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archetypal-archivist · 3 years

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Xisuma and Evil X- A Hero By Any Other Name

So. This happened. You ever get the urge to write 9000 words of Evil X and Xisuma as brothers that in a Super Hero AU where the government is corrupt and runs all the heroes into the ground in the name of “protecting the most people possible”? With lots of Evil X making poor choices to help out his exhausted hero of a brother? And then have that story end up taking over your life for about a week until you can get it all out? Yeah. Yeah, glad I finally finished this but gosh darn am I double glad that I can move on to other projects.

Also on AO3.

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A story in which there are two little boys, a pair of twins by the names of Evil X and Xisuma. Xisuma is good and kind and responsible, everything that his mother ever wanted and more. Evil X was the mistake, the additional child their parents didn't want nor could afford to have. Their parents had run the math, knew the risks, knew that if they penny-pinched enough, they could afford to have the child they always dreamed of. Evil X threw their maths into chaos, and if they wanted one son, they had to take both.

Evil X and Xisuma knew that Evil X was a mistake, that his presence was why their family could never afford to go to the movies, why they couldn't buy school lunches like all the other kids, why their parents were so stressed and tired and cruel. Still, Xisuma was glad that his brother existed, even if it made his parents' lives harder. He wondered if that made him a bad son.

In time, Evil X and Xisuma were left alone by everyone in their lives and until all they had are each other and the void that their parents left them with when they had to look them in the eye and tell them that they couldn't take care of them anymore. Even now Xisuma thinks that the void raised them better than their parents ever did, teaching him and his brother to lie through their teeth, be sneaky, be cruel.

In the orphanage and the many foster homes that followed, Evil X did his best to take care of his twin as a sort of penance for screwing up the life Xisuma could have led. In return, Xisuma lied and lied and lied to the matrons and the well-meaning children about anything and everything he needed to. They don't need anyone but each other. (Truth.) They are happy. He is everything that Evil X needs, Evil X doesn't want a family. Xisuma is enough. (Lie.)

(Gods, don't take his brother away.)

Xisuma grew up with lies on his tongue and smiles in his eyes, warping himself into the golden child, larger than life. Evil X grew up in the shadows with bruised knuckles, a bruised heart, and eventually, scars across his face from a fight gone bloody and wrong. He was protecting Xisuma, the scars were worth it- his brother accepts them with an odd little smile on his face and a shattering in his eyes. It is a moment that stays with them long after.

---

Eventually, foster homes turn into streets and dumpsters, and long nights spent under the covers together are turned into nights spent up in the branches of trees in the park. Xisuma makes friends with the pigeons while Evil X pretends not to like their feathered neighbors. They curl up the same though, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces high in their bower. Made for each other, quietly shaping themselves around their twin so as to better protect them and shield them from the cold.

Evil X comes home to their tree with stolen sweaters and wilted flowers and popcorn kernels from behind the movie theater so that the birds don't starve. Xisuma meets him with tears of wonder in his eyes and fire dancing on his fingertips.

Xisuma has magic. Evil X tries not to be jealous. As it turns out, he has very little to be jealous of when it's revealed that there are many other people who have magic throughout the city- or rather, "superpowers." It's like something straight out of a comic book, if that comic book resembled something like Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" or the Transformers IDW continuity.

People start dying. A lot of people. Those with powers that make them look monstrous are feared, hated, and eventually outcast. Those with powers that are useful are drafted to fight wars and heal people for hours and hours with no rest in the hospitals. Xisuma sells himself to the city officials behind Evil X's back and in return, he and his brother get a cold glass and steel apartment and food enough that they will never starve again.

Evil X begins to build up muscle, fleshing out and growing tall and strong. He hates it, hates his body, because Xisuma never becomes more than whipcord strength and whispered words- down-turned eyes, up-turned lips. Reassurances that he's happy, really, truly. So obedient, his brother, the ideal filial son to the system that Evil X could never bring himself to be. They train the civilian out of his twin and mold him into a leader, a real proper superhero.

They don't give his brother lunch breaks. They need his power too badly, they say. There are people dying and they need his strength.

Gods, it makes him sick.

Xisuma's slight figure hides in his brother's shadow when they are at home, and Evil X does his best to wrap around him until the "monsters" of the world can't get him. Evil X lets Xisuma's flames dance across his fingertips and tickle his face, their gentle warmth driving out some of the chill in their big empty apartment. On truly special days, they go to the park to feed the birds. The higher ups don't like that, of course, insisting that Xisuma under Evil X's care is like using his spark for a kerosene lamp, contained, stifled, unable to help anyone in any way that matters.

The city wants a bonfire. Evil X growls and tells them no, but Xisuma just smiles and his eyes shatter a little more as he goes with them willingly, offering himself up as kindling. His superhero name is Matchstick of all things, and Evil X knows his brother well enough to know that he picked it out himself.

A nod to the fact that he is destroying himself? An inside joke and an apology in one, maybe. It breaks his heart too much to think on it.

---

With time, the rules and roles become a little clearer and the war begins to solidify. Basic rights for those with powers is still in the works, but Xisuma is able to start eating a little more. Evil X makes him protein shakes to take with him to work anyway.

The heroes are this: Matchstick, Reaper, Ivy-Over, Xenon, Spatter, Shank, Krypton, and Trigometric. Xisuma, Cleo, Gemini, Tango, Vintage Beef, Iskall, Impulse, Cubfan.

The villains are this: Armistice, Zyon, Ooze, Clockwork, Poultryman, Valkerie, and Lumesce. (Welsknight, Etho, Jevin, Mumbo, Grian, Stress, Pearl- but our hero doesn't know this yet.)

Evil X sits on their shared bed and holds his twin in his arms, listening to him talk about work with troubled eyes.

Reaper. Cruel, with a tongue like a knife and teeth even sharper. She eats her enemies whole and seems to enjoy the taste of blood. Somewhere in the dark of the building is a man named Joe who whispers comebacks and threats to her for her to use in her next fight. She has not seen him free or unshackled in three years. Around his neck is a metal collar, an irony too bitter for her to speak of often. Xisuma hopes they treat him well.

Ivy-Over, blinded by the glitter and shine of heroism, still firmly thinking the best of her political overlords. Naive. Carefully herded off the battlefields as soon as her fights are over so that she never sees the casualties her massive vines leave in their wake. Xisuma worries that one day the illusion will be broken and with it her mind. She seems like the kind of person who could regress to using entrails as a skipping rope if pushed far enough. Evil X does his best to reassure him, but the lies turn to mulch in his mouth.

Xenon and Krypton, a duo that never let the higher ups split them up or force them to fight alone. Together they share a record for the fewest recorded injuries, as well as a certain fierceness in their eyes as they volley explosive balls of shadow and light between them, bouncing them back and forth to build up velocity before letting them loose on their enemies. Still, the people whisper about how much more help they could do if they were simply separated, able to cover more places at once. At night, Xisuma hears them crying, bundled tight in each other's arms and mourning their missing third.

Shank, their sniper. Supreme accuracy, a consequence of his self-built bionic eye and his special laser rifle. The higher ups are murmuring about what he could do if more of him was bionic. What improvements could be made to his body? How many more lives could be saved? (How many more "monsters" could be put behind bars?)

Splatter, their brawler. A sip of blood and he hulks out, his strength becoming all the greater the more he drinks, so the higher ups give him all the blood he could stomach and more. They never tell him where it comes from, and he's too afraid to ask. (He was a butcher before this whole hero thing, he had explained to Xisuma once. He knows what animal blood tastes like. What they give him is definitely not animal blood- and sometimes, it makes him feel sick. He always was allergic to steroids.)

Trigometric, who bent reality into fractals, who seemed just a bit more broken than the rest. He actually liked his job, and that perhaps made him less of a hero and more of a monster. (Mr. Goodtimes was a head of government of some renown, famous for his power plays and his campaign that favored brutal action against those that the city condemned. Trigometric called him "Scar" with affection on his lips and that was perhaps scariest of all.)

It's terrifying hearing about his twin's coworkers and their varying flavors of unfortunate and unstable, even worse when he has to stay at home and watch the news to see if his brother has survived to see another day against the violent protests and the drug rings and mobs and super villains.

Because there are super villains. He even meets one.

---

The pigeons need feeding. Life or death, whether Xisuma is around to remind him or no, the pigeons need feeding so every Tuesday and Saturday Evil X goes to the park with a bag of bird seed. It just so happens that one sunshine-filled summer day there is someone there before him. Crouched close to a few pigeons, at first he thinks the figure is just dressed in a purple cloak, but when the figure stands up and stretches, the cloak separates to reveal a pair of brilliant purple wings. Poultryman.

Evil X has seen his brother come back from fights and he knows that while Poultryman is a figure of some renown, his battles rarely cause collateral damage- that's more the hallmark of his partner Clockwork. So when Poultryman turns to face him, trademark white mask over his eyes and an odd expression on his face, Evil X just glares and walks up to him to dump the bag of bird seed on the super villain's feet.

"For the birds," he says tersely before spinning on his heel, preparing to walk away. The sound of bright, cheerful laughter has him pausing and the sound of wings meeting the dirt has him turning around. Poultryman is on the ground, rolling around in the bird seed and laughing his head off, clutching his stomach and flapping his wings wildly, which only makes even more of a mess.

"Pffftt- hahaHAhAHaH! Oh gods, your face! If I couldn't tell you were so pissed off to see me I wouldv'e thought this was the greatest prank ever!" Oookay? Evil X crosses his arms, unimpressed and left with a sneaking suspicion he is being made fun of.

"And?" Poultryman lets out a last few wheezing gasps before smoothly rolling to his feet, mask askew and utterly covered in dirt, grass, and bird seed. The local pigeons have, surprisingly enough, not scattered just yet.

"And that was brilliant! Tell me, are you the one who's been feeding the birds around here? The pigeons have been dying to introduce me to their 'friend' and I've been eager to meet them ever since. Well, the word translates more to family but there's some non-pigeon implications mixed in there, so friend works a little better. I don't think my feathered friends have quite yet figured out how to buy their own bird seed. You don't look like a pigeon anyway."

"No. I am not a pigeon," Evil X sighs, shifting his feet but keeping his posture defensive. If he remembers right, Poultryman never did any real damage but he apparently came off to Xisuma as a little unhinged and he'd rather not test the super villain's good mood. "And yes, I feed the birds around here. Can I go?"

Poultryman tilts his head to the side, going abruptly silent and still, all emotion wiped from his body language, expression, and voice. "That depends. Would you like to make Matchstick's life a little easier? I have a deal for you."

---

It goes a little something like this.

Clockwork and Poultryman schedule a raid on a local food processing plant, hoping to take their newest shipment of tin. Matchstick and Splatter are in the area and are called in to help. It's a poor match up to begin with, with Splatter's strength not doing much against Clockwork's robotika and Matchstick- while able to keep up with Poultryman in the air, barely- can't seem to land a solid hit on the villain. It doesn't help that he seems to be limited in how hard he hits, too conscious of what his flames might do to Poultryman's vulnerable feathers and of just how high they are in the air. Clockwork, meanwhile, is free to pilfer what he and his partner please from the plant.

However, despite the lack of damage the super heroes are able to do, the villains do even less. To Evil X, that is all that matters.

In another part of the city, a group of civilians meet in an abandoned railway car, dry docked in a train yard with its rusted frame resting on several heavy blocks of wood. The door is chained shut, but that means little when the underneath has a hole cut into it and if one is determined enough, crawling inside is easy. There, they exchange moth-eaten blankets, half-broken appliances, tattered clothes, and the tools to fix them. Money. Documents.

Evil X brings food. The government promised food unending to him and his brother, he may as well take advantage of it.

A deceptively normal-looking man with glasses and a deactivated metal collar around his neck brings a stack of books in, most of them picture books for the children. Another man, this one with green skin and robotik prosthetics, brings a stack of battered but newly repaired mobile phones, gaze shifting around nervously, as if scared to be caught there. Evil X makes a quiet note of the men but moves on. Theirs is not a story he feels like tampering with today.

When Xisuma comes home to find Evil X laying face-down in bed, fast asleep, he just smiles and tucks himself in beside his twin. Today is the first day in a long time he had come out from a fight unscathed, and tomorrow he will share the good news with his brother. For now, he sleeps.

---

In time, Evil X becomes a staple of the Homeless Enforcing Principles, which quickly gets abbreviated to the rather unimaginative "HEP." He wonders in the back of his mind if a certain man in glasses had something to do with the name, but decides not to bother with that quickly enough. He has enough on his plate as is with his newly adopted duties.

You see, when you get a diverse enough body of people together from all echelons in the city, and then put them into a rather small space, they begin to do what every group of friendly strangers like to do on the train- start complaining. Sometimes it's about the new "neighborhood watch" starting trouble on the corner of 6th and Fruit, sometimes it's about the new increase in taxes their boss wants to implement, sometimes it's about the stock that slips through the gaps when the trucks come to restock the supermarket.

Between him and his twin, Evil X never really was the one for idle chit-chat, but he knew lies just as well as his brother did and public speaking was just lying with a pretty bow on top. Stock begins to get left off of inventory sheets and put into the hands of the needy. The "neighborhood watch" get pointed towards the parts of the city that actually need their help (conveniently drawing the attention of the local law enforcement, who can actually do something about the problem).

He begins to donate more and more food to the cause, waistline thinning in the process. He thinks he likes his figure better that way.

As Evil X puts more time into his new project, crime rates don't exactly go down, but the number of people arrested for stupid reasons certainly does. The other members of HEP begin to bring in their friends and family and the pool of resources and talents grows, expanding outside the walls of their train car and out into people's basements, gas station parking lots, metal trash bin bonfires in the park. Little pools of community, and for Evil X, wellsprings of information.

Clockwork and Poultryman are some of the first actual super villains to come to the meetings, this time under the names of Mumbo Jumbo and Grian, but they are not the last.

---

Armistice arrives hanging off of Lumesce's shoulder one night, his metal body forcing her to drag him along on the ground, shredded legs unable to hold his own weight. She cries steady tears of light, seemingly near-physically pained at being unable to further help him. Evil X watches quietly from the background as Grian looks up and over the bonfire from where he is tending the jagged gash in the unconscious Mumbo's leg.

"Wels. Pearl. Got you too, huh?" The carefully kept-up cheer is gone from the man's face as the duo settle down by the fire, sprawling out in a rough heap.

The woman, Pearl, nods wearily, pulling off her hood and wiping at her face, glowing tears staining her black jacket. "Yeah. Trigometric decided he wanted to come and 'play' for a bit, seems he finally caught on to the illegal clinic I was running down in Mr. TFC's basement. I was lucky enough to get an anonymous tip that he was coming, but Wels got caught in the crossfire for defending me." Grian nods back, eyes distant.

"Give Mumbo a hand with his leg, I'll go grab the last of our tin for Wels to eat so he can patch himself up. E-X?" Evil X straightens up at the winged man's attention. "Call up Keralis and see if you can't get some hew housing sorted for Mr. TFC. I doubt his house survived in the crossfire and you might as well fix it for him with my permission and funds rather than just sort it out behind my back and try to sell it to me as an 'investment' later." With that parting remark Grian stands up stiffly and flies away, leaving Pearl to make her way over to his partner, healing tears already streaming down her face so that she can start to fix the wound.

On the other side of the fire, Wels reaches down and rubs at the sharp and twisted metal of the remnants of his left leg, expression lost and weary. "Things can't keep going like this, so many of us are running on fumes by this point. Something has to change." Expressionless, Evil X just turns away, pulls out his cellphone, and begins to make a few calls.

He carefully ignores the twisting of his heart in his chest.

The next day, Mr. TFC has a room in a decent hotel and Evil X sits on his perfectly white couch staring at his overly large TV, watching the news. Armistice and Poultryman are fighting against Matchstick and Ivy-Over, dashing in and landing a few hits before retreating to the shadows, then running up to repeat the process again. The fight ends with both sides retreating, the heroes to the hospital, the villains to skies with Poultryman straining to bear both Armistice's weight and the load of cash stolen cash in his arms.

Grian's going to pull a wing muscle again, Evil X just knows it.

Xisuma leaves the fight unscathed. Gemini isn't nearly so lucky.

---

The next super villain he meets is mostly on accident, a random encounter more than anything. Tired of lounging about all day, if you call making connections and surfing the internet doing fuck all, Evil X decides he hates himself a bit more than he usually does and decides to go job hunting. A quick internet search later and he finds himself standing outside an abandoned warehouse on the North docks. He and his brother never had much more than their birth certificates and social security numbers to their name, so shady suited him perfectly fine.

A man steps out from behind a corner dressed in a hospital mask, black pea-coat, and a sailor's breton cap as white as his hair. Evil X freezes, eyes going wide as the familiar-looking stranger goes bug-eyed to see him right back. Then the man shifts his weight to his back foot, crossing his arms and wincing playfully, very real trepidation lurking in his posture.

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to by Matchstick's brother, would you?" Evil X takes a careful step away from the man, who he now recognizes as Zyon from watching the news, one of Xisuma's more common foes. His own research proved that the fellow had ice powers to put an iceberg to shame, which was ironic considering that he was secretly the business mogul Etho, who ran a shipping company helpfully named "Titanic Inc." It was doubly ironic since "Zyon" was notorious for causing problems for "Etho," who then claimed the insurance payouts when the boats eventually sank.

That the boats that sank frequently carried weapons, junk food made with GMO ingredients, and weirdly enough, socks, was of little consequence to him, but he kept that amusing tidbit in his back pocket for later. (The sailors on board were... collateral. And a nonissue. Anyone who signed up on a ship run by "Titanic Inc." deserved what they got.)

(Their deaths were not his concern.)

"Yeah, that's me. And you're Zyon- or rather, Etho." Zyon chuckles nervously.

"Yep yep, that's me. And you're very firmly on the 'no touchie' list around here, so I'm just gonna gooo...." Zyon flinches as Evil X suddenly attaches himself to his wrist, expression steely.

"List?" It's more statement than question, but it has Zyon gulping back a frantic giggle anyway.

"Oh no, I'm not messing with that one. Let's just say you should take that up with your brother and leave it at that. Get too deep into that mess and someone's gonna end up regretting it- and I'm not that dumb, that's for sure!" With that parting remark, Evil X finds his feet frozen to the ground and Zyon running off, dropping the black pea-coat of Etho to reveal the icy blue Kevlar ninja suit of the super villain underneath.

Bemusedly Evil X watches Zyon vault up a stack of pipes onto a nearby roof, then off towards the city where he could better better disappear.

Hmm. Seems like he needs to step up his game.

---

He runs into Ooze at the supermarket. Apparently they both prefer the green grapes to the purple ones. The more you know.

---

It's his encounter with Valkerie that really sets things off.

Xisuma comes home one day, tears streaming down his face and his gloves covered in blood and dust. He crumples in a heap at Evil X's feet where he sits on the couch and drops his face into his twin's lap, trembling. His arms dangle at his sides, blood dripping from his fingers onto the sterile white carpeting.

"Four dead found in a park near here. All teenagers, just having fun. Just. Just fucking kids! She ruptured their ear drums and they bled out because they couldn't move to get to safety. Gods E-X, their eyes... They looked so scared..." Evil X stays quiet and runs his fingers through his brother's hair, heedless of the muck clinging to the ends. Xisuma shakes himself to bits in his hands. "They were just kids. We couldn't do even do anything but clean up the mess afterwards."

Xisuma pauses, hesitant, before choking out- "That could have been us. Had we still been on our own, that could have been us." Ah. So that's it.

"We're safe, you know. Whoever Valkerie is, she won't get us here."

"But we don't know that! What if you're out shopping and she's at the market, or if she gets on the news and her scream works through the TV? What then?! I can't-" The words die in his twin's throat and Evil X gulps back his own.

I can't lose you. It's a phrase that's crossed his own mind more than once.

"Okay. Okay. I'll stay home until she's caught, okay? Get delivery or something, I don't know. And I'll keep the TV off, the radio too. Shhh. Shhhhh. I'll be okay." Xisuma struggles closer, shoving his face into his brother's stomach and getting snot and tears all over the both of them. Evil X doesn't complain. It's a lie and they both know it, but they've lived lies before, are used to it. What's one more, in the face of that?

To be fair, Evil X gives it a few weeks before he makes his move, and he knows he'll be fine so really it's only half a lie anyway.

---

Feet crunch against gravel as Evil X approaches the woman kneeling in the center of the abandoned construction site, hands over her mouth, eyes scrunched, biting the flesh of her thumb to keep her sobs held in.

"Hello Ms. Valkerie. Grian's told me about you."

The woman whips around, eyes wide and bloodshot at his sudden appearance, before she shakily lowers her hands from her mouth to clutch at the fabric of her pink cardigan. "I'm- I'm not some monster, got it? I'm just Stress, j-just- I'm just me! I don't want to hurt anyone!" Her voice goes shrill and thin towards the end and Evil X hides his wince, although apparently not well enough because she immediately slaps a hand over her mouth again, eyes watering anew.

"Okay. It's okay, Stress. I'm here to help," he placates, lowering himself down to sit next to her in the dirt. Around them, rusted I-beams and concrete pillars rise, giving them some semblance of privacy. The full moon lurks overhead, casting them both in a silver glow. "You're life must be very hard, hm?"

Stress nods, expression wary.

"And retail is very- ha- stressful too, I imagine?" Here a little grin leaks out from behind her hand. "All those customers whining on and on about discounts. 'Oh, I have a gift receipt why can't I return this?' Like, lady, you opened this box. 'I'm gonna talk to your manager!' Lady, he's just gonna say the exact same thing."

A stifled giggle and a whispered "Worse! I work in the women's clothing department." Evil X gives a mock gasp, face going wide and shocked.

"So you don't just have to deal with fussy customers- you deal with fussy suburban soccer moms!" Stress tips forward with the force of her muffled laughter, tucking her damp face into the curve of his neck and putting her full weight on him. Hesitantly she clutches the tail of his shirt with her freehand, then a little tighter when he makes no move to shove her off. Evil X just wraps a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"Some of those customers must make you want to go home and just scream, huh." Her laughter tapers off, but she nods, quiet. "So you go somewhere empty and abandoned and scream your heart out so you don't kill someone." Another nod, a little hitch in Stress' breathing. "And you scream and scream, so glad to release some of your pent-up feelings, but oops. It turns out there are people there anyway. And your screaming just killed them. You've become a murderer and the police brands you accordingly."

The hand in his shirt tightens, tugging. "I- I didn't want to hurt them! I didn't want to hurt anyone! But- but it just happened and then I was running, and no one saw me so I had to just go to work the next day, a-and. And-"

"And now you're the wanted super villain Valkerie." His hand smoothes up and down her back as her breath hitches again, once, twice, and then wetness against his neck.

"Valkerie is such a stupid name, anyway. I'm not escorting anyone anywhere, let alone to Valhalla. I just scream and. And they're dead."

Evil X hums quietly. "You must be very tired."

"...Yes. Yes." The moon slips through the sky for a while and they drift with it, lost in thought. Evil X stares up at it, squinting against its light to try and figure out what time it is, if Xisuma is likely to be home yet. The gravel is harsh against his knees.

Then. "Things can't keep going like this. I'm so tired, all the time these days. It's just work, day in and day out, and all this stress." She pulls away then and Evil X watches as Stress scrubs at her face, expression going cold and determined. She stares him straight in the eyes, but something about her still seems lost, like she's gazing through him. "Something has to change or else someone is going to get themselves killed."

He tilts his eyes head, considering, thoughtful, with a well-hidden edge to his voice.

"I think I could help with that."

---

The morning news. Four calls placed, a frantic brother reassured, Stress is sitting a cafe on the corner of Elm and 5th. Her gut flutters with nerves but Evil X can see her expression is calm from her position in the background of the shot. The news anchor is a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman blathering on about how the cafe apparently is the oldest one in the city and some other historical nonsense. Out of shot of the camera, a desperate, dog-eared petty thief is running for his life down 6th street, the hulking figure of Spatter hot on his heels.

They round a corner, onto 5th. Past the cafe, the startled reporter, the public shrieking as their morning is disrupted. Stress nearly throws up as her heart launches itself into her throat but she's... There's a plan and she's going to stick to it.

So she stands up, small and in the background of the shot, but her bright pink jacket makes her stand out. She opens her mouth, expression going scared like a civilian's, and screams just as she had been told to. It's not for long, barely a second or two all told, but it's enough to have the people near her cringing away, blood trickling from their eyes and from where their fingernails dig into their skin in trying to cover their ears.

Spatter freezes in his tracks, pupils mere pinpricks as the sudden outpouring of blood triggers something deep and wild in him. The camera shakes, the frightened camera man ducking down to avoid notice but carefully recording what's about to happen, as if sensing that whatever happens next is about to be important.

The hero turns towards Stress, eyes wild, and although she's scared out of her mind, she stands her ground. Her voice barely even shakes as she speaks.

"S-stop. Stop running, can't you see you're scaring people? You nearly ran me over!" In the eyes of the camera Stress looks like a frightened civilian gone civil defender in pink, the morning light casting her in gold and the cafe's shadow creeping over Spatter's massive, muscled-out form to cast him in darkness and grey. The lack of harsh lighting makes it even more obvious when he starts sniffing the air, darting eyes pausing on all the bloodied hands and finally resting on the woman who caused the damage.

The world has insisted, long and loud, that he is a hero and with that comes certain ingrained responsibilities. Stress is Valkerie. Splatter fixes his gaze on her and with a snarl, he moves.

The camera catches it in perfect, awful clarity when his arm goes through her stomach and her blood starts pooling on the floor. Her expression is so betrayed.

From his place on his clean, white couch at home, Evil X turns the TV off.

---

Stress is buried with honors and all media depictions of Valkerie as a monster cease as the streets are made "safe" from the super villain. Instead, news programs and talk shows take up a new crusade, this one against the "heroes" that protected the city and the governing bodies that controlled their movements. Mr. Goodtimes has his name dragged through the mud, and each day his brother comes home with stories about how frazzled Trigometric is, Evil X has to hide his smile.

Seeming to pick up on the way things are turning, Clockwork disappears from the public eye while Poultryman steps up the showmanship, making more appearances in public spaces to egg government buildings and steal petty amounts of scrap metal from junk yards and factory scrap heaps. The heroes that give chase, usually Xenon and Krypton, end up causing more damage than they actually prevent.

Ivy-Over- shocked at the public outrage about the apartments left in shambles after her particularly brutal battle against Zyon- rather predictably ends up snapping, although not in any way Evil X expected.

She ends up going to the news and telling them everything. Public outrage rises anew.

There's a riot in town square and Matchstick and Reaper are sent in to stop it. Thirteen people die, kindly Mr. TFC one of them. Xisuma comes home, collapses into Evil X's arms, and cries.

Things have to change. And so they do.

---

Midnight and two figures meet on a roof top somewhere overlooking the domed silhouette of city hall. The first wears a set of armor shaded in green and grey, a purple visor over his eyes and an oxygen-filter over the lower half of his face. The second figure has wings, stretched wide to block out the light of the crescent moon above.

Matchstick. Poultryman.

Xisuma. Grian.

Matchstick tilts his head to the side, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the far shorter villain. "The status quo is falling apart, Poultryman. Does the deal still hold?"

Poultryman rolls his head to make it clear he had just rolled his eyes, the purple insignia on his mask flashing to display his annoyance. "Yeah yeah, I've spread the word to the others and they're not as crazy as the news likes to make 'em out to be. No one has hurt your precious 'E-X,' nor do they have any plans to. Too much trouble to mess with beyond trying to keep him out of whatever crime scene we'll be making, and that's hard enough as is. Your brother has a habit of making himself hard to track and it's getting... troubling."

The hero's posture suddenly goes as stiff as his namesake, smoke starting to hiss from the vents carefully built into his suit. "Troubling?"

Violet wings flap once, twice, before pulling tight against Poultryman's back and not for the first time, Matchstick curses himself for never bothering to learn what his various wing positions mean. The villain in question just rolls his shoulders back and settles into a careful parade rest that gives nothing away, expression pensive.

"Xisuma..." Matchstick flinches back, the careful line between them wavering at the name. "What exactly do you about your brother?"

A hesitant head tilt and he taps his fingers along his leg, thinking back to when he had last spent more than a few fleeting hours with his twin at a time.

"He likes sweet foods, even if he pretends he doesn't. Has more money invested in Derp Coin than he probably should. Likes red and black but gets fussy if anyone calls him a goth. Never seems to sleep, or eat regular meals, but he never seems to forget anything either. Best brother I could ever ask for- he loves me, I know that for sure. All the important stuff. Why?"

A wisp of cloud drifts overhead, casting a brief shadow over the pair, and in the sudden darkness Matchstick could swear that Poultryman had pulled a frown. Then the moment passes and the villain is back to his usual inscrutable self, the only emotion in his body language being what he had put there intentionally. His wings remain tight to his back.

"Then I think you might be in for a bit of a surprise one day, Matchstick. Here's to hoping you can roll with the coming storm."

---

Evil X is beloved by the HEP network. Regardless of Grian's intention in putting him in contact with them- or even why the villain knew of the group to start with- his repeated contributions to their food stocks made him an opening among them and his ability to make and exploit connections made him their hero. If you were desperate, hungry, in need? Evil X could get you whatever you needed at the cost of a simple favor.

When it came to the price of a life, a favor is a small thing to ask indeed. Is it any wonder that they became so loyal to him? So when Evil X began asking questions about some of the city's more sensitive secrets and its shadier underbelly, it was only natural that they told him.

From the tall man with green skin, he learned the best places to dump things so that they disappeared. From a sleepy-looking fellow with a bandana, he learned the locations of the best drug dealers, and from those dealers he learned of their suppliers, their manufacturers, the places where heroes never walked. From the man with glasses, he learned about the back doors and hidden routes through the biggest, most important buildings, the places where they held people until they could make them disappear.

And with this information, Evil X's services expanded even further. Drugs for the addicts, as contaminant-free and trust-worthy as he could find them. Ways to make people appear and disappear in the eyes of the law (and the occasional abusive spouse). Alcohol, cigarettes- and most importantly, information.

Or rather, black mail. If you wanted to know something on someone, Evil X became the person to go to. Months of careful manipulation had spread his name and his reach through all levels of the city and people from all walks of life took advantage of her services, although usually all meetings were held over the phone and through a voice changer fashioned to look just like his twin's mask. The secrecy only increased his popularity, as people just love a good mystery and a grey-shaded crime boss made a lovely story indeed.

And soon, this caught the intention of another of the city's fabled figures- the mad scientist who lived deep in the underbelly of the city, a place where no light shone. The man, the myth, the legend... Void.

But then, myths never were all that accurate, especially with things like names.

---

Curly blond hair, brown cardigan, a ripped white lab coat. Calculating purple eyes and a wide, wide eerily white grin. Short and stocky with a complexion like a ripe peach, the blue light coming off the lights overhead casting hazy shadows over his form, everything about the good doctor is simultaneously creepy and a soft sort of handsome- he has to say, he's impressed. The mythical Zedaph lives up to the city's dark rumors of him and he says as much, which prompts that grin to grow all the wider.

"Ah, hello Weaver! Y'know, I kind of thought you'd be shorter. And down here a lot sooner, I almost could say I missed you~!" Evil X balks as the scientist steps forward and grips his chin to tilt his head down, purple eyes wandering over his scarred features.

"It's not like you make yourself easy to find- and that's not my name." Zedaph shakes his head, leaning his face up with just scant inches between them.

"Little spider, you might be pretty good at hearing things but you're awful at listening. If you have large enough ears, you'd find you're just about the most talked about thing in the underground these days-"

"Do spiders have ears...?"

"-so like it or not, your web is big enough that people have been spotting it in odd places, which means your twin will probably catch on soon. Which means..." Here Zedpah spins away to walk to the opposite wall, pressing a few buttons on his tablet which make the underground laboratory brighten considerably. Evil X tries not to feel bereft at the sudden loss of contact. "Your plans are gonna have to hit double time. And I love me a good speed potion!"

Speechless, Evil X just nods as the scientist opens a previously hidden door and pulls out a laptop case from inside, turning to present it to him with a fiercely proud expression on his face.

"Knock 'em dead darling. I can't wait to see you rock their world~!"

---

What does the end of an era look like? It's not a sudden collapse of civilization, people screaming and running through the streets. It's not the violent murder of the governmental leaders or riots against the past order. It's not as clear cut as all that. Nor is it so subtle that people look around one day and go huh, as the world around them had shifted beneath their feet without their notice. Indeed, there are many who saw the tide rising and were all too happy to watch the waters sweep in and away.

It goes like this.

The super villains go missing. First one week goes by with no wild scheme or dangerous incident, then two, then three. The higher ups are frantic with worry, running constant meetings and keeping the super heroes out on the streets for as long as they could without the heroes themselves rioting. It keeps Matchstick out of the way of Weaver, and at the moment, that's all the thought he can afford to spare his twin. It's for the best, really. The next step is important.

Across every government-issued computer in the city, an email is issued out. Personalized, first middle last name, parents' names, chidlrens' names. An alphabetical list of every law the person in question had broken in the last ten years, the number of witnesses who saw them do it, sometimes video footage or photo-copied documents if the crime was serious enough to warrant more concrete proof. What the punishments for those crimes would be. What could be done, if those punishments were waived for money or fame.

Nearly a thousand people get an email in the span of 24 hours. (Evil X never wants to write another email ever-fucking-again. None. Ever.) The heroes also receive an email detailing what laws were broken by denying them rights, food, decent living conditions and overtime pay, as well as the names of several lawyers who would work for them for free if the email was shown to them within three days time.

Every email is emblazoned with a web-like logo with a bright red "X" sitting in the middle like a bloody spider. Though some plucky tech people attempt to track the emails back to the sender, their every attempt is rebuffed by the impossible firewalls built into the computer the messages were sent from. As imagined, chaos in its most understated form ensues.

The city officials scramble to keep their sinking ship from falling apart and the little people kept cooped up in square offices and cell blocks come crawling out of the woodwork to jump ship. Some of the heroes, such as Xenon, Matchstick, and Shank try desperately to hold things together, but others like Reaper head for the nearest legal office and hole up with a team of vicious prosecutor attorneys. Meanwhile, the civilians go about their business, unaware of what is going on in the ivory towers far above their notice.

Xisuma comes home to fin their apartment empty, and although betrayal sits like a rock in his gut, his guts still squirm with desperate, aching fear. (No... please, no.)

The super villains make their reappearance with flair, setting the stage for the next act. Each one takes to a corner of the city, working in pairs to capture civilians and hold them hostage en mass, their efforts to wide spread for the remaining heroes to deal with in one go. From here, walking along a quiet street and watched by hundreds of frightened eyes- a captive audience- Weaver makes his debut as he makes his way to the city capital.

Tall, whip-thin enough to make his proportions lean more towards slenderman than super model, and dressed in red and black armor with a matching helmet and visor, Weaver cuts an imposing figure as he makes his way up the white marble steps of the capital building to where a nervous-looking reporter stands. She straightens up at his approach though and with a nod to her camera crew, she starts asking questions just in time for Poultryman to swoop in and land beside the newest super villain, expression stern but a clear presence of support.

In his hands a laptop is clutched.

---

The demands are simple in theory, but Xisuma feels his heart thunder in his throat at every point on the list.

The week would be split into three types of days. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays would proceed as normal and the heroes and villains could go at each other as they pleased. Fridays would be reserved for the villains to do as necessary without hero interference under the caveat that no blood would be spilled, and Sundays heroes could have the same. Tuesdays and Saturdays, no one would fight, a proper break for everyone.

The villains would keep to their side of the bargain, Weaver says darkly as he stares directly into camera, just so long as the heroes kept to theirs. And measures would be taken for anyone who chose not to comply. Xisuma's brain goes fuzzy with static as the super villain makes a few other demands, something about fair wages and from when to when each group could operate, but his gaze remains locked to where he can just barely make out his twin's face through his visor. The words filter through him, dismissed into a soft numbing blur.

The air suddenly feels chilled on his skin, fingers twitching in his lap, a rough, twisting feeling in his gut like the bottom of his stomach just dropped away. He feels trapped, unable to move from the couch, from the wrong side of the screen. Oh, he thinks hazily to himself, he's about to be sick. Hmm, ought to do- something. About all of- of this.

Gods... What did his brother do?

---

An era ends like this- Poultryman sweeps Weaver away in his arms and in his place, Evil X comes home. Xisuma watches his brother come through the door, eyes glued to his brother's face even as Evil X places his keys on the table by the door and takes off his shoes. There's a gentle realization bubbling up that this is the first time he's seen his brother's bare face with his own eyes, without the tint of a visor between them, in far too long. His twin's got paler as of late, making the eye bags and scars stand out all the more.

"You're home." The words hang in the air and Evil X sags at their weight, leaning against the door as if to prop himself up for the conversation to come. His arms hang behind his back, a laptop case dangling in his grip.

"You know this isn't home any more than the tree was."

"We- we were supposed to be safe here. This was where we were going to stay!" Xisuma is going red now, rising up from the couch in his anger, and Evil X watches him with the dredged-up calm of a man resigned to drowning. Good, anger he could handle.

