#his doubt and guilt just get progressively worse until he snaps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 45

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky will do whatever it takes to get her back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Anger, grief, thoughts of violence, angst

AO3

Bucky paced like a wild animal, back and forth, tail lashing with each circuit he made. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t functioned much at all in the past few days, and he was always a heartbeat away from snapping like a wire pulled too taut.

He couldn’t go through the door he was pacing in front of, the demonic wards holding him at bay. It was just as well. Without them, he would have marched straight inside and ripped Helmut Zemo’s spine out his throat.

It wouldn’t have solved any of Bucky’s currents problems, but it would have improved his mood. And it might have distracted him for a few moments from the black hole currently residing within him. A negative space where the bond had been. Every moment that void was there, he wanted to tear out his own heart.

Maybe he’d still get the opportunity if they couldn’t find a way to bring her back. He’d end his own life for a fast one-way ticket to the demon realm if he had to, and there Bucky would stay until he found her.

And then… what? They’d be trapped there forever? Why didn’t that scare Bucky as much as the thought of being separated, with her being all alone in that place? He knew she was resourceful. She’d proven it by the fact they’d captured Zemo at all.

When the gun had gone off, Bucky had felt like he’d been the one shot, only it hurt so much worse because he actually knew what a bullet to the gut felt like. He’d barely made it in time to catch her as she fell, and he’d been in no state of mind to deal with Zemo after that. Steve had barely been conscious by the time Strange and the others had found them, so it wasn’t him who had caught the bastard.

No, it had been the Alp itself that had stopped Zemo. Before the man had even gotten a chance to order his demon to teleport him away, it had used its paralysis aerosol on Zemo and knocked him into a peaceful sleep. And then it had vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving its master there to be collected by the sorcerers.

The thought made Bucky shake his head. Somehow, Bucky’s girl had managed to make a demon turn on its own master. Not once, but twice, if Bucky was including himself.

Leave it to her to befriend a demon and turn it to her side.

Leave it to her to give everything for Bucky, including her own life. And what had he done in the time since then except vacillate between rage and grief? Between shouting at Strange and standing by Steve’s healing bed like a mourner at a funeral, waiting for them to come up with a rescue mission.

The sorcerers had made little progress, and Bucky feared their only hope lie in the man that had murdered her.

Bucky would have gotten the answers out of Zemo himself, if only for the fact he couldn’t get his hands on him. The demons wards weren’t to keep Bucky out, they were to keep Zemo from calling his demon slave to teleport him away. No matter how had they’d tried, the sorcerers couldn’t break the demon bond. And no matter how much the Alp might not want to, it wouldn’t be able to resist the call of its master, no matter how far away it was. Bucky had learned that lesson the hard way with his own escape attempts from HYDRA.

So now they were at an impasse. Zemo imprisoned but refusing to cooperate, and the sorcerers unable to get anything useful out of him but having no choice but to keep him locked up. Bucky hadn’t be surprised the sorcerers had failed to take away Zemo’s last Hail Mary. If they were capable of breaking demons bonds, they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

The door opened, and Strange had to wave him off before Bucky accosted him with questions.

“Well?” Bucky asked, impatient. “What did he say?”

“Still nothing helpful.” Strange glanced at Wong as he too strode toward the door. It shut with a heavy thud behind them, no doubt locked by all sorts of arcane spells. “It’s clear that Zemo doesn’t know how to work the demon gate with any expert knowledge and relied solely on the red book to achieve his goals.”

The circular stone archway they’d found in the basement of the Siberian compound, which Strange had named the “demon gate,” had remained inert no matter how the sorcerers tried to manipulate and power it. How Zemo had managed to summon the Alp through it, but it wouldn’t respond to the sorcerers, left Bucky short-tempered and frustrated.

It was nothing compared to the guilt. The shame at being controlled, manipulated into almost killing Steve. He was still being tended to by the healers, and the only reason he wasn’t in a hospital was because Strange had insisted they take him to the Sanctum.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then Bucky’d nearly killed her. His worst nightmare being played out before his eyes, or it almost had. Through their tenuous bond she’d somehow broken through to him, and Bucky had managed to stay his hand when he’d never been able to do so before.

It had been… freeing. Liberating to disobey a direct command. To be ordered to hurt someone he loved and having the strength to resist.

And then Bucky had failed to save her anyway. She’d died, right there in his arms, her heart going silent the loudest thing he’d ever heard. As if that hadn’t shattered his world enough, she’d turned to ashes in his hands, the stink of sulfur and brimstone stinging his eyes as she slipped through his fingers.

In that moment, Bucky’s bond to Zemo had been severed. One of the apparent benefits of a demon having a human slave. She’d gone to Hell so Bucky could be free.

And all he’d managed to do with that freedom was absolutely fuck-all.

Bucky’s fist flew, the jagged knuckles of his armored hand knocking a sizable chunk out of the stone wall.

Strange merely lifted his eyebrows. Wong frowned in disapproval. Bucky didn’t give a shit. They should have woken him as soon as she’d gone missing, but instead, he’d woken on his own, bursting through the cryo-chamber and shattering its door to pieces. He’d been so confused and enraged that the sorcerers had had to bind him with glowing ropes and wards until Bucky calmed down enough to explain she was being tortured, and he could lead them to exactly where.

So, yes. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was as much Strange’s fault as it was his, and the only reason he was even still tolerating the sorcerers is because they were her only chance of rescue.

If they could get the fucking gate to work, anyway. A big fucking if. Apparently, sorcerers could make portals on Earth without a problem, but crossing into other dimensions was even beyond Strange’s capability.

And yet, she had been able to do it as a ten year old child. Bucky had hoped, maybe, somehow, she would be able to summon that power within her once again and come back to him, but there had been no sign of any mysterious blue portals popping up on Earth.

So as pissed as he was, Bucky had to remain patient, and right now, he had to pay attention.

“I have an idea on how to power the gate,” Strange said, wearily eyeing the damaged wall before turning to Bucky. “We have more of HYDRA’s research that Zemo ever did, and I have no doubt we will be able to create a stable connection soon.”

“Soon isn’t good enough,” Bucky snapped, struggling not to snarl at the sorcerer. “Every minute here is hours over there. Each day wasted is weeks she has to endure, alone, in a place humans were never meant to survive. We can’t—“

The lump in his throat forced him to silence. Bucky couldn’t say what he’d been thinking, and from Strange’s sympathetic expression, it didn’t need to be said.

They might already be too late.

Bucky still wanted to punch Strange in the face. If he cared so damned much, why hadn’t he kept a closer eye on her? Zemo may have been smart, hell, he was probably a genius to figure out how demon magic worked, but how had he managed to outsmart a whole sect of sorcerers?

“We will move as quickly as we can,” Strange said, indicating Bucky should follow him. “I don’t wish to waste any more time than you do.”

Bucky somehow doubted that, but he still followed after the head sorcerer. His tail twitched as they made their way deeper into the Sanctum, to the place Bucky had spent every waking moment when he hadn’t been by Steve’s side.

“I am aware of the time dilation in the demon realm,” Strange said as they walked down a spiraling set of stone steps, “but it might not be uniform or even linear. Your experience may differ from hers.”

If Strange thought that would be comforting news, he was wrong. Bucky didn’t need an overactive imagination to come up with whatever horrors she might be facing now. He certainly didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of… of finally making it to the demon realm and realizing hundreds of years had passed.

Bucky couldn’t… he couldn’t think about it. He would lose his mind. Bucky would only let despair swallow him after he was a hundred percent sure that… that there was nothing left to hope for. That she was truly gone and wouldn’t be coming back.

That he would never get to see her again. To watch as her eyes brightened and that familiar mischievous grin tugged at her lips. To hold her in his arms while he buried his nose in her hair, filling his nostrils with her scent and—

Bucky shook his head and grit his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not when they were closer to their goal, so he forced himself to focus on Strange’s words. Something about a power source needed to fuel the thing, and that Zemo must have hidden it away from the base because the sorcerers couldn’t sense it. Bucky honestly didn’t understand most of it, only that it would take an unnatural power source to get the gate running.

The underground lair, as he called it, left Bucky as awed as the first time he’d stepped food inside. The room was essentially a giant dome constructed of very large stones, but the most interesting aspect of the room was the glowing glyphs carved into the stones. The power thrummed under his skin and set his arm plates rigid as his tail flickered.

And there, in the middle of the room, lay the instrument that had been the focus of his frustration and anger over the past few days. A stone gateway, teleported here by great effort from the sorcerers. It was ancient, possibly constructed during the days of the Holy Roman Empire, or so Strange had rambled. Bucky was too fucking stressed to appreciate the mythical history lesson.

When the sorcerers working on the gateway turned to Strange and confirmed it couldn’t be powered by anything in their vaults, Bucky turned away, fists tightening, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. But before he could take even a single step, Strange laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Sergeant.” Strange’s voice was gentle, and it was the only reason Bucky didn’t grab the hand on his shoulder and break it. “There’s one thing left to try. It’s not without danger and risk, but—“

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“I suspected you might say that.”

Strange’s smile was sad but accepting as he patted Bucky, and then let his hand drop. Bucky’s desire to strangle the man went down a few notches, and if this worked and he got her back, Bucky might even forgive him.

Might.

Strange straightened his posture and faced the stone archway, held his hands in front of his chest in a manner that meant he was about to cast a spell, and he said, “Though I must warn you, tapping into the power of the Infinity Stones can be quite dangerous.”

With an intricate pull of his fingers, glowing patterns in the air emerged, and that’s when Bucky finally noticed the green light shining from Strange’s amulet. He’d vaguely wondered around the thing always around the sorcerer’s neck, and now Bucky had an answer as to what it was. Something otherworldly, deadly, and strong enough to compare with the power of the blue cube HYDRA had once wielded.

A deep thrumming filled the room, vibrating through the air and up the stones, the potential of something building made Bucky’s wings flair behind his back.

Then the glyphs along the demon gate began to glow, first green like the stone and then to a bright blue that made Bucky’s heart clench with fear. Strange blue lights often accompanied the demonic rituals HYDRA had conducted on him, but he swallowed down the panic and didn’t blink.

The charge in the air built higher and higher, until with a crackle of electricity, the empty space between the archway suddenly filled with light. It pulled outward to the edges, a border of blue around a watery image that sharpened into something Bucky recognized.

The demon realm.

“I can’t hold it forever!” Strange yelled, his hands still in the same position as he somehow, impossibly, held the gateway open using the green stone around his neck. “Get moving, Sergeant!”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice.

With none of the hesitancy he’d shown the first time being confronted by a blue portal, Bucky flared his wings as he raced forward and gave one hard flap, lifting off and darting through the gateway like a missile launched from its tube.

The dry wind buffeted him from the other side and Bucky nearly nosedived into the red sand, but he managed to right himself and soar up into the air. The human side of him balked at the alien surroundings, but it was the demon part of him that Bucky needed now.

Orienting himself to the familiar magnetic fields of the planet, because in a sick way he’d been alive longer here than on Earth, and he knew this place as intimately as his home.

Turning in the direction of his territory, Bucky pushed his body as far as it would take him and flew faster than he ever had before.

Hold on, sweetheart, he prayed to her, hoping he was heard. I’m coming.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

148 notes · View notes

0idril0 · 3 years

Note

May I request based on the reblog about ‘new normal’ you just did a much later Nico & Clint, maybe Nico trying to do art again or school or cook or something and struggling ??

Nico’s head was pounding as he laid the last lines on the paper in front of him, teeth grinding as he forced his eyes to focus. For just a few more minutes.

Please.

“F-Fuckin’ finally...” he slammed the color pencil down, scrubbing his aching hand against his eyes until colors swirled behind the lids. The drawing was already imprinted in his head, a wolf head that he hoped resembled Clint’s, surrounded by a multitude of wild flowers. It was more frilly than what he usually did, he tended to gravitate towards reds and blacks and more forgiving mediums, working around the continued seizures and poor eyesight. But it felt important for what he was trying to portray.

His mate surrounded by softness and love in the form that Clint said looked beastly and terrifying.

He didn’t know when Clint had started to think of his wolf form that way, but he hoped it was before they had ever met. Clint had let slip more than a month before that he was scared of being around Sorina and Evans new baby, worried he might slip a little and scar the baby for life.

Nico had immediately told him that it was a ridiculous thought, but the doubt and hesitancy that colored his face when he’d turned back towards the the group of people gathered around the new bundle was enough to send a lance through Nico’s heart.

And the worst part was he didn’t know what to say. He’d never been good with words, and now with the brain damage, he was even worse. And there was only so many ways to kiss sense into a stubborn werewolf.

But maybe he could show him. Clint’s wolf had always been a source of comfort for him, his beautiful russet fur the softest pillow, the warmth he emitted a constant comfort when he’d been too emaciated to regulate his own body heat. A gentle crutch when Nico needed help but couldn’t tolerate human touch.

And the man himself had the biggest and kindest heart of anyone he’d ever met. The fact that Clint thought any part of him could be a danger to his niece was horrifying.

“Uuuuugh....” Nico scrubbed at his eyes again before scratching at his short beard, an attempt at hiding the scars that still spotted his cheeks from deep ulcers that had had difficulty healing. “It’s g-gonna have to do...”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, like it was going to help him focus at all, he scrutinized his work. Before Martin he would have said it was still a work in progress..... but now? It was one of the better things he’d done in a while. He’d moved away from realism when he’d been able to pick up a pencil again, the migraines hadn’t been worth the fight, and paint was more forgiving.

The color pencil was smudged at the corners, the lines shaky in areas where a crisp finish would have made the piece stand out, but the wolfs face was Clint’s, highlighted with yellows like he was basking in the sun, a delicate blue butterfly contrasting with his red fur and half lidded green eyes beautifully.

It was his mate. A giant, gentle, protector of a man that hadn’t moved for 20 minutes when that stupid butterfly had landed on him at last years Fourth of July party.

He felt his mouth twitch at the memory, pulling at some of the scars on his mouth and cheek. His Mate was ridiculous.

Nico could hear Clint’s rumbling snore from his drafting table, the wolf had been running in the woods for hours today and had returned a few hours ago soaking wet and panting. When he’d returned he’d stuck his head into the sunroom where Nico was, lupine grin smug as he’d tried to sneak around to see the drawing Nico had kept from him for over a month now.

Nico hadn’t been able to help his snicker when he’d shoved at his over sized head, scratching in the spot Clint loved as he did so, “Go dry-dry off, I’ll s-show you when I’m done.” Clint’s tail has wagged so hard Nico had been able to hear the thump through the cabin walls, but his wine was truly pitiful when he’d slunked out and flopped onto the porch to bask in the sunlight. The sunny happiness Nico could feel through their bond betrayed Clint’s attempt to guilt him into a sneak peak, and Nico hoped it would be worth it now.

Daniel’s cane was propped up against his desk and Nico rubbed a thumb over the silver handle as he picked it up, using the object just like Daniel had for years before he’d died. Nico had found it tucked in the back of the shop when he’d finally been able to return and had swapped for the heirloom as soon as he was able to ditch the walker.

The initial thunk against the hardwood has Clint’s ears twitching as he comes out, a high pitched yawn following it as Nico shuffled further onto the porch.

“H-h-hey Honeyb-b-bear....”

Clint rolled onto his back at Nico’s greeting, legs and paws stretching to full effect as Clint yawned loudly and rumbled his own wolfy greeting back, squinted eyes finding Nico as his tail swished against the hard wood. “Sugar..” Nico heard the echo in his head, and snickered around a grin at the nearly 300 lbs wolf at his feet. Clint’s tongue rolled out of his mouth in a lupine laugh and Nico couldn’t keep his own smile down, even as broken and ugly as he thought it was now.

“Come-onnn, y—ou goof, you wannned to see -this right?” Nico shook the paper in his hand, backing up like he was going to go inside.

Clint’s jaw snapped shut as his head whipped towards Nico, eyes wide in question now. Really??? Nico could read the question clear as day on his face and grinned. “I c-could change my mind...”

He made to take a step back and Clint whined, stretching, this time muscles and bones popping as he morphed back into his human form. Where there’d been a ridiculously large wolf now lay an extremely large, naked man, toned muscles stretched to full effect as he reached for Nico, making grabby hands as he whined again with his human throat.

“Babbbbbyyyyy.... come back??? Show me here??”

Clint’s teasing grin and wink did nothing to help the burning blush that was creeping across his face and neck, headache forgotten as he swallowed heavily at the sight in front of him.

“Fine-“ His voice came out a squeak, and he cleared his throat, scowling at Clint’s snort of laughter. “-Fine, you’ll have—help me s-stand up...”

Clint’s grumbling turned deeper as he turned towards Nico, grin mischievous, “Like I would pass up the opportunity to get my hands on you...”

Nico grinned at Clint’s joke, knowing the wolf wouldn’t touch him without his permission, skin heating at the thought of Clint’s hands against him today. He loved Clints hands, long solid fingers and thick padded palms that had sooth so much and given him so much pleasure in the past few years.

He groaned as he slid down to the porch, using the bannister and accepting Clint’s hand against the small of his back as support, knowing the werewolf’s strength would be more than enough to catch him even from the awkward angle. His hip protested bending and Clint’s thumb rubbed small circles into his back when he settled heavily on the porch.

“Fuuuuck....” he groaned loudly, careful to keep the drawing turned away from Clint’s prying eyes as he flopped dramatically onto Clint’s bare chest.

Clint grunted around a laugh as Nico landed, sun warmed arms wrapping around him as he maneuvered Nico closer. “Hi Sugar....” Clint nibbled on Nico’s neck and snuggled closer. “You finished that drawin’ you’ve been teasin’ me with??”

Nico smiled as he felt the nerves that had been fluttering in his stomach settle in Clint’s calm presence, and he brought his scarred hand up to tangle in Clint’s hair.

“T-told you, surprise.....” He leaned into the kiss in his cheek, grinning. “Hardly- surprise-you get to s-see it...”

Clint chuffed, and Nico could feel the grin spread across his mates face. “I know but I’m about to explode over here, lemme seeeeee-“ he squeezed Nico and rocked him, the fingers pressed into Nico’s skin vibrating with excitement.

Nico took a deep breath, turning to press a gentle kiss to Clint’s curved mouth. The wolf melted, kissing Nico back gently until he pulled away, his green, dilated eyes following Nico’s as he backed up.

“Love you.” Nico turned more, scratching at Clint’s scalp until the low rumble vibrated the chest he leaned on. “Wa-wha-wanted you to see, h-how....” Nico growled, words stuck in his throat, and Clint kissed against his jaw, mimicking a deep breath, and Nico followed suit, unclenching his jaw to continue. “S-so, I-I drew it.”

Nico flipped back, holding the drawing above them, against the blue sky, puffy clouds the perfect backdrop to the tranquil drawing. He heard Clint’s breath catch; rumble stilling as the wolf froze.

Slowly Clint lifted one of his hands from Nico’s stomach, the other keeping Nico pressed firmly against him. “Darlin’, what... what is this??”

Nico could hear the wetness in Clint’s voice, the thin wobble that meant the wolf was getting emotional.

“You-been strugglinn-since Elena was born, scared you’ll hurt her...” Nico swallowed, “but this.... Love, you wouldn’t budge... you’re gentle, an kind..... hate for y-you,-for fear to keep—y-you, from holding her, only t-thing I’ve gotten from being held—by you is love.”

