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lovingoverwatchguys · 1 year

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Soldier 76 and Tracer [warning: long post]

A lot of this boils down to headcanon, because this storyline is clearly incomplete (and will probably be expanded upon later...hopefully) and also is often implied rather than said aloud, but I really do think Soldier and Tracer have the kind of father-daughter dynamic in canon, the same way people give him and Dva one in fanon.

At this point, I think it’s pretty well-established that Jack wants to look out for Lena’s safety. Consider what he says when you select her in the Uprising event:

(This line truly touches my cold, dead heart.)

And when he sees her get killed in-game: (I believe the ‘seeing teammate get killed’ voicelines were taken out of the game because there’s already so much audio clutter. Which is understandable, but a bummer, because there was so much relationship insight in them)

Plus the iconic:

A lot of the time, people have the idea of the new generation of Overwatch being the ‘kids’. The thing is, while someone like Cassidy might have been Overwatch’s kid, I’d say Lena was Jack’s kid in particular. He quickly takes a liking to her, and she admires him a lot. I think she even still would defend him. In the London Calling comic, despite her polite smile, she doesn’t seem to like the public perception of other Overwatch members:

When you look at someone like Angela, who clearly holds resentment or at least regret towards Overwatch’s fall, versus Lena, who seems to remember it fondly and hate how people perceive it...it’s clear to me that she still believes in it. And not just in the abstract sense of ‘likes its original ideas’; she believes in how it was, including the leadership.

Including the Strike Commander.

As of right now, we haven’t gotten a ton of canon material regarding the relationships between the characters between the time of Retribution and the Zurich explosion. We have the Ana comic where she ‘dies’, but that doesn’t really go very deeply into anyone’s mindset other than Ana herself. The scraps we have at least seem to imply that Lena fit right into the Overwatch ‘family’.

With that thought in mind, I wouldn’t be surprised if she formed a bond with the Strike Commander, even with the bubble he put himself in. She was certainly at least in touch with the people closer to him. She also seems to be quite familiar with Ana.

I think Jack cares about Lena and has a specific protectiveness of her, moreso than the other ‘next generation’. Like some kind of father, if you will. (Also, the gay and lesbian thing might be a coincidence, but it’s still worth considering...)

Now, let’s talk about parallels. (Thank you to @lenaperseveranceoxton for inspiring parts of this post, echoing a lot of how I already felt, but giving a couple new details I hadn’t thought of, in this post )

There are a lot of things about Soldier 76 and Tracer that are similar, and I don’t think this was an accident or excessively basic characterization. And I think Jack picks up on this. (I’m unsure about if Lena does)

Now, I could talk about how he refers to her ‘potential’, but I think the biggest piece of direct evidence here is this part of the Uprising comic. Lena comes to try and convince Jack to put troops in London, despite the fact that many governments are very deadset on not doing that. (When you think about it, that probably does mean he put his surrogate daughter over the law...be gay do crimes moment.)

The thing that informs Jack to make the decision to send troops into London is this after his conversation with her:

The implication I got was that Tracer, with all of her spirit and belief in doing what was right, reminded Jack of himself when he was younger and more idealistic. It reminded him what he originally created all of this for.

And while this is hopeful and all, Jack does eventually lose that type of idealism (well, to some extent, but I already went off about that elsewhere). Meanwhile, Lena is left with it.

Now, there’s also Vincent and Emily. Lena is still with Emily, and her decisions are often influenced by her caring for her girlfriend. Lena will do things to protect her and retain their happy relationship.

Meanwhile, Jack split with Vincent over his job. Unlike some people, I don’t think Jack is still in love with Vincent as a person; Vincent represents the life he gave up for the Commander position, and how sad he is about that. It’s not even about who Vincent is now. Who knows if they’d even still be together? What it’s about is living a life with a family and not constant stress. Something simpler.

So, Lena is someone who hasn’t given up that life yet. But she’s still young enough that she someday could.

But all of that just leads me to the speculation that Jack doesn’t want Lena to go into this, because he fears that she’ll end up the same way he did. The idealistic person getting their dreams crushed by the cruel world of politics. He wouldn’t want her to be part of new Overwatch, because he thinks she’s putting herself in danger.

You know what I think would be cool? If ultimately, that was what pulled him back into this whole fight once and for all. Obviously he has plenty of reasons to want to go back, but I’d love if what pushed him over the edge was protecting Lena and feeling responsible for keeping her from what he went through. It’d be a nice parallel, and a moment where he could show how much he genuinely does care. And most importantly, it would show that he still has something to learn from the younger people. I think that’d be a good growth moment for him, and could even be a nice theme for the audience.

Okay, maybe I also just want them to have cute moments together. Maybe I want him to try and take her fishing or some other lame old man thing. Is that so wrong?

In conclusion: sometimes a family is a gay old man, his lesbian daughter, and her cute girlfriend.

#soldier 76 #tracer #overwatch

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mayhemandtrouble · 11 months

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Any Landing You Can Walk Away From, Chapter 21 of 35 of Not Giving Up

Completed story on Ao3 with NSFW chapters and detailed tags “My fighter -en hit - coming in n-!”

Leia hadn’t been able to see Ben. She had only gotten a few words through the static. Not a sound from Rey, for that matter. It could be a trick. It certainly wasn’t beyond the scope of the First Order, or of her son.

“Finn, Rey is on a TIE fighter. Limping and flying our dock. Cover them!” That Finn would be able to determine which fighter to protect wasn’t a concern, certain he already had a bead on it. The much more difficult question would be how to get an enemy ship past their defenses, and cover them without hurting their own people.

“Poe! You heard me, get our flyers off that fighter - now!” The General didn’t have to turn her head to know that Poe had been listening. Nor did she wait to oversee the implementation. In the seconds it took Poe Dameron to start shouting over the comms, Leia was already moving down the halls at a speed that belied her age and health.

“Father, he takes after you, I swear.” She muttered to herself, thinking more of the stories of Anakin’s time in the Jedi than the Empire. Or perhaps it was Han’s fuck-it-who-needs-a-plan. With a touch of the insanity that had led her to stroll into a Hutt palace, once upon a time.

“Ben, we’ve lost-”

“I noticed!” Leaning over, he grabbed the controls while Rey leaned heavily against the side of the fighter. She was flagging and he could feel it, the stress of another hit and the twins seemed to be screaming inside her. This wasn’t going to be pretty but it had to happen now.

“Rey, tell me that’s you!” A familiar voice echoed over through the fighter’s comms.

“It’s me. We’re here.” She nearly cried to hear Finn filling the air of their TIE fighter.

“Clear me a path or we won’t be here much longer,” Ben snapped. While he could feel relief flooding from Rey, his nerves were getting tighter and tighter. She didn’t see the increasingly grey tone her face was taking on.

“I hate you so much.” Finn snapped from within his own flyer, even as he was already in the process. The damned TIE fighter was flying poorly but not far from the dock. He could settle in just beside and behind. Comforting himself that he was covering Rey’s six, not Kylo Ren’s.

Chewbacca trilled out an annoyed greeting as Leia stepped into the hanger, short of breath and her brown eyes fixated on the large blue opening to space. It took less than a moment for the long-legged Wookie to cross over to her side, demanding to know why the princess was here in the midst of battle. Whenever one of his honor family did something unexpected, he lost a few years of his life expectancy.

“Ben is coming.”

It was all Leia needed to say and too much all at once. Chewie growled in anger as he whirled on the others in the hanger. Gesturing wide with his arms and pointing as he gave orders that Rose did her best to translate.

“Get this mess out of my way!” Leia gestured sharply with her cane to the boxes of tools and spare parts that created the organized chaos of repair stations in active use. There was no telling how badly this landing would go, or the greeting afterwards.

They arrived just in time to see ground troops flood the docking bay. Clearly Mother was playing things very safe indeed, not that Ben had time to think about it. The TIE fighter crossed the barrier of safety just ahead of a torpedo, but they were hardly home free. The ship hit the ground hard, spinning wildly and filling the air with white hot metal sparks in addition to the sparks of live, severed circuitry. Any hopes of a coordinated response were dashed as troops and crew had to scramble for personal safety.

Inside the cockpit, Ben had one arm wrapped around Rey and kept her tight against him. Trying to use his own body as a buffer against the worst of it while his other hand shot out, pushing against the incoming and unforgiving hanger wall that they were headed towards. He had never been so relieved to feel his Mother’s presence as Ben sensed her own Force use adding to his, steadily slowing their trajectory and stabilizing their path until the fighter came to a stop.

No one on the outside of the fighter, apart from Chewie, had seen General Organa use the Force before. And yet, among the rather reasonable preoccupation of a crash-landing TIE silencer, almost no one took note of it now. Which was, in so far as Leia was concerned, for the best. Especially at the moment, when there was so much to accomplish.

“We.. better… talk to Leia…” Rey mumbled weakly from inside. She could feel her Master’s presence but lacked the strength to reach out. Instead fumbling with the buttons to raise the hatch that would let them out. She felt wretched, her stomach was turning and the world was decidedly off-color. They just had to get through a little bit mor and then she could rest. “Do you think… the Falcon…”

Her voice trailed off and her eyes half-closed and Ben clutched her closer, panic rising in his chest. She was absolutely not allowed to be hurt, neither her or the children. Stupid woman, this was why he was trying to send her away ahead of time. Even Mother had agreed - Rey needed to be somewhere safe. Why, why, why.

Quickly, Ben lifted her in both arms as soon as there was clearance in the cramped quarters. Either forgetting or uncaring exactly what sort of effect would be produced, the Supreme Leader leapt from his injured fighter and landed in a crouch with one of the Resistance’s prize agents clutched against his chest.

“She needs a medic. Now.” Without lifting his head, Ben’s eyes flicked up, meeting his Mother’s. They could both feel the Darkness and furious threat radiating off him. All chances of his redemption, and the lives of everyone on board, hung on Rey’s well-being.

“Chewie.” Leia nodded in rapid agreement, gesturing towards Kylo Ren as he rose slowly to a stand. She chose to ignore the Wookie’s angry snarls as he stalked towards the lovers. “Take Rey to the med bay, make sure she stays safe.”

Ben’s features had to tilt up to meet Chewbacca’s gaze as the Solo family’s long standing protector and friend rapidly came close. There was no one he felt safer handing Rey to but seeing his former baby-sitter was shockingly painful. Chewie had been there, that day. When Father died. When he, himself, had…

“Protect her. Please.” He couldn’t finish the thought. Burying it instead and focusing only on the matter at hand - carefully slipping Rey into Chewbacca’s strong arms and ignoring her protests about leaving. Rey wanted to stay to protect him, he knew that without having to ask or reach out. She simply didn’t understand that it wasn’t worth it, not if it risked her in any way. He wasn’t worth it.

“Ben, I’m all right.” Rey struggled to keep her eyes in focus and on him. She didn’t want to let go - almost childishly afraid that, if she let him out of her sight, he would never return. Her nausea worsened when Chewie stood to his full height and she buried her face into his fur with a groan. This was comforting, at least.

“Humor me, Flower. I’ll be right behind you.” Darkly, he knew there was a chance he was lying. Then again, if Mother tried to separate the pair for too long, Ben Solo had already demonstrated his willingness to drench himself in blood.

“I’ll find you… if you aren’t…” Chewie was already carrying her away, trilling at her in frustration. Her large protector and perhaps the best of friends, Chewbacca always trusted her judgment even when he hated her choices. Curling her fingers into his thick fur, Rey let herself doze, his gate rocking her to sleep. And, as they walked, there almost seemed to be a soft hand brushing across her hair affectionately.

The entire galaxy seemed frozen in time as Chewbacca carried Rey, the scavenger from Jaku, through the hanger. When he left, followed by an anxious BB8, everyone’s eyes snapped to Kylo Ren. Particularly Finn, who had managed to land safely among the chaos. Only respect for the General kept himself and Poe in check. Fear managed the others nicely.

While the battle raged outside, only one person moved in that large room. The sound of her cane hitting the unforgiving floor beat a steady tattoo, keeping time until Leia Organa Solo stood only a foot away from Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

“Who am I addressing?”

Leia had had to look up simply to meet his eye since he was 13, yet her stature had never diminished her ability to make others cower. Ben closed his eyes and, for the briefest of moments, it was all some dark dream. He would wake from one of his hellish nightmares, Father would put on one of the children’s holovids that Ben enjoyed watching far longer than he would ever admit to. Mother would come sweeping in from some late meeting, smelling of delicate flowers and looking like an angel. She would kiss his cheek and tell him everything was all right.

Ben’s right hand lowered, unhooking the saber from his belt. He himself didn’t know if he was delaying answering her. But he didn’t speak for a long moment, looking at the hilt in his hand, the cross shape he’d crafted in what seemed another lifetime entirely.

She studied him openly, her face otherwise emotionless while her emotions surged deep within. Like the Father who had raised her, Leia could maintain perfect passivity in the face of a hurricane while on the bow of a sinking ship - if she so chose. His eyes were locked upon his saber, much as she imagined he had stared the last time Han had drawn breath. It was impossible to miss the surging of fear and anger of those around them and Leia simply did not care. She would find out who the man before her was. The galaxy owed her this much.

The creak of his leather armor rang through as loudly as a blaster when the tall, broad frame lowered onto one knee. Extending his hands upwards and offering Leia the unlit saber, finally meeting her eyes. He could feel the intensity behind his dark gaze as he met the brown ones he remembered so well. The eyes that would soften if he tried to tickle her or that crinkled with laughter whenever Father palmed a trinket into her pocket to surprise her at the oddest times.

“I am Ben Solo.” There was a shakiness to his voice that he hadn’t expected. Rey had called him Ben for nearly a year now, perhaps longer. He would have to look through a calendar to be sure. But when was the last time he had referred to himself as Ben? Dropping his gaze quickly, Ben had to suck in a breath to brace himself against emotions he was unprepared for.

Regardless of what one believed in regards to redemption, there was not a soul present who did not feel the weight of the moment. The decisions that came from this would shape the lives of the galaxy, for good or ill. Everyone watching had an opinion, be it shaped by logic or emotion, and there would be no pleasing everyone.

Leia took the hilt calmly, glancing over the weapon that had killed her husband. She could feel the Darkness that had resonated into the very essence of it, a stain that could never be cleansed. The whispers that plagued her bloodline teased at the corners of her mind, that Han could be avenged, peace restored.

She smiled faintly. And clipped the saber to the overwrought belt of silver metal that encircled a stately gown of dark purples with crimson trimmings.

“Welcome home, Ben.”

Her quiet words, only for him, paired with a featherlight touch on his trembling shoulder, did more to soothe his pain than Ben had ever expected or had any right to hope for. Not after everything he had done, it could not be so simple.

The eyes that looked up at her were so familiar. She had not seen Ben’s eyes in so long. Not since they’d sent him to Luke. Her son was hurting. There was so much to do for the Resistance, for Rey, for him. Things had been done that could not be undone. He had done things she could never forget. Yet in those eyes, there was still the frightened boy - climbing into bed between her and Han, running from the terrors of his nightmares.

Ben could not find words to answer her. It was not that there was nothing to say, more that there was too much to say. There was his plan, the data spikes he would bargain with, Rey’s health, the children, why had Father allowed Luke to try and kill him? Why had Mother sent him away? How could she welcome him back as though he had simply been off at school, not molding himself into the darkest monster he could imagine.

Turning, Leia nodded towards the open door. When he did not rise quickly enough, she clucked her tongue as though Ben Solo were still a boy of eight and dawdling in rising for lessons.

“Hurry up - she’s waiting.”

#reylo #reylo fanfic #Angst with a happy ending #Fluff and angst and smut #leia organa #general leia #Star Wars fanfic #reunite the dyad #unplanned pregnancy #ben never stops being an asshole #redeemed ben solo #kylo redemption

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zorkaya-moved · 2 years

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"You'd have let me simply take those hits, had you no regard for my safety." Louis doesn't look at her from where he bends, picking up the broken scraps of his shattered mask from the ground it'd fallen to. Luck would have it the area they'd found themselves in simply happened to be stable, else he'd have been in more danger. Turning to glance her way, he hums, keeping his mouth shut on the truth that is unspoken in what he says : she had put herself in danger just then, for very little payoff. They'd both been caught horribly off guard. "Perhaps you should spend time contemplating your own priorities on what you seek to gain or protect, and how they have shifted," he suggests, his voice soft, yet steeled, as he swings his sword to rest comfortably against his shoulder, "before you spend time criticizing mine."

@rotshope / @codemartyr

The leader of Revenants whose team she joined - Louis Amamiya - was a man with both intelligence and charm to lead others, but he was one to protect others like they were his family. A person who reminded her of someone from the past, but no face to put to those bubbling sensations of irritation and dislike. Martyrs, she hated those who would embrace the world and attempt to protect everyone. It felt like a pathetic fallacy, a tale all heroes told themselves to stop being afraid of putting themselves in the harm’s way. Louis said people like him aren’t a dying myth, but she didn’t care: she hoped they’d be less people like him. Every single time, every single time she met someone like that, they would die and leave everyone behind. Such people always seemed to make a choice for everyone, no matter how kind they were. Bulshit. (Did someone leave you behind and that’s why you cannot help but trace your fingertips across those never-healed cracks?)

The horrors witnessed upon awakening, the First generation seeing terrors and losing so many. Judo Mido’s words continue to echo in her mind: humanity has to evolve to survive, and she cannot deny his words. It’s why this presence of hers has already sacrificed many to see if the scientist can reach the gates of Hell, force this society to move past. So why does she remain in the company of those who she doesn’t believe will be able to survive against horrors witnessed even before Queen’s appearance. Doom speaks in her veins but she still deflects the dangerous blow to Louis, knowing it was her choice but it was still surprising to notice. There was no hesitation in putting herself between the Lost’s attack and the man whom she criticized, his shattered mask catching her attention only after the enemy was dealt with, her kick to its body sending it farther away to avoid miasma’s appearance after [its] dissipation (for [it] is no longer human; no sympathy, it’s kill or be killed).

Playing heroes…

She sneered at Louis for this, but now look at her, protecting him and now hearing his lecture. What a nerve. This battle isn’t hard, isn’t life threatening in her eyes, and isn't worth the concern. Annihilation, erasure, destruction: it all is far worse outside, she could only imagine those [horrors] lingering outside.

