#and echo would probably listen and she could get him out the lighthouse and off the island'

[basilibino]

Season 8 was like 6 years ago(I feel old) and I know ppl have differing opinions on the Mr Echo thing (but it was intended, made it to storyboard and blocked animation and then dropped, soooo) but. I can see his recruitment p easily tbh. Bc the whole reason Dr J was in that lighthouse was because he was resurrected, forced there, and ordered to build Skulkin vehicles by Samukai. But Samukai in the flashback we see has already been deposed as leader of the Skulkin/Underworld. Which means the orders to do so most likely came from Garmadon.

And since Mr. E is one of the head honchos, he's likely an early arrival to the team, so I don't think Harumi has a whole lot figured out at this point, she's just got her Trauma and some Bad Influence Friends and an obsession with Lord Garmadon. So. Like. Plausible deniability road trip that she's just visiting important markers of Ninjago's recent past, all of which involve Lord Garmadon in some meaningful way; its sightseeing, its cathartic, and it gives her time to develop her dream Motorcycle Gang/Resurrection Cult. She's not looking for anyone at the Lighthouse, but she is looking for vehicle blueprints so she can be the Koolest leader on the block. But oops she looks in the basement and there's an Echo.

And she's flipping out bc??? A Ninja???? In the Lighthouse basement??? I mean it makes sense that it would be this one but???

Except this rusty old robot has no idea what she's talking about with this Ninja stuff, he's just waiting for his dad to come back.

And Harumi pauses.

Because how long has he been waiting? He's not sure, he had no proper way to measure time in the basement, and he doesn't have the best view of his clockwork heartpiece. But it was after his father saw a strange ship docking; Echo was worried it was the People who had locked up his father in the first place, but instead his dad sounded happy when he saw whoever was out there. It could have been a front, though, as clearly it was never safe to let Echo back out. Then Dr J popped down briefly, while everyone above was resting, to tell Echo he was desperately needed elsewhere, that it wasn't safe to bring Echo, but that he'd be back in no time.

And the pieces are fitting together for Harumi. And she's like. Your dad's dead, bro.

And he's like. What? Did he die doing what was needed of him?

And she's like. Oh, no. He died a few years later.

And he's like. Why didn't he come back for me????

And she's like. Probably because they kept him away.

And he's like. Who's they?

And she's like. The Ninja I was talking about earlier.

And it surely can't be hard in universe to find pictures of Zane and Dr J post s2-pre s3, so she pulls one up and shows Echo who is freaking out bc why is that one kind of like him and Harumi explains that that was the droid his father created first, that he became a Ninja, and that hes probably the one who took their father away and kept echo waiting for years.

But Echo has doubts, shocked as he is abt a new older brother, he wants to believe the good in the situation so he's unsure. But Harumi mentions that the Ninja's failures to uphold more than their self preservation/interests has led to uncountable losses and devastation in Ninjago time and time again, before delving into her own story. And she seems so kind, and so hurt, and I do think there's a genuine connection btwn these two that forms from this shared emotional torment that they decide came from the Ninja, and now Echo is more receptive.

And then Harumi gets to start her Garmadon pitch because wait! If Echo was made here, then that could only have happened because of Lord Garmadon. And she reiterates that he's the reason she and her city could have even survived The Great Devourer. And maybe Echo's family-by-creation left, maybe they were untrustworthy and lacking, but that's OK bc if you look at it all a certain way, Garmadon is more of a father to Echo than Dr J was. And Echo is a vulnerable, overwhelmed mess who just found out his dad fucked off for years without him and also died, and also he has a brother??? Who their dad clearly seems to have favored??? Did they even know about Echo??? Did they delight in their life free of him???

Basically. Kinda Spinel-core but getting abandoned and left completely alone does that to you. Especially when the first person to find you after being abandoned is a deeply hurt and misguided teen who is probably kinda desperate for someone, anyone else to see the Ninja the way she sees them.

#i was thinking abt the idea of citrusshipping #and how it could have flowed into Mr Echo. with morro as the vengeful influence tinting these #one sided experiences to associate ninja with loss #but theni was like 'wait a sec tho bc Harumi does that also and its her gang called the sons of garmadon #and if youre very carfeully squinting and cherrypicking out pesky details and nuance. like harumi would be. #echos existence is thanks to Lord Garmadon. and there is no better replacement dad than garmadon. you should be a son of garmadon. #and echo would probably listen and she could get him out the lighthouse and off the island' #and anyway i kinda ship Harumi and Echo now? #i like citrusshipping its funney but i think i actually ship this dynamic now #its. fucked and manipulative but its also like. genuine and just. two scarred young people and harumi gives echo her distorted view #of the world as the gift of her love #so its like she wasnt trying to manipulate echo. not like she was trying to manipulate Lloyd. #but she did take someone in a v fragile state and begin shaping his worldview to match hers. unconciously but still done. #like i can also see her bringing him to the mainland and she and UV and Killow are his tethers which means everything he sees radicalizes #him further...and draws him in closer to the fold #anyway if he and harumi smoochie kiss then shes why he got rebuilt in Crystallized. also i think mr F stands for 'Mr Fun Guy' #echo zane #harumi jade #ninjago harumi #quietmystery? #idk what the ship name would be but im here for it #mr e ninjago #mr echo #echo/harumi #tbh i said i kinda ship it now but it could also be friendship #sons of garmadon #...ok til abt the morro-echo-harumi trio hcs and Yes #this is just more of a like. canon compliant ish take where morro is still gone from the narrative #love the idea of the 3 in a vengeance trio tho

[j0kers-light]

His Lighthouse: Push and Pull (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Push and Pull

Image credit

series summary:  

Y/n is an aspiring writer living in Gotham City and struggling to find her next muse. Her recent novel is getting all the buzz, earning her far more attention than she signed up for. But when a chance encounter results in her nursing The Joker back to health, will she find the time to write another best seller or will her own story become front page of the Gotham Gazette?

chapter summary:

With the official girl’s night over Y/n finds herself in unknown territory with a low social battery. As night’s events are revealed how will Joker talk himself out of this one?

author’s note:

The level of research I had to put in for this update was. Phew! If you wanna know the exact jet used here, it’s a Learjet 45. I even listened to airport tower communications and mapped out the flight plan like an idiot. And what for? Just because. If you want to know the exact house Y/n and Joker stays at.. well! Zillow to the rescue! Link in the story below! 

I want to thank everyone who sent out messages and words of encouragement when I was struggling with my writer’s block. I feel so much better and I hope you enjoy the chapter. It’s an important one. Think of it as the calm before the storm.

Taglist!

@blackreaderatrisk   @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angell @kaidennnnn @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy​

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!  

Last Chapter  | Next Chapter 

The room was calm despite the tense situation. The hour was growing later by the minute but no clues had presented itself towards their goal.

Jim thought the entire interaction was pointless but if Batman was entertaining the Clown's story, who was he to voice an opinion? They had already let Joker out of the straightjacket he wore so he could drink properly.

Probably not the best idea since any more freedom would be an open invitation for Joker to escape the precinct altogether. Give him an inch, he'll take a mile however this version of Joker was definitely off kilter and could care less.

Everything about today wasn't normal but Jim decided to keep quiet and wait things out. Maybe Batman saw something in between the lines of Joker's elaborate story.

Their main concern was for the mysterious girl captured in the blurry Polaroid, yet the longer Joker talked, it seemed she was beyond saving.

For what sane girl would willingly let Joker into her home and bed? It didn't make any sense how this woman went from fearing Joker in her own home to having public sex with him in a span of weeks. It was obvious that Joker was omitting pertinent information since the course of events were too spaced out but if it were true, that was even more concerning. At this point he was bragging or worse, wasting everyone's time to bid him enough to escape.

Either way, nothing was gained during this lengthy tell all and her whereabouts were still unknown.

Jim looked up hearing the cowl's modified voice speak. "I don't believe this."

Batman always kept a levelheaded no matter how dicey the situation but even his world renown patience had worn thin. He looked ready to resort to violence to get the answers he sought if not for Joker's exaggerated sigh echoing out in the interrogation room.

Joker was ready for all of this to end. "...and why... not?" He sighed.

"You? Capable of love? Don't fool yourself."

That quip made Joker sit up in his chair. Batsy never took things face value. It was all so tiresome.

"Whyyy is it so hard for you to believe that? Is it because you haven't experienced the emotion yourself? Oh and how could you? Not too many girls can handle the late nights and endless secrets. Trust meee. I know. At first I didn't ~believe~ either until my Light came along and made me see. Her sweet smile and infinite warmth washed over me and I..."

Joker stopped short and smiled to himself, scaring almost everyone watching the live feed. It wasn't his normal jester-like grin. This smile was genuine. Forlorn. Remorseful, but it was gone before anyone could study it further.

Jade eyes flickered back to their sworn enemy. "I fought soooo hard but I learned to accept it. To accept her. To uh.. trust.. and fall."

Gordon scoffed in the corner. He had been quiet for so long Joker almost forgot he was in the room. Almost.

"Fall where? Into madness? Or maybe into another vat of chemicals?" Jim teased. Hearing a nutjob like Joker ramble on about love was disturbing.

"RighT... into her arms. Loving her is the best decision I've ever made. She's perfect."

"If she's still alive, why won't you tell us where she is?" Gordon shouted. He was letting his emotions and lack of sleep get the better of him.

It's what they wanted to know all day. When booking found that picture on Joker, the clock started ticking. She could already be dead but closure would do her family some good– but if she were still alive? Then she was a treasure trove of knowledge. She could answer the age old question as to who the man behind the makeup was.

And Joker knew that. His enemies knew that too which ultimately made you a target and his greatest weakness. It was one of the reasons he turned himself in; to save you. He would always protect you even if the outcome broke your heart. He was protecting you now by only telling them necessary bits and pieces to keep this charade going.

Like Joker would ever tell them who you are. If Batsy and Commissioner Mustache wanted to know your identity so badly, they better find out elsewhere.

He was doing his best at retelling the last few months spent with you using a pseudonym but he was running out of vague stories. Everything after the trip to Atlanta was personal accounts that couldn't be fabricated no matter how much he twisted the truth to keep you anonymous.

They would know who you were if he continued. So he had to get crafty. Batman was playing checkers; Joker was playing chess. He just needed a little more time..

"Aht aht ahttt, Commissioner. If you're following along then you should have an idea by now. Anyways. Where was I?"

"Euphoria." Batman's raspy voice mentioned.

Joker spun around and grinned at his bestie. "See! Someone's keeping track around here! Hmm.. Euphoria. I got her into some trouble that weekend.."

The sunlight peeking through the open curtains roused you awake.

You grumbled and tried rolling over but the sheets were too entangled around your body for you to complete the motion. It made you feel trapped and you shot up wide awake to escape its clutches.

You looked down at crisp white hotel sheets holding your body hostage. They were the least of your concerns. You began to question where you were. The last thing you could remember was the finance office at the club, not a lavish hotel room with a missing lover. That part wasn't concerning. Joker never woke up in bed with you. It was a habit you were learning to accept. He left you alone more times than you'd care to admit.

Not knowing your surroundings was the bigger issue here. The foreign room was spacious and stylish, unlike any hotel you've ever seen, granted you rarely stayed at any.

This one had hardwood floors and it honestly looked more like a luxury apartment than a hotel. Past the big windows a breathtaking view stole your attention. The view of Midtown Atlanta was fast paced even this early in the day but nothing like Gotham.

The noise level was vastly different.

You set about to explore the place but quickly noticed you were naked. You remembered Joker cut your dress last night and it sparked a thought; what did you wear out of the club to get here. The possibilities had you rolling your e/c eyes.

Right as you were about to leave the bed, you heard a low beep and a door closing somewhere in the suite.

Even though you were in a completely different city your hackles raised, assuming the worst. You couldn't find anything to use as a weapon but braced yourself to fight should someone try and kidnap you again.

When Florence strolled through the doorway wearing a white hotel robe you relaxed but not for long. She looked like a woman on a mission and you were her sole target.

"Okay hear me out!" She began, "I know I got drunkity drunk last night and did some very.. very questionable things—" Flo shuddered, as if remembering whatever deplorable acts she did all over again. "I know what I saw!"

You weren't surprised by her drunk morning after regret, however her words made your anxiety skyrocket. "W-Which is?" You tried to stay calm and discreetly cover yourself to no avail.

Hungover Florence was just as perceptive as sober Flo. She immediately noticed your lack of attire and it only fueled her ire.

"I saw you creep up those stairs last night, Y/n! Neo told me there's only some office n' seedy sex rooms up there. So tell me what's good? Wait, wrong question. Was he good?"

You went pale like a ghost. "WHAT kind of rooms?"

"Stop deflecting whore." She clapped her hands after each word and immediately regretted it the moment her head began to pound worse.

She whined when you raised your voice. "You can't drop sex rooms in a conversation and not expect me to react! I-I got lost and... an employee guided me out after the club closed."

These little white lies have got to stop, Y/n. Your angel on your shoulder whispered.

You'd debate with your subconscious later. Right now you had to deal with an angry Florence.

"Bull__t. Then how you end up naked in a hotel room if you just 'got lost'?"

The devil on your other shoulder snickered. Good question, I'd like to know too. "I uh..."

Florence massaged her temples, sighing. "Ohhh my god. Just admit you had sex with someone! Was it that waiter from earlier?" Your entire body froze thinking she somehow remembered Joker.

"Listen, he was cute, but why isn't he here providing aftercare and s__t? Pause. You've been acting real sus lately. Red and I have been patient trying to deal with your weird behavior but this?" She waved her long acrylic nails at you. "This is totally unlike you."

You filed her comment about Joker being cute away for another day. She was opening up a can of worms that should've been left alone.

"Ohh okay so I'm not allowed to be flown out and dicked down by random men?" It took her a minute to get the insult but when she did, Flo blinked rapidly and scoffed.

"Neo isn't some random guy, Y/n!"

"You're right, my bad. He's a 'client.' You braid his hair a few times and suddenly you know him! C'mon Flo. You're trying to scold me but all I see is the pot trying to scorn the kettle!"

You don't know where this argument came from but you refused to back down and apologize. She could do anything with no judgment, but the moment you took a risk and had fun it was bad? Florence was a hypocrite if she didn't see how she was treating you right now.

Unfortunately she waved your speculations away like a pesky gnat.

"I'm built different! You're.. well you're you! You sit around the house and do boring s__t. I'm supposed to be the reckless and irresponsible one out of the group!"

Her reply rang loudly in the hotel room. You let her words fill the space before carefully choosing your own.

"So.. I'm not allowed to have fun?" You mumbled. You ducked your head, already starting to overthink things. Your mood bar automatically set itself to self-doubt.

Florence instantly sobered up. She cursed after realizing what she said.

"What? No. Wait! I mean.. ugh! Yes! Yes you're allowed to have fun, Y/n! It's just, not that kind of fun?" Flo's reply faded off into a question as she racked her brain for the right words. "What I'm trying to say is—"

Your eyes stung hearing the truth. Your dry, empty laugh cut her off.

"Hm, just like high school huh? Boring book nerd stuck being second best to her cheerleader friend. Glad to know things never change."

Florence cringed. "Y/n..."

Neo walked in with his annoying swagger and lofty demeanor; you were saved by the bell. He was dressed for the day despite it being bright and early. He quickly read the room. "Everything aight in here?"

Neither of you spoke. He noticed your teary eyes and somber mood and wisely took your side.

He didn't take his eyes off of you when he replied to Florence. "Ayyy Ma, I ordered room service. Go eat ya hangover away."

Flo being the independent woman she was spun around to protest; however, she was immediately shot down by Neo's hazel gaze.

You watched in awe as she backed down without further preamble. Florence always had the last word in an argument. Neo's gaze lingered on her as she left the room and eventually your suite. The door closed with a soft click leaving you alone with the 'club owner.'

If Florence was more sober, she never would have left you alone with him and she would've questioned how he got into your room without a key.

A shame you knew more about Neo than Florence ever would. He didn't need a key to come and go as he pleased. It wouldn't phase you if Joker owned the hotel behind the scenes. Your mind was already a storm of negative thoughts. You decided not to think about the finer details at present.

At least Neo kept his distance, sensing your sour mood. It was one less thing to worry about.

"You good.?" He asked.

"Like you care." You bit back. You yanked the sheets around you tighter. If he noticed he didn't comment on it.

"I don't– but I'd rather not have my neck snapped if Boss comes back and finds you crying and thinks I'm to blame." He made a valid point that dried your tears.

Joker wouldn't hesitate resorting to violence if you were in distress. No need to give him an excuse for murder. "Where is he by the way?" You changed the subject.

Neo chuckled and leaned against the grey dresser. "Damage control. Boss and Frost are out destroying any potential evidence of him being here last night. He is a wanted fugitive after all."

He didn't want to tell you the truth just yet until they came back with the all clear. Thankfully you didn't pry into it. It seemed like you had enough on your plate as is.

"I keep forgetting that. He makes it so easy to forget." You shifted on the bed causing Neo to respectfully look away when he saw a flash of bare skin.

Again, he didn't want to end up dead if Joker came back and assumed he was making a pass on you. It didn't help that Neo flirted with you the first time the two of you met.

Joker hadn't forgotten. The clown was hyper territorial over you, bordering on being yandere when it came to people eyeing his Bunny. They traveled nine hundred miles just because Joker was overprotective.

Frost tagged along to make sure Joker didn't start a killing spree simply because someone stared at you for too long. It turned into quite the daunting task after your racy performance with Florence. Too many people almost died trying to dance with you if Frost hadn't intervened.

Frost had enough of preventing blood on the dance floor after the nth person tried approaching you. He gave up and suggested that Joker just take you away. No murders to cover up and everyone had fun. Crisis averted.

Joker wanted to tease you a bit longer before heading back to the hotel but your friend showed up and thwarted his plans.

He forgot he wasn't supposed to be here when Neo called your group of friends up to the private lounge. Apparently this was Neo's original plans that he refused to cancel back at the laundromat. It all worked out with some... setbacks. Neo hoped it would be resolved quickly before it became an actual problem.

He returned to the present to toss a duffel bag on the bed that you failed to notice until now. You squeaked when it landed in your lap. He smiled at your icy glare and said nothing as you unzipped the compartment to look inside.

Much to your surprise, your favorite toiletries and a few other basic essentials were inside. "Where..."

Neo stood to leave. "You're welcome to join Florence for breakfast if you want. I won't force you after whatever happened here." He waved in general at the little spat you had with your Haitian friend. "She's on the twenty third floor. Room ten."

"Wait!" He stopped to raise an eyebrow at you. "What room am I in?" You asked.

He flicked the hotel keycard in your direction that he pickpocketed from Florence. You answered your own question by reading the room number printed on the back.

The Ritz- Carlton. No wonder everything was dripping with opulence. Of all the hotels in Atlanta, Joker would choose a high profile one.

Did he even care about being recaptured anymore? The best way to blend in was to act normal. It gave you more questions than answers for your already over processed brain. "Hey Neo, does Joker–?" You looked up but he was already gone.

"They come and go so quickly in Oz." Your stomach decided it wanted attention and growled in the now silent room. "Yeah, yeah pipe down. I'll feed you sheesh."

You pulled with all your might to detach the bed sheets from their corner prisons and then walked into the luxury bathroom to relieve yourself.

The room was gorgeous with a walk-in rain shower, real marble countertops, and an adjacent soaker tub. It was nothing like your custom built bathroom back home but it made you question how much a night here cost. With your WHB royalties you could afford it, but that didn't mean you wanted to foot the bill.

You found a complimentary robe identical to the one Florence wore in a separate closet and shrugged it on after washing your hands. It smelled like fresh linen with a hint of vanilla. It would have to do since you didn't have any clothes to change into.

All thanks to Joker. He must have some kind of grudge against your clothes. You knew it needed to end. At this rate you'd actually need all those clothes Bruce bought you..

You slipped your hotel keycard into the robe pocket and slid into the complimentary hotel slippers to ride the elevator down to Florence's suite. Just because it was on a lower floor didn't mean the amenities were lesser than. It was still classy and screamed of wealth.

You rasped your knuckles on the door and patiently waited. It opened to the sight of Florence wearing clothes that Neo provided for her trip back home. You wished your man would give you clothes instead of running them.

She took one look at you and opened her mouth to reply but you weren't here to socialize. You were socially drained and your stomach growling louder by the second was your only priority.

This wouldn't be the first time you shut Florence out and it wouldn't be the last. She'd get over it sooner rather than later.

Neo wasn't kidding when he said he ordered room service. It was straight out of a movie with a rolling tray, silver dome serving dishes and fine china. You opened one and steam hit your face from the fresh array of food. You picked up a plate and proceeded to load it up with your choices.

"Are you seriously gonna snub me for the rest of the day?" Florence asked behind you.

Your silent treatment was notorious and it hit hard knowing you could go days without talking. Living alone for so many years gave you lots of practice.

She rushed over and fixed her own plate before sitting down at the formal dining table across from you. You were busy going through the motions and didn't notice Florence was trying to get your attention. You silently ate your food, lost in a sea of thoughts.

Florence was still pushing her food around when you finished your portion. She panicked when you wiped your mouth clean and stood to leave. "Y/n wait!"

Neo came out of the bedroom, raising an eyebrow at the tense air in the room. What was up with the two of you this early in the morning?

Then you spoke up startling them both with your monotone voice. It was safe to say you were dead inside. "Enjoy your flight back to Gotham."

"What? Y/n what are you talking about? We're flying back together.. N-Neo already bought us tickets!" Florence cried out and begged him to intervene with exaggerated mannerisms. He chose not to get involved.

You sighed and looked away. "No thanks. I'll find my own way back."

"Y/n, don't be reckless." She winced when her choice of words sank in.

"Can't. That's your job, remember?" You padded over to the door and stepped back into your slippers. You patted your pocket, making sure your room key was still inside.

Florence was calling your name but the door was already slamming shut behind you as you headed back to the elevator. You needed some time alone.

The hotel suite was much colder when you returned. It looked nearly identical to Florence's but a few well placed details distinguished the two rooms to the trained eye.

It didn't matter to you. Your next stop was the bed and it would be the same no matter where you went. Your social battery was at negative zero percent and Joker still being M.I.A didn't help things. You strolled past the kitchenette and dining room in the suite to the bedroom but you screamed at seeing an intruder.

Joker laying spread eagle on the bed was not what you were expecting.

His jet black shirt and slacks was a stark contrast against the pristine white sheets. Last night he blended in with the club's shadows but during the day he looked far more intimidating, like a devilish businessman ready to crush a company with a single phone call.

His disguises were uncanny. His green hair ruined the illusion though. It was currently shielding his eyes from your view but when he lifted his head after hearing your startled cry, they were sharper than any knife boring into your soul.

"Nice robe Bunny." Joker grinned and eyed you from head to toe.

"T-Thank you. Some idiot destroyed my dress last night." You said in between catching your breath.

"Watch it..." He didn't take kindly to your word of choice but pressed forward. "I couldn't resist."

You said nothing as you prepared to walk back out but Joker rushed over and plucked you from the air like you weighed nothing and threw you on the bed. The wind was knocked out of your chest upon impact and Joker used your shock to his advantage to begin untying your robe.

His intentions were clear as day. The man was insatiable.

You blinked in shock and parted your lips to tell him off but Joker saw it as an invitation to kiss you senseless. Your hands flew to his shoulders as he devoured your mind and soul with one kiss. As much as you wanted to pour the same sentiments into the exchange, your heart wasn't in it today yet you knew not to deny Joker.

However the clown was anything but attentive. He parted for air and frowned at your listless gaze staring back at him.

You blinked owlishly at his emerald orbs. When the hue became too much to bear, you averted your gaze but Joker would have none of it. He saw a different kind of desire in your eye and sought to fulfill it.

"Where do ya wanna go?" He sighed. He brushed a stubborn curl off your forehead.

You weren't expecting such a sweet gesture from him. "Huh?"

Joker rolled his eyes and lied down next to you, resting his cheek in his palm. "When it's you against them, you run. I can seeee iT in your eyes, Bunny. You can't physically escape so your mind does."

He tapped your temple with his knuckle. It caught you off guard how easily he identified your dissociation. Florence didn't notice and she knew you for years.

Mindful of your mood, Joker chose to pick up your dainty hand in his much larger one. He stopped to admire your brown skin against his pale complexion and grinned at the contrast.

The two of you were so different, but blended so well together.

"Sooooo. Where. Do. You. Wanna. Go?" He kissed each of your fingers while keeping eye contact with you.

The romantic gestures, Joker acknowledging your meltdown and his devout patience through it, brought tears to your eyes. You felt trapped. Florence's words struck a nerve and you wanted out but you were miles away from your sanctuary. You would have to settle for the next best thing.

You curled up to Joker's chest with a wet sob.

"I want.. I want to get away. S-Somewhere quiet and peaceful."

Joker was at a loss seeing this version of you. Was this how you acted when you disappeared into your room? If so, you were a pathetic sight. A sight he wanted to dote on and protect.

He knew you were vulnerable and sensitive right now. He didn't know if you needed space or affection. He rested his hand on your head despite his uncertainty. You didn't shy away from it.

He surmised you were burnt out from partying last night and from what Neo explained to him, you also had an argument this morning with Florence.

Joker knew with your current mental exhaustion, you would lash out at anyone just to get away. He would have to tread carefully to not upset you. He didn't want to be iced out either. Joker had to curb his own selfish desires and be the mediator for once. He never had to calm someone down before. He didn't know how to comfort others.

So far he was doing good just by holding you close. You were dozing off in Joker's embrace when he asked you again.

"Mm sorry. Can we go to the beach?" You glanced up at his profile.

His scars were on full display from this angle but they didn't scare you. Waiting for his response did. It sent millions of butterflies swarming in your gut. As the minutes ticked by in silence you anticipated his rejection.

He mulled it over completely unaware that stalling was causing you more pain. Joker wanted to try lifting your spirits with a pop culture reference but it took him a minute to remember the quote correctly.

"You wanna go outside? Why Y/n look at you, as fragile as a flower!"

He rolled over to hide the infectious grin taking over his face but you didn't see it that way. Joker turning his back on you felt like a hard no. Your first reaction was to break down completely, but then your mind processed his poor attempt at a joke, forcing you to backtrack.

He felt you climb on his back and turned his head your way. There was a dangerous gleam in Joker's eye making it luminescent. "Ah, careful there Princess."

You flushed at the position you were in. The nickname and warning sent a chill down your spine but you shook it away.

"I'm going to ignore the fact you watched a Disney movie to know that quote— but I'm serious, Joker. Just you and me. Please?"

The moment you said the word serious he was all ears. You let him shift your weight around so he could lay on his back with you straddling him proper.

His hands found their natural place on your hips and he smacked his lips before gazing up at you. Your adorable pout could ruin him. He liked when you smiled, not all sad and abysmal. He really had to fix this mood of yours before he took you back to Gotham.

"You forget... I'm a want-ed criminal." He tapped your thigh peeking out from the robe in some Morse code that you couldn't decipher.

"That hasn't stopped you before. Plus, I wanna go to the beach at night." You explained. His eyebrow dipped in confusion.

"At night?" He echoed back.

"Yes. I wanna hear the dark ocean waves crashing onto the shore and feel the stillness of the night embrace me." You closed your eyes and held yourself while swaying with a dreamy smile on your face.

Joker watched you fondly, picturing it himself.

"Hmm. Have I ever told you you're goood with words?" He grabbed the back of your neck to drag you down for a kiss.

For the first time this morning you laughed. Joker relished in the sound and let it wash over him. He could listen to its twinkling bells and never tire of it.

"I think once or twice." You kissed his cheek, knowing the skin there was sensitive. "Can we though?"

Joker winced at the affectionate touch and retaliated by pushing your robe off your shoulders to pool around your waist. You shivered from being exposed but let Joker do whatever.

"Can we.. whaT?" Joker sat up to kiss your neck, trying to get you in the mood.

It wasn't working and you tried rolling away but he kept you perched on his lap with his strong grip. You weren't going anywhere he didn't want you to.

"Nope. Nooo more running away from meee. Yeah sand and salty water. That sounds.. relaxing. You sure about this?" Joker sighed after a while.

He finally undid your robe and bared you fully to his gaze. The canvas of your body was painted with splotches of eggplant and indigo, the after work of Joker's possessives— ranging from love bites to his heavy handprints. Two days worth of lovemaking was imprinted on your skin and he brushed each mark with the tips of his fingers in morbid fascination.

His favorite? The ones on the dips of your hips.

He loved grabbing you by the waist and keeping you close so the bruises there never seemed to heal. You wore them proudly. If anything, they tickled whenever Joker pressed down on the dark blemishes like he was right now.

"Y-Yeah. Let's.. mmm, let's make the whole day of it. We can stay at ahh... at a hotel on the coast and f-finish what you're trying to start." You breathed out.

Joker leaned back so he could see your face. A dusting of red took over your features although he could tell you were still emotionally drained.

"Why don't you wanna do it here? I bet, you're uh, weT already Bun–"

"I-I've never been to a beach before." You confessed. Joker saw you look away. Your entire demeanor was closed off again. Sex wouldn't fix your mood so he stopped trying.

"Well. That? That's gonna change today, doll. Every city girl needs to uhh, experience a day at the beach!" He mimicked your uncertain nod with his enthusiastic one.

You were closing him out again and he didn't like you all melancholic. Joker liked his Bunny in high spirits so he decided to go all out to make you happy again. He smacked your bum to get you off of him. "Go get ready."

When you didn't move, he tossed you on the bed and started patting his pockets for his burner phone.

You were left trying to stabilize your balance before you bounced clean off the bed. Joker's mood came and went so quickly, it was hard to tell when he would be affectionate or apathetic.

You watched as he called up Frost, dismissing you completely, until he turned and snapped his fingers at you in warning. "I won'T say it again, doll."

You didn't need to be told twice. Paired with Joker's sultry dom tone and his dark business attire, you quickly obeyed. His sharp green eyes followed you as you grabbed the toiletries bag Neo brought and scurried into the bathroom with your discarded robe.

Unfortunately you tripped halfway there and caught yourself, quoting some kind of Blüdhaven phrase he heard once or twice. Joker smirked at your quirky personality slowly creeping back up to the surface.

By the day's end he hoped you were fully back to normal. Well, your definition of normal at least. His focus shifted back to his phone when Frost repeated himself to get his Boss's attention.

"Great idea Frosty! She'll love that.."

The bathroom door clicking close transported you to a different state of mind. All was quiet here amongst the marble and bright lights. The big mirror in front of you beckoned you over and you did, to take in the state of your hair.

You determined your curls could last another day despite Joker constantly pulling on them all last night and then going to sleep without a bonnet on. It was a miracle you would gladly take since you had no other way to fix them. You peeked into the duffel bag provided to you and debated on taking a shower or a quick wash up.

Joker was busy on the phone and he didn't specify how much time you had so with a grin you grabbed the loofah and the bottle of shower gel and approached the shower with glee.

Joker was still in the bedroom ironing out the itinerary for the day when Frost brought up a very good question.

"Which one she wanting to go to?"

Joker hummed out loud. Wasn't every beach the same? Same sand, same water, just on a different coast. So did it really matter which one? He was good with geography and racked his brain for the nearest shoreline in Georgia but stopped short.

This was about you. If he picked a random beach and you didn't like it, then what was the point? His Bunny had particular tastes so he would honor them.

Luckily you didn't lock the bathroom door. Joker burst through it on the hunt for his squeeze. You weren't near the sink and a peek in the tub— you hadn't drowned yourself, that's good to know. The only place left was.. there.

You saw the glass door slide open and turned to face Joker. You were rinsing off and dashed to cover yourself as he stared in awe.

"Mmm I don't see the point, doll. I've seen.. every.. single inch of ya. Tasted it too." He licked his lips, remembering.

You shielded yourself out of habit. "W-Whatever. What do you want?"

Joker arched an eyebrow at your tone. You were still defensive. "Do ya care which one Bunny?"

He watched a trickle of water trail down your legs and barely heard your request for him to clarify.

"I'll be more clearER then." He stepped into the shower and tactfully avoided getting wet while keeping the phone in his hand dry as well. "Which beach?" He slurred his words on purpose to provoke you.

Your mouth quivered trying to think while Joker eyed you like that. You couldn't avoid his ardent gaze no matter how hard you tried. In the end you rambled off the first shore on your mind.

"I a-always wanted to go to Martha's Vineyard. There's a pier there with the most picturesque view I've seen online. I think it's called Aquinnah Cliffs or something like that."

Joker blinked at you, holding the phone. He knew exactly where it was. "That's in Massachusetts."

"So?" You tucked a few stray curls back under your shower cap and spun around to finish up. You made your choice. The conversation was over.

Frost couldn't believe what he was hearing and snickered on his end of the phone.

Yeah, you had Joker wrapped around your finger. No one ever talked to the Boss like that and survived, let alone dismissed him so flippantly. Frost would have paid good money to see Joker's face right about now. In the meantime, he made himself useful and checked to see if there was a house in the area that the gang owned and spoke up.

"I'll contact our operations nearby and get things sorted out." Frost said in farewell.

Joker glanced at the phone in shock. He didn't agree to this! And much to his irritation, Frost had already hung up. Who was running things around here? He heard the shower come to a stop and he narrowed his eyes when you stepped out like the Birth of Venus with steam curling around your body.