Clint was trembling behind him and Nico bit his lip, doubt working its way back into his mind until Clint started to sit up, Clint’s body doing the work so Nico stayed glued to his chest, arm pulling Nico’s hips flush against his as he re maneuvered their legs. Clint had reburied his face into Nico’s hair, and he heard the wet snuffle as Clint took in his scent, his mates thick arms holding him close. “Darlin’.... I don’t..... I love you...thank you....”

Nico leaned back against Clint, setting the drawing aside so he could catch hold of one of Clint’s hands, the other tangled in the blonde hair as he rubbed a thumb along a delicate ear. “Love you t-too, Honeybear....”

Nico brought Clint’s hand up and kissed along the long digits, heart full as Clint wrapped him further into his arms. Knowing his mate had understood him.

#clinco #nico series #recovery #art #brain damage #stuttering #I’m sorry #it’s not really whump #but Nico is trying so hard #and Clint is his flirtatious self #nudity mention #no touch aversion #Nico’s getting better slowly #probably 4 years after #and I forgot how to do read more #oops

31 notes · View notes

banashee · 3 years

Link

Hi Folks, welcome to my third fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week three (June 15-21) Prompts: Love Languages, Doubt, Post-Canon, Intimacy, Home

The key words I've used here are Post-Canon, Home and Intimacy

- Off-screen Arguments - scars - Trauma recovery - brief but canon-typical violence - References to Canon-Stabby-Stabby in MAG200 - mention of coma, no details - reference to homophobic Parent

A Second Chance

Some days, it still feels like a dream. That they are here, together, that they get to have this. A home, a life - a second chance at everything.

It’s been almost two years since the panopticon collapsed in an explosion, almost two years since Jon and Martin woke up… Here. “Somewhere else” they called it then, but now they simply call this place “home”. More precisely, they do so because first and foremost, they are home to each other.

Even back when in the Institute, when both of them successfully managed to convince themselves their feelings for each other were one-sided, the few and far moments where they actually had time to themselves were precious. Even when Jon had woken up from his coma and Martin was working for Peter Lukas, just a small brush of hands or a quick hug in the hallway had felt like the only safe place left in the world. Just for a moment, before they had to move on, more alone than ever before.

By the time Martin was deep in the Lonely and Jon had pulled him out, taken his hand and not let go until they were safely in Daisy’s little safehouse in the Scottish Highlands where no one would be able to find or hurt them. Or at least, that had been the plan… It only lasted for a little while.

Still, even though the end of the world started there, the days and weeks they had before are precious to Jon and Martin to this day. It’s those weeks where they had a chance to really get to know each other, outside of work and countless terrifying encounters with the Fears.

Days spent talking in front of the fireplace, curled up around each other or not talking at all. Especially on the bad days, when everything hits them at once, it is a little bit easier to deal with everything while they’re together. Cooking together, stepping around each other in the kitchen when they tried recipes neither of them had ever tried before, laughing at and playfully chiding each other when everything turns into a big mess.

Hugs and kisses shared at the most random of times, just because they realized they can do this now.

Over time, they shared a few personal bits and pieces. After the first time they shared the bed, to be close and to keep the nightmares at bay, they started talking about their needs and boundaries.

“I love you, and I love being close to you. But I, I also need you to know that… Well, I won’t be able to give you more than this. I don’t… sleep with people. In, well, in that sense.” Jon had blushed and stammered his way through explaining what Asexuality means to him, and it is met with love and acceptance. He started to breathe a little bit easier then.

A little while later, Martin told him about the disaster that was his coming out to his Mum. He didn’t mean to, he said that day in the safehouse with a bitter smile as he shook his head, but he’d hit a breaking point. One too many homophobic remarks, one too many unhappy sneers.

“One day, I just. Snapped. Couldn’t take the bullshit anymore. I don’t even remember exactly what I said to her, but she was... “ Martin shook his head.

“Not happy.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy by any means. Jon understood all too well, and reached out with one hand, an offer to hold on tight, which Martin happily took him up on.

“She didn’t… Like me very much before, I don’t think. Or, well, I know that now, but… But ever since I told her I am gay, that certainly didn’t help things. She never met any of my boyfriends or anything, but, well. That’s robably for the best.”

Only a short while after this conversation, the world ended. After months and months of walking through a hellscape, they finally arrived back in what once was London. Back at the institute - the tower of the Watcher.

Once they got their chance to kill Elias and destroy Jonah Magnus, things… Went differently than planned.

Even years after the fact, long long after, Jon and Martin wake up from vivid nightmares. The memories, both real and twisted, leave them sobbing and calling out for each other. Each time, they end up wide awake for hours, holding onto one another to try and keep the other from getting lost again. Dealing with everything is very much a work in progress.

Guilt eats Jon up from the inside. He is talking about it, at least he does now, but the feelings are still there, sitting on his chest and taking his breath away. The guilt about walking off on his own and leaving everyone else, including Martin behind is one of the worst he’s ever felt, and even though they have talked and worked through this particular issue for a long time, Jon is still struggling with it. The main problem is that didn’t see another way, did what he thought was best. Now he knows there wasn’t a right decision in the situation they found themselves in, only damage control.

But on a personal level? Yes, he screwed up, and he knows it.

The scar on his chest hurts those nights, like a fresh wound. Jon finds himself clutching it, without even realizing that he is doing so. If he was, he would try to stop himself from it, but every time his hands rub over the place in the middle of his chest, when breath leaves his lungs for a while, he can tell that Martin’s eyes go blank and he hates himself a little bit more for having caused so much pain. .

How often Martin wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming again and again about that fateful day that ended with him stabbing the love of his life with a knife, he has long lost count. But it hurts, worse than anything else, and the memory alone sends him spiralling for a long time.

If the Fears had any more power here, there is no doubt that Martin would find himself surrounded by thick, white fog those nights, cold and damp and utterly alone even with another person in the room.

He’d spent months - years really - keeping it together just to keep going, doing what needed to be done and be there for the people around him. It’s what he’s always done, isn’t used to anything else, but Jon knows him well enough to recognize the signs and stop Martin before he destroys himself any further.

“Let me take care of you. Please - You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

Somehow, even with all the trauma and heartbreak, the two of them manage to form one functioning human being together when they can’t manage to be one on their own. On the really bad days, that is enough.

Martin and Jon have their hiccups - but they know just how much they adore one another, and that is usually enough to make them see reason even when things get hard.

Especially in the first few weeks Somewhere Else, there is a lot of confusion and pain. Years of trauma and injuries they are unable to explain to anyone, because how do you explain even a fraction of the fears and the apocalypse they have walked through? None of it has happened here. This is a world that has never ended, and although the Fears certainly exist here, they are in the shadows, where they belong. As far as they can tell, none of the rituals have happened here, and the entities just. Exist, but don’t do nearly as much harm as Jon and Martin have experienced.

So seeking out help, let alone from professionals, is hard. Lord knows, they need it - it takes the two of them countless trials to find individual therapists for themselves, and even longer to find one to attend for couples counseling who won’t make their skin crawl with anxiety. There are issues that need to be addressed, and it is hard to start somewhere.

Some sessions are much, much harder than others. Unpacking the baggage is logical, it is something that needs to be done in order to deal with the trauma, but for a long time, it just hurts. It hurts, having to open up about things that are so deeply personal, and even though both Martin and Jon have come up with cover stories for their situation, they still have to work on all the emotions and the things that happened to them and their loved ones.

Some days, either one or both of them will come home from a therapy session and simply collapse into bed. Most times, all they want then is to hold each other. Other times, they talk, but more often than not, being able to listen to each other's heartbeat as they shake apart or fall asleep from exhaustion is enough.

Especially at first, when everything is still fresh, when the scars are still pink, raised and puckering, things are hard.

Surprising no one, coming from a literal hellscape into a normal, relatively calm world, is a total whiplash. Things are tense between Jon and Martin for a bit. They want to stay together, because they love each other deeply - there was never any doubt, not even a bit. But there are some situations, issues and decisions that they need to adress.

While things are still sore, it results in a number of exhausted, tearful arguments that leave both of them absolutely drained and limp from overwhelming sadness. The arguments themselves never last long, because both Martin and Jon are quick to make up and apologize after, but the feelings of exhaustion and heartbreak stay for long after.

The arguments pull on wounds and it hurts. There really is no other way to put it. More often than not, Martin and Jon spend the night with no sleep, wrapped around each other so tightly it is almost painful. Holding onto one another is all they can do sometimes to keep each other from falling apart at the seams.

Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and so on. Both Jon and Martin have come a long way since they arrived here - they no longer call it “Somewhere else”. Their trauma still sits deep, but has become much, much more of a quiet background pain that occasionally comes out to play, rather than being a constant, stabbing sensation that leaves them bleeding and breathless, unable to function. Those days, thankfully, have become rare.

They start to live, instead of just surviving.

It is around that time that they decide they want to get out of the city. London, whether back in the old world or here, is not a quiet place to be, but now that they are free, they take the opportunity and run with it.

A little bit of time passes, and between days spent walking hand in hand through the nearby park, nights curled up on the couch with books and tea and day jobs and even occasional evenings in the pub with coworkers, they find themselves standing in their empty apartment. All there is left is a single cardboard box and a potted plant, both of which are held by the two men who spent the last year and a half there.

“...Jon?”

“Yes, Love?”

“I had no idea we had so much stuff, until we started to pack it all up.”

“We do. I’m… Not entirely sure when that happened to be honest.”

“....I believe somewhere between us starting to actually do things, and you discovering that tiny bookshop which I’m convinced should have been empty by now, thanks to you.”

“Yes. And also the plants. Don’t forget your leafy children, Martin.” Jon leans into Martin’s upper arm for a moment, a small smile on his face. He would have pulled him into an embrace, but since Martin holds the last of their moving boxes, filled to the brim with books, and Jon’s arms are currently wrapped around the pot of a fairly tall dracea, just leaning in must be enough. The plant pokes far over his shoulder, long, dark green leaves lazily moving with him as he holds onto it, tight and secure.

‘Martha’ says a small, handwritten label on the pot, carefully stuck near the edge of the pot. Giving the plants human names had started out as a joke, a throwaway sentence, but then they bought more and more plants, and so a new tradition was born.

“...To be fair, I had no idea there were so many until we had to get them all into the van.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of space in the new house that looks empty. Not for long though, knowing you.”

Martin smiles at him, propping the box against himself. This thing is heavy - as small as their old flat is, it hasn’t stopped Jon from starting to form their own library throughout the living room. Truth be told, he is looking forward to seeing it expand once they’re settled into their new space. It'll be a fun opportunity to bicker over the proper way to sort them.

(“By colour ?? Martin, Dear, Love of my life, what the fuck . You’ve worked in a Library for years!” Jon will ramble on in disbelief, and Martin will cackle to himself, knowing he managed to rile his boyfriend up about something that isn’t important at all. He knows they actually agree that books need to be sorted by Author’s names. But where would be the fun in admitting that right away?)

“Ready to go?” he asks, and waits for his partner's affirmative nod before the two of them leave the apartment, for one last time.

It’s time for a new chapter in their new life, and they’re more than ready to start it.

The first morning in their new house, they are woken up by a fresh breeze coming through their bedroom window. It carries the scent of pine needles and damp earth with it. The birds outside are already singing the song of their people and have been doing so for hours, long before most humans are conscious. Waking up like this is bliss, even though the bed is about the only thing that is actually done in this room.

There are boxes everywhere and their wardrobe is only halfway assembled, but the bed is comfortable and decked out in fresh covers that still smell of washing powder. Everything is fresh and new and feels a little bit like they’re on a holiday. Maybe someday, it will become their new normal, but as of now, it feels like a fresh start.

As always, it’s Martin who wakes up first. He can smell the fresh, woodsy air, and it relaxes him in an instant. There is a small forest right by their house. It is at the end of the street where only a few more old, slightly lopsided houses are nearby. It is perfect for them.

On their search for a new home, it was clear they wanted to go somewhere more rural, somewhere remote. Ever since the Lonely, Martin is struggling with too many people around him. He can go about his everyday life if he has to, but days with too many people and too much social interaction leave him sad and exhausted from pretending to be fine and peachy with it.

It doesn’t help that many of the houses they looked at are seaside cottages. As beautiful as they look on the photos, conveniently taken on days with clear blue skies, this is England. There are way more rainy days filled with grey, suffocating fog, and that alone is enough to send Martin back into a full blown panic attack. It’s too much, way too much like the Lonely. Needless to say, they filtered their searches accordingly.

Eventually, everything clicks into place and they find their dream house in a small residential area with little traffic and even less people. The quiet of the countryside makes both of the breathe easier- it reminds them a little bit of their time in Scotland, even though the landscape isn’t nearly as raw here. They may or may not have found a field of very good cows nearby though.

The cool breeze of the morning air makes Martin shiver a bit, and he pulls the covers a little bit tighter around himself and Jon. Predictably, his partner takes this as an invitation to adjust his octopus grip that he has around him to get even closer as he sleepily grumbles,

“...Just five more minutes.”

“Make it an hour and we’re good, Love.” With gentle fingers, he starts to detangle the long strands of hair that surround Jon. There is even more grey than there was only a few years ago - no surprise, what with all of the stress and trauma they have lived through.

All that Martin gets in response to this is a low hum as Jon tightens his hold around him once more as he breathes a small trail of kisses along the side of his neck and up his jaw.

He knows that Morning-Jon is not talkative, at all, but he knows him long and well enough to understand what he is telling him, even when he is half asleep himself.

“I love you, too.”

#Archival Pride 2021 #banashee writes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #JonMartin #Post mag200 #TMA season 5 spoilers

15 notes · View notes

chipper9906 · 3 years

Text

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 7: Slip Of The Silver Tongue

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,223

Overall Word Count: 65,405

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (7/?)

Chapter Preview:

Loki grunts — a terribly well-thought-out argument — taking a moment at the top of the stairs to wait for his vision to stop swimming. “Didn’t I ask you to stop me from pouring any more drinks?” “You did,” Sylvie agrees. “You also then proceeded to tell me that ‘one more drink couldn’t hurt’, called the waitress over for the last of their wine stores, and then nearly stabbed that wannabe knight who started getting grabby with me.”

“He deserved worse,” Loki mumbled darkly, letting Sylvie guide him towards the room she had booked for them. “Not that I had to do anything, of course. By the time I had gotten my daggers out, you had already dented his cranium with your tankard.”

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

* * *

This wasn’t the first time Sylvie had seen someone fall victim to shock.

It usually happened when there was a specific sweet spot in the time it takes for an Apocalyptic event to occur. If it happens quickly, then most people don’t have time to actually react to it. That was probably the better option, where they didn’t know what was coming. The slower Apocalypses, like Lamentis or Miiphus, were some of the worst. The people of those Apocalypses were often unable to accept their fate. There was always that little stubborn bit of hope they clung onto, trying everything in their power to change their fate. Of course, they never could change it, because the Apocalypse of their world was written in stone. It had to happen, in accordance with His timeline.

But then there were some in the middle… the ones where the people could see the end coming. They knew there was nothing they could do to stop it, and He Who Remains was cruel enough to give them just enough time where all they could do was stand there and realize this before everything they ever knew and loved was destroyed.

That’s the times she saw people in a state of being… shell-shocked. Not all, of course. Most screamed, most ran, some… showed the crueler side of their nature in the face of the end. But a few people did nothing. She supposed they could be feeling despair in that moment, more than likely some terror, but… they don’t show it on their face. Their expressions are often next to impossible to read, like their mind had just… shut off.

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that that was what was happening to Loki.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Loki wasn’t like this. Loki was sharp and attentive, his razor-sharp wit and equally sharp tongue one of many traits that helped keep him alive. That Loki? He was gone, buried deep somewhere inside this empty shell of a man that weakly clung to her hand, pushing through the snow gathered around their feet like he hadn’t even registered it was there.

Sylvie’s head snaps to the right, to where she heard the sound of pounding hooves barely muted by the thick blanket of snow. She just about gets a glimpse of a band of riders galloping down the path towards them before she jumps behind a tree, dragging Loki with her. Thankfully, he still seems to have some sense of self-preservation left in him, willingly letting her pull him towards her until they were both pressed against each other, flattening themselves against the tree.

Sylvie winces at the rough bark pressing against her back, the thin and flimsy material of the TVA shirt and blazer providing little to no protection. Loki’s breathing is loud and shallow right next to her ear, the two of them pressed so tightly together that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The booming sound of the horses gallops slowly fades away as the riders pass them by, and it’s only then that Sylvie changes her clothes with a shrug of her shoulders and a burst of magic, re-materializing her usual clothing and ridding herself of a uniform she hopes she never has to wear again.

“Where… where are we?” Loki asks, and Sylvie had never been so glad to hear his voice. He slowly pushes away from her, scanning their surroundings with wide eyes like he couldn’t figure out how they had got here.

“Earth,” Sylvie brings his attention back to her, not bothering to hide the worry on her face.

“Those riders…” Loki looks to where the riders had disappeared between the thick thatches of trees, white puffs of condensation materializing from his mouth as he spoke. “Last I remember of my time on Earth, not many people carried swords... What year did you take us to?”

“Eighth century,” answered Sylvie, giving Loki’s hand a gentle squeeze to bring his attention back to her when he continued to stare out into the distance. “I know a place that's not too far. Are you… are you okay to walk?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki shoots Sylvie a strained smile that knocks away some of the reassurance she felt that he was starting to come back to himself, wishing that far-away look in his eyes would be gone. Loki weakly gestures with a wave of his hand in the direction they had been walking in. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Not once during their trek does Sylvie let go of his hand. Sometimes it felt like the only thing anchoring Loki to reality was her, and that if she let go, he would simply cease to exist.

Loki doesn’t hound her with his usual questions or provide insightful commentary on their surroundings. She… missed it, actually. Not just because their absence further proves that something with Loki isn’t quite right, but also because… to put it bluntly, she missed him. She missed hearing his voice, and missed feeling annoyed at hearing his voice.

...What was she talking about? She was thinking like Loki was dead, with his hand wrapped around hers, and his stumbling footsteps just behind her. He was still there, she knew that, he just… needed some time, is all. It wasn’t like he was going to quickly bounce back from…

Gods, had that really happened? Mobius was… he was…

Why did this hurt? Mobius was a man who had chased her across branches, hunting her down like it was for sport. She had only known him briefly, and this Mobius wasn’t even the one they knew. And yet… his death left an oddly hollow feeling in her chest that she knows must be immense and suffocating inside of Loki’s.

That was why, she supposed. It just seemed to be the way it worked with them. Mobius’s death was clearly wreaking havoc on Loki’s emotions, overwhelming him with levels of guilt and pain that he was struggling to handle. Loki was hurting, and just from that, she was hurting too. Loki was mourning the loss of his friend, and so she was mourning, too.

But she couldn’t let herself fall into it like Loki was. If she’s the only one of them that can tread on the surface of despair Loki was sinking into and keep the both of them afloat? Then that’s just what she’ll have to do.

The sight of the little building nestled within the forest brings with it a much-needed air of relief. The columns of smoke billowing from the inn’s chimney gave promises of alluring warmth and shelter from the cold — not that it bothered them all that much — and more importantly, the drunken patrons stumbling out of the front door that struggled to climb atop their horses gave promises of a much-needed drink.

