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har-rison-s · 2 years

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the betrayed

request: hello! im the anon that read your one shot ‘you don’t know me’ and has formulated a request based on that! drukkari x daughter!reader maybe ? 😚 so, like your other one shot, she was a former widow, who was one of nat and yelena’s sisters in ohio. so after they take down the red room, she’s now on the run with nat, steve and sam when they get an unexpected call from tony, saying that it’s urgent. so when they get to the compound, the eternals are waiting there and they ask her to help stop the emergence (maybe it takes place a little earlier here), and they tell her that she’s their kid. and she and all the avengers start to get mad because, where the hell were they when she got trafficked into the red room and where the hell were they during other calamities and whatnot. that’s it. thank you. it’s quite similar to the plot of your other one shot, but i really liked it so. 🤷🏻‍♀️😍

a/n: oh joy ! writing the avengers again. my god, i’ve kinda missed them and missed writing them. so let’s see how i manage to do it, if i’m any good at it. these nice dynamics omg bless. yes, the emergence is happening before the events of infinity war and endgame, it will be interesting. i’ve wanted to write bw!nat for so long, and black widow in general, my god, that movie means the world to me. i really say that about every mcu movie, don’t i… hehe. also pls excuse the title, it sounds cliché but i took it from the black widow soundtrack (i listened to it while writing this!!) so, happy reading!

my paypal (would be much appreciated since i’m saving up for uni next year :))

mcu masterlist

word count: 4.1k

warnings: angst, mentions of dreykov, the widows

Sitting beside Nat in that salvaged, kind-of borrowed Avengers jet that Mason got them, after all that fiasco with Ross and destroying the Red Room and Dreykov, feels like a fresh breath. Y/N feels like she could actually breathe for the first time in a while. She didn’t know for how long her breath was being held, exactly, but it was quite a while. And it felt good to get her lungs working again.

Reuniting with Steve was a relief as well—Y/N had learnt to trust the man. Maybe not yet with her life, but that kind of trust is on the way. He’s been supportive and not too invading towards her ever since she met him a few years ago that now feel already a much longer time. With Nat’s help and them both being in the same boat, the Avengers became Y/N's family as much as it did Nat’s. Course, she has her unstable made-up family of former Russian spies, but really—who’s to say the Avengers are any more stable than Melina, Alexei and Yelena? They’re just as broken up inside and now, on the outside, too.

It broke Y/N’s heart that her new-found family had fallen apart because of political reasons, and so quickly, too. She’d never expected this family to dissipate. She didn’t want to join either of the sides and tried to stay out of it all until she couldn’t anymore. She didn’t want to hurt any of her teammates, physically or emotionally. So, as a spy knows best how to, she hid away from her friends and public attention and reunited with Nat after half the team was put in prison.

And now that they have Steve back, now that the horror of the Red Room has been ended, they can break some of the team out of prison. Steve had a plan, and they stuck by it and everything went as smooth as butter. Only the team wasn’t intending on staying together. Clint said he didn’t want anything to do with this anymore—or at least for a while—and said he’ll lay low. Scott Lang was just grateful to be broken out of prison by the same man who asked for his help—he could barely shut up on the jet. Wanda wanted to be with Vision, and Sam said he had nowhere to go, really, except to stick with the team. Whatever’s left of them now, anyway.

So Y/N, Nat, Sam and Steve stayed together. On the run from the law and every known authority of the world, only having the used jet at their disposal, but they’ve made do of it for now. King T’Challa has been generous enough with his resources and technologies—the amount that the Avengers chose to take, that is, being as noble as they are—and so they’ve survived for the last few months on the run. It hasn’t felt any different to Y/N than her life was before. She was always running from something or someone, she just didn’t know if that was enemies, Dreykov or herself.

One thing she really wants to do with the time she’s given now is find her real, biological parents. Now that she’s found out that Alexei and Melina were just hoax-parents for a good cover, she knows her real ones are out in the world somewhere. At least Melina didn’t tell her they’d died, she sort-of dodged the question. Sadly, Y/N knows that Natasha’s mother was silenced by Dreykov quite a while ago already, and she hopes it’s not the same case for her own parents. She’s always wanted to know why she’s wrapped up by golden flicker-flames when she’s running, and why she can run and move faster than anyone she’s seen—even Nat—, and why her eyes glow a bright amber when her emotions are heightened. She’s been a mystery to herself and others since her broken childhood.

Y/N knows her parents are either magicians like Dr Strange, or they or she herself was experimented on when she was a child, like Wanda and her lost twin, or maybe her parents had extremely interesting abilities. Whoever or whatever they are, even with Nat’s knowledge and help, and with the jet’s never-ending database and search tools, they’re nowhere to be found. She’s tried a DNA test before, in Tony’s lab, but the results were inconclusive – that’s how he put it. Though Y/N wasn’t sure he was telling her everything at his disposal.

During their journey to another empty wasteland of the world with, hopefully, good views and some food, Sam, Steve, Natasha and Y/N receive a call to their jet’s communication system. They give each other strange glances, as this is a very much unexpected thing, especially during a time when they’re running from every- and anyone that knows how to contact them, and should definitely avoid calls. So they stay quiet and wait for the call to drop as they still look at each other and try to think of who could be calling. Only someone that has their communication system links. Wanda, Vision, Rhodes… No one else really.

“I know at least one of you is there,” a voice cuts through in the midst of the call still ringing, a voice they weren’t expecting at all, or at least were expecting the least of all. The team’s eyebrows and heads raise in surprise and they look at each other again, “come on, pick up! I know we’re… having a break-up at the moment, but I need your nomad opinion on something.” Tony speaks clear as day into their ears.

“Should we pick up?” Y/N looks to Nat with unsure eyes. She shrugs, and Y/N knows how Tony offended her the last time they spoke. She sighs courtly.

“Come on, I’m really having a crisis over here,” Tony almost whines, “there’s some weird people here that I don’t know if I can trust. Well, they look human, but I don’t think they are—but they say they know Y/N.” Her eyes grow to the size of dinner plates, and the trio look at her with shared confusion. “They say it’s very important… something about the end of our world…” Tony sighs, “just come. To the compound, please. You’re the only ones that can help.”

Silence settles upon the jet’s interior as every teammate thinks about what they should choose to do. Tony keeps quiet, uncharacteristically giving them some silence to make up their minds. Y/N just slumps into her seat. They say they know Y/N. Weird people. Could they know Y/N? How could they know her? No one knows her—hopefully—she doesn’t have any friends, any family. But wait—

“We’ll be there soon,” Steve picks up the call and answers Tony without consulting the others. But they don’t disagree with his view—if Tony says it’s urgent, it must be. No matter how pissed they are at him, or how upset he is with them. Some weird people at the compound… How did they get in in the first place? Why there? The end of the world? Steve looks at his team after hanging up that short call and sighs quietly, “let’s just see what’s going on over there. Decide the niceties and apologise later.” He huffs and walks to the captain’s corner of the plane.

The others agree in silence and settle in their seats. Sam, though, walks to their equipment room, thinking a fight might go down in the worst-case scenario. Natasha wants to do the same, but she sees how distraught and out-of-touch Y/N is, so she walks over and sits right next to her. “Who could they be—friends from our Ohio neighborhood?” She attempts a joke with a small smile playing on her lips as she looks at Y/N. She can only give her sister a half-smile back, and then she shakes her head.

“I have no idea,” she answers, “I don’t have any friends. And what Tony said about them…” she shakes her head again, “they look human, but he doesn’t think they are… what in the hell?” Y/N rubs her hands over her face, her elbows now rested atop her knees as she’s leaned forward with the top portion of her body. She glances at Nat over her shoulder. “Are you sure that was all of the Red Room that we destroyed?” Her eyes hold genuine worry. “I mean… what if it’s them again?”

Natasha’s heart breaks at Y/N’s words, even though she’s voiced the small fear that’s been festering inside Nat for these past months, too, she just doesn’t want to admit it. Natasha moves her hand comfortingly along Y/N’s back and Y/N immediately leans upward and into Nat’s hold, where she wraps her arms around the younger girl, embracing her sweetly. “I’m sure,” she says, “of course, there are still conditioned widows around the world, but if that was them coming after us, Tony wouldn’t be making the call.” Natasha elaborates. “There’d be no one alive at the compound. You know that. You know how we used to work.”

Y/N nods. “Then I really don’t know who it could be,” she says, “I mean, if my parents left me or if I was taken from them and my name got changed, how would they even know where to look for me? How would they know how I look or-or what’ s my name? I doubt it’s them.”

“You have told me you think they might be… not entirely human,” Natasha points out, “what with your glowing eyes and really fast running. You could even outrun Pietro.” She says and utters a quiet laugh. Y/N smiles to that and nods. “Neither of that could have come out of the Red Room. Those weird things you inherited.” Y/N sighs and then sits up straight against the wall, making Nat’s hands fall into her lap as they now sit side by side. Natasha moves Y/N’s hair strands away from her face, and still notes the far-away look in the girl’s eyes. “Want me to do your hair before we land?” She suggests, knowing something that always manages to make her feel better. Y/N turns her head to see Nat and then nods with her head, a soft smile now on her lips. Natasha smiles wider, “okay, let’s go to the bathroom, the lighting’s the best there.” She stands up and extends her hand toward Y/N, who gladly takes it and rises with her.

As they sit in the jet’s bathroom, facing themselves in the mirror, the old lullaby comes into Natasha’s mind. She starts humming it as her fingers thread through Y/N’s hair, grouping strands up and then forming them into beautiful braids around her head. Natasha thinks of Yelena as she starts making the hairstyle, she tries to replicate the hairstyle Yelena had during their Red Room mission. She misses Yelena, and no doubt Y/N misses her, too. She begins to sing to Natasha’s humming, it now serves as the setting tone for the song.

“Сияай прощальный свет,” Y/N sings, “тот свет любви последней.”

Natasha smiles and decides to sing, too. “Полнеба обхватила зари вечерней тень.”

“Лишь там на западе бродит сияние,” they sing together and smiles adorn both their beautiful faces. The girls’ eyes connect in the mirror’s reflection and sisterly love for each other passes through them simultaneously. “Последная любовь...” Y/N wraps her arms around Natasha’s waist and locks them there, and Natasha grins, knowing how much Y/N adores physical touch and how it’s her love language. Platonic love language for sure, romantic – she’s yet to find that out. Perhaps it will be different once she meets someone she has romantic feelings towards.

“We’re landing!” Sam’s voice comes from the hall and the girls tense up a bit, Natasha having to finish the braids in a rush now.

“Just coming!” Y/N lets Sam know as Nat hurriedly braids the very ends of her hair and tucks them with pins into a crown around Y/N’s head. The hairstyle looks just like Yelena’s, and Y/N notices that, “thanks. I love this.” She tells Nat and gives her a quick side hug before they’re rushing out of the bathroom for the equipment room, where their combat-ready suits lay for them to wear.

The four nomad Avengers stand by the windows as they land on autopilot, and they see Tony standing in full armour in the corner of the landing field, just by the entrance door to the compound. Part of Y/N suspects that Tony just wants to lure them into the hands of authorities with this distress call, and, knowing him, that might be the case. After what Tony did to Steve’s best friend, and how he immediately treated Steve and everyone else like an enemy because of a disagreement, Y/N doesn’t trust the man very much. And what Nat said he’d told her right before she disappeared off the radar, Y/N doesn’t like him very much, either.

The team makes their way out of the jet silently and cautiously, though still trying to keep up with the intimidating nature they know they possess effortlessly. It’s only Tony, but it might not be. He knows what these four are capable of, they have no reason to intimidate him more. And yet, because of what’s happened between them, Tony knows they might not like him or trust him now. But he also knows that this matter exceeds any quarrels or their personal relationships. As the strange visitors put it, they have less than two days to save the entire planet Earth.

Tony takes off his head cover as the team of four near him, and the look of worry is the clearest look of all on his face. Sure, there’s doubt and fear, but worry has the brightest colour. Steve is the most forward one of the four, stepping closer to Tony than anyone else. The other three just give him doubtful and paranoid looks. Mistrust. Tony sighs, knowing he deserves it, but shakes Steve’s hand. “Cap,” he says with a nod, looking into the man’s eyes, “good to see you. Thought I might never have that chance again.”

