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the-sunflower-room · 2 years

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Four Eyes

Steve Harrington x Reader fluff

A/N: bc i saw a headcannon that steve has shitty vision in his left eye from all the fights he’s been in and i can’t stop thinking about him being completely adorably embarrassed about getting glasses. that’s it that’s the fic

Warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff for my fellow steve enthusiasts, extremely soft and lovestruck! steve. slight angst if you squint with insecure steve. no S4 spoilers except for the fact he works at family video and robin can’t drive lol

Additional Note: she/her pronouns used for reader

Steve Harrington would never admit he had a vision problem.

He prided himself in having the best of pretty much everything; perfectly manicured hair, wildly charming personality, swoon-worthy chest hair. But after getting the shit beat out of him three years in a row, he had come to terms with the fact that his eyesight in his left eye was maybe, just maybe, less than perfect. One too many black eyes, he supposed.

Steve’s parents had unfortunately also noticed his worsening vision. His mother, ever the worrier, had been the one to force him to the optometrist, despite his countless protests. In less than a day he had been prescribed—no—sentenced to a new pair of glasses to fix his blurred eyesight. Before he could even process the life altering decision being made for him, the design of the lenses had been picked, the bill had been paid, and Steve found himself driving home with a note to pick up the glasses in a few days.

Damn.

Maybe it was because he still held himself to unrealistic standards from his “King Steve” days, but Steve couldn’t even begin to picture himself wearing those dorky little frames to help his terrible eyesight. Robin and the kids would have a field day once they saw him wearing the glasses, and what would Y/N say? Would she like them, or would she be embarrassed by them? Would she be less attracted to him?

He knew his insecurities were stupid. Y/N was one of the kindest people he knew, and any teasing would be in good fun. Still, it was hard to ignore just how anxious the eyewear made him. It was a cruel reminder that yes, he did get his ass kicked that many times, and no, he wasn’t strong enough to win a fight and protect himself. His failings had led to real physical damage to his senses, and that terrified him.

The time to pick up his newly prescribed glasses arrived faster than Steve would’ve liked. During the first week of owning them, he barely touched the black case sitting on his nightstand. The small box constantly reminded him of his embarrassingly long history of lost fights and bloody faces. It took his mother’s constant reminders and an outburst from his father about wasting money for him to finally start wearing the frames out in public. And in some terrible twist of irony, he found that they were actually helpful.

Labels were easier to read at the grocery store, VHS tapes were easier to identify at work, and the fine print on the Family Video computer system wasn’t so unintelligible anymore. It was an entirely different perspective that offered Steve reassurance and some much-needed clarity. He had started to think that maybe, if he could let go of his bias against glasses and people who wore them, they could change his life for the better.

That was before resident dumbasses Robin and Dustin caught sight of him in his new eyewear.

A few days after Steve had begun regularly wearing his glasses to work, Robin bustled into the store five minutes late to her shift and nearly lost her balance when she looked up and met the eyes of her big-haired coworker. “What…the hell…are you wearing?” she asked very slowly, mouth agape and eyes wide in disbelief. Steve just rolled his eyes. “One too many punches to the face will screw up your eyesight, I guess,” he shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a completely strange look for him. “Parents were on my ass about wearing them, so I figured I might as well.”

Robin stared at his face for an uncomfortably long minute before bursting out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re serious! The Steve Harrington, wearing glasses? You’ve completed your transition to full on dork,” she wheezed, clutching her gut and slamming her fist on the counter in an extremely dramatic fashion. “Holy shit, this is golden!” Steve stared at her as she shook with laughter, an unamused express on his face. “Haha, hilarious. Laughing at a poor man’s failing eyesight. Very cool, Buckley.”

After gasping for breath and taking a moment to compose herself, Robin wiped a stray tear trailing down her cheek, walked around the counter, and clapped a hand on Steve’s back. “I’m just pulling your leg, pretty boy. You look very cute with your spectacles. And I’m sure your lady will love them,” she said with a mischievous grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows, as if she were implying Y/N might have some sort of glasses kink. Gross.

Shoving her hand away, Steve allowed himself a small laugh. “You’re disgusting, you know that? Go do your job, pervert.” Still giggling, Robin turned away to grab her work vest and and gave a small salute once she had dawned the dully colored uniform. “Sir yes sir. You know I live and breathe to sell movies, and I promise your extremely sexy glasses will definitely not distract me from a hard day’s work of pleasing customers with our discounts and shitty movie candy.” Rolling his eyes once more and relenting with a small grin, Steve returned his focus to the riveting task of sorting through returned tapes.

Although she had made him feel slightly better with her lighthearted teasing and jokes, Steve was still worried that he looked too different from his usual self. Too…un-Steve-like. But Robin seemed to get used to them fairly quickly as the two continued working, only making the occasional comment about how he was bound to become the employee of the month now that he had his new “super serious employee” glasses. Beyond that, she seemed completely unbothered by his appearance and went about her day as usual, making the typical complaints about annoying customers and shitty pay.

Maybe they really aren’t that big of a deal, he thought to himself as he locked up the store for the night, ready to head home after a painfully long shift.

Just as he parted ways with Robin and started to mumble the usual “see you tomorrow” as she made her way towards her awaiting ride, she beat him to it with her own parting words. “Drive safe, dingus! And seriously, I do like the glasses. They’re cute. And I know Y/N will like them too,” she smiled, giving him a slightly awkward wave before sliding into the passenger seat of the running car and slamming the door behind her.

Steve found himself momentarily dumbfounded by Robin’s genuine encouragement. It was hard to remember that underneath all that sarcasm and dry humor, Robin was actually an incredibly kind and trustworthy friend. After years of hanging out with stuck-up and self absorbed assholes, she was a nice change of pace. As the car pulled away, Steve mouthed a sincere “thank you” and retuned her wave.

I was worried about nothing, he thought to himself as he started his car and pulled out of the dimly lit Family Video parking lot, headed home with a new sense of confidence. Robin’s way cooler about them than I thought she’d be.

Everything is gonna be fine.

At least, that’s what he told himself up until Henderson finally decided to pay the store a visit.

He had shown up in the hopes of securing a ride to the arcade from Steve after his shift, but since the older teen was unloading new movie shipments in the back and Robin had greeted him at the counter, Dustin had yet to realize anything was different about Steve.

“So anyways, I told Suzie that she has to watch Return of the Jedi because it’s essential to understanding Star Wars lore up to this point. But her dad’s a super strict asshole who thinks it’s a sin to indulge in fine cinema apparently, and I need her to watch it so she can be caught up when we-” Dustin halted his story about his long-distance girlfriend (much to the relief of an uninterested Robin) when Steve finally walked out from the back room of the store.

Much like Robin when she had first seen the glasses, Dustin stared in uncomfortable silence as Steve just stood there, awaiting some sort of reaction. “…Oh my god,” the young teen finally squeaked, hand moving up to his mouth to stifle an obnoxious laugh. Steve heaved a heavy sigh, preparing himself for what was soon to follow. “Holy shit! And I didn’t think you could get any cooler,” Dustin laughed, obvious sarcasm in his tone. “I had no idea you were secretly some kind of Einstein this whole time.”

Unlike Robin who had quickly gotten used to the glasses, Dustin didn’t hesitate to annoy the shit out of Steve every chance he got. The jokes continued for days on end, and Dustin seemed to visit the store much more frequently just for the chance to torture his older friend. “I’m just saying dude, I think I’m gonna have to start calling you four eyes. It’s just the rules,” Dustin shrugged matter-of-factly one afternoon, poised directly on top of the counter and swinging his legs as Steve uselessly attempted to work around him.

He was getting extremely tired of Henderson visiting the store for the sole purpose of making him miserable. Finally, after yet another unnecessary joke, Steve snapped. “Listen dickhead, I didn’t ask for these, okay? My parents made me get them because my vision was total shit, and you’re just gonna have to get used to them,” he huffed, slamming down a stack of tapes next to Dustin on the counter and giving him a sharp glare. With a poorly concealed grin, Dustin nodded in feigned understanding. “Whatever you say, mom…”

Steve’s confidence had taken yet another hit. He found himself feeling the same as he did the day he first came home with the glasses, worried and anxious about how people would feel about his new look. He knew that it was just the nature of his relationship with Dustin to constantly tease one another about anything and everything, and it was mostly in good fun, even if Dustin didn’t always know when to stop. But their recent interactions had also made him uneasy and even more worried about his girlfriend’s potential reaction.

Hopefully she won’t think I’m a total dork.

It was a slow Thursday afternoon at Family Video when Y/N had finally found the time to visit and beg her boyfriend to show her the glasses. “Cmon, Stevie, Robin told me all about how cute you look. I wanna see!” She playfully jabbed her finger at him from across the counter, giving him that adorable grin that was so hard to say no to. Still, the nagging worry made him hesitate.

“Just…don’t make a big deal about them, alright? Robin and Henderson have already given me a bunch of shit and I really can’t take the jokes from you too,” Steve grimaced, anxiously shifting the small case between his hands. Nodding quickly, Y/N’s eyes trailed down to the case and back up to Steve with a look of anticipation. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself, removing the glasses from the case and sliding them on.

Cringing as if bracing for impact, Steve waited with bated breath for her to react. What he didn’t expect was her beaming smile of surprise. “Oh my god, they look so good! They frame your face so well,” she observed, placing her hands on either side of his face and tilting his head slightly as if admiring every angle of him in the glasses. Steve felt slightly baffled. “Sooo…you like them? Not too weird or different?” He questioned slowly, unsure of how she could be so casual about something that had felt so life-changing.

“Of course they’re not too weird or different. You look amazing as always, and if I had to guess I’d say you secretly like being able to see better,” she chuckled, giving the bridge of his glasses a teasing tap. As usual, Y/N was correct. Steve definitely did enjoy the newfound clarity in his day to day life, but now that he was in her company, he found himself most grateful for being able to fully appreciate her beauty in all the little ways he hadn’t been able to before.

The wrinkle of her nose when she laughed. The color of her lips, always perfectly soft and kissable. The adorable gleam in her eye when she smiled at him. Every wonderful curve of her body. Now, more than ever before, he found himself appreciating her endless beauty. It was suddenly as if a weight had been lifted off his chest, and it was in that moment in her presence that he realized the glasses were never really an inconvenience, but a blessing. They helped remind him that in every possible way, he was a lucky man dating someone like Y/N L/N.

All it took was a few literal slaps to the face and a new pair of eyewear.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered sincerely, trying to convey just how much he appreciated her support for him. “I guess I was worried they might change how you feel about me, or make you, I don’t know, less attracted to me, or something. Not that Henderson’s lame jokes have actually been messing with me, but, y’know. You get called four eyes enough times and it starts to get to you. I realize it sounds kinda stupid now that I say it out loud…” he laughed half-heartedly, slightly embarrassed by his confession. Y/N just shook her head and smiled in understanding, gently taking his hands into her own.

“You have nothing to worry about, Stevie. A stupid pair of glasses isn’t gonna make me think any less of you. I’ll always love you, no matter what you wear. Plus, I really do think you look cute in them. Even hot,” she giggled coyly, a light blush dusting her face at the somewhat bold declaration. Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his face broke out into huge a grin. “Oh yeah. Nothing says raw sex appeal like a pair of glasses,” he laughed, the carefree sound filling the near empty video store. She returned his laugh easily.

All of Steve’s worries seemed to melt away after sharing a single conversation with Y/N. He sometimes forgot just how much she had changed his life for the better and how much she understood him.

She was the one who had stayed by his side after all the bloody fights and beat up faces, patching him up and comforting him whenever he was hurt. She was the one to hold him in the dead of the night and lull him back to sleep when nightmares of the upside-down plagued his dreams, shushing his cries of terror and promising him he was safe. She had been the one to assure him he was still her same, wonderful Steve, despite all his scars, bruises, and insecurities. She was somehow never phased by all his flaws or his unfortunate habit of finding trouble.

After all they’d been through together, Steve felt stupid for thinking she might think less of him or leave him over a simple pair of glasses.

Overwhelmed by his complete and total love for her, Steve suddenly cupped Y/N’s face in his hand and leaned across the counter, placing a soft kiss to her lips. Responding almost immediately, Y/N moved her hands into his hair and tangled her fingers in his soft locks, pulling him impossibly closer. Steve never seemed to tire of the feeling of her fingers in his hair. They seemed to silently communicate through the intimate gesture, an unspoken thank you for loving me so effortlessly and firm response of of course, I always will.

Y/N was eventually the first to break away, pausing for breath and attempting one last innocent jab at her boyfriend. “But I do still get to call you four eyes sometimes, right? You gotta admit Henderson was onto something.” Shaking his head, Steve just grinned and pulled her back in for another kiss.

“Shut up.”

-end-

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #fluff #steve harrington x reader season 4 #robin buckley #robin stranger things #dustin henderson #scoops ahoy #scoops troop #scoops troop fanfiction #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington hc #Steve Harrington x fem!reader

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nrdmssgs · 5 months

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Darker matters (part 7)

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Angst Pairing: Nikolai x Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova Summary: The rescue mission Warnings: Swearing, description of physical damages.

Author's note: I am sorry, if my Ghost is not great. Thanks: My very important people: @siilvan, @homicidal-slvt, @sofasoap and @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot. And my dearest @pale-elysium!

Despite his callsign, Snudge is a good fella: follows the orders, gets shit done and knows better than to ask too many questions. Maybe that helped him into Sedmis inner circle, that gathered around the monitors now. Despite their apparent winning position, everybody were silent, waiting for their bosses command.

“Can you believe it? The bitch is so desperate - she marches to my place with her mans favorite toy…” Sedmi sounds clearly amused, watching a combat helicopter, caught by both their radars and cameras.

Something doesn't add up in this whole situation: a spiced Lieutenant, even the one banished out of some special forces, not even trying to hide the start of their platoons attack, sounds off. But Snudge is being paid for an effective work - not for doubts. So he keeps his mouth shut.

They all watch as the base's air defense system, the one good enough to battle against several warplanes, takes the lonely enemy helicopter down. Dense smoke clouds engulf the shot down bird of iron, while it's still up in the air. Something turns the helicopter around with incredible force, tilts it nose down, and it disappears on the ground behind tall trees. Their cameras don't record sounds, so instead of a loud crashing noise, they hear only a distant echo.

It all feels so strange: one minute they foretaste a good fight with Nikolais army, and the very next minute it's all done. No battle, no nothing practically. One word gets stuck in Snudges head: anticlimactic.

Even Sedmi`s command to go fetch the bodies doesn't lift the mood in the room: everybody awaited at least some action. And their enemies turned out to be just a waste of space and time.

“Years of building your PMC, just for some girl to waste it completely in a few minutes. What a shame,” thought Snudge to himself, driving their transport to the destination point.

The dark pillar of smoke hides behind tall trees as they approach the crash site and Snudge winces at the mixture of smells of burning rags, metal, plastic and something else. The clearing where the wreckage landed is a scene of desolation, when they finally arrive. The helicopter lay twisted and contorted, its once sleek frame now a gnarled skeleton.

Snudge is one of the last to exit their vehicle and walk around scattered debris. The shrapnel of the missile, bits of molten metal, and the shredded remains of the helicopter's fuselage litter the forest floor. He turns over some smoking package with the toe of his boot and tries to read what is written on it.

“Snudge! Come here!” One of his squadmates calls him, and he comes closer to the helicopter. It's hard to see what's inside with the smoke clouding his vision, but he can make out the outlines of several bodies.

"Ever heard of this bastard, Krueger?” His squadmate drags one of the bodies away from intense smoke. Snudge shakes his head and his colleague grins, looking down at the corpse with a face covered with dirty and half-burnt tactical net.

“They say, ‘if it speaks German and you don't see its face - run as fast as you can’. Well, good news, Snudge: looks like this fucker won't speak anymore. You can take a peek.”

“Huge son of a-,” Snudge starts mumbling, but the words get stuck in his mouth as he peels back the net from the corpse's face.

He never saw that ‘Krueger’ guy, yet the face is too familiar. Snudge met this man for a good dozen of times on Sedmis personal bodyguards rotations. This is surreal, impossible even: the guy was supposed to guard one of Sedmis residences. Yet here he was, his bosses family bodyguard. Dead. Dragged out from the Chimeras helicopter. Fighting a wave of disgust, Snudge unbuttons the jacket on the corpse and his worst fear gets confirmed: before him lies not a Chimera soldier, but one of his own colleagues. Killed long before the crash and dressed up in cheap imitation tactical gear.

“High alert, everybody!” That's the last thing, Snudge hears before his first squadmate falls before him, shot right in the temple.