"You thought this was where we would stay, got us a nice, normal apartment that looks like it's out of a fashion plate without asking me. You think I like staying in this pretty white bird cage that you bought by selling yourself to the most corrupt people around? This place isn't any safer for us than the tree was, and at least in the park we had company!"

"Says the one who fell into bed with the literal bad guy! At least here you weren't getting into fights every other week."

"No, now you're the one doing that!" They're shouting at each other. They never do that. An acrid taste fills Evil X's mouth and he gulps it back, along with a few words he just knows he would regret if he said them. A deep breath, a slow in and out. "Look, just. Don't be a hypocrite, okay?"

Xisuma pauses in his wind up for a proper tirade, eyes wary and wet. "What?"

"You aren't the only self sacrificing moron here."

"...Oh." Yeah. Oh.

Here Evil X takes another breath, resisting the urge to hold it, then extends his arm to show his twin the laptop case. "Hey."

Xisuma folds his arms behind his back, looking at his feet and then up again, shuffling back a step. "Yeah?"

"Got you a present. You always were the best of us, so. Here. It was the last part of the deal I kinda set up, a kind of fail-safe slash card to add to your deck. This laptop has evidence of my entire operation, every backroom deal, every piece of black mail, every person I've had killed or vanished or what have you. Everything I've been up to for the last however long. And... it's for you to read. It's not gonna be fun, but like, I trust you so it's okay. If you read this and really, honestly think I've crossed a line you can't forgive me for, you can turn this into the police and... I'll deal with whatever you choose to do with me. No loop holes, no take-backs."

Here Evil X leans his full weight against the door and lets his arm swing back down to his side, gaze sliding off to the side and a melancholy smile curling at his lips and pulling at his scars. "I trust you. I trust you. It... It'll be okay, yeah? Just make whatever choice you need to. Don't hesitate." He doesn't promise anything, keeps the words 'I'll be okay' from spilling into the air between them, but instead allows a careful submission to enter his posture, head bowed and figure loose and hanging.

It... might not be alright, but it will be right and that will have to be good enough. (It has to be.)

Xisuma chokes, a sob rising in his throat as his brave, strong brother gives up before his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes solid at the thought of having to choose whether or not his twin lives or dies, because that's what this is, he can't pretend that the city wouldn't execute him at the slightest chance, agreements be damned. His gaze tracks wildly from the laptop case to the top of his brother's head to the window, as if trying to see if anyone could be watching, could make the choice for him.

It's not fair. It's not fair, why him, why? He was so good, tried so hard- his heart is loud in his ears, breath rattling in and out in wheezing gasps- sobbing now, utterly sobbing. Evil X doesn't look up, doesn't try to comfort him. Won't even move, gods.

Fuck it.

Evil X startles, back banging against the door as Xisuma rushes forward and rips the case from his hands, only to chuck it into the far corner before throwing himself into his arms. On instinct Evil X catches him and holds him close just in time for Xisuma to bury his face in the crook of his neck and burst into messy, tearful sobs. They shake together and Evil X lets his head thump back gently against the door, eyes hazily gazing up at the ceiling.

"It's not- *hic*- it's not fair! I didn't want this!"

"I know. I know." He runs his hand over his twin's back, his taller form bowing forward to shelter his brother's smaller one. Somehow, even now it feels like Xisuma is the larger one between them, solid and warm in his arms.

"Why do I have to choose? I never wanted this! Why?! Why would you do this for me?"

"You're my brother. I love you." A gasping, wet sob against his neck and his twin lets out a moan like a dying cow, low and agonized. Evil X focuses on a soot mark on the white ceiling, tears stinging his eyes and running down his face to plop softly into his brother's hair.

"But why?!" Screaming. Gods, he can't-

"I love you. I love you." Rocking now, back and forth, gentle, just as he had when he had come home from beating up the men who had tried to lay stomp out his brother's heart, scarred and beaten and bloody. I love you, he had said then, and he repeats it now.

Later, much later, Xisuma will have to boot up the laptop and read through its contents. He will try to burn it, first, but Zedaph's work is more durable than most and Evil X will watch as his twin will dump his emotions into his flames, desperately trying to stoke them hotter and brighter. Later, a choice will have to be made.

But for now, Evil X will hold his brother, warm and safe, and let him cry.

#minecraft #my writing #fanfiction #hermitcraft #xisuma #evil xisuma #evil x #pretty much all the hermits actually

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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

Text

Be Alright

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Luz was never known to be overly cautious.

She was reckless, impulsive, and an overall disaster of a human.

Titan, Amity loved her.

It was almost routine at this point, how it would go. Luz would jump into oncoming danger, others would (sometimes) follow, and she’d limp out with a big grin and a cheer about how she’d shown them, whether or not she’d actually won. It was no surprise that Amity had taken up healing as a secret secondary track.

It was always a gamble how things would go. Sometimes Luz would only have a few scratches, other times she’d be clinging to consciousness by a thread, moments away from breaking Eda’s house rule of nobody jeopardizing the rebellion by going to a public hospital.

But they usually had it handled. Luz would bounce back with twice the enthusiasm, even if her scars told a different story.

Despite all of this, Amity knew she’d never get used to seeing a scar in the making.

“Who brought fireworks?”

“Ed!”

“Worth it!”

Explosions rung out, painting the emptying Night Market in scattered debris and bright flashes. Amity ducked under a broken roof, cursing as another explosion sounded off further away, accompanied with whoops and cheers.

“It’s a miracle none of them are dead yet,” Came a hiss from beside her.

She whirled around, relaxing when she saw it was just Willow appearing by her hiding place, vines wrapped all along her arms. Out of everyone, Amity was sure she would come out the most unscathed.

“I’m convinced Eda’s already died a few times,” Amity said, tilting her head to the sounds of explosions. “But she keeps coming back. My bet’s that she’s on life seven now.”

“That would explain a lot,” Willow agreed, peering out of their hiding place. “Dawns breaking, we should get out of here.” She added, raising her head.

“Already?” Amity lifted her head as well, seeing that, indeed, there was light seeping around the Market.

“Think you can wrangle Luz without setting more things on fire?” Willow asked, glancing at her with a smirk.

“If anyone is going to set things on fire, it’s Luz.” Amity said matter-of-factly, wincing as she heard shouts and a crash from elsewhere in the Market. “I can promise my best,” She said simply.

“That’s the best I could ask for,” Willow chuckled, stepping out of their hiding place. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Amity muttered, peering around the debris as she heard another explosion sound off. “Titan knows who she's going to piss off this time.”

Amity felt like she shouldn’t have been surprised.

And yet, she still felt a wave of exhaustion just finding situations like these.

Luz stood atop a pile of debris, swinging her staff like a club and knocking it against the heads of those in the Night Market who had stayed to attempt to fight her and the rest of the Owl House residents. Aside from a few scrapes and cuts to her hands and cloak, she wasn’t any worse for wear. Even her owl mask was relatively intact.

Eda was somewhere at the bottom of the pile with King, also giving their attackers a hard time. Amity was almost about to be surprised at how tame Luz was being...before she combined a firework and ice glyph and shot it towards an attacker, flinging them back with an explosion and into a busted stand with a gleeful cheer.

Amity sighed and calmly summoned a regular sized abomination, sending it off behind her towards other assailants that had assumed she couldn’t hear them approaching. In boots covered in metal. Honestly, she wondered how nobody had caught them yet.

Luz swung her staff at a different demon, grinning as she turned and scanned the area. Near instantly, her eyes landed on Amity, who was a good few meters away from her trash pile.

“Hey, Ams!” Luz shouted across the battleground, frantically waving her hand, her smile somehow growing.

Amity couldn’t help but return a smile of her own, her ears flicking back as her features softened.

There was a bark behind her and she snapped out of it, glancing back as Barcus ran by, giving her a tired look.

“Oh don’t you start,” Amity warned, flashing a fang.

Barcus rolled his eyes and rushed off around a broken stand vanishing from sight. Though the sounds of yelling from those of the Night Market confirmed he was still as much in the fight as everyone else.

“Hey,”

Amity yelped at the sudden noise by her ear and spun around, almost falling over before an arm holding a staff hooked around her back and stopped her falling.

“Oops,” Luz smiled sheepishly, her head hovering over Amity’s as her shoulders hunched. While the top half of her face was hidden by her mask, the eyes were very expressive. “Sorry, wrong time for surprises?”

“That’s not going to stop you,” Amity grumbled, getting to her feet as Luz pulled her staff back and thumped the blunt end against the ground. “I was just with Willow, we need to--”

Luz’s head tilted away from Amity’s face for barely a moment before she withdrew a fire glyph from her sleeve and activated it. She chucked it right by Amity’s head, almost grazing her ear.

Amity turned barely half a second later, watching as the fire glyph made contact with a demon trying to sneak up on them. This one hadn’t worn metal boots and Amity hadn’t heard them approaching. Smart. She’d see if she could get the Emperor's Coven to help her arrest that one.

“Sorry about that, you were saying?” Luz said, looking right back down at Amity. She assumed so, at least. The eyes of her mask were more like pale circles than actual eyeholes.

“The Coven, Luz.” Amity said, also unphased. “It’s dawn, the Coven will be here soon. You know how they like to come early to catch people trying to flee the Night Market.”

“Aren’t you also in the Emperor’s Coven?” Luz reminded, unconcerned. “Can’t you make them leave or something?”

“I’m the leader of my small, and remarkably passive,” Amity enunciated, ignoring explosions sounding off. “Group of the Emperor’s Coven. They don’t come here. Other guards do. I have absolutely no power here.”

“I wouldn’t call Archie breaking Jerbo’s nose passive,”

“Oh you have not seen the kind of guards they have by the Toes.”

“Shame,” Luz leaned against her staff. “Perhaps you could show me sometime?” She asked, the eyes of her mask moving in a sort of eyebrow wiggle.

“Luz,” Amity sighed, clasping the palms of her hands together and pressing it against her nose as she mentally reeled herself in to keep her composure. “Asking me on a date in the middle of a battle is bordering on impressively bold and tacky, which is a line I didn’t know even existed.”

“What can I say? I like making new lines.” Luz beamed widely. “Does this mean I can keep kicking in teeth?” She asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Amity crossed her arms. “I just said the Coven is going to arrive. Do you want to explain to the rebellion you need another prison breakout because nearly everyone here got captured for not leaving?”

“Tell you what,” Luz said, passing her staff to her other hand. “You can grab everyone who’d rather not be here when the Coven arrive while Eda and I finish up here.” She suggested casually.

“Luz you're going to get captu--”

“Oi, there she is!”

Luz and Amity calmly turned their heads, spotting that over the crest of the fallen stands, with the sunrise behind them, was a small band of demons and witches. A little less than a dozen or so. They all looked a little beat up, but many still sported a decent amount of weapons and, likely, magic.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Amity groaned, leaning her head back.

“Well, since we’re already here…” Luz said, nudging her shoulder. “I mean, it's pretty bad form to back down from a challenge…”

Amity, ignoring the gang approaching them (who clearly thought they had the high-ground at were taking their sweet time, the idiots), gave Luz a half-hearted glare. Luz was still giving her a hopeful look, giddy with excitement. And Amity had to admit, it had been a while since they’d fought an enemy on the same side. Publicly, at least.

“Fine,” Amity relented, sagging as Luz perked up. “But as soon as they’re gone we are leaving.”

“As you wish, Miss Blight.” Luz said with a low, dramatic bow, mocking the title Amity’s Coven would give her.

“Only you could get away with that,” Amity muttered, finally turning her gaze back to the group of demons and witches, who had spent the last few minutes pulling up weapons from the debris and scattering to ‘hide,’ if you could call it that.

Snowy finally decided to show up, flying around Luz before landing on the end of her staff. Luz stood from her bow and gripped her staff with two hands. Amity summoned her own, already determining where to place three different abominations in the area.

“Shall we?” Luz said, giving Amity a coy look and gesturing broadly to the approaching witches.

“Try not to get your head blown off,” Amity said casually, offering the tiniest of smiles. Luz’s staff began to glow as she took a step back and braced herself, a springboard moments away from uncoiling.

“No promises!”

It was hardly a fight.

But Luz didn’t seem to mind. She never did. She was just thrilled to be part of one.

Amity would’ve been bored were Luz not there. One could count on her to make things interesting. Granted you had no say on if it was for better or for worse.

Amity swung her staff, her abomination following and lumbering right into a cluster of demons. She had multiple up and running around, and she’d admit, it was a little tiring. But she’d done worse before, and their assailants were almost gone.

Dawn was well upon them now, the light casting long shadows. Amity had lost track of who was or wasn’t around them anymore. She figured Willow had already left, and likely dragged a few others with her. She’d get yelled at later, she knew it.

There was a holler to her left and she turned towards it, flicking her wrist to move an abomination out of the way.

A spire of ice shot up from the ground, sending three witches flying off to who-knows-where. Luz’s head popped around from behind it, laughing as Snowy flew at another witch trying to run at her. In the same movement, Luz drew a plant and lightning glyph. She threw the plant glyph at one of the larger demons around the ice spire, wrapping his arm in vines. She ran by and slapped the lightning glyph on the vines, causing them to erupt and explode as the demon yelled and bolted.

Amity shook her head, glancing at her own palisman, Fang, sitting on her staff and giving her a bored expression that could rival Willow’s.

“Hey, at least she's effective.” Amity shrugged. Fang only huffed and clung tighter to the top of her staff, melding into it until he looked like nothing more than a fancy wooden carving.

There was a crack and a shout, and Amity looked back just in time to see a demon stumble away from getting Luz’s staff whacked right into their face. Amity quickly moved an abomination towards them to get them stuck, should they try to retaliate. She did a double check on the rest of her abominations, which were thankfully beginning to drive away the remainders of their attackers and beginning to melt into the ground when they were done doing so.

“And you better stay out!” Luz shouted after a demon behind her, waving her fist in the air.

Amity was about to call out to her, but sounds of rapid footsteps grabbed her attention. She whirled around, summoning a small abomination as a shield before a witch crashed right into it. It took all of two seconds for Amity to recognize their white cloak and gray mask before she recoiled and cursed under her breath.

“Titan I hope you weren’t paying attention,” She mumbled before drawing a circle in the air. One of her other abominations turned into goo and quickly fused with the abomination in front of her, caging in the guard as they yelped and thrashed about.

Amity flicked her wrist and her abomination lumbered off, taking the guard with them.

They had run out of time.

“Luz, we gotta go!” Amity yelled, her shoulders tense as she searched for her human.

Luz had ended up a good few meters away on a slope, hollering after a few running demons. She glanced back at Amity’s shout, and seeing the worry on her face, wasn’t about to argue with her.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.” Luz shrugged regretfully. “I suppose this is where I bid you adieu” She said, giving Amity a cheeky bow. In the same movement of her bow, she had hooked her hand into her mask and easily took it off and held it out in a hand. It was mainly for show, anyway.

Amity huffed and raised a brow, despite her amused smile. Luz lifted her head slightly and gave a teasing wink before standing back to her feet.

The witch, who hadn’t paid attention to anything else going on, saw a sudden movement from behind Luz. She could only process the mild annoyance at having to patch up another bruise on Luz before she spoke.

“Behind y--”

In barely a second, the demon behind Luz wrapped an arm in front of her and tugged her back, startling the human. In the same moment, before any of them could react, they brought up their other talon. There was the flash of a blade between their fingers before said blade was jabbed straight into Luz’s throat.

Amity froze. Luz froze. Everything seemed to go still. The blade was dug high up on Luz’s neck, blood already coating the object and beginning to leak around the demon's claws. Blood trickled down Luz’s neck and began to stain the collar of her shirt.

And, just as fast as it froze, time snapped back at a jolting speed.

There was a shriek overhead and a dash of white. Snowy reappeared and slammed her body into the demon's face, flashing her talons and screeching. The demon threw the blade to the side, yelping and stumbling back to try and throw off the palisman.

Blood gushed from Luz’s neck, and upon finally being released, the human gasped as her hand flew up to her wound. She stumbled, having nothing holding her up. Her knees shook and buckled, sending her tumbling to the ground, still grasping at her neck.

Amity could only stare, her eyes wide and pupils so narrowed they practically vanished. She visibly flinched and broke out of her state when Luz’s body hit the ground.

“Luz!” She screamed. A scratchy, shrill sound that even Amity didn’t know she was capable of.

She was running before the name was out of her mouth. She suddenly knew what tunnel vision was like. Her focus was solely on Luz, collapsed on the ground. Her feet seemed to hook and stumble against every little pebble as she rushed up the slope, her heart in her ears. Everything else was fuzzy and irrelevant, and they faded into background noise.

Amity was at Luz’s side far too soon and still too late for her liking. She stared down at her, her throat going dry.

Luz was gasping and pressing both hands to her throat, whether it was due to the pain or some part of her conscious enough to try and stop the blood flow, she couldn't tell. Blood pooled out, creating almost a sort of halo around her head.

But her eyes, oh Titan her eyes.

They were blown wide, and were so white it looked almost unnatural. Her pupils had shrunk to sizes that she’d learned from Luz should not be physically possible for humans. A constant side-effect of shots she had gotten years ago.

Her eyes stared off into nothing, glazed but still so full of pure, unbridled terror. Luz was not someone who was scared easily, and seeing such an unmasked horror from her was nothing short of unsettling. Her eyes darted about as she wheezed for air, and she looked as though she couldn’t tell where she was.

Then those eyes landed on Amity.

Her face barely changed, although her eyes did. Her pupils dilated, ever so slightly. She locked those eyes with Amity as she gurgled through the blood bubbling in her throat. Amity could see her own petrified, still expression reflected back at her in those eyes. She was like a deer in the headlights, and she could feel her hands going numb.

One of Luz’s hands left her wound and she reached out, coated and dripping with blood as her fingers grazed Amity’s pant leg, weakly trying to grab at her.

Finally, though now that she looks back, the entire experience probably only lasted a few seconds, Amity snapped out of her trance.

“Luz,” Amity’s voice cracked, startlingly quiet as she dropped to her knees.

She panicked, and she knew she was. She looked over Luz rapidly as she wracked her brain for what to do. She knew healing magic, for Titan’s sake!

Instead, all she could think of to do was to press down on Luz’s throat, taking over as her girlfriends own hands started to shake and fall. Her eyelids drooped slightly and Amity felt a violent spike of fear at the sight.

“Viney,” Amity croaked, shaking her head as she wrapped an arm around Luz and pulled her closer, placing her head on her lap in some feeble attempt to elevate the wound, even though that wouldn’t do anything for a neck wound because of course it wouldn’t.

“Viney, Viney!” Amity cried, raising her head and frantically looking around the debris and dying--wrong word--chaos around her. “Where’s Viney?” She yelled pitifully, tightening her hold on Luz.

Yes, Viney could help. She was a far better healer than Amity. She’d healed bad injuries all the time. She just needed Viney and everything would be fine.

“Where are you?” Amity wailed, her panic rising to near hysteria as she searched the area with blurry, tear-filled eyes. She wasn’t sure who specifically she was calling for now. “Please, please she…”

Amity risked a glance down at Luz. She was now breathing through laboured breaths, raspy and shaking like a building that was about to collapse. Her eyelids were droopy, but she was stubbornly keeping them open as she lightly tried to hold her hands against her neck.

“There you guys are! What--”

Amity jerked her head up, pulling Luz closer to her chest as her ears dipped low.

Eda.

It was Eda. She was going to be okay. They were going to be okay.

Eda faltered, her confused, but still cocky, grin falling as she looked over Amity. Sitting on her knees, covered in blood that wasn’t her own, holding Luz like she was going to slip away from her at any moment.

“Kid!” Eda exclaimed, rushing forward and skidding to her knees so fast she likely cut them up as she grabbed Luz.

Amity was too numb to stop her, letting Eda take her as she stared off. Eda turned Luz over, sharply inhaling at the sight and her pupils narrowing and ears flicking back. Amity felt selfish for being glad that Eda had to see this, too. Because now Eda could take Luz, and she’d be fine, and tomorrow this day would be a funny story they’d tell the rebellion on a slow day.

Snowy had shown up again, though Amity couldn’t remember when. She had landed beside Eda, chirping and flapping her wings frantically as Eda scooped up Luz in her arms. She stood, momentarily forgetting about Amity as she yelled words the younger witch could no longer make out.

Her vision became splotchy and her ears felt fuzzy. Everything felt like a blur, and she was barely aware of being lifted off the ground. But she could still acutely hear the frantic beating of her heart and feel the stickiness of the blood drying on her clothes and hands.

When Amity finally came to, she was in the Owl House.

It wasn’t a consciousness she eased into, but rather was jerked out of by nothing in particular. She simply suddenly snapped up, her eyes shiny with emotion again as she looked around.

She was sitting on the couch, and Lilith was beside her, obviously lost in thought. Willow, Barcus and Gus were the only ones in the room, all of them sitting on the floor around the table in front of the couch.

She felt something warm in her hands and looked down, realizing she was holding a cup of tea. Lilith must’ve made it, considering how obsessed she was. Likely one of the kinds that helped keep her calm, she used those a lot.

She stared at her hands in fascination, seeing that they were no longer covered in blood. And for a moment, she thought she’d imagined it all.

But if she looked closely, she could still see the small bits and splatters of dried red liquid on the back of her hands. And when she looked down at herself, she saw that while her cloak and extra layers had been removed, her pant legs were still covered in dried blood and her shirt had specks of it that had soaked through.

Amity felt like she was going to be sick.

“Are you back?”

She blinked, forcing her eyes away from herself as she looked to the coffee table in front of her. Gus was sitting next to it, leaning his arms on it. He was looking at her now, face full of concern.

“Come--” Amity stopped and cleared her throat, hating how strained it sounded. “Come again?”

“You, um,” Gus gestured to his face with his hand. “Had a bit of a...gone look, for a while. You just, I dunno, you were…” He shook his head and swallowed. “H-how are you doing?”

He was nervous, clearly so. And seeing Gus as such did little to ease her own nerves. At least it was only nervousness, Amity wasn’t sure how she’d react if he was full-blown freaking out.

“I…” Amity blinked a few times, trying to get her mind in order. She was aware of everyone else in the room looking up towards her. “I’m--I’m fine.” She said, looking down at her hands again before sharply turning away. Right, the blood.

“Where, where’s Luz?” She asked, looking around the room. She tried to push down the growing feeling of unease, she didn’t trust herself not to hurl if she thought about it too much.

“She’s upstairs,” Lilith said, frowning slightly. “You saw Eda carry her up there with Viney.”

“I-I did?” Amity said, staring at her mentor.

“Yeah, you wanted to go with them.” Gus nodded, looking increasingly worried. “You don’t remember? You were freaking out and Willow had to calm you down.”

Amity turned to Willow at that, like just looking at her would suddenly explain everything. Willow was sitting at the other end of the coffee table, looking tired. That was nothing new, but her looking ready to fall asleep where she sat wasn’t. She met Amity’s gaze with exhaustion, cringing slightly and glancing away.

“Oh,” Amity said, gripping her cup of tea a little tighter. “I...I don’t remember that.” She said, shrinking in on herself. “Is Luz okay?” She asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Nobody met her gaze. Aside from Barcus, who lay underneath the table, for some reason. He met her gaze for a moment before his ears flicked back and he growled something under his breath.

“I’m going to check on her,” Amity said, pushing back the way it felt like her heart dropped as she sharply put her cup down on the table and stood up.

Her head felt dizzy as she did so, and it didn’t help that everyone started talking over each other as soon as Amity spoke. She stumbled for a moment before Lilith grabbed her shoulder and awkwardly pushed her back onto the couch.

“Absolutely not,” She said sternly. “We barely got you cleaned up, and still need to get you out of that.” She said, gesturing to the stained clothes Amity still bore. “Eda only took her up there a few minutes ago, we were simply catching our breath before you came to, it's why not everyone is here yet.”

“I know healing magic!” Amity protested, shrugging off Lilith’s hand. “I can help Viney.” She said, getting up again.

“You are in no condition to help Luz right now,” Lilith insisted, getting up just as quickly and lightly touching Amity’s arm as she stood in front of her. “Not after all that.” She said, her voice softening.

“What would you know?” Amity growled, more harshly than she meant. “You weren’t there. Nobody here was!” She hissed, resisting the urge to throw her hands in the air.

“No, we weren’t.” Lilith agreed, and the fact Lilith had done so with no argument had Amity shutting her mouth instantly. “But Eda told us where she found you, and judging from how you reacted and looked when they brought you back, I highly doubt seeing Luz in her current state is going to help anyone.”

Amity wanted to protest, she really did. She wanted to shove Lilith aside and storm up to wherever Luz was and do all she can to make her look up at her with eyes that didn’t get burned into her mind like a nightmare and a smile that didn’t have blood gushing out of it. But she knew she’d never make it far. Lilith was stubborn, and Willow would surely help keep Amity downstairs. There was no fighting Willow.

And, if she were honest with herself, she doubted she’d be able to do anything, anyway. Eda was probably already panicking, and the mere thought of seeing Luz laying on a cot with bandages around her neck and curled into a ball made her knees feel close to giving out.

“Luz will be okay,” Lilith continued, moving her hand up from Amity’s arm to the shoulder. “Viney said the blade entered too high,” She explained. “It didn’t hit any main arteries. She’s made it through a lot, this’ll be barely any different.” She assured, giving a tense smile.

If Amity had the energy, she’d argue that the fact everyone was anxiously waiting around didn’t exactly give any good signs. But right now, she wanted to do anything but dwell on today.

“Come on,” Willow said, pushing herself to her feet. “I have spare clothes here, we should get you out of that mess,” She said, offering a hand for Amity to take.

Amity stared down at it for a moment before her shoulders slumped and she took it, letting Willow guide her out of the living room. Gus and Barcus gave her pitying looks as they left through the door by the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Amity mumbled, bringing her free hand close to her chest, where it was currently fisted. “I didn’t get her out of there in time, I humored her and now--”

“Hey,” Willow said sharply, turning around and narrowing her eyes. “I know how Luz is, this isn’t your fault.” She said, lowering her head so she could keep eye contact with Amity. “Something like this was bound to happen, anyway.” She mumbled bitterly.

“But I…” Amity trailed off, her throat feeling dry as she broke away from Willow’s gaze and glue her gaze to the ground, her hands trembling.

“It’s alright,” Willow said, gently squeezing her hand. “Luz will be fine, and so will you. Knowing her, she’d probably fight the Bat Queen herself if you so much as said you vaguely missed her.” She added, trying to joke.

“I know,” Amity said, looking up as her ears flicked down. “And that's what scares me.”

Amity was on her fifth cup of tea when the door to the Owl House had opened.

Barely an hour had passed, with no word from anyone upstairs. Barcus insisted that if Eda wasn’t worrying about having to risk a hospital visit, Luz was bound to be fine.

Nobody had left the house since Luz had been whisked away, leaving none of them able to tell the others they hadn’t picked up on the way back about the situation.

So the laughing and jeering that greeted them when the door opened was a bit jarring.

“Ey, there they are!” Edric grinned, walking in as he shoulder-bumped Jerbo. “I can’t believe you guys left us!”

“Ed almost got caught by the Coven,” King said, sitting up on Jerbo’s shoulders. “I rescued him.” He added proudly, a paw on his chest.

“You did not,” Jerbo shook his head with a smile. “What was the rush? We thought you’d all been carted off to prison again.” He asked, looking around the room.

Exhausted, stricken faces greeted them. You could see the joy die from their eyes, replaced with bone-chilling worry.

“What happened?” Emira demanded, stepping in and closing the door.

“Luz got hurt,” Lilith said calmly. “Badly.” She glanced to Amity beside her, who was staring at her tea. “Amity witnessed it.” She added, quieter and full of pity.

The twins looked to each other with similar faces of fear before they rushed in, moving to crouch beside their sister. Lilith silently moved to the furthest side of the couch so Emira could sit next to Amity. Jerbo and King glanced to each other before hurrying to the others on the floor, talking in hushed tones.

“She’ll be okay,” Amity said, her eyes flickering between her siblings. “I’ve learned from you two that things often look a lot worse than they actually are.” She added with an obviously forced lighter tone, giving a small smile.

��Oh, Amity…” Edric trailed off, his ears pressing back. “What...is…”

“Wasn’t fun,” Amity said, continuing her fake tone. “I can tell you that. I think I washed my hands raw.” She said, looking down at where said rubbed-red hands were shaking as they held her cup. “She’s--” She broke off, swallowing thickly and refusing to let her voice break. “She’s with Viney and Eda.”

“If you start using humor to cope I’m going to punch you.” Emira warned, a growl forming before dying out.

“Hypocrite,” Amity rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea.

“Well hey, if Viney’s with Luz, then she’s going to be up and running in barely a day.” Edric said, quickly changing the topic away from them. “She's dealt with all kinds of ridiculous injuries, especially from Em.”

“Oh your one to talk,” Emira snapped. “If Jerbo was a healer--”

“Behave,” Lilith called sharply, giving the twins a warning glare from the other side of the couch.

“Yes, mom.” Edric mumbled under his breath so she couldn’t hear.

“Hey, Luz is tough.” Emira said, wrapping an arm around Amity’s shoulders and pulling her against her side. “A little scrap will barely graze her. It’ll be a joke within hours, just you wait.”

Amity raised a hand to her neck, lightly rubbing it as she glanced to her sister, grimacing before looking away.

“It was here,” She said quietly, almost inaudible. “They got her here.”

The twins tensed. Edric squeezed Amity’s arm and she slumped, letting Emira keep her upright.

Neither of them spoke after that.

It was late afternoon when they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Everyone's heads were up in a flash, waiting in bated breath.

It was Eda.

She looked drained, a hand running down her face. She paused at the doorway, looking out into the living room with anxious faces staring back at her.

“She’s okay,” Eda said, and it was like the weight of the sky had been lifted off their shoulders.

Amity almost fell off the couch by how fast and heavily she sagged in relief. Emira’s arm around her was the only thing keeping her stable.

“She’ll need rest for a few days, but Luz will be back to normal in no time.” Eda said, walking into the room. “Viney’s doing a final once over,” She added, catching Emira’s eye.

“Can we see her?” Gus asked, standing up.

“Kids exhausted, you can’t all see her at once.” Eda deadpanned. “Viney already almost bit my head off for staying that long,” She mumbled under her breath. “One at a time, and honestly, Viney might yell at you to leave her alone within the hour.”

Amity was on her feet in seconds, her cup forgotten on the table. She took a step towards the stairs before pausing and turning back to Gus.

Sure, Amity had seen what happened to Luz but...he was Luz’s friend, too. He and Willow were still her closest. And...well, she couldn’t help but feel guilty as she met his eyes.

Gus seemed to understand and smiled, sitting back down on the floor beside Willow.

“Go ahead,” He said, and Amity once again wondered how his emotions could almost flip on a dimel. “But I call seeing Luz next.” He said, looking back to the others with a joking glare that couldn’t frighten a squirrel.

“Yeah, good luck fighting for that.” Willow taunted, punching his arm as he yelped and gave a sheepish smile.

“Don’t break anything,” Amity warned, but smiled back as she nodded to her siblings and made her way to the stairs.

As she passed Eda, the witch reached out for her. Amity paused, watching her. Eda seemed to hesitate for a moment before patting her shoulder and moving away, towards where the rest of their family began to discuss who-knows-what, all the tension having left them.

Feeling a bit lighter, Amity made her way up the stairs.

She hung outside of Luz’s room for a moment, scuffing at the floor with her feet. She could hear shuffling and muffled voices through the door, and wondered the consequences of busting in when Viney was still packing up.

The door opened and Amity jumped. Viney stepped out, looking surprised for a moment before relaxing with a smile.

“You know, she was just asking to see you and the others.” She chuckled, re-situating her medical bag under her arm. “Try not to--never mind.”

Viney only shook her head as Amity pushe right by her, rushing into Luz’s room. Viney couldn’t blame her, and only shrugged and shut the door behind her.

Amity paused for a moment to take in the scene, suddenly remembering she probably should’ve mentally prepared herself better.

Luz was laying on her mattress Eda had upgraded her too, under a single sheet. She was laying on her back with one hand hanging off and brushing the floor. The other was situated on her stomach. She was still wearing her outfit from earlier, but her purple cloak had been discarded on the other side of the room, and Luz had been changed out of her surely bloodsoaked shirt. She wore one of her gray tank tops instead, and her eyes were partially closed.

For a brief, horrifying second, Amity was reminded of a corpse in an open casket.

That was, until Luz saw who had entered the room.

“Ami--” Luz’s gleeful cry was cut off by her hacking loudly, coughing as she sat up and pressed a hand to her throat.

“Are you okay?” Amity worried, rushing over and standing over Luz, reaching out a hand.

“Fine,” Luz wheezed, lifting her free hand to reassure Amity. “Voice is just gonna be off for a little while.” She said, her voice scratchy as she rubbed at her neck once before dropping her hand.

And once it moved away, Amity finally got to see the bandages wrapped tightly around her. True to Lilith’s word, they were much higher up than a typical throat-slit. On Luz, it was just below her chin, right where her neck met her head. Though it still didn’t stop Amity from wincing at the sight of the gauzes.

Luz noticed and deflated slightly. She attempted to shake it off and grabbed Amity’s hand, pulling it closer and encasing both of her hands over it. Which was an easy feat, considering they were noticeably bigger.

“I’m glad you're okay,” She said in her strained voice, looking up at Amity with a smile that the witch lingered on a moment too long to be natural.

“I’m not the one you should be worrying about,” Amity said, a little sternly as she pressed her ears back. “If anything, I should be saying that I’m glad you're okay.”

“Aw, you care.” Luz teased, sticking out her tongue. Amity gave her a half-hearted glare and she faltered, her smile falling along with her eyes.

“I just,” Luz swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek as she noticed Amity’s unease. “I’m--I remember what you looked like when I,” Luz hesitated, clearing her hoarse voice as a hole opened in Amity’s gut. “I...I was worried about you.” She mumbled, lowering her head.

Amity stared at Luz’s hunched form for a few moments. Then, tentatively, like she was expecting Luz to bolt, she lifted her other hand and stepped right to the edge of the bed. Luz spared a glimpse up as Amity wrapped her hand around Luz’s back and pulled her closer.

Luz drooped into her hold, thumping her head against Amity’s chest and squeezing her hand tighter. Amity lightly ran her hand through the hair at the base of Luz’s head, which she also rested her chin on and rocked subtly to the side, shutting her eyes.

They stayed like that for a while, letting the memories of the day roll over them before forcing it back, all in silence. Amity was sure Luz could tell she was fighting back crying again, and she knew Luz wasn’t as alright as she acted. Not from how her hands left her own and clutched tightly at the girls sides, pulling at her baggy shirt and pressing her face close.

“I was scared for you,” Luz finally broke the silence, her raspy, painful-sounding voice almost inaudible. “You looked like you’d seen the end of the world.”

“Well, I was certainly scared for you.” Amity said matter-of-factly, trying to cover up her disturbance at Luz having remembered more than she thought. “Don’t worry about it, I’m alright now.”

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Oh, and you're a master at figuring out liars now?” Amity snarked, looking down at Luz and meeting Luz’s eyes, which were wonderfully normal and not full of panic.

“I’m good with you,” Luz said cheerfully in her stupid scratchy voice that Amity hated she kind of liked. “Your right ear moves when you lie, when you forget about it.”

Damnit. Edric and Emira had always remembered that tick of hers and Amity had learned to stop herself from flicking said ear whenever she was lying. But every now and again, she forgot.

“That proves nothing,” Amity said stiffly, turning her head away. “I move my ear when I’m annoyed all the time.”

“That's your left ear,” Luz said with gleeful factuality. “I noticed.” She said proudly, giving Amity an expression like she’d solved a puzzle and was looking for praise.

“That you did,” Amity mumbled, ruffling Luz’s hair so it’d fall into her eyes. She needed to cut that sometime. “You're very annoying like that.”

“Too bad I’m your annoyance,” Luz teased, giving Amity a smug wink.

“Woe is me,” Amity said in a bleak voice, laying her head on Luz’s to hide the blush creeping up her face. “I’m going to be suffering for the rest of my days.”

“C’mon, I do that all on my own--” Luz broke off in a fit of coughs, doubling over and releasing Amity.

The witch stepped back, eyes flashing with fear as got to her knees beside the bed and laid her hand on Luz’s leg. She shoved down the helpless feeling she thought would’ve been gone by now as Luz coughed and rubbed at her bandaged neck.

“Sorry,” Luz wheezed, her fit finally calming down.

“It’s alright,” Amity said, her voice quiet as well. “You should rest your voice.”

“No, I-” Luz flinched, rubbing at her neck more before shaking her head. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” She rasped. “You said we had to leave, and I didn’t, and--”

“Hey, hey,” Amity chided softly, lifting to hold Luz’s free hand. “It was an accident, I don’t blame you. Nobody does.”

“I know, but…” Luz sighed, her shoulders slumping. She leaned forward, lightly knocking her forehead against Amity’s as she closed her eyes for a second before opening them. She kept her eyes locked on where Amity was still holding her hand.

“I’m a mess,” Luz mumbled, stroking her thumb over the back of Amity’s hand. “And I should’ve...I dunno...I just…” She groaned and finally met Amity’s gaze. “I’m sorry. For a lot of things. And I wish that it,” She gestured around them with her other hand. “Didn’t end up like this. You know? This is a rebellion, I thought it’d be fun. They always make rebellions sound so cool and how you’d always escape them okay and be heroes.”