Steve gives him the ghost of a smile. A lot is on the man’s shoulders, a lot has happened between him and Tony, but he still maintains a bright attitude and his usual kind nature. He just does so effortlessly. “Thought you’d never want to see me again,” Steve admits, and Tony chuckles to that sadly, “look, I’ll be honest here—none of us know if we can trust you.”

“I know, I know,” Tony nods, looking the others and their stares of mistrust over again, “hey, guys.” He raises a hand in greeting to them, but only Sam returns it. The women aren’t fond of him—not the first time in his life, but definitely one of the first—and so Tony settles back. “I won’t tell anyone you were here – I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He puts a hand over his iron chest. Y/N sighs.

“We’ll get out before they come, anyway,” Natasha tells him, a glint of mischief in her eyes and voice. Y/N grins to that, knowing Nat is right. Tony smiles, realising that same thing.

“Where’s the trouble?” Steve inquires.

“Oh, you mean our humanoid guests?” Tony clarifies. Truth be told, he’d forgot about them entirely from the moment he saw Steve and the others. “They’re inside, let’s go.” He turns his back to the team of four and leads them inside. Natasha and Y/N still exchange looks of mistrust between themselves, but follow along. Tony leads them across the upper level of weapons and experiment halls and rooms, and Y/N and the others can see the group of people Tony mentioned in the great hall below, on level one. There’s… eight of them. Too many at first glance, but Y/N isn’t close enough yet to see what they look like and if she could know them. She doubts she does.

As the team descends the stairs to below, Tony steps back and only restarts walking down once he’s side by side with Y/N. She gives him a half paranoid, half angry glance, but makes no protest. “They said they knew me?” She asks him quietly and Tony nods.

“That’s why I plan on introducing you first.” He admits and Y/N raises her eyebrows. She hates open and public attention on herself, but this could be something important, so she guesses that Tony has made the right decision. The group of five reach the floor of level one and face the group of eight in front of them. These people have strange clothes on, Y/N notes that first of all, and each have their own colours. They really do look human. “Come on,” Tony gently nods with his head towards the left tail of the group, and Y/N walks over there by his side. “This is Y/N. You said you know her.” Tony says to two people standing in an embrace with each other. Their faces turn towards Y/N, looks of worry and fear filling their eyes, as well as tears.

By seeing the woman’s face, Y/N gets a strong feeling of deja-vu. Though not really deja-vu, more like familiarity and… recognition. But she just looks at the couple with wide, confused eyes. They don’t look much older than herself. Who are they? Why are they looking at me like this? “How do you know me?” She inquires in a quiet, but sure voice. Her arms are crossed over her chest in a pretzel to avoid picking at her fingers and therefore showing a clear sign of anxiety. This could all very well be just a circus act, and they could have SWAT clothes and equipment under all those weird robes.

“Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but,” the man starts to say, and he chews on his lip in clear anxiety, “I’m Druig. And this is Makkari,” he looks down to the woman in his arms, and she signs words with her hands. What surprises Y/N the most is that she immediately knows what the woman is saying. Hello, Y/N. She looks at her with confused eyes still, but then finds her hands signing a greeting towards Makkari, too. That surprises her even more. The man Druig smiles sadly, Y/N notices, at that gesture, “and we’re your parents.”

Now that sets her a couple steps back. Her head gets dizzy and she grabs onto the first thing closest to her, which happens to be Tony in his iron suit. He holds the woman and helps her steady herself. Tony looks at her to see what’s going on emotion-wise, and sees her eyes starting to glow a bright gold. That shocks the acclaimed parents, too, they each let out a gasp. Y/N looks at them once she’s steady enough again, and her stare is just fury. She doesn’t yet know why she’s angry. “How can that be?” She asks as she’s still in her state of disbelief, but she’s tipping over already. “Prove it.”

Druig sighs, his face nothing but sadness. Then he looks at her, and Y/N sees his blue eyes turned to the gold orbs she very well recognises every day in the mirror. And suddenly, in her mind it seems, she sees the man Druig with the woman Makkari, dressed differently though looking the same age as they do now, standing with a tiny ball of wrapped up clothes in their hands before a building stretching tall into the sky, its entrance door large, high and intimidating.

It seems they are to make a choice. And though it very visibly breaks their heart to do so, they make it. They leave the tiny ball right in front of the door, and with a closer look Y/N sees through Druig’s eyes that the tiny ball is just a tiny baby. Without asking she knows that it’s her, herself, wrapped up in clothes and fabrics to be protected from the outside weather. And now that she takes in how the building looks, she recognises it. The orphanage. The one she grew up in, and was later stolen from.

She doesn’t know how she saw those short moments, but as she blinks her eyes open, they’re gone and she’s seeing Druig and Makkari in front of her again, clear as day, in the here and now. Y/N doesn’t know what to think, what to believe, what to feel. If they really are her parents, then who are they, why did they leave her in the orphanage, where have they been all this time, do they know what happened to Y/N after they left her there? She finally looks into their eyes again.

“Who are you?” She manages to push out amidst all the other questions she wants to ask. She stands side by side with Tony now, but she knows her nomad group is close by, because she heard their footsteps coming closer.

“We’re Eternals,” Druig says, “we’ve been on Earth ever since its creation, watching over humanity and protecting them from certain… dangerous creatures.” He says not very convincingly, though Y/N can tell he’s telling the truth. “Though now it turns out to have just been a mission to collect as much human life as is needed for the planet to be destroyed. We’ve been fooled by our superior all this time, and we need your help.”

“See?” Tony whispers. “Told you it’s about the end of the world.” Y/N just gives him a glance before crossing her arms over her chest and looking suspiciously at Makkari and Druig.

My help? “Wait, so,” Y/N starts to say to get everything clearer, “you’ve been here for seven thousand years.” She says. “You’re seven thousand years old.” She states and the couple nods. “And apparently, you have magical powers. All of you, right?” Y/N looks around at the rest of the group of strangers, and they nod. That would explain why she herself has these weird abilities. She can’t believe this. “So…” she utters a dry chuckle, “why are you here now?” She looks back at Druig and Makkari. “Why are you here? Just to say hi? To tell us the world is ending while you haven’t helped in the least all the other times it was coming to an end?”

She didn’t expect anything more than she gets – the whole group being silent. “Yeah, we could have used your help against Loki and the aliens in New York.” Tony backs Y/N up, feeling frustrated by the news he’s received, as well.

“Or against Nazis in the 1940s.” Steve points out, his hand supportively resting on Y/N's shoulder. Makkari and Druig both see how this family—from afar not looking like one at all—Y/N has found is so protective over her.

“Or against Dreykov and his network of widows, who are girls trained to be assassins from a small age?” Y/N says and her voice reeks of disgust. Tears pool her eyes. “If you’re really my parents, why did you leave me at that place? Do you have any idea what happened to me?” Her lip begins to quiver and her voice shakes. She can’t keep her anger locked away anymore. “Why have you stood by all this time and just watched, knowing everything that happens in the world? Genocide, death, wars, little girls turned into assassins, people turned into monsters, thousands and millions of lives lost to pointless wars and disagreements?”

The desperate cries and voices of people under the rubble both in New York and Sokovia still ring in her ears as Y/N watches Druig and Makkari’s faces for any kind of answer. But she only sees sadness, regret, resentment towards themselves and their decisions. They’re folding into themselves because of this rightful outlash of a reaction, and it seems a part of them anticipated this kind of attitude from Y/N. They both know they did wrong, and have pulled themselves back from intervening in human affairs all this time. And they have many reasons for that, they just… want to let Y/N take her anger out. It feels better, it always does, even if it’s on them this time.

“I can’t do this,” Y/N raises her hands up in defeat, her eyes still glowing bright gold in her anguish, and she turns around and stomps away before anyone can say a word to her. Natasha gives her supposed parents a short glance that says much more than words would, and walks after Y/N. She affectionately lays her arm around Y/N’s shoulders and pulls her into a side embrace as they continue to walk further away from the group, into the depths of the Avengers compound. Hand in hand. Sisters.

permanent tag-list: @hallecarey1 @gabiatthedisco @v0idbella @ur-gunna-h8-ths s@betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @rottenstyx @deardeacy @mavieesttriste16 @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131 @beverlyparkerr @gasbomb69 @xoxobabydolls

druig tag-list: @quivvyintheclouds

would you be interested in being on my druig / mcu / eternals tag-list? let me know!

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 years

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amor fati [druig x fem!eternals reader]

A/N: Ya girl is back and officially posting writing again. I know it's been a while, but thank you for sticking with me. I didn't think I'd write for Marvel again, but, well, like all of you, I was just taken by Barry's performance as Druig, who (along with Makkari) quickly stole the whole movie for me. Keep an eye out for an upcoming TASM!Spidey and/or Matt Murdock fic, as well. Might as well go full-tilt Marvel now…

This piece is probably a cliché, but oh well. I hope you like! Please tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what, if anything, I should do for Druig in the future. There is a playlist for this, as well.

Reblogs are always appreciated!

Pairing: Druig x fem eternal!reader (Reader’s legend is that of Artemis, the hunter goddess. No Y/N); some Drukkari x reader, if you're looking.

Word Count: 16.1k of eternal love, the stuff that poems are made of, and my usual abuse of simile and metaphor. Cotton candy sweetness -- but careful, lest it dissolve between your fingertips. Who said romance wasn’t a little tragic? All’s well that ends well.

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, angst, eternals-style heartbreak (y'all have either seen the movie or read enough fic to know that our boy leaves), canon-typical violence, misuse of power. Also? Smut, so 18+ ONLY -- touching, biting, outdoor naughtiness, mutual masturbation, and other things that occur more than once in here, okay?

Summary: A love for the ages, yours and Druig's feelings for one another have persisted throughout time and distance. Stoic as Druig is, winter snow melts in the light of spring, and a little hunter has held his heart in her hands for millennia. Gently traipses through the plot of the movie.

---

By starlight, everything was serene. A luminous, crescent crown.

Your awakening was like the warp and the weft, weaving the threads that comprised your personhood through a grandiose loom. It was simultaneously soft and scraping – A yarn-like itch behind your eyelids compelled you to open them, only to be met with a room full of strangers.

You saw him then -- eyes of twinkling, galactic starlight. Serene.

You tilted the corner of your lips in a soft smile, hoping to convey similar softness. Welcoming. And his face? His face remained stoic. Passive.

As you would come to learn, as history unfolded, it all was positively Austenian. Dickensian. Shakespearean, maybe?

Here he was: The crystalline-eyed boy with raven hair and blooming-lily skin, so superior in his indifference. Who carried himself with a power that transcended time. A cool, quiet tempest. Burning insight and demand into the deepest corners of a mind, like the golden, fiery sun.

There you were: The doe-eyed girl. Quick in wit (and to anger), the sharpness of your tongue second only to that of your arrows. Fearsome, to be sure, but soft for him. (As he would be for you). Graceful and generous. A flower known to bloom by the silvery light of the pale moon.

There was no way to know it when you awoke. But the two of you would be wrapped in one another throughout eternity, as threads pulled tightly around a finger, woven through a loom. But perhaps you had been before then, if man could comprehend a “prior-to” eternity. If you could remember a time before now.

But forever is made of little nows...

Perhaps this is where Austen, Dickens, Shakespeare, and the like would come to draw their inspiration. From the legends of godlike warriors who would cross the universe, if it meant even a moment together. Who guarded and tended the fragile sapling that was the human race. Who stole clandestine moments to bask in one another, exchanging endearments and creating traditions that would become symbols of love throughout time. Everything starts somewhere.

For the very moment you opened your eyes in the cool, eerie light of the Domo, you were invigorated with purpose. You had awoken with Arishem’s booming voice in your ears, permeating your mind. Dictating to you. To protect the human race of Earth. To defeat the Deviants.