Suddenly, the tranquility shatters into chaos as a barrage of gunfire erupts from the surrounding trees. Bullets whiz through the air, ripping through foliage and flesh alike.

Snudge ducks down, scrambling for cover, his training kicking in. “The bitch was never desperate, she baited us, lured here to slaughter one by one,” cries out loud frightened voice in his head.

He sees his squadmates becoming disoriented, trying to identify the source of the relentless onslaught. Notices the assailants, camouflaged expertly among the dense foliage, picking off their targets with ruthless precision. Snudge can't think straight anymore, but his body automatically crawls under one of the cooling wreckages of the helicopter.

Anguished cries, mixed with the staccato rhythm of gunfire, create a chilling symphony of chaos and despair around him. It is only when all the sounds die, Snudges heart starts racing at a chilling thought: he hasn't reported back to the base, when he had a chance to do that while remaining unheard by his enemies.

In the dead silence fallen around him, Snudge hears approaching footsteps and a melody, whistled lowly. He covers his mouth with the hand and watches a tall Chimera mercenary checking on his colleagues and cutting the throats of those, who still breathed, when he came. Mercenary face is covered with a tactical net, so Snudge can't see his eyes, when he turns and looks in his direction.

“Krueger, three more minutes!” Shouts someone from afar.

Mercenary doesn't move. Only mumbles ‘es gab ein mehr…*’. Snudge gulps, remembering the last words of his squadmate. “If it speaks German and you don't see its face - run as fast as you can.” Only running is useless in his situation - the enemy is too close.

Suddenly, all the radios of Snudges group wake up with the loud “Group 1-3 report your status, over.” All the radios including his.

The mercenary with the covered face chuckles darkly and takes a step closer to where Snudge is hiding.

“Eckstein, Eckstein, alles muss versteckt sein…*” half-hisses, half-murmurs mercenary, approaching him.

Snudge closes his eyes, breathes in and turns on his radio to make the last report back on the base.

***

Olga breathes heavily, leaning against the enemy base wall. The sprint through a dense forest with brief pauses on more or less open areas, where the enemies could reach her only to fall to Ghosts sniping, was a good idea, but only in theory. In reality, her body deprived of sleep, food and water was on the verge of giving up.

It's been around fifteen minutes, since Zhar reached the base, but she is still shaking so hard - she can't even undo her west to readjust the gear.

“You'll need to lighten your loadout if you want to go in.” Simons' voice appears above her ears and Olga frowns.

“Didn't I command you to get the hell away, after you're done with sniping?”

“You didn't mention all the fun with Nikolais helicopter back then. Now I'm obliged to stay and witness his reaction.” Ghost ignores the irritation, that is clear in Zhars voice, and helps her take off the side part of the vest.

“My operation is not a Sunday fair, Lieutenant.” Olga grunts, but still takes out a printed base plan and starts tracing floor after floor with fingers, trying to decide, where can she use Ghosts help.

“... fucking Disneyland, if you ask me,” hums Simon, helping her with the other side part.

They were almost done with the planning, when someone barked ‘the fuck is this one doing here?’ from the darkness of the forest. Before Ghost could react, Olga straightens her back, her eyes growing cold, predatory even. This is not the Lieutenant, that left TF 141 once, anymore. Before Ghost stands the head of Chimera.

“You will address to my colleague using his rank. It is not ‘this one’, it is Lieutenant to you.” Her voice is cold and low - Olga always spoke quieter, when she was angry.

“Your Lieutenant is going to have Nikolai killed! Commander, dismiss him now! There's nothing, he can do, that I can't.” Krueger approaches them two quickly.

“I can watch and learn, without suffocating on my own ego, kid.” Ghost seems unbothered by the new face, even though that face is anything, but friendly.

“You say that again to my-”

“Enough!” Kruegers gun was meant to threaten Ghost, but Olga comes right onto it, ignoring the cocked hammer. She drags him far enough for Ghost to not hear, what she's about to say to her soldier.

When Zhar comes back alone, her face is a bit more colorful.

“He's always such a charmer?” Simon inspects his equipment, but notices Olga helplessly waving away.

“Krueger… deserves a much better commander. And I'm getting him one back today. No matter, what it takes.” Ghost freezes for a moment. He knows, it is not his time to teach Olga, so he just makes a mental note to watch her back today.

“Last thing, Simon.” She shows Ghost a photo of a man on her smartphone. “They call him Sedmi. The man, that took Nik. In case you find him first - Sedmi stays alive until I talk to him. I don't care, how intense he fights, I don't care, how much he insults you or your beloved ones - this man stays alive until I say otherwise. That's the only term, that I'm letting you inside on.”

Ghost nods instead of an answer: he was never too easy to provoke. Part of him wants to ask Olga to stay and let him do all the work, but he knows, she won't listen to him.

Two grappling hooks are launched synchronously: while Chimera groups are getting ready to infiltrate the base, starting from the ground floor - Zhar and Ghost are to make sure, enemy intel rooms are out of the game. After climbing up towards a dark window, Olga checks her watch. Ghost freezes, waiting for the command.

Concerned voices are heard from below, something heavy falls and rolls loudly across the floor. The next moment, an explosion thunders at the opposite end of the building. Zhar looks up at Ghost and smiles unkindly. The next time, she speaks, her voice sounds unfamiliar, although, the phrase she uses comes from their operations in the Task Force.

"Hell is empty, soldier."

***

Simon would never admit it, but it was nice to be part of a private military operation, away from civilians. Of course, Prices group was his home, but a complete freedom, he got with Chimeras, was, in its own strange way, intoxicating.

Remain unseen, and you can clean up room after room. Methodically and silently, just as he loves it. Ghost didn't even fire his gun - there was enough time to slaughter every last one of the enemies with a knife and a little bit of creative thinking.

Keep an eye out for Sedmi, and you can do as you please with others. Nobody cares, how ugly the aftermath of your work looks like - none of these nameless faces will ever be on news. At one point, Ghost and Zhar break in the intel security center with a few operators, monitoring video streams from surveillance cameras and reporting on Chimera groups dispositions. They neutralize two of the three operators and split: Simon works magic on the keyboard, trying to disable surveillance systems and alarms, and Olga rushes after the escaped soldier. She reaches him somewhere in the hall. Ghost turns to check on her and is relieved to notice that she has already knocked the poor guy to the ground. The soldier tries to defend his life with an entrenching shovel, that he got god knows where, but Zhar forcefully snatches the improvised weapon from his hands and hits him in the face with the tip of a shovel.

Watch Zhars six and everything will be alright. Ghost hasn't forgotten that. He watches as she turns guys face into a bloody mess of flesh and bones, growling, ‘these are my people, you're trying to hunt down’. He looks, even when her strikes lose any practical purpose, because the solder under her breathes no more. Simon turns away for what feels like a moment. But it is enough.

He hears a short curse and heavy stomping echoing down the corridor. When Simon finally turns off the surveillance system and runs out of the room, he sees a tall, heavyset fighter pinning Zhar against the wall and strangling her with the shaft of the shovel that was in her hands a moment ago. Ghost's hand is already touching the holster when Olga, with incredible effort, twists herself out of the soldier's steel grip. She manages to take a few steps to the side when her opponent throws a bloody shaft after her. It flies over her head and breaks half of the window glass behind her.

A cloud of glass engulfs her for a brief moment, and she covers her face with hands, losing sight of her opponent. And this is enough for his winning move: the soldier jumps up to her, grabs her by the shoulder and neck, and forcefully pushes her straight onto the broken glass still sticking out in the window frame.

With a quiet crack, the glass disappears somewhere under her ribs. Olga makes a strange sound: not a scream, but rather a hoarse exhalation, as if all the air was leaving her lungs at once. Ghost rushes towards her as fast as he can.

Krueger appears on the opposite side of the hall, pointing his gun at the soldier, pushing Zhars side down on sharp glass. All he sees is his commander in a need of help. He doesn't care for Ghost running to Olga and screaming ‘don't shoot’. Krueger pulls the trigger and his bullet is sent right in soldier's head.

The enemy freezes, opens his mouth, loses his balance and falls on top of Olga with his whole body, making the last centimeters of glass disappear somewhere deep in her flesh.

“F-f-fuck!” Simon pulls the dead body away from Zhar and feels, how his hands run cold, while her pupils grow wide.

All, Krueger saw was Olga fighting a soldier, not being able to push herself away from the window for some reason. All, Simon saw at that moment, were his own hands, removing side sections of her vest before the operation, leaving her without any defense in these areas.

es gab ein mehr - there was one more

Eckstein, Eckstein, alles muss versteckt sein - come out, come out, wherever you are

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silentmagi · 7 months

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Rising Star

Well now, this is getting interesting, a winged creature is in the sky above them, and that raises the questions dear readers...

What is it?

6. Rainbird

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If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was a rainbird. But that was a magical creature with the ability to bring storms in its wake. But with magic being gone, they shouldn’t be-

CRACKATHOOM!

Oh, it’s a storm, okay, so perhaps they should set up a tent or something. Moving swiftly , she knelt next to Luna and shook her shoulder to try and rouse her. “Luna! There’s a storm coming!”

There was a scream that tore through the air, the mighty cry of the rainbird as it seemed to be hunting something on the ground. Looking up, she saw it spread against the moonlight, framed by streaks of lightning. That’s right, she was something on the ground. “Luna, it’s a rainbird!”

“Easy darling,” Luna answered as she opened her eyes, pulling out a tarp from her blanket, eyes up on the bird hanging in the sky. “We’re harder prey in the woods. There’s some boar spears in the packs, but I don’t think it’ll try and get us right now. Run this rope through the grommets on the tarp.”

Moving swiftly, while keeping an eye on the rainbird above, they set up a hasty lean-to in order to keep the rain and wind off of them, lining the ground with some loose leaves and underbrush, while using their packs to brace the bottom edge with weight and had the cart blocking one end, and the horse tucked away and letting the rain blow about them.

Star curled up as she heard the wind and rumbling thunder increasing in volume. Normally, she had no problem with storms, but something was causing her breath to catch, and her eyes to flicker around in fear, cringing and twitching.

Was this fear of the bird? Being out in the wild? Why did she feel like she couldn’t get enough air? Everything was going to fa-

A soft warmness cupped her shoulders as she felt Luna pulling her into a side-on hug. “Breathe with me darling, nice and in… out… good…” she whispered, demonstrating the breathing with exaggeration of her own breath. Confused, the mage copied the breathing, letting the bard set pace. “Good, again… in… and out…”

“Your body’s going through the fall of the tower right now, since you didn’t have a chance to let it go through your head,” Luna explained, still breathing in that exaggerated demonstrative method. “You’re save, but you need time and space. Just hold on to me and we’ll make it through this. No stones falling around us. The plants are strong enough to bend, right?”

“R-right,” Star answered, trying to think of some way to beat the fear that was clenching her chest. She could beat this, she just needed to focus.

“Tell me more about the rainbirds, I thought they were magical.”

Huh? Someone wanted her to talk about some obscure facts, now? “I guess they aren’t… they’re supposed to be bringings of the rains, though some druids did- did…”

She felt herself trailing off as lighting boomed around them. Then a soft melody slipped past the thunder and into her ears. “No, none of that darling, what did the druids do?”

“Oh, well they thought that the rainbirds flew ahead of the storms to escape them and the lightning that could hurt them,” she continued, finding the melodious tone allowing her mind to work again. “I think this may be important factual evidence to back up that claim.”

Luna kept her talking, until the two of them drifted off to sleep, sheltered from the storm as best as they could, huddled in each other’s arms. Little did they know that the omen of rainbirds bringing disaster in their wake wasn’t just about the storm.

#Story #My Writing #Rising Star #My Polls #Star #World Building #Please Participate #Star Main

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moonlight-tmd · 8 months

Note

Okay now I’m curious, how did Blitz meet and fall in love with WF!Bee?

Aaah well, from the post i stole adopted the AU from. I would guess Blitzwing was one of the customers that commisioned him to make weapons.

I would guess pre-TripleChanger!Blitzwing, who is a seeker in my opinion, came to the workshop to commission the dual-element cannon from Bee. Bee's never worked on stuff like that so he had to make schematics n stuff first which elongated the waiting time for the finished product.

In the meantime Blitz would visit to check up on the order and chat, they quickly became friends. Blitz's rants about work became venting about his life and Bee's witty attitude became more caring and concerned whenever the Seeker came to his workshop with damages, even if they were minor. He would fix Blitzwing as much as he could and the two grew closer in the process.

Love like that was rare so they stuck together, Megatron heard rumors about their relationship so he put Blitz in charge of making orders to the engineer.

Then Blitzwing was upgraded and his mind was shattered. He was supposed to be held in the facility until he learned to control his new abilities but Bee forced Megs to let Blitz live with him or else he won't ever take another order from any of the Decepticons. (He holds a grudge against Megatron to this day for doing this but he still makes deals with him purely because Megatron is a loyal customer and pays him well.)

Bee helped Blitz cope with split personality, he got him thru many nightmares, been there for every step he took, even adjusted his frame to correspond better with the new system. Blitzwing was worried that Bee would leave him because of how much of a freak he is now but Bee told him a thousand times over and more that he loves him. And he won't leave his side ever.

Short after Blitzwing got (almost) full control of his frame and mind they got bonded. But it wasn't long before some Elite Guard Autobots raided the colony in suspicion of it being Decepticons and took everyone hostage. In the unfortunate timing, Blitz was on duty on Nemesis and Bee was taken and reformatted.

Blitzwing arrived to the ruined workshop and energon-stained streets. He wasn't sure if Bee died- the last thing he felt from Bee's end of the bond was fear, anger, struggle and then nothing. Complete silence. But there was no pain like they said when the Sparkbond breaks.

Blitzwing made it his goal to find his Conjunx, no matter what. He was in the middle of checking another corner of the galaxy when he heard about the Allspark incident and Megatron "dying". Despite the anger of being dragged into this mess instead of looking for his Conjunx he allows Lugnut to drag him after the Nemesis, and wouldn't you know, the moment they get into Earth's range he feels the familiar presence in his Spark.

He follows Lugnut around the planet until they bump into Autobots- there is no fighting, the Autobots are outnumbering them so they flee. But that's not before the long-absent feeling of love hits him like a freight train and he feels his bond pull him towards the little yellow Autobot that is painfully similar to his Conjunx.

He and Lugnut find a hideout and the moment Blitz feels the call in his Spark he shoots out like a rocket and follows it. Right to the minibot that snuck out at night to find him too.

#blitzbee #maccadam #tfa #ask box #warframe!bumblebee au #tfa au #long post #angst

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flipping-the-coin · 10 months

Text

[Patient Report: OP-7845-91653]

[Authorization Requirement: Alpha]

[Document Status: Sensitive - 95% preserved]

[Listed Authorized Individuals: Primal Steward Ratchet]

[Overseeing Medical Personnel: - Primary Physician: CMO Ratchet - Secondary Assistant: First Aid]

[Session: #003]

═════════════════

I arrived at OP-7845-91653's residence on time as always. I was called slightly earlier than scheduled in order to tend to a serious bout of paranoia and self harm. Megatron was a pain as usual, constantly hovering over my shoulder like a fragging plague. The slagger won't even acknowledge my multiple lifetimes worth of medical skill. He calls me 'medic' instead of my official title, the one I fought denta and digit to claim. And he wonders why I refuse to offer him professional curtesy...

OP-7845-91653 was in a catatonic state by the time I finished conversing with Megatron. He was covered in all sorts of cuts and partially healed welds, all the damage quite obviously self inflicted. I had to bicker quite bitterly with Megatron in order to have access to OP-7845-91653 and to run a physical assessment. The murderer seems to think I will harm Orion given any opportunity. He's wrong. I would never hurt him, not so long as he is all that remains. I have a duty, one given to me by my Prime.

I am to watch over the Matrix, or I suppose in this case, the world my Prime left behind. Optimus cared about Orion despite everything that happened. He wanted Orion to be kept safe and to heal. I don't know why, I will never know why. I don't yet have all the details, I just know that Orion likely played a part in the suffering Optimus endured during his life. If only for that reason... I must continue on. I must... I can't just... It doesn't matter. Optimus Prime is dead. Orion Pax is all that remains, and even he is but a shadow of what he once was.

I welded the wounds shut and tended to any other injuries OP-7845-91653 sustained. They were all minor, but just to ensure he couldn't lash out, I pumped him full of sedatives before I began my work. I always have my field suppressors active when I visit him. His EM field attacks are brutal and without any control. Where my old friend learned to use his field so viciously is beyond me, but with all the anger there... I have suspicions. With that said, he remained docile and almost totally unresponsive during my work.