“Hang on.” Sylvie comes to a stop, holding out a hand to stop Loki from walking any further forward. There was still enough distance and cover provided by the forest that no one would be able to spot them just yet. “It’s probably best that you change out of your clothes, too. We’re probably going to get a decent amount of stares with me wearing armor. I can’t imagine these people will react too well to seeing someone in an office get up.”

“Right…” Loki nods his head, peering at the handful of people of this time that stood around the entrance to the Inn, friendly smiles on their faces as they conversed whilst simultaneously keeping one hand placed atop the hilt of their swords. His eyes scan meticulously over their clothing, taking note of every small detail he can see that may be of use.

Loki moves closer towards the cover of a nearby tree, blocking out most of the light from his magic as he changes his wardrobe. What he wore was quite similar to his usual Asgardian armor, being mostly comprised of leather as most other pieces of armor from this time period on Earth seemed to be. Thankfully, the dark colors of his clothing seemed to be a common theme amongst others he had seen so far, so it wasn’t like they would have to worry over this Earth’s people scrutinizing their coloring choice.

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at the addition of some sort of fur wrap that ran along the collar and flowed down his back like… well, like a cape, it looked like. The fur was as dark in color, as was the rest of his outfit, the muted light from the cloud-covered sun barely able to show whether it was a very dark brown, or was simply black.

“People might look at us strangely if we’re walking around in freezing temperatures without a coat,” Loki says when he catches sight of her questioning look.

Sylvie had to admit that he had a point there. Before she can say anything or do anything in response, Loki had manifested a similar fur-lined coat in his hands. Sylvie raises a hand up, intending to take it from him, but of course Loki instead chooses to reach across her and drape it around her shoulders. He tucks the lapels of the coat together, waiting for Sylvie to reach out and grab hold of the lapels to keep it tightly wrapped around herself before letting go.

“There -- now we match,” Loki says with a soft smile that struggles to reach his eyes. “Also should help to reduce some of the stares at seeing a woman in armor…”

Loki and Sylvie continue towards the beckoning light spilling out from the Inn, the layer of snow under their feet steadily shifting to well-worn paths of mud and compacted snow. Only once do Loki’s feet nearly slide out from under him, but it takes everything in Sylvie not to crackup into laughter as she catches his arm to steady him.

The group of people milling about the door don’t even bat an eyelid at them as they squeeze by, evidently too invested in whatever conversations they were having to pay attention to the passing strangers. Even as Frost Giants, the blast of warmth that hits them as they push open the heavy wooden door is nothing less than a blessing. They both kick away the stubborn bits of mud and snow that clung to their boots, thankful to see only a few curious pub-goers had turned to see the newcomers. They apparently decided they weren’t of much interest, turning their attention back to their company and whatever alcoholic beverage was contained within the mugs in their hands.

Sylvie catches sight of a small table that is blessedly empty, tucked away within the corner of the room and away from the line of sight of eyes that might be a little too curious. Loki trails behind as Sylvie leads them to it, waiting for her to slide into place on one of the rickety-looking wooden benches before taking a seat for himself opposite.

The Inn was lit only by the fireplace that sat within the middle of the back wall, which also provided the old building with the much-needed heat against the bitter cold of the winter they had stepped into. Usually, Loki would be doing the same as Sylvie is right now: taking note of every exit, every potentially unsavory individual; preparing for the possibility of things going south, and figuring out whether running or fighting would be the best option depending on what went down.

But right now… he was tired. Drained. A part of him wanted to… to slip back into that uncaring facade. It had been his best line of defense, and now, the mask no longer seemed to fit.

“Be back in a minute,” Sylvie tells him in passing as she springs up from the table. She squeezes his shoulder as she passes, which he’s nearly unable to feel through the thick layer of fur that covered it.

She comes back moments later with two shoddily crafted metal cups in hand, one being more like a goblet in shape, and the other more like a tankard of some sort. She places the silver goblet on the table in front of him, before dropping back down onto the bench and claiming the tankard for herself.

“Kinda just guessed you’d want wine,” Sylvie tells him as he pulls the goblet towards him and peers down into its contents. “I’d ask for something stronger, but uh… we’re sort of limited to a few options here.”

“How did you pay for these?” Loki asks, the first genuine hint of amusement she’s heard from him laced into his question.

Sylvie wiggles her eyebrows at him in response, whilst also raising her hand into the air and wiggling her fingers with a burst of lime-green light. It manages to pull the tiniest of smiles from Loki, looking down to his drink with a huffed breath of laughter.

“Probably should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” Sylvie agrees with a smile, raising the tankard to her lips and taking a sip of the dark ale within.

Loki mirrors her actions, although where she had taken a single sip, his ‘sip’ didn’t stop until every last drop was sucked down. Sylvie was a little impressed as she watched him chuck his head back and down the entire thing in what seemed like one swallow, but mostly… she was just worried.

“Did... did you even taste that?”

The goblet clangs loudly as Loki returns it to the table, chuckling low, deep, and slow in a way that, if it had been anyone else, probably would have made her skin crawl. “I’m not exactly drinking it for the taste.”

'Fair point,' Sylvie thought. Not one to be outdone (and because, quite frankly, she needed it), Sylvie brought her metal tankard up to her mouth, draining the entire mug in only a few swallows. Loki shot her an equally impressed look once she dropped the tankard back down to the table, which she returned with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You know, sometimes I’m jealous of the humans,” Loki says almost a little too loudly. He raises the now empty goblet in his hands up in the air, cocking his head to the side as he inspects the blacksmith’s handiwork. “Their bodies are weaker than ours… and so it’s so much easier for them to get drunk… and for longer.”

“Well, the drinks on Lamentis certainly seemed to be effective on you.” Sylvie slides the goblet out of his hands, catching the eye of a nearby waitress and summoning her over with a curl of her finger. “I would say that I’m starting to feel you have a drinking problem but…” Sylvie trails off for a moment, her mouth softly closing with a sympathetic grimace. “But… I think I need a drink about as much as you do.”

Right on cue, the waitress appears by their table, carrying two large jugs of the drinks they had previously offered. She puts one down on the table, preparing to pour the other into Loki’s goblet first to top it up, but Loki places his hand over the top of the goblet to stop her.

“You might be better off leaving them both here,” Loki not so non-nonchalantly suggests to her with a charming smile. “Would probably save you the trips back and forth to our table.”

“I’m not sure that’s—” The woman starts to say, and it’s enough for Loki to realize it was another way of saying ‘no.’ He moves his hand from his goblet to the woman’s hand atop the handle of the jug, his smile not once wavering. No one, apart from him and Sylvie, see the green glow emitting from underneath his hands.

“I’m just trying to make your job easier for you.”

“Yes… yes, you’re right,” The waitress agrees, looking a little dazed as she slides her hands away from Loki and the jugs. “Let me know if you need any more, and I’ll bring them right over.”

“Lovely, thank you.” The smile on Loki’s face only drops away once the waitress has turned her back to them, and it’s a harsh reminder to them both of just how good of an actor he is.

How good of a liar he is.

"You're getting better," Sylvie notes once the waitress is out of earshot. "Won't be long before enchantment feels like second nature."

“Like you said — easier on those with simple minds. For a change of subject—" Loki picks up the jug of dark ale first, refilling Sylvie’s tankard for her before she can even ask — or say that she even wanted another one. She takes the cup once he offers it to her anyway, settling back against the uncomfortably hard wooden panels behind her. Loki doesn’t continue the rest of his sentence before he's poured himself another drink, hunched over the table as he holds onto his goblet of wine like it was a lifeline. “—What brings the end to this picturesque little location? Seems a little… small, to be classed as an Apocalypse.”

“There’s a village a few miles to the West from here.” Sylvie gestures with a flick of her head in the direction of the village. “Not a particularly large population, but… large by the standards of this time period.”

“Ah… so what brings about their end?” Loki asks like they were discussing the weather, perhaps the most emotionless smile on his face that she’s seen from him as he takes another long drink from his goblet.

Sylvie doesn’t answer his question. Loki raises his brows when she just stares at him instead of speaking, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she leans forward against the table. “Loki… I know what you’re doing.”

Loki’s eyebrows somehow raise even higher, shooting Sylvie a bemused frown. “What… I’m doing?”

“I saw you on Miiphus. You can’t pretend like seeing all these worlds coming to an end doesn’t bother you. And now, you’re… you’re trying to pretend like you don’t care.”

“Because I don’t—”

“You do, though,” Sylvie cuts off another lie. “And I know you do, because I do. Even after all these years, even when I think I’m desensitized to it… I still care. I care that all these apocalypses happen because He decided they do. So don’t give me that. Don’t give me this… this regressed form of yourself. You know as well as I do that you’re pretending you don’t care so that it’s easier to talk about -- because you’re looking for a distraction.”

Something on Loki’s face shifts. A slip, a give to the illusion. Sylvie didn’t say what it was that he was trying to distract himself from, but it’s not like she needs to. She pushes her tankard to the side, reaching out for Loki like it was second nature. His jaw shifts by just the slightest as her hand rests atop of his, his eyes never once leaving hers.

“If you want to talk to me… just talk to me,” Sylvie offers earnestly. “And if you can’t talk to me about… about that… then you don’t have to. I’m more than happy to act as a distraction if you want me to, just… don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. And hey -- I booked us a room upstairs in case all you want to do is drink until you pass out, and I’ll haul your drunken arse up the stairs.”

For the first time since they’ve gotten here, the half-a-smile that pulls at Loki’s lips is one she knows comes from her Loki.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, soft and quiet, and the illusion is broken. “It’s just… easier that way… Not to think about it.”

“Believe me, I know.” Sylvie lifts her hand from Loki’s, wrapping it back around her tankard and taking a sip. “And that’s something I’m working on, too. I… I want to open up to you more, even when everything inside me is screaming at me not to. So… I understand if… if you can’t talk about it.”

Loki closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He opens them back up again, glancing over to the nearly full jug of wine next to him, feeling very grateful for its presence. “First… you answer my previous question, about what happens here.”

“Snowstorm,” Sylvie answers, keeping her voice low as she turns her gaze towards the frost-covered windows of the Inn. “Still a few days out -- but then again, since we don’t know what timeline this is, it could be sooner… or later… or not at all.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about this one,” Loki points out, one of the only times he’s thankful for his true heritage. “Were they… not prepared for it?”

“Not really something they can predict. They prepare for winter, sure, but this…? It’s just… too much for them to handle. This apocalypse, it’s…” Sylvie shivers, not from the cold but more of a sympathetic reaction. “It’s… slow. The ones that freeze to death are the lucky ones. Others… fight a losing battle. Food runs out pretty quickly, and once their storages are gone… the fighting starts. No one makes it through to the spring.”

Loki hums sadly, dropping his gaze down to his goblet as he taps his fingers along its surface. “Did you see that often…?”

“What -- people panicking in the face of death?” Sylvie’s voice is twinged with amusement, amazed that Loki would ask a question with such an obvious answer.

“No, that’s a given,” Loki dismisses with a wave of his hand. “More… people being reduced to their animalistic tendencies. Civilizations that took centuries to develop, reduced to bare instincts in such little time.”

Sylvie sighs heavily through her nose, taking another drink of ale before she answers. “It’s… it’s not easy to predict how we’d react in the face of death. Having been there to watch it unfold countless times… I sometimes wondered what I would do in their place. There were many times where that was almost the case. There was never a guarantee I’d make it through to the next apocalypse. Never a guarantee that the TVA wouldn’t figure out my hiding spaces before I could make my move.”

Loki drops his gaze, shoulders hunched over as the guilt forces his eyes away from hers. Like usual, Sylvie seemed to be able to read his mind, reaching out a hand to wrap around his wrist. “I know I like to tease you about it sometimes, but I don’t blame you. I know you were doing what you needed to do to survive, same as I was. And at the end of it all… you were there with me.”

“Sometimes wish it could have played out differently,” Loki mumbles, head still bowed towards his goblet of wine. “That we could have met under better circumstances.”

“How?” Sylvie asks with a chuckle. “Not many people get to meet a variant of themselves unless under very particular TVA-related circumstances -- and that’s in the off-chance they do something wrong.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Loki finally lifts his gaze back up, even if it’s only to pull the jug of wine closer and refill his goblet. He turns his attention back to Sylvie, a lazy smile stretching across his face as he lifts his goblet into the air. “And now here we are: having massively cocked up the timeline by doing what we thought was right, leading to us hunting down infinite amounts of the same dangerous, potentially — more than likely — genocidal man, who may or may not be aware of our presence, and is hunting us down in return.”

Sylvie returns his smile with one of her own, lifting up her own tankard and clinking it against Loki’s. “I’m leaning more towards the ‘may be aware’ than ‘may not’ side of him hunting us down.”

Loki agrees with a mixture of a hum and a groan as he drains yet another cup of wine, wiping away any remnants that clung to his upper lip as he lowers the cup from his mouth. “Could always use a challenge.”

“And what -- trying to kill every version of one man isn’t enough of a challenge for you?”

Loki shrugs. “Sounds like an average day to me.”

Sylvie chuckles lightly, shaking her head at him. “Keep up that confidence, and we’ll be done with this whole mess in no time.”

“And then we’ll be right back to where we were,” Loki says, the easy-going smile on his face slipping slightly. “With either one of us knowing what to do next…”

“One step at a time,” Sylvie utters softly, ducking her head to catch Loki’s eye. “It’s difficult to focus on what’s next when what’s ahead is as big as it is.”

Loki nods at her answer, dragging his goblet across the table to take another drink. Sylvie reaches out a hand to stop him before he can lift it, forcing his eyes up to meet hers.

“But… I’d like to accept your offer, from before.”

That rouses Loki’s interest, the dreary fog that had been hanging over his head since they arrived lifting by just the slightest as his curiosity wins over. “My offer…?”

“Back in the Void, you asked me what I was going to do next.” Sylvie lowers her hand from the goblet onto Loki’s, his fingers tightening instinctively around the stem of the goblet. “I said I didn’t know.”

Loki knew all of this, of course. This very conversation, everything he had said, everything she had answered with, had been seared into his memory. But, in what was an unusual move for him, he chose to remain silent, letting Sylvie speak.

“You asked, if…” Sylvie pauses for just a moment, darting out the tip of her tongue to wet her lips — more of a nervous gesture than anything. “…If maybe we could figure that out together.”

Loki swallows harshly — his own nervous gesture — remaining remarkably patient and quiet as he waits for Sylvie to continue.

“And I answered with ‘maybe,’” Sylvie continues, looking as lost to the memory of that day as he was. “If the offer still stands… I’d like to change my answer to yes.”

Loki laughs which, in most cases, isn’t the most ideal of responses to such a statement. But even through the nerves that Sylvie doesn’t know how to handle does she hear the clear relief in his laughter, the warm smile on his face helping to squash down those nerves better than any spoken words ever could.

“The offer still, as it always will do, stands.”

…But then again, she supposed those words helped, too.

* * *

A few hours later, with no TVA in sight, no snowstorm in sight, and too many drinks for them to count, it was fair enough to say that they were tip-toeing the line between ‘pleasantly tipsy’ and… downright hammered.

“I thought you were the one that was supposed to be dragging me up the stairs.” Loki’s words come out a little more slurred than they sounded in his head, the both of them hanging onto each other for support as they climb the old wooden stairs that looked a lot more slanted than they did earlier. In fact, they seemed to be doing a remarkable job of disobeying the laws of physics and jumping away from where he intended to place his foot.

“Says the guy leaning half of his weight on me,” Sylvie huffs, her free hand pressed against the wall for support. And… to stop them from tumbling down the stairs.

“You did,” Sylvie agrees. “You also then proceeded to tell me that ‘one more drink couldn’t hurt’, called the waitress over for the last of their wine stores, and then nearly stabbed that wannabe knight who started getting grabby with me.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Sylvie replies, which Loki doesn’t like the sound of at all. “Remember those ‘animalistic natures’ you talked about earlier? Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten used to dealing with people like that whilst on the run.”

Sylvie just barely manages to shove the steel key into the door’s lock, the scratch marks etched into the area of the handle around the hole itself indicating that most other drunk patrons of this Inn had dealt with the same problem. She all but leans her entire weight against the heavy door to push it open, nearly stumbling into the room and dragging Loki with her when the door finally gives way.

“Ah -- what a sight for sore eyes!” Loki crows in delight as he lays eyes on the king-sized bed pushed against the wall to the left of the doorway. The bed faced yet another fireplace — being the only room in the Inn for hire that included a fireplace, situated atop the fireplace downstairs in the pub and sharing its chimney. Renting such a room would usually cost a pretty penny… but having access to magic beyond most’s understanding made it much easier to get the five-finger discount.

“You know, I genuinely can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed,” Loki comments as he teeters towards the fireplace. He gracefully —by which he means he just let’s gravity do most of the work — drops down onto his knees in front of the fireplace, using a burst of his magic to turn the pile of freshly cut logs and tinder within into a roaring fire within seconds. “I’m guessing the same could be said for you?”

“Depends what you classify as a bed.” Sylvie finishes up locking the door to the room, tucking the key into her pocket as she turns towards the room. “Most times, I was lucky to be lying on something even somewhat soft. Other times… well, let’s just say that sleep was often a luxury I couldn’t afford.”

Loki grimaces as he pushes himself up until he was standing, walking over to the bed and collapsing down onto it with an exhausted sounding huff, letting his hands rest atop his stomach as his back hits the — mostly — clean sheets underneath him.

“Suppose I shouldn’t expect much craftsmanship from Earth’s eighty century,” Loki comments on the state of the bed. Sylvie walks over to the bed, entering Loki’s frame of vision as she stands over him.

“At least I have a nice view, though.” He accompanies the comment with a sly smile, which gets him a roll of the eyes and a less than vicious kick to his leg hanging off the edge of the bed in response.

“Come on, budge up,” Sylvie indicates to where he was situated directly in the middle of the bed, motioning for him to move with a flick of her wrist.

Loki grunts with the little effort it takes to move himself over to one side of the bed. He closes his eyes against the comforting yet too bright light of the fire, feeling the dip of the bed as Sylvie takes a seat on the edge of it.

“Hey,” she tries to get his attention, tapping at his thigh until he creaks an eye open to look at her. “You do still have the TemPad, right?”

Loki answers by digging into his oversized coat pocket, pulling out the TemPad and holding it out in the air for her to take. She takes it from his hands, running a thumb along the smoothed marble edge, watching as it lights up at her touch.

“I think it likes you more than me,” Loki mumbled from beside her.

“Mmm… not sure it has the capability to pick favorites.”

“If it’s smart enough to recognize us as its owners, then it might be able to differentiate between us and have a preference to which of us is wielding it.”

“Well… I have used it more than you,” Sylvie points out, and on cue, the surface of the TemPad lights up, as if it were agreeing with her words.

Loki pushes himself up from the bed, matching Sylvie as he sits at the edge of the bed. He runs a tired hand over equally tired eyes, glancing down to the TemPad in her hands. “Why’d you use Mo -- the other TemPad, instead of that one?”

If Sylvie noticed him tripping over his words, she didn’t mention it. “We said it’d be best to grab a backup, didn’t we? And… you seemed a little, uh… shaken at the time, to get the TemPad back off you.”

“Right…” Loki drops his gaze down to his lap, seemingly shrinking in on himself.

