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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Man and the Golden Gift

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, violence, trauma, mourning, description of murder and wounds ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, verydark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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He was unable to explain to Criston what he felt as he pulled the mask from his face in front of the King and saw the realisation in his eyes that justice has finally reached him.

He was sure he was smiling broadly when, before he could get anything out of him, his dagger slashed his throat, ruby thick blood beginning to flow from his wound onto his blue, gold embroidered robe.

He clutched at the place of the cut, got up from the table and fell over, choking, probably trying to call out to his guards, but all that came out of his mouth was a grunt. He stood over him and watched him die, his pupils slowly became empty as the life drained out of him.

He wanted to wait another week until the troops they were waiting for arrived near the city, but after what his future wife had done, he could not wait.

He was furious because she reacted to the sight of his face, of his scar just as he had feared, because he desired her, because he needed her, and she now abhorred him, could not even look at him.

He knew this would happen, but he felt pain and disappointment anyway.

He thought that what she felt at the sight of him didn't matter − he had already decided that their marriage would not only be purely physical but also political, and although he hadn't shared his plans with his lords, even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to bear the presence of another woman beside him.

He had united with her through death, grief and blood.

They had long been one.

The nuptials were a mere formality.

Having performed his miraculous act of revenge, he put his mask back on and left the chamber as if nothing had happened, knowing he had little time. He found the ghosts who were involved in his plan and instructed them to spread the word that it had begun.

Criston at the head of his army appeared at the walls of his city within hours, at the same time panic had set in in the fortress − the guards knew that one of the ghosts had killed the King, but they did not know which one because they all looked almost identical.

The first battles began, bloody and brutal − his men, his befriended servants, the ghosts and the guards murdering anyone who fell into their hands.

He did, however, instruct them not to enter Lord Walford's daughter's chamber and to lock up his son.

They succeeded in accomplishing what he had done eight years before, which was to have the effect of surprise; no one was prepared for the King to be betrayed by his own ghost − they no longer knew whom to trust, and the royal guard and army were looking for guilty parties among themselves, unable to put up any real resistance to them.

Long hours passed like minutes, and when at last he stepped into the chamber where his father had deliberated with his advisors years ago, the lords and his allies were already waiting for him.

The fortress had been conquered, their armies were taking over the city.

It was done.

He took off his mask and threw it on the table, feeling free, feeling relieved, feeling satisfied. All those present bowed before him and called him their King, he, however, was thinking of only one thing.

"Bring the daughter of this traitor here."

As she entered the room, led by Criston, he was struck by the fact that her hair was loose, on her body apart from a thin nightgown only a robe tied at her waist. He felt his heart beat harder in excitement as she looked up at his face, fearless, emotionless, confident.

He knew that she was not afraid of death.

That if he decided to end her life, she would accept it with peace of mind.

She was a walking dignity.

"How dare you look straight into the face of your King, traitor!" Shouted one of the lords loyal to him, snapping him out of his reverie as he tried to grab her arm − he furrowed his brow, seeing this, feeling discomfort.

She was his.

"Don't touch her." He said coolly, warningly, with no intention of repeating himself. The man froze, looking at him over his shoulder in disbelief, pointing his finger at her.

"She should be searched immediately, Your Grace. She may be hiding a dagger in her sleeves, we do not know what she will do." He said with certainty in his voice, his gaze directed at her again, her face expressing absolutely nothing.

"Leave us alone. Immediately."

"But, my King…" He heard Ser Criston's voice, but he glanced at him with such a look that he only swallowed. He nodded, leaving first, followed by the other men, who walked hesitantly behind him, looking at Walford's daughter with distrust and displeasure.

The door closed behind them at last and they were left alone.

They stared at each other in silence − his lips pressed together at the thought that he no longer saw the fire and tenderness in her gaze that he had seen over the past few weeks, that he now disgusted her.

What she thought of him didn't matter, however, he still felt a humiliating sense of disappointment.

What had he expected?

He hummed after a moment, deciding he would get to the point, running his fingers along the table top, not wanting to waste either his or her time.

"I understand your disappointment and your grief. In truth, I have procrastinated too long, but I did it with our future in mind. I wanted the takeover of the throne to proceed without…unnecessary disruption and, as if to put it, dramatism." He said calmly, wanting to briefly explain the whole situation to her.

He expected questions from her, but she said nothing; she stood on the other side of the table with her hands folded in front of her, upright and proud, looking at him calmly. He licked his lips in irritation, wondering if she was trying to get him off balance.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Is he dead?"

He blinked and snorted under his breath, amused to hear how indifferent and soft her voice was, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the thought that, as he had suspected, her father's death had not particularly bothered her.

"I killed him a few minutes after I left your chamber." He said lightly, cocking his head to the side as he watched her reaction, however her face remained equally calm, as if this information had made no impression on her.

"How?" She asked with emphasis, as if she expected him to do the right thing and he licked his lips at the thought.

"I cut his throat." He hummed with delight, recalling the scene, that wonderful, sweet feeling of achieving the revenge he had so dreamed of. She lowered her gaze, as if musing for a moment, and then raised her eyes to him again, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Good. What about my brother?" She asked firmly, a note of threat in her voice from which he tightened his lips.

"He's in a safe place."

"I want to see him."

His lips twitched in a dangerous grin and he squinted, looking at her watchfully.

If she thought she was going to put conditions on him, she was wrong.

"You'll see him once we get everything settled."

Her look changed, her eyes got bigger − he could see the surprise in her gaze, as if she had no idea what he meant.

He felt irritation at the thought that she had already forgotten what she herself had asked him to do, and what he had promised her.

"We need to discuss the details of our nuptials and coronation in the coming days. They should take place as soon as possible." He said dryly, looking away from her towards the flames, feeling his heart pounding fast, unable to bear the humiliation if her reaction was as he feared.

"I don't expect your pity. I will not tell anyone about what has happened between us, I will spare myself this humiliation. Send me back to the monastery or wherever you see fit." She said with a kind of weariness from which he felt a tightness in his throat − he looked at her shocked, not believing what he had heard.

Send me back to the monastery or wherever you see fit.

She did not want to be his wife.

She didn't want to be his queen.

She didn't want to be his.

"Are you that disgusted with me?" He asked furiously, clenching his hand into a fist, feeling a squeeze in his heart and discomfort in his stomach, unable to contain the terrible, hot feeling of disappointment that shook his muscles.

She looked at him in disbelief, her lips parted in surprise and suddenly she laughed pearly − he felt his lower lip tremble at the thought that she was mocking him.

"With you? I'm disgusted with myself." She said touching her hand to her chest.

"I believed you like a naive little child. Aren't you tired of lying?" She asked with a pain, sadness and regret that made him breathe loudly, looking at her with wide eyes.

He stood up suddenly, roused by some brutal, sharp feeling that surged through his body, and after a moment he was in front of her, his large, rough hand clamped down on her slender, soft neck − she drew in air loudly, looking at him helplessly, grabbing his wrist, however, not trying to defend herself.

"Lying?" He hissed furiously, aggressively lifting the material of her robe and chemise in a swift motion, his free hand pressing between her thighs, he heard her squirm in terror and surprise.

He sighed quietly in relief as he felt her sticky moisture under his fingers, teasing her pearl with slow movements, his hand rising from her neck to her cheeks and cupping it, forcing her to look at him.

"That's what you call a lie? Hm?" He growled enraged, his fingertips rubbing her with an increasingly loud, wet click of her juices − she mewled helplessly, surprised as he slid two fingers deep into her tight, fleshy insides, his manhood throbbed hard in his breeches as he felt her clench around him.

"Don't you want this? Do you want me to stop? Come on, fucking get it out of you." He hissed, grabbing her hair, pressing his forehead against hers, looking directly into her eyes, wanting to read anything from them − her pupils were dilated, her gaze clouded, her cheeks flushed with exertion and emotion, her wonderfully plump and shiny lips slightly parted.

He sped up, sliding his fingers in and out of her faster and faster, pressing and kneading intensely on the spot inside her from which quiet, helpless whimpers erupted from her throat.

"− ask your husband, tell him what you want − come on, you know I'll give you fucking everything −" He growled almost in despair, wanting nothing more than for her to tell him that she still wanted him, that she wasn't disgusted by him, that she still believed, as he did, that they were the same, that they were made for each other by the gods, that they were one.

He felt her hands tighten on his tunic, her hips begin to respond to his treatments.

"− please, husband − please, tell me you didn't plan this −" She mumbled out with a pain from which he felt his throat tighten − he chuckled involuntarily, clenching his eyes, wondering if she even realised what she had done to him.

"− planned? − good gods −" He murmured lowly, massaging her insides with intense, sure motions, her tight walls clenching against him greedily, his hand all sticky from her moisture. "− I almost lost everything − because of you − for you − do you understand? − say you understand −"

She nodded quickly, looking at him in disbelief − he drew in the air loudly and felt a powerful shudder pass through him as her small, soft hand touched his cheek, running her fingertips over his scar in a tender, light movement. He moaned weakly, feeling his cock pulsate hard, and thought with pain that this was what he needed, that he wanted more.

He leaned forward and dared to brush his lips against hers, feeling her warm breath on his skin, her lips wonderfully moist and soft. He rubbed them again and again, her lips beginning to respond to him tentatively, until finally they clung to each other, embracing tightly in each other's arms, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat.

He heard her sigh in relief, her hand running suddenly over the bulge in his breeches − he suppressed a groan, feeling a strong shudder pass through him.

"− please, husband −" She babbled pleadingly. He sighed with satisfaction and relief at the thought that her distance, her trepidation, her coldness was only due to the fact that she was as afraid of trusting him as he was of trusting her, that living with a perpetual sense of betrayal made it seem to her, for certain, only a matter of time before it came from him.

He assured her with the deep, sure thrusts of his hips into her tight core of the permanence of his feelings, panting along with her − he rooted into her with ease, her moisture running down her buttocks making their bodies slap against each other loudly, her hands stroking his hair and cheeks, their lips dancing and rubbing against each other between their ragged, heavy breaths.

"− you're fucking leaking − that's what you call lying? −" He hissed into her mouth, speeding up, her walls clenching around him greedily, making the heat flow through his entire body − he lost the sharpness of mind, focused only on the natural instinct to root deep into her.

"− you're mine −" He muttered, only to come deep inside her after a few desperate thrusts, filling her at last with his seed, her body arched in pleasure and trembled in his arms, her fingers clenched in his hair.

He looked at her, strangely calm and assured, seeing in her eyes what he craved, the same warmth and devotion, the promise of tenderness and security. He licked his lower lip feeling her fingers run over his scar again, thinking about how he wasn't going to make her look at it.

"− I'm going to wear an eye patch every day −" He said indifferently, but she shook her head, furrowing her brow, startling him completely.

"− not in front of me − not in front of your wife − my husband will never hide his face from me again −" She whispered and just hugged him embracing his waist.

He felt a tightness in his throat at her words, some kind of hot emotion, clenched his eyes and cuddled his face into her neck, thinking only of the fact that without her it all would be pointless.

"I have a wedding gift for you."

The sight of them walking down the corridor together caused consternation among his lords, but they dared not say a word when he led her into the chamber that belonged to his mother.

The woman who had saved his life that day was standing facing the window. She turned towards them when she heard the sound of the door opening, looking healthier and more confident than when he had last seen her − her hair was combed into an elaborate bun, her long, dark blue gown with sleeves reaching down to the ground emphasising her slender waist.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his future wife and saw that she stood still with her mouth wide open, trembling all over as if she had really seen a ghost, her eyes big and filled with tears. She pressed her hand to her face in a gesture of disbelief, a sort of mumble came from her throat, and then she threw herself with a sob into the arms of her mother, who embraced her tightly.

He looked at them and thought only of how all his life he had dreamed of such a miracle for himself, of how one day someone would lead him to a room where it would be his mother waiting for him.

He swallowed loudly, realising with a clenched throat that it would never happen, but he had no regrets about sparing this suffering to the woman he had chosen to be his queen.

He wanted her to know that he could also be merciful.

That although cold and cruel, he was not heartless.

He decided to leave them alone and give them some privacy.

That same night he came to her, to her chamber − she raised herself on her arm when she caught sight of him, something in her eyes that made him hot.

"− my King −" She whispered softly, warmly, with longing, desire and promise − he felt the way she said those words in his cock, which throbbed hard in his breeches.

He approached her without a sound and parted his lips in a sigh of delight as she immediately rose up on her knees, her hands without question reached for the clasp of his tunic, undoing it with ease, untying his breeches.

A low, surprised moan escaped his lips as her hand immediately grasped his manhood and squeezed it − it throbbed hard in her grasp, his hand involuntarily reaching for her cheek, his thumb running over her soft, warm skin.

He pressed his lips together and let the air out loudly, holding back the groan that wanted to escape his throat when her head bent down, slipping the fat, pink tip of his cock into her warm mouth.

"− fuck −" He growled in pleasure, feeling a powerful shudder run through him as her tongue began to tease and lick him, his fingers moved up and tightened in her hair − he stared at her in disbelief, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"− do you wish to show gratitude to your King? − hm? −" He exhaled and she nodded, breathing rapidly, her eyes closed. He sighed loudly as she slid his hard, swollen manhood deeper between her lips and began to suck it, squeezing the part she couldn't fit in with her fingers − he tilted his head back, horrified at how much it aroused him, how hard he pulsed in her throat.

"− gods, fuck, slow down −" He mumbled, despite his words involuntarily starting to rock his hips inside her mouth, slapping the head of his cock against the back of her throat.

She moaned with the effort of feeling it, refusing to stop − the sight of her sweet lips clenched around him, her innocent face between his thighs was something he couldn't deny himself despite wanting so badly to come deep inside her.

"− thirsty for my seed, hm? − do you want to taste it so badly? −" He muttered between desperate thrusts, clamping both hands in her hair, his swollen length rooting into her mouth with a loud, lewd click of her saliva.

He groaned low as her hand began to squeeze him more intensely, soaking his cock between her lips − she nodded, bringing him to the brink of fulfilment.

"− very well − swallow it, swallow it all − oh, gods, fuck-fuck-fuck −" He breathed out, feeling the pleasure shake through him as his spend finally spilled deep down her throat − he heard her struggle to take in what was flowing out of him, not letting even a drop go to waste.

He stroked her head, looking at her with pride, affection and tenderness, rocking his hips in her mouth for a while longer, listening to the wonderful sound of swallowing.

"− you will make a fine Queen −"

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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daniellewritesfr · 6 months

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𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

Chapter two

Paring: Robb Stark x f!Reader

Summary: After avoiding Robb for a few days you decide taking a short ride through the woods wouldn't hurt, but you find yourself once again in an unexpected encounter with The King himself.

Warnings: Plot building lots of plot building

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: I forgot to mention this is kinda a slow burn (sort of not really) anyway find series master list here.

It had been days since the last time Robb even caught a glimpse of you, he found himself frequently thinking about the conversation you two shared any chance he got. He understood he had more important things to focus on besides a woman he barely knew, for gods sake he was fighting a war yet, you had his mind running in circles.

He was lost in thought when he was interrupted by Ser Brynden clearing his throat, Robb looked up from the map in front of him, staring at the knight waiting for him to speak, when he doesn't he turns to his mother who is watching him intently Catelyn motions her head down towards the table he quickly understands her look turning his focus back to the task at hand sliding a wooden figure across the map signifying where the Lannisters will strike next. The talk of battle plans and strategies rang throughout the large tent for hours before finally Ser Brynden excused himself biding both him and his mother goodnight.

Catelyn stayed her eyes fixed on her son. “You’re distracted.”

Robb quickly lifts his head looking at his mother. Was he truly that transparent?

“I'm not.” he states looking back down at the map faking his focus.

Catelyn moves to stand next to him “don’t lie.” Her tone shifted forcing Robb to look at her.

Her eyes were bearing into his in hope he’d reveal his troubles but he didn't. He just stared at her, slightly praying she wouldn’t ask anymore questions.

Catelyn tilts her head looking at her son “we can not afford distractions.” She says, reaching her hand up briefly placing it on his arm before pulling away. He nods, “No, we can not.” His voice was quiet, his hand fidgeting with the pommel of his sword.

His prayers were answered when she sighed “get some rest, gods know you'll need it” she says looking at him with a sympathetic smile as she left.

Robb watches his mother leave, before turning around running a hand over his face with a groan, he sits down in a chair next to the table looking up at the ceiling of the tent. He needed to get a grip.

You woke in the early morning, the sun not yet visible. The thin cloth walls of the tent doing very little to keep the cold at bay. You had been informed yesterday that you and your remaining men would be moving camps to one between Riverrun and Oldstones and that you were to begin preparing as soon as possible. You knew your men were in no condition to travel anyone with eyes could see that. Yet, an order is an order.

You don't move staying as you were for a while staring at the ceiling of your tent, till you hear the muffled voices of tired men as the rest of camp begins to wake, you groan managing to drag yourself out from under the warmth of fur blankets and throw on your clothes and some light armor you then secure your belt and pick up your sword and dagger sheathing them both before leaving the tent grabbing your cloak on the way out pulling it over yourself while walking.

The sun was finally beginning to rise as you make your way to a tree which you’d secured your horse to for safe keeping, a beautiful Friesian horse stands tall pawing at the ground with one hoof as you walk up to him extending your hand running it along the side of his face, you lean close resting your forehead on his cheek for a moment, deciding a small ride wouldn’t hurt seeing that it was still early and it would be hours before the men were ready to move.

You pull away grabbing the blanket and saddle that rested against the tree, gently draping the blanket across his back, then taking the saddle and hosting it on after. You secure the reins pulling yourself up on to him, giving him a pat on the side of his neck before bounding off into the woods.

The cold morning air rushed past your face, the trees all but a blur as you pass them. You ride for a while before slowing to a halt, looking up you stare at the huge canopy of trees watching the branches sway in the wind, their leaves beginning to change from the green of summer to vibrant shades of red and orange, leaving a sea of fire throughout the forest floor. You bring your horse to a slow walk admiring the world around you when the faint sound of rushing water fills your ears bringing a smile to your face, you drive the Friesian to a gallop heading in the direction of the noise, as you near closer a sharp breeze whisks through the air causing you to pull the hood of your cloak up and over your head sheltering your face from the cold.

It's not long before you find yourself face to face with a large river, the water rushing and hitting rocks in its path. Dismounting your horse, and securing him to a nearby tree you walk to the bank crouching down on one knee dipping a hand into the icy river you pull your hood down exposing your face. Staring at your reflection in the rippling water the bruise on your temple was beginning to fade from a violent purple to a brownish green, the cut itself self nothing more than a scab. Although it would scar. You take a deep breath, lowering both hands in the river cupping them, letting the water collect in your palms before splashing some on your face, hoping it would clear the lingering sleep.

“It can be quite dangerous for a lady out here all alone”

The voice made you jump almost falling head first into the water, luckily you catch yourself quickly standing and turning around to face the voice, you draw your sword half out of its sheath before you realize who it is, the one and only Robb Stark.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, letting your sword fall back into place, before looking at him.

He's seated atop a stocky brown horse, a heavy fur lined cloak wrapped around his broad shoulders, gloved hands resting on the reins in front of him with a grin plastered across his face.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you” He says, you could tell he was amused with your reaction based on the small laugh that fallowed the words causing you to look down as you feel a slight tinge of embarrassment you hoped to hide.

Robb leans back slightly before dismounting the horse holding the reins in his hand leading it to a nearby tree close to where you’d left yours.

“You’re up early” He says while securing the reins to the tree, turning his head to look over his shoulder flashing you a small smile.

“As are you.” You quip walking past him with your hands clasped behind your back glancing at him as you make your way to your horse. His eyes were glued on you as you passed.

“Seems we both prefer mornings.” You hum in response running your hand along the neck of your horse adjusting the reins before turning to face him. His eyes rake over you before settling on your face sending a rush of nerves flooding through you causing your hand to fidget with the hilt of a dagger attached at the front of your waist, that seemed to catch his attention his eyes fall from your face to your hands, he motions his head towards the dagger.

“May I?” He asks, taking a step closer leaves crunching underneath his boots.

You nod, removing the dagger from its sheath twirling it in your hand before passing it to him. The silver blade is not more than nine inches complete with a brown handle littered with intricate designs. He examines it closely tilting the knife watching as it catches glints of light, he softly runs his fingers along the blades edge careful not to cut himself.

“It’s a beautiful blade.” He pauses for a moment looking up from the dagger to meet your eyes “Valyrian steel?” You nod.

“It was a gift from my father.” Your voice was flat not a tinge of emotion present.

In fact it was the only gift you’d ever received from him. It was one of the rare nights when he wasn’t in a foul mood. He had sat you down drunk as ever rambling on about great houses and their Valyrian weapons, when suddenly he revealed the dagger quickly shoving it into your hands, motioning at it telling you “go on look at it.” Carefully you had unsheathed it, releasing the blade admiring its beauty just as Robb. That was one of the few seemingly "decent" memories you had with your father if you could call them that.

The shift in your voice didn't go unnoticed by Robb, and for a moment he thought to ask you about it, but ultimately decided not to. So instead he nodded looking the dagger over once more then handing it back to you hilt first, you take it sliding it back into its sheath.

He couldn't help but stare, the dim morning light reflecting off the side of your face making you seem unreal. He seemed to be caught in a trance.

You cleared your throat snapping him out of the daze.

"I-" He paused for a moment collecting himself "I'm sure you were informed of our plans."

"If you mean me and my mens departure, then yes I was" You look at the sky behind him, the sun now well above the horizon filling the forest with light. "And by the looks of it I should take my leave."

Robb had insisted you let him accompany you on the way back, so here you were, the morning sun beaming down as the two of you ride into camp you were aware of the eyes lingering on your backs but you pay no mind. You both slow your horses to a stepping pace leisurely making your way through the sea of rushing soldiers. When you arrive in front of Robb's tent he dismounts his horse letting a young squire take the reins, Robb tips his head as a ‘thank you’ while the boy leads him away.

He turns his attention back to you. “M’lady.” He says, giving you a half smile.

“Your grace.” You bid him farewell, bowing your head returning the smile before bringing your horse to a trot heading off to prepare your men for travel.

Robb watched you leave, shaking his head as he turned walking through the opening of the large tent.

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #ned stark #jon snow #house stark #jon snow x reader #fluff #robb stark smut #robb stark x you #jon snow smut #got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon

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prahacat · 9 days

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theory on the fluidity of minds and souls

The first three acts of Asajj’s life. A how-to on finding yourself. Experimental prose, 1k words | Read on ao3

How to be a Jedi

(1) Don’t listen to the old man.