You were a true goddess indeed. You hesitated at the entrance with a sheepish look. "I didn't grab a towel."

Or maybe just a ditzy mortal wench sent to drive him even more insane.

Joker exhaled through his nose and stood his ground. A tense stand-off occurred with you dripping wet and him eyeing you expressionless. "Joker.. I'm creating a puddle on the floor. Can you please hand me a towel?"

So what if you ordered him around a bit? He was still in charge. Your pretty white teeth biting down on your lips was oh so worth bending to your will. And so was the award winning smile you gave him.

He grumbled but grabbed a towel and all but threw it at you. "Thank you." You smiled again when you caught it and began to dry off.

You bent over to dry your legs and he groaned at the arch in your back.

Since when was drying off sexy or was it simply because you were doing it? His sex drive was nonexistent before he met you but now everything about you aroused him. Did you drug him with something? Was it healthy to be this attracted to someone?

You straightened back up and patted your arms, blissfully unaware of your alluring prowess. "Hey. What was Frost talking about on the phone? Do you have an operation in Massachusetts?"

You were under the impression that Joker only terrorized Gotham City. You yanked your shower cap off and shook your curls back to life in the mirror. You saw Joker walk up behind you in the reflection but continued grooming yourself.

"They're still pretty, Sugar." Your hands froze. Joker and his infinite nicknames for you. It never fails.

You cleared your throat and went to grab your lotion off the counter. "You didn't answer my question."

Joker smacked your hands away and started lotioning you up himself. He began with your shoulders and locked eyes with you in the mirror.

"You reallyyyy think I would limit my fun to just Gotham? Pffft. Come on, Bunny! I'm a national threat." He nipped your neck and massaged the lotion down your back.

You let that sink in as Joker moisturized your body. You thought of all the suffering he caused so many people yet when he was with you, Joker was anything but kind. He treated you with the utmost respect and went out his way to be nice. Sure, he was still The Joker and at times his words were like a double edged sword, but he always kissed the wounds and made them better in the end.

You glanced down at the faded cuts on your hands he gave you weeks ago.

It was almost fully healed but the mental reminder was permanent. You craned your neck in the mirror and saw the endless love bites and scratches that adorned your skin. Joker was sour and then sweet but could you overlook how he treated others?

He could love on you endlessly but once these months spent together passed, he would return to his terror across the country. Could you live with knowing the man whom you considered a lover enjoyed murder and destruction? What would your mother think if she knew the company her daughter kept?

You could see your father's disapproving head shake now. If he hated your high school boyfriends, what would he think of Joker? Absolutely the worst. Mom would try to convince me to move back home and Dad would get himself killed trying to threaten Joker somehow. You thought.

You let out a shaky sigh and failed to see Joker finishing up with his task. He said your name but your eyes were unfocused, staring ahead beyond this bathroom. Where did your mind go, he wondered? Somewhere he could not follow. He called your name again to no avail so he used his last resort. Fear.

The bottle slamming loudly on the sink scared you out of your rabbit hole. Joker's frown greeted you in the mirror.

"When you're done uh, float-ing, there's a dress for you on the bed." He walked towards the door leaving you bereft. "Be ready to go by 1pm."

Then you were left all alone and more unsure of this fragile relationship than you ever been.

By the time you splashed some water on your face, Joker was gone. You clutched the robe tighter around you as you searched the suite for him. With a heavy heart you trudged back to the bedroom but stopped short seeing a flash of color on the white sheets.

A ruffled floral dress was carefully laid out on a wooden hanger. At the foot of the bed, a pair of pink ribbon stilettos brought the whole outfit together. You walked over to inspect it closer.

You knew your closet like the back of your hand. Seeing a piece from your most recent summer haul put a smile on your face.

"And he says he doesn't plan things." You sighed. Joker made it hard to hate him when he did things like this. Maybe you could overlook his flaws after all.

You were twirling around in your maxi dress when three loud knocks sounded from the hotel door.

"J-Just a second!" You had already packed the duffel bag Neo gave you and zipped your evening bag inside of it. Besides that, you had nothing to your name. You were just waiting around for Joker to return.

You looked through the peephole to see the back of Neo's braids and rushed to open the door. "Aren't you supposed to be flying back to Gotham with Florence?"

A glance at the clock in the room put that day around noon.

He scoffed. "Business first. Pleasure later. Walk down to the lobby, you're already checked out. There's a car waiting to take you to the airport. Be discreet." You nodded and heaved your bag onto your shoulder, ready to walk out the door if not for Neo grabbing your arm.

"I'll take care of Florence but call her later tonight if you can. She's blaming herself for your sh__ty attitude."

In that moment you viewed Neo a lot more differently. It seemed like he actually cared about your friend, which baffled you. You knew his stereotype well. Neo was all about himself, however he was proving your assumptions dead wrong.

"I will and thanks, Neo. I mean it." Your smile was faint but it still made him flustered.

He faltered with his response and let his grip on you fall. Who knew getting on your good side would be so easy? He nodded his head towards the elevator down the hall and off you went, following his instructions to the letter.

You blended in with the posh hotel guests filling the lobby and no one stopped you when you walked straight out the door. A sleek black town car with the correct license plate was waiting for you. You half expected Sebastian to be your driver but when you opened the door you were thoroughly disappointed to see an unknown female at the wheel. She kept her head straight ahead when you said hello.

Based on her demeanor you knew she was either under Joker's employ or threatened to keep her mouth shut. Definitely the latter. He wasn't joking when he said he had pull outside of Gotham.

Just how dangerous was Joker? A part of you didn't want to find out.

The fifteen minute drive to the airport was anticlimactic but you still entertained yourself with your phone, catching up on last night's group chat and answering a few social media messages. Morgana and Barbara made it back to Gotham safely and Florence's departure time was scheduled for 4:15pm.

You were reaching your own method of transportation if Atlanta traffic would allow. The chaotic mess that was the international airport tacked on another thirty minutes to the travel time.

Oddly enough your driver turned onto a different section of the airport that looked restricted to the public. "Hey.. where are we going?" You asked her.

She kept quiet as she pulled the town car up to a private tarmac near a small jet. The car shifted to park and she idled in silence, waiting for you to leave.

"Okay.. since you're not talking. Thanks for the ride, I guess." You rolled your eyes and grabbed your things but stopped when she finally spoke.

"Be careful."

Your hand wavered on the door handle. Her warning shook you up a bit. It was like she knew something you didn't. You left without a response.

The charter jet looked big on the outside but once you stepped aboard it only had eight seats. You placed your duffel bag on the nearest one and heaved a sigh until you heard someone behind you.

"D__n, Bunny. Don't yoooou look..." Joker leaned on a seat and openly checked you out.

When he saw that dress hanging up in the guest bedroom closet, he needed to see you wearing it. He found matching shoes still in their original box in the back and instantly fell in love.

He didn't know what compelled him to bring a change of clothes for you. Maybe a part of him wanted to spend more time with you outside Gotham city limits. Seeing you now he was glad he brought a few things.

Too bad he didn't have access to your jewelry collection; you needed some gold on to truly complete the look. Joker rounded the seat and you got to see another one of his disguises.

"Oh." You never seen Joker look so casual before. Sure, he wore t-shirts and sweats around the penthouse but that was loungewear and you two weren't out in public. This was better than any tailored suit he could wear.

Joker wore a tight white tee over distressed grey ripped jeans. He hid his dyed hair under a baseball cap, turned backwards of course, and you saw a flash of silver hanging around his neck. He tied the ensemble together with crisp white sneakers and his mischievous grin. You followed a prominent vein on his forearm up to his biceps that were on full display in his tee. This man could make anything look good, it was illegal.

He bent down to push your jaw closed with his finger. "Like what ya see?"

You nodded mutely. Joker smiled wide before walking towards the cockpit. That made you sober up fast. You jumped to your feet to follow after him.

"Joker! Wait! Did you steal this plane?" He said nothing as he sat down and started messing with the controls. You looked on in horror when the dash lit up in an array of lights and controls.

"Noooo silly. I'm.. borrowing it!" He flipped on the main engine switch and you panicked further, hearing it whirl to life. "Excuse me... what is you doing?!"

He snorted at your improper use of grammar. It meant you were nervous. He'd take any emotion rather than the lack thereof.

"Starting the engine. We can't fly without any power dear. Or fuel. Lots of that.." He chuckled to himself as if this was all another joke.

"I'd buckle in if I were you." He tossed your way. You were still standing by the cockpit door.

Joker sighed when you failed to move. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you down into the co-pilot seat and handed you a headset. You took it with shaky, sweaty hands. He fastened your seatbelt for you but everything was happening way too fast for you to comprehend.

The only thing that did make sense was the plane's cabin door closing with just you and Joker inside.

"Where's our pilot, Joker?!!"

He smacked his lips, ignoring your hysterics in favor of contacting ATC. "Atlanta Center this is.. uh, L0LJK holding short of Runway 26 Romeo, to MVY."

It all sounded like Chinese to you but some gut instinct told you to keep quiet.

There was a period of silence as Joker continued messing with the controls but finally Frost's voice came over the radio. "Just go."

You heard a scuffle on his end before the feed went dead yet Joker paid it no mind. He checked to see if you were secure, (you were way too quiet for his liking) before responding back via protocol.

"Cleared for takeoff. Runway 26 Romeo L0LJK." It was his official signal to start moving the plane. You glanced over at his giddy smile and erratic behavior. A madman was your pilot. A literal madman. You were gonna be sick.

You looked out the window as the plane taxied to its designated strip and started gaining more and more speed. It was such a common thing on a commercial flight but alone with Joker you felt each bump on the runway as you barreled down it. He was running out of tarmac and the plane was still on the ground.

That snapped you out of your stupor. "I-I-I c-changed my m-mind! I don't wanna go!! Let's stay h-here in Atlanta for the w-weekend!"

"A bit too late for that sweetheart." He chuckled lowly. The end of the runway inched closer and closer.

"JOKER I'M SERIOUS!"

"So am I." He whispered. He jerked the yoke up, pulling the plane into the sky at the last minute. Your screams filled the cabin along with Joker's maniacal laugh. Your head lolled back in your seat as you fainted.

The skies were clear and Joker followed procedures to get the jet to its average cruising altitude. It didn't take long but he couldn't afford to glance over and check on you during his checklists. He heard your body startle awake thirty minutes into the flight, and he breathed a bit easier knowing you were okay.

Once things were steady, he finally stole a gander at you.

"Y/n? Talk to me, doll." He clicked his tongue at your lack of reply and waited for you to fully come to. Your eyes were still closed and your breath in short, quick pants.

"W-Where? Oh. H-How? When did you learn how to fly?" You mumbled out. Joker shook his head at your broken sentences as you struggled to get your bearings straight.

"There's a– loT you don't know about me, Bunny. It's bet-ter that way."

You eyed him sideways after that cryptic response. You had to admit while you lost your marbles, Joker looked so at ease up here hitting buttons and navigating the skies almost... like..

You remembered the flash of silver you saw around his neck and decided to keep your theories to yourself. Joker eyed you out of the corner of his eye. He knew your mind could operate faster than the speed of light when you were lost in thought. There was no such thing as wishful thinking with you.

Things were calm and he felt confident enough to switch the controls over to autopilot to free up his hands.

You heard his seatbelt click loose and your e/c eyes darted over to him bending at the knee to unbuckle you. "No! What're you–"

Joker covered your clammy hands with his own. "Calm.. down, Y/n. It's safe ok? I joke around but I would neverrrrr risk your life like.. this. You trust me, hmm?"

Trust. Such a precious gift easily broken. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before drowning yourself into pools of emerald.

Joker's eyes were so clear as he tried to convince you. He knew you were more guarded than ever due to your lackluster mood. He could only hope that you actually trusted him when you finally gave him a hesitant nod. "O-Okay."

Joker repeated it back to you and rested his hand on your knee. It was shaking uncontrollably. You didn't notice.

"It'll take us four hourss to get to the, uh, Vineyard. You want something to drinK?"

"I didn't see a galley onboard." In fact, you only saw a single door at the end of the plane, most likely the lavatory, and the standard row of seats.

This jet was obviously for short business trips, nothing more. Your head nodded against your will. Joker didn't move, he was reading your body language to better understand your thoughts.

"Sweetheart. You thought I would starve you for four looong hours? I brought our own drinks and snacks." He smiled and went to grab them from his bag.

You snorted at his antics. "But you don't make plans."

"I don't!" He laughed from the back of the plane.

The initial shock must've worn off since you were talking more however; you were still somber and socially withdrawn. That would change once the plane landed. He would make sure of it.

Speaking of. Landing was less stressful since you knew Joker was more than capable of operating the plane.

He gave you some (insert favorite snack) and a bottle of water about halfway to the island and you looked on in amusement as he inhaled four Frosted blueberry PopTarts straight from the box. You hoped whoever flew the plane next didn't care about crumbs and fruit filling smudged all over the controls.

Joker contacted the Vineyard's airport tower requesting permission to land and kept things professional using the plane's actual call sign this time. Apparently he knew when to be serious. Within minutes, the Ground granted access and Joker landed the plane at the island's main airport.

He went through the final post flight procedures to power off the plane before rounding on you.

"Listen carefully Y/n." He didn't stutter or enunciate any words differently; he meant business so you kept quiet and listened. "From now on until we leave, don't say my name in public."

"But.. how am I supposed to address you?" You asked. He unbuckled your seatbelt and helped you out of your seat.

Such a gentleman. He yanked your co-pilot headset off your head, pulling your hair with it. When he wants to be. You mused.

"I'm your bodyguard. Your shadow. People don't talk to their shadows now do they? I do, but I'm far from normal, doll " He led you past the row of seats towards the cabin door. "If you need to address me, look me in the eye."

He pushed the door open and the afternoon sunlight entered the jet. You could smell the saltwater in the air but his request had you turning around. "How will you–"

Oh. Your eyes instantly met Joker's. The intensity of it threatened to burn you alive.

"I'm always lookin' at you, Y/n." He swept his arms down the stairs. "Ladies first."

Your heart swooned.

You ducked your head so he couldn't see the flush spreading on your cheeks and took the stairs one at a time in your pink Louboutin's. You stepped onto the concrete tarmac and placed a hand in your hair when a strong gust of wind blew.

It danced in your hair and played with the helm of your dress. To Joker, you were exquisite. He almost dropped the bags he carried down the stairs overwhelmed by your natural beauty. You were so unaware of it.

No one was around but that wouldn't last. Joker was sans makeup so he quickly donned sunglasses and his face mask from his back pocket to cover up. And right on time. He watched the car he had Frost call ahead pull up next to you.

You backed away from the unmarked Mercedes SUV even when the driver rolled the window down and recited a code to Joker. He responded back in kind and dumped the luggage in the trunk. Thankfully you hadn't noticed it yet.

He spotted you still standing off to the side and grinned. "Good girl. Never assume everything is under my control."

You did a double take at his concealed face. You didn't know how to respond so you just thanked him for holding the passenger door open for you.

He closed it and rounded the vehicle to speak to his henchmen. They exchanged a few words and to your confusion, they handed Joker a box of sorts before jogging up the plane's stairs.

They automatically retracted, closing the unknown goon inside.

Joker hopped in the car, narrowly avoiding hitting you when he tossed the parcel into the backseat and buckled in. You stole a peek at it, an unmarked recyclable brown box with clear tape. You heard the impact as it landed on the floor. It had weight to it.

"What's that?" Joker pushed the gear shift into drive and spared you a, don't ask, type of look.

"Okay..." You dropped it.

He jerked the car into motion and you quickly came to the conclusion that Joker was a reckless driver. You briefly considered offering to drive but you didn't know where to go. You rarely traveled outside of Gotham City since you moved there from Blüdhaven, but Joker drove the SUV around like he lived in Martha's Vineyard his entire life.

The bustling city portion of the island quickly turned into lush forests and two lane streets the further he drove. It was only a twenty minute drive but the ride was all scenic and you sat in the passenger seat in awe of the most affluent island in the East Coast. It truly lived up to its grandeur.

The pavement soon gave way to smooth gravel as Joker maneuvered the vehicle onto a private driveway. Nothing but greenery lined the long drive and it felt like the path was carved straight from nature. Just as you thought he turned down the wrong road, a house emerged from the foliage.

"Woah.." The acreage was massive.

Joker purposefully slowed down so you could take in the sight of the two story cottage style home peeking through the tree line. You saw the detached house and itched to explore.

You didn't waste any time and bolted from the SUV the second it rolled into park. The lawn was manicured and stretched into the surrounding forest but your feet carried you up to the front door, not caring about how it was already unlocked, to check the place out.

The main house was jaw dropping. Original wood beams lined the high ceilings and each big window offered up natural light and a taste of the picturesque landscape outside.

The kitchen was beautiful and distinctively vintage with its Robin's egg blue accents and natural wood finishes. Everything was polished and fresh to your senses. Someone obviously cleaned up in preparation for your arrival. By the time Joker caught up, you had already explored the main floor and terrace and kicked off your heels somewhere along the way.

The grass stained the soles of your feet as you took in a deep breath of serenity. This is what you needed. Just a moment away from the city and all of its heavy bog. You were still breathing in the fresh air when a pair of arms wrapped around you from behind.

Joker said nothing as he held you close and you leaned back on this broad chest, sighing. "How long can we stay here?"

A gust of wind blew and tousled your curls again. Joker tightened his grip on you lest you float away.

"Peak season hasn't started yeT. The current population is under thirty thousand ish, sooo we got all the, uhh, privacy in the world. At least for the weekend. Buuuut I can't stay away any longer from my errr, operations, doll."

You giggled at his exaggerated words and played with one of his hands wrapped around your middle. "Why not? You don't trust Frost to run the show for a few days?"

He lowered his voice in your ear. "Ex-act-ly."

You got the feeling that Joker never lowered his guard and had fun— and not his twisted version that involved murder. Did he ever stop and smell the roses? He was way too tense standing behind you; like something was gonna jump out and attack any moment.

"You never relax, do you?" You turned in his arms and cradled his cheek so he could look down at you.

With your heels off, Joker easily towered over you and the height difference made you feel safe. His words from earlier stuck with you.

"I'm your bodyguard." He was doing a fine job at it. Your e/c eyes dropped down to the mask he still wore and slipped it off of him. It was just you and Joker here; no need to hide.

He couldn't help licking his lips, now free to your gaze. "Never." He mumbled. "Except... when I'm with you."

Your creative mind took his confession and spun a narrative. Of course his brand of relaxation was removing his identity at the end of the day.

You doubted he removed his signature makeup before you two met like he does now. He explained he could go weeks at a time, just touching up the paint as needed, to keep up appearances. Now Joker went days without applying and it was definitely liberating.

Although the same man remained, Joker could finally relax and be himself.

He would have never shopped in a grocery store in broad daylight or entered a club of his own accord before he met you. You freed him in more ways than you'd ever know. He could let go and just be a man falling in lo—-

Joker sneered and pushed you away.

It wasn't like you two were having a moment or anything. You wrote it off as another one of Joker's unpredictable mood swings and caught your balance in the grass with no hard feelings. Joker had his back to you but you could hear him mumbling to himself about what to do with you.

Now who's the one distancing themselves? You thought wryly.

You knew he would need some time and turned back around to catch the afternoon sun sitting on the horizon. Everything felt more simple out here and you wished this could be the norm. In a few more days you would have to leave and return to Gotham and deal with book deadlines, the upcoming GothCon, and countless other matters again.

But for now, in this rare moment, you were simply Y/n enjoying a slice of paradise.

"Food. I gotta feed my Bunny. Yeah, food is a good idea." Joker nodded to himself before addressing you. "So whaddya say we grab a bite and uh.. go from there? Hey. Y/n?"

He stumbled down a mental rabbit hole but now you were lost in one of your own.

He kept quiet and studied you instead. Your eyes were closed and the golden sun reflected off of your skin in the best way, but Joker couldn't think so freely. Not after he almost said that word.

His emotions almost got the better of him. You almost made him fall. He couldn't afford to think like that, especially considering the circumstances. Five months. You can't get attached to her. He vowed to himself.

But he already was. Just one look and he couldn't resist your magnetic pull. He said your name and you instantly gave him your undivided attention. He looked at you expectantly.

"Oh! Okay y-yeah let's go then. Don't forget I wanna visit the pier once it gets dark."

Like he could forget the sole reason he flew four hours. The things he did for you. You walked up to him with a faint smile on your lips.

The day wasn't over yet and you were almost back in good spirits. Maybe this trip was exactly what you needed after all.

Dinner with Joker was straight out of a romance novel.

The restaurant was busy even during pre-season and it forced Joker to fall back as you requested a table for two with extra private seating on the balcony.

GCN broadcasted Joker still being at large daily and you didn't know if that coverage made it to the other states or not. Regardless, it made you paranoid to have him out in public but he brushed off your concern with an eye roll. He was in full disguise in a completely different state.

He was more concerned about Two Face hunting you down than Batman catching him. There was a time and place for that concern and it wasn't here at the dinner table with you.

The food was delicious, fresh seafood caught from down the road and the service was beyond excellent (even if you knew Joker somehow bribed them beforehand).

Sometime after the appetizer was ordered, he took off his mask and acknowledged your presence. He would turn his head away anytime a server came to the table but swiftly returned his focus back on you once they left.

Joker lived up to his name and kept you laughing well until the sun began to set. From his point of view, you were absolutely stunning, backlit by the sunset with your natural curls dancing in the sea breeze and that dazzling smile of yours shining brighter than the twinkling lights overhead.

Any negative thoughts that originally poisoned your mood were long gone. You were back to being the awkward, yet joyful Y/n that he knew and lov—

Sigh.

You made it so easy for him to let go! Joker tried so hard to pretend he wasn't out wine and dining the most beautiful woman in the world and making her laugh at his stupid jokes. He tried so hard.

He couldn't fall into this fantasy where things were perfect and normal with you. It would only hurt in the end when he had to leave, but it felt so right to (for once) be a normal guy out enjoying a girl's company.

No madness, no crime; just you and him.

You slid your hand across the table into Joker's. "What happened next? You gotta tell me!" You asked, still laughing.

He almost forgot the end of the story after hearing your bell-like voice tinkling in his ear. What was he saying? "I uh..

"Hold that thought, the check is here." You expressed your gratitude to the waiter who came by with the bill. You were about to open it when Joker snatched it out of your hand.

"J—" You slapped a hand over your mouth for almost saying his name aloud. He arched an eyebrow and kept the check out of your reach. "G-give that back."

He glanced at the bill and reached into his back pocket to grab a wad of money.

You looked on in bewilderment as he rounded to the nearest dollar and shoved the total inside along with a hefty tip. You didn't know he was carrying cash and.. so much at that. Your poor debit card felt useless sitting in your purse now.

"You uhh wanted to see the beach?" He asked out of the blue. A glance at your phone put the time around nine o'clock. "Yeah, but it's still early." You replied.

"What time are ya planning this nightly escapade of yours hmm?"

Good question. You brought a finger to your chin in thought. Joker groaned out loud at your lack of foresight.

"By the time we get there it'll be dark Y/n. We should go back to the house so you can ahh.. change. Can't visit the beach dressed like that."

He wiggled his fingers in your direction and you looked down at your attire in confusion. "Like what?"

"Like a fuc— ahem. Li-ke a doll." He sucked in a breath, "The heels.. the heels can stay."

You scoffed and sat further back in your chair. "Just the heels huh? You got a foot fetish I need to know about?"

He stared at your dainty feet wrapped up like a literal present in your designer shoes. "If it's your feet thennnn, yes."

You laughed outright. His logic was so elementary at times it was ridiculous. "Unbelievable."

Joker caught himself smiling along. He had no shame making another joke at his own expense.

"What can I say? I'm a man of.. distinguished taste. And I loveee sweets." He made a show of licking his lips and eyeing your body.

The innuendo made you flush garnet red. There wasn't a quick comeback queued up in your brain so you dug your own grave saying, "Why don't you order dessert then?"

"Oh I did, Bunny. I'm taking it to-go." He took one last sip of his drink (sighing loudly of course) before standing up and offering you his hand. "Are ya ready to go?"

Smooth. Real smooth.

You chuckled lowkey to yourself but let Joker be a gentleman and help you up. You heard him curse when you bent down to grab your bag that you purposefully dropped on the floor.

Joker wasn't the only one who could be a tease. He was onto your schemes by the time you straightened up with a coy smile. Yeah, you were back to normal.

Riling Joker up was like waiting for a bomb to go off. You knew it would blow, you just didn't know how massive the explosion would be. Or when the timer would hit zero.

He put his mask back on and walked with you to the entrance to retrieve the SUV from the valet. He didn't give them a chance to hold your door open, that was his job thank you very much!

"Your chariot awaits, Princess."

He said it so loud almost everyone outside heard but it was a mere whisper to how loudly Joker smacked your behind.

The motion helped you up into the vehicle with an adorable flush to your complexion. Joker winked at the speechless valet attendant before getting in the car as well.

Provoking Joker was definitely worth the risk. Too bad his bomb was far more destructive than what you anticipated.

Joker teased you the entire ride back to the house. He held your thigh, squeezing way too close to your heat that it ached and he used both hands to turn the wheel right as you whimpered in need. The lingering heat from his hands burned more than anything.

He didn't spare you at stop signs either. He would call your name (and like an idiot) you faced him, only to have his lips faintly brush against yours in a phantom kiss. By the time you tried leaning in to claim your prize, he would abruptly accelerate and laugh at you scrambling in the passenger seat.

You slowly acclimated yourself to his horrid driving skills. At least it wasn't as terrifying like Frost's. Did they learn how to drive together? You shuddered at the thought.

Joker saw you shudder and wondered what you were thinking about but kept quiet as he turned down the house's private driveway.

"You're seriously forcing me to change. Into what? I don't have any clothes because someone didn't tell me I was spending the weekend out of town!" You yelled after he turned the car off.

He raked a hand through his hair, a clear sign of his irritation yet you stood your ground. All of the island's stores and boutiques were closed, leaving you no other choice but to keep what you had on.

He had enough and turned to face you. "When you twist your uhh ankle? I don't wanna hear you complaining' mkay? And I'm not carrying you." He added before you could open your mouth. "I mean it." He growled.

The low baritone sent shivers down your spine. "F-Fine! You wanted me to keep the heels on anyway. It's a win-win situation all around." You tapped the clock on the dashboard. "It's getting late. I want to see the pier now."

You were asking for it now. Joker cracked his neck and turned the SUV back on to drive you to the beach. He'd fix your bratty attitude later. Who wanted to visit a beach at night anyways? And people thought he was crazy. You bounced in your seat as if proving his point further.

When he finally arrived at the Moshup trail parking lot, you could hear the ocean crashing onto the rocky shore louder than ever. You wanted to see it for yourself and moved to open the door when it auto locked. "Joker.."

"Look at me." You heard that voice before. Assertive, serious, and a bit scary if you were being completely honest.

Joker didn't mess around whenever his voice lowered the way it did. You felt his hands tremble as he cupped your face. "I... I reallly don't want you hurtin' yourself okay Bunny?"

You could barely see his green eyes pleading with you with the car lights off. Just like on the plane earlier, Joker was serious and it scared you with how desperate he sounded.

Your safety really mattered to him. You nodded slowly. "Okay. I-I'll be careful."

Ten minutes later...

Joker sighed to himself watching you prance around the beach while holding your long discarded pink heels in his hands. After you tripped on a rock, he ripped them off your feet in anger, going on about you never following his instructions.

Whatever. You were now free to run as you pleased. Not a single person was around due to the late hour but you wouldn't have it any other way.

The moon was the only natural source of light save for the rotating beam atop the lighthouse a few yards away. It stood proudly amidst the cliffs, a true beacon in the night. It was the exact scene you described to Joker back in Atlanta. The rocky cliffs, the pitch black ocean crashing every odd minute or so against it, and the briny taste on the breeze. He stood by as you spun in circles and tossed sand in the air like a freaking kid.

He could get used to this.. to seeing you happy. Joker looked away for a mere second but his eyes immediately found you when he heard your loud peal of laughter. You were dancing in the moonlight to music only you could hear and he was totally transfixed by it. You looked so carefree, so innocent; he wanted a piece of this to remember him by.

He was glad he brought the Polaroid camera he found in the house here. It was the perfect tool for the job. Joker called out your name over the waves. You turned to face him the exact second he took the picture.

You shied away from the delayed flash and jogged over to his side. "Joker, what are you up to now?"

He waited until the photo printed and shook it a bit to help speed up the development process. It was grainy and incredibly dark, but the nearby lighthouse did well to highlight your frame enough.

In short, Joker captured the ultimate moody photo of you.

He could make out your wild curls framing your face and a hint of your eyes staring straight into the camera if the photo were more clearer. But your smile was and that's all that mattered to Joker.

You didn't know what to expect when you nuzzled into his side but a dark dud wasn't it. "Aww it didn't come out that good." You tapped the pic.

"No. No.. it's perfect." He hadn't looked up from it yet.

"Uhh.. don't you think it's way too dark?" You critiqued. That wasn't what Joker saw but he couldn't summarize it better himself. He finally looked at you with a crazed gleam in his eye.

"That.. haha! That's the point, Y/n! The beach is dark but only you stood out. Just you. You're.. you're glowing.. from within. You're. You. Only you.."

Joker's speech was slurred as if he were drunk. He dropped the camera unexpectedly to kiss you. You gasped in shock but knocked Joker's hat off so you could bury your hands into his brownish green locks. You stumbled back in the sand as Joker pushed forward in his fervent pursuit.

Joker's kisses were always electric however you felt every fiber of his being— morphing with yours, here and now. You felt his desperation, his primal need to have you close, in this messy clash of lips and tongue. Moans and short whines escaped you as Joker swallowed them up to claim your lips with his own.

He broke away with a guttural groan. "You're the light in the darkness." He mumbled on your lips. "My light."

You were speechless. Your ears heard his confession loud and clear but your heart was lagging far behind.

Joker sounded so sincere as he held you tight, (almost too tight), while his forehead rested on yours. You never heard him so out of breath before but sure enough he was struggling in more ways than one.

He muttered something under his breath and dropped to his knees right there on the sand. It took you ages to process that action for what it was.

"J-Joker what are you... mmfph!" He shoved your dress up and bathed your midsection with affection.

"I ahh.. I don't think w-we should um d-do this here." Despite the uncertainty in your voice, your hips bucked into his touch even as you glanced around for any prying eyes.

He knew your reservations and chuckled. "It's a private.. beach.. Y/n." He teeth grazed your hip bone before he glanced up at you. "Baby doll.. look at me." You felt his nails dig into your inner thighs begging for attention.

No one was around. You had to trust him. You looked down and all you saw was a kaleidoscope of green staring at you with utter devotion. From Joker's perspective all he saw was a goddess bathed in light, blessing him with everything and nothing.

"You're the light. My.. light. Mine. So beautiful and all mine." He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and tugged your panties down with his teeth.

He had to be high or something. Maybe his dinner was spiked because there was no other explanation for Joker's sudden behavior. He was acting like a sinner reborn between your legs and kept chanting your name along with variants of 'his Light' in between hot, airy moans.

You had seconds to grab ahold of Joker's shoulders before he sucked your clit like a man starved. It took every ounce of your strength to stay upright as Joker worshiped your body and doused your soul in desire.

As the dark ocean waves crashed against the shore; so did you in like manner.

Flashbacks from the night danced across your mind as steady, lulling arms carried you into the house.

You were in and out of consciousness, between the past and the present, but you could still see a pair of eyes darker than pine hovering above you. The urge to touch, to feel his skin pressed against yours outweighed the fact he was pining your wrist into the sand.

Indescribable pleasure possessed your body and your lover's grip tightened as a result. Over the roaring waves you could hear his broken voice straining in your ear, desperately pleading with you to understand his decree.

"My light, all mine.. You... you complete me.."

You prayed he was telling the truth.

Joker pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, mindful not to jostle you too much and wake you up.

You were out for the count yet you never looked more breathtaking. Cheeks still flush from your orgasm and hair askew, his eyes roamed your features as he gently laid you down on the bed.

Joker could admit that he went overboard this time but something in the air clouded his senses and he couldn't stop once he started. You tasted so sweet and your screams of pleasure were like music to his ears. He took great care not to ruin your dress, (he loved it wayy too much) and used it as a blanket of sorts against the grainy sand. You were too precious to damage, he knew that now.

Something changed between you and Joker on that beach. Something catastrophic.

Joker made sure you were tucked into bed and this time, he remembered to put your bonnet on but found himself tracing your parted lips with his thumb.

He drew back when you moaned his name in your sleep. Your hot breath on his skin stirred up his desire for you again. He chose to creep away to make a phone call and allow you to rest. The original plan was to spend the night here and fly back to Gotham the following morning, but after his.. revelation, he couldn't leave. Not now.

There were things that needed to be addressed here. Joker couldn't leave until you and him talked it out. No more running away. He had to redraw his boundaries and reset his ground rules with you in the equation. And that would take some time.

The phone picked up on the third ring and for once Joker let Frost speak first. "Did something happen?"

"No. You see, there's been a uh... change of plansss. Keep the others from, uhh, killing each other? I'll be back on Monday."

Frost began pitching a fit right as Joker hung the phone and turned it off for good measure.