“Loki… I’m so sorry,” Sylvie says gently, trying to find the best way to approach the subject they had both seemingly been avoiding. “I know that Mobius, he was… he was a good friend.”

“No, not a good friend.” Loki shakes his head, glancing up at her. “He was… my only friend.”

The pain on his face briefly gives way to one of panic, quickly attempting to backtrack on what he had just said. “Oh, uh, that’s not to say that you’re not my friend, it’s just that -- I’ve always seen as you as something different than—”

Sylvie smiles at his awkward and bumbling words, reaching out to place her hand on his upper arm. “I know. I get what you’re trying to say.”

Loki relaxes at that, sighing quietly to himself in relief. “If it hadn’t been for Mobius, I would have been reset moments after my so-called ‘trial.’ He… broke me down and pulled me apart, forcing me to realize truths about myself that I had always tried to run from. Meeting him, just like meeting you, it… it changed me. Or… or more so it made me realize that I was capable of changing myself.”

Sylvie’s hand moves up and down his arm in soothing motions, the comforting touch forcing his eyes shut. “He’s still out there, Loki. We’ll find him again.”

“How am I supposed to face him again?” Loki asks desperately. “How can I look him in the eye, knowing what I’ve done to him?”

“You need to stop seeing that variant as him. Just like me and you, that Mobius and the one we know are nearly different people entirely. Different choices made, different lives lived. Who we are -- who we become -- is more than just what we are at birth. That Mobius made the choice to pick up the Pruning Stick. That Mobius made the choice to threaten us, not the Mobius you know. You didn’t kill Mobius; you killed a man that was holding a weapon to my neck, and I… I can’t even begin to thank you for that.”

Loki shoots her an incredulous look. “You can’t have really thought I would have let him…?”

“I thought it might have been a possibility.” Sylvie shrugs her shoulders, Loki’s baffled expression only growing stronger at her response.

“Mobius is… he’s the only — and the greatest — friend I’ve ever had,” Loki begins, placing a hand over hers on his shoulder. “But you? You’re…”

Loki wasn’t even sure he had a word to describe what Sylvie was to him. None that he knew quite seemed to fit, didn’t quite match the way he felt when he thought about her. She was… himself, both the good parts and the bad parts. She was… she was him, and yet she wasn’t. She was… a force of nature that came crashing into his life as much as he had been chasing it, stirring up trouble and chaos wherever she went, and yet, left behind the seeds of new life, of new beginnings once the destruction had cleared.

She was… the driving force that made him want to be someone different. She was the only person he wanted by his side as they took on this seemingly impossible task.

She was…

“...My Glorious Purpose.”

There was a split second where Loki wondered if perhaps those words weren’t the best to use. Sure, he had mentioned his ‘Glorious Purpose’ before, and since the future version of himself had brought it up, he… kind of just assumed that the idea of a ‘Glorious Purpose’ was something that was sort of built into every Loki. Now though, when he thought about it from an outside perspective, the use of ‘my’ seemed to suggest a claim of ownership over Sylvie, which was certainly not the impression he wanted to give off.

He stops worrying about it when the concerned frown on her face slowly softens, changing to one of disbelief at his statement. He can’t help but give her a small smile at the sight of her shock, looking back down to his lap with that half-turned smile slipping away.

“I’m not too sure when it changed,” he admits to her. “I suppose that… most other versions of my ‘Glorious Purpose’ always involved me ruling over… something. Asgard… Midgard… The Nine Realms; then, when I discovered the power they held, The TVA. Same goal, just… different circumstances. And you know what the strange thing is?”

Sylvie was still a bit too dumbstruck from Loki’s previous admission, only able to stare avidly at him as he speaks.

“I didn’t even want them. Not really,” Loki says, and then he laughs, the reality of his entire life now just seeming so incredibly absurd as he says it out loud.

What had his obsession over ruling truly been about? Did he think it would guide him towards happiness? Would he felt like he had achieved something he had earned through blood, sweat, and tears? That he took what should have been his, not something he had to take?

No… no, it wasn’t any of that. It was…

It was from feeling out of place.

He always had, right from the beginning. Always this feeling of… something not right. He had been the, quite literal, black sheep in the family. Watching his father sat atop the throne, witnessing the grandeur that came with his father’s title, hearing of the stories that led to his place on the throne… and then seeing the way his brother was co closely following in the footsteps of their father.

Thor was the oldest. He might have been a prince, just as Thor was, but he always knew that Thor was the one who would step up to the throne when the time came. He was… a backup, it sometimes felt like. The only time he truly felt wanted, and like he was right where he was meant to be, was whenever he was learning magic, paying rapt attention to his mother as she showed him all she knew.

Then, to find out who he truly was… What little claim he had to the title, what little claim he had to being an Asgardian, of being Son of Odin and Frigga was… gone. He was nothing more than a little ice runt, saved from abandonment to act as a token of peace in the hopes of ending both his father’s wars.

What if he had known? What if, like Sylvie, he had been told of who he really was? Would events still transpire as they had? Would Sylvie had done the same as him, if she had never been taken from her timeline? It seemed unlikely. For one, she seemed — at least on the outside — remarkably unphased about being adopted when he had brought it up back on Lamentis. And for another... she had spent her entire life running away from an organization that ruled over everything that has existed, or ever will exist; it wasn’t all too surprising that the thought of ruling over anything didn’t really appeal to her.

And that was what it boiled down to. Him, desperately trying to grab hold of power in a bid for control, to prove to others and to himself that he deserved to be something -- someone -- other than a pawn in his father’s wars. And Sylvie… she had run, stolen, and killed her way through universe after universe, all to send a message to the TVA that she was more than just a pawn in their game that had made her own move, not theirs.

They both felt the need to prove that they belonged. Just... In different ways.

“How…” Sylvie tries to start speaking, clearing her throat with a shake of her head. “How am I your Glorious Purpose? Why am I…?”

“Not really something I can control,” Loki gestures to himself with a strained smile. “One moment, all I care about is finding my way back to the TVA, getting in front of the Time Keepers, and taking their place on the throne. Then… there you were. You were… persistent, and determined, and… me, yet… not. You were trying to destroy the TVA — the very thing I was trying to rule — and… I only had to know you for a day for everything to change. For me to change. I didn’t care about having a throne. I didn’t care about being in control. For once, I felt like I truly belonged — and that was whenever I was with you. I knew that… I could let myself be happy, so long as you’re happy.”

Sylvie has to look away from the intensity of his gaze, trying to wrap her head around everything he had just said. “I, um… I’m starting to think this is the wine talking.”

Loki chuckled lazily at that, dropping gracefully back down to the bed. “Hmm… wine does usually make me talk a lot.”

“You always talk a lot.”

“More so than usual,” Loki grumbles. “My point still stands; just because it’s the wine talking doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth.”

Sylvie glances back to him over her shoulder, drinking in the peaceful look on his face as he lies there with his eyes closed, looking about ready to drop off. She sighs quietly, looking back to the TemPad in her hands with a thoughtful frown.

“I wish I knew how to tell you the way I feel for you,” she admits to the quiet of the room. Loki’s eyes pop open, looking up to her in surprise.

“It seems like you’re better at all this than I am,” Sylvie continues, shuffling around on the bed so she could face him better. “Feels like… I have some catching up to do.”

“We both do,” Loki reassures her, pushing himself up onto his arms. “But that’s okay. We’ll figure things out at our own pace.”

“But what if I…” Sylvie trails off, face twisting in frustration. “…What if I never get there?”

“You will—”

“But you don’t know that,” Sylvie stresses, cutting him off. “And it’s... it’s not fair to you, for me to be stuck the way I am…”

“Sylvie, a few days before I met you, I was using a device to carve out and copy the information of a man’s eye.” Sylvie reels back slightly at this tidbit of information, but —thankfully— doesn’t ask about it any further. “And, you know… a friend once told me I could be whoever, or whatever, I wanted to be. We are capable of change, Sylvie -- especially when it’s a change we’re striving to achieve. And if you never get there?” Loki shrugs his shoulders. “That’s okay, too. I know you’ll find your own way to express how you feel.”

Sylvie shakes her head at the assurance in his voice. She wasn’t sure what it was she had done that had made Loki so… devoted to her. “Sometimes I’ll look at you, and I’ll think of something, and… and I just can’t say those thoughts out loud. And I should. If I can think them, why can’t I say them?”

“Sylvie… there’s a hell of a difference between thinking something, and acting on it. The way that I feel for you, it’s… it’s not easy for me to admit, either. It doesn’t feel all that long ago that I mocked people for being in love. And now, in their shoes, I know it’s more complicated then—”

Loki stopped himself when he caught sight of the wide-eyed look on Sylvie’s face, his mouth frozen partway open in mid-sentence. Loki might not have picked up on the significance of what he had just said out loud, but for Sylvie, those few words were echoing around in her head. It was almost funny that, seconds after saying he too struggled to admit how he feels, he had just dropped the biggest admission possible on her without even realizing it.

“What did you just say?” Sylvie whispers, eyes still wide as saucers.

Loki frowned, ready to ask which part of what he had just said, when the realization clobbers him around the head. He… he had never said that out loud, had he? But… but she knew, didn’t she? She had to — especially after sharing their emotions with each other as they delved into their memories, re-watching their moment on Lamentis through the power of enchantment.

“Ah…” Loki got out, trying not to let the panic take over. “That… that probably wasn’t the best time to say that, was it?”

Sylvie’s continuous silence and lack of a reaction other than just staring at him wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves. “Okay, I know I said it’s fine if you can’t express how you feel, but I’d really appreciate it if you said something right about now.”

“Did you mean it?” Sylvie asks, the vulnerability in her voice giving Loki pause. “Are you… are you really…?”

“In love with you?” Loki fills in the words Sylvie couldn’t seem to get out. Sylvie sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth at the words, slowly nodding her head. A small smile flickers at the corner of Loki’s lips, looking away sheepishly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Loki glances up at her from his ducked gaze, watching as she takes this in. She teeters back on the bed, eyes darting around the room in what Loki hoped was closer to something like shock than just downright panic.

“Please, don’t -- don’t freak out.” Loki wanted to reach out to her, but wasn’t sure how well-received his touch would be right now. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you—”

“Say it again.”

Loki blinked at her in surprise, the response not what he was expecting. “I… excuse me?”

“Say it again,” Sylvie repeats firmly, looking him straight in the eye.

Loki schools his confused expression, meeting her searching gaze as he repeats the one thing he never thought he’d get to say. “I’m in love with you.”

Sylvie’s eyes narrow for a moment, her eyes scanning across his face for some kind of tell that he was lying — some form of manipulation, one which would be the cruelest kind. “Again,” She repeats, unable to keep the shakiness out of her voice.

“I’m in love with you.” It was almost scary how easy it was coming to him, now. It was like stating the weather, or what he had eaten for dinner. Just… a matter of fact. An absolute truth — and he was finding he enjoyed saying it as much as he enjoyed knowing she had now heard those words fall from his lips.

Loki wasn’t sure what about him saying it for the third time made Sylvie believe it, but she seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for from him. Sylvie rushes towards him, grabbing hold of the lapels of his coat and pulling him towards her until their lips met. It was already much too warm in the room from the heat radiating from the fireplace, so Loki was all too eager to assist Sylvie as she begins yanking his coat off.

They break apart for the briefest of moments to pull his arms out from the sleeves of the coat, balling it up and throwing it carelessly to the side, nearly setting it alight as it lands near the fire. Loki happily follows the directions of her push, falling back onto the bed and savoring the feeling of her body pressed against his as her weight falls onto him.

“You’re right -- I can find another way to express the way I feel,” Sylvie pants a few tantalizing inches from his mouth. It takes all of Loki’s focus to listen to what she’s saying and not just surge up and reclaim her lips like his body was screaming at him to do. “And I’ve always been more a woman of actions than words, anyway.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

13 notes · View notes

anjuschiffer · 4 years

Text

Wasn’t Meant For You but For Him

I know I’ve been quiet in terms of updates, but this is what I’ve been working on for the past two days! My first Timari! *squeal*

Thank you Vivi for encouraging me to write this! Also want to thank @eve-valution for beta-ing!

@-@-@-@-@

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

@-@-@-@-@

Pairing: Timari

Context: This is years after highschool, possibly 5-6 years (I can’t count)? Gabriel isn’t HM here and HM was defeated a year after highschool was done for both Adrien and Mari. Mari isn’t the Guardian, since Fu was never discovered, however Adrien and Mari knew each other’s identities. Mari and Adrien are 24, Tim 25 and Damian is 17…

@-@-@-@-@

AO3

@-@-@-@-@

Richard yawned as he made his way to the kitchen, noticing a dim blue light peer through the crack of the living room, deciding to poke his head into the room.

His eyes laid straight onto Tim, his attention on the television screen, his coffee spilled on the floor, his laptop and documents spread on his table long forgotten and covered by the lone mug.

Wondering what had captured his brother’s attention, Richard decided to look at the television screen, then and there connecting the pieces.

“-and there you have it! Straight from the groom-to-be father’s mouth!”

Richard watched as Tim got up and left the room, giving Richard a nod as he left.

“The wedding of the year! Of possibly the century! The unification of the mysterious designer -MDC- and the face of Agreste - Adrien Agreste!” The tanned skinned reporter with a beauty mark above her eyebrow said. “And you’re saying that MDC will be revealing her actual face at the wedding?”

“She is, without a doubt, along with her actual name.”

“You heard it here first everyone! France’s beloved designer, MDC, will be revealing her face and name at her wedding! So don’t forget to joint down the big-”

Richard turned the television off, a click escaping his mouth as he cleaned up the spilled coffee on the floor and took the mug with him.

-----

“I can’t believe that I’m late for my own wedding!” A woman said, bouncing her leg as she kept looking outside her window to see if the limousine was anywhere near the church, Goliath Cathedral.

While the cathedral was lovely, it was nothing compared to the Gotham Cathedral. Despite the Cathedral never being restored, its stone gargoyles and rusty bells attracted Marinette to the 800 foot, moss covered building.

It would’ve been wonderful to have the wedding there -no- to even walk inside the cathedral if it were ever restored. It’s lovely interior was filled with history, the unreachable ceiling would’ve enthralled the people when the music started, drawing everyone into an ethereal trance.

The real trance, however, would start when Mari would step into the monotone room, her pure white dress becoming the centerpiece of adoration. The very dress she had on. An MDC original.

A dress made of tulle and lace, two materials and nothing more. The lace will create the sleeves and cover the bodice, forming an off-the-shoulder top. Tulle will create the skirt, lace once more adorning the hem of the dress and train that would be two meters in length. The veil would also be an MDC original, each crystal in that veil to be sewed on with joy and precision, an emotion that still radiated from Marinette since the day she started sketching her wedding gown.

“-Earth to Marinette!” Alya yelled, causing Marinette to let out a squeak. “About time you snapped from your trance!” Alya said with a giggle. “We’re here.”

“Already!” Marinette said with disbelief, looking outside her window once again, watching how crowded the streets in front of Goliath Cathedral were flooded with people of all ages and races, Marinette feeling something weighing on her. “Mon Dieu.”

“Well, Gabriel did make a huge fuss about your grand day.” Alya reminded her. “As much as I wish that I was the one to comment over your wedding, I couldn’t say no to being your Matron of Honor.” Alya said, really wishing to be the reporter to comment on her BFF’s grand day, but knew this task will always be of greater importance.

Marinette melted at that, throwing herself at her best friend. “Woah there girl! I can’t have you crying before your big dream comes true!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just-”

“You just can’t wait to finally marry Adrien after all these years of-”

“Alya!” Marinette squeaked, squeaking once more when Alya tackled her.

“You deserve this Marinette.” Alya said, wrapping her arms around her friend. “You deserve this and so much more.” Marinette resisted the urge to cry. “Finally, after defending Paris for so many years and after getting your breakthrough as MDC… you can finally get your happily ever after.” Alya gently pushed Marinette away from her, wiping off the tears that slid down Marinette’s face. “Now! Let’s not be a minute later than what we already are!”

Marinette nodded, pep talking herself as she watched the door be opened for her, emerging out of the limo and stepping into the sea of cameras, smiling and waving as they captured the moments that would lead her to her life as Marinette Agreste.

-----

“He’s not here.”

Marinette felt lightheaded, her heart beating loudly in her ears, her chest tightening and becoming unbearable.

“Get me out of here.” She whispered. When she felt no one come to her, she said it again, not registering how loudly she said it. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

She didn’t know who grabbed her, but someone did, leading her back to the limo that was still awaiting for her, or rather for the couple that was supposed to be.

She heard as cameras clicked and let out a shuttering noise that rang in her ears, she watched as lights went off as they capture her face in that moment,

Marinette kept looking forward, barely hearing Alya yell at the driver to get them somewhere.

Marinette felt as her entire body shaked, looking down at her bouquet of flowers.

White roses - purity...innocence...

Baby’s breath - everlasting love...

What a joke…

The limo came to a halt, Marinette looking up to see what stood in their way from getting out of the area.

Her eyes widened upon seeing Adrien step out of his car.

She didn’t know when she got up and out of the limo, but she finally regained her composure when she heard the words she dreaded to hear on her grand day… their grand day.

“Mari, I’m sorry.”

Three words… that’s all it took.

Walking up to Adrien, feeling her anger shake the flowers in her hand, she lifted them up, connecting it to Adrien’s face, watching as flower petals scattered around them and the road beneath them. “How dare you show your face to me!”

“Mari, I tried calling you-”

“YOU ALWAYS SAID WE WERE MEANT TO BE!” She hit him again, wondering when the petals were going to stop scattering.

“I’m here now. I-”

“YOU TALKED ABOUT ETERNAL LOVE AND YET LOOK AT US!”

“Mari, I’m-”

“YOU HUMILIATED ME! ME!” Marinette yelled, feeling hot tears trailing down her face, hitting him again and again, never noticing that the petals were already gone and battered, the stems of the bouquet bent and worn.

Seeing Adrien with guilt spelled across his face, Marinette looked him over one last time before running off, never hearing Adrien nor Alya yell out her name as she disappeared into an alley.

-----

Tim let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair, hearing Bruce’s words ringing in his mind.

“You’re not in the right mind. Come back when you’re ready to do your work properly.”

How exactly was he supposed to do that?

MDC’s wedding was today. To-day.

And no, that wasn’t what upsetted him, oh no.

It was the mere fact that she would be revealing herself to the world, something she said that she would never do until she felt comfortable.

So when Tim heard through Gabriel Agreste’s mouth that she would be revealing her face at the wedding -a wedding in which she later commented that she wanted to be private, but later was pressured into making it public- Tim couldn’t help but become upset for her.

Everything that she had worked so hard for, the respect and dignity she had built for herself all crumbled within a few moments… her years worth of effort, gone by marrying her highschool sweetheart.

To make matters worse, Tim felt like Gabriel was the one behind the wedding and not his son.

Tim sighed as he wondered why he was even letting this all get to him.

Looking up, he didn’t expect to find himself wandering the park.

He also didn’t expect to see a bride-to-be, oddly feeling like he had seen her before.

He heard sobs escape from her tiny frame, watching her rip the skirt of her gown with no effort, watching as she continued to rip the gown to shreds, the fabric laying at her feet, battered and covered in dirt.

He took a step forward before stopping himself.