(2) Child, he says, don’t cry. Here on Rattatak, we are Jedi the best we can. Here’s how to be a temple to each other: brush the red dust from your face before you go to sleep. Brush the dust from his face too. Share the dirty water without flinching, like trusting him comes natural and easy to you. Teach him what to eat, cook for him stews of insects and herbs and if he won’t eat those, tell him you’re sorry, this is all you have. This is all anyone has. Sit and guard the fire while he sleeps; trust him to guard you while you do the same. When you move up north, don’t light a fire at night so the warlords won’t spot you.

(3) Learn to be kind.

(4) When they kill him

don’t rage

grieve

but don’t rage, don’t let it consume you

How to be a Sith

(1) Don’t listen to the old man.

(2) All men are liars. So are the women, so is everyone, but the men are more dangerous to you, especially the older ones. Never let him know (he knows anyway). Forget. Never look back. Don’t cry when he throws lightning at you; when you’re alone again, press your fingers against your temples to relieve the headache. Make the silence your friend. Ask questions, but don’t ask too many or the wrong ones; his anger will teach you which are the wrong ones. Watch out for his anger, but learn to watch out for his sharp-edged smiles too. If he offers you food or a weapon, take it; if he gives you a name, hunt them down. If he offers you a glass of wine, sit and drink and look for the lesson: which tool is he trying to shape you into? A blade, a shadow, a shield, a smoke bomb? Be grateful for what you have because he is offering you more power than he offered anyone else, because he thinks you can take the lessons and not fail, the way so many others did.

So this is how you will live: be wary of cups you haven’t filled yourself. Hide daggers everywhere: in your boots, under the folded cloak you use as a makeshift pillow, in your dreams. Keep the holoproj next to your bedroll, make sure it’s always charged, make sure it’s never muted. Here’s a list of essential things you need to have at hand at all times: spare energy cores for your saber, medpacs and bactaspray, stimcaf and sleeptabs, protein wafers in an osmosis pack in case you can’t swallow anything. It’s better not to stare at the stars for too long when you’re traveling. Navigation is all they’re good for. Be grateful for what you have. It’s really all you need: a place for the pain to go and a place to come home to. It doesn’t matter if they’re the same place, and if one day you should catch him pressing his fingers against his temples, pretend you didn’t see. Go skewer some boys instead. There’s that Jedi again: flirt, tease, smile at him with your dewberry-colored lips and painted eyes, so he knows you want to be here, you enjoy what you are. And if you suspect or know that he too has a list of essential things, and that his list is the same as yours, the same as everyone’s these days, don’t let on.

(3) Never forget to hate yourself.

(4) Don’t fall for the blade, it’s not your friend; it will take away everything you own. It’s very simple. He won’t protect you. You can’t protect them. Always expect betrayal; always expect loss.

And when that day comes

—it will inevitably come—

remember your grief and how it was a dull, useless knife to you.

How to be a ???

How to figure out what who you are

(1) Stay alone.

(2) Boil the water before you use it for soup. Strain it and collect the pulp, the gritty dark things you don’t know how to name. Everything tastes like ashes and dust, that’s all you know. Buy some soap and scrub your hands. If you wake with a start in the middle of the night, pressure crushing your chest and your breathing quick and ragged in the quiet of your room, remember to inhale, count to four, exhale, count to four. Lie still and watch the darkness shed from the light. In the morning, roam the markets, buy something against the headache, something to hide your face, something to scrub your hands. When you walk through the streets, pull your hood low. Tell the spice dealers to leave you alone, always stop after one glass of whiskey, tell the men at the corner to fuck off. There will be days when you wake in unfamiliar places; at least try not to have two of them in a row if you can help it. Watch the sunrise. Tell no-one about your past (they know anyway; probably). Always expect betrayal, always expect loss. Forget. Never look back.

(3) Learn to be kind again.

(4) Get some credits, buy a saber; any saber you can find, as long as it’s still alive. Hold it in your hand, gently, feel the worn hilt that has passed through other hands. Were they cruel? Were they kind? Maybe. Did they protect, did they kill? Who knows. It doesn’t matter to you.

Here’s what you need to do to make this saber yours:

calibrate the focusing ring, install a strong core, toss away the parts you don’t need, polish the metal often, swing the saber daily, trust your hand again, close your eyes, listen, be patient, feel how your crystal talks to you, feel it resonate, feel it hum, learn a new language.

Yellow is a good color.

It’s going to take a long time.

#asajj ventress #ventress #star wars fanfiction #pls help me i'm so emotional abt her. i had to write something #no tbb spoilers here #unless you didn't know about the saber #my ff #prahacat writes

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Machinations

(König x F! 'Maus' Reader)

Part 8 of Little Mouse

Word Count: 4.9k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, König POV, Tending to wounds, Uneasy alliances, Jealousy, Unrequited pining Warnings: Mentions of brutal character death A/N: I am no longer doing a tag list for this series as it is has gotten too large to handle. Consider subscribing to this series on AO3 for updates

Sunset.

The Kodori range is pretty this time of year. In the dying embers of summer, the light takes on a golden hue, bronze and warm against the steep cliffs that harden with oncoming frost. In the golden hour before sunset the light ribbons through the Colchian forest, golden strands held aloft by invisible threads. It illuminates the muted greys and greens of the trees, coaxes them towards emerald, the birch a glinting silver.

A beast prowls these woods, his steps cloaked in silence, massive form brushing against thickets and yet still barely managing to make a sound. He's at home in these woods, knows their wilderness like the scars that trace his back, a map forged by history, struggle. He prowls with a primal awareness, steps measured, form hunched, coiled with a taut, focused tension like that of a predator.

Even so, König admits the dewy, golden sunlight reminds him of the illustrations in the fairytales he would read as a child. It streams through the canopy, catches bits of dust and pollen like fairy lanterns. There's a strange magic in these woods, an inexplicable energy that makes the ground seem softer, more pliant under his feet. Moss and pine needles, owl feathers that float down from above, a distant call ringing like the toll of a mournful church bell.

It isn't enough to distract him from his mission. Not when he's finally tracked the two enemy soldiers who have been on this mountain for half a day now, slowly and stealthily making their way through the groves to the periphery of the base where König's allies are guarding. They walk endlessly for hours, their endurance unwavering. He follows them at a guarded distance, blending into the foliage, tracing their steps with his own.

König had been told of this group before. British, mainly. Special forces without a doubt, arguably some of the finest soldiers on the planet. Enough to be an irremovable dagger in the side of KorTac's handler. Yet the information on them remained scarce. Like shadows into the night, they waver at the edge of flames brought from destruction- sinking back into the darkness. Spirits. Ghosts.

König had found two sets of footprints on his patrol. On larger, one smaller, both in the direction of the compound. Like a wolf in the woods König had tracked the scent, followed at a distance until at last he found them at a ruined building on the outskirts of the compound, quietly setting up camp for what appeared to be reconnaissance.

From a bluf above the sniper nest he watches, observes how these two ghosts secure themselves, concealing their forms under camouflage, hiding themselves from sight. It's unclear if they know what is inside the compound, sheltered and isolated as it is. Perhaps they think it's the warehouse of a maverick Russian general, an obscure hideout for an oligarch's private army. Maybe they don't know that the very enemy they seek is the same one that watches them keenly from the woods.

The conversation between you both is muted, consisting mostly of hand signals. Obscured in ghillie suits as you are he doesn't truly take stock until he watches the smaller of the pair pause, pull back their hood and shake their hair and face free.

He sees you then. You turn at the exact right moment, just as light seeps through the trees in a gentle, radiant hue. You don't see him, lifting a hand to blot out the dying sun at his back as you speak to your comrade. Yet the sun catches against your face anyways, glinting off your bright eyes, the tone of your skin, catching the color of your hair. He can hardly hear whatever you say, but for some reason you laugh, the sound muffled at this distance and yet feeling for all the world like the particles of feather light pollen that hover in that same sunlight.

König forgets himself for a moment then. The mission, his company, the intrusion you two pose to the compound, all of it fizzles out into nothingness for the briefest of moments. In its place König feels the strange magic of those childish fairytales appear once more, whispering with unknown words into his ears. Strange, unfamiliar incantations haunt the corners of his mind, and between it all he can make out only a single word, echoed from his own lips like a magic spell.

"...Schön."

-----

"Hey, focus."

König snaps to, blinking for a moment as he regards the man beside him. Aksel. The Norwegian is facing forward, looking at the table the rest of the KorTac operators are perched around. Yet his eyes slide over to König meaningfully, lips scowled into a frown.

"I am focused." König returns seething, arms crossed, gaze grazing across the table where his three other teammates converse.

"Aksel, König, pay attention." A voice snaps, and König's eyes land on the leader of the company, their captain. Declan O'Conor.

The Irishman fixes both König and Aksel in his narrowed stare, his hands braced on the steel table where a map is splayed. He doesn't speak, allowing his glinting, deadly stare to sink into both men, imbue them with an unspoken demand of obedience.

"Sir." Aksel murmurs deferentially beside König, his smaller stature shifting with unease for a moment before settling. König lets his eyes slide to the man, observing the way he crosses his arms, biceps bulging under his gear. Like König, he's brutally strong. The Austrian has seen him snap many an enemy soldier's neck with his bare hands. König himself still has a lingering bruise left from the last time the two of them sparred.

Sensing O'Conor's eyes on him still, König tilts his head at his captain, fixing him with a slow, blinking stare. He doesn't speak, and for a moment König thinks he might be reprimanded for that too, for not supplying an immediate response of acknowledgement.

Yet his defiant silence only seems to amuse O'Conor, for the captain's lips twist into a slight smile under the ginger hair of his beard.

"Right then." He declares, leaning up off the table and fasting his hands to his tac vest. The air in the room shifts, all eyes now focused on the Irishman. "With that out of the way, let's move to business."

König's brow arches under his hood, listening as O'Conor's face settles into a serious grimace.

"We have actionable intel that says the 141 is ready to hit one of our supply rendezvous points in Serbia. Roze-" He turns to the dark haired woman to his left. "This is the cache you set up, so you're taking point on this op, understood?"

König's eyes slide to the smallest member of the team. Roze. Their supplier, their strategist and intelligence operator. Slender, subtle, König has seen her work from the shadows. Like a snake, she hides in the underbrush, coiled ready with hungry, glinting eyes. A wry smile crawls across her lips, and for a moment König sees her glance at him with a smug, hidden knowledge.

"Affirm, cap." She returns, voice even but failing to contain her excitement. "Who's coming with me?"

"That'll be Aksel and König." O'Conor returns, and König's eyes widen at that, surprised. Yet that shock is hidden under his hood with a glower, irritation simmering low inside him. He doesn't like working with Roze. Aksel, he can manage. The two men have come to an understanding in the course of their time working together, though perhaps not a brotherhood of sorts.

Roze, however, he can't help with dislike. The woman is full of hidden agendas and concealed plot. She seems to see straight through the men around her with her keen, knowing gaze. Yet that knowledge is hidden under a needling, almost malicious teasing that digs uncomfortably into König's skin. He feels transparent around her at times, and the realization that Roze may somehow know more about him that he cares to admit is a wavering, thorny discomfort at the edge of his periphery.

"Sir-" A voice states, and four sets of eyes turn to O'Conor's right, revealing the final and fifth member of their team. Horangi.

The Korean's eyes are hidden under his sunglasses, worn even indoors in the crackling, fluorescent lighting of their planning room at their base of operations. A mask conceals the lower half of his face. Like König, the soldier has scars he refuses to bear, the silvered flesh revealing secrets about his past only he cares to know. Despite that, the man is fairly outwardly spoken, his voice a calm, steadying presence that binds the uneasy alliances within the team.

"König has been on the last two missions. Allow me to go."

König tilts his head in consideration, watching the sniper. Horangi keeps his eyes locked on their captain, ever attentive, entirely focused on his mission, gaze unwavering. His eyes never falter from their target, watching like a tiger from the jungle, unblinking, predatory in their fixation when he's behind the scope of a rifle.

König almost wants to shoot the man a grateful glance, but is stopped when O'Conor speaks again.

"No, you're still recovering from your last encounter with this team. I need your arm completely healed before I send you back into the field, understood?"

Horangi deflates an inch, but he never breaks eyes contact with the captain.

"Understood, Sir." He replies, voice clipped. Yet when O'Conor's eyes turn back towards Aksel and König, König sees Horangi offer him a small, conciliatory shrug. The Austrian smiles under his hood, despite knowing his friend can't see it.

"Good." O'Conor declares. "I'll be coordinating from off-site. As I said, Roze is on point for this mission. Should the comms go down or anything happen that I can't help with, it'll be Roze's call to make. Clear?"

"Affirmative." Aksel confirms, but König narrows his eyes at the woman beside his captain, her head tilted a little haughtily at him. He sneers.

"Crystal." König at last responds, voice betraying his displeasure. Yet O'Conor doesn't comment on it, not yet at least. Instead, he nods at Roze, who withdraws another smaller map from her side before splaying it across the table before the team. She begins detailing the logistics of the mission- transportation, targets, enemy movements, expected timelines and ex-fil.

König listens half attentively, idly soaking in the information but providing no questions or comments. Again, his thoughts begin to wander, eyes going blank as a different image begins to filter across his gaze, replacing the scene before him.

----

"Please." You whisper, eyes bright in the dimness of the safehouse. You've taken another step closer to him, like a gentle thing trying to tame a wild, hungry beast. König's eyes fix on you, his heart thumping erratically, excited as you raise a hand to him. Beckoning, an entreaty.

There's an anxiousness in your eyes that pulls at a part of him, makes the primal, starving part of his pull taut with a barely restrained eagerness that hums through his coiled form. Like a wolverine watching a rabbit in the glade, König can't quell the instinct to reach out, pull you to him, see the glint in your eyes up close melt into something softer, something like desire.

"I'll do anything you ask-" He watches, eyes settling on the plush bed of your lower lip as you speak. "So please don't hurt him."

Anything.

He loses himself for a moment then, forgetting his mission, his duty, the man at the other end of his gun. Instead, the world narrows down to just you, your smaller form drawing close, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. The phantom sensation of your fingers grazing across his form is enough to make König stifle a shiver. His mind runs wild with possibilities, of taking you, of escaping with you in his arms, of finally, finally having you completely to himself.

He feels like an electric coil, lightning fizzing in his thoughts, the sparks of him barely constrained. His heartbeat drums higher, like the adrenaline fueled thump of a rabbit caught in a snare. Under your eyes, your anxious, glinting gaze König can't help but feel, for a moment, as if he's the prey here, awaiting the fatalistic end of your touch.

"Anything, Maus?" He asks, unable to contain the tremble of excitement in his voice, watching the way realization, burning and bright, passes over your gaze.

He loses himself in the possibilities. The memory of your form, small, lovely in his arms, tiny like a baby bird and yet imbued with surprising strength, resilience, makes his blood sing a primal, thrilled symphony.

He smiles.

"Then-" He takes a step closer, eyes flashing, heartbeat rising. You're so close now. if he just reaches out-

He sheathes his blade, the blood still coating his fingertips, eyes never leaving your smaller form.

""If I ask, you'll come with me?"

----

"-The taskforce-"

König blinks, ears honing in on the mention of your company. It's Roze talking now, one hand cupped under her chin in thought as she regards the maps. When König shifts, however, her eyes flicker up to him for all of a moment with a keen, knowing smile.

"We don't know how many members there will be. However, considering the specifications of the team members I can make a guess as to who will be on the mission for sure."

Her fingers land on a set of photos near the edge of the map, stopping first over a man with a mohawk.

König recognizes him. The one who stole you away after you were injured in Uzbekistan, hiding you from sight and tending to the wound that the team had allowed you to receive.

"MacTavish." Roze declares almost absently. "He's their demolitions expert. If they decide to bring down the warehouse as opposed to taking control of it like I expect, we should expect him."

"Agreed." O'Conor concurs, and his own hand drifts towards a different photo- a man, grizzled and bearded. He reminds König a bit of Declan himself, exuding an unquestionable authority with his stare alone.

"Price." He announces. "Skilled in convert operations. They'll need to go in quiet, and knowing him, he'll want to do this himself."

"You know him." König speaks at last, and it's not really a question so much as a demand for information, eyes narrowed, head cocked curiously as he leans on the wall behind him.

"I did." O'Conor answers simply, but König sees the way his eyes grow distant, angry, hurt. "Once."

Interesting.

König makes a note to study the thought later, recognizing by the expression written on O'Conor's face that he's unwilling to share more. Yet when his eyes flick to Roze, she doesn't seem surprised at all, instead staring back at König, watching his eyes for any indication to his thoughts.

He returns the gaze passively, refusing to allow her the privilege of seeing inside his mind. She huffs a little, but then, curiously, offers him of all things a smile.

"And her-" She declares, and her fingers stop over one more photo, and König can't contain his surprise under his mask when he recognizes it.

You.

"Their sniper. No doubt Price will have her on overwatch as he and MacTavish clear the interior. She'll be the first to notice if anything is off."

"You think she'll be alone?" Horangi asks, tone lilting in disbelief.

"She's capable." Roze returns. "Sneaky, as I'm sure some of us have seen." Her eyes dart to König, and he makes another note to ask what that is about later.

"She's surprisingly slippery too, like a rat. Hard to trap."

A mouse. König corrects silently, frowning.

The thought that your captain would send you out alone to cover him and MacTavish, put you by yourself, vulnerable, chafes at the inside of König's thoughts. The reminder that this is the same team that allowed you to get hurt, that allowed you to get captured, makes irritation simmer inside him. They don't know how to take care of you. Not like he can.

Still, the familiar excitement of getting to see you again shivers inside him. The idea that with every encounter he peels away a little more of your shield towards him, revealing the beauty, the intoxicating honesty beneath your stare makes a familiar rise of warmth flush through him. He wants it, wants to hear your voice, wants to see the dizzying truth of you, the way the steel exterior of you melts away into something softer, more tender.

"We'll rig the building." Roze declares, and that draws König's attention. "Moving most of our supplies first covertly, and then using it as bait to trap and hopefully eliminate Price and MacTavish."

O'Conor hums then, a hand grazing his beard in thought.

"MacTavish, their sniper, I don't care about. Price however-" and there's a glint in his eyes then that makes König pause, try to understand his abrupt fixation on the enemy captain.

"I want him alive."

Roze hesitates, brow furrowing as she digests the expression on her captain's face. She looks like she wants to challenge him, mouth briefly opening before she decides against it.

"Fine." She then turns to Aksel and König. "You have full execute authority for MacTavish and the other. Price is to be captured. Copy?"

König doesn't respond, desperately trying to hide his growing panic at the thought of you getting caught by either of his team members. The image of your eyes going blank, your final memory a single flash of red at the end of Roze's aim, of your face caught between two of Aksel's massive hands, mouth opening in a desperate plea before there's a sickening crack-

He shivers.

"Copy." Aksel manages beside him, and König's eyes find Roze's once more, glaring.

"...Copy." He offers, even as his stomach churns with a putrid, hateful anxiety.

"Good." Roze offers, and her smile is sickly sweet somehow, knowing. It coats the back of König's tongue and leaves a burning aftertaste. "Captain?"

O'Conor nods once, seemingly satisfied. He looks up, regards the operators in his team before nodding once more.

"You have your orders." He states evenly. "Do not fail. Dismissed."

The rest of the team stands at attention, and on instinct König does as well, his eyes trailing O'Conor as the man vanishes beyond the doorway of the planning room. König waits until the other have begun to follow, shuffling and ducking under the too short doorway before making strides down the corridor.

He doesn't get all of ten steps before there's a voice behind him, high and feminine, teasing.

"Gott im Himmel." He mutters to himself, head raising as if asking the heavens for absolution as Rozlin trots up to catch him. He turns, fists already curled in irritation. "What?"

Roze pouts up at him, eyes twinkling in mischief.

"Oh, don't be like that big guy." She whines, a single finger prodding at him. it only makes his frown deepen, face drawing into a scowl. "We're going to be working together, you should try and be nice to me for once."

He brushes her hand aside. yet the motion does little to deter her, seems to only encourage her as she smiles.

"What do you want, Rozlin?" König asks tersely, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'm busy."

"Busy being distracted, you mean?" She asks impishly, and König feels a prickle of warning crawl across his shoulders at that. it must show through his eyes, because Rozlin seizes on it, like a coyote with a piece of meat. "I saw you in the meeting. You were zoning out."

"I was bored." He shoots back. "Your plans are not exactly enthralling, frau."

There's a thrum of satisfaction when Roze actually does look annoyed at that. Yet then that annoyance fades as that damned, knowing smile crawls across her lips once more.

"You didn't seem so bored when I mentioned her." She purrs.

König stiffens.

Shock, a dawning horror at the realization that somehow she's found it, that she knows about this secret infatuation he's developed has him pausing, muscles drawn tight in shock. Yet he tamps down on it as quickly as he can, refusing to offer Roze even an inch of ground on which to advance.

"I don't know who you're talking about." He seethes in return despite the uneven thump of his heartbeat.

"Oh?" Roze doesn't buy it. He can tell. There's a keen, sinister grin twitching on her lips. It digs at him, inside him, sends a prickle of defensive fury tickling along the underside of his skin. "You're telling me all this sneaking around on missions you've been doing has been for no reason? That you didn't linger in that safehouse in Mozambique to see her?"

"Unlike you-" König growls, stepping forward, looming over the smaller operator. "I have more important things to worry about than keeping track of a single enemy sniper."

It's a movement meant to intimidate her, and for a moment he sees Roze's eyebrows rise, craning her head to look up at the taller soldier. Yet when she opens her mouth to retort, there's another voice that floats down the hallway.

"König."

Both König and Roze turn, catching sight of their own sniper hovering at the edge of their conversation. he glances between them, taking stock of the confrontation before turning to König.

"I need to assess your stitches before you're deployed." He states calmly, almost clinically, voice careful not to provoke either of his team members. Then he turns to Roze. "I'll be borrowing him for a few minutes."

It's not a request, but neither is it a demand. Horangi's voice is smooth, even as he speaks, as if talking down an animal.

Roze wrinkled her nose at him in distaste, obviously displeased the sniper has ruined her fun. Still, she takes a step back, withdraws so she can regard both men fully.

"Fine." She bites with a roll of her eyes. "Go on an see the doc, big guy."

Roze turns with a little dismissive wave, pausing to give König a look over her shoulder.

"And König? Remember to kill your food after playing with it." She hums, then paces down the corridor back the way she came.