Frost could hold things down for three days. This would be the perfect exercise to test Frost's leadership skills! Joker considered it a vacation, long overdue.

Once his contact with the outside world was officially cut off, Joker stripped down bare and crawled into bed with his ray of Light.

#ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #black!fem!reader #heath joker #joker x y/n #joker smut #reader insert #yandere #Long Reads #a03 writer #romance #angst #cross posted on AO3 #cross posted on wattpad #his lighthouse

[pocketseizure]

A Noble Pursuit

None of the lessons from the Gerudo Classroom have prepared Rhondson for married life with Hudson, who has grown restless and disappeared from Tarrey Town a year after its founding. She travels to the Akkala Citadel Ruins to hunt for her husband while reflecting on the bridges that will need to be rebuilt in order for Hyrule to embrace a peaceful future.

This story about archaeology, castles, ruins, cultural differences, giant monster friends, and what it means “to live happily ever after” was written for @memorabiliazine​, and it’s also on AO3 (here). The accompanying illustrations are by the stylish scholar @pocketwei​.

. . . . . . . . . .

This wasn’t the first time Rhondson had set off on a husband hunt.

It was late summer, almost a year after the ghost of the Great Calamity vanished from the castle. Most of Hyrule was still green, but the first touches of red and gold had already begun to appear on the trees of Akkala. It was chilly when Rhondson left Tarrey Town, but the morning fog had lifted and the sky was crystal clear.

Rhondson had always enjoyed mornings. Most people woke up early in the desert and took a nap during the worst heat of the afternoon so that they could stay up late into the evening. Rhondson kept the same schedule in Tarrey Town, a practice that Hudson found inexplicably upsetting. He complained, almost every day now, that she never went to bed with him. He insisted that a man and his wife should fall asleep together. Rhondson explained that she enjoyed sewing by lamplight at night, when the world is quiet and even the plainest thread shines like gold, but he refused to understand.

Hudson had recently grown restless. Perhaps it was because of the tension in their relationship, or perhaps it was only the change of season, but he left Tarrey Town one afternoon and never returned. Ashai’s classes hadn’t prepared Rhondson for this. They’d talked so much about how to catch a man, but never about how to keep him. She wondered if other vai had the same problem. All of the romances she read when she was younger ended with a “happily ever after,” but what was supposed to happen the next day? And the day after that?

All things considered, Rhondson was content with her life in Tarrey Town. Her feelings about the settlement had been ambiguous at first. The location was out-of-the-way, to say the least, but the town received more visitors than she’d expected. The son of the two Sheikah researchers who lived in an old lighthouse up on the northern cliffs made his living as a traveling merchant of fine clothing, and he saw to it that Rhondson always had work. Tarrey Town was unique in its appeal as a marketplace for goods from all over Hyrule, and Hudson’s brightly painted modular houses had become something of a tourist attraction. He’d been flooded with orders for summer rental homes, and a satellite community had sprung up on the other side of the bridge to satisfy the demand.

Hudson managed to keep himself busy, but he seemed to harbor doubts about establishing Tarrey Town on such a small island. To make matters worse, many of the people who’d come to town for the summer were starting to drift away as the days became shorter. Perhaps they were worried about Akkala’s infamous autumn thunderstorms. Rhondson happened to enjoy the heavy rains, whose gale winds and lightning crashes reminded her of the sandstorms back home, but she understood how the violent weather and sudden drop in temperature might put off people who weren’t accustomed to the climate. She’d camped at more than a few oasis waystations during her travels, and she knew it was perfectly natural for the population of a place like Tarrey Town to wax and wane with the season.

Rhondson tried to explain to Hudson how it was normal for people to come and go. Many of the town residents were nomadic by nature, she said, and they had no excuse not to indulge their wanderlust now that it was safe to travel. Hudson adamantly refused to listen. He insisted that a man’s home was his castle. But why not have two castles, Rhondson objected. And people would come back next summer, she reasoned. They’d had to hire new workers to perform upkeep on the vacation homes during the winter, after all, so it wasn’t as though the population was shrinking. If he was feeling ambitious, she added with a wink, they might be able to add their own contribution to the town’s population.

“I’m just not sure how long this town will last,” Hudson replied, ending the conversation with a sigh.

His admission put Rhondson ill at ease, and she couldn’t help recalling Hudson’s anxiety when she realized that he hadn’t come home during the night. “Sometimes you have to treat voe like children,” Ashai had once explained. “There will be times when they take action without thinking about how it will affect you, but it’s likely that their behavior comes from simple thoughtlessness, not spite.” Rhondson didn’t know about that. She’d met enough silly and immature vai in her life to understand that voe didn’t have a monopoly on being pigheaded. Still, if Hudson had gone out and gotten himself lost, purposefully or otherwise, she might as well go find him.

Rhondson set out from Tarrey Town and walked due south, pacing herself as she made her way up the gentle slope of the hills leading to Upland Zorana. Once the mountains began in earnest, she turned west at the road leading to the old stone quarry and kept going until she could see the waterfalls at the source of Lake Akkala.

She’d crossed the Sokkala Bridges when she first came to Tarrey Town instead of taking the longer road to the north, and she was just as impressed by them now as she was then. The log bridges were simple structures, really, not much more than planks laid over support pillars embedded in the banks of the rivulets flowing from the waterfall basin, but they were sturdy and well-constructed. A traveler could cross them with ease, secure enough in their footing to look up and appreciate the rainbows that danced in the misty spray of the waterfalls.

Not every bridge needed to be the Bridge of Hylia, Rhondson thought. Perhaps it was better if most bridges weren’t, in fact. The Bridge of Hylia was a magnificent piece of work, to be sure, but it seemed as though it was already in a state of disrepair even before the Great Calamity. Judging from the conversations between Hudson and his former boss Bolson, no living stonemason had any idea how to repair its gargantuan supports. Meanwhile, more modest structures like the Sokkala Bridges could be maintained whenever the need arose. In their own way, the Sokkala Bridges were just as important at the Bridge of Hylia, even if they never became monuments.

As she crossed the final bridge, Rhondson could see the hazy outline of Akkala Citadel rising in the west. Its massive size was impressive, but she couldn’t imagine it being particularly beneficial to anyone. Truth be told, the ruins weren’t much more than a glorified pile of old stone bricks that could almost certainly be put to better use elsewhere. Speaking of which, Rhondson was starting to get an inkling of where Hudson might have gotten himself off to. “A man’s home is his castle,” he liked to say, and how intriguing it must have been to have an actual castle so close to home, especially if its materials could be repurposed.

Rhondson headed north when the road forked and made her way across the old high bridge over the river, carefully navigating the deep fissures in the stone. Once she was safely on the other side, she began climbing the winding path up the mountain.

The leaves of the trees on the upper slopes of the hill had already turned a bold shade of crimson, and the weathered steel of the Sheikah Tower gleamed in the sun. Rumor had it that the citadel used to be patrolled by Guardians, but nothing confronted Rhondson save for a few moss-covered remnants of ceramic casing. Parts of the road had been washed away in a landslide, probably after the Malice swamp dried up, but the majority of the paving stones were still intact.

Rhondson entered the gatehouse at the foot of the outer wall surrounding the citadel. The inside was littered with rubble from a century-old battle, and the remains of more recent Bokoblin campfires were scattered across the floor. A partially overturned Guardian occupied a corner of the room, its segmented legs folded neatly underneath its casing like the paws of a sleeping cat. When she first set out from the desert, Rhondson had been terrified of encountering a Guardian, but she’d grown fond of the broken bits and pieces of their chassis that had been left beside Hyrule’s roads to remind travelers to remain vigilant. Their round faces and decoratively textured bodies were actually a bit cute, like oversized toys.

Rhondson passed through the gatehouse and entered a small courtyard. The walls of the citadel rose on every side of the open space, but the gaps between turrets were wide enough for the sun to shine through and warm the paving stones. One side of the courtyard was dominated by a large alcove that was probably used to shelter horses. The bare soil under the dilapidated wooden awning was covered in pale green scrub bush and dotted with bright yellow wildflowers.

A covered walkway ran along the opposite wall, connecting the gatehouse to the larger body of the citadel. As Rhondson followed the shaded path, she imagined how heavily the snowfall would accumulate at this altitude. She didn’t envy the soldiers tasked with shoveling duty. She glanced at the enormous wooden door that marked the entrance to the main hall, but its iron fittings were orange with rust. Thankfully, the smaller door at the end of the walkway was barely hanging by its hinges, and Rhondson had no trouble pushing it open.

She called Hudson’s name into the shadows of the citadel. Aside from the echo of her own voice, there was no answer. It probably wasn’t safe to go inside, but she had already come so far. Rhondson figured that she may as well make sure that Hudson wasn’t here before she left. 

The interior of the fortress wasn’t nearly as impressive as its silhouette. The entryway was much smaller than she expected, and the floor was made of packed earth. As Rhondson’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see that the wooden beams of the ceiling were exposed. They were dark with ash. The smoke had probably come from the tall braziers secured to the pillars set into the stone walls.

Rhondson walked across the hall, glancing around her with interest. A few piles of old leaves moldered just inside the open service door, but the room was remarkably clean. The tapestries displayed in the bays between pillars still retained some of their color, and wooden weapons racks still clung to the stone walls next to the main gate. Rhondson realized that the earth floor must absorb the humidity of summer and the chill of winter, keeping the wood and cloth relatively preserved. The layer of ash coating the wooden beams of the ceiling probably helped protect them from the elements as well.

Large passageways ringed with shallow arches connected the central hall to the east and west wings, but Rhondson was more interested in a spiral staircase carved into the back wall. Although she had to bend her head to enter, the stairs bore her weight. Each step dipped slightly toward the middle from centuries of use. As she climbed to the next floor, Rhondson was amused by the thought of walking in the footsteps of people who had lived so long ago.

The room above was much smaller than the citadel’s entrance, but its ceiling was almost as high. The walls were constructed of the same unpainted white limestone as the fortress exterior. Their rough surfaces were irregularly broken by small rectangular windows positioned slightly above eye level. Some of the glass panes were missing, allowing a cool breeze to enter the bright and sun-warmed space, but the floorboards were level and seemed solid enough

Rhondson began to make her way from room to room. Her first thought was that the haphazard layout was due to poor planning, but she gradually realized that different parts of the Akkala Citadel must have been built at different times, more than likely after various battles. Very few furnishings remained in the deserted fortress, but the architecture differed so drastically between rooms that it was clear she was walking through different periods of history. Rhondson was amazed by the evolution of the windows, which became larger and more ornate as she walked. She imagined that this was what Hyrule Castle must look like, an amalgamation of architectural styles that had grown and transformed along with the kingdom itself.

Rhondson enjoyed her stroll through the ruins, but Hudson was nowhere to be found. The sun was already low in the sky, so she made her way outside and began her descent. From her vantage point at the top of the path, she could see a flat patch of land at the base of the hill. The soldiers stationed here must have used it as a parade ground for exercise and training. It would be as good a place as any to make camp.

Dusk had begun to gather by the time she arrived on the field, and the shadows lay long across the tall grass. Rhondson didn’t see the Hinox immediately, but she could smell it. The odor wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unmistakable. As soon as she realized that she wasn’t alone, Rhondson turned to leave. Most Hinoxes tended to ignore the travelers that wandered into their vicinity, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Without warning, the Hinox bellowed. Its scream sent startled birds up from the nearby trees in a rush of beating wings and angry squawking. Rhondson prepared herself to make a run for her life, but she was stopped in her tracks by a voice she would recognize anywhere.

“Don’t cry, you big baby. It only stings at first. You’ll feel better in two shakes of a blupee’s tail.”

Rhondson shook her head with amusement as she walked across the field toward the source of the voice. The Hinox pouted at her, giant tears spilling from its eye.

“Hudson?”

The broad-shouldered man crouching beside the Hinox jerked his head up. “Rhondson? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I came looking for you. Is this where you’ve been this whole time?”

“I meant to come back last night,” Hudson replied, averting his eyes. “But this oaf hurt his foot while helping me clear away the rubble on the path up the mountain, and I couldn’t just leave him like this. The wound would have suppurated, and he’s all alone out here.”

Rhondson gave the Hinox a closer look and saw that it – he – had a deep gash on his heel. Hudson was cleaning it with a balled-up wad of fabric. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the first workshirt she’d sewn for him. She’d made it just as they were starting to get to know one another, before she knew his measurements, and it fit him poorly. She asked him to throw it away and bury it with the compost months ago, but he’d apparently kept it. Hudson was surprisingly sentimental for a man who insisted on utility over decoration. It was one of the things she liked about him.

Rhondson smiled as she shrugged her pack onto the ground and dug out a jar of safflina salve. As Hudson helped her dress the Hinox’s wound, he explained that he had indeed come here to assess the state of the stonework. He assumed the citadel would be in ruins, but the structure was still sound. It would be a shame to dismantle it. With a few minor renovations, it would be almost as good as new. Still, making it more habitable would mean reducing its efficacy as a fortress.

“But what does that matter?” Rhondson asked. “Who’s going to attack it?”

“There are monsters roaming about, and…”

“Does this ‘monster’ look like he’s going to attack anyone?”

The Hinox had fallen asleep as they talked and was snoring lightly.

“He’s not a monster,” Hudson replied with a frown.

“Exactly. It seems to me that you’re already thinking about hiring him to work for you.”

“I’m not… Well, I guess I am. Having a Hinox around would be useful, especially if I decide to fix up this place, but we’d have to knock down some of the interior walls to make more room for him.”

Rhondson winced as she remembered all the times she’d banged her forehead on Hylian doorways. Now that she thought about it, there was no reason for those doors to be so low in the first place, especially not when her husband could so easily make them more accommodating. “Weren’t you planning to knock down the walls anyway?” she pointed out. “You could use the materials to repair the bridge.”

“But it’s disrespectful not to honor the past,” Hudson objected. “Shouldn’t the history of the Akkala Citadel be preserved?”

“It’s in ruins.” Rhondson put a hand on his shoulder. “One day you’ll have to come with me to visit my family. Everything in Gerudo Town is built on top of history. Nothing gets done if you worry about preserving the past as it once was. Living things change, and that includes old castles like this.”

“Maybe it includes towns too,” Hudson replied. “I guess it won’t be so bad if Tarrey Town grows. We could have a sister city maybe, right here on this hill. It would be a convenient waystation for travelers.” He thought for a moment. “And a good place for Hinoxes, too. It’s built on their scale, at least, and they’re all over Akkala. It’s a shame they always have to sleep in the open. Besides, Mason looks like he could use a friend. He’ll be lonely without me.”

Mason? Rhondson grinned at the name her husband had assigned to the Hinox. “Are you going to bring him home, then?” she asked.

“Home is wherever you are, Rhondson. We’ll go wherever you like. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but we can spend a night or two away from Tarrey Town. I’d like to go back to the citadel tomorrow morning. I don’t think anyone has been inside this place for at least a hundred years.”

The sun had finally set, and stars were beginning to shine in the deepening indigo of the twilight sky. Rhondson smiled as she pictured the castle on the hill once again filled with lights. There was a certain charm to speculating on what the past might have been like, but the future held much more potential for imagination.

#Legend of Zelda #Breath of the Wild #Rhondson #Gerudo culture #Memorabilia zine #pocketwei #architecture #ruins #Zelda zines #Zelda art #Zelda fic #my fic

[pumpkinpot]

Hoshi

A/N: this is part of the Citrus Dome Sci-Fi collab. this is also pure fluff. no smut, no real angst. just spooky summer vibes and poly love. I hope you enjoy. (I’m sorry for grammatical errors in advance.)

synopsis: since beginning your relationship with Katsuki Bakugou and Ochako Uraraka you’ve developed a love for exploring abandon places with them whenever you three have time to explore. This time, so happens to land on a derelict observatory. (additional head canons for this story on my tik tok under pumpkinpots)

“It says here it was abandoned in the mid-nineteenth century due to the spike in light pollution with the growth of the city,” you say, pointing to the dome at the peak of the building. “All of the mobile telescopes were transferred to the university's observatory, while this placed rotted away.

Uraraka half listens, levitating sheetrock from the doorway and discarding them in the nearby field.

“Why just abandon it?” Katsuki asks, fiddling with varying lenses in his camera bag. “Couldn’t this have been a museum or something?”

“Yeah,” you agree, shifting a glance to make sure Uraraka doesn’t need help. “It looks like it was bought by a merchant in the eighties who wanted to turn it into a house, but he was indicted for tax evasion before the renovations ever finished. It hasn’t been touched since.” 

He scoffs with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Rich idiots.”

Uraraka brushes specks of dust off her palms across her cut-off shorts before urging us alone. “Shall we?” 

It takes two and a half pushes to nudge the door wide enough to squeeze through. The observatory opens to us with a groan of whining metal and the scratch of loose dirt on concrete. 

Centered in the main foyer, a gaping mural of blue and white cobblestone depicts a dusty map of astrology stars. 

Katsuki has to be coaxed with a promise to be flashed to pose under the Taurus constellation for a picture, meanwhile, Uraraka floats just above Pisces with a cute puffy cheeked expression. 

Names, small sayings, and symbols decorate the wall in vibrant graffiti, the place a cocktail of color and wild Ivy.

"It's a lot more lit than I thought I'd be," Uraraka says, stuffing her flashlight into her bag. 

Katuski keeps the light attached to his camera lit as he weaves in and out of rooms, zooming in on old books and broken equipment. 

We follow him through a puzzle of what seemed to be living quarters and small classrooms, ending in a half oval auditorium. 

At the center of the stage a white globe balances on a pillar of cement. 

“What’s this?” Uraraka asks. 

You touch where someone had attempted to derail the sphere like a baseball before trailing your eyes above the layered seating. “It's a projector ball. Technicians would likely project light from there into the ball to make it seem like the planet or star they were studying. That's why it's,” you knock on the sphere's cool solid surface. “Crystal.”

Uraraka shines her phone’s light into it, the shattered pieces reflecting shapes in a dim glow.

Katsuki points the camera into the orb, the bluish tint reminds you of the similar one in the abandoned lighthouse you’d explored with them two years ago. Though that one would have lit from the inside. 

Quickly you explore the base and second levels, eager to get to the actual observatory. It's evident where the renovations to make this a home had been started and never finished. Small cracks in the floor, sealed with caulk, loose wooden planks pillaring knocked in walls. 

It could have been a beautiful home, you think to yourself. 

Up the second flight of stairs gradually more and more light fills the space until you are bathed in the orange glow of early dusk. A large open scare slits the dome, edging with rust and ivy. The circular room holds nothing of true value, nothing left behind but broken tables and a ladder to the viewing balcony tailing the opening of the dome. 

“The big telescope that would have been here-” Uraraka says, fiddling with the screw holes in the floor, “- would have been a refracting telescope. It uses small bits of glass to magnify what you’re looking at, then is bent back through the telescope hitting the eyepiece. The other kind is a reflector,” she continues, “It's got a primary mirror at the bottom of the lens into a second mirror than a third eyepiece mirror. This one is mostly used to see the different parts of a star to see what it's made out of.”

Katsuki and you exchange looks of pure astonishment. "how do you know all this?" you ask.

She fishes a gum wrapper from one of the holes, tossing it to the side. “Before I was accepted into UA I was really considering going into astronomy. I thought it fit so well with my quirk, but the courses were too expensive.” 

"More expensive than UA?" Katuski asks, refocusing his camera. 

She nods, seeming just as dumbfounded as us. 

“Do you think it could work on my explosions?”

“If you were in space maybe,” you hypothesize, “but in that case, we probably wouldn’t see it for a long while.” 

He seems semi disappointed as if his evening plans had been somehow derailed.

You run your hands across the walls of the dome, dusk sun baking its metal frame like a soup pot. 

For a moment you just watch them. It’d been so long since the opportunity arose for the three of you to go exploring. With you still temporarily stationed in the American hero commission and those two workings in Japan it was rare to find time to skype let alone go on adventures. You were lost in the bliss of having your partners so near without having to scream about a lost wifi connection when your hand hit something protruding from the wall.

“What are these?” you ask, inspecting circular gears attached to a crank.

“It looks like the wheel to turn the dome,” Uraraka says.

Katsuki zooms in on the puzzle of rigid plates. “This bitch turns?” 

“Yeah, that slit doesn't move so the dome has to, to accommodate where in the sky they were looking.” 

Katsuki fingers the gears a moment, mapping its track all across the sphere. He traces along the parts not layered in rust until he’s back at the start. “Do you think it still works?” 

“Not without some serious lube and strong arms.”

“We’re one for two,” you suggest. 

Katsuki hands over his camera to Uraraka, positioning himself opposite you to push the lever, while you pull left.

At first, the dial stays put, its stance unforgiving, but after a bit more pull than push a deafening whine reverberating through the entire observatory. 

No visible move happens until the second crank roundabout when the shift of light against concrete becomes clear.

Katsuki’s eyes light with sheer amazement as the entire dome rotates around you. We are halfway through a full rotation before Uraraka shouts for you to stop. 

You push on the lever stilling its movements as quickly as you can.

She holds a finger head tilted to the side. “Do you hear that?” 

Your breath balloons in your chest as you lean in closer. The tiniest of whimpers echo around the dome from the viewing balcony. 

One after another you file up the ladder, hopping on the edge of the dome. Balancing on the concrete crease between the moving track and the rest of the building you search for the sound. 

“Here!” Uraraka yells from the other side.

 You sprint as much as you dare, teetering along the two-story edge. 

She squats over the body of a squirming animal, a tuft of fur caught in the track of the dome's rotation. She coddles its little frame, before reaching a hand out to you. “Y/n, your knife-”

Hesitantly you hand it over. She snips away the stuck pieces muttering thanks that none of the actual tail got caught. She folds the blade back into itself, pinching leaves and sticks from the animal's fur and tossing them over the side. 

She holds it up, floppy ears and a black nose making it a nearly recognizable creature. A puppy. 

He looks to be light brown, but that could be the soot. 

Katsuki checks around the dome for any signs of a litter or mamma, before joining us with a shake of his head. 

The pup squirms and with an open mouth, letting all sorts of noises tumble from his dirt-covered tongue. 

Uraraka floats the puppy to the floor of the dome, as we file down the ladder. You empty the contents of your water bottle into a cup for drinking and the rest onto its back for cooling.  

His fur peaks through white and brown spotted under layers of grime. 

“Well,” Uraraka says, “we’ve been talking about wanting to expand our family.” 

“I suppose there’s no better place to start,” you add, both of us looking to Katsuki for consensus.

He passes glances between the three of us. “Fine, but I get to name it.”

“Alright, but we get veto power.” 

“Explosion-”

“Veto,” you say in unison. 

He looks around puffy-lipped. “I didn't even get to finish.” 

“Explosion nothing,” Uraraka clarifies. 

He’s silent for a long moment looking around the space. “Hoshi?.” 

“Star?” you confirm.

“This observatory was used to study the stars, wasn’t it?” He bats.

You and Uraraka exchange a satisfied, yet surprised look. You hadn’t expected something so- normal. This is after all the same man that made you name your golden pothos “boom boom boi” in his honor. 

“I like it,” you say.

“Approved,” adds Uraraka. 

We better take our picture before it gets too dark,” he says, turning away so you can’t see the blush on his cheeks. He switches out his filming camera for a smaller polaroid, propping it up on the edge of a broken table. 

He runs back as the timer ticks down. He slides to your right side, Uraraka on your left. Their arms link behind you as you hold Hoshi up to your mid-chest. Clicking down from five you all give your cheesiest grins. A rectangular card spits from the bottom of the camera. 

Ochaco shakes it a few times, swapping you a picture, for a puppy. 

You wait for the picture to pixelate before opening the ninety-cent notebook of film slips and position it in the next available spot.

Urarka’s cut-off shorts and Katsuki's tanned shoulders are a stark contrast to the puffy blue coat and chunky knit beanie from the last abandoned mansion expedition last time. Before that, the three of us accidentally matched our windbreakers to Midoryia during a tour of The Ghost Candy Shop in Kyoto. We look like a group of tourists. 

The small book seemed to be filling quickly despite the rareness of time to get away. Memories pile up from when it was just Uraraka and Katsuki to when you became a staple to their adventures. They’d given you responsibility for the book to garner your importance to them in their relationship until the reasoning for the gift became nothing more than routine. You were theirs, and they were yours. 

Now a new member had sprouted in your little family, and if you squinted, you could imagine the rest of the pages being filled with the pup in aged years to maybe more as time goes on.

 Right now, you were happy with the three and a half of you.

#bakugou x reader #uraraka x reader #bakugou x uraraka #ochako x reader #mha x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x y/n #Uraraka fluff #mha fluff

[fumiko-matsubara]

Writing Exercise // AssClass x Tower of God AU - Catching Up

Assassination Classroom - Tower of God AU

Summary: There was a sudden change in team line up and so Nakamura decided to make a call with someone who is floors away.

Word Count: 1,791 words

• ▪ • ▪ •

"Huh? Asano-kun joined your team?"

Nakamura hummed in reply, her eyes focused on the screen before her, going through the video recordings she had captured earlier during the previous floor test using one of her lighthouses in hopes of finding anything she could use in the near future. "He and that Sakakibara guy apparently got separated from the rest of their teammates during the previous test."

From the other line, Chiba let out a noise of mild disbelief, which Nakamura couldn't blame him for. For an E-rank Regular, Asano Gakushuu had proved himself to be quite the gifted Light Bearer countless of times that just the mere idea of him being separated from his teammates because of a floor test, with how organized and strong the Asano kid had made his nearly perfect team to be as their leader and strategist, is almost laughable.

But considering that the 28th Floor had nearly caused their own team to lose members for good, only having members to be separated seemed more like a blessing than a misfortune.

Nakamura shuddered at the memory.

"Surprisingly, it was them who first approached us when we arrived at the 29th floor," she mused. "Well... the Asano kid to be exact."

"Seems smart on his part, I suppose," Nakamura suddenly heard doors opening on the other line. She assumed that Chiba must have been taking a night walk when he had received her call, as it was currently evening to where she is right now. "I've heard that you guys were the only team to pass the 28th floor for this wave of Regulars... so I guess it's a no-brainer for that guy."

Nakamura swore she could almost see Chiba shrugging his shoulders just as he said those words.

"It's been days since they've joined, you said? No troubles with them so far?"

"Not at all. They've been surprisingly civil with all of us the past few days." Though there was a voice at the back of Nakamura's mind telling her that it was likely because a certain redheaded Light Bearer wasn't around to provoke the Asano. "They even sometimes help nurse some of the others who are still on bed rest."

Chiba chuckled at the other line. "Well isn't that a sight to see?"

Nakamura had discretely installed lighthouses as if they were security cameras at each room of the rather large apartment they had been sharing since their arrival on the 21st floor. It would only take few clicks on her main lighthouse to retrieve the saved recordings of Asano fussing over their injured teamates as he nurses them.

Snickering, she made a mental note to send some of them to Chiba after she's done with her current work.

"Also we definitely appreciate having a rear-type Light Bearer and a Wave Controller since, you know?" Nakamura fought the urge to roll her eyes. "The only ones we had are now floors behind us after stopping their climb to compete at the Workshop Battle?"

Chiba somewhat hissed at that. "I guess that explains why Karma seems to be in a bad mood when we called last month..."

"Yeah, we weren't in agreement that time," Nakamura sighed deeply, closing the tabs and turning off her lighthouse. She supposed it can wait tomorrow.

"I get why."

If Nakamura was being honest, it wasn't the fact that Group 4 joined the Workshop Battle that got the whole team in disagreement. It was the fact that Group 4 have already been planning to compete since they had become E-ranked and yet had never once told the rest of the team until the day they had to claim tickets to join.

Karma may be Team END's key strategist, but the redheaded Light Bearer still had the infuriating habit of strategizing and implementing plans without consulting with the rest of the team, sometimes even executing said plans on his own without anyone's help nor even knowledge.

Nakamura supposed that it was because Karma had initially been trained as a Fisherman before switching to a Light Bearer, but that can't be an excuse anymore since he had over 8 years to break out of that frontliner habit.

It's annoying, really.

Even when Group 4 had won the Workshop Battle with a powerful weapon as their winning prize, it still left a bitter taste on her mouth.

Nakamura hoped that this will be the last time Karma involves their other teammates into his lone wolf shenanigans. They can't afford to be separated much longer the higher they climb the tower.

Not when they still have yet to close the gap to catch up with Chiba and his team like they have promised.

"How are things at your end?" Nakamura asked, wanting to change the topic.

Chiba let out an exhausted sigh. "A bit too fast, I guess. Especially since Kaho's been antsy the past few months."

"Oh?" Nakamura picked up the nearly forgotten tea on the table next to her, prepared by Hara. "What gives?"

Nakamura barely had any recollection of what Tsuchiya is like in personality, as the last time they had personally met was when they were still fairly new to the tower, during the Floor of Tests, which was already about a decade ago. But from the few times that Chiba had mentioned the Light Bearer in their talks, Tsuchiya seems to be a quick thinker who strategizes and improvises well under pressure, especially during battles.

Perhaps that's why Team DREAM had been ridiculously quick with their climb, Nakamura mused.

Well, aside from the fact that they have an insanely solid team line up.

"I'm not entirely sure as we weren't around when it happened but..." There was a slight hesitation in Chiba's tone as he trailed off. "Ever since we saw her with a girl that I believe was from the Harukawa Family, based from her hair and eye colour, she's been like that for some reason."

A Harukawa huh...

Nakamura wasn't exactly the most interested in the Ten Great Families, let alone their relations with each other. But she was at least aware of the common knowledge about the tension between the Tsuchiya and the Harukawa, seemingly started by the Head of the two families themselves.

Could it be rivalry? Mortal Enemies? Nobody knows. But one thing's for sure was that a Tsuchiya and a Harukawa, whether they are direct descendants of the family Heads or not, do NOT get along.

Which is ironic considering that what the two Great families are known for made it seem like they would be a perfect team - The Tsuchiya Family known for their Defenders and the Harukawa Family for their immense talent in Spear Bearing.

But Nakamura supposed that the Tsuchiya daughter already had Chiba for that, who is a talented Spear Bearer himself.

"I mean both families don't get along anyways," Chiba remarked, echoing Nakamura's thoughts. "But it seemed like they personally knew each other beforehand from the way Kaho talked about that Harukawa girl. They probably met during the Floor of Tests... or even before they got called into the tower. Who knows."

Nakamura had never looked so amused. "Childhood rivals?" She snickered.

Chiba chuckled at the other line. "Perhaps."

"So what happens now?"

"Uh well..." Nakamura could hear some rustling from Chiba's side of the call and she swore she just heard faint screeching right after. The sudden noises concerned her a little, so she asked, "Chiba?"

"Nothing. That was Eiji, probably ate something spicy again," Chiba sounded very unamused and deadpan as he said that. Nakamura could faintly hear arguing at a distance if she listened more carefully. "Anyways, Kaho had a burn out. That's one thing."

"It took that to stop her huh," Nakamura replied with a huff. "How many floors have you guys cleared then?"

"Five in 3 months."

What the fuck.

Nakamura's jaw hung wide open when the words had registered in her mind. A normal team would take at least a year to complete 3-4 floors, nevermind five. This is ridiculous. This team is ridiculous. "Geez... and you guys still managed to keep up with her plans and all..."

"To be fair though, the previous floors have been relatively easy," Chiba waved her off nonchalantly. "I would even say that the 20th Floor was much difficult than these five."

Nakamura sighed, leaning back to her chair. Considering it took Team END a whole year to complete the 20th Floor after numerous fails, she supposed she could believe the Spear Bearer's words this time. "Say, how many of you all are from the Ten Families?"

There was a short pause at the other side. "Well there's Kaho of course, then Miki, Daisuke, Miho, Jungyoon, and then me..." he counted.

If Nakamura was smiling right now, she was sure it would have tightened uncomfortably.

It had always slipped from her mind that Chiba himself is a Ten Great Family member despite not being a direct descendant of the family Head, the family tree he's in known for their Water Users, which Chiba had utilized to form his own spears.

But nevermind that. Team DREAM had 6 members from the Great Families? No wonder they're climbing at an incredibly fast pace.

Chiba really found himself a formidable team after he had gotten separated from Team END.

"But even then, only Miki is a direct descendant. The rest of us are too unimportant to be actually feared of as a whole..." Chiba laughed sheepishly. "Well except for our family names of course."

Nakamura would beg to differ.

"Anyways, we're at the 46th floor right now," He continued the previous topic before Nakamura had made that short intermission. "But we'll be taking an indefinite break until all of us had recovered enough to continue our climb again." He informed.

Knowing where he was getting at, Nakamura sighed for the umpteenth time. Unamused, she replied, "So you want us to catch up quickly while you all are basically dormant then, is that right?"

Shit. There is no way they could clear 17 floors before the monster team springs back into action.

Nakamura could feel the cheeky grin that Chiba must be wearing right now.

"Well you have a direct descendant from the Asano family with you now, right?" His tone sounded almost challenging when he said that. "Should be easy enough."

"You can be really annoying sometimes, Ryuunosuke." Nakamura glared at the visible Pocket floating in front of her, as if she can somehow magically transfer a sort of attack towards the other line. It didn't help that there were chuckles coming out of the mechanical sphere.

"Well, what can I say? I learned from the best."