Who was he to interfere in her life. Hell, what can he even do to stop her from crying?

He didn’t need to be told when he watched her turn around, Tim finally piecing why her back seemed so familiar, why her ruly midnight hair stunned him and why her dull, puffy bluebell eyes caused his breath to hitch.

He had seen her face before leaving his office. She was the reason why he couldn’t focus at work. It was her…

But why was she here? Wasn’t she-

No…

It couldn’t be…

She didn’t deserve this…

No…

How could he?!

Tim slowly approached the woman he had secretly admired since he could ever remember.

Taking the fabric away from her hands, the thing that was once her veil, a fabric that she happily worked on as she streamed her progress on her wedding gown over the course of six months…

Tim could only stand there… wondering what to do next.

“Would you like some coffee?” Tim offered, watching as something returned into MDC’s eyes. She nodded, slowly rising to her feet, collapsing as soon as she got up. Luckily, Tim had caught her in time, the woman now dangerously close to his liking.

Fishing for his phone, Tim called his most trusted family member.

“Hey Alfred… I need your help. Can you make sure there isn’t any type of paparazzi near me? We have a runaway bride that would be grateful to not have any more drama added to her big day.”

------

Adrien walked into the reception hall with his head hung low, too embarrassed to face his friends, feeling eyes pierce through him as he walked towards his former classmates.

He could feel Nathaniel and Marc’s gaze pierce through him, years of working with them allowing him to know who’s gaze was who. He could also feel Juleka’s and Mylene’s, thanking Kwami that Kim and Alix weren’t here.

They would’ve killed him the minute he walked into the room with Mari by his side. But he didn’t need to hear their disappointment when he could already hear everyone else’s.

He could already hear the murmuring as people noticed the empty space beside him.

Where was the bride?

“What were you thinking, Adrikins?!” Chloe yelled, storming to her childhood friend upon seeing him, Sabrina close behind her. Adrien watched as her black dress with golden trims approached him, wincing upon seeing a name hiddened at the hem of the dress. “How could you do that to Dupain-Cheng?!”

“Marinette didn’t deserve that.” Sabrina added, watching as Rose and Ivan stood in front of him, acting as a wall between the two.

“You guys are being too harsh on him.” Rose stated, glancing towards Ivan, as if pleading him to back her up. “He was just nervous.”

“Rose is right. Give Adrien some space to breath and rethink-”

“Rethink?” Juleka scoffed, everyone turning their heads to see Juleka make her way through the reception doors. “Seriously Ivan? Rethink?”

“Juleka, calm down.” Rose whispered, not seeing the anger in Juleka’s eyes diminish in the slightest, instead, it grew.

“No Rose!” Juleka making Rose wince. “You’re telling me to forgive this idiot for leaving Mari at the altar?!”

“Juleka, you’re being too harsh-”

“No I’m not Rose and you know that!” Juleka looked at Adrien, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you ruin Marinette’s dreams like that? How dare you mock Marinette’s feelings! How dare you!”

“Juleka!” Another voice shouted, gaining everyone’s attention, but Juleka’s. “That’s enough!”

“Lu-” Adrien could hear the gasps that filled the room as his vision shifted to the side, his face aching and on fire.

“You had one job Agreste.” Luka growled, Adrien not daring to face Luka.

He knew that Mari meant a lot to Luka. She was like a sister to him, the two were inseparable when they were younger. “You were suppose to make her happy Agreste and yet here you are, not feeling a single shred of shame that-”

“I told her that I was-”

“Sorry?” Luka let out a dry laugh. “Sorry doesn’t cut it buddy. I told you what would happen if you made her cry.” Luka grabbed Adrien’s face, forcing him to look at him. “I swear, if I see you anywhere near Marinette, if you dare to talk to her again, I will find you and I will tear you to shreds Agreste. I don’t care if I have become a villain once more to protect those I love.” Luka let go of Adrien, the ex-groom falling to the ground, shaking.

“Mark my words Adrien Agreste.”

Adrien heard Luka and Juleka walk out, hearing another pair stop before walking in, watching as they crouched to his level. Kagami looked at him with disappointment, a frown on her face.

“Kagami.”

“Seems like Luka beat me to the punch.” She said, her frown curving a bit. “Literally.”

Adrien didn’t utter a word as she rose, helping him get up. “I also came to tell you something else before heading to your father.” Kagami smirked when she saw him tense. “The Tsurugi’s will no longer work with the Gabriel brand. Our relationship is over.” Kagami headed for the door before stopping to take one last look at Adrien. “Seems like Lady Luck is no longer on your side.”

------

Marinette stirred, jolting up when she felt soft comforters covering her and a mattress beneath her. She noticed an elderly gentleman standing near the doorway, letting his shoulders relax when he saw her.

“I see you are awake, Miss...?”

“Marinette.” Marinette started, scanning her area. Where exactly was she?

“Do not worry, Miss Marinette. No camera nor paparazzi knows of your location.” He assured, watching as Marinette let out a sigh of relief. “We also have some attire prepared for you if you so wish to change from your current one.”

Looking down onto herself, Marinette quickly took the offer, slipping into the slightly oversized shirt and a pair of jeans that fit her loosely, also thanking the gentleman for also giving her some comfortable footwear. Sneakers were definitely better to walk in than heels.

“Thank you,” Marinette said, walking out of the room she was in, her battered wedding gown in hand. “Do you happen to know of a good way to get rid of this?” Marinette motioned to her gown, the gentleman giving her a knowing look.

“Of course Miss Marinette.” He said, motioning her follow him. “The manor is always prepared for anything, especially when it comes to getting rid of unwanted clothing articles.”

“And before I forget,” the gentle said, bowing. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

-----

Tim sighed as he dragged his hands down his face, settling with trying to rub his temples in a futile attempt to get his mind into the right place.

MDC was in the manor.

She was finally in front of him, so why was his chest aching instead of fluttering like he thought it would when he imagined the day he got to meet her?

He stared out the window, noticing smoke rise into the air, Tim feeling his heart stop.

It was coming from the garden.

Quickly, he made his way to the source of the fire, finding Alfred flipping what seemed to be a white piece of fabric, tossing it into the flames, Tim finally noticing the sigh of relief coming from MDC.

He didn’t dare to speak as he saw her lock eyes with him, her hair a bit more tamed than what it was earlier, the corner of her eyes red and no longer puffy.

“If you do excuse me, Master Tim.” Alfred said, breaking the spell that drew the two into a staring competition, causing said duo to turn away, not wanting to acknowledge the heat that dared to spread across their face.

“It’s fine Alfred. You are excused.” Tim managed to say without a stutter, watching MDC from the corner of his eye.

He watched as she went back to watching the flame burn the remains of her supposed grand day.

Seconds became minutes and then into an hour, Tim never realizing when the flame had died out. He honestly didn’t care that he was still looking at a dark pit filled with ash. As long as she stood by the makeshift fire pit, he’d stay there to keep her company.

“You know,” MDC spoke, Tim noticing how soft it was, how lifeless it sounded. “I spent six months sewing it, only for it to be destroyed within an hour.”

“I know.” Tim said, not noticing her whip her head towards him, her eyes large with horror. “I remember how you keep doing samples of the lace over and over again, saying how you kept messing up, even though each sample was meticulously done to perfection.” Tim didn’t notice how she backed away from him. “Even though you couldn’t hear me, I keep saying how you’ve improved since the last time and how you kept seeing each one as a failure because you were using new techniques you learned a week prior in comparison to the ones you started out with when you first started your career.”

When Tim decided to look at MDC, he noticed that she was crying again, standing two meters away from him, and yet one step was soon taken closer to her.

“You… you know who I am?” She asked, her hands shaking beside her face.

“Um, yes? You’re MDC.” Tim answered, watching as she shook even more.

Where was Dick when you needed him?

Tim slowly approached her, going to place his hands on her shoulders when he hesitated, his hands hovering over her. “Listen, can I call you Bean?” Tim said, cursing himself for not having Dick nor Jason’s ability to give proper nicknames.

“Bean, I didn’t mean to scare you. If there’s anything I can do to make you forget what happened earlier, please tell me.”

“Nettie.” She whispered, Tim barely catching it. “Call me Nettie.” She lowered her hands as she looked at him.

“If that’s what you want, Nettie.” Tim wondered why he adored the way it fluently rolled off his tongue. “Are you still up for that cup of coffee I offered earlier?”

Nettie gave him a small smile, nodded. “Alfred makes the best coffee.”

-----

Gabriel fumed as another person reported to him that another video of Marientte and Adrien’s dispute went online, the PR having difficulties taking the video down.

“What part of “get rid of it at all costs” don’t you incompetent fools understand!” He yelled, watching as people scattered to fight off the damage Adrien had done to the Gabriel brand.

Gabriel had planned everything to go according to plan, twelve whole months to plan this day to the utmost perfection, to be the most spectacular day for him and his brand, all for Adrien to ruin everything thanks to having cold feet.

Gabriel had taken everything into account, everything that would possibly make Miss Dupain-Cheng to call the wedding off, only for his stupid blood to let him down.

“Sir.” Nathalie said, gaining Gabriel’s attention. “We have a problem.”

“What is it this time?” He dared to say through gritted teeth.

“We’re receiving heavy backlash from-”

“When will anyone-”

“It’s Mr.Drake-Wayne, sir.” Nathalie managed to say, holding her breath as she watched Gabriel ingest what she just told him. “After saying how incompent and embarrassed we should be, he declared taking complete control over MDC’s PR and her entire business.”

“No.” Gabriel whispered, feeling himself get cold. “There is no way-”

“He just announced it sir.” Nathalie said, showing him her tablet screen, Gabriel snatching it to get a closer look. “MDC is now protected by the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and there is nothing we can do.”

-------

Tim pressed something on his screen before tucking his phone away.

“Something happened?” Nettie asked, sipping some more of her coffee. Tim hadn’t lied. Alfred made the best coffee Marinette had ever sipped since she had gotten to Gotham. Maybe in her entire life.

“Some damage control, nothing more.” Tim assured her, watching as she looked into her coffee.

After drinking their first cup of coffee, Nettie had asked for a favor, something Tim couldn’t say no to.

She wanted him to deal with her PR, seeing as she wasn’t in the right head to do so.

After getting her sign of approval and calling a few people, Tim gained control of the rumors and content that surrounded and included anything that mentioned and dared to mention the disaster at the cathedral.

Under different circumstances, Tim would’ve been over the moon upon having the chance at being in charge of MDC’s PR, but right now, it wasn’t the time to celebrate to his heart's content.

He had someone else to cheer up.

“Say Nettie.” Tim started, placing down his mug. “What do you think about staying for dinner?”

Nettie blinked, sipping into her mug.

“If it means staying indoors and away from the rest of the world, I’m down for it.” Tim smirked.

“Just gotta warn you, I’m not the only Wayne that lives in this manor.”

——

Marinette only meant to stay at the Manor until things cooled down, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

She kept elongating her stay at Wayne Manor, bonding with each family member over the passing days.

Alfred, she quickly bonded with. After asking for permission to the kitchen to stress bake, Alfred shared some secrets on his cooking, Marinette in turn sharing her secrets in baking. From baking and cooking, the two started to chat more, Marniette adopting him as her third grandfather.

Bruce… she was still trying to get used to him. While they spoke quite a lot when it came to business… Marinette would always run short in talking about other things, usually their conversations ending in comfortable silence. However, Mairinette did manage to find out something to blabber about: grandkids (or rather children in general). Marinette would share her fantasies about having children, Bruce asking if she would ever adopt. Marinette would laugh and comment on how she didn’t want to be a serial adopter like him. That always got a laugh from the man.

Richard, or Dick as he insisted, was a sweetheart, helping her whenever she would wake up from her nightmares of her former life and from that disastrous day. He’d stay up until she felt better and held her hand as she drifted to sleep. He would never mention the incidents, knowing and respecting Marinette in that manner. She also couldn’t help but respect him for skills, finding something new about herself whenever she would join his gymnastic warm ups.

Jason was… the brother she wished she had. They would banter about what food to have for lunch, always resulting in having to play a game to decide who would choose. When it wasn’t that, it was wrestling each other, Marinette having the upperhand due to her small stature, only to be overpowered by the baberious man. She enjoyed learning new attacks although she hated having to lose to him in the majority of their sparing.

Damian… he was the little brother she’d always wanted. While Tim told her he was the most annoying person to spend time with, Marinette would beg to differ. He just needed some guidance. The two bonded over animals, Damian showing her his favorite part of the mansion. When she walked into the room, she swore she was in a pet store,every wall was filled with dog supplies and toys. Ace and Titus wagging their tails as soon as Damian walked into the room, the dogs immediately taking a liking to Marinette. Even the rather bratty Alfred the Cat had taken to her quicker than with the rest of the family that wasn’t Damian.

When it wasn’t pampering Ace and Titus, it was sparring, Marinette thanking him for not holding back like Jason and Richard. He’d expose her openings, apologizing as he would hit her. After training, she would teach him to bake, enjoying how he would blame the ingredients for not working and coming to Marinette for help. Mari’s best parts would be when he would lighten up when a pastry would come out perfectly after a few tries.

Tim… he was… she had mixed feelings about him. Being a fellow coffee addict, Marinette could sympathize with the need to drink more and having to deal with late night work. Sometimes she would stay up with him, pulling a blanket over him, although there were times where she would end up covered by a blanket. She found out he liked her opera cakes; Damian would always request one, only to share it with Tim every now and then.

He was respectful of her space, always checking up on her in his own odd antics in the form of a mug of coffee for a new tiny plushie. (She now had a wall dedicated to them.) He never once brought up her work as MDC, something she was glad for (she wasn’t ready to go back just yet). He was the one to give her a room, provided her whatever she needed, even a new family… but Marinette knew that he was more than just that…

What exactly was he, she would have to wait to figure that out herself.

------

“What do you mean you can’t find her? That you can’t reach her?” Gabriel seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It’s been two weeks since MDC had gone missing, no one knowing where she was.

Gabriel had tried to open a line for people to call when they had any clues as to where the rising design was at, only to get an influx of false claims, prompting him to shut it down.

“Mari isn’t answering any of her phones, not even Alya knows where she is at.” Adrien reasoned, really hoping his father wouldn’t make him recall Alya.

He could still hear screams in his ears, Nino having to answer the phone call before giving him his own two cents on Adrien’s actions towards Marinette.

“Listen Adrien, you have to find her.” Gabriel said soothingly, placing his hands on Adrien’s shoulders, the young adult wincing at the pressure. “If you don’t, let’s just say you can say goodbye to your dream of being forever with your lady.”

------

Titus and Ace were enjoying another day out in the manor garden, laying by Nettie’s side as she meditated to her heart’s content.

She was practicing this new technique that Damian’s friend Raven had taught her, when a noise caught Titus’ attention. With a single glance towards Ace, Titus went to investigate, quickly finding the source. Without a second to lose, Titus barked a command to Ace before sprinting towards the manor, knowing he had to find Damian, and fast.

Nettie was in danger.

------

Marinette breathed in and then out, focusing on her breathing when it came to a halt when she heard Ace growl and her name being spoken by the one person she never wanted to see again.

“Marinette.”

Her focus snapped and she felt her entire being freeze. How did he find her? How did he-

“Marinette, I’m so sorry about leaving you there, for leaving you at the steps of the cathedral instead of being by your side like I promised to be. Because you were right. I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve kept my promise and should have gathered the courage to push my nerves down.” Adrien continued when Marinette remained silent, her bluebells staring at her with unshed tears. “We were meant to be Marinette.” Adrien said softly. “Will you marry me?”

A wind blew around them, its whistle snapping Marinette back to the present.

“No.” Marinette quietly said, stepping away from Adrien, feeling Ace began to intensify his growl. “I don’t want to marry you Adrien. Not today, not tomorrow, never.”

“But Mari!” Adrien said, grabbing her arm. “We are meant to be.” Ace began barking madly, circling around the two.

“Adrien, let go!” Marinette exclaimed, biting down on her tongue as Adrien clawed his nails into her wrist.

“You’re. Coming. With.Me.” Adrien gritted through his teeth, pulling Mari towards him, only to yelp in pain when Ace bit him. “Damn mutt!” Adrien hissed, attempting to kick Ace, but failing. However, he did manage to grab Marinette again, even if it was by her hair.

Marinette felt tears escape her eyes, placing her hands over his, lowering herself, twisting to face him and bring herself up, watching as his grasp on her hair loosened. She quickly kicked him on his knee, not turning back as soon as he howled in pain.

However, she knew it wasn’t enough when he grabbed her again by her hair, causing her to jerk backward, holding in a yell as her entire scalp ached.

Again, she twisted her shoulder towards him, punching his groin area and striking his back with her elbow and throwing him forward, where his face collided with the ground.

Without giving him a second to react, Marinette stood on his knees, pinning his arms behind him.

But she was a second too late.

He pushed her off of him, pushing her down by her throat.

Marinette pushed him off using her legs and punching his face as he flung off, launching herself at him to punch him again, turning him over and hooking her arms under his own, struggling to put both of her hands at the center of his back.

Establishing her position, Marinette grabbed both of his elbows, her arms still hooked and flipped him over, her body crossing his and holding him into an excruciating pin.

She ignored the yells and cries that escaped him, yelling at Marinette to let him go, to free him before things were going to get worse for her, but she added more force into her hold, screams piercing the garden.

Marinette didn’t know how much pressure she had put into her hold, nor when Adrien passed out nor when all the brothers got to her.

She didn’t know when she was pulled away from the pale Adrien and pulled into Tim’s arms, feeling circles being rubbed against her back as Tim whispered to her that she was alright, that she was safe.

It wasn’t until she saw Titus and Ace at her side and Damian asking Tim if she was alright that Marinette finally understood that she was okay. That she was going to be alright.

The boys watched as Nettie broke down, her wails and sobs echoing throughout the garden, watching as she gripped Tim’s shirt and cried into it, Tim wrapping his arms around her frame, nuzzling his head against hers, continuing to whisper to her that everything was alright.

-------

“-and I will continue to hold my charges against A-”

Marinette turned off the television, staring at it.

It was over.

Adrien was behind bars, the Agreste brand tarnished and cancelled, Gabriel now dealing with lawsuits thanks to his son’s actions.

She can finally move on...

A mug appeared before her, Nettie not having to look up to see who had brought it.

She took it, a frown still on her face.

“Do you regret it?” Tim asked, sitting beside her on the floor, laying his legs beneath the coffee table.

“Not one bit.” Nettie said, letting out a sigh. “I’m… actually glad I didn’t marry him.”

“Hmmm..” was all Tim could say, sipping his own cup of coffee. “So, what now?”

“I… don’t know.” Nettie said thoughtfully. “Actually… I do know.” She said, turning to him. Tim blinked as she leaned into him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

A spark ran through Tim, making him balance his reaction between freezing upon being kissed and holding onto the mug he had in his hand. “Thank you… for everything.”

Tim remained silent as Marinette got up and left the room, leaving her mug behind.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he did get up, he ran.

He ran to where she could’ve been, where she used to be, but didn’t find her anywhere within the manor.

Her room was empty, but her things remained, the plushies she gave still on the wall.

As he got to the foyer, he found Damian, who seeked comfort in Titus.

“Damian. Ha-Have. You. Seen. Nettie?” He asked between pants, getting a frown from him.

“She just left.”