König watches her leave, still trying to tame the simmering frustration and anxiety roiling in his blood. Roze's needling, her smug knowledge, her ceaseless almost malicious teasing reminds him too much of the things he used to endure, of sneering expressions and laughing voices that even now makes anger, red and warm, flush through him.

Horangi settles beside him, watching Roze vanish around a corner before at last looking up to the taller man beside him.

"What was that about?" He asks curiously, and König only shakes his head.

"Nothing." He murmurs, trying to clear his thoughts before looking to the shorter soldier. "What was it you said? Ah, my arm, right."

Horangi offers only a small nod before jerking his head down the hallway, towards an unused room. König follows, larger form all but dwarfing his friend.

It doesn't take long before König is divested of most of his gear, shirt removed so their temporary medic can properly assess the long, snaking wound left as a parting gift to him by Garrick.

"You were lucky." Horangi tells him, lifting a single hefty arm above him to peer at the underside of König’s tricep. "If you hadn't reacted quick enough, he could have sliced through your artery. You could have bled out."

"I know." König growls, the reminder smarting against his skin. He didn't consider himself an easy man to get the drop on, and the fact that Garrick had not only managed to avoid being shot, but had injured him as well was as worthy of irritation as it was of respect.

One he'd have to return the favor for.

The reminder of your smile, of your easy gentleness and camaraderie around the sergeant itches at him. One of his legs bounces against the floor. Impatient. Irritated.

He's seen you with Garrick a few times now. First in the forest, at sundown, hours before you had even set eyes on him for the first time. Your laugh, bright and airy, echoed out in response to something Garrick had said. König had seen the way the sergeant's eyes had softened at the sound, his lips a tender, pleased smile.

So too had König seen the way you'd clung to his arm in Mozambique, hidden as he was from the shadows of an alleyway as he hastened to the safehouse before you could beat him there. The gesture then had been a feigned one, meant to disillusion any passerby around you into thinking you two were simply a couple. Even so, König had seen it then too, the hidden smile Garrick tucked away from your worried expression.

Even now he can hear the accusation the sergeant had levied at him, thunderous, venomous, absolutely fatal in his intent.

"Don't touch her!!"

"If you hurt her again, I'll-"

König hadn't had time to deal with it then, but now the reminder of his words made him scowl under his hood. Hurt you? His Maus? Of course, König could see why the sergeant made that assumption, but it remained far from the truth. Kong would never hurt you. He wasn't above stealing you away to some place quiet, ensuring you were safe from the hail of gunfire and smoke, but hurting you?

A grumble, low and deep, rumbles from him just as Horangi prods at one of the stitches close to his elbow.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He offers to König, but the Austrian merely shrugs, not caring to explain the true source of his irritation.

Yet then Horangi pauses, and without looking at him König knows he has fastened him with his gaze.

"What?" He asks without meeting the Korean's stare.

"She's right, you know." He starts gently. "You...have been distracted."

Ah, so he did hear that conversation after all König realizes, closing his eyes with an irritated sigh.

"I'm tired." He explains half-heartedly. "I barely got a chance to breathe after getting back from Minsk before I was sent out to Mozambique."

Horangi nods, seemingly accepting the explanation he's been given. Even if he doesn't believe it, König is grateful that he doesn't press the issue.

"She wants to get a rise out of you." He states then, and König blinks, looks at him. Horangi keeps an even stare with the larger man. "Roze, I mean. She likes getting reactions from people, and it's easy with you."

"She's a petty little witch." König hisses in return, scowling. "Why O'Conor keeps her around is more than I can understand."

"You haven't thought about it?" Horangi asks then, pressing an inch forward, only for König to automatically draw back. "That she and O'Conor seem to know more than the rest of us?"

König pauses. He hadn't really considered it before. He took this job because he enjoyed the adrenaline rush of being in the field, the ring of bullet rounds singing against his veins and thrumming through his ribs. He craved it, loved the violence of it, the bloom of red against a wall with the slash of his knife in the throat of a worthy opponent, the disastrous cacophony of a frag grenade thrown into a hiding space, echoed by his thunderous battle cry.

"No." He responds, slowly, curiously, eyeing Horangi from the corner of his vision.

Horangi settles backwards in his seat, stripping his hands of the latex gloves he used to inspect König’s arm.

"I think about it." He declares simply. "We were never told where our funds come from, our supplies, we're only paid enough not to ask questions."

König watches him, at last locking on Horangi's gaze, trying to find something beneath his sunglasses, trying to discern the true meaning of his stare.

"There's something here we don't know about." Horangi offers at last, voice low, distant. A warning.

König scoffs then, ignoring the prickle of awareness, of curiosity that itches along his thoughts.

"Think about it on your own time." He mutters dismissively, reaching for his shirt and gear. "And make sure your own injury is healed before your next mission. After all-" and he turns, offers a tilt of his head that betrays the smile under his hood. "If you were killed, who would stitch me up after?"

Horangi chuckles at that, with a little toss of his head that lets König know he's rolling his eyes.

"You're all set. Try not to get injured this time, so I have more of my own time to think." He offers as König stands with a roll of his shoulders that has his joints pop. "And don't forget to bring home your captive."

König smiles then, under his hood, feeling a familiar excitement boil higher in his veins. His heartbeat picks up, racing in time with his thoughts. Hungry, driven, fixated on the thought of you once more, of your wide eyes as he springs his trap on you, hands reaching forward to grasp you once more.

"No." He promises, grinning, shivering with an untamed, frenetic energy. "I won't."

#König #könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x oc #cod mw22 #fic: little mouse #my writing #my fic #reader insert #Don't expect anything from me for the next 5-7 business days I'm spent

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ragnarokhound · 1 month

Note

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed.

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay?

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air.

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive.

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front.

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later.

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape.

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this.

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’— which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down).

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight.

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers.

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny��s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes—

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop.

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.”

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror.

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed.

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way.

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.”

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to.

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric.

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch.

The kiss is— bad. At first.

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch'#'have some jaytim that grew legs on me'#my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!!#prompt fill

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levisfavoriteteashop · 2 months

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notes: im back! sorry, i know i haven't posted in a while, my motivation wasn't really at its best but it's getting there. anyway, i'm back with a short angsty drabble, it's doesn't really have a plot but it's somethig i came up with and thought it may be worth posting

cw: angst, no comfort

────────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

The night draped the world in its somber cloak as the moon hung low, casting feeble shadows upon the desolate streets of Trost. Among the ruins stood Levi Ackerman, the weight of countless burdens etched upon his stoic features. His steel-gray eyes scanned the rubble, searching for any semblance of hope amidst the devastation.

Beside him stood you, his trusted comrade and confidante, your presence a flickering beacon in the darkness that threatened to consume him. Sometimes, you were even more, the both of you sharing deep and unspoken feelings, who never got a chance to really blossom. But tonight, even your warmth couldn't penetrate the icy walls he had built around his heart.

"Levi," you whispered softly, your voice trembling with unspoken concern, "Are you okay?"

He didn't respond, his silence cutting deeper than any blade. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his clenched fist, seeking solace in the touch that had once been so reassuring.

"What's wrong?" you pressed, desperation lacing your words.

Finally, he turned to face you, his gaze piercing through the veil of your facade with a raw intensity that left you breathless.

"Everything," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant echoes of war. "I promised to protect them... all of them. But I failed. Again."

Tears welled in your eyes as you watched the cracks in his armor widen, revealing the vulnerable soul hidden beneath. You longed to hold him, to chase away the shadows that haunted his dreams, but you knew some wounds ran too deep to heal.

"Levi, you can't blame yourself for everything," you pleaded, your voice breaking with every word. "We're only human. We can't save everyone."

His laughter cut through the silence like a dagger, sharp and bitter with self-loathing.

"Human," he scoffed, his gaze drifting to the heavens above. "Is that what we are? Nothing but pawns in a game we can never hope to win?"

You reached out once more, your hand trembling as you cupped his cheek, willing him to see the light that still burned within you.

"We may be flawed," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar of distant cannons. "But that doesn't mean we can't fight. Together."

For a fleeting moment, his defenses faltered, his mask of indifference crumbling under the weight of your unwavering faith. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely a whisper in the wind. "I can't... I can't do this anymore."

And with those words, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone amidst the ruins. Levi Ackerman kept pushing you away everytime, keeping those walls an unshatterable boundary between the two of you. And yet, you would never give up on him.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan #levi ackerman angst #drabble

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dootznbootz · 3 months

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Worth the Mess Ch. 1

...Tada! :'D I've decided to make that "Odysseus gives baby Telemachus a lemon" fanfic split into chapters instead! As it'll probably be around 25,000 words if I keep doing what I do. Anyways! It's fluffy and self-indulgent as hell and I had fun! :D Hope y'all like it! I will say it's more ODYSSEY INSPIRED as I got really indulgent. I keep to mostly everything but I also have a shitton of fun. Warnings: Vomiting as Penelope has magic food poisoning, Penelope is also a young mom and they're both parents so that'll come more eventually. Words: 6000+ Shout out to all my lovely friends for helping out and being so amazing! I love you all so much!!!

Odysseus looked at the pile of flowers he had in his hand, then back to the single bloom held in the other. A light blue, mostly small buds that have yet to open. Looking at the bundle, one side had more white than the rest and decided that’s where the new one should be placed. That’s what his father always told him. Something about the colors. He gently tucked it among the rest, careful of the petals.

The wind suddenly picked up, whistling past his ears and causing some strands of his hair that weren’t being held in it’s tie to blow in his face. He pulled his purple cloak tighter around him and waited for it to pass. A curl caught on his lip, annoying him. As the chill stopped, he pushed the hair back behind his ear.

He looked at the pitiful bundle of flowers in his hands, making sure none were lost. It had only just become spring and he had to make do with what he could find. His collection had started earlier that day as he walked around the markets. A few blooms taken from there as well.

Odysseus scratched as his shoulder, all the while searching once more against the plants for more to pick. Sharp gray eyes spotted a little white one with two flowers on the stem and he reached for it.

He shifted his knees beneath him as he leaned forward and winced as the sharp gravel underneath stabbed at them. Squatting now, he grumbled and brushed the jagged pebbles that still stuck to his skin. He knew he didn’t need to do this himself. He was a king; he didn’t have to do anything he did not want to.

…He reached again.

Despite his strength, the smooth stem simply slipped through his grasp. Trying again, he gritted his teeth and pulled at the deeply rooted flower. Realizing that it would not budge, he took the small dagger he had with him and pressed his thumb against it, the stem in between.

A smooth cut. Too smooth, as he then felt a sting of pain and a yelp burst from him as he pressed too hard and moved too quickly. Having dropped the dagger and the flower, he hissed as he pressed his now bleeding thumb to the red outer skirt he was wearing.

A long tongue licked at his cheek. He laughed and leaned away from Argo's cold little puffs as he sniffed around his face. “I’m fine, boy. Your master is just not using his head at the moment.”

Argos made a noise that sounded like a sneeze before shoving his head under Odysseus’ arm for pets. The king smiled as he watched his dog’s tail wag when he started to scratch behind his ears. His fur soft and sleek under his fingers.

Good boy.

It was only the two of them right now, having sent the slaves that came with him away with a nice oak log that he planned to use for carving. He also wished to meet the naiads by himself, especially as this was a more personal visit.

He looked at the cut on his thumb, and was thankful it no longer oozed blood. If Penelope were here it would be completely healed, leaving no trace of his mistake… He huffed. For now just be happy you didn’t slice your thumb off… She’s resting now and that’s what she needs, he thought.

At least now he could use both hands to scratch both his dog’s ears. Argos’ eyes closing and letting out a low content sound and leaning against Odysseus who turned his head towards the palace where his love remained.

They usually went together while doing the rounds about their properties, as queen and king. Their palace watched over by his parents during their absence. Sometimes their son in their arms or strapped against them if they only planned to walk. Looking over their orchards, pastures, going on a hunt, a run, a swim, visiting friends…

It was strange how ever since they met his mind was filled with thoughts of “Oh, she’d like this.” and “I’ll have to tell Penelope this later.” Being separated made him feel like he only had half his mind. Functioning like a dull carving knife would; usable but needed more effort to make something out of it. Even now he was picking flowers for her. Seashells he found on the shore and bought at the market today clinking in a pouch at his hip. Stories brewing in his head to tell her… It would’ve been better if he could give it all to her right now.

Four days ago, his Penelope had simply gone to the river naiads, something she did often. Odysseus usually went with her as well, but there were messages and disputes to attend to so she went alone. Their son also remaining with Odysseus as well, thankfully, as the nymphs had taken down a huge catfish that day. Not an uncommon occurrence, the naiads taking matters into their own hands when they felt something was out of balance in their environment.

Odysseus was proud of her. He always was. He adored his powerful, little wife. She’s recovered so well since giving birth and he knew how much it meant to her to do what she did before. To feel like herself again.

The catfish was a beast. Three people were killed in it's rampage. While it wasn’t the largest creature Penelope has fought, as in Sparta there was more space, it was still longer than he was tall and it’s mouth could swallow his waist, making it even larger than her in comparison. It also had sharp, thin teeth unlike the usually gummy toothless maw catfish were known for. And as water nymphs do, they ate their kill in victory.

Penelope was the one to deal the final blow to it’s skull, using the rivers current to force the beast hard into a dead tree that fell over the the water. Letting the sharp branches do the job for her rather than her blade. Her victory meant she got to take the first bite. The cheeks, her favorite.

He did not know that she was battling the beast at first so he was concerned with how late it was getting, as she usually let him know if she planned to stay the night with the nymphs. Telemachus asleep for his final nap, as they were trying to have him sleep in the night better. A messenger told him of the catfish however and that eased his worry. He knew the nymphs took care of each other.

Soon later, she leapt from the pool he had built right outside their bedroom. He smiled as he put aside the records he was looking through and went to go meet her.

What had been excitement turned to concern as he watched her, meeting her halfway. He was at first afraid she was possibly wounded. Looking at her somewhat ripped dress. As a naiad-born, she had the ability to heal with her water but he knew how stubborn she was. (Wouldn’t be the first time) While her sharp teeth gleamed with pride as she told him her story, she moved slowly and she was deathly pale. Her usually cold skin felt warm as she pulled him down to kiss his cheeks. She had even forgotten to use her ability to dry herself off, dripping water onto their floor before he reminded her. No, she wasn’t wounded, she was sick .

“I’m fine, dear Joy,” she had told him when he asked if a physician should be summoned. She smiled weakly as he guided her to their bed. With their son asleep, she thankfully didn’t argue with Odysseus about seeing him. “I’m only tired. I just had a scuffle with a beast you know. I’m more angry about that dress that got ruined…”-she shook her head only to stop when she realized it made her nauseous-“It…It was bad, but I stopped as soon as I knew there was something wrong with it and told the others. I definitely didn’t have enough of that monster to get sick from it. Telemachus gave worse stomachaches when I was pregnant.”

He shook his head, tipping her chin towards him to look him in the eye. “Darling, you’re as pale as bone-”

“I’m always pale and you always worry.”

“Penelope-”

“Odysseus,” she tossed back, smiling. When she saw his worried face, she realized this was no time for banter. She softened and kissed his palm . “I am fine … Rest will make it better, you’ll see…If I do get sick, it…it probably will be short. Definitely wasn’t cursed, as that fish was causing problems anyways. I’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t sleep. He curled around her, as they always did, and just watched. She did not face him. He rubbed her back, tracing the constellation of birthmarks and smattering of scales that were placed upon her pale skin. Their legs tangled together. The little black cat she brought from Sparta, Anthos, slept by her torso. All he could think about was his wife’s stomach rumbling and her breathing throughout the short time she was asleep. He ordered maids to be at the ready outside their room.

Strange woman, what sort of trouble did you get yourself into now?

Just as she seemed to finally get restful sleep, making him finally believe that she was right and that she was fine, she wretched his arms off her before her stomach purged itself over the side of their bed. The maids rushed in with buckets and rags as he sat beside her.

Three days. Three days of wiping her lips and face. Of wiping her body down of sweat. Of just waiting . He watched over her most of the time, others only taking over when he couldn’t. Only truly leaving to be with their son, who he gained some comfort from, and for a few bad disputes his parents needed help with. He didn’t leave the palace.

He asked for the physician. Had prayers and a goat sacrificed to both Asclepius and Hygenia. Nothing changed.

Two days in he realized this wasn’t like when she was pregnant or the occasional illness. Whatever was in that wretched fish was causing this. He asked Goddess Athena for an answer, if Penelope had truly been cursed. All she said was she would live, which gave them both relief but he was still frightened and she was still in pain.

She couldn’t even keep water down, the very thing ingrained into her very being. What she lived and breathed in. They made sure to have her dipped in the waters often, to keep her scales from peeling and to bathe her. He had to carry her to the warm bath where he and the maids would wash her. When she wasn’t throwing up, she was exhausted and slept, only to suddenly wake up and vomit once more. Since she could not consume anything, it got to the point where her body was heaving nothing until she started to cry… So dehydrated there weren’t even tears. All he could do was clean and hold her while she shivered in his arms.

“Tel…Telemachus-” she sputtered as he rinsed her neck and chest with a damp cloth. Odysseus quickly pulling his arm back as she began retching once more into the pot in front of her.

Of course, at her worst, she thinks of their son. Odysseus’ heart ached for his wife. The physician (and Lady Athena) said to ‘wait it out. Let her body get rid of the toxins’. But neither the king or queen were good at patience. And Odysseus hated feeling so helpless.

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he waited for her to finish before he comforted her. “Our son is fine, I go play with him when I can. His nurses are feeding and taking care of him right now. He misses you too but you’ll be better and can see him soon.”

He gently wiped at her nose, lips, and chin with a damp rag as she gasped for breath, her hand resting upon her sternum. She shifted. He thought she needed him to move but she whined and shuffled against him. She rested her head against his shoulder and he pulled his arms around her, taking the damp rag to rest against some scales on her collarbone. He rested his chin against her sweaty head, hoping she could not see him grimace at the smell. He waited, watching Actoris replace the pot with a new one.

“Hurts…”

He bit his lip and blinked a few times but put on a smile and squeezed her. “You did just win a fight against a monster fish, love…”

She giggled and looked at him with a tired but sly grin, with some mess still on her lower lip. Gods, he loved her. “Did I really if I’m left like this?”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss on the side of her head.

She smiled, a good sign but she still trembled against him. Then her mouth twisted and a sob came from her burning throat. “I’m so reckless…should’ve known. It had teeth, Odysseus. That’s not normal for a catfish.”

His lip curled before furrowing his brow and moving his head to look her in the eye. If he had it his way, catfish would no longer be seen on Ithaca. “None of that. The other naiads are just at fault as you are. They didn’t notice either. Aristomache is older than all of us and should’ve known better. Do you blame her? Do you blame them? ”

Penelope, already knowing what her husband was getting at, remained silent. She sniffled once and closed her eyes, exhausted. “...Do you know if they’re okay?”

He huffed, trying to keep some of the annoyance out of his voice. “They’re fine. A messenger was sent to all waterways and all the naiads are fine.”

She curled further into him, not responding. He sighed. “I’m not mad…Not at you at least,” he muttered. He used the back of his knuckle to stroke at the apple of her cheek. “Be gentle to yourself. You’ve recovered so well and are so strong…None of the others are mothers, and you’re the one who killed that thing. You’re doing better than most.”

She looked at him with those silver eyes, before looking back at her hands. His words didn’t necessarily take all those feelings away but she could admit to herself that he was right. He took that as a win regardless.

“I still feel like shit.” She grumbled before leaning over and spitting some phlegm into the new pot. He rolled his eyes at her and wiped at her face again until she reached up to touch his cheek, where dark circles sat upon. Her tired face lined with concern. “Have you…You have rested as well, yes?”

“I have,” he reassured, taking her clammy hand and kissing her wrist.

“You could take another room if you can’t rest while here.”

“I sleep in our nest with you or outside on the dirt.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his bluntness. It was selfish but it brought her great comfort that whenever she was sick, usually within seconds she would feel those warm, rough hands rubbing her back. And if he wasn’t there, she was told he was with their son.

A strand of Penelope’s raven hair fell over her face, tickling her nose. He gently pushed the soft strand back behind a pointed ear. He called to Eurynome from where she was gathering new rags to help redo it. Eurynome braided her hair before tying it up in a wrap around her head, Odysseus keeping Penelope upright.

He picked her up and began to lay her down on their bed only for her to raise her hand and grab his wrist, her grip was weak. She wasn’t completely asleep like they thought. He placed his other hand over hers and leaned closer to hear her. She whispered, “What do those tablets say?”

The king was taken aback, looking where her gaze was pointed. A pile of clay slabs that were resting upon the small table on his side of their nest. Someone must have left them there for him earlier, as she was in no condition to correspond. “I don’t know yet. I will look at them once I know you’re resting-”

“Did Linus respond? I need to know.” She was sitting up now, swaying a bit. Even sick, Penelope’s silver gaze was fierce.

Odysseus gently pushed her back onto the sheets. She didn’t fight him, thankfully, though she still looked at him with demand. His heart warmed. Her stubborn determination was simply one of the reasons he loved her after all. “Dear Wife,” he began softly, rubbing softly at her shoulders with his thumbs. “I don’t need to see those slabs to know that you got the ten oxen you wanted. You would still be there at his house right now demanding him if you hadn’t.”

He took a cool rag to wipe her forehead of sweat. Going under her chin and chest as well, careful of her sensitive breasts. He placed a different warm cloth given to him by Eurynome over top of them to help with the swelling. As she could not feed Telemachus in her condition, and despite her lack of food, they had to make sure infection or mastitis didn’t take root. When she winced, he murmured an apology.

He pulled the blankets over her. She looked up at him, her sharp teeth shined at him. Bright as always. “I want that man ruined, Odysseus. If he thinks he can have some of Ithaca’s finest craftsmanship for just five oxen, then he has no idea who he’s dealing with…”

“I know. He already knows if you ripped into him as you do,” He kissed her forehead. “Now rest, silly woman.”

When he pulled back, she was looking above them where the canopy of their nest was. Odysseus raised a brow before raising his head to see a small gray owl, hiding among the branches.

Athena must have spoken with her, as she looked back at him, sighed and fell asleep. He looked up again and bowed his head in thank you. If all Athena could do was help his wife get some peace then he was grateful nonetheless.

Odysseus pulled Argos closer and rested his head against him. His fur was soft. He traced spirals in his coat. The dog sniffed the wind, lost in his own little world just as his master was.

He had summoned a physician again on the third day, worried about how to get the food she needed. She gave her a mixture that only ended up purged later. A waste of time and of the fine wine he gave as payment.