Maybe she shouldn't have teamed up with him and Maehara at the 2nd Floor.

#i do not have a plot for this au whatsoever #just felt like squeezing this out idk #It's been a while since i finished writing something #let alone in a few hours #this was more focused on that characters themselves rather than just the au #so hopefully the terms and all aren't too confusing #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #assclass #assassination classroom x tower of god #tower of god × assassination classroom #tower of god au #chiba ryuunosuke #ryuunosuke chiba #nakamura rio #rio nakamura #ansatsu kyoushitsu oc #assassination classroom oc #my writing #fanfiction

[myfanfictiongarden]

A Different Horizon- Descendants fanfic

She could practically feel their stares on her, their looks as they pierced through her skin. Or maybe it was just paranoia, although she thought she was far too young for such madness. But on the Isle clocks run differently. Getting better hold of the backpack she was carrying in her hands she took another deep breath as she hushed through the halls with her shoulders tense, hopping no one would block her path to the classroom.

It has been two weeks since school started again, two weeks that she thought things would go back to normal. In the beginning everything did seem like usual, the buildings of Serpent Prep were still shabby and the walls tilted and damp from the sea air, the halls crowded with students and the playground more a place of fight then play. And most importantly nobody had mentioned a certain event involving a certain dark fairy that happened one month ago. At first at least. That didn’t mean that her former partner in petty-crime didn’t take care to leave an lasting effect. Word spreads pretty fast on the Isle, even without phones or WiFi connection. And school ground is the perfect place to turn a ten year olds life to hell. She was sure that slowly but surely the whispers and glances were ment for her, and it made her blood boil hot and her cheeks turn red with anger. She’s not gonna make me cry Uma thought while navigating her way to the classroom, only one turn away now. Luck wasn’t on her side though today. Suddenly she felt a hand gripping her arm, nearly pulling her of balance, wabbing for a second on one leg before she had both feet down again, not ready to loose her footing.

“Look guys, I think I catched a tiny stinking fish!” The boy was two grades older than her and laughing with his lousy minions. She began to wrestle her arm away from him, his grip too tight for her to escape, giggling already turning to laughter around her. Just then she could make out a flash of a red hoodie out of the corner of her eye, before her tormentor went down with a loud thud! as his heavy body hit the ground, she barely from following too.

“Look guys what I pulled on shore, the Big Fat Whale me think!” A jolly voice said.

“You’re dead Hook!!! Wait till I get you!” All scarlet in his face the boy tried to stand up only to fail at the first try, his weight making the task a harder one.

“Oh, now I’m scared! Ya first have to catch me.” Quite amused by the sight Harry made dramatic gestures with his hands before running off with a loud laugh, the older boy finally on his feet right after him (although it was clear he wouldn’t be able to catch the spunky younger one) a choir of laughter echoing through the crowded hall, everybody having fun with the given performance, and Uma glad she was being ignored at the moment. With two more strides she is finally in her classroom and more than happy when the teacher arrives.

Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the book on her table she didn’t notice when the place behind her got taken.

“Hey, that was fun. Right?” He whispers to the teal haired girl in front of him but doesn’t get an reply. 

“Psst. Ye there. Uma. Come on, that was fun, don’t you think?”

Already annoyed by his constant whispering she just rolled her eyes and decides to ignore him, not in the mood for chatting. That boy can be annoying. Just then she can feel her hair being pulled, the tug far from hurting but more than enough to make her battle with herself if she shouldn’t just smack him with her book over his head. He on the other hand while hopping for a reaction of hers was left a bit surprised by the death glare she gave him after finally turning around. It didn’t really scare him, but it did make him feel intimidated. She must have been practicing, and it was more than working. 

Earning herself the rest of the lesson peace and quiet, Uma left the moment the school bell (or rather ship bell) rang and headed for the playground, letting herself down by the climbing construction, anger still boiling in her, tears slowly forming.

“Tick tock got your tongue, or why ye not speaking with me?” Harry was now hanging head over on the construction beside her, a wide grin on his face as he kept swinging. That boy really couldn’t sit still.

“Maybe. It probably tasted better than your hand.” She spit back, knowing his sore point all to well. He is silent for a moment, but decides to ignore the provocation today.

“But I did pull a rather good sport there, don’t you think? And why are you so upset anyway.”

“Are you that dense? Don’t tell me you forgot what happened this summer, because everyone else won’t forget it apparently any time soon. I’m gonna be the laughing stock for the rest of the school year!” She exclaims bitterly before burrowing her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with frustration. For a moment or two there is silence, their corner being pretty deserted and the most kids eating their lunch anyway, and she is already expecting some kind of witty remark from him, but it doesn’t come. 

“You wanna see a super secret hiding place on the school ground?” He asks instead and she can’t help but turn to him, a bit intrigued by this proposal.

“A super secret hiding place here on the school ground?” She asks back in disbelief, for it is not like you can find any really quiet or even secret place on the grounds.

“Yeah, come on.”

He jumps down from where he was hanging moments ago and starts to lead the way, Uma right behind him. They make it past the playground and around the eastern part of the school building, all the way to the back where leaning on the rocks of the hill that shields the school stands an old lighthouse, broken and forgotten. No one really goes there because, for one it’s always windy on this side, and the other reason being that the door is marked with planks of wood as unsafe to enter. Apparently Harry doesn’t mind the possibility of a broken leg. While usually the one always eager to lead the way (she hates being commanded around) right now Uma is more than willing to climb the rather brittle stairs up the old lighthouse a few steps behind him. Soon enough they make it up the spiral stairs, a hole in the ceiling (that probably held a wooden door leading to the look-out that has rotten away) letting weak daylight in. Climbing out to the platform they circle the broken oil lamp and mirror that used to lead ships safe into the harbor, and Uma stops short when her eyes catch sight of the open ocean in front of her. No shabby buildings block the view, no dead trees, no stupid Auradon shore. Just the endless ocean and sky. 

“Wicked good view, right?” Harry asks with a wide grin, quite proud of himself that he made the daughter of the witch that steals voices loose her voice. Uma doesn’t reply and simply sits down at the edge, her feet dingeling down, her head resting between the bars of the railing. This is what freedom must look like she thinks as her eyes try to take in the sight in front of her.

“Once I get hold of my own ship I’ll find a way out and meet my true love.” He says as he leans over the railing. Not able to hold back though Uma starts to laugh, to laugh loud and wicked, so much so that tears nearly come to her eyes, and somewhere in the back of her head a voice remained her that it didn’t end well the last time she did so, but of course being the daughter of one of the most feared villains she did not tend to listen that kind of annoying voice. What did stop her though was the murdering expression she saw on Harry’s face once she managed to stop laughing enough to open her eyes, and the look he gave her made the last laugh stop short in her throat.

“What was that about?”

“You just sounded so much like a prince talking about love that I simply had to laugh.” She explains, her voice still not even.

“My da says the sea is a pirates true home and love. Got a problem with that?” His voice is far from joking and his expression is so murderous that she decides that he may not be that soft as she feared him to be. He turns again around to look at the far of horizon and she does the same, deciding to drop that topic.

They both leave out the next lesson and simply head home when the last bell rings, moving together through the streets before having to part ways at the Warft. From time to time Uma glances over at him trying to make out if he is still angry at her, not that she cares- except she does care. Coming to the place where they have to part ways something in the back of her head gets so loud that she can’t suppress it and teaches out with her hand to pull at his sleeve making him face her.

“That place up there is pretty wicked. We could make it one of our both hiding places. Deal?”

“Deal.” He replies after some thinking and a small smile spreads shyly over both their faces before being covered by two matching smirks. They turn their ways and going home something inside Uma feels lighter than at the beginning of the day.

#I´m alive!!!!!! #and back writing!!!!!!! #goodness did I miss it #descendants #disney descendants #harry #uma #huma #harry x uma #things i like #my writing #my fan fiction

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 15

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger​!

Everyone has some questions.

It’s been a long week.

“No! No, this isn’t okay!” Martin paced a few feet from the others.

Saha frowned. “We thought saying something might mess with how things worked normally-”

“So that makes it okay to not tell me at all? I could’ve disappeared completely!” Martin turned and pointed at Tim. “And you tricked me into doing it with all the ‘oh, aren’t you supposed to clean’ talk!”

Tim took a step back. “I thought we could pull you back before anything happened. You were walking slowly, but it all just-”

“Oh, yes, that makes me feel much better!”

Tim winced. Out of the three, guilt was the most plain on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It was my idea,” Sasha interjected. “I convinced them this was the best way to get results in the time crunch we have. And I still think it was, for what it’s worth.”

Martin looked away from her, crossing his arms. “Good to know where we stand, then. Glad I could be a data point for you.”

Back by the couch, Jon said, “This is to help you. We had no intention of letting harm come to you-”

“Who said it didn’t?!”

For a minute the others said nothing. Martin filled the silence with large, shuddering breaths. That was a thought, wasn’t it?

Eventually, Jon rubbed the back of his hand and asked, “Are you… do you feel any different?”

“How should I know? Apparently this has been going on every week for months.” The final break in his voice was horribly audible. Martin laughed, dragging a hand down his face.

Months. How much time was wiped from his memory? Where had he been going? Were there other places he would’ve disappeared to if they hadn’t stopped him midway? God, his skull was splitting itself in two.

“You should sit back down.” Jon placed a hand on top of the couch, his brows knit together. “You’re right. We should have told you beforehand.”

Martin saw Jon’s sorry face and faltered despite himself. Still, he glowered. “Yeah. You should have.” Glancing at the other two, he retook his place on the couch and threaded his fingers together.

Sasha sighed. “I just thought it would be our last shot at finding something and getting more time. You need this figured out more than any of us.”

“Very convenient for you, then,” Martin spat, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He looked down at the scuffs on his boots. “I get it. It’s not okay, but I get it. Now I know… something?”

“We know more, certainly, though I can’t say it’s all that much.” Jon leaned back against his arm of the couch. “One moment you were walking up the steps, but then instead of turning you walked straight into the wall. Ten minutes pass, you come out and continue up as if you hadn’t noticed anything.”

“Which I didn’t, because I have no memory of any of it.” Martin rested his chin on his fist. “God, ten minutes.”

“You’re telling us,” Tim said, taking the other couch arm. “Listen, don’t think we weren’t freaking out the whole time.”

Martin snorted disdainfully. “Great. Clearly I’m in safe hands.”

“Hey, we really did try, but the wall was solid just as you went through it.” Sasha shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “My idea just needed more time for workshopping, time we don’t have.”

“Well, if this doesn’t get your boss invested, he definitely has something else going on,” Martin said. “Impossible spaces with invisible entrances that lure people in for a weekly cleaning can’t be that common.”

“You’d be surprised at how mundane impossible rooms can feel.” Jon tapped his knee. “But the lack of intent or memory on your part is too much to ignore, even if we leave out the, ah, contractual obligations.”

Martin accepted this with a tired nod. “Okay, so, what next? Do I just… I’m not going to have to try and go back in, am I?”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Tim said. “That’s for later, when we hopefully have more time and resources. Trying to mess with the… the normal processes of this place, that’s something we aren’t going to try yet. Observation first, then theorizing, etcetera.”

Sasha hummed in agreement. “But we did discuss Naomi’s message before we came in today, and we all agreed that with her testimony it would be less of a risk to try the panel. With everyone present of course.”

Martin perked up. “Wait, really? Tim, you’re okay with this?”

“Not quite the word, but I’m leaning much more toward the ‘trapped person’ theory than my mimic idea. At the very least, I think…” Tim seemed to struggle for words, then set his jaw. “I think Naomi needs the truth.”

--

“The plan is to minimize the time spent communing with it,” Jon said, gathering his notes. “The yes-or-no method was a good start. We’ll see if it retained the echoed words and work from there, using questions we prepared ahead of time.”

Sasha chimed in. “We think alternating speakers will keep any side effects from getting to one person too quickly. There are also a few words we might attempt to, well, feed it, if necessary for communication.”

They continued half-explaining, half-talking to themselves. Martin got the impression that they were attempting to keep him present, as if zoning out was even an option for him anymore.

Soon enough, Jon’s hand was on the panel. Tim stood nearby and alternated between crossing his arms and flipping a pencil between his fingers. Sasha sat waiting in a chair with an old handheld camera (“Can’t put it on mobile recordings. Only ancient techniques allowed for this stuff”). Through the viewer, Jon and Tim were just in frame with the panel in the center.

Martin didn’t know what to do with himself and chose to keep his hands in his pockets and stand by Sasha.

“Let’s hope they wake up faster this time.” Jon waited for Sasha’s nod, then twisted the dial. A moment passed in the silence, and then-

“HELP?” Martin’s voice boomed, the edges of it rough and distorted, morphing the question into an unbearable scream. No one answered, the overwhelming sound bouncing around them with such force as to make Martin’s eardrums want to burst.

Again, as the reverberations began to wane, “PLEASE?”

Just as Martin could feel another boom coming, Jon gripped the panel and shouted, “Can you hear us?!”

And with that, no other outburst came. Jon’s voice echoed in that strange, elongated way until there was nothing left but the breaths Martin refused to release.

In Martin’s more true-to-life tone came a simple, “Yes.”

“Much better,” Jon gasped out. He straightened, making a show of brushing himself off. “We can get on with things, then, if you don’t mind.”

Picking up his notepad, Jon began, “We are researchers investigating on behalf of the current lighthouse employee with whom you recently made contact with. We believe we know your identity, but we would like to confirm some personal information as a precaution. Is that amenable?”

As they waited, Tim and Sasha composed themselves. Between this and Jon’s calm demeanor, Martin suddenly felt very silly about how quickly his conversation had spiraled into panic and confusion.

Actually, no, being stuffy and professional at a possible ghost was silly. Incredibly so,  and the longer Martin watched the harder it became not to interrupt the process with snickering. Jon especially was making such a bold attempt to not only sound but look serious to a person who couldn’t see him.

“Yes.” Martin chose to believe the being was just as dumbfounded by how this was going so far.

“Excellent.” Jon then began to list numbers 0 to 9 in order, allowing each one to be fully absorbed by the lighthouse walls. “If you’ve got all that, can you please tell me the number of your mobile phone?”

Sure enough, Jon’s voice recited a series of numbers, familiar enough by now that Martin was convinced after only the second digit.

Tim slumped, though whether in relief or something else Martin couldn’t tell. “Well, sorry for making you wait, but you can’t judge us for being careful. We can’t talk for long periods of time for safety reasons, but we’ll try to get a lot out of this first go.”

Tim sifted through some of his notes as his echo faded. “Your vocabulary is limited, so for now we’ll stick to yes and no. First: are you in a location that can be described using words?”

“Yes. Quiet.”

“Okay.” Tim scratched the answer down. “So the place is quiet. Can you tell where we’re coming in from?”

There was a longer pause. “No. From? Up. Downstairs? Outside? Here.”

Sasha clicked her tongue. “Rules out a more physical location. Not surprising. As far as you can tell, do you have a physical body?”

“Half.” A moment, then quickly, “Now. Yes. From? This.”

Martin leaned back, his voice falling to a whisper. “He doesn’t mean like… this, does he?”

“If talking helps give him corporeality, it’s a good sign that he’s telling us up front,” Tim replied, his reassuring tone not quite matching the look on his face.

Martin spoke up, unable to stop himself. “Hi? Um, sorry for leaving you like that, but I’m not really a professional at this? Anyway, earlier today I learned that when I go upstairs for cleaning I unknowingly walk into a secret room? Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes. No. No. Me. Worry. Then?” After a few seconds, the thought continued, “No. Me. No. Me. Okay? NO. ME.”

From across the room, Tim dropped his pencil, letting it roll until it hit the wall. “He’s-”

“Yes, I understood,” Jon said, tapping his foot with a new energy. “You mean Naomi.”

“Yes. Naomi. Naomi. Okay? Worry?”

“Well, yeah, of course she’s worried!” Tim half-laughed out. “I mean, yes, she’s okay. We got a message from her yesterday. She’s the reason we ended up talking to you.”

“Okay.” The being who was almost certainly Evan Lukas paused. “Okay. Questions?”

The shift in mood caught Martin off-guard. Jon had started to pace. Sasha was scribbling something down with her free hand. Tim had changed gears entirely, scooping his pencil off the floor and flashing Martin a thumbs up.

It (probably, definitely) wasn’t a monster according to the professionals. This wasn’t part of the horror house that was his workplace. They were doing something.

Sasha remained seated, keeping the camera as steady as she could while flipping through her own notes. “Okay, so. Thank you for offering up extra confirmation. Back to a previous topic, the place on the stairs. Naomi mentioned experiencing the moment you went in. Did you ever attempt to go in with any sort of recording device?”

“No. Here. Before? Think. It.”

“Okay, safe to assume that’s all you know about that part. Would you say you ended up wherever you are by accident?”

“No.”

Martin squeezed his eyes shut. He had assumed as much, partially to take comfort in Evan’s fate not being a random happenstance of bizarre construction that could happen to him, but-

“Someone did this to you.” Sasha continued.

“Yes.”

Before responding, Sasha lowered the camera and switched it off. “Your family did this. I assume it was Peter.” The final word sank into the quiet.

“PETER.”

Everyone covered their ears as Sasha’s voice was thrown back, twisted and loud and furious. The table shook, papers scattering off its surface in the shockwave. Jon stumbled away from the panel and tripped backwards onto the floor. Shaking off the buzzing in his head, Martin hurried over to help him to his feet, Tim joining him a moment later.

Sasha walked to the panel and placed a hand on the dial. “Look, Evan? We will help you, but if you keep doing that we’re going to shut the channel off.”

“...From? Here?”

“Yes, that’s the plan. But you yelling is much louder for us and gets you nowhere. Save it for when you have someone worthwhile to scream at. Understand?”

“Soon. Please?” Martin’s voice implored, disjointed and quiet.

After being pulled to his feet, Jon legitimately brushed himself off and fixed his tie. “I’m not sure if time means much where you are, but yes. We will help you as soon as we can.”

“But,” Tim said, rubbing his temple. “We’ll probably need to break for now. Even without the shouting, something about this place messes with your head, and talking to you is no exception.”

As Tim spoke, Martin finally paid attention to the stabbing pain behind his eyes. “Ah, right, I forgot this was part of it.”

Predictably, Jon and Sasha just looked at the other two with concern. Jon cleared his throat. “Yes, perhaps now that we have a baseline of communication, it would be good for all of us to think about next steps.”

Tim nodded. “Evan? We’re going to turn the dial off for a while so the echoes don’t break our skulls open. Sit tight, and we’ll be back soon to cover what you remember, all right?”

“...Okay.”

And Tim turned the dial.

--

After all the excitement and goings-on, it was only ten in the morning by the time they made it downstairs.

For the sake of a complete observation, Martin finished his normal janitorial duties. The air was thick with tension as the others kept watch for changes in his demeanor or direction, but nothing happened. Before long he was stowing his supplies into the closet downstairs and collapsing onto his desk.

Tim leaned against the table. “If it makes you feel any better, we won’t tell if you slack off.”

“Yes, you’re all very good at not telling people things.”

“Hey, from now on it’s full disclosure. I promise, I’ll never let Sasha convince me of anything ever again.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and looked past Tim from the far end of the table. “I am sorry, whether or not you believe me. If something like that comes up again, we’ll find a way to handle it differently. But like you said, now you know.”

“Yeah. Now I know.”

Across from Tim, Jon sat at his laptop quietly typing away as the conversation unfolded around him. There was a twinge of irritation at the back of Martin’s mind, but his head was killing him and, well, there were more important things for all of them to be thinking about.

The numbers swam in front of Martin and he pushed the paperwork aside, folding his arms under his head. He probably wasn’t going to have his job much longer.

“So, once your day is about done and the headaches clear, we’ll check in with Evan and see if the sky is messed up. Two-for-one,” Tim said with little enthusiasm. “My bet is we’ll look out the window and see Simon Fairchild falling past us like a screaming ragdoll.”

At some point, Martin did just fall asleep at his desk. Every once in a while, he would wake up to see another hour had passed with the three researchers still seated at the table. He managed to stay up long enough to eat his lunch around noon, but after that he was out like a light. His cohorts may have been used to the sort of hours and excitement of the past week, but there never seemed to be enough sleep for him.

They were nice enough to leave him undisturbed.

--

“Sorry, let me see. You went to work that day. Peter was there, and at some point he took you upstairs for some reason?” Sasha said, writing something down.

“Yes. He. Needed. Something.” The mix of voices had an almost computer-like quality after a while now that they’d started getting proper sentences.

They’d been working for a bit, trying to fill in some word gaps while probing Evan’s memory. Martin and Tim sat on the couch, facing purposefully away from the windows. Sasha was back in her chair, while Jon stood nearby and kept an eye on the outside.

Martin’s shift had ended about ten minutes before. Apparently whatever it was the woman had alluded to, it was meant to be happening ‘later today’, but both up- and downstairs so far had been… nothing. The same gloomy sky down below, the same bright expanse up above. It was as normal as things could’ve been.

“And what was it he needed?”

“He. Needed. Me. Working. Upstairs? Something. Off. Smug. Bastard.”

“God, he is.” Martin chuckled. Did Evan count as a coworker? This felt like a coworker thing to talk about.

Sasha tapped her pen to paper. “Did he say anything else once you actually went upstairs? Anything about plans or reasoning?”

“Family? Disappointed. Normal. Stuff.”

“And then what happened? Were you pushed into something? Did you see anything before things changed?”

“No. Smug. Talking. Then. Here.”

“Were you facing the windows, or toward the panel?”

“Windows. Not. See. Panel.”

Martin would have to get home, soon. Should he have been running home the moment he had the chance to make sure his mother was all right? What if this thing happened while he was still at work? He should’ve called earlier that day, now that he was thinking about it, but now it was too late. He wasn’t about to walk downstairs alone for some privacy.

Would asking the others to come home with him after this be weird? Yes, that would be weird. He could text Tim if there was a problem. If it was big enough of an event, them being around wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway.

Would a timetable have been so terrible? A nice ‘Simon said look at the sky around noon-ish’?

As Tim and Sasha alternated with questions, Jon kept glancing out the window and clenching his jaw. Even if Martin was still miffed about that morning, the sight made his stomach twist in sympathy.

If Simon had some sort of plan, Martin wished he would get it over with already.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #evan lukas #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #jonmartin

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 2)

Rain beats against the side of the lighthouse, it comes down in sheets as Zuko yanks her inside. “Zuko, no!” She calls, her voice is oddly desperate and she can’t say why it is so. “I need to go back out there.”

Zuko flinches. “For what?” He asks. She can see the concern etched on his face. She pries herself from his grasp.

“I--” She starts. “There’s someone out there.”

“Since when do you care?” He asks, “even if you do care, what do you think you can do for them?”

He is right, she knows he is, every logical part of her knows it. The ship is too distant for her to do anything but reach an arm out and roar with the wind only to have her words swept away by the storm and pulled out to sea. But the feeling, that nagging desire, isn’t of logic. It is something far less rational, something rooted wholly in instinct and yearning.

“This is about Sokka isn’t it?” He persists, he is gripping her shoulders again, trying to keep her from leaving the house again. She tries to shake his grip off. “You’ve got to stop this! He’s gone, Azula.”

“It’s not about him.” She says as the wind howls against the window and rattles the door in its frame. But it is about him, deep down she knows. Why else would it matter?

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” His eyes widened. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re trying to…”

“No!” She argues quickly. “I’m not. I don’t want to die, because he isn’t dead. Even if he was, I wouldn’t…”

“Then why are you doing this?” He gestures to the door.

“Because I saw a ship, it was…”

“There’s no one out there!” He shouts

“There is! There was...” She insists with an almost frantic gesture to the window. The wind throws the door open, her already sopping hair whips in her face and clings to her cheeks and forehead.

“Shit!” Zuko shouts before throwing himself at the door. “Help me with this.” He huffs.

With haste, Azula adds her weight. Even with the two of them leaning as heavily as they can against the door, it still threatens to bang open. “Zuzu,” she says through gritted teeth. “I told you that we needed to get a new door.”

“With what money?” He replies, voice just as strained. “Last I checked dad, spent that fund on his drinking habit.”

Azula frowns. It had been her job to keep him from doing that. Her job, because he is more inclined to listen to her than Zuko. At her own failure her body slackens. It is just enough leeway for the wind to burst the door open.

A dull ache is the last thing she registers as her body is thrown to the floor. Zuko toppled over her. She isn’t awake long enough to tell if he is also out cold. Hurricane waters rush to wet the entry room.

She wonders if dad would have wanted this. If he would change things if he’d known just how much pressure he has put upon them. If he’d known that he would be drunk in a sailor’s bar while his daughter lie sprawled on the floor with her forehead bloodied, storm kicking up a merciless howl just outside.

.oOo.

Lightning illuminates the interior of the Deep Dubloon Saloon, it is the only light to be had now that the storm has raged enough to throw power out. It’s winds shake the entire foundation of the building, not that it has a sturdy structure to begin with.

Ozai sits with a wooden tankard in his hand. He hasn’t seen a storm like this since the one that stole his wife from him. He stares unseeingly into the nearly empty mug. He almost laughs aloud, it is a storm like this that has him sitting upon the bar stool he inhabits. And it would seem that the ocean seeks to remind him of exactly why he is there.

“Help me with these, will ye?” Requests Khozen. His long silver hair is tangled by rain water and harsh wind. He pants as he chucks another sandbag outside and curses the weathermen for their short sight and lack of warning.

Ozai has known Khozen for many years. The man had been a pirate of sorts, he still has a parrot on his shoulder, though the creature is now safely secured away from the storm in a cage behind the bar. Next to it is a tank housing his iguana.

Ozai downs the rest of his drink and makes his way towards Khozen’s emergency supply of sandbags. He sees no point in it, the sandbags can only do so much for a building that is as ill prepared and rickety as the Deep Dubloon.

If Zuko and Azula could see the state of the bar… He knows that they have been wishing on stars for it to be blown to splinters. From the looks of it, they will have their wish.

“This be a mighty storm.” Khozen grumbles. “I’d hate to be at sea now.” His eyes go wide as he recalls that his ship is probably being thrashed mercilessly against the docks, sails ripping, boards splintering, perhaps a bolt of lightning has set it aflame. “The mightiest I’ve seen in…”

“Nearly a decade.” Ozai finishes as he hoists a sandbag atop the one he’d just laid down. “You’re lucky that your bar isn’t as close to the harbor as some of them.” He is lucky that his favorite bar is that much safer.

Rain pelts him mercilessly as he carries out his task. His eyes journey down the road and closer to the ocean. The lighthouse is a glow, but he can barely see its beacon through such a thick curtain of rainfall and mist. He has the decency to consider, for the first time, that he should be there. He wonders how his children are faring against the storm. His stomach lolls like those waves at the though that a storm could claim two more that he holds dear.

“C’mon yee big ass, we don’t got time fer starin’ at the sea, not when she’s a brewin’.”

A brewin’ is only scratching the surface. Palm trees bend nearly to the floor, shutters slam against windows or tear off entirely, water rushes to fill streets ready to was cars away, and lawn decor, umbrellas, and lawn chairs sail through the air as though they weigh nothing at all. He can hear from the inside, the buzzing drone of the battery powered weather radio.

He can do nothing now, an attempt to reach the siblings would be certain death. Were he any manner of good father, he would have done it anyhow. But he had been a poor husband and he is a worse father.

He picks up another sandbag and tosses it onto the pile.

.oOo.

Azula’s head throbs. There is a wetness on her face, a wetness all over. Her hair and clothes are soaked through and through. She jerks at the sound of a loud bang. She pulls herself up. The door is slamming in and out in the hands of a wind that is emitting a high pitched scream. Thunder roars, a battle cry, a warning that it is going to seal lives away again, just as it had all those years ago. Once again she and her family are on the frontlines.

She jolts again; Zuzu! At first she doesn’t think that he is moving. That he isn’t going to. She calls out to him but her words are lost beneath the unceasing torrent of raindrops, wind gusts, and thunder.

It doesn’t matter to terribly because he stirs and sits himself up, eyeing her with a measure of horror before coming to her side. They both shudder. “You almost went out there.” He mentions, nearly too quiet to be heard.

One door to the head and a nap later she fully processes the weight of what she’d almost done and she shudders all over again. “Sorry.” She mumbles. She isn’t sure to whom the apology is for, herself or Zuko.

He pulls her into a tight hug. He hasn’t hugged her in years. He holds her firmly and strokes her hair. Lightning briefly halos their silhouettes as the rain floods in.

“We have to do something about that door, Zuzu.” She comments. It highlights her point by slamming back against the wall, the bang echos with a roll of thunder.

“How?” He frowns.

Azula stands and looks about the room. She points to the sofa. “We’ll just rearrange the furniture.”

“Father isn’t going to like that.”

“Father should be here if he cares that much.” She shrugs. “Besides, we can move it, knock it over, and blame it on the storm.” She pauses. “We’ll probably have it back in place by the time he gets home.”

“You’re right.” Zuko agrees.

As she moves towards the sofa, she steals a glance out the window, at the furious ocean. Ribbons of lightning decorate the sky in faster intervals and rain slides off roofs, pushed by the wind, they fall heavier on the ground gathering in large puddles on sand and on the docs. In a particularly powerful finger of lightning, she sees it again, the ship. She can barely make it out before it plunges back into the water until only its sails are seen.

The power surges back on, flickering softly before plunging back into darkness. Azula backs away from the window and tries to put it out of her mind. Though images of Sokka’s smile play back in her mind as she heaves furniture. Interspersed between them are flashes of his face, but waterlogged by the ocean, barnacles and kelps clinging to it while fish work between eye sockets. Azula doubles her attention on securing the lighthouse.

For their efforts they have a sofa, a bookshelf, and a small table to hold the door shut as the hurricane batters the tabby walls of the lighthouse. Feeling entirely drained, Azula drops herself onto the remaining available sofa. Zuko is close behind. They sit in silence listening to the ruthless onslaught of rain and the roaring crash of the waves against the cliffside. She finds herself grateful that their lighthouse is perched upon a cliff high enough that the water can't reach them. Still, in the back of her mind, she fears that a particularly powerful strand of lighting may blast their seemingly sturdy perch into the restless tides below. She doesn’t know much about the tides, but she does know that they won’t hesitate to bash her bloody against the rocks as they tear her apart.

She thinks of the ship, overtaken and at their mercy. She clutches the sunstone starfish pendant that hangs upon her neck. She hasn’t taken it off since he’d given it to her.

“I doesn’t look like there’s too much damage.” Azula notes. The lighthouse is designed to withstand. The townsfolk are quite fond of reminding everyone that, “when the ocean takes the town, Sea Candle Lighthouse will remain.” She supposes that she should be glad that her home is allegedly secure.

“Yeah, we can worry about the flooding after the storm.” Zuko agrees.

She lays her head back and observes the spiraling staircase that lead to the uppermost part of the lighthouse. Sometimes she and Zuzu grab sleeping bags and sleep there were they can stare at the stars and the ocean. Tonight they will remain on the couch, content to ignore the storm as much as they can. Though night won’t fall for another six hours at least.

“Is your head okay?” Zuko asks.

Azula touches the knot on her head. “Yeah, I think so. Your’s?”

“I didn’t hit my head. But my elbows are bruised.”

She lights up a few candles and thinks of the stormy days when their mother had read them stories. Those days had been so brief.

“I hope father is enjoying his drinks.” Zuko scowls.

She understands his resentment and hatred. But Azula can’t bring herself to share it; frankly she feels pity for the man. Perhaps even empathy--Sokka was supposed to have returned months ago. He has been declared dead by law. Lost at sea. She doesn’t believe it, not quite. They haven’t searched long enough to say so, they haven’t found wreckage. But people at school look at her the same way the fishermen and dock workers looked at Ozai after Ursa’s death.

“Let’s talk about something else, Zuzu.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Zuko #Ozai #Fanfiction

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

ProRogue

@ravenfan1242​ - Same Prompt List!  I did combine these two, but I do have Wally Raven in the works. This is a little different. I took some liberties with the NightRae of it all… (Please don’t kill me.) I do hope you like it!

——————

Bubbles ascended to the surface. One by one. In a slow succession…

Pale lips parted, effervescing, as water pressure roiled in her eardrums.

Purple hair pendulous all around her.

As if she was frozen.

Suspended.

In this moment. Though time was not.

The seconds were steadily, surely, running out. And she was running out - of air.

She wasn’t unaware of that fact.

But she made no effort to leave. Or to free herself from confinement - a watery prison.

Still she stayed. And still, she stayed.

Floating.

In the tub… In a pool… In the ocean…

It didn’t matter. She was still underwater.

Drowning.

As she went deeper down, unconscious thoughts floated up.

I think…

I forgot how to breathe…

…but if I did, he would probably just…

Do it for me…

Her eyelids scrunched as she struggled now. The increasing pressure of the watery depths kept them shut. To keep her blind.

“No…”

But it was futile.

At last they opened, pupils constricting… to keep out the sight - the painful reality.

Raven wheezed as she woke. Fighting. Gasping. Pushing off his large arms, and unbinding them from her body. Shoving, until at last, she was freed. Her legs dangled off the side of the bed as she sat up. Her back to him, she panted, wiping sweat off her clammy face.