“Where?”

“She said she was heading back to Paris. Something about- hey!” Damian yelled as Tim ruffled his hair and sprinted out the door.

Please let him get to her...

-----

“-passengers for flight 6236 to Paris please go to Terminal 3.”

Marinette let out a sigh as she grabbed her luggage and started to walk towards her gate when the announcement tone rang again.

“-I promise it’s going to be quick!” A voice echoed through the intercom.

“Tim?”

“Ne-Marinette! Please. Don’t go.” His voice said, Marinette feeling her chest ache upon hearing his voice crack. “I know we’ve only known each other for a short amount, but hear me out.” She listened as he took a breath. “I love you.”

Marinette dropped something, but she didn’t know what. It didn’t matter.

“Even before we met in person, I was enthralled by your work, your delicateness when you sewed and when you would bake things.”

Run.

“I remember when you broke down during your video and spent the entire two hours explaining why you were crying, making me want to find out where you lived to tell you that everything was going to be fine and that everything was going to work out.”

Run!

“I remember when you won your first fashion competition for Audrey. I cried when you showed off your winning designs that you worked day in and day out, the days that you spent working on designs you drew with your prickled covered hands and sprained wrist.”

Find him!

“I remember when you eagerly shared with us how you planned to debut, going into details about your launch before you panicked because you let out confidential information, saying how you wanted to remain a mystery to the public. You didn’t want anyone to know who you truly were until you felt comfortable about it.”

Where was he?

“Then when I met you,” A pause. “Even with your dress tattered and ripped, with your hair ruly and out of it’s crown and your eyes red to the brim, I was still captivated by your beauty.”

There he was.

Marinette allowed herself to breath, panting heavily as she walked up to the booth where Tim was, tears running down his face.

“The days we spent… I truly treasured… so please… don’t-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” “I’m not going anywhere.”

Marinette said, hearing her voice echo throughout the airport as she cupped Tim’s face into her hands, wiping his tears with her thumbs with such tenderness.

“I love you too.” “I love you too.”

With those words, she kissed him, soaking in the moment, feeling Tim place his own hands over hers, leaning in to deepen their kiss.

“I love you.”

#maribat #timari #gabriel isnt HM but still a bad dad #damian wants mari to stay #anju writes

481 notes · View notes

notquitecanon · 4 years

Text

Take Care of Yourself // Criminal Minds/ Marvel Crossover pt. 6

TW: drug use (prescribed medication), borders on depression, self-blame, talks about Spencer’s addiction

A/Ns: I’d like to preface this with the fact i’ve never taken prescription narcotics so if I’m way off base, I apologize. Secondly, this is mostly just a filler bit to showcase how I felt different characters would try to comfort a friend and also set up for the next part.

I’m sorry it took so long to get this out, I wrote and rewrote it and I still don’t like it.

and sorry it is so long!

Other parts here

_____________

You closed your door behind you, not bothering to flip the lock but sighing as you dropped your go-bag off your shoulder. It had been three days since Emily died, and you had just gotten back from her funeral- the clock on your wall read a little past 4 pm. (Garcia was nice enough to let you stay in her Quantico apartment until after the service.) Dropping your keys on your entry table, you furrowed your eyebrows- all your mail was there and sorted, no doubt by Steve. A wave of guilt passed through you, you hadn’t even texted him since before that night. Not that you’d really spoken to anyone, most of the team was still processing- you were stilling mad at yourself.

The funeral had been a good service, elegant and honoring. Rossi, Hotch, Morgan, Spencer carried the casket, along with two of her older friends. Her mother flew in, tearfully thanking the team for trying so hard. Somehow that hurt even more than her blaming the team for her death. The entire team placed red roses on top of the polished coffin. The pastor said pretty words and prayed over the gathering. Then it was over, and the casket was lowered. Garcia, JJ, and Spencer hugged you as you left, while Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan chose simply to nod to you.

Natasha had been following the case’s progress, and called you- you didn’t pick up, instead of listening to her voicemail of condolences. She sounded worried, and you appreciated the sentiment. You passed by your desk to plug up your laptop, stopping to look at the picture by your lamp- a team picture, taken after a case that ended better.

The kid was saved, with no injuries, and the unsub had undeniable evidence against him. The whole team was still wearing their vests, smiling proudly at each other, even Hotch- the photo had been snapped by the local newspaper and Garcia had them printed and framed as Christmas gifts to the team. You and Emily were standing beside each other, Morgan had just clapped her on the back- you smiled remembering how he was teasing her about getting home for her hot date that weekend. Spencer was listing off some facts about the correlation between abductions and first dates, making a wild gesture with his hands while Rossi and Hotch shared a proud look behind him. That had been a good day.

You opened your computer, your lock screen held another memory: cooking lessons with Rossi. It was a candid shot caught by accident. You had handed Reid (who had no idea what he was doing) your phone to take a picture of the girls together. You thought he caught the nice picture of all of you smiling- instead, you got a picture of Garcia throwing plain pasta at your face while Prentiss, caught off guard, snorted laughter into her glass of wine, JJ was beside Garcia hands covering her mouth as she watched the events unfold. Spencer clicked the button too late, but it was your favorite picture. Even the guys in the background looked happy- except for Rossi. Hotch was standing by Rossi, who had just noticed what was happened you remembered him scolding “Italians don’t throw their pasta! Especially that close to my WHITE furniture!” Morgan was barely in the shot but was laughing as the pasta hit your hair.

Everywhere you looked there were memories of her. The blanket she got you for your birthday that you draped over the back of your couch, pictures of the trip to Atlantic City on one of her Gambling weekends, the soap she left in the shower she left the last time she crashed at your place, her favorite wine in your fridge… Sometimes you didn’t notice how much someone was apart of your life until they were gone.

You sniffed, the familiar sting coming back to your eyes, salty tears welling up as you gently dabbed at your face as not to irritate the bruises around your right eye. You finally were able to take the bandages off before the funeral, but they were still tender, purple and yellow dying your face like a bad tattoo and the skin was still split (fortunately, any other bruises or cuts could be hidden by your clothes… mostly).

Fingers knotting into that blanket, you took several deep breaths trying not to breakdown again. A few stray tears escaped, sliding down your cheek and darkening the baby blue material as you half-choked back a sob- the sound was sharp, high pitched, and sad. You watched as the mascara laden tears diffused into a black stain on the blanket, and that pushed you over the edge.

Your knees trembled as you sobbed, the ache of losing a friend was overwhelming but the anger you felt was a close match. But at the moment there was nothing to hit, kick, or shoot so both anger and sadness expressed themselves in pained cries and angry sobs. Normally, you were hard to sneak up on, but your guard was down so you didn’t even hear the doorknob jiggle.

“(Y/N)?”

You startled at the voice, but automatically realized it was Steve. Turning away, you carelessly wiped at the black smears under your eyes and winced when you applied even the tiniest pressure on the bruised and split skin.

“I should have knocked, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be…” He trailed off, blue eyes training in on the inky bruises peeking from your collar and then to the way you were favoring one leg, “(Y/N), what’s wrong? You’re hurt.”

You sniffed, chest shuddering as you tried to get your breathing under control. In your peripheral, you could see Steve take a step towards you, his hand twitched like he wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how. Steve had seem a grand total of four women cry: his mother when his father died, Bucky’s mom and sisters when he was drafted, and Peggy when he crashed the plane. Well, heard that last one. He wouldn’t consider himself an expert in comforting crying women.

“I’m fine, Steve.” You croaked, still not completely facing him. He sighed as if he could smell the bullshit in your words. Hoping it would satisfy him, you turned to look him in the eyes, attempting to reassure him, “Really, I’m ok.”

Sometimes, you wished you weren’t so good at reading boy language, right now you wish Steve would at least try to hide his expressions. Your keen eyes watched as his raked over the black eye, split skin, and discoloration along your jaw.

“You look like hell.” He stated softly, shocked expression evening out into quiet worry. You wished your unladylike snort sounded less bitter.

“There’s that famous vintage charm.” You sarcastically chuckled, trying to hold your head up as you smoothed out the blanket. Steve winced at the sharp wit, apologizing quietly before rephrasing.

“What happened?” He asked, but you just looked away- allowing the two of you to stand in a heavy silence (paired with your funeral black attire) telling him a good bit about what happened to your friend, “I’m sorry, is there anything I can do for you?”

You shook your head, finding the passing clouds outside your window, always amazing how even the worst days can be sunny.

“Have you eaten?” He asked quietly, again you shook your head. Meeting his eyes again, you watched as he nodded, affirming his plan in his mind before speaking it aloud, “Ok, you take a shower and put on something comfortable, I’ll pick something up from that takeout place you like. We’ll eat and then you can get some rest.”

The set of his jaw told you that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and you were too tired to argue so you just nodded. He almost seemed relieved when you agreed, happy you were letting him help.

“I’ll be back in a while.”

____________

When he got back, you were toweling off your hair on the couch staring aimlessly at the wall. The pajama shorts and tank top gave him a full scope of your injuries: hand-shaped bruises on your arms, split knuckles, the brace on one of your knees, and bruises in a range of colors all over your legs. If you were looking at him, you would have noticed his tell-tale sign of worry/anger: the combination of a set jaw, furrowed brows, and the squaring of his shoulders. As he set down the brown paper bag of takeout, he took notice of the unopened pharmacy bag labeled with your name and hydrocodone.

“You might not be hungry, but you should eat something. The nice old lady at the counter noticed your usual order and sent some sort of family recipe soup. Told me to tell you to feel better… I think… she wasn’t speaking a lot of English.” The soldier rambled, breathing a sigh of relief when you cracked the smallest smile as you got up and shuffled towards your kitchen table.

Steve retrieved plates and silverware from your cabinets and set them down in front of you before taking the seat across from you. It was almost awkward the way he watched you scoop food onto your plate as if you were going to wither away if he took his eyes off you.

Finally, with you unenthusiastically picking at the stirfry he loaded up his own plate and the two of you ate in silence. Until he nudged the white pharmacy sack towards you. Fork stabbing a piece of broccoli, you raised your eyes to him.

“You should take your medicine. You’ll feel better.” Steve stated. You shook your head.

“I’m not big on narcotics.” You shrugged, “Don’t like how they make me feel.”

“Are you saying they can make you feel worse than you obviously do right now?” He asked sarcastically, and you actually laughed- even if it was a bit of a bitter, dry chuckle.

“Fair point, Rogers.” You conceded, ripping into the packaging and then into the pill bottle-. Setting the powdery white pill next to your drink, you continued, “I’ll take this when I’m done eating, don’t wanna fall sleep in my lo mein.”

Steve smiled, happy that you were at least talking now, and that you were kind of joking. “You want to talk about how you got this beat up?”

You tensed, and began to shake your head- but you caught how he deflated and felt a pang of guilt, “I, uh, got grazed by a sniper first.”

You began tapping the bandage you had rewrapped on your bicep before continuing, “The rest of these were from when we infiltrated Doyle’s warehouse. I told Derek to go ahead and find Emily while I handled Doyle’s henchman. Turns out, I may have bitten off more than I could handle.”

“More than you could.. what do you mean?” His eyebrows furrowed in a somehow scolding confusion. Ducking your head in guilt, you muttered.

“I took on 8 IRA members by myself so Derek could go find…” You cut yourself off, not saying her name. Instead, you watched Steve’s eyes widen as he opened his mouth to scold you before stopping himself.

Instead of the long lecture he had on the tip of his tongue, he settled for a quiet, “That was extremely reckless, don’t do that again."

"Yes sir,” you nodded, taking one last bite of the Chinese food before washing it down with your drink. Gathering the trash, you began to get up to throw things away but Steve beat you to it. Instead, he tossed you a bottle of water and pointed at the white pill still sitting across from you. With a sigh you nodded, placing the bitter pill on your tongue before taking a large swig of water.

Knowing it wouldn’t take long before the drugs kicked in, you swallowed another gulp of water before shuffling to the couch. As you predicted, time seemed to slow down once they kicked in. In about thirty minutes, that little white pill had numbed the sharp pains and throbbing aches throughout your body, replacing them with drowsiness and a pleasant feeling in the back of your head.

You were nodding in and out of sleep when you were woken up to Steve pulling that same baby blue blanket over you, muttering out a quiet and slurred, “ThanksssssTeve.”

“You can go back to sleep now.” He assured you, but was apparently still worried, even your hazy mind could see that as he perched himself on the armchair facing you. You giggled breathily, lidded eyes swaying away from him and settling on yet another picture on the team that sat on your coffee table. Unlike the others, this was a posed shot. The whole team was dressed nicely, standing in front of the restaurant where they had just celebrated Spencer’s 26th birthday. Everyone was smiling, even Hotch.

Steve followed your line of sight, moving closer so he could see the photograph, “That’s a nice picture, when was this taken?"

Pulling out of your memories, you answered slowly, "Couple of years ago, celebrating Spence’s 26th birthday. That’s the whole team, happy.”

The blonde glanced at you smiling softly, and prodded you to continue, hoping talking about happy memories might lull you into a deeper sleep. Sliding to the floor, his back pressed against the base of the couch by your feet, he pressed gently, “Tell me about them?"

You hummed in agreement, one finger fighting through the blanket to point to the farthest right, "That’s Derek Morgan, he’s from Chicago. He’s like an older brother to me. He has a good heart, he’s brave and determined. He’s also hilarious and a total player, and likes to tease Spencer.”

Though your words were slurred, Steve still listened, nodding along as you point to the next person, “Beside him is Garcia, sorry Penelope. She’s our computer analyst so she rarely sees field action. Garcia is honestly the sweetest person alive, she likes to flirt with Derek but he’s more of a game for them than anything serious. She has this crazy fashion sense that works for her…"

You trailed off with a smile before pointing to the next person, "That’s Rossi, he partially invented profiling. ‘was in the FBI in the 80’s but quit to become a writer, but came back. He’s basically the dad of the group. Very sarcastic, very Italian. Has been married 3 times.”

Steve quietly chuckled as your train of thought devolved, going from relevant information to random facts as your mind became hazier.

“Next is,” you paused for a yawn, “oh. me. You know me. Then there’s Spencer- sorry, Dr. Reid. He’s the youngest, but also had 4 P.hd’s at 23. He might have gotten another one, who knows at this point. He’s a super-genius, can read something like 20,000 words per minute, which is completely excessive. But he’s also just super awkward and sweet- he writes letters to his mom every day.”

Steve watched as you stopped looking at the picture, “Let’s see, then there’s JJ, who’s your classic mom friend. She had to quit the FBI, but now she’s working at the pentagon. She’s so nice, but also a badass. And she has the cutest kid, Henry. Spencer and Penelope are his godparents.”

“Then, there’s Hotch who’s pretty much our boss. Sometimes I think he’s definitely not human- the man can turn off his emotions. He’s actually part of the reason I’m at SHIELD. But he’s a good man, he always makes the right calls and keeps us in line. He’s a good leader and he’s got a son named Jack- the one I babysit every now and then?”

Steve watched as you slipped your eyes closed, “And then there was Emily. Crazy smart, an amazing profiler, total badass, hilarious. Honestly, one of the best friends you could ask for. She always had my back, and this cat named Sergio- I wonder what’s going to happen to him.”

You went quiet for a while, causing Steve to think you’d finally fallen asleep, but instead, you were just staring at the ceiling, “I went to her funeral today, Steve. The mission failed, we didn’t save her.”

“(Y/N), yo-” He started softly, not wanting you to get worked up, but you cut him off.

“We got there too late, and I let Doyle get away. I had the shot and I didn’t take it.” You admitted in a shameful whisper, eyes trained on the ceiling as a singular tear escaped the corner of your eye. “Prentiss died, and I let her killer get away."

Steve knew this pain, the loss and anger at yourself for not doing the impossible. It was a terrible pain; he’d felt it when Bucky died. Your hand had gone limp, and in an attempt to comfort you, he laced his fingers through yours, thumb brushing your split knuckles. If you noticed this, you didn’t say anything.

"He smiled at me, Steve.” Your already quiet voice broke, “Smiled like he knew he was going to get away with it. And he did.”

Knowing there wasn’t any stopping this spiral, he quietly shushed you. Hoping you’d go back to sleep, there was no point in trying to give real comfort or advice to you in this state. But you quieted, eyes closing and breathing evening out. A minute of silence went by, the only noise was you instinctively curling into a more comfortable position.

“I should have taken the shot, Steve.” Was the last thing you murmured as you succumbed to sleep. Steve frowned deeply, wishing there was something he could do to help. He’d always been a fixer, a helper- even before being Captain America. You’d been an excellent friend, going beyond “orders” to help him, and now he could only sit there as you were hurting. You sniffed again, eyes leaving the ceiling and falling to his, “I should have taken the damn shot.”

Fifteen minutes later, you had slipped into a deeper sleep. It had taken a while, but your ramblings turned to indiscernible mutterings and finally quiet snores. Steve stayed on the floor, staring at the picture until he was sure you would wake up. Then, he scooped you up in his arms almost effortlessly and carried to your bedroom- one of the very few times he’d actually been back there. Finally, he settled down on your couch, googled hydrocodone, saw the wrong side of WebMD, and decided it’d be best for him to sleep on your couch. He didn’t know how else to help, but he’d try his best.

_______________

The next day, you’d woken up at 11 AM to find Steve still patiently waiting for you to wake up. And despite your still aching body, you valiantly argued that he had better things to do, and promptly kicked him out to make him go on his run. He hesitantly left after making you promise to take care of yourself, and you didn’t miss any of his worried stares as he walked out.

At around 1 PM, you responded to a knock on your door as you changed the bandages on your bicep. You swung open the door, fully expecting it to be Steve back to worry about you.

“You look like shit.”

Was not what you were expecting to hear, and you definitely weren’t expecting to see Natasha standing in your doorway with Clint (badly disguised in a pair of sunglasses) behind her.

“Thanks, Barton.” You drawled sarcastically as he shouldered past the redhead and yourself to infiltrate your kitchen. You watched as he went before turning back to Natasha for an explanation.

“He’s right you look terrible.” She nodded, “If you don’t let me in, Clint’s going to eat all your food.”

Wordlessly, you motioned her in just in time to find Clint with cold lo mein dangling out of his mouth. Natasha gave him a pointed look to which he responded with a defensive (and noodle muffled), “What?”

The spy sighed, turning back to you, “We heard what happened to your friend, and wanted to make sure you were…”

Natasha trailed off, knowing “okay” was the wrong word. You also knew the “we” definitely meant that she forced Clint to come, but you still appreciated the notion. You gave her a tight-lipped sympathetic smile. Motioning over your rather extensive physical injuries, you tried to joke to lighten the heavy atmosphere of your apartment.

“Well, if it hadn’t of been for your training, this could have a lot worse.” You smiled, leaning against the back of the couch as her emerald green eyes analyzed everything down to the brand of knee brace you were wearing. She crossed your living room and undid your bandages.

“These are too loose, you’ll get an infection.” She offhandedly remarked, easily undoing the gauze and rewrapping them tighter like an expert. You quietly thanked her as she tied them off. “I guess weekly sparring is postponed for a while.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to wait 3 to 5 weeks to kick my ass.”

She laughed at this, “I’ll just have to settle with kicking his ass.”