“So, Azura, then?” Amity lifted a brow.

“Don’t patronize me,” Luz huffed good-naturedly. “Look, I’m just...sorry. That I got hurt, that someone else could’ve gotten hurt, that you're stuck in this mess, that…” Luz muttered and blinked her eyes rapidly, like Amity somehow couldn’t see they were beginning to water. “God, I think I’m still high off those pain medications.” She groaned, covering her face with her hand.

Amity blinked before giving a small smile. She moved her head back slightly and raised her other hand, reaching out for Luz and cupping her cheek. Luz immediately leaned into it and slipped her hand off her face to hold Amity’s in its place.

“I’ve been stuck before,” She said, pointedly keeping her gaze away from Luz’s bandages. “And if this is your idea of stuck, then you better believe I’m not leaving.”

Luz gave a small half-smile, leaning further into her hand. Amity brushed her thump behind Luz’s eye, looking over her with mixed feelings. Luz wasn’t one to admit her fears so openly, and even Amity could tell how she tried to cover up her awkwardness at being open. Perhaps taking a page out of Luz’s book wasn’t a good idea, but she couldn't be bothered to worry about herself right then.

Amity leaned forward, catching Luz’s minor surprise for only a second before she placed a kiss on the side of Luz’s mouth, where a small scar went right over it. She remembered when Luz had gotten that scar, and she recalled how at the time it seemed like nothing more than an inconvenient cut.

Amity pulled back only a moment later, almost snickering at the sight of Luz. She was flushed and looked like a deer in the--nope. Wrong analogy.

Amity hoped her quick cover-up smile was enough to make up for her sudden shift.

Luz eventually reeled herself in and her expression shifted to that of a pout, letting her hand fall from Amity’s as she thumped her head on her girlfriends shoulder.

“Cheater,” She whined, her voice muffled.

Amity giggled, relaxing as she wrapped an arm around Luz and held her close. It was an awkward position, but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

She remained there for a moment, laying her cheek against Luz’s shoulder. She glanced to the side, looking over the bandages around her throat. And for a moment she saw just how deep that blade dug into the human’s skin.

“It’s going to scar over,” She found herself saying, feeling Luz stiffen in her arms. “Isn’t it?”

Luz was silent for a few moments, and in those moments Amity feared she shouldn’t have spoken. Luz had never been one to dislike her scars until...well, she’d gotten a rather nasty one from Eda she’d rather forget. But then Luz exhaled, sounding far more tired than she had been before.

“Yeah,” She croaked. “Viney said it would.”

“I’m sorry,” Amity murmured.

“It’s okay,” Luz said, resting her chin on Amity’s shoulder so she could be heard better. “This isn’t my first and it won’t be my last.”

Amity felt a chill at that line. She knew it wasn’t meant to be foreboding, only a small joke so she wouldn’t worry. Yet, it made her uneasy at how Luz brushed it off. And it was a small reminder that, even if Luz felt regret, she was still a naturally reckless person. And one day she’d be right back in her bed, covered in bandages and possibly in a worse condition than a hoarse voice.

“Luz,” Amity said, tightening her arms around the human. “I…”

Titan, what even was there to say? Don’t say that? You deserve better? I love you?

She wouldn’t get anywhere with any of those. And especially not the latter. There was too much going on already, and this was neither the time nor the place.

Amity squeezed her eyes shut and sighed before leaving her eyes half-lidded.

“Be careful,” She said instead. “If not for yourself, then for the others. You have no idea how scared we were.” She flicked her ears further down. “Don’t do anything overly stupid, okay?” She said, her voice hitching as she tried to cover it with a more teasing tone.

She could feel Luz swallow against her shoulder, shifting in her hold slightly.

“I’ll try,” She murmured.

And Amity supposed that was the best she could ask for.

“Also,” Luz started nervously. “Uh, not to rapidly change the subject,” Luz said, lifting her head slightly, her voice a bit more strained than before. “But your claws are kind of digging into my back…”

“Oh, right!” Amity squeaked and jerked back, sharply tugging her hands off of Luz and wincing when she felt her claws slide out of Luz’s shirt and skin. “Sorry, sorry,”

“I’ve had worse.” Luz chuckled, pulling away and giving Amity a mildly pained smile. “And as much as I love having you here,” Her eyes trailed somewhere behind Amity. “I think Gus is about to break something if this doesn’t hurry up.”

Amity turned around, confused. Sure enough, the door to the room was just barely cracked, and Gus could be seen pacing outside it. And Amity was willing to bet Willow was there, too.

“Seriously, guys?” Amity rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“We weren’t listening, I swear!” Gus insisted, pulling the door open further and poking his head in. “We weren’t even here that long!”

“Next time, you can just knock.” Amity grumbled, flicking her ear at Luz’s snickers behind her.

“Eh, figured you’d tear our heads off if we did,” Willow said, pulling the door open further. “So, can we come in then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amity sighed, getting to her feet and brushing herself off. “Eda’s going to kill you if she finds out both of you were sneaking in at the same time.”

“Eh, I’ll probably be fine.” Luz shrugged, her voice scratching more as she clearly tried to hold back another cough.

“Get it out of your system,” Amity told her simply, deciding to push back her earlier turmoil as she turned back to the door. “You want me to cover for you two?”

“You and I both know it's going to take ages for you to finally go downstairs instead of hovering by the door.” Willow deadpanned.

“This is bullying,” Amity complained as Gus and Willow walked in, with Gus instantly springing to Luz’s bedside and going off about some topic Amity was tuning out.

“Yeah, hurts, doesn’t it?” Willow said with a smirk, raising a brow as she passed Amity.

“...Touché,” Amity mumbled with an acknowledging nod.

Willow only shook her head and came up by the head of Luz’s bed, calmly watching as Gus talked a mile a minute, so much livelier than how he was mere hours ago. Amity stood back and watched, fiddling her hands together as Luz coughed and assured her friends she was fine and letting Gus continue his rambling.

Amity unconsciously rubbed her hand at her own throat before quickly dropping it again. She fiddled her hands together, feeling that her claws were still unsheathed. She pressed along her fingers, trying to coax her claws to sheath. It only somewhat worked, and she relented that her claws weren’t going to go away for a while.

Willow glanced over at her with a questioning look. Amity cringed at seeing her concern and gave a forced smile and nodded her head. She knew it didn’t convince Willow, but she didn’t push and turned back to Gus and Luz without further comment.

She’d always be worried about Luz, she decided as she watched said human listen to Gus and pointedly ignore the warning glances Willow gave her as she messed with her bandages. Luz would always be a handful, no matter how much she changed, she’d still be the human who had to learn as much magic as she could and the one who wouldn’t stand for an emperor like Belos. If nobody would do it, Luz sure as hell would.

And, as scared as she was to blink and suddenly see that blood on her hands again, she decided it was worth it. She’d never get used to it, not completely.

Amity could almost hear Willow calling her a hypocrite, because the more she thought about it, the more Amity began to realize that she’d likely do anything of Luz’s request to make her safer. Hell, she didn’t doubt she’d fight her own parents one-on-two if Luz asked nicely.

And while the thought of that terrified her, she couldn’t find the common sense to find a reason to stop herself, should it happen.

Perhaps that's just the impact Luz had on people.

Or maybe it was just Amity.

She couldn’t find it in her to care anymore.

125 notes · View notes

drjackandmissjo · 3 years

Text

I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you

(but I’ll do what I must for there’s no me without you)

*** Set throughout the course of their 7th and final year at Hogwarts, this story follows Slytherin's finest and one of the only sane members of the House, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates war-torn friendships, school under a dictatorial regime, Death Eaters and, most importantly, his secret relationship with none other than the new leader of the DA, known blood-traitor, Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom.

A sequel to my previous story: Firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine, you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 1 --- next chapter

Harry Potter fic masterlist

29th of July 1997

“I have to admit: I enjoyed the film way more than I expected to,” he said once they had left the muggle theatre. The air had become chilly during the time they had spent inside, but neither of them was bothered by that: they were used to colder climates, after all, spending most of the year in Scotland. And for all its spells and constant fires, one thing always must be said about Hogwarts: certain rooms and corners had never seen the light of the sun and they surely behaved as such, even during warm days.

Like the Potions classrooms, while Snape was their Professor. Those dungeon rooms looked and smelled and felt every bit of humidity that came from being so close to the lake and that, even with the countless explosions that Theo and the Fire Kid from Gryffindor caused with each lesson, could never get anything warmed up. A Hungarian Horntail could breathe fire in there for 24 hours straight and it would still be humid and wet and cold.

It was a good thing Professor Slughorn had decided to move the classrooms up on the fourth floor, in rooms full of windows and light. Blaise could have easily gone without having to add to his ever-growing list of worries his skin getting dehydrated with the stained and stale air that circulated down there.

He watched from the corner of his eye Neville nod along to his statement in agreement, before casually running a hand through his hair and messing them up even further. No matter how hard he tried to keep them neat and proper, like his grandmother wanted them to be, the strands appeared to have a life on their own, especially when certain Slytherin hands had free reign in between them whenever they were alone.

Besides, it really wasn’t Blaise’s fault: Neville had decided he wanted to grow them out, instead of cutting them just as his grandmother suggested on the daily, and, much to Blaise’s happiness, now his bangs framed his face divinely, making for a perfect place to leave his hands whenever they were else occupied.

He also enjoyed the way Neville would scoff in pretended annoyance whenever he disarrayed them and then would shake his head in disbelief at his antics, aiding Blaise’s purpose even further.

And, really, who could blame him? If Blaise wasn’t as in love with the dorky plant-head Gryffindor as he already was, he’d fall even harder at the sight of him with his funky tousled hair and puffy lips as he took a bite out of Blaise’s food without asking first.

He had been so glad that day, having bought a muggle camera that worked similarly to a magical one but that was way easier to manage. He had taken dozens of stills of them, never seeming to get enough of Neville’s smiling face and of his own relaxed and happy one. For Salazar’s soul, he had even sent one of the two of them smiling to his mother, after she kept on asking to at least see the young man that had enchanted her son.

She had replied to his letter the following day, with a simple: “Rule number fifty-one: don’t let him go.”

Blaise had never once wanted to disappoint his mother and definitely wouldn’t start now.

“I don’t really like the way it ended, though. The part where J removed K’s memories was a nice touch, but I feel like we didn’t have enough time with neither,” Neville commented, shoving his hands inside his jeans’ pockets as they kept on walking further and further away from the theatre, undoubtedly to stop himself from doing something idiotic like holding Blaise’s hand when there were still people around.

Given the current political and non-political air that permeated both the Wizarding World and Britain, the two young men had decided that it would be best to limit their encounters only to muggle areas in London, although they would still have to maintain a rather low and inconspicuous profile. It had become incredibly easy to be together without raising suspicions, especially with almost an entire school year of experience sneaking around the castle, but they still preferred to be cautious, to hide from both dark wizards and close-minded muggles.

Neville still lived with his grandmother, but she had become less strict during the course of his first week back at home from school and didn’t really bother him with the amount of time he stayed out, as long as he spent the nights at home. Besides, in her own words, they all had ‘bigger problems than teenagers breaking curfew a little bit to meet with their friends.’ Blaise couldn’t believe that he could ever agree with Augusta Longbottom, but he had seen stranger things happen.

Still, when Neville told him, he had been so shocked he had choked on his drink, causing the Gryffindor to laugh at the spectacle he had created with his Cola.

Blaise himself had been invited to spend his vacation at either Malfoy Manor and the Nott’s, both families offering their hospitality and implicit protection, but he had declined immediately under the ruse of a simple: ‘I live with you the whole year, I need my space and I need to breathe proper air that isn’t tainted with your disgusting deodorant.’ While the sentiment itself was true, he did not want to risk being found out with Neville, a known ‘blood traitor’. Not to mention the part of him being a guy. And a Gryffindor.

Blaise wasn’t really certain about which part would get him into more trouble and wasn’t willing to find out anytime soon.

Therefore, he had chosen to stay at his father’s old bachelor apartment in London, while his mother moved back to France, not wanting to be anywhere near the War that was brewing.

He had asked Neville to stay with him as soon as he was done cleaning the place, making it welcoming and a cosy retreat for them, but his adorable boyfriend couldn’t leave his despotic grandmother alone the entire time, especially not now that the waters were rough.

Always the selfless Gryffindor.

They had retorted then in meeting for random dates almost daily, which had been heavenly. Neville would show up at his apartment with Floo Powder, since he hadn’t taken his Apparition Examination yet, and then they’d just walk around muggle London, as if they had no care in the world. They still kept their guards up, checking every corner for danger that could be avoided, but they tried to ignore the Damocles Sword that hung above their necks.

Which had led them to the muggle theatre on more than one occasion. It had been a perfect idea: in the darkened room nobody questioned why they were holding hands or sharing the popcorn; and they wouldn’t risk anyone from the Wizarding World discovering them, those who would cause them troubles too high on their brooms to even look down at something as mundane as a muggle theatre.

They had also gone to muggle museums and parks and bookstores and restaurants, but Blaise loved the privacy the theatres offered, he loved the way Neville would get engrossed in the stories, he loved the way their hands would link together as suspense built on the screen, he loved to discuss the film afterwards and to dissect every aspect that he found interesting.

And he loved Neville, so it was all an added bonus.

There was a small theatre nearby his place that was quiet and seldom fraught and that allowed them to spend their evenings together, with the walk towards it full of the most random topic the pair could come up with and the walk back usually occupied with their thoughts and opinions about the film they had just watched. Neither of them had been too well versed in muggle culture to begin with, but it was very easy to pick up, especially with the way the family-owned theatre would sometimes project well-known and older productions, instead of only showing the recent ones.

It made the muggle spectacle even more fascinating, in Blaise’s eyes.

“It was kind of poetic, like a rite of passage and everything, but I understand what you mean,” Blaise said as they kept on walking, itching to grab Neville’s hand but holding himself back for the time being: they were still under the scrutiny of the public eye, after all. He’d have to wait until they turned two corners and were finally alone in the streets to finally place his hands on his boyfriend’s. With moderation, of course. “I feel like the story isn’t finished, especially with the way they had the doctor become an Agent. I understand that she had had her memory wiped more times than Lockhart, but she seemed fine! I don’t know, that ending left me pretty unsatisfied as well.”

His boyfriend huffed out a laugh at that and began to silently shake his head: “Lockhart got obliviated only once, by his own spell bouncing back from Ron’s broken wand. Compared to him, that doctor got her brain scrambled on the daily. But you’re right, it would have been so much better if she kept her job and was on the loop with the alien stuff.”

“Speaking of Lockhart, I wonder how’s he doing…” Blaise inquired, scratching his neck. It had been over three years since anyone had heard of the famous wizard and pretty much everyone had seemed to have forgotten about him. It was such a mystery for some, his sudden disappearance after his year teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Yet again, pretty much all the students at Hogwarts knew of the curse on that position, which made his absence plausible, but to have such a well renowned and celebrated man vanish into thin air after publishing a controversial book where he told the world he had no memory of who he had ever been, it was more than suspicious.

“At St. Mungo’s, giving out autographs Godric knows what for,” Neville answered his implicit question with nonchalance, “I see him sometimes when I go visit Mum and Dad.”

During the time they had been together, Neville had slowly begun to tell Blaise about what had happened to his family: how they were members of the original Order of the Phoenix, fighting the Dark Lord during the First War; how Dumbledore had suggested they hid as well as the Potters, because of some prophecy that would connect their children with the Dark Lord himself; how, after he was defeated and the Potters were killed, his parents were tracked down by four remaining Death Eaters and tortured to insanity; how they now stayed at St. Mungo’s, without a single memory of their son, completely out of their minds.

Blaise had always been cold and calculative and preferred to keep a rational outlook to the world, but when he saw, for the first time since that new information, Bellatrix Lestrange, at Malfoy Manor, free and enjoying life, his blood had begun to boil. He had never wanted to murder someone as much as he did in that moment, forcing himself to maintain a smile on his face and to pretend like he wasn’t ready to slaughter someone. When he came back home that night after dinner with Draco and his wretched family, he had spent an entire hour in the shower, scrubbing at his skin as if he could erase the memory of that wretched woman, drinking wine and telling them all about the Cruciatus Curse and how useful it could be to a dark wizard. He had kept that piece of information hidden from Neville, even though he had recounted pretty much the entire evening the following day, while his boyfriend attempted to calm him down from his homicidal plans, without truly knowing what had instigated them.

And he would never know, for Blaise would go to any lengths to avoid his sweet and loving boyfriend any pain. He had already suffered too much, in his short life.

“Really, he’s at St. Mungo’s?” Blaise asked, trying to distract himself from those dark thoughts. When he was with Neville, it almost felt as if Death Eaters didn’t exist, as if the Dark Lord hadn’t risen again, as if they weren’t on the verge of War. “I thought the whole ‘Who Am I?’ book was all a plan to disappear after he botched our second year without being bothered and now you tell me that Weasley sent him to the healers and basically deprived the Wizarding World of that perfectly blinding smile?” Neville playfully shoved him to the side with his shoulder, lingering a little in his touch as they kept on walking, just as restless as he was to be behind closed doors and to have their privacy and safety: “Ron didn’t send him anywhere and he got what he deserved,” he commented sheepishly, regarding Blaise with a blinding smile of his own.

And Blaise definitely preferred his boyfriend’s smile, so true and sincere and warm and just perfect, rather than anything their former fraud of a professor had ever shared.

“He spent the entire year pretending he could do shit and leaving me hanging from the ceiling, multiple times, and then, at the first sign that he needed to be a responsible adult, he tried to Obliviate Harry and Ron and leave Ginny down with the Basilisk. They got so lucky that Lockhart took Ron’s wand that still hadn’t been repaired, otherwise they’d all still be down there.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added: “And don’t worry, he still got that smile,” his face reddened and visible even in the dimly lit street.

“No need being jealous of a man who isn’t even worth the mud under your shoes, Nev,” he teased, enjoying how his boyfriend would stammer embarrassed at being discovered.

“I’m not jealous!” he defended himself, but the crimson on his cheeks spoke of another story.

Blaise itched to cup his cheeks and to feel the warmth of his skin, but they were still in the middle of a street that was fairly illuminated and with people around. Therefore he did the next best thing: returned on a safer conversational path. “Oh, yeah, I remember about Weasley’s wand,” he said, laughing at the memory, “It bounced back that Slug-vomiting charm that was aimed at Draco. We had a blast that day, when he told us the story.” “Glad some of you enjoyed it, with your sick sense of humour,” Neville said, shuffling his hands inside of his pockets as they moved closer and closer to the corner that would lead them to the apartment, “poor Ron had to carry a bucket wherever he went for two days straight!”

Blaise couldn’t help himself: maybe it was the serious way he defended his friend, or maybe it was the image of a tiny second-year Weasley carrying around the entire castle a bucket to throw up slugs in, undoubtedly aided by an equally tiny Saint Potter with a bewildered tiny Grander following suit and reprimanding them both, but he just burst up laughing, his entire body shaking with it as he put his hands over his stomach, to try and regain his composure.

Yet, all thoughts of etiquette were damned as soon as he heard his boyfriend join in, his own laugh bright and pure and just perfect.

And the icing on their cake laid in the fact that they were alone, without anyone watching them, and they could just be themselves. Blaise didn’t hesitate a moment into grabbing Neville’s hand, enjoying the warmth that the Gryffindor radiated. They kept on laughing and holding hands as they walked back to the one place they could call theirs.

They all but ran the few meters that kept them vulnerable, staggering over the stairs as if they were drunk. It was a somehow good paragon, considering how inebriated they were with each other, and Blaise couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful his life was in that moment. He could just be himself, around Neville, without having to worry about composure or secrets or manners.

When they closed the door behind their backs and stumbled inside of the apartment, they didn’t even open the electrical lights up, too engrossed in making up for the time they hadn’t been allowed to share, close and up in each other’s personal space.

Blaise would’ve been content in simply existing there, in the tiny apartment that once belonged to his late father, with his hands up on his boyfriend’s hair as he worked and worried over Neville’s exposed neck, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, watching him lean against a wall for support once his legs had given up completely. The outside world didn’t matter anymore, not to him, not when he had Neville’s hands on him. He’d be glad dying there, in his arms, unbothered by the imminent war, by his friends, by their duties.

But reality had to crash down on them at some point.

Neville removed his mouth from his, panting and with his eyes shut, savouring for one more moment their closeness. Blaise studied his face from the short distance, as he always loved doing, recognising his boyfriend’s reluctance to separate. Yet, his duty would win, as it always did, and he would take a step back, trying to recompose himself and running a hand through his hair.

It was long due a haircut, by now, but Blaise was an egoist and wanted the length to stay for a little longer. Besides, when September came, his grandmother would definitely cut it, even against Neville’s will. And Blaise would take whatever he could, when it came to going against Augusta Longbottom.

He hadn’t even met the woman yet and he had already accepted defeat, if it meant keeping Neville in his life. And, while he did not harbour any love for the witch, he was most certain he could keep an amicable front with her, at least, all for Neville’s sake.

That didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t try to stray her grandson into a different path than the one she wanted, at every corner: “Can’t you stay this once?” he asked in a low and sultry voice, fully conscious of what that tone did to his perfect Gryffindor boyfriend, refusing to take a step back and let a single centimetre separate the two of them.

He watched as Neville slowly opened his eyes in the dim light that was filtered by the window from the empty street below. He watched as his throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to regain his breathing. He watched, powerless, as Neville slipped them over, switching their positions, effectively trapping him against the wall in his arms.

The Gryffindor bent down a little and placed the most chaste and sweet and anticlimactic kiss on Blaise’s lips, driving the Slytherin mad with want and desire, unable to do anything other than comply.

“You know I can’t, flower,” he murmured directly against Blaise’s lips, his own stretching in a wicked smile. Neville Longbottom knew exactly which buttons to press and when to use them all against him: Blaise couldn’t help the shiver that ran over his back at that simple word, still not used to the way the simple pet name made his toes curl and his heart beat out of his chest, nor could he help the sound of appreciation that came out of his throat, and that transformed immediately into one of disappointment as soon as his boyfriend untangled himself from him.

He tried to make some air reach his brain, when Neville stepped back from him once again, leaving him space to breathe and recollect himself while still being infuriatingly close, neither of them wanting to truly part despite their obligations.

“Yes, I unfortunately do…” he answered, still leaning against the wall. He ran his right thumb over his lips, enjoying the way the Gryffindor’s body stiffened at the sight as his eyes tracked the movement. He sometimes still couldn’t believe his luck, especially when Neville looked at him like that, as if he needed all of his strength just to hold back.

Most of the time, Blaise wished he didn’t, yet the knowledge that he was the one to make the apparently timid, placid Schlongbottom, as his friends still believed he was, lose his mind completely was intoxicating. And he lived for those moments and hours when Neville would let go of his composure fully, causing Blaise to follow suit without a single complaint. Because he couldn’t be the farthest from timid or placid, but only he saw that side of him, only he got to enjoy that part of his sweet and amazing boyfriend.

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” Blaise asked almost out of the blue, conscious already of the reply, but wanting to steal some more time alone with the Gryffindor.

He didn’t particularly care that he was abiding by the stereotype that Slytherins were manipulating and tempting, not when Neville would shoot him a blinding but cocky smile as he fired back: “Already missing me?”

“Always.”

“I told you, I’m going to help Luna find a dress for the wedding and Grandma’s organised that family gathering to celebrate my 17th…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, to try to make his blushing less noticeable. Unfortunately for him, in doing so, he had involuntarily made his shirt rise a little, showing off the skin beneath, and Blaise was not going to let such an opportunity pass: he moved closer and snug his arms around his boyfriend’s midriff, planting his hands in the small of his back. “Remind me again why I can’t crash her party and steal you away?” he asked casually, next to his ear, before he began to worry the earlobe with his teeth.

Neville seemed to be at a loss for words under Blaise’s ministrations, which was entirely his goal, but he eventually did manage to speak again: “Because she doesn’t know about us, since if she did we’ll never hear the end of it ‘cause we were keeping this a secret, and you are a Slytherin and I am a Gryffindor, and because she is not allowing me to invite any friends,” he said, his voice firm and unfaltering, despite the way his hands were holding Blaise close to him, silently begging to keep up with his work.

Not that he was planning to stop anytime soon. Still, some words at the back of his throat itched to be said: “I have a few words I’d like to tell your grandmother and none of them are kind,” Blaise claimed, staring right into Neville’s eyes and wondering how such a stern woman could raise such a loving man. While it was true that she had laid off his back for the time being, she had doubled down on her questions about Neville’s private life: the poor Gryffindor had to retort to lying simply to avoid her finding out about their relationship. It was a good thing that he had quite a vast number of friends and that said friends didn’t interact with his grandmother, because, based on Blaise’s very own experience with pureblood families, everyone knew everything, especially when ‘keeping the lines pure’ was involved and everyone turned out to be related.

For instance, Neville’s white lie for that day’s activity was very simple: “I’m going to play Quidditch with my roommates and we’ll have dinner afterwards.”

When Neville had told him as much, Blaise had exploded into laughter and disbelief. Was it believable for his boyfriend to play Quidditch? Absolutely not, but he shared a dormitory with Weasley, Thomas and Saint Potter, therefore he played by proxy. It would have equally been absurd for his grandmother to and not to believe him, which was what made the lie incredibly clever.

Blaise shook his head as he silently snickered at the fresh memory, still hesitant to remove his hands from his boyfriend’s body: “Anyway, who’s getting married now that we’re almost on the brink of war?” he inquired, truly curious. A wedding in the Wizarding World was a very public event, especially when pureblood families were involved, which they must have been, if Lovegood was invited.

All of his friends still kept on calling her Loony, but he had stopped using that epithet, since he had begun to consider her a friend as well, thanks to their mutual connection to Neville. And she was an excellent friend, both to him and his boyfriend, kind and compassionate and considerate.

He had already begun to wonder about who the couple must have been, considering no one in his circles had mentioned anything, when Neville spoke, making him understand exactly why nobody amongst the purebloods he spent his time around had even known or cared about such a thing: “Bill Weasley, Ron’s eldest brother, and Fleur Delacour.”

“The Triwizard Champion? How did they even meet?” he inquired, now even more curious. He had seen the eldest Weasley only once, at Gringotts, and it was in that moment that he first began to question whether or not he was straight. And, to pair that with Beauxbatons’ champion, well… That must have been a hell of a good looking couple!

“I don’t know,” Neville said, leaning his head against Blaise’s shoulder and looking at him with a soft smile through his eyelashes, “but they’re super cute together, at least that’s what Ginny told me.” “And you haven’t been invited?” His boyfriend shrugged at that, Blaise knew he did not particularly care about mundane events and being into the public eye: “No, from what Ginny told me it’s not going to be that big of a ceremony. Only family, close friends of the couple, and neighbours. Which is why Luna’s going, as well as to spend time with Ginny.”

“That’s a shame you won’t be there,” he commented, running for the umpteenth time that eventing his hands through Neville’s hair, as the other wizard stayed there, merely enjoying his ministration while he tried not to fall asleep. It had happened already once, right before he had to leave, and that incident had prompted his grandmother into a speech about the right of an adolescent Gryffindor to a little bit of rule-breaking. “I bet you would’ve looked dashing in a suit.”

“Jealous, darling? You know you could always look at me in a suit, if you’d just let me borrow one…” “Not a chance, caro. Mine are all tailored to perfection for my body,” he said playfully, moving his head to the side to place a small kiss on Neville’s nose, causing the other wizard to blush and giggle, “Besides, I prefer seeing you without a single stitch.” “Blaise! You can’t just say shit like that!” his boyfriend spluttered, trying to get away from his words as if they had just tickled him. He loved the way Neville would get all cute and embarrassed. His usual tell was the blush that started on his cheeks and spread throughout his body, and that was incredibly adorable. Blaise had tried to see just how farther the colour could spread, but he had been distracted in his path, somehow. “Why not? No one is listening and it’s true!” he had begun to retort, only to be shut up quickly as two lips pressed against his own, soft yet insistent, gentle yet commanding. One thing had to be said about Neville Longbottom and that was how efficient he was at quieting him with a single gesture, whether with a kiss or by simply occupying his mind with the little things he always did, essentially being himself, unfiltered.

It took them less time than usual to resurface for once, mainly because Blaise still wanted to know more about the hot new wizarding couple that could definitely take over the world, if the Dark Lord wouldn’t win.

He desperately prayed he wouldn’t, for countless different reasons.

“When is this marvellous event?” he asked, still refusing to put a single millimetre of space in between them.

“In three days, on the first. Luna’s absolutely on her last chance, looking for the perfect dress that won’t attire Wrackspurts,” he commented, shaking his head. Something inside of Blaise told him that it wasn’t the first nor the second time they went out shopping and, if Lovegood was anything like Pansy, it must have not been an easy task chaperoning. Pansy Parkinson could try on an entire street of boutiques, buy every single item of her size, and still lament she had nothing to wear.

“Why? Wanna meet up? I thought we were going for lunch on the second,” Neville added, pulling him out of the horror of the memory of the first time that witch had discovered French Haute Couture: a tornado would’ve left behind less damage.

“Yeah, I’ve been invited to Draco’s for dinner on the first, with all the others…” he trailed off, remembering exactly what had been discussed the previous night amongst the Death Eaters. It wasn’t unusual for Draco and Theo to invite him over, especially since they both believed he was fully on the Dark Lord’s side but was merely acting precious, never truly giving in. And he couldn’t deny an invitation, otherwise it would have looked suspicious. After all, his friends knew that he was staying all alone in London, away from his family, and that he wasn’t fooling around with anyone, which, in their eyes, meant he had a lot of free time.

Free time that they tried to occupy, not wanting to leave him completely alone. Thankfully, they weren’t overbearing, having him over every couple of days or so, respecting his privacy, but whenever an invitation came, he had to follow through.

Now, he couldn’t exactly tell his friends: “No, I’ll pass on spending time with you, I’m going to go watch muggle entertainment with my Gryffindor boyfriend,” could he?

Luckily for his relationship, though, the invites were rather old fashioned, called days prior, and that left him and Neville plenty of time to organize. The only person in their friend group that liked to show up uninvited or unannounced by an owl was Pansy, but she would’ve stayed in Spain until the mid of August, which meant Blaise could breathe a little without having to worry about her finding out his secret. Draco and Theo were way too busy in their official Death Eater work to even want to hang out with him in the mornings and afternoons anyway.

“What is it, B?” Neville asked, undoubtedly feeling the way his shoulders had tensed from up close. His hold on Blaise became slightly tighter, grounding and real, while still remaining gentle, letting him know that they were alright and, no matter what happened, they’d be okay.

Closing his eyes and leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder, he began to recount what he had eavesdropped: “When I was at Theo’s last night, his father and his uncle were talking about something that went bad for them the day before, so on the 27th, and how the Dark Lord was more than displeased. All I got were hushed words about a failed kidnapping, I believe, and how the Dark Lord had completely exploded against his followers in anger, even though he had no idea who to even blame and punish. But then his father moved onto a different topic and said that they’d have their victory in a couple of days anyway, that they needed to wait, that they couldn’t lose, that August would be their month of victory. But he didn’t explain what exactly he had meant, without a doubt to keep us ‘children’ in the dark. I couldn’t really understand much, Crabbe had gone off about some bullshit of his and they were speaking in a low voice on the opposite side of the table, but the intent was clear. Something big is about to happen.” “Blaise…”

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but they don’t fully trust anyone who doesn’t have the Mark. Besides, they consider us children, even Draco doesn’t know much and he let the bloody Death Eaters into Hogwarts! They know he’s loyal, or at least think so, ‘cause he was at some meetings with the Dark Lord himself. Yet they still don’t tell us shit. Not even to Theo, who’s more of a fanatic than a follower. And I am not going to taint my arm with that disgusting thing anytime soon, even if that would help. But it’s so frustrating and…” he continued, still refusing to open his eyes: he knew he should’ve told that story to Neville earlier, but he had got distracted by their date; he knew he should’ve contacted Professor McGonagall, warning her about what was going on and whose side he was on, but he was terrified he’d be intercepted somehow; he knew he was a terrible spy and that his motive was entirely egotistical, fuelled only by his will to keep Neville safe, and he couldn’t do anything about any of that.

War was coming and Blaise Zabini was powerless against it, unable to do anything concrete.

It wasn’t until he felt warm lips on his forehead and felt warm hands on either side of his face, gently holding him together, that he stopped his rambling. He usually wasn’t like this, letting his mind wander and his mouth running to catch up, at least not in front of other people, because it could potentially be dangerous and could bring unwanted questions. “Rule number eighteen: do not blabber, unless you intend to become a thespian and need practice for monologues,” his mother always said and he preferred to maintain a decent amount of control over the words that came out of him, never going into a rampage, unlike Draco did whenever he messed up his hair, yet never appearing bothered by the simple act of speaking, unlike Theo, who favoured monosyllabic replies to everything. His was always a perfect balance, studied to the last detail to make his speeches and his sentences reach the point and the mind of those who lent him their ears.

Rule number nineteen was: “do not fall in love with a thespian unless they’re a muggle actor from Hollywood,” yet Blaise knew he wouldn’t use that rule. Not anymore and hopefully not ever.

Still, of course, as it had become a routine in his life, everything about him became erratic and unpredictable when he was with Neville. He had found himself digress many times and he was always quite shocked when he realised how far he had gone from his initial path, much to his boyfriend’s delight and amusement. “I like seeing you ruffled,” he had admitted once, earning a copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’ chucked at his head as they both laughed, with Blaise trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Blaise, my love, calm down,” Neville whispered softly against his forehead, hugging him closer and managing to reassure him without wearing him down with his own emotions, “I’m sure everything will be fine. The Order probably knows already that something’s about to happen. Besides, McGonagall’s in there as well, she’s not going to let anything happen, bad or not. Everything will be alright and I’ll come here on the second just like we planned to. You gotta trust me.”

He took a deep, steadying breath as he tried to ground himself back again. Neville’s presence helped greatly, as he had already told the other wizard countless times. “I trust you, more than anyone else,” he admitted, staring straight into his brown eyes as if they could hold all of the Universe’s answers, “But promise you won’t jump headfirst if something happens.” “Of course, I’ll stay home with Grandma as much as I can, when I don’t have my powerful Slytherin around to protect me. Besides, I’m pretty sure You Know Who will stay out of her path, she’s almost as scary as McGonagall!” Neville joked, causing Blaise to shake his head: Gryffindor antics were hard to knock off, it seemed. And, even if he was already wildly intimidated by Augusta Longbottom and she might make the Dark Lord reconsider his career path with her umbrella and her hats, theirs was not a topic to take lightly. “Neville, I’m serious.” “I know.”

Blaise scoffed at that and removed himself from their embrace, allowing space in between their bodies to better convey his message: “I know I can’t make you promise me you’ll stay put, ‘cause you won’t. But can you swear to me that you won’t risk your life recklessly?” he asked, unbothered if some of his desperation seeped into his voice. He knew he could let his walls down around his boyfriend, after all. “You mean like a Gryffindor,” came immediately the reply as Neville crossed his arms over his chest, now that he had the space to do so. “Nev…” “Only if you swear on Slytherin himself that as soon as shit starts to go down, you’ll get to safety,” he intercepted him, stopping Blaise before he could go on another tangent about House Values, “I need to know you’ll be careful.” Blaise nodded at that, he could understand the sentiment: of course his boyfriend would want him safe. But times were darkening by the hour and soon neither of them would probably know what safety even meant.

“Let’s make a deal:” he suggested, already knowing that Neville would agree to his plans, even if they were half-assed ideas about sneaking inside of a muggle library just to study and recreate the ambience of Hogwarts’ own, “usually I’m back from Draco’s around midnight. If nothing happens, we’ll just see each other in the morning after, as we planned. But if the world ends, meet me here at midnight. Sneak past your grandmother or stun her, since you won’t have to worry about the Trace by then. But just, come here, please.”

“The world’s not going to end, my love. Not on my watch,” Neville said, holding once again both of his hands in his and placing a soft kiss on his thumbs.

With the Gryffindor, it was all about the soft and subtle touches, the small moments. Blaise had dived into their relationship wanting to keep it hidden to avoid uproar by the entire school, yet he had been surprised when Neville hadn’t complained about their subtlety; he had almost expected the dorky plant-head to be the most PDA-indulging being in their entire school and it had been unexpected, yet not unwelcomed, his quiet way of giving affection, even when they were all alone and safe.