Now, her golden eyes would show a cold gleam before turning back into that similarly irritating lok of confidence. As she would stab the blade of her spear into the ground, Sokolova would place her hand on her hip before looking at the man who was suggesting such ‘wonderful’ things. It seemed the win was in his field, but she will not let this happen again. If anything, the next round already began and she would take this opportunity to grab the cat by its tail, dragging it back to herself despite the scratches she might receive for such brutal and rough treatment of an opportunity.

“Oh, my priorities have not changed,” Zarina begins, glancing at the scrap of his shattered mask before looking up at his face. He is handsome, he certainly is, an eye candy for her on the field. The never-changing expression of a poker face, he would be good to play against in chess and in cards, such a lack of expressions would make him a tough opponent. The sight of his red eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself. This box of secrets, repressed emotions, and such a shining heart were all making her wish to break him apart piece by piece. Strong people always made her wish to do this: unpack, dissect, study with the precision of a surgeon. However, unlike those who study biology and anatomy, her interest lied in the very psyche of another. “I protect you for the sake of personal interest. You owe me one now and I’ve proven that I will not leave you to die. A character like you is too important for the play I want to see. Even if you are immortal, the side-effects of being a Revenant aren’t as fun as our Blood Codes and Gifts.”

Are they humans? Are they still even remotely human? Do they still have humanity? She hoped so, humanity remained her thread to those she cared about.

Victor continued to maintain it through protecting humans and leading others while she… searched for power, tainting hands in scarlet to free the road ahead for those she treasured. Perhaps, she is self-sacrificial as well, but her sacrifice did not go towards the world as a whole, but to her family. It’s what made her look at Amamiya and wonder just how insufferable he could be, compassionate to a fault and leading such a path of people who shared his more positive and accepting looks. Was it envy in her heart or simple wait to see if their optimism will die in the face of truth if such were to come? It could be that there was hope in those people that they’ll prove human potential through pushing through the veils of horrors, standing up straight and proving her that this will not be the end. A complicated cocktail of thoughts and deductions, Zarina hoped that Louis will be able to withstand the storms approaching and remain victorious; thus, he must remain until the curtain call, as guarded as possible to make sure to have him in top condition to witness the apocalypse when it approaches. In a short period of time, she had little to no payoff, but in the long run? The payoff will be worth it.

“My wishes remained the same, Louis. Your survival benefits me far greater than you getting… damaged,” she contemplates the last words only for a moment, leaning back against her weapon just enough to show him her laid-back nature and how safe they were in the current area. No rushing, only analyzing and cautiously examining. “My priority is to protect the leader, or that team of yours will fall apart, blaming me for not being there to support you. I’d like to avoid yapping little cubs, I like singing in silence. You’re their caretaker, not me.” And she did, meaning she would relax in silence in her own company without truly getting close to anyone within the headquarters. Certainly, Yakumo wouldn’t enjoy being called such, but she did say all of it with a hint of humor. They weren’t truly treated as cubs or puppies, she knew all too well how skilled they were for the generation they were. Louis did well as a leader, she could give him that praise without a hit to her own pride. They survived, it meant their leader was skilled enough to have her approval. For now. “I like criticizing you, though~ Someday, I’ll be able to witness a reaction out of you brighter than a sigh of exasperation. People like you are… exquisite in this climate. I take care of people and things I enjoy near myself, you are just unlucky to catch my attention. As some would say. I think you’ve won a lottery. A pretty face, an intelligent mind, a promising future, and an opposite look on the world I want to see withstanding against this world’s truth.”

#codemartyr #☽ ⋮ louis ⌟ i’ll drown you in my ocean of red‚ all so the world won’t take you from me. ⋮ codemartyr.#❄ ― IN CHARACTER. ╱ you breathe by the sun，i breathe by the moon.#❅ 𝐕. CODE VEIN ⤻ singing in the blizzard，a white wolf with a hawk reek of blood. ❞#mom and dad are fighting agaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain

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caker-baker · 3 years

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Relief of Duty

“No.”

The word, small, inconvenient to the assassin otherwise, stopped them cold in their tracks.

“No?” The assassin echoed. “Your majesty, I have a job.”

“No.” The king became quiet, the awful decision he planned to make clear in his eyes. “Not anymore, not right now. Take them to their rooms, be sure they don’t leave.”

The assassin had a habit of picking apart people, from the way faces wrinkled when they smiled, to the way they held themselves, down to the very tone in someone’s voice. Admittedly, it was harder with royals, who were raised to be unpickable. This king was different, however, because this assassin knew this king. His voice was familiar in any infliction he put on.

The assassin saw the smallest crack, and there it was, the remorse behind it all. Guilt was a wretched emotion.

“Your majesty.” The assassin kept a cool facade, they were good at that. “I have served you well.”

“I know. This is not a punishment.” He looked to his guards pointedly. “Take them.”

The king was tactical as he was guilty. Challenging an assassin to defy him in front of the guards, to fight some of his best trained men. They could do it, but in the end, it would only harm both king and assassin. So, the assassin bit their tongue.

“Your majesty.”

They were swept up to their rooms with sympathetic glances, light touches, an acknowledgement of something being horribly wrong here.

The assassin listened for any signs of retreating footsteps once they were properly shut in, but there were none. Their door was already locked, as were their windows. Which had to mean the king was planning this.

The assassin prided themselves on their ability to be calm in any situation, it was yet another useful skill. This situation, however, had the assassin going in blind.

The overly stuffed and out of use pillows were thrown every which way, abandoning a bed the assassin never liked anyway. The table provided for work and meals managed to lose a leg. The window always seemed one hit away from destroyed, but the one hit never came.

He did, though.

“Are you alright?” He asked, shifting his weight to both feet equally, standing taller than before.

To his credit, he didn’t flinch when the dagger was at his throat.

“What is this?” The assassin hissed.

“We both know you won’t use that.”

At the non-answer of the assassin, the king swept a glance across the room.

“You aren’t hurt are you?” His eyes narrowed on the broken table.

“What is this?”

The king, who leveled his gaze back to the assassin, raised his hand slowly, pushing away the point of the dagger.

With his tone softened, he answered. “A new assignment.”

The assassin scoffed, but didn’t bother raising their weapon of choice again. “What’s that? Waiting for the targets to come here? Is that when I can do my job?”

“No.” The king took the free hand of the assassin, looking at the newest bruise. “You came back hurt.”

“That’s part of it.”

“Not anymore. I can’t have you hurt. I won’t have you gone.”

The assassin pulled away from the king’s touch.

“That isn’t for you to decide.” They stepped back. “This is what I do. This is how I help the kingdom.”

“It is for me to decide. Help the kingdom in any other way, then.” Kings often do not plead, but he came rather close.

The assassin took note of the desperation. They hated it. “Your pride is showing. No one else can protect you the way I can, carry secrets the way I can. You know that.”

“I don’t care nearly enough for protection and secrets.”

The assassin let out a malicious laugh. “You cared when you hired me, let me into your court.”

The king’s jaw clenched. “If I had known-” he stopped.

Anger flared inside the assassin. “Known what? How dangerous it is to be me? Is his majesty feeling remorse for hiring an assassin to take care of his problems? Is the burden of blood on your hands too-”

“If I had known the extent of my feelings for you, I would have never let you out of my sight again!” The king’s breathing came uneven, his face struggling to be that same shade of regal impassive.

When the assassin stepped back, he stepped forward.

“No.” The assassin warned, raising their dagger. “You don’t get to keep people you find too pretty to be hurt. I’m not a prize.”

“I know.”

“Do you? You’re making a grand display of it.”

“I know.” The king stepped back. “This was just to address you properly.” He straightened once again. “As of today, you are relieved of your title, and henceforth all assassination attempts for any employers will be tried as treasonous.”

“You would stoop so low as to my livelihood?” They sneered. “You are the type of man you send me after. The kind who finds themselves bigger than those around them.”

“This is not me thinking I hold more over you.” The king managed to level the assassin’s gaze. “This is me wanting you alive. More than alive, safe, happy. There are places you could go. I could-”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare pretend that this is for me and not your peace of mind.”

The king flinched. “It is for you, for your safety.”

“It’s so you don’t have to get hurt if something happens to me!”

The king’s eyes widened, his lips twitched downwards, voice dangerously low. “You came back hurt. Bloodied and bruised. And then you asked for your next assignment, only halfway healed. Your lip is still cut.”

Absentmindedly, the assassin brought their hand up to their lip, running fingers over the future scar.

“Did you even bother to notice?” The king asked, trying another step forward, one the assassin countered with their tightening of the dagger.

“You so desperately want to turn this around on me, when it’s about you, your inability to let this-” The assassin motioned between the two of them. “this go.”

The king stayed still for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action.

He settled, eventually, on a question. “You want this to end?”

The assassin turned their back entirely, looking between the unbreakable window, the very breakable table, and the hardly used bed.

They hadn’t expected the king to ask this, and they needed to think for just a second.

“Do you?” The king asked again, watching as the assassin’s shoulders began to shudder.

“You take away my work, my living, because you want to keep me close, alive.” If simply existing could be angry, the assassin would personify it. “You don’t want this to end. Am I wrong?”

“No. You’re not wrong.”

A split second decision was made on both ends, the king reaching for the door, the assassin lunging to do the same.

A trained killer would generally come out on top, and this was no exception, the assassin yanking the king forward and pushing him back.

They managed out the door silently, the guards posted outside of it on the ground before they knew what was happening. The assassin put them on the ground before they knew what was happening.

And as much as the assassin would have liked to be sincere, they could not, and they would not. Not anymore.

“Forgive me, your majesty.”

#king x assassin #that’s a fun tag #maybe #I don’t know I was dreaming some classic enemies to lovers #this isn’t really enemies to lovers #that feeling when your s.o is unsupportive of your career choice #anyway #snippet #wip #king #assassin #writing #writing snippet

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asupernaturalgirl · 3 years

Text

Carryin’ Our Child

Daryl x Reader

Request: Hiiii! Your writing is amazing, I recently found your blog and I’ve been obsessed! Could I please have a one shot with some extra protective Daryl because you both found out you are expecting a baby? The timeline could be S9/S10. Thank youuuu!

A/N: Confession, I haven’t watched past season 7 of The Walking Dead *shocked gasps*. I’m sorry. I attempted to write it from what I know on Season 9, but I’m very sorry if I got something wrong. I tried my best. I hope everyone enjoys this one. Very fluffy.

Warnings: fluff, protective Daryl, pregnancy

Adjusting the old plates covered with only the crumbs of what was once a full plate of food on your hip, you opened the door from the jail cell that held Negan and walked into the light once again. One of the Alexandrians had asked you to bring him some food as they had been too busy to get it done.

Before heading there, you had made sure Daryl wasn’t anywhere near you. He was so busy with trying to deal with the drama around Negan’s imprisonment as well as trying to build several pieces of infrastructure that you didn’t want to make him more anxious with something else. If he knew you’d gone to feed Negan, he would have lost his mind.

You dropped off the extra plates at the kitchens and decided to go back to the house. Your head was beginning to ache and your stomach was starting to feel uneasy. You’d heard the pregnancy symptoms in the first trimester could be absolutely brutal and they were living up to the hype. You and Daryl had only told Rick, afraid that informing too many people could put you in an awkward position. Rick was ecstatic and gave you both as many tips as he could.

You slowly walked towards the bathroom, taking your usual seat by the toilet that you’d grown so accustomed to. Everytime your stomach would lurch, you would lean over the bowl, trying to let it out so you could feel better, but it never came. Instead, you sat there in pain, wishing it would stop.

Soon, the sound of the front door opening and closing shut echoed through the house. Daryl’s voice projected to the upstairs where you sat. “I’m home. Where are ya?”

“In the bathroom,” You answered quickly, leaning over once again. You felt absolutely pathetic when the drool began to pool in your mouth.

Daryl clunked up the stairs, his footsteps letting you know he was getting closer. His eyes softened as he peeked in through the doorway. “Ya don’t feel good?”

You shook your head, your body forcing you to gag once again. Your boyfriend quickly rushed forward, holding your hair out of your face as you finally let out the sick you’d been holding in. You sighed once you were finished, learning back against the man behind you. He rubbed your shoulders slightly. “Thank you.”

“You should be cursing me for doin’ this to ya.”

You rolled your eyes and turned around. After finally getting everything out, you felt much better. “Well, I think having a child is worth being sick for a few weeks in the beginning.”

He smiled. He joked that he ‘did this to you’ because he felt bad that he couldn’t take the pain from you, but in reality, he was excited. You’d never seen him so thrilled about something. He wanted to talk about it all the time and constantly thought of different names. He secretly wanted a daughter, although he would never tell anyone.

“Can you help me to the bed?” You asked, using his strength to hoist yourself up. He assisted you in walking. You were weak after being sick and once you were in the bed, he brought you up some water as well.

He laid down with you, pulling up your shirt so he could see your belly. Daryl gently ran his hand over your belly. “You be nice to your mom. She’s tryin’ her best.”

People who were only slightly familiar with Daryl would have never seen or even thought of him in this way. They would have likely imagined he would be a terrible father. You were so pleased that he loved the unborn child so much. It meant everything in the world. He kissed you softly as he laid back down beside you. “I feel like they’re gonna love you more than anything else.”

He immediately shook his head at your comment. “They’re gonna love ya so much, ya can’t even imagine. I can tell. You’re gonna be the best mom in the whole world.”

His words warmed your heart. There were always doubts about the limitations of being parents in the world but you knew that if the child had the two of you, they would be just fine. You and Daryl would give parenting everything you had and it would pay off in the end, even if it was hard in the moment.

“What did ya do today?” He questioned, unconsciously rubbing your pregnant belly, even if you weren’t showing yet.

You had to come up with an excuse and quickly. The first thing that came to mind was a friend of both of yours. “Aaron needed some help with cleaning his arm up a bit. I went over there to give my assistance.”

His brows furrowed and he nervously bit at his fingernails. “Michonne told me she saw you over by Negan’s cell.”

Your heart dropped. You hadn’t thought that someone might have seen it and mentioned it casually to Daryl just out of habit. If you had told her to keep the secret, she definitely wouldn’t have told Daryl, but she had no idea. “Someone was busy and asked if I would bring food to him. Daryl, it was no big-”

He cut you off, immediately standing up with an angry expression on his face. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. You sat up quickly, leaning against the backboard. You hated making him feel this way. He was so inexperienced when it came to relationships and actually worrying about someone’s safety, you tried to live your life so he didn’t have to actually worry about it.

“How could ya do this, Y/N?” He gestured wildly, his voice holding an annoyed tone. “Why would ya risk going in there?”

You stood as well, understanding now there might be an argument. “He’s not going to just attack me for no reason, Daryl. I was safe. I didn’t even step foot in the cell.”

“He’s killed so many people. Do you think he wouldn’t kill ya?”

“I’m in my first trimester, Daryl. I can’t just sit in bed all day waiting for you to get home to do things for me. That would not only destroy my mental health, but my physical health as well.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. You could nearly see all of the emotions in his eyes. Anger, concern, worry. He was feeling so conflicted, so absolutely broken inside. He wanted nothing more than for you to stay locked in a room all day so he could make sure you were safe, as impractical as it was.

“I’m just askin’ that you try not to do anything dangerous, Y/N,” He began to calm slightly, holding your shoulders as he got closer to you. “You’re carryin’ our child in you right now. I just don’t want to have to worry all the time that you’re doin’ somethin’ reckless.”

You knew that this anger, this concern, came from a desire to protect you. His self-esteem was generally pretty low and one thing he actually felt he brought to the table was protection. He knew he was capable of protecting you and he would do it even if it took his own life. “I’ll try, Daryl. I know you just want myself and our baby to be safe.”

He nodded, bringing you in for a tight hug. “I want to tell everyone. I don’t want people askin’ ya to do things. If they know you’re pregnant, they’ll be more careful with some of the jobs they give ya.”

At first, you were hesitant. You were enjoying the fact that this baby was a secret between you and Daryl. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized it was probably a good idea. People would begin to either notice or assume soon if you didn’t tell them directly. You slowly nodded your head.

“I agree, Daryl. It’s time to tell everyone.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl dixion imagine #one shots #imagines #the walking dead #the walking dead one shots #the walking dead imagines

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

Note

Hi I would love to request one of those sfw alphabets for last boss? loved the one with niragi and your writing style is so good! <333

Yes of course! I never thought to add Last Boss onto my masterlist so I’ll do it now so if anyone wants something written for him just let me know! 😘

SFW Alphabet | Last Boss

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character: Takatora Samura

Genre: fluff

Samura gif credit

*based in the borderland, not in real life

A - Affection

(How affectionate are they? How would they show affection?)

I have a feeling he doesn’t enjoy affection all that much

He doesn’t hate it, but he wouldn’t ever really ask for it

His love language would be more words of affirmation

So by showing his love and care for you, he would say it through words and compliments

And you would be able to tell he means it seriously, because he’s honestly not much of a talker

Probably only does it when it’s the two of you though

He would become shy in front of anyone else

B - Best Friend

(How would they be as a best friend?)

He’d be the quiet yet feisty friend

If you are a more louder personality, you two would get along really well

He wouldn’t open up much to you, but he would honestly trust you with his life

He’d definitely not leave your side during games

Like he would be right on your tail the entire time

He’d be quite inseparable from you

Like no matter where you went, he would always be standing right nearby

If anyone was caught giving you a hard time, no matter who, he would make their life flash before their eyes

C - Cuddles

(Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He would actually not mind cuddles that much

He wouldn’t be shy to do it in front of other people

Like sometimes he would push your head down on his shoulder when you’re sitting together

Or he would put his head in your lap and talk about random topics when you were alone together

He’d just need some small affection sometimes after completing a cruel game

D - Domestic

(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking at cleaning?)