He looked almost lifeless in that sickening way Optimus did when he was hurting. His optics were dull, but lacked that bright white undertone that my Prime possessed when he was enduring the worst of his torment. OP-7845-91653's frame was still save for the gentle flutter of fans whirling within his ventilation systems, however unlike Optimus, his venting was even. Optimus's was always erratic and uncertain, almost like he was afraid to cool his systems. OP-7845-91653 hardly made a sound save for the odd muttering that I couldn't place. It was rather disconcerting, especially when what bits I caught were always about 'Don't touch him' and 'Please let me go' or 'Stop this, don't do this'. When Optimus was delirious enough to mutter, his were always... a plea, a near silent plea for it to stop.

It was its own form of torture to see these similarities, and it most certainly wasn't helped by Megatron looming behind me at all times as if waiting for an excuse to separate my helm from the rest of my frame. The fragger fully believes the stupid lies I told him to make him uncomfortable. It shouldn't make me so happy, but it does. He really is convinced I had my way with Orion's frame while Optimus inhabited it. Too bad he doesn't know I wasn't granted anything more than a simple embrace, and even that was rare to the point of every instance being clear as the light of the nearest star in my memory. I imagine if he knew he would laugh and rub my lack of courting success in my face, but unfortunately for him, I have the upper hand in this regard.

He won't know, because I won't tell him. Let him believe my ridiculous tale. It won't hurt anything now. Its not as if I can have Optimus anymore. Megatron took him from me by giving my Prime no other choice but to DIE for this Primus forsaken war to end. I think it a fair trade to make him suffer but a measure of my torment in exchange for having his love when I cannot have mine.

I am getting off topic again... OP-7845-91653 was fine to deal with. I gave him some medication, cleaned up his wounds, and gave Megatron a prescription. That was it. Orion Pax is still so out of his mind attempting to talk with him as I tried to in my prior session would be a futile effort. Once he is in his right mind... then I will ask. Then I will finally know.

Why was Optimus hurting? Why was he always in such agony?

Orion MUST know. He was there, he was watching. He has to know this... he must.

[Personal Note: I doubt these will be required for much longer. These reports are rapidly becoming my place of comfort. I can speak to no one on these matters and what I see. I can't...

Bumblebee is too young, too innocent. I would NEVER burden him with these grim thoughts of mine. Smokescreen was a youngling Optimus was fond of, I don't want to burden him either. The team are loyal, but they wouldn't understand. Besides, they are busy with their new functions. First Aid is a good assistant, but he too would never be able to comprehend my emotional turmoil.

These reports... they are a safe haven amidst the storm. A strange one, but a haven all the same. ]

═════════════════

[Assistant First Aid Report:

Medicine was delivered without issue again! Mr. Megatron was nicer this time and even let me come in for a bit to check on Mr. Pax. I made sure to be quick! What I saw was concerning, but I think Mr. Pax is getting better! He seemed more aware when I came by.

I brought him some more tea too. I think he liked that, but I couldn't really be sure. He was very tired and Mr. Megatron had me leave soon after.]

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #transformers prime au #two sides to a coin au #two sides supplemental writing #two sides supplemental patient reports #tfp ratchet #orion pax #megaop #megatron #optiratch #first aid

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dumpster-of-the-lost-souls · 2 months

Text

More winx au stuff.

@emsartwork @drops-of-moonlights since you two are some of biggest inspirations for this I'm tagging you so you can look at this if you want. If you want to ignore me you can. I'm very sorry for being pushy and wanting you guys to see this. If you two want me to stop I will.

So long story short my mom got a new iPad and gave me the old one. So I redownloaded procreate to do some art that wouldn't be impeded by a horrible camera quality.

I'm going to do art of all of the Gardenia Gang but I got Levina's done first.

I dont know how to make her sparkly or how to make the image transparent yet I'm sorry about that so yeah.

This is her Basic transformation which I have dubbed Basix.

Since Basix wings are so small, she isn't a real stable flyer due to her center of gravity being off due to being short part of an arm.

Later transformations with larger wings are better for her flight-wise. She's able to balance better with larger wings.

She learns how to free run and parkour in order to keep up with the rest of the Gardenia gang since she's the fastest of all of them since lightning is very quick.

her transformation is supposed to be like a tracksuit or jumper being streamlined for easier movement and so it won't get caught on much. She has shoes that are good for running and a glove that would protect her hand from magical backlash and helps her grip things better.

Here's more about Levina, her friends call her Levi or Vina.

Since I'm placing bloom at 18 at the start of season one Levina is 8 years younger than her being 10 at the time. She's still ten when the Trix arrive in gardenia to steal Bloom's dragon flame and is traumatized by being dropped down the portal to the omega dimension the Trix summoned in their floor and dropped Mike, Vanessa, and Levina down in order to tire Bloom out. It's left her with a really bad fear of heights.

She was 14 when the whole snafu with the Wizards of the black circle happened. For context when she lost her arm she was hanging out with Mike at the fire station on a Saturday, it had rained heavily the night before so there were puddles of rainwater everywhere. Levina had started to show interest in being a firefighter at the time and Mike decided to show her around the station and tell her how things worked around the station. She was standing in a puddle in galoshes looking at and holding onto a metal structure the firefighters used to practice when Anagan redirected one of Tecna's spells into a transformer causing the transformer to overload and explode and release a lot of bolts of electricity/magic. One of these bolts struck Levina in the left shoulder. Electricity follows the path of least resistance and as she was standing in a puddle in rubber galoshes while holding onto a metal structure that was bolted to the ground all of the electricity went out of her arm.

Her arm was severely damaged, from the electrical burns to muscle and nerve damage from the electricity along with micro fractures from the heat of the energy coursing from her arm, the worst places were her shoulder and hand, being the entry and exit points respectively. Her arm was amputated above the elbow and she lost a lot of feeling in the stump and lost mobility in her left shoulder. she has a Lichtenberg figure on the back of her left shoulder and down her stump. She gained a fear of sudden sound noises after that incident.

Timeline wise this occurs offscreen between 16 and 17 of season 4 as a frame of reference. Levina spends the rest of season 4 in the hospital before being released around the timeframe of episode 6 of season 5.

Because the winx left earth around this time Morgana takes over the love and pet shop keeping the shop up and running. A few minor fairies from Tir Na Nog also work there as a way to slowly re-integrate magic to earth as abrupt shifts in the balance of magic on Earth can be lethal an example being Duman.

She tens to short out electronics and cause power outages when distressed or angry so she writes most everything down by hand.

#winx club au #dragon’s flame and tempest’s flare #Levina brand #Lore

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queen-scribbles · 10 months

Text

Currents

"Play" 👀 emoji prompt for an anon that I accidentally deleted. So nonny, I hope you see this and ty for the excuse to write more Evony/Bao-Dur bc for him being an unromanceable companion from a 19-year old game, this relationship still has me in a chokehold.

---

Evony's thoughts were in a whirl as the Ebon Hawk lifted off from Dxun. The ship yawed slightly, making Atton mutter a curse about the rear stabilizer before leveling out and burning sky.

If she thought getting away from Onderon would help her level out, though, she was mistaken. Kavar's words wouldn't stop echoing, and hours later, with everyone asleep, she found herself still with a racing mind and uneasy spirit. As was her habit in such times, she wandered through the main parts of the ship seeking a distraction, something to help settle her thoughts.

She found it, as usual, in the garage. Bao-Dur was once again working on the wiring that ran through one wall, focus consumed by the task.

"Want some help?" Evony asked. Tinkering or repair would be the perfect solution to her restlessness, but if he wanted to handle this alone, she could always find T3.

Bao-Dur paused, nudging up his welding goggles as he turned to look at her. "If you would like," he said with a nod. "I'm almost finished; just checking all the connections are sound before routing power back. A few were burned out in the ... excitement of our arrival."

She chuckled as she lowered herself to sit cross-legged and check the lower set of wiring. "You took care of that quickly."

"I needed the distraction while you were in Iziz," he said, a touch wry as he hung the soldering gun at his belt and flicked on the scanner to check the repairs.

"But you survived," she teased. The wires down here looked alright at first glance, but a closer look revealed a couple showing signs of strain.

"I did." The warmth of an almost-laugh colored the words.

"I'm glad." Evony double-checked there was no power flowing through the compromised wires before she set to work replacing them. "And glad you seem to be in better spirits." A large portion of the background tension and simmering anger she'd sensed in him since they arrived had faded.

Bao-Dur nodded, not looking away from his task. "Mostly thanks to not being... there any more."

She knew he didn't just mean Dxun, though she was also glad to be away from the humid jungle moon. And the bugs. "I figured. Our new companion isn't going to be a problem for you, is he?" She wasn't even sure why Mandalore had wanted to join her, but more help was a good thing. Usually.

"I'll be civil," Bao-Dur promised, and Evony believed him, even if he hadn't really answered her question and she could sense the banked embers of his anger toward the Mandalorians flare a little.

"Thank you," she said, plasma cutter sparking as she removed the damaged wire. "That's more than I get from some." The shared a chuckle at that. "But I also meant... in general, since Telos. You seem to be in a better frame of mind now than you were."

"Oh, that would be your doing."

The plasma cutter slipped. "Me?"

"Surely you've noticed, Evony," Bao-Dur said softly, glancing down. "Not just because of us. But just having you around has had an effect on me. I never noticed it... before. Though I suppose my thoughts were occupied."

It caught her off-guard and she fell back on half-joking. "Clearly, then, it's because I'm no longer wearing that boring Republic uniform."

He chuckled. "While I'll freely admit your new wardrobe is an improvement, that's really just a pleasant distraction."

Warmth tingled in her chest--and her face--and Evony had to steady her voice before she could ask, "Well, then, how do you mean?" Her gaze briefly met his before dropping back to her task.

"I'm..." he hesitated, searching for a word, and she could sense his uncertainty. "More in control. Calmer." He set the goggles back over his eyes and returned to work as well. "My anger may still be there, but I can feel it slipping away."

Evony bit her lip, a small mote of relief dancing through her chest. Good.

"It's defined so much of my life," Bao-Dur continued, voice low, but those embers stirred slightly. "No matter the source, it's been there; the Mandalorians, Czerka, Revan..."

It had the potential to hurt, but with how he'd trailed off, she had to ask. "And... what about me?"

He stopped soldering and went very still, his emotions a bright whirl she could sense without even trying.

She paused as well, hands resting in her lap. "I did give the order."

"Never," Bao-Dur said fiercely. He yanked the goggles down to dangle around his neck as he dropped to one knee so he could catch her eye. "Not once, General. It had to be done."

Her heart thudded a few extra-loud beats at his fervency, his use of her long-ago title, before Evony regained her composure. "Then the same is true for what you did," she said, quiet but firm.

He shook his head, gaze darting to the side. "My hands destroyed the Mandalorians. Caused countless deaths. I cannot be forgiven for that."

"Why not?" she retorted, cupping one hand to his jaw to make him look at her. "Bao-Dur, if my decision, my actions, were necessary, then so were yours," she added gently. "Following your logic, either we're both guilty or neither of us is."

Bao-Dur managed a weak smile, leaning ever so slightly into her touch. "Even if my contributions were made out of hatred for the Mandalorians?" he whispered. "Rather than anything so noble as Jedi ideals or ending the war to spare lives?"

Evony shifted, sitting on her calves to put them more or less at eye level. "I don't think that was your whole motivation. I may have... blocked some of the memories, but knowing you, you did it to protect. Maybe it was easier to not dwell on the cost with an enemy you hated, but I know you, Bao, and you are a shield. You put yourself in the path of harm to save others. stars know you've done it enough for me and the rest of our crew. Malachor was just... sacrificing something less physical." Though even that wasn't entirely true, she conceded, glancing at the soft glow of his cybernetic arm. "But you are a"--my--"protector."

"You have far too generous a view of me." He exhaled a wry laugh, withdrawing from her touch with a shake of his head. "I can't see it that way. I don't want to. There is blood on my hands I cannot ignore."

"No, there isn't," she hissed. She could feel his anger and his guilt, twining together like Dxun vines, and it made her ache with worry for him. It would eat him alive if he let it.

He seemed inclined to let it.

"There is no blood on your hands," she repeated emphatically. "Not beyond what your guilt has forced you to imagine."

"And what of you, General?" Bao-Dur fixed her with a keen, steady look. "I know you try to shoulder that weight, for making the decision, but either we're both guilty or neither of us is."

Evony almost cackled at him throwing her words back on her, but didn't want to wake anyone. Well played. "I suppose we'll just have to shoulder it together, then. Real or imagined."

"A burden shared is one halved? Isn't that the saying?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"Something like that," she nodded, playing with a loose thread in her sleeve.

Bao-Dur studied her a moment longer. "I do... envy you, sometimes," he said softly.

You shouldn't, was the first thought to pop in her head, but Evony held it back in favor of "Why?"

"You seem to be handling this better than I could," he mumured.

"I wasn't," she admitted. "Not for a long time. I was adrift. Trying to hide myself where the ache of remembering couldn't find me."

He cocked his head. "What changed?"

"The Force... came back." That time wandering truly alone had been... Sometimes hellish. Sometimes a relief. And then the faint stirring current awakened on Peragus and- Evony briefly levitated and spun the plasma cutter before letting it drop back into her hand. "The stronger and deeper that connection gets, the more it helps me find balance."

Bao-Dur's eyes flickered with... something and he turned back to the disassembled wall. "When you talk about it like that, it almost makes me wish I had it for myself."

"You could." She blurted the words before she overthought and held it back. She'd sensed the potential not long after Telos, quiet and buried beneath his anger and guilt but undeniable.

He blinked at her, caught off-balance. "What?"

Evony reached out, lightly resting a hand on his chest. "I can feel the Force in you. Faint, untapped, but definitely there. Like Atton. Like Mira." She wrinkled her nose. "Even if she won't admit it yet."

"You can?" The words were rough, barely more than a whisper.

She nodded. "It can be a comfort, a source of strength and peace if you let it. And I can teach you, if you want, but..." She bit her lip, pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, until she could feel his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin through his shirt. "You have to let go of your anger first, or it will destroy you."

The thought of it made her stomach knot and heart race; she would rather die than watch the vitriol he held toward the Mandalorians and Czerka consume him. She mentally reached for calm, soothing the concern-teetering-on-fear.

Bao-Dur held her gaze, his hand resting lightly on her elbow. "I think... I could manage that."

"Are you sure?" Evony whispered. "I don't want to watch you lose yourself to something that claimed too many of my friends."

He nodded. "With you, I feel I could do anything."

Long-ingrained, oft-repeated Jedi cautions against attachment, against possessiveness flitted through her mind, but she let them slide away and took his words at face value. Faith in her. Not a connection deeper than they should have, deep enough to be a problem.

"Alright." Evony settled back cross-legged and gestured for him to join her.

Bao-Dur mirrored her pose, so close their knees brushed. She held out her hands, palm up, and he gave her his with the barest pause to strip off his work glove. They were both warm, the metal of the cybernetic one seeming to hum as it rested against hers. Evony let herself be distracted for the briefest moment to trace her fingers across that palm before reining in her thoughts.

"Relax and focus on my voice," she murmured, just catching his nod as her eyes closed. She felt it when he relaxed, in both the Force and his light grip. "The Force can be your shield. It can bring comfort to salve your guilt."

With his guard down, Bao-Dur's presence was so bright this close. While Atton had been brighter, enough to sear or blind, this was soft, welcoming even with how strong it was. The potential in him shone like a beacon at her encouragement, but the coils of guilt and anger--so much anger--still pulsed around it.

"But it can also be twisted into something terrible," Evony continued, voice still low to keep this just for them. "That will destroy others and yourself."

He was so open to her, she felt she could reach in and soothe the guilt for him, douse the anger, chase away what had haunted him so long. But she knew from experience, to truly heal the hurt, he needed to do it. Confront it and let it go. She would help if he asked, but only then.

"Your anger fills you," she said softly. "It threatens to consume you, every time you think of Malachor."

His fingers twitched against her wrist and she understood. Malachor was a wound for them both. The moment something broke and set not-quite-right over the ensuing years. Maybe through facing the decade-old hurt they could finally heal. Together.

"You have to find a way to let it go." She opened herself so he could feel the calm flow of the Force inside her and draw from it. "Let the Force heal you, and protect you. Let it be the shield for you that you so often are for others."