“Raven…?” Dick rasped, turning over in the sheets to face her. She moved her head a fraction to see his eyes were shut. “You… ‘kay?” He mumbled as he strained to open his eyes. His large hand reached out and it began to toil. Searching the sheets for her.

She watched his fingers. Cautiously edging herself in the opposite direction. She just had to get away. A moment to herself. Just a minute. To breathe. To think.

Couldn’t she just be for a minute?

It hadn’t yet given up its pursuit. Raven continued to stare at his arm’s attempt to bring her in. “Yes… Dick.” The empath insisted with a brisk edge to her voice. She tried to soothe him back to sleep by assuring him. He relaxed the second she placed a hand on top of his. “I’m fine - I just… need some air.”

“Alright, hurry back.” He said sleepily. Blissful dreams. Delirious happiness. Completely unaware. Was Dick Grayson.

He had no clue. Not even an inkling - of her feelings when she woke up in the middle of the night. Her feelings in the dark. He certainly didn’t know anything about them.

Her… Hesitation.

Her… Suffocation.

Her… Languishment.

He was blind to it all.

Raven sighed, drawing up her shoulders with the vastness of the exhale. The sheer exhaustion of it all. She slunk away, barefoot to kitchen.

Where a visitor stood. And it was a welcome distraction.

A reprieve.

The darkened outline turned to face her. A smile etching onto those lips. “Let's talk. You look like you need it.”

A shaky nod and her anxious expression washed away.

And that was how Raven found herself in the kitchen sitting before him. At an ungodly hour. The red dome-shaped mask propped next to his cup of tea.

“Between then and here.” She started to say. “I think I forgot something. Something important. I just feel…” Transfixed by the pattern of tiles on the ground, as her pupils traced the black ones in a diagonal line. Much like a bishop would move. Chess. How she missed chess. Gods, when was the last time she even took out her chessboard? Or did something just for her?

She knew how she felt.

She knew exactly how she felt. But, she couldn’t say it. It was not the kind of thing one could vocalize. Not in mixed company. Not to a best friend or a confidant. Not to a lover or a partner. Not even to one’s self. Not. Ever.

Raven swallowed.

She felt…

That were pieces - and these little bits of her, and they were just slipping away... Into the nullity. Like wisps of smoke from incense sticks. Or… Raven’s lips parted, her vision blurring and unfocusing in front of her now.

Steam from a cup of tea. Like the one she currently had clutched tightly in front of her. She was losing herself. There was no Raven anymore. Now, it was always Raven and. Raven and Nightwing. Raven and Nightwing are out on patrol. Raven and Nightwing are in Titans Tower… Rachel and Dick. Rachel and Dick are out on a date. Rachel and Dick are in their room…

Raven and Nightwing. Rachel and Dick.

It was too much. Too much.

“You just feel…?” Jason urged her, gesturing with his cup.

She was impinging upon a topic that was flowing straight into dangerous waters. And she knew it. And he knew it. “I’m sorry, it’s late. I don’t even know what you’re doing here… Don’t know what I’m doing here. Or what I'm saying.”

The reply he gave, “Yes, you do.” Was simple. But also complex. She watched him as he spoke. Wondering if it really was that simple. “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing here… I’m glad I came, and that I could catch you.” Curious… Auspicious. Suspicious. Though, one always had to be careful around Jason Todd. “Besides after you guys move out of here, I won’t be seeing much of either of you, will I?”

“I suppose…” Raven couldn’t bring herself to offer much more than that. “I suppose that’s true.” He was right. After they moved out. After they left. It would just be her and him.

Alone.

“You guys are still moving out, right?” His aquamarine lighthouse was searching for her. Probing.

She bit back. “You sure are asking a lot of questions.” Her hand curled to clench the porcelain handle. “One would actually think you care.”

Jason blinked as his face settled into a knowing smile. “That’s because I do.” He murmured. “I’m catching up with an old friend. We’re friends.”

“That’s not exactly what I would call us.”

“Fine, Raven.” He said calmly. “I’ll just skip the part where I ask you to confirm the existence of said friendship…” His lips were a puckering pink, as he sipped his tea. “But, friends care about each other - I do want to know if you guys are okay.”

“Of course we are.” Raven replied flatly. Doing her best not to give anything else away. Though it was redundant now. “And yes, we are moving out.”

“Oh good.” The sound of his voice was distorted by the white mug raised to his lips.

“Yes, it’s very good.” Raven hadn’t meant for it to sound so argumentative. It just slipped out that way.

And she was tired.

“Good.” He repeated, giving her nothing. In his tone. In his words. In his expression.

She tried to relax. “Dick’s great.” Raven nodded. “And I’m - good. Everything is great.”

“Right. Great.” He slid his middle finger down the side of the mug.

“Great.” She watched her face distorting the surface of the sleepy-time tea, as she leaned over and blew on her cup.

“Then, you probably should get back to that.” Jason said nonchalantly. Even shrugging.

“Probably.” She echoed. Raven was wondering why she was even continuing to pursue this, when it was clear he didn’t want to talk.

He sneered for the briefest second. And licked his lips, before he muttered. “And you probably shouldn’t be talking to his brother this late - wearing that.” He pointed to the short negligee of mulberry silk and midnight lace. She blanched, as if she hadn’t realized. The robe, too had slid open. Raven had worn it earlier. Dick had commented on it. Moments afterward, she forgot she was wearing it. Raven slid up the right strap, but made no moves to cover herself further. “You always dress up for him?”

Scarlet climbed up her neck to her cheeks. “Not sure that’s any of your business.” She argued. “Besides, I was stifling - sweating… I was sweating in there.” She found herself stammering and blinking a few more times than necessary. “It was hot in the room - our room. It was hot. And I’ve cooled off now… Good night, Jason.” She decided at that moment - regardless of his implications or suggestions - to take her leave. The chair screeched abruptly against the floor. And she stumbled, as she pulled herself to her feet.

Raven shook her head as she marched down the darkened hallway. Slowing her pace the second the doors closed behind her. Why would she try to talk to him? To get advice from Jason? He just seemed like he wanted to judge her. She hadn’t seen him since before the announcement. So she knew, he hadn’t heard. She meant to tell him about it tonight, but after that she hardly saw the point.

He had just listened to her, yes. But when he talked, it was almost as though he was bating her. Wanting her to reveal something, besides her lingerie. The short nightdress, that he had been so unaffected by, yet he still felt the need to comment about it. What was with that? She gazed absentmindedly out the bay window she happened upon, after walking straight past the room where Dick slept. For the second time.

Suddenly a warm arm reached out from the dimly lighted hallway and brushed her shoulder. “Raven -” She whipped around quickly, the sheer sleeve falling down her arm.

“Jason, geez!” Raven exclaimed. Managing to maintain her usual low voice after she took a breath. “What are you doing? You can’t keep sneaking up on people.”

“Hi. Pot. Kettle. Need I say more?” Jason drawled. “Since when can anyone sneak up on you?”

“Since… I’m a mess…” Her tone was exasperated. “Or hadn’t you heard?”

Thick digits descended through the thick hair around his face. “Raven, I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.” Jason paused. His tall, muscular form sagged under the gravity of what he said to her next. “Things are hard, even when you get what you want, huh, Raven?”

What she wanted?

“What I want?” Her voice sounded empty. Directionless. Her head tilted as she peered back at Jason, as though asking for guidance.

“Mr. Perfect?” Jason elaborated, eyebrows raised to punctuate. Clearly, he expected her to agree.

Which she did. “Dick’s certainly perfect…”

“Even with the stick up that ‘perfect’ ass.” The dark-haired man added for good measure.

Raven barely acknowledged the jab. “Someone perfect who adores you…” She whispered. Walking up to the window. “Who would do anything and everything for you. Who wouldn’t want that?” She had that, along with sleep deprivation night after night. The tossing and turning. After all this time, it was getting to her. She wasn’t even sure what she was saying. Who she was talking to. Was she was even talking to Jason at this point? She didn't think…she was. Was she?

She saw his image slid in behind hers in the glass suddenly. The deep voice spoke. “Who wouldn’t want someone who’s perfect? ”

“Perfect…” The purple hair fell behind her shoulders, as she lifted her head. Drawing herself to full height. Regardless, she was still dwarfed by him, overtaken. They watched each other. For several long seconds. There was nothing but the sound of the air filtering itself through vents above them. Without another word. Her arms were ascending, up to his face to guide him right to her mouth. The rough hands laying over hers. The pale cheeks tilting to the side as her eyelids drew to close.

But then, they opened. He reeled her back holding her, steadfast, as their lips hovered just outside the range of the impending kiss.

A million wordless conversations passing between them. She smoothed over the bristles of his stubble, as he clutched her.

The distance between them disappeared right into his mesmerizing mouth. His softness was satisfying. The taste of lemongrass in the lukewarm tea on his lips was delicious. She groaned low and ardent in her throat, nothing short of desperate to feel the tautness pressed up to her body. As her palms parted the unruly waves of onyx, Raven didn’t stop siphoning the air out of his lungs. Not for a second. She clutched him tighter and tighter, as their tongues tasted. Twisted.

Finally.

It was like she could breathe.

At last, she had air. His air. It was sustaining her.

The push of his lips each time they connected, propelled her. Their lips enfolding. And flattening. Harder and harder. Large hands gripped her curves. Slinging her thigh over his hip. Jason’s hands were right there on her lower back, circling the dimples, as she dragged him further into the darkness with her. The feel of his hardness brushing the skimpy panties that she wore. Raven clawed his biceps. Whispering sanctions, her nose slithering straight down scars. On his neck. His arms.

“You know… I only mentioned the outfit because… I like it.” He murmured hotly. “It's sexy.” She was grateful for the admission.

That he couldn’t resist.

“Jason…” She hissed. His fingers thrust under the sides of the silk top. The pressure and heat of the hands on stomach. Skimming the skin to tease and kneading it to please. Upward they traveled. To cup her chest. Jason’s touch brought her to another place. It was mind-numbing. So much so, that she could ignore any guilt. Almost. She tried to shove down any of her unconscious thoughts. But in the back of her mind, she could remember Dick’s comment from earlier - when he saw her.

“You always look so…” he whispered.

“-gorgeous…”

An echo…? In her head. Of Dick’s words and Jason’s…

“In that color.”

Suddenly, they were the same.

One voice.

“Stop. Stop. No.”

This was wrong.

“Raven, what’s wrong?”

Would everyone stop asking her if she alright tonight? Of course she wasn’t.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Raven barked out a harsh peel of laughter. “Look at us? The brother and the girlfriend…” She held up a quivering pale hand. “Who are we trying to convince?” The sliver of light glimmered off of a modest band. The ill-fitted silver band slipped around to reveal a decently sized rock.

He paused for a while. Jason’s hands on hips as he shook his head. Even through the dark, she distinctly saw him mouth the word, wow. Over… and over. And over. Lost in his own head. His own thoughts. Pacing…

The ring didn’t fit.

It was too big. He had offered to resize it, many times. But, by then, she had just lost more weight. Dick thought he knew why.

“For the wedding?” Dick asked, looking concerned. His arms caging her in, as he rested on either of her shoulders. He insisted, his voice a whisper, “Raven… you’re already the picture-perfect bride.“ Then, he smiled and kissed her cheek. "Perfect.”

Even if they did get it resized, it would never fit. Not really.

Jason completed one last angry, uneven rotation before he spoke, a bitter edge to his inflection. “I don’t understand… I don’t understand - how this. You… and him.”

“It’s called… a proposal.” Raven explained, through her gritted teeth. Gritted because she was annoyed with her own antics. She was the one who didn’t understand what it meant to be someone’s fiancée. That was clear. “I meant to tell you earlier…”

“No.” Jason argued. “I may not have known - but you did. How does that make it any different from twenty minutes ago?”

Her lips parted, before her retort. “Don’t tell me you want me to feel guilty about this.”

“No, I don’t.” He said quickly. And he took a breath before he began in a low, serious voice. His eyes never leaving her own. “A proposal isn’t a marriage. Engagements break… Even marriages aren’t forever.”

“Don’t. You. dare.”

“I do. And I will.” He was adamant. Jason’s jaw stiffened. “I will always you give tough love, Roth. And you can hate me for it. But I don’t care. I know what you want.”

Her hands shook. And yet she insisted. “You don’t know a thing.”

“I know that you want out.” Raven regarded him through her dark purple glare. “And you want to use me to do it. It’s alright. I’ll say it because you can’t.” Horror struck the sorceress’s pale face. Before she went cold. She advanced, arms folded.

“Are you right, Jason?” She took another step closer. “Or is this some sort of wish fulfillment?” Raven pantomimed a gesture as though she were weaving one of her spells. And not debating her devotion. The aqua gaze flashed dangerously. “You… stealing your big brother’s girl.” Raven spat. Jason’s eyed her through slits. She could sense the aura around him darkening. But Raven didn’t stop. “The one thing you couldn’t steal. Can’t steal. Because - I’m still his… I’m his and that meant nothing.”

His head whipped back and forth as he refuted this. “It did.” He disagreed. And he was livid. “Yes, it did. I wasn’t the only one feeling that.” A thumb jerked to his chest to insist upon this. “There’s something between us.”

“You were.” Raven maintained. “It’s nothing. And it meant nothing to me.”

“Raven,” Jason rasped. “Why are you fighting me? Or this?” He bit his lip to hold in the desperation in his voice. The long legs closed the distance between them. “Please -”

The petite girl held up a hand and pushed his chest to keep him at bay. “Dick is perfect, and he loves me… I should have never done that. That will never happen again.” Her voice was flat and eyes hollow.

His head hung. The ebony tresses masking his face. Then… he was back up. And he was Jason again.

Jason’s shoulders quaked as he emitted a cruel chuckle. “Who exactly are you trying to convince?”

“I love him.” She said simply. Her brow furrowed as she realized what she had to do. “He’s my family. And yours. You should go.”

But, Jason was ready for her. And she was hardly in a position to argue. “I didn’t forget he’s my family. So, that means no matter where you move, or wherever you go, I’ll see you. That’s a promise.”

“I hope you don’t think you’ll be invited over any time soon,” She retorted. It was low and it was pathetic, but it was all she had left to counter.

“I do think.” Jason said with an air superiority that made her crazy.

“Don’t.”

“I do, because I will…” He smiled callously.

“You won’t…” Raven seethed.

“If not, then…” He leaned into her. Angling his face as closely as possible, so she could feel the brush his words on her mouth. “I’ll just see you - at the wedding.” Jason gave her one last look, and then pivoted on his heel.

That word from his lips…

The final word gave way to the water. The prison trapping her. Her throat tight and choked, as she called after his receding figure.

“Wait.” She lunged after him. Gripping his bicep tight. “I… Don’t go - please…” Pulling, forcing him to turn around. To come back to her. Her white fingers slid down his shoulder to his chest. Where she fisted his shirt. “Please, Jason.” And she tugged him firmly to her lips, feeling the tension in his body dissolve. “Jason…” Raven whispered into his ear. “This is the last time -” Smoothing his mouth to Raven’s, he ripped her robe right off. He lifted her by her hips, carrying her only a short distance, before he slid open the first door he could find.

The Evidence Room.

He cleared the desk off with one long sweep of his arm, and placed her down. Pushing her back flat to it, thighs spread. Jason climbed up to surface, kneeling right between her legs. Her arms outstretched wildly, as she reached for his waist. Dark nails, sinking into his skin, she went lower. Down to his waistband, tugging black spandex over his hips. To free him. His face contorted in a way that bordered on cannibalistic, Jason was sinking. Bringing himself down. To meet her. He supported his weight as he leaned over her.

Raising her shirt over her bare breasts, to expose her. Her back arched when Jason’s hand slid over her core. Another tug to slide her panties to the side. A full mouth trailed along her collarbone, as it curled into a smile. He nibbled the flesh, just hard enough to make her moan. But not hard enough to leave a bruise. They did have to be careful, after all.

His aqua eyes lingered on the sanguine shape of an X on the skull mask tacked to the wall.

“Yes… This is the last time.”

Before a loud grunt, as he took the plunge, submerging deeper and deeper into her water.

Deeper and deeper he went…

Raven inhaled sharply. And deeper and deeper she went…

But this time she could finally breathe.

#nightrae #jayrae #dickrae #me #raex #jason todd #raven roth #fanfiction #writing #redrae #teen titans #titans #actually not au #darker than usual #I hope this okay... #I did Dick very dirty #Obviously I still love Dick #robrae #Red Hood

[peeterparkr]

clear|16|t.h.

Chapter 16: The Lighthouse.

pairing: surfer!tom x reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: angst, fluff, cancer mention, anxiety, swearing maybe

summary: side-effects may include. 

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a/n: hi, thanks for reading this, this goes for the 3 people who still put up with my shit, thank you, and please please for the love of god please comment and reblog haha i NEED to know what you guys think

It’s weird, sometimes we see a person and we are willing to have them break our hearts, we know that it’s impossible to get out of their claws without getting hurt. But sometimes, we are willing to sacrifice ourselves only to feel a story, only to treasure the good times, for a dream. A broken heart can be turned into a beautiful work of art. 

Y/N was aware of that, if she turned her feelings into art everything would suddenly become pretty. Even if it doesn’t last. Was she sacrificing herself for that? She was willing to. She wanted to have everything with Tom. He was a dream come true in every possible way. She was dragging him out to the beach with her hand not leaving his, as she lead the way to a place where both of them could be alone just to stare at each other. She had decided to give it a go, to give life a chance to let herself fall in love. 

She knew that this was probably going to go wrong, but as soon as they were standing on the sand, with their fingers intertwining and their heartbeats synchronized, she realized it didn’t matter. 

“Why did you wake me up so early—y/n?” 

“Shh!” She kissed his lips to shut him up. “I wanted you to see this!” 

She pointed at the sky, still full of stars, as if the universe had delicately and precisely placed each star for them, creating a whole story, a work of heart, of art. 

“The stars,” Tom looked at them with confusion.

“Promise me this, every time we are apart you will look at them, we will be looking at them at the same time,” she said. 

“You’re assuming we will be apart,” Tom frowned. “But I will. I’ll think of you.”

She smiled as she sat down on the sand, then laid down. 

“Let’s count them,” she whispered as he sat beside her. “I feel like they’re shining for us.” 

“They are,” Tom smiled, pulling her close. 

“They’re the beginning, I like looking at them, they make me think about everything, about how we could heal, it’s silly but I still wish upon the stars.” 

There are times in which one needs to understand we don’t want to face situations but we have to. Life goes on challenging us with problems which we sometimes don’t have enough intelligence or maturity to solve. They’re sacrifices we have to take and debts to pay. We can’t live certainly, we don’t know if whatever is happening will lead us to what we want but we know it certainly leads us to where we need. 

She was never a firm believer of that, most of the time she believed that life wasn’t but her already made decisions leading her to a broken destiny that was waiting for her. However, seeing her reflection on Tom’s eyes she realized that something had to lead her to him. Whatever it had been, she knew it, it was as if his arms needed to be around her, as if they were destined only to hold her and only her, as if his hands had been made just to fit hers, as if his dry lips were only meant to kiss hers. As if she was supposed to heal them.

They had danced and they had kissed and they had forgotten about everything. She had, at least. Now she just wanted to enjoy the time with him. She had let her bare skin warm his, and his soft lips to tattoo her body. But she hadn’t slept, she couldn’t, she had kept all night looking at him, memorizing him, intoxicating herself with his scent. 

He was like a road trip, like the ones she used to love, a new adventure with music in the background. Where there’d be stops for ice cream and stops to see the view, the beautiful view, with thunderstorms and cold nights. 

But she feared the road trip would come to an end without a destination. And she had been reading about it, and writing about it, and painting about it. It just was too much to handle for her. 

She had talked to Jared. Jared had explained many things that she didn’t understand about Tom. And they were a lot that she would never understand. 

But she had listened to him, and she realized why exactly she was there. Because Tom needed someone as blue as him. She needed someone as broken as her. Looking at the stars gave her hope, as if a shooting star would change everything. She had woken him up and taken him out and there they were now, holding hands, covered only by the blankets they had brought with each other and the excuse of a t-shirt she had. 

She listened, to the ocean echoing, to the crickets singing and to Tom’s breathing. Colourful, blue. Calm and stormy. 

And she was waiting for the blue to change because eventually, it would. She stopped looking at him and looked beyond the sea, the dark blue sky was still above them, the moon was falling into his eyelashes, and the wind was curling upon his hair.

“I’ve never been up this early,” Tom said. 

“I do, I like watching the sunrise, gives me hope.” 

“Hope.” 

“Yes, and you should, too, each sunrise is a beautiful memory, a beautiful painting the sky offers us for free,” she explained. 

“You’re mental, y/n,” he laughed. 

“That would explain why I’m in love with you,” she said. “Bonkers.” 

“Crazy.” 

They stayed quiet again, leaving the moon to fade, waiting for the day to begin. She wondered if she could ask for a wish, because she knew exactly what she’d wish. For this to never stop, to be this simple, to listen to his breathing, harmonizing with the ocean. To be able to wake up someday in a nice porch where she’d be painting the sunrise that would eventually show up, where he’d probably join her with a cup of coffee, and he’d wrap his arms around her to kiss her cheek. He would sweep her off her feet to make her laugh and then they could dance to the fade music, to the old songs that once made her fall in love. 

Big dreams. 

But not even the sun had come out yet, they were still in the darkness. And she feared a lot of stuff, because the moon made his features shine, every single one of them. She saw his weakness. And she feared that the sun would never come out for them. 

“What would you wish?” She asked him. “If you knew that the stars could grant you one wish?” 

Tom bit his lip. “I don’t want to sound selfish.” 

“You won’t.” 

“For everyone to be right,” he said. “For the medicine to work, for me to have a second chance. A miracle.” He gulped. “Everything is so difficult, you know? Nobody really puts themselves in my shoes, I guess nobody really understands it, to know what it feels like dying.” 

She reached for his hand. 

“And to see you watching me die, I guess it’s even worse, to feel like it’s on me,” he continued. 

“It’s not.” 

“But it feels like, because—a part of me just thinks about this and you guys don’t deserve it, and sometimes it sounds too selfish but I don’t either, I don’t deserve this.” 

“You don’t.”

“But I don’t matter, not for me, at least, I know that, because if this is happening to me it’s hurting you, it’s hurting everyone around me.” 

“You’re more concerned about the people around you than you are for yourself, Tom,” she pointed out. 

“It’s a side-effect,” he said. “Of having cancer, I guess.” 

“We’ve never really talked about this,” she whispered. And she hadn’t been ready to listen to him sentencing those words. 

“Because we both know where it can lead,” he said. “And I’d rather much be kissing you than crying over my pathetic self.” 

“A very attractive pathetic self,” She nudged him. 

“You see, that’s why I like you, you didn’t see me as a side-effect, you didn’t see me as someone who had to be prized only because I’m dying.” 

She had to take a deep breath to listen to his words. But he was right, she guessed that even if they didn’t address the matter, he was still falling, he was still fading. 

“I’m just sure that you’re here for a reason, y/n,” he smiled slightly, “because even if I’m dying I’m sure I’m feeling alive again.” 

She looked away, to stare at the sea. “And I’m not feeling blue anymore.” 

“I guess I didn’t tell you because I felt like I didn’t have to, you know? I felt like if I didn’t tell you then it wasn’t real.” 

“I understand.” 

“People don’t really see it, that I have to wake up every day and see it and go ‘thanks I’m alive’, even if I didn’t want to thank anyone, I have to, and every day is a miracle, you know? And for everyone around me is a miracle, I see it, every day they’re watching the way they speak, the way they all smile at me..” 

“Except Jared,” she said. “He keeps treating you like shit.” 

“Because I asked him to,” Tom said. 

“To feel alive?” 

“Normal,” Tom admitted. “To feel normal, to keep being Tom. And even Jared doesn’t treat me like he did before.” 

“He cares for you,” she said. “You are his best friend.”

Tom shrugged. “You know why they keep helping me?” 

Y/n shook her head. 

“Because his mom was once me, and then, she was gone,” Tom said. 

“I thought she was in town,” y/n frowned. 

“In essence, she is,” Tom sighed. “It’s complicated, it’s the anniversary.” Tom shook his head. “He doesn’t care for me.”

“He does, or at least he cares for your family,” she explained. “He sees how you make everyone happy, you help him, Tom.” 

Tom gulped as the moonlight only reflected the tears about to come out, he looked at the stars. 

“It’s a side-effect,” he explained. “Everyone around you realizes it at some point and they’re all selfish enough to not want you to let go.” 

“That’s not a bad thing,” she repproached. 

“Guess it’s not, but I see it, I see them crying, I see them fearing, and sometimes it hurts even more than the bruises,” Tom said. “A side effect.” 

Y/n didn’t quite understand what he meant. 

 “I’d wish to be normal,” he looked away. 

She shrugged. “You are.” 

“You say that, yet we both know it’s not true, because I probably have 5 missed calls from my mother, and I have to take my meds in an hour, we know I’m not normal because you’re looking at me with that look of yours, worried, we both know we’re not normal because you brought a blanket just for me and you’re constantly touching my hand to make sure it’s warm.” 

Y/N stayed quiet, he was right. 

“We both know I’m not normal, everyone does, and I know that’s why you’re trying to show me the sunrise, because we don’t know how many sunrises I have left,” he said as she looked down. “But you are right, maybe it’ll give me hope, maybe each star we see will tell me that it’ll get better. And I thank you because you remind me that I’m not normal, yet you’re here trying to love me as if I was.” 

“You’re not your cancer, Tom,” she said. She wasn’t sure if he really meant his words, it seemed as if he was only telling her that only to satisfy her. 

“I know, but I’m not Tom either,” he popped. “You didn’t know me without it. Because that’s another side-effect, one which they don’t tell you at the doctor, you lose yourself.” 

“Are you sure?” She questioned him. “Because as long as I remember you’re a completely different person now than before I knew about it. You haven’t completely lost yourself, you just have to dig in enough.”  

Tom frowned. 

“You acted differently when we first met,” she pushed. “You’re a whole different person as if me knowing you’re dying actually kills you.” 

Tom frowned. “It--doesn’t. It’s the side-effects, the side-effects that come with it.”

“Think about it, Tommy, before you realized I knew about- the cancer-you were like any other boy trying to get laid, you were like any other summer romance, you’d be joking around all day, you’d be trying to be the most amazing boy to ever make me fall in love with, then after you realized I knew… you turned into a- kind of- an asshole, really, kicking me out of your place and everything.” 

Tom didn’t answer this time, he bit his lip. 

“You know I’m right,” she nudged him. “It’s alright, you freaked out, but I think you’re still all that, you’re still my summer fling, you’re still the guy with the curly brown hair, you’re the surfer and you’re that perfect smile of yours,” she grinned. “You’re all of that, in your own way, you are Tom. Sure, you might be fading away, but we all are, in our own way. And I’m not saying all of this to make you feel better, I mean it. You are truly a work of art, Tom Holland.” 

She debated whether or not to kiss him, but she didn’t, she just dedicated a glance at him before turning back to the ocean. 

“What would you wish?” He asked her, trying to change the subject. 

To never have to know another kiss, she thought. 

“To seize the moment,” she answered. “This moment.” 

He kissed her palm. 

“I’d never thought I’d be awake for the sunrise,” he admitted. “I never was someone to care for that.” 

“Yet everything splendid between us has happened in the early morning, with the moon covering us,” she pointed out. “Almost in time for the sunrise.” 

“But we always went to sleep, or our separate ways,” he chuckled.  

“Guess that’s a sign.”

He chuckled. “You’re so poetic.” 

“I fell in love with a poem, I’ve gotta live up to him,” she winked. Tom chuckled. 

“I wish you saw it,” he bit his lip looking at her, with wonder in his eyes. “I wish you saw everything I see in you, you’d realize then, the masterpiece you truly are” 

“And I’m the poetic one,” she laughed. Tom leaned over, and she felt his skin cold again. 

“The sunrise reminds us it’s another day, Tom,” she whispered. 

“I guess it is,” he said. “It’s weird how all of a sudden I had to value everything, yet it seems that you’ve always liked to enjoy the small things, from the first day I met you you would stop to smell the flowers, you’d reach out from the window to look at the clouds,” Tom described. “Always looking one last time at the ocean before you leave.”

“That’s what happens when you’re alone, you start to look at everything else,” she cleared her throat. “You start to see the beauty in the big world surrounding you.”

“Tell me about before,” he asked. “Tell me how it felt.” 

“To be alone?” She wondered as she let out a laugh. “Lonely.”  

Tom stayed quiet expecting her to elaborate. 

“I guess,” she shifted her position. “There’s a difference, at first I was alone, and I thought I could handle it all by myself, you know, me against the world? I don’t need anyone and then--I realized that nobody needed me, you know? Because you’re alone because you want to be, you’re lonely because you have no choice.” 

It was Tom’s turn to not know what to do. 

“Coffee tasted bitter, the paint wouldn’t colour anything, my hands would always be cold, and there was nothing to do about it,” she shrugged.

“My hands are cold, sometimes, too,” he nudged her. 

“Your hands are always cold.” 

He stared at her and gave her a slight smile. 

“But now I don’t feel lonely,” she spoke again.”and--okay, I have to thank you a lot for it, but I guess part of me realized that suddenly I have a choice again.” 

Tom smiled, his fingers playing with hers. “We should watch the sunset once, too, but really watch it.” 

“We have,” she chuckled. 

“No, not from the prettiest place here,” he argued. 

“And where is that?” 

“The lighthouse,” he chuckled, looking down. “Never taken anyone there.” 

“Am I the lucky one?” 

“We’ll see.” 

Until then, they kissed again. As if they had been dying to connect with each other. There was something in the air. There were no regrets. Kissing to the sound of the ocean, letting their hair be covered with sand and letting the moon bathe them. 

They had no time, they knew it. They had the summer sure, but the word “ending” crippled through their minds. They wouldn’t address it, but the fear was present. 

But they went back inside and fully dressed, they stayed on the porch waiting for the sun to paint them some hope, the warmth covered them. That gave them both time to think. But y/n wasn’t exactly sure what was roaming around Tom’s mind. 

“You should open your art gallery,” he said, as the sun was painting the sky pink.

“Hm?” 

“You told me, that if you could follow your dream you’d open your art gallery,” he said. “You have enough paintings this summer to open one,” Tom grinned. “We could take a few pictures, too.” 

“That would be nice.” 

“I mean it.” 

“So do I.” 

As soon as the sun was up, they went back to the basement where she took out the old paintbrushes. She took out the orange, the reds and yellows and Tom and her started to joke around and laugh and let the sunrise they had seen to cover the blue, he helped her paint , it was a mess. Just like them. He’d raise her to paint the highest place of the walls and they were all covered in paint. 

Suddenly it was good, it was fine. Suddenly the rest of their day was good again, they were eating ice cream, running through the beach, kissing, laughing, swinging on the old tire-swing outside Tom’s place. They’d play hide and seek, she drove him to the workshop where she’d say goodbye with a kiss. She started to plan out the gallery, with sketches here and there. They’d go swimming afterwards, he’d teach her how to surf, she’d paint him and they’d both end up those beside a fire, singing to Tom’s guitar and to the harmony of the ocean, with the moon hugging them.  

They took the seashells out and started tracing figures with them, the sun, the moon, their hearts. Whatever they would come up with, they had seashells to spare and the blue marks on the sand were creating a beautiful passage. And they took pictures of it as if her dream was the only sudden worry they had. 

Between kisses and laughs, they were living their dream. It was something extraordinary. 

Their fantasy wasn’t near an end, it couldn’t be. 

Friday morning came and Tom had arrived extra early to help y/n bake a cake for Joanne’s birthday. Y/n had not baked in a while and tom wasn’t exactly the best at it, but they were trying. Full of flour and sugar they ended up giving up and decided to make waffles instead. Harrison arrived, too. 

“Happy birthday to you!” They sang to Joanne. And y/n was reminded of her past. To the birthday parties when they were children and they’d laugh all night without worrying about tomorrow, without worrying about a boy.

And she suddenly felt as if Tom had been there for past birthdays because even if this was the very first time with them, he felt so familiar, so comfy. As if he had always been there, and she knew she wouldn’t want him away.

Haz had bought Joanne a present, a small bracelet and while he was handing it to her, Tom made a slight eye-contact with y/n. 

Y/n had to pause, taking in his sight. She had already memorized those crinkles by his eyes, or the way his hair would be messed up in just the slightest way. But it didn’t matter, she had to keep watching him, because he had transformed into an association, with a good day or a good smell. He was now one of the reasons she could finally say: “I’m happy again”. 

And she would keep that to herself because god forbid she’d ever say a man made her happy. But it was more than dating him, it was his sunlight, it was his smile and the way that he was also struggling. He was the air she needed when she was about to have her last breath. And he was so different, he owned the ocean, and he owned the skies but he was giving them out to her. It didn’t make any sense, at all. 

Joanne had gotten her back into reality, snapping her back from her trance, saying her goodbyes and running outside to Haz’s car. Her and Harrison were gonna go on a small road trip for her birthday. Nothing too far, just to another town near them. Joanne has said that it was beautiful. 

Honestly, it was just a beach nearby with small cottages that had lightbulbs hanging in the streets. But it was alright, y/n guessed. 

She didn’t have to go to know that her surroundings were beautiful. Besides, she needed to get emotionally ready for the party they’d have the next day. That and mentally prepare for Joanne to come at night to tell her everything. 