He’s not really one to settle down quickly in terms of moving in together

That kind of domestic stuff doesn’t cross his mind a lot

And he also is quite bad at communication, so you would never really know how he would feel about simple things like moving into the same room together

I feel like he would just go along with whatever you would want

He’s not fussed about it

But when it comes to things like cleaning your shared room

You would end up doing most of that

Because he would be quite busy around The Beach, so he’d expect you to cut him some slack

E - Ending

(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be a very quiet break up

If he was to break up with you, it would be very careless and unempathetic on his side

He’s not the best with emotions, but I think he wouldn’t do something unless he was completely sure about it

Afterwards, he would pretend like nothing between you ever happened

He’s cruel when it comes to it

If you broke up with him, I think he would try his best to act like he didn’t care

But deep down, he would be devastated

F - Fiancé(e)

(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He’d probably think about being married to you a lot

And how it would be like

He’d always talk to you about it, not trying to bring up the fact that he wants to marry you

Would always mention what you would do together if you managed to return to the real world

So he wouldn’t be rushed, but he would think about it a lot

He’s very committed to you, even if he doesn’t outwardly express it

G - Gentle

(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s actually so gentle

Wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you if you didn’t want him to

Physically, he would avoid making sudden contact with you out of fear of frightening you

So you would feel quite safe around him, because he knows your boundaries

Sometimes you would have to reassure him that he doesn’t have to ask to put his hand around your waist

Emotionally, he would try his absolute best

He’s not the best with emotions, but if he was to see you cry in front of him, it would make him so upset

But I think he would be very good at making you feel valid and loved

He has a way with words, so hearing him spill compliments and affection out to you would always be the best way to cheer you up

H - Hugs

(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He’s not big on hugs

He would probably only ask for them if he was feeling down

Or when he sees you return from a game safe and sound

But in general, he wouldn’t initiate them much

It’s not that he’s shy, he’s just not a physically affectionate person

He does have a weird love for back hugs though

Whether you hug him from behind or he hugs you, he enjoys them much more than he wishes he did

I - I Love You

(How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take him a very long time

He wouldn’t feel like he’d have to say it

He would assume that you already know that he loves you

The first time he would ever say it out loud would’ve been in a rather stressful situation

Like if he volunteered to do a dangerous part of a game, he would quickly turn around to you and just blurt it out

He thought he was going to die, so he wanted to say it just in case you didn’t already know

J - Jealousy

(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s actually such a jealous person

Always gets jealous over the smallest of things

Even something as simple as someone placing a hand on your shoulder, or giving you a hug

But he’s the silent jealous

So he doesn’t say anything, he would just pull you to his side to kind of indicate he wasn’t happy

Or he would lean his head against yours, just to show the person that you were his

K - Kisses

(What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

A good mix of loving and rough kisses

Kind of like his cold and mysterious personality

But he would get so nervous when it came to kissing you

But would kind of just go for it?

Like the first time he kissed you was very sudden

He grabbed your jaw and just smashed his lips onto yours, taking you by surprise

His favourite place to kiss you would be simply be the crown of your head

His favourite place that you kiss him would be his cheek

Nice and sweet, and never fails to make him smile

L - Little Ones

(How are they around children?)

No, doesn’t like children

They’re loud and high maintenance

He enjoys his quiet time

And I also think he’s probably a bit awkward around kids

Like he doesn’t know how to look after them or talk to them

So he would always put off the idea of having kids

Maybe one day, but not soon

M - Morning

(How are mornings spent with them?)

You always wake up hugged tight to his chest

Probably overheating, because he just doesn’t let you go

You’d have to poke him until he wakes up

So you would both get out of bed at the same time

I can see him and his S/O going out on little mornings strolls around the hotel, just before everyone else wakes up

N - Night

(How are nights spent with them?)

Late nights

You both would sit outside on the balcony, wrapped in each others warmth while enveloped with a thick blanket

Watching the stars in the sky and pointing at different constellations

Samura would always get so infatuated when you spoke about all the different patterns in the sky

I can imagine the scene exactly hold on

Samura sitting on a deck chair with a pillow underneath him and you sitting on his lap laying your back against his chest. You have a grey fluffy duvet from your bed pulled over both of you and Samura has his chin tucked on your shoulder, watching your face with heart eyes as you point up at the sky and talk about the stars and moon

O - Open

(When would they start revealing things about themselves?)

I can actually see him opening up eventually

It takes him a while, but when he realises that he can trust you with basically anything, he opens up

Tells you about his past, as how he ended up in the Borderland

But in terms of general things, he would bring it up randomly in conversation

But for more deeper subjects, he would prefer to sit you down and speak with you

Probably gets a little teary when speaking about his negative emotions, but is so happy to have you there to comfort him

P - Patience

(How easily angered are they?)

He’s impossible to make angry

Literally, whatever you do, he would never raise his voice or even show a hint of agitation

He’s the most chill person you would ever come across

Never gets involved in any arguments, prefers to sit back and watch it unfold rather than become involved

The most he would ever show that conveyed emotion would probably be an eye roll

But even that was towards Niragi, so it was understandable

Q - Quizzes

(How much do they remember about you?)

He probably knows everything

Surprisingly, he remembers everything you tell him

Sometimes he would bring it up again in conversation days later and you would always be shocked that he remembered

He may be quiet, but usually quiet people listen the most anyway

R - Remember

(What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

His favourite moment he ever spent with you would probably when you both snuck away from a game and spent a night in Tokyo

You both didn’t have to play the game because your visa wasn’t ending for days, so you went against Hatter’s rules and decided to have some fun

Samura watched you as you ran through the empty streets, yelling out random phrases and laughing at the echo

He could’ve literally watched you for hours, you were that entertaining

He loved this moment because it was the first time he had seen you truly happy since he met you

As well as you were able to make him smile for the first time in years

S - Security

(How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He would only become protective when it came to your safety at games

Only during times when he was scared you would get hurt would be show his protective side

Would always throw himself in front of you though, no matter what the threat was

But nothing was going to get passed him and his katana sword

So you felt safe

But he would absolutely love it if you backed him up and defended him if anyone was ever giving him shit at The Beach

Like if Hatter/Aguni were ever giving him too much stress or pressure, you would always confront them about it

T - Try

(How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Definitely puts a lot of effort

Tries his absolute best on special days

On anniversaries, he would try to find something in Tokyo to give to you

But if he couldn’t, he would maybe draw or make you something

He wants to make the best impression on you, as well as show that he cared enough that he wanted you to stay with him

U - Ugly

(What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He can sometimes be very emotionally unavailable

You can probably already tell that he’s not the most emotional person

Or the most empathetic

But at some points it would get frustrating because you just want him to understand how your feeling

But he just wouldn’t get that

He’d try his best to understand, but would always fall a bit short

V - Vanity

(How concerned are they with their looks?)

I feel like he is quite concerned about his looks

I mean considering he shaved his head and tattooed his entire body to look more threatening

He wouldn’t be overly insecure, but he would always keep shaving his hair so it doesn’t grow out again

Regarding clothes, he doesn’t care

He’d wear anything, as long as he can freely move in it

W - Whole

(Would they feel incomplete without you?)

I think he would get very dependant on his S/O

At first he would refuse to become attached, but over time he would realise how badly he wanted love

So losing you would be a tipping point for him

He would lose all faith in happiness, believing that he was to never escape the Borderland and that he would never be happy again in his life

Probably becomes just like Niragi, mindless killing machine with no sense of morality

X - Xtra

(A random headcanon for them.)

I actually think he’d be very good at drawing

Like realism drawing

So he has a sketchbook in his room that is filled with so many drawings of people all around The Beach

It would be so messy, pages sticking out everywhere and random added bits of paper just shoved in the book

But would love drawing you out of all people

Probably has a whole little folder of drawings of you

Sadly though, I think he would paint a big red X over the drawings of people that have died

Y - Yuck

(What would be some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t like people who care too much

He doesn’t have a huge care for a lot of things

So he would view very opiniated and overly caring (not in a nice to other people way, but in that they worry about minor things) people quite annoying

In general, he hates swimming

You would never be able to get him in that pool at The Beach no matter how hard you tried

Z - Zzz

(What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He becomes very paranoid when he’s asleep, being worried if something was to happen to you

That’s why he keeps you hugged really close to him, almost suffocating you in his chest and the blankets

You would literally be so close to him you would disappear

Wakes up at the slightest of noise

Some nights when he was really anxious, he wouldn’t sleep at all

He would just keep you close and stroke your hair to keep you feeling safe and asleep

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland imagines #alice in borderland headcanons #alice in borderland scenarios #aib #aib imagine #aib imagines #aib headcanons #aib scenarios #last boss #last boss headcanons #last boss imagines #takatora samura #samura headcanons #samura imagines

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i-watch-too-many-movies · 3 years

Text

5 Favorite First Viewings of July 2021

Quick note: Hi everyone, I'm back, things have honestly been getting better for me, and I'm glad to be on this site full of cinephiles, people that are too horny, and cinephiles that are too horny. I'll be more active on here. But anyway, let's talk about some movies.

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) (dir. Russ Meyer)

CW: Abortion mention

What a picture. What a gorgeous, sexy, horrifying slice of what Hollywood and star life can do to a bunch of bright-eyed young people looking for success. Also is a critique of how macho nature can ruin friendships and romantic relationships with total ease. I was obsessed with the scene transitions, like Pet pouring pancake mix onto a plate after the abortion scene, or Kelly singing after someone screams before their murder in the opening scene.

Great, campy flick with exceptional music too.

Deep Cover (1992) (dir. Bill Duke)

Laurence Fishburne plays Russell Stevens, a Cincinnati police officer who hopes to do well by the community, to make a difference. He’s traumatized by the death of his substance-abusing father, and wants to make sure that he can help the people of his own town. He goes undercover on assignment as a drug dealer, where his boss orders him to take down the kingpin. Stevens realizes the police’s own failings while on assignment. The racist abuse he takes from Agent Carver, and the realization that the police department is protecting drug kingpins like Gallegos and Barbossa. Giving drugs to Black kids and Latinx kids so there will be less of them. The cops are no different than the drug kingpins looking to make filthy amounts of money.

Fishburne’s performance is excellent, as Stevens feels he has to maintain a stone face so he doesn’t get caught by Jason or Barbossa or any of his cronies, but also he maintains a stone face to try and hide his emotion, his trauma. But when he gets pissed, Fishburne acts it beautifully, as is when he has to deliver a funny quip to counter Jason’s douchebaggery. And the production design, holy fuck, the sets and the lighting.

A perfect neo-noir for the HW Bush years, arguably one of the most timeless commentaries on the era, as well as the police as a whole.

Fast Five (2011) (dir. Justin Lin)

I was torn between including this or Furious 7, but I ultimately went with Fast Five because it felt like an important turning point in the series, it's a great heist film, and it reached the same chaotic highs and genuinely excellent filmmaking that I had been waiting for since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift.

Fast Five opens where Fast & 4ious left off. Dom is hauled away to prison on a bus. Mia and Brian drive in their high-tech cars and knock the bus over, helping Dom escape. The title drops. Fast Five. It’s such an intense yet short action scene, and dropping the title immediately after it lets the viewer know that this movie is not fucking around. It’s arguably gonna be more intense and insane than the previous one.

And it is. The filmmakers made the decision to use a lot more practical stunt work for the film, and as a result, it leads to, so far, the best action in the entire series, since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift. It’s not just how it’s shot or edited, it’s the geography of the locations, the rooftop chase echoes the rooftop chase of Jackie Chan’s masterwork Police Story, particularly the way each character bounces from top to top.

And of course, there’s the silliest moment in the movie, the one that matches the intensity and kineticism of a film like 2 Fast, which is driving the Reyes’ bank vault throughout the street, getting chased by corrupt cops.

I know we make fun of Vin Diesel for saying “family” all the time in these films, but there’s a reason we remember him saying all of these impassioned monologues. Because he’s unbelievably sincere, and has so much love in his heart for every single person in the room. Anytime he delivers a speech to any of them, it’s genuinely heartwarming.

This is the film that finally shows La Familia in their best environment, which is working together, in a movie genre that allows them to work together, which is a heist film. And a great one at that.

Last Days (2005) (dir. Gus Van Sant)

CW: Mention of suicide

Several films have been made about legendary rock artist Kurt Cobain, and for good reason. He is one of the most tragic figures in rock and roll. A tortured genius who has written and performed classic song after classic song with his band Nirvana. He was called the voice of a generation, and helped change the face of mainstream alternative rock music as we know it. But with that fame, and all of those expectations came a worsening depression and further drug abuse, and his eventual death. But most of the films about Kurt Cobain ask one question which gets under my skin way too much:

“Who REEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLY killed Kurt Cobain?”

It was him. He did. And it’s okay, I’m sad too. Thinking that Kurt Cobain was murdered is completely ignoring the depression that he faced. And despite Last Days being more inspired by the death of Cobain rather than actually about it, it feels much more honest than the conspiracy documentaries on his death, wanting to leech off of his dead body.

This is the last installment of Gus Van Sant’s “Death Trilogy”, the previous two installments being Gerry (2001), and Elephant (2003). While I have not seen Gerry, I have seen Elephant though, and love that film for its minimalist, raw nature, and its boldness for not romanticizing the school shooter or the lives they had taken. Last Days falls into that trap once, as I don’t agree with the shot of Blake’s soul climbing up a ladder, that always struck me as cheesy in a film that is anything but.

Last Days is similar to Elephant in terms of the way it is filmed. Its usage of long takes, and still shots of characters doing various things, such as Blake playing his guitar behind a drum set. The way these moments are shot is similar to a Chantal Akerman film, particularly Jeanne Dielman. Where the acts of the mundane are the stars of the film. Blake wanders around an empty house, and the viewer can feel the pain, not just through Michael Pitt’s acting, but from the house itself. Its decay, its paint peeling from the walls, from the soft glow of the lamp that lights his face.

I say this is the most honest film about Kurt Cobain, because, despite the characters technically being fictional (the main character who looks, walks, and acts like Cobain is named Blake), this film focuses on the mental state of a person before they eventually take their own life. They’re still working, still making music, still trying to talk to friends and bandmates, but the depression lingers on. Not once does this film try to make you believe that someone else killed him, because you can see the signs of his own suicide taking place just through the film’s excellent cinematography by Harris Savides, showing his mental state only growing worse through the production design.

And it’s empathetic with him. There’s no judgement for leaving rehab, there’s no finger-wagging at him or the people he was with, there’s just a silent prayer at the end of the film, hoping that he is in a better place than he was.

Sometimes you don’t need to show every event that led you to where you are, all you can show is the moment, which also makes this better than most biopics as well, as it never feels messy or muddled, just showing one moment of Blake/Kurt’s life.

I really loved this film, and I’ll be writing about it in full soon.

The Village (2004) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

The Cracked.com/Channel Awesome audience stuck in 2012 will tell you that this was the beginning of the end for Shyamalan. That this was when people stopped taking him seriously, that this was when he became more of a punchline because of his twist endings.

But why?

The Village was released in 2004, deep in the Bush administration, during the early stages of the Iraq War. The leaders of the time were talking about imaginary boogeymen, terrorists that would attack the civilians if they could. Because of 9/11, politicians could get away with these false ideas with the majority of Americans fully believing them. The boogeymen in The Village are “The People We Don’t Speak Of”, monsters attracted by the color red. Yet we find out that they are all costumes made by the Elders of the land, designed to prevent people from going outside the land. They rule by fear disguised as love. They’ve gone through their own traumas through the deaths of their family members, but they’ve decided to completely abandon the lives that they’ve had and have their children living lies.

9/11 impacted American life by teaching citizens to live primarily by fear, to not trust anyone but their own people. And yet, post-9/11, all that increased was not “coming together”, but hate crimes against South Asian people. The rage white Americans had felt led to conservative politicians pushing fear-mongering agendas, and said white Americans blindly accepted. The outside world was progressing, but too many people were fine with living with further conservative politics only regressing American life further and further back, all for the illusion of safety. Meanwhile, the only threats to them were not the brown citizens outside of America they were so afraid of, but the white elders, the white politicians.

The Village explores these fears so eloquently, all while having a terrifying atmosphere, an enchanting score, and brilliant sound design. I enjoyed this movie very much.

Other viewings I enjoyed:

Beavis and Butt-Head Do America (1996) (dir. Mike Judge) (re-watch)

Blow Out (1981) (dir. Brian de Palma) (re-watch)

Clueless (1995) (dir. Amy Heckerling) (re-watch)

Furious 7 (2015) (dir. James Wan)

The Long Goodbye (1973) (dir. Robert Altman)

Lupin III: The First (2019) (dir. Takashi Yamazaki)

Unbreakable (2000) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan) (re-watch)

Velvet Goldmine (1998) (dir. Todd Haynes)

The Visit (2015) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

#favorite first watches #these movies are (chef's kiss)#beyond the valley of the dolls #russ meyer #deep cover #bill duke #fast five #justin lin #last days #gus van sant #the village #m night shyamalan

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accursedkaleeshi · 3 years

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Hondo Has the Opposite of a Crisis of Honor

3K word fic about a job Hondo Ohnaka ran for Kalee earlier in his career & his later wartime run-in with General Grievous.

Business was on a steady incline for Hondo Ohnaka. He had escaped slavery, poverty, the Hutts & now, as planned he would escape the attention of authority. What kind of authority? All kinds, of course. He was a self-made man. An entrepreneur & a leader. His gang, made mostly of fellow Weequay, were operating just as ordered; The Ohnaka Gang! Yes, things were going most swimmingly. For his crew to flourish they had to fly low & strike fast, as his mother would have said.

While they worked up their spice sources, doing good work in front of other backroom businessmen would help get their name out into the right circles of the galaxy. The open ended bid from the planet Kalee for smugglers was a tip top opportunity. The Galactic Republic had brought embargos down on Kalee hard & they had no choice but to turn to underhanded humanitarians (for lack of a better word). Many other gangs & syndicates showed hesitation: the distance, the environment, & the natives all had reputations for being dangerous. Nonsense!, Hondo had thought, We will do it & we will do it with good deals. The Ohnaka Gang could come out looking quite good from this & so very far from the core worlds. Out there was little in the way of pesky patrols that might get their names out into the wrong circles of the galaxy.

From the relative safety of one of his classic Weequay ships, Hondo fixed himself a drink. He flipped on the vidscreen to a call from Kalee & spread himself over his seat. Between his antique rig & their equally antiquated tech, the signal was a bit scrambled.

“Hold on, hold on,” he relayed whilst he threw a cork bottle stopper at his young pet Kowakian monkey-lizard, “Mukmuk, help me out.” Stirred into action, Mukmuk squawked a pompous little laugh but begrudgingly leapt from his perch. The monkey-lizard gave the comms unit a couple good smacks that echoed against the casing but seemed to do the trick. The screen righted itself but the color flickered on & off. At this Hondo opened his arms in a greeting gesture. “Trade Captain Blys’aan! My most beautiful 4th quadrant customer!” he exclaimed jovially, “Your run has departed as planned. You would like more good news, yes-?”

He was interrupted by his contact.

“Save ya wiles for yer core clients, Ohnaka,” Blys’aan said, the audio coming in uncorrupted. She had a thick but warm foreign accent &, although her voice was just as jubilant as Hondo’s, her words were often sharp. The both of them knew very well he did not have clients on the core worlds, not at this point in his sure to be illustrious career. “We givin ya what we agreed,” she said amenably. It was hard to describe how her voice matched her visage. Warm & welcoming, perhaps, but with a sharp wolfish wit about her. A fellow businessman.