In the evening, Athena appeared. Telling him the Naiads wished to speak to him. As his Penelope was sleeping, he had Euryclea and Actoris watch over her while he sprinted to see what the nymphs had to say. Aristomache, the oldest of the naiads and often spoke on behalf of all the younger ones, waited on the edge of river bank for him.

She was strangely more formal, having become what he would call mother-in-law figure for him with Penelope’s family so far away. While most would have to supplicate and bring many offerings to their nymphs, they had become a second family to him. Offerings were gifts now. Ithaca had never been so close to it’s nymphs until his new bride came with him almost eight years ago.

She was blunt in her instructions and gave him a strange plant. One with little pearls instead of leaves. Telling him that Penelope must have one pearl and to give them news when she is better again. He asked if this was punishment for his queen. If they had to do more to sate whatever was causing this.

Aristomache gripped his hands tightly and forced him to look at her. “You will not do anything. Penelope was wronged…This is to make up for it.” She gave him a look, her deep blue eyes seeming to cut into him. He simply nodded.

She said nothing more before she sank into the river.

He decided not to question it despite how strange it was as he remained hopeful that this would be what finally helped his wife. He raced back to the palace, the plant in hand. He pulled off a pearl for Penelope as he was told. She had a hard time swallowing it at first. A short moment passed, everyone waiting to see what would happen.

The queen retched up a small black glob that went into the pot with a splat, only to then disappear in a mist. She was exhausted and sank back into the cushions before sleeping once more, frightening him at first, but she was still breathing. He had the room and her be purified while she slept.

She still hasn’t woken up yet.

“Master, she probably needs rest. More now most likely as she was fighting that ailment. She’ll be awake and better soon,” Euryclea had told him, wrinkled hands on his broad shoulder.

He didn’t move. It’s been three days. Three days of her not being able to eat or drink. That…thing might be out of her now, but what of the damage it’s caused?

“It would be best if you rested-”

“Get out,” he muttered, his lip twitching. He whipped around to look at them. “Now! Get out! I want you all out!”

Euryclea jumped back, she knew her king had a temper. “Now My King, she will still need help when she wakes-”

“And?! She’s sleeping now. She and the room have been purified. There is nothing more to be done. So you will get out !” He swallowed and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Check on our son while you’re gone... You will be called upon when she wakes but you will be out of our chamber until then.”

He turned his head back towards their bed once he heard the whispering of the maids and the quick shuffling of feet. One tried to pick up her supplies. “Leave it!” he shouted without looking at her.

She stopped, startled, but did as he ordered and followed the other slaves. The room was empty now.

Tension left his body as he sat on the bed, looking at his sleeping wife. Her cheeks were red and were warm, and her breathing was deep.

His vision blurred, and his eyes burned and so did his throat. A sob escaped him and he lowered his head into his hands. He let the curtain of his thick hair drape over him to hide his face, the ends of it laying against the blanket that covered her body. This wasn’t the first time he wept over her condition and he knew he shouldn’t expect her to bounce up and out after that but… She still looked sick. She hasn’t eaten or drank in days. Even if that sludge was out of her, what if the damage had already been done?

He felt a cold gust against his back, causing a shiver up his spine. He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. He waited for her to speak.

He heard Athena in his mind like usual. Her deep voice echoed in his head with a chuckle. Penelope is asleep and could not hear her right now it seems. “You know, kicking them all out wasn’t necessary.”

He sniffled, tossing his head to throw the auburn locks bouncing once more against his back so he could look at the owl with his red-rimmed eyes. He grabbed a rag and wiped his own face now. And blowing his nose. “Well, they aren’t necessary either.”

“Really? Are you planning to stay up the whole time to watch her when you’re in such a state yourself?”

He glared up at her. She was resting on a branch that came out from their nest. He hated that she seemed to be smiling. And that she was right. He was exhausted as well. Stress, taking care of her, trying to remain relaxed while visiting and playing with Telemachus, half-assing being a king. It was all adding up and his head felt like fog.

“Sleep,” She was suddenly in the form of a young girl. Sitting at the end of their nest. “I’ll make sure she’s well. I knew her before I knew you, you know.”

He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. His eyes were shutting and he was now the one swaying. He went to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers. “Wake me when she does, please.”

Athena nodded. He curled up to his wife, resting his head on her shoulder, resting his nose under her jaw… We need a bath , he thought before sweet sleep fell over him.

It was in the middle of night when he woke up, Athena brushing her feathers against his face to wake him before nodding once in Penelope’s direction and taking flight. This time he stayed awake and lit the oil lamp that rested in it’s special nook on their living bed he made.

He looked at Penelope and hope filled him when he noticed the change. She no longer felt so hot under his touch, her skin going back to it’s familiar coolness. Color started to come back to her face. Her breathing no longer sounded so labored. Anthos laid upon her belly, so he scooped up the cat and placed her to the side. He then looked over her body, checking her scales once for peeling before settling for scratching under Anthos’ chin as he waited.

Penelope was laying on her back when she suddenly sat up and belched loudly. The warm damp cloth that had been laid over her breast fell into her lap.

“Oh, gods-” she said before she covered her mouth. It would’ve been humorous in any other situation.

Odysseus immediately sat up as well, pushing the blankets off himself to kneel on the bed facing her. Her silver eyes bright. She let her hand fall from her mouth as she felt her husband's rough hands cup her face. She blinked, her thick lashes fluttering once.

She watched as her husband’s stormy eyes scanned her with a worried brow and pursed lips. She chuckled at how his hair decided to wake. Parted too far to the right and weirdly flattened on one side.

Odysseus was taken aback by how she looked as she almost looked as though she had never been sick. The bags under her eyes were gone, her skin almost seemed to glow, and her silvery eyes were bright and focused. Tears no longer filled them.

She waited, breathing deeply, reveling in her body working with her again. She opened her mouth slightly, relieved that nothing seemed to buildup just below her throat.

She grinned at her husband, who was now looking over where some of her scales were, having memorized their placement. His hand now brushing over the scattering of some on her left hip once again. He looked back up at her wide-eyed, when she hummed lowly, her throat still burning from the bile of the last few days.

“I think at this point you just want an excuse to look at me…” she rasped.

He snorted. “Since when have I needed an excuse?”

He rested his forehead against hers, her pushing back a slight bit with her own, and he whispered, “How are you feeling? The pearls worked, yes?”

She nodded, then kissed his nose, “I think they worked, my Joy… I think I’ll be okay.”

“Oh, praise the gods! Penelope!” He exhaled and pulled her close.

He placed a few soft kisses on the once sweaty and pale forehead that he would push her hair away from. As she giggled and turned away, he cupped her other cheek, pulling her face closer to his own to continue his affection. The kisses only stopped momentarily as he could not hold back his grin as he squished his nose into her cheekbone, no longer red from fever but from joy. Her sharp teeth glinted as she squirmed. Her body was sore and moving so much hurt her ribs but she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. She leaned away from him, as his hair was tickling her; it only left her neck vulnerable. He nuzzled himself on the pulse point, the same spot he desperately felt during the past few days. Her laughter, although still hoarse, was his goal; she truly meant it when she said she was feeling better.

He shifted, trying to pull her tighter to him when she winced and pushed him back, “Odysseus, my breasts hurt. Not so tightly!”

“Forgive me, I forgot.” He still smiled, giggling himself as he took her freezing hand, a good sign for Penelope, and kissed her calloused fingertips.

Penelope shook her head and took a deep breath, wincing. She took the rag that was in her lap and wiped at the milk that had dribbled out on her. “My ribs definitely hurt as well”-she coughed- “and my throat…Maybe I’m not fully well yet actually.”

He stopped his affections, face suddenly serious. “You don’t think you’ll be sick again, right? You said the pearls helped.”

“Oh, they definitely did. I’ll be fine eventually. Just thisty and hungry and sore,” she said, her usually gorgeous voice hoarse. She swallowed thickly but smiled at him. He was clearly worried and she wanted to give her husband some peace. She rustled his hair so it wasn’t such a mess with her other hand. “But I actually feel pretty good. Though I did just wake up.” She gave him the rag to clean the droplets she left on his own chest.

“Good,” He said, tossing the cloth back when he was done and gave one final kiss on her cool cheek before shuffling off the bed, losing balance as he got tangled up in the blankets before taking off to call back the maids. “We’ll get you something to eat. That’s the only way to test if you’re better.”

He looked out the doorway, somewhat regretting having yelled at the maids to leave earlier. Euryclea was nearby thankfully. Stubborn old woman.

“She’s awake. Bring some food. Let’s try some fruits and bread for now, pomegranates, of course. And bring more water. Wake up the other maids when you finish bringing them. Go.”

He whirled back around and jogged back to where she sat. She was petting Anthos’ black fur as she drank from the little cup that was beside their bed. “Slow down, don’t overdo it…”

She rolled her eyes. To “overdo water” was a silly concept to her as a naiad, but she did drink more slowly. He crawled back on their bed. He started to retie her hair which had fallen out while sleeping. She flicked her wrist and water hopped out of the pitcher once more into the small cup. Anthos curling up beside her.

He began combing her through her soft black hair, running into some of the knots with his fingers and gently undoing them. Going through it more times for his own comfort. She didn’t need anything fancy right now, especially as she should bathe soon. “How’s your stomach? Not feeling sick, right? You haven’t been able to have anything in days…”

“No, Odysseus, I don’t feel sick. I’ll be okay…” He finished tying her hair up with a leather cord and pulled her into his lap. She shifted a slight bit to sit more comfortably before suddenly her eyes got wide. “Th-the council! What day is it?!”

He scoffed and shook his head. He placed his hand over hers. “Rescheduled. Neither of us were in a state where we can go.”

She wrinkled her nose but didn’t argue as he was right. Again.

She squeezed herself up tighter into his strong arms. She had always enjoyed his warmth, always running colder than most mortals with her ancestry; they met in the middle. She traced some freckles on collarbone with her unoccupied hand.

She took another sip from her cup before turning her head and placed a kiss on his collarbone. “Thank you for taking care of me…I know the reason I got better is because of your care.”

“There is no reason to thank me,” he murmured. “I missed you so much.”

She smiled,“I don’t know if a man who barely left my side can say that.”

“This man will say it no matter where he’s been.”

She snorted. “Speaking of which, I know I need a bath. When was the last time you’ve taken one?”

“Since you last had one,” He smirked at the way she wrinkled her nose. “We can take one after you eat.”

She gasped. “TELEMACHUS!” she started to turn away before she grabbed her left side and groaned.

“Just my ribs! Calm down,” She grunted, reassuring him as he reached out towards her. She caught her breath and slowly brought herself back to curl back up against him. Anthos’ head now up looking at them. “I will see Telemachus.”

“You need to eat-”

“Then while we bathe! It’s not like our son isn’t capable of worse smells himself.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

The pitcher was empty by the time Euryclea came in. The plate was soon empty as well. But her stomach remained full.

Odysseus smiled as he sat with Argos now, playing with his floppy ears. That had been this morning. And it was why he was on his own. He told her what the Naiads told him and as always, she immediately was making plans as to what to do. He wanted her to rest and gain her strength back, she wanted him to “do his royal duties”. He was simply keeping his promise to her…

That doesn’t mean that she still wasn’t on his mind. Or that he didn’t sneak in the castle at noon and was reassured by his Euryclea that she hadn’t snuck out or was doing anything too strenous.

“King Odysseus! You’ve been sitting there for a while! Are you well?!”

Argos answered before Odysseus could. His dog, who had been lulled to sleep by his master’s petting, stood up quick and began to bark at the sheep herder. The shepard’s own dogs rising to attention at the possible threat. The sheep surrounding him shuffled about in fear.

Odysseus placed his hand upon the dog’s chest, Argos looking at him before looking back at the other man and his own herding dogs and growling. “Hush Argos, that’s no stranger and you know that,” Odysseus looked back up at Alkaios before grabbing the pile of flowers from the ground. “I’m well! Just lost in my thoughts. Is that the young lamb that you are so worried about resting on your shoulders?”

Alkaios smiled and raised his hand to pat at little lambs head that he was carrying. “Yes, she’s getting strong though! She’ll catch up with the others and I’m sure soon I won’t have to worry about her anymore. And you won’t need to worry about your queen much now that I hear she’s getting better… I’m happy the sheep left you some flowers for your collection there.”

“Yes, I am too,” Odysseus smiled back and couldn’t help but shake his head at the little faces that were crowding around the herder, as though they knew they were being talked about. “Would hate to go back to Penelope empty handed! I’m actually on my way to thank the Naiads for their help.”

“I won’t keep you then! Have a good evening, my king!”

Odysseus nodded as he watched the shepard go over the hill, his flock following close behind. He was happy knowing his sheep were being watched over by Alkaios, always the dutiful shepard.

He held the flowers and tried to reach into his pouch for a leather cord to keep them together and grumbled when he couldn’t find one. Of course, he forgot. He pulled on the cord that piled his hair on his head, releasing the thick spiraling curls over his shoulders and back. It was getting cold with the evening air so having another layer of ‘wool’ was helpful.

He had just finished the knot around the flowers, when he heard Argos whimpering. He whipped his head in his direction, worried his faithful companion was in danger, only to start grinning when he saw the actual problem. “You silly dog, you want it that bad? It’s too big for you!”

His hound was bouncing around a couple of rocks, a large stick sticking out of them. He looked back to his master, tail wagging and pleading with him to pull it out.

Odysseus shook his head but walked over to it. He looked around the stones before he pushed one boulder with his leg and heaved the large stick out. He threw it in the grass where Argos picked it up and started to gnaw on the stick, much too large for him. His head leaning to the side from it’s weight. It was hard to believe that this was the same dog that was capable of taking down good game.

But that’s why Odysseus liked him so much.

“Good dog…Enough dallying. It’s getting late, and I must speak to the nymphs.”