She had said goodbye with just one last kiss to Tom before focusing on her stuff, he had to go to his job and she had to paint. She was still trying to understand what exactly she was going to show in that gallery. She had opened up her MacBook and started to scribble. 

She was supposed to look out for a place where she could host it, a nice place to have her art gallery, she had promised that to Tom, instead, she started searching for the hospitals in London. Where was he supposed to go. 

She googled his cancer, she googled his stage and his symptoms, she googled every single detail, and each time she was typing and as she started reading and getting deeper and deeper into the subject, she was freaking out. She couldn’t stop reading, the words were just staining her, as if they were needles painfully poking her. 

And then she knew it.

She was going to lose him. She realized it then, he was right. She wouldn't treat him the same way. Because she was losing him, he was slowly fading out, like an old candle. 

And it started to revolve around her head. Reality hit, and it hit her hard. She couldn’t sleep that night, she didn’t answer his texts and she had pretended to have a headache to not listen to Joanne. 

The next day wasn’t any different, her mind would roam around the fact that she was going to lose him. And not only that, she realized just then, he meant everything to her. It’s stupid, it was stupid, nonsense. But he was just a boy, a boy who wanted to be normal, a boy who wished to be more than medicine, who wanted to be normal. And she’d have to be normal for him, she’d make his wish come true. She needed to be his remedy, she needed to heal him. But how was she supposed to do it? All her brain was going through now were white cells and blood cells. She needed to take care of him, she needed to get him to London. The world was so cruel, and she was a fuel. What was she supposed to do? There was no way to carry on now that she knew more about it. 

Could she face it again? Could she? 

“Y/n,” her sister had thrown a pillow at her, concerned. “You okay?” 

Y/n had looked up, slightly as she watched Joanne walk out of their shared bathroom as she was straightening her hair. The party would start in a few hours, meaning Joanne had barely any time to choose her outfit since it took her at least 3 hours.

“Sure,” y/n said the magical word that would get her out of any inconvenient conversation she didn’t want to have. 

Joanne stopped and dedicated her a cold stare, as if she had seen a ghost. Joanne gulped and looked around. “Uh, get dressed, Haz’s picking us up in about 2 hours.” 

“Oh, uh, Tom and I will meet up before the party, we said we would watch the sunset,” she lied with such ease. “I’ll get dressed and I’ll see you there, alright?” 

Joanne watched her sceptically but gave in. 

Y/n dressed with whatever and left. She needed to run away from her thoughts. Without even knowing her route, she ended up at the Lighthouse. She couldn’t breathe. It was Matty all over again, but this time she was aware it would happen. 

Because she hadn’t really believed it, she hadn’t really addressed it, as if she thought that by just loving him he would heal. But it didn’t work that way, no matter how much she loved him, no matter how many times she tried to heal him with kisses: Tom would be gone, Tom would be gone without her even knowing when. What’s more painful? Too sudden or too expected? 

The air was cold, something unexpected on a warm summer day. She had gone blind. And she felt as if the wind was making too much noise as soon as she was getting out of her jeep to touch the lighthouse near the water, near the rocks. Tom was calling her. She couldn’t answer. She threw her cellphone into the car and she kept walking.  

She was drowning again, she felt the water suffocating her. Tom wasn’t there to save her now, nobody was around, and there was no water, just the one splashing from the waves. She wasn’t ready. She would never be. 

And the sun was about to set, and she feared that it would set on them too, she didn’t want it to end. And she was watching it alone, she was alone again. And she feared she’d never get to watch a sunset with him. He had been right, it looked pretty. 

She was aware of it now, it was the side effect he had meant. And it was the worst side-effect that she didn’t even need to face yet: she was alone, watching a sunset by the lighthouse. 

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[365daysoftododeku]

28th December 2019

Author: Kenyoda

________________________________________________________________

People always act like fate is a stone maze from which no man can escape. But the truth is that reality is the maze and fate is a collection of runaway bullets that ricochets off one wall into a person before bouncing off another wall and breaking another one. People can choose to bow to it and await their end or continue on to see what havoc it has wrought until their time is up. In this world full of mysterious and wonderful Quirks, the people living in it are not exempt from this truth. In fact, in this realm, those bullets can split into pieces that can have long lasting consequences.

One of the more fascinating paths is the one involving All For One and his brother.  A man was born in Japan during the most tumultuous time of Quirk manifestation. He had a powerful Quirk that could change the face of Japan or even the world for good or ill. Unfortunately, ill became his mark as he succumbed to the lure of power. The man nearly bent Japan and possibly the world under his foot, but he made a mistake. He split the bullet by forcing a Quirk onto his younger brother. From then on the two pieces raced in parallel to one another bouncing from incident to incident, person to person. The Quirks within his brother being cultivated into One For All, a Quirk that could change fate...

It was again split when the two collided with a heroine named Shimura Nana. The brother’s bullet splits, a piece ended up with the son she abandoned for what she believed was his own good and safety… the other in the hands of a young man named Yagi Toshinori. He later goes on to become All Might, one of Japan’s Greatest Heroes. Meanwhile, her son let his part turn bitter and brittle. He ends up launching it at his family, his son Tenko specifically. It would lead to an incident that would leave Shimura Tenko alone, broken, and vulnerable. 

Easy pickings for the embittered All For One. 

While the villain was poisoning his possible replacement into Shigaraki Tomura, Yagi was plowing through rankings and villains, barely able to function around the injuries he had sustained in his final clash with the villain. His bullet also split, half ending up in the hands of his bitter rival, Endeavor. When the time finally came that he had to give One For All up, he was drawn to another young Quirkless boy with an impossible dream. 

He gave the other to the boy when he passed down All For One. 

Midoriya Izuku clung to it like a lifeline. Training to wield it effectively as he could. His journey to UA would put him in the firing range of Endeavor’s pride, his son Todoroki Shouto. The boy was forced to hold the bitter piece of the projectile by his father. Midoriya, by choice, gives him a piece of his to free him from his father’s folly. The two combine in the boy bring the shards back down to 4. 

At the moment our story begins, there are 4 shards of fate that are on a collision course for one another and in the middle of them was the fate of Japan. So what will happen? After all, a handful of choices have lead to this point.

Another possible divergence point is brewing on the horizon, All For One, Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Shouto, and Midoriya Izuku all holding onto a piece of fate... what will they choose? 

It turns out, one decides to listen….

Shouto was panting and sweating. Bakugou was an opponent that was miles above his other opponents, including Midoriya. He was not going to be able to rely on his ice for much longer. He was already starting to flag horribly, but Bakugou was just getting more and more wound up and his explosions were getting more and more powerful. It was the worst match up possible. 

As he continued to shield himself using his ice, Shouto thought he could hear someone calling out to him over the noise. Ganbatte Todoroki-kun! It’s yours! You can do it! Shouto blinked. Midoriya. Was he right? Could he really make this fire his own and not become him? Was it right to do so? The uncertainties were singing through his veins making him shiver… or was that his ice slowly freezing him to death?  But he refocused. He was not sure about the fire or anything else but what he was sure of was that his… friend?... had given up his chance to be where he was to help Shouto.

And Shouto was going to be damned if he squandered it. 

Flames leapt from his fingertips, just as eager as they were during the match with Midoriya. He hits the pillar with it and the arena is instantly covered in smoky steam. Shouto quickly darts around the pillar. Hitting it with another burst of fire. He strained his ears to try figure out where Bakugou was. He then heard the sound of ice cracking. He turned and noticed he was directly behind Bakugou. The orange glare of Bakugou’s Quirk shining like a beacon on a lighthouse in a sea storm. Shouto slammed his foot down and then suddenly the sky darkened and the explosions stopped. As the wind blew the fog away, a smaller glacier than the one he trapped Sero in, was before him and the crowd. He cautiously worked his way around to the other side. Once again, his opponent was encased in ice unable to move. Bakugou’s heated glare was a far cry from Sero’s defeated one.  

The crowd cheered as Shouto moved to free his classmate from his prison. He resolutely ignored his gloating father’s roaring. Once Bakugou was free, he bowed and left. His normally volatile classmate, silent for once. Shouto stumbled on numb legs to the 1A waiting room and collapsed onto a vacant bench. 

He did it.

He used that bastard’s fire to win. He broke his promise again. What other promises would he break? His vow not to become mindlessly violent? His vow not to be like his father? How long before he was excusing all of that, too? It’s mine. Said a small voice. It’s mine and I can do with it what I want… Shouto shuddered. He knew what he didn’t want to do with it at least. The rest was still foggy in his head. He sighed miserably. A familiar, tinny sound echoed through the room. Shouto stood up and retrieved his phone from the locker he stashed it in. He looked at the device.

There were several texts, most of them from Fuyumi. All of them were nice and encouraging, although she did scold him about the glacier and Sero (Someone could have lost an eye, Shouto! Be careful!). Then there was a single one from Natsuo. The most Shouto knew about him was that he was going to medical school and that he openly hated their father as much as he did. They did not talk much otherwise. 

It had been a simple congratulations text. It was the most recent. He replied with a simple thanks and asked as he was busy. Shouto was not sure why he wanted to know. When he answered that he was not busy. Shouto found himself hitting the call button.

“Hello, Shouto?” Natsuo greeted. 

“Hi… I hope I didn’t disturb—”

“You didn’t! So, congratulations on your win!” 

“Yeah thanks… I guess,” 

“You don’t sound very excited.” 

“I honestly… I don’t know how to feel,” Shouto said, surprised to feel the prickle of tears in his eyes. 

“Is it about the fire…?” 

“How did you know?”

“Fuyumi has mentioned more than once that you refuse to use it.”

“Yeah… I used his— my fire to…”

“To win a school competition, Shouto. It’s not like you burned the arena down and killed people with it.” his brother’s voice a weird mix of amused and exasperated. When Natsuo put it like that, Shouto did feel a bit silly. But there was so much history tied to his Quirk that it was difficult to separate it all.

“I know that in my head, I guess. I am just so used to hearing about how he gave me power and…” 

“I know, kid… trust me, I know. He had a fit when mine manifested. He almost… never mind. Shouto your power is your own and your life is your own and you can do with it what you want. Ok?” 

“He won’t see it that way. He will make me train with it more…”

“Of course, you need control over it. You have a good handle on your ice, but even that can slip at times,” Natsuo cautioned. Shouto winced as he remembered the first glacier. He was right as much as Shouto hated to admit it. He did need to learn to control it, before he did hurt someone. But he did not want to learn from him… but he may need to. 

“You’re right… I just don’t know if I want to learn control from him…” Shouto sighed. “ I don’t think he knows the meaning of it.” Natsuo laughed at that. That made Shouto smile. 

“You may not have to, there are plenty of heros that have powerful abilities that require focus and control. Fire Users don’t have to train with fire users… while studying with one could probably lower your learning curve. But that is all, it’s up to you.” he said. 

“I guess I have to think about things. I just don’t know what to do or feel?” he said. “Midoriya said the same thing that its my power… that I can choose what to do with it… but it can’t be that easy.” Shouto said, a single tear making its way down his face. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling. You question if you can change things that easily. But I can say the first attempt is always the hardest. After that, it gets easier! You made a pretty big one today. Don’t beat yourself up too much! Take your time and do what you can ok?” Natsuo said, he could hear the smile in his voice.  Shouto found himself smiling, too. It had been awhile since he really spoke with any of his siblings, truly talked with them. He should probably do it more often. 

“Thanks, nii-san… It was nice talking to you.” he said awkwardly.  There was a soft chuckle from the other end. 

“You, too! When I get settled at my internship, I will send you the address! We can hang out sometime. Of course, you can always give me a call and if I don’t pick up, I will call you back as soon as I get a chance. I promise,” Natsuo said. “I love you, little brother. I am sorry I never said it as much as I should have.” Shouto was thrown but touch nonetheless by the sentiment. 

“Same. I will talk to you later then?” he asked, slightly affronted at how eager he sounded. Natsuo’s immediate confirmation made him feel happy and warm. The two said their goodbyes and Shouto hung up. He still felt conflicted, but it did not seem so heavy in his mind anymore. The sound of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. He was tense, expecting to have to deal with his father, but the footsteps sounded far too hesitant. He relaxed completely as Midoriya Izuku opened the door. 

“Ah! I thought I might find you here.” he said softly as he shuffled into the room. Shouto winced at the state of his classmate. His arm was still in cast and he was wearing a leg brace. 

“Should you be walking?” Shouto asked, concerned. He then winced at how tactless it sounded. Midoriya laughed. 

“Probably, not,” he said sheepishly. “But Recovery Girl said I was fine as long as I didn’t over do it.” Shouto gave him a weak smile. The action still felt a little foreign on his face, but the beam he got in answer from Midoriya lit him up from the inside out. 

“Did you need something Midoriya?” he asked, wondering why he was looking for him. 

“Oh, well not really… I was just worried when you left. You did not look too happy…” he said. Shouto blinked. They were practically strangers and yet Midoriya was asking about his well being. This was definitely different.

“I am still— conflicted about some things. I am still ashamed of the way I treated Sero, and Bakugou was—” he tried to explain.

“Trapped in a glacier, too. Yeah, I could see how that would be a little awkward. But I am glad you did your best, though,” Midoriya said sincerely. Shouto nodded. “And I also wanted to apologize. I know I was being rather pushy during our fight.” The smaller boy scratched at his cheek self-consciously. Midoriya’s nervous disposition was rubbing off on Shouto as he unconsciously shuffled his feet as he stared at the ground. 

“I don’t think you should apologize… I needed to hear that. I want to apologize as well. There was no reason for me to come after you the way I did. I took a personal problem out on you and that was not fair.” Shouto said, bowing. He was adamant that he would not become his father, but today had shown him that denying part of himself while still behaving like him was not the way to go. So, it was paramount that he start by humbling himself and apologizing to the classmates that he had been unjustly rude to. 

Midoriya’s eyes grew wide and his face turned pink.

“Oh! I— you really don’t need to—” he protested. 

“No, I do. I meant what I said. I don’t want any part of the man that my father is. That means accepting who I am and the consequences of my actions. I behaved abysmally towards you and others in our class today. I owe you an apology for that.” said Shouto, slowly. It was not easy but it’s as both Midoriya and Natsuo said, it was his life and he can choose what to do with it. 

He was choosing to be better. 

#Story #ebonyphd #TodoDeku #365DaysofTodoDeku #TodoDeku365 #365 Days of TodoDeku #tddk #Shouto Todoroki #Todoroki Shouto #Izuku Midoriya #Midoriya Izuku #Boku no Hero Academia #BNHA #My Hero Academia #MHA #Todoroki x Midoriya #Shouto x Izuku #TodoIzu

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Nine - Wild Goose Chase

I was in awe as I drove my car through the open Iron gates of Magnolia State, the venue where Diane and Goldman would be married. The enormous garden surrounding the inn and the ballroom was filled with magnolia trees, covered in blue, pink, or white flowers sparkling beautifully as the sunshine kissed the morning dew. Magnolia State was in a small fishing town located 60 miles south of Loveland called Southbay, which had suddenly bloomed when it turned to tourism. The town was lovely, keeping its old traditions visible in their restored buildings, and with a beautiful boardwalk that led to the town’s pride and joy, the Watcher, a gigantic lighthouse that stood imponent in a bed of rocks.

We would be staying at Magnolia State for the whole weekend. On Saturday we would have the rehearsal dinner and on Sunday, the wedding and the reception, which meant Diane and I had to arrive early in the morning to make some last-minute preparations for the big weekend. We took our bags to our rooms, agreeing to meet at the chapel, where the wedding planner would be waiting for us. When I arrived, Diane was waiting for me, along with Goldman and… Victor.

“We have a problem.” Goldman announced as I arrived. “Diane forgot her tiara at home.”

“I’m so very sorry.” Diane was mortified. “I made a list and everything. I simply don’t know how I could have forgotten it. Can you please go back and pick it up? Here are the keys to my apartment. It’s on a box on top of my dresser.”

“Andrea’s probably tired, she just drove an hour here. I can go if you don’t mind.” Victor offered.

“You drove for an hour too. Aren’t you tired as well?” I frowned.

“I have an idea, Why don’t you both go?” Diane smiled. “You can take turns driving, keep each other awake.”

“It’s ok, I can go on my own. I’m not that tired.” I objected.

“Your dark circles say otherwise. I bet you haven’t been sleeping at all. You are not going alone.” Victor ordered. “Either you go with me or you don’t go at all.”

I didn’t appreciate his mothering attitude, but after the mess we made at Diane’s house, I wasn’t going to start a fight.

“Sure, let’s go then.” I took the keys from Diane’s hand.

“Good. Anything else you need, Diane?” Victor asked. Diane beamed at us.

“No, that’s all. Take your time, have lunch on the way. We don’t want any of you driving too fast.”

Victor was adamant in taking his car, asserting it was the most comfortable, and that he wouldn’t risk being stranded on the highway due to mechanical problems. In short, he was saying my car was a lemon. I agreed, not wanting to start a fight, but mostly because, if it did happen, it wouldn’t be the first time my car gave me grief.

I kept silent at first, not knowing what to say. Yes, we had agreed we’d be friends, but it was still awkward. The only conversation starters I could remember could also lead to an argument. He must have felt the same awkwardness, because he turned on his radio, the sound of a piano filling the emptiness in the car.

“Debussy?”

“Clair de Lune.” He completed. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Although I find it a bit sad.”

“It’s not as joyful as most of Mozart’s pieces, but I wouldn’t call it sad either.” Victor frowned.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was how my teacher explained it to me. He told me to imagine the moon shining over a gazebo. The moonlight loves everything it can find at said gazebo, the potted flowers, the pillars where children hide, the bench were lovers sit, but it can only touch it, it can not have it. All the moonlight can do is to dance around then and magnify their beauty, evoke the feelings that come from them, but they will never belong to the moon, just like they don’t belong to the sun. They can only be touched and admired, close and yet distant. I was a teenager at the time, and was in love with a boy, and I somehow related the song to that. Lovers that can only love, but not have.”

Victor was silent for a while, a slight furrow on his brow, probably holding that mental picture while he listened closely to the music. After a while, his poker face was back on.

“Your teacher is an idiot.” He shortly concluded. I laughed.

“Well, it’s subjective. How do you see it?”

“The moon is up, shining upon a house. The garden is blooming and taken care of, the house is clean and cozy as the moonlight comes through the window, the children are in bed, sleeping soundly. The parents are by the fireplace, holding hands and smiling, as their intimacy requires no words. And lovers outside kiss, as a young couple in love should. And the moonlight oversees it, blesses it. Everything is as it should be. Peaceful and happy.” I noticed a shine in his eyes as he spoke. It seemed he had given this a lot of thought.

“So… Bliss?” I smiled softly.

“Yes.” He glanced at me briefly. “Not that nonsense your teacher taught you.”

I sank in my seat, allowing my tired body to relax. Victor was right, I hadn’t been sleeping at all, I spent the last two weeks focusing on nothing but work, which was actually a good distraction from… other things.

“Want to close your eyes for a minute? You don’t need to keep me company.” Victor offered.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just a bit sluggish, a coffee will fix it.” I said, sitting straight.

“Have you been working too hard? You need to stay sharp if you want good results. You can’t reach the excellence you seek if you’re too tired to think.” Victor reprimanded me.

“It’s an adaptation period, I think. We grew up too fast all of a sudden. Not that I’m complaining, but now I have three times more partners, and meetings, and reports. Some of them are established overseas, so I need to travel…” I trailed off.

“You’re doing all that by yourself? You’ll bleed yourself dry. You need to delegate some of those responsibilities. And you need an assistant. You surely have the budget for one.” He frowned, slightly annoyed.

“Haven’t you listened? I barely have the time to sleep, let alone read resumes and have interviews.”

“Make the time. You can’t afford to let yourself spread thin like that, you need to take care of yourself.” He paused, seemingly frustrated. “Do I have to call the Dean and take care of it myself?”

“Whoa, call Olive? No! Look, I’m sure you are worried about your investment, but I already told you this is just an adaptation-”

“God damn it, Andrea!” Victor’s voice echoed loud in the car. “Did I say anything about the investment? I don’t care about the investment, I care ABOUT YOU!”

I visibly shrank in my seat, surprised with Victor’s explosion. After a few minutes of silence, the audible thing being Victor’s deep breaths as he tried to steady himself, he spoke again, his voice softer.

“It doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I care, right?”

I remained silent, unsure of what to answer.

“I am aware that I might have said or done some things that could lead you to believe otherwise, but I do care. Andrea, I always will. Apart or together, it makes no difference. I will always care. Got it?”

“Yes.” I managed to say. “I care about you too. We’re friends.”

His eyes remained on the road ahead, shiny with some emotion I couldn’t recognize.

There was a feeling of unvoiced truths lingering between us. Or maybe I was the one having things that I was yet to voice. I wasn’t sure, so I decided to keep silent until the trip was over. I was so determined to forget Victor and move on with my life, I did such a great job pointing out all the flaws in our relationship to convince myself I couldn’t go back again, yet all that effort slowly crumbled each time I saw him. The barriers I had built to protect my heart to break any further fell one by one, and were replaced by love and longing, an urge to have him in my arms a second time.

If I could turn back time, if I had just one more chance, I wouldn’t have walked away. If I had one more chance, I wouldn’t be scared, I would’ve fought by his side, against the media, his father, my jealousy, his past that haunted us. All those things that sounded so painful at that time, meant nothing now that I knew the pain of not having him. Not having him was the worse pain in the world. And I had gone through pain enough to last me ten lifetimes.

He cared, but the damage had been done. I had broken his heart. I knew I was already in a different category in Victor’s mental shelves, as he never allowed anyone to hurt him twice. I wrapped my heart with that truth and focused on the window, and the world that seemed to pass us by.

“Andrea.” I felt a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it softly. “We’re here.”

I opened my eyes, confused. I had fallen asleep without even noticing. Victor’s trained eyes were on me.

“Okay, let’s go.” I said, grabbing my purse to find Diane’s keys. “Let’s get that tiara.”

But as we got into her apartment, going straight into her bedroom, we found no box. I called Diane.

“I can’t see a box here. Do you think it can be in some other place?” I looked around.

“Oh no, Andy…” Diane had a grimace in her voice. “I completely forgot. The tiara is in the store for polishing… They will deliver it today.”

“You mean we came all this way for nothing?!?” I almost screamed. “Diane!”

“I’m sorry, It’s just my bridal brain. Hey, take your time, come whenever you are ready.”

“Bridal brain?” I frowned. “That only goes for pregnant women.”

“Right.” Diane quickly dismissed me. “See you later. Don’t come rushing!”

“Wild goose chase?” Victor frowned slightly as I hung up.

“Wild goose chase.” I sighed, frustrated.

Once back in the car, we fell silent again. It reminded me of when I starting to get to know Victor, always afraid to say the wrong thing, scared to aggravate him. But it was different now. I wasn’t quiet because I was afraid of making him mad. I just had a lot to say, and wasn’t sure if I should say anything at all. Well, I had one thing to say.

“I’m sorry.” I started.

“For what?” He glanced at me, confused.

“We never talked about it, and I’m not even sure we should but…” I paused, taking a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to finish. “The way we broke up… The way I just left. It wasn’t nice.”

Victor paused for a moment, seemingly considering my words.

“Nothing about it was nice. I am at fault too.”

“I was the one who left and never came back. Like you said, I abandoned you. You didn’t deserve that.” I felt my eyes start to water. Keep it together, Andrea. “Not to mention the fact that I slapped you. I mean, I’m a former victim of abuse and my go-to reaction is to smack you? How twisted is that? You must hate me for that. I would hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Victor’s voice was assertive. “In your defense, I said some horrible things too. I was so infuriated by the whole situation, my father, the media, the university. I just wanted to win the fight. I never even considered I was hurting you in the process. It was only when you reacted that I fully understood what I was doing.” Victor paused to let out a ragged breath. “I deserved that slap.”

“Don’t say that.” I shook my head.

“Let me finish.” Victor gripped the wheel hard, like he needed all the strength he had to let those words come out. “I was so self-righteous, accusing you of not wanting to be in my life, when I wasn’t fully allowing you in it as well. I didn’t tell you about my kidnapping.”

“Ok, let me stop you right there.” I spoke firmly. “I am a hypocrite. Truth is, if you didn’t know about my abuse, I’m not so sure I would be so open to discuss it. Honestly, how does one go about it? Hey, let me tell you about this particularly painful event in my life that exposes all my weaknesses? I know you have a hard time talking about emotions, and that subject is as emotional as it can be.” Would I admit it? I decided on full disclosure. “I was jealous. I was jealous that there was this person that knew so much about you, that shared so many stories with you, while I was still trying to fully understand you. I felt… In comparison with all you lived with her, all we had was… nothing. Barely scratching the surface.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t underrate it, like it was some fling I had with you because I couldn’t be with someone else! What we had… It was unparalleled.”

I fell silent once again, his words sinking deep into my heart. I felt the same, certain I would never experience with anyone else what I had with Victor.

There we were, sitting in his car, driving into the distance, our feelings exposed, although I didn’t know for what end. There was clearly no hatred, but none of us would throw the rope for the other to hold on to. Maybe it was just something very good that ended, and we should be thankful for having it at all. People go through lifetimes without so much of a glimpse of what such bliss could be like.

“Why didn’t you come back?” The interrogation came with an insurmountable amount of hurt.

“We were hurting each other. It wasn’t working. We were both losing ourselves in the relationship, we were getting in all kinds of trouble with your father… Let alone the fact that I can’t have kids, Victor.” And there it was, the unvoiced truth. One of the loudest, anyway. I couldn’t give him happiness, not entirely.

Victor frowned.

“That is not a reason. Andrea, when did I ever ask you for children? I was fully aware of your condition before we started dating. It never mattered.” His voice was angry, like he was being accused unfairly.

“Maybe not now, but it would, eventually. Victor, I’ve seen you with that girl Molly, and with other children, and you are great with kids, you love kids. You’d be a great father, you deserve to have that family you want so much. I couldn’t be the one taking it away from you.”

Victor didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride, seemingly lost in thought. Diane wanted us to talk, hopeful we could make up. But some things just don’t seem meant to be, and some words are better left unsaid.

Me? I was an internal mess, having all these feelings of hope and love, acceptance and closure dancing in my heart. I didn’t know what was right and what was wrong anymore. I leaned against my window, hoping the universe would be kind enough to give me answers soon.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #victor x oc #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc victor #love and producer #mister love queens choice

[intim3ate]

Kinktober Day 8 - Sensory Deprivaton | Sombra/Genji [Overwatch]

Genji loses himself in nothingness to be dragged back into light.

got nothing to say about this one except *kicks down door* I LOVE SOMJI 

they’re so good for so many kinks. God I wish this ship was more popular.

Not a commission, but I’m doing kinktober commissions all month! Info can be found here. Please check it out!

AO3 Link | Commission Info | Patreon | Leave a Tip?

--

Genji feels like he’s floating. It’s dark; there’s nothing around him but all-encompassing pitch-black nothing: no sound, no ground, no air, no light. He can’t hear the omnipresent whirrrr of his systems, can’t feel the constant subtle vibrations of his inner mechanisms come to life as he attempts to move. He tries to flex his fingers, but he can’t feel himself doing it despite knowing he is.

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t feel the expansion of his chest, doesn’t hear the sound of air filling his lungs. He lowers his hand to… to… nothing. He’s lying down on something, isn’t he? He must be. There’s no way his body would be positioned like this otherwise.

...Positioned how?

He closes his eyes and tries to think, tries to orient himself, tries to remember what his body feels like. Nothing changes. He isn’t sure where he is anymore, isn’t sure of what he’s doing, isn’t sure of anything. He trembles, anxious and almost fearful. Almost.

Are you ready?  

The voice is quiet, distant. Genji isn’t sure he’d heard it at all.

He swallows.

“I am ready.”

Something lights up. No, ‘lights up’ is wrong: more like heats up. He can’t see what it is so much as feel it: light sensation on his arm, sliding along it, upward, with the grace of a snake but the weight of an insect. He thinks of a caterpillar slithering up his arm. It’s not right, caterpillars don’t slither, but he can’t think of anything else to describe the sensation. It doesn’t even feel real, in some ways. But it’s close enough to real: it’s something he can feel, something he can focus on. A lighthouse in the fog.

So he does. He focuses on the feeling, the sensation, the touch, and lets it carry him wherever it will. It moves up his arm, rounds his shoulder, traces over its ridge and moves down, across his chest. That is his chest, right? Yes, it is -- he feels his heartbeat again, suddenly. It jumps up to meet the thing that traces lines across his skin and across his chassis.

Is there a chassis anymore?

It’s strange. Usually he can feel the difference between flesh and carbon fiber so easily. The sensations against the carbon fiber are always ever-so-slightly muted, like when he used to stub his toe as a boy, but his foot was asleep. The feeling is there but distant, muffled by his synthetic nerves. Not so now, not even when he feels whatever is touching him -- scratching him -- jump over the ridge connecting what's left of him to what's been made of him. It feels... intense. And then more and more intense and oh -- now his nerves are on fire, and he jolts (or he thinks he does) toward the feeling, toward the strange new sensation of pleasure it floods his senses with.

He imagines he can see it: a neon trail, thin and bright, a glowstick at a rave held in a pretty girl's hand. He doesn't see the girl's face, just the glowing outline of her naked body, green-purple-green-purple. She turns to him and he sees eyes, bright and violet and glowing, and lipstick just as vibrant.

The image flickers out and Genji whimpers, alone again. So alone. The darkness and the silence is oppressive, closing him in on every side. The phantom snake sensation is gone too, and once again he's floating in nothing, just waiting for something -- anything -- to...

He gasps. The something he  had been waiting for crawls over him, large and warm and… soft? He can’t tell. But it tap-tap-taps its way up both his arms at the same time, and it gets warmer near his neck, his face, and then there are spiders crawling along his jawline and his forehead, inching ever closer to his unseeing eyes --

Genji thrashes, or tries to thrash, but he can't tell if he's moving at all and the spiders are still there, still crawling on him, but -- but no, there's something else now, and his eyes dart around rapidly to try and find it, but the darkness shows him nothing.

Something touches his face. It's bigger than the spiders: solid, warm. It's something gentle and real and there , and the spiders vanish as he reaches for it. Genji's heart beats rapidly, and he can feel it this time, can hear it: the thump-thump-thump against his chest, the rush and roar of blood rushing in his ears. They ground him, pull him back, remind him he's alive, he's safe. There's nothing to fear.

He presses the thing closer to his face and imagines it's a hand. The pretty girl from his imagination holds his face and strokes it, telling him It's going to be okay. You're okay, mi amado. Just breathe.

Genji does breathe. He listens to the voice, clings to it, follows its instructions. He swallows and inhales: In out in out in, out, in, out... in... out. His heartbeat slows with his breathing, almost back to normal. The voice tells him again that he's okay. He believes it now. He is okay.

The hand and the voice both leave him a moment. Genji whimpers, desperately wanting them back, but they don't come. Instead they're replaced with something pressing against his mask -- no, his lips (but hadn’t he been wearing his mask a moment ago?). Whatever it is is soft and warm, and that warmth spreads through him. He moans, and yessss , there it is, that lovely wonderful vibration in his chest. His body comes to life again, just the tiniest bit, and he quickly takes stock of what he can feel: fingers threading through his hair; a hand entwined in his own; a warm, comforting weight over his hips. It's all just the shadow of real sensation though, a mere echo of what he feels against his lips. Genji leans up as much as he can, opens his mouth, tries desperately to kiss back. It's like his first kiss, messy and uncoordinated, but better in hundreds of thousands of ways. He knows, logically, that there's probably nothing even touching his lips, and yet this kiss sends pleasure screaming through his body in ways nothing else ever has.

It ends too soon. Once again, Genji is left floating in nothing. All sensation vanishes, cut off as if with a guillotine. He whines and thrashes again, trying to chase feeling, trying to catch it and bring it back, a canary in his hands. but nothing happens.

Until something does.

Genji squirms. He realizes all of a sudden that he's still aroused, perhaps more than he's ever been in his life. All this, just from a kiss. It's almost funny, and he almost laughs, but then that phantom caterpillar is back, slithering along his pelvis and crawling up his cock. When had he gotten so hard?

Every muscle in Genji's body goes tense; electricity sparks in every nerve as it comes back online only to vanish just as quickly as it comes. He cries out, mouth wide, and though he can't hear himself scream, he knows that’s exactly what he must be doing. The feeling is too much to contain.

He jolts as the caterpillar becomes two, becomes three becomes four becomes five, and they wrap around him and squeeze his dick. The slide over it with ease, and Genji realizes then that it's a hand holding him and jerking him off, a hand swirling precum over the head of his cock and thumbing at its underside. He wonders just how wet he is, but he doesn't dare ask. He knows he won't get an answer, anyway.

The hand leaves him, or maybe his nerves shut off again. Genji doesn't know. He hardly cares to wonder now: his mind is lost in a haze, a desperate cloud of arousal and need and -- and --

He cries out again when everything comes screaming back to him at once: all his systems power up, everything but his sight and auditory processors; every nerve lights up and burns, hotter than fire, as something -- someone, hot and soft and wet -- sinks down onto his cock.