“An don’t you go try an upsellin my boys at Hakaleel, eh?” Blys’aan had barked this as if chiding a child. As she spoke she seemed to be sorting or washing vegetables. Her motion would leave artifacts as the vidscreen dropped in & out of monochrome. This Kaleeshi woman had such a vibrant green scales that her form would blend into her backdrop of some lush foreign jungle. Only when she began peeling things did Hondo recognize the vegetable (a popular, cheap export). Consequently, he realized it seemed small in her clawed hands & that Kaleesh must be larger than the average humanoid species. This did not worry him, of course, there was no reason to make things difficult.

“You know we can’t be affording more,” she had added. Hondo knew this to be relatively true. Kalee had next to nothing in the way of recognized galactic currency but Hondo always preferred to trade in goods. Most of what the Kaleesh had been trading to the other smugglers were caches of liberated Yam’rii weapons & tech as well as Kaleeshi people willing to find work off planet. Hondo was sure the Kaleesh made for excellent crew & security but, not to be exclusive, he had his own theme going.

The Ohnaka gang got a few caches of alien weapons but they didn’t mind trading in some of Kalee’s native goods. These were composed largely of animal products: feathers, hides, cuts, live specimens, & bones. Lots & lots of bones. Raw or crafted into traditional pieces of masks or weaponry. It made sense that other less cultured crews referred to the Kaleesh as bone lizards. Hondo knew he could tremendously upsell these to any would-be trophy hunter or self-proclaimed mystic looking for exotic trinkets. Kalee was on the edge of the civilized galaxy & considered to be in wild space; it was legitimately exotic. He would barter these for basic supplies that Kalee seemed to need most of all until such time it ceased to be profitable. Therefore the smiling & nodding he was doing was not at all a lie. For now.

“Tell ya lads t’ be behavin’ themselves on planet,” Blys’aan followed. Her voice suddenly went up half an octave in a mischievous tone. Hondo bowed his head a bit before she finished, his money-making smile still plastered on his face. He liked Trade Captain Blys’aan. She was sassy. Full of spirit. It was too bad she had retired from her position & was only fielding the remaining contracts in her name to her trade company. “We don’ take kindly t’ swindlers out here in wild space.” Naturally, what was a good deal without threats thinly veiled or otherwise? That’s how you know it is good! His mother had told him as much.

Other people (Kaleesh, he assumed) had wandered in & out of the background of her call a couple times & he had taken no notice. That was until Blys’aan said, “Hate for my husband t’ haff ta make’n example outta you to de other pirates, no?” She said this with such glee, her lips pursed into a playful smile behind her bone-crested veil, that the realization of someone coming to pause behind her almost startled the smile from him. They were large. If Blys’aan had 12 standard centimeters on him, this figure would have been nearly 30 centimeters taller than him in his finest boots.

Hondo could only assume it was her new husband; the General, they called him. There was nothing coy & playful about this man. He was only on screen for a few seconds but had looked directly at the pirate, gesturing the universal signal for watching someone. The moment the General motioned to his eyes with two clawed fingers the color on the old monitor cut back in. For a split second Hondo might have been intimidated, barely registering the pointed jab his direction under the piercing predatory gaze of the General’s bright gold eyes glowering at him from behind the hollowed sockets of some animal’s bleached skull. By the time Hondo began to voice a reply to Blys’aan, the General was already out of the frame.

“Of course, of course!” Ohnaka began, very loudly & very reassuringly, “I am a man of substance, Captain! We wouldn’t dream of- of profiting off the suffering of your people. We can be excellentfriends!” He clapped his hands together at this for emphasis. Blys’aan giggled very boisterously. She must have seen her husband walking away & realized that he had been behind her. That must have been a solid relationship, threatening pirates together. Good for them. “There is no need to take the good General away from his duties,” Hondo insisted.

He had no idea what those duties were but he would prefer he keep to them. All Hondo knew about General Grievous was that he was some sort of globally celebrated veteran folk hero, & not the jaunty fun kind of folk hero. He’d heard from the other gangs considering Kalee’s jobs that the General protected his system so fiercely that even Zygerrian slavers would no longer come out this way. The details did not concern him. Hondo was there to do business!

The call carried on another few minutes as he wanted to be positive he postured assuringly enough to not get his crew killed by the natives. Blys’aan had ended the conversation with, “You be good t’ all yer space rat friends, now Ohnaka,” which he took to be endearing in a matronly way. How nice of her to wish them well. This was the last time he spoke with Import Trade Captain Blys’aan. He certainly had hoped in the moment that it was the last time he ever had to see the General.

From then on Hondo’s Kaleeshi contact was the High Trade Chief of the planet’s premier trade organization. They liked their titles, the Kaleesh. High Trade Chief Yaitee was an alright sort, very shrewd & severe. He was quite a fine businessman but desperate (the best kind of businessman) & much less fun. A couple members of his own crew would splinter off & join a poaching ring on the planet, never to be heard from again. You win some, you lose some. Then the Intergalactic Banking Clan showed up to the system. They had apparently worked out some sort of deal with the good General. Many smugglers did not like that kind of presence. Even with the IBC, the Kaleesh tried to maintain many of their under the table contracts as there wasn’t much to go around, apparently.

Over time the Ohnaka gang was getting right to where they wanted to be in the galaxy, cutting deals & running spice. Kalee became less profitable every quarter until they quietly stopped taking their jobs & moved on to greener pastures, so to speak. The last time Kalee was on his underworld radar was maybe 8 standard years after he’d taken on Blys’aan’s contract. Something about an urgent need for medical supplies. Ominous, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it even if he wanted too. Meds were very hard to smuggle & supplying them tended to land people in a lot of drama. Too much trouble to do as a regular gig. But life with spice was going quite nicely.

Hondo did not think back on dropped deals very often. Life must go on, after all. Years later the Ohnaka gang became quite good at conducting business on the fringes of the Clone Wars. Now, he was not one to take sides, but it is hard to sell to battle droids. Not impossible, but very hard. The money in the Separatists was their leader Count Dooku of Serrano. The man was loaded with money. But unfortunately their engagements fell through & Hondo hadn’t managed to make friends with the Count.

He had hoped perhaps the Count was an honorable old man that would take their falling out with grace & humility. He learned he was incorrect in this assumption when a fleet of battle droids showed up to his beautiful home & base of operations on Florrum. The Count himself did not show, busy doing Sith lord things, whatever that was. He sent his dog of war. Of course Hondo had heard the commander of Dooku’s droid army was wreaking havoc on the galaxy. Not the jaunty, fun kind of havoc. Supreme Commander of the Separatist Droid Army General Grievous. The Kaleesh liked their titles. However, up until that day, Hondo had the good fortune of never meeting him & thought maybe good for him, getting promoted to death machine, but never lingered on it.

He had not been worried. What are a few battle droids? He was not prepared for what marched into his lobby that day. It was big. Sharp. Cold. Most of all, furious. King of the clankers, indeed.

“Hondo,” it growled his name with disdain upon entering.

“General Grievous, I presume!” Hondo had greeted his guest as jovially as ever. “What a surprise! Have a seat. What, may I ask, is the honor?” The hope that maybe this could be an amicable meeting faded with each long, loud step the General took, until this overgrown battle droid stepped directly onto his desk to leer at him. When the General grabbed his very rare vintage coat lapels & lifted him off of his feet there was a split second of something, maybe horror or disgust or maybe even pity. Whatever it was had him briefly aghast to find those same blazing golden eyes he’d glimpsed so long ago. Did the General remember him? Or was he acting purely on the spiteful orders of his master?

“You can dispense with the pleasantries, pirate,” Grievous had rasped as he approached. “This planet is now under Separatist control,” he had asserted from somewhere on that uncanny plate armor that was now his face. It truly was the same man. Bone white was an interesting color choice for a killer war robot. Bold.

“Uh huh,” Hondo blinked a few times before remembering he was currently being threatened with military occupation by this fancy cyborg. “And what do you suppose that means?” he asked. His flash of empathy vanished completely as quickly as it came. He got the feeling this meeting was not going to get him any deals & in fact he may be swindled. The gall did not have time to be voiced as the General threw him to the ground with an unnecessary amount of force. Luckily he was still drunk enough not to be phased by impact.

“It means you have a new master, pirate scum” the General jeered & threw something to the ground in front of him. Hondo had another second of panic, thinking perhaps the good General was insane & opted to bomb them. But it was just a holocom. And there was the man of the hour over hologram to greet him.

“Hondo Ohnaka, we meet again,” Count Dooku began over coms with just as much disdain as his monstrous errand boy, “As I recall, last time we met face-to-face I was your prisoner.” Hondo muttered a syllable. He supposed the Jedi would never hold a grudge like this. “And you attempted to barter me off to the highest bidder.” Dooku’s face never once changed expression.

“But can you blame me?” Hondo interjected with a smile & a sheepish shrug. “I mean a Sith Lord-“ He used the same gravitas to pronounce it that everyone else did, although still not having any idea what exactly a Sith lord was. “What a handsome price you would-“

“Silence! You will pay the price for your treachery,” the Count barked.

“Well, I’m a reasonable man. Name the price. I’m sure we can reach a-“ Hondo was again cut off.

“There will be payment, but no deals…” No deals, he said? No deals? “Only demands. Your entire arsenal will be melted down. Everything you own is now property of the Separatist Alliance.”

“Now you go too far!” Hondo exclaimed indignantly. “Unacceptable! This is an outrage. This…” All of his little kingdom he had worked so hard for! Scrapped by this cad & his metal toys? He had stolen all of this fair & square. He would not stand for this! Now that he was making a scene, two commando droids clacked up & seized him by the arms with very unforgiving grip. “Hold on,” the pirate changed his tone as the droids led him away to his own brig. “We can make a deal! This is not good business!” he shouted over his shoulder.

That was a very long day for Hondo Ohnaka. Luckily the half-gallon Jedi he had captured earlier came back to rescue him with the troupe of pint sized Jedi in tow. How nice this was! Not only did they free him, but he got to witness the construction of a Jedi lightsaber. Very rare, very exclusive. In return he led them to his secret fleet of pirated ships in which they could escape. Very generous of him. They got separated in the dry canyons of Florrum but Hondo was convinced to courageously save the day in the Fetts’ souped up patrol ship, Slave 1. It was a very nice ship that the same half-gallon Jedi had grounded there some time before.

The ship had now come to the girl’s rescue in the midst of a lightsaber duel with the General himself. There were far too many laser swords flashing down there in the dust. Tano leapt dramatically into the open gangplank just out of reach of the droid general’s claws. Grievous stood & stared down this highly modified attack ship, yelling some threat. Hondo felt threatened, at least, as his initial impression concerning the General’s level of sanity seemed to be true. This completely justified opening fire on the cyborg with dual ship-graded laser cannons. The tiny Jedi were surprisingly very open to obliterating him. It would have been a nice end to the day if Hondo had stopped a galactic war right then & there but, after a bolt or two struck the ground around him the General dropped & took cover. He folded rather like a very expensive lawn chair as his Separatist tanks rolled up behind him. It was time to go.

This was exactly how he retold the tale to Jedi Kenobi. Except maybe the part about waylaying a craft full of children. The important thing is Hondo saved the day! His friends in the Republic were happy to free his base system from Separatist control or, in the very least, not arrest him for waylaying a craft full of children. Whilst Hondo & his battered gang went back to Florrum to start picking up the pieces, he may have had a quiet moment of intoxicated introspection (the best kind of introspection?).

He reflected on the concepts of good & evil, whether or not they exist, & if so, to what degree. Was his sense of honor different than his friend Kenobi’s? From the Count’s? From the General’s? Surely these were all honorable men. At least at some point in their lives. Hardship tends to polarize people. Hondo liked to be in the middle. Maybe a little to one side. Then he went to drunkenly order new ships from the holonet to defend his base from any other ideas the Count might get.

The very last time his mind wandered all the way back to the Kalee contract was when the news broke. That was a lot of news to take in, to be fair. The Clone Wars had ended with the death of General Grievous & a betrayal by the Jedi of the Republic? Where did everyone’s honor get them in the end? He fleetingly wondered how Import Trade Captain Blys’aan was doing.

#accursed!grievous #blys'aan #hondo ohnaka #ft. kaleesh OCs

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 3 years

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Paying It Forward

Good Evening all,

Ok, I know I haven’t posted the next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. I am sorry about that. But it has been a pretty bad, horrible, no good end of the year for me. Hubby got sick again and I had to rush him to hospital. He needed heavy duty antibiotics. He is now ok, but still very debilitated after his illness. Me? I have been taking care of him, going to work, and my characters have decided not to play nice with me. Hubs said I painted myself into a corner. Not exactly, I just haven’t figured out how to get them to do what I want them to do. And I am tired. Which is partially how this fic came about.

I decided that I would start to read MOBY for two reasons. One, it has been some time since I read it and I am hoping that Bees will be out this year and I wanted to refresh my memory of what happened previously. Two, I was hoping it would help my writer’s block. It did but in an unexpected way. After getting to a certain point in the story, I went to sleep and dreamt the story you are about to read. It played in my head over and over, like it had to some out. So I wrote it and here it is.

Now that I said MOBY: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t read MOBY and don’t want to find out what’s going to happen, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. The story actually draws on ABOSAA, ECHO, MOBY, and a tiny bit from the TV program.

As always I am indebted to @scubalass for her most excellent work as my beta. Also she contributed to the story which made it so much better. I’ll tell you at the end. I am also grateful to @gotham-ruaidh who told me it was different and good. And that I should go with it. The other important thing you need to know is it is written like one of Claire’s voice-over monologues. I know that people hate the monologues, but that’s how it was and I kept to it.

So I give you Paying It Forward. I hope you like it.

The detritus of the woodland floor muffled the sounds of the Army advancing. Moldy leaves crackled and fragrant pine needles from fir trees helped to disguise their steps. But, it is not in the make-up of the military to travel quietly especially in the 18th century. Horses neighed and harness jingled. Goats bleated. Shot pouches and cartridge-boxes buckled to belts rattled and clinked Wagons creaked under their heavy loads. Carriages groaned pulling the weighty cannon along. And, of course, there was Rollo, half-wolf, half-dog. The mongrel barked madly harassing man and beast alike as he weaved among them. The voice of my nephew, Ian Murray, called to the animal, “ Thig an seo cù .” Yipping with glee at the sound of his master’s voice, he raced to Ian’s side. The sounds of infantry on the move certainly broke the peace of the coppice.

Our journey became hampered by the dense forest we traveled through. It was thick with trees, bushes, and bramble impeding the progress of the Continental Army as they marched toward Monmouth. Once there we were to muster with General George Washington and the other battalions.

Commanding this regiment is the newly ordained General James Fraser, my husband to whom I serve as company surgeon. I do admit it was quite a shock to first see him dressed in the full military regalia of a Continental Officer. I began to tremble becoming a quivering mess when I first took him in wearing an officer’s dark blue and buff.

“Why does it always have to be you? Haven’t you, haven’t we given enough? Isn't it time for you to put down your sword and pistol?” I shuddered as I recalled the failed attempt by Charles Stewart to regain the Scottish crown which resulted in our twenty-year separation. The skirmish at Alamance that resulted in Murtagh’s death and the hanging of our son-in-law Roger which almost cost his life. The battle of Saratoga where I amputated one of Jamie’s fingers. Now, we were being pulled into another conflict. Was it too much to want to return to our simple life on the Ridge I wondered? But Jamie, my Jamie, is a highlander born and bred. A decent man, with strong principles and morals. He is a man of honor and that is not a small thing to be. I watched him as he sat at the head of the column, sitting straight and tall in his saddle like the true highland warrior he is. The breadth of his powerful back and shoulders would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was born to lead, to command, to this moment in history. And command he would, braving the responsibility of leading his battalion to fight against the oppression of the British king.

Jamie knew the meaning of suffering, cruelty, and loss at the hands of the English. The loss of his home, his country, his own personal freedom came at their hands. And the loss of his family. He had quite the history with the Redcoats. Arrested for obstruction, escaping, then being recaptured. He ran afoul of a sadistic dragoon captain who had him flogged most cruelly one hundred lashes upon one hundred lashes. He escaped again and lived as an outlaw on the run instead of facing the gallows for a murder he did not commit.

Then there was Culloden. Where he, or should I say we lost everything. I was pregnant with our second child; our first child, a daughter, was stillborn. On the eve of battle, Jamie forced me to return to my own time for the safety of myself and our child. Jamie believed it would be his destiny to die in battle. Instead, he lived. Again he went into hiding for seven years living in a cave in Lallybroch. The Redcoats continued to harass his family, stealing what they wanted from the estate. They arrested Ian, Jamie’s brother-in-law as the Redcoats believed he knew of Jamie’s whereabouts. And there was the Highland Clearances which destroyed homes, Scottish culture, language, and their way of life.

Jamie was not driven to this war because of a need for revenge because of his losses, but rather he felt he was honor-bound as a father to take up his sword to protect those he loved. Even if those he loved lived centuries after him.

“Ye said that this was meant tae be Brianna’s home, her country, aye? Then I must do what I can for our daughter and her bairns. ‘Tis my duty as sire and grandsire to see that they will live free, Sassenach.”

And he would do what he must for Brianna, Jem, wee Mandy, and Roger. No matter the cost to himself.

My mind completely focused on Jamie and our immediate future prevented me from noticing a tall man thin as a rail standing in the middle of the road blocking our progress. Immediately, Jamie’s second in command rode up next to his commander.

The man did not budge an inch. He was rather rough looking. Wearing a knitted cap on his head, his long greasy hair protruded out. A grizzled beard covered his face. His clothes were quite worn having been patched many times. He wore no shoes. In all, he looked quite primitive.

Suddenly, he moved with a decided determination; a man on a mission. The man strode up to Jamie assuming correctly that he was the man in charge.

A strong downward breeze announced his presence. Most likely the man had not bathed in months if not years. The odor was enough to make your eyes water.

The old man came forward eyeing Jamie like an entomologist studying a new species of bug. Relaxing he gave a tug on his cap and briefly bobbed his head.

“Ye in charge here?” the old coot demanded.

‘Aye, I am. General James Fraser at yer service sir. Might I enquire to whom I am speaking?”

“Mortimer Hepplewhite the owner of this here land yer trespassing on. And I want tae know when ye will be gone.”

“Mr. Hepplewhite, we shall be off yer land as soon as may be. We need to travel off the main road for now as there have been sightings of English troops nearby.”