You padded softly across the chamber, smiling and nodding at your fellow Eternals, introducing yourself as you went, until you stood before him. Rugged, roguish, and still somehow boyish, he stood with his arms clasped behind his back, appraising you. His black armor replete with details of curving, curling red, his eyebrows quirked as he looked down at you, awaiting your word.

You gave him your name, holding out your hand for him to take.

“Druig,” he responded, the lilt of his accent strange and soothing to your ears as he clasped your hand gently in greeting.

You nodded, a warm smile gracing your features as you looped his hand through your arm and made to cross to the nearest window together.

“Are you excited?” You asked him; the feel of his arm was warm against yours as you took in the marble-like appearance of the planet you were assigned to. Comforting. “This is my first assignment since leaving Olympia … ‘Earth,’ you sighed. “I wonder what it will be like.”

Druig chuckled softly at your eagerness, taking you in as you observed the blue-green planet of Earth through the glass of the Domo.

Your armor was rosy, copper-like in appearance with striking details of silvery-blue twining its way across your body, as the red did with his.

Fitting, he thought. That your very warmth should be reflected in the very nature of your kit. Not just anyone would immediately approach Druig and hold his hand. He wasn’t exactly known for his sunny disposition on Olympia.

Was he?

Yet, here you stood fearlessly by his side as though you belonged, your eyes shining by the light of space, ethereal. By starlight, everything was serene.

Not for the first time since he had met you did Druig find himself quirking his brow in assessment of you. Intrigued. For what could someone so seemingly gracious, gentle, do in battle against Deviants, of all things?

“Ta. Well, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” Druig answered both your question and his own musings before another voice snapped the moment.

“It is time,” your leader – Ajak, your mind supplied – spoke. Summoning you all to prepare yourself for the journey to Earth.

As you took your place alongside the others, you couldn’t help but feel the elation coursing through you. The determination. You would protect this planet with everything you had. Whatever time you had to learn the beings of Earth, and your fellow Eternals, was like a book waiting to be pored over. Your lives stitched together, piecemeal, made by some unseen, Celestial force. Woven. Throughout eternity, woven.

How could you have known just how much, little hunter?

—

In some ways, fighting was as easy as breathing, as weaving. It’s what you were made for, wasn’t it?

As you and your fellow Eternals progressively cleared each corner of the globe from the Deviant infestation, you learned to operate together. To move as one to defeat the beings that threatened the development of this planet.

Somewhere along the way, between the immeasurable conjuring of your golden arrows to fire through the bow you could weave at will, it became, well, fun. Centuries spent side by side with the universe's finest warriors had taught you a thing or two. And as humanity had developed, thanks in part to Sersi's gentle patience and Phastos's ingenuity, so had you.

As Thena and Gilgamesh cut through their enemies like tissue paper, you and Kingo would offer coordinated support through the benefit of distance attacks and hawkish aim. Determined and quick, you never missed. Kingo made for an excellent partner, releasing the beaming power of the sun from his fingertips as though it was nothing. Shooting down Deviants, the two of you covering the backs of your fellow Eternals, and working seamlessly in tandem.

Kingo would offer you a smirk when he connected with his mark, and hollered a “nice shot,” when you aimed true. Whether the two of you had a running competition as to who could strike the most targets from the greatest distance was for the two of you to know, and for no one else to find out. The tally marks surreptitiously etched into the corner of the Domo were for the two of you alone.

And Ajak -- a mother in some ways and the commander of a battalion in others -- saw fit that when you weren't fighting the deviants, you spent ample time training to fight deviants.

It was this training time where you would partner with those Eternals whose skills were the most unlike your own – trying to prod the blur that you knew to be Makkari with a plinking, blunted arrow. Or seeking to best the taciturn Druig in hand-to-hand before he could bewitch you with eyes of molten gold.

Truth be told, Druig was no slouch at close-quarters combat. But against an opponent with the coordination and entrenched anticipation of an archer? Besting you was no small feat. If he could best you, that is.

The two of you traded blows as easily as you traded quips. Druig, so usually reserved, flourished. He was agile as he jumped and spun to avoid your strikes, twirling around you to make his move. You dodged his attempted strike to your face, using the momentum to lean back and swing your leg to knock Druig’s from under him. As Druig’s shoulders met the floor, you rolled, fluidly conjuring a small dagger, which you brought to his bare throat. Meeting him with the weight of your forearms against his shoulders to keep him fixed to the floor.

You beamed down at your quarry, batting your lashes. An innocent smile – for no being with a smile so bright could have done what you just did, right? You? Topple someone so fearsome? Never.

“Don’t toy with your food,” Kingo called to you teasingly, unable to contain his chuckle at your position over Druig. “Leave the poor boy with some pride, archer.”

“Pride?” You quirked a brow down at the man below you, shifting your weight to stand above him and offering a hand. “Do you feel proud?” You teased.

Druig clasped his warm hand into yours, panting lightly with the exertion of sparring, and allowed you to hoist him to his feet. Using the momentum of your pull, he leveraged himself into crowding your personal space, swarming your senses with nothing but Druig as he smirked back at you.

“Of you? Immensely, hunter,” Druig breathed so that Kingo couldn't hear, the cadence of his accent a pleasant hum against your ears.

He released your hands, circling you as though preparing to spar once more. As a panther would, replete with inky hair and coiling muscle.

“You’ve felled your prey bravely. What deviant could stand against you?”

You snorted, pleased with Druig’s teasing demeanor, a warm little thrum coursing through you. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be. Time and gentle patience had taught you that he wasn’t always as dour as he could be with the others – given the right circumstances.

Or perhaps the right company? He was never quite so cross with you or Makkari.

“Perhaps you think too highly of the threat you pose, dear Druig. For what are men compared to deviants?” you asked, your eyes tracking his progress around you.

Druig’s pacing ceased at your words, his eyes a brewing storm as he swept a glance up and down your form. Stepping to close the gap between the two of you once more and deliberately brushing his shoulder into yours, he paused to look down at your profile before he passed you by.

“Be on your guard. I am no mere man, little hunter,” he murmured, leaving your side with a parting wink.

Your gaze never left Druig as he departed, making his way down the verdant-lit halls of the Domo. Leaving your body buzzing pleasantly with something as you recalled the way his lips had ever-so-slightly grazed the shell of your ear as he taunted you.

Just one of many threads serving to weave you both together, twining colors of dawn, of star-crested trees, and a crown of holy branches. Of breaking tides and moonlit swaths. You couldn’t choose the threads within the loom, obsequious at the facile hands of fate – or something else.

—

Clearing corners of the globe did allow you to take in the many splendors of this planet, as you had so hoped all those years ago on the Domo before coming to Earth. To allow you to get to know the people of Earth, your fascination with them and their development as endless as their apparent fascination with the Eternals.

But it wasn’t just the people of Earth that held your attention.

Nature had offered an escape, a reprieve from the endless conflict with the Deviants. You did not seek the next battle, as Thena did. Nor were you as entrenched in development as Phastos.

No, you preferred to spend your days exploring the countryside, climbing rocks, swimming in the ocean. Tending to the deer in the forest.

One such day found you enjoying the lake near where you had settled. It was an atypically quiet day, and cool babbling was soothing to you as you observed the clear water, taking in the colorful rocks like a rainbow embedded beneath its surface. The fish paid you no mind as you waded in, unable to help yourself.

“Not t’ cold, is it?” You turned at the smooth, accented voice of Druig as he made his way through the treeline, coming to stop along the shore near where you had waded in, hands folded as he observed you in the sunlight.

“I don’t mind a bit of cold, demeanor or otherwise,” you acknowledged. “Besides, the humans bathe and wash their linens here. If they don’t mind it, I don’t see any reason why I should.”

Druig snorted at that, wading his way into the water not far from where you stood, the current gently rippling around your bodies.

“I've heard them talking about you, you know. Sprite's been spinning her web of tales in every city we dock,” Druig said offhandedly as he tossed a stone atop the clear lake, rippling the water’s previously-unblemished surface with the skips of the smooth rock.

“Oh?” You plucked a unique-looking grey-blue rock from the shallows, your dress bunching in the water and flowing about your knees. “And what do they say?”

You turned over the rock you had chosen in your hands, noting, pleased, how its shade was so similar to the eyes of the man who stood beside you, plucking and skipping stones of his own.

“They call you Artemis. Some call you Diana. Others Selene. Different names for the same, stunning entity. Goddess of the forest, the hunter, the protector of young women throughout their land."

You laughed.

“That’s a kind and gentle way to describe conjuring arrows to destroy Deviants in bloody battle. Are you sure they aren’t referring to Sersi instead?” you chirped, leaning down to trail your fingers through the cool, clear water, admiring the way the blue of the rock looked so striking when held beneath the surface.

“And what of your legends?” You queried. “So powerful that Sprite has invented an entire mystical order to explain away the one man who can grasp a million minds. The druids. Does that not tickle your pride somewhat?”

“An attempt to make me sound useful and utilitarian, perhaps?” Druig tossed another stone, ignoring its skipping progress across the water’s surface in favor of wading gently closer to where you stood.

“Even so. Solitary folk they are, eh? The druids. So Sprite says. Any truth to that, then?” Your eyes tracked his progress as he disrupted the cool river’s surface to stand by your side.

Druig shrugged, coolly, but still affable. Willing to banter with you a bit more. The stretch of patience he would extend to you, to your conversations, after centuries still never ceased to amaze you. You often wondered what it is that had separated you from the others. Why he would extend these courtesies to you, to Makkari, and offer you glimpses of himself.

“You know I prefer solitude if I am gifted it. Too many minds around and it gets a bit … crowded … up here.” Druig made a motion with his hands, circling around his head. “Like the buzzing of so many busy little bees,” he sighed. “But you know my power. You know me.”

You shuddered a bit at the heat that had laced Druig’s voice. “Do I?” You looked across the water, teasingly refusing to meet Druig’s gaze. “And what do you suppose my estimation is?”

“Other than finding me roguishly handsome, you mean?” Druig teased.

Your eyes widened at Druig’s jest. Although, in every joke, a kernel of truth. Had he been reading your thoughts?

“Bah!” You huffed, “Don’t be a scoundrel. Especially not with someone who can best you in a fight.”

“You still think you can best me, then?” Druig challenged, his voice light and bantering.

“Oh, I know I can,” you bent your knees ever-so-slightly below the water, ready to spring should Druig challenged you. “You think I would expel all of my energy when we spar? Please.”

“I could always just compel you to lose,” Druig said, tapping his chin as though deep in thought.

“You would have to be faster than Artemis to do that,” and with that, you pounced, lurching forward and giving Druig’s shoulder a purposeful shove, causing him to slip on the stones beneath his feet topple into the water with a resounding splash, the sound cracking against the trees.

You laughed as you backed away toward the shore, out of Druig’s reach as he broke the surface of the water, spluttering.

If you had thought he resembled a large cat before when you were training, the comparison was certainly apt now. He fixed you with a glare as he shook the water from his hands, and then his hair, now wet and matted to his head, his clothes stuck to his form, dripping.

“Cheeky, hunter,” Druig breezed, his voice taking on a low timbre, but with no hint of malice, as he waded toward the shoreline, giving way to the chase you were leading him on as you darted from his grasp.

He bent at the shoreline, dragging his hand through the water and attempting to splash you as you ran down the shore.

Druig certainly could be fast when he wanted to be, you thought, too little too late as he closed the gap between you, catching you with an arm around your waist and causing you both to topple onto the pebbled shore.

You laughed together, Druig taking the moment to stroke a stray hair at your crown back into place.

“How could we have never met on Olympia?” you asked him, softly, “I feel as though I should have known you my entire life. And yet … we have only met now. It hardly feels fair. Years without the discovery of one another.”

“We know one another now,” he shrugged, knocking an affable shoulder into yours as you sat beside one another, taking in the lake once more.

Druig’s company was easy. Summer rain, the soft tapping on glass, warm, sweet and refreshing.

You reached for the canvas bag you had brought with you that rested near where you had stopped together on the shore, pulling a fiery-hued orange from the depths of your bag.