Bao-Dur took a deep breath, his hand briefly tightening on hers. She felt the beginnings of struggle as he reached to follow her guiding, the stuttered flickering of that potential in him, the moment he found and latched on to her own connection to draw strength for his.

His hands were so warm as they rested against hers. The thought was a tether to reality as she 'watched' Bao-Dur's faint sense of the Force flare and grow. He wasn't using her as a conduit after the first few seconds; his connection stronger and steadier and washing away the anger and guilt.

They didn't entirely fade, but the strangling grasp they'd had on him was gone.

Evony was sure he could feel her relief at that development. She wasn't trying to stifle it.

His reaction was, as usual for him, restrained. A catch to his breathing, a few deeper breaths as the new level of awareness clicked into place.

"So this is... what you had--have--to draw on?" Bao-Dur murmured, blinking a few times as they both opened their eyes. His breathing was still uneven, hands twitching slightly atop hers.

"Mmhm." Evony nodded as she sat back. “It can be a bit of an ebb and flow. It took me a little while to… even out when my own connection reestablished. But if you work with it, if you’re open to it, it’s easier to align. And after you’re comfortable with it, the Force is a very useful thing to have.”

“Like a new limb?” he asked dryly.

She chuckled, fingers tracing his metal palm. “Very much like it, in fact.” She arched a brow at him. “You might have an advantage there.”

Bao-Dur half-smiled, cocking his head head as if listening to something. "That would be nice."

Evony let her fingers trace and trail the palm, fingers, back of his cybernetic hand a few moments more. "And you know I'm happy to help if you need it."

He nodded, rolling his shoulders as he shifted back and pushed to his feet. "Atton said it felt like having too much energy for your skin at first, and I see where he was coming from."

She accepted the hand up he offered. "Sounds about right. You learn to regulate the flow as you adjust. Part of being a Jedi is always learning, making changes for new knowledge. The Force is also good at... working with you, for lack of a better term." Aside from him and Atton, she'd never taught anyone about this, never had to explain how it worked. It just did. "It responds to your emotions and thoughts, what you want from it." She rested a hand on his arm. "That's why you needed to let go of your anger; it's such a strong emotion, it tends to overwhelm everything else. Even the best of intentions."

Bao-Dur chuckled. "Always three steps ahead and looking out for your people."

You more than any. Those were definitely un-Jedi thoughts. But it was late, and they were true, so Evony let them linger for now. They keep saying I'm no longer a Jedi, anyway.... "Whenever I can." She cleared her throat, remembering their original task, and gestured vaguely toward the wall. "Are we done? Is this all good? I don't want to traipse off and leave you with more work."

He shook his head slightly, one corner of his mouth tipping upward. "You better than anyone know I enjoy this sort of work. However..." He checked the wires she'd repaired with the scanner, seeming unsurprised when it flickered confirming white. "We do appear to be finished. I'll route power back..."

"Before you go-" Evony gave his arm a light squeeze, then reached her other hand toward the workbench across the garage, calling the dualblade lightsaber hilt to her hand. While she hadn't had time to tinker with any of the new acquisitions from Dxun, she'd at least peeked at the innards of the scavenged lightsabers to confirm they were decent and unbroken. "To help you feel the part a little more." She offered it to him. "This'll be the easiest adjustment from your war-blade. If you want it," she added hastily, picking on the current of uncertainty from him.

While he did hesitate a beat longer, Bao-Dur reach out and took the lightsaber hilt. "It's hard to deny how effective they are," he said. "After watching you and Atton decimate anything stupid enough to get in our way."

Evony laughed, only just remembering to keep it quiet, and even as she opened her mouth to point out the ignition switch, he thumbed it on. Should've know he'd figure out anything even slightly tech in a heartbeat, she thought as the pale blue blades hummed to life. "You can change the color and other crystals if you want."

He nodded, gaze still on the lightsaber quietly humming in his grasp. "This... feels right, though. At least for now." He shut it down and met her gaze as he clipped the hilt to his belt. "Thank you."

She smiled. "You're welcome." She felt much more centered. Calmer. Her concerns over what Kavar revealed were settled, at least in part. "And thank you." She cocked her head toward the wall. "For letting me help."

Bao-Dur matched her smile. "Any time you need." He caught her wrist as she started to leave, tugged her back to brush the fainst kiss to her temple. "Rest well, General."

Evony chuckled and didn't correct him. "I will."

She could feel the current of the Force that bonded them now as they went their separate ways, and was fairly confident she could keep that promise.

#queens fic #eyes emoji prompts #evony xara #bao dur #kotor 2 #knights of the old republic 2 #jedi exile #exile/bao dur #evony/bao dur #i have many many thoughts about how i always seem to make bao-dur a jedi on dxun #part of it's just the order i tend to do the planets #but it fits thematically for him SO WELL #i also have THOUGHTS about when you come back to onderon #bc evony took atton and kreia to the palace and set bao to the temple with mira and visas #MANY THOUGHTS #feel free to ask me about them 👉👈

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tertiaryunit · 1 year

Text

Damage Assessment

An “extra” chapter from my DX story, focused on Lawrence and his dad Sam Carter. This takes place a few hours after the beginning of the game, after JC captures Leo Gold.

/ ------- /

It had been a few hours since the all-clear had been given, and most of the troops had returned to patrol the perimeter of the island for possible survivors. The NSF attack had caught them off guard, and Sam knew it would mean many visits from high-ranking government officials dissatisfied with their boss, a man called Joseph Manderley.

Sam, being a veteran, was used to such events; this was not the first time one of his superiors had been reprimanded, and it wouldn’t be the last, with all that it entailed. What really mattered to him was that his son was coming from Washington with his boss for the occasion - it had been years since he last saw him.

The Veteran was sitting behind the desk in the Armory when his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a figure elegantly dressed in a black suit. His footsteps were light, like someone who knew he should not be there, and therefore with an ill-concealed sense of guilt.

“Hey kid” “Good evening, father”

Lawrence was only twenty-five years old but his skin had a grayish tone, so exhausted that he looked close to death. The Quartermaster was understandably concerned since the last memory he had of his son was the expression of pure happiness at being assigned as his idol's personal assistant seven years ago.

“What brings you here, son?” “We’re just checking how things are going. Sir Simons gave me a five minutes break, so... Here I am”

Sam looked into Lawrence’s eyes: they were gaunt, cold like his superior’s and of the exact same shade of grey; his voice calm and measured so as not to show how he really felt. The awkward silence that fell after their initial words did nothing to dampen the tense atmosphere.

“So... I suppose you’re here to do some damage assessment?” “More or less. Gunther’s losing his touch, I know the NSF got him” “I heard our newest recruit freed him. He also successfully arrested Leo Gold, according to Jacobson. Quite promising, isn’t it?” “Ah, the younger Denton”

Of course, Lawrence had already been updated on everything that happened that night, along with the files of every single UNATCO employee.

”I think it would be wise to keep an eye on him” ”Listen, kid...” - The Veteran cleared his throat - “Why don’t you take one week off and come visit your old man? Sounds like you could use a break” “I can’t. You know how much work my position demands”

The younger man looked around and his eyes fixed for a moment on the framed photos on the armory desk: pictures of the siblings and mother he never knew as the NSF killed them many years ago - his father never hid to him how not too long after he adopted him, how happy he was to have a family again. Pictures of them together, before becoming a MJ12 Agent, back when his smiles were sincere...

“Aren’t you tired son? Not even a little bit? I know you don't like to hear criticism of your superior, but...” “Sir Simons is magnanimous enough with the workload he entrusts to me already. If anything, I’m not doing enough” “Not doing enough?! Son... You ARE aware of what I’ve heard, right?” “Naturally” - now Lawrence’s voice was so low and similar to the FEMA director's that, if someone overheard their conversation, they would think he was in the room with them - “Nothing but the inferences of people who would give their lives to be in my place”

Sam dropped that topic, knowing how sensitive Lawrence was whenever his direct superior was mentioned in any way.

“I think you’d enjoy a little road trip, you know? Just like the good old times...” “The good old times are over and I wish you could understand that!”

He barely raised his voice, but the Veteran took a step back as if he were being yelled at. Lawrence turned his back to him and tried to hide the flush in his cheeks.

“Thinking about the past is useless. It only brings you more pain than what it’s worth” “Are you... Are you really Lawrence?”

The Agent stopped in his tracks for a moment, but he did not turn around to face his father.

“You can stay in the past, if you want. But no one is there anymore”

He left just as JC Denton walked in.

NOTES.

Ok first of all: apologies for my grammar errors. :D Always had troubles with the verbs.

No, Sam doesn’t know what Walton did and is doing to Lawrence. He suspects it but doesn’t want to believe it. Lawrence, on his part, can tell about his father’s suspicion especially since he obviously knows what is being said behind his back by the MiB and other troopers.

Walton, on his part, has gaslit Lawrence enough to normalize the abuse and keep him dependent. He managed to isolate him from both his friendships (who do not know about his Psychic powers and would “treat him as a monster” because “the world is cruel” and how he’s “the only person that looks at him without fear”) AND his family (telling him how Sam would be “disgusted” by “what you did” implying the abuse happened because of Lawrence himself).

Lawrence feels ashamed and guilty and fears that if Sam knows, he will never want to see him again, or reject him as his son.

#deus ex #The Crusader [Lawrence Carter]#my writing

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naminethewriter · 2 years

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Brothers and Secrets Chapter Three: The Mansion in the Woods

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

Summary: Remus set out on his backpacking trip across Europe with a route in mind but no set time frame. So when he suddenly calls Roman as he's about to go to bed and demands to be picked up from the airport, Roman is rightfully caught off guard. As it turns out, Remus has experienced more in those two years than his brother had thought, not only getting himself a boyfriend but also a house to live in with said boyfriend.

There are many things Roman finds suspicious about this new set of circumstances and as time goes on, the mysteries pile on. Remus is hiding something, but what? And how will his secrets impact not only Roman's life but that of their friends Patton and Janus as well?

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

Two weeks later, on a Sunday, Remus, Roman and Janus were on their way to the former’s future home. Patton couldn’t make it in the end because he caught a cold and while he was almost healthy again, he didn’t feel up to a long day out and about. Janus had to promise him to take lots of pictures.

Roman was driving, Remus sat next to him, brimming with energy while Janus in the back was the opposite, completely relaxed. Despite Remus having described the house as being ‘close by’, it would take them almost two hours to get there and that Remy guy had to send them specific instructions because most navigation systems wouldn’t have the right path. But for now, Roman could stick to the empty road ahead, having left the city streets around 20 minutes ago and only one more hour until they were supposed to arrive at their destination.

“So, what exactly can we expect when we get there?” he asked his brother. He hadn’t been able to get many details from him so far but maybe the excitement would loosen his tongue a bit. If he knew more than what he had told him so far.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure. From what Logan told me, the house is about the same size as the one in Liechtenstein, maybe a bit smaller. Remy’s been living there alone for years, and he apparently isn’t the best at keeping things in order so there might be some stuff that needs fixing. I have authorization to use the family funds to do so, as well as buy furniture and the like if I’m missing anything. Electricity and such should work since that’s something important to Remy, so we should have Wi-Fi and tv and shit. There’s a garden but Logan has no idea if that’s been taken care of or not…” Remus trailed off, apparently trying to think of anything else.

“So the house might be falling apart and the garden could be fully overgrown,” Janus summarized. “Lovely.” He did not sound enthused.

“It’s not gonna be that bad!” Remus protested, turning around in his seat to face the other. “If the house isn’t in proper state, Remy could get in a lot of trouble with the elders in the family and that’s not something you want, Logan said. Nothing will be falling apart but there may be some leaks in the roof or creaking floorboards, and it may not be super clean and stuff. But you don’t need to do anything, this is just to get a look at the situation so I can plan for moving in. I can fix shit myself later.”

Roman hit his brother so that he sat down properly again, he was not keen on a run-in with a random cop that just happened to spot them in the wrong moment. Remus grumbled but obliged.

“You expect me to believe that you will fix up the place by yourself? I am supposed to be the liar here, Remus,” Janus commented and Roman watched him for a short moment in the rear-view mirror before speaking up.

“I know it sounds weird, but we both learned a lot from our dad about repairing stuff. It was very important to him that we could solve some common problems on our own like fixing a leaking faucet or car maintenance and such.”

“Yeah! And I did a lot of gardening with mom that Roman was too fancy for.”

“How dare! It was simply not an activity I enjoyed!”

“Sure. You didn’t enjoy it because it made you dirty and damaged your poor fragile little fingernails.”

“Shut up, Remus, or I swear I will stop and leave you out here.”

“As fun as that sounds,” Janus chimed in, “I do not want to have wasted my time coming all the way here and from what Remus has told us thus far, that Remy fellow will not let us in without him.”

“He won’t!”

“Fine!” Roman groaned. “But you keep him in check, I need to concentrate on the road.”

“Will do. Remus, dear, please tell me about your favorite dishes from your trip.” That topic indeed kept Remus occupied as he started to tell Janus all about various weird sounding foods he ate over the past two years. Roman did his best to tune them out since Remus also included some speculations about how they were prepared and those could be rather gruesome.

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

Roman grew worried again after he had to leave the main road to drive along an uneven one into a forest about 10 minutes prior. They were following Remy’s instructions which Janus was reading aloud since Roman didn’t trust his brother to do it with how excited and unfocused he was currently, but the winding path seemed rather sketchy. Even though it was barely after noon and sunny, the thick canopy above them let not a lot of sunlight through.

The road wasn’t travelled much, Roman could tell but it was kept clear from fallen trees and still drivable. He wondered if that was also Remy’s doing or if some kind of ranger was responsible for this part of the woods. For all he knew, they could already be on private property belonging to that mysterious family of Logan’s.

Just as he was thinking that, a gate appeared in his vision on the road ahead. Large and black with spikes on top it left a rather hostile impression, but Janus confirmed that it was part of Remy’s notes. Apparently, they could just open it since the locking system broke a while back and he hadn’t yet got it fixed and a manual lock was too much trouble.

Roman had barely stopped the car a few feet away from the gate as Remus rushed outside to open it, skipping the entire way. Roman watched him with a bit of a foreboding feeling.

“He’s going to be hard to keep track of, isn’t he?” Janus commented from behind him and Roman would vehemently deny that he flinched, having almost forgotten the other was still in the car with him.

“Probably yes.”

“At least it’s basically his house, so we don’t need to worry about apologizing to anyone when he breaks anything.”

“As long as it isn’t some family heirloom. Those elders he was talking about sounded rather conservative and creepy.”

“Who knows? Old families often times are weird. Especially if they’re old enough to have traditions like they do.”

“You seem to be speaking from experience.” Roman looked at Janus through the rearview mirror again and their eyes met. The latter shrugged.

“My family has some quirks as well, I suppose.”

“Such as?”

Janus smirked.

“It’s a secret, I’m afraid. Unless you wish to become part of my family, Roman.”

“Huh? What? No!” Roman sputtered, cheeks turning red. He broke eye contact to see what Remus was doing outside. He seemed to be done with the gate and was returning to the car.

“I was simply kidding, my prince,” Janus chuckled. “No need to be so embarrassed.” Before Roman could protest, his brother climbed back into the car and loudly demanded they continue on their way. From the gate it didn’t take long before the house came into view.

Roman had developed a fascination with architecture sometime in his teens. Not enough to consider it as a potential career (too much math) but enough to do long nights of research on different styles during history and memorizing their characteristics. His guess, from first glance out of a car he was driving – though slowly – he would say it was Victorian. Before he took a more careful look, he decided to focus on parking.

The driveway was made from stone, uneven and overgrown but still smoother than the dirt path prior. It had the standard fancy-rich-people layout of a fountain in the middle and a circular path around it. Roman couldn’t really see a parking spot so he just stopped the car close to the path up towards the front door. Remus again immediately jumped out of the car before Roman even had a chance to turn the ignition off. Janus had the dignity to wait until then before following him outside.

After Roman had excited the vehicle, he took a moment to inspect the building more closely while Remus bounded off towards the door, Janus following him. The porch was elevated, a few short steps leading up to it. Metal railings prevented anyone from falling and a roof covered it all the way around the side of the house, supported by pillars forming tall archways. The house had three stories as far as Roman could tell and two towers, one on each side, thought the one on the right was a bit taller than the other on the left. Most of the bricks were covered in ivy but beneath them he could see red while the roofs were a green coloration that almost blended into the woods seamlessly. Most definitely Victorian architecture, he concluded.

He was startled out of his thoughts by three very loud, echoing knocks. Apparently, Remus had reached the front door and it must have a metal knocker attached because there was no way his twin had produced that sound with his bare hands. Roman hurried after his companions and just as he cleared the last step, the door opened.