“Well, all yer clanging and stomping about is disturbing the peace of me home.”

Jamie turned around to look at the property. It had not been cleared for planting nor were there any animals grazing. All that stood in the distance was a ramshackle cabin with a lopsided chimney discharging an inordinate amount of smoke.

“I dinna see any crops, or animals grazing, or people that we might be disturbing, sir.”

“Not disturbing he says! Why I’ll have ye know me Arabella is in a right fit. She doesn’t care much for strangers.”

The recluse, a long-limb man, raised a heretofore unnoticed ball of fur and thrust it under Jamie’s nose. He focused on it intently causing his eyes to almost cross. It hissed, spit, and yowled with great ferocity.

It seemed that Arabella was a cantankerous cat. And was as ill-kempt as its master with matted fur and bald in spots. One fang hung outside its mouth and on closer inspection seemed to be missing an eye.

Mortimer drew the beast close to his chest whispering sweet words of comfort while tenderly stroking its scraggly fur. The cat settled in his arms and even began to purr.

Jamie called to his Lieutenant and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded and rode off to follow his orders.

I sat on my horse watching this spectacle play out. Without warning, I felt the sudden loss of my cat and worried about his well-being. Adso was part house cat and part feral cat. However, he was my cat. He loved to jump onto my lap to snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or lie on the windowsill basking in a sunbeam tail swishing like a metronome. He did wreak havoc in my surgery at times but he was mine, a gift from Jamie. Adso was just as much a part of the family as any of us. So why couldn’t Arabella be this lonely man’s family? Family is whoever you say they are.

The Lieutenant promptly returned carrying a bundle which he handed to Jamie.

Jamie slid down from his horse and approached the gentleman.

“On behalf of the Continental Army, I would like tae offer ye recompense for disturbing yer peace. Please accept this small token from myself and General Washington. And for the lovely Miss Arabella, I make a gift of this fish just caught this morning.”

Jamie removed his hat and bowed to the man.

Mortimer truly wasn’t sure of what to make of this but graciously accepted the parcel. He removed his cap revealing a head of matted hair and returned the bow. He replaced his cap, straightened his shoulders, held his head high as he strolled back to his home, a rich man. A man made richer not for what he received but for the respect given him.

Later that night as I lay in Jamie’s embrace I asked him what prompted his actions on the road.

“Do ye ken the conversation we had in the gardens in Philadelphia? The one about what happened between ye and his lordship?”

Did I remember, he wanted to know? How could I forget?

“Of course I remember, you said that you would mention it from time to time. Am I to take it that this will be one of those times?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But not what yer thinking about,” he said with a sidelong look. “I’m speaking of how John’s friendship healed us during times of great need. Mine at Ardsmuir, Hellwater, and Jamaica. Yer’s when ye thought I died.” The topic of my hasty marriage to John (for strictly political reasons) was still a sore point to him. He understood it, but didn’t and wouldn’t like it.

Jamie let out a sigh trying to collect himself before continuing, “Mortimer was naught but a poor lonely old man, Sassenach. And I did not do much for him. I gave him a wee bit of flour, lard, dried meat, apples, and some parritch.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “Oh, a razor, a lump of soap, and a fish for his mangy cat.”

“Are you saying that you did this because of the kindnesses John showed us?”

“Exactly so, mo ghràdh . I felt..it just felt like the right thing tae do.”

I raised my face to look at him, “There’s a term for that and it's called paying it forward .”

He looked quizzically at me trying to understand what I meant.

“What that means is when someone does something kind or helpful for you, you return that kindness to a different person instead of repaying the person who originally helped you. Did you know that the man who started this idea is alive now?”

“Och, aye? Who is he Sassenach?”

“Benjamin Franklin. I think you would like him. He was a founding Father, freemason, inventor, scientist, and a printer.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Franklin being a printer and a freemason. “I should like to meet this man one day. “

Jamie grew quiet as he attempted to digest this information. “Paying it forward,” he rolled the words around in his mouth tasting them. “Aye, that’s it. Just so, I was paying it forward.”

“Jamie, I think what you did was far greater than repaying a kindness. I think you gave him something more than he ever expected. You gave him respect and a way to restore his dignity.”

He leaned over and kissed me, “Aye, Sassenach, respect is something every man or woman deserves.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “No man wants to go about stinking if he can help it.” I knew he was thinking of his time hiding in the cave and as a prisoner at Ardsmuir. “There were days I thought I would never get the stink off my body, dirt from under my nails, or be rid of the lice. ‘Twas a small thing but it may make a big difference to him. Maybe it will help to restore his self-regard.”

The following day we resumed our journey. Once again a man stood in the road again blocking our path. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was Mortimer, now clean-shaven, clothes washed having removed several layers of filth, and much less fragrant. He carried a pack strapped to his back probably containing all his worldly possessions. Strangely he carried a beautiful and well-maintained musket in his hand.

He approached Jamie, removed his cap, and bowed deeply.

“Yer Excellency, I have decided tae travel with ye fer a while. If ye dinna mind.”

“Yer presence is welcome, Mr. Hepplewhite. Find yerself a place among the men. This evening please come by tae see my wife. She is the physician of our troop. She will see tae yer physicking needs should ye have any.”

“I thank ye, sir.” Mortimer replaced his cap, lowered his head, and took a position among the rank-and-file.

Jamie smiled, a pleased look playing across his face. His arm raised and he waved us forward.

As the men resumed their march, a wee black puff ball of fur stuck its head out of Mortimer’s bag evidently Arabella had a wash-up too.

********************

Thig an seo cù - Come here dog.

If anyone wants to know, Jamie’s white stallion’s name was Samson. And he sneezed violently when he sniffed Mortimer.

A little bit of history here. Benjamin Franklin lent Benjamin Webb a sum of money to start a business. He told Webb that when his business was successful and he had paid all his debts, he should likewise help someone else like Franklin helped him. In return, that gentleman would have to assist someone else like Webb helped him. Franklin hoped this would continue until some knave would stop its progress. The idea of paying it forward was born.

We can all thank @scubalass for telling me about Ben Franklin and Paying It Forward. She is truly an amazing person and a fount of information and wisdom. I think that this added so much to the story and found it quite interesting.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.

It is also on AO3 where I am LadyJane518: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907349

#paying it forward #moby #jamie and claire #Mortimer Hepplewhite #revolutionary war #arabella the cat #ol fanfic #My writing #Here Goes Nothing #good to flex the writing muscles

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gallickingun · 4 years

Text

keep my secrets safe

Summary: Bakugou hates covert work. And he’s hungry. But also, apparently he talks in his sleep?

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Rated: T Warning: language, etc. Word Count: 1,702

bakugou’s birthday party has begun! see here for more info!

“I can’t believe I got stuck on stake-out duty again.”

“I can’t believe they stuck me with you again.”

Bakugou growls, slumping further down in his seat, resting his head on his fists. He’s completely stretched out in the front passenger’s seat, legs sprawled out, fast food wrappers on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee starting to go cold in his cup holder. You keep your eyes glued to the building across the street where you’re waiting for the final piece of evidence to fall into place so you can arrest a particularly dangerous set of villains.

“And they say I’m a pain in the ass,” Bakugou grumbles, kicking at the tinfoil wrapped beneath his feet. He closes his eyes, “I should be asleep right now.”

You nod in the general direction of the nightclub across the street, “I’m sure if we just go in there and tell them to commit their crimes so you can put on your pajamas, they’ll totally listen!”

The telltale sound of Bakugou’s hands crackling, body itching to display his quirk so you might be the slightest bit intimidated by him, echoes against the windows and you wince, “Seriously?”

“You’re so annoying,” Bakugou curls his fists back together, shutting down the fireworks. He crosses his arms over his chest, resting his head against the window, “This is so stupid, I hate covert work.”

You look through the binoculars again, focusing intently on the various entrances, “It’s because you’re the worst hero possible for covert work. You literally blow things up.”

He goes quiet, so you take advantage of the silence to start really surveying the area. You pinpoint the different exits and make sure to watch the rooftop for any villains with wings or quirks that may allow them to stay so high in the air. Your eyes track over every surface of the buildings and you keep track on a small notepad the number of guards and their rotation schedules.

“S’hungry,” Bakugou mumbles from the passenger seat.

You chuckle, “I told you to get two burgers, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He whines out the word again and you hear his body shift on the leather. You don’t dare take your eyes off of the nightclub as the next round of guards switch out with the prior group. “Bakugou, I didn’t eat my whole sandwich. You can have the rest.”

A string of incoherent words passes from his lips but you don’t pay him any mind. He likes to piss you off, you think, so of course he’d say something about being hungry but not take you up on your offer to feed him what little you have. However, you won’t allow him to distract you from this important mission.

To him it may seem like a nuisance, something that he has to do to get through the day, but this is an opportunity for you. It is an opening into a better agency if you’re able to prove yourself, which is why you pray that Bakugou can behave himself for one night until you can capture the criminal activity going on in the nightclub. And then you’ll let him loose, allowing him to use his quirk to blast whoever he wants.

“Pisces sushi sounds good,” Bakugou’s words slur together, his feet pushing around on the floorboards. You sigh, turning your head just enough so he can know that you’re acknowledging him, “Katsuki, now is not the time to think about sushi.”

“So good!” he whines, “So hungry.”

The next hour passes in silence, which you’re thankful for. You can only take so much of Bakugou’s sarcastic attitude and snarky remarks.

However, in the quiet, your mind starts to wander. You think of the reason you started your Pro Hero journey - your desire to save people stemming from the death of your parents. You swore to yourself as a child that you would use your abilities to save others so no child would have to grow up alone like you.

You tilt your head, leaning back on the car headrest, “Why did you become a Pro Hero?”

The only response you get is the echo of crickets outside the car. You groan to yourself; you knew that Bakugou didn’t have the emotional maturity to have a full length conversation about anything semi-sensitive.

A quick retort sits on your tongue, begging for you to burst, but he surprises you with a small response only milliseconds before you’ve opened your lips.

“Protection. Saving.” Bakugou’s voice is clipped, but you’ll take what you can get. He coughs and out of the corner of your eye you see him shift uncomfortably in the front seat.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, adjusting the binoculars so you can see closer, gathering more details about the various villains guarding the nightclub. A small inhale parts your lips, “Wow, not what I expected.”

“I wan’ to make people feel safe,” he’s slurring his words but you are sure he’s just tired. You chuckle, a blush painted on the tops of your cheeks at his admission - you didn’t think he had such kindness within him, let alone the humility to let it leak through in the form of words. Bakugou swallows audibly, “The way All Might made me feel safe.”

The binoculars rest on your chest now, your nails busied with the base of your cuticles. You can’t believe he’s baring himself to you in this way. The only time you’ve ever heard Bakugou talk openly about All Might is when he’s swearing up and down that he’ll surpass him as Number One Pro Hero. Of course, the veteran has since retired, but Bakugou still holds him to a level above all the others.

“I think that’s very noble of you, Bakugou.”

There is a beat of quiet before his mouth opens again, “I miss Kiri.”

Your jaw drops at his blatant admission, but there is a sound of gunfire from across the road and the two of you spring into action. Bakugou blasts himself forward using his quirk, slamming into the thugs outside before storming the building.

The two of you make quick work of the villains, your backup arriving only a few minutes after you’re tying up the head crook. You hand him off to the cops and step to where Bakugou is leaned against your rental car, “So, how about something to eat? You had to have burned a lot of calories in that fight.”

“Sure, I guess I could eat,” Bakugou grumbles, wringing his hands together. You notice the faint lingering smell of ashen sweetness and you’re reminded of his quirk and the way it works. You smile, “Pisces Sushi sound good?”

His eyes go wide, “Pisces is a hole in the wall - how’d you find out about it?!”

You take a step towards him, looking at him closer with your head tilted, eyeing him up and down, “Did you hit your head?”

“What the he-no!”

“You told me about Pisces, you idiot,” you kick at his shin gently with the toe of your boot, “how else would I know about it?”

Bakugou’s face turns pink at the apples of his cheeks. He turns his eyes downward, watching as he kicks around a few pieces of large gravel with the sole of his shoe, “My mom and I used to go there together. J-Just us. I’ve never told anyone about that place, no one ‘cept Kiri.”

You’re invading his space now, his senses heightened when your closeness makes his temperature sky rocket. You brush your thumb along his jawline, inspecting his face carefully, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Bakugou swats your hand away, but there’s no malice in his action, “I’m fine. Why are you acting weird?”

“It’s just-” You take a breath and his eyes are drawn to the way your chest swells, “You were talking to me in the car about food and Kiri and All Might, so I just thought that maybe-”

“Woah, wait,” Bakugou grabs you by the biceps, “what the hell? I would never say anything about Shitty Hair, not in public. Unless I was roasting him on a spit. What did I say?”

His sudden interest in the things that came out of his own mouth is intriguing, but also a little disturbing. Your browns knit together, “Uh, you said you wanted to be a hero like All Might, and you said you missed Kirishima?”

A string of cuss words fall from Bakugou’s mouth, grating against his throat, “Well, damn.”

The two of you do end up at Pisces Sushi-

-for the next couple of years.

Every Tuesday night you meet up after patrol, and he introduces you to another sushi roll you hadn’t tried yet. Of course he admonishes you, teasing you relentlessly about your uncultured view of the world. After all, who hasn’t tried a spicy tempura roll before?

And later, much later, you’re staying up long after him when you hear it again.

It isn’t the first time since the stakeout, that was years ago, but it still makes your heart flutter nonetheless. He’s facing you, lips slackened from sleep, and the words are soft, so quiet that you can barely hear them in the safety of your bedroom.

“I love you.”

It’s not something you don’t already know, and it’s definitely not something that he doesn’t tell you whenever he can get over his pride long enough to admit that you’re everything he’s ever needed and more. But, somehow, in the quiet darkness that lays over the both of you like a shadow, it means so much more.

Subconsciously, in his state of dreaming, he’s thinking about you still. His thoughts are on you day and night, and it’s only secured even further by the way he reaches out for you in his slumber. Bakugou’s hands are warm as he taps your rib cage, the entirety of his palm spanning the distance of your side.

You plant a kiss on his head, threading your legs through his as you listen to his soft snores overtake his voice once again.

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even if he doesn’t hear you, something within your heart tells you to say it anyway.

taglist - @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @cutest-celestial-princess @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki @bakuoushoe @tenyaingenium @lxvely-mha @myherorambles @ramen-rambles @honeytama @bratwritings @samanthaa-leanne @orokayagi @tumblingintothefeelstrain @sunbeamwrites @bnhawritten @bnhasidebin @lovekatsukibakugo @aizawamirite @yuueimagines @plusultrawritings @bnha-violetnote @suckersuki @bnha-mha-imagines @heroesreverie @pink-imagines @brattyquirks @lookslikeleese @normiewrites @secondhand-trash @yaoyorozuwrites @pinkjeanist

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou one shot #bakugou fanfic #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou blurb #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki one shot #bakugou katsuki fanfic #bakugou katsuki fanfiction #bakugou katsuki blurb #morgan writes bnha #my writing

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

Text

Shadow and Soul

A/N: guess who has another content again after like two months? KJAHSFLKHASDF

Have this Mafia au bc the Vincenzo energy in me is very strong rn and i wanted to write some chaotic/serious mafia au

Word count: 4701

CW: Violence

An attempt on the head of the Lantsov Family's life has occurred under their noses, and it's up to the Underboss and her Consigliere to settle things the clean way or the dirty way.

How Zoya could still find patience for the man in front of her was a mystery. But having more patience for the all-too-smiling Consigliere beside her was a skill she had acquired over the years, and as much as she wanted to strangle her lawyer companion, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the look of rage on Anton Demidov’s eyes as he tried not to lash out his anger. The smug facade he was currently wearing wasn't able to keep the emotions from showing in his gaze.

The small restaurant they were cramped in was humid enough to dry up what’s left of her restraint from wanting to tear the furious look from the man’s face, but she strengthened her resolve. There were several other people dining in here with them, and it would be rude if she suddenly did something rather unlady-like to this gentleman in a suit. Besides, she did promise the infuriating blond that she would ‘be diplomatic for once’, as per his request.

Perhaps she could try to be.

“It’s a fair deal, dearest Anton,” said Nikolai to the Demidovs' caporegime, still grinning his usual crowd-winning smile. When his eyes cast down to Anton’s now clenched fist on the table, the glint of amusement in Nikolai’s eyes only became brighter. If there was something her Consigliere was good at, it was pushing another person’s buttons by merely smiling. “No more threats to the Lantsovs and no more operating the casino without our jurisdiction, and I will personally tell our enforcers to stop the assault on your family’s businesses. Possibly sprinkle a monthly cut from your profit into our pockets, too, no?"

Considering how Anton’s jaw twitched in annoyance only told Zoya that he didn’t like the deal at all. Having the upper hand over the Lantsovs meant being powerful enough to actually go against them, and considering that they were the most powerful among the families, it was a rather bold move to attempt murdering Alexander Lantsov.

Ever since the day the Lantsov head was openly shot at, along with plenty of their men in the streets of Os Alta, Zoya had considered the move as an act of war and broke any peace treaties between their families. She led the attack on the biggest casino the Demidovs had in Kribirsk, effectively shutting the place down and cutting the third of the family’s investments. The assaults continued for the next two weeks, even the smallest businesses didn’t escape their wrath, until the Demidovs were backed to the corner and forced to surrender.

If it were another circumstance, she would have stopped there. She knew they would have learned their lesson by that time. Yet the thought of failing to protect their chief because she hadn’t anticipated any attempts on his life that day only gave her enough reason to continue the attacks.

"I would suggest listening to him. Do him a favor, will you? He loves talking,” Zoya said with unexpected calmness. She leaned back to a more comfortable position in her chair, reaching up to remove the first button by her collar.

This must have brought the wrong impression on Anton's guards stationed by the far window to the left, and they were already reaching for their weapons from their holsters. She merely raised an eyebrow at them.

Panic seized Anton’s eyes as he turned to his guards. He pointed a finger at them. “You’ve frisked them, right?” he demanded. Even though he tried to sound very much authoritative, the slight tremor in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Zoya. But the guards seemed to be oblivious of this, and still nodded nervously. “Then why are you all acting hostile? Stand down.”

Zoya snickered silently. So much for being the one to lead the assassination attempt but was already panicking over the smallest movement she made. She itched for her gun, which was unfortunately dismantled and held by Anton's right hand man as per their no weapons rule during business talks. Her shoulder holsters felt impossibly light without its presence. Maybe it was time to stop the bullshit that was called 'talking' and just start the real line of action.