“Is this where Makkari keeps getting these then,” Druig asked as he watched you peel the orange. “She’s always snacking on them.”

You nodded, offering Druig a wedge, its skin visibly thin and membranous by the light of the sun, ready to burst with zinging, crisp flavor on your tongue when you bite into it.

Druig held up his hand to you, making to refuse. But you gently took his wrist, opening his palm to you and placing the wedge in his hand. You had opened the rind as you were slowly opening yourself to him, splitting the orange down its center and offering to share. To share its brightness, its sweetness, as you would endeavor to share yours.

"You need to enjoy yourself more. The world is full of small treasures waiting to be discovered. Take a page from Makkari’s book,” you bit your own wedge, Druig taking in the little slip of juice that made its way from the corner of your mouth.

He shrugged, following suit and biting into his own wedge.

"Do you like them?" You asked through a mouthful of sweet, zipping orange.

He nodded softly, savoring the sweet, syrupy flavor. “And Makkari?”

"She likes sharing with me," you shrugged.

Druig’s brows quirked at that. He knew you knew that he was also close with Makkari. How he would anchor the quicksilver woman in tender moments. And she, him. He had hoped it wouldn’t be a point of contention as you and he developed into … whatever you were that felt dangerously like affection.

It seems he was mistaken; for you and Makkari were clearly also … affectionate.

To you, Makkari was milk and honey. Sweetness, nourishment, home. Druig was oil. Rich and incendiary. He was the sagebrush you smelled in the desert before a storm – A cautionary comfort you could never quite quantify.

And as the traipsing trail of time slipped past, thick like honey, you were eager for this to unfold. The path before you now lay, heavy and unblemished, like freshly packed and fallen snow. Tread lightly, little one, lest you sink too far. Or mar the surface of yours and Druig's tenuous friendship.

And the humans, it seemed, had grown to adore their protectors.

And your friendship -- no, that seemed too soft a word … partnership?? -- had blossomed. Sharing your observations on humanity, sparring, your cheeky little intrigues with Makkari, helping her "obtain" treasures she sought. Your sniper's eye was good for more than just combat, after all...

And, at the celebration the humans had held for you within the stronghold of Babylon’s walls, you basked in the warmth of the evening from your chosen perch.

Watching Sersi dance with the humans. Watched as Sprite weaved her tales with the accompaniment of shimmering, golden illusions. Watched as Makkari haggled with the townsfolk. You had turned down Kingo and Gilgamesh's offer of a drinking contest in favor of observation. Perhaps you were waiting for the offer to dance, instead?

“You know,” Druig pushed himself off of the wall at the periphery of your vision, his lilting voice breaking your thoughts, “I asked Makkari where she got some of those artifacts to trade. She started to mention something about them being won in a ‘shooting contest,’ before becoming suspiciously forgetful. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, dear hunter of mine?”

Druig ambled his way over to where you held court, your gaze fixed solely on him now.

“Now, Dru, you know I respect Ajak’s rules far too much to aid in any kind of scheme where thievery is involved. Besides, were they really thieved if I won them fair and square?” You smiled at him then, a quick flash of tilted lips and teeth, like a fox might bare its teeth at its prey.

The flicker of ferocity behind your grin was a direct juxtaposition to your usually-calm demeanor, and the softness of the dress that adorned your body. So different from your usual stiff, copperish armor.

A heady combination, Druig thought, your contradictions continuing to surprise him.

“And what did Makkari promise you in return for your assistance?” Druig stood before you, arms clasped behind his back in apparent repose. But you knew better. Lightning roiled beneath his skin, in the contrasting gold-and-blue of his stormy eyes. He merely awaited his moment.

“Alleged assistance, my love,” you teased. “And Makkari’s and my arrangements are our own. No business of yours … not unless you ask nicely for it to be your business.”

At the heated lilt of your teasing voice, Druig’s mind was awash with the possibility and entendre of what you had said.

“You’ve compelled me to ask, but for my own self–preservation, perhaps I’ll save that for later,” Druig replied, circling you slowly. “That’s a lovely dress, by the way.”

You smiled at his compliment, your desire to tease gone as you felt flush at his compliment. Almost shy. You shifted on your feet.

“I almost feel more comfortable in my armor, but Kingo insisted. He’s got more of a flair for this sort of thing than I do, anyway,” you offered, glancing at your Apollo from across the room as he laughed with Gilgamesh at Sprite’s illusions. "And some of the women in the village made it for me."

The upswing of a new song caught your attention, and you turned to the man beside you, who was likewise observing the others. Ever-watchful, your Druig.

The two of you had shared tender moments. Conversations far too personal to be purely platonic. Hell, the two of you had even shared a few kisses over the years. Embraced. Held one another in private moments just for the two of you. Or three of you. But the urgency to progress something wasn't really a factor when you lived forever.

Nevertheless, yours and Druig's… whatever you might call it… had not really progressed past a certain point. Call it respect for the being you knew to be reserved in his affection, but you didn't feel the need to be overly-physical it it wasn't something he had instituted.

That doesn't mean the desire wasn't there. At least on your part. The burning thrum of something just shy of need. The hope to hold onto Druig as more than just your friend. To press the planes of your skin along his in quiet moments. To feel his hands caress parts of yourself that no one else would. His hands were quite maddeningly beautiful, weren't that? Craving the resplendent mutualism of shared ardor.

Had centuries not been long enough? So, while you didn’t know what came over you, you felt compelled to ask nonetheless –

“Would you care to dance?” You piped up suddenly, your own voice (or perhaps the suddenness of your own courage) causing you to jump a bit, like a startled fawn.

Had you really just done that? No sense in playing coy now.

You gestured at the circling crowd.

Ah. So, perhaps it was a foolish request.

Druig quirked a brow at you, tilting the corner of his mouth into a barely-there half smile. For his part, he seemed to hesitate a tad before taking in the magnitude of the crowd and responding,

“I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid, love,” he replied. “Besides, can’t have anyone knowing I have two left feet.”

You tried to quell the rush of icy disappointment and proverbial cold water his response had shot through you.

“I’ve seen you fight, Dru, your feet are precisely as they should be,” you teased gently, masking the mild sting of rejection you felt with a joke. “Ah, well.”

With that, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and patted his arm softly before making your way from the room, and outside of the city walls.

A blurring rush came to a stop beside Druig as he watched you go. He turned to find Makkari at his side, a stern look fixed to her usually-gentle features, prominent chin jutted in Druig’s direction and eyes awash in a frown.

“Why would you do that?” She prodded at Druig, her hands flying.

“I’m not much of a joiner,” he responded, signing back his dissent to your invitation.

“She just wanted to spend time with you. Even you aren't that dense. Go on, go find her. You can thank me later,” Makkari was insistent, shoving him in the direction of the door you had left from.

“Nosy,” Druig chuckled, rolling his eyes over-dramatically to ensure Makkari would see, before smiling at her in thanks and following your path.

Your invitation to dance had taken him a bit by surprise. It's not as though the two of you weren't … affectionate with one another, by any stretch. And it's not as though he didn't want to be.

The thought of the two of you sharing everything together had crossed his mind. Of course it had. The idea that you would feel even an ounce of the ardorous devotion he felt for you was a heady one.

And there it was -- devotion.

Druig was no fool, far from it. He simply wouldn't allow himself to be flung into anything without first understanding the parameters involved. It's not as though his reserved demeanor was a secret amongst his fellow Eternals.

Moments spent with you… by the lake, in his chambers on the Domo, gentle teasing and the tug-and-pull of something more in the heartstrings between you. While the long life Druig had been gifted was full of many moments, those with you, those with Makkari, these were his favorites.

That he could have all of you was a thought he only desired to entertain if it could come to fruition. And now, the possibility was so very tangible, he could feel it beneath his fingertips. It felt like the brush of your lips, the gentle promise of something more.

Druig made his way to find you, determined.

You had sat yourself outside of the city walls, staring at the moon as it hung over the city. It was luminous, as though it, too, wanted to join in, to celebrate the Eternals’ victory.

The cool, quiet air was necessary after being exposed to the heat of the party. And … something potentially more embarrassing. But for the second time that night, a familiar brogue interrupted your thoughts.

“And what are you doing out here?” Druig called, coming to sit beside you, legs propped up to allow an arm to sling over his knees, reaching for your hand. “Were you not enjoying the festivities?”

The gentle nature of Druig's rolling accent put your mind at ease. His tone implying repentance, an olive branch.

"Oh, I was. But someone wouldn't dance with me," you pouted, rising to your feet and brushing off your dress to twirl away from Druig's grasp playfully. And perhaps to mask the small bit of hurt that you had felt.

But, now that the two of you were a respectable distance from the crowd, not to mention the prying eyes of your fellow Eternals, you felt perhaps Druig might be willing to engage. That the two of you could have a moment just for you, as you had so many times over the years. Something to cherish. You loved the others, but they could be so nosy.

Druig chuckled in spite of himself, a low, clear sound, like breaking thunder in the middle-distance of a cloudy day, his eyes never leaving your form.

"I've never been much of a joiner. You know very well I prefer to watch you," he said with a shrug, his voice taking on a heat that you would follow, directly into the burning sun if you must.

You wouldn't back down now. He had sought you out, after all, hadn't he?

No more tenuous dancing of an anxious doe. You were a fearsome hunter, after all. And if he could toy with you … well, turnabout was fair play.

"You would rather watch me than move with me?"

You were coy, your lips pouting in a teasing smirk. You reached for Druig, lacing your fine-boned fingers through his firm, warm ones, pulling him up to sway with you and guiding his hands toward your hips.

Your grin faltered slightly as you looked up at Druig through your lashes, his icy eyes melting with the warmth of his gaze upon you. His fingers were still laced with yours, which you used to your advantage as you continued to guide his touch over your hips, a gentle graze over soft curves, with only the stars in the heavens to watch over you, twinkling and winking their approval of your loving flirtation, your steady adoration.

Druig dropped his forehead to touch yours, his eyes never leaving yours as his towering frame leaned into your swaying figure.

Breaking one hand free to trail up your side, Druig grazed your chin with molten, idolatrous fingertips, letting them come to rest on the side of your jaw, as though it were the most natural resting point for him. And perhaps it was.

"You know I would move however you asked, goddess of mine," he rumbled. "You need only to ask."

"You would?" You murmured, bringing your free hand to read on Druig's chest, where you could feel the low, steady beat of his heart. "And that's enough for you, is it?"

"I would. The eternity we've been given is not enough," Druig's thumb that was resting along your jaw is now pressed into the plush of your lower lip, which he drags lightly down, his eyes following the movement. "For I could never have enough time with you."

You had lived for thousands of years; knew you would live for thousands more yet. But this was what you had been waiting for. This must be your purpose, Arishem be damned, to be loved by the man before you.

For In all of that time, nothing compared to the feeling of Druig's lips on yours, nor the feeling of his touch to your skin. Nothing compared to what rushed through you, heated lightning and a rush of euphoria, of honey, as he held you outside of the city’s formidable walls.

In Druig’s arms, you had found your own stronghold.

You had once thought this type of love was for humans. For stories. Or just for Ikaris and Sersi. You did not think you would feel its keen sting, its quavering devotion, its promises and it's aches.

But he had pressed his lips to yours. And As Druig’s mouth moved, slightly fumbling before becoming insistent when met with the soft petals of your lips, your resolve crumbled.

“And I’m sorry about earlier,” Druig murmured his apology into your lips. “I would dance with you from here to eternity, and I lo–” his voice broke, “I love you.”

You smiled at him then, beaming and radiant as one of your golden arrows. As the sunlight peeking through the forest trees. As only the goddess Artemis could.

“Well then,” you murmured, your lips brushing along Druig’s… brushing, but never pressing, “I suppose you’ll just have to show me?”

He had smirked then; his face, so normally smooth and impassive, quirked into a manner so self-assured.

The moon and the whispering wind were the only witnesses to your moment alone. To the way Druig’s hands had slid beneath your skirt to brush along your thighs and through your folds as he held you tighter, tighter, impossibly tighter. To the honey-dipped slip of his tongue into your mouth, the warmth of his firm arms around yours, guiding you to the earth in the shadows of the great wall behind the both of you.