As she said that, Clint looked up from his your Chow Fun with furrowed eyebrows. You genuinely laughed as the archer tried to defend himself. From there, it was mostly easy conversation between you and Nat with occasional chiming from Clint. The company was nice, and you didn’t even mind as the conversation turned to more serious topics. You had suspected it would, so you just willingly recounted the tale, yet again.

“And then he just smiled at me. And when the train passed he was gone. I should have taken the shot.” You finished lamely, blocking any emotion from your voice. After extensive debriefings, the funeral, and Steve, it was becoming easier to tell the story. Clint had finally stopped eating,

“He won’t get far. He has the FBI, CIA, Interpol, and SHIELD on his tale.” The archer tried to comfort you. The sentiment was nice, but you knew it was more of an empty promise. Doyle had evaded the government for years, and likely would for years to come.

Both Clint and Natasha’s phone buzzed after a bit of silence, and you knew it as the universal sound of “we gotta go”. They both quickly stood, walking towards the door. Clint was already in the hallway, instinctively doing a sweep for any enemies. Natasha turned back to you, “I’ll spare you the ass-kicking but don’t think you’re getting out of dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You smiled, holding the door open for her as she left. Suddenly, a flash of uncertainty ran across her face- which you didn’t miss. It was quite uncharacteristic for her, but you soon understood when she rushed forward to hug you- something she had never done before. Over her shoulder, even Clint looked surprised. After the initial shock, you relaxed into the embrace and hugged her back.

But as soon as it came, it was gone and the too master assassins were down the hall and gone. As they left, you did feel lighter. The pain of losing a friend and guilt over not bringing Doyle was still fresh after four days, but the searing anger and sadness were morphing into more of a dull ache in your heart.

Now reading 4 pm, you were sure Steve would return soon to check on you and looking back into your empty apartment- you decided you could use some “fresh” city air. So after slipping into real pants and a warmer shirt, you threw your jacket on and grabbed your headphones. Then you were off.

You weren’t sure where you were headed or when you’d get back, so you just let your wandering mind translate to your feet. The sun was beginning to go down when you found yourself in a suedo-familiar part of town. Looking up to a familiar building, your eyes found the prior apartment of Emily Prentiss. That familiar feeling flared back up in your stomach, but you suppressed it- allowing yourself a moment before continuing your walk.

With the sun’s retreat, it became progressively colder but you didn’t let it bother you as you continued. Allowing yourself to zone out, you, once again, let yourself wander aimlessly amongst other pedestrians walking home from work. You’re phone buzzed, bringing back to the present. Trying to stay out of the way, you found a bench to sit on so you could fish your phone out and look at the multiple texts, all from Steve.

Steve: Went by your house.

Steve: You weren’t there

Steve: Everything ok?

You quickly texted him back to appease his worries, knowing he was probably assuming the worst. Truly you regretted telling him about all the serial killers, stalkers, and rapists you had put away- that and introducing him to dateline tv. Like any other 90-year-old, he was now overly paranoid. Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you looked back up, people-watching as you enjoyed the chilly breeze.

Almost instinctively, you squinted down an alleyway- where two tall and lanky figures were shuffling between themselves. Your mind went through a hundred different possibilities- drug deal, prostitution, mugging, murder, assault… Lips setting in a fine line, you watched the interaction. Their silhouettes gave more information than one would think, and even though you weren’t on duty- you couldn’t just watch if someone was getting hurt.

Finally, you determined that whatever was happening wasn’t hostile enough for you to intervene as they parted ways- until the second figure stepped back into the busy street. Your heart froze, bathed in the yellowish-orange street lights and setting city sun was a rather haggard looking Spencer Reid, shoving a suspiciously unsuspicious crumpled up sack into his jacket pocket.

Frowning, you ran through every situation you could to make this not seem bad. With a snap decision, you were after him- zipping across the street and speed walking to catch up with him. Weaving through the other pedestrians, you finally caught up with him.

“Spence!” You called softly, gently tugging the elbow of his coat to slow him down. He visibly tensed, halting in his tracks, and eyes widening as he turned around to see you worriedly looking up at him.

“(Y-Y/N) w-what are you… where are… wh-why are….” He stammered, and you could see the wheels and excuses churning in his head.

“I just needed some air.” You explained, eyes on the poked out edges of the sack in his pocket. He quickly shoved it out of sight, causing you to purse your lips.

“What did yo-… did you-… how long did…” He awkwardly stuttered. Sighing, you took his hand out of his pocket.

“If you’re asking what/ if I saw. I’m hoping I didn’t see what I think I saw.” You softly scolded, trained eyes looking for anything to tell if you were too late. His eyes were alert, albeit red and puffy- which paired with his red and runny nose. His hair was messy and greasy, and his clothes were wrinkled- as if slept it. Unable to hold your gaze, he looked away guiltily. You pressed your lips into a fine line, hoping you weren’t too late.

“Spence…” You trailed off softly, hoping he didn’t mistake your sorrow for judgment, “Please tell me you didn’t…”

He was quick to answer you this time, voice quiet- ashamed, “N-not, not yet.”

There was a flash of relief, and almost instinctively, you threw yourself on the young genius. Normally, Spencer wasn’t much for physical affection, but for once, he practically melted into the embrace. He buried his face in your hair and balled his fists into the fabric on the back of your jacket. Pedestrian traffic hustled around the two of you, but you ignored them in favor of focussing on Spencer’s shuddering breath as he tried not to cry. You were soothingly patting his back, wishing JJ was here- she always knew how to comfort him, and right now you were just trying not to make things worse.

“Let’s go somewhere.” You quietly suggested.

_____

After five minutes of walking, the two of you shuffled up to Spencer’s door. You were watching him jiggle the key in the lock as you thought of how to help. The walk back had been mostly silent after you’d disposed of the Dilaudid he’d obtained. Once inside, he shrugged off his coat and hung in on the rack, which you did the same. And since his apartment was -as per usual- weirdly warm (Spencer had always run colder than most) you went ahead and shed your sweatshirt as well. You didn’t miss the change in the air, feeling Spencer’s concerned look just as you had felt Derek’s, Steve’s, and Natasha’s.

“They look worse than they feel.” You shrugged, hoping to avoid the conversation altogether. Spencer didn’t look convinced.

“As a very smart friend of mine once said, ‘You wanna lie more convincingly, or go ahead and tell me the truth’?” He asked, one eyebrow quirked. You sighed, recognizing your own words.

“I hate it when I’m right.” You muttered before truly answering him, “My ribs and my knee still hurt the worst, and the cuts are healing but still sting every now and then. I’m managing.”

Appeased with your honesty, he moved to the kitchen spouting off facts about knee and leg injuries as he went. Over his voice, you could hear him making coffee at nearly 7:30pm. He returned with a fresh cup of coffee in a mug printed with a physics joke on it and handed it to you, “I did a lot of research after I got shot in the leg.”

“I remember.” You smiled, thinking back to when Hotch basically had you babysit him to make sure he was following a doctor’s (medical doctor, you had to clarify) orders until he was cleared again. Then, there was a pause of comfortable silence while the two of you sipped your drinks. You knew you had to break the silence and bring it up.

Setting the mug down on a coaster that sat atop a stack of well-worn hardbacks, you took a deep breath, “Why tonight, Spence?”

Immediately, he tensed, the doctor frowning as he anxiously drummed his fingers on the side of his mug. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if he couldn’t get his words right before finally, he confessed, “I know we all miss Prentiss, but I just… I ju-. I just miss her so badly, (Y/N). I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”

Your expression faded into understanding sympathy as he collected himself before continuing, “And I know Emily wouldn’t want this, and I know I could lose my job, and I know I’m nearly 4 years clean. Believe me, I know these things, I’ve run through so many possibilities and reasons why I shouldn’t… But, it just hurts, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. I just want to stop hurting, even for a little while.”

As he finished, his hazel eyes lifted to you- almost as if begging for a solution to his pain. You wished you had one for him. “It’s going to take some time, Spence. And you’re right, it hurts. But you’re not alone. Have you tried talking about it with anyone- Morgan or JJ?”

You paused, “JJ helped you a lot when you first got clean, right?”

“I tried, but I got desperate. JJ’s not answering her phone, and I’ve got to her house for the past three days. Hotch finally told me that she got called away on Pentagon business, something urgent. I didn’t want to bother Will, and didn’t want Henry to see me like this.” He explained. Something about that didn’t sit right with you, but you brushed it off and let him finish, “And no one’s heard from Derek since the funeral.”

You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts, “Well, the important things are: 1.) You’re still clean, we got rid of the supply, 2.) You’re right, Emily wouldn’t want this, and 3.) You’ve got me, and no matter the assignment, hour, whatever, if you need me, you call me. I’ll answer.”

You finished your promise with an assuring smile, watching as Spencer returned it with a characteristically awkward smile back as he nodded. Deciding it would be best not to dwell on the sad stuff, you force a brilliant smile, “Now! when was the last time you ate? I’m thinking… Indian Takeout?”

Though he already knew your strategy, he went along, chuckling, “You hate the Indian place here.”

You scoffed, mocking offense (though he was right) as you went the binder by the fridge where he stored his takeout menus, “Since when?”

Spencer snatched the binder away, protective of his meticulous organizational method (first by cuisine type, then by alphabetical order, with a color-coding system for price range, and a special sticker for delivery options), as he teased “Since you are it before going out with Garcia and JJ. And learned that Indian doesn’t pair well with ½ priced Margaritas.”

“…Right… well, I can eat rice.” You shrugged, pretending to be indifferent, but really you were just happy he was smiling again. “And for the record, at that point, nothing would have paired well with ½ priced Margs.”

_____

The next morning, you woke up on Spencer’s couch. The TV was off, which was confusing since you fell asleep to Spencer correcting the physics of Star Wars. Slowly waking up, you winced at how stiff and sore you felt, rubbing absentmindedly at your ribs. Couch + no medicine = no bueno. With a little focus, you could hear Spencer shuffling about in his bedroom. You tried for your phone, wondering how long you had slept for. Dead. So with no concept of time, you slowly sat up and allowed your sleepy mind to acclimate.

“Oh, morning.” Spencer chirped as he moved past the living room to access the kitchen for what was probably his second cup of coffee. Then he breezed back by you to collect his iconic leather messenger bag, “I would have let you have the bed, but I fell asleep in the chair.”

You waved him off before he could apologize. Trying to clear the sleep out of your voice, you quietly croaked the question, “What time is it?”

Spencer checked his watch, “7:23 AM, Hotch wants the team there ASAP, time-sensitive case, probably. “

He answered as you stepped into your shoes and weaseled into your sweatshirt. You yawned as he finished packing his messenger bag and then stood. Pulling on your coat, you announced, “Well, I suppose I’ll get out of your hair. Call me if you need me.”

You were about to close the door behind you when his voice caught your attention, “I’m glad you were there. The chances of us being in the same place at the same time and noticing each other are astronomically, exponentially low. But I’m glad you were there.”

You cut him off before he could thank you again, with a smile you nodded, “I am too, Spence. Be careful on your case.”

__________

Still troubled from the previous evening, you spent the walk home mostly thinking of ways to check in on Spencer- but also annoyed by how far you walked the previous night. You must have walked for three hours that night, rambling in odd patterns, because it took a full hour to walk back to your apartment. (It would have been much shorter if you hadn’t of left your public transport card at home).

Finally, at 8:30 AM, you stumbled into your apartment. After putting your dead phone on the charger, you popped some extra-strength ibuprofen and took a hot shower-which worked wonders on the sore parts of your body. Finally, as you got dressed, you fielded the dozens of texts and emails that you missed.

“Guess I’m popular this morning.” You muttered, running a towel over your hair as you read and responded to Steve’s worried messages. Then you answered Penelope’s questions about if you heard from Spencer, Derek, or JJ and if you were ok. Finally, you flipped through your emails and with a deep sigh opened one from Phil Coulson.

The subject line read, “Work to do.”

You skimmed all the attached documents, most of which were extremely redacted. From what you gathered there was a satellite crash in the deserts of New Mexico and for some reason, SHIELD was tasked with handling it. Fury had decided to send you with Coulson and Agent Barton for an undetermined length of time in the desert. Great. And you were leaving later that very afternoon. Even better.

After a quick google about the weather in New Mexico in early April, you threw together yet another go-bag. You hadn’t even unpacked the one from Boston, it sat like a hollow corpse by your closet- picked through for things you needed but left full of bloodied clothes and now irrelevant files. You stared at the bag for a moment before snapping out of the daze of painful memories and moving on to grab a fresh bag out of the hall closet. Making quick work of it, you packed both professional and comfortable clothes.

At 10 AM, you dropped the packed duffel bag by the door. As you turned away from the door you began running numbers on your schedule- it was 10 AM you had to be SHIELD headquarters at 3pm… Your thoughts were interrupted by a strong telltale knock on the door. With a sigh, you turned back around and opened the door.

Unsurprisingly, Steve stood in the doorway- wide-eyed at how fast the door had opened. Smiling, you ushered him in, closing the door behind him before moving past him and into the kitchen. You hadn’t eaten anything but white rice in the last 24 hours, and you were quite hungry.

“I didn’t know if you’d be home. Is your friend alright?” He started, following you into the apartment. You knew the underlying question wasn’t actually about Spencer, but you ignored his worry.

“Crisis averted. Sorry for going MIA, I fell asleep on his couch and my phone died.” You explained over your shoulder as you rummaged through your fridge. You frowned at the empty Chinese containers left in there, muttering a quiet, “Dammnit, Clint.”

Emerging with sandwich fixings, you presented them to him with a quirked eyebrow. He simply shook his head, so you went about making yourself a rather pathetic look meal.

“Did Fury tell you?” Steve broke the silence with a rather ominous question. You didn’t look up but furrowed your brow.

“Fury doesn’t tell me much, so probably not. Did Fury tell me what?” You questioned back, returning a few items to the fridge.

“I’ve been cleared to take physical evaluations and receive modulated training sequences from SHIELDl.” He explained, blue eyes watching your crouched figure. You were glad the refrigerator door was blocking your face- You hadn’t told the Director anything of the sort. Could be why he was sending you out to the desert, to distract you. Impatient Asshole. After your inner thoughts evened out, you wiped the surprise off your face and smiled at the soldier.

“No, he didn’t. But that’s good, you don’t have to sit around here bored all the time. I haven’t been the best tour guide lately.” You shrugged. The soldier hummed in response.

“As much as I appreciate your help, it will be nice to have something to do.” He admitted, always careful not to offend. You nodded back to him, taking a rather unladylike bite of your meager brunch. “I saw your bag by the door, you going somewhere?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m being assigned to New Mexico- super boring, middle of the desert. Something about a satellite crash.” You told him, shrugging. You were expressly stoked for the assignment, figuring it was mostly a distraction to keep you from 1.) Yelling at Director Fury for not listening, and 2.) Going after Doyle yourself, which you had already considered.

Steve nodded for a moment, before his face knitted into confusion, “Why do they need a profiler at a satellite crash?”

Your own eyebrows furrowed, you hadn’t thought about that. There were a dozen different assignments that they could task you with. Why this, what were you missing?

“You know, Rogers, that’s a good question.”

_______________

taglist: @irishfaulk97 @viarogers @toboldlyscream @benji-booxx@sophiiev @thebadassbitchqueen @ittie-bittie-tittie @iirelynn@quackson-love @uwu-sebastianstan @mellxander1993@auspiciouspeach @simonsbluee @getlostinyourparadise @im-the-emvp @sammy-jo1977 @thebadassbitchqueen @officialmarvelwhore@nsm-writes-world

#marvel x criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mcu x reader

226 notes · View notes

a-crimson-lion · 4 years

Text

The Moms Of BNHA

[Warning: Spoilers and Potentially Triggering Opinions follow. You've been warned.]

[Also: Long Post.]

So, I've been thinking about this when I should be doing, homework (lol), but... can we talk about a certain trio of moms in BNHA?

Inko Midoriya

Inko is probably the least problematic mom I'll be talking about today. Does that make her perfect? Hell no! But she tries so hard for Izuku, and it shows. Even if she doesn't support Izuku's dreams of heroism once he's diagnosed as Quirkless, it's clear that she supported him in any other way she could think of. She's also worried about his well being, as we see after the mall confrontation and the aftermath of Kamino. And when she sees Izuku's dreams finally becoming a possibility after a lifetime of doubt, she apologizes, fully supporting Izuku's choice in life from there on out. Sure, after Kamino she considers pulling Izuku out of UA, but that's not from a place of selfishness or malice. It's out of worry. She wants her son to be happy, but she also wants him to be safe.

Honestly, I can't think of any legitimate reason to full on hate her...

Rei Todoroki

So Rei... gosh where do I begin?

She's definitely more problematic than Inko, or rather, her situation is. People tend to get on her case because she was apparently just as abusive to Shoto as Endeavor was, and-

Can... can we talk about this for a moment?

I understand that what Rei Todoroki did was wrong, end of discussion. I understand what Rei did only worsened the circumstances for her family, her son, and herself. I understand that while her institutionalization wasn't fair, it was likely for the best given her state of mind. But to put the blame squarely and soley on Rei's shoulders?

That's where I draw the line.

I only say this with the experience of a novice, but from personal experience, most people don't just randomly lash out spontaneously. In my case, it's usually a series of offenses (minor or major) that I refuse to respond to because I feel like that will make me a bad person, but that residual rage? It builds up. Sometimes you can let it out in minor spurts, but it's not enough. One day, one way or another, it will boil over. All that anger, all that frustration, all that rage will combust. You won't be able to stop it once it starts. You'll feel tense. You'll punch things, not caring whether you'll break them or they'll break you. When you get tired of that, you'll storm off into your room and angrily sob into your pillows, or yell/growl... or both. And when it's finally over, you'll still feel like crap. And it'll be a long while before it feels like you or anyone else can forgive yourself.

This is me anywhere from several months to several years. Rei Todoroki had to put up with Endeavor and his abusive behavior for about a decade.

Rei was abused, end of story. Rei's children were abused, either physically or neglectfully, end of story. We've seen Shoto's training. We've heard Endeavor hitting his wife and hearing her scream. People are not perfect. People are not invincible. To expect that someone like Rei could keep her head held high when it felt like the world was against her is like expecting a stone to say the same shape and size out in the open for thousands of years.

In the end, it all wears down.

Rei even knew this herself. She knew she was breaking down, and tried to call on her other family in order to stop something bad from happening. Too little, too late. Rei sees her son, the left side of her son, the side that her husband was responsible for, in a sense. She remembers all the beatings, all the physical and mental degradation against herself and her kids, and she snaps. She has finally had it with Endeavor, and in her fury, she pours boiling water against his face. Only it wasn't her husband's face. It was Shoto's. Her youngest child, her little boy, the one Endeavor was the most brutal to. The one she had wanted to live without fear of a beating.

And she just struck him without a second thought.

There's immediate remorse. Rei doesn't stew in her rage; the guilt overtakes her almost instantaneously. You could argue that trying to ice boiling water is not the best method of preventing a burn, but it's the intentions that matter here. From what I've heard, the scar could have been a lot bigger if Rei just stood there. Plus, I don't think it's necessarily common that people think 100% sanely when they're overcome by extreme emotion. Saying Rei was wrong for trying to soothe her son's burn even if it wasn't the best method is like getting made at a fireman for successfully putting a forest fire out, even of the trees are no longer living.

It's permanent damage, but would you rather deal with that, or something worse?