Patience, dearest Zoya, her infuriating Consigliere's voice echoed in her head. The way he was starting to rub off on her was terrifying. It'd be a good thing to be diplomatic for once.

"No need to be jumpy, Anton. It's just too humid in here." Zoya emphasized her statement by fanning herself with a hand. She heard Nikolai chuckle beside her. "Besides, it's not that I have any more weapons on me."

Come on, lash out at me, goaded Zoya in her mind. Give me enough reason to finally take you down where you stand.

Anton turned back to her and smiled tightly. "I'm aware of that, Miss Nazyalensky. But I can't blame my men for taking precautions, especially around someone who's known to be ruthless."

"I'm honored, sir, but we can't as much as do anything considering the number of your guards in here with us." She shrugged, gesturing to her right. "There's just the four of us."

Her eyes met the two lone guards of their own at the opposite side. Where they only brought the twins along with them for safety, was Anton Demidov’s unit of at least twenty men surrounding the place. She almost found it funny—he was the one to first make a threat over the Lantsovs and yet he was cowering in front of them.

Tamar made a face, gesturing crudely to the Demidov caporegime and making Zoya chuckle lightly. Her twin brother Tolya kicked her in the shin, but there was no denying the smile he was fighting to appear on his lips. Seeing their presence lightened the tense weight on her shoulders somehow, as she knew that they alone could take Demidov's men if things went south.

And considering the stubborn set of Anton's jaw and the fury in his eyes, blood will surely be shed tonight.

Zoya glanced around the room, silently counting how many of his guards were inside the restaurant with them. She let her eyes wander for a few moments, and she was able to count at least eight. There were probably a few more she hadn't seen, but her eyes catching a woman in a bright red overcoat was enough to make her wince and look back to Demidov.

"A rather powerful move," Nikolai said lowly, making her turn to him with a raised brow. There was a smirk playing on his lips as he continued to watch the other man, and it was a clear sign that he was quite enjoying seeing Demidov almost ready to explode. He leaned a bit closer to her ear. "It's really not the perfect time or place to take off your clothes, sir. But if you can make them squirm by doing just that, then be my guest. A little fun before the storm isn't so bad."

Zoya rolled her eyes, her foot connecting solidly to his leg. He let out a muffled wheezed, and he covered it up by clearing his throat when Anton gave him a weird look. Knowing Nikolai was already stressful enough, but having him as her Consigliere and hearing him do the talking most of the time was exhausting.

But he got things done without having to use guns or knives. Words were his weapons, and though he was often mild and considerate during negotiations, he still wielded his words dangerously when circumstances deemed it necessary.

"What do you say, Demidov?" Nikolai said, his grin returning. "It's a rather generous deal."

The table rattled as Anton's fist slammed down on it. "We will not be your family's lapdog," he growled through gritted teeth. If he had been able to hold in his rage, now he was full on acting on it, just like Zoya had expected him to do. "You think you're all so powerful and strong just because you're controlling this city, but not to me." He looked at Nikolai with utter disgust. "I'm surprised Alexander even cared for his bastard enough to appoint him as Consigliere out of all designations."

Something snapped inside Zoya, feeling her suppressed rage flare back to the surface, and she was already considering tipping over the table to the man's face. But a hand enclosed around her wrist from under the table, the touch warm and familiar for her to know it was Nikolai. He must have sensed her sudden want to resort to the worst way.

She risked a glance at him. A shadow had passed over his usual cheerful face, his eyes hard and empty as his jaw twitched in anger. Then a smile appeared on his lips a moment later, the sharp, wicked smile of a man who had reached the last straw of his patience.

"Are getting personal now, Anton?" Nikolai said, his tone still surprisingly calm. "I thought it was all business?"

"Oh, that's true. All business, Lantsov," Anton spat Nikolai’s name like a poison that stung his mouth. "And if I kill you right now, I can just report you for trespassing. It's still business, no? I'm just protecting my property."

Zoya raised an eyebrow. "Is that an open threat?" she said flatly. “Do tell me if it is so we can settle this the way I know we both wanted from the start.”

"Depends on how you put it." Anton gestured to the door. "And if you both are smart enough, then that means you know your only choice is to leave."

So the Demidovs still chose not to have a ceasefire between the families. It was exactly how she expected this night would go. Nikolai owed her a drink later.

"You're acting way too brash for a caporegime," said Zoya as she reached for the cup in front of her to take a sip of the leftover coffee from an hour ago. "Are you sure your family could handle another attack in any of your remaining businesses?"

Anton looked almost smug. Confident, even, as if he suddenly had the upper hand against them. Oh, how Zoya hated to ruin his bravado. "As you've said, Nazyalensky, there's only four of you. So you should watch that tongue of yours."

A sneer threatened its way to her lips, but she didn't dare let it show. She wondered if he would still have the same smugness later, when she finally demonstrated the 'ruthlessness' Anton liked to describe her with.

There was a tense silence around them, and if Zoya listened harder, she was sure she could hear the guards' heavy breathing even from ten meters away. She eyed the other exits—all guarded by Demidov's men. Even the twins' position to their right was at a disadvantage, they could be easily opened fire on if they weren't fast enough to take cover.

"Very well. It would not be a fair fight." She relented, making it sound as convincing as possible. She put the cup back on the table. "We will just leave."

The Demidov caporegime huffed but didn't say anything more. He leaned back on his chair, his triumphant smile never wavering. "I'm glad you're finally starting to think, Miss Nazyalensky."

Another wave of annoyance, and what she could sense as her suppressed rage resurfacing, washed over her. She wrinkled her nose in displeasure. They should have just ambushed the caporegime on his way here. It would have been much easier. Plus, they could even save time and sanity for not going through this 'civilized' negotiation. In their world where power was the only thing to protect you, you should never give a chance to your enemy to take it from you.

Eliminate and narrow down the list of your enemies.

It was now up to Nikolai whether they would go through it or just leave.

The Consigliere leaned back on the chair, his other hand reaching up to loosen his tie. There was a look of disappointment on his face, but his eyes said otherwise. He was already expecting this. "That was quite an exchange," he said with a shrug. Then he shook himself for a bit. "Wow, I think I need to use the restroom after all that. Do you mind if I go? Or should your guards come along to make sure I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary?"

"Just get on with it and leave. I should have known this meeting was useless from the start."

Nikolai feigned a hurtful look. "Oh, how harsh," he said dramatically. "But alright, your call."

The hand that was still around Zoya's wrist loosened, his fingers coming around until his forefinger rested on her pulse point. Warmth erupted from where his skin met hers, and she tried not to let it distract her from the message he was trying to say. He had held her like this far too many times, had even been in a much closer proximity than now when their situation needed them be, and yet her heart still threatened to leap out of her chest whenever he touched her.

Focus, her mind berated, and that’s when she felt it: his finger tapping on her skin twice. It was their go signal. They had made their own sign language over the past three years, when business talks and other matters got a bit out of hand and they needed to subtly communicate with the other. It was something that only the two of them knew of, and it definitely did wonders for them when words weren’t needed.

Zoya gave him a pointed glance sideways as he stood up and let go of her wrist. It was the look that said, I told you so, and she knew if they were somewhere else, Nikolai would have frowned and whined something back. But it wasn’t the time for it.

With one last squeeze to her wrist, he finally let go, straightening the lapels of his coat to show his disappointment on how the negotiation had gone. He cast one last glance to the Demidov caporegime before taking his leave and going to the restroom. Zoya let her gaze follow him until he disappeared around a corner.

Please don't be a moron and find it, she thought before standing up as well, reaching for his suitcase that was carelessly lying on the floor.

One of Anton's guards, which she recognized as his right hand man, approached the table. He had a skeptical gaze on her, like he was readying himself to defend his boss if ever she decided to suddenly do something.

She gave the man a cold smile, amusement bubbling in her chest when she saw him wince and look away to turn to his boss.

Zoya took the moment to glance at the twins and give them the smallest of nods. They immediately understood, with Tamar moving away from their spot to come nearer to the table. Tolya remained in his position, but he already had his hand braced on the holster around his hips.

"That Consigliere of yours," Anton started, making Zoya look back at him. His second was holding up the coat to him, and he turned to shrug it on back to his shoulders. "He really does love talking, doesn't he? It might be the reason he gets killed one day.”

As if I would let that happen. It made her eyebrows furrow, her gaze narrowing dangerously to the caporegime. He had been making a lot of subtle threats to them, and Zoya wasn’t letting it slide. Only one family would be walking out from this place tonight.

And it wasn’t going to be the Demidovs.

“Worry not, Anton,” said Zoya, her cold smile returning, “I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Tell me what?” Nikolai’s too cheery voice echoed a moment later, and Zoya turned to his direction and saw him approaching them. He had stripped off his long coat, leaving him in his shirt and tie. Her eyes went to the coat he was holding. The way it was folded on his hand looked enough for it to conceal something, and she could only assume he found it.

“Nothing of importance, dearest Consigliere,” Zoya mused, reaching for her own coat hanging on the chair’s backrest. “Just some gibberish, though I can tell you about it later.”

Nikolai chuckled. “I do hope it’s not something alarming,” he said. Then he stepped in front of her, his hand catching her wrist again to stop her from putting on her coat. Then with a small smile that softened his features, he murmured, “Let me.”

She let him take her coat from her hand, and gently, he helped her slip it on. To others, it would look like a normal sight; a man assisting his Underboss like any other members of the family would. But if one were to look closely, it was actually just an act to cover something up.

Zoya looked up at his eyes with mock respect when there was the familiar weight of a weapon being slipped back to her shoulder holster. Nikolai made a face in return.

I found it, he mouthed with a wince. Then he tugged at the lapels of the coat a bit roughly, as if to get back at her for doubting him, and it earned a glare from Zoya. He smiled innocently, then his hands came up to the back of her neck to free her hair that was caught up in the collar. She tried not to get distracted by his ministrations, but she found it hard when he reached her collar, fixing it down to make it presentable. They were too close, the act anything if not intimate, and her breath hitched in her throat when his fingers lingered a moment too long on the side of her neck.

Then she felt the soft brush of his thumb against her jaw; it was enough to stop her thoughts altogether.

But Nikolai only winked, a cheeky smile evident on his lips before he stepped back. Zoya wanted nothing more than to strangle him right then. But then again, it wasn’t the time for it. Perhaps later.

She regained her stoic composure, walking over to Anton Demidov who had been completely oblivious of the exchange. It was only out of respect that she still would end their meeting with a handshake. If there was something she refused to let go in her morals, it was respect.

Zoya held her hand out to Anton. The man was hesitant, but still took it anyway. “Well, I bid you farewell, Sir Demidov,” she said with a cutting smile, her grip tightening around his hand enough for him to look alarmed. “It’s a pleasure having the chance to talk to you.”

Then her other hand reached to her holster, grabbed the gun Nikolai had put there, and shot Anton Demidov in the leg.

The man crumpled down on the floor, a scream tearing from his throat as he clutched at his wound. Horror was evident in his gaze as he looked up at her. His right-hand didn’t have time to draw his weapon when another shot rang out from somewhere behind Zoya, hitting the man on his shooting arm, and he dropped to the ground as well. Anton’s several other guards with them started to spring to action, but it was the exact time that all the people dining in the restaurant stood up, drawing out their own weapons and surrounding the Demidov associates.

Outside, gunfire echoed as well. Then after a few moments, it went silent again.

Zoya looked around the expanse of the room. Anton’s remaining guards stood completely frozen in their places as dozens of guns pointed to their direction. She hummed in approval and looked over her shoulder, seeing Tamar still holding her gun to the right-hand man’s direction.

Thanks, Zoya mouthed to the woman, who in return tipped her head in acknowledgement.

“As I’ve said earlier,” she started, waving the barrel of her gun down to Anton’s face, “it would not be a fair fight.”

“What—what is the meaning of this?” Anton demanded, his voice quivering in both terror and pain. He tried to back away from Zoya, but someone had already stopped him with a foot on his shoulder.

She looked up and saw the woman who wore the bright red overcoat that made her eyes hurt, and Zoya gave her an unamused look. “Something a bit tamer next time, Genya?” she said. “It’s a bit overwhelming to look at. Maybe a maroon.”

Genya laughed lightly. “Of course, anything you say, sir.”

Zoya nodded in gratitude before she turned back to Anton, who was still on the ground. “This night could have gone well, you know? All we wanted was your approval for a ceasefire. But here you were, acting all too smug for a family whose reputation is almost down the drain and making empty threats that you have no power to do.” She stepped forward, jabbing her foot down the man’s injured leg and earning another scream from him. “Well, wasn’t it you who pulled the trigger on the Don? Now man up, take it like a champ.”

“How” —Anton wheezed out in pain— “how is this possible? My men have frisked you and your Consigliere.”

Nikolai appeared beside her, looking casual in his posture as if he had come to a reunion with some old friends. “Simple. You don’t check the customers coming into your business,” he explained. “Another civilian could enter the same restroom earlier before the Consigliere, and he could have slipped a weapon and taped it under the sink.” He shook his head with a dramatic sigh. “Only goes to show how shit your security is, by the way.”

The Demidov caporegime could only look at them in disbelief, his eyes going back and forth to Zoya and her Consigliere. Then a laugh escaped him, the loud, desperate kind of a madman. She almost pitied him. The feeling of being backed against the corner having nothing other than yourself to trust and lean on.

She would commend this man for fighting tooth and nail for his Family’s survival and reputation, and yet he had chosen the wrong way to do it by trying to assassinate one of the biggest Dons in the country and starting a war. There were some battles that were out of one’s reach and power, and it had been the Demidovs to take the risk and lose everything to their wrong decisions.

Anton continued laughing for another long moment, his breaths becoming more labored the longer he laughed. Then when it seemed that he finally ran out of air, he looked back up to her. If Zoya was expecting to see defeat in his eyes, then she was so wrong.

Because in them, she saw nothing but cold fury, the kind that brought a lingering feeling of dread in your chest. If she were some other person, she was sure she would have cowered back and let fear take over.

But that was before she knew what horrors the world they lived in now did to young and naive girls. Fear was one’s shadow, something they could never go against nor get rid of, so she learned how to wield it as her weapon instead.

“What are you going to do now? Kill me?” Anton said, another laugh escaping his lips. He had already gone pale from the loss of blood, but he continued. “Killing me would only make things worse. It’s not going to change anything.”

Nikolai pretended to consider a thought, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’re right,” he said. “But I think I have an idea.” He stepped forward, and Zoya handed him her gun.

Without wasting another second, he pointed the gun to Anton’s other leg and pulled the trigger. The beginning of a howl tore from the caporegime’s throat, and he hadn’t even had the chance to fully voice out his pain when Nikolai shot him again on the shoulder.

Zoya blinked in surprise, the gears in her mind working as she looked back to Nikolai. Gone was the diplomatic look of the Consigliere, only the face of the Demon Prince remained, the same persona that terrorized the streets of Halmhend City for years. His eyes held a dangerous glint that she only saw him have for his sworn enemies.

“That’s not even the same number of bullets my father took when you tried to murder him in the open,” Nikolai said mildly. “But don’t worry, I made sure not to hit you anywhere critical. Killing you will get you an easy way out. I don’t want that.” He kneeled down beside Anton, leaning dangerously close to the man with the barrel of the gun planted on his chest. “I want you to see how your Family despises you because you couldn’t let go of your ego and accept that you’ve made a grave mistake. I’ve offered a ceasefire, but you didn’t take it. So I guess you’d rather take a few bullets, then?”

Through his labored breathing and pained state, Anton still managed to glare at the Consigliere. The man’s got determination, Zoya would give him that. But he had made the worst decision of having Nikolai as his enemy.

There was another tense silence, and then Nikolai was laughing lightly, patting the caporegime on the cheek. Just like that, he was back to the cheerful Consigliere persona. “I like this one,” he told Anton’s right-hand man who lay a few feet away from them, a look of fear in his eyes. “Fiery soul. Make sure he’s back to his feet in a few days, alright? I want to see what Irina would do to him.”

Zoya shook her head and watched as Nikolai stood up and handed back the gun to her. He looked back at her with a confused expression.

“What?”

“Nothing. Remind me again not to strangle you next time you do something brash?” She turned to their men who were still patiently waiting for their next order. “Get them out to the other side of the street. Make sure they’re easily seen by their colleagues when they arrive.”

Their men immediately did as they were told, shuffling out of the restaurant quietly as they dragged the Demidov Family’s associates to the streets. Tamar and Tolya waited for the both of them by the front doors.

“Was that even necessary?” Zoya asked the Consigliere, who shrugged in return.

“It’s only fair I’ve wounded him. It’s nothing compared to the men he’d killed in the ambush as we haven’t even taken any of his men’s heads.” Nikolai said, putting his long coat back on. “I have actually talked to Irina Demidov yesterday. She told me to get rid of him.”

Having a talk with the Demidov’s Underboss only meant bad news. “Really?”

“Yeah, but I’ll let them handle it. Besides, they twist the fact that we killed one of their caporegime against us. We both know their history.”

Zoya huffed. “Good thinking,” she said.

“There’s a reason why I am indeed a Consigliere, Nazyalensky,” said Nikolai, feigning a hurtful look. “I’m not all talk and no action.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” She paused when her eyes caught sight of the messed up knot of his tie. Her hands were already reaching to fix it before she could even realize what she was doing, and she heard his breath hitch in his throat. At least she wasn’t the only one who got caught off guard when the other was near.

She finally finished straightening his tie after a few more moments, patting down at his collar for emphasis. “There you go,” said Zoya. Her voice coming out a bit breathless than she intended was something she hadn’t expected from herself. “Now we’re even.” She stepped back, putting a bit of distance between them and looking anywhere but him. “Let’s get out of here before the Demidovs arrive to get their associates.”

***

And as the car sped into the distance some time later, the place where the restaurant the Demidovs owned was now nothing but ashes on the ground.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #king of scars #my writing #mafia au #LET'S GO #VINCENZO ENERGY IS STRONG #idk this isn't edited we die like soldiers #anyways #i've had this for like a week and i just finished it tonight #i said i wanted mafia au #so i wrote mafia au #have this mess from me #IM BACK THO #i hope ;-;#im a basic bitch and can't think of proper names #im sorry for that #T-T

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mayhemandtrouble · 11 months

Text

Any Landing You Can Walk Away From, Chapter 21 of Not Giving Up

Full Story on A03 with detailed tags and NSFW chapters

“My fighter -en hit - coming in n-!”