“Thank you, my mighty Gryffindor,” he replied with a flourish, pondering the pros and cons of bowing. On one hand, he’d keep up his theatrics that seemed to amuse Neville to no end, but on the other, he’d have to let go of his boyfriend’s hands, which was something he wasn’t willing to do. Neville, as always, resolved his qualm without a second thought: he playfully shoved Blaise away with a push from his hands, before pulling him back closer and making him crash against his torso. “Besides, it’s not like we’re not going to see each other before then! What did you say we would do again…?” Blaise saw right through his feeble attempt at distraction immediately: “Nope, I’m not going to tell you, it’s a surprise!” he exclaimed, placing a placating kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. He had already planned the entirety of their date since he found out the plant-head wouldn’t be free on his birthday: they’d start the day by having lunch at a Chinese restaurant Neville had particularly enjoyed and then they’d move to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens, allowing for them to spend the entire afternoon and evening there, since he already knew very well that his boyfriend would get distracted with every single leaf. And Blaise loved when Neville got side-tracked to talk about plants, even if he didn’t care about the ‘green things’ himself, so it would be a win-win. “Please, B, you know I don’t really like surprises!” he lamented, but Blaise was adamant on his position. “Mio caro, you’ll have to suffer then.” “You’re so mean to me.” Blaise kissed the tip of his nose once more, giggling at the way it involuntarily twitched under his lips: “Yeah, but you love me nevertheless.” What followed was a bad series of sloppy kisses and giggles shared between them as they walked in tandem next to the fireplace, miraculously avoiding tripping over furniture. They knew it was time for Neville to leave, but they were both incredibly reluctant to let go.

“Goodnight, then,” Blaise said, attempting without any real intent to put some space in between them, and he was almost immediately followed by Neville’s own: “Goodnight,” spoken directly against his lips as he removed his hands from around the Gryffindor’s torso, giving a little push to create some distance in between them. “I love you,” Neville sing-sang as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, waiting for Blaise’s reply before disappearing into the Network. “I love you too, but go before your grandmother decides to murder me for keeping her grandson away from home all the time!”

And with that, Neville Longbottom had gone back home, leaving Blaise alone in the quiet apartment, his laugh still ringing clearly in his ears against the deafening silence. The place always seemed to lose its warmth as soon as his boyfriend left and so he shrugged on a jumper he had ‘borrowed’ from the Gryffindor, without his knowledge and without any real intent on giving it back.

He was not as naïve as Neville was sometimes, still believing that everything would be alright in spite of all the signs pointing to Hell, but he knew that they would be together even if the world did fall off its axis, and that thought warmed him more than any fire could.

And with that, plus the jumper, he tried to fall asleep, ignoring the way his heart pounded at the uncertainty of his future.

But, of one thing only he was certain: he’d stay by Neville’s side and he’d stay at his, no matter what.

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pregnant-piggy · 3 years

Text

Silver lining ~ two

George Weasley x fem!reader

masterlist // playlist

warnings: character death, injuries, mentions of blood, explosions

A/N: i’m so sorry for this, so sorry

word count: 2.9k

Stellify, a new star in the sky

‘Who of you is the best with defensive spells?’ you asked the group of students you were leading through the deserted corridors. You felt like you were acting like the ‘I’m-so-much-smarter’ adult, but you had to make sure these seventeen-year olds stayed safe.

Two of the students, Jake and Aya, offered to protect the group while the others took their place as the attackers. Your place was the third floor and you stationed you and your group at the windows.

This side of the school was absolutely silent. There were no students here anymore and even the ghosts avoided this particular spot. The silence, however, did make it a little easier to notice any particularities.

‘See anything?’ you asked Mario the student one window over of you.

‘No,’ he answered while he looked into the darkness. You followed his view and watched the dark grounds. Once in a while the sky lit up by the defensive spells Flitwick was casting at the sky, forming a defensive globe around the castle.

There was nothing to see, just darkness and the moonlight. It was a clear night and it would have been beautiful if not for the tension in the air. Though the atmosphere was not one of fright and terror. Everyone was excited; it felt like the final battle. This would be it.

‘What do you think will happen?’ Mario asked you.

‘We have to fight,’ you sighed and looked around at the students. ‘With all our power. It’s now or never.’

Mario stayed silent as he looked back outside. The time ticked by. Minutes of silence as nothing happened. It felt as if the side of the castle you were on was separated from the rest so that there would be no sounds. Jake and Aya were both on one side of the corridor, walking up and down, checking to see if there was any possible threat. But there was not. Not even one person, good or bad, was seen by you.

‘It’s almost midnight,’ Mario mumbled.

‘Guys, come here for a second,’ you said. You looked at the scared yet determined faces of the seventeen year olds and you felt a sting of sadness rushing through your body; you didn’t know how many would make it. You did not even know if you were going to make it. You pushed that thought out of your mind as you continued,

‘You need to fight with all you’ve got. I can’t promise you the end, no one can, but it’s better to lose a hero than to live with the thought of not haven given your everything. Think of your family, friends and all the innocent children in the world. This is your chance to change the world they will grow up in. Take care of yourself and of the others.’

The students nodded at your words and then took their places as the clock stroke midnight.

A deafening bang sounded over the school grounds and everything on it. The glass in the windows vibrated and you took a step back. The globe of protective spells was being attacked with hundreds of spells from the outside. Cracks started to form and the sounds from outside the bubble became louder.

The screaming and incantations of spells disrupted the silence. The battle had begun.

You broke the glass of the window with your wand and started to cast spells from your place up on the third floor at the death eaters down on the ground. The students around you followed your movements. They were good; they hit a lot of death eaters, making them fall promptly on the ground or screaming in pain. And hidden from the view of the people on the ground, you felt a little protected at least.

-=-=-=-=-

George stood in silence at the tapestry that gave access to the outside of the castle. He rarely used this secret passage, anyone did. If you went through it you would come outside at the back of the castle in wild shrubbery. The time it would take to get out of there could better be used for one of the other passages, that maybe were a little longer, but those wouldn’t give you scratches all over your legs and arms.

But this was George’s place. Fred was somewhere else in the castle, at the statue of the witch that hid the secret passage to Hogsmeade. It was weird without Fred. Whenever they had discussed the battle they had always assumed that they would battle side by side.

What worried George even more however, was that he had no idea where you were. He knew Fred would be alright. He knew you would be alright too, but he was worried about you. He didn’t want you to get hurt.

George snorted at the thought of what Fred would say at that. Fred had been telling his twin for months now that it was obvious George had feelings for you and that it was obvious you had feelings for George too. But George never listened. You could never like George, you were just his friend.

The castle shook and a light flash lit up the corridor George was in. The battle had begun.

George raised his wand, ready to attack anyone who he might see, but the corridor was empty. If the death eaters were at the front of the school, it would take hours with all the defence for them to reach this side of the castle. But George stayed at his assigned spot. Because there might come someone. And he thought, with a little guilt, this was a reasonably safe spot.

The sounds got louder and the flashes of light brighter. George could now hear screaming and yelling from further in the castle. But there was still no one on this side.

After five minutes George got impatient. This task seemed useless. He wanted to fight. He had come here to fight, not to sit on the floor watching a door that would never open.

And as the flashes of light now changed into different colours, George made a decision. Maybe he could help Fred, or you. But he would not stay in a silent part of the castle while the others fought with their lives.

George ran out of the hallway leaving the emptiness for the liveliness of the rest of the castle. As soon as he reached the stairs he saw that people were fighting vigorously. The spells flew around his head while he ran up the steps two at a time. George’s old classmates, family, friends, other students of Hogwarts and the Order. They were all fighting with everything they got.

A curse nearly hit George as he reached the top of the stairs and he had to duck away to not get hit a second time. Within a second he was caught in a one-to-one battle with a death eater. But George was stronger than the man opposite of him. He quickly fired three curses and they all hit the death eater in his chest. The man fell down and green vines started to grow from his chest, covering his limbs and face.

A shiver ran down George’s spine as he watched what his curse had done to the man. He had never known he could be that violent. But the thought was pushed out of his mind when he heard a scream. Without one look at the unconscious death eater George ran further into the hall, following the sound of the scream.

Neville almost bumped into George and nearly dropped the plants he was holding in his arms. The boy had a smug smile on his face and the sweat was on his forehead. George had never seen Neville so courageous.

‘We got this, George!’ he screamed as he ran along, diving away for a spell.

The scream had faded away meanwhile, but George still made his way to the front of the castle. More and more people were lying on the ground here, both death eaters and Hogwarts students. George’s stomach twisted at the sight of a young blonde girl that lay on the stone floor, her eyes open wide and her mouth closed in a thin line. One side of her face had been blast away, revealing her dark red flesh.

‘George!’

Someone was calling his name, but George could not avert his eyes from the girl. It filled him with fear and anger, so much that he did not know what to do. He wanted to save the girl, even though he knew deep down that she could not be saved anymore. Her life had ended while she had tried to protect the world.

‘George!’

His name was called again, but this time someone put their hand under his chin, forcing him to look away from the blonde. He was met with your eyes that were big and stood full with tears. But you had a smile on your face. The smile that you always saved for George.

‘Come on,’ you spoke softly.

Your voice was clearer than the sounds around the both of you. The screaming faded a little as George followed you. You brought him to a corridor that was more quiet. There was only one other person there and while George looked around the space you talked to them.

‘Mario, you alright?’ you asked.

‘I’m fine. That guy down there isn’t,’ the guy, apparently named Mario, said and pointed at the ground, where a mess of black cloaks lied.

‘Good work,’ you complimented Mario and sent him a smile. Then you turned back to George. ‘Georgie, are you alright?’

George nodded but his voice seemed lost in his throat.

‘That girl… we tried to save her. But it happened suddenly. There was a loud explosion and she was just… gone.’

A loud bang pulled George from his haze and he roughly was put back in the castle. Your voice wasn’t clearer than the other sounds anymore and the hallway didn’t seem so empty suddenly.

But that was not just George. A group of death eaters had reached the corridor and was now walking down, aiming curses at you, George and Mario.

You were still facing George and had not noticed the death eaters yet. George pulled you with him behind a pillar and the place where you just had stood was blown up in flames.

‘Get behind the other one,’ George whispered to you before firing a spell at the front man. The curse hit perfectly and the man fell down on the floor, squirming in pain before losing consciousness. You crawled to the pillar behind George and started to cast spells at the group that had gotten smaller, because Mario had also managed to hit them.

The light beams flew from George’s wand as he took down the death eaters one by one. They all fell down in pain, some with purple faces, other with empty eyes and one with a second head.

After the men all lay on the floor, George dared to turn to you. You were sitting behind the pillar on your knees and looked with fear and satisfaction at the men. George got up and walked over to you. He helped you get up and realised there was a cut on your cheek. He wiped away the blood and brushed it off on his pants.

‘I’m fine, George,’ you said and pushed his hand away from your face. ‘Now, as much as I like you holding me, I think there are more important things now.’

George took his hand back but let his fingers linger on your skin. He wished there was some way to protect you. But he also knew that if he would find a way, you would get out of it and face the battle.

‘Be safe, alright?’ you said before turning around.

‘Wait!’ George yelled after you.

You turned back and watched George with suspicion and worry. But before you could open your mouth to say anything, George pressed his lips on yours.

It was short. It was sweet. It was a moment of electricity. Something George would have never done if he had been thinking clear. But this wasn’t the time to think logically. If George lost you tonight, a thought that he wouldn’t let through in his mind, he would never be able to live with himself if he hadn’t at least done this.

George let go of you and spun around, running away from you. The burning desire that had left its mark on his lips was still there when he entered the hall again and started to scream spells with a power he never knew he had.

-=-=-=-=-

The curses were flying around your head as you reached the fifth floor of the castle. The touch of George’s lips was imprinted on your skin. The pain in your ankle, which you had gotten from ducking away and falling, felt not like your pain. It was as if someone was just telling you that you were in pain. But you were not, because you were not thinking of it. Your mind was still in the empty corridor with George’s hands around your waist.

At the back of the hallway you saw a redhead similar yet completely different to the man that had just kissed you. Fred was fighting along Percy. They both had a grin on their face.

You noticed three persons crawling from the darkness behind Fred and George. You raised your wand at them, but when they came into the light you saw Harry, Ron and Hermione. You ran to them, your feet manoeuvring between the rocks on the floor.

The scream of a woman made you turn around, nearly tripping over one of the stones on the floor. There, on the other side of the corridor, stood a small figure. Her hands were raised in the air, her wand loosely in her left hand. Even from the distance you could feel the pride radiating off her. She screamed victoriously and the grip on her wand tightened. A bright blue flash came from the stick and flew along you.

It was all happening fast and very slow at the same time. Like someone had put a hold on the time.

The blue flash hit the wall on the other side of the corridor. You saw the cracks in the wall spreading and you saw how little rocks flew from it. There was a bright flash of light. Then you heard the sound. The deafening bang that you felt in your chest. The wall broke apart with so much power everyone fell from their feet. The hall filled with dust and it was like everything was covered with a blanket. The bricks from the wall flew around, almost hitting your head.

There was a second flash and the other wall exploded. You pressed your body against the ground and wrapped your arms over your head. The cackling laughter of the woman filled the hallway as you lay covered in dust, fearing for your life.

The thundering sound stayed in the air and you looked up. All around you was dust and rocks. The wound on your cheek stung from the dirt but you ignored it. You stumbled through the rubble to the others and that was when you heard it.

The scream that would stay in your mind forever. The scream that would haunt your sleep. That would wake you at night with sweat all over your body. The scream that you felt in your bones.

It was the scream of the end. The end of life.

Percy was bent over a body and you did not need to look longer than a fraction of a second to know who. You fell on your knees and a wail escaped your mouth. All your emotions were sucked out of your body. You screamed the pain out of your body until your throat stopped working due to the tears that were running down your face.

You could not bring yourself to look. You could not look at the body, at the empty eyes, the empty smile, the empty body. The place that had once been Fred.

Percy’s scream synchronised with yours. You felt his pain. The aching darkness spreading through your body. The cold feeling in your limbs and the ice in your heart.

No words reached you. People talked to you, but you didn’t hear them. Someone placed a hand on your shoulder and that was when you looked up.

The first thing you saw was his red hair. That messy mob of hair that you recognised from miles away. But what used to be a bright red, was now dark. It held nothing from the liveliness it had always done.

His hands were lying along his body. The fingers that used to play with your hair, that were always so strongly wrapped around his wand when he was playing a prank with magic, that drummed on the table when he was nervous. The fingers that now would never move again. You would never hear his drumming again and you would never feel his nails scratch your skull when he braided your hair.

You stopped looking. It hurt too much. Your cheeks had dried and your tears had disappeared. You were too sad to cry.

There was nothing you could do anymore; Fred was gone.

- - - - -

taglist: general HP: @harry-pottery-barn @potters-heart @kingalrdy @missswriter @figlia--della--luna @aspiringsloth20 @awritingtree @bi-andready-tocry @lilulo-12fanfiction @ananad1 @treestarrrrrrrr @your-hispanichufflepuff @thefandomplace @theeicedamericano @girllety @moonstarrnghtsky @swearingsolemnly @weasleydream @secretsthathauntus @amixedwitch @izzyyy-1 @gryffindorgirl @kitkatkl

‘general HP’ will be tagged in every part, but let me know if you want to be added to the series taglist!

MASTERLIST

#silver lining #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter #fred weasley #weasley twins

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xenia12 · 3 years

Text

Hunting Palismen take 2 (Lilith edition)

Excuse the crappy title XD Description: Hunter runs into Lilith while on a mission for Emperor Belos.

Ao3

"Find me more palismen" seemed to be a simple enough order. At least for the Golden Guard; teen prodigy and head of the Emperor's Coven. The only problem was: how, exactly? The captains have been searching tirelessly for any clue as to where they could find unused palistrom wood or abandoned palismen for over a month, but they've uncovered nothing. Well, not nothing. He found out that there was a palisman pairing day at Hexside and had what he needed but Kikimora and that human just had to ruin it. Whatever. He was finally being sent on missions again thanks to getting the portal key and earning back Belos's trust. He wasn't messing up again.

***

Lilith flew above the reddish forest on her staff, scanning the ground below. It should be right under her by now. Her mother mentioned discovering an interesting ruin when she was on a quest for "Master Wartlop" (who turned out to be three tiny scammers in a wizard cloak), with structures dating back to the savage ages. Since Gwendolyn didn't exactly have too much at home that let her tap into her knowledge as a scholar, Lilith had been growing bored. Back in the coven her work constantly tested her intelligence and skills, bringing a thrill she didn't know she'd miss. Not that she wanted to go back. Anything was better than that constant fear and struggle for power.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and noticed a few ragged buildings nestled in the base of a cliff, she almost flew over it since it was so well hidden by the rocks and leaves.

Lilith pointed her raven palisman downwards and landed just in the trees nearby, hopping off her staff and looking around. Her mother got snared by a trap when she discovered the place, so she watched her step as she approached the ruins.

She pushed through the last few branches and before her was a rather grim sight. The walls, probably once a beautiful display, were scorched and crumbled, intricate but now faded patterns scattered across the stone. Lilith walked around the first structure until she was in the center of the three buildings and just inside a ring of teal-grey rocks. She kneeled down to look closer and noticed that there were faint carvings on them but were so worn and cracked that she couldn't really tell what they were. She used her hand to brush away some vines. Seemed circular, though.

Her ears twitched as she heard a faint warping sound coming from the trees. Wait a second… she recognized that noise. The next moment there were footsteps crunching through the leaf litter and Lilith jumped to her feet and hid behind the nearest wall. She listened they grew closer then peeked out to see none other than the Golden Guard.

He was looking at the disturbed vines and leaves, probably figuring out that there must've been someone nearby. Of course the emperor's golden boy was still after her. Should've checked if I was being followed, she thought to herself. She's been getting sloppy since she left the coven. No matter. If he wants me, he'll get me.

***

Hunter treaded carefully, watching where he stepped after the last ruin where he activated a trap and nearly fell into a pit of toxic land eels. As he got near the middle of the area it was hard to not try to take in every detail of the place. But, he had a job to do and couldn't get distracted again.

As he got near the middle of the area, he narrowed his eyes at a patch of disturbed foliage from behind the mask. Had someone been there recently? He took a step closer then was sent flying backwards by an orange blast. He shouted as he hit the ground then took a second to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. He then propped himself up on his elbows with a groan. Hunter hadn't even seen his attacker yet when another potion bottle shot towards him. He teleported a few feet away, just in time to escape the explosion when it hit the ground.

He stood up and got into a fighting stance, pointing his staff at… Lilith? He paused for a moment, surprised. A moment too long, apparently, since she took the chance to shoot a blue blast from her staff. The Golden Guard tried to dodge it but his reaction was delayed so it still grazed his arm. He bit his tongue to stop any pained noises from coming out as he returned Lilith's attack with a red blast. She ducked out of the way and threw another potion at him. He dodged it with a teleport, ending up right behind her and kicking her to the ground. She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, trying to mask her fear as he twirled his staff confidently.

"You're an interesting surprise, Lilith" the guard stated as he stopped spinning his staff and let the bottom of it rest on the ground.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t following me” she scoffed.

Hunter raised an eyebrow, despite it being hidden behind his mask. “I was-“ he started to say but was cut off when he was shoved backwards by a field of magic. He stumbled a few steps once it released him and a rope tightened itself around his ankle. He yelped as it yanked him upward until he was dangling by his foot from a beam above.

Lilith smiled and got to her feet while the emperor’s Golden Guard thrashed around uselessly. He soon stopped to watch her as she approached him, initially looking proud of herself but soon seeming confused. "Why aren't you… teleporting away?" she questioned softly.

Hunter glanced at his staff that he must've dropped then back at her. Crap.

Lilith followed his gaze then turned to him again, looking shocked. "Are you powerless?" "No!" he lied and wiggled a bit more, almost losing his helmet as he did. He needed to come up with a strap for that thing. Hunter attempted to reach his ankle and loosen the snare but Lilith grabbed him by his hood and pulled him back down. Once he was vertical again, his helmet fell off and tumbled to the ground below, revealing the shaken teenager beneath. Lilith has seen him without his mask before, being the head of the coven since before he was born and all, but she noticed his dark eyebags. Were those there earlier?

"What?" the blond spat, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt without his mask. "Still a brat, I see" she said bitterly then grabbed the front of his cloak, bringing him closer to her face. "How'd you find me?" She actually thinks I followed her? "I used data gathered by the invisible camera demons that've been following you ever since you left the coven" he deadpanned. Lilith dropped him in shock, letting him fall back with a "woah!"

"Really?!" she asked anxiously, looking around her.

"Pffft" Hunter went and let out a laugh. "Of course not! I had no idea you were here, you paranoid priss!" he sneered as he started to spin.

She let out a furious huff. "I swear to the titan, one day I'll kill you for that mouth of yours."

"Wouldn't be the first to try" he told her with a taunting smile.

"Wait, what?" He shuffled his foot a little, which was starting to go numb. "Kikimora's been after my head ever since you left. Better than having to deal with you, though" he said, which was a lie. Even Lilith was better than that psychotic hand-haired gremlin. She furrowed her eyebrows at the remark but some titan-forsaken part of her was concerned. He was just a kid. Sure, an infuriating one, but he still shouldn't have to deal with assassination attempts. She pinched the bridge of her nose. This brainwashed brat's wellbeing should've been the last thing she was concerned about. He could very well be lying to her right now. "Uh… Lilith?" "What?" she snapped and stared at him. Hunter lifted one of his dangling arms to carefully point behind her. Lilith turned around to see a winged stag emerging from the trees. It flicked its ear and lowered its head as they noticed it.

It seemed innocent enough. She took a step forward. "Wh- wait! Lilith! That's a peryton!!" Hunter whisper-shouted.

Lilith looked at him. "A what?" Fear spread across Hunter's face as a low growl could be heard. She looked back to the creature and it opened its mouth unnaturally wide, its jaw going so far back she wondered if it went into its neck. A snarl escaped its fangs before it charged, talons and hooves pounding on the forest floor. Lilith yelped and raised her staff to blast it, hitting the demon. It shrieked and slowed to a trot as it circled her. She tried to catch her breath and reached for a potion in her bag. "Lilith! Let me go!" Hunter hissed.

She ignored him, knowing that, even though he'd probably help fight the beast (out of self-preservation of course), he'd just betray her the moment he had the chance. She threw the potion and the peryton dodged it, then taking the chance to pounce. It pinned Lilith down with its birdlike talons and tried to use its jaws to make killing blow, but she shoved her staff into its mouth to stop it. It bit and growled at the shaft as its claws ripped through the shoulder of her shirt. Hunter panicked and tried to tug at the noose with his hands but to no avail. "Come on! Lilith!" She grunted as she attempted to shove off the beast but it didn't budge, only hissing in annoyance. They were both going to die there if she didn't get him out of that snare. She finally angled her staff and fired at the rope holding Hunter. He thudded against the ground, drawing the peryton's attention. It let go of Lilith and ran at Hunter, who gasped and scurried for his staff. He wrapped his fingers around it and teleported to the side just in time to escape. "Hey!" he shouted as the beast fixed its gaze on him again and charged for a second time. Hunter swallowed and let it get closer and closer until he was trapped under its talons. He copied what Lilith did with her staff to keep it at bay but, its mouth may have been busy, but its claws tore up his cloak and scratched his armor. He saw Lilith running over to him then yelled, "Stop!"

She hesitantly listened, stressfully gripping her staff.

"Above me!" he shouted as he struggled to keep the peryton from getting too close, hoping he could hold it off long enough.

Lilith looked up, seeing the beam and immediately knowing what she needed to do. She took a potion from her bag and threw it at the stone above. It exploded on impact, shattering the beam and sending the rubble down towards Hunter and the peryton. He teleported away in a red flash but left the demon roaring in pain as it got trapped under the rock. He reappeared near Lilith and took a second to catch his breath.

"We should… probably go…" Hunter eventually told her, not taking his eyes off of the struggling creature. "Perytons tend to live in groups." "Ah" Lilith said while doing the same.

A couple moments passed before she turned to him. "I-" she started but cut herself of as she realized he was nowhere to be seen. She glanced around some more. Did he just… let her go? "Alright..." she muttered then mounted her staff. This'll be an interesting story to tell mom.

#my fics #toh #toh fanfic #the owl house #the owl house fic #Hunter toh #Lilith toh

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eclecticmiasma · 4 years

Text

Loveless (Yandere!Giorno x Reader)

🌠Commissioned Fic!🌠

SFW

“We finally have the life we always dreamed of...yet you scorn me at every turn.”

[Warnings: general yandere scariness, captivity]

Art credit: 荒巻ミカ on Pixiv

Another gilded trinket lays scattered across the floor. Thick silence hangs in the air like an asphyxiant, snuffing out all words before they even leave your throat. Your eyes pierce his own, defiant, enraged to be in this position once again. By now, he should have accepted that this will always be the outcome of his attempts to purchase your love and affection. But the nearly imperceptible signs of hurt that tug at his features tell you that he hasn’t.

All you had wanted was to speak with him. After months of swimming in deep depression, isolated and terrified, you finally worked up the courage to appeal to the kind young boy you know is walled deep inside of your captor. Everything about his appearance has changed, but the love and passion in his liquid blue eyes is the same. You were there when he first set foot in Italy, after all.

Not as Don Giorno Giovanna, but as Haruno.

When he saw you in the doorway of his study, he lit up like you hadn’t seen in years. He had dreamed of the day you would come to him of your own accord. He promptly ushered his guards from the fire-lit room and took your trembling hand in his own. It really was Haruno, you thought, as he smiled that familiar sheepish grin. The realization put you at ease.

“I…wanted to see you,” You lied, swallowing your fear. The warmth that radiated from Giorno was nearly palpable. His lithe arms pulled you into a gentle embrace, and for the first time you felt him relax. He buried his nose in your hair and squeezed you tight- almost like he was afraid to let go. You couldn’t bring yourself to hold him back, “…t-to talk to you.”

When he pulled away, he looked you up and down. He was positively beaming with pride.

“Anything you want, tesora, it’s yours.”

You bit your lip as he led you to a plush sofa next to the fireplace. Its warmth grounded you to reality. Giorno asked if you wanted something to drink, but you knew you couldn’t stomach even an ounce of liquid. Even water made you nauseous as of late.

Minutes passed before you found your voice. Giorno simply watched the shadows of your features dance in the light of the flames. He looked so sweet in that moment, so genuinely happy. Part of you wondered if you’d misunderstood him, that maybe he truly hadn’t meant to hurt you. Without thinking, you squeezed his hand with real affection.

“You…sent me another gift,” You started, pulling a rose gold locket from your dress. It was inlaid with tiny diamonds that spelled your name, and undeniably beautiful- but the sight of it made bile rise in your throat. It was the final straw. Before Giorno could respond, you turned his hand and pressed it against his palm, “I came here to give it back.”

His expression faded like ashes scattered by the wind. His brows knitted together as he slowly put the pieces together. You weren’t there to finally return his affection, you weren’t there to proclaim yourself as his own- you came to change his heart. A feat no one had ever achieved. His head nodded and a small, resigned smile appeared. It was like he hadn’t even heard you.

“I know it isn’t much, but think of it as a token of my love,” He replied, looking past your exasperated stare and holding the locket up to your neck. Something inside of you snapped and you yanked the glittering necklace from his fingertips.

“This is not love!” You shrieked, throwing the jewelry with all of your might. It broke and speckled the marbled floor.

And now you’re here. Sitting in the wake of your combined decisions. Drowning in the air around you. The fire, once comforting, feels like it’s burning you alive. Tears streak your face as despair sets in. When the silence is finally broken, you hear the crack in Giorno’s voice.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” He suddenly stands, stepping over the shards of jewelry to stand before the fireplace. His shadow looms over the entire study, “For years, I’ve done nothing but vie for your affection, but use everything within my power to protect you. We finally have the life we always dreamed of…Yet you scorn me at every turn.”

“The life we dreamed of?” Despite your trepidation, you find yourself moving to your feet, temper rising, “We used to dream of packing our little bags and building a giant tree house to live in, not this! You grew that tree in the alley behind my place that we would always sit in and pretend we were finally adults…that we were finally free-”

“We were children,” He interrupted, still refusing to face you, “We knew nothing.”

“Haruno knew that it’s wrong to take people as your prisoner. Haruno knew he didn’t want to follow in his parents’ footsteps,” Giorno finally whips around to face you, incredulous, but you continue your rant unabated, “Haruno hated people like you, Haruno would have understood that you abuse me and then buy my affection just like your father did to your mother. I refuse to be bought, Haruno-”

Blinding pain radiates up the left side of your face. It takes a second to register that you’ve been struck. Even Giorno stares at his open palm, shocked. You clutch your cheek and clench your teeth through fresh tears. He swallows hard, and his expression turns to stone.

“Haruno was a scared little boy that had no agency, beaten and broken into silence,” He takes a step forward, and you take a step back.

“Haruno didn’t understand that some people in this world are born evil, that nothing can ever fix them,” Your right leg catches the wooden coffee table and you tumble to the floor.

“Haruno had to grow up and learn that the only way you can protect that which you love is to hold on to it for dear life,” His voice raises to a fever pitch. Your arms rush to cover your face in anticipation of being struck once again.

But it never comes.

When the moment passes, you dare to peek through blurry eyes. The room around you is lush with greenery, an explosion of flowers and vines. A thick oak tree had grown where the sofa was, branches nearly reaching the ceiling. You lower your arms and gaze around the study in a mixture of wonder and fear. Giorno stands above your cowering form, back hunched, sobbing.

“Haruno is dead!” He shouts, collapsing at your feet. The tree breathes and stretches with life, puncturing holes in the roof above. Bits of dust and debris tumble down around you, but Giorno seems to not notice. You watch, entranced, as he cries.

“G-Giorno…” You mutter, afraid to reach out to him but resigned that you must. As much as he has hurt you, you just can’t bring yourself to run away.

Giorno remembers the last time he cried. Flashes of his own body impaled on the Colosseum gates, of blood dripping, of Narancia’s limp body as he lay it to rest on a bed of flowers- he remembers it well. It wrenches his heart, twists it so he can’t breathe. Nearly everyone who has ever been important to him has been ripped away by the cruelest of fates.

Except for you.

“I’m sorry,” He chokes, clutching himself tight. For some reason, fate has left you alone. Despite his immense love for you, your body continues to live and breathe just as he does. But you’ve made it abundantly clear that fate doesn’t have to intervene to remove you from his life. If something doesn’t change, he could lose you all the same, “I’m so sorry…”

You tentatively reach out and touch his shoulder. He shakes his head, but makes no move to stop you. Even as your other hand gently strokes his hair, fingertips gliding along his disheveled golden locks, you remain silent. As much as you want to comfort him, you won’t lie to him any longer. His apology remains unaccepted.

“If you’re sorry, if you truly love me like you say you do, you have to let me go…” Giorno’s tear-filled eyes meet yours. He looks terrified. A vision of Haruno weeping as you checked his face for bruises briefly replaces him. Your hands unconsciously slide to cup his reddened cheeks, just like back then, “I love you Giorno, I always have. But this has to be on my own terms. Don’t you see?”

The fear in his eyes dims slightly. His own hands cover yours. They’re larger than they used to be, and more calloused, but comforting all the same. He swallows hard and forces himself to smile softly.

“I understand,” He croaks, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. Relief flows through you as you release your breath. Perhaps Haruno truly is gone, and you’ll never reclaim the memories you have with him. But that doesn’t mean Giorno can’t change, that you can’t rebuild your relationship into something just as beautiful as you once had. For the first time in months, you feel a sliver of optimism.

As elation overtakes you, you throw your arms around Giorno, “I knew that I could reach you,” You smile into his neck, tears staining his shoulders. Hesitantly, he holds you back. The last time you touched him voluntarily was a distant memory. As his hand rubs circles into the small of your back, he can’t help but smile himself.

“I understand…” He assures you again, sighing against you. Some of the fauna that covers the room morphs back into furniture as his emotions settle. The burgeoning tree works its way back into a sofa. Giorno holds you tight against him, and for once you don’t mind. You hardly even notice the changes around you, content in your hope that one day Giorno will be himself again. You don’t even notice the thin vine that coils itself up your leg and around your waist.

Up your abdomen.

Over your ribs.

By the time you’re aware of it, it’s reducing your airflow by squeezing tight like a boa constrictor. Puzzled, you open your mouth to speak. Pink flower petals fall out from where your tongue once was. Giorno strokes your hair behind your ears, shushing the panicked noises that escape your throat.

“I understand.”

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

#yandere #yandere!giorno #yandere!giorno x reader #giorno giovanna #yandere!giorno giovanna #sfw #fics #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #part 5 #vento aureo #tw: yandere #tw: captivity #angst #vento aureo spoilers #jjba spoilers #tw: mentions of death #x reader

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atiny-piratequeen · 4 years

Text

Against the Tide: Tenth Voyage (Ch. 10)

Pairing : Poly Ot8

Genre: Heavy Angst, Action, Fantasy, Smut, Fluff

Rating: 18+

Tags: DemonPirate!Au, Supernatural, Eventual Poly Relationship, Violence, Blood, Elemental Powers, Past and Modern Day AU, Mythical Creatures, Character Death, Slow Burn, Happy Ending Endgame

Chapter Specific Tags: Repeated Main Character Death, Reincarnation, Emotional and Psychological Manipulation, Graphic Blood and Violence, Brief Mentions of Mental Health Concerns

Chapter WC: 10k+

A/N: There could be tags added later, especially if there’s something I write that potentially triggers my readers. The last thing I want is for that to happen, so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback if there’s something I write here you’d like me to tag.

**A/N: Thank you Riza @not-majestic-bluenicorn for helping me out with the tarot card readings, ilysm

Taglist moved to the bottom of the work. If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this or my other works, feel free to fill out the form here after reading the full post. AO3

Taglist

← Last Voyage Next Voyage →

The sound of Seonghwa’s screams from that night still haunts the crew.

They’re fortunate, Yunho thinks.

Though, he’d never say it aloud and Geb is kind enough not to call him out on the bitter, spiteful thoughts when they arise.

Anyway, the crew was fortunate.

Most of them are lucky that all they heard was the screams of their First Mate- no -their new Captain. The crewmembers below the deck and the ones unconscious didn’t have to deal with the sight of their captain, the one who held them all together, breaking down.

The fear on his face. The defeat. The pain. The terrified, yet resolute tone in his voice.

All that haunted them was the screams of the ex prince, which, coupled by an explosion of ice, creating a fortress of frost around them, was a beacon in the night for what had happened.

Yunho had to drag him out of the ocean. Nearly got stabbed doing so. It took an hour of Seonghwa diving into the depths, freezing everything around him and reaching fruitlessly before Yunho snatched him back to the surface.

He’d nearly been frozen and stabbed for his efforts and the crew watched on as Yunho pinned Seonghwa to the deck, thick vines keeping him still as he screamed and thrashed.

Just behind him, Mingi stood back with an unconscious San in his arms. Wooyoung was at his side, eyes wide as tears rolled down his cheeks while Yeosang leaned over the taffrail, emptying the contents of the dinner he’d worked hard to make into the ocean. Jongho still lay unconscious under the broken planks of wood in the hold, sea water soaking his clothes and Whiro noticeably absent from his skin for once.

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO! HONGJOONG! HONGJOONG!” Seonghwa screamed, his voice raw and cracking as he thrashed in Yunho’s arms.

None of them had ever seen the level headed ex prince fall apart like this. He bore his teeth at him, trying to wrestle his way free, freezing parts of his body to try and get Yunho to let him go. The sight of the raven-haired immortal coming apart at the seams broke everyone’s heart and Geb gently whispered into Yunho’s ear so he could settle Seonghwa down the hard way.

They weren’t getting anywhere like this.

So Yunho sighed and created a small flower near Seonghwa’s head, tears slipping down his cheeks. Seonghwa looked up at him, eyes bloodshot from crying.

“H-Hong-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Small spores wafted out of the flower and slowly Seonghwa’s thrashing slowed down. He felt his body grow heavy as Yunho put his head in his lap, crying quietly as Seonghwa’s pitch black hair slowly went back to it’s natural blonde color.

“N...o...Hongjoong...putois…”

Yunho wished all that haunted him was the screams, and not the guilt of not being strong or fast enough to keep him from disappearing. That Hongjoong’s quivering, terrified voice didn’t knock around his head as much as the anguished howls of Seonghwa.

Unfortunately, that was all it was. Wishful thinking.

-x-

- I finally get what you've been saying

Now that we're knee deep side by side

The storm clouds are circling above us

As we struggle against the tide-

-x-

There are intricacies that come with warfare, the king knew these well.

Though, even he may admit that this was an... unfortunate miscalculation.

Getting to a point in Hongjoong’s mind where he was distracted enough for him to actually affect his powers was leagues more difficult than he’d ever let anyone know. For as much as he antagonized the pirate, the dragon inside would admit he had much more mental fortitude than he originally gave him credit for.

Stupid mortals and their useless sense of ‘love’.

Though, technically, he wasn’t a mortal anymore.

Whatever.

Regardless of what the little captain was classified as, the fight with the one called ‘Priscilla’ had left him in such a panic that the dragon was able to break through, tap into the core of their-no, his -powers, and snatch it from under him while he was fighting for everyone’s lives.

Disgusting.

He figured he’d distract the foolish captain long enough for him to kill him mentally and rid himself of the beast.

Oh, and sink that damned ship and rip it’s crew to pieces. For fun.

He’d never expected a curse to be placed on him because of his intervention. Not only did the she beast strip the captain of all of his knowledge of who he was and his crew, she had inadvertently banished the dragon to the farthest recesses of the captain’s mind.

As the king stood, he couldn’t see light in either direction.

He had to get back to the front so he could take control. He had to break out before the captain remembered and broke the curse. He could handle Pricilla later.

