was the sanitized version that Zuko and his men had been given, but the young prince suspected that there was more to the story and that knowing more would make the situation look bleaker. But as with Jang Hui, the villagers were tight-lipped and unwilling to give anything up. It was frustrating to Zuko. After all, how could he help if he didn't know the whole of the problem? Still, he'd gathered enough to know that the Painted Lady hadn't been through yet, and he suspected it was only a matter of time before she did. It was time to send in someone who might have better luck on reconnaissance.

Zuko had a conversation with the captain of his guard that night. It had been a long journey, he acknowledged. Longer than he anticipated, and he knew that the men were getting anxious. The captain tried to assure Zuko that the men were fine, but Zuko insisted that they needed a break. Just a small one for the evening, and then they could pick up again tomorrow. The men caught a small wooly mountain elk and prepared it for a feast that evening. Someone even brought out a few bottles of strong arrack and passed them around. The feast flared up and fizzled quickly after the first few rounds of drinks, like a firework. Soon the men began to drop off around the camp. Some made it back to their cots and others just lay down where they were and fell into a deep sleep.

Zuko looked over them with a small tinge of guilt as he pulled on the Blue Spirit mask he'd smuggled in his bags. He didn't spike the bottles with anything harmful, but they would have a hard time waking the next morning. Zuko would be back by then.

The men had made impressive work of that evening's feast, but there was still a haunch and several smaller cuts of meat left. These Zuko bundled as best he could and carried it off towards the village. Finding the Painted Lady was his main goal, but he was glad to be able to be of use to his people, too.

The food Zuko deposited at the door of the woman who seemed to be the unofficial mayor of the town to be distributed by her the next day. Once that was done, Zuko found a roof and settled in to wait.

It didn't take long. Zuko had barely settled in his spot when a sudden, heavy bank of fog rolled in. At first, Zuko could see nothing, but he heard someone shuffling along through the mists. His heart caught in his throat when he saw the figure emerging. The light of the half-moon penetrated the fog enough to cast her in a silvery glow. Zuko could see the outline of the flowing robes she wore, and the droplets clinging to her gossamer veil caught the moonlight and made it appear as if she wore diamonds or stars to hide her face. And she was heading right for the house Zuko was on.

She entered quietly, and a moment later, Zuko saw a bluish, silver glow coming through the window. He crept to the edge of the roof and lowered his head and shoulders so he could see. It was just as he'd heard. The glow was coming from the Painted Lady's hands. She had them pressed to the chest of a young boy who was struggling to breathe. Zuko watched in terrified awe as a long, thin string of phlegm was drawn through the boy's mouth and discarded in the hearth of the nearby fireplace. When she was done, the boy was breathing easier already. She pressed her hands to his head next, and the boy sighed with relief before falling into a deeper, more restful sleep.

Her task done, the Painted Lady stood and headed back to the door. Zuko scrambled back onto the roof as quickly and as quietly as he could. He kicked a loose tile, causing it to skitter across the roof, but it feel into some bushes below, to his relief. He made back to his original hiding spot mere moments before the Painted Lady reemerged. He waited to see what she would do next. Move onto the next house, he thought, but she stopped suddenly and turned to the exact spot he'd been hiding.

"I know you're there." Zuko froze at her voice. He knew that voice. Why did he know that voice?

"You may as well come out," she continued. "I mean no one in the town harm, but if you refuse to show yourself, I'll have to assume you mean harm." The air grew colder suddenly, and Zuko saw vicious-looking shards appearing in the fog. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the shadows and stood at his full height. The Painted Lady looked up at him, and in the moonlight, he could see the red patterns painted on her bronze skin and a slight frown on her crimson lips. Mostly, though, his attention was caught by her startling eyes. He could just see them past her veil, glowing silver in the moon's rays.

"I know you," she gasped in surprise. "You're the Blue Spirit."

#atla #zutara #painted blue #1k followers special #1000th follower request #thanks for 1k!#let's do this again for 1500!#😁✌🏾#leave a comment!#like!#reblog!#i live off attention #this wasn't supposed to be this long #but lol! what can ya do?#i hope you enjoyed it!

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