“Ben, we’ve lost-”

“Rey, tell me that’s you!” A familiar voice echoed over through the fighter’s comms.

“It’s me. We’re here.” She nearly cried to hear Finn filling the air of their TIE fighter.

“Ben is coming.”

“Who am I addressing?”

She smiled faintly. And clipped the saber to the overwrought belt of silver metal that encircled a stately gown of dark purples with crimson trimmings.

“Welcome home, Ben.”

Turning, Leia nodded towards the open door. When he did not rise quickly enough, she clucked her tongue as though Ben Solo were still a boy of eight and dawdling in rising for lessons.

“Hurry up - she’s waiting.”

#unplanned pregnancy #reylo #reylo fanfic #reunite the dyad #canon typical violence #Angst with a happy ending #Fluff and angst and smut

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shinsoups · 3 years

Text

Student No. 22 —

m a s t e r l i s t

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x f!reader x class1a

genre: 1tbsp of crack, 1 tsp of fluff, a sprinkle of angst and 1 cup of chaotic randomness

synopsis: y/n was certain she would never be a Hero. She had a different goal in her mind, and that is to be a great doctor someday. With a terrible past she wants to forget, she vows she would never use her Quirk and will never let the world know what it is. Not until she finds out that the invincible quirk she thought she has can also have a certain weakness.

super random updates

a/n: canon Shinsou is joining hero class for their second year but I'm gonna make him part of Class 1A already yay! ALSO IM ON MOBILE IDK HOW TO PUT A *KEEP READING CUT* will edit this tomorrow 🙏🏻 sorry for the long post on your dash

OO5 : Acceptance...Is that a Threat? —

"You're already enrolled and your safety was entrusted to us."

"No, I'm sorry but I think I had enough." You hoarsely whispered. "I already got the answer what I was looking for."

Aizawa stopped in his tracks, his hands buried in his pockets as he watches you struggle to reply. "And that is?"

"The Hero scene isn't cut out for me." You bravely look at his eyes, slowing down your pace and faced him, catching Shinsou's gaze just behind your teacher.

"I don't want to fight nor hurt anyone to save lives. I want to save lives as a doctor if possible. And if you think that proper guidance is that one thing I need then you're wrong, sensei. I don't need that, please don't patronize me."

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm but the way you somehow push the wrong buttons and say things so straighforward makes him want to knock some sense in to you and tell you that there is more to being a hero. But the way you fidget somehow caught his watchful eyes. Aizawa squinted as you kept glancing towards him and behind him, catching a certain purple head boy passing you two.

You fiddled your hands nervously, seeing another gaze settling on your figure. Still feeling the pain on your shoulder, Aizawa walked closer to where you stood.

"You're scared of him," he said in-a-matter-of-fact tone.

"I am not."

"Because he can control you," he taunted.

Is Aizawa even a teacher right now? Why is he so pressed into this matter? You thought to yourself as you felt his presence even closer, caging you and your thoughts... your fears that someone actually exists that can easily negate your own self defense quirk. You bowed your head, averting your gaze.

"l/n-san, you don't like being controlled don't you?" Aizawa sighs seeing how your body trembles at the mention of the word.

You looked up wide eyes, straining to retort something but words fail to escape your mouth. Instead a nonsensical challenge transpired between the two of you. Shinsou held his breath, wanting to intervene the moment he saw Aizawa’s eyes glowing red and hearing your whispered exchanges. Only for Bakugou to block his way, enjoying the scene unfolding in front of them.

Everyone was silently hoping there was a good reason why Aizawa was suddenly fighting you just after finishing the Hero Training exercise. His hair flared up as he tried to capture you with his scarf, only for you to dodge and glare at your teacher.

“You didn’t fight Shinsou and Bakugou. Is that how you like to win?,” Aizawa’s voice echoed as you run towards the exit. Trying your best not to bump into someone along the way.

At the back of your mind there was a tiny voice telling you that they’re all judging you and your intentions was so unclear to be there at the Hero Course. That you don't deserve to be there. And they were right. But...

"You can become stronger if you train against him and with him. Maybe find a reason why he of all people can do that to you..."

You scoffed, amazed by how a teacher can agitate you with such simple words. Your grandfather was worse, his training methods were the worst, the hero exercise earlier pale in comparison to what you experienced. You only learned self defense in order to protect and not fight.

And to see this class filled with hopeful heroes to be are trained in order to fight for the justice they believe is such a ludicrous notion it made you wonder... why train them in the first place only for the HPSC to control everything? You gag at the toxic hero worship everyone seems to adapt. Is everyone foolishly blind? Foolishly following such trend? Or were you the blind one?

Gritting your teeth, you spat the words angrily. You stopped running and charged into him instead, “I still won. You got what you wanted, sensei. My Quirk... you saw it with your own eyes. So why do I have to hurt someone if the only goal is to win?”

With that said you side-stepped away from the white material coursing your way only to meet another set of it the moment you evaded Aizawa’s.

The rest of the class tried their best to avoid the both of you, still confused about what's going on. "She really likes to pick a fight doesn't she?" Kaminari watches as you gracefully dodge each of Aizawa's attempt to capture you.

"Sensei's erasing quirk is useless against her too," Midoriya mumbled, amazed once again with this new information. "I thought it was only fire quirks that were affected but I'm guessing she can --"

Midoriya's words were cut off when he saw Shinsou walked closer, carefully threading in the sidelines.

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"I-I think everyone should calm down." Shinsou looked over you then to Aizawa who was shocked that his own protege captured him with his own binding technique.

"y/n-san" Shinsou pulled you into him, trapping you with his binding cloth for the second time after releasing Aizawa. "I don't know what's going on, but -" he looks at his mentor then back to you.

"Release me."

"No."

"Shinsou!"

"No!" he pulled you closer.

"Take it off."

Shinsou raised his eyebrows, smirking at the tone you used. He tried to hold his smile but the way you whispered those three words somehow made you two blush at the weird notion.

You bit your lips in embarrassment as you felt his breath on your cheeks, "No."

"Please?" you sighed, trying to calm yourself down. Too close...he's too close.

Shinsou looks back up at his teacher. "Sensei-"

Aizawa’s face was more unreadable as he walks closer, Shinsou was trying to figure out what his mentor's expression means. Aizawa simply stares at the both of you, a strange look both of you can't read.

Shinsou takes a deep breath, and goes on, “I shouldn't probably intervened but she's...she's injured because of me.” he looks away, too shy with the reason he came up with, now a small tinge of red powdering his nose.

There was a long pause. Aizawa merely nods. Shinsou opens his mouth, wanting to say something more but the words don’t come.

Giving into another temptation and succumbing to the curiousity budding, you rationalized the choices in your head. Do you want to fight him? Or do you wanna know how far he can use his quirk against you. About what he said earlier, were you scared people will resent you or maybe you really are scared of yourself.

"Fine." you murmured. "I accept the offer."

"Offer?" Shinsou looks momentarily confused about the exchange.

"Good. Now please do me a favor and stop being another problem child." Aizawa pats your head and walks away as if nothing had happened. "I'm not getting paid enough for this." he mutters to himself as he looked between you and Shinsou leaving you two behind and calling the whole class to go change back into their uniforms.

"Were you always a pushover?" Shinsou asks out of curiosity as he frees you.

"I am not!"

He watches as you contorted your face into a pout, your nose scrunching in annoyance as you rub your arms. With cheeks puffed out you glared at him, "I'm going to crush you, so you better know what's coming.”

"Is that a threat?"

You pat his shoulder bravely making him flinch at the sudden contact "No. It's a declaration of war."

The heat rises to his cheeks, his cool and passive demeanor suddenly melts aways as he chuckles lowly, accepting the declaration you just announced. "Then be ready to taste defeat this next time."

Curiosity was one thing you don't like but what you really hate the most is not finding answers to satisfy your own. So this time, you might as well go all the way in satisfying the curiosity growing.

"Then try me. Bring it on, hero."

a/n: the story is progressing so slow skdkkskec i just want to stress the part that y/n hates the idea of hero worship... Probably due to one of the many traumas she endured during her childhood.

But still she's a very curious cat, Shinsou unknowingly being the reason why she accepted Aizawa's offer once again.

ps: this is not proofread 🤧 will edit laters~

taglist: @sugarandsoft @roesaurus @moonlightbae14 @therealwalmartjesus @redperson58 @i-bitch-you-bitch @allie-munoz @seijohoe @riathearora

general taglist: @b0ku4ka @chibishae34 @skusamiya

i got a taglist im soft ~ want to join? just leave a comment or shoot an ask my dudes and dudettes ✨

likes, comments and reblogs is highly appreciated 🐣

this is my first time writing bnha so tips and comments are really helpful ! ✨

#shinsou hitoshi #class 1a #aizawa shouta #bnha #shinsou hitoshi x f!reader #class 1a x f!reader #bnha fic #hitoshi shinso #sey writes #🔖: student no. 22

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part seven

Okay I feel like this is where the story gets a little CRAZY because I’m deadass ignoring canon from here on out. Who is canon? We don’t know her

Anywho, I’m thinking this might have two or three parts left? I’m shit at estimating but this story is almost done :(

Warnings: I mean. Just the general stuff that’s been happening. More angst, because apparently they haven’t suffered enough

The Soldier sneaks the four of you out to some abandoned building. It’s strange, the way the Soldier acts. He’s cold and dry, a contrast from Bucky’s rollercoaster of emotions. The Soldier is quite literally a machine, and that’s exactly what you feel.

He never moves unless he senses you’re right there with him, and his steps even faltered once when your hand slipped as you were adjusting your grip. The Soldier doesn’t talk much at all, and it lacks any and all emotion, again, unlike Bucky.

You feel disgustingly traitorous gripping his arm and bicep like this, holding him so close, but you remind yourself that you don’t have another option right now.

Steve keeps sending glances your way, more frequently now that Sam is walking on his own and fully awake again. Sam is the lookout as usual, but Steve sends a sympathetic -- or is it pity? -- look your way every time you look to make sure they’re still following.

The building the Soldier takes you to looks like an old warehouse of sorts, with heavy machinery all rusted and scattered around. It’ll do the trick.

You slip your hand from his, letting go of his arm. The Soldier looks up at you, expectant, curious, waiting for his next orders. You try to keep your tears at bay when you look into his blue eyes. They’re Bucky’s, but they’re...not. He can’t stay this way.

Steve stands to your left, waiting to see what you’re going to do. It’s another long shot, but considering the other one worked, you might as well try this.

“Soldier,” you breathe shakily, feeling worse about this situation in general than anything else. “I’m ordering you to give Bucky control. Can you give him back to me?”

The Soldier nods, but doesn’t seem happy about it. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you clench your jaw, using all of your strength. “Do whatever you need to do.”

The Soldier nods once more. He sits down on the ground, legs outstretched. He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes. You’re not sure if he’s passed out, but it looks like it, his shoulders slumping and head dropping to one side.

You feel the Soldier leaving him and you close your eyes, letting out a breath that nearly breaks into a sob. “He’s gone. He’ll be Bucky when he wakes up.” You look over at Steve, tears shining in your eyes. “I’m gonna take a walk. Come get me when you need me.”

“Y/N…” Steve says, but you’re already walking away.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk, hating that you miss the weight of Bucky’s arm around your waist. Hating that the Soldier is gone now, and hating yourself for hating that. The Winter Soldier can’t stay, you know that. The Winter Soldier isn’t Bucky, you know that. So why does this hurt so bad?

At least he would look at you. Hold your waist, hold your hand. The Bucky that’s in there now will insist he doesn’t know you, insist he doesn’t have a soulmate.

You cover your mouth to muffle your sob, not wanting the noise to echo.

You sit against the farthest wall, hidden behind some crane or something. You pull your knees up to your chest again, resting your chin on your knee as the tears start falling.

Steve told you what he figured out. Someone framed Bucky somehow because he wanted Bucky to be caught. He has no idea why anyone would want that, or how they got Bucky’s face to frame him, but he knows Bucky didn’t bomb Vienna.

You didn’t have the energy to tell him that you told him so at the time. You were too focused on savoring the feeling of your hand in Bucky’s, knowing it would be the last time.

You don’t know what the plan is next, but you know whatever it is, you’ll do it. You’ll get Bucky to safety and then you’ll...leave him alone.

It’s what he wants, after all. Even if he is lying about not knowing you, he’s still saying it. You doubt his turning into the Soldier will change anything, even if he protected you while he was the Soldier.

You have no clue why the Soldier said those were his orders -- protecting you. Or why he listened to you. If his orders are to protect you, why didn’t he stay with you that day in D.C.? Why did he run off then?

All of that aside, you need proof that the psychiatrist was posing as someone else. If you can get proof of that, and proof of how he got Bucky’s face, then Bucky is free of the bombing. Getting him free of everything else he did as the Soldier, though, that will be harder.

If he even wants it. He said earlier it was smart, a good strategy for them to come in and kill him. The last thing you want is to do something else to make him more pissed off with you.

But you have to do something.

Tears having subsided for now, you tug the neckline of your shirt down to fish for your object of desire that’s hidden in your bra. You smile when your fingertips connect with the metal, pulling it out.

You slap the device over your wrist. “Buckeye,” you whisper, and the AI comes to life. “I need you to do some digging.”

+++

Steve keeps watch through a small crack in the building. Helicopters circle overhead, no doubt searching for any sign of them.

“Hey Cap!” Sam yells.

Steve trots over with Sam to where Bucky sits, now trying to stand.

“Steve,” Bucky groans.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks cautiously.

Bucky thinks. “Your mom’s name was Sarah.” He pauses, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” he chuckles, the old forgotten memory appearing so vivid now when he looks down at Steve’s feet.

Steve sighs in relief. “Can’t read that in a museum.”

Sam stares at the pair incredulously. “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?”

“What did I do?” Bucky asks.

“Enough,” Steve replies, refusing to elaborate.

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen,” Bucky mutters. “Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know.’”

“Where is she?” Bucky asks. “Where’s Y/N? I’ll tell you, I just-- Where is she?”

You’re already making your way over, having felt it when he woke. The rush of panic, not knowing where he was but knowing he had turned, and then the relief upon seeing Steve -- and probably also from being out of any restraints with no guns pointed at his face.

“Here,” you call out, making all three heads turn to you. You keep your distance, standing a little further back than Steve and Sam, your arms crossed over your chest. “What’s the plan?”

Bucky speaks before Steve can. “Did I hurt you?”

“Depends,” you say quietly.

He lowers his eyes to the floor. “Physically.”

“No,” you answer, too tired to start a fight. “Quite the opposite, actually. You wouldn’t let me walk two steps without you next to me.” You pause, shrugging. “Don’t sweat it. I know it wasn’t you, so. You can go back to insisting you don’t know me.”

“Y/N…”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I know it’s a lot to deal with right now.”

Sam nods, urging Bucky to continue. “She’s here. Keep going.”

Reluctantly, Bucky does. “The doctor… He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve questions.

You can feel it inside of Bucky. The dread. You have a suspicion of his answer before he even says it.

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

“There’s more of you?” You blurt, half panicked and half disbelieving.

Bucky nods silently.

“Who were they?” Steve asks.

“Their most elite death squad,” Bucky continues. “More kills in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

Sam nods at Bucky. “They all turn out like you?”

“Worse.”

“This doctor,” Steve says. “Can he control them?”

“Not right now he can’t,” you mutter.

“What?” Steve asks, turning his head to you. Sam shifts against the wall, uncrossing his arms.

“Well, since we’re getting secrets out of the way today,” you raise your wrist and tap the device. Above it appears a hologram, showing hospital footage. You ignore the looks of shock coming from every man around you. “That’s our guy. Colonel Helmut Zemo. He’s Sokovian. And currently in a coma.” You glance at Bucky, but he looks away. Sighing, you lower your arm, the hologram disappearing. “I’m gonna contact Tony. Say I lost you guys somewhere but that I know the truth about the doctor.”

Steve frowns. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do,” you nod. “At the very least it’ll give you guys time to get the hell out of here if they aren’t willing to help. But I am gonna try to get this cleared up. I’ll call you.”

“Woah,” Sam stops you, holding out his arm. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”

“Stole it from Tony,” you chuckle. “It was broken, but I fixed it. I needed something to help me out since I was gonna be alone.” You pause, looking to your soulmate. “His name is Buckeye.”

Without another word or glance back to see if Bucky is looking, you turn on your heel and begin jogging to the exit point of the building.

Sam shakes his head. “That woman pulls something new out of her sleeve every damn day.”

Steve watches Bucky’s expression turn from sorrow to pain to longing in a matter of seconds.

“Why’d you say all that stuff earlier?” Steve asks. “That you didn’t know her, didn’t have a soulmate. I saw your journal. You still dream about her.”

Bucky looks down again. “She’s better off without me.”

“Did you ask her that?”

The question causes Bucky to meet Steve’s eyes again. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Because she thinks you don’t want her,” Steve replies, remembering how hard you cried in the office. “Any other girl would’ve went running in the other direction after D.C., but she didn’t. Buck, she’s been holding out hope for the past two years that she’d see you again. And then when she did, you said you didn’t know her. How do you think that makes her feel?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky says, still fighting it, despite the fact that he knows exactly how it makes you feel. He feels it, too. “I wasn’t even in Vienna, and look at all this. It’ll only get worse. I can’t put her through that.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “This girl jumped off buildings for you today. You aren’t putting her through anything. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“A lot tougher,” Sam chimes, reminding the pair of best friends that he’s still there. “After today, man I would not want to get in a fight with that woman.”

Bucky laughs a little, but it dies out. “She’s mad at me.”

“She’ll forgive you,” Steve says, like he’s sure of it. “She already has, I think. She wouldn’t be helping us right now if she hadn’t.”

“He’s got a point,” Sam nods.

“She looks exactly like your drawings,” Bucky murmurs, looking up at Steve. “Got the hair wrong, though.”

“Really wrong,” Steve chuckles. “I met her at a museum. She was standing in front of the part they have for you.”

“She knew it was me?”

Steve nods. “Said she found out when her friend took her there. Seeing your face made it all click.” He pauses to shrug. “I don’t know how she did it. I mean, we thought you were dead three years ago.”

“I thought she would’ve moved on.”

“She won’t,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky hears the underlying meaning. You won’t move on -- with him in your life or not. There will be no moving on. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to let him go.

+++

The first thing that Tony Stark says when he answers his phone is not, “Hello,” or “Are you okay?” It’s--

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” you mutter, kicking a rock underneath your feet. You tucked your AI device back into your bra a moment ago. “I ditched the guys a while ago, been trying to get a hold of you since.”