With a scoff, he turned into his dragon form and snorted.

A minor misstep. He could outsmart some stupid immortal wannabes and that grotesque bastard child.

Then, he’d create havoc.

For fun.

And revenge.

But mostly fun.

-x-

-I feel your grip firm on my shoulder,

But this fear in my head won’t subside,

They patiently circle around us,

As we hold out… -

-x-

“Do you see those men there? They hold your entire fate in their hands.”

Hongjoong panted, blood running into his eyes as his hair was pulled back roughly. On the other side of a clear glass bubble, he could see seven men in a room. There was a tall blonde man pacing. Every time his boot touched the floor, it would freeze before the ice melted.

There was a taller man holding onto two smaller men who were crying.

Something was said and the blonde turned suddenly, his body rigid. A buffer man stood between him and the group, reaching for something on his person. The blonde man crossed the room and took his hand, the tips of his fingers frosting around the man’s wrist as he glared at him, saying something.

Hongjoong couldn’t hear a word either of them were saying, nor did he care. He pivoted on his heel, elbowing the monstrous woman behind him in the face before he broke off into a run.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he figured if he ran far enough, screamed loud enough-

Something hard slammed into his back, knocking him forward. He rolled, his clothing soaked by the water as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. When he looked up, a rabid dog was staring him down.

He screamed in terror and backed away, eyes wide.

Who was she? Why was she doing this to him? Where even was he?

Fangs sunk into his thigh before he was dragged back towards the woman, kicking and screaming.

A dark smile came to her face.

“Get real comfortable, little pirate. With how your sorry crew looks, you’ll be stuck here with me forever and ever~ You’re here because of them, at the very least, you should know that they’re the reason you’re here.”

-x-

- Oh, father why have they forsaken me?

You warned me that they would,

The curse is passing down the bloodline,

Misspoken and misunderstood.-

-x-

“Seonghwa, all I’m saying is we can try it out-”

“We’re not calling that woman!”

Jongho pursed his lips, annoyed at the older immortal raising his voice at him, while Wooyoung flinched and whined behind him, sitting with Yeosang in Yunho’s arms as the two of them cried.

“What else are we going to do? How else do we start? We don’t even know what happened to Hongjoong fully or where that witch took him!” the Maori man snapped back.

Seonghwa paced like a caged animal, but eventually scoffed, admitting temporary defeat.

“Fine. Call her.” He hissed. Jongho eyed him for a moment before reaching for the feather dangling from his hip. Whiro curiously shifted along his skin, but Jongho focused on the feather, holding it out in front of him.

“Hyuna!”

Seonghwa and the others stood and waited.

And waited.

And waited….

And...waited….

“Why...isn't she coming?”

Seonghwa’s nostrils flared in anger before he barked out a laugh.

“Oh, look at that. She’s not coming . You wait around for her and we’ll never find Hongjoong. Right now, we can start by finding out who fucking stole that fucking staff.” He hissed.

The temperature in the room drastically lowered as ice cold grey eyes scanned over everyone in the group.

They lingered on some more than others.

“It wasn’t me. Don’t stare at me like that.” Mingi’s voice was hurt as he looked down at the floor. Seonghwa’s jaw ticked.

“I didn’t say it was you.” He stiffly informed him.

“You didn’t have to. I was raised around Bella Rose, I know an accusatory look when I see it. It wasn’t me.” He muttered, his voice quieter. San noticed the clench of his fists and the tears welling up in the boatswain’s eyes and moved to place a hand on his back. Seonghwa clicked his tongue, keeping his eyes on the duo. Yeosang began to hiccup through his sobs in Yunho’s arms, so the man stood, catching Seonghwa’s attention.

“I don’t...think that should be our top priority. Not right now.”

“I disagree. One of you stole the staff, and Hongjoong is gone now. That seems pretty damn important. Which one of you did it?” He spat, malice dripping from his voice. Even Jongho flinched back, his brows pulled together. Whiro shifted along his skin and tutted before lifting upwards.

Jongho moved to reel him in, but he was met with more than the usual amount of resistance and Whiro’s voice in his head.

‘For once, trust me, kid.’

Jongho pursed his lips and let Whiro form into a mirror image of himself aside from the blonde hair, red eyes, and ta moko. He rolled his shoulders and looked at Seonghwa, who looked unimpressed and fed up before anything even left the fragmented god’s mouth.

“If you’re going to talk shit, save-”

“Nah, you’ve said enough the past few days. Shut up and listen for once, prince.”

Seonghwa snarled, but Whiro ignored him, keeping his thick arms crossed as he spoke. Even Jongho looked on curiously as Whiro continued.

“What exactly are you gonna do with that information? Hm? Hurt one of them? Kick them out? Is that what the old captain would have wanted?”

Seonghwa looked taken aback-and he wasn’t the only one.

Seven pairs of eyes watched Whiro in shock.

“Whoever stole it doesn’t matter right now. What matters right now is whether you like it or not, you’re the captain now. From what I understand after Jongho and I got knocked the fuck out, you were told to protect this ship and it’s crew. Last time I checked, this temper tantrum you’re throwing isn’t protecting shit, not even yourself.”

“Am I not allowed my hurt? My anger? Hongjoong was...Hongjoong was my first love, he saved my life-”

Whiro rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I’m stuck here in this body for all of eternity and I feel what he feels,” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a shocked Jongho before he kept talking. “Get your shit together. Stop your sniveling, and start being the leader the shortstack knows you can be. The kid is strong. He may have lost this, but at one point, he had eight spirits inside of him and didn’t fall completely to ruin. Instead of doing the exact opposite of what he said to do and tear this crew apart, wipe your nose, wash your face for fuck’s sake, and go find the shortstack. He needs you, all of you. It’s been a week and we’re still in Greece. I’ll give you a day or so longer to get those tears out before I expect all fucking seven of you to quit bitchin’ and start searchin’. Do I make myself clear?”

Seonghwa blinked before he ran a hand through his hair.

“Gods, is it that bad that the literal God of Evil is trying to help?”

“Yes, actually.” Whiro responded without missing a beat, drawing an involuntary laugh out of some of them.

“I’m stuck to Jongho for all of eternity. I’d rather not to deal with all of these stupid ass gushy ass emotions normally, but since I have no choice now, I’d rather we pull ourselves together. Oh, and when I get my hands on that serpentine bitch, you can all step aside. I’ll take care of her myself.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but turned to the group, sighing as he bowed himself down.

“I...I’m sorry.” There was more sitting on his tongue, but that was all he said for the time being, turning to leave. Once the sound of his boots on the wood retreated down the hall and out of earshot, everyone let out a relieved sigh, turning to look over at Whiro.

“Holy shit. You helped us.” San muttered.

Whiro cocked a brow.

“Helped you? Please. I’m just tired of the back and forth and even ol’ Jongie boy here is getting affected by all this more than I’d like, for us to share a body. I helped myself, nothing more.” It was a lie, and all of them knew that much, but no one called him on it. Before he disappeared into Jongho’s skin, however, he did have something else to add.

“Though, my words will only light the fire under his ass and distract him for so long. You all seem content not knowing who took it, and that’s strange to me, but whatever. I suggest you all find the pipsqueak captain before blondie starts getting in his own head again. I can’t assure you all I can step out of Jongho every time Seonghwa becomes overwhelmed with anguish. I put these emotions in the world, I know their power. You don’t want the ice prince coming after you because most of you won’t be able to stop the rage that kid has inside from this. So find him. And quit feelin’ so damn sorry for yourselves.” With that, Whiro settled back onto the skin of Jongho’s arms.

Everyone glanced at each other before standing to go to their own respective rooms except Yunho, since they had gathered in his room.

As one of them left, his shoulders slumped lower than the others, his heart thundering in his chest.

‘I’m sorry I took it...I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...I didn’t know it would be this way, please forgive me, I just-’

-x-

-We're losing light

And strength of will

The darkened depths beckoning still

And we hold on

Against the tide-

-x-

Dawn pursed his lips.

“The pirates called for you. Should we get going?”

Hyuna lifted her head from the tub of water she was mostly submerged in.

“Can’t. They’re in Greece. If I stepped foot in Greco-Roman territory again, Zeus would surely come down from Olympus himself to strike me down. He’s still bitter I didn’t just accept my role as the harbinger of evil to mankind and then die off like the toy he created me to be. Whatever the boys need me for, I’ll just apologize next time they call on me. I’m sure it’s nothing. Besides, the last time they called me, I got my ass kicked. They’ll live if I just take a rain check this once.” Hyuna pouted from the tub before sinking back into the water, her inky hair making the water seem like it was pitch black.

Dawn watched her for a moment before humming and turning to sharpen his sickles.

Maybe she had a point.

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

When Lloyd answered the door that one cold night in January, he wasn’t expecting his son on the other side of the door. His lips parted in surprise.

“Jesus it's cold, Lloyd, why is the door op-YUNHO!”

Yunho laughed through his tears as Robin shot out from behind Lloyd, nearly knocking him down as he hugged him tight. His dreads, though graying, were much longer than the last time Yunho saw him, and he couldn’t help the big smile that crossed his face as the sound of thundering footsteps followed by excited screams pierced through the night air.

The smell of sapodilla and of Barbados lilies flooded his nose with the smell of cerasee clinging to Robin’s clothes.

Before he knew it, he was crying, relieved to see all four of his parents in good health.

Lloyd observed them with a small smile on his face, before he noticed the men standing just off behind him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lloyd, one of Yunho’s fathers. My partners will introduce themselves once they’re finished hugging the daylights out of our poor son...though...there seems to be more of you than last time, and I don’t see the captain…?”

Yunho tensed immediately, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his parents. Mei pulled away first, noticing the wobble of Yunho’s lip and Valeria cupped his cheeks.

“Ay, lad...what’s wrong baby?”

“I’m...I’m the captain now.” Seonghwa spoke, though he didn’t meet any of their eyes. Robin pulled away, as well, and Yunho sighed, rubbing his arm.

“I...I came home because we need some help.” He murmured.

All four of them exchanged a look before Lloyd stepped aside.

“Come inside from the cold, boys. Mei will brew some tea, and you can explain what happened.”

-20 years Later-

Mingi sat in silence as he sat in a cathedral. He had taken some time away from Yunho’s island to visit another, picking up a few books to read from a shop on curses and the like. Was it the most ideal place to be reading something like this? Most likely not, but he had to do what he needed to.

The crew had stayed near the Caribbean Islands, doing their absolute best to find somewhere, anywhere to start.

It was stifling, with tensions so high. Some members from the original crew had either moved on or passed away trying to help Seonghwa and the others locate Hongjoong, and the blonde captain had been adamant about not bringing new members in.

There...was no love lost between the seven of them, Mingi liked to think, but he’d be lying if he said Seonghha hadn’t put up a wall between all of them and himself. After Whiro put him in his place, he seemed to mask his true anguish and hurt, and they all could tell it was taking a toll on him, though he always put on and front when he was around them.

He was the leader. The captain. He had to keep himself together, lest they all fall apart. Hongjoong trusted him to do this much. To protect them. If that meant suppressing his own emotions for the betterment of the crew, so be it. It wasn’t like it was something he didn’t know how to do already.

He was raised as royalty, next up for the throne and title of a king. Kings couldn’t show any cowardice and weakness. Seonghwa could hide away his emotions well enough.

Though, that was a lie. They could all see it. The chips in his icy exterior. The tremble in his lips when he kissed them. The slight, barely there crack in his voice when he went to reassure them. Seonghwa was falling apart and masking it with layers of ice, but none of them had the heart to call him out.

Not when they were falling apart too.

An air of failure and guilt clung to them and no amount of sweet words from Yunho’s parents could hold it back for too long.

Speaking of parents...

Mingi’s fingers trembled on the page. Right. He had to return to the island soon. Lloyd had passed away of natural causes from his old age and they would be having a celebration of life for him tonight.

The four of them all but put a pause on their work to help out with locating Hongjoong, studying everything from mythology, to curses themselves.

For two decades, they tirelessly helped them, and Mingi was forever grateful. Honestly, it was all four of them that kept the boys from completely losing hope. From the Irish, foul-mouthed tongue lashings they (lovingly) got from Valeria, to Robin taking their mind off of it with teaching them capoeira, to Mei gently telling them Korean folktales over cups of tea when the stress was too high, and finally, old Lloyd teaching all of them the way of herbal medicine and always lending an ear when they needed to vent.

The four of them had all but become the in-laws to the group, and Mingi was forever grateful.

“You look troubled.”

Mingi jolted, closing his book as a nun walked up to him. Mingi scooted over as she sat beside him, placing her hands on her lap as she looked forward past the pews to stare at the beautiful organ at the forefront of the hall.

He subtly hid the book behind his thigh, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, I just needed somewhere quiet to read and-”

“You’ve been staring at that page for half an hour. Either that passage is really good, or you’re troubled.” She laughed lightly. Mingi stared at the side of her face. His brow furrowed.

Why did she seem so familiar…?

“Would you like someone to lend an ear? We have a confessional, or I could just listen.” She offered, kind brown eyes staring into his own. He lowered his gaze to his hands and sighed.

“I’m just...looking for someone close to me. They were taken away and I don’t know if I can find them or where to start.” he muttered. The nun tilted her head before crossing her feet at the ankle, sitting up straighter.

Mingi expected her to mention God, they were in a place of worship, after all.

“I think you should take time to clear your heart and your mind. You’re very troubled and you won’t be able to focus on your objective when you are so conflicted. Life...throws lots of hurdles at you. Take time to catch your breath and don’t be afraid to ask for help. You can be surprised how asking different people for advice will steer you in the right direction. Sometimes you need to take a step back and look at it from a different angle. Remember that, and I hope you find your friend.” She smiled and stood up, waving to Mingi as she turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She paused.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry if this is...a weird question, but what is your name, Sister?” He inquired. She blinked in surprise before sending him a kind name.

“Mine? My name is Sister Gracie.”

-x-

Seonghwa stood in front of a mirror, looking at his reflection. His jaw was clenched tight as he wiped his eyes. He had to pull himself together. Two decades and they haven’t found him yet.

He looked into his own grey eyes, his voice tense.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’ll never give up on you. I’ll find you, mon petit putois.” he muttered, adjusting the buttons to his shirt.

What he couldn’t tell, in a plane beyond the one he was standing in, was Hongjoong was looking back at him.

Panicked fists slammed against the invisible aquatic wall that separated the two of them.

“Hey! Hey!! I’m screaming at you, please!” Hongjoong looked behind him, finding something slithering in the depths of water behind him. Bubbles erupted from his mouth as he screamed louder, his voice getting raw as he reached desperately for the vision of the blonde man. He pressed his palm to the man’s image, tears in his eyes.

“ Please! I’m screaming, I’m begging! Why, why can’t you hear me?! Help me!”

A thick tentacle wrapped around his waist, pulling him roughly. Hongjoong scrambled, pressing both hands to the barrier. A laugh echoed from behind him before he was snatched back, away from the image of the blonde man.

In the guest room, Seonghwa placed a palm on the cool mirror, eyes downcast.

“I’ll find you. No matter how far you are, Hongjoong.”

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

He can feel it. Every time he dies. Every time he’s reborn and has a different name.

~1668, the first death after the curse was placed on him, he’s trampled by a horse.

1690, he can feel his throat closing after a fatal allergic reaction.

1712, an accident while trying to help create the first working steam engine.~

Hongjoong feels it all. It doesn’t help, the she-beast likes to toy with him. Sometimes she lets him roam free, in the vast expanse of...wherever he was trapped in. He had no concept of the passage of time anymore while he was in here. Everything felt...stalled and floaty. The woman told him he had been there for almost a century, in her clutches, but he paid it no mind.

That was absurd.

~1734, flash, then it’s gone with a lightning strike.

1756, huddled up for warmth, only to die by the morning from exposure getting lost in the mountains.

1778, blood loss from a carpenter accident. He was a careless man in this particular life.~

Sometimes she leaves him alone. For very long periods of time. He doesn’t know if he prefers that or not. On one hand, her torture was agonizing, between the way she’d wound him, leaving him on the brink of what surely should have been death, but unlike his selves on the outside, he couldn’t die in here.

No, he had to slowly power through the pain, slowly heal in this god forsaken place, and then she’d come back, and start all over.

He envied the other ‘hims’ on the outside. They got to live lives, all of which unfulfilling and mostly in poverty, but they still got to live them, and then they all died on November 7th, only for the piece of his soul to be cast away to another part of the world, into a newborn and reborn once again.

Then the cycle continued. He watched it all from this space. His lives, his deaths, over and over again.

The woman never called him anything other than cruel names and ‘Captain’, though he had no idea of what anymore.

Hell, he was pretty sure he’d forgotten his own name while trapped in here.

~1800, a casualty in the Quasi War.

1822, a fall from a moving locomotive.

1844, a fatal encounter with a wild boar.

1866, a mine shaft collapse.~

When he’s alone for decades at a time, he feels a bit of his sanity slip. Like he’ll never get out of this place. Like he’ll be here for all of eternity. Sometimes, he lays on his back, with his eyes closed for as long as he can, and waits.

Nothing ever happens, but sometimes it's easier to just...exist. Rest his eyes and his tired body. He hasn’t given up. Not yet, anyway, but sometimes it's better for him to just... be.

He’ll never admit to that woman that sometimes he looks forward to her arrival when she comes back from leaving him for so long, just because her presence grounds him into reality.

Or, rather, whatever hellish reality he’s found himself in at her hands.

At her hands, and as he looks out at the bubble she forces him to look at, finding those same seven men. Or, rather, two of them, this time.

They’re in Paris, the one with the dimples has an arm around the other one’s waist, muttering something into his ear. He nudges him before a tender smile comes to his lips and the two share a kiss before disappearing into a hotel room.

The brunette looked away, not sure why he was made to follow these people along though his time here. She always sneered in his ear that they were to blame, that they were the key to getting him out, that they were all happier without him and had forgotten him at this point.

She never showed him the seven of them tirelessly searching for him. He didn’t even know how hard they were working. She carefully picked out the rare moments they took time to themselves to catch their breaths and try and stabilize themselves, painting them as people who didn’t have any sense of urgency or care in the world.

The cook who made large meals with a big smile on his face. The inseparable duo, always attached at the hip, in each other’s space, bringing love and comfort to one another. The tall man with his nose in the books, glasses perched on his nose as he spent days engrossed in his books. The other tall one, filling out his notebooks with whatever hasty, nearly illegible sprawlings came to him as he sat amongst plants. The rugged one with the curious markings on his arms and legs that sometimes shifted and formed some dark being. Hongjoong would be surprised, but he had an aquatic beast breathing down his neck with tentacles for legs and rabid dog heads extending from her waist, so he would be lying if he said he was truly surprised.

The only one that never looked like he was relaxed was the blonde. Pricilla didn’t show him for long, but whenever he was in the background of those visions she’d hand picked for him, he looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. An air of guilt and anguish always settled underneath whatever expression he happened to have on his face, and it always made Hongjoong tilt his head and gave him a small flicker of hope.

~1888, a fall during the construction of a new building.

1910, a stage accident during the production of a play.

1932, burned alive saving a child from a fire.

1954, starvation.

1976, a hostage, taken out in an unsuccessful negotiation.~

He’s exhausted. He wonders if Pricilla is too. Doesn’t it get exhausting to do this to someone? Was what happened that led him to this point really that bad?

He watched his soul go into another body, sitting down and watching this one grow up. Quite the rebellious one, this version of himself. From his mullet, to the dark makeup around his eyes and the piercings littering his ears.

The trapped man watched him, grateful Pricilla had chosen to leave him alone for the time being.

He looked at a calendar on the wall behind the other him as he walked by one day, spotting the ‘1997’ on the wall.

Ah, only a year left until he’d die and another incarnation of him would come.

One day, as the other him is looking in the mirror, the trapped soul stands and stares at him. He knows he looks like hell, though he’s grateful Pricilla never showed him what he looked like. Hell, at this point, he wasn’t sure if these versions of ‘himself’ were really him, or if it was all just an elaborate lie.

“I’m right here. I’ve been right here. You’re lucky, living on the outside. You don’t even know I’m here, do you? You can’t see me, they never can.” He muttered bitterly.

The man on the other end paused the application of his makeup, his cut brow twitching.

“I can hear you. I liked it better when you were just some weird, fucked up version of myself in my dreams, though. I have enough on my plate without worrying about if I need to see a shrink for voices in my head.”

He froze.

“You can hear me?! You can hear me, really?!”

The other him narrowed his eyes.

“Jesus, you’re loud. Yes, I can hear you.”

He stared wide eyed at himself and for the first time in centuries, he had a flicker of hope. He wasn’t sure what changed, but for once, he got the fire in his whole body to get up and fight with his whole body once more.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“You still haven’t forgotten the pirate from Delphi?”

Grey-ish blue eyes opened slowly and looked up at a pair that were identical.

“I could have done something, Tem.”

A small hum came from her lips as she crossed her legs and stared at him. She reached over, smoothing down his blonde hair before she pulled him into a hug.

“Why do you cling onto that immortal? He was only with you for but so long.”

“He made an impression. The way he spoke of his family and his crew, it was honestly the most genuine and pure emotions I’ve seen in centuries, and still, I haven’t quite seen anything like it.” he muttered.

He was met with a small hum.

“So, centuries later, several incarnations of him later, and you still want to step in and help? Is it because of Hyacinthus?”

He pursed his lips, looking down at her collar, biting his lip.

“I-”

“He’s gone, Apollo. But I see this means a lot to you. Father and Uncle have their hands tied with their...ugh...escapades, so I doubt you’d find much resistance. I can...I can try and help you. I hate to see my brother like this.”

Blue eyes widened and he pulled back.

“Artemis-”

“I said I can try . You and I, there is only but so much that we can do. This may even require you to step out from Olympus, out from our domain, and into the domain of other deities. Some of them may not be too privy to actually help out. Our father hasn’t left the greatest of impressions on the other sky deities and they tend to run the show. But, I will try for you.” She kissed the top of his head and sat back.

“We should get started. We should look into this curse a bit more. If it was our...darling cousin that put the curse on the man, I wouldn’t be surprised if she put in some hidden stipulations.”

He stood, eyes determined.

“Right, then. Let’s get to work.”

Artemis smiled and led him out of the room.

“Let's start by talking to the Fates. Maybe they can tell us where we can start.”

-x-

-We're slowly losing ground

And hope is harder to maintain

When all the prayers we've prayed

Feel lost like tears in the rain-

-x-

The king snarled, exhaustion pulling at his form.

Really, how fucking long had he been there? Was he even going in the right direction? Which way was up or down?

The heavens themselves wouldn’t save that damn beast of a woman when he got to the front of the pathetic pirate’s mind. He swore it on his own pride and honor, he would revel in breaking her in half.

Then those incompetent ass pirates. He was certain if they had gotten to the kid sooner and broke whatever curse was inflicted, he would’ve already been at the forefront of the captain’s mind once more.

Instead, he was here, swimming in the inky blackness of this idiot’s mind, unsure if he was even-

“-member me?”

He blinked, hearing an echo. His scaled head snapped up, pausing momentarily.

Was that…?

“I have dreams, yes. Of past ‘mes’, I guess. You’re really kind of persistent.”

“I’m sorry, I just...I need you to remember fully who you are, who we are. You’re the first one of me that can see and hear me. I think maybe...Maybe we can break the curse?”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

The king’s fangs glinted as he looked towards the sound of the voices.

“F i n a l l y.”

-x-

-The waters pulling down

The moon's eclipsing the sun

The ending that we knew would come

Has finally begun-

-x-

Joong wasn’t much.

He lived his life poor and disinterested in life. His only friend was a fortune-telling, self proclaimed sun witch, and his only real interest in life was his motorcycle.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The dreams that plagued him since he was a child, of past lives and their subsequent deaths, none of it interested him.

They, like this persistent voice in his head for the past year, harping on a ‘curse’ or whatever, were just an inconvenience. He hadn’t heard from the ‘other him’ in a while, so maybe it was just an illusion from staying up late too many nights or something.

Either way, all this talk of mythical creatures and curses was truly a bother.

“Ah, you’re here. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

He ducked under the beaded curtain of the fortune telling shop, sitting across from a gorgeous woman with feline eyes.

“I told you I’d come, Siyeon. It is your birthday.”

Siyeon smiled softly and reached for his hands, gently rubbing her thumbs along the back of them.

“Yeah, but you never let me read your cards.”

Joong shrugged a shoulder, running a hand through his sandy brown mullet.

“Yeah, well. Happy birthday, how do you want me to do this?” He inquired. She laughed and pulled out a beautiful deck of tarot cards.

“You can shuffle the cards. Pull three of them and place them in a triangle formation and flip them one by one for me, okay?” the witch seemed excited about him participating, so he sent her a small, kind smile. He didn’t quite believe in any of this, but Siyeon was someone incredibly important to him, so just this once, he would go along with it.

He shuffled the cards, humming a birthday song to Siyeon while he did so before he followed her instructions and plucked three of the cards from three different sections of the deck, placing them in front of him in the shape of a triangle.

“Okay, flip them.”

Joong nodded and flipped the cards one by one.

Siyeon’s smile immediately fell.

A Reversed Emperor, The Tower, and the Three of Swords.

“Well that doesn’t look pleasant.” Joong tried to tease, but Siyeon’s expression didn’t crack. She looked up at him, brows pinched together. Joong shifted in his chair, the chains attached to his leather pants jingling from the move.

“Well? You gonna tell me what my fortune is, Si?”

“Right...right. Um...First is the Reversed Emperor. This is normally a symbol of power and being the king of kings, of sorts but um...reversed, there seems to be a lot of turmoil within you. You don’t have as much control as you’d like to believe you do, and it’s left you with a fake sense of safety and security.” She stared at the card before looking towards the second one.

“The Tower...there is chaos brewing for you, Joong. Chaos and destruction, and soon, something will happen that will absolutely turn your whole world upside down. The last, the Three of Swords, means heartbreak of some form is coming. It can be interpreted as something to do with the relationships you have, but it also can be in reference to some kind of terrible pain and suffering.”

“Well, that sounds welcoming.” Joong hummed, shrugging a shoulder. Siyeon looked at him, her face conflicted.

“I-”

“Hey, it's alright. Maybe your cards just don’t like me today.” He teased. Siyeon opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t how it worked, but he put a hand over hers, sending her a disarming smile.

“Hey, it’s your birthday. Don’t worry so much about this stuff right now. I finally let you read my cards, so let’s go out to eat or something.” He offered. Siyeon resisted the urge to scold him and tell him to take what she had read more seriously, to caution himself, but instead, she only nodded and stood from her table.

“You’re taking me to the Latin place down the street, right?”

“Only the best for my best witch. See what I did there?”

“Because I’m a witch, hardy harr, let’s go nerd.”

-x-

“What do you mean there was a curse placed on him?! How long was it gonna take before you found me?!”

“We tried days after it happened! You didn’t respond!”

Hyuna paused, staring at Yeosang in surprise before she squinted.

“Wait...in Greece…?”

“Yes!”

“HE’S BEEN GONE FOR THAT-” a hand covered her mouth and she nearly bit San, eyes narrowing at him. He sent her a dirty look, wiping his hand off on his jeans before he looked at Dawn.

He was the calmer of the two of them, so they’d get answers from him.

“Hyuna can’t step foot in the Greco-Roman territories. Zeus would skin her alive. Since you all were in Greece when you called on her, she didn’t come for her own safety. And I imagine because of her not responding that time, none of you called on us again until right now?” the weasel spirit inquired.

Wooyoung, San, and Mingi shook their heads. The three of them had stuck together this time.

Somewhere at the turn of the 20th century, Seonghwa had suggested they start splitting up to try and find Hongjoong, since all seven of them looking in the same spot in such a vast and ever changing world was...impractical, at best. Downright idiotic at worst.

It made sense, but all of them knew that was the kindest way Seonghwa could tell them he couldn’t stand looking at some of them as much as he could anymore. They had begun to see the cracks once more. The barely concealed tick of his jaw when he thought no one was looking. The way he sometimes scanned their group when they were together, silently hoping whoever took it would come forward.

At the very least, he needed to know who did it. Whiro be damned.

Speaking of, he and Jongho had become exceptional trackers, which came as no surprise to the group. After all, Jongho had tracked down Hongjoong with the minimal information and tech that he had from before, so this was progressively getting easier.

He just needed to be faster. He’d found Hongjoong once, the last time, but by time he got to the city he felt Hongjoong was in, he could only stand by in wide-eyed shock as the sound of a gunshot rang out into the night.

He didn’t tell the others that part. He and Whiro would bear that one alone.

Regardless of their failures, they often grouped up on the 22nd year, to try to fruitlessly put together the pieces they needed to find him this time before his birthday passed and they inevitably lost their opportunity once more.

It was 1998 now. The 22nd year. He’s birthday was in a week and he’d die once more if they didn’t find him.

Hyuna frowned and looked at her box on her hip.

“I don’t have any spirits for searching, but I can find some. For...y’know, the next time.” She cringed. The boys did as well before hearing the door to the loft they were temporarily staying in open.

Seonghwa must have come home.

Hyuna gauged the looks on their faces and cringed.

“Right, then. I imagine this won’t be a good look for me to be here if that’s how all of you are looking at me. Dawn and I will go and I’ll get back to you as soon as I find a dog spirit suited for the job. I’m...I’m sorry.” She bowed her head down and the two of them disappeared as soon as the door opened.

Seonghwa stared at the trio for a moment before pointing behind him, his voice having lost nearly all of it’s usual sass and coyness.

“Come, I brought food.”

The three of them exchanged a look before trudging out of the room.

-x-

“Apollo, you really are impressive.”

Alistair, or rather, Apollo, wiped sweat from his brow and looked up from his spot on the floor before Hera, blood running down his temple as he tossed the head of some beast at her feet.

“Will you help me?”

“I haven’t seen you so determined to do anything since Hyacinthus’ death. And even Kaliopel is helping out-”

“I spoke with the Fates, I’ve spoken to Aunt Persephone and convinced Uncle Hades to offer up assistance in locating where the soul goes...even Nana Styx offered to pacify my father. I just need your help this once.”

Hera arched a perfectly curved brow.

“And if I say no?”

“I assure you, I can find someone else who will help me in my plight. This could be your chance to get rid of me, but if not-”

“I’m listening.”

Apollo exhaled, looking at the sun disk charm in his palm. He had retrieved it from the sea shortly after Hongjoong disappeared into the depths all those moons ago.

“I offer up half of my godhood for your assistance. All I ask is your assistance in distracting my father and for your aid in my wife and I finding him. It’s too late this time for us to intervene, but I think a soul toiling around in this cycle without the acceptance of the gods is already means enough for someone to step in. If he is out of our domain, I shall go to him. I just ask that you help me, this once. You’ll never see me again afterwards.”

Hera looked at him in genuine surprise.

“All this running, and it’s not for another consort?”

“No. It’s to break the curse no one authorized my cousin to make. Even Uncle Poisiden doesn’t seem to recall giving Scylla permission to do such a thing. It has caused conflict between him and Uncle Hades.”

Hera stared at him for a long while, looking at the offering he’d so graciously tossed at her feet. She tutted and stood, her sandaled feet being the only sound in the room as she descended the stairs to her throne. She plucked a peacock feather from her robe and pressed it to Apollo’s forehead.

“Get up off of your knees. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your words and determination have appealed to me. I shall take part of your godhood in exchange for my assistance, but it shall be restored in full if you can complete your task. I will only help you once. If he dies again, you’re on your own.” She warned him before humming.

“I’ll even see about getting you some extra assistance.”

Apollo perked.

“Extra?”

“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be easy. We’ll see how determined you are. Go speak to Mnemosyne and her daughter Klio and refresh yourself with what you have missed. Then go.”

Apollo nodded and stood, a resolute look on his face.

“Thank you, Hera.”

“Tell anyone I was kind to you and I’ll find a way to kill you myself. Now go.”

Without another word, the Sun God turned on his heel and left, looking at the sun disk in his palm.

There was a lot of work to be done.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

It's finally begun

You're reaping what you've sown

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“JOONG! JOONG HOLD ON, PLEASE!”

The biker looked towards the sky, his body growing numb as he felt Siyeon’s hands shakily cup his face. Somewhere off to the side, his motorcycle lay in pieces.

So this was it? A car collision?

Ugh.

“Joong! Joong please!”

He knows Siyeon is yelling, but all he can hear is static. Above her head, he can see the sad reflection of himself, looking down at him.

Oh, so that’s where he was.

He stared at it for a long time before blinking slowly, letting out a terse laugh.

“Don’t have such a horrible look on your face. It’s only another life, right? You looked so hopeful. Find yourself again.”

Siyeon’s brows pinched together in confusion, but the other him’s eyes grew.

‘Find yourself again.’

In the depths of the eighth sea, between the planes of this world and the next, the captain grits his teeth and nods, swimming away from his dying form.

He couldn’t give up. It was a slow time coming, but he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her win. Hell, he had even made a breakthrough with himself, something he couldn’t fathom happening before.

He was close. He was close to doing... something .

The king was also getting closer.

‘Pricilla’ had chosen to leave him alone for the first few years of his next life, it was nothing extraordinary. He was an orphan, lonely just like he had been for all sixteen of his lives before this one.

Everything changed in 2008.

“Melody, look!”

He swam to the edge, peering out.

What is this? Someone noticed him in the orphanage?

No one ever noticed him before.

“Hey there, buddy. Do you wanna come home with us? You and your siblings?”

The child frowned and looked at his feet, a small beret hiding most of his hair.

“I don’t have siblings.”

The massive man sent him a smile, tucking his hair behind his ear and as the spirit watched on, he could see he had lots of tattoos.

“You do now. If you’d like to come with us, Hongjoong.” He offered. The ten year old blinked.

“My name..isn’t…”

“George is a bit boring, don’t you think? I like Hongjoong better. It means you’re the center of the whole world, y’know.”

Hongjoong looked up at him, then the woman standing behind him who sent him a gentle smile as three other children clung to her dress, staring at him in anticipation. They looked desperate to get out of the orphanage and have a family.

A happy family.

Hongjoong smiled shyly and walked up to the grey-ish blue eyed man, gently squeezing the little harbor seal plushie he kept with him at all times. He stepped in front of the man, shifting from foot to foot.

“You won’t...you won’t throw me away, will you, mister? Not me and my friend Angel, will you?” He inquired, hugging the seal tighter. The man shook his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Hongjoong. Do you accept? Will you come with us?”

Hongjoong paused for only a second longer before he nodded, all but jumping into his arms with a wide smile.

The tall man’s arms closed around him and he smiled, picking him up before picking up one of the other children.

She stared at Hongjoong with wide eyes before smiling softly, her hair up in a ponytail.

“My name is Suzuka. I guess you’re my little brother now?”

Hongjoong nodded eagerly.

“Yes! My name is George-ah no...d-dad said my name is Hongjoong!”

The spirit of the captain watched on with tears in his eyes and disbelief.

Even he didn’t remember his name anymore, but somehow, when this man appeared, he felt a familiar sense of home and warmth when he uttered the name to the child.

The captain watched the child and his family (that word felt so new to him. Family. He hadn’t had a family in ages) grow together. He expected the worst. Expected the tattooed man and his wife to be demons. That had to be it, there was no way he’d have a happy life when the sixteen leading up to this point were so miserable.

They...never treated the four of them with anything other than the purest form of respect and love the captain can remember. He watched on, as the mother sang lullabies and told them stories before bed. As their father taught them how to play music, tattooed fingers working over a guitar, or the keys to a piano.

This...was honestly such a happy and energetic life.

He had friends and family. He smiled every day, got to perform on stages.

Hongjoong...was happy. For the first time in centuries, he was truly happy.

Years later, Pricilla returned, wrapping her limbs around him.

No, no, no, he couldn’t let it end. He couldn’t let the best version of himself die again.

So he turned and fought with all his might. He clawed and scratched and bit down on whatever he could.

No more, he was tired. He wanted to live, he just wanted to live!

“Captain! What’s gotten into you, hm? I haven’t seen such fight in your eyes in a while~”

He’d fight. Harder than ever before. He couldn’t let her win.

Hongjoong thrashes, slamming his fists against the wall. He can see himself, just beyond the water, blissfully unaware.

He’s laughing with his friends, celebrating new years as the calendar rolls over from 2019 to 2020. The captain feels his throat close slightly. This was the 22nd year. He was going to lose again, wasn’t he? He was going to lose his life again if the curse wouldn’t be broken.

Sometimes he screams at his own reflection, hoping somehow he can hear himself. The last one, the biker named Joong, heard his voice. So maybe if he could get through to this one…

He needs to know, he has to find out who he is.

“Hello!? Can you hear me?! Hello!” He screams out to the college student.

“Remember them, remember yourself!” He shouts. It's almost funny in a tragic way. He in spirit can’t even remember the names of the men that held his fate in his hands. The seven men from before. He needed them to help unlock his memories. They were the key as much as he was, he thinks.

Golden eyes watch him, impressed. A clawed hand snakes around his body and squeezes his face so hard it hurts. He glares at the woman, his lips curled up into a scowl. She tuts at him, shaking her head.