Argos simply crunched on his stick some more.

~~~

Let me know what y'all think! (also if there are spelling errors!) :D I know I have her being stubborn but know that Odysseus behaves the exact same way when sick. They're Likeminded and they behave basically the same in every way.

#odyssey #Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #odypen #penelope #odysseus #epic the musical #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #Mad Writes #???#sure. Why not?#the odyssey #fluff #tagamemnon #Baby Boy Telemachus comes soon!#please be nice I know I went nuts with my ideas and fluff and it's definitely not accurate but I'm a fluffy person so that's what this is!#I'm a lil terrified but oh well :P

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popcornaddict500 · 2 months

Text

Some first meeting...

Liv and Leander, prologue scene rewritten. Olivia is the Hound.

2900 words ~

NOTE: Olivia's curse is different than the one in the game. I decided this for fun. :)

----

Olivia steps inside the Wet Wick, her nose crinkling. Is this really where Kuras sent me? It stinks of stale alcohol in here. She doesn't like it much.

Briefly, she hesitates- but then she enters. A bunch of patrons wearing green cloaks are sitting at the tables, laughing rowdily and arguing amongst eachother. One of them is passed out in the very back. The bartender is nowhere in sight. The lighting of the place is rather warm, though. The floor is slightly sticky and stained from spilled drinks.

No 'Leander' in sight... I doubt that arrogant-looking fuck would show up here anyway. She rolls her eyes. The posters painted Leander as this high and mighty 'hero' or something. I bet he's got a piss-poor attitude.

Might as well drink something before I go. Olivia attempts to find a seat but most are occupied except for the bar seats. But before she can sit down, a racket starts.

"Show! Show! Show!" The cloaked patrons start to shout. Olivia looks up, gasping when suddenly all the cloaks rush from their seats and to the center of the room, dragging her along with them. "Hey! Watch it!" She hisses.

They don't hear her protests as she''s swept into the frenzy. This is too many bodies, way too close. It makes her want to claw out like a cornered animal. Someone roughly pushes her aside and she swiftly smacks them over the head. "You sorry piece of-"

Suddenly a new voice joins the mix, as someone strides across the table.

"Seriously, you dogs? Again?"

The chants have calmed down, and is replaced by reverent murmurs and intrigued laughter, as they look up at the individual getting closer.

Olivia squints at him.

A thick trench coat, broad shoulders, gloves. A dagger earring dangling from his left ear.

"This really is the last time, alright?" He says. Olivia is a little spooked by the hushed silence that suddenly falls. She stomps on the foot of a cloaked person who's standing way too close for comfort and they scamper off, grumbling under their breath.

Olivia can't seem to drag her eyes away from the man's face, more specifically his eyes. Seems I've found Leander... What's with this guy?

"Don't blink, or you'll miss it." Leander says with a warm laugh, and lifts his hand to snap his fingers.

Olivia squints at the flash of pale green light that fills the room. That's no trick, that's real- a mage?

He flicks his wrist, and like it's nothing, the light flows into the delicate shape of lillies, held between his fingers. It's more beautiful than she'd like to admit. He presents the flowers to the audience with a flourish, which results in clapping and cheering. Olivia shrugs and claps along.

Leander turns in a slow circle, eyes sliding over the audience, "Now who could use some good luck?"

Pretty much everyone wants the flowers, it seems. Some reach for them and others watch with bated breath. Olivia tenses when Leander's gaze finds hers.

"How about you?"

Olivia swallows thickly when he leans down and offers the flowers to her, and only gets more uncomfortable when everyone stares at her. Hesitantly, she reaches out and takes them, wincing as the stems 'crunch' a little between her gloved fingers. They softly glow and feel ever so slightly warm against her fingertips. Just as quickly as they appeared, they disappear in a flash of little sparkles.

"That's the problem with flowers. They never last long, but they leave an impression, right?" Leander grins at her.

Olivia doesn't smile back.

After it's all said and done, Olivia finally escapes from the crowd. Leander shoos the 'Bloodhounds' back to their tables, and just as Olivia's about to go over to him, he looks at her. She hesitates, but sits next to him at the bar when he waves her over. She moves away from him as much as possible, as not to feel his shoulder against hers.

"Is this your first time in Eridia?" He asks, green eyes glittering in curiosity.

"...That's right." She gives him a sideways glance. "Why do you ask?"

"I would have remembered seeing your lovely face around Lowtown." He responds, charmingly.

Unwillingly, Olivia's cheeks darken. "Good grief..." She mumbles under her breath, staring at the counter. How on earth am I supposed to respond to that?

The bartender approaches them, and she sighs in relief.

"What can I get you?" They ask Leander.

"Surprise me, and add anything my friend wants to my tab."

Olivia crinkles her nose at him. Bastard, I don't need your pity. "Just water." She groans, rubbing her face. This'll be a long day.

Leander leans his elbows on the counter, eyes fixed on the cloaked woman sitting next to him. Olivia stares him in the face, noting the dark shadows around his eyes and the scar on his face. Though his eyes also roam her figure when she finds her eyes wandering, she pays it no mind- she wears coverage over nearly all her skin for a reason, including her leather gloves. There's nothing that can give her secret away.

"So, what brings you to the Wick?" Leander asks warmly, that smile returning to his face.

She leans on the counter. "Kuras told me to find you."

Instantly, Leander's expression sours a bit, soft-looking lips pursed in an annoyed way. "So it's about work..." He pushes the hair back from his forehead but it's futile as it falls right back into place.

The drinks arrive, and he fixes his expression.

"Very well. How may I assist you?"

Olivia hesitates. Maybe it would be better if I looked for something outside of the Senobium... But what?

"I need... I need a solution." She mutters. "To a big problem. I heard the Senobium might be of help."

As soon as the word leaves her lips, the patrons quiet briefly, then look up in anger and disdain, angered shouts erupting from the crowd. Even Leander frowns.

"Who's mentioning the Senobium in here?"

"Get lost!"

"This ain't your place!"

Olivia winces, tensing up.

Leander groans and turns to the crowd. "Keep it down, will you? This is business." he says simply, and surprisingly the Bloodhounds listen, returning to their drink and only casting wary glances Olivia's way.

"Sorry about that. We, uh- don't talk about the Senobium in here. Kind of a touchy subject, you know?"

Olivia stares at him, the corner of her lip twitching in agitation. "Right."

"Maybe we should continue this outside?" He offers, getting up.

"Fine."

---

Olivia is more than a little relieved to be out in the fresh air, even if it's in some dark alley with a charming bastard who's, honestly, kind of getting on her nerves.

Leander leans against the wall. "So- If you've spoken to Kuras, he must have told you about the Senobium. Yet you're still thinking they could be of service?" He crosses his arms, looking at her.

Olivia sighs. "I don't know what else could help me with my problem. All I heard when I was outside the city is that if you need something important, that's your best shot. I'm just... surprised at the hostility everyone seems to have towards that place."

"With good reason. The Senobium is dangerous, as Kuras said. It's doubtful whether they'd even help you, anyway." He frowns, glancing off to the side. "You don't want to get on their bad side."

"That's not how I heard it was, at all." Olivia frowns. "Isn't it supposed to be a sanctuary, a place of learning?"

"Maybe it used to be, but it certainly isn't now." Leander sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "They want you to think they're perfect. But things that are too good to be true are often just that."

Olivia blinks at that last bit.

"I wouldn't waste my efforts trying to get into that place. You'll just hurt yourself."

So what now, then? Did risking my life coming here mean nothing? She feels a gross taste bubbling up in the back of her throat.

The charming smile returns to his face, though. He clears his throat. "Though I'm sure there must be a solution to your problem, no?" He claps his hands and grins. 'That's why Kuras sent you to the Bloodhounds. Let us help you. We can hunt Soulless, find people, recover valuables- just name it. And free of charge."

Olivia frowns at him, the colour of her eyes briefly shifting to black. "Doesn't sound like a sound business practice to me. Everything has a price." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Besides, I'm no damn charity case. A bunch of good Samaritans pretending to be heroes won't be able to help me."

Leander seems a bit taken aback by the hostility. But he straightens himself out.

"Mm- then your problem must be fairly serious. You did say it was a big problem..." He hums, before his green eyes find hers again. "And if your first thought was to go to the Senobium, I'm guessing you're dealing with something magical in nature."

This is going in the territory of 'more info than she'd like to give' and she doesn't like it. Of course, information is deeply valued in this city. Maybe I have no other option.

"...Right."

He nods slowly, as if he'd already expected this. This ticks Olivia off no small amount, and she finds herself gripping her coat harder.

"I'd be happy to help you out, if you tell me what ails you," He offers, expression calm and easy.

Olivia grimaces. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like it one bit. Her shoulders tense, her jaw tightens.

I can't trust him. I can't trust anyone. But he is a mage... And kind, despite how I've been treating him.

She sighs deeply. "Tell a single soul about this and I'll gut you."

He laughs and nods, flashing her a brilliant grin. "Alright, alright."

Liv finally turns to face him fully. "I am cursed."

"Cursed?" He raises a brow in curiosity. "Now I'm very curious. Something ancestral or more recent?" He smiles.

Olivia bares her teeth at him. "If you're going to make fun of me, we're stopping this right now."

"That- wasn't my intention, I promise. Sorry." Leander swallows thickly, looking away.

Liv continues, still glaring at him. "...It's my hands, my skin- the second I touch someone, they-" She pauses when her voice starts breaking, trying to force herself through it. "They... decompose. Decay, if you will."

She flinches a bit when he starts pulling his glove off. He flexes the fingers from his left hand.

"Let's see it," He says with a smile, and offers his hand. A prismatic flash gleams across his palm.

Olivia feels the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. "I cannot." She winces, stepping back.

Disdainful of most people as Olivia may be, she's not about to turn someone who seems like a good person into a heap of rotting flesh. And he may be confident, but then again, so were the others in the past who assumed they could help her.

"Believe me, do not take this lightly," She warns him, her irises now fully black, out of stress and concern.

"I'll be fine. Perhaps where you came from, your affliction was rare and one of a kind. But spend a year in this city and you'll see countless curses and countless cures." He frowns, "Do you really think Kuras sent you here if I couldn't handle it?"

Olivia grits her teeth. "I only met him today. I'm not about to trust a stranger's judgement without question."

He smiles. "I'm as good as any mage in the Senobium, I promise if they can help so can I."

"You don't know what you're asking me." Olivia grimaces.

"I'm asking you to trust me," He says.

"Trust you?" Her eyebrows raise in surprise, but then she scoffs. "You're a goddamn fool, trying to make someone whom you met 20 minutes ago trust you blindly." She groans. "But fine- have it your way. If you end up as rat fodder, don't blame me."

She pulls off one of her gloves, slowly. The blackened, unnatural skin appears, and she nervously clenches her fist. Leander holds out his hand again, smiling invitingly.

Olivia glares at him one last time, looking in his eyes, which oddly enough has him glancing away, his cheeks darkening.

"Ready when you are."

This is a terrible idea. She stares at his hand, before reaching in.

Her fingers hover over his hand. She swallows and hastily taps the centre of his palm, before pulling her hand away and closing her eyes.

When there's no sound of pained screaming or the gross squelching of rotting meat, she opens her eyes again- to see him smiling warmly, unaffected.

For the first time today, Olivia's harsh expression is overtaken by one of surprise and shock.

"See?" He's entirely fine... and the warmth in his smile is infectious.

Olivia is silent, eyes wide. She reaches out again and slides the pads of her fingers over his palm, his fingers, his wrist. He catches her wrist before she can pull away and she looks at his face.

"There's really nothing to worry about..." he says softly, cheeks dusted with a faint blush. For a few seconds, Olivia just keeps her hand in his, fingers resting on the soft, warm skin of his wrist. She stares at their hands blankly.

Then, out of nowhere, her vision becomes blurry- and tears streak down her cheeks. Her body shakes, and she sucks in a sharp breath, trying to pull her hand away- but he doesn't let go.

Olivia turns away, and furiously wipes her face with her other hand, trying to stop the tears from flowing.

"Damn it- sorry- it's just-" She gasps, feeling a lump in her throat. I've never... it's... this can't... be... Her eyes flicker from being black to her normal peachy colour, in an erratic manner. This- this is too much.

Leander is silent, and doesn't comment on her tears- something she's grateful for.

Finally, she manages to drag her eyes back to his hand holding hers. Still holding one hand over her mouth, she strokes her fingers over his skin, feeling every detail. The subtle ridges in his palm, the bumps of his knuckles, and the raised scar starting down his arm.

"...Am I the first person you've been able to touch like this?" He frowns a little.

Olivia gives a tense nod, her hand going still on his arm. "The first person I've... touched at all, in a very long time." She mumbles, internally cursing herself at the way her voice trembles.

He blushes, glancing away from her, "I admit, your touch does make it... difficult to keep level-headed... but it's not because of your power."

When she doesn't respond, Leander smiles gently and takes her hand, pointing to the diamond shaped pin on his coat.

"Look, we match."

She manages an unsteady smile, and pulls her hand way, hastily pulling the glove back on. She wipes at her eyes a few more times, now feeling embarrassed and humiliated to be seen like this by a stranger.

"...I can't believe it worked." She mumbles under her breath.

"May I ask your name?" He smiles.

"...Olivia."

Leander hums in thought, pulling his glove back on. "You were right to hide this from me, Olivia. That curse of yours... it's unlike anything I've ever dealt with. I can tell you're discreet, but you'd better not go showing that off to anyone else."

Olivia crinkles her nose at him. "Wasn't planning to." But showing you is fine?

"Are you staying in Lowtown?" He inquires, looking at her with a grin.

She pauses. I could ask if Adam has a room at his bakery... but I doubt it. "...I don't really have anywhere to go." She admits.

"Let's get you settled, then." He smiles, and before she can protest he leads her back into the Wick.

Back inside, Leander turns to the bartender. He asks if there's any rooms left, to which they slide him a key.

"You know I always keep the corner room free for your escapades," They say, looking used to this by now.

"I- right, and I always appreciate that, but-" Leander laughs, though it's a bit strained.

"Escapades, huh? If I knew you had such intentions I would have ran." Olivia jokes lightly, which makes him blush even darker.

"No, no, you're mistaken- this is just for my friend Olivia."

The bartender doesn't look like they're buying it, waving him off with a 'you two have fun' before disappearing to do their own thing. Olivia crosses her arms and regards Leander with a pointed look.

"...I can't pay for that."

"Don't worry about it, it's on us."

This makes her frown. "...Sounds fishy."

Leander laughs. "Consider it my treat for sharing your secret, alright?"

She doesn't trust this much, but it's not like she has another choice. She sighs and takes the key. "Fine." But then she smirks at him, "I better hope I don't find anything weird in there."

Once again, he flushes. "Ahm-"

"If I find a drawer full of sex toys, I swear-"

"You won't! You won't. D-Don't worry."

"Ah, right. You need to use them at home too, I got it."

"Olivia, please."

"Fine, fine." She raises her hands. "Thanks for the room."

He smiles warmly and nods. "Go explore, Olivia."

----

As she wanders off, his words echoe in her mind... 'But if you need a reprieve from what haunts you, come find me.'...

Maybe I will. Maybe.

#charlie's writing #touchstarved writing #touchstarved game #touchstarved #touchstarved leander #touchstarved oc #touchstarved mc #olivia #I LIKE THIS A LOT #ugh #told yall I would eventually finish it

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maegalkarven · 6 months

Text

The innocence of youth.

A oneshot featuring Noah, Gurgetash child, because I am ridiculously attached to this wonderful little boy.

Noah meets the team, hugs Halsin and proposes to make flower crowns.

“You have a child,” Gale, the brave soul he is, is the first to break off the awkward silence.

Levi pushes the stupid fucking grin down.

“Yep.”

“And it’s...Gortash’s child,” the wizard insists.

“Mhm.”

“A child of a tyrant Enver Gortash.”

“Yep.”

“His child.”

“Gale, I don’t think something will change if you keep repeating it like that,” Shadowheart comments, her eyes trained on the said child currently trying to sneak on Withers with a stick. Considering the very likely fact what Withers is actually one of the old gods, Noah’s bravery and idiocy is unparalleled. Withers pretends he doesn’t see very obviously sneaking on him five years old boy.

Jaheira watches over the boy from the safe distance, a deep frown laid between her eyebrows.

Levi knows what she’s thinking about; a bhaalspawn, another child with unholy blood in his veins. But this is the river they’ll cross when they'll cross it. Like hells Father dearest takes this child into his suffocating hold.

“I can’t believe you forgot you have a child,” the cleric continues. Levi snorts.

“Well, you forgot you had parents, so-“

“It’s not the same,” she argues and the fact what they can discuss such topic as simple as that shows how much they’ve overcome. How much they’ve changed and grown. “I was stripped of my memories by a goddess.”

“My sister put a dagger into my skull and rummaged inside until I had no memories left,” he parries. “And anyway, I don’t think I was a father to Noah before all that-” he gestures around. “You know. He hasn’t even met me prior, well, two days ago.”

“I can’t believe Gortash just let him go here like that,” Wyll comments. “He seems to be a little bit...paranoid.”

“He is a lot paranoid,” Levi responds. “And I reckon he has a good reasons for that, he is a tyrant of Baldur’s Gate, after all. Wait, where’s Halsin?”

Gale looks around and chuckles.

“Your son has him,” he comments fondly. “I’m pretty sure it’s Noah’s druid now.”

And indeed Halsin is very content in being carried around in a wild shape of a cat. Noah’s stick is forgotten, as well as his quest to poke Withers with it. Everyone seems to be relieved by that.

“It doesn’t look like he minds,” Levi comments absentmindedly, watching as Karlach raises her axe. “Enver’s paranoia is about to raise to dangerous heights in three, two, one-“

The first of the scrying eyes falls to the ground, broken. Noah turns around.

“I don’t mind if you do that to the remaining two,” he offers and Karlach grins.

“You got it, kid.”

The other spying devices suffer the same fate.

“Good thinking,” Wyll murmurs. “Let’s upset the tyrant sitting on the throne of Baldur’s Gate. Nothing bad will come out of it.”

“Oh, come on,” Levi smirks. “This is my child too, he is safe with me. And if Enver doesn’t think so, well, that looks like Enver’s problem.”

They watch as Noah puts cat Halsin around his shoulders like a cloak and tugs at Karlach’s pants.

“Do you want to make a flower crown?” he asks shyly. “I have never made flower crowns.”

Karlach looks around.

“Me?”

“Yep.”

“I...I’m not sure I’m the best one for that task, kid.”

“It’s alright, we can learn together!”

The earnestness and innocence seem to win against the boy’s relation to Gortash, and Karlach reluctantly smiles.

“Alright then. But we’ll need Halsin to show us the plants we shouldn’t touch. I think your dad will bite my head off if I accidentally give you poison burn.”

Noah looks hopeful.

“He will?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“But he just met me!”

“And I know he already cares about you a lot,” a glance back to Levi, who nods. “Come on, kid, let’s make everyone flower crowns.”

“You realize whose will be the ugliest flower crowns in the world,” Astarion chimes in.

“Well, then you’re not getting any.”

“Hey, I never said I don’t want an ugly fucking flower crown-“

“It will have bugs in it. You hate bugs.”

“I’ll just make Noah pick them up and throw them somewhere into the grass.”

“You will make five years old collect bugs?!”

“Oh, come on, he lived his entire life in a tower, he would be delighted to gather some bugs.”

“How long do you think I’ll take Gortash to show up here and murder us in our sleep for destroying his precious scrying eyes?” Gale contemplates.

“I give it an hour or two, and then we’re for a feat.”

Levi walks away, leaving his friends bickering, his posture at ease, muscles relaxed. It doesn’t take long for magic to overcome his body, bending bones and changing shape.

A small black cat throttles into the forest after the woman on fire and a little boy excitedly telling her about some extremely interesting story he just read. Well, not like read-read, more like looked at the pictures and read a little, but he will learn! Father says he is a fast learner.

“Mrpm,” the cat speaks as it hits the boy’s knees gently. Noah gasps.

“A cat!” and really, where did Enver raise him, in a box? How a mere sign of a cat can be so exciting?

Karlach looks behind.

“Oh, it’s your dad,” she comments. “He does that sometimes.”

“My dad is a cat?!”

“Sort of? He’s a druid like Halsin and Jaheira.”

Noah lets Halsin off his shoulders and kneels to reach for the black fur. The cat purrs and leans into the touch.

“Wow,” the boy whispers. “This is so cool. Do you think he can teach me how to do that? I want to be a cat too.”

“You can be a great many things, little one,” Halsin responds, already in his elf form. “Cat is one of the many wild shapes a druid can take. I am sure your parent will be happy to teach you.”

Levi mews, agreeing, and allows himself to be grasped into two small clammy hands.

“Is it alright if I carry you?” the boy asks. “Halsin doesn’t mind, but he said I need to ask first.”

Levi simply licks the boy’s fingers.

“I think it’s a yes,” Halsin smiles. “Now, about these flower crowns of yours...”

#dark urge: levi #durgetash #oc: noah gortash #family matters #dark urge x gortash #gale: lord gortash's child. a child of gortash. enver gortash's son-#everyone: we get it gale!#meanwhile Karlach is taking revenge in small doses and also goes to make flower crowns with a child what should have no relation to gortash #bc it's a sweetest child ever #how???#jaheira is having war flashbacks and contemplates how safe it is for another bhaalspawn to exist #levi is like: MY CHILD NOW

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the-authoress-writes · 3 months

Text

Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing

A MavDad/PennyMav Fic

Synopsis: What do paperwork and a manicure have to do with Pete Mitchell getting the happy ending he never thought he would?

Everything, apparently.

Warnings: Fluff—pure, unadulterated fluff with feels.

Author’s Note: At last, I fulfill my promise to write something for Mav!

I couldn’t be happier to finally write something where Mav is the star, and not the wingman, literal or figurative.

Honestly, this story idea has been floating around in my head for a while, and here it is!

I know I should be working on the next chapter of Wherever You Go, or heck, even my faceclaim post for said fic, but this just wanted to be written already, and hopefully, now that I’ve gotten it out of my system, I will be able to get back to writing that.

I swear I didn’t plan to post this around Valentine’s Day, but hey, I’m not complaining!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my schmoopy MavDad indulgence!

“Honey, have you done your homework?” Mav heard Penny ask Amelia, from where he was drying the dinner dishes in the kitchen.

“Did it this afternoon, Mom, and I told you, the light is better here.”

“Okay, alright, let me just open a window before you suffocate us with the acetone,” Penny chuckled.

“Thanks, Mom.”

The sound of latches opening and glass bottles clinking together tinkled through the air, and the shadow of Penny crossing to open the window behind the breakfast nook fell across the counter next to him.

The cool breeze of a San Diego fall evening washed in, much like the distant tide.

A few soft footfalls later, warm arms wrapped around him. “Pete, honey, you coming up soon?”

Cracking a smile at the muted gag from the dining table, he sighed, leaning back against her. “I’ll try—I have a shit-ton of paperwork that Cyclone dumped on me.

The disadvantages of being an instructor and squadron leader,” he ruefully smiled, though he didn’t really regret taking the TOPGUN job and the position of CO of the newly created VFA-223, the “Black Cloaks”, comprised entirely of the Daggers and those who had been selected for the detachment training—or Maverick’s Ducklings, as Cyclone had dubbed them.

She nodded against his back. “Alright, come to bed when you’re done, okay?”

“I’ll be there.”

It was one of the best decisions in his life to work at his relationship with Penny—they had no chance of working when he was younger; his soul was too haunted, his heart, mind, and body chasing ghosts while also fleeing from them, but now… well, now, his mother’s engagement ring was sitting in the drawer of his desk at work, just waiting.

For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

The right moment, he guessed.

Mav heard Penny’s footsteps start up the stairs just as he placed the last glass in the cabinet, and after a wistful exhale, he grabbed the reluctantly-owned attaché case that Ice would have cackled over him having, which contained the classwork from his TOPGUN students, and the relatively sensitive training run reports of the Black Cloaks, setting it down at the dining table, across from where Amelia was… doing something to her nails.

He began working on the papers, and soon realized she was doing her nails.

After a while, Amelia murmured, “How’s the paperwork going?” a smirk like her mother’s on her face.

Belatedly, he realized he’d been watching her work instead of reading his reports. “It’s uh… paperworking,” he muttered lamely.

“I bet it’s better than watching nail polish dry.”

He blinked—she had her mother’s and her grandfather’s dry wit, that was for sure.

After that pointed reminder, the two of them worked in silence, the sound of a bottle of clear polish eventually punctuating the air with a sound of finality.

She blew on her hands for a while, then set them down on the table.

He soon felt the weight of her stare, and let it rest on him for about five minutes before he interjected, “How’s the uh, manicure?”

“Good.

The paperwork?”

“… It’s…”

“Boring,” she dared, raising an eyebrow.

He debated the consequences of telling Amelia responsibility was boring, but the truth was, no matter how interesting the maneuvers were in the air, the constraints of report language made them boring.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Figured.” She blinked, thoughtful. “Do you have to do anything special with the paperwork?”