“Where did you ditch them?”

“Hell if I know,” you reply. “I was too pissed off to look. But hey, where’s the psychiatrist?” You try your best to play dumb, not in the mood to tell Tony about your (his) AI device. Not yet, at least.

“At the hospital. He was beaten up pretty badly. Unconscious. Possible coma.”

“Gotcha. Have Friday look into him.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not who he says he is.”

“Uh, can I get more information?”

“Can you give me a ride?” You ask impatiently. “And can you get Everett to listen to me about this? Secretary Ross, too?”

“Done and...maybe.”

“Whatever. Just get here.”

“I’ll have Friday start looking into it. And we’re almost there.”

“Thanks,” you exhale. “Where are you?”

No sooner than the question leaves your mouth, a black car pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down to reveal Tony in the passenger seat and Natasha driving. She looks...pissed.

You hang up the call and climb in the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for calling,” Tony replies, sounding like he means it for once. “So, Helmut Zemo?”

“Who?” You keep up the act.

“Friday did facial recognition on the guy. His name is Helmut Zemo. He’s not a psychiatrist. Or German. He’s Sokovian.”

After having time to give it extra thought, you recall something. “Isn’t that the country you guys wrecked?”

Tony glares at you in the rearview mirror. That was clearly a sore spot. “Yes.”

“Only asking because now we know his motive, dumbass,” you roll your eyes. “Have them check his hotel room.”

“Why?”

“You wanna know more about a guy, you look at where he sleeps. Since he’s obviously not a German psychiatrist, we need to look at his hotel room. Gotta sleep somewhere when you’re out of town.”

“Getting the address now,” Tony sighs. “Friday, send this over to Secretary Ross and Deputy Task Force Commander Ross. Tell them we’re going to the hotel and to have police meet us there.”

Natasha flicks the sirens and lights on the car -- your first real sign that you’re in an undercover government vehicle -- as she floors it to the address Tony uploaded.

+++

As expected, the hotel room reveals exactly what you need it to.

Dr. Theo Broussard is found dead in the bathtub, a sight that makes you hurl into the toilet. You quickly flush and leave the bathroom, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Of all the things you’ve seen and done today, of course, it had to be a dead body that makes you puke.

Tony eyes you worriedly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you exhale, actually feeling better. “What else is here?”

A police officer speaks up, his gloved hands holding what looks like skin. “Facial prosthetics.” He places them down and together, and your gaze hardens.

“Who does that look like to you, huh?” You tap Tony’s arm.

The realization dawns on Tony’s face and he closes his eyes, muttering, “Shit.” Because he sees it perfectly. That’s Bucky’s face.

That’s so twisted, you think. What the hell kind of person does this?

Secretary Ross enters the room with the look of a man who hates being wrong. You’ll feel great pleasure rubbing it in that you’re right.

After he takes everything in, the dead psychiatrist, the prosthetics, Zemo’s identification, and on and on, he comes to you and Tony.

“We have some things we need to discuss.” He says it with his eyes on Tony, but you are having none of it.

You smile sweetly, humming. “I think we do, Secretary.”

#i knew you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes soulmate au #marvel #cacw #more angst #my poor babies #i swear they'll get a happy ending #soon #ignoring canon #aggressively ignores canon

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.29}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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The very moment Robin was back inside the castle, every possible doubt about what she was about to do had vanished entirely if it had ever been existent in the first place. On her haste down into the dungeons, people jumped out of her path at the mere sight of the sinister expression on her face, and honestly, she was more grateful than ever that nobody dared to as much as look at her for too long. Sometimes a reputation was a curse, sometimes a saving grace. Right now the latter was the case.

She didn't say a single word when she opened the door to the potions classroom in one swift move. Still stayed silent when she made her way through the rows of desks and students, straight to the front where Snape was working at his desk like always during detention. She didn't need to say a thing, and yet all eyes were on her in an instant. The students' many ones in surprise and nigh intimidation at her mode of entrance, Snape's merely in instant concern. He knew that she wouldn't just show up here, bursting into detention if it wasn't for a matter of utmost importance. So she only looked at him in silent confirmation of what they both knew was happening right now.

"Detention is over. Get out. Now." Snape spoke up with a brief glimpse at his students, in a tone to match Robin's grave expression. Then however his eyes found and never left hers as he rose to his feet in an instant to round the table to come over to her side as if the rest of the world beyond them simply ceased to exist.

"But professor, it's still over an hour until dinner… Are you sure we're allowed to go already?" A young boy, probably a first year, remarked carefully, which earned him a few groans and curses from his peers, and an instantaneous but deathly glare from Snape.

"Question me again and you will spend the entire remainder of this term in detention." He snapped at the boy, then turned to everyone else who had stopped in their tracks or not yet started moving in the first place. "What on earth are you waiting for?! Is there a part of 'get out' you dunderheads failed to understand?"

It took exactly five seconds for the students to rush out the door while the echo of his words still ghosted through the masses of stone. Then, in the very instant the last people had left, the door to the classroom flew shut, was locked and warded in a now long practiced procedure that, to Robin's knowledge, was yet unbreakable. Ever since new year's, they had become more careful with their every step for a multitude of reasons. Morgan being one of them.

"What on earth-..." Snape didn't get further than that before Robin had dropped her backpack and winter robes on the ground and wrapped her arms around him so tightly that her muscles started quivering, urged into this impulsive need for closeness by the sudden and sheer overwhelming realization that she had come way too close to never seeing him again. In the end, it was a gift of fate that they were still here, still together. This thought as well as the hot rush of welling tears it brought along was only quenched when he held her tightly in return, and her composure collapsed once and for all.

Sure, there were more important things to be dealt with right now and Robin had promised herself not to let her emotions get in the way of that, but she couldn't help it anymore. Repression and putting on acts for her own mind only worked for so long. And thus she let herself dwell in his embrace for now, clawing onto him like a lifeline of reality, basking in the comfort and safety she needed now more than ever. The world could wait. It had to.

"Whatever it is, we will be fine." He said after a while of drawing soft patterns on her back, and Robin almost had to smile. She had never told him just how soothing she found that gesture, nor his voice and words of encouragement, but somehow he still had always known anyway. There was no measure for how much she loved him for that, for just knowing. "May I see for myself?"

"Please do. I couldn't logically explain what happened anyway, not even if I tried." She sighed in return without even having to ask what he meant, and then waited for his presence in her mind as she had felt it so often before. It was a truly pleasant procedure at this point, like a gentle caress, like the patterns on her back. And therefore sharing her memories of what had happened brought an immediate and breathtaking relief to her troubled mind as much as his presence did to her soul. The panic faded, the anxiety and sickness made way for reason and even a strong sense of safety. She might not need him to protect her… but she still was more than glad to know that he wouldn't let anything stop him from doing so anyway.

For a while longer neither of them spoke, even once he had seen all there was, all there had been. His hold on her only tightened, and moments later the scratch on her eyebrow started tingling with the warm echo of magic. Perhaps she should ask him to teach her some of those miraculous healing spells… If fights over life and death were to become a normal occurrence in her days now, it might yet prove useful to have some of his tricks up her own sleeves as well. But that would have to wait; for now, she had to get over herself and deal with the more pressing issues. With a deep breath, she pulled back when she finally felt ready to face the world and the worries it brought at last. They could do this. Together, like always.

In the following minutes it in return took Robin quite a bit of convincing to remind Snape that, one, she had won the fight and had come out more or less fine after all, only cold and bruised, and two, that they had agreed that killing Morgan was still not an option. No matter how very tempting the idea was under the current circumstances. Robin did agree with one point though, when Snape said that if it ever came to a moment where it was either Morgan's or Robin's life, he wouldn't waste a second of thought to save her no matter what might be the cost in return. She did agree, even though she knew that it had never been meant as a question in the first place.

Indeed, the thought made Robin smile. He would gladly set the world and skies on fire for her if the opportunity should come, without a single doubt or hesitation, and while that thought should have been at least somehow disconcerting, the unshakable fact only made Robin feel ineffably proud. There had never been such a thing as 'normal' when it came to him and her… They had always been living by extremes. Living through passion for life. And in that intensity, in the way they lived and were going to live, she found her fear replaced by determination.

"I believe to have a lead on Morgan's reasons, to find out what this is all about. A start." She said, and was met with the most attentive, intrigued gaze in return. "Or at least I finally have an idea where to look for one."

"Other than his sheer insanity being reason enough, you mean?"

"Actually, I'm rather sure that he is quite as sane as you and I." Robin sighed, while a half smile found its way onto her lips nonetheless. "But no matter what he is or isn't, we will find out what makes him do what he does and we will put an end to it. In a different way than by killing him. A better one."

"You're terribly rational. As always." Snape replied in a huff, and yet let his fingers trace the outside of her hand in a feathery touch to replace some of the past embrace's comfort. It was remarkable how much better he had gotten with such simple signs of affection over the last few months, even if still ever so subtle. "I wish I had your level of optimism."

"I'm not optimistic, but realistic." Her half smile turned into a full one as she took the opportunity to interlace their fingers in return. "This mess with Morgan has been going on for almost seven years now, and I need it to end on my terms before it ends on his. We have to see to it that it does, and we will."

"Tell me more about your lead then; I must say that neither his words nor your thoughts on the matter made much sense to me."

"They didn't make sense to me either, until I went shopping with Cas and Jorien."

"You almost died, and then you went shopping right after that instead of coming straight back here?"

"Yes?"

"You hate shopping. And you almost died."

"Yes…?"

"I am honestly not sure if I should be impressed or irritated. You really are perfectly impossible."

"Why, thank you!" Robin had to smirk upon his incredulous expression, but soon enough her thoughts and expression went back to business as she tried to put the mess of thoughts into a stringent sentence. "To be honest, I just went shopping because I didn't want to let the girls down, and I hoped it would bring me some diversion from the events I did not even nearly understand at that point. But it was Morgan's words that made me think, and even throughout the hour where I tried to focus on other matters, they never quite left me alone no matter what. To make it short, I have an idea what he could've meant with some of what he said. The part about looking at my being but not me, the earrings and also comparing me to some other person who is me and not me at the same time."

"And?"

"The painting in the room of hidden things." Robin finally got out the very core of her thoughts, of her suspicion, and it didn't take more than that for Snape's mind to visibly halt at her words. "We have to find it and see if the woman who looks like me has earrings or not. Because then Morgan's comments-..."

"Would suddenly make a disconcerting amount of sense." He finished the sentence for her with a deep frown as his thoughts finally caught up with hers. "It still doesn't explain why he does what he does, but it certainly is a starting point indeed."

"The best lead we've ever had. And the only one."

"Then we cannot wait any longer." His tone went from considering to beyond determined. "We should be able to get up to the seventh floor unseen even at the present time, if we make use of the hidden paths in the castle."

"Lead the way then." Robin said with a small but sincere smile, then gave Snape's hand a gentle squeeze and finally let go to take her robes and bag to his office for safekeeping. The classroom was a mere shed in comparison to the fortress of spells that surrounded the office these days, and if today had proven anything to her, it was that she couldn't be careful enough. Not even with her belongings. After all, objects could be cursed just the same, and do perhaps even more damage than a simple one-time spell. She wasn't keen on finding out just how much more.

… … …

They made their way up to the correct seventh floor hallway in a matter of minutes, unseen in the rising darkness of the castle, and it again took only a minute and an illusionment charm to summon the grand door to the room of hidden things. The extraordinary place didn't fail to fascinate Robin even now upon their entrance, and she inevitably had to think back to the last time she had been here. The only time, to be exact, because she hadn't dared returning alone. A lot of things had been easier back then… But she wouldn't want to go back for anything in the world. She couldn't even bear the thought of going back to the torture that was loving from afar.

"Do you remember where the portrait was located?" Snape asked once he had closed the heavy door behind them, and broke Robin out of her marveling and memories. Yes, this reality was far better, no matter what.

"I, uh… I was rather distracted the last time we were in here." She admitted with a small shrug, which made him raise an eyebrow at her. Robin rolled her eyes in return. "I was trying not to jump at you for how close you kept coming to me, if you have to know. So no, I don't remember the path to the portrait."

"Pity." He sighed in feigned disappointment, then merely took her hand again and started walking off in absolute certainty where to go while pulling her along. Of course he knew where the portrait was… Robin had to smile against her will as she couldn't help rolling her eyes again. Insufferable idiot. Her idiot.

In a matter of minutes they reached the mountain of objects Robin very much recognized as the place she had discovered the portrait in nonetheless. The flipped chairs, the pile of pink teacups, the bucket filled with yellowed scrolls. Yes, this was the right spot indeed. But there was no painting anywhere in sight.

"It's gone…" Robin wondered out loud, brows furrowed and the hairs in her neck standing on edge. She hadn't quite considered that people other than them had access to this place as well… other people who might not have her best interest in mind, with the portrait or not. Or who came in here not to hide something, but to hide something that already was in here. The thought made her shudder.

"I can see that." Snape replied flatly, with very much the same irritation colouring his features and occupying his mind. His concern was all the more reason for Robin to feel everything but at ease in this place, even now that their hands were still tightly interlaced. Perhaps they were both scared to part again any time soon. But still, bloody portrait… couldn't anything ever be easy at Hogwarts?! Perhaps this room wasn't such a great place after all. Then again, maybe it only was almost getting killed that had her on edge far more quickly than usual. That explanation for her unease was more likely. Gods, she couldn't even keep her thoughts in line properly.

"Perhaps someone moved it while in the search for something else?" She suggested in an attempt to keep her recently regained calm. This was not a setback, that they hadn't found the portrait where it was supposed to be. It was rather a mystery, a riddle, and those were supposed to have edges and corners. Yes, that made her feel better about the situation. "I know tracing spells don't work in here, but perhaps we could have a quick look around nonetheless?"

"I have a better idea." Snape said with a thoughtful gaze at the spot where the portrait had been. Then – much to Robin's dismay – he let go of her hand and instead made them both move to the side, almost leaning into the next mountain of objects behind them as he went on. "How likely is it that Morgan, the perhaps only professor who has a habit of being constantly short of time, would spend precious minutes every morning and every night, according to his own words, to come here to look at the painting?"

"Unlikely, I should say. Practically impossible."

"Yes. And what does that thereby mean?"

"You just love to make me guess, don't you?"

Snape rolled his eyes, partially at Robin and also partially at himself if she wasn't mistaken, but then answered his own question nonetheless. "It means that he must have taken the portrait elsewhere. Either to his office or his private chambers, I presume."

"Oh bloody hell no…" Robin groaned under her breath, then leaned her head back into her neck for a moment to place that very logical piece of information into her mental puzzle. "I'm afraid you're right, but I still very much hope you're not. The thought-..."

"I know. It concerns me no less."

"Can we do anything to find out for sure before I break into his office for nothing?"

"Before we break into his office. Don't even think that I would let you do any of this alone." He protested immediately in a reproachful scoff, but when his words only made Robin smile ever so slightly, his expression mellowed out in return. "There is no way to be entirely certain about the whereabouts of the painting, seeing as the room's magic to protect its contents is older than the castle itself. We cannot undo it, not even nearly."

"Pity." Robin sighed in a mirror of his own favoured expression, which earned her a not-smirk before he went on.

"What we can do however is to trace a person's movements. If Morgan ever was in here, we should be able to see where precisely he went, which in this case is the next best thing."

"That's bloody brilliant!"

"Don't look so surprised…" He scoffed again, but the not-smirk lingered on even as he worded the according spell. It wasn't an unfamiliar or difficult one, but what made Robin feel both in awe and proud beyond reason was the very idea in the first place. Tracing the person and not the object was such an out-of-the-box approach to the problem at hand that it might as well have come from her own mind. But coming from Snape now, it made Robin realize all over again how much they had grown into each other's ways of thinking over the years. She couldn't help feeling proud of that even in a situation like this.

A mere few seconds later, the ground before them lit up with a straight line of glowing footsteps that came from between the mountains of things from the direction of the door. It led straight to the point where Robin vaguely remembered the portrait to have been, then it took a sharp turn straight back to where it had come from. No detours, no looking around. A straight path here, a straight path back.

"The spell only shows the last time he was here, not possible times before that." Snape explained, and Robin found herself nodding on instinct as her eyes followed the footsteps between the mountains where they disappeared from her sight.

"Yeah, I know…" She mused, frowning to herself once more. Obviously she knew the spell and its specifics, but something entirely else was nagging at her mind again, something she should take notice of but hadn't as of yet. It was terribly irksome.

"Perhaps a summary of the state of affairs might help?" He suggested, and it didn't even come as a surprise to Robin anymore that he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. In more instances than she could count, he just knew indeed.

"Very well, let's see…" Robin mused with a sigh, while they started making their way back towards the exit in a slow saunter. "Morgan wants to kill me. He is not insane, he rather seems to have a reason for what he does. One he doesn't quite agree with, or at least is somewhat troubled by himself. The chance that he can win a duel against me at this point is near non-existent, so his only chance is to catch me by surprise or trickery, like he did today. He would find it easier to kill me if I fought back, but he still doesn't plan to stop trying either way. He cannot stop for some reason, or so he says at least. He wants to kill me, and yet he doesn't want to see me dead."

"He has a twisted obsession with you, whether that be for you as a person or you as a representation of something or someone else." Snape went on in the wake of her words. "He clearly adores you, while yet he has an ineffable hatred for you, which makes him both enjoy and dread seeing you suffer. The obsession with you led him to take the portrait out of this room, which he came to discover by yet unknown factors. He came in here at least once and took the portrait out with him to presumably either his office or his rooms. There he looks at it every morning and every night, as for his statement, because he rarely sees the real you outside of class. Through that or perhaps for other reasons, he has formed some sort of bond with the woman in the painting, which he recognizes to be you and not you at the same time. He wants you to be his, and yet he wants you dead."

"Exactly." Robin sighed again. "That makes so much sense and yet it doesn't make sense at all. It's as if he is two people at once, at war over one thing he is made to do and one thing he wants to do. If you would've asked me a year ago, I would've said it could be an Imperius curse. But after reading the book Dumbledore gave me for my birthday, and you'll know this because we both have read it a gazillion times by now, the curse just doesn't quite fit in with the facts of the case."

"I agree. He is far too aware of himself and his struggle on either end to be cursed. Especially unlikely for an Imperius curse."

"Good… But that also means that nothing fits in with the facts. We have a bunch of new questions, but no answers whatsoever."

"Yet."

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