“You’ve been fighting for so long, Captain. Wouldn’t it be easier to give up? They look close to calling it quits. How could they not? Centuries without their precious leader, their precious lover-” She spits the word out like a curse, but Hongjoong only pushes past her, swimming to the opposite side of the vast space. He can see the men, six instead of seven this time.

“You want to give up on him?!” Seonghwa snarled. Mingi’s nostrils flared in anger as he stood nearly chest to chest with the ex prince.

“I didn’t say that! I’m saying you need to slow the fuck down and breathe for a bit. None of us have gotten anywhere like this. We’re tearing ourselves apart like this!” He hissed. Seonghwa grit his teeth, ice frosting over his fingers as he glared at him.

“None of this would even be happening if-” He stopped himself short, clenching his fists. Mingi glared at him.

“If what? If someone didn’t steal the staff? You keep bringing it up, you keep looking at me different than the others. You still think it’s me!”

Seonghwa lowered his gaze, but didn’t deny the accusation. Mingi clenched his fists so hard it hurt, before he raised his voice.

“I didn’t do it! How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t steal it?! Even if I did, do you think I wouldn’t have come clean by now?!”

“I never said you did steal it!” Seonghwa barked.

“You didn’t have to!”

The two of them began to argue and Jongho stood, letting out a sigh.

“Fuck this, we’re going for a walk.” He grumbled, sliding on a leather jacket. Yeosang watched him in concern before standing to retreat into the kitchen, five fox tails swaying behind him as he began cooking. Yunho sighed and laid on the floor out of the way. He was too tired for this today. Geb rumbled in silent agreement while Wooyoung shook in San’s grip.

“Cheese, c’mon boy.” Jongho beckoned and a black and tan Jindo ran up to him, nuzzling his thigh and letting him put a harness on before he walked out, slamming the door with a bit of force behind him.

Whiro rumbled in his head.

“You got the cloth for the dog, right?”

“Never leave home without it.” Jongho held out a small cloth, dangling it under Cheese’s nose. The dog was given to them by Hyuna as a search dog for Hongjoong. He was still young, but with a bit more training, Jongho was sure he’d be a good supernatural sniffing dog.

At least, he hoped he could sniff Hongjoong out before November. They were running out of time.

Seonghwa and Mingi continued arguing and the captain screamed from beyond the invisible walls, pounding on the wall desperately.

“What are you doing?! Stop it! Stop arguing!! Please!!!! Find him! Find me!” He screams, watching Seonghwa and Mingi argue. San and Wooyoung are holding each other, eyes downcast. Yeosang is busying himself in the kitchen, distracting himself from the argument. Yunho is curled up on the floor, an arm over his eyes as he keeps himself from intervening.

Hongjoong felt his heart sink, biting his lip as he watched the men. The hand comes back, fingers wrapping around his ankle as she pulls him down like she’d done time and time before.

Deeper, deeper into the eighth sea, the sea of time itself.

Deeper, deeper into the abyss.

Hongjoong reaches out at the wall, tears rolling out of his eyes and washing away with the salt water.

“Please, don’t give up on me.”

-x-

-This sorrow weighs down on my shoulders

This fear is getting harder to hide

You’ll leave me alone in this darkness

Left to hold out

Against the tide-

-x-

Jongho sighs as he bundles up. It was March, so the chill of winter still clung to the air in South Korea. Whiro stretched across his skin under his jacket, providing an extra layer of insulation that none of the locals could see.

Amazing how close the two of them had become.

Cheese tugged at the leash, barking once before pulling him forward. Jongho blinked before jolting in surprise at how persistent the dog was.

“Cheese, what the hell-”

Cheese ignored his protests and pulled the Maori man into a crowd of people. He was about to scold him when he heard a voice.

His heart stopped.

“People want it

People dream about it

It can be different to every individual

It can complete us

Or it can destroy us

And it can change the world

People call it 'treasure'”

Jongho’s lips parted in surprise as he watched a man walk forward on a stage, his hair a sandy brown color in a mullet. He held a microphone to his lips as a few other people and even some kids moved around behind him. It seemed to be a street performance of some kind.

Jongho had his eyes focused on the small brunette the whole time.

“The sound of wind blowing from the horizon

The warmth of the sun hitting the ocean waves

The vibration of sand beating like the hearts of youth

We're at the starting point of this long journey”

“Holy fucking shit, kid.” Whiro’s voice snapped him back into focus as he tugged at his hand. “Get the phone, Jongho! Close your mouth and get the phone!”

Jongho shakily plucked his phone from his pocket and held it up, eyes wide as he recorded, nearly dropping it.

On the stage, the brunette dressed in modern clothing that was clearly supposed to resemble pirate attire, walked around the stage, smiling at some of the kids and some of the other five adults on stage.

“The freezing winds may make us shiver

The heat of the sun may make us thirsty

The vibrations of the sand may swallow us

But we'll never stop.”

The group grew closer to him, and Jongho watched a woman with feline features raise her microphone next, posing prettily.

“Gold~”

A man with piercings through his eyebrow and bottom lip put an arm on her shoulder, speaking into his own microphone.

“Eternal life~”

A blonde man with a distinct accent put an arm around the brunette’s shoulder, grinning at him before he winked at the crowd, sending them a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“Honor~”

A slightly shorter man with a deeper voice wiggled under the blonde’s arm and grabbed his mic, his accent matching his as he chimed out his own line in a deep baritone.

“Love~”

A person with pink hair with yellow and blue chalk highlights eagerly bounded up behind them, all but throwing themselves onto the brunette’s back in the center, their long legs stretching outward.

“Fame!”

The six of them laughed before the brunette in the center held his microphone up to his lips.

“It doesn't matter what you dream for,

So let me ask you

What.is.your.treasure?” he extended a hand out and for the first time in centuries, as the sound of people clapping around him echoed through his ears, tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Hong...joong…?”

“Will you join us?”

------------Taglist-

@kimnamshiks @angel0taiyo @atiny-dazzlinglight @phasephoenix @eversionic @itsatinyworld @prettyjoongs @unatempesta-dipensieri @lonely10vely @yunhosblackgf @not-majestic-bluenicorn @moonmin-miya @girlcarma @kpopthingzsblog @delphinium3000 @just-a-starfruit @mireyth @skmoonchild @queen-of-himbos @allthestarsrcloser @sneaky-ash @im-what-iam @thereal-smolchild @arohatiny @smallfrye @atinyteez @takitaro @hunnibxbe

#fie writes #against the tide #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #kpopuniversenet #atzinc #kconnet #AtT Ch.10 #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ot8 #ateez ot8 #member x member #ateez ot8 fic #polyteez #hey look i posted and its not 3am look at that pls reblog if you like it thx ily

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Note

Idk if you do ship ask but I've always hc that most ritos are affraid of thunder, since that could very easily harm/kill something flying (like a rito), so do you have any headcanons about link comforting revali during a thunderstorm?

Heya! Thanks for sending this ask, I had so much fun writing it! If you wanna know why it took so long, it’s because I accidentally keep making these essentially oneshots instead of headcanons...I get too wrapped up in the atmosphere lmao.

Anyhow, please enjoy, and thanks for your patience! :P

Revalink during a thunderstorm:

2553 words

Revali always thought green was a decent color, it paired well with his evening blue feathers and eyes after all

But this trip was really challenging his beliefs…

“Tree. Tree. Large tree. Giant tree. Leaf. Bush. Greenery. Tree. Giant leaf. A verdant green. Emerald green. Fern green…” He listed off his observations rhythmically

Revali suddenly stopped walking, patting Link on the back.

“Why Link, you won’t believe this, but if you look up now, you can experience this rare sight of a tree. Impressive isn’t it?”

Link turned his head to see Revali gesture grandly at the Faron scenery, before rolling his eyes. ‘You’re such an ass…’

The Rito smirked, content with the annoyance he was causing Link, before continuing to walk beside him, pointing out the “variety” of nature.

He had been traveling with Link across the jungles of Faron, helping him fly over the waterfalls and rivers for...reasons he had forgotten. Something ordered by the Princess? Checking Shrines? Updating ruin locations? Something, something, Zonai, Sheikah, database...and other nonsense words that Revali didn’t really care for, point was, “this expedition would run all the more smoothly with your skill set,” so, here he was.

In hindsight that was probably only said to flatter him into coming, but it’s not like Revali was going to complain. One on one time with Link wasn’t an opportunity he would have passed up on, anyway

Walking under the lush forest canopy, Revali picked at the 700th vine tangled in Link’s hair. “This exploration stuff sure is paying off...I’m experiencing so many new things. Like plants, and water, and bugs. Never could have experienced this anywhere else.”

Link raised an eyebrow, holding up his hands to sign, ‘Come on now, don’t be like that. We’ll be done with this soon, so quit being pretentious for two seconds and enjoy the beauty of nature!’

Right, because the beauty of the sweltering, sickly green, claustrophobic jungle crawling with insects and slimy creatures, dwelling in a sticky, sappy, foliage that seemed to tie your wings down to the earth with it’s grasping vines and prickly leaves… THAT was just the thing for a Rito from Tabantha to enjoy

Revali clicked his tongue. “You think I’m the pretentious one? That one leaf is the size of a Hinox’s arse. What’s even the point of that?? Do the lizards hate the sky that much?” He gestured towards the thick canopy above once again

Link’s expression suddenly changed as he peered through the leaves, noting how the sky’s sunset colors had started to darken with greying clouds. He spoke bluntly

‘There’s a storm coming.’

“Oh? Wonderful…”

‘I think there’s a cave we can use for shelter near the northernmost waterfall.’

“Think? My ability of flight, and overall state of being, is not suited for moisture, so I’d really prefer if you were a bit more certain than, ‘think!’”

‘Well we can always sleep out here if you want… We’ll have to stay overnight judging by the size of those storm clouds.’

Revali shuddered as another sapphire blue lizard crawled across the forest floor near his talons, much too close for comfort. The image of laying down in the dirt, being mocked by the infectious green that covered the sky, for over eight hours, he audibly groaned.

Fine, hypothetical cave it is.

“Get on my back already. The sooner the day is done, the better, I suppose.”

Flying through the air, Revali feathers rustled in the growing wind, he could start to smell the storm in the air. Thankfully, Link’s cave turned out to be real, providing dry shelter from the oncoming, feather-drenching rain, thank Hylia. If he had to do his braids and ribbons again after he spent all morning just—

BOOM!

Not two seconds after Revali had landed them both in the cave, a deafening sound shook the ground and carried Revali’s soul to hell, heaven, and back. The sound that escaped his beak was none short of a shrill squeak you might hear come out of a thousand baby birds.

Behind them, green sparks fizzed against the earth, starting a small fire, before it was quickly extinguished by the now pouring rain.

Revali shuddered, shaking off the few droplets on his wing. His feathers seemed to tremble from the charge in the air, and his mind was racing with thoughts of what would have happened if he was two seconds slower in his descent, but he concealed it all with a neutral frown.

“This forest is lucky the rain started, that bright explosion of death nearly made me think we were under attack, I’d have nocked a bomb arrow or two.”

‘The...thunder and lightning, you mean?’

“Shut up I know what lightning is.”

‘I guess it makes sense you’re not that familiar...the most action you’ll see in Rito Village is cold winds and snow.’

“I said I know what lightning is.”

‘Oh, don’t worry, I heard you. I heard you very clearly a few seconds ago…’

Revali let out a few “hmphs” before sitting down on the cave floor. Link started to chuckle to himself before starting a fire, the cave was wide enough for the smoke to escape and not suffocate them, and it’s warmth was welcomed wholeheartedly by the Rito Champion.

Link thought that would be the end of it, Revali volunteered to take the first night watch, and the Hylian thought nothing of it. Before either of them knew it, Link had somehow drifted off into a peaceful sleep

BOOM!

Another crack of thunder. Sure, thunder had been roaring in air for the last two or three hours, but this time the lightning struck close enough to the cave that Link could feel the vibration against the earth.

He rose with a yawn, stretching his arms as if he had been woken by chirping birds, and not the midnight sky’s roars

Glancing towards Revali’s direction, concern started to creep onto Link’s face, as he watched the Rito with furrowed eyebrows and a frown

As far as he could tell, Revali hadn’t moved an ant’s inch from when Link had last seen him before he dozed off. His jade eyes were fixed on the jungle, and the feathers on his neck seemed to raise everything the sky glowed a shocking flash of green.

Despite having sat up from the fire, Revali didn’t seem to notice that Link had woken.

Link waved his arm in front of him, trying to catch the Rito’s gaze.

‘Hey? You ok?’

Link’s actions cut into Revali’s tumbling thoughts, but he quickly recovered from his initial shock with a click of his tongue

“I’m fine. Just watching to make sure your tired person doesn’t get ambushed by some crafty lizalfo. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Link paused, but in the end, he nodded his head in acceptance. ‘Alrighty then. Well, you go ahead and get some rest. I can take the next watch.’

“...ah. Right.”

Revali awkwardly shuffled closer to the fire, pinning his back a bit deeper into the shallow cave.

He didn’t bother to lie down

‘Are you sure you’re ok?’

“I’m fine. I’m just not tired yet is all”

‘Well you should try to get some sleep, cause tomorro—’

“Yes, I’m well aware, I don’t need the reminder of our schedule.”

‘It would probably help to not face the forest, cause the movement and noises can be distracting when you’re trying to sl—’

“Yes. I understand, thank you. As I said I’m not tired so—”

‘But Revali, I just said—’

“Look! I’m fine, stop pestering me about it, OK? All I want is to just be able to—”

BOOM!

Comically— or perhaps in this atmosphere, un-comically— a lizard fell off the side of a tree near the cave’s mouth, visibly fried and very much dead

Link, ever the survivalist, grew excited at the prospect of a free elixir ingredient, but as he turned to Revali to share this good news, he was greeted with a very still Rito, his feathers pressed stiffly against himself as he seemed to be holding down his other wing, presumably because it was shivering.

That was strange, considering Link had taken care to keep the firewood stocked. He looked at Revali again, his green eyes seemed to be swirling with racing thoughts and fears

......fears…

Hylia he was an idiot

Although in fairness, it works both ways

‘I’m sorry...I should have realized you had a greater fear of lightning given the circumstances…’

The Rito suddenly jerked his head, his voice rising in pitch by the second. “W-What?! I don’t know where you got that idea from. Circumstances?? I’ll have you know I’ve trained for years to be quite fearless.”

A sudden flash of light came from the corner of his eye, and Revali had to clamp his tongue to keep silent. If it weren’t for his feathers, he’d be as white as a dove.

‘Are you sure? I’d imagine the thought of thunderstorms are a lot worse for you Rito..’

‘You know, given all the rain, and the chance of being electrocuted, and shot out of the sky by a bolt of lightning, and the loud sounds that probably remind you of an avalanche or a bomb, and also falling out of the sk—’

Link suddenly cut himself off, realizing a bit too late that the explanation of the factors involved with thunder and lightning wouldn’t exactly help Revali’s attitude.

The Rito only stared at Link, his beak clamped shut. Finally, he let out a sigh.

“I’m fine.”

Silence, then a scoff from Link.

Yeah, right.

He started pulling out an assortment of items from his small pouch—how Link magically managed to fit cart-fulls of apples, armour, and weapons in there was beyond him. Link joked that it was because of magic tree children, at least, Revali thought he was joking

‘Ah-ha! This should make you feel better!’

Link pulled out a golden helmet, it looked Gerudo in style, and it was covered in green, red, and blue gemstones

‘This thing absorbs lightning, and disperses it, so you don’t get hurt!’

Revali raised an eyebrow, hesitant

‘No! Seriously! This thing has saved me dozens of times, it’s seen hundreds of storms, and it’s taken on countless lightning strikes directly on this part!!’

He pointed excitedly to the bright green gemstone’s at the helm’s crest.

Revali could only shift his weight in discomfort, and Link finally got the hint.

‘Ah right. Maybe the lightning prone object isn’t for you...but…’

Link pulled out a weird, flexible hat, in the shape of a fish. It’s giant eyes stared askew at the cave’s walls, and when Link put it on for demonstration purposes, it basically looked like an octorok had spat a starving fish on his hair

‘This little guy is called Lucky. He’s made out of this thing called rubber, and it’s supposed to help keep electricity from touching you. Pretty nifty fashion choice too, right?’

“I will be plucked dry and drowned before you catch me wearing that hideous thing.”

‘Lucky doesn’t appreciate your unkind words…’

A few more minutes pass by, Link unloading the items in his satchel in an attempt to ease Revali’s mind. But most suggestions failed to truly convince him. Occasionally, the storm would boom again, and Link would rub Revali’s wing gently, if only to keep his attention on the weird yellow mushrooms in his hand. Nonetheless, it was a small thing that the Rito appreciated.

After a few more rounds of talking, Revali finally sighed in defeat. “I appreciate your gesture Link, I truly do. But I’d really prefer to just, not think about lightning at all, rather than be surrounded by your cluster of trinkets and tools.”

“So again, it’s fine. I can just sit here and wait it out. Don’t torment me any further with your...endless basket of comfort foods. I do hope that you donate some of those to the needy, I can’t be seen walking around with a selfish, hoarding hero after all.”

Link ignored the quip and Revali’s attempt to deflect the conversation.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing else I can offer you?’

Revali opened his beak to say no, before closing it. He looked Link up and down, from his fuzzy golden head, to his pathetic and dirty blue tunic, to his brimming, sky blue eyes.

Revali opened and closed his beak again, before saying, “no, it’s OK.”

Link frowned, tapping his fingers to his chin.

Then, he swiftly grabbed at the blue scarf around Revali’s neck.

“W-Wha—hey!”

‘Just borrowing this for a sec!’

Despite Revali’s attempts to retrieve it, Link was already unfurling the scarf to its full length and width. Surprisingly, it was long enough, long enough for Link’s plan, anyhow

He turned back to Revali. ‘Snuggle up closer to the fire. If we’re gonna sleep towards the back of the cave like this I’d prefer to be as warm as possible

Revali’s expression was indescribable, at least verbally. Through the power of writing I can only describe the expression as something that conveyed feelings such as:

?!?!?!!?!!??!?!?!?!!!??!?!?!!?!!?

‘We’re gonna hug, you dense bastard’

Revali started to sputter out questions, and list of logical reasons as to why that suggestion was absurd. But suggestion turned to action as Link wordlessly wrapped the scarf around the two of them, before snuggling into Revali’s feathers.

On the brightside, Revali was stiff for different reasons, other than lightning.

In hindsight that was probably part of his plan

The Rito was silent, as he struggled with the decision of either allowing himself to be comfortable, nestled with his favourite soft scarf, and his favourite (he would never admit it) Champion

Or to put up his usual quips and walls

Was Link annoyed about this? Happy??

Spirits above he was so embarrassed, Link was probably doing this out of pity, like some mother tending to an infant...

Or maybe it wasn’t like that...? Was it something else?? Some other feeling that had cause him to take such a drastic action to—

‘What’cha thinking about?’

Revali felt Link’s arms move under his wing, and he looked over at the Hylian. He looked so...tranquil, and relaxed...and...stunning....despite his terribly kept hair

“Nothing.”

Link raised his eyebrow, ‘Yeah?’

Revali narrowed his eyes in confusion, but nodded, to which Link turned back and nestly his face into his soft feathers.

What kind of a question is that? What am I thinking about? This situation that came out of no where of course!!

What else would he be thinking abo—

...

The Rito could only smirk to himself finally putting together the pieces of Link’s scheme

Another moment of silence. At least, to Revali it was silent. The only sounds he could hear were of Link’s breathing, and his own heartbeat.

The thunder whispered in the background

Revali smiled, while resting his beak on Link’s soft hair

Then finally, thoughts turned to dreams turned to peace; Revali slept sound as the rain pattered to the sound of his beating heart

HA god what a loser it’s so corny I could die. Who would even right such a thing ahahaahha— oh wait

[If you enjoyed this content, a like and a reblog is greatly appreciated! Let’s me know that I should make more, while also giving me that extra serotonin.]

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw headcanons #fuck it i might just tag this as fanfiction #botw fanfiction #revalink #revali #link #link botw

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 51- Fallen Angel

(Sorry this is late! i got my vaccine and it mcfucking knocked me out lol)

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits return to Eremita from a restocking trip, to discover they have been raided. And one hermit has been taken.

Warning: Capture, slight torture scene

_________________________________

Eremita has become their safe haven, the last bastion for the guild. Even when the arcane guard chased them all the way to the water’s edge, no sane person would dare follow the hermits into the Ashioll sea. Which is exactly why they lived in its mysterious, misty embrace.

They could no longer simply fly off upon the backs of sky turtles, or even teleport into the towns they frequented. Now, when the hermits absolutely had to go into public for supplies they couldn’t make or grow themselves, they sailed in on Cleo’s pirate ship. And when they had to leave, they made sure that if anyone was following them, they took a roundabout direction back to their home. It adds time, weaving between the islands and through the mists, but ensures no one can guess where they live.

Cleo’s pirate ship beaches up onto the sand, nestling back into place as a wrecked vessel once more. The dream magic fades, revealing broken oak boards, seagrass growing through seams, and splintered masts of the ghost ship Cleo commands. Hypno blinks free from his sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Already? Man, my dream was just starting to get interesting.”

With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies.

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends.

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?”

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.”

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.”

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in.

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?”

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo.

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz.

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope.

Only two. “Where’s Grian?”

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?”

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.”

__________________________________________________

A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this.

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw.

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him.

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice.

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place.

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely.

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms.

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them.

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic.

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box in his hand upon seeing the sight before him.

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out.

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.”

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes.

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!”

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?”

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.”

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive.

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face.

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?”

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in.

And slowly, agonizingly stealing his magic. So intrinsically tied to his soul, hsi lifeforce, it feels as if his very being is being dragged from every inch of his body in contact with the crystal. He writhes to escape the painful magic, but the bonds hold firm and he struggles to catch his breath. Dolios steps back, basking with ravished delight at the scene before him. Enjoying the pain that tears at Grian’s skin, soul, and spell. “Now the magic will soon be mine.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard cleo #wizard zedaph #wizard mumbo #grianmc #grian #zombiecleo #zedaph #mumbo jumbo

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heaven-in-a-wild-flower · 3 years

Text

Crows Headcanon: Wesper Headcanon (Wylan Van Eck and Jesper Fahey)

If you’d rather read this and more Crows headcanons on ao3 here’s the link.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Previous Chapter (Chapter 5)

Chapter 6 (the chapters aren’t related and do not continue the story, each can be read separately)

Wylan

It was inevitable. Their first fight. Of course, they'd fight at some point, living together. It began as everything does, small and barely noticeable. There would be tiny squabbles about clothes strewn about in the room, trinkets never returned to their places. Then it grew and grew, never-ending poisonous vines wrapping around them, strangling them. They spent every moment apart thinking of flaws with the other and every moment together pointing it out.

Just this morning Jesper grumbled about being too warm when Wylan woke up wrapped around him in the morning (even in sleep, his body knows what it really wants, too bad his mind isn't as smart right now). And Wylan knew, he knew that Jesper probably meant nothing by it. But his mind immediately began spewing venom into his heart. You will only ever be a burden. He says he loves you, but he's already tired of you. How much longer do you think he'll stay here when he could have anyone? But he's stubborn and strong and, he refused to show his heart because what else is that but an invitation to stab? So he pulled away and said, "Fine, then. If it's such an inconvenience then I won't touch you at all." And he walked out of the room, tears stinging in his eyes.

Jesper

I know I messed up. I've been messing up constantly. All of this is so new to me. I didn't know it would be this difficult to stay with someone. I've shared so many beds but I've never before shared a room. I didn't realise that it would bother someone else that my clothes aren't always in the cupboard. At first, it frustrated me that he would find faults with me all the time. It reinforced those voices in my brain that told me that I'd never be enough. So I took out those frustrations the way I always have, in cards and drinks and coins.

For a while, it was fine. I thought I'd fixed it somehow. Then, he started noticing more money missing. And he was so so angry. What else did I expect from a bomb-maker, if not an explosive temper? I knew that it wasn't working. I knew it was wrong. I knew that it wasn't truly helping me at all. But it scared me, terrified me that he'd already noticed all the worst things about me, and had to be stuck with that all the time. I realised then that this wasn't going to last much longer. So I gave up. I stopped trying to fix anything between us and just continued to feed the fire. If this is going to end anyway, what was even the point? What would be the point of telling me to please stay, please let me stay? How could I even convince him? He'd seen the worst things, the darkness behind my flirtatious smiles. He's let me stay for months now, and he hates it. He hates me, here. What could I ever do about that?

Even this morning, I complained about being too warm when he'd wrapped his body around me. I'd just gotten up, and for a single moment, I'd forgotten. I'd forgotten that we'd gone from being lovers, loved, loving, to...fighting. I'd forgotten that every word would be taken as a bullet. He'd flinched away from me (it made my heart hurt) and snarled, "Fine, then. If it's such an inconvenience then I won't touch you at all." And he'd stormed out of the room.

I raised a hand automatically, about to stop him. But what could I say? I'd only ever been good at destroying things, not fixing them. So I dropped my hand and laid back on the bed, eyes closed to keep the tears in, not succeeding in the least.

Wylan

It got so bad that even Inej and Kaz began to notice. They'd visit from time to time, either for his help or Jesper's. And naturally, they felt the crackling tension in the air. They never said anything about it, but he could see them exchanging glances, communicating in that way that only they could. It reminded him of the way he and Jesper used to communicate. The gentle brushing of their hands, stray touches on the elbow or shoulder, and he had to stop and take a deep breath to clear the constriction in his lungs.

They were both so tired of fighting all the time that even that had stopped. He never thought he'd miss fighting, but he did. At least then, Jesper was paying attention to him, even if he was smirking thoughtlessly. But now, nothing. They simply avoided each other around the house. He'd enter the kitchen, and Jesper would walk out. Jesper would enter our bedroom, and he'd leave. Even at night, Jesper would stay out so late that they never went to bed together. They did still sleep in the same room, the same bed. They still had that, but he didn't know how much longer even that'd last. So when he inevitably woke up first every morning, he'd stare and stare and stare. He'd caress every inch of Jesper's brown skin that he could see, just with his eyes, hand itching to touch.

He made sure never to get close to him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to let him go. He'd latch onto him and hold on forever.

Jesper

The silence was so loud it was deafening. It made his hair stand on end. He hated this silence, but he also didn't know how to break it. It'd grown so huge, a looming monster growing between them, and he knew no way of vanquishing it. So he let it be. He let Wylan avoid his touch like he had something contagious, and he let him keep as much distance as he wanted, even as his heart shrivelled every time it happened.

The only way he now knew to protect his heart was to stay out of the house. He didn't think that he'd ever need to protect his heart from Wylan. He couldn't believe that this is what it'd come to.

He came home every night, skin chill from the wind outside, aching to sink into Wylan's warmth and knowing he wasn't allowed. So he stared and stared and stared and drank whatever warmth he could from those bright curls and freckled skin. And in his dreams, the only thing he saw, over and over again, were those azure eyes gazing at him like they once did, in love.

Kaz

He'd had enough. What now that they didn't have any problems those idiots decided to make some of their own? He would not let this stand, not a chance.

Inej

She knew that gleam in his eyes. He had a plan, and since it was Kaz's, it was expected that it'd be devious. But, she knew for once that it was with the best of intentions. So she listened attentively when he told her and smiled a tiny proud smile when he was done.

Wylan

It was an overcast evening, and he shivered as he made himself a cup of hot chocolate. Jesper was out, of course, doing whatever he did every day. He didn't know. How could he if they didn't talk anymore? So he took out his flute and tried to practice, tried to ignore his trembling hands. Suddenly there was a loud banging on the door. He dropped the flute and ran for it, only taking a second to check who it was. Inej.

He yanked open the door. She wouldn't bang it like that if there wasn't an emergency. She looked worried, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide.

What's happened?" he asked.

"Jesper...he's missing," she said, suddenly wilting. His heart stopped.

"What?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Kaz needed him for a job, so I went to get him. I checked all his usual joints, and he wasn't there anywhere," she looked pitying now. She'd definitely noticed the way his skin grew paler. If even the Wraith couldn't find him, where could he be? What-what could've happened to him?

"But," she said and he perked up immediately, "we think we know who could've taken him."

It takes them half an hour to make a plan to rescue him, hoping desperately that they were going to the right place. Inej instructs him on which bombs they need, and they set off.

Jesper

It can't be true. It could not be true. Not again. Kaz just told him that one of his rivals had kidnapped Wylan. They were now waiting for him to come to them and demand the ransom. How could this have happened? Why Wylan? He hoped with all his heart that they were at least treating him well, knowing that that wasn't very likely. As they sat there, a fire burned in his belly. He felt hatred rise like a storm inside him. He would not be merciful with whoever had kidnapped Wylan.

He didn't understand how Kaz could just sit there, relaxed as though nothing had happened. No, he knew that maintaining a veneer of calmness would make it easier to negotiate with the kidnapper. But he still couldn't stop his fists from clenching and his jaw from tensing. He tried to breathe deeply, telling himself that the kidnapper wouldn't kill Wylan because that would get him nothing. Wylan would be okay. He had to be. He couldn't die. He couldn't die, with Jesper not able to recollect the last time he touched him, the last word he told him.

So they waited. Jesper grew more and more jittery, legs shaking and fingers tapping and fidgeting. Kaz somehow grew calmer and calmer, cane resting gently on his lap, utterly in his element, ready to do his part.

When the outer door slammed open, Jesper stood up abruptly, and Kaz gripped his cane tighter. The door opened and in came charging...

Wylan

Finally, they got through the gate, and the soldiers posted outside and entered an empty room. He didn't waste a second. The moment he noticed the other door in the room, he rushed at it, pushing it open. And there he was. He ran to Jesper and hugged him, holding on so so tightly. He was so relieved to find him that he didn't even wonder why Jesper wasn't tied up and gagged.

"You're okay, you're okay," he chanted, under his breath, still unwilling to let go of his sharpshooter. Jesper held him in return, nestling his head in Wylan's curls, speechless for once. After a few minutes, or seconds, or hours, or an eternity, he pulled back a little to see Jesper wide-eyed, looking at him like he was a ghost.

"I'm sorry," they both blurted out at once, and they laughed and sobbed at that.

"No, no, I should be the one to apologise. I'm so sorry for being such a mess. The clothes and my other things and the gambling. Oh, I knew I needed to stop, and I couldn't and then- and then-" Jesper babbled.

"No! Don't be sorry. I'll help you, we'll do it together. Okay? I'm sorry too. It was all so perfect, and it scared me. I was so scared that you'd leave that I nearly drove you to leave myself," he said, staring right into Jesper's eyes so he'd understand.

"Okay. But just so you know, I never would've left," Jesper tells him, looking back just as intensely.

"Okay. That's good," Wylan says, chuckling, suddenly embarrassed.

Jesper tilts his chin back up and gazing into his eyes the whole time, kisses him. Wylan responds ravenously, and well...it all works out. They remind the other that they love them, that they always have and always will. And when they realise what Kaz and Inej tricked them into, Wylan is outraged, and Jesper just laughs and laughs and laughs (Wylan then kisses him, hearing the laughs echo in his heart).

Next chapter (Chapter 7)

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

#six of crows #soc #grishaverse #soc hc #crows headcanon #crows hc #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej #kanej headcanon #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wesper #wesper headcanon #nina zenik #matthias helvar #helnik headcanon #helnik #shadow and bone

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batarella · 4 years

Text

The Commander - Part 13 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAVORITES. I had so much fun looking back at Arkham Knight playthroughs and following the flow of this scene. HOPE YOU ENJOY.

WORDS: 3648 WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR ARKHAM KNIGHT VIDEO GAME (CLOUDBURST SCENE) AND SOOOOO MUCH ANGST. I RECOMMEND WATCHING A PLAYTHROUGH IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED THE GAME

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

------

“Commander Y/N.”

It was Scarecrow’s voice in her communicator. They’d just arrived at Gotham. By now, he should be at Ace Chemicals. “I’m in the middle of something, Crane.”

“I thought of what you can do, so your relationship with the Knight will not be such a… predicament…”

“I have no relationship with him.”

“Didn’t you and the Knight share an intimate moment at the Dark Knight’s cave?”

She almost dropped the gun, her mouth slightly parted but was too horrified to speak. She was in the middle of taking her men into their base at the department store. And even so, she stopped walking. “I told you. I have eyes.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“You control the Cloudburst tonight.”

“We reached that decision days ago, you dirt rag.”

Crane’s voice sounded like he breathed into her ear even closer.

“But it shall be the Arkham Knight that the Batman thinks is manning the tank.”

Her rifle almost dropped to the ground. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I am the kind of man who wants every possibility planned out.”

“Are you even a man, Crane?”

“The Batmobile is not what we’d expected.”

“Expected?”

“It’s much stronger. It’s destroyed a number of my drones just outside my station at Ace Chemicals. Tell me, Commander, what happens if the Dark Knight manages to destroy the Cloudburst?”

She remembered. They had this perfectly planned out. She, Jason, Scarecrow, and Deathstroke all agreed on the same.

First, before anything else, they kidnap Barbara Gordon. If the Cloudburst fails to release the toxin, the Knight will go after the commissioner, James Gordon, who will by then be looking for the Arkham Knight after taking his daughter.

They will then use the Commissioner to gain them access into the Panessa Studios, which according to Jason, is one of Batman’s many hideouts. Whoever is in the studios that they can use to their advantage, they will take them.

It goes on from there. The commissioner will then serve as a hostage to force Batman to surrender, if everything else falls into place.

“Kidnap the commissioner,” she said.

“The Dark Knight destroying the cloudburst has become more of a possibility than what we’ve thought, but as way to counter that, taking Batman himself, injecting that fear onto his bloodstream whilst I unmask him for the world to see, that does just as much damage to Gotham as my fear toxin.”

“And how am I supposed to help you with that?”

“I’m afraid your Knight has miscalculated. He needs far more than a few hours to get Gordon and hack into the studios. If Batman thinks it is the Arkham Knight manning the Cloudburst, he will no longer be looking for him after it has been destroyed. It will give us the time we need to kidnap Gordon and his allies,” he said.. “Otherwise, Batman will track the Knight down before we’ve done so much.”

“You seem to have these awfully planned out, Crane. For someone who thought the Cloudburst was such a prize.”

Crane let out an eerie, maniacal laugh beneath his breath.

“I am a very calculated man, Commander. Engulfing Gotham City in my reign of fear can only hold so long if the Batman continues to defend her. Unmasking him, humiliating him for the world to see, that will be the assurance I need so that the next time I release my toxin, I will be sure no one can stop me.”

She could almost feel Scarecrow’s syringes against her neck, and she stood stiff, her eyes locked onto the abandoned department store.

“It shouldn’t make much of a difference. So unless you make sure the Cloudburst isn’t destroyed, give your precious Knight the time he needs to succeed.”

Xxxxxx

The Cloudburst drove out from the tunnels.

She was alone, and the air in the cockpit was eerily cold. The Commander pulled out from one of the compartments something she’d prepared earlier that night.

A visor identical to the Arkham Knight’s.

If all else fails, at least Jason will still have a shot.

She took off her white mask, looked straight into the optics, then set it aside.

The visor was heavy, and it weighed on her neck so much she could topple at any more movement. And it was hot. Y/N had trouble to even breathe. She stretched her shoulders and pressed on her communicator, the one Jason gave her.

“Jason.”

Her voice. It sounded precisely like his. Filtered, unidentifiable, and foolproof.

“Where the hell did you get that visor?”

“Calm down. If I were you I’d take off your own visor. Batman only needs to see and hear mine.”

Their two voice were hurtful to hear on each ends of the communicator. She heard him take off his helmet, and with his real voice, he didn’t sound any happier.

“What are you trying to do, Commander?”

“Ask Scarecrow. This was his idea.”

She heard him curse, then his comms turned off and the Commander continued with maneuvering the tank out onto the streets. Out of Founder’s, and into Perdition Bridge. This will be where she releases the toxin.

There were street thugs, running out of the way, while still keeping their eyes on what was about to happen. Other than that, Gotham was empty. The Cloudburst paraded across the bridge.

“Do it,” she heard Scarecrow’s voice.

She closed her eyes, and all she could see was her uncle’s face.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Commander Y/N turned off the ventilation, made sure the oxygen tanks were in power, then signaled for the Cobra tanks to stand guard.

Her hand sweating on the lever, the Commander pulled on the cylinder, turned it exactly 50 degrees, then pushed.

The visor did much to mask the noise. But she was used to it. What she wasn’t used to was the explosion that came directly in front of her.

It was much like a bomb, and the massive blow of the toxin, in the form of smoke, tore up into the sky and sucked up any form of air in its way. It blew out all across her, over the water under the bridge and out into all three islands of Gotham. It was like a sandstorm, crushing anything in its path and engulfing the city in a hellish red cloud of the Scarecrow’s toxin.

And it didn’t take too long. The storm subsided, and when she looked up, all she could see was darkness.

No longer was there a blank sky above her. It was the toxin in the form of a heavily concentrated gas cloud that covered everything from the streets up to at least five stories. Everything below it, suffered its effects.

The same thugs that stared at the tank were now ripping each other’s flesh with their own teeth, their eyes white and the noises they made inhumane.