“Not really, just read them over, and make sure that what they’re saying in the report matches up with what happened in the air.

And then I have to grade my students’ homework.”

Amelia nodded, and after a pause, she asked, “You any good at multitasking?”

Even though he wasn’t sure where she was going with this, he replied, “Pretty good.”

It was part of his job after all, especially since he switched to single-seat; having to calculate things like AOA and airspeed relative to the limitations of his aircraft, all while flying faster than the speed of sound, among other things.

“Okay.

You read those reports and grade that homework.

I’m going to tell you about my day while I give you a manicure.” She inhaled, something hesitant in her eyes. “Unless… unless you don’t want me to bug you—it’s teenager stuff and all that—”

He cut her off, “I’d love to hear about your day, Amelia.”

It hit something in his heart to see the quickly concealed shock in her eyes.

Yet another strike for Penny’s dick ex-husband in Mav’s book.

“You would?”

“Yeah, of course, kiddo.

But uh,” Mav scratched the back of his neck, “is the manicure really necessary?”

Like a flash of lightning, she leaned over the table and grabbed his hand, scrutinizing each finger and his palm, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Ugh—yeah.”

He hedged, “I’m pretty sure it’s against regs for me to have pink—”

“Relax, old man, there is such a thing as clear polish—Admiral Stick-in-the-Mud won’t see a thing.

And I need something to do too, I’m not even halfway tired yet.

Fixing your trainwreck hands oughta do the trick,” she gestured.

He laughed, switching the papers to his right hand. “Alright, Skylark, go to town.”

Amelia ducked her head and grabbed her nail file, failing to conceal her smile at the nickname he’d given her shortly after he and Penny got back together. “Okay, so, um, at school, math is my first subject, and honestly, whoever said math should be the first class of the day needs to be punished…”

Almost two and a half hours later, the paperwork was done, Mav’s nails were cut, filed, and polished, his cuticles trimmed, hands moisturized, and he knew every dirty, juicy secret of North Island High.

Amelia drowsily packed up her nail kit, which was the size of a small toolbox, while he did the same with his attaché case, and as a team, they checked the doors and windows of the house, making sure everything was secure.

The task done, they ended up back at the dining room. “All hatches battened down, Captain,” she sighed.

At his slightly perplexed frown, she rolled her eyes, “Seriously—you’re in the navy.”

“Like I told your mom, I don’t sail boats, I just land on them,” he chuckled.

“Well, it means everything’s good.”

He softly clapped his hands together, “Alrighty, let’s get to bed then.”

Amelia snorted, “God, you’re so old, who even says alrighty non-ironically anymore?”

“Alrighty isn’t cool anymore?”

“No.

Was it ever?”

“Uh…”

She shook her head, “Remind me to get you up to date, I can’t have you embarrassing yourself out there—you’ll lose all your cool.”

Mav immediately pointed, “So you think I’m cool?”

Caught like a deer in the headlights, she tried to backtrack. “I mean, don’t—don’t all you naval aviators think you’re like, the coolest or something?”

“No, no, no, no take-backsies; you think I’m cool,” he grinned.

She winced, “You’re killing me here—‘take-backsies’?”

“Come onnnn, Skylark.”

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned, “you’re—you’re sort of cool.”

“I’ll take it, kid.”

She smirked, then looked at her nail kit despairingly. “Seriously regretting bringing the whole thing down.

It’s heavy as hell.”

He reached for it, “Lemme get it for ya.”

Amelia attempted to bat his hands away, “No, I can carry it, Mav.”

“I got it—just focus on getting yourself up the stairs.”

She visibly debated the idea of arguing, but a yawn cut her off, and with the element of her eyes closed, he used the opportunity to gently wrap an arm around her shoulder and usher her up the stairs.

“You should have let me carry it—you’re too old to carry heavy stuff,” she muttered, mindful of her likely sleeping mother.

“I can carry this for you, don’t worry about me.

And next time you do my nails, you can carry it.”

They had arrived at her bedroom door, and she stopped short. “Next time?”

“Yeah, who else will help me get through my paperwork, take care of my hands, and let me know if Micah takes Kenna instead of Alyssa to Junior Prom?”

A smile curled the corner of her mouth. “I guess someone has to help you stay in the brass’ good graces so they don’t ship you out to the asscrack of America for not doing paperwork.”

“Can’t afford to leave you and your mom, Skylark.” And he really didn’t want to leave this time, not when he finally had so much to stay for.

“Or the chicken.

And the ducklings.”

“Yeah, them too,” Mav laughed quietly, similarly mindful of Penny, before handing the nail kit to her. “Anyway, here you go, Amelia.”

She took the nail kit, looking at him for a beat, like she had something to say, but wasn’t sure about whether to say it.

Finally, she said, “Thanks.

And, uh… I… I—I know I like giving you crap, but, I—I like—having you around, Mav.

And I—I…” she trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose, “you know what, never mind, I’m rambling, your disaster hands made me tired.”

He knew that she wanted to say something else just then, but he let it go, not wanting to pry. “I really, really like being around too, Skylark, and if I have anything to say about it, I won’t be going anywhere.”

“That’s good,” she smiled, swallowing thickly. “I, uh, I better go—gotta get that good sleep.”

“Alright, kiddo, goodnight.”

“Night, Mav.”

After a sleepy smile, she softly shut her door, and he continued up the stairs, getting into bed beside a sleeping Penny, wrapping himself around her, quickly drifting off to sleep.

“Alright, Daggers, good work on the hop, head to the hangar, and we’ll review the maneuvers,” Mav clapped his hands, looking at his squad, most of whom dispersed to the aforementioned location, save for Bradley, who hung back.

“I seriously don’t know how you do it, you crazy old man,” Bradley laughed, his Caravans doing nothing to hide the child-like glee in his eyes. “I thought we’d all learned everything our first TOPGUN sessions and during the detachment training, but somehow, you manage to teach us something new every time.”

“Well, I got to make sure you kids know everything I do, so you all can continue to terrorize the Navy when I retire,” Mav grinned.

Bradley scoffed, “You say that like you’re going to turn in your papers today—we both know the brass’ll have to drag you from your F-18, Mav.” His son in everything but name and blood paused, a twitch of his mustache the only giveaway of his rising concern. “I mean—you’re not doing that any time soon—right, Dad?”

He wrapped an arm around Bradley, “Nah, not about to leave you to the skies just yet, Baby Goose.

Not until I make you all better than me.”

His “Until I make sure you can survive anything,” went unsaid, but his boy, ever perceptive, leaned into the contact and murmured, “Love you too, Dad.”

“Love you more—” Mav cut himself off as he went to run a hand through his hair, frowning at his hand.

There on his thumb, in bright, varnished red, was a neatly drawn heart, and the letter U.

Distantly, he heard Bradley say, “Mav?

Dad, you okay?

What’s wrong?”

“This wasn’t here last night,” he muttered, showing Bradley his thumb.

The worry eased from his son’s face, replaced with amusement. “You let Skylark do your nails?”

“Yes, I did—sue me—but Roo, this wasn’t there last night, I distinctly remember making Amelia use clear nail polish.”

Bradley took his hand, scrutinizing it. “It looks like there’s top coat on here, so she put this last night.”

Mav couldn’t help the surprise on his face.

“Sue me, sometimes Phoe makes me paint her toenails,” the younger pilot muttered.

“How is that possible—I saw my hands after she did it; this wasn’t there.”

Bradley thought for a second, before the metaphorical lightbulb lit up. “Invisible nail polish.”

“What?

That’s a thing?”

“Yeah—absolutely.

It goes on clear, but stand in the sun or heat up your hands, it’ll turn the color it’s supposed to be.”

As Mav absorbed this information, the puzzle pieces came together in his head, what Amelia had been trying to say before they said goodnight, and tears sprang to his eyes.

“Dad?”

“Amelia loves me, Baby Goose—I can’t bel—I don’t—”

Immediately, Bradley took him into his arms. “Hey; Dad, listen to me: you deserve all the love in the world, okay?

And I am so sorry for my hand in making you feel like you don’t deserve love, but you do, Dad—I can assure you, you do.

I’m really happy for you.

Maybe now, you can muster up the guts to bust out that box that’s been hiding in your desk.”

Mav gasped, “How did you—”

“I saw it when I asked for some Post-It’s last week.

Seriously, you didn’t even make an effort to hide it.”

“You—you’re not mad I didn’t tell you?” he gulped.

Bradley smirked, pulling back, “Dad, I knew this was coming a long time ago, and really, as long as you’re happy and healthy?

I’m on your wing.”

Mav reached up, cupping Bradley’s face. “You’re a good kid, Baby Goose.”

Regret twisted his boy’s face. “Could have been better.”

“I love you regardless, kid.

Now come on, they’re probably all wondering where we are, let’s debrief so we can get outta here sooner; I need your help at the mall.”

“Su—wait, what?” It was amusing to see Bradley stop right in his tracks.

“I need to get something for Amelia; but I don’t know where to start.”

“I…” the younger pilot opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, before finally shutting it with a click and sighing, “I guess we’re going shopping later for Skylark, then.”

Mav eagerly slapped him on the arm, wide grin on his face as he dashed back to the hangar, and Bradley tried to not to feel that this mall mission was like stealing an F-14 all over again.

“Pen, Skylark, I’m home!” Mav ventured, hoping for the first time, that Penny wasn’t home.

“Just me, Mav, Mom’s still at The Hard Deck!” Amelia called back, and relief flowed through him; it made this a whole lot easier.

He followed the sound of her voice to the dining room, where she was bent over a textbook, and he pulled up the chair next to her. “Hey kiddo, you got a minute?”

Amelia froze and swallowed thickly, shutting her textbook slowly, an unreadable expression on her face. “Mav, I swear, if you have gotten yourself shipped off again, I am not going to be the one to tell Mom—”

“No!” he yelped, “it’s not like that.

I just wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

“Okay,” she breathed, still skeptical.

He reached out and took her hands in his right. “I got your message.”

She frowned, “I didn’t call you this—” she cut herself off at his meaningful look at his hand. “Oh—that.” She frantically shook her head. “I—I was just playing with you, it doesn’t—“

“I don’t think you were,” he gently pressed.

“I—I—Mav,” she breathed, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights.

He pulled her into his arms. “I love you too, Amelia.”

And God, it broke his heart to hear her gasp, “You do?”

“Swear on my wings, Skylark,” Mav solemnly nodded into her hair.

He held her tighter against him as she sniffled, her small frame trembling.

When her trembling and sniffles subsided, he drew back. “Now, I have a pretty big question to ask you, Amelia.

It’s one I’ve actually wanted to ask for a while, but something held me back; I think I’m ready to ask now.

You up for it?”

She swiped the back of her hand across her face. “Shoot.”

He pulled a small, black velvet box from his jacket pocket, and opened it, laying it on the table. “You think your mom would like that?”

Her jaw dropped. “You…”

“Mm-hmm.

I’m asking your permission to marry your mother.”

She dared, “Hypothetically, what if I say no?”

Mav inhaled, wincing, “I would ask you to reconsider, but I’d respect that.”

A deep frown creased her brow. “You would deny yourself happiness just because I didn’t want you to marry Mom?”

He took her hand again. “Amelia, you and your mom are a package deal; the last thing on earth I want is to come between you and your mother.

And if that means that this never gets used… well, so be it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice shook, “You love Mom, right?”

He couldn’t help a soft smile. “I’ve… I’ve loved your mom for a long time, kiddo.

Yeah, I love her.”

“And you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, right?”

“If I have my way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Wordlessly, she nodded.

“Yeah?”

Nodding again, she stated, “Yeah, you can marry my mom.”

“Thanks, Skylark,” he beamed, wrapping an arm around her. “You don’t know what that means.

And hey, I have something for you.”

Mav pulled out the small, white bag he’d tucked in his bomber. “I had an idea of what I wanted, and Bradley told me this store was a good place to find what I was looking for—apparently, he’s bought here before.”

Amelia carefully took the box out of the bag, revealing a silver Pandora bracelet with a double charm of a silver swooping bird encrusted with small blue stones, a small round medal behind it saying “Time to fly” with stylized birds on it, and a simple, custom silver medal engraved with his handwriting, saying, “I love you too.”

Mav couldn’t help rambling, “It’s a Pandora bracelet, you can add charms to it if you want, I just wanted to give you something special; I was always going to give you this even if you didn’t give me your permission to marry your mother—”

“Mav.

This… this is too much,” Amelia breathed, interrupting him.

He twisted his mouth self-effacingly. “Nothing’s too much for those I love.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, and this time, she lurched forward into his arms.

He held her for a long moment, before pulling back to look at her. “Now, I need your help.

You and I need to get your mom here early, and you need to help Brads when he comes over in a bit; he’s bringing the food.”

Amelia’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to ask her tonight, aren’t you?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Didn’t know you were capable of making a plan, Mav,” she smirked.

“I am amazing at making plans, Skylark—come on, let’s get to work.”

Under the pretense of Amelia being very under the weather, both she and Mav had managed to get Penny home before the sun had even gone down—Penny burst through the door, gasping for breath. “Pete—Ames?”

“Here, Mom,” she called out from her seat in the dining room, exchanging happy glances with Mav and Bradley.

“What’s wrong, how are you feel—” Penny stopped short when she caught sight of the trio of Mav, Bradley, and Amelia at the dining table with shit-eating grins on their faces, connecting the dots that she did have. “You weren’t feeling sick, were you?” she addressed her daughter.

“It was my idea, Pen, we didn’t know how else to get you home faster,” Mav sheepishly spoke up, throwing himself on the figurative sword.

“Pete!”

“What?

I wanted us to… celebrate—family, you know?

Have a family dinner with your kid, my kid.”

Amelia piped up, “And my allergies were acting up really bad today, Mom.”

“You’re a bad influence, Pete.”

He stood, approaching her, his million-watt smile on full brilliance. “Aww, you love me.”

She stared stonily, before her eyes softened and the corner of her lips tipped up under the assault of his gaze and smile. “Unfortunately.”

Amelia and Bradley playfully gagged simultaneously, causing both Penny and Mav to laugh, to which Bradley spoke up, “Well, I still have to heat up the food I brought, because we didn’t know when you’d get here, Penny, so why don’t you two go for a walk on the beach, do whatever two old people in love do?”

Mav teasingly pointed, “Remember who kicked your ass in hops this morning, Baby Goose,” while Penny crossed her arms, seamlessly picking up the thread, “And who can raise the price of your drinks, Rooster.”

Bradley raised his hands in surrender. “That is freaky as hell.

Let’s leave them to it, Skylark, I need a wingman in the kitchen.”

Without even a peep of protest, Amelia followed Bradley, but not before giving Mav a supportive wink.

“What was that about?” Penny narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend.

“What?”

“That wink Amelia sent you.”

“Did she?

I didn’t see anything.”

She tilted her head skeptically, but he continued, “Why don’t we take Baby Goose’s suggestion and go take a walk on the beach?

It’ll be nice, sweetheart.”

Despite the feeling that Mav was up to something, she nodded and laced her arm through his offered elbow for the suggested beach walk, not knowing the other hand tucked in his bomber pocket was wrapped around a little black velvet box.

It was a nice evening, warm, but with a breeze coming in off the ocean, and the sunset was gorgeous.

Penny walked along the shore, arm in arm with Mav, just enjoying each other’s company in a way they wouldn’t be capable of over thirty years ago.

They had both grown so much as people, in so many ways, big and small, and she tilted her head, briefly leaning it against his shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he murmured, a smile in his voice.

She chuckled, “You’re corny.

But I was thinking about us.”

“Hmm—good thoughts?”

“Yeah.

I don’t think we could have had this years ago.

I’m so glad that we have it now, before it was too late.”

He sighed heavily. “That’s on me, Pen.

I am more sorry than you know—so much wasted time.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Pete; the time was right.

And we still have time, it’s not like either of us have a foot in the grave.”

“It’s less time than I’d like.”

She smiled softly, “You romantic.”

“I try,” he joked, soon growing serious. “But… as much as I wish it weren’t the case, I guess the time was right for us.

Even just five years ago… I’d have crashed and burned us, and there’d be no hope after that.

But now… look at us.”

“I know.”

“Penny… there’s so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know if I have the words to describe them,” he breathed, tone intense.

She ran her hand soothingly up and down his arm, knowing he was just collecting himself.

“I—with you, solid ground feels just as much like home as the sky always has.

Your love makes me feel free, when I’ve never wanted so much to stay in one place before.

You know all my issues, my shortcomings, my fears, and yet, you’re still here.

I don’t deserve a woman like you, but somehow, you chose me.”

“Pete—”

He stopped them, took both her hands in his, and slowly knelt in the sand, before he plucked a black velvet box from his jacket pocket. “All this is to say, Penelope Marissa Benjamin, will you make me the happiest man on earth and make me your husband?”

She gasped, her eyes darting from Mav’s earnest face to the beautiful solitaire diamond set in a simple band of yellow gold. “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘be my wife?’”

“I’m marrying up, here,” he grinned, continuing, “so what do you say?

Because Captain Benjamin-Mitchell definitely has a ring to it.

Though your dad would probably have a heart attack at the thought of me having his last name too.”

“I think he’s come around to you, actually—he calls you ‘that damn Maverick’ instead of ‘that fucking Mitchell’, nowadays.”

Mav tilted his head from side to side, considering. “I’ll take it.

So… marry me?”

“Yes.

Yes, I will,” she breathlessly replied.

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, delight shining in his eyes, his hands shaking as he placed the ring on her finger.

It fit perfectly, and Mav wistfully sighed. “My mom would be so happy to see this now.

This was hers, you know.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked at the ring again, the vintage cut of the diamond now obvious to her. “Oh, Pete.”

His eyes grew glassy, and Penny immediately wrapped him in an embrace.

“I love you, Pen.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, and she held on tighter, matching his own grip on her. “I love you too.”

When she felt his hold on her loosen, she pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. “You okay?”

Mav leaned into her touch. “I am now.”

“Good.”

“The kids should have dinner ready by now.” He sniffled, clearly thinking of something. Finally, he asked, “Uh, would you mind… helping me up?

My uh, knee is a little stiff.”

Penny chuckled, shifting her hands to help her now-fiancé up, a surprised little yelp escaping her when Mav spun the two of them in a circle, his joyful laugh singing through the air.

Mav took in the scene at the dining table before him like it was a fine wine; Amelia and Bradley were animatedly sharing stories from high school, trying to see who had the weirdest stories, both of them sending him “Can you believe this?” glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking; Amelia’s bracelet catching the light as she swept her hand in an expansive gesture; Penny at his side laughing at the stories Amelia and Bradley were telling, while she repetitively ran her thumb across his knuckles, his mother’s ring sparkling on her hand.

He never in a million years could have imagined he’d have this at this point in his life; in all honesty, he had been prepared to burn in over some foreign sea or land, decades ago.

But here he was.

And if not for his wingman ordering him to teach an impossible mission, this reality would doubtlessly be impossible.

Gratitude filled his heart, and he sent a thought to the heavens; “Thank you, Ice—for everything.”

High above the San Diego night sky, a singular star blinked, sending back, even though its intended recipient would never know; “You’re welcome, Mav.”

Title is from the song of the same name.

(I really like to name stories after songs, don’t I?)

I headcanon Mav as being neurodivergent, and for me, as someone with ADHD, more often than not, having something else to focus on in the background, helps me get something that I am directly focused on done.

Invisible nail polish does exist, though let’s suspend our disbelief about how dark it can turn if the pre-change color is clear…

The charms I describe are real—you can see the bird charm here, and Pandora does offer an engraving service to make charms with your handwriting on them!

I’ll leave it up to your imagination as to who Bradley purchased Pandora for…

(That’s not teasing, I’m genuinely leaving it up to you)

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#mavdad is the best dad #i wrote this instead of sleeping #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fic #mavdad #pennymav #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #penny benjamin #amelia benjamin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw

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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 2 months

Text

Natural Satellite [ch 8]

An In Stars and Time AU. In ch 8, Siffrin tries to say it. You can start from ch 1 here.

You’re sure you didn’t make a sound, but Isa stirs anyway, rubbing his neck and letting out a creaky little groan. For a second, you almost smile. You like the sounds he makes. (…Disgusting. He’s not a bird in a cage. He’s a person, supposedly. Apparently. Again.) He doesn’t notice you right away. You know how to be so, so quiet. So it’s not until his lids flutter open that Isa flinches upright. “S-Sif?” You’re glad he’s afraid of you now. It simplifies things. But the fear in his eyes makes you nauseous, so you look away.

(Fair warning: ISAT spoilers through the end of Act 4)

When you get back to the Clocktower, you find Isabeau slumped against the outside of the door, fast asleep.

You blink at him. Is he… guarding the door? Keeping you out, maybe? It wouldn’t surprise you, after the awful things you said.

(‘What were you going to tell me, Isa?’)

Your stomach clenches at the memory. Stars. Stars, what were you— Why would you— And now he’s going to think that you know! What is he going to think you know? You literally don’t even know! All you have is, is, is your stupid fantasies. Some ridiculous daydream about what you might want him to tell you, if you were a real person.

And what exactly is his problem with Loop? He was all up in arms about you talking to them, even though they’re the only real person in this whole stupid play. (Or… they were. Maybe Isa is sort of real now, too. Even though he doesn’t know anything, and keeps trying to act like he does. But he’s… not in the script anymore, is he? He’s writing his own lines. Acting… unpredictably.)

Your palm tingles. You clench your fist around it.

You’re being stupid. Whether he knows it or not, Isabeau’s still messing with you. Derailing you, distracting you. You know he doesn’t want you anymore, not now that you’ve shown him what you’re really like. And really, who could blame him? It’s not just that you’re a monster. You’re… empty. Blank. Siffrin, no middle name, no last name. Even the little you have is a lie. You saw it on a poster. And you needed to call yourself something. Vaugardians are too friendly to let you go around without a name.

And now Isabeau knows. He knows that you’re the sort of blinding idiot who could forget their own blinding name. He said it to you! Right to your face! And then looked at you proudly, like he thought you’d be pleased. Like he was giving you a gift. Wrapping your grief up in shiny paper and throwing it in your face.

…It took him three loops. Three loops, without the script, to see that you were hollow. A paper mask with a painted smile. A cloak billowing over nothing at all.

Under your cloak, your fingers trace the edge of your dagger. The steel feels cold. Solid. Real. For a moment, you can almost believe that it could make you feel real, too.

Leaning over Isabeau, watching his chest rise and fall, you find yourself wondering if you’ve ever killed him. You don’t think that you have. You think you’d remember. But dreaming and waking have smeared together in the lightless slurry of your mind and you—don’t know. You don’t know.

You’re sure you didn’t make a sound, but Isa stirs anyway, rubbing his neck and letting out a creaky little groan. For a second, you almost smile. You like the sounds he makes.

(…Disgusting. He’s not a bird in a cage. He’s a person, supposedly. Apparently. Again.)

He doesn’t notice you right away. You know how to be so, so quiet. So it’s not until his lids flutter open that Isa flinches upright. “S-Sif?”

You’re glad he’s afraid of you now. It simplifies things. But the fear in his eyes makes you nauseous, so you look away.

You don’t know what to say to him. You aren’t sure you want to take it back. He’s trampling over your plans and rifling through your ugliest, deepest-buried secrets and he won’t stop looking at you. Still, the thought of him getting the wrong idea makes your skin feel too tight. But what even is the wrong idea? What would be the right one? How are you supposed to explain if you don’t even know what you’re explaining?

Either way, if he’s going to yell at you, you should probably go outside first.

You can read the rest of chapter 8 here: ao3.org/works/53412649/chapters/137445946 Or start from ch 1: ao3.org/works/53412649/chapters/135189547

#isat spoilers #in stars and time #isat AU #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isafrin

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thebibliomancer · 3 months

Text

Essential Avengers: Atlantis Attacks Part 2

1989

Geez, Set, why does mom let you have seven brides?

Anyway.

Last time in half-ish of Atlantis Attacks, the annual event: I covered the Silver Surfer, Iron Man, X-Men, Amazing Spider-Man, Punisher, Spectacular Spider-Man, Daredevil, and Avengers annuals.

Silver Surfer accidentally resurrected the Deviant Priestlord Ghaur out in space. Ghaur returns to Earth and allies with Lemurian Llyra to reconstruct the Serpent Crown and summon Elder God Set.

As part of this plan, Ghaur makes an alliance with Attuma-controlled Atlantis and gets him to agree to attack the surface world to keep the heroes and military from interfering with the greater plan. An Atlantean force trying to sneak through the Panama Canal unfortunately runs into Iron Man and Namor who are dealing with Hydra narcotics schemes. Namor is on the Hydra ship when it blows up.

Ghaur hires the Serpent Society to retrieve several mystical artifacts in order to rebuild the Serpent Crown. Despite some body-switching shenanigans caused by the owner of one of those artifacts and the involvement of the X-Men, the Serpents technically succeed and construction of the crown begins.