He didn’t know what to expect from some guy that took care of a house in the middle of nowhere and was part of a very cryptic family, but this wasn’t it. The man, presumably, Roman hadn’t actually thought to clarify pronouns ahead of time but Remus had called him ‘guy’ more than once, wore shades despite coming from the inside, a leather jacket and jeans, and had a cup from Starbucks in hand (they were miles from the next settlement, where the hell did he get that?!), loudly slurping its contents as he looked them over.

“’Sup babes! Glad you could make it.” Roman glanced at his companions to see if they were as confused as him but Janus’ expression was completely neutral while Remus was grinning, obviously delighted.

“HI!” he yelled. Volume control had never been Remus’ – or Roman’s for that matter – strong suit and was even worse when he was excited. Remy didn’t even flinch. “I’m Remus, that’s Janny, and that’s Ro-bro.”

“Remy, honored. Hate to do this but I need conformation, gurl.” He held out his hand and Remus slapped his own on it without hesitation, the resulting sound echoing through the house behind them. Again, Remy didn’t react besides pulling the offered hand closer and examining the ring.

“Yeah, checks out. Welcome to my humble abode, I guess. Make yourselves at home, since, y’know, it’ll be your home soon.” Remus immediately ran past him while Janus took more controlled slow steps.

“It’s Janus, by the way. I would be careful to keep him away from anything you don’t want broken.”

“Nothing really valuable in here that couldn’t be replaced, babe. Except maybe the books but since he’s Logan’s boytoy, I’m sure he knows not to mess with those.”

“Boytoy?” Roman echoed, displeased.

“Boyfriend, fiancé, whatever,” Remy clarified, taking another drink from the cup in his hand. “Guessing you also have another name than ‘Ro-bro’ I should call you?”

“Roman.”

“Then please do come in, Roman. Before your brother really does break something.” Warily, he complied, and Remy closed the door behind him. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped and had to resist the urge to check if he could open the door back up again. This isn’t some horror movie, he had to remind himself, calm down.

The foyer was a large open room with a set of double stairs leading up towards the second floor. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, covered in cobwebs. Considering Remy’s attitude so far, Roman wasn’t surprised that he didn’t clean up there. There were a few doorways leading further into the house and even more on the upper floor that Roman could make out. The walls were decorated with large paintings of people he didn’t recognize, and the floor was wooden, covered by a carpet that would probably be beautiful if it was cleaned properly.

Remus was already on the second floor, hanging over the railing trying to get close to the chandelier. Janus wandered around downstairs but kept an eye on their chaos gremlin. Roman sighed but didn’t interfere though he startled as he heard a chuckle from behind him. He definitely didn’t like Remy being somewhere he couldn’t see him, he decided. Something about the guy unsettled him.

“Want me to give you a tour or do you wanna explore for yourself?” Remy asked, obviously amused by Remus’ antics. If he registered Roman’s wary of him, he didn’t show it.

“A tour would be for the best,” Janus spoke up before Remus could. “It would be more efficient and I’m sure there’s going to be some questions.” Roman could see his brother’s pout, of course he would’ve preferred to run around at his own whim, but Janus’ plan was too reasonable to argue.

“Sure thing, hun, follow me and I’ll show you everything you need to see.” Remy opened a door to the left, motioning them to follow him and despite him being upstairs only seconds ago, Remus was the first past him. Janus and Roman exchanged a glance and steeled themselves for a strenuous few hours.

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

The house seemed bigger on the inside than the outside, at least to Roman. Remy led them around for at least two hours, showing them the dining room, kitchen, parlor, bathrooms (thankfully very modern but older aesthetic), at least six bedrooms of differing sizes, and more. The biggest room by far was the library and Remus jumped around in there even more excitedly than before.

“Lolo’s going to love this! He said this is one of the biggest collection the family has!”

“Yep,” Remy agreed, popping the ‘p’. “And there’s even more in the basement. Some… relatives of mine literally just come by to dump their stuff in here and I dunno how to sort them, so I just put them down there. Good luck getting Lo out of there once he gets here.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Remus grinned, wiggling his eyebrows, “I have reliable methods for getting his attention.”

“Tmi, don’t need to know any more, thanks babe.”

The last stop on their tour was the garden. Remy led them through a backdoor outside, onto a terrace. The stone under their feet hadn’t been cleaned, Roman could tell, and there were weeds growing through the gaps between the tiles. There was a table and chairs, but they all looked like they hadn’t been used in years, rust clearly visible. The few potted plants placed on the railing had outgrown their pots and were spreading over the tiles and rails.

The garden below wasn’t faring better. If there had been paths between bushes before, they weren’t there now. Inside, they had found quite a few things to repair, most of which Remus had already predicted: creaking floorboards, small leaks in the roof, furniture that was about to fall apart and so on. But this out here? That would take the most time to restore, Roman figured.

“I know this looks horrid, but I like, can’t with plants for the life of me. That’s my boyfriend’s department,” Remy explained as he leaned against the doorframe, not having stepped outside with the rest of them. Remus, who had been inspecting the overgrown fauna, waved him off.

“I love the vibe of it! But I’m gonna need to get it under control at least somewhat or Logan’s gonna have a fit. I like gardening.”

“Knock yourself out, gurl. There’s some rare stuff planted here but I can’t tell them apart. Maybe you’ll have more luck there.”

“I won’t be much help inside, but here I can be of assistance,” Janus hummed. He stood at the railing, stroking his hands along one of the plants and Roman thought for a moment he saw it shudder. It was probably just the wind though.

“Thanks, Janny! I’ll take you up on that! But the inside comes first.” Roman nodded in agreement absentmindedly. Indeed, the garden wouldn’t worsen much more in the next few months, but the house certainly could. Especially if the leeks weren’t fixed.

“You can literally do whatever you want, I don’t care,” Remy said, yawning. “I just want this house off my hands.”

“How did you end up taking care of it?” Roman asked. “No offense, but you seem ill equipped to handle it.”

“None taken, babe, I totally agree with you. I didn’t wanna do it either. I was just crashing here for a bit when the elder who was taking care of it had to go somewhere, I don’t remember why or where. It was supposed to be temporary, but the asshole just send me a letter one day saying he ain’t coming back for a while! I tried to find someone else to do it, but no one would. Logan’s saving my ass, if I couldn’t visit Emile soon, I might’ve just burned the place down.”

“Arson’s fun!”

“Emile is your boyfriend, I assume?” Roman asked, definitively ignoring his brother’s comment. “Why can’t he come live here with you?”

“It’s complicated. He can’t just leave, it would take like a lot of prep, he’d only be able to stay here for a few weeks at most and that just ain’t worth it y’know? His roots run deep if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“Not important. Anyway, I don’t wanna be a shitty host or anything, but I’m wiped. If you wanna stay longer, fine by me but I’m heading to bed.” Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared back into the house. Roman watched him, brows furrowed.

“Something the matter?” Janus asked, suddenly beside him. He barely managed to suppress a flinch; he was startling way too easy today.

“I’m not sure. But he seems weird to me.”

“Remy?”

“Yeah. Something’s off about him.”

Janus hummed for a moment before answering.

“He is certainly eccentric but otherwise fine.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really like the thought of Remus living here with him.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’m sure Remus knew what he was getting into. He’ll be fine.”

Roman wasn’t so sure but he didn’t comment on it again. Janus was right in that he needed to trust that his brother knew what he was doing. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going on. Something… not sinister, probably, but definitely something out of the ordinary.

#namiswriting #brothers and secrets #chapter three: the mansion in the woods #creativitwins #platonic roceit #platonic dukeceit #roman sanders #ts roman #remus sanders #ts remus #janus sanders #ts janus #remy sanders #ts remy #fluff #multichapter fic #sanders sides #fanfiction #reblogs are appreciated

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deadgiants · 4 months

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I'll hand it to "the Hound," it gave me a lot to think about.

This has been bouncing around my skull for a few days, though it's not really something that I mentioned in the posts while reading it.

Connla's conception and death are all told in the Hound, but they're also very much changed. I do want to preface that this post is more musing than argument against the book, though I do think it shows a kinda gross through line of a very modern sexism in the story.

So in this, the moment when Connla is conceived is depicted in two tiny panels following Eva (Aife, the angicizations are awful) invading Scáthach's school because... she thinks she could teach better than Scáthach? But then she's welcomed back, so everything is cool, and her and Cú have barely implied sex. Cú leaves to go home from exile early on the next page I think (not sure that's how exile works) with the knowledge that Eva (Aife) is pregnant. Importantly though, when he leaves, all he does is give her a ring for Connla to be identified by, and instruction to send him to Ireland at some point.

The key difference here is that in the original telling (or oldest we have) CúChulainn gives these full instructions, framed as geassa;

Connla cannot turn back once he starts his journey, he must not refuse a challenge, and must never tell anyone his name.

I dont Know Bogan's mind, but it's here that I can see where he may have thought "well that makes no sense, why would he do that?" Which is fair if you don't think too long, it is a mythological telling from a culture we don'thave the full context for, but the solution he settles on is to make Eva (Aife) be the one who insists that Connla not tell his name, and that he should come to Ireland and act as aggressor, rather than simply not be able to turn down a challange. The framing makes this read as some malicious act on her part, as though making CúChulainn kill his own son is an act of vengeance for his unceremonious departure unrelated to her.

It also serves again to remove agency from CúChulainn while I think trying to humanize him. In the original he: willingly couples with her, instructs her to send Connla to him in the future, and puts these geassa on him. It gives Aife in the original test less agency for him to make these choices, but to only give women characters agency to make them temptresses, or malicious and calloused feels like a zero sum at best.

This was supposed to be a shorter post, but I haven't gotten to the thing I even really meant to yet because any analysis of this comic cascades into a half-dozen other things.

The thing I wanted to get to is, in a nutshell, CúChulainn needs to know who he's killing when he fights Connla. It may be my interpretation of the story, but from my repeated readings I think CúChulainn and Emer know who Connla is basically from the moment they arrive on the scene, and are trapped by their own laws and mores to play out the scene as if written ahead of time. This created a much more tragic scene of people who know what they are doing, and must continue to do it anyway. It also createds a much more poignant foreshadowing for CúChulainn's battle at the ford with Ferdiad where CúChulainn is in some ways put in Connla's place, knowing that he must move forward, but knowing ahead of time what it means, while Ferdiad is trapped by his society to try to kill one of his greatest loves.

If CúChulainn doesn't know at all who this random 10 year old is, then it's still a setup for the battle, but only in a thematic framing, without as much emotion.

I said before this post isn't as much about the Comic being bad as the others. And while there is something I'm going to say i. Another post following this that IS. The reason this one isn't is that I totally get these choices, or the motivation for them, I still think theyre badly thought out, because the internal logic of the story is damaged by having these characters do the same actions for different reasons, both internal and external. I can see the problem here especially of "how do you adapt this narrative for a modern audience?"

I think the answer is, don't.

Adapting the characters and changing the reasons for events that need to happen in the story in the way they did here, full of (I don't like that I keep saying modern, because it implies a fundamental difference between then and now in people hearts that I don't think exists) contemporary sensibilities, stemming from a neo-liberal society, started in the late 90's, makes the story flow naturally only if you dont think at all about how events connect. It's building a lego set but the top hald are mega bloks.

All adaptations have an element of authorship and will by their nature be personal to the time and place they are made, adaptations that try to be the exact thing are almost without fail boring and somewhat sterile. This seems to be an intentional overwrite of the original, like they were going to "fix" parts if it, and honestly if you feel like you need to fix something like folklore and mythology in order to make it good, maybe you're not the person to do that adaptation.

#comic review #irish mythology #mythology #folk #comics #cuchullainn #cu chulainn #the hound #not art #thoughts

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tumbling-darkling · 3 years

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The boy who lived and the professor that didn’t (for the most part)

AO3

During Harry's second year at Hogwarts, a strange and unexpected man starts teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

(A Danny Phantom X Harry Potter crossover)

Chapter 1

Harry took a seat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, glancing over to Ron who sat beside him and then scanning the classroom for their new DA professor. He already met the man in Diagon Alley, blonde and very much interested in only himself. Harry shivered as he remembered being pushed towards him as people took pictures of the famous wizard and the boy who lived.

At least it wasn’t worse than a head of the dark lord growing out of the back of the professor's neck.

Well- Harry did thumb through some of the textbooks before classes started. He absolutely agreed with Hermione who was very vocal about the books- they didn’t actually seem to teach anything. Just spoke about the ‘many adventures of Gilderoy Lockhart’.

Maybe this will just end up being an easy class.

The door slammed open 15 minutes past the start of class, startling the students as they swiveled their heads to look at the newcomer, expecting Gilderoy Lockhart.

Instead a tall man with a slim frame and hunched posture strode into the room. He had messy black hair pulled in a very horrible and tangled loose bun with the remaining dreads lazily dangling at the man's shoulders, his chin and cheeks covered in unshaven stubble. His robe was creased and torn, his hat loosely hanging from his hand and his sleeves pushed almost all the way up his arms. What really caught people’s attention was those eyes. Unnaturally clear and bright icy blue, so blue that even in the bright light they seemed to slightly glow.

He quickly pulled down his sleeves as he walked past the students towards the front of the room, grumbling slightly under his breath about something Harry couldn’t catch. He tossed the hat aside, muttering more loudly about how ‘wizard hats are so stupid and impractical I’m not wearing that garbage’ before he turned towards the class.

“My name is Fenton- er Professor Fenton I guess. Since I’ll be teaching you about…” he glanced down at the podium he stood in front of, crouching a little as if looking for something before straightening back up. “Defense… Against the… Dark… Arts,” he said slowly and not very confidently. Then he whispered again to himself but just loud enough for some students to pick up, “they see me fight one god damn ghost and suddenly I’m an expert on all dark magic entities? I think I’ll fight Dumbledore after this.” He straightened a little, eyes looking over the classes.

Harry did not like those eyes lingering on him for half a second longer than the others. He didn’t like this professor looking at him at all.

Something just didn’t feel right.

“Alright, any questions?”

A hand immediately went up, and Harry knew exactly who it belonged to.

“Uh- yes miss-?”

“Hermione Granger. Wasn’t our professor supposed to be Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“Yeah- that guy. He’s a phoney.”

The class went silent before someone yelled out, “WHAT?”

“Guy went around, found Wizards and Witches that did cool things, made them forget it then took all the credit. Tried to take my credit and I hit him a little too hard. Now I’m here taking his place. It’s all over the news, you know. You can read the exaggerated details in there. Anything else?”

The same hand went up.

Professor Fenton sighed, “yes?”

“Why were you 15 minutes late? Shouldn’t professors be on time? And why do you look like you crawled out of the forbidden forest.”

“I fought a ghost. Then got lost,” Fenton deadpanned.

The class went silent.

Fenton then turned around, “well if that’s all, let’s get started with something I know a lot about. What do you already know about Ghosts?”

“You’re seriously more afraid of Professor Fenton than Professor Snape?” Hermione asked Ron. “He’s not even mean! Sure he’s grumpy but he doesn’t beat down every question I ask him! He even seems to be glad I’m asking questions! Unlike Professor Snape who just treats us like idiots for not knowing something.”

“Sure- he’s not mean or cruel but… he just freaks me out. Like how he just stares sometimes at empty walls! Or how the room temperature always drops the moment he seems to take a single step into the room! I can’t even hear his footsteps when he walks! He’s bloody freaky is what he is!”

“Well I for one am glad he’s our Professor! Imagine having a phony for a professor! Though he talks a lot about ghosts. Ghosts can’t cause people harm. At most they give a little scare but it’s not like they could cause terrible damage.”

“What about those ectoplasm based ones he was talking about? The solid ones?” Harry asked.

“Rare and unlikely. Ectoplasm doesn’t form in the magical world, Harry! The stuff that leaks through and hangs in the air is only enough to allow ghosts like Nick or Myrtle to hang around in harmless ways.”

“But he said he fought a ghost before he arrived in class! And he looked really beat up!”

“He said he got lost too! Maybe he just stumbled across a guard dog like Fluffy and made up something about ghosts!”

“What if it’s like the last professor though? What if he’s looking for another secret object in Hogwarts walls?” Harry hissed softly, “Ron is right that he just has a sense of oddness about him! I just don’t trust him!”

“Harry, you’re just paranoid from last year. Professor Fenton is normal. Now pick up your pace, we’re going to be late for our next class!”

Professor Fenton glanced down at Harry, then back at Professor McGonagall, “he has what with me?”