This was it. This was Gotham. This was the City of Fear.

Xxxxx

“Commander, a serpent drone has picked up a giant plant growing out of Founder’s Island.”

“A giant what?”

Quickly, she searched for the drone’s footage, and sure enough a plant the size of three towers stacked together sprouted out of the ground and had Batman’s car in its vines. “Son of a bitch.”

“Sergeant, there’s a weed grown tall in Divinity Churchyard,” she said to the drone controllers. “Cut it down.”

“Sending drones in now, sir.”

She opened her visor and pinched her nose. Scarecrow’s plan worked, as of now. Batman thinks it was the Knight in the Cloudburst and not her. And that plan might actually be of use, with the Dark Knight getting closer and closer to ending the toxin’s hold on the city.

Scarecrow was right. Again. She hated that man to the bone.

She kept on the footage of the Batmobile destroying each of her drones. “I own these streets, Dark Knight!” she said. One after the other, they exploded.

“He wiped them out sir,” the sergeant said over her comms. “We’re gonna need more tanks.”

“No. Now he needs to face me.” She called Batman.

“Commander. Make sure he doesn’t survive. Blow up his stupid car and kill him,” Jason said. She heard his breath heavy.

She’s never seen his face up close before, but there he was. The Dark Knight. Ready to face her to the death. “YOU WANNA FINISH THIS? COME TO BLEAKE ISLAND!”

Her hands gripping tightly on the controls. “Commander,” she heard Jason’s unfiltered voice. “He’s blocked off the bridges out of Bleake Island.”

“I’ll be okay. Batman doesn’t realize he’s going after the best markswoman in the world.”

And with that, she called for the cobra tanks to surround her, her hands gripping onto the handles to move the tank into the center of the island.

The Cloudburst’s optics circled slowly around the perimeter. She searched for any signature, any movement out of place. There was dead silence, and the sky the color of blood.

“We’ve lost a Cobra Tank. Sending support.”

She growled into her communicator. “IT’S OVER BATMAN. GOTHAM’S DEAD.” There was buzzing, like tires screeching. Her optics picked up movement, and she breathed, quick enough not to lose its sight. He was slightly peering into from a building on her right. She locked onto the target, firing her missile.

And like that, Deadshot became the first to hit the Batmobile. The damage wasn’t too much, but it was significant. “Good job, Commander. Keep firing at him. Make sure he doesn’t come out of this alive,” Jason said.

“Cobra tank down. Holding formation.”

She would have cursed if Scarecrow’s voice hadn’t interrupted her. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Finishing the job.”

It was the Arkham Knight’s voice. But it was Jason’s line on the other end. She just listened.

“This is not the plan we agreed upon.”

“It’s a plan that works. Scarecrow can choke on his toxin, Batman. I just want you dead,” Jason growled.

Then she switched onto Jason’s communicator. “Are you sure about this?”

“Just keep going, Commander. Do not back down. I trust you with this.”

Another. And another. Three Cobras down in less than a minute apart.

“JASON.”

“I SAID KEEP GOING. BLOW UP HIS TANK. KILL HIM NOW.”

She was alone. No longer with any more tanks to support her. She kept her optics rotating at a faster pace. Batman couldn’t be far. He should be here. Somewhere.

Breathe in. Breathe-

She screamed, her head almost hitting the wall when the tank blew up on the right side. Her coolant systems set off an alarm, the Batman had hit her. The Commander turned her optics to that direction, caught the Batmobile just before it sped off, then fired.

Another hit. But at such a cost. She amplified the three remaining coolant lines and sped down the roads. Y/N slowed her heartbeat, slowed her breaths, focused on the sight in front of her. Focused on what was far.

The tank exploded again. This time from the back. “Knight, he’s trying to overheat the tank.”

“THE ISLAND IS BLOCKED OFF. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. I’M SENDING A SERPENT DRONE. KILL HIM.”

Those last two words, how she’s heard Jason say that to her more than just a few times.

The Commander turned her optics over to her side. He wasn’t there.

But she knew exactly where he was.

That road only led to one place. And on the other side was a dead end. He should pass by an alleyway in just a few moments. The Commander turned her launcher to that side, and waited.

Breathe. Follow the target. Keep breathing.

Her thumbs over the buttons, she kept her optics close. She waited and waited, facing the third coolant to that side to bait the Batmobile. There, he was coming closer.

The hood of the Bat’s tank, snaking to her side thinking she didn’t notice it. “FIRE,” she heard Jason scream into her ear.

She can end this now, it was much too easy. She pulled on the lever, her thumb hovering over the button. And then-

And then-

Uncle. He was at the front seat of the Batmobile. And he was looking at her. And he was so thin it didn’t even look like him anymore.

How many hundreds of lives has she taken?

How many thousands has she hurt?

How many daughters left without a father?

How many wives has she widowed?

How many millions will be left without hope?

How many in this city will suffer if she fires?

There have always been consequences, but none with stakes higher than this.

All that doubt, the guilt after pulling the trigger and leaving bodies left alone, it was all balled up in one. Crucial. Second.

The one second the Dark Knight needed.

Everything she’s worked for, trained for her whole life, thrown out into a deep dark hole. The Commander blindly fired at the Batmobile and slammed her head against the steel of the cockpit when the left side of the tank exploded.

And she had just one coolant left.

The alarms deafened her ears. And she was almost never deafened. It mimicked the panic of her heart racing, Jason’s voice violently screaming into her ear. The tank trembled immensely, and for once, she no longer knew what to do.

The Batmobile was alive. Somewhere in the island.

She missed.

All the voices in her head. The Arkham Knight. Scarecrow. Deathstroke. Floyd Lawton. They all screamed at her. Her hands were shaking. She’s never missed a shot at anything for so long. Everything moved too fast, too strong for her to block off. She turned off her communicators, kept her heartbeat steady.

But she couldn’t hear Floyd’s voice any longer. He’d left her. And she was alone, shaking with the tank so close to giving out. She grabbed the handles and turned around.

Just for the Batman to fire at the last coolant. The one right at her front.

She hit her head. Again. Everything was too much of a blur. She couldn’t control her breathing, or her heart. She moved the cloudburst, finding someplace where the Bat couldn’t find her.

Five missiles locked onto her. The tank was barely holding up. Everything around her went red, and her head so painfully throbbing she couldn’t see or hear anything more.

She turned on her communicators.

“Jason…”

“I’M ON MY WAY, COMMANDER. STAY ALIVE.”

She heard him scream at Batman on the other end. And she felt three more missiles hit her from behind.

Sparks were emitting out of the Cloudburst and the whole tank was shaking off the ground. It no longer moved.

And she could smell it. The toxin. It was the worst thing she’s ever breathed in her whole life. The Commander clawed on her own throat, begging for some air. She hurried up the hatch, fighting the pain in her own head. She collapsed on the tank before she could breathe anything more.

Everything was dark. And her nightmares flashed like speeding pictures projected onto a screen.

There were ghosts, floating above and around her, mauling her body and pulling her up where she could no longer stand. And she couldn’t move. There were birds, screeching into her ear, and their claws were so sharp she could feel them scratch at her open flesh, pulling out her skin. And they flew over her fast, circling around her.

At the farthest end of the sky, something so miniscule, yet so visible. It was speeding right towards her and she could do so much as move her head to narrowly avoid it. It shined a glistening silver and it was burning. Y/N could just feel how hot it was from the speed. It was a bullet.

Being on the other side of the gun. That was what she feared the most.

Bullets entered her bloodstream, too many for her to count. Onto her chest, her stomach, her arms, her legs, her neck, her spine, her face. Every hit pierced through her like a thick needle and it froze her muscles at they made contact with her body. She screamed, a horrifying scream. Some settled on her flesh, on her skin, some resting on her head. She could feel the bullets enter her, her own blood spilling and her nerves so close to giving out. Every inch of her being tugged into a stinging burst, and the cold metal the bullets almost froze her muscles.

Y/N’s spine was hit, and she couldn’t feel anything on her lower body, even when so many bullets pierced her foot, she’d never be able to walk anyways. Her bones were shattered and her face, ruined by the explosives landing right at her cheeks.

She was laying on the ground. Y/N couldn’t move.

She’s seen this happen. And she’s caused this kind of pain to so many others.

Now she knows what it was like.

She screamed, openly at the abyss, at the birds flying above her like a tornado and her own voice painfully tugging at her throat. She saw Floyd, staring at her, and she couldn’t stop screaming.

Over. And over. And over.

She felt something carrying her up a rooftop, and the Batman crashing to the ground beside her. Her lungs gave out just as she saw the Arkham Knight get to her, leaving the Bat on the ground.

Xxxxxx

One. Two. Three.

She was unconsciously counting in her head. Just up to three, then she’d trail back to where she started.

It was like a knife was stabbing at her temple and went out the other side. Handle and all. Y/N felt her eyes about to open, but she wanted them still closed. She didn’t want to look if she was dead. Or worse, alive and hunted.

Everyone will be out to kill her.

Y/N’s eyes shot open.

She was in a room she didn’t know. And it was dark.

The department store. The Arkham Knight Headquarters. In an abandoned furniture store where none of her soldiers were staying in. It was small, barely enough for a closet, a dining table, and a couch, which was where she was lying on.

She had an oxygen mask strapped to her mouth. And every part of her ached when she sat up. But her body wasn’t ruined. She wasn’t shot. Only the sides of her arms and her head were bruised when she’d hit the cockpit walls in the tank after it exploded.

After she lost.

The door open. And the man that went inside looked out for anyone following him.

“Jason…”

He hurriedly shut the door. “Don’t fucking speak. If anyone finds you here, you're dead.”

Y/N immediately looked away. He didn’t even look at her. Jason pulled the visor off his head and placed it on the table, along with a large duffel bag.

He had his eyes closed shut.

“Jason, his tank was nothing like we’d expecte-“

“Shut up.”

She choked, looking straight at the wall.

“You knew how much he hurt me.”

Y/N hugged her chest, but even that was too painful to do. She just laid on the couch and looked up at the ceiling.

“You knew how much I want him dead.”

“I…”

“I SAID SHUT UP.”

She stilled, feeling her wrists quake.

“I told Scarecrow you didn’t survive. Just so he wouldn’t come after you. Then I watched the footage on the Cloudburst…”

“I’m sorry-“

“You missed,” he cried. “He got away because you missed.”

It was something else other than her own hand holding her chest so tightly, because it was so painful she could feel it twist.

“All this would’ve been okay if I DIDN’T KNOW YOU NEVER MISSED A SHOT.”

His fist slammed against the wall. And the hole was large enough to almost collapse the ceiling above it.

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

He was screaming. Never mind what he said about being quiet.

And it dawned on her. Jason didn’t want Y/N on the Cloudburst, and she thought it was because he wanted her safe. That it would be too much for her.

But he wanted to be on the Cloudburst so he could guarantee Batman would be dead. It was never about her.

Stupid. Fucking stupid.

“That means that somewhere there,” he pointed at her head. “Somewhere, you felt guilty about all this. You hesitated. YOU HESITATED. Of all the times I’ve asked you to kill, YOU HESITATED WHEN IT MEANT THE MOST. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH HE’S MADE ME SUFFER. AND YOU JUST LET HIM LIVE.”

Jason knelt on the ground, and her muscles were too sore to move. She forced herself up, trying to reach for his head, but he pushed her hands away and she winced at the pain. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, but only on her own. ‘I would never let him hurt you again.’

Floyd’s protégé.

The Militia Commander.

Deadshot.

The machine she was raised to be. The assassin with the best aim. The world renowned.

Crying helplessly like a spineless nobody.

She wasn’t the best marksman in the world. She was nothing. Y/N failed at the most important job she’s ever been given.

“He thought it was me in that tank. We had just enough time to get Gordon.”

His voice was blank. He didn’t see much in her anymore. Y/N could tell by the look on his eyes. Jason dropped a large duffel bag on the ground in front of her.

“One point five million dollars. Take it and get out of here.”

He threw her white mask and gun optics on top of the bag. The tears wouldn’t stop pouring out of her. But she was no longer screaming. She looked blankly out in the open and heard the door shut.

And just like that, she lost everything.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive @lucy-roo

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bibliocratic · 5 years

Note

Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion. He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully. He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion.

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights. On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #tma #prompt fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #soulmates au #sort of #episode 160 minor spoilers i guess

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Rose Bushes

Part Four: Mayhem

Word Count: 8.7K+

Author’s Note: *vine music intensifies* hi... how y’all doing?... For real though, thanks for waiting. I’ve been going through some stuff (if you see my blog you’ll be able to tell) and I needed time to think, to take care of myself, to do a bunch of stuff really. But here is chapter four, I left you on a cliffhanger like season three did and I apologise. I hope y’all enjoy, next up is Minimal Loss so keep an eye out for the notification!

Warning: terrorism, death, threat of death, descriptions of blood and gore, bombing.

More chapters can be found here. [updated when i can]

Terrorism has become the systematic weapon of a war that knows no borders or seldom has a face. – Jacques Chirac

New York City, New York.

Y/N Clarkson was not one to admit she was scared. Through the past 26 years of her life, she had held fast to the belief that fear was weakness. She didn’t flinch when she was 14 and saw a man shot in the street; she refused to cry at the funeral of her fallen friends due to war, or murder, or suicide; she didn’t flinch when the bombs went off in Basra, killing dozens of innocent civilians and first responders when Almusif hit the Iraqi city a year and a half before. And whether it was her mind growing accustomed to the quiet of gunshots compared to explosions, or because she was finally accepting the men and women she worked alongside as family, she couldn’t know for certain.

But when a rumble caused her and Morgan’s SUV to tremble on the road, when a bang came out of nowhere and sent Clarkson’s ears rattling, when smoke rose from only a few streets over into the night sky, Y/N had never been more terrified.

It took both her and Morgan a second to comprehend the noise, both readying themselves to head back to the FBI Field Office, to reconvene with their teammates on the pre-emptive measures the protection details in the city were putting into place come the morning. But by the sound of the explosion, and the fear both Morgan and Clarkson wore on their faces, they worried if they were too late.

“Is anyone there? Team, do you copy?!” Morgan was first to react, shouting into the radio as he began the car, heading towards the smoke. His voice was frantic, cracking as he called out. His friends, his family, were spread across the city, and a bomb had just gone off.

“Safe and heading back.” Garcia came through first; she had been picking up some essentials for a night at the field office a few blocks away. “Derek, is everything ok?” She asked, her car slowing at a red light to watch police cars and ambos speed past her. “Oh God.”

“Reid, Prentiss, JJ? You guys ok? Hotch, Rossi?” Morgan asked again, his knuckles skin on bone with how tightly he gripped the radio, putting on his own lights to speed through. “We heard the explosion, heading there now.”

“All good here. I can see the smoke.” Prentiss came through, the radio going silent after that, no doubt due to a jam in the frequency. Morgan got himself closer and closer to the smoke, but when pedestrian foot traffic became too much, Clarkson opted to, without a word spoken, open the passenger side door of the barely moving car and jump out into the street, running through the crowds towards the smoke.

“Clarkson!” Morgan yelled from his position, muttering a soft dammit as he rushed to unbuckle his seatbelt and follow. He was fast, but Clarkson was running faster, and had a head start.

All that seemed to go through the young agent’s mind as she jumped out the car and ran was an overwhelming sense of worry. Her feet pounded on the tarmac beneath as she ran, blooding pumping hot through her veins and her ears still ringing from the noise she had almost managed to forget. She pushed through the crowds, not caring very much for onlookers’ safety, and received a fair amount of complaints from New Yorkers eager to see the newest crime scene of the unknown killers.

Despite the fact that the entire city was scared, morbid curiosity ruled over a need of safety.

Clarkson skidded to a stop as she reached the street, police barricades already set up around the mayor’s office: where one of her team had headed for only twenty minutes before. She watched in horror as a black SUV sat at the side of the road, engulfed in flames that lit up figures stood in the darkness: the explosion had blown the surrounding street lamps.

She knew immediately it was Joyner and Hotch’s car: she had seen the rest of the team leave, knew where they were headed, knew that Joyner and Hotch were meant to be there. Aaron and Kate... Clarkson moved her way to the front of the forming crowd, coming face to face with police. Through the haze of the car, she could make out two figures standing, but little else.

“Let me through.” She demanded, flashing her credentials to the cop, one she remembered from around the NYPD Headquarters, but he shook his head in response, blocking her path.

“We can’t let anyone past, Agent. Special orders.” The cop replied, and Clarkson gulped. Her presentation, the warning she had made her team aware of that first responders were targeted in Basra. She was the reason none of the police had entered the street, why an awaiting ambulance hadn’t moved.

“I don’t give a shit about your orders, let me-” Clarkson demanded, stopping short when she heard a familiar voice, usually unwavering, yelling towards the police barricade.

“OFFICER DOWN!” Hotch yelled from the street, the figure now knelt over a shadow on the road. Kate… Hotch wasn’t leaving her any time soon, even with the threat of a second bomb going off, Clarkson knew that. “WE NEED SOME HELP! WE CANNOT MOVE!”

Hotch was bleeding, he knew that. In fact, at that point in time, Garcia knew it too. She had managed to get in contact with Rossi and Reid, and Prentiss and Morgan, with only JJ and Hotch unaccounted for. When she had logged in to the surveillance command centre at an outpost a few blocks north near the NYPD headquarters, she had watched the explosion alongside Officer Bartleby of the NYPD. The pair had witnessed the explosion that injured both Joyner and Hotch through grainy black and white.

“Sam, you need to get out of the area.” Hotch ordered. A young man, in his mid-twenties who went by Sam, had stopped to try and assist, and had called 911. He was the shadowy figure Clarkson couldn’t pinpoint, and now hovered over Hotch and Kate as Hotch held a bleeding artery in Kate’s back closed, the BAU unit chief doing his best to stop the bleeding of his work mate, who currently couldn’t feel her legs.

“I just want to help.” Sam pleaded, and Hotch snapped his head towards the police barricade.

“If you want to help, get somebody down here.” Hotch ordered, Sam sent running towards the police barricade. “Kate, I need you to wake up.” Hotch begged of his old friend, who slipped in and out of consciousness beneath him. “Stay with me. Stay with me…”

“I feel cold…” Kate managed through a laugh and a shiver, her eyes focusing on nothing in particular, her movements few and far between. “It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? That I feel cold.” The feigned humour had left the Brit’s voice, overcome by the sense of dread. “Like in the cinema.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, but I think I’ve got it stopped.” Hotch tried to reassure her, looking up again to see Sam had reached the barricade.

“Wait… That’s not right, it’s the movies. You, you say movies, not cinema.” Joyner corrected herself, interrupting Hotch’s attempt to relax her with more delirious questioning. “Why-why would you have a different word for…” She was cut off by a sudden pain that caused her to gasp, and Hotch to hold onto her shoulder with his bloody hand a little tighter.

“I’m gonna try to lift you and just-” Hotch began, and as he began to lift, his grip on the artery was lost, and Kate quickly fell unconscious. “WE’RE HERE, PLEASE! PLEASE!” He yelled again, finally spotting movement on the police barricade, and an unknown individual began to yell.

“So you’re in charge here?” Clarkson snapped as the highest ranking officer gripped onto her arm, a Captain Warner. “I will say it again, I don’t give a shit what your orders are, sir.”

“Agent, your team gave us the orders to follow, why don’t you follow them yourself? Head back to one of the marshalling offices, let the rest of your team know where you are-” Warner was coarse, and stubborn in his words.

“I assume you were Army. Marines maybe?” She asked, and the Captain let go of her arm. Clarkson turned to look at him, fixing her blazer into place. “Has the principle changed? Do we leave men behind now?” She asked, and the pair shared a glare, each challenging the other. But Clarkson was determined, and as Morgan rounded the corner, breathing heavy, Hotch called out again.

“WE’RE HERE! DAMMIT WE ARE HERE!”

“Go.” Warner granted permission, Clarkson rushing past the barricades with Morgan on her tail, and a hovering pedestrian pushing past a few police officers to join. Clarkson could gauge from her peripheral that he was the man who had ran back minutes before, who had been begging for an ambulance.

Clarkson fell to her knees across from Hotch, clasping Kate’s limp hand in her own.

“Hotch.” Morgan came next, then Sam, who lifted Kate’s head onto his knees and, without missing a beat, tried to shake her awake gently.

“We need to get her out of here.” Hotch explained, the pooling blood from Kate’s body staining Clarkson and Hotch’s trousers, soaking their knees through the material.

“They won’t let any ambulances down here Hotch, it’s not safe.” Morgan moved the kid away, taking his position instead. “Kid, you have gotta get behind those barricades and stay. Go.” He ordered, but Clarkson gave him a final nod, and Sam scarpered to safety.

“Can we carry her?” Clarkson asked, her voice cracking as she spoke. “Aaron, can we carry her?” She asked again, looking between Morgan and Hotch.

“No, I tried… She’ll bleed to death if we don’t get her out of here.” Hotch exhaled, sweat beads starting to appear on his forehead. He was exhausted, a mixture of shock and injury, and his full attention was on keeping her artery gripped tight between his fingers. “We gotta do something.”

All of a sudden, Morgan’s phone rang, causing Hotch and Clarkson to look up.

“Garcia.” He answered. “I got Hotch. But listen to me, you gotta get somebody down here right away, you hear me? Right now.” Morgan demanded, his eyes darting up as Garcia relayed information. “What?” He glanced past Clarkson to see Sam hovering by the exploded car, nowhere near the barricade. “You’re absolutely sure?” He asked again. Another glance up, and through the fire and smoke Morgan could just make out the smug look on Sam’s face. Morgan snapped his phone shut.

“What is it?” Clarkson asked, her eyes following Morgan’s to Sam.

“The kid. He’s the bomber.” Morgan explained, and with a second to think, Hotch nodded, Morgan disappearing to chase down their unsub, who had started to sprint from the crime scene.

“Hotch, look at me.” Clarkson demanded once Morgan was gone, sirens approaching from the distance. The older man looked up at his young recruit, who kneeled across from him. He had been so worried for her joining the team, and yet they had become a part of the situation she knew best: Clarkson was the only one of the BAU who had lived through a bombing like this. “I’m going to go find something that will work as a backboard, we can try moving her then.” Clarkson suggested, to Hotch’s shaking head.

“If my hand slips, Kate’s gone, Y/N. I can’t risk it.” He sighed out, and Clarkson nodded in defeat, opting to help her boss stay upright, supporting his body with her own hands. The sirens continued to get closer, from the direction Morgan had disappeared in after Sam, and only a minute or so later an ambulance drove through the police barricade, stopping and parking beside the trio of federal agents. The paramedic unpacked quickly, jogging over to them with a medical bag.

“She’s got an arterial bleed in her back and I’m doing my best to hold it closed.” Hotch explained, and the paramedic kneeled beside Clarkson to take Kate’s pulse.

“You both alright?” He asked, the pair nodding, and he moved his hand from her neck, starting to open his bag. “Her pulse is weak and thread. I’m gonna need your help, ok?” He asked. Neither agent refused: they would do anything they could to keep Joyner alive.

“Is the area clear?” Clarkson asked, and the paramedic shook his head.

“I couldn’t listen to your calls for help anymore. My partner was too afraid to come in here with me.” He explained, glancing up. “I volunteered.”

NYPD Marshalling Spot, New York City, New York.

“These are stills from all the murder sites.” Rossi spoke up, looking over the boards he and Reid had reconstructed in the past thirty minutes. The building around them was buzzing with activity, cops and FBI agents alike working together to cover the last eight murder spots with police and cordon them off. Both agents knew the previous hits were to gauge response times, that there would likely be a threat of suicide bombers at each sight. A first eight to kill and injure as many as possible, and a second eight to hurt first responders.

“Morgan got Garcia and I on radio then the system crashed.” Emily said breathlessly as she ran through the door, looks of relief shared on Rossi and Reid’s faces at the sight of their teammate.

“Emily!” Another voice came, JJ this time, appearing from the other direction.

“Oh thank God you’re alright.” Emily smiled weakly, glad to see the blonde Garcia had failed to gain contact with. “Where’s Will?”

“He’s stuck at the airport. As soon as I heard I went to the field office, they’re evacuating the building.” JJ explained, confused by what was going on. One moment, she was kissing her boyfriend goodbye as he headed off for Washington D.C, the next she was racing around the city trying to find any one of her teammates. “Where is everyone?”

“Morgan and Clarkson are alright; we haven’t got anything from Hotch or Joyner.” Reid explained, only to be interrupted by a laggy voice on the other side of a computer: Garcia, based around a mile away from them in the comms command centre.

“The bomber, the bomber. Derek is chasing after the bomber.” Garcia interjected.

“What?”

“The bomb- it was under Kate’s SUV. Hotch and Clarkson are out there with her. They’re both ok but Kate seems rally hurt. Hotch won’t move her.” Garcia explained.

“Where was Kate’s SUV parked?” Rossi asked, leaned over the computer.

“2 blocks east of Federal Plaza, near the mayor’s office.” Garcia informed, causing Prentiss to raise an eyebrow.

“2 blocks east and they target Kate’s SUV?” It didn’t make sense, not with two prominent buildings so close in range. As Prentiss questioned, Reid added another point onto his geographic profile.

“Have you I.D’ed the bomber?” Rossi asked again.

“Lisa’s running him and the dead guy through VICAP.” Garcia stuttered through, and Rossi directed his attention to Prentiss and JJ, who stood waiting for orders.

“Call Homeland Security. They should be at all the murder sites. See if they found anything.” Rossi instructed JJ, who turned on her heel for the nearest phone. “Garcia, find out how we can help Morgan.”

“Yes sir.” Garcia nodded, beginning to type away on screen, stopping for a moment to examine something in front of her. “They’re moving Kate. An ambo just arrived, Clarkson and Hotch and helping the medic move her in.” She narrated, giving the team a slice of hope that some form of medical had arrived.

“Keep us updated, Garcia.” Prentiss asked, turning to examine Reid’s board.

New York, New York.

“I’m going to clamp that artery. When I say move, move your hand and get as far out of my way as you can, you got it?” The paramedic instructed Hotch. They had managed to get Joyner on her side, and Clarkson had taken on the responsibility of fetching a gurney and extra medical supplies from the ambulance. Hotch didn’t glance back when Clarkson returned with more supplies, her work clothes, much like Aaron’s own, covered in Kate’s blood.

They looked like victims from a horror movie, and in some ways, they were.

“Ok, move.” The paramedic ordered, Hotch’s hand pulling as far back as possible at the same time the paramedic clamped the artery shut. “I need to get a bag in and start getting her pressure up.” He explained, Clarkson handing over the required equipment without saying a word. Hotch looked up to her for the first time, his eyes watering.

“She’ll be fine, Aaron. You did well.” Clarkson assured, helping him to his feet. She would have said more, but a lump had formed in her throat, denying any more sound to exit in fear of tears following.

“I’ll need one of your driving.” The paramedic asked, and Hotch nodded, taking on the task and heading to the driver’s cab of the ambulance, leaving Clarkson to assist in moving Kate. She and the paramedic shared a glance, of worry more than anything: whether it was for Hotch and his own injuries, or for the fact Kate had lost far too much blood, neither cared to find out.

“On three, we lift. I’ll need you watching her airway and readings on the drive over, alright?” He said, and Clarkson nodded once more. With a countdown and a hoist, the pair lifted Agent Joyner into the ambulance, moving as quickly as they could while Hotch revved the engine and readied to go, sirens already on and flashing. “Gently, gently…” The paramedic reminded, Clarkson making sure to set Joyner down with care before pulling the ambulance doors shut behind her.

With the slam of the back doors and the paramedic giving a thumbs up to Hotch after securing Kate in place, Hotch sped off the scene, trying not to focus on his slippery grip on the steering wheel thanks to Kate’s blood, or the pounding in his head from the explosion. He had a goal, a mission: to get his friend to the hospital and save her life. That was all that mattered.

“Where’s the nearest emergency room?” Aaron called back, the paramedic instructing Clarkson while he worked to stabilise Kate.

“Saint Barclay’s.” He called out.

“Where?”

“Saint Barclay’s.” Clarkson repeated for both the sake of Hotch and the paramedic. The paramedic spoke quietly to Clarkson as he worked, giving directions to the hospital, which she then relayed to Hotch in the front. “ Four blocks uptown, one block east. Emergency entrance is under the hospital, in the basement. Follow the signs for the E.R.”

“Agent, I need you to hold this.” The paramedic called, and Clarkson returned to her post, holding up an IV bag pumping liquid into her dying superior officer. “Hey, look who’s back.” The paramedic commented, and Clarkson’s eyes shot over. Kate’s eyes opened, and despite her semi-conscious state, her hand went straight to Clarkson’s, gripping it as tight as possible.

“Kate, it’s alright. You’re doing so well.” Clarkson cooed, blinking back tears from her eyes. Her time with Kate as a younger woman was brief, and their friendship somewhat superficial, but seeing Joyner conscious again felt like a reunion of long lost souls.

“Is she awake?” Aaron called from the front, speeding through another set of red lights.

“Is that Aaron?” Kate whispered, and Clarkson was quick to nod and squeeze her hand tighter.

“It is… We’re getting you to the hospital. You made it.” Clarkson smiled, and Kate’s eyes drifted to the paramedic.

“Thank you…” She croaked out, the paramedic taking her other hand.

“Don’t thank me, thank these two, they did it all.” He assured, Hotch taking a hard turn and the hospital coming into sight. “Are we close, Agent?” The paramedic called to the front, not able to see what Aaron was witnessing in front of him.

The entire emergency entrance of St. Barclay’s Hospital was barricaded off by police cars and men in suits not unlike those that Aaron and Clarkson wore. One man held his hand up for Aaron to stop the ambulance, to which the Agent complied, and approached the driver's side window.

“What’s this?” Hotch asked, visible confusion on his face.

“Secret service. We’re directing all emergencies over to Lennox Hill.” The agent, a burly man with a goatee and a flashlight shining into Hotch’s eyes explained. The BAU Unit Chief paused for a moment to process the information.

“I’m SSA Hotchner. I have SSA Joyner on board. She was injured in the bomb blast near Federal Plaza.” He tried explaining, a hand being held up to stop his rambled speaking.

“Credentials.” The Secret Service Agent asked, and Hotch’s face dropped as he checked his pockets.

“They’re in my jacket at Federal Plaza.” He explained.

“I appreciate that Agent but this hospital is on a strict bypass.” The Agent stopped him once more, and before Hotch could question any more, Clarkson’s head appeared through the window between the cab and the back of the ambulance.

“SSA Clarkson. Our patient just lost consciousness. She has lost enough blood to fill another human being, she needs surgery now.” Clarkson demanded, holding out her own credentials, the leather casing dripping with Joyner’s blood. A glance at the credentials, and the sound of beeps from the back of the ambo caused the agent to hesitate slightly.

“WE’RE LOSING HER!” The paramedic yelled from the back. “Agent I need you!” He pleaded, and Clarkson disappeared to help in stabilising Kate once more. Another Agent had cleared the back of the ambulance, and with a nod of approval, the goateed agent by the driver’s window let out a sigh and gestured for the barricades to be moved.

“Open it up!” He ordered through the radio, the agents moving the barricades and cars to allow Hotch a clear entry into the emergency entrance, the seasoned agent letting out a shaky breath of relief as he sped forward. “This is Delta 2, I need immediate E.R attendance.” He called through the radio as the ambulance passed, alerting the staff inside.

What happened next was a blur for Hotch, but not Clarkson. The minute Hotch had stopped the car, E.R nurses were opening the back doors, pushing her out of the way to lift the gurney, now with Kate and the paramedic on it as the latter began CPR, onto a trolley and out onto the tarmac. Another nurse ushered her out of the ambo, closing the doors behind Clarkson before running after their critical patient. Hotch hovered by the doors for a few moments, but Clarkson rushed in, following behind as doctors and surgeons flocked to follow Joyner into surgery.

“What have you got?” A doctor yelled as they went through another set of doors, and Clarkson watched chaos unfold that reminded her so much of the Basra bombing, only with more fluorescent lights and cleaner surfaces. The hospital wasn’t covered in blood of other victims, after all.

“BP 50 over 30. She’s bradycardic with severe spinal injury.” The paramedic informed, doctors rushing the trolley down the corridor away from Clarkson, who had finally slowed her feet to a halt, Hotchner not far behind her. The words that words being thrown around made little sense to her, and instead she tuned them out, walking over to the other side of the nurse’s desk and picking up the phone, taking a moment before remembering what telephone number to dial.

“This is SSA Y/N Clarkson with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Could you put me through to the closest Marshalling Office to the Federal Plaza?” Clarkson asked, looking up as she went on hold. “Hotch?”

And like that, with little warning or evidence, Hotch collapsed onto the hospital floor, blood pooling from his side. The next moments were slow motion for Clarkson: from the dropping of the phone in her hand as someone picked up, to the rushing to Hotch by herself and nurses nearby. It felt like she couldn’t go fast enough, couldn’t stop him from hitting the ground, couldn’t get her hands over the bleed in Hotch’s abdomen quick enough. Her cries of his name came out distorted, like she was a thousand miles away, shouting into the void, and when a male orderly pulled her back for doctors to get in and lift Hotch away, the scream she let out rang in her head, bouncing around until everything went silent, and the grip on her arms was replaced with a fabric covering.

No one knew quite what to do with the young woman covered in blood, clutching onto a badge, her credentials, so they left her. She was moved to a nearby bed, a blanket draped over her shoulders, a cup of water on the table beside her, in the line of sight of the nurses’ station, but far away enough to not have to listen to the conversation the nurse shared with a concerned FBI agent on the phone’s other end.

—

NYPD Marshalling Spot, New York City, New York.

“Morgan’s safe.” Prentiss related to the team as they sat in a far corner of the building, somewhat secluded from the chaos around them. It was the first bit of good news they had received all evening, trying to run point on a situation they constantly felt three steps behind in.

“Thank God.” Someone responded offhandedly, none of them taking the time to acknowledge who it was exactly.

With her was Reid, Rossi, JJ and Brustin, the last had come from the hospital after Cooper assured him he was needed elsewhere. Boards surrounded them as Reid paced back and forth, files were scattered over the table. They were playing catch up.

“This is the unsub Morgan chased into the subway, this is the one Prentiss shot.” Reid nodded in thanks as an officer handed him a file, photos of Sam, the bomber from earlier. “Garcia is running them through VICAP.”

“These are smart, well-educated kids, hand picked and trained to be martyrs. They’re not going to be on any government file and they won’t have rap sheets.” Rossi commented, leaning back in his chair, trying to piece together the puzzle. There was something sat on his tongue, a question he didn’t know to ask.

“Hotch and Kate are at Saint Barclay’s with Clarkson.” JJ joined the group from a phone call, her upteenth one of the evening. She looked as frazzled as the rest of them, but no one would have said as much. They were all stressed.

“How are they?” Prentiss asked, looking up from a laptop in front of her, awaiting results to be sent through by Garcia, and watching news sources.

“Kate is in surgery, Hotch is being treated in the ER… Clarkson’s out of it, that’s what I got from the nurse.” JJ said with a slight shrug, and Prentiss nodded. “Morgan’s on his way down there now.”

“The media’s reporting this as a failed attack on the Mayor’s Office.” She relayed to the team, met by a scoff from Rossi.

“Well, it’s not.”

“They’re not the only ones.” Brustin chimed up for the first time, his voice lacking emotion, enthusiasm. The gravelly tones were just that, he was too tired to emote. “Homeland Security feels the same way. They found nothing at any of the sites that you told them that these guys were targeting.”

Around an hour ago, after the bomb blast, the BAU directed Homeland Security and police to the eight killing sites, to monitor and be on high alert for suicide bombers. Yet, nothing had happened since Hotch and Kate. There was doubt in the BAU, in the FBI, in anyone in charge. Nothing had happened, at all, and from a look across the room, confusion could be found in every expression.

What were they missing?

“Maybe this thing is over?” Brustin suggested after a pause, but Rossi was quick to interject.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly what they want us to think. As soon as the bomb techs identify the device, I want to know about it.” Rossi demanded, met with a nod by Brustin. “Can someone get Clarkson on her cell?”

“I’ve already tried, nothing is coming through. Radio systems are only just coming back up.” JJ responded, and Rossi nodded, pulling a laptop from the centre of the table towards him. It had been replaying the surveillance footage of the car bombing over and over, and he tapped away for a few seconds, before the footage zoomed in on Sam in the background.

“There. Right there, you see it?” He asked Brustin, garnering his attention. From across the table, Prentiss and Reid watched the same footage on the second laptop, the boy genius finally sitting down for the first time that night. “In his hand, he’s using his cell phone.”

“Joyner and Hotch approach the van…” Brustin state’s quite simply, not seeing the wider picture.

“Why not wait until they both get in?” Prentiss asked him.

“Guess they figured they were close enough?”

“Would you wait until they were in it?” Prentiss asked again.

“So far these guys have accomplished nothing.” Reid commented quietly, his eyes glazed over a little, like he was reading something no one else could see, trying to figure out exactly what it was that seemed off.

“Nothing? My partner was shot, Cooper? Eight innocent people were killed, two agents blown up, not to mention Emily’s suicide by cop. Is that not enough?” Brustin questioned the team around him, and it took them a moment to respond, Rossi taking point, and gesturing with a nod to a photo behind Prentiss’ head. A photo of the Twin Towers.