Without thinking, Genji reaches up, but he can't touch whoever is riding him no matter how hard he fights against the sudden lifelessness in his arms. His hands immediately slam back down, untouched, and Genji is helpless once again. He's helpless against the pleasure that courses through him every time he feels the slide of that tight, slick pussy around his dick. Every time it clenches around him, stars explode in his mind's eye, every bit as real as everything else he has felt and imagined and yearned for in this darkness.

He comes fast, too fast, pushed along by the manipulation of his senses and systems and nerves. The stars on the backs of his eyelids explode into light explodes into galaxies implode into black holes, over and over and over like a neverending kaleidoscope, until they suck him back into the ether of nothingness.

But he no longer floats in the darkness. He flies.

He flies, and then he falls, and then he's lifted again when slowly, slowly, his systems begin to prickle back to life. Pins and needles, sparks of static, tiny flecks of green and purple and green.

Genji doesn't know how long it takes for him to open his eyes and finally see light. It could be hours; it could be minutes. All he knows is that he's back from that dark place, back from nothing, and he's not alone.

He shifts and sits up, drawing his elbows back and leaning on them as he looks up at Sombra still sitting in his lap, naked as the day she was born. Genji realizes belatedly that he's still inside her. In the back of his mind, he wonders why -- he must have long since gone soft -- but he isn't about to complain. Especially not with Sombra looking like that.

She's a mess. A complete, unabashedly hot mess.

Genji rakes his eyes over her. Sombra is absolutely covered in cum, splatters of it dripping down from her sternum to her stomach. Trickles of her own ejaculate stain her inner thighs, and when Genji follows the trails of it, he sees that she's left a bit of a mess on him, too.

Genji peels off his mask (it's warm, too warm; damp and humid and foggy with sweat) and smiles up at Sombra. He reaches up her and they move together so he can hold her without her ever leaving his lap, without him slipping out of her. The mess all over Sombra's torso squishes between them, coating Genji's chest and chassis as well, but he doesn't care. In fact, he likes it; the sensation sends a shiver down his spine, and he twitches inside Sombra.

"Can't believe you want to go again already," she mumbles into his hair. Another shiver runs through Genji. Just hearing her voice is enough for him to want to make love to her all over again. Properly this time.

He thinks about telling her. Instead, he asks, "How many times did I come?"

"I lost count after four." Sombra laughs and tugs Genji's hair so they're face-to-face. She kisses him gently and he reciprocates, just barely resisting the urge to deepen it. He doesn't know if he could even go for another round, even though he wants to: as turned on as he is, his body is completely exhausted.

"Mm..." Sombra pulls away and boops Genji's nose. "I take it you enjoyed yourself, then?"

"It was... a lot," Genji admites, but he smiles and nips at Sombra's lower lip. “I am glad you indulged me, though."

"Me too." Sombra strokes Genji's hair, slicking it back away from his face. "Does that mean you're going to ask me to do it again?"

Genji laughs and pulls Sombra tight to him. "Oh, I don't know..." he says. "Only if you would be willing to do this every night for the rest of my life."

Sombra rolls her eyes, but smiles. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

#overwatch #somji #sombra #genji shimada #kinktober #fanfic #commissions #r: e

[rosalind-of-arden]

Smoke and Iron Reread chapter 28-31

Don’t worry, no Sword and Pen spoilers here. Thoughts I have on this book in light of that will wait. We’re with Jess first, then Khalila, then Wolfe.

Anit says Red Ibrahim betrayed Callum and took money from the Archivist. So it looks like contrary to what he said in his letter to Callum, Red Ibrahim was in his own conspiracy with the Archivist. I’m guessing the Archivist would have been happy to either have both smuggling groups in his pocket or to turn them against each other.

Of course Santi isn’t too upset about Jess leaving. He’s enough of a strategist to recognize the value in Jess recruiting more allies, even if those allies are smugglers. He’s also still uncomfortable being around Jess, I’m sure. Having Jess gone gives Santi to process his anger at the betrayal and his guilt over attacking Jess.

Meanwhile, look at Wolfe expressing his worry about Jess as anger. He’s too stressed to be calm, and too recently out of prison to be comfortable with the vulnerability of showing that he cares, so he yells at everyone instead.

Unfortunate choice of words from Khalila to Wolfe: “I doubt the captain will allow you out of his sight again.” And then we see Santi agree with that, adding the rather authoritarian “no, Chris, it isn’t up for debate.” How close were they to another Wolfe vs Santi fight, if Khalila hadn’t quickly kept talking there?

Wolfe, for all his crankiness here, is still thinking rationally. He knows a solid plan when he hears one, and after the kids demonstrate that they’ve thought through the risks and made plans to address them, he’s offering his assistance.

Khalila, baby, you are so incredibly sweet, but it does not matter if Wolfe signs the letters. The Archivist already wants to kill him.

But still, this is an important step for Wolfe. He’s done laying low and hiding, he’s done being silenced, and he’s going to stand up for his cause.

Let’s watch Wolfe yet again back off from showing affection with suggestions that he doesn’t care. But he can’t weasel his way out of admitting that he’s worried about Khalila, so he has to settle for pretending he only cares about her, not Dario or Glain. They can see right through you, Wolfe.

Dario talked Zara into giving him a gun. He says he thinks she likes him. Interesting.

This Medica, Scholar Parker, has known Wolfe 10 years and respects him. Seems like a co-worker on decent terms with him more than a friend.

Lighthouse desks have a button that can be pushed to summon security, or at least Scholar Parker’s does.

We still have some tension between Wolfe and Santi. Santi is trying to be reassuring, and Wolfe doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t believe it either.

Fuck you, Zara. She’s deliberately picking a fight with Wolfe, and she has to know he’s already hurt.

Seriously Zara, how have you failed to notice that the kids are the ones pushing this rebellion forward, not Wolfe? Is her dislike for Wolfe so strong that she blames him for Santi’s “betrayal” of the library? Or does she just underestimate the kids that much?

Santi does not like seeing Wolfe and Zara argue.

Even more High Garda staff turnover. One commander just resigned, another who’s more loyal to the Archivist has been put in place, but he doesn’t have the troops’ support.

Somewhere in there, maybe on the transport ride, Jess and Wolfe found time to talk about the dragon.

Santi says his group was put on the ship the night of the betrayal. So the delay Khalila talks about had to have been while they were on the ship. A delay in setting sail for some reason?

“He would always think of them as their children; he’d given up on anything else.” DAD WOLFE!

Wolfe vs. Santi, round 12 is it? 13? Whatever. Santi suggests going looking for the kids. Wolfe shuts him down immediately. No argument: Zara tries to argue, but Santi just walks away. Interesting echo of the conversation in front of the kids earlier. I suspect Santi knows damn well that he set himself up for this when he unnecessarily refused to let Wolfe go anywhere: Wolfe could use the exact same argument about the danger against Santi. Score now stands at 8-3.

Santi knows to get Wolfe his emotional support wine.

What Zara says while Santi isn’t listening is a vicious attack on all of Wolfe’s insecurities. He worries that he’s hurting Santi by being with him, and here’s Zara telling him that it’s true. Not the thing to say to someone who just went through a traumatic experience.

How much does Wolfe love Santi? He refuses to be drawn into an argument with her over him, even when she’s being this cruel. Interesting that he was quite willing to fight with her over the kids, but not Santi.

Wolfe respects the importance of Santi’s friendship with Zara, and thus, by extension, the importance of Santi having his own friendships and interests. He’s got a possessive streak, but not so much that he’ll let it take away something Santi values. You could read this as respect for a platonic friendship. You could also definitely read this exchange as indication of an open relationship for Wolfe and Santi, with Zara as a second partner for Santi, one who Wolfe doesn’t like even though he respects what she means to Santi. I like the ambiguity.

Wolfe likes Spanish red wine.

Santi and Wolfe are both so calm about the prospect of dying. They’re sad, but neither of them is all that afraid of it.

What does bother Santi? The loss of his position with his company. Even though they welcomed him back, he doesn’t feel like he belongs anymore. And Wolfe blames himself for that. Santi doesn’t blame Wolfe, though, and he’s very insistent on it. His tone is gentle, but his wording is firm.

Wolfe goes fairly quickly from being glad he’s back with Santi and remembering how he comforted himself in the prison with thoughts of Santi to having flashbacks. Prison memories inspire panic. He has already attempted to suppress his memories of this second time in prison. He may be recovering, but he is definitely still fragile.

Santi recognizes the signs of trauma right away and is there with support, moving closer and talking through it with Wolfe.

A sign that Wolfe’s mental health is improving: he hasn’t talked about Rome with Santi much. He was trying to forget about being in prison again. But when the memory comes, he doesn’t try to hide it again. He talks to Santi. He’s reached a point where he can start to talk about the trauma.

Distress signs in Wolfe’s speech patterns again: “Him,” Wolfe said, and could hardly hear his own voice. “From Rome. Qualls.”

Here, too, Wolfe is very sure that Qualls was a hallucination. He isn’t sure why he’d hallucinate Qualls rescuing him. Some possibilities: in a way, Qualls did rescue him the first time. It was Qualls who released him, and as much as Qualls hurt him, he can’t forget that final act of kindness. Also, it’s a way of processing trauma. A Qualls hallucination could be his brain processing his fears in a dream-like way.

Wolfe and Santi talked about Qualls exactly once, months after Wolfe got home. Santi would very much like to kill Qualls, for obvious reasons. If they’re not talking about Qualls, how much else from Rome could they talk about?

This isn’t an easy conversation for Wolfe. His hands are shaking and he wants more wine but doesn’t have the strength to get it.

Even with this conversation, Wolfe is still very far from healed. That’s where the suicide pact comes in. He’d rather die than face prison or torture again, and he asks Santi to promise to kill him if necessary to keep that from happening. Santi responds that if that happens, he’s killing himself too. No argument with Wolfe’s preference for death over prison, just an assurance that he’s going to be with him even in that.

Is this comment about preferring to live with Santi rather than die with him intended to reassure Santi that he’s less suicidal than he sounds? Probably. Is all of this probably very worrying to Santi? Certainly. But he doesn’t argue with Wolfe about it. He knows Wolfe needs his support in that moment.

Wolfe’s physical condition: Santi is halfway down the stairs in the time it takes Wolfe just to stand up. He’s definitely weak. Psychosomatic or lack of food and rest? Or both.

Santi comforts Khalila. Wolfe recognizes that work will help Thomas. Dads being dads!

#the great library #smoke and iron reread #smoke and iron spoilers

[self-indulgent-sparrow]

BIG GOD

Queenie went through a lot of work to get to where she is today. Putting it onto paper was a hard thing to do, for reasons that will become painfully obvious.

Please understand that I've had this concept planned out for at least 3 years now—if it reads like an angst ride, it's because it's something 2015 May had conceptualized, and I've set into stone for years and years. If anything, writing this nailed down some facts about her character and her beliefs that I haven't gotten to really talk about or study in depth.

10.8k. 30 pages, single spaced. Not an enjoyable ride to read. Heavy, heavy lore—there's no humor in this one.

Warnings for mention of suicide/suicide idealization, graphic descriptions of violence and body trauma. Also just general angst. Probably some CPTSD.

BIG GOD

The white cliff side stretched along the horizon, a stark contrast to the blue sky that it cut into, to the black sea that crashed against it. From here, she could see the thin red and white lighthouse, could only just make out the coast that crested partway along the bottom.

Beachy Head was the second of the four chalk cliff ranges she'd narrowed the location to. Mirah had seen the Seven Sisters—had scoped the cliffs for over a week, studying every shadow and dip—to no avail. The scripts had been unclear, only truly describing the cliff-side cave entrance as well hidden, barely a blot against the white edges of Albion, soaked in a history of blood.

In all honesty, she predicted the artifact would be at Dover, near the castle. It was a logical conclusion to jump to—the site had been witness to war, over and over again. The right island, the right backstory, it made sense that the scripts would describe Dover.

But Beachy Head was just east of the Sisters, and she wanted to be thorough. She'd come this far.

–

When she was a child, she devoured stories like they were air. The books she collected on Egypt and Greece and Rome numbered well beyond the dozens, alongside books about dragons and monsters and heroes. Heroes, always heroes.

She excelled in the history, drowned in the beliefs that were, to her, so foreign, but had once been people's lifelines. Dead stories, speaking beyond the grave, still forcing themselves out of the ground to be known. They held their own power. They lived beyond their people.

She had devoted herself deeply to the powerful concepts, needing badly to believe that, even when she was gone, she'd leave something behind. Something more than what she was at the time—a small, lonely creature, whose only friends were the books.

One day she'd tell a story, and it would echo into the years that would follow, without her there to witness it. She'd have that power too.

She had to believe that. She had to believe there was something more than the existence she'd been given.

Time passed. She nearly forgot. She nearly burned away.

–

The boat swayed gently, thumping against the wood and spraying water and foam as it docked. She had barely stepped onto the pier when she was handed the brochure. She opened it with chilly fingers, tucking her chin into her chest.

It proudly advertised the view of the lighthouse, the nearby pub in Eastbourne. It declared she should try the ice cream trucks that traversed the area, should follow the trail on the day hike to really appreciate the whole of the grandeur.

The national parks. The history. The bike marathon.

It all begged the question, she thought, as she made her way to the entrance of the dock, where the cab drivers waved at the tourists to beckon them over. With all this tourism, with eyes on the cliff-side at almost all times—

How could anything hide here? Would it truly not have been found?

(Underneath the listings and advertisements, she noted quietly, was a plea that, if one was contemplating suicide, to seek help immediately.)

Mirah looked out along the bottom of the cliff face, her eyes narrowed. It just out from the water in a sharp line, almost perpendicular, almost a straight shot upward. For miles, there were no coastlines along its base.

Soaking in a history of blood.

–

When she was six years old, Mirah would look out the window of the car, her seat-belt digging into her neck. She would fantasize, then, in the quiet of the drive, about jumping off high cliffs into the ocean to her death.

She would think about being dashed against the tall rocks at the bottom, barely hurting for more than a moment before disappearing into froth. Six years old, and she wrote out the suicide notes in her head. The people she'd leave behind, the  blame she'd pin, the guilt they'd drown in. The voices they'd hear that weren't truly there. Her voice, living long after she did.

An event that would mean something to other people. A way to live through words long after the body had slipped away.

Strange. She would always find herself crying at the idea.

She didn't know for a long, long time, that six year olds shouldn't be thinking about that.

Strange.

–

The hotel was barely ten minutes from the trail. She reeked of tourism and sweat, an out of place form in the quiet bedroom with its warm lamps and soft bed. It barely complained when she dropped the weight of her backpack onto it, the sheets calling to her, the hot shower calling to her.

She chose, instead, to unzip the pack, and began to pull out her maps. There was little time to worry about showering—Beachy Head was a long expanse. It would take time and focus to study its rough white face, to narrow down possible cave entrances.

She dropped her maps and script translations onto the small desk, flicking the light on. The translation sheets rolled—she pinned them down with her travel mug, full of the crap hotel coffee and four bags of sugar.

Mirah dropped into the chair and bent over her studies, like she had every day for the past month and a half. She laced her fingers, putting them under her chin, and began again.

Her eyes ached from the effort. They begged for rest she did not give.

The trail of Beachy Head could be traversed in a single day. Along the path, members of the chaplaincy patrolled, to ward off potential jumpers, but their patterns were predictable and avoidable, as had been proven by the increase in bodies found in the last month.

She divided the cliff-line into portions with care, opening the journal she'd used for documenting the progress she'd made. Painstakingly, she pasted portions of one of the maps into the pages, dedicating a few blank pages to each one.

The patrols would be little problem. She had no plans to die.

It neared two-forty in the morning when she checked her phone for the first time in the past forty-eight hours. Her mouth became a hard line.

You have 2 (Two) missed calls

Blocked Number

You have 2 (Two) new voicemails

Blocked Number

She deleted them without listening, and turned her phone off again.

–

She was sixteen she she finally saw someone for her depression. The room was south facing, the sunlight slanting through the blinds. The woman she met was old, and kind, and stern, and she wept in that room more times than she could count.

“What made you decide to see me?”

Mirah dug her fingers into her plaid school skirt. Her eyes flicked to her mother's form in the chair  beside her, and to her knees.

“I nearly crashed my car.”

That day had been a bad one, like so many before it. She had--

She had told her father, time and time again, that she was sick. She was sick and sad and she needed help, she needed to get help, and he had told her, with all the kindness in the world, that she could always talk to him about her problems. He had bought her lunch, and that was it.

She was his little date.

–

On day four, she stood at the highest point of Beachy Head, gripping her journal tight to her chest against the cool wind that bit into her cheeks. The lighthouse was a slender thing thing from here, below her. Here, there was no coastline, just the crashing water over five hundred feet below her.

When she looked down the face of the cliff, she could see the jutting rock, the dipping shadows. They dipped and warped, wrong, like they were falling into unseen crevices.

She flipped the journal open and marked the location studiously, sketching the lighthouse to size for reference. Her eyes narrowed, watering from the cold. When she looked up, the sunlight glinted off the ocean.

It really was beautiful here. The sky was clear. The sun was high.

She hadn't been focused on a goal like this in a long time. It was the closest she felt to alive again; the closest she could come to joy and satisfaction--

It was nice to care about something again.

The devil was in the details. She opened her journal and continued her work. If this was it, she needed to do everything she could to get it right.

–

She decided, at one point, to disappear. She hurt everywhere, she hurt all the time. The people she loved didn't love her back. The people who said they loved her hurt her, over and over and over.

She'd never been anything to anyone. She felt, all the time, little more than a burden, little more than a weight around people's necks. There was a weight on her neck, something keeping her tethered, something that kept her head bowed to the earth.

There was no pride. There was no passion. There was just her, little more than a ghost.

At night, she dreamed that she stopped existing, and nobody noticed.

–

The night was cold and still as she trekked up the trail that followed the cliff side. Her headlight bobbed along the dirt path, its dimmest setting still painting stark shadows from the pebbles and the long grass. In the dark, she could hear the high cry of unseen birds overheard.

Her pack dug into her shoulders as she walked, quick and quiet. She paused for hardly a moment, ducked low, and turned her light off, listening hard. A minute passed, then two, before she stood again, continuing forward to the high point. She left her light off, now.

She'd timed the patrols, learned the routes. They followed the road in search of cars in the night, then moved up the trail—if she was right, she had about a half hour to set up her posts and begin rappelling the cliff-side before the first patrol would pass it. That was not a lot of time.

She'd have to get it right. Lucky for her, she'd become somewhat efficient at this part.

The anchor posts were cold and heavy in her gloves. She drove the first into the ground, striking it deeper with the mallet. The noise was muffled by the rubber head, but the strikes resonated through her. The second post, ten feet from the first, went in easier. She looped and knotted her rope onto them, double checking her harness knots and descender. They were stable, secure. They would hold her weight.

She tightened the leg loops of the harness on her body, checked her headlight. In her inner coat pocket, easily accessible but secure, were her maps. Her glasses were strapped on, and would stay in place.

She stood at the edge of the cliff, inhaling deeply the painfully cold air. It smelled of sea salt and ice. Her body trembled—the rock felt ready to give way underneath her feet. An illusion, her own mind playing tricks on her. Terrifying and exhilarating all the same.

She hoped beyond hope that she wasn't wrong, but she didn't bet on it.

Mirah took one last huff of breath, turned her headlight on, gripped the rope in both her hands, and began her descent.

–

She stayed alive.

A spiteful action. She stayed alive, holding her bleeding heart in her hand.

She could never explain why she chose, or when she chose, to try to love herself. She'd not been loved for a long time, and somehow the biggest insult she could provide to others was the attempt to provide what they refused to.

Mirah was nearly eighteen when she finally ran away. Ties were hard to cut—she did her best, blocking phone numbers, changing bank accounts. She came as close as she could to becoming a new person, and she ran so far she crossed an ocean. Her funds had always been low, but school was always hosting classes abroad.

It was easier than she expected, and equally as hard. She had no foundation—but she had never had one, really. The foundation she'd been born with had been rotten from the beginning. It was a miracle she had chosen life.

She had made her own miracle. She'd pulled herself from her own grave. Somewhere along the way, she chose to love.

–

She shuddered against the wind, pressing herself to the rock face. Her boots were braced against the chalk, and she could feel the gentle slide as it gave and came loose in places.

This was insane, a weak voice pleaded in her head. Go back, go back. This was too far, it begged. She stepped down, down, down. The white stone swallowed her entire vision on all sides.

She was keenly aware, now—of the ache of the harness where it dug into her shoulders and thighs, of the stretch and burn of her knuckles where they gripped the rope and let it slide through their creaky joints. Of the way her skin was freezing cold and burning hot all in one moment, from adrenaline.

Down. Down. Down. Her rope unwound from the descender slowly, surely. Down. Each step down the wall was careful, bracing, in an attempt to find footing against the eroding stone. Down. She'd descended how far now? Forty feet? Fifty? Was she close? She must be close. She had to be close. Down. How much longer did she have before the patrol crossed? Down.

The next step downward struck the cap of her boot—her foot slipped and failed to brace and her knee struck the jutting rock. She swore hard and corrected, her jaw tightly clenched from the sudden pain. It was fine—she was fine. She should have expected the sudden slope outwards, should have prepared for it.

Here came the hard part. With careful movements, Mirah edged backwards down the slope, her eyes on her rope. She'd have to keep it in place when it caught on the slope, swing herself back to the wall of rock and the mouth of the potential cave, and be able to pull herself up it again.

It was a feat of strength, which she only barely had enough of. She edged over the furthest point of rock, and she could not resist the urge to press her hand flat to the scratchy white stone. Even this high up, she could see the spray of water from the ocean glistening against it.

There were no grips to the chalky surface, but that was fine—she just wanted to touch it. It was real.

This was real. She was scaling a known monument, a historical landmark, in the dead of night. She had made it to this place—this gorgeous site, drowning in history—all on her own. She was—this was insane. This was spectacular. Mind-boggling.

Mirah turned her head to look over her shoulder, out to the ocean that was as loud in her ears as the blood rushing through her. She could see the lighthouse, its light like a star on the water.

For a blinding moment, she was struck with the urge to weep.

She swallowed the growing ache in her throat and turned back to the cliff.

Down. Down.

When she pressed her toes forward, she could just feel the rock face at the tips. Still, she lowered herself with care, until she had fully passed the jutting lip of rock.

Mirah stared at the flat wall that met her.

There was nothing here.

Her chest heaved hard. Fine. That—it was fine. She'd hit dead ends like this before. It wasn't her first empty lead, and it wouldn't be the last. It hurt like hell—like she had failed altogether—and she'd have to pull herself all the way back up the cliff-side to make it to the next map point, but. It was fine.

Mirah gripped her cord tight in her fingers, her entire form curled and tensed. A strangled scream escaped from her despite her best efforts—a choked sob followed, and the dam broke. She began to cry there, hanging in the air, her headlight bouncing along the rock and painting uneven shadows everywhere.

Her breakdown was short, though it left her shaking. She braced herself against the rock again, her gloves pressed flat as she tried to compose herself again. A deep inhale, a shaky exhale. Another. When she swallowed the rest of the tears, she turned to look down the length of the white wall.

It was then that she saw the stark cut of shadows, maybe two meters away.

The mouth of the cave was not a mouth—it was barely more than a crack, a cranny, an uneven, imperfect overlap of rock against rock. It was so terribly small—barely enough for the average person to fit.

She was so small.

A choked noise escaped her as she rocked herself along the rock face, struggling for purchase against the crumbling stone. She reached out with near-desperate fingers, and grabbed the sharp lip of rock. With all her strength, she pulled herself towards and into the crevice, her face pressed into the wall. Her light painted stark bright light into the tight passage—she could hardly fit, through the layers of clothing and the harness.

Still, she forced the snug fit, her breathing shallow and strained. It was too tight—she wouldn't fit—

All at once, she fell into the open, dark cavern.

Her aching knee throbbed with a vengeance when it struck the uneven floor; she threw her arms out and her palms hit the ground with a jolt of pain that had her landing on her side, gasping hard. Her body trembled from the exertion of the fit and the pain vibrating through her palms.

She lay there, catching her breath, headlight shining along the stone of the bottom of the chamber. The air was musty with dust, salty with ocean. Dust particles swirled through the cold light in lazy patterns. When she turned her head, she could see the stalactites that descended from the ceiling of the cavern. There was the very gentle drip, drip of the water that had collected at their tips.

She'd found it—well. She'd found something.

Fingers trembling from weariness, Mirah pushed herself into a sitting position, her breathing labored and her harness's rope looping out in front of her. From her small hiking bag on her waist she pulled out a water bottle, and she downed half its contents with near desperation. Fuck, that had been hard. When she finally set it down, she gasped again for air, wiping her mouth on her coat sleeve.

Now the harness was strapped off, left to lay on the floor several feet from the entrance. Through the crack, she could just barely see the ocean and black sky. When she stood, her knees shook as they supported her weight, but they did not buckle.

The cavern was cold and nearly perfectly round, its walls rough and uneven. The stone was not white like the rest of Beachy Head—here, it was varying shades of brown and gray, nearly rust colored in places. She crossed the length of the chamber, her steps quietly echoing as though she was in a space larger than she realized. At the other end of the dark space, she realized why.

The cave was merely an antechamber, an entrance. In front of her was the tall mouth of a tunnel entrance.

She pulled her headlight off and held it in her hand, aiming it into the tunnel without entering. It sloped upward slightly, so she could not see where it ended. Around the entrance to the tunnel were engravings she could barely discern for how high they were, a stark contrast to the antechamber's rough, nearly natural appearance

She braced herself and entered the tunnel. She'd come this far—she would not stop.

The walls of the tunnel were engraved—along the top half were tall figures, ancient symbols. Hieroglyphs at the expanse of the bottom half, where she pressed her fingers. Her neck craned upward, eyes wide.

She wanted to see it all. She wanted to see every detail. There—the sun disk. The eye of Ra. The heron.

She'd been right. She'd gotten it right. The hours of studies, the painstaking translations, the numerous maps and countless markers she'd gone through tracing a path here—

She'd gotten it right.

She walked up the sloping tunnel, her fingers tracing the smooth carved stone as she devoured the images with rapture. Here—the Ished Tree, the seat of the Great Heron. There, the Obelisk of Heliopolis. The Benben stone, hovering above the Nu, the sun shining upon its face.

She had started there—she could remember the way her hand pressed carefully to the class that had encapsulated the black stone. She had begun, like all the stories had, at the Benben stone. How far she had come—how so like the ancient scripts.

Everything began at the Benben stone.

Mirah reached as high as she could, and pressed her hand to the bottom of the Sun Boat. Her chest shook, threatening to heave with tears of wonder. Her face hurt—she realized, belatedly, she had been smiling.

The end of the tunnel widened suddenly into another cavern. This one was massive, far larger than the antechamber, and oblong, slanted away from the tunnel and warmly lit. At the far end of the chamber was a brilliant light she could not make out, that filled the whole of the space like a fire would. She turned her headlight off, shoving it into her pocket.

The floor glittered—when she looked down, she found it covered with solid gold feathers, like golden down. They were spread across the floor of the chamber, away from the tall figure that stood at one end of the cave, nearest to the tunnel's entrance. Its form glistened in the light, hauntingly terrible and beautiful.

She approached the still figure slowly, careful to not touch the feathers scattered along the ground. They gathered in circular waves around the statue, more and more abundant at its base.

It was an enrapturing thing—a woman, nearly six feet tall, posed like a titan against some force of nature, her hair blown back and away from her face. Her arm was outstretched towards the light source of the room, as though reaching out for it, or trying to ward it away.

Her long gown stretched out behind her, blown away from her in uneven curves and near-jagged edges. A close inspection revealed—its hemline was carved into feathers like those that filled the room, caught in the midst of a transformation into something larger.

The woman was beautiful, her face detailed to the eyelashes, to the wrinkles in her jaw and the pull and strain of muscles in her throat. The attention to the smallest ridges were exquisite, yet there were no tool marks. It was as though a human had been perfectly frozen in gold.

Despite her beauty, the woman's face was hard and angular, expression twisted into one of rage. Her earrings, large diamonds that framed her jawline, were blown back into her hair, the strands and curls chaotic twists, caught in an unseen storm.

Near reverently, Mirah's hand rose, struck with the urge to stroke the long exposed neck, to press her fingers to the column of golden throat.

AWAY FROM THERE.

The words were not spoken aloud—they did not echo throughout the room—but they filled her head as though they had been whispered directly into her ear. The voice was hers and was not; it was one voice whispering and a thousand shouting, all in the same moment. It sent shivers up her spine—she twisted to where the statue was facing, its arm outstretched to the other end of the cavern. To the light.

Every step across the chamber seemed heavier than the last. Her heart was loud in her ears, loud like the words that echoed through her entire body. Closer, closer.

YOU HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED FOR ME.

It wasn't a question, but she found herself nodding. The room was warm—she shed her coat on the smooth floor without pausing in her slow stride. When she spoke, her tone was hushed with awe.

“You're—alive. You're a living thing. I—“

She had expected magic. She'd known in her core that there were different kinds of magic, artifacts that held power and strength. This was another thing altogether—this was a sentient being. The divine creation of a god, and it lived.

“I. The scripts—I knew you'd be powerful but this is—“

At the other end of the chamber was a circular raised pool, large and shallow. The water inside rippled, reflecting the trembling gold of the light onto the ceiling in constant shifting patterns.

In the center, an obelisk rose from the water. Its point was capped with black. And, hovering at its tip—

“You're beautiful,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet.

When the Sun Disk spoke, it was not in English. It didn't have a voice, not really—but its presence in her mind was like her own voice in her head. It was like an alien presence in her head, that was and was not her.

THE SCRIPTS YOU SPEAK OF WERE WRITTEN BY THOSE WITH LIMITED KNOWLEDGE. THEY HOLD LITTLE VALUE.

It shone spectacularly. Mirah stood at the edge of the pool, staring long after it had burned light patterns into her eyes.

WHY HAVE YOU COME TO THIS PLACE.

Her hands pressed to the smooth raised edge of the pool. She looked into the golden water, and then up again, her eyes narrowed in thought, the skin of her lip caught in her mouth.

TELL ME, WHAT DID YOU EXPECT WHEN YOU ARRIVED HERE?

She stepped back from the edge of the pool, and dropped to a knee to unlace her boots, one after another.

“I—honestly? I don't really know. I mean, I knew there would be an artifact—I figured out its name, and—“ she yanked the boot off “—I. Guess I thought I could find it.”

She was silent for a moment, pulling the other boot off, and then she added, “Sorry, that's not very descriptive. It wasn't really that I cared about some great fancy treasure.”

NO.

“No, it was—I saw a story. Yeah.” She set the boots aside, worked her gloves off. Layer by layer, she shed the clothing. They stuck to her skin from sweat.

“I saw something like a story, and I loved stories, you know? It looked interesting, like it had potential to be a big grand story—but it was missing so many details. It had all these gaps,” she explained, with a little gesture, her fingers outstretched. She looked at the spaces between them. “Like a jigsaw puzzle that was missing some of the pieces. And I saw these parts and—I don't know, more than anything I wanted to fill in the blanks.”

WHY.

“I don't know why,” she said, trying not to be sharp. “It—I felt like I had to so badly, and I don't know—it was like, if I didn't, I would wonder about it forever.”

She could feel the stretch from the curve of her back as she pulled her socks off. She stretched her toes out.

“I started looking for the pieces and,” she swallowed, “For the first time in a really, really long time, I started to feel full again. I could feel excited again. Christ—I saw so much trying to get here. I learned so much just to get here.”

She had taught herself to read  ancient languages. Had learned mountain rappelling, had forced herself to stay up into the early hours of the morning inscribing, translating, journaling and researching. Had visited country after country to get here, to this place.

TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN.

Even as she stared at the Sun Disk, her mind reeled back the memory. There was something in her throat, like a fluttering bird. When she spoke, she felt miles away.

“I saw Egypt. Heliopolis, in Cairo. It was—you could drown in the heat and the noise and the color. All that desert and there was still so much color, so much noise. And then, at night, it was so cold and quiet. At—At night, you could see the stars over the pyramids.”

AND.

She inhaled deeply, her chest trembling.

“Greece, after that. As many of the Cyclades islands as I could get to, and Crete too. The water was as blue as the sky, and those buildings built onto the waterfront were—they were just as grand as all the marble and bronze in the museums. Christ, all that blue.”

AND.

Her fingers rose and pushed into her hair, pulling loose the band holding her curls back. She hurt, in a deep, impossible to describe sort of way, deep in her center.

“Scotland—Alba, and then Albion, as you probably know it. I saw the old castles being eaten up by the landscape again—and hills so green they looked like fairy lands, and the white cliffs, and no wonder people believe fairies come here. It's old magic, isn't it?”

She stood again, and stepped to the edge of the pool. She found, belatedly, that her cheeks were wet and her brow was furrowed. Her throat was locking up—Mirah forced herself to breathe, pushing her glasses up and wiping her face.

In place of answering her question, the Sun Disk asked, as though it already knew the answer.

WAS THE QUEST THE GOAL ITSELF?

She yanked the lenses off altogether, the band holding them to her face relaxing with a snap. Without much thought, she dropped them on the raised edge of the pool. Her jaw was tight. She forced the muscles to relax, but her grip on the sharp ridge tightened enough for it to hurt.