To the way he cradled your head as though you were the most precious gift.

And would you be the goddess of the hunt if you did not seek out your quarry in kind?

You had caught Druig’s wrist as he strummed and stroked his way to and through your glistening folds. You were nothing if not disciplined, the urge to seek out your prey its own kind of gratification to you.

You flipped the two of you then, resting atop Druig’s hips, and caging him into the orbit that was your sheer power, leaning over him to tease, to stroke, to lick your way into his mouth. To press your own marks into the beautiful pallor of his throat. To roll your hips over his and feel all of him beneath you.

As you divested him of each layer of cloth, you had left no part of him untouched, unwanted, your warmth surrounding him as you sank onto him.

Truly, only nature would witness to what you and Druig had shared. To your gasps and moans into the others’ mouths. To the way you had dug your nails, crescents mirroring the moon above into his shoulders, his back. As you surged your hips into the rhythm between the two of you, poetry for yourselves alone, with a crest and a declaration shared only in this moment. To the way he had shattered alongside you, sharing this moment with only you.

Weaving your way. Its own kind of dance. And you would twirl about one another until you couldn’t any longer.

And you had told him you loved him too. The genuine smile you were rewarded with would be something you would savor in your dreams for years to come.

—

But time has a way of twisting your ambitions. And the breaking point comes in Tenochtitlan. Amidst the fires, chaos, the fall of another Empire.

As the smoke and the popping of flames and guns alike rose around the Eternals, Druig’s mind was similarly aflame – burning with churning thoughts of war, the feeling of sticky blood beneath human hands as the people in the city below fought on. He tried to push it from his mind – tried to render himself immune to their conflict as Ajak had so frequently bid. But how could he? When he could hear their thoughts of unrest. Feel their blistering, itchy hatred for their so-called enemy?

When Thena broke beneath her Mahd Wy’ry, Druig felt himself splintering, too. Not in the same exact manner, but … beneath the crushing weight of waves of blood, historical conflict magnified throughout the millennia. One could only take so many human lives lost – the lives his Selene held so dearly – before it all became too much.

“Do you have any idea what that does to someone after centuries?” Druig bellowed, refusing to meet his beloved’s eyes. Compelling the mortal men below to drop their weapons, Druig turned his rage on the others. On whomever would challenge him. On Ajak. On Ikaris.

But, oh, you did. You had some idea. For to feel the heart of your beloved in so much pain was splintering you, too. If the weight that broke you did not come at the cruel, gnarled hands of Mahd Wy’ry, it would surely come with the fracturing of your family. If Druig were to leave now … well, even Eternals felt pain.

The tears stung at your eyes as you watched Ajak plead with Druig to embrace Arishem’s purpose. A fool’s errand, you knew. Once Druig had set his mind to something, he would be loath to change it. Each word hurled between the two split your heart a fraction more. You could bear it no longer.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak – but not before Kingo could sweep his arm before you, gently catching your waist. Turning to him, the pleading question in your eyes was met with morose understanding, with a bidding invocation from his heart to yours to please, don’t make this worse.

You shook your head softly, gently removing his arm from you as you made toward Druig, but not before your beloved could strike the final nail into this coffin –

“If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me,” Druig hissed, turning on his heel and sparing an unreadable glance at you as he descended the stone steps of the temple, the men he had compelled making to follow him into the woods.

You were so beautiful in that dress he earlier said he had admired. So soft and beautiful, a stark contrast to the smoke and violence that was drowning his senses. To the foggy commands he had implanted in the men’s minds, bidding them to stop fighting.

Druig knew you would follow him – had dared to hope that perhaps you would come with him. Surely, he thought, you would see things his way. As the others had not.

You padded down the steps behind him, Ajak’s sorrowful glance following your form as you trailed after your beloved. Knowing she would either lose two children this day, or that you would return with less of your heart than you had left with. An untenable situation, the outcome outweighed by the cost to the both of you.

“Druig,” you cried, “Druig! Wait, please!”

The way your voice had broken over the word “please” caused Druig to stop, turning on his heel to watch you make your way toward him. The smoky, red fury smothering his heart dissipating slightly as he took in the desperation in your expression.

“I won’t go back, hunter, please don’t ask,” Druig spoke before you could meet him. “She’s wrong, and you know it!”

You faltered in your steps, approaching your beloved cautiously, as you would a skittish, newborn fawn in the golden wood.

“My love, you know Ajak means well,” you spoke softly, tenuously, so as not to stoke the flames you could see licking their way behind Druig’s eyes, feeding his fury. “You know she loves you. We all do.”

“Whether they do or not, I won’t be a pawn in Arishem’s game,” Druig clipped. “Not while people suffer needlessly. Look at them, my love. You love them. How can you let them … do this?” Druig gestured at the destruction around you.

“Because I have to trust that this … thirst for war, like all thirst, will eventually be quenched,” You knotted your hands into your skirt, the anxiety wheedling it’s way through your bones. “I don’t know if the humans will ever achieve harmony, but isn’t it up to them to try? Isn’t it an expression of our love to let them try? To trust, to hope?”

Druig scoffed, a harsh noise to your ears in its derision.

“Up to them? Beneath the weight of their greed? Their jealousy? Their violence? They are buried,” Druig pleaded, eyes wild. “I can unburden them. You know I can.”

"By controlling them! You think you know more than them?" you pressed, unable to believe just what you were hearing from the person you thought you knew so well.

"Please, love,” Druig scoffed, “I know I do. I can see into their minds. I know their limits. I know their weaknesses.”

You could not believe what you were hearing -- as the remnants of the battle raged in the distance beyond you, you felt the rising bile of scourge and the heat of conflict rising within yourself. The man before you prided himself on being collected. A little derisive at times, sure, but never cruel. Never so casual in disinterested supremacy.

"We're meant to protect them, Dru,” you urged softly, firmly. “To help them. Not to rule them. It is not our place."

"But it can be mine,” he stepped toward you, fingers outstretched as if to take your hand.

You stepped back, shaking your head and withdrawing from him, pulling your hand away so that his fingers could not meet your own. You tried not to notice the subtle flinch, nor the flash of pain behind your beloved’s eyes as he saw you retreat from him. Drawing away as you would draw your shortsword from a defeated Deviant, detached in your victory.

But you felt no pride in this. This was not victory.

You tried again.

"Your place was to be beside me, and mine beside you. Is that not what you want?" The wind blew the smoke from the warring fires around the both of you, swirling your skirts and stinging your eyes. Yes, that was what the prickling behind your eyes was. It had to be. Druig would never make you cry.

"That can still be, my Selene, my Diana,” Druig implored, the usually cool lilt of his brogueish accent was now tinged with what you might mistake for panic. If you did not know him any better. Druig did not panic. “Come with me. We'll watch over them together." He reached for you again.

You shook your head, trying to shake the smoke from your scratching throat and the tears from your eyes.

Couldn’t he see this was tearing you in two? Splitting you to the bone?

"That -- that's not our purpose, Dru. It's -- it's perversion. Our duty is sacrosanct, our gifts from Arishem himself, and you mean to use yours to corrupt that duty. To corrupt your purpose. Corrupt them. Corrupt us."

Druig's eyes flashed, a licking, complex damasque of anger, heat and betrayal.

"Is that what you would think of me, my love?" He spat the last word, carefully avoiding meeting your eyeline where he could see the glimmer of tears forming along your lashes. Better to look above you, to look down upon you. Through haughty eyes and the slope of angular cheekbones. “So powerful as to destroy even us? Can you not see that the purpose you speak so highly of is flawed? That perhaps we can do more?”

"I don't know what to think, Dru," you whispered, stepping forward and reaching for him this time, for his palm, yours outstretched. “I -- I’m so confused.”

As your fingers grazed his hand, he yanked it away, perhaps more violently than you had done moments before. As though your touch were as cutting as one of your arrows, laden with weighted, creeping poison.

"But,” you implored again, ignoring the rush of hurt his actions had wrought, “I know you're not right all of the time. None of us are. We're not perfect -- how can you say you're fit to do this? That you know what's best?”

"We know more than they do. They’re feeble, flawed – but I can keep them safe! We can keep them safe,” he pressed, noting the way your hand was still seeking his.

You gazed upon Druig’s features, twisted now with the heated passion of his speech, awash in the darkness of the night sky and the shadows war rumbling around him; his eyes flashing a blue-grey, a troubled sea roiling in a storm. A painfully unfamiliar mask comprised of features you once recognized. Intimately.

How unlike the usually cool, impassive face of the man you had come to love.

“We can’t,” you murmured, your eyes meeting Druig’s once more. “I can’t. We should stick with the others – we cannot walk this world alone.”

Druig scoffed, but before he could berate the others whom you would choose to stay with over him – Ikaris, with his bullheaded, proud devotion to Arishem; Ajak with her secrets, her unyielding sense of purpose; Kingo, the Apollo to your Artemis, whose sunny disposition you would never wish to be parted from -- and how he would follow Ajak and Iakris both to the end; Sersi, too delicate to stand up to anyone – you broke him with your words, again.

“With or without the others, with or without you, I will guard these people, love them. But I won’t control them. We are not gods.”

“You’ve been talking to Kingo –”

“No, Dru. They deserve their freedom -- freedom to choose, freedom to love ...” you trailed, finally capturing Druig’s fingers in your own, stepping into his space and bringing your hand to delicately graze the peak of his cheekbone. His hand atop yours, destined to follow yours in its journey, mapping the familiar landscape of his own face through the beauty of your hands.

Druig tilted his head down toward yours, his lips mere centimeters from meeting yours, foreheads not-quite brushing -- a gesture still so tender, even in absence of actual touch. Your affection had always had an atmosphere, an orbit.

“Even the freedom to hurt? When I could prevent it?” He murmured to you, eyes downcast to your lips, your gaze upon the fan of his lashes.

“Yes, love, even that," you sighed, shaking your head softly.

“And what of your freedom? Do you not choose to love me?” Druig lifted his hand away from its place atop yours, a cool breeze caressing the backs of your fingers in the absence of his touch.

He trailed his fingers to you now, mirroring the path your touch had taken, this time upon your own face. Cupping your jaw gently. The two of you now locked in a crescent moon’s embrace, arced and amorous, but not quite complete. Not quite whole.

“I have no choice but to love you,” you whispered into his lips, “for I fear I wouldn’t recognize myself without the pieces that belong to you. You are everything to me. Of the gifts this eternal life has given me, I could thank Arishem for you each day, and still not have enough time to express my gratitude. For you, for Makkari, for the pearls of love this life has bestowed,” you paused to catch your breath. Were you really about to deny him once more? “But, Dru, this is wrong. We cannot leave the others, cannot abandon our purpose to protect, as we have been asked. You cannot leave us.”

You tore your gaze from your beloved’s, the tears you had fought so hard to cage now slipping freely down your cheeks, gliding coolly over the corners of your downturned mouth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Druig’s face fall, as his shoulders set. A pillar of resolute sadness. You could feel his tension; the climbing heat within him at your stubbornness.

Your mind was moving a mile a minute. The world fell into a wash of white-noised nothingness, the army of those men Druig had bewitched stood, unnaturally silently around you.

Everything around you was fading, as your thoughts flitted from scenario to scenario, through doubt and distrust, before finally – a previously-unfelt rosy calm washed its way into your mind, settling and easing, soothing you --

Was this plan really so bad? Could it really be so bad? When had Druig ever steered you wrong? It was reasonable, wasn’t it? There was so much you didn’t know, and Druig would be there to guide you, as he had promised he would be. Together in all things, with Druig, Druig, Druig …

The pleasant haze of your thoughts was rudely interrupted by a sharp, puncturing arrow of doubt within yourself, an uncomfortable prodding and wriggling sensation through your brain, deflating the rosy cloud as you met Druig’s eyes --

– Only to discover they were unfocused, far-seeing, golden.

Suddenly, you were awash in white heat, blue flames tearing their way through your body as you realized what he was doing. Rage.