“That was memorable.” He commented, both Prentiss and Reid looking back at his reference. “This isn’t.” Reid stood back up, looking over their information another time, thinking back on what intel they had received from Clarkson. If their profile was wrong, why did it feel correct?

“Clarkson came to the conclusion it was Almusif before any of us, that the attacks then were about killing a politician.” Reid muttered to himself.

“Everything they’ve done so far has appeared to be something it’s not.” Rossi added, causing Reid to turn around and face the team who had listened in to his thoughtful mutters.

“I don’t follow.” Brustin admitted.

“The seemingly random acts of murder, the attempt to hack into our security surveillance systems.” Reid spoke louder this time, Prentiss moving behind him to address a photo on the board.

“This suicide by cop to make us believe it was over.” She added, because while they gained extra information that day that would suggest otherwise, the ultimate goal of that attack was to ‘identify’ the serial killer.

“Don’t forget the death card left for us.” JJ piped up from her position by the phones.

“All diversions.”

“To endure our analysis of any given situation would incorrectly inform our profile.” Reid finished.

“So the first responders weren’t the real targets?” Brustin checked, and Reid nodded.

“Hotch and Kate were a diversion too..” Prentiss offered.

“When Clarkson gave us the insight that one figure was targeted amongst random killings, we had assumed it would be the Mayor. That’s why the bomb went off by his office, he was the target… I’m not so sure that’s the case.” Reid suggested, but before any more discussion could be had, JJ’s phone rang, and the team turned their attention to it.

“It’s Morgan, he wants you guys over there now.” JJ prompted, Prentiss, Reid and Rossi quickly gathering blazers and laptops before heading towards the exit.

“What do we tell Homeland Security?” Brustin called after them.

“Tell them if they love this city as much as you do to keep it locked down. It’s about to get hit.” Rossi offered as a final statement, before following his teammates towards the SUV parked downstairs.

—

Saint Barclay’s Hospital, New York, New York.

Sat on a hospital trolley, counting the seconds between flickers on an overhead light, Clarkson had steadied her breathing and had come back from her momentary lapse in composure. She knew that her refusal to let go of Aaron earlier was most likely linked to the very real fact that she had another colleague on an operating table, and a recently deceased friend: that she didn’t want another one.

However, the doctor had briefed her that Aaron’s injuries were minor, only suffering from shrapnel in his side that had been removed and acute acoustic trauma in one ear.

So she sat in bloodied clothes, her blazer dumped in a bin due to how much of Kate’s blood had soaked into the fabric, her scarred arms were still tinged red and on show, the hem of the shirt bloody like her shoes and trousers.

She looked like a phantom, some terrifying apparition of beauty and death and horror.

“Doc. FBI. How Aaron Hotchner?” A voice called to the nurses station just a little away from Clarkson, and she looked up to see her colleague, her friend, Derek Morgan.

“Morgan.” She called out as such, and Derek rushed over and, rather uncharacteristically for both of them, pulled her into a hug. It was brief, and they quickly separated. “Sam?”

“Dead… He electrocuted himself on the subway tracks.”

“Morgan, I don’t understand why they would target the Mayor and miss. They’re too smart for that.” Clarkson sighed, leading him towards Hotch’s curtained off bed. “He’s got some damage to his right ear drum, and shrapnel pulled from his si-“

Before Clarkson could finish explaining Hotch’s injuries to Morgan, the pair were interrupted by medical staff calling orders, machines beeping, and a familiar voice being raised in protest. Morgan rushes forward, opening up the curtain to find nurses trying to get Hotch back in bed as he removed the wires from his body. Clarkson hung back, watching the scene unfold, not quite sure if her trying to help would do more good than harm.

“Agent Hotchner, lie down.”

“I’m fine, I’m alright!”

“Hotch, stop it, just calm down. Doc, I got it, ok?” Morgan took control of the situation quickly, the doctors and nurses stepping back and returning to their duties, leaving the men to talk one on one.

“Morgan, where’s Kate?”

“She’s in surgery.” Morgan responded to the rather frantic tones of his boss.

“Where are my clothes, please?” Hotch called out, his distress making Morgan concerned and Clarkson somewhat uncomfortable.

“Hotch, your go bag is on its way.”

“Has anything happened since the first blast?” Aaron asked, glancing around and finding his eyes landing on Clarkson, still covered in bloody clothes.

“Nothing.” Morgan answered, footsteps approaching the pair signalling Clarkson’s arrival to the conversation.

“Sam?”

“He’s dead.” Clarkson spoke up, arms folded across her body, sharing a look with Morgan.

“The profile is wrong.” Aaron said decidedly, and Clarkson found herself nodding.

“We know. The rest of the team are on their way, and should be here in the next few minutes. Clarkson, get Hotch some water?” Morgan suggested, knowing that making her useful might stop the pair of them from overthinking.

The team arrived within the next five minutes, and as Aaron left to go change, Clarkson pulled an FBI jacket over her clothes, the blood having dried into the clothes for the most part. JJ had stayed behind for obvious reasons: she was pregnant, and in charge of liaising between law enforcement departments across the city. But as the team entered, Clarkson was hugged for the second time within the hour, this time by Prentiss.

“Is he doing alright?” Emily asked, referring to Hotch. Clarkson nodded softly, fixing the jacket onto her shoulders. “And what about you?” She asked again.

“Me? I’ll be better when we stop whatever is going on.” Clarkson replied quickly, to be met by a doubtful expression from both Prentiss and Rossi, while Reid set up the laptop in the background.

“How you feeling, Hotch?” The question from Morgan introduced Hotch back to the team, and with a few nods shared, the battered Unit Chief has put back on the uniform and returned to his usual, disciplined self.

“Fine, I just want to know why I’m still alive.” He responded, which prompted Spencer to speak up from the back.

“I think the idea was to maim, not to kill.” The young genius posited, which caused Clarkson to glance back. To maim?

“Did you identify the bomber, Sam?” Hotch continued to question, and Clarkson walked over to the nearby water cooler, keeping one ear in on the conversation.

“Garcia put Sam and the other dead unsub into every known database. Nothing.” Spencer responded again, his eyes drifting to follow Clarkson.

“We know how terror cells evolve, they learn from one campaign to the next.” Rossi commented, the words again sticking in Clarkson’s head. Maiming FBI agents, evolving campaigns. “How to stay off radar like the London Bombers.”

“Yeah, but they hit at 8.50 in the morning with a series of coordinated blasts aimed at the London Transportation System, and this cell targeted a lone SUV where the only people on the street are two federal agents.” Hotch reminded, prompting Morgan to speak up.

“It’s not multiple targets, it’s one target. Clarkson told us what happened in Basra.” Morgan chimed in, and Clarkson’s head snapped towards him. She quickly binned the plastic cup of water she had begun to fill, and started away from the group.

“Clarkson?” Reid called, raising an eyebrow at the bizarre behaviour. They didn’t just up and leave by themselves whenever they felt like it, and certainly when not recreating a profile.

“Bathroom.” She said quickly, walking down the hallway without another word spoken. Reid wondered if he should go after her, or point it out, but the team were moving on quickly with their deductions.

“Garcia said the device was placed under Kate’s SUV.” Rossi added, prompting Reid to provide scientific knowledge, and push Clarkson’s odd behaviour to the back of his mind.

“It was likely made using oxidising agents, including chromates, peroxides, perchlorates, chlorates, and red mercury, all jammed into a device no larger than a cell phone.” Reid explained.

“Imagine what a bomb the size of an oil drum could do.” Morgan sighed.

“But to make something that big you’d need a chemical engineer.” Hotch countered, prompting Rossi to look over a file he had brought with him.

“Like the recently deceased Doctor Azahari Husin, Asia’s most wanted bomb maker and the engineer for Almusif a year and a half ago?” Rossi offered, and Hotch took the file to look over. “Authorities subbed him the “Demolition Man”.” As Hotch read, Rossi continued. “He treated each bomb like a work of art. One wrong move, he becomes a victim of his own creation.”

“He’ll be more revered than all the people who died from his devices.” Prentiss posed, and looked at Hotch for confirmation. “Stop the bomber, stop the bomb.”

“Hotch…” Reid gestured to the laptop screen, the BAU Unit Chief watching a replay of events from just hours before play out on the screen.

“Did you find Sam’s cell phone?” He asked, looking back down at the file.

“Yes.” Morgan replied.

“Did he call 911?”

“No, just an unknown number six times.”

“Garcia tracked the number but it was a disposable cell, it went dead minutes after Sam died.” Reid added, everyone’s gaze focusing on the photo Hotch’s hands held up from the file. A photo of their bomb maker.

“This… this is our paramedic.” Hotch said slowly, pointing to the photo attached to the file. “Strict Bypass.”

“What?” Rossi asked.

“This hospital is on a strict bypass, the secret service almost stopped us getting in.” Hotch started a march along the hallway to the main reception area of the hospital, the team quick to follow. “I drove the bomb in here, it’s the ambulance… The target is whoever’s in this hospital.”

—

“Hey, who have you got in here?” Morgan demanded from the goateed Agent Hotch spoke to earlier that night, the team collectively rounding a corner and stopping in front of the main reception, where the secret service were monitoring cameras.

“Why is that information important to you?” He snapped back.

“The ambulance I drove in here, where is it now?” Hotch questioned, moving past bickering. It didn’t matter who was being targeted, but rather they had discovered it.

“In the basement, why?”

“There’s a bomb in it.” Prentiss got straight to the point. “It’s rigged to assassinate whoever it is you’re protecting. You need to get them and everyone else out of here right now.”

“We can’t do that, he’s undergoing surgery as we speak.” The goateed agent swore under his breath, then ordered his men to start clearing medical staff out.

“The paramedic I came in with, do you have eyes on him?” Hotch asked, a younger agent nodding and pulling up a screen with the paramedic, Doctor Azahari Husin, in the ICU. “Is that a cell in his hands?”

“Garcia, can you remote access the cell phone grid I’m in and jam all the frequencies?” Rossi questioned down the radio, the emergency frequencies set up for the team on their drive to the hospital.

“Yeah, I can, but only for a short period of time.” Garcia responded into the ears of her team in moments, tucked away and safe in an NYPD Command Centre Outpost somewhere nearby.

“There’s a bomb in the basement of this building Garcia.” Rossi responded, prompting a gasp from the tech analyst that shot her and Officer Bartleby to work.

“Look, he’s coming back.” Prentiss pointed out as alarms started going off, evacuating the hospital. Garcia worked quickly, and after only a few moments of nothing, everyone had lost signal on their cells. “He’s going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to.”

“We move out, find our bomb maker-“ Hotch stopped, looking around. “Where’s Clarkson?”

“She left a few minutes ago…” Reid said softly, and Rossi gestured to the screen, showing a clip of Clarkson moving down a flight of stairs at speed towards the basement.

“She’s going for the ambulance.” Rossi glanced around Hotch, wondering what the next step would be.

“We find Husin. Let’s head down.” Hotch ordered, the five agents moving towards the stairwell. As the team headed for the basement, the goateed Agent started shouting orders to his own officers, sending every available man into action.

Levels below, a young agent rounded a corner, coming face to face with an ambulance. Her hair was tied back, her FBI jacket covered her bloody clothes and hid a shiver that passed through her body. Her steps were near silent, her gun cocked and ready in front of her as she surveyed, looking and listening for any form of life beside herself.

She had figured it out before the team, but she had come face to face with Almusif before, studied the files before, and a theory pieces together in her head bit by bit. It was only when she raised herself up onto the back step of the ambulance to look inside, and upon seeing the bench she had sat on hours before was covering an intricate bomb did she let out a curse.

Signals can only be blocked for so long, not long enough to get Kate out of surgery, not long enough to get her team somewhere safe. She had heard Garcia like the rest of the team, and without another thought, Clarkson marched towards the driver’s seat and opened the door, climbing into the literal death van.

“Hey there, Rainbow Girl.” Were the words her teammates heard through the radio, directed at Garcia as Clarkson searched through the driver’s cab and found a set of keys, tucked into the visor by Hotch no doubt.

“Clarkson, what’s wrong?” Was the reply that came through, and before Clarkson could refute, Garcia added. “You never use nicknames with me.”

“I need a favour. Find me the nearest clearing. Somewhere that can be cleared of civilians quickly.” Clarkson requested, and her team listened as an engine turned on over the radio.

“What are you doing, Clarkson?” A male voice demanded to know over the radio, the whispered tones coming from, surprisingly, Reid of all people.

“I’m driving an ambulance for the first time.” Clarkson responded, taking a shaky breath. Her grip on the wheel was firm, she wouldn’t be swayed now.

“Just floor it north and I’ll call directions out as you go.” Garcia sighed, and Clarkson pulled out of the space, wasting no time in upping her acceleration towards the exit.

“Thanks Garci-“ Gunshots cut off the audio, and Clarkson sped up as a bullet shattered her wing mirror.

“What was that?!” Garcia squeaked over the radio.

“Just keep on the directions Garcia, I’m fine.” Clarkson assured, turning on the sirens and speeding northbound through the late night traffic, leaving the hospital, and her team, far behind.

—

Gunshots ringing through the hospital forced the team into a vigilant jog, making their way down to the basement via the Intensive Care Unit where Husin was last seen. They took the stairs at speed, the five set marking every possible attack point with a gun loaded and ready to kill, and came into the basement to the cries of anguish from who they could only assume was their bomb maker.

Rossi, Hotch and Morgan took one side of the corridor, Prentiss and Reid the other, checking doors as they went to ensure their unsub wasn’t hiding anywhere.

When the loading bay came into view, the rest of the team continued down the hallway while Reid and Prentiss followed the stairs up, the former going first, finding an elevator of dead secret service agents waiting for them. Blood had begun to pool and drip into the elevator shaft, and the goateed agent’s leg was stopping the door from closing. Reid pulled his eyes away despite instincts, his eyes settling on the bloody footprints heading away from the site.

“Prentiss.” He said softly, bringing her attention to the evidence, the pair beginning to follow the trail while in their ears, Garcia started up again.

“Clarkson you have a minute until full coverage, get out now!” She pleaded with their newest and youngest member, but was met with refusal.

“Not yet. I’m almost there I promise. Just count me down Penelope, ok?” Clarkson asked over the radio, though Reid tried to tune it out. The fear in her voice did nothing good for him right now.

Hotch, Rossi and Morgan exited the hallways on the far side of the basement, and they spotted their unsub sat against a fence at about the same time that Reid and Prentiss did.

“Come on… Come on…” the mutters of frustration echoed around the space as the team silently converged in their killer.

“Full coverage in thirty seconds Y/N, I need you to get out.” Garcia demanded down the radio. “Clarkson you have to get out.”

“It’s all fine Garcia, I promise you.” Clarkson said at the same time that Husin’s phone gained signal again, and sent the command to the detonator in the ambulance.

“FBI, hands up.” Rossi demanded, the five agents surrounding Husin. They stood strong, united, and none of them let fear get the better of them as Garcia let out a cry on the headset.

“Oh my God!” She squealed, no doubt witnessing the explosion that the team were feeling below their feet, and hearing from over a mile away.

“Put it down. It’s over.” Hotch instructed Husin, who held a knife to his throat, but he had made it up his mind. The action was quick, remorseless, trained, the blood splattering on the team’s shoes before their unsub’s head slumped forward and his stolen uniform became soaked in his own blood.

The static that filled the ears of the BAU as they looked onto a dead man’s body was deafening, the tension in the air palpable as they awaited any sort of response from Clarkson. Garcia’s terrified words were still ringing in their heads, and the explosion was so big the earth beneath them had trembled for a moment. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

“Garcia, do you have eyes on Clarkson?!” Reid shouted down the radio, the first to enter reality once more, but none of the team reprimanded him. They were all feeling the same way.

“I’ll check.”

Prentiss could feel herself tearing up, Rossi was about to pull out the earpiece altogether in rage, when the static on the radio disappeared, then reappeared again.

“Garcia!” Reid demanded once more, only to be meant by an uncharacteristic response.

“Shit shit shit! Ow!” A familiar voice came through their earpieces, and Morgan had to let out a laugh. In fact, all of the team did, even Garcia in the command outpost could be heard over the radio. There was a moment of silence, followed by a cough. “Apologies for the language… My jacket was on fire. Could somebody please come pick me up?” Clarkson asked over the radio with a relieved laugh, Garcia pinging her location over to Prentiss and Reid, thereby designating them to pick up duty.

“We’ll see you at the hotel later.” Hotch offered to the two agents, who nodded and jogged towards their SUV to pick up their teammate while the rest of the BAU dealt with the mess that was the hospital.

The relief and joy of knowing Clarkson was safe was short lasting when taking into account the chaos around them, and the countless dead by the hands of Almusif.

—

Woodsbridge, Virginia.

Kate’s funeral took place just over two weeks later, but Clarkson didn’t attend. She wouldn’t feel right there, and the team understood. As they went and said their goodbyes, Clarkson spent the day off in her garden, taking her own time to grieve, in her own way. Weeding away the pesky plants that had appeared while she had been gone on cases, power-washing away the moss and turning over the soil on her flower beds. With each rose bush she pruned, her sadness dissipated, and she took time to dig out a new bed on the garden’s west side, planting two new bushes there.

That day was spent well, and when it came time to clear away her tools and make dinner, Clarkson made one last stop at her post box down the drive, wiping her hands free of dirt on a rag before picking out the mail, sifting through bills to find a postcard amongst the letters and parcels.

Her fingers ran over the sharp edges of the rectangular card, depicting a picture of somewhere Y/N had yet to visit in the US: Wamego, Kansas. She made a mental note to ask Dr Reid the next day at work about it as she headed inside, setting the rest of her post down, and walking through to the sparkling clean kitchen with the postcard in hand.

Her name was printed on the back in neat handwriting, but not her address, though she didn’t think it too odd. A number code sat at the bottom, which a neighbour had explained was a new digital address system that kept everything stored on a database the postal service used. She had asked when she first began receiving such postcards, skeptical at first, but soon her fears and suspicions diminished once she came up with an idea of who was sending them. In the top left hand corner, a single rose had been drawn, using felt tips pens that also wrote the message below:

I know you’d love it here in Kansas.

With a smile, and not much more thought put into the postcard, for she knew plenty of army friends who would send cards to her, and had even received some recently from the same addresser.

Instead, she headed upstairs and placed it in a locked study drawer where four more postcards sat, similar to the most recent in design and message, and made her way back downstairs to eat freezer food, a little happier at heart to know someone was thinking of her.

Tags: @ssour-patch-kid @dxbriksx @asapkyndall @sungieeeeeee @viarogers @hommoturttle @random-thoughts-003 @annestine @lyka-k @rottenearly @bethanyb1110 @afuckingshituniverse @criminalsmarts

#criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #cm #cm fic #fanfiction #fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch #derek morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #bau #bau x reader

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pricetagofficial · 4 years

Text

The Archer -Part Eight

Warnings: Language, Rory’s sarcasm, minor exaggeration of science, fluff, a dash of angst, Ivy being Ivy and done with Batman and his shit

Part Nine

Word Count: 4083

Tag list: @idkmanicantenglish @kishony-the-geek @catxsnow @unknowntoanyone @starxfires

A/N: I really like this chapter, and did not find much that needed changed so I am happy.

"I thought you said we weren't going to get caught this time bird brain!?" Grey Arrow shouted as she and Red Robin ran from multiple carnivorous plants.

"I did! But that was before we knew Ivy could power cameras with fucking potatoes and lemons Arrow! Now keep running!" Red Robin shouted.

"Oh, mister super genius isn't such a genius after all! What a shocker." she snapped and fired an explosive arrow behind them to try and slow the plants, only for them to push through and keep coming after them. The mission had been going so smoothly up to ten minutes ago.

"Rory, remember you and Tim are going to be tracking Ivy tonight. Harley may be locked up in Arkham, but she is suspicious enough and we don't have any information on Penguin. Poison Ivy is extremely dangerous and you two are not allowed to engage her alone under any circumstances." Bruce said, looking the two of them down. "Am I understood?" he asked.

Both Rory and Tim gave him a nod. "Yeah, it's just a recon mission, Bruce. We'll be okay." Tim said patting his shoulder. Rory placed her mask on her face as Tim pulled his cowl up and over his head. They decided to share a bike this time so Red Robin hopped on with Grey Arrow getting on behind him.

"You better hold on Arrow," he said and sped off into the night. Grey Arrow quickly wrapped her arms around him, gripping his waist tightly so she didn't fall off. "I told you to hang on."

"Next time, I drive Red," she muttered and held on tight as they two of them drove towards Botanical Gardens where Poison Ivy was currently residing. Pulling into an alley a block away, they hopped off and took to the rooftops. The view of Gotham at night was beautiful, she could totally see the appeal of staying and being a permanent vigilante of Gotham, but Oliver needed her back home.

Red Robin and Grey Arrow jumped across rooftops and rolled into a landing on the roof next to the gardens. Grey Arrow could tell just from looking at it that no one has dared go into it for a very long time. The shrubbery outside was massively overgrown and the bushes were so tall it looked like a maze, the Botanical Gardens being a maze, to begin with.

Turning on the detective mode on his mask, there was almost no power going into the building besides the basic heat and lighting the place needed to run so no security cameras. He looked at his partner, "So it seems that the place is dead, but that doesn't mean she isn't in there. Remember, Ivy is extremely dangerous and her toxins could actually kill or seduce anyone so stay alert and just don't touch any plant. If you see something move, run." he explained.

Grey Arrow gave him a quick nod. "Let's go see if she has anything for us." she grinned and shot an arrow across the street using her bow as a zipline and slid down onto the roof.

"And not get caught this time!" he called going after her, and with that the two of them jumped off onto the roof, breaking through the glass ceiling making an option for a quick getaway. Taking a look around, the building was hot and humid with all the plants in there and it smelled like manure.

"Ivy is an eco-terrorist, right? She wants to take over to save the planet or something?" Grey Arrow asked as the two of them traversed the maze of hedges and flowers.

Red Robin let out a chuckle, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Imagine if she used her powers for good, the planet would be in such a better state." he sighed. "But almost everyone is Gotham is greedy or crazy."

"I can understand that. Let's keep moving." Taking the lead, Grey Arrow kept an arrow at the ready just in case she needs to shoot something. As they walked, Grey Arrow kept trying to shake off the feeling that they were being watched.

"Why do I have the feeling something is watching us?" Red Robin asked after a few tense moments of silence, turning away after looking at a large purple flower.

"Maybe because I am." a sultry voice sounded. Quickly the two of them turned and saw the purple flower get bigger and Poison Ivy stepped out of it, her green skin glistening in the humid lighting.

"Ivy, how nice to see you again. We were just taking a look around you know, enjoying the new decorations. Are those angel trumpets?" Red Robin asked, trying to keep things civil the best he can.

"Yes, and they are quite poisonous," Ivy said, her voice resonating across the glass walls.

"Well, we should probably get going you know? A lot of hero stuff to do, us birds have a lot to do in a night," he said.

Ivy's bright green eyes narrowed on Grey Arrow. "Who is this with you, Red Robin? I have not seen her before," she stated, walking closer to them now as the two of them tried to keep their distance.

"This is just a friend from Star City, she's helping me on a case."

"What a coincidence, Harley's knee was shattered by a girl in a grey suit said to be from Star City." Ivy frowned as she circled them. "I told my dear friend that I would hunt down the woman responsible and make her pay and it seems that you just willingly brought her to me."

Grey Arrow's eyes widened as did Red Robin's. "I hate to break it to you Ivy, but you have the wrong girl. There are multiple girls here from Star City, she isn't the one you are looking for." He lied, pressing Grey Arrow behind him.

"Don't lie to me Robin, I can that you are withholding the truth from me and why is that? " she asked. "Could it be that you care for the girl? I saw the way you two moved through my cameras. You haven't let her out of your sight."

"How did you use cameras when there is almost no power in the building?" Red Robin asked, trying to get the subject off of Grey Arrow.

"My dear pretty bird, did you forget that you can power things with items as simple as a potato and lemon? I can grow as many of those as I want and give myself infinite power. Now, about the girl, Harley was very adamant that I should avenge her knee. I feel as if I would be betraying my friend if I were to ignore her wishes as illogical as they seem."

Grey Arrow felt Red Robin tense in front of her, using an arm to keep her behind him. Of course, she was using his feelings towards his best friend against him. There was no way to deny it, especially with the way he was standing in front of her.

"She is a friend of mine, that's all."

"I can fix that." Three large plants shot out of the hedges behind Poison Ivy and roared into the night, the plants were tall and they had teeth similar to those of a Venus fly trap but these looked much more lethal.

"Arrow, we have to get out of here," he said and two of them took off running as Ivy sent her monster plants after them.

Grey Arrow and Red Robin weaved through the massive hedges, jumping over and dodging the plants that came their way not wanting to be caught by Poison Ivy. Batman had told them specifically not to engage her and that's what they were doing by running away.

As they ran they tried to look for a way out, but massive vines began to cover up the walls and windows blocking any nearby exit.

"You have any ideas other than trying to blow them up?" he shouted, jumping over a vine.

"I don't see you doing anything! But by all means, give me a plan!" she shouted back and shot more explosive arrows at the monster plants coming at them. Grey Arrow could feel her legs starting to burn, she hadn't run this much in a long time and there was no way in hell she was going to stop.

Of course, she had to piss off an eco-terrorist before even meeting her, taking a quick glance around Grey Arrow saw a small opening. It might be their chance to getaway. "Hey Red! Go left!" she said and turned left jumping through the hole in the shrubbery, Red Robin right behind her.

With a sigh of relief, the monster plants were stopped by the large shrubbery that was too thick for them to get through. Taking this as their chance, Red Robin and Grey Arrow started to make their way to an exit. They were so occupied with trying to get out, that neither of them noticed the vines creep up on them and wrap around their ankles.

It was too late and the vines wrapped themselves around them both and dangled them upside down as Ivy parted the shrubbery and walked over to them. "You thought you could get away? I own this garden and you two bats are stuck in here with me."

"I am technically not a bat as we established earlier." Grey Arrow said trying to lighten the mood.

"Seriously Arrow? We are being held upside down by a supervillain and that is your main concern?" Red Robin asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Hey! I am not getting roped into whatever business she has with Batman or the others." Grey Arrow yelled at him. Red Robin rolled his eyes.

Ivy looked between the two of them with a slightly amused smile, since she had them right where she wanted them there was no one stopping her from having a little fun with her new pet birds. "I think Red Robin deserves a kiss, what about you, my delicate bird?" she asked, as she slowly made her way towards him.

"What? No, I don't think that's necessary you know?" he said, trying to wiggle out of the vines holding him up.

"Hey, greenie! I'm the one who fucked up Harley's knee right? She told you to avenge her busted joint, so why don't you just kiss me instead? Besides, I've been told I am a really good kisser." Grey Arrow said, Ivy slowly turned to look at her and a grin spread on her face.

"I don't think I have ever heard of someone willing to subject themselves to me to save another. Either you are really brave, or really foolish." Poison Ivy walked over to Grey Arrow and stroked her cheek.

"Fun fact, did you know that the Oracle of Delphi was thought to be the center of the world in greek mythology?" She blurted as Ivy began to lean in closer, hoping Red Robin got the hint. Which he did.

With his free hand, he connected his com. "Hey, Arrow and I are in a bit of a pickle and will be needing help. Sooner than later would be nice too," he said quickly.

"What do you mean pickle Red Robin?"

"I mean Ivy is about to kiss Arrow and I don't want to know what's going to happen next."

"Nightwing and Red Hood are on their way. Whatever you do, don't let her poison either of you!" Oracle said through the com.

Red Robin let out a short-lived sigh of relief, help was coming but his best friend was about to be kissed by Ivy and he was being dangled by his ankles. Making a reach of his staff in the back of his belt, two more vines shot out of the ground and held his hands together.

"Sneaky little bird you are, but I'm afraid that you will not be able to help your friend," she said and lifted Grey Arrow higher so she was level with her face. Grey Arrow's eyes widened as Ivy grabbed her head and kissed her.

Arrow didn't know what to do, her hands were bound and her mind began to go fuzzy like she was in a dream. Before she knew it, Grey Arrow was kissing Poison Ivy back and she liked it. Ivy's lips tasted of something sweet and Grey Arrow couldn't get enough of it as she tried to kiss her deeper.

Red Robin watched with a shocked expression and tried to get free but to no avail.

The kiss was interrupted when the ceiling above them crashed in and Nightwing and Red Hood dropped in. "Seems we were a little late to the party." The former grinned.

Ivy released Grey Arrow from the kiss who dangled there in a dazed state with her eyes glossed over and her lips a shade of red. Quickly the duo cut down Red Robin and he landed on the floor grabbing out his staff.

Ivy let out an agonizing scream, feeling the pain her plants were in. Recoiling, her vines retracted themselves and dropped Grey Arrow to the floor who was still in a dazed state, with a thud.

"Spin the bottle is over Ivy, leave before I decide to not be so friendly." Red Hood threatened, aiming his twin guns at her. With a mischievous glare, she backed into her carnivorous plants.

"By all means, take the two birds and leave. My work here is done." and with that, she disappeared into the hedges.

Not wanting to hang out there any longer than they had to, Red Robin grabbed Arrow as the others grabbed her bow and quiver and grappled out of the Botanical Garden and onto the nearest rooftop. Carefully, Red Robin set Grey Arrow down against a wall and tilted her head up to look at him.

Grey Arrow still had a glossy look to her eyes but it seemed to be fading some, the poison from Ivy's kiss still affecting her body. She could barely keep her head up at the three guys checked her for any lethal signs from the poison.

"I think she is just in a daze, from what it seemed Ivy didn't want to kill her. Just mess with her." Red Robin said. "We need to get her back to the cave and make sure. Hey, can you walk?"

Grey Arrow shook her head slightly. "Can't... feel... anything..." she groaned, her eyes started to droop and fell forward but Red Robin caught her and held her up.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked as he picked her up. It still baffled him how she told Ivy to kiss her after he specifically told her not to let Ivy get that close before they left the cave.

"Better me... than you..." she drawled. It was getting harder for her to stay awake and they all could tell.

"I'll take her back. You two get back to where you’re needed." Red Robin said and carried her to their bike they arrived on.

"Batman, Robin, and Spoiler are taking up the slack, besides we were almost done with our shifts that's why Oracle sent us. Nice hint by the way Arrow, the Oracle of Delphi." Nightwing said with a laugh looking at the girl in Red Robin's arms before taking off for downtown to where his bike rested.

"Yeah, we'll meet you there, make sure she doesn't fall off the bike Replacement yeah?" Hood called and took off after Nightwing into the night.

Letting out a huff and got on the bike and held Grey Arrow secured to his chest as he sped off for the Bat cave. Pulling into the drive, Tim pulled off his cowl and got off and carried Rory over to Alfred.

"I swear, this better not become a regular thing, Master Tim," Alfred said as he checked Rory's vitals. To him, she seemed to be normal, and waking up more the time had passed after the kiss.

"You're telling me, Alf. She told Ivy to kiss her, said it was better her than me." He leaned against the table and Rory looked around. She had the feeling back in her body and could actually move again, but there was this burning feeling inside her that she couldn't figure out.

"She seems alright, I'm afraid I can't do much else for Miss Isley's poison except tell her to sleep it off. Miss Aurora must have gotten quite a large dose, so it will take a few hours to wear off completely." Alfred said standing straight. "Now Miss Aurora, no more kissing supervillains. You got very lucky that you didn't die instantly."

Rory gave him a nod. "Yes sir, and I promise. No more kissing supervillains, I'll leave that to Bruce." she grinned and pushed herself off the table, stumbling a bit with the burning feeling inside her still.

Tim caught her shoulders and looked at her, "You okay songbird?" he asked. Rory looked at his worried face and smile softly.

"Yeah, I'm alright Tim. Don't worry, it will take a lot more than a poisoned kiss to keep me down." Tim laughed at her statement and nodded.

"Alright, let's get you to bed." Tim helped her up the stairs and to her room, the entire time Rory was trying to figure out why she felt like she was burning on the inside. It wasn't hunger or thirst per se at least not for anything food-wise. But what was the hunger for?

Tim stopped in front of her door. "I'm going to go change really quick. You get ready for bed and I'll be in to check on you okay?" he asked. Rory gave him a nod and watched as he walked across the hall and disappeared behind his bedroom door.

Rory then entered her own room and turned on the light, taking a look at herself in the reflection of the mirror. Watching her hand, she reached up and lightly touched her lips. She could still feel the impact of Ivy's kiss. What was it that she meant by 'Her work here was done'?

Her eyes still were a little glossed over, but it was fading quickly. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head and put on a nightshirt and shorts. It was when Tim came back into the room that Rory finally realized what the burning hunger inside her was.

Desire.

"Hey, songbird, you doing okay?" he asked and walked over and stood in front of her, Rory had an odd look on her face and it worried him some.

"Yeah, I am just great," she said biting her lip and looked up at him. Tim looked at her and noticed that something was definitely off about Rory.

"Are you sure? You look a little- Woah!" While he spoke, Rory grabbed the collar of his shirt and pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, Tim's face going a bright red.

"Uh R-Rory, what are you doing?" he stammered.

"I'm doing what I want, and right now that's you." she grinned, looking down at him. Tim's eyes widened at her words. There was no way in hell Rory wanted to sleep with him, she was never this forward, always rejecting the advancements of others.

Taking Tim's shocked silence as an opening, Rory kissed him.

Tim was moments away from melting into a puddle of confusion and embarrassment. What the hell was wrong with Rory and why was she kissing him!? Carefully, Tim placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her off. "Rory, you clearly are still under Ivy's influence," he said, trying to snap her out of it.

"No, I know what I want and I want you Timothy." she kissed him again and pinned Tim's hands back. For someone who was drugged, she still had a fair amount of strength. Tim tried to fight the kiss but somewhere in the middle, he had no clue when, but he began to kiss her back.

This had been something he didn't even know he wanted until he felt it. The way Rory's lips seemed to fit perfectly with his made his heart soar. Rory's hands released Tim's and he placed them on her waist, her shirt rising slowly as she moved hers to his dark hair.

Tim let out a groan as he felt her tug on his hair and he snapped out of the kiss. Quickly he flipped them over and held her down, breaking the kiss. "Rory, you are under Ivy's influence still. This is not what you want," he said.

"But you aren't, so is it something you want?" she asked, batting her eyes slowly and biting her lip. Tim had to convince himself not to kiss her again, Rory was not in her right mind and if things went any further, he would not forgive himself.

"It doesn't matter what I want. You need to sleep this off," he said and pulled out a syringe he had stolen from Jason a few days ago. He had forgotten that he had left it in these sweats. The story behind it was that Jason was carrying it because Tim had refused to sleep during the prank war and that went on for almost three weeks. So, he had taken it upon himself to make Tim sleep, with a sedative.

He pulled the cap off with his teeth and stuck it in Rory's neck, within seconds she was out. Letting out a long sigh, he dropped his head on her shoulder. What the fuck was he going to do now? Was this what Ivy meant when she let them go? Thinking back on it, they should have paid more attention.

Getting off the bed, Tim tucked her in and turned out the lights and turned on her starry light. Rory was not afraid of the dark, but she preferred to have the stars above her while she slept. Running his hand through his hair, he took one last look at the girl sleeping on the bed and walked out of her room.

"What the hell happened to you babybird?"

Tim froze and saw Jason standing there with his arms crossed. "And why is that empty?" he pointed to the syringe still in Tim's hand.

"Don't ask, just don't," he said and disposed of the syringe before walking into his room and shut the door. The last thing he needed was Jason, or anyone else for that matter finding out about what just happened in Rory's room.

Sitting at his desk he began to work more on the case he and Rory were assigned to, but his thoughts kept straying towards the kiss. He couldn't get it out of his head, the way her lips felt on his and how perfect it seemed. The warmth of her skin under his fingers and the way he felt when she tugged on his hair.

With a loud groan, he dropped his head on his desk with a thud. Tim shouldn't be thinking that way about his best friend, that's all they were meant to be. But the pit in his stomach grew, it hurt him to know that Rory would never feel that way for him. One of the worst feelings was unrequited affection, and he didn't want to ruin their friendship any more than he possibly had.

"Hey, Tim? You okay in there, I heard a loud thud?" Dick's voice sounded from the other side of his door.

"Yes? No?" he groaned. "I don't know."

Without another word, Dick walked in and sat on Tim's bed. He saw the look on Tim's face and grew worried. "Hey, kiddo what's wrong?" he asked, placing a hand on Tim's back.

Tim leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes with his hand. Dick was way too observant for Tim's liking, so was Jason and Damian but it was Dick outside his door so maybe he could help him.

"What I tell you does not leave this room, okay?" he asked, still avoiding his eyes. Dick grew more worried for his younger brother, what had him so bothered that he didn't want anyone else to know?

"Yeah, sure Tim. I promise."

Tim let out a sigh and finally looked at Dick. "I think I fell in love with my best friend"

#Tim Drake #Timothy Drake #tim drake fanfic #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake x oc #Red Robin #DC comics #batfamily #Gotham

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