Also as part of the plan, Ghaur frees Tyrannus from Abomination. Tyrannus goes on to free Viper from jail so they can collaborate on a scheme to use a drug addiction cure to turn people into snake people. The Abomination body goes on a rampage and is fought by Spider-Man and She-Hulk. She-Hulk gets knocked out in the fight and Ghaur marks her as one of the Brides of Set (collect all 7).

Punisher and Moon Knight wind up investigating the Save Our Society organization that's the front for the drug addiction cure that turns people into sneople. The heroes team up and shut down Viper's operation.

Spider-Man investigates another Save Our Society facility and discovers them turning people into sneople. But he gets brainwashed by Tyrannus' CHARISMA EYES. Dagger gets kidnapped and marked as another Bride of Set and Cloak gets forced to steal a mystic tome for Tyrannus. Tyrannus orders the sneople to kill Cloak but he's saved by a mysterious armored figure.

A wandering Daredevil is recruited by Dr Strange to shut down the main Save Our Society compound, out in the countryside. Tyrannus attempts to backstab Ghaur by summoning Set first but summons a different snake demon and gets eaten. Dr Strange cures all the sneople, turning them back into people. A brainwashed Spider-Man was in this and barked like a dog.

Attuma finally gets around to the titular Atlantis Attacks and sends four Atlantean armies to attack four locations in the US. The Avengers must everyone they can, split into four teams, and defeat all four of the armies. During the fighting, Ghaur marks Scarlet Witch as the third Bride of Set. Attuma has yet more forces available, though, and readies them to attack New York City.

Also, the Giant-Sized Serpent Crown has been created by Ghaur and Llyra, which will enable Set to manifest his essence on Earth.

A lot has happened but the seven-headed snake god isn't summoned yet and there's still the New Mutants, X-Factor, Web of Spider-Man, West Coast Avengers, Thor, and Fantastic Four annuals still to cover.

Will Atlantis Attack some more? Why wasn't this event given a name more representative of the story? Is anyone going to wear that Giant-Sized Serpent Crown?

Let's find out.

Here be MONSTERS!

So the New Mutants. They've lost some peeps since the last annual. And they're being watched by X-Factor now instead of Magneto.

Apparently they had an adventure recently where they found the Horn of Doom and squabbled with Namor about it.

And the Horn of Doom is what concerns this annual.

Lord Ghaur is a fervent New Mutants reader so he saw that adventure. He wants that horn and all he has to do is wait until Namor stops guarding it.

Which is accomplished when Namor is apparently blown up by Hyrda!

So Lord Ghaur sends Deviants Coal, String, and Spike to steal the Horn from Namorita, Namor's cousin.

Despite the help from New Atlantean Mutants Sharkskin, Undertow, and Eel, the Deviants get away with it. And because Lord Ghaur chose his trio of stooges for their superficial similarity to Sunspot, Warlock, and Wolfsane, Namorita and co go pick a fight with the New Mutants leaving Ghaur free to toot as he pleases.

Lord Ghaur isn't just a rare horn fancier, though.

Remember how Tyrannus said a sacrifice was needed to summon Set? Well, Lord Ghaur has decided to sacrifice Atlantis.

The real reason he made an alliance with Attuma and got him to send all his armies to attack the surface was so nobody would be left to defend Atlantis when he summoned a giant sea monstrosity that smashes the place up, kills a lot of the people, and poisons the waters around the city.

I suspect Ghaur also summoned the monster that ate one-quarter of the Atlantean army in the Avengers Annual.

Anyway, the New Mutants and Namorita's group Surf, manage to bury the monster in an undersea trench and the Horn of Doom gets broken in the chaos, but Lord Ghaur has the sacrifices he needed.

Huh. This event is more accurately called Atlantis Attacked, amirite?

X leads to X so the next annual is X-Factor.

I MUST GO DOWN TO THE SEA AGAIN...

The bunny on Attuma's head is really mad.

Do you think he learned that Atlantis got smashed while he was gone?

I wonder why he's blaming Jean.

The short answer is no. He doesn't seem to know yet and/or it hasn't happened yet. This part of Atlantis Attacks is focused on a different part of Ghaur's plan.

His plan to get his boy Set lots of brides.

The story starts with Marvel Girl Jean Grey in a trance and being yoinked through the air with a tractor beam.

Ghaur just has the technology to do that. That would have been useful to employ at several other points of this story but let's just ignore that.

Beast is clinging to her as she's yoinked and he manages to get her to disrupt the beam so both tumble into the ocean.

Attuma is in the area, attacking a water purification plant as part of his attack on the surface world and recognizes Jean as the hot girl who wouldn't give him the time in some other story. So he brings her back to his grotto and instructs his dudes to kill Beast.

Beast is saved by his former fellow Defender and Attuma's daughter Andromeda and they team up to go save Jean. Who they find being drowned by Attuma because she once again told him to fuck right off.

Beast takes Jean to the shore but she's still very drowned. Lord Ghaur projects his head to the area and tells Beast he's the dude that tried to tractor her earlier but also Jean's best shot at not dying.

Reluctantly, Beast stands by while Jean is zoomed away.

Andromeda stayed behind to challenge Attuma for leadership but got her ass kicked.

Lord Ghaur also takes her over Attuma's objections. Probably out of spite for Attuma trying to take Jean.

So Bride of Set count up to... She-Hulk, Dagger, Scarlet Witch, Marvel Girl, and Andromeda with Storm suggested as a possible target?

We've got five so far. I wonder how far from a full set of Brides of Set we are.

That's mostly what happens, overarching plot wise. Ghaur collects two brides, the Atlantis attacking continues, and Attuma hasn't heard about Atlantis Attacked yet.

And between the New Mutants Annual and this, the Deviants being Up To Something is becoming known to some of the heroes.

Next up is... WHY DO YOU NEED SO MANY BOOKS, SPIDER-MAN? FFS!

WARZONE: NEW YORK

"At last! It finally happens!"

Is that poking fun at how little Atlantis Attacking there was in this Atlantis Attacks event?

Bit late now that the Avengers Annual made a big deal about the Atlantis Attacking.

Ah well.

The Fantastic Five of Mr Fantastic, Invisible Woman, Ms Marvel the Sharon Ventura version, Human Torch, and non-powered Ben Grimm with no Thing exo-skeleton join forces with Spider-Man to fight off the Atlantis Attacks when Atlantis Attacks New York City.

Where did Atlantis get another whole army?

Attuma probably scraped together whoever they had. All those guys we saw swimming towards Avengers Island at the end of Avengers Annual were probably actually grouping to attack New York.

Some US soldiers comment that the Atlantis Attacks is pretty underwhelming (ha) because the military forces on the scene outnumber the Atlantean forces. Even no-powers Ben Grimm can contribute by just punching dudes.

Atlantis blew its load on the attacks in the Avengers Annual.

Then Attuma pulls out his trump card.

A VERY BIG SEA MONSTER.

Since this is a Spider-Man annual, the Fantastic Five get knocked out by the monster in various ways so Spider-Man can be the hero who figures out how to knock-out the Atlantean controlling the monster and then lure the monster out to sea.

While Invisible Woman is trying to rouse an unconscious Reed, Lord Ghaur shows up and abducts Sue to be one of the Brides of Set.

WE GOT SIX BRIDES!

Lord Ghaur also has his Lemurian allies blow Atlantis the fuck up.

I thought it was already destroyed by the big monster. The city trashed, the waters poisoned, and the people dead or scattered.

Did people come back just to get blown the fuck up?

This is the first time the event majorly steps on its own toes.

I thought it was clever how the villain plan had several different aspects so that different annuals could each progress the story in a different way without contradicting each other.

It doesn't help that blowing up Atlantis is an afterthought in an issue that is otherwise about Spider-Man (and the Fantastic Five) fighting an Atlantis Attacks of New York.

The New Mutants Annual focused on being just about Lord Ghaur's plan to destroy Atlantis using the Horn of Doom, hiding Deviant involvement and distracting its defenders by sending them after the New Mutants instead.

If he hadn't intervened in the battle to try to stop the New Mutants and Surf from stopping the monster, nobody would have known he was involved.

Here, a Lemurian ship blatantly blows up Atlantis.

Anyway, after Spider-Man leads away the monster, Attuma tries to rally his troops but then news breaks that Lemuria underwater nuked Atlantis.

The army is so demoralized that they flee back into the ocean and Attuma is so broken by how he was played by Ghaur that he doesn't resist as the heroes capture him.

So this issue: continues the Atlantis Attacks, secures another Bride of Set, gives Spider-Man yet more time in the spotlight that he apparently needed, blows up Atlantis again.

It also had a fun conceit where the narration was journalist Trish Fox covering the events and constantly yelling at her coworker Todd Tremaine for being the worst human being alive, I guess.

Time for more Avengers!

"Gather Now Ye 7 Brides!"

So seven brides total. Lord Ghaur got pretty much everyone but Storm by the last annual and he gets Storm between issues somehow in time for this.

He probably just yoinked her through the air like he did for Jean. Kinda makes him look like a fool chump for visiting in person all the other times.

Lord Ghaur discovers Dagger is blind, to his irritation. He specifically needs her powers so he can't just replace her.

He's also pissed because the plot has abruptly shifted. It turns out that the real sacrifice wasn't sending a monster to destroy Atlantis or nuking it. It would have been if the humans slaughtered the Atlanteans during their Attack.

If that's the case why did you blow up Atlantis at all? Why is it a sacrifice if you're not even the one who did the killing?

This is stupid.

This feels like destroying Atlantis twice. The event stepping on its own toes.

With the end approaching, all the plot threads that each annual was able to pursue independently has to come together and that's where clashes between what the various authors think the story is come into play.

But Lord Ghaur has a backup plan to summon Set even if destroying Atlantis twice over didn't count for some reason.

Over at the Avengers West Coast Compound, the Avengers are meeting here instead of at Avengers Island for some reason.

I'm telling you guys, enjoy the island while it lasts!

The meeting only has Captain America, Thor, the Vision, the Wasp, Wonder Man, Iron Man, Beast, Quasar, and special guest Sersi.

The rest of the Avengers are dealing with the Serpent Cult and giving any Atlantean Attacks stragglers a boot towards the ocean.

Vision reports that Scarlet Witch has been missing for eight hours and its a trend of superheroines being abducted. Thanks to Beast, they have a name and face to put to the abductions: Ghaur of the Deviants.

While Vision goes over the situation, Wonder Man glares at him and thinks about what an emotionless prick Vision is, not even sounding like he cares that his wife is missing.

Asshole! You're the one who refuses to help fix his emotions!

Anyway.

Since the Deviants are involved, Captain America asked Sersi to sit in on their meeting. Eternals are the best at punching Deviants.

The Thing show up. Although given what was said in the Web of Spider-Man Annual, this is Ben Grimm in a the Thing exo-skeleton.

Somehow, between annuals, Reed Richards learned that the Atlanteans were double crossed by the Lemurians and that the Atlantean army was supposed to be killed in the fighting against the surface dwellers, which would be a blood sacrifice that would summon Set.

So now that didn't happen, Reed is worried that the various missing superladies are a backup sacrifice.

As the god guy here, Thor exposits a little about Set. How he's an elder god even older than the Asgardians. How he's a real dick who is always causing problems or evolving snake people or making Serpent Crowns.

Thor even mentions that everything the heroes have done during this event will be moot unless Set is banished to the nether realms. And he suggests that he do that.

Alas, we're losing Thor for the rest of this issue. But only because he has to go punch Set in the face in his own annual.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, the Brides of Set have been sent on a scavenger hunt.

(Something that is pretty horrifying is that the Brides aren't brainwashed. They're aware of what they're doing, they hate what they're doing, and yet they are compelled to follow Ghaur's will.)

She-Hulk and Andromeda have been sent to the Altar of Neptune's Wrath. An ancient place of worship to Neptune until Atlanteans started worshipping Set instead and Neptune got mad and smote the place.

After Neptune got big mad, he left a big mad sea-beast to guard a fragment of Set's life force that was left behind.

She-Hulk finds the life force and starts to pry it from the altar but aggros the sea-beast.

Meanwhile, Jean Grey visits the Museum of Cultural Antiquities in Chicago and finagles her way into a tour of the vaults.

I think Ghaur gave her some Lemurian treasure to pass along to the museum as a donation so she would look like a big donor. Then she asks to make sure the security is up to snuff.

But after the curator opens up the vault, the Invisible Woman bonks him in the back of the head with an invisible sphere.

The two grab the lens of power from the vault and invisible take off past the guards.

Elsewhere meanwhile, She-Hulk fights the sea-beast and is spotted by a fishing boat. It makes an SOS and hearing about a green woman fighting a giant octopus is enough to get the Avengers assembled.

Iron Man flies from the Quinjet to blast at the sea-beast fruitlessly.

He also muses about how rough it is that he has to pretend not to be Tony Stark to the Avengers.

While still not really explaining why.

Iron Man electrocutes the sea-beast, which causes it to flail the tentacle grasping She-Hulk above the water. Iron Man activates underwater mode and goes underwater to offer to help She-Hulk and she punches him in the face.

Wonder Man flies out and punches the sea-beast, to not much effect.

Beast asks Sersi to use her transmutation powers to just end this fight but she says she can't. Trying to change something that big would be so much of a strain that it'd kill her.

Hello another thing that keeps Sersi's powers from just being the win button.

The problem with abilities that are so powerful that they either work or don't is that there's no middle ground so the character might just sit on their ass, not helping.

SERSI.

Anyway.

When one win button doesn't work, maybe another will.

Vision intangibles inside the sea-beast and lodges semi-tangible in its heart. Which knocks the monster the hell out.

Hopefully it doesn't... uh, drown? If sea-beasts that seem to be octopus-esque can drown?

The Avengers regroup and Iron Man pulls an unconscious She-Hulk from the water, who he stunned when she kept trying to rip his armor open.

Back at Lord Ghaur's base, Andromeda returns with the magical ball that is a piece of Set's lifeforce.

When they were beset by sea-beast, Andromeda took the ball and ditched She-Hulk to keep the guardian busy.

Lord Ghaur sees the logic in it but comments that he's down a bride now and the plan once again seems to be unraveling.

It had so many moving parts and so many of those moving parts were thwarted by superheroes who had no idea of the bigger picture.

The sneople production was cut off by Moon Knight, Punisher, Daredevil and Dr Strange.

The Avengers, Fantastic Four, and Spider-Man thwarted the Atlantis Attacks part of the story and then didn't brutally slaughter all the Atlanteans like was apparently necessary.

Monstering Atlantis was somewhat thwarted by the New Mutants and then blowing it up apparently had nothing to do with anything.

At least the plan to reconstruct the Serpent Crown and collect Brides has gone mostly right.

But if there's only six wives then there's only six wives. Set will have to deal.

Meanwhile, She-Hulk is still under compulsion to return to Lord Ghaur and she is very hard to keep contained.

Sersi comes up with the idea of just let her go. And then follow her to Lord Ghaur's lair and rescue all the kidnapped ladies.

And since Sersi says she can keep a telepathic lock on She-Hulk that Ghaur won't be able to block, Captain America okays the plan.

Meanwhile, back at Lord Ghaur's lair, he's slapping Dagger.

He's kind of a dick like that.

He needs her to focus her light daggers into the thinnest possible beam and she's finding it very difficult without being able to see what she's doing.

Jean Grey and Invisible Woman return with the Lens of Power and Ghaur reveals what this backup plan is.

To focus Dagger's life energy light daggers through the lens to invigorate the piece of Set's life force.

That will allow Set to manifest despite the sacrifice apparently not happening. Supposedly apparently.

As a back-up plan, this seems easier actually than hoping that humans will kill a bunch of Atlanteans for you. Why wasn't this Plan A?

Lord Ghaur: "Before the hour is struck, we shall see a new age aborning in the world! Set will rise! And I pity the power, human, Deviant, or Eternal that dares to stand against him!"

Speaking of standing against, the Avengers. The Avengers everyone!

Sersi shows off a fun use of her powers by transmuting the whole team (minus Iron Man and Vision) into water-breathers so they don't need extra gear to sneak into Ghaur's underwater base.

Once they get there, Iron Man knocks.

While Sersi changes most of the Avengers back to air-breathers, Iron Man and Vision get started knocking people on their asses and fisting them.

But before long, the Avengers encounter Bride Storm who blasts Cap with lightning and hurricane force winds indoors.

Cap bounces his shield all over the place before Storm blocks it with lightning.

... Can lightning knock something in motion away? That's weird.

But the shield bouncing was a cover for Wasp to sneak in while Storm's attention was drawn. Wasp blasts Storm who is knocked the hell out.

And standard disclaimer that she was fighting from the inside and that's why it was so easy to beat her.

Wonder Man belt jets ahead and punches the Lens of Power into bits, thwarting Ghaur's plans right when the Set orb was just a little bit short of life energy.

UNLESS... unless he can get comic bullshit to work for him?

Ghaur grabs Scarlet Witch and runs off with her, commanding the other Brides to stop Wonder Man.

He places the Set orb on the dais he long preached the Age of Set.

Lord Ghaur: "Come, woman! Use your power to change the shape of reality, to warp the fabric of probabilities! MAKE THE ENERGY INJECTED SUFFICIENT TO THE TASK!"

The Set Orb begins to expand.

Beast runs in with an iron gauntlet and fists the orb, hoping that iron's known power against the mystic will come into play here. But the Orb explodes, flinging him.

As the Brides chant "he rises!" Set is reborn on Earth.

Uh oh, twelve annuals in and Ghaur has succeeded in bringing an Elder God back to Earth. And only two annuals to fix this mess.

We'd need an act of god!

Oh, wasn't Thor off somewhere?

SET ASCENDING

Yes, he is.

Thor grabbed Quasar and the Thing due to their past exposure to the Serpent Crown and went to go see Dr Strange.

Where they'll be going, you need to be magical, a god, or have exposure to the Serpent Crown to survive. And these two are the only ones Thor could find since Scarlet Witch is under Ghaur's sway, Namor blew up, and Viper is untrustworthy.

Where are they going? Right to Set's home address to take the fight directly to him.

Problem:

Thor's group arrives right at the end of the last issue, when Set manifests on Earth.

(Thor points out something I didn't notice. Seven Avengers went on the mission to stop Ghaur, echoing Seven Brides, and Set the Seven Headed. That's a fun detail.)

The Avengers aren't the type to just not fight an Elder God so they all throw their best attacks at Set. But nothing they try even gets Set to blink. Even Vision bounces off when he tries to do his intangible thing.

Thor insists they need to pull Set back into his own dimension before he gains a real foothold on Earth. And since Set's seven heads are completely clogging the dimensional hole he's coming through, that leaves only one way to get into Set's dimension.

Through the mouth.

(The Avengers see Thor and Co. fly right into an Elder Snake God's mouth and Cap decides uhhhhhh well they must have a plan.)

Team Thor forces their way down Set's throat and all the way as far as they can go and then they force their way past that.

They emerge in Set's domain and so does Set except yanking him back into his own home from the inside out has kind of left him... inside out.

Thing: "Yecch! What a revoltin' development this is -- an' I do mean 'revoltin'!"

Well said.

Thor and Co. try fighting Set but he's an Elder God. You have the Sorcerer Supreme, the God of Thunder, the Guardian of the Universe, and Ben Grimm in a Thing exoskeleton here and its not enough.

If Dr Strange tries his hardest, he can manage to still be overwhelmed by one of the heads. Out of seven.

Things get worse when Set silently screams at the intruders in his domain, screams that threaten to drive them insane.

Thor just up and ditches. Mjolniports away.

But to a purpose. He went to speak with Gaia, his mom and another Elder God. To ask for her help against Set and specifically help contacting Atum, the Sun-Being who can turn to Demogorge, the God-Eater.

This is a lot of lore to suddenly throw in. Which is why it was part of the history of the Serpent Crown back-up stories that have been in each annual.

I already had to split this post in two so there wasn't a good way to go over all that lore so I just decided I'd bring it up if it were relevant.

And here it's relevant!

When Set was running amok on primeval Earth along with Chthon, Gaia got big mad and created Atum, who ate some of the Elder Gods to power-up into the Demogorge.

This was what frightened Set and Chthon into their dimensional hideaways.

We've got Set running amok again so can Atum help??

Gaia can't help with that. Set entering the world has imprisoned her.

So Thor whirls his go-anywhere hammer and goes to the Sun.

Except Atum says he can't help either because when he becomes the Demogorge, he can't stop himself from devouring. It would be trading one problem for another and besides, he hates himself like that.

So Thor annoys Atum into eating him.

Good job, Thor?

Good job. When the Demogorge shows up in Set's domain, he has Thor's head because Thor's willpower has taken over.

(He's done that sort of thing before, when the Destroyer armor ate him.)

It's a limited time thing before he's fully absorbed and digested, though, so Demothorge gets busy kicking Set's ass. And Set's ass has nowhere to flee because he's already in his bolt hole.

The Demothorge rips Set to pieces and then flings each head into a different dimension.

Gonna make it harder to come back from.

The Demogorge seems to finally absorb Thor so the Thing, Quasar, and Dr Strange prepare to try to beat Thor out of the guy.

But he tells them to HOLD and horks up Thor, reverting back to Atum.

In all his history of eating gods, he never ate one as noble as Thor. He was willing to sacrifice his immortal life for the sake of the mortals of Earth. And frankly, that's far too noble for Atum to stomach (complimentary) and it allowed Atum to keep the Demogorge's hunger under control.

Good job, Thor!

Set's dimension starts imploding without a Set to keep it stable.

Thor and Co. rush towards the portal but it's collapsing too.

But luckily Lord Ghaur screws up.

The time difference means its only been a few moments since Set was shoved back through the portal. So Ghaur assumes Set is trying to come back through. So he uses his own energy to stabilize the portal.

Ghaur: "I can help him reach the Earth again! By the Celestials! Instantaneous success! The fragment enlarges -- with it, the portal -- and through that portal I see -- "

Dr Strange, Quasar, Thor, and the Thing pop out of the portal.

Ghaur: " -- something I would rather not see."

Womp womp.

Ghaur tosses a blackout bomb and immediately flees with the Seven Brides.

It's an odd feeling where the evil scheme of the whole event has been thwarted (summoning Set) but the mastermind behind the scheme is still at large.

So they're going to go beat the shit out of him. Since Dr Strange can mystically track him and all.

Thor: "And when we do find Lord Ghaur, cringing in some far corner of the planet he betrayed to the serpent Set -- not all the grotesque godlings of Deviant Lemuria shall shield him from our righteous wrath!"

Which brings us to the conclusion of this whole thing.

for CROWN and CONQUEST!

Oh, hey, Namor is alive again. Neat.

And ignore that Tigra. I'm pretty sure she's a figment of your imagination. The real Tigra is tiny and in a terrarium.

All the Avengers and also the Fantastic Four and also Dr Strange gather in two Quinjets and an "amphibious Fantasticar" - which is clearly a submarine just call it a submarine -head towards Lemuria to bring this to an awesome conclusion.

While many of the Fantastic Avengers are ready to set to the task with grim purpose, Dr Pym and the Thing are pretty sure that this is just wrap-up.

After all, Thor and Co. from last annual already blew Set up so what does Lord Ghaur have left up his sleeve?

(A giant Serpent Crown, but who's counting?)

Weirdly, when Ben recaps the event (only stuff he would have some way of knowing, naturally) he mentions that the New Mutants beat up U-Man when he attacked Avengers Island.

We did see U-Man and some Atlanteans heading towards Avengers Island at the end of the Avengers Annual. And the New Mutants Annual was the very next part of the event. But neither U-Man nor Avengers Island appears in it.

Did wires get crossed? Was that what the New Mutants Annual was supposed to cover but it decided to show the destruction of Atlantis instead, conflicting with the destruction of Atlantis shown in Web of Spider-Man?

I have no idea.

I think the destruction is better in New Mutants and Lord Ghaur definitely says that the destruction caused by the monster he summoned counts as the needed ritual sacrifice. So if New Mutants instead was about them fending off an attack on Avengers Island by U-Man, the event would technically make more sense...

Anyway.

Over at Llyra's stronghold, she and Lord Ghaur make a plan to go down fighting, protected by their loyal Lemurians and Deviants.

It's less of a plan and more spite, honestly.

Which is why Ghaur pulls a plan out of his ass.

It is very maybe possible that if they spin the Brides of Set around really fast above the crown, the Giant-Sized Serpent Crown will absorb their essences and that could re-unite Set's heads and let him manifest.

Plan A of build giant Serpent Crown and sacrifice a huge number of people to summon Set felt appropriately Elder God-ish.

Plan B of Actually Dagger can just shoot energy through a lens at an orb to summon Set, we don't need to kill thousands of people felt easier.

Plan C of spin some women around until Set unexplodes is hilarious and desperate.

Lord Ghaur plans just devolve into wackiness over the course of this event.

I'm not even convinced that this will actually work. But it probably will kill some or all of the Brides and I like some or all of them so the heroes should stop this anyway.

But if it does work, how annoyed do you think Set will be? They're going to summon him into a world with no snake people cultists, no brides, and with him getting exploded the first time he poked his head through the door.

Even if Ghaur and Llyra succeed, they're not going to get rewarded by Set. Today has been hell on him.

The Avengers land in Lemuria and charge forward to have a big, exciting fight scene against Llyra's Lemurian army. Meanwhile, a shadowy figure sneaks off the Quinjet, having stowed along.

We can rule out it being Tigra, as she is not in this event.

The big Lemurian army is able to keep the Avengers and Fantastic Four and so on away from the room with the giant Serpent Crown because heaviest hitters Dr Strange and Thor are exhausted from fighting Set last annual. Also, there's just a lot of Lemurians.