“How dare you?” You bellowed, stepping forward and shoving Druig by the shoulders. “You think you can control me, as you control them? You really think so little of me, that you can alter my ‘feeble’ mind? I won't be what you say because you say it!”

You gripped his wrist, squeezing, so that he might feel the weight of your words. You had never truly raised a hand against him before; even when the two of you were training together, you had always pulled your punches. But this? You were livid with him now. And you knew that Druig would be defensive, in turn.

His mind was racing, full of memory, of that night outside of the city – your keystone moment of passion. A core memory.

Remember this love, for surely you would never feel anything like it again.

Of the night when perpetually-young lovers wrapped themselves in one another, awash in the heat of one another and the haze of summer. Druig’s lily skin burned alongside yours, bright and entirely incandescent, awash with the glow your attentions had wrought upon him.

You had pulled Druig ever-closer, closer, closer to you, breathing his name into his ear as you moved together beneath gleaming heavens. A reverent whisper of your voice that made him feel entirely godlike. The rest of the world may as well have been made of tissue paper – transparent and prone to crumbling beneath the strength your love had imbued.

To look at you, Druig knew the starshine clarity of your honest eyes would be the last thing he desired to see on this planet should he be forced to leave it.

But, but, but … he could not bring himself to meet them now, for the fear that yours would reflect only derision, revulsion at what he was about to do. He truly had savored that night. And other nights like it. And every moment of affection between then and now. Of shared orange slices and stolen moments in quiet corners. Spoiling, curdling in his mind through this disquiet. Through his cruel words. The quickest way to kill you was to poison your heart – the heart that loved him so.

"So much for your love, then," Druig spat, his touch abandoning your face to peel your fingers from his, flinging your hand away from its rightful place along his skin.

He would be finished with it all. Even if it meant being finished with you.

Druig turned on his heel, retreating into the forest with the people he had compelled at his back, their unnaturally-uniform steps marching in unison, in time with the heavy thudding of your heart.

You watched him go, his form fading into the darkness, stealing your heart away and carrying it with him, ripping it from your chest and into the depths of the forest, forever with him -- though he didn't know it. Or if he did, it was not enough to make him turn around. To come back to you. You would forgive him already if he would just turn around.

With every step Druig took away from you, you could feel your heart cracking. You opened your mouth to wail, release some of this pain that had suddenly washed over you at the reality that the other half of your soul was marching out of your life. But no sound escaped your lips.

Instead, you fell to your knees, your intricately-woven dress that Druig had complimented mere hours before now dirtied, as you looked to the heavens, more tears soundlessly escaping down your cheeks.

Praying for Arishem to guide you. For no Eternal had died before, but this pain? Worse than pain of battle. This must be what death is, you thought. It wasn't a quick, clean end after which your soul would know peace. No. It was a serrated knife that sawed slowly, uncaringly through you with the cadence of departing footsteps, leaving you to bleed alone until nothing was left. This was not something even Ajak could heal.

Makkari had found you then, stock-still on your knees, staring at the spot where Druig had vanished into the treeline. She had rested her head against your cheek, silent through your sobs.

Remember this pain; its burn unique. For surely, you would never burn so wholly from within again.

Promises, promises.

—

Now, your family had found you at your homestead in Guadalajara. On the outskirts of the city.

Sersi, ever the gentle diplomat. Ikaris, the man intent on becoming king. And Kingo, the sunshine through the trees of your forest. And … Kingo’s delightfully human friend.

Never they mind that you had built a life for yourself. That after Makkari had found you five hundred years ago and told you of Ajak’s parting words – “When we meet again, tell me what you’ve found…” that you had found a corner of the world with sunshine. With greenery. With bursting flavor and color. With the life you had always imagined you could have had if you had been born mortal on this planet.

But without a partner.

Sersi and Ikaris had broken the news to you. Kingo there to soften the blow. Of Ajak. Of Gilgamesh. Of the Emergence. Of the true purpose of the Eternals on Earth.

“So,” you mused, as they sat around your table, steaming mugs of freshly-brewed Mexican coffee before them. “Druig was right, after all. The design was flawed.”

You looked up to meet Kingo’s eyes – his chocolate orbs melting into yours with soft, serene understanding. That you would mourn Ajak. That you would mourn the lives you had led, tainted by deceit.

“No wonder we never remembered one another from Olympia,” you intoned, taking a sip.

Your family urged you to pick up your bow. Whether the plan was to delay the Emergence, or to merely stave off the Deviants, you were needed, they had said.

So, here you were, trudging behind your family, to where the others stood. Phastos, with hands ringed in gold, ready to create something to once more save humanity. Sprite, with her sharp wit and illusions. Thena, ever the stoic warrior, though never the same since she and Gilgamesh had left as she crumbled beneath the weight of her Mahd Wy’ry. And … him.

"My beautiful, beautiful hunter," Druig purred when he met you, trailing a finger from one of your shoulders, over your collarbone, to the other, walking in a semi-circle around you to rest his chin on your shoulder, tilting his chin slightly so as to whisper to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Did you miss me?" The low, even hum reverberated from his mouth, straight through you.

The easy breeze of Druig’s lilting accent surrounded you, tickling your ears and pricking them with familiarity and warmth.

And here, you hadn’t decided whether you had forgiven him, yet.

You closed your eyes, letting the feelings the familiarity of his voice brought forth wash over you.

"You are … you are -- insolent" you spluttered, “¡Atrevido!”

Presumptuous.

“So that’s a yes, then,” Druig smirked. “I missed you, mo shíorghrá.”

You conjured an arrow that slipped between your index and middle finger, flipping him a rather rude gesture with the weapon of your own making as you stalked off, Kingo chuckling at your back.

They had mentioned unearthing the Domo, of finding Makkari. And the sooner you had all started, the sooner it could end.

One way or the other.

Still, you couldn’t deny what it had made you feel – to see Druig again. And you’d had a feeling he had known it, too. If the flickering grin of his full lips had been any indication. The sunglasses were of no obstacle to you. For your hunter’s eyes knew his too well. That they danced behind the dark glass, ever teasing you.

The return to the Domo had brought memories long-buried. Of days spent with the object of your affection (and current object of your avarice).

Of one memory in particular:

You had smiled bashfully, wanly, eyes diverted downward as you lightly shove Druig's shoulder.

"Don't tease me, Dru," you chuckle. "It's unbecoming of a man of your particular ability."

Druig was silent as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, trailing his fingers along your jaw, light as the tickling of leaves that dance upon the wind as he traces his way down your neck and along the peaks of your collarbones, feeling the evenness of your breath beneath his fingertips.

"I do not tease, darling." His eyes locked with yours.

"What a shame," you countered, "sometimes unbecoming can be fun."

Druig pressed his fingers into their resting place along your collar, pressing his ardor firmly. How sobering his gaze could be -- as clear, cool and shocking as the river, wild in wintertime.

"You can tell me what you feel, can't you, little one?" Druig broke his gaze from yours to whisper in your ear, nuzzling the curve of his nose along the shell of your ear as he did so, feeling of warmth.

"I…," you trailed, "you know what I feel for you. I won't stroke your ego."

"Perhaps I just like to hear you say it."

You sighed, relishing in the feel of Druig's lips near your ear, over your cheek, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Who invented this as an expression of devotion, I wonder," you murmured, drawing back from Druig, your lips separating, noses still brushing.

"The kiss? Who knows. Maybe we did?"

"You cannot think us so important as to take ownership of every human development. That's … generous."

"Maybe it's innate, then," Druig pondered, his eyes gazing upon you as he propped his head in his hand. He did not need to render his eyes gold in order to determine that the gears in your mind were turning. He'd rather wait until you chose to share a fully-formed thought. How wondrous the conclusions of your mind could be.

"Is it innate to us because it is innate to humans? Or is it the other way around?" You wondered aloud. "Are we awakened knowing how we choose to express our love? Do we all recognize love once we've felt it, and are all drawn toward the same compulsion to express it?"

Druig barked a laugh.

"If you were human, perhaps you would have been a philosopher," he mused, reaching across to his night table to pour himself water from the pitcher that rested there.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought.

"I don't think so," you said. "I'm not suggesting you can't think properly out of doors, but I quite think I would prefer to contribute through the use of my hands."

"You don't give your mind nearly enough credit," he said, taking a drink, his eyes never leaving you over the rim of his cup.

Sensing your protest, he continued, "I think I could be considered an expert on the subject."

He had wrapped his arms around you then.

Now, now that you had been reunited, and the plan unfolded (though you were still wary of Ikaris), Druig had stopped you on your way out of Phastos’ lab. Pleading you for a word.

Ever unable to resist him, you acquiesced. Standing next to him beneath the cool light that emanated from the halls of the Domo. As it had all started. You hadn’t traded words with him in over five hundred years. And now you stood before him, the man you had given yourself to, bidding him to speak. To say anything that would ease the lashing pain that you had felt amidst the fires of war as he had marched his army of compelled men into the forest of the Amazon, and beyond your keen archer’s sight.

“You know why I chose the forest, don’t you?” Druig asked.

You shrugged, cool and indifferent.

“The convenience of proximity? Where they found you … Those were the same woods where we were all those years ago?” You queried, voice level. The “when you left” remained unspoken, removed from the end of your sentence; though, Druig didn’t need to be a mind reader to know it was there, hanging between the two of you.

“Because, love, in all of Sprite’s stories, you were the goddess of the wood. The hunter. I know it’s where you would feel most at home,” Druig turned his head from you. “If you had ever decided to find me, to choose me, I wanted you to find a home. Someplace you would love, as you once loved me.”

You remained silent, mulling over Druig’s words. It was austere. Foreign, this silence between the two of you. And Druig’s revelation was an olive branch, of sorts, as well as a surprise to you. You had thought Druig would not want to see you again after you had stayed behind.

“Would you have let me?” You asked, “After everything? Choose you, I mean. Would you have welcomed me with open arms after we left one another alone in the fires of war?”

Old habits die hard, and resentment is left to fester, filling your gut with rot. Corrosive. And the storms within his Druig’s beget flashing lightning when he looked at you, splitting you to your core and burning you from the inside out.

Druig shuffled his feet, weighing his words before answering.

“I think of that day by the lake often,” Druig admitted. “When our friendship was young. How much time has passed since. And now, here we are, at the end of all things on this planet. Before it was too late to say anything, I would tell you how I regretted leaving you that day. How I longed to reach for you. To tell you I was wrong. But only if you would hear it?”

“I would hear it,” you murmured. “But, Dru, you weren’t wrong. You were right. I was wrong. About Arishem. About our purpose. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Tears welled in your eyes, your voice breaking over the admission you had weighed in your mind for centuries.

“Thena would have a field day,” you sniffled. “Look at me, crying before a man.”

Druig shushed you, turning to touch you at last, to cup your face in his warm palms, thumbs skating over the apex of your cheeks to wipe away the silent tears as they fell. You thought the world would end and you would waste away after millenia before feeling the tenderness of his trailing touch smoothing over your skin one last time. It was a revelation. A gift from whatever Celestial force was listening.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have you cry over this. I shouldn’t have asked you to choose. Between me and them, our family, the humans,” Druig softly brushed his lips to yours for a fleeting moment, as if to brush the surface anew. To wipe away the tears and leave the surface of your mouth with something pure. “You were right – we never were better than them. Look at us now. Can’t we both have been a tad right, and somewhat wrong?”

You chuckled weakly through the breaking remnants of your emotion.

“That would make us so remarkably normal wouldn’t it?”

They say lightning never strikes twice. Never to meet the same corner of earth, leaving it with an eruption of destruction and then bereft of feeling. But you knew that to be untrue, for the same feeling bloomed and burned within you every time Druig turned his gaze to you, flashing quickly through the gale. His eyes stormy, his affections quick and ferocious. Not for the first time, nor the last, would you say your beloved was so like lightning.

And you found yourself awash in the amorous wave of feelings you had always felt with him. No matter how much time had passed.

“I missed you, my hunter,” you folded your way into Druig’s arms, burying your head into his chest and allowing his arms to wrap around you. To hold you for a moment before the end of all things. “Now what do you say we save the world?”