“Detention. You see, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley caused a bit of a fuss by driving a flying car in plain sight of several muggles, and risked exposing the magical world. As such, his punishment has been detention. I trust you can find some fitting work for him to do as he reflects on his actions?”

Fenton crosses his arms, his mouth tightening slightly into a grimace as his fingers slightly tapped his own arms. “This won’t be every night, will it?” He asked.

“No, we will be switching supervisors for a few weeks but you may also need to supervise Mr. Weasley sometime before then.”

Fenron let out a sigh of defeat, “well- alright. I’ll take care of it then.”

Professor McGonagall gave a curt nod before turning stiffly and walking off. Professor Fenton scratched at the back of his neck as he watched her walk off, then glanced down at Harry, those eyes seeming to search him for… something. Then that stern look relaxed into a lopsided grin, “So you were the one that made that stuck up ministry trip over their hats and scramble around in blind panic! I say, hats off to you young Potter!” He laughed.

Harry blinked in confusion at the shift in mood, then Fenton patted him on the back, “hey, no need to look so freaked out! I’m not gonna bite ya!” He began walking forward, and it took Harry an extra second to realize that the professor was moving and he should follow. “Oh, wait you probably are a little freaked out, huh? I guess my mood could have been a bit better this morning, I was just a little flabbergasted today. I was kinda rushed into this position, you know.” He shrugged, his hands shoved into his cloak’s pockets. He didn’t really walk like any of the other Hogwarts professors. He had this relaxed saunter, like he was more of a visiting relative than a staff member. “Say, let’s say your ‘punishment’ will just be helping me bring some books from the library to my quarters. There’s a lot I need to run through and a single trip would make all the difference.”

Harry nodded, finding it hard to keep up with the man's long strides. “So… you don’t like the ministry of magic?” Harry asked.

Professor Fenton huffed in annoyance, “not one bit. They are almost worse than observants!” Harry had no idea what those were. Another level of magic government? “They try to control every little thing. Don’t expose magic to the normal world. Don’t use magic to make technology without permission. Don’t use magic to save muggle children if people are watching.” His said in a mocking tone, “they have so many rules that are outdated or stupid. Never trust a government, kid! Especially a magical one!”

“What are… observants?”

Fenton glanced down at Harry, “oh those stuck up jerks? They are like the government of the ghost realm. Really annoying. Unlike the Ministry of Magic, they actually know how to find me!” He laughed.

“Ghosts have governments?”

“Oh yeah! They have more of a monarchy, the observants are like hermit wizards that only step in when they believe the world is in peril. Meanwhile the rest falls on the shoulders of the Ghost King.”

Harry frowned, “I’ve never read about that in the textbooks. Hermione says that ghosts are just harmless beings formed from souls that aren’t ready to leave the mortal realm.”

“Well she’s half right. There’s different kinds of ghosts, like Sir Nicolas and the Bloody Baron. They are more like echoes. Souls that cling desperately to this world but didn’t have enough ectoplasm to become a fully solid ectoplasmic being. They won’t leave for the infinite realms until they are ready, though many believe they are trapped here forever. More solid ghosts form in a similar way but are exposed to more ectoplasm, but rarely show up because natural portals to the infinite realms are sparse and in between. Well until about a decade ago.”

“Infinite Realms? Natural Portals?” Harry felt like his head was going to explode.

“Well, there should be some books about that in the muggle section.. Though some wizards would say it’s all garbage because muggles discovered and studied it. Just look up my name under the author and you should find some.”

“Oh… wait- did you write them? Is that why you know so much about ghosts?”

Professor Fenton barked out a loud laugh, doubling over as he clutched his sides, “Ah! No! No, I didn’t write them! My parents did!” He cackled. “Ah, yeah but I did learn from them. And a bit of field work. Tell Miss Granger to check them out too, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having something to read. She reminds me of my sister in that way.” He stopped in front of the library doors, “Aha! I knew we would find this place eventually!”

Harry looked at Professor Fenton in bewilderment, “you didn’t know where we were going?!”

Fenton shook his head and shot him another grin, “nope! I’ve been constantly getting lost in these dumb halls. This place constantly moves and I absolutely hate it. Even the Infinite Realms make more sense than this castle!”

Harry stuttered, “If the infinite realms is where ghosts go, isn’t that like… the afterlife? You’ve been to the afterlife?”

Professor Fenton lazily shrugged and opened the doors to the library, “yes and no. It’s all complicated. I’ll tell you a different time.”

Harry stood there for a few more seconds as his brain tried to catch up with the information, and once he managed to close his mouth he chased after the Professor.

Harry glanced around the Professors room as he followed after him, arms filled with books that seemed to suspiciously be only about the Dark Arts. He’d never been to a professor's living quarters, at most he had been in some offices. Even so, it was not at all what he imagined a wizard's living quarters would look like.

First off, there seemed to be technology. He recognized a coffee machine on a low table, but it wasn’t plugged into anything. There was an odd box that looked like a slightly smaller television, it’s screen black and wires sticking out of it attached to a rectangular box with a lot of buttons on top of it and a small round device. There was also a radio, and a huge telescope leaning out the largest window. As Harry looked, he began to notice spaceships literally in every corner of the room. Different kinds as well, some would even move and blast off. The most amazing part was the roof of his room. It was almost exactly like the great hall as it rose into dark nothingness, but the stars were MUCH brighter and all the constellations had been traced out, some brighter than others. For someone who knew a lot about ghosts, he seemed to really like space. Then there were also some odd things thrown around, like a very weird looking thermos. Or a metal… boomerang?

“Just place them over here, Harry!” Fenton called as he dropped his pile of books onto a couch in the corner. Harry did as he was told, placing the books down a little more gently than the professor did.

“Professor… how did you get these things to work? Technology usually… explodes around magic,” Harry asked.

“Oh! Well it’s because I power them myself!” Professor Fenton chirped. “They don’t work the same way as regular technology. Again, I recommend checking out some of the notes in the Fentons books, they have a lot of stuff that works in the magical realm.”

“Why would you need it though? Doesn’t magic make up for a lot of technology?” Harry asked.

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong you see! There is nothing in the magical world that is equivalent to the coffee machine!”

Harry blinked, “... what.”

“It’s a very important machine, Harry. You will depend greatly on it once you need to stay up for an entire week. But! It seems our time together has come to an end. Thanks for your help, Harry, and if McGonagall asks, tell her I made you scrub toilets or something,” he winked.

Harry grinned back, heading towards the doorway to go find Ron and Hermione. He closed the door behind and the moment it clicked shut, he saw a flash appear from under the door.

He paused slightly, but shrugged. Maybe a comet passed by on the enchanted roof of his room. He then headed down the halls to find his friends.

“Not normally invited?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, “Ghosts throw death day parties like birthday parties, but rarely do they ever invite living people!”

“I see, so Sir Nick really wanted us to be there,” Harry pondered as the trio entered the party area. He immediately was hit with an awful stench, nearly gagging before he had to swallow it as Sir Nicholas noticed their arrival and approached swiftly with the widest smile they had ever seen on his face.

“Harry! Ron! Hermione! You all made it! Oh this brings such joy to my cold, dead heart!”

“Glad to see you as well, Sir Nick,” Harry struggled not to gag on the smell.

“Say, why do ghosts even celebrate the day they died? Isn’t that… like a very traumatic experience you would rather not remember?” Ron somehow managed to ask.

“Well, ghosts like to celebrate it to commodirate a start to a new chapter of our afterlife!” He paused, glancing across the room for a split second, “most ghosts that is, and the death day isn’t to remind us of our death. It more serves to encourage us to look forward! No one really wants to remember how we died. Never a pretty picture.”

Harry followed Nicholas’s gaze for the split second glance, then noticed a ghost he had never seen before. He ignored the smell (they would have to ask about that later) and nudged Hermione, pointing at the ghost, “hey Hermione, have you ever seen that ghost around the castle before? I don’t remember seeing him from last year…”

The ghost in question seemed so much stranger than the rest, he had a brighter glow, where he should have had legs, merged into what seemed to be a ghostly tail, drifting lazily like caught in a breeze. Long hair whiter than snow itself drifted around like caught underwater, and bits that weren’t drifting were braided neatly and lost in the rest of it as it constantly moved. The ghost had purple skin, pointed ears, green freckles dotting his cheeks and long sharp fangs showing as he laughed at another ghost's joke. He dressed like a medieval lord, wearing a delicately detailed black and white tunic tucked into a braided belt circling his waist, his ghostly tail completely black. Thick white leather gloves covered both his hands as he waved them around while he spoke. A white cape hung off his shoulders, but when the cape occasionally drifted to show the inside, it was like the ghost had taken the night sky and attached it to the garment. Thick fur wrapped around his shoulders and long and sharp horns that looked like ice circled his head like a crown.

Toxic green eyes that had irises that seemed to swirl around the pupil glanced at the trio and Harry suddenly felt very very small.

“I… don’t know. I haven’t even heard of any ghost that looked like him before,” Hermione seemed like she was at a loss, probably scouting through her thoughts and memories for any trace or mention of the unfamiliar ghost.

Sir Nicholas cut in, “oh! That may be because King Phantom doesn’t live in this castle! He’s mainly only here to visit for the year!”

Ron gapped, “... did you say… king? Was he a king before he died?”

Sir Nicholas frowned, “no, of course not! He’s the king of all ghosts! King of the infinite realms! The one who defeated Pariah Dark in single combat barely a year after he died! The youngest and most beloved king we ghosts have had in such a very long time.”

“There’s a king of ghosts? And that’s him?” Harry asked.

“That’s what I just said, my dear boy. Keep up!”

“I don’t want to seem rude, Sir Nicholas but… why is he here?” Hermione gasped, “if he really is such a powerful and imposing figure, doesn’t he have a lot of duties to fulfil?”

“Well, he told us he was technically here on business but that it requires time and an investigation that could take a few months. So he could visit and celebrate with us from time to time! He’s a very relaxed man, I assure you. Here let me introduce you all to him! My Liege! I have some friends you absolutely must meet!”

The King looked over and smiled widely, “friends, you say?” His voice echoed more than the other ghosts, seeming to carry across the room as he spoke. He then blinked in surprise and turned to Nick, “Sir Nicholas… you realize these three are still amongst the living?”

“Why of course! Harry is the Boy Who Lived! The first to survive the death spell!” Sir Nicholas said quite proudly.

The King drifted down towards the three, causing Ron to slightly flinch at his approach, his hands clasped together as worry seemed to etch on his face, “well, most ghosts don’t have a very good sense of smell or taste, right? Which is why we have all the rotting food out?”

“Yes?” Sir Nicholas still didn’t seem to catch on.

King Phantom held out his hand, producing clothing hanger clips made purely of ice, “The living can still very much smell and taste, and I don’t think it’s exactly the smell of roses and lavender.”

Sir Nicholas blinked, “oh. Oh! Oh Harry and friends, I apologize for forgetting such a detail!”

Harry, Ron and Hermione all graciously accept the clips, pinning them on their noses to escape the horrid smell. Then Hermione turned towards the Ghost King with a glint in her eyes, “wait- how did you do that? Ghosts aren’t this solid- and they definitely can’t use magic!”

Phantom chuckled, drifting back into the air as he pointed to the crown of ice horns on his head, “Well first off, I’m the king so I get some bonuses. As well as not all ghosts work the same. You should try listening to that Dark Arts professor of yours when he talks about ghosts. He’s quite knowledgeable about all things not living.”

“But- but years of documentation and research-!” Hermione tried to argue before the King tutted.

“Information is constantly changing and growing, something that seems pretty constant could change in seconds and turn your whole world upside down. Not to mention, many different types of ghosts like myself only became more common recently. Before, most of us were confined to the infinite realms, only ghosts like Sir Nicholas forming for many centuries and the different kinds rarely slipped out.”

“Well-, what changed?” Hermione challenged.

King Phantom sported a playful grin, “I d̶͙͉̓̓i̷̢̩̬̘̟̽ę̴̘̲̹̤͌̊d̸̢̳̞̄.”

He then turned and left the three on that note as he went to join other ghosts at the party.

“What does he mean by that?” Hermione huffed.

“He’s got an odd sense of humour, that’s for sure,” Sir Nicholas laughed.

Harry couldn’t stop his glare that shot towards Professor Snape as he accused Harry of petrifying Mrs. Norris and writing the bloody message that stained the wall. Before he could snap back at him that he did not do any of this, Professor Fenton seemed to almost step out of thin air to his defense.

“Mr. Potter was with me all night, he did not do this,” his voice laced with a chilling venom. Was he… lying for him?

Snape tilted his chin up, attempting to look down on Fenton who was no longer hunched, and instead stood tall at his full height. It was quite difficult to do as it turned out, Fenton towered over every other Professor in the area. “And who, pray tell, are you?” Snape seemed to almost spit.

A sinister grin spread across the tall Professor's features as he stepped in front of Harry, leaning menacingly over the shorter wizard and blocking his view of the student, “Professor Fenton, the professor of the Dark Arts. Accusing a second year of such a powerful spell isn’t a very wise take, now is it Professor Snape?” Fenton basically spat his name.

Snape glared back, “you would be surprised what Potter is capable of, especially the trouble he gets himself in.”

“How about you try not pinning the blame on a 12 year old child?”

“That is enough out of both of you,” Dumbledore stepped in. “We all know Harry was not responsible for this, as Professor Fenton’s defence is true. We have a healthy patch of mandrake roots that will cure Mrs. Norris of her petrification, and students will resume their classes while the professors investigate the issue. Now you three will return to your dorms for the rest of the night.”

Harry hesitated before he headed back towards the dorms, but didn’t fail to notice how Professor Fenton’s eyes flashed toxic green, or the wink sent in his direction.

298 notes · View notes

atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 3

Summary: While his bride is exacting her plans from the very first day in Little Palace, the Darkling finds he has a soft spot for the enemy.

Warnings: sexual references, swearing, angst

Part one // Part two

=================================

The last thing Y/N expected upon waking up was to wake up alone. Spreading out in the bed, she huffed a loose strand of her hair off her face. Narrowing her eyes, she stared up at the canopy with her wicked husband on her mind.

After the way he had acted the night before, she found herself wondering what game he’s playing. They were meant to be married in paper only, yet he seems to have a possessive streak that extends to her as well. A part of her wasn’t sure if he truly had a shred of decency within considering he didn’t take advantage of their marital status, but the other part of her wasn’t easily swayed. That part of her remained defiant as it was forged in a fire the Darkling set. Intentionally or not, his actions have damaged her before they ever even met and she wasn’t very forgiving.

Opening the door, unannounced, strolled in the most beautiful woman Y/N had ever seen. Her long, auburn hair was perfectly styled and framed her face without obscuring an inch of her stunning beauty.

Genya, she realized. Even on the other side of the fold, Y/N knew of the empresses’ tailor.

Large, amber eyes fix on Y/N who slowly sat up. She stared at Genya without shame, admiring her appearance.

“Well, from what the general told me, I expected I’d have more work on my hands.” Genya huffs, her hands on her hips as her lips form a thin line.

“I have nothing wrong with me”, Y/N defends, graciously getting out of the bed that was far too comfy considering who she shared it with. “And where is the general?” Raising her eyebrow, Y/N folded her arms. No matter where he disappeared to, she couldn’t let him wander too far in case he tries to break their agreement and attend a meeting alone.

Humming, Genya didn’t try to hide her curiosity as she looked Y/N up and down. “Are you sure you don’t need my services?”

Glancing at the door, Y/N saw the servants waiting in front for a command. “Leave us”, Y/N waves them off, swiftly closing the door behind them. Her eyes settle on a seemingly startled Genya who cocks her head to the side.

“Interesting. So you do need me?”

Inhaling deeply, Y/N nods. Coming closer, her eyes remain on Genya’s whose gaze drifts at first. Once Y/N stopped before her, their eyes met.

“I need you, but not as a tailor.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Genya steps back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N licked her lips. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you hate the emperor and you’d do anything to make sure he never lays a hand on you?”

Genya’s nostrils flare, her lips drawing back between her pearly whites. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m loyal to my emperor.”

“I know”, Y/N reaches for her hand, “I’m saying if your loyalties shifted, I’d make sure that fat fuck died in agonizing pain.”

Yanking her hand out of Y/N’s reach, Genya stepped back with wide eyes.

Gnawing on the inside of her bottom lip, Y/N wished she was more tactful. Hearing of Genya and her fate, she assumed she’d gladly ally with her in this fight. Not only does she need Genya on her side to fight against Kirigan, but the emperor as well. Genya would have been an ideal ally if only she was willing to hear her out. But she should have waited, befriended the Grisha. She should have been more tactful.