I'm going to brush past most of the fighting. Some of it is cool but I don't need to do a blow by blow.

I will highlight Sersi's contribution though.

Where she calls the Deviants dogs and then is so pleased with her wordplay that she starts turning Deviants into dogs.

You and your sense of humor, Sersi.

(Does she turn them back later? Does she get them adopted into a good family?)

Llyra worries that the heroes will manage to fight through their armies before they finish spinning the Brides so she brings out the big guns. An enormous gun. A really big infra-sonic cannon.

BUT SUDDENLY NAMOR IS ALIVE AND KKRRUTTCHES THROUGH THE DOOR AND STARTS WRASSLING THE GIANT CANNON!

Turns out he wasn't dead. He was lying low, letting them think he was dead, and disguised as that mysterious armored figure who kept showing up.

The Fantastic Four (because Sue is missing and we've still got Reed, Johnny, Sharon, and Ben) help Namor tear the cannon apart.

But they can't get through the door to where Llyra, Ghaur, and the Brides are. Door is adamantium or something. Walls too, so don't get any bright ideas.

But Namor has a very good idea.

An underwater door that's unguarded because Llyra thought Namor dead.

While Namor and the Fantastic Four are swimming toward it, Namor exposits to a captive audience. The Fantastic Four can't really join the conversation because the water pressure will kill them.

He confides in them how much Llyra has taken from him. His bride, his cousin, and his father. So he very personally wants to rip open this secret sea entrance because Pride but as he struggles with it, he admits he actually needs some help and he's no longer ashamed to ask his friends, the Fantastic Four for it.

The Thing and Ms Marvel (the Sharon Ventura one, I'm not sure if she's called She-Thing here or not) help Namor get the hatch open just a little bit. And Mr Fantastic can fit through that gap and pry the hinges open from the inside. Getting them all inside before the water pressure pills wear off.

(I'm sorry but I'm going to assume they're the giant suppository ones from Futurama.)

The Fantastic Four and Pal Namor zoom through the hallways. Namor tries to give a history lesson about Naga of Lemuria who found the Serpent Crown centuries ago but Ben tells him to shut up.

That stuff is never going to be applicable in real life.

The heroes and Namor rush into the chamber with the giant-sized Serpent Crown and the whirling women, much to Ghaur and Llyra's dismay.

Llyra sends her guards to delay them but Ghaur tells her that the two of them will have to tap into the power of the Serpent Crown.

Namor lunges right at Llyra but she touches the Crown and shoots EYE BEAMS at him.

Ben in the Thing suit ruins up and starts punching the spinny thing but Ghaur waves his hands like a wizard and shoots mind control beams at the Fantastic Four, Fantastic Forcing them to fight each other.

Like with She-Hulk earlier, they're aware what they're doing and don't want to fight each other but are compelled by Ghaur's beams.

It gets violent too. Also, melodramatic.

Human Torch: "This is -- tearing me apart too, Reed -- only my flames keep burning away -- my t-tears!"

Over with Namor, Llyra tries to tempt him with illusions of Dorma and Marinna. The wife Llyra killed and the other wife that turned into a sea monster and Namor killed. Namor can bring one back to life! All he has to do is punch the one he doesn't want!

(It is, of course, a trick. Namor chooses neither and discovers that if he had punched he'd have killed a captive Namorita, who got captured off-panel after the New Mutants annual.)

Ghaur complains that Llyra is dicking around with Namor instead of helping him because the Fantastic Four aren't killing each other fast enough and he's getting worn out!

Llyra can't come help him because she's made Namor really mad and her eye beeeeams are only just keeping him at bay.

So Ghaur decides. Fuck this, actually. He taps deeper and deeper into the Serpent Crown's power. I guess he's given up on bringing Set back and just wants to kill these dudes and Sharon.

But tapping so deeply into the crown summons... Naga of Lemuria?

Dammit, if only Ben hadn't interrupted Namor's history lesson!

(Naga was covered in those history of the Serpent Crown back-up stories. All you need to know is that Naga was too much of a dick to his most loyal soldiers and one stabbed him. But I guess his soul or spirit or ghost got eaten by the Crown.)

Ghaur and Naga fight over the crown and their perfectly symmetrical violence destroys them both.

For some reason, Ghaur will be back. And in Avengers so I'll have to care!

Llyra also vanishes right in the middle of getting choked by Namor. She doesn't know what's happening and neither do I. Because her next appearance is in a book that doesn't have a synopsis on Marvel wiki.

That's part of why I do this liveblog. A lot of Avengers issues didn't have much of a summary and I wanted to know what happened.

Anyway.

Now that the Fantastic Four sorta technically won the day by being bad at killing each other until another bad guy showed up and took care of the one they were fighting.... the rest of the heroes finally break through and into the crown room.

Also, the woman wheel stops spinning and the Mark of Set vanishes from all their necks.

When Ben suggests tossing the giant-sized Serpent Crown down a crevice that formed during the fight, the former Brides all charge forward in unison and push the sucker in.

Where it explodes. And the explosion seals the crevice.

That's a weird thing for it to have done.

Beast asks why the ex-Brides were able to act in unison like that and Dagger says the wheel spun them into a hive mind but only for long enough to push the Crown.

That's a weird thing to establish and throw away!

Why did you need to justify them acting together?

(Also, funny moment. When Ben Grimm sees all the Brides together he goes 'hey that one looks like Storm, exactly like Storm, but clearly its not because she's dead.' This is important because the X-Men have turbo faked their death and won't even tell the loved ones they left behind they're alive. Can't casually spill the beans in a big crossover.)

Reed asks what Namor is going to do now. Atlantis was double destroyed and its people have once again scattered to parts unknown.

This happens to the Atlanteans so, so often.

That was even the status quo when he first appeared in Avengers. That's why he had so much time to hassle them. His people had abandoned city and he had nothing else going on in his life.

Namor decides he's not going to try to find and reunite his people. He doesn't say so but they chose Attuma over him. Fuck them.

(And when the missing Atlanteans plot point gets resolved, its going to turn out that they once again unite under Attuma. So fuck them!)

Instead, Namor is going to just hang out with Namorita, who is his whole family now.

Namorita, on the other hand, tells Namor she's going to college but he's free to visit.

Womp womp.

As everybody disbands back to whatever they were doing, Robot Human Torch and Captain America take time to muse on how Namor was a moody loner back in The War while Torch and Cap had Toro and Bucky. But now they don't and Namor has Namorita.

Which seems to misinterpret the dynamic here. Namor said he's going to follow Namorita around because he has nothing else going on and she's going to do college.

Not everything is about you and your life, Cap.

So that was Atlantis Attacks.

I'll give it this much: it was definitely an improvement on Evolutionary War.

Evolutionary War had three issues that tried to actually move the plot forward. The X-Factor Annual, where the High Evolutionary debated his philosophy with Apocalypse, the West Coast Avengers Annual where we learned he was building a big ol' evolution bomb, and the Avengers Annual where a rag-tag group of Avengers learned about the scheme and managed to thwart him by shooting their friend Hercules with dangerous evolution radiation.

Most of the event spun its wheels or was very unclear on what the High Evolutionary was actually trying to do. It really seemed like every writer got to decide that for themself so by the end, the whole story felt very inconsistent. The need to somehow give the Punisher a reason to be involved led to a weird drug subplot that ran through several of the annuals.

Atlantis Attacks tried to have each annual contribute to the story. Resurrecting Ghaur, showing the beginning of the Atlantis attacks, Marking a Bride, collecting mystical artifacts to reconstruct the Serpent Crown, having a weird drug subplot...

Oh, dammit, they did it again!

The Tyrannus stuff that runs through Amazing Spider-Man, Punisher, Spectacular Spider-Man and Daredevil really feels like an unnecessary subplot to get drugs in the story so Punisher has a reason to be involved.

Trying to come up with a story that involves every single annual runs into the problem that the fate of the world stuff that can unite every hero is an odd fit for the Punisher. Because the plot is brought down to his level instead of him up to the plot.

Unlike when other parts of his plan failed, Ghaur didn't really bother trying to come up with a Plan B for losing all those snake people so I guess they weren't really necessary to the scheme.

There's also the problem where Atlantis gets destroyed twice as a sacrifice but then it turns out that wasn't the sacrifice, the sacrifice would have been if the US military and superheroes had slaughtered all of the Atlantean soldiers. So why blow up Atlantis at all? Why choose a method of sacrifice that's so out of your control?

And the New Mutants fighting U-Man on Avengers Island gets referenced but never happens in the event, making me think that someone got the wrong script sent to them.

So, Atlantis Attacks has problems.

It tried harder to tell a story that would unite all the annuals of a year and it stumbled.

I'm going to give it points for trying and improving on the last attempt.

And in the early parts of the story, I was legitimately surprised by how okay it was. Excited to try to piece things together from how each annual progressed the overall plot.

I like how instead of just constantly winning, Ghaur keeps suffering setbacks and switches to a backup plan. I think a lot of events would just make the villain win all the time until he grasps the villain ball at the end so he can actually be defeated. But here, Ghaur is defeated because the heroes just kept coming and he ran out of plans and wound up destroying himself. Or rather, a snake ghost destroyed him but whatever.

And I like how the obvious end boss Elder God Set is defeated in the penultimate issue, leaving Ghaur scrambling with a backup backup backup plan that seemed based on more wistful thinking than anything.

The next year's annuals are broken into smaller events. Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, West Coast Avengers, and Avengers telling one story rather than trying to come up with a story that fits every book being published.

The Spider-Man Annuals get to tell their own story, instead of having a disproportionate share of a company wide event.

The X-books and Fantastic Four revisit Days of Future Past for their annuals.

And Punisher, Daredevil, Hulk, and Silver Surfer share a story for theirs. Now that grouping is a bit eclectic.

Telling smaller events with fewer books is probably a smarter idea and easier to write a good story for. It is also much easier for me to cover.

I thought Evolutionary War was tough. Atlantis Attacks nearly killed me.

AND WHY WAS IT CALLED ATLANTIS ATTACKS WHEN ATLANTIS ATTACKING WAS NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE PLOT AND DIDN'T EVEN HAPPEN UNTIL HALFWAY THROUGH THE EVENT??

Follow @essential-avengers. Like and reblog maybe. Brain fried, can't think of silly ending text.

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zehglitch · 2 months

Text

The Fallen Angel

Ezephr's backstory

— 3

Content Warnings: Human experimentation, child experimentation, kidnapping, violence, toying with people, mentions of death, abuse/starvation, mentions of children killing each other, dehumanization, bullying, some harsh language

Chapter 3 — A Strong Girl

Today, he’d made his final decision. X1 was far too valuable to risk losing so early on…he needed to implement one of their tests prior to any contests. He was fairly interested in seeing what would happen to it inside of a growing body, but his main motive was preserving the subject. If he got to have a show from doing so, that was just a bonus. He had begun preparations early on, taking any children that managed to survive in the pit so he could perfect the project, test the limits of it. At this point, they had an abundance of important data.

Currently, he’d sent one of the cloaked to retrieve the angel, allowing him to sit back in the office chair and scan over the data. There couldn't be any mistakes in this experiment--none. He wouldn't allow his precious, rare chance to slip away from him so easily. Not now. Finding anything even close to the results he desired this early on in their project was exceedingly uncommon, to the point of never actually happening. He had his doubts, yes, but he’d also never had an angel before. This could very well open new opportunities for them.

He would like to get another one, but they lived in massive groups referred to as flocks. Each and every one of them was a threat on their own, but in their swarms you might as well accept your inevitable death. The only creature with no base element that developed any sort of unlisted magic you could dream of. He wasn't certain what led to them always varying in their power, seeing as inheritance had no affect, but had no way of confirming the cause. To him, that was detestable, but unavoidable. Not much he could do about it.

The doctor smirked. Well, until now anyway. He had an angel in his grasp for the first, and possibly last, time. It was exhilarating. Throwing about the possibilities in his mind for now, he spun the chair and pushed it over to the line of chemicals, double checking the process they were going through. The liquid was still coming out black, despite the many efforts made to keep it the same hue as blood. He hummed, moving on with a shrug. Oh well, that didn't change the quality. Color wasn't quite as important as the function. He looked at a bubbling tank. The implant was ready.

He heard the telltale sign of the laboratory door sliding open with a hiss, bringing him to swivel the chair and face who entered. Perfect, they brought the angel. Maintaining a faux smile, he calmly stated, “Ah, welcome, X1.” He crossed his legs, setting a hand on his knee while the other gestured around the room. “I’m glad you could get here unharmed.” He caught the barely suppressed flinch from his words and nearly lost himself. Mind on the matter, doctor. “Please, lay down over here.” He waved to a silver table.

His cloaked man set the wary child down before moving to block the door, arms crossed behind their back. Exactly as instructed. The doctor watched how the boy looked around the room, wondering what he thought of the items he'd never seen before. Patience…he could pick the boy’s brain as much as he desired later. What caught him off guard, however, was the defiant, closed fisted stance X1 took while staring daggers at him. “Why? Father, what do you want from me after abandoning us?” That was fairly surprising.

He felt both the outrage of his subject questioning him, and the absolute delight over the tenacity shown from a frightened five year old. Gorgeous. He tilted his head. “Whatever do you mean? I never abandoned you, I am simply waiting. Now, lay on the table and I will answer all your questions.” X1 clearly didn’t want to listen, but the doctor watched with satisfaction as the child gave in and approached the table. He didn't approve of someone simple minded, but he did enjoy someone who resisted, but still bent to his will in the end.

Once the angel was situated, having done so slowly and cautiously, the doctor rolled his chair over and offered the boy a smile. He was met with vague disdain. “Stay still, alright? This won't hurt a bit.” He hit the switch and watched with glee as the metal bars came up to restrain him. They snapped down quickly and almost painfully tight, preventing any form of real resistance without causing pain. Of course, the boy panicked…that wasn’t the best response he could've gotten, but it was expected. That's why the doctor frowned.

It was a tad disappointing to have the angel react how any child would, though he’d give credit for the unnatural silence. He turned away from the struggling child, only for his attention to be brought back when the boy spoke up. “You said you’d answer my questions. All of them.” The doctor gave the angel a cursory glance before waving for the boy to ask. “...why did you move us? What sound was mother making when you did?” He seemed to hesitate, as if he needed to think his questions through. “Why am I in here?”

The doctor turned only to retrieve the vial of anesthetic, filling his syringe. “You were moved simply for turning five years old. You had to relocate for the new batch of children and for your graduation. Your mother…I assume she must’ve been growling. It’s a nasty habit of critters, you see.” He tested the function of the syringe and went back over to the boy. “As for your being here…it’s simple, really. You’re better than the rest and I’m giving you my personal care.” To the point he planned to do this operation himself rather than delegate it.

X1 had such a fascinating expression over this information, but in the end he looked the doctor in the eye. Interesting…the subjects usually avoided that. “If…I let you do whatever, will you keep X4 safe and teach me more?” The man blinked in surprise, then gave a soft laugh while shaking his head. That was simply absurd. The boy had such a serious, yet hopeful expression, but he had no clue. The fool. He’d do whatever he liked to this boy…although it could be worth offering a reward. The doctor decided to make note of what had been asked for.

He clicked his tongue. “Ridiculous. As if you had a choice in the matter.” He swiftly injected the anesthetic in the boy’s pinned arm, then reached up and tapped the bar that was over his neck. “You’re just a useful product I’m improving. Don’t be mistaken. Perhaps if you win in the pit, I’ll consider your requests.” He watched the child fade away, patiently waiting for the medicine to take hold. When it had, he undid the restraints and removed the clothes, pulling the container holding the organ closer. “You certainly don’t need all these organs…”

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

It…wasn’t that surprising they were being treated this way. From the beginning, trust didn’t exist in that strange home of theirs. Not for her. X4 readjusted, waiting patiently for her brother to come back and trying her best to not look around this place. It was full of screams, crying, begging…and not from her cellmates. She knew her change was bothering X1, but how could she explain the dark shape following him around ever since he got hit for their food. For her food. Why couldn't she just bring herself to move and get it without his help?

Guilt was eating away at her more and more as time passed in this cage. She let him heal her, but she failed to protect him. Instead, he used his body as her shield while she did what? Nothing. Nothing at all, except stare at the floor to avoid what she saw present in this cage. X1 was her brother, why couldn't she help him like she used to anymore? When he was taken away from her, she didn't even try to grab for him and…she saw the way his face twisted and tears formed in his eyes. But the worst part was his following resignation.

Did she…do something wrong? X4 chanced looking around their shared cage, trying to understand the situation. She was alone with that girl…and the others, but that girl was the scariest. Reaching up to fuss with her dirty, tangled pink hair, she attempted to distract herself. Would she get to eat with him gone? Probably not. She shook her head, then hurriedly avoided their eyes when that drew their attention. No, please just stay away and continue ignoring the quiet girl. She wasn't going to cause any trouble, they didn’t need to watch her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block out the world as the voices flooded her mind again. No, please be quiet! Her hands went over her ears to block it out, but that never seemed to help. With a very soft whimper, she pushed herself further into the corner and wished she was hidden. She never asked to be able to see these things, to hear them…they were scary and loud and violent. X4 suppressed her shaking as best she could while biting her lip. She wanted X1 back, finding all her thoughts focusing on that gentle, kind boy. Yeah. She depended on him far too much.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

She finds herself woken up by a heavy force slamming into her shoulder. Dully, she hears someone shouting at her as well, but…she had a hard time focusing after coming out of sleep. The scary things were all screaming and cackling and making a raucous loud enough to disorient her. Then a dark foot came hurtling towards her face. With a gasp, X4 shoved herself away, sitting up and scrambling back from the attack. Her heart beat wildly, abandoning the thought of the stones digging into her skin in order to dodge another strike.

Focusing on her surroundings, it took her a considerable moment to distinguish between her cellmate and the strange, creepy things she could always see. What? Her cellmate was attacking her? She was never attack liked this before--oh. X1 wasn't here this time. In a hurry, she shoved her tired body off the ground and moved away from the older girl. Why was she being attacked anyway? The thought briefly occurred to her that she’d slept and X1 was still gone--where was she? Rather than allow her time to wake up, a new attack aimed for her and landed right in the gut.

Can't breathe. She clutched her stomach weakly, looking up at the angry girl and just staring at her. What did she want? X4, with a part of herself returning, managed to stand up and stare the hostile girl in the eyes, of course, she couldn't speak at all, but she wasn't backing down anyway. The girl sneered at her. “What? Just because that dumbass protects you, you think you're safe?” She waved around the cage. “He’s not here.” Her claws jabbed at X4 when she roughly poked the young elf. “And I’m tired of your smug face in my corner.”

X4 just continued to stare, but unlike X1 she couldn't hide the wince when a claw pierced her skin. However…she stepped forward, causing the claw to go in deeper. She wore a glare of her own as she rode through the burn. Faintly, she was aware of something cool streaming down her face, but she didn’t stop. All of this ended when the older girl slapped her, the force throwing her back to the floor. There was momentary silence in their cage, all of them taking in the situation. X4 was much smaller than the other girl, so it hadn’t been interesting in the slightest at first.

Now, they were curious. The older girl growled quietly at the elf. “You…are you just copying that crazy bastard now? I’m calling your bluff, right now.” She gave no time between her threat and swiping at the younger child with her claws fully poised for the attack. X4 bit her lip painfully hard when those claws ripped through her skin and clothes, then tried to kick her attacker. She stepped on her legs, stopping that effort before it hardly began. Her blue eyes, lacking a pupil from her race, stared at the other girl with contempt.

Of course, her attacker wasn't stopping, but the room suddenly exploded to life around the two. X4’s eyes were glowing as she shoved at the girl, shocking herself when an unknown force sent her flying. The elf sat there stunned, watching the creepy and scary things she’d always seen…protecting her. Her gaze darted to her cellmates, finding the angry girl already standing, but not approaching, just staring. Could none of them see this? She didn't stand, dully aware of a horrible ache in her legs from being stepped on, but she scooted away from everyone.

Momentary silence, then the girl shouted, “I’m the strongest here, you can’t do that to me!” X4 had never understood why all the older kids in the cages were obsessed with being stronger than everyone else. Still, that didn't change the fact that she was now being charged. With a nervous sound, she threw her hands out in the hope of defending herself…and watched as the scary things rushed for the girl. A gasp escaped her, seeing that girl being slammed against the bars of the cage. X4 blinked, catching sight of the name on her neck. Y12.

Her long, dark purple hair had always hidden her name and she never answered if asked about it. X4 studied Y12 for a long time, hoping she was okay but too scared to go over and check. If she did, she’d get hurt, right? And if she didn’t get hurt, then Y12 was hurt a lot more than she thought. She really hoped not. That would be really, really bad. X4 didn’t want to hurt her…well, she didn't, the scary things did. The elf looked at the creepy beings, stiffening when she caught them all staring directly at her, as if waiting for something.

She shuddered, a cold chill trailing down her spine. Before she could dwell on it, Y12 groaned and pushed herself up. As if she’d never been knocked down, her dangerous red eyes boring a hole through the child. Everything about her behavior screamed danger, causing X4 to roughly shove herself against the wall. There was an immediate response from the creatures around her, all of them swarming to be in front of her. There was a breeze inside the cage from their movement, and Y12 was studying it closely.

In the end, the girl clicked her tongue and turned away, storming back to the single bed available. “This ain’t worth it. You’re a breakable freak just like that other one.” She whirled around though. “But I control this space. You got that?” X4 didn’t supply a response, merely shrinking into herself and earning a scoff from the older girl. She watched the other lay on the bed, then hugged herself. Did this…mean she was safe? Was she going to be hit more later? Did she get hurt too? X4 squeezed her legs tightly. She didn’t like hurting people.

In the end, she was back to wishing her brother was here for her. Whether she did it or not, she felt like those things had hurt that girl because of her. She was the only one who could see them, after all. Where was he? Was he coming back? If he didn’t come back…she didn’t know what she’d do. She glanced at her other two siblings, catching them staring at her. Weakly, she offered them a smile, the same one she gave all her siblings back home. They both pouted, their bottom lips poking out and their eyes getting teary.

She shook her head slowly, knowing they might get hit if they came over to her. And yet…despite the bad situation, she was happy to see that they were still who she remembered. X2 and X3 were both so kind…whatever the others had been doing, they looked so scared. She wasn’t fully aware of what all had gone on in the very beginning. She could recall zoning out or covering her ears and eyes when the others would scream, but she also knew X1 had always been right in front of her throughout all of that. She wished he would’ve helped them too.

X4 turned away from them, wincing as the movement both brought pain and the sound of quiet whines from her siblings. She touched where it hurt, grimacing at the sharp feedback it earned. When she raised her hand, it was covered in blood. That…probably wasn’t good. Remembering something their mother had taught them, she ripped off the already torn part of her clothes and tried to wrap around the area. Turns out, getting fabric from clothes was really hard if there wasn't already a tear. Having learned that, she used the rip to get more when needed.

Every motion hurt, but she made an effort to get herself patched up. X1 could heal her when he comes back…she held onto that thought desperately. He will come back. She can do this badly and he’ll help her. He’s not gone. She tried to keep her mind off how two people would leave, and only one came back. That wouldn't be him. Her brother was strong…he was kind, but he wouldn't leave her. He told her so. She pulled the fabric tight and winced, but didn’t stop. Mother had told them it had to be tight. While finishing it up and barely maintaining conscious, she wondered again where her little brother went to, and…when he’d come back to her.

—

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Backstory Master

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