You pressed your hands to Druig’s chest, palms flat, pushing yourself from his embrace and tilting your chin up to look into his eyes, the wave of relief you had felt at Druig’s forgiveness replaced with mirth and the promise of a challenge, to do battle together again once more.

“Think you can keep up with me, then?” You trailed a finger along his jaw to tweak his chin, spinning a conjured arrow at your side in the other hand. “We’ll see, amor.”

Druig watched you walk away from him, ready to do battle. It was a welcome of some comfort, knowing that as he watched you walk away it was nothing like the way he had walked away from you 500 years ago. That you would be by his side as they combatted the Emergence.

You donned your armor once more, prepared to become the hunter once again.

Thread can be used to patch. Even your prior hurts. To right wrongs and make your picture whole again. If only you nudge them along a little, with willing fingers and strength of mind.

—

Ikaris’s betrayal was nothing less than heartbreak of the cruelest kind. As you prepared to merge to lend your power to Druig, the pain of Ikaris and Sprite’s defection were additional wounds on top of your already heavy heart. You had lost so much in such a short amount of time.

And while you understood Kingo’s decision to leave rather than fight, you wouldn’t like and say it didn’t make you question which side of this debate that you were on.

“You know you’re my favorite, dear Selene,” Kingo had smirked, bending down from his considerable height to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “And I’m glad you’re okay, after all this time. And that we’ve found each other again. But I can’t do this. Please don’t hate me.”

And when Ikaris had shown up to disrupt the uni-mind and to stop Druig and Sersi? When he had flown down from on-high and tossed Druig away like he was nothing, you saw red.

You had never conjured your arrows to fire at another Eternal before. Not with the intent to harm. But you refused to pull your punches now, as you took aim at Ikaris in the sky. Covering Makkari as she struck her blows.

Ikaris flew over you, attempting to shoot your bow from your hands with the beams from his eyes.

You worked quickly, wishing for Makkari’s power as you dodged, rolled and leapt away from the surges he fired at you.

"Stop this Ikaris,” you shouted at him as you shot an arrow in the direction he was flying, grazing his shoulder as he zipped past. “This won't work!. A true leader is unselfish. You can’t do this," you pleaded.

"And what would you know of it?” Ikaris called back to you, “What would you know of how to lead?” He landed before you, squaring his shoulders. “You choose to spend all of your time with a man whose ability is telling others what to do and think. Hardly an unselfish leader."

Heated rage flooded your body at his mention, his insult, of Druig. Quickly, you drew, taking aim for Ikaris’ heart.

“Hardly the same thing, and you know it. Stop this or I’ll stop you.” You anchored the string of your bow to your chin, ready to fire. “You may be able to fly, but I’ve always been faster.”

Your distraction had worked, long enough for Makkari flit by you and to knock Ikaris from his feet, the two of you continuing to hold him at bay.

As the battle waged on between Ikaris, the Deviant, the Eternals, Phastos’ uni-mind had worked once more to allow Sersi to freeze Tiamut. It was a victory that didn’t feel like a victory, for now you had lost Ikaris, as well. The weight of battle, of the endless conflict that you learned was responsible for advancing the universe, felt heavy on your shoulders, abridging your feelings of relief at having stopped Tiamut. Was this what Ajak felt during the entire millenia of her burdened leadership?

The appearance of Druig making his way across the sand, had eased this bleak weight somewhat. As he embraced Makkari, embraced you, you felt the faint glimmer of what you might call hope. For if you were together, maybe you could use what you had learned to help other planets.

To do something actually good. Together.

—

Time heals all wounds. Who knew that better than beings who had been alive for millennia? Losing Ajak, Gilgamesh … even Ikaris … and now the others who had gone when you had only just met again.

Perhaps this was your curse, to feel everything too deeply. Perhaps it was penance for having a power capable of taking lives. Ever trapped in your own head.

The ache that had taken residence in your chest since learning of Ajak's death rattled dully behind your heart. Not even the success of abating the Emergence, of once more helping humanity, could ease it. You had, after all, only recently come to terms with five hundred years of loneliness.

But sitting wedged on a couch with the two who had become other parts of your soul would certainly help.

You munched on your pizza, seated on one end of the Ajak's couch with your thigh pressed into Makkari’s, Druig on her other side. Phastos's son, Jack, had presented you with a half of the orange he had absconded from the kitchen with, with Thena’s aid, as Phastos scolded Thena for conjuring her weapons near his child.

“But dad!” Jack whined, “Artemis was showing me her bow-n-arrows earlier, and she and A-thena are so cool.”

You shrugged from your place on the couch at Phastos’ swift, accusatory look, arching a brow.

“Makkari made a good point, you know. He’s ten, P. I’ve been shooting arrows since the dawn of time. He could pick up a bow at ten," you called to him, not eager to leave your perch on the couch with your beloveds. Not when you had only just been reunited.

At Jack’s eager look, Phastos sighed, weary, rubbing his temples. You all seemed determined to drive him to an early grave.

“Oooh-kay. No babysitting with Auntie Thena or Auntie Artemis.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile nevertheless making its way across your lips as you split the orange half Jack had given you into its preordained wedges and passing them to your partners. Your fingertips first brushing Makkari’s, as the sticky orange sweetness passed from your hand into hers, and then to Druig. You pressed the remaining wedge to your lips, winking at them and settling back into your seat, keen to relax before you all were to depart.

And when that time had arrived, you and Druig traipsed through the tall grass to the Domo, his hand in yours, Makkari on your other side, pressing her warmth into your waist.

Before your group had departed, you had pressed a kiss to Phastos’ cheek, bidding Ben and Jack goodbye. Giving Jack a hug, you surreptitiously passed him one of your golden arrows with a wink – the arrow was blunted of course. By the time Phastos noticed it and had his subsequent heart attack, you would be long gone. Far from Phastos’ delicate, spinning rings and anxious-parent wrath.

You settled once more into the space of the Domo, Makkari breaking off from the two of you to make her way to Phastos’ lab and her collection of treasures – some of which you had definitely, legally, helped her obtain. Never anyone mind.

As you made your way down the hall, you brushed your fingertips over the corner with the tallied etchings of yours and Kingo's not-competition, a mild pang of sadness accompanying the ache in your chest.

You had wished Kingo was there to tell you goodbye. The Apollo to your Artemis, bidding you on your way with a sunshine smile and a wish for luck.

You and Druig made your way to his chamber, the room where you had spent so much time together, debating and discussing humanity, spirituality. Where you had discovered more about yourselves and one another. Where Druig had expressed his love for you time and again.

You made to cross the room and settle yourself amongst Druig’s collection of pillows, as you had done countless times over the course of your years together. Never missing a beat at making yourself at home, no matter how much time had passed.

“Wait,” Druig caught your wrist. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” You turned into his arms. “Was it this?” Fluidly shifting to the tips of your toes, you pressed a kiss to Druig’s lips, capturing his lower lip between your full ones and sucking lightly. Druig sighed softly into the kiss, his grip on your wrist tightening.

Druig broke from you, looking down his prominent cheekbones at your countenance, his eyes flitting between yours and your sinful mouth.

“Temptress,” he purred. The washing waves of his cerulean eyes reflecting his internal debate – to give you your gift, or to kiss you again? Five hundred years was so long a time to make up for.

The latter won out as he struck like a snake, decisive and agile, fastening his lips to the base of your jaw and trailing them down the elegant plane of your neck, tilting your head back as you groaned at his attention. The vibration from your throat a pleasant hum against his full lips.

"Druig,” you sighed, “We've been alive for thousands of years … Helped nearly every conceivable language develop, and yet …”

At the feeling of Druig's warm lips pressing firmly into the column of your throat, trailing down to kiss along your collarbones peeking through the soft collar of your shirt. The feeling of your voice reverberating beneath his attention as you graced him with your affectations, drowning one another in your mutual ardor, you found the will to speak.

"... Yet I'm not sure words still yet exist that would adequately convey the depth of my emotion, my feeling for you. But I can show you." You wound your fingers through Druig's soft hair, tugging lightly to break him away from your neck and bringing his eyeline back to yours.

You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love.

Druig's crystalline eyes sparkled, a dizzying oceanic effect that made you feel as though the world had turned upside down -- for, surely, stars did not shine during the blue-skyed daytime. Or perhaps they did, as evidenced by the mischievous, adoring, cerulean gaze of the man before you.

"Show me?” At your nod, Druig understood. “So you would surrender control to me, my little hunter?" Druig murmured, his voice suggestive, a warm and pleasing bolt of silk against your skin.

The idea was a heady one, leaving you feeling drunker with power as the moments passed. Ironic, really. Everything was a bantering game between you and Druig, a display of companionable, bursting power met in equity. You, a marksman of singular focus; he, a man with a mind that was able to bend others to his will.

The thought that you, the most powerful being he knew, would surrender yourself, the most secret corners of your mind, to him was enough to make him weak in the knees. And he was supposed to be the one with unsurpassed will.

A promise to give him the thing he had tried to take before your separation all those years ago – the thing that tore you apart, to willingly allow him to use his power on you. The magnitude of your assent was not lost on him.

Druig’s fingers skated along your arms, down your sides, to rest at your waist, his eyes never leaving your form as your eyes fluttered closed at his touch.

You disentangled your fingers from Druig’s hair to bring a hand to grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger, nuzzling his nose with your own before trailing down to brush his lips with yours once more. The petal-like trace of your lips along Druig’s jaw whispered the long-held truth of your devotions into his skin.

“You don't need your tricks for me to bend to your will,” you murmured, your lips brushing the skin of Druig’s cheek, “I'll bend however you like.”

A rumble emanated from your love at your proclamation. A subtle purring from Druig’s chest at your promise.

“You don’t trust me, little hunter?” Druig murmured. “Trust that I know your mind … your body? Hm?” Druig’s hands slid from your waist, down your curves.

Druig guided you down to lie back on the pillows you had been heading for before, shedding his leather jacket as he went and allowing it to drop to the floor with an unceremonious, soft thump.

Druig turned his attention to you. The stylishly torn jeans and simple, soft tee you had tucked into them were nothing but a nuisance to Druig now. Though you were delightfully beautiful in your modern garb, it was an obstacle to be absconded with as he became a man of singular focus. At the promise of what was to come; of what you would allow.

You reached for your beloved, allowing him to fold his body over yours as your lips met once more. Druig trailed his hands to your waist, where you swore you could feel his fingertips burning through the soft material of your shirt.

You thanked whatever deity was listening for allowing you to feel this way again.

Memories of your night together outside of the walls of Babylon flashed in your mind as Druig tugged your shirt from your waist and up, over your head, cradling the back of your neck as he did so. Always tender, courteous.

The winking promise of mischief danced behind your hooded eyes as you looked up at your beloved from his place above you, a soft smile gracing your lips. His cheeky little hunter. Fox-like in disposition, quick and intuitive. True to your nature, you struck, shedding Druig’s shirt with quick, lithe fingers, and baring the pale canvas of his skin to you.

As you made for the button of his jeans next, Druig caught your wrists. His grip firm, but not punishing, he leveled you with a glare you could only describe as warning. Guiding you back once more, Druig hovered over you, like waves returning at the turn of the tide, rushing and momentous.

Druig squeezed your wrists before releasing them, allowing his hands to map the skin of your arms, your torso, reveling in the feel of you beneath his fingertips, every plane and prickling goosebump that awoke at his touch.

The rasp of his skin along yours was something both you and he had thought you may never hear again, never feel again; and now that you had, you wouldn’t relinquish them so easily. And nor, it seemed, would he.

He leaned forward, kissing his way down your neck, your chest, unclasping your bra and trailing his lips and hands down your torso before you knew what had happened. Your eyes fluttered closed at Druig’s affections, his touch ever-present and bordering on overwhelming as the honey-heat burning between your two bodies climbed, washing through the rest of the room. Druig’s attentions trailed golden lines of heat along your skin, sending sparks of starry champagne bubbling their way through you.