“No. It wasn't that—I already said, it was the story. Maybe I saw a lot of beautiful places and learned a lot of new things, and maybe there's something great in that, but I didn't do it for that. It didn't fill me with nearly as much excitement as figuring out the puzzle.”

As she spoke, she lifted a leg and placed it on the ridge, fingers on the hem of her jeans. Rolling the edge up her calf, she continued, slowly.

“Everybody always goes on about the journey being more important than the destination, but that's rarely the case for me. It's important, sure, and maybe it's as important, but it's rarely the deciding factor. The end result has to matter or else everything will feel like a waste of time. It'll be disappointing if the goal isn't important—and I'm not disappointed.”

The leg of her jeans was cuffed above her knee. The other leg, now.

“I think the goal was solving the puzzle. Doesn't matter how small the project or big the task—I get satisfaction out of a job well done. I did it, I did something nobody else had accomplished, and I did it without any help.”

She stood, back straight and shoulders back, squinting at the Sun Disk. She thought, maybe, she was trembling, but when she held her hand in front of her face, it was perfectly still.

“I didn't quit when it was hard, and I didn't let anything get in my way. I wanted to do something big, and I succeeded, and I wanted to be here. I proved I could do it.”

For the first time, she allowed herself to feel proud.

“I did this, I proved that I deserved to be here, right here. I deserved to have this.”

She had done an impossible task. Despite everything, she had won.

I AM NOT A PRIZE TO BE WON, CHILD, it said, and through the echo of its words, she thought she heard the cool tone. She fought the urge to bare her teeth at the name. Her displeasure was painted on her face.

“What are you, then?”

The light that radiated off from it flared, painfully bright, like looking into the center of a star. She raised her arm to shield her eyes, grimacing.

I AM THE BEGINNING OF THE BEGINNING. I AM THE CALLER OF CREATION. I AM THE SOUL OF THE SUN.

It was a roar—it was her blood boiling and her eyes burning, streaming with tears. It hurt—she clenched her teeth and felt them grind. Its outburst continued, wide, filling the room.

She realized, suddenly, that'd she'd been wrong about something incredibly important. Her throat went dry. She lowered her arm.

“Bennu. You're Bennu.”

As sudden as it had begun to flare, the light dimmed, low enough to nearly go out. The pounding in her head ceased, though the ringing was slow to dissipate. She could see the outline of light around the silhouette of the Sun Disk, cutting in clear lines the head of the snake, the detailed edge of its scales.

I am, it said, hushed. She continued, her chest heaving. Her voice was stronger now, bursting with something she could not explain.

“You're the Bennu Bird—The ba of Ra, his soul. The bird that flew over the Nun and made the call for creation, that which created himself, you. You're not just the creator of the artifact, you're the Sun Disk. You're—you're still here. The gods are still here, they're real, you're real.”

She was smiling widely, eyebrows turned up in wonder and awe. Her chest hurt, heart aching.

She was witnessing a miracle. She was looking at a deity given form—not just a divine creation, but an actual, physical god.

It was more than she had ever expected. It was almost too much for her to truly grasp.

I AM, it said again. Its voice, she thought now, was beautiful, and grand. She was understanding, finally, all the parts of her scripts that she could not make sense of. It slid into place, a significant piece to a grand mystery that she had solved herself.

She was in the presence of something so much bigger than herself. It almost made what she was about to do seem horribly blasphemous.

The water of the pool was warm against her calves when she stepped into it. The gentle splash seemed loud in her ears.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DO?

She swallowed, then nodded. Her steps were slow.

TELL ME.

“The scripts—they said there, there was a ruler,” she spoke haltingly, and licked her lips. They had dried and begun to crack from the heat. “A deity, a being that wore the Sun Disk and ruled its first subjects. The first beings, the ones that resembled its first form the most. The—the birds.”

The water splashed against her knees as she waded through it.

“The Disk was passed down, to those who proved their potential.”

AN APT WORD.

ARE YOU A RULER?

Mirah nearly scoffed at that. “Christ—I don't know. Maybe? I make things, I'm an artist. I'm stubborn, and I know right from wrong, and it matters to me, and I'm loud about it. Does that sound like a ruler to you?”

YET YOU CONTINUE TO APPROACH.

YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO RULE?

Closer, she stepped. Closer. From here, she could see the jewel in the eye of the snake, and the unblemished face of the disk. Her face looked back at her, through her blurred vision and the pristine surface.

"I think I'd be an idiot to get this far and not try. Don't you?”

STOP WHERE YOU STAND.

She stopped midstride, breathe caught in her throat. With a sort of defiant slowness, she straightened, her head help up, chin raised. She could not yet reach out to touch it, but from here, she could see the black obsidian head of the obelisk, a sharp diamond. In its face were deeply carved runes.

The Sun Disk pulsed, the light pushing out, pulling in, like a heartbeat.

YOUR QUEST IS NOT YET COMPLETE.

YOU WILL COMPLETE MY TRIALS. YOU WILL PROVE YOUR WORTH.

Her brow furrowed in momentary surprise.

“....okay?”

IF YOU FAIL, YOU WILL PERISH.

Ever the stubborn one, she said, her cheek pulled into her mouth with disdain, “What is this, Indiana Jones?”

WHAT IS THAT.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Um. A joke. Don't worry about it.”

It continued, without even the slightest change in infliction.

DO YOU ACCEPT THE TERMS?

The light was becoming brighter, the gold edges becoming crisp white. The pulsing was expanding, thudding in her ears. Her mouth became a thin line again, her gaze narrowed. She could feel the pinch of her brows where they furrowed.

“Yeah. I accept.”

It flared, a supernova. It filled everything—everything disappeared. All that remained was white light, blinding her even as she raised her hand to protect her eyes. And, then—

For a moment, there was nothing at all.

–

The waves crashed loudly at the bottom of the cliff behind her. With hesitance, she lowered her hand from her face. Above her, the sun shone intensely, though it did nothing to hinder the sharp cold wind that blew harshly against her.

She pushed her hair away from her face, looking along the grassy hill she faced. The Sun Disk spoke again.

BEFORE YOU STAND TWO ARMIES. FOR CENTURIES, THEIR NATIONS HAVE BEEN AT WAR.

In front of her, two lines stood apart in the long grass. The wind blew between them, their individual flags waving wildly in the air. Beyond that, they were still and silent. The gap between then could not have been more than ten yards, that she looked along with slitted eyes.

OF THE NATIONS, ONE HAS A LARGE ARMY AND SUPERIOR WEAPONRY.

As if on cue, the footmen on her right raised their spears above their heads. The movement caused the shuddering of steel on steel, yet still they were silent. Did they even see her?

THE OTHER NATION MAINTAINS SUPERIOR STRATEGISTS.

On her left, the men raised their shields into the air as one.

Every face was unique, undoubtedly alive. Mirah's teeth dug into the flesh of her lip.

IN THIS WAR, WHO DO YOU BELIEVE WINS?

Her eyes flicked to the English sky, following the clouds that pushed ever closer. When she looked back to the scene, the armies made no movement.

At her sides, her hands curled and uncurled.

She didn't understand this scenario. Was she to guess the winners, or was she the deciding factor? Were these the only options she had?

The volume at which she spoke was not quite a shout, but was nearly there.

“Why--” she licked her lips, dry from the wind. “Why are they fighting?”

THE REASON HAS BEEN LOST.

She frowned.

“Wait, do they know why they're fighting?”

IT IS IRRELEVANT.

“Like hell it is!” she found herself saying, turning away from the field to the cliff, out to the sun. “Do they even speak the same language? Can they communicate at all?”

NO.

“Well,” she said, and it caught her by surprise how much impatience was in her own voice. It was sharp with distaste. “There's your problem! How are they supposed to come to a compromise when they don't even know why they're fighting? When they can't even talk it out? How can they come to any kind of peace?”

YOU HAVE MISSED THE POINT OF THE SCENARIO.

“No!” she shouted. Oh, it was suddenly like she was in middle school again, the eyes burning into the back of her neck as she stood at her desk. “This puzzle or scenario or whatever you want to call it—there are no winners! I can't pick out a winner here, when—when they've been fighting for so long, and nobody's won.”

There was silence. She continued, fierce.

“And even if I was supposed to pick a so called winner, the winner wouldn't be here! These are just soldiers! They're going to die! Here, there aren't any winners, and there won't be any winners until somebody tries to talk it out! But they won't even try! So nobody wins.”

THAT IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER, the Disk said, as she turned back to the hill. The footmen were staring at her, now—they could see her. She swore, looking along the faces she could see, that there was fear in some of them. Resoluteness in others. Acceptance.

They knew they were going to die, she realized.

“Fine,” she said, nearly a snarl. “Then Death wins. Death wins two whole battalions to carry to the afterlife. That's my answer.”

There was a beat.

THAT IS AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER.

“Wh--”

The wind picked up—she curled around herself, fingers digging into her upper arms. Her hair blew into her face again.

“Are you serious?!”

YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE MIND.

“But--”

She twisted her neck, letting her hair blow back. Something in her boiled, made her head hurt.

“Why did you accept that answer and not the first?!”

WHY DID YOU NOT CHOOSE ONE OF THE TWO OPTIONS OFFERED?

She squinted, trying not to let her teeth chatter. “Because they both sucked?”

THERE IS YOUR ANSWER, HOWEVER INELOQUENT.

Her lips pressed together.

“Peace is not a bad answer,” she mumbled, tucking her chin into her chest.

In front of her, the battalions turned and began to march. Closer and closer they advanced to the edge of the cliff—to her, they were coming to her.

“Wh--”

She stepped back, glancing behind her to the approaching ledge. It was uncomfortably close, enough for her to be nervous for her balance.

“What's happening?”

THE NEXT TRIAL BEGINS.

The battalions stopped. From the masses, there was a shuffling deep within, and then as though in sync, each party shoved a form forward, onto the flattened grass in front of her. They fell to their knees, heads turned down to the ground.

The wind died.

“What's...”

To her right, a man stepped forward. He pointed at her, then to the body kneeling on the grass. When he spoke, it was in a language beautiful but incomprehensible, and filled to the brim with barely-controlled rage.

She was reminded, for a sickening moment, of her father. Mirah swallowed. She glanced up again to the sun.

“C—Can you tell me what's going on, here?”

From each mass, another man stepped forward, and they pulled the prone forms to their feet, yanking their heads back by the hair to reveal their faces. She nearly reeled backwards, toeing the edge of the cliff. Her eyes widened.

They were children.

The both of them were young, young as her if not moreso. Each of them wore rags with the color of the opposing armies, their wrists and ankles shackled. Even without the wind, the cold air did little kindness to them—she could see their shudderings. A murmur of noise filled the air from each battalion.

Something in her mouth tasted suspiciously of bile.

PRISONERS OF WAR, the Sun Disk said, numb to the drama. EACH OF THEM HAS COMMITED CRIMES TO THEIR OPPOSING NATION. THE RIGHT OF BATTLE BELONGS TO WHICHEVER NATION'S KIN IS STRUCK DOWN FIRST.

“Are,” she started, her voice breathless in a desperation she couldn't place. She inhaled deeply. “Are you shitting me? Are you kidding?”

AS AN UNBIASED PARTY, YOU MUST CHOOSE WHO HAS FIRST RIGHTS.

“You want me to pick which kid is supposed to die?!” Her hands flew out in front of her, gesturing at the madness unfolding. “They're kids!”

Her stomach churned—the muscles in her neck and throat were tight from horror, from rage. She twisted again, on the edge of the cliff, to face the vast, black ocean.

THEY HAVE COMMITED CRIMES, AND ARE NOT BLAMELESS.

“This is wrong! These—these 'scenarios' are flawed and you know it! The choices are too black and white—the world doesn't work like that! Just because somebody did a bad thing, doesn't mean a nation gets to go to war over it! Nobody has to die over it! You can't expect me to choose who gets first dibs on bloodshed, I won't play that game!”

The wind picked up again, biting her face, her eyes. YOU ARE A PACIFIST?

“I'm sensible!”

THERE MUST BE BLOOD. YOU MUST CHOOSE WHO HAS FIRST RIGHTS.

It spoke over her, like she hadn't spoken at all. Like she wasn't there at all, she was nothing.

Yet this was her decision?

Her decision, and yet if she provided any arguments, any other choice, it would ignore her.

That wasn't fair. That wasn't right.

She turned to the prisoners. Eyes burned into her skin—hundreds of them, thousands, maybe. They stared at her, and all she could see were the freckles under the eyes of the children, the little scars on their lips.

There was a little lump in her throat. She looked out to the cliff, her eyes on the frayed edge. She could just see the sea foam at the base of the cliff, where the water crashed unforgivingly into its side, again and again.

Oh.

When she was six years old—

How many times had she dreamed—

Her eyes narrowed. Her jaw set.

“Someone has to die? For the battalions to choose who goes first?”

YES.

Mirah stepped away from the cliff. The children in front of her quaked, the wind cruel against their skin. The flags blew and blew and blew.

Her chest shook with each breath. Was this even real? This scenario—maybe it was all in her head. Her stupid, stupid head, these grand puzzles designed in the perfect ways to make her blood boil.

Could she really imagine something so cruel?

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

When she was in front of the children, they shook, but she didn't stop—she walked past them, her body between theirs and the masses. She looked out to the individual faces.

Could she really imagine the amount of detail and care here? What if she was wrong?

“What if it's me?” she said, her voice cracking down the middle.

YOUR REASONING?

That wasn't a no.

“This,” she started, haltingly, “this is just another puzzle. It's another impossible choice, like before. You—you say somebody has to die, there has to be blood, but choosing a kid—it'd be based off nothing. There's no context and there's no crime big enough for this. So—So I can't pick one over another, and that only leaves picking both of them.”

Her voice strengthened, firm, unyielding.

“I refuse to do that. That's wrong. You can't make me their judge, and judge over this whole stupid war. It's not my war.”

She braced herself. Her fists were curled tight, nails digging into her palms as she looked out along the wall of people in front of her. Behind her, one sea. In front of her, another. Both unforgiving.

“But you won't let me not choose, so there's got to be a third option. There's always a third option. It's never so black and white.”

Her hands shook.

“So, me. I'm the third choice, and I'm unbiased. I don't belong to either party, killing me won't anger the opposing nation. They get their blood, and the fight's over. It's—it's the way to keep peace.”

She paused, and looked up.

“Right? Am I right?”

For what felt like an eternity, the Sun Disk didn't speak.. And, then, it asked:

YOU WOULD SO EASILY LAY YOUR OWN LIFE DOWN IN PLACE OF STRANGERS? YOU DO NOT KNOW THEIR CRIMES. HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?

“I'm not sure!” she shouted, baring her teeth. “But it's because I don't know them, and I don't know anything about them! Whatever they did, whatever stupid crime you can claim they're guilty of? They're kids! It can't be so big they can't learn! You can't just punish them for making a mistake! You can't put a whole battle on their shoulders!”

She threw her hands out, a frantic gesture. “It's this or I let someone I don't know die, just to decide who gets to throw the first stone! I'm not okay with that, I refuse to have anything to do with it, and you won't take no for an answer, so here's your goddamn scapegoat! Right here!”

Her chest heaved. The wind blew fiercely around her, trying to shake her, to knock her down. Still, she braced, eyes on the gathering storm clouds.

“I'm not taking no for an answer this time.”

As one, the footmen approached her. On all sides they surrounded her, cutting off her view of the cliff's edge and the ocean past it. The clanking of their armors and their weapons and their boots were loud in her ears. She shuddered.

THIS IS AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER.

They raised their weapons, blotting out her view of the clouds.

Down they came, and their aim was true—every time, the aim was true. Again and again spears dug into her chest; swords slashed into her back; hands grabbed at her arms and twisted and pulled them. Again, again, again.

Through the barrage, she did not black out. It would have been a welcome reprieve to the drawn out slaughter of a single individual, but unconsciousness did not come. She did not become numb. Every strike felt like it was the first.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. She was dying. She was bleeding. Maybe she was screaming, she wasn't sure over the noise and the ringing in her ears.

On and on and on. Maybe this would go on forever. Maybe that was the final trial. Maybe she was supposed to die forever and ever, on this cliffside.

The sky finally disappeared from view, though, maybe, it was just her eyes finally giving up the ghost. She was drowning in what must have been her own blood, filling her lungs with a warmth they shouldn't have known. Then—

YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE HEART.

Breathe.

When she opened her mouth, it flooded with water. Her body spasmed up into a sitting position, wretching and coughing, choking on what tasted like iron and chlorine. Her chest burned as she gasped desperately for air.

She became vaguely aware, after a period of time, that she was in the pool again. Her body was slumped against the obelisk at the center, and now she curled in on herself. The water was tainted red where it spread around her aching form.

The wounds, she realized faintly, were real. The pain was real. It was like dying—no, that wasn't accurate. She was dying. That was a fact, wasn't it? She was bleeding out. Her vision was fuzzy; was that because she had left her glasses at the edge of the pool? Or was it the blood loss getting to her brain, shutting off her senses one by one? Was it the call to fall unconscious altogether and rest so she wouldn't witness it?

She didn't know. It scared her that she didn't know.

THE NEXT TRIAL BEGINS.

No more, begged a pathetic little voice in her head that still clung to awareness. No more, please. She swallowed hard—it was like choking on needles, coated in rust and tearing her throat open.

YOU ARE DYING.

And like that, it was a thousand times worse.

The numbness that had begun to spread was gone, replaced with the distinct impression that every inch of her was screaming. Her body curled tightly in the pool of water as she opened her mouth and wailed, the sound reverberating through the chamber back at her and causing her ears to ring. Her fingers felt broken and mangled—her eyes were bleeding. Her brain was full of thin long needles. Her mouth tasted of nothing but iron.

Her spine—every vertebrae seemed to unalign and snap her backwards, arching her ragged bloody chest into the air out of the water. Every breath she tried to take seemed to fill her lungs with more and more fluid—coughing made the agony and the weight worsen, aggravating whatever wound was causing it. She thought, maybe, her ribs had shattered and lodged into her heart, piercing the tissue and causing the arteries to spurt everywhere into her.

Oh, god. She was going to die here, like this.

YOU ARE SUFFERING.

She was going to disappear. She was going to go slowly and painfully, and nobody would even miss her. She would vanish, and nobody would even know it had happened. An unrecovered body at the suicide jump. A statistic, a tally on a board. She'd never had any more merit—she'd never been more. She'd never done more. She'd never done anything for anybody, and now it was too late.

Was she still screaming? Did she even really know how to anymore? Was her body capable of it?

YOU THINK WHAT YOU FEEL NOW IS PAIN? THE EXISTENCE YOU SEEK IS PAIN. IMAGINE, CHILD, THIS AGONY TENFOLD. EVERY MOMENT. EVERY DAY. AN EXISTENCE OF THIS SUFFERING. THIS LONELINESS, THESE CHOICES, FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.

Nobody loved her. Nobody had ever known her enough to love her—to love her, the person she was supposed to be and not the one they'd all wanted her to be. She could have been so much, she could have done so much more, and nobody even knew her real name. Her life was over before it had ever really begun to be hers.

YOU SEEK A PURPOSE, DO YOU NOT? YOU SEEK TO BECOME PART OF SOME GRAND SCHEME. TO BE HEARD.

THIS IS THE FATE YOU SEEK?

She sobbed distantly, and the motion tore her chest. She ran her mangled fingers through her hair, clawing at her scalp.

It was in her head. It wouldn't get out of her head.

YOU ARGUE THE CHOICES I HAVE SHOWN YOU ARE FLAWED, BUT THEY WILL OCCUR AGAIN. THEY WILL BECOME YOUR EVERY MOMENT. THE PAIN YOU CHOSE IN YOUR SELECTIONS, YOU WILL HAVE TO CHOOSE AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THIS IS THE FATE THAT AWAITS YOU.

LET GO.

There was no more air in her lungs—every breath she tried to take was shallow, pained, a wretched little gasp she could barely hear over the pounding in her ears. It was impossible, that she was still alive, and yet, still, she was alive. For however little time left, she was still alive.

I WILL END YOUR AGONY. I WILL LET YOU REST.

LET GO.

She couldn't think. She couldn't focus. She wanted to focus.

Focus.

The children on the cliff-side that she'd put herself in front of. Were they alive?

Had that been real?

When she was a little girl, she had been told that her every moment was preparing to take care of her elders. She had not been offered comfort, and so had never sought it. She had spent thousands of moments by herself, pushing herself, holding herself, giving herself the only comfort she could.

She had mastered, at a painfully young age, the art of silent weeping. Crying so hard your body shook, while the wails you were desperate to release wracked your lungs. When it was over, she, a child, had wiped her face and straightened her shoulders, and that was it.

Countless moments by herself. Hundreds of nights silently imagining a world where someone loved and cared for her. It had taken an impossible length of time for her to realize children shouldn't experience such things.

Children were supposed to be protected. Children were not supposed to carry the weight of responsibilities. They weren't supposed to be told that their pain was their own fault.

She'd been told, when she begged for help, that it was her fault. It was always her fault.

Even here, aching in the water, for her own stupid decisions—

She hoped those children were alive.

It's funny, the morals you gather in your life. Of all the nightmares, and the loneliness, and the cruelty, she'd come out furious. All of it, and she'd come out with the fierce belief that—

That children shouldn't have to hurt like that.

LET GO.

She—

She wouldn't—

LET GO.

She wasn't going to—

A noise forced itself out of her throat.

“Nn—“

She choked on her tongue, sobbed. Her wrecked fingers scrambled on the tiles at the bottom of the pool as she struggled, blindly, to push herself onto her knees. Get up. Get up.

It hurt. She hurt.

LET GO.

“N—No, no.”

She wouldn't die. She wasn't going to die here. She refused. She refused.

When she was sixteen years old, she had nearly run her car into a building. At seventeen, she dreamed she stopped existing, and she waited day after day for the right moment to disappear altogether.

And she didn't. She didn't do those things, despite how badly she wanted to. She had come so close to the edge of despair, of giving up, of giving in, of letting go.

She stayed alive. She stayed. She chose life. Again and again.

It had been out of spite, mostly. Spite and anger had fueled her, had strengthened her. She had a desperate need to prove she could do what everyone had said she couldn't do. She was going to stay alive, and she was going to help people where people hadn't helped her.

She wasn't going to die here. She wasn't done being spiteful and angry. She wasn't done helping kids who hurt like she hurt. She wasn't don't protecting people who needed protecting.

She wasn't done.

LET GO.

“No!”

There was a heat in the tips of her fingers. She could feel the strain in her shoulder blades, the way her twisted neck ached as she forced it to obey her.

“I won't!”

Through the haze she forced herself to wade through, and the persistent shrieking every muscle made, she was struck with the overwhelming sensation that the Sun Disk was examining her. Inspecting her; the broken creature on the bottom of the pool that dared defy it, and its bizarre and broken mind.

She shuddered and ignored it.

Get up. Get up.

She'd felt worse, she told herself. She'd wanted to die before. It had been more overwhelming then than it was now.

She could get through this. She would prove to this thing, too, that she was stronger than whatever it thought would be enough to break her.

She couldn't stand, couldn't find the footing, but her hands pressed to the flat face of the obelisk in front of her. She pushed herself against it, pressing her forehead to the smooth stone. Her fingers pressed into the sharp edges. It was a hot surface, towering over her. The light at its peak hovered at the edges of her failing vision.

YOU CHOOSE TO LIVE, DESPITE THE CONSEQUENCES?

The heat was spreading rapidly, through her forehead and fingers, into her aching limbs and mess of a chest. The pain had begun to fade in its place, until all that remained was a dull throbbing.

YOU CHOOSE LIFE?

She made a faint noise of affirmation into the stone face, her eyes shut. She could barely feel the water anymore.

YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF WILL.

I YIELD TO YOU.

She was tired, her cheek pressed to the obelisk. There was little room for satisfaction or pride through the exhaustion.

TELL ME YOUR NAME.

She could breathe again. The wet ache that had threatened to drown her was gone. Yet, her breaths still shuddered from the effort. She whispered into the stone, resigned.

"Mirah. Mirah."

THAT IS NOT YOUR NAME.

Her eyes snapped open.

It knew. Of course it knew—it knew everything. It had known from the beginning, hadn't it? It had known who she was. It knew what would make her fight harder than anything.

It had known she would win.

“You're right,” she hissed. Her teeth were grit again. Her palms dug into the edges of the obelisk, stinging and burning as she pushed against the rock. She wanted to stand.

“May. My name is May.”

She'd chosen the name herself, years and years ago. She knew herself as no other name, despite the one she'd been given at birth. She'd always been May, the moment she started living outside of how she'd been told to.

No one had ever referred to her by it but herself, but it was her. The person she'd always been.

I YIELD TO YOU, CROWNBEARER.

REACH FOR ME.

May lifted her head to the light, the lines of her face cast into sharp illumination. The Sun Disk shone. She lifted her hand, reaching up, up.

REACH FOR ME, MAY.

Her fingers traced the smooth golden face. She spoke, her throat dry, her intent filling the cavern with a power to rival its own.

"Make me a queen."

-

The pool glowed with its own golden sunlight. The ceiling of the cavern was painted with its patterns, shimmering brighter, brighter. The warmth of the water turned to boiling, then to burning.

Where her fingers touched the Sun Disk, there was a deep, firey sensation that swelled inside of her. It was sharp and piercing—it made its way out her chest and to her skin and her face. When she looked up at her fingers, she found them coming undone. Golden ash where the tips had been, floating serenely in the air. Her hair, now, too, came apart, the strands crushed to fine gold.

She began to scream again.

She was torn to pieces, shred, taken apart until all that were left were the atoms, glowing bright like stars. And, still, she was present. Still, she lived.

It burned, like standing in a bonfire, but there was no smoke. There was only heat, and fire, only the intense flash and the stars, the billion billion billion stars that had once been a person.

She lived, she died. She lived.

And, then, again—

Breathe.

She gasped hard, her body shaking against the obelisk. The light of the cavern began to dim to little more than a faint glow, as though lit by a weak candlelight.

Her body was whole. Her fingers were pressed to the stone, she could feel its engravings under her nails. The pain that had flooded her—the pain of coming apart at the seams—slipped out, as though it would spread through the water instead.

Her sight returned. When May looked up, she could see, even in the dim glow, the details her face, reflected into the smooth face of gold. Her vision was clear, crisp.

Slowly, she braced herself against the obelisk, and pulled herself to her feet.

The Sun Disk hovered in front of her. With lidded eyes, she examined the object, her gaze cool, and then, as though she was grabbing her keys, she reached for it gracelessly. It changed in her hand, but she did not bother to look at it as she waded across the water to the edge of the pool.

She forced it to sit atop her head. It stayed there without her holding it—it belonged there.

She began to gather her belongings—her coat, her boots—as though nothing had happened. Across from her, the statue stared at the empty and dim pool.

Your predecessor, the Disk whispered. And, then, as an addendum, Do not fail me like she has.

She said nothing. As she walked past the statue, the gold feathers that covered the ground in front of her parted, like real feathers, blown gently by the wind.

Her footing was somewhat shaky. The walk down the tunnel to the antechamber was a slow one. This time, she paid no heed to the inscriptions on the wall as she braced her hand against her. With each step, her firmness grew, until, as she made her way to the mouth of the cave entrance, she was standing straight.

The harness lay forgotten on the ground. She didn't need it anymore.

Through the crack that was the entrance, May could see the light of breaking dawn. The ocean shimmered with breaking sunlight. She climbed through the crack, holding herself against the walls that kept her from falling into the crashing waters below. From here, she scanned the horizon with narrowed eyes.

It was like seeing a new world.

Ataret, the Sun Disk called. Distantly, she recalled the word as Jewish. Ataret, choose your form.

She thought, the idea rolling in her head. Below, the water continued to spray cool mist up towards her.

She chose.

The change felt like nothing—it was like shedding a loose layer of clothing from her frame, shaking it off to reveal her shape.

From the crack along the side of Beachy Head, a small bird, barely a blot along the white wall, fluttered and took flight upwards. The sparrow went unnoticed by the humans that stood at the edge, studying the anchor posts that anchored nothing. It dived down the hillside, over the cresting peaks, and then disappeared.

#may writes

[written-rebellion]

Perfect Distractions

Whoo it’s 1 a.m. where I am, so heeerree’s your new chapter :D Thanks so sooo much again for reading this utter fluff-fest! Everyone’s so nice and welcoming <3

Jamie’s homesick, Claire doesn’t know what that means, and as always, all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think! #MurtaghMadeMeDoIt

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Part Two: Separation Anxiety | Chapter 3

If he could listen to her laugh every single day of his life, he’d count himself a lucky man and die happily.

“You didn’t!” she wheezed, and it only spurred him on more.

“Aye, we did!” He tapped his hand against the booth’s table for emphasis. “Ye should’ve seen my sister’s face the next morning, wonderin’ how the devil we’d magically procured another full-grown cow in one night.”

“And what did she say?”

“Och, I didna linger long enough to get my heid chopped off, ye ken? I left Ian to handle her – she had a wee soft spot for him, even then. I did happen to see the birds fly off the roofs as she screamed, though.”

Claire threw her head back laughing, and Jamie reveled in the way her curls swung behind her, how her hand came up to splay against her heart as she caught her breath.

“I can’t imagine what I’d say if I ever met this Ian,” she said, shaking her head. “God, I’d just be imagining you and him pushing the rump of a cow out of a stable.”

“Ye should visit Lallybroch sometime,” he said without thinking. He could see it so clearly: Claire walking up the western hill, the setting sun lighting her from the back but only paling in comparison to her smile as she saw him. His fingers twitched at the thought, so he used them to lift his beer to his lips instead.

“I’d give ye the grand tour, if ye came. Show ye the tower, and the rocks by the tower Ian and I would piss on sometimes.”

She choked on her own beer and sputtered.

“Why would I need to see that?”

He pulled an affronted gape that stirred the beginnings of more of her laughter. Christ, he’d sooner get drunk off her voice than whatever the house brew of this diner was.

“’Tis part of the whole experience, Sassenach. I canna just show ye one wi’out the other. Like meetin’ Ian wi’out Jenny.”

“I would like to meet this sister of yours, she sounds incredible.”

“Aye, she is. Ye’d like her, I think. A stubborn wee thing, but verra strong. Practically raised me when I was a wean.”

Claire tilted her head to the side, and he thought she looked like a small kitten, with her large eyes and quizzical mouth. He’d answer any question it’d ever ask.

“Ah well, see, my mother she… she died when I was just a lad.” There was a mute shaking of his shoulders and an inarticulate tremor from his throat. Still, at the thought of Jenny, he couldn’t help but smile. “Jenny was nigh 10 or 11 at the time but, she already had dinner going that same evening, tears still fresh on her face.”

He hadn’t thought of that day in a long while, but there was a sudden ache to be home pulsing in his heart. To see the tower again, share a dram with Ian, kiss Jenny on the cheek. The semester was half over and he hadn’t gotten the chance to go home during reading week. Now finals were the last large hurdle standing between him and Christmas break.

Claire was silent and the sight of her across the table, sitting and listening, shocked him out of his reverie.

“Shit, sorry lass. I didna mean to—that is, that wasna exactly light table conversation.”

He expected pity or an awkward shift in subject, but she simply shook her head, eyes closing in something like understanding.

“It’s alright,” she said softly, eyes opening again to reveal that deep gold that sent arrows darting into his chest. Her hand slowly reached across the table to cover his and Jamie inhaled sharply. She didn’t seem to notice, caught up in a reverie of her own.

“Both my parents died when I was very small.” Ah, she did understand.

“Och, I’m sorry Sassenach. Ye dinna have to—”

“No, it’s fine.” The hand that was over his lifted to wave dismissively, the echo of her touch still warm on his skin. “I don’t really remember them all that much. I was raised by my uncle.”

To say she had his attention caught then would be a lie. She’d had his attention, truly, since she tackled him in the library, and she hadn’t let him go since.

---

“We traveled a lot, me and my Uncle Lambert. He was an archaeologist. Almost had a heart attack when I told him I was going into medicine.” Claire answered the inquisitive quirk in his brow, looking past Jamie to some long-forgotten memory. He’d been so outwardly honest, she felt compelled to do the same, not in obligation but in a sudden overwhelming need for him to know her. Damn him. Damn those blue eyes.

“I grew up around a lot of strangers, but… I guess, we never stayed anywhere long enough to really make friends.” Meeting his gaze again, she chuckled. “To be honest, being here in university’s probably the longest I’ve ever stayed in any place.”

“I canna imagine,” he said. “I’ve spent most of my life at Lallybroch. ‘Tis the longest I’ve ever been away from home.”

She couldn’t imagine that. What was home to her but some idyllic half-promise? Something attainable certainly, but unfamiliar and somehow just too far away, like the distant lighthouse she’d seen the night Jamie showed up at her window. The night he’d stilled her rocking waters by merely appearing.

The way she was letting him do the very same right now.

“Do you miss it?” She spoke quietly, hoping it would cover the tremors in her voice.

He was looking straight at her, his blue-eyed stare unreadable but at an intensity that made her heart stop.

“Miss home?” he echoed. In place of his wide grin was a half-smile Claire had never seen on him before. His eyes never left hers.

“Not at the moment, no.”

Read Chapter 4

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