“Does the general know of the treasonous plans you speak of?”

Chuckling in disbelief, Y/N shakes her head, “Do you truly believe I’d be breathing if he did?”

Pursing her lips, Genya turned her back on Y/N, contemplating all the possibilities that could stem from her decision.

“It’s a lot, I know, but I am here with a few secrets of my own.” Y/N takes a step closer, her hand clasping Genya’s shoulder as a show of support. “I realize you barely know me, but we can change that now.”

“How?” Genya whispers, more to herself than Y/N who released a shaky sigh.

“By revealing a secret that would be lethal for me if you shared it with anyone.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Genya’s eyes narrowed at Y/N who felt genuine, more than anyone had been since the day she arrived in the Palace. Despite the initial mistrust, Genya nods.

The guards stationed outside of Y/N’s room only heard a loud gasp behind closed doors, unaware that very gasp was a start of a friendship that would define Ravka’s future.

Meanwhile, the Darkling had spent the morning out in the fields. Riding his favorite horse usually served as a way to distract his mind from ongoing worries, but it had no such effect today. No amount of speed or distance could possibly erase the feeling of Y/N’s hand on his body, much less of her body pressing against him.

He behaved as a pious man, an honorable gentleman with self-restrain of a saint. If he could, he’d have taken her without regrets, but he never crossed that line and doing so with a woman meant to be his wife would set him on a path of no return – of true evil.

The Darkling may have done some heinous things, but they were never without reason. If he had done anything against her wishes, he’d be beyond redemption and he couldn’t help but grit his teeth every time he imagined himself losing his mind around her long enough for her to turn him into the villain she sees him as.

Another thing he’s decided to do is break the rule he knew she expected him to uphold – sleeping in separate chambers was the worst thing for them now. He had to be in her bed every night, regardless if she wanted to let him between her legs or not. He wouldn’t force her, that much would be true, but he wouldn’t sleep in his own room anymore. The room they were given last night would be the one he goes to, stumbles to, crawls to, in order to fall asleep beside her. And though it’s a risk as he could easily find himself with his throat cut, he refused to back down.

Dismounting, he headed to the map room where his subordinates waited for further instructions regarding the war.

“Shall we start?” The Darkling tossed his riding gloves on the desk as he looked at his people. A new face caught his attention, making him do a double take until his dark skies narrowed at her.

“Now that you’ve arrived”, Y/N stands, smiling sweetly. “I believe we can present to you what we’ve discussed while you were off on a joy ride.”

There’s nothing sweet about her, Darkling realizes. Even her smile is coated in honey but laced with poison.

He licked his lips, “Well, if you want my opinion-“

“I don’t”, she stood her ground, “I have my own.”

Chuckling darkly, he leans forth on the table. His nostrils are flared, his hands gripping the edges until his knuckles turn white. “And what exactly is that?”

“We agreed on having the First army general having a vote in the decision making process as you all do, and since I’m his proxy, I’ve decided you will no longer use humans as canon meat.”

Gliding the tip of his tongue over the inner side of his teeth, he stared at Y/N as if she were made of glass he had every intention on shattering. That would be a mistake – glass is only brittle until it breaks, the shards can cause more damage.

“We will train Grisha to protect humans and humans will use their weapons to protect the Grisha in a more effective manner with the emperor’s gold.”

“Gold?” Kirigan says through gritted teeth as she approaches him, her hands behind her back and he has no doubts she’s stashed a weapon in them and the blue kefta she wore. He’d tell her to take it off and never wear one since she’s but a human, yet as his wife, she was entitled to a kefta. Besides, she looked like a dream in one.

“The emperor agreed to fund the First army’s armory during breakfast”, she smirks, lifting her head up to maintain eye contact.

“Get out”, he grumbles.

Raising her eyebrow, she giggles, “Are you that incapable of admitting I may have opinions and capabilities with potential to do better than the ones you brought before the emperor?” Hardening her gaze, she cups his cheek so tenderly he felt a shiver run down his back. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“GET OUT!” He turns to the others, watching them scramble to leave before he unleashes the darkness everyone feared. Once the last one left, the door slamming behind them, Kirigan locked his eyes on hers.

“Don’t ever try to get inside my head”, he snarled, slamming her against the door. As his heartbeat echoed in his ears, they stayed there with his grip crushing her wrists, keeping them pinned to the wall.

She didn’t breathe, trying to guess his next move. There was a risk she’d push him over the edge and she quite liked herself in one piece, so she waited – waited for him to move first despite the aching pain in her wrists. Releasing a shuddered breath, her chest deflates.

Finally, his eyes soften as he realizes he might have scared her and while he’d usually triumph, he found no satisfaction in being rough with her. He imagined himself releasing her from his grip, cupping her cheeks and asking for forgiveness, but the way she refused to blink made him unsteady. Yet he whispered still, “It’s too dark for you.”

Squinting, Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line. She easily breaks out of his grasp, shoving him against the wall with her forearm on his chest. Trailing her hand lazily towards his neck, she tightens her grip, lightly choking him. Pulling him down, she stands on her tiptoes as well. Leaning in, her lips brush against his ear; whispering, "Darling, you may wield darkness but you don't know the meaning of dark."

Stepping away, she raised her chin defiantly and he wished he could grasp it and pull her lips to his until her jaw relented and her mouth opened for his. And that’s when he realized – why would he hold back?

Her eyes drifted up to his and she knew his resolve was gone. His lips captured hers in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. There was something gentle about it, regardless of the brute strength he used to push her into the door. She felt the door rattle against her back as he shifted, pressing her into it, taking her face between his hands.

When he kissed her, she felt as if she were losing his mind. She couldn’t comprehend why her hand wasn’t holding her dagger at his neck, or why she allowed herself to moan into the kiss as if he had brought her pleasure.

Every thought she once had evaporated as the darkness of lust drew her in, bending all her rules, stealing the last trembling bit of restraint. She tries to pull away, to stand firm and turn away his affection if she could call it that.

“No”, he whispers, bringing her lips back to his.

And when he kissed her again, she wasn’t sure she wanted her sanity back. She slid her hands under his kefta, wrapping arms around him to press him closer. The low groan at the back of his throat, a small, pleading noise set every inch of her skin on fire.

Opening her eyes, they widen as she notes his are closed as he lost himself in their passionate exchange. A single intelligent thought formed inside her mind, sparking others to appear as well. Playing with fire is her favorite hobby, but this wasn’t a game – not when she was losing.

Pushing against him with all her might, Y/N gasped for breath as he stumbled back. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she narrowed her eyes at him. Lifting her chin, Y/N met his gaze decidedly. After all, she couldn’t avoid her marital duty if she allowed him to kiss her like that. He may not be an old, unattractive, undeveloped man she had imagined in her mind, but Y/N still wasn’t quite keen on giving herself to him. She had kept her maidenhood all those years only to lose it to a man who shall never be more to her than a husband in name only. She’d never love him…she promised herself that. She never broke a promise before and he would not be the one who changes that.

“Don’t touch me”, she spoke through clenched teeth.

He looked at her in surprise. There was hatred in her enchantingly cold eyes, her cheeks flushed red. If possible, her anger made her even more beautiful. Never had he felt such a raging desire.

His hand went around her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. “You are my wife,” he said in a low voice. “You are mine!”

“I believe we have already covered that. I’m not yours and I never will be.” Y/N told him with such spite, such determination that he let her go immediately.

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?” Darkling’s voice softened, his eyes holding more understanding than she liked. Had he acted unreasonably and taken her against her will the night before or now, she’d at least be right about his horrid heart and vile mind…but he didn’t. Instead of being a savage she imaged him to be, he offered her gentle understanding.

“I’m sorry I was rough. I’ll try and be gentler. If you don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you.” Running a hand across his face, he leaned back on the table. “I want you…really fucking bad, but I won’t take you against your will.” The Darkling sighed as she stared at him with her doe eyes, seeing confusion pass her features.

“Good to know where you draw your line. Murder – good, rape – bad.”

Rolling his eyes, he squinted as he looked at her again, “We can’t sacrifice Grisha for your men.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Y/N could hardly believe he just forgot the kiss they shared. In seconds, he crossed his arms and the lustful look was gone. The man before her was a general once more, and though he tried to hide it, he was still a man who had a hard-on despite the subject change. She wished she could ignore the evidence his blood is still boiling for a touch, more so because he was fucking right – he wasn’t small at all.

“If you keep wasting human lives, we will stop defending yours entirely.”

Raising an eyebrow, his face hardened, “We’ll kill you.”

Scoffing, she raises her eyebrow to mimic him. “It’s you or Volcra or the Druskelle and Fjerdans or Shu. We end up dying either way.” Stepping closer, she folded her hands behind her back. “We can work together and lessen our losses or you can do it your way and have a massacre instead.”

In less than a minute, her eyes turned from ice to flame and he found himself captivated by the change.

“I’ll agree on one condition.”

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. Was that expression fear? The possibility struck him as so humorous he nearly laughed out loud.

“State your terms”, she snapped, refusing to concede when she’s close enough to do something she’s wanted for years – to protect the soldiers used as a shield for those who are perfectly capable of protecting themselves.

“I plan on getting to know you better”, he leaned in closer. He raised his hand, cupping her cheek just as he imagined – tenderly, enough to show dominance but not quite capable of harming her. “If you let me.”

Heart fluttering inside her chest had made her doubt herself. She stared at him, stubborn and unrelenting. “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Chuckling, Kirigan drops his hand, noticing her relax as he steps back. With a tightness in his chest, he looked back at his wife, so small, so alone and still so fierce. He would never admit it, but he had already a sliver of love for her and knowing she did not had hurt him.

His smile falls and he nods. Clearing his throat, “How about we go for a ride in a few days?” He took her hand in his and gave her a gentle squeeze, looking up at her weary eyes.

“Does that mean I have the bed all to myself?” Raising her eyebrows expectantly, she squeezed his hands right back, as bold as ever. Genya seemed to trust him, yet Y/N couldn’t understand why. He’s too charming to be trustworthy.

Using his grip on her hand as an advantage, he tugged her closer to him and she found herself between his legs as he remained, leaning against the table behind him. His eyes flicker to her lips, “Better find more pillows, my wife. We wouldn’t want you to be the big spoon again, would we?”

With that, he turned them so swiftly, she had barely blinked as he pulled her up on the table and she gasped in surprise. Heart beating fast, she nearly gripped his kefta and claimed his lips, but he leaned in on his own accord and she had no need for brutish behavior.

The tip of his nose brushes hers and just as she begins to lean in, he takes a step back. Winking, he takes another step back.

“If you want a taste, you’ll have to ask.”

Watching his retreating figure in shock, she remained perched on the table with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

Covering her mouth, Y/N shakes her head. Her mind was right, the heart cannot be trusted.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x

PART 4

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #shadow and bone #the darkling fanfiction

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

Text

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it.

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar.

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp.

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough.

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined.

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull.

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes.

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet…

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall.

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air.

The street in front of you was a warzone.

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe.

Safe…

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way.

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part.

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention.

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit.

The villain.

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears.

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.”

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.”

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer.

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way.

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts.

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar?

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below.

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you.

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood.

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements.

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask.

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks.

You had thought that very brave.

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire.

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach.

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk.

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows.

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention.

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene.

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm.

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor.

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions.

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view.

Oh, fuck. That was a person.

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it.

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch.

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg.

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be…

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human.

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye.

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening.

He was bleeding.

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes.

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on.

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse.

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut.

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it.

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body.

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it.

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin.

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach.

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.”

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye.

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment.

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—”

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood.

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain?

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped.

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question.

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.”

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you.

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear.

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion.

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance.

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.”

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat.

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?”

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack.

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood.

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap.

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital.

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five.

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision.

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned.

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest.

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint.

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts.

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum.

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero?

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms.

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion.

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk.

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero.

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp.

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you.

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you.

But was it worth it?

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie.

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet.

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first.

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure.

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it.

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion…

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you.

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again.

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you.

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor.

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in.

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees.

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone.

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window.

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?”

“I—”

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder.

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?”

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?! You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment.

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first.

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch.

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own.

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown.

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?”

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right.

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?”

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed.

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again.

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?”

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name.

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.”

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing.

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch.

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall.

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?”

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.”

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips.

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing.

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment.

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported.

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability.

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t.

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you.

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this?

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight.

“Your hands are all fucked up.”

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself.

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty?

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.”

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit.

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.”

Well, maybe not that carefully.

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.”

“Let me see.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.”

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that.

And none of his current ones would, either.

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion.

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder.

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted.

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.”

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you.

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric.

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden.

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you.

“Hello?”

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch.

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?”

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all.

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.”

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head.

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows.

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation?

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero.

Was he confessing your secret already?

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view.

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and—

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.”

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them.

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood.

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.”

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window.

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street.

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth.

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago.

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.”

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.”

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero.

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall.

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone.

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete.

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you.

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.”

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?”

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum.

“Okay, hold on.”

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone.

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out.

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people.

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too.

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little.

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief.

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful.

But your stomach was still in knots.

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers.

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying?

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped.

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.”

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum.

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears.

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.”

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you.

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life.

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed.

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole.

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.”

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior.

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory.

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.”

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.”

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over.

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.”

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?”

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.”

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop?

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?”

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand.

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.”

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded.

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say.

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.”

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel.

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them.

“I-Is that all?”

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?”

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?”

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?”

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?”

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything?

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance.

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.”

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.”

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.”

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression.

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished.

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.”

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone.

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit:

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret.

But I’m going to have to face him again.

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360iris · 3 years

Note

do you have any wips? sorry i’m just curious, i’m in love with your writing

Luv, Hold Me Down (Sirius Black x Reader, WIP)

Warning: Mature themes? I don’t know with this one.

Word count: 2,209

A/N: You’re gonna hate my ass because I have zero intention to finish the smut on this one shdhd. Maybe when I’m less busy I’ll come back and update it (although not atm). There are typos galore too so I’m sorry in advance!

—————————————-

The infamous Bubblegum Bomb Incident of 1972. Casualties: one.

During Year Two, Sirius had resolved to get revenge on Cissy’s insufferable boyfriend ever since he tripped him in the halls to get a laugh out of his Slytherin lackeys; and what better way to do that than ruining his precious platinum locks.

It was suppose to be a quick and untraceable procedure. He’d get to personally serve Lucius his own brand of justice and the job would be completed without having to suffer detention.

If only you hadn’t been rushing through the halls that day.

Lunch had just ended, and you were haphazardly ducking and dodging through the wave of students, on your way to visit Remus. He’d been sentenced to a strict, three day period of consistent bed-rest in the infirmary after a particularly bad transformation.

You’d just wanted to bring him a slice of his favorite Hogwarts style coconut cream pie, but one wrong turn and you were suddenly bombarded with three quick pelts of homemade exploding bubblegum bullets.

Sirius had designed them to be quick and lethal with their distribution of rubbery goo so that the target's hair was sure to be ruined.

The first shot sent the small plate in your hands completely airborne. The next two hit you square in the chest, knocking you fully onto your back.

The aftermath was so extreme that it took the combined effort of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and eventually, the guiding hand of Madam Pomfrey to free you from the sticky sludge and off of the stone pavement.

By the time they’d got to the infirmary, your entire head of hair had been deemed unsalvageable by sweet Poppy, and the only thing she could figure to do was shave it clean off by hand.

You’d spent the next two days unexpectedly alongside a tired Remus, confined in the sick bay, crying your eyes out hysterically. You’d had no idea who had done this to you or why.

That was until the third day, when Poppy finally allowed visitors in, in hopes of lifting your spirits.

Your guests included:

An empathetic Lily and Mary, both girls bringing you and Remus an abundance of flowers from the greenhouses, with explicit approval from Professor Sprout; alongside the homework you’d missed and plenty of junk foods.

An overzealous Marlene who’d spent the entirety of the three days drafting up and collecting signatures for a petition to permanently ban disruptive joke shop type inventions.

And lastly, an uncharacteristically stonefaced James and solemn Sirius who both quietly observed the crucially placed scarf on your head meant to distract from your current state of baldness.

“Go on then. Tell her, man. It’s only proper.” James said abruptly with folded arms, for the first time ever foregoing his usual impeccable home-taught manners and any form of courteous greetings altogether.