You pulled Druig closer to you, winding your arms around him and bringing your legs up around either side of his waist, lacing your fingers along the back of his neck and threading your way through his hair, tugging lightly to bring him back to your eye-level.

You captured his lips with yours once more, nipping a teasing bite into his plush lower lip, delighting in the flush of the blood beneath the skin of his lips as a result of your attention. That his body still reacted to yours. You tugged again at his hair, causing him to groan into your mouth before breaking yours away.

“I trust you, my love,” you hummed. Druig’s fingers teasing their way ever-closer to your center as you tugged his hair, the two of you panting into one another’s mouths. “You have my body. You can have my mind.”

At your declaration, Druig pressed his lips once more to yours, grinning wolfishly into his kiss. With no more preamble, the sky blue of his eyes bled gold, your beloved now nestling himself in the warmth of your mind, not unlike how he had in your body time and again throughout your centuries together.

This was nothing like the time before in Tenochtitlan when he had tried to encourage you to leave with him. Then, your mind had been battered with conflict. Tormented with your inability to mend the fractures in your family, to soothe the ache wrought by their warring beliefs. A stormy sea frothing and roiling. Trying to appease him.

Now, your mind was balm. It was smooth, drifting snow. Crisp and even, as you gave yourself over to your beloved. It was the shining sky during a winter’s night – clear and bright, despite the surrounding dark. Every star alive, and all was shimmering lavender.

Another night in the sway of the flower moon.

Druig was awash in the warmth, the romance of your mind. The gold of his eyes was reflective of the rosy gold of your amorous thoughts, of your suit, of you. He could die happy amidst the loving, blushed hue that surrounded you every time you looked at him, thought of him, of your past, of your reunion, of your future.

Every bit of the impulsive, pure love of Romeo and Juliet, none of the tragedy. Not anymore. You were besotted with him, amorous in the deepest sense, sure as the moon hangs in the night sky.

Druig’s kisses were pure, like lake water. Blue-green and brisk, drowning you in its depths. A stark contrast to the heat of the room, yet, ironically, the cause and the symptom of said heat. His aura -- strength and subtle amusement, so like derision -- a tinge of cockiness… you supposed these things came from the ability to know the depths of a mind, to control it if he so saw fit.

He would do anything you asked, because you asked it. And so, it seemed, would you … but only for him.

"Lie still, my love," Druig bid, your legs dropping from their place around his waist as he pulled back to kick off his boots and the remaining articles of his clothing.

You watched your beloved bare himself to you from behind the honey haze of Druig's influence that clouded your eyes. He leaned over you again, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of your jeans to tug you down the mass of blankets and pillows to meet his body, slotting yourselves gently together.

Reverent was the only way to describe the way he was looking at you now, trailing his fingers along your torso to pop the buttons of your jeans.

"Will you undress for me, Selene?" Druig's voice was everywhere. Inside your mind, in your ears, echoing in your mouth like the taste of copper.

You did as Druig bid, your hands following the familiar lines of your body through the strange filter of your love's mind. Rendering your own touch foreign to you, get familiar all at once.

What a strange dichotomy, your mind whispered to you from somewhere far away.

"Isn't it nice like this?" Druig breathed, "So … compliant."

Your head was buzzing, full of warm pleasant thoughts that hadn't been there before, thoughts of touching yourself, of trailing your fingertips along your breasts, across the plains and valleys of your body. Of sliding them through your now-damp folds.

You could distantly hear yourself, sighing in pleased gasps at the touch that was yours, but also not-yours.

Druig felt himself harden as he knelt before you, over you. He had dreamt of you nearly every night for centuries. He wouldn't let slip the opportunity to touch you, to make his dreams a reality.

That he could make yourself touch you in all the ways he had dreamt … that you wanted him to. He could feel, hear your assent, pleasant in your thoughts.

He watched and dictated as you slid a finger inside of yourself, swearing he could feel the warmth of your core as it registered in your own mind at your touch, as you teased your own body. First one finger, then another, slick building. Swearing that he could register the heat climbing through you, as though it was his own, as you fucked yourself on your own fingers, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“Feel your way,” Druig coaxed, his hands sliding along your thighs.

A keening moan tore it's way through you at his words. When had your other hand cupped your breast? The rolling of your nipple by your teasing, plucking fingertips was like kindling to the fire building within you.

Was it your own idea, or was it Druig's, that had you withdrawing your fingers from your center, sliding the wetness gathered there along Druig's length, and pumping him slowly as he leaned over you. Overwhelming your senses.

Your touch on his body. The taste of his kisses in your mouth. The sound of his groans in your ears. His thoughts melding with yours in a pleasant, burgundy haze that tasted vaguely warm and metallic.

Druig's touch replaced yours along your own body as he allowed you to continue toying with his. Willing you to touch him as he liked best, while he made to kiss you again, his fingers slipping down to glide through your soaked, heated folds before swirling over your clit.

The heat in the room continued to climb as Druig played and plucked at your body. His grip on your mind began to slip as your collective pleasure climbed. You were coming back into your own mind, your own body as you were simultaneously inching closer to unraveling.

Even in his lovemaking, Druig couldn't resist cleverness and irony, it seemed.

You used your newfound faculties to release Druig from your grip, to pull him over you, his body dwarfing yours. To tug him closer, closed, closer to where you wanted him. Druig's fingers continued to toy with you, fingers curling inside of you as his thumb delicately traced and pressed against your clit. You wiggled your hips, desperate for more, wrapping your legs once more around Druig's tapered waist.

"Please," you gasped, eyes locked with his molten ones, swirling like melting ice in the heat of your passion.

You gripped Druig's arms, scratching at his shoulders, his biceps, his back, everything you could reach as you felt yourself inching ever-closer to your peak.

Druig could feel that you were getting closer at his hands. Could feel the way you clenched. The way you throbbed around his fingers. Could feel the ache in your body as he toyed with it, and with your mind. The way you bucked your hips into his hands.

"Will you tell me what you want, my little hunter?" Druig teased from his position stop you, leaning into your space to whisper hotly into your ear. "I'll do what you ask," he parroted your words from earlier.

"Please, Dru, w-want this -- w-want you," you whimpered, a broken moan cracking it's way through the end of your plea at a particularly, deliciously cruel curl of Druig's fingers inside of you.

"Of course, love," his tone would have been cruel, would have been mocking, if you hadn't known that was all part of his little game. You rolled your hips again at his tone, willing him to do something now.

Even if he wasn't capable of reading your thoughts, the intention would have been enough.

Druig slid his fingers from your core, causing you to emit another broken whine, this time at the loss.

Quick as a flash, he lightly swatted your thigh.

You yelped, meeting his haughty eyes with a glare of your own.

"Don't be insolent, hunter," Druig rumbled, inclining to press his front to yours more fully, bringing a hand to your throat and pressing lightly along it's column as he hissed into your ear, "Little girls who whine don't get what they want. I won’t help the ache you feel if you aren’t nice."

"Please, my love," you urged again, sweetly, sweetly.

Druig chuckled darkly, nodding as he lined himself up with your center, hand still wrapped loosely around your throat as he surged into you.

And oh. The throbbing emptiness you had felt without him was almost worth it if it meant you could feel so full, so whole, now.

You gasped into Druig's mouth, pleased with the groan he emitted in turn at being once more inside of you. Ever-haughty.

He met your lips with a nipping bite as he began to thrust into you, your hips rocking to meet him in kind. At this rate you were certain your lips and throat would feel the sting of his teeth, of his grip, for days. A blooming feeling rushed through you at the thought, the flickers blending into your pleasure.

Everything was swirling. White, fogged glass like looking out at a winter snowstorm. Blinding, stark pleasure building within you both.

"Missed you, Selene," Druig whimpered, his moans becoming slurred as he rocked harder, rougher into you. His needs outweighing the control he prided himself on.

Druig relinquished his grip on your throat to rub once more at your clit.

You knew Druig wouldn't last much longer if the cadence of his thrusts, his gasps, was any indication. You had wanted to take more time to mark him, to make him yours. A swath of purpling blooms growing along the expanse of Druig’s pale skin beneath your lips, blossoming beneath your attentions in equal parts pleasure and pain as you toyed with him in perpetuity.

The thought was enough to spur you forward, ever-closer to your peak. You settled for gripping, scratching at Druig's back, causing him to groan. Your touch on his body, your hands -- so very wanted.

Your orgasm washed over you at a particularly clever thrum of Druig's fingers, rolling your hips against him to ride out your high, clenching and releasing as Druig followed after you with a drawn-out groan.

You took in the sight of your beloved, delightfully open and so removed from his usually stoic demeanor in moments like this. Just as you remembered. He was panting lightly, skin flushed and lightly glistening with the sweat from your encounter, eyes starry and far-seeing.

He was beautiful. Like this, yes. But ever-so. And he was yours.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Druig's mouth as he withdrew from you, the two of you in no hurry to disentangle, but gently righting yourselves.

"I missed you too, my love," you said softly, trailing your fingers over the peak of his cheekbone. "I don't wish to be parted from you."

You don't know how long the two of you lay together, enjoying the feeling of the other's body pressed into them, of even and serene breathing. Perhaps the two of you had even drifted off, dreaming of the promise of a true eternity together.

When you were ready to emerge, the two of you had dressed, orienting yourselves before going to find the others. Druig had arranged his jacket once more over his shoulders. He crossed the room to you, standing over you and pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and once more allowing himself to feel your presence alongside his.

You leaned into his touch. Allowing yourself to greedily bask in this moment. No matter how many moments your long life had graced you with, few had carried this magnitude. Few had made you feel as safe, as wanted, as you did with the man before you know.

"I love you, Druig," you speak plainly, firmly. No quaver of doubt in your voice.

At that, Druig broke from you softly. Digging into the pocket of his leather jacket for the gift from before, shoulders flexing beneath the fabric as he withdrew his hand from the pocket.

His palm upturned, revealing the gift he had been keeping for you for centuries. In the hopes that he might see you again to give it to you.

“You mean more to me than their silver and gold. But if this is how I can show my love on this planet, I'll do it."

With that, Druig slid a delicate rose gold band onto your finger, causing you to smile warmly at him, at the symbol of his eternal bond to you.

“I wonder who invented this as a gesture of devotion,” you had mused.

The memory, which had taken place in this very room, clearly prominent between the two of you. The symbol, reminiscent.

“It is beautiful, Dru. But you know I don’t need objects to reflect or accept your love,” you affirmed. “It is enough to be with you. By your side. To receive your warmth.”

With that, you slid your arms across Druig’s shoulders, divesting him of the leather jacket so quickly he would have thought he had imagined it had it not been for the cool air biting the now-bare skin of his arms.

“So much for not needing an object,” Druig chuckled, bumping his shoulder into yours.

You slipped Druig’s jacket over your shoulders, Druig’s body heat soaking into your skin like the radiance of the sun through the silky lining of the jacket, the zippers at the cuffs clinking as you adjusted the garment to your form.

“What?” You shrugged at Druig’s look of mild surprise. “I said I’d like your warmth. What are you going to do? Fight me for it?” You challenged, arching your brow at him as a golden arrow weaved its way between your fingers, tapping it against Druig’s thigh in playful, mock-warning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mo shíorghrá,” Druig chuckled. “Keep it. ‘T looks better on you anyway.” He slid a companionable arm over your shoulders as the two of you made to leave the room and find the others.

“We can agree to disagree on that, but I’ll hang onto the jacket until a quorum is reached,” you teased, bumping your hip against Druig’s as you walked in tandem down the hall of the Domo toward Phastos’ lab where you could hear Makkari sorting through a pile of what sounded like books.

“Benevolent of you, really,” Druig pressed a kiss into your cheek, brushing his nose across the prominent bone there. “Suppose we have time to decide.”

As you made your way into the cool light of the lab, Makkari greeted you, placing her warm hands in yours. You wrapped your arms around her, delighted in your reunion now that you all could breathe and enjoy one another’s company again, departing on another adventure. Together.

The next thread warping its way through the loom of your lives. To and fro, to and fro. Together you remain, body and soul.

–--

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