You watched confused as Sirius stood some several feet away, staring directly down at his shoes. After another coarse verbal prod from James, he stepped forward, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“I- You have to understand, I couldn’t have known, Y/N! It happened so suddenly and before I knew it, it was too late!” He pleaded desperately and you weren’t quite understanding what he meant.

“I don’t follow, Sirius. What are you on about?” You asked, watching as he began wringing his hands.

He looked over to James again, seemingly pleading for aid that wouldn’t come. James looked positively severe, intent on standing by his decision to have the boy do this by himself.

“I- I was the one who blew the gum bullets.” Sirius finally whispered, looking positively terrified of your reaction. “But I didn’t intend on hitting you, I promise! It was for that git Malfoy! Remember when he tripped me in front of all of those sixth years last month? I’d been working on a way to get him back ever since! You’ve got to believe me, Y/N!”

But you’d stopped listening after the initial reveal. Your blood ran cold and it was hard to focus on anything in particular before suddenly all of your senses came rushing back in, and you were furious.

And even though James and Remus had been gauging your response, neither could have been quick enough to match the speed at which you pulled off both of your slippers and hurled them at the older boy’s face.

Successfully managing to clock him so hard, he reflexively reached up to clutch his sore, but still intact nose.

After that day, you had deemed Sirius public enemy number one, he managed to outrank even the silver-spoon fed Slytherins and that antagonizing blight, Peeves.

While there were tonics for quickening hair growth, you cursed Sirius Orion Black, every time you had to awkwardly apply a plethora of random oils to your scalp and walk around campus bald for an entire semester.

When he looked your way, you glared back mercilessly. If he dared to even address you, your responses were far from being deemed PG-13.

He’d spent the first six months wearily but consistently trying to apologize, however the damage had already been done, and it’d destroyed any semblance of friendship he’d crafted with you beforehand.

So after a while, he gave up. If you were going to hate him regardless of his actions, he figured he might as well stand up for himself during the bickering matches that transpired whenever the two of you were less than six feet apart.

Over the years, you’d remained bestfriends with Remus and James, though they could never hang out with the both of you at the same time.

For example, if you were eating breakfast with the two boys in The Great Hall and Sirius arrived late after sleeping in, you’d promptly roll your eyes and slide away to talk with Lily.

——

“That most definitely is not healthy, James.” You grimaced, tilting your head back laughing. The book in your lap, long since abandoned from the moment your bestfriends entered the common room.

“Muggle five second rule, Y/N! You were the one who told me about it to begin with!” He grinned from his spot sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you.

You couldn’t help bursting into a fit of giggles, desperately trying to respond. “Rem- Remus! Please! Inform him that it doesn't apply to dropping a sandwich down an entire flight of stairs!”

“Believe me I tried, but he seemed pretty determined to eat it, hair and all after catching up to it.” Remus replied softly, a fond smile playing on his lips as you began making gagging noises of disgust.

“No! James Fleamont Potter, tell me you didn’t actually eat hair!” You laughed, extending your socked foot to shove him.

“I will suffice by just saying that, there may or may not have been a stray hair or two on it when I picked it up- Oh! Sirius, how was detention?” James trailed off to greet a certain boy and your demeanor immediately soured.

Your textbook on alchemical runes suddenly seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.

“It was worth it. Mcgonagall must be getting tired of me because she had me choose a book and read for three hours. Don’t let me interrupt the fun though. Looks like you’ve finally coaxed the Ice Queen to defrost for a bit. Shame I wasn’t here to see it.” He remarks, and you didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was wearing that infuriating smirk.

“Don’t worry, Black. I’ll never be able to truly relax knowing you’re still out running amuck. Next time you get written up, I’ll be sure to beg Mcgonagall to keep you chained outside with the rest of the wild animals.” An acute look of disgust etches across your face as you close your book, promptly shoving it into your bag.

“If you’re so desperate to see me in a collar, the person you need to be begging is right in front of you, doll.”

You could not have rolled your eyes harder at his remark. In a huff, you tug the strap of your bag around your frame and stand indignantly.

“You’re actually right for once. James? Keep your mutt on a tighter leash, before I’m forced to be the one that puts him down.” You sneer, flipping your hair over one shoulder and striding up to the girls dormitory before he can get in another word.

Remus sighed, unhappily leaning back against the couch he was currently sprawled across. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Sirius watched as your figure disappeared up the stairs before turning to the boy, a dumb smile playing on his lips.

“She doesn’t hate me nearly as much as she tries to make you believe.” Was all he offered giddily before skillfully changing the subject.

———

Much like the infamous playboy Sirius Black, you were known for how frequently you broke the hearts of anyone you hooked up with. They found that sex with you was a spiritual experience, but were usually crushed when you made it clear you weren’t interested in recurring partners.

When Gryffindor’s Quidditch team won a mid-season match against Ravenclaw, James was relentless in persuading you to come to the after party. And though you weren’t originally keen on the idea, you figured it’d be an ample opportunity to relieve some stress.

The night had gone well. You’d garnered a nice buzz from the punch James made in his dorm and had your eyes fixed on Theodore Nott who’d been snuck in by Marlene.

Sirius, who was working his way onto his third cup of punch, watched you make eyes with the Slytherin boy from across the room.

He sat silently seething as you adjusted in your spot on the couch, crossing your legs while holding that snake’s gaze. In the end, all it took was the simple curl of your index finger for Theodore to hand his drink to an unimpressed Marlene and approach you.

Sirius watched as the two of you exchanged a handful of words before you sultrily dragged the boy away by his collar.

It took a minute for him to register that the styrofoam cup in his grasp was crushed.

After grabbing a napkin, he irritatedly ran a hand through his hair and his breath was ragged.

Why did he care that you were probably seconds from fucking a random guy? He definitely wasn’t one to judge, he’d been with plenty of people over the years.

However, no matter how many times he rolled the idea around in his head, he was getting angrier by the minute.

Remus approached him to spark up a conversation, but he was already slipping past him, towards the direction he watched you disappear to earlier.

He found you in the hallway, lip-locked with Theodore who had a grip on one of your exposed thighs. Meanwhile your hands were tangled in his hair.

Sirius’ body switched into autopilot, moving at such a speed that his brain couldn’t even keep pace.

He had harshly pulled the boy off of you, slung you onto his shoulder and made his way to his dorm. Partygoers standing confused as you beat his back, yelling at him to let you go. Once he’s on the stairs away from prying eyes, he delivers a sharp slap to the exposed skin on your thigh.

“Stop screaming bloody murder, Y/L/N.” is all he says and you bite your lip at the sting.

By the time he locked his door and tossed you onto his bed you’re looking at him like he’s insane. Scurrying to get off the mattress but he quickly grabs you ankle, pulling you back to where he dropped you.

“What the fuck has gotten into you!?” You hiss, watching him run a hand through his locks.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to stop being a brat and realize you like me. Tired of watching you hop on random dicks that aren’t mine. You want to get laid tonight? Fine, fuck me then.” He growls and you’re instantly overwhelmed.

“Did a screw come loose in your head? I don’t know what the hell you’re on but I’m not fucking you all people!” You respond by grasping a pillow from his bed and chucking it at his head. He easily catches it with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve loved you since our first year, Y/N. And I’ve observed you long enough to know if you genuinely hated me or not.” He confesses and you freeze. His eyes were crystal clear and you’re at a loss of words so he continues.

He gently grasps one of your hands, bringing it up over his heart. You can very faintly feel his heart racing and your brows furrow. He was actually being genuine.

“You want fuck me so bad you’ve officially gone stupid?” You ask but he sees the tiniest smirk on your lips. And for whatever reason, you actually let him move in to kiss you.

He jumps a bit when you bite his bottom lip and you giggle before he’s pressing you back onto the bed.

It’s a fight for dominance, neither of you wanting to be the one that relents.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #Harry Potter Smut #hp #hp wip #hp fanfic #the marauders #marauders era #hp smut

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ionlyjoinedforstuffilike · 3 years

Text

The Pain of Love

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,900

Rating/Warnings: E (18+), smut, hurt comfort, angst, description of injuries and mention of weapons and violence.

Summary: Tending your wounds from a fight you're not sure you've won, Steve arrives uninvited to your apartment. He helps clean you up but will his presence only cause you more pain? (Takes place before cacw)

A/N: Thank you to @barnessupremacy for both inspiring and supporting me to write for Steve.

The face staring back at you barely recognisable, the purple spreading across your eye, down your cheek, swelling at the cut near your brow, your lip split, pretty sure your tooth cracked though you prayed it was just the ache of your battered jaw. The bruising trailed over your body, you turned this way and that, looking at them in front of the mirror, assessing the damage. A map of carnage half hidden by your cami. Definitely cracked ribs, scrapes on your hands, knees. It really didn't feel like you'd won the fight. You weren't really sure you had.

You'd discarded your outer clothes slowly and painfully before dumping the contents of your pharmacy run on the vanity. Bandages and antiseptic to try and clean yourself up, strong painkillers too though you were depending on the large scotch you'd poured until they kicked in.

Life after the Avengers was supposed to be easier, safer. But then you had chosen to freelance, you had chosen this case, to confront a group of very violent men alone. Investigating security breaches, corporate espionage of course came with risk, but a breeze compared to saving the world. Though back when you were your backup had been a group of exceptional individuals with unlimited resources. It wasn't easy to walk away, everyone made an effort to ask you to stay, more out of politeness than genuine need, after all whatever you offered the team was hardly unique and easy enough to replace. You couldn't stay, it had gotten too hard. Not to fight. Not to get up and face unknowable foes. No, you couldn't be near him and not be with him. Not anymore. Steve was the reason you joined, he was the reason he left. At first you convinced yourself it was a silly crush, though soon you realised it was so much more, not just one side and that made it was harder to brush off. Every time you thought you were moving forward, he'd pull back. You couldn't compete with ghosts. So, breaking your own heart, you walked away.

Sighing as you stretched, testing out the ache and strain of your muscles, you picked you a cotton ball, dabbed it to the bottle of antiseptic then to your knuckles, cursing the sting and the situation. A few knuckles and string of expletives later you heard something. Gathering your drink, you moved out to the hallway, waited, listened and there a few moments later - three quiet but distinct raps. You placed your glass on the hall table, exchanged it for your Glock and made your way to the door. Heart hammering, wondering how the hell the guys from earlier got your address, you hadn't been followed, maybe you had and you were simply distracted by your injuries to notice. You removed the safety as you peered through the peephole.

An unimpressed chuckle escaped you, rattled against your tender ribs, you flipped the safety back on on twisted the door handle. Letting the door swing open as you made your way back through the hallway, dropping the gun with a clunk before snatching up your drink and going back to the bathroom. He followed. You'd taken up the cotton ball to continue tending your wounds when his reflection appeared in the mirror. Hands in pockets he leaned against the door jamb, his plain t-shirt stretching across his biceps, he'd taken off the jacket (probably hung neatly on the hook by the door).

"Should I ask?" He blue eyes finding yours in the glass. "Are you okay?"

"You should see the other guy." your smirk quickly followed by a wince as the antiseptic hit your skin.

He walked towards you, his tall broad frame filling the space and towering over you, "I don't care about the other guy." His hands went to your waist, picking you up he placed you next to the sink, then took the cotton ball from your hand and carefully began pressing it to your cut. "It looks pretty bad, maybe we should get you to a medic."

"It's fine. This is how non superhumans look after a fist fight."

He ignored you, though you caught the slight arch of his brow. He continued to clean the wound, moving closer to attend it better, his firm body close enough that you could feel the heat, heart hammering once more when he blew gently across the gash, his lips almost brushing your skin.

"Why are you here Steve?"

"I came to convince you to come back home."

"It's not home Steve. It is a compound where colleagues live and train."

"It's my home." a soft whisper, and you know your words had stung. Regret and the throb of your heart ate at the silence.

"I can't."

"Why?" His hands resting either side of you as his blue eyes searched yours.

"I'll get hurt if I stay."

"You're hurt now."

"That's not how I mean." It was your turn to whisper, "You'll hurt me." His frown was instant, expression pained as if you stabbed him square in his gut. "I want to build a future and you're always looking to the past." His eyes scrunched shut as you twisted the knife.

He said nothing just gathered a clean cotton ball, kneeled down and started to tend to your knees, one hand underneath cupping your calf keeping you still as he dabbed at the scrapes. Then after the longest time he simply said, "I want you home."

You both stayed silent as he finished his task. You gulped the last of the scotch while his fingers danced over your skin seeking out damage, once all cuts and grazes had been cleaned, he started examining your bruises. Gently moving limbs, this way and that, checking for more sinister injuries, broken bones, his hands finally finding their way back to your waist. You winced as his hands pressed against you, carefully he tugged the cami up to expose the bruise blossoming over your ribs, his fingers touching so tentatively, "I think they are broken."

"Cracked maybe."

"We need to go to a hos-"

"Steve I'm fine," reaching for his cheek, try as you might you couldn't hold back, the wall you'd build weak and crumbling and tears filled in your eyes. He broke your gaze, focusing back on your torso, leaning forward placing his lips to the spot, kissing across your broken body. You didn't stop him, instead carded your fingers through his blond hair. He stood then, to kiss your lips. It was soft and sweet and everything you'd imagined. But you had imagined more, you spread your legs tempting him closer, kissing him back more forcefully. He returned the urgency, though the yelp as your split lip was disturbed slowed you both. Steve's fingers inched up under your shirt, pushing it up, breast now exposed to the air you ached wanting him so desperately to touch you there, he's hesitating, knowing that once the move was made he couldn't go back. The line irrevocably crossed. Maybe you should have hesitated too, instead of running head on into the danger you had tried to escape, but now in the moment you didn't care. You wanted him, yearned for him.

When his thumb grazed your nipple, you shivered and melted into him, arms around his thick shoulders. His large hands becoming more assured, cupping and squeezing, you groaned as he rolled the pebbled peaks. As wonderful as it was, each and every movement fuelled your desperation and his too. He tugged up your vest, pulling it over your head, quickly followed with the removal of his own. His tanned chilled muscles beautiful and perfect but you focused on his belt buckle, fumbling to unfasten it. Steve was back kissing you, his firm flesh hot next to yours, his hands cradling your head as yours dipped down the front of his trousers and felt the hot firmness there. The evidence of his own yearning. Deep growls emanated from his chest as you stroked his hard cock, hand encircling his shaft pumping up and down. Steve lips broke their connection, resting his forehead to yours, eyes closed, lost to the pleasure of your touch.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you shook your head and gently squeezed him, "I can be more careful then."

"No, here." You knew it was probably a better idea to let him take you to bed, let him love you so softly and sweetly yet it was fear that stopped you. Fear that once you left the confines of the small bathroom the spell would be broken, and his reservations would take charge. You needed him, right then and there - and that was what you told him.

His hands dropped and hooked into the underwear, pulling them from you, then returned to his space between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, circling the sensitive nub before delving deeper, teasing your entrance. Head hazy from lust and medication, the ache and pains of your body were nothing to the needy tension coiling in your core, desire ever growing, consuming every thought and feeling. Your mewling caught by Steve's mouth when his fingers entered you, first one then the other, twisting and flexing and working you open. All the while your hands roamed his body, unable to settle - tangled in his hair, swept across the taught muscles of his back, down over his abdomen to the fine fair hair near his pelvis. You needed all of him, spent so long willing him to you and now you had him the very way you wanted most, and you couldn't get enough.

"I need you." you whimpered.

He removed his hands, pushed down his khakis and boxers, you wanted to see all of his magnificent, but his lips never left you, your tongues engaged in a dance he wasn't willing to end. It was a small sacrifice for soon you felt the tip against you, moving up and down your wet slit till neither of you could stand it any longer, he pushed forward. Your cunt wet and wanton still needed to stretch to accommodate his size, gradually inching his way into you, you're lightheaded and starry eyed when he finally reached the hilt.

He rocked slowly, his movements hesitant not you thought from the act but from his unwillingness to cause your battered body more discomfort. You settled your hands on his broad shoulders, encouraging him with your touch, your moans. It may have been that or the firm grip of his desire that caused him to quicken. Each thrust more wonderful than the next. Steve grabbed at the thickness of your thigh, pushing your leg out and up, you screamed not from the jolt to your tender ribs but from pure ecstasy, the new angle tilting you just right so his hard cock rubbed against that most magical spot. Again and again, thrust after thrust and the tight coil snapped and came for him, once and twice before he stiffened and throbbed within you.

Panting, Steve's head rested on your shoulder, his lips puckering now and then against your skin, you kissed him too, pecks to the side of his face, temple, hair.

"Are you okay?" his asked, voice raspy.

"I will be."

#chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut

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