And just imagine how Shoto feels in all of this. There's sadness. There's betrayal. Of course some of it is directed at Rei, and deservingly so. The one person he felt he could trust basically just turned on him, seemingly out of nowhere. And yet... even though Shoto is a child, he's far from naive. He knows that Endeavor isn't a good person. He's heard his mother's cries, likely her arguments with his father, and he's even been a witness to Endeavor's abuse towards her. She may have done the deed, but for Shoto, the scar isn't his mom's fault. It's Endeavor's. He was the one who abused them, he was the one who took away their sense of happiness, of safety, he was the one who pushed them to the brink and then pushed them some more.

If he had just been a bit more considerate, a bit more reasonable, a bit more human, Rei's breakdown might have been delayed, if not outright nonexistent.

And can we just talk about the Rei/Endeavor parallels for a bit? Nowadays the manga readers are in the midst of Endeavor's redemption arc. I personally think that it's mildly problematic, but I will admit that it's probably better for Endeavor to not continue being a sorry excuse of a human being for the remainder of the series. That being said, I'd like to point out that Rei came first. Rei threw the first jab, and immediately felt remorse afterward. Shoto walked back into Rei's life, and she did not take that opportunity for granted. She spent the time shortly after her hospitalization trying to get better, and this is only more apparent when we see her for the rest of the series. As for Endeavor? His change in behavior was a lot slower. I'll admit that functionally speaking, he's a good hero, but as a person he's the scum of the Earth. He doesn't try self-evaluating after Shoto's fight with Izuku when Shoto says he only used his fire because he forgot about Endeavor. Even at Kamino, Endeavor is still an ass to All Might even though they have bigger things to worry about. And when he sees Small Might, exposed to the world? His first idea is to state that knowing he'd never catch up to All Might drove him to abusing his family.

Endeavor, buddy, that was your call. Not All Might's. Quite frankly, I don't think he's even aware of the BS you put your family through.

One of the few things that frustrates me about Endeavor's redemption is not that he has one; it's that under different circumstances, it wouldn't exist to begin with. Without All Might's retirement, without Endeavor forced into the spotlight as the new #1 Hero, there is no development on his part. I'd have the gall to say that Endeavor would still be a narcissistic asshole if All Might managed to hang on to his power for a while longer. Without the pressure of being #1 on his shoulders, Endeavor continues (in vain) to try and surpass All Might, or at least get Shoto to. He's still a good hero functionally speaking, but how long until his obsession starts to cloud his judgement? How long before the #2 Hero eventually slips up in his rage-fueled fervor?

I'll say it again: it's good that Endeavor is trying to change, but without any actual unprovoked self reflection on his part, it's not as impactful.

So to sum it up, I don't think Rei deserves all the hate she gets. She deserves to be held accountable for what she did, yes, but she's also a human being who was put into a mentally toxic position. It's a miracle she didn't snap sooner, and it's a miracle she's finally making progress with help from her kids.

Mitsuki Bakugo

And finally, the reason why I started down this train of thought.

I'm not even gonna try beating around the bush here: Mitsuki Bakugo is a bad parent.

Notice how I didn't say abusive. No, that does not mean I'm validating her. It just means I personally haven't seen or heard enough in the series thus far to justify whether she should be held on the same level as Endeavor, if not close.

I still have enough sense to see that she's not a good parent though. Far from it, actually.

So far we've only seem Mitsuki officially in a parent teacher meeting after Kamino, and a brief mention of her from Katsuki during the Remedial Course Arc. It doesn't paint a good picture. Right from the get go, her first scene is her hitting her son on the head and calling him weak. This isn't some slapstick or tough love, as some people will say. This is something entirely different, and it should tell readers two things.

Mitsuki is disconnected from her son.

Mitsuki is a carbon copy of her son.

Now take that second point with a grain of salt. People have said time and time again that Mitsuki is basically a genderbent Katsuki, which is accurate to a degree. She's also more mellowed out than Katsuki, as she can talk to other people without trying to assert her dominance. She's actually surprisingly aware of her son's superiority complex as well, but... For all that, it's obvious that Mitsuki isn't actually fully aware of her son's issues. Like her son, Mitsuki is also too focused on her son's brute strength. Calling him weak isn't some karmic justice for all the times Katsuki has said the same to other people; it's a feedback loop that feeds into Katsuki's insecurities, which feeds into his inferiority complex, which feeds into his superiority, which then repeats ad infinitum. You could argue that maybe Katsuki has acted too thick-skinned around his mom to let her actually get a feel for his problems, but I personally doubt that she's really tried to understand her son, or maybe she just... gave up.

And then there's Katsuki saying that he was raised with violence. "BUT CRIMSON, SHE HAS TO BE ABUSIVE IF SHE'S WILLING TO HIT HER KID, WhY cAn'T yOu AcCePt ThAt!?" Well, from what I learned, people can hit their kids and still? Not? Be abusers? Spanking used to be a thing, y'know, and while it's heavily controversial nowadays, I doubt that the good parents used it at the drop of a hat. Kids can be jerks; I was one. Back to Mitsuki, I doubt that this line meant from the day Katsuki had been four years old, his life had been hell. I feel like even if Mitsuki was still brash, she didn't immediately start beating on Katsuki when he started to get a big head. If anything, I'd assume she waited about two years at most before she started letting the fists fly. Keep in mind, almost everyone Katsuki meets admires him for his abilities. Who's to say his mom wasn't one of those people at the start? It wouldn't have been until Katsuki ego started becoming a noticeable issue that Mitsuki decided she needed to tale care of it. Only problem? Mitsuki makes bad decisions, just like her son. Resorting to physical violence and verbal taunts did nothing to help Katsuki, but it's what Mitsuki knew how to do, so she rolled with that. I'm not giving Katsuki a pass because of this, however. Shoto essentially went through the same thing, and his response was not to endlessly shout at others or display dominance. The violence targeted at the boys was brutal, but violence doesn't justify more violence. Katsuki may have had a convenient excuse to start being an ass to people, but so did Shoto. And yeah, "Earlyroki" was an ass, but at least it wasn't intentional.

Before I go, I just want to bring up really quick where Masaru falls into this. One could argue that Masaru's also to blame for how Katsuki turned out for not stepping in but... have you seen Mitsuki, or even Katsuki for that matter? No offense to Masaru, but he's kind of a doormat character. He only married Mitsuki due to her persistence, and while Masaru's "Oxidizing Sweat" quirk is likely destructive, Masaru himself is... not. He seems to be the exact opposite of his wife and son personality wise, only instead of canceling them out, his lack of dominance forces him to run for cover should a dark omen come about. We've seen what Katsuki's done to Izuku before UA. Masaru basically has to put up with two of those, and unlike our protagonist, he doesn't have the resilience to withstand that much anger.

So...

TL;DR. Inko Midoriya is a great mom who just wants her son to be safe and happy. Rei Todoroki cares a lot about her son and is willing to work to show it, even in the face of setbacks. Mitsuki Bakugo is a terrible parent who either needs to figure out what's wrong with her son properly, or leave to someone who can.

Thank you for your time.

-Crimson Lion (24 November 2019)

120 notes · View notes

msbluebell · 5 years

Note

Golden Deer Route AU where, at the Gronder Field battle, instead of letting Dimitri run off to get himself killed they knock him out and drag him back to the monastery.

The thing to keep in mind for this AU would be that the Blue Lions are utterly, completely, totally, broken.

Both Black Eagles and Golden Deer have students that have severe psychological issues in them. But, for the most part, they have more students that have normal lives, or managed to get themselves back up before Byleth even entered their lives.

This is not the case for the Blue Lion students. They’re all broken well before Byelth every stepped into the classroom and MAYBE one or two of them managed to put themselves back together before Byleth. Every single one of them faces a different type of trauma, aspect of grief, anxiety, or bad coping skill. Dimitri, while the most extreme example of the negative effects of untreated trauma, repression, bad coping, and mental instability, is far from the ONLY one. Annette and Ashe both have to receive a type of medication from the Church (I speculate that Annette has anxiety based on the mission description for her medication, and Ashe’s medication description and the fact the mission is just after Lenato’s death makes me think depression). With the destruction of the Church I believe that they also no longer have access to even that bit of medication.

Why do I keep focusing so much on medication? Because, for a lot of people, medication is essential to function properly. It’s not for EVERYONE, but there are a lot of people who genuinely need it. We never get a mention of medications again outside a Church setting, which given how secretive the Church is with technology and such, makes me believe that medications were a something the church exclusively dealt with. It is possible, granted, that academics have replicated the Church’s medications, but I doubt they freely distribute them like the Church seems too, which means many common people no longer have access to such resources. (But BBell, you guys say, this is a fantasy game and you’re reading too much into the medication thing. It’s probably just basic herbalist or aromatherapy. To which I argue that this game had Fantasy Dragon God Nukes and RHEA, who knows how to replicate such technology and actively tried to stop it’s spread, would probably have an idea about medications so don’t @ me.)

The ultimate point is that the Blue Lions are broken people with bad coping habits, and probably aren’t even aware that they need help in the first place. They’re not exactly open about their issues with each other either. Dimitri puts on a mask for his deep-seated trauma and tries to hide his auditory and visual hallucinations the whole first half of the game, and with Felix’s (understandable) reaction to Dimitri’s breakdowns, I don’t even blame him.

I think the Blue Lions lose something essential if you don’t pick their house.

Now, theoretically, the Blue Lions should be a bit better off in Golden Deer Route than Black Eagles because they have Manuela, the school Nurse, as their teacher, but they somehow seem worse off than if they have Hanneman, the more impersonal professor. Manuela should be able to identify the deep seated issues they express and address them as needed. She’s a nurse, and observant, and a very personable teacher.

Then I realized SHE’S A NURSE.

She probably had them all on medications that they no longer have.

Byleth is far more interpersonal than the other teachers. They tackle the issues each student has by getting personally involved and trying to help them through what basically amounts to therapy. Manuela, a nurse, wouldn’t get as personally involved and would instead provide them with necessary medications and have them come to her if they so choose. While Hanneman, for all he seems hands off, does tackle issues bluntly and personally. He’s not as interpersonal as Byleth, but he doesn’t ignore it if it’s a problem and tries to give advice where it’s due. It’s not therapy, but he IS trying to help them figure out how to handle themselves better.

So if Byleth chooses the Golden Deer House they Blue Lions are in the worst possible position they could be in. It’s not JUST Dimitri who is worse off, it’s ALL of them.

Now, with that speculated, let’s get to Gronder Field.

We all know what happens to Dimitri in Gronder Field if you play the Golden Deer Route (or at least you better if you’re reading my posts or else you’re going to be spoiled). He’s clearly a madman, no one can deny it, and it’s pretty tragic to witness because he seems so genuine and nice before the war. The Golden Deer students don’t actually have much of an idea HOW or WHY this happened. Yes, they would be aware that he was accused of killing his uncle, and was exiled, but they wouldn’t have an idea about the dept of the various betrayals thrown at him, or the delusions, and it’s really sad.

It would be hard to say what makes them knock him out and drag him back with them before he gets himself killed. Maybe Byleth does it because they recognize he’s mentally ill, maybe Claude doesn’t it because Dimitri is a good guy deep down and he knows he can help (that and keeping Dimitri alive serves him better than letting him die at the moment, idk), or, and this is my favorite, maybe Marianne asked them if there was anything they could do to help Dimitri, because he was a friend hers and she can’t stand the idea of watching him die (their support chain is so fucking precious and cute and just mutual Trauma support buddies and omg, I’m in hell thinking about them and their beautiful friendship. I ship them as platonic, but if I wasn’t so far in Dimileth hell I would totally have them in the running for possible romantic supports.).

Either way, it ends up with them taking a lucky moment to knock Dimitri out and get him off the battlefield before he dies.

Getting him off the field is a bit harder than it should be. He’s a big guy, and made of solid muscle and heavy armor, and Gustav and the army is hardly going to sit by quietly while you basically kidnap the crown prince.

(But the thing that gets Dimitri off the field is the fact that Gustav LOVES Dimitri. He loves that boy like a son, like he’s his own. And he would NEVER admit it, but it’s true. And it’s true for Rodrigue too. And Dimitri is unconscious, and his face isn’t a scold for one, it’s the most peaceful he’s looked since they find him in the woods, and the sight of him like that nearly brings tears to both their eyes. They’re both failed fathers. Gustav failed Annette, and he failed Dimitri. And Rodrigue failed Glenn, and then Felix, and now Dimitri too. And they’re both realizing that Dimitri is so terribly broken and they don’t know how to fix him and it may be half their fault, and so when Byleth convinces them that this is what’s best for him, that they can HELP, that he can get better if they just let Claude give him the resources he needs to recover…well, they can’t say no. It’s the strongest Rodrigue has been in a long time, he thinks, finding the courage to agree despite knowing that Dimitri won’t be happy. And it’s also the closest he’s been to keeping his promise to Lambert).

So the Golden Deer get the unconscious Dimitri back to Garreg Mach, the army of Faerghus on their heels.

There’s a lot of debate about what to do from there, but since Claude is the highest authority there (with Dimitri unconscious and not yet fit to rule) it all defers to him and his council. In the end it’s decided Dimitri is a danger to himself and others for now and has to be kept somewhere out of the way, but where he can be observed to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. (And, oh, isn’t that a gut punch to Gustav and Rodrigue).

So they set him up on the Arch-Bishop’s floor since no one is using it for now. That way he has plenty of space, a room, and can go onto the balcony if needed. It’s just until he recovers a bit, CLaude and Byleth promise, and we’ll let him down as soon as we’re sure he won’t hurt himself or others. Besides, they need to figure out what caused the madness in the first place.

It’s actually Manuela, Byleth, and Marianne that end up being the most valuable resources to Dimitri’s recover. Manuela and Byelth are both good at identifying the issue. Dimitri sees and hears the dead. This isn’t just a metaphor, he’s having active hallucinations brought upon by survivor’s guilt and isolation. The five years on the run would have only worsened this.

But it’s Marianne who understands the core issues outside that. She, like Dimitri, has severe survivor’s guilt, and wishes to die. She won’t kill herself, just like Dimitri won’t, but she prays for death. In a way, she speculates, Dimitri is also praying for death. For him, vengeance is either his reason to live, the reason for why HE had to live while everyone else died, or the road to take to reach the death he feels he deserves. He feels he’s undeserving of life, or kindness, but he’s still alive, so he has to do something to make up for that fact. She explains that to the others, and she understand because she feels that way too sometimes, and it’s critical in their approach to Dimitri. It’s something that will definitely take a lot of time, but I think that, with more than just Byleth trying to do something about it, then there can be progress that doesn’t necessarily NEED something as dramatic as an assassination attempt to snap him out of it (why we needed that assassination attempt in the game is worthy of it’s own meta, but the long and short of it is that the timing drastically needed it before they marched to Enbarr and Dimitri needed to realize FAST that his 1) his actions are awful 2) people DO still love and care about him even despite his actions 2) HE IS WORTHY OF LIFE)

The other Blue Lions are there too, most of them anyway. Ashe is a traitor, Felix claims, because he sided with the Empire after Lenato’s Death. But most of them are there, and far more broken than they were, and none of them are even surprised Dimitri has fallen so far because most of them aren’t much better. Sylvain always had an inner darkness in him, and while he’s not outright insane like Dimitri, he’s gets intense on the battlefield. Ingrid is barely holding herself together, dealing with the loss of everything and the war trauma, and Felix is left to realize that the only thing worse than being right about Dimitri was watching it happen to everyone around him too. Mercedes and Annette are there, too, and they’re better than everyone else, but still, it’s not GREAT.

But, I think, they CAN get better. Not fixed, but in a better place. After all, Dimitri even states in the Blue Lion Route that he’ll always live with his hallucinations. The thing, though, is that getting better requires active care, time, and effort (both from the patients and the people that need to help them) and Dimitri and the Blue Lions get all three at the end of this scenario.

#fe3h #fe16 #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #Golden Deer Route #Blue Lions #marianne von werefkin #claude von reigen #byleth eisner #rodrigue fraldarius #asks #Manuela #therapy and medication #Golden Deer Route AU #speculation

164 notes · View notes

aire101 · 4 years

Text

Ferrum Intro

My brain absolutely, positively refuses to focus on romance atm, which means I have made no progress on my WIP and instead my brain ended up producing this concept which I will probably continue at least until I get it out of my system. So here’s the beginning of a post-Endgame MCU/SAO Irondad fic that I went online to read, discovered it didn’t exist yet, and so could NOT GET OUT OF MY DAMN HEAD.

-------

It had been a long day.

Then again, every day seemed like a long one lately.

It had been a relatively beautiful November day for New York City, and with the approaching holidays Peter was starting to see the usual uptick in petty crime begin this season. Within his five hour patrol he had helped eight lost tourists, found one lost pet, caught two armed burglars and tied up a ridiculous number of petty thieves. Nothing too problematic, just another day in the life of our friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Peter sat crouched on a roof looking over the newest Iron Man mural to pop up, this time right on the edge between Queens and Brooklyn. There were several around town already, but this one was especially heart-wrenching. Most were either of the armor mid-action or of Mr. Stark in his trademark press look. But this one was different in the best and worst way.

In this art, Mr. Stark was still in his armor, but the helmet was retracted, allowing the viewer to see the blood crusted on his face, the lines of worry even deeper than they were before everything had gone to hell. There weren’t many pictures of Mr. Stark from the five year period now known as the Blip, but in the ones there were Peter knew he had looked like this— tired and worn in a way Peter had never seen, but could well understand. All in all, it looked uncannily similar to the last time Peter had seen him. When—

Anyway—

And on the shoulders of this mural’s Tony Stark rested an enormous orb holding dozens of galaxies spiraling around a central point— a tiny arc reactor in the shape of a heart.

There was still a little while before he would be expected at Ned’s tonight, but the more he tried to convince himself to hit the streets again, the heavier his limbs felt.

He couldn’t do it. Not like this. Experience told him it was a recipe for disaster, likely to get himself or someone else badly hurt. Himself he could handle, someone else… his conscience couldn’t take another body added to its count right now. Besides, he had promised Ned he’d be there tonight.

Peter sighed and swung away from his rooftop perch to head back towards Ned’s, not sparing the art a backwards glance.

No matter how good it was, no reproduction could ever duplicate what he had lost.

----------

“Whoa, you’re early,” said Ned with a mild tone of shock. Which honestly… was probably fair. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, I decided to call it a night early. It was actually pretty quiet tonight anyway. Didn’t want to get too wrung out on the web considering we have plans tonight,” said Peter as he stepped into the Leeds’ apartment, slipping off his shoes and hanging his coat on the rack. “Where is everyone?”

“Dad has to work tonight, and mom and Angelica went to Laser Bounce earlier, but they should be back before too long. I stayed home to finish some stuff up before the launch tonight. Plus, I wasn’t sure when you’d be getting here, so…”

“Sorry, I should have messaged earlier.”

“You’re alright man. Like I said, I had some stuff to wrap up. I plan to be in-game as much as possible tomorrow,” said Ned as they moved into his bedroom.

“You sure you don’t mind me getting the first run tonight? They might have some secret opening event planned for the first few hours…” asked Peter.

“I am absolutely positive. I am going to have plenty of opportunities to lose unhealthy amounts of sleep to this game. Besides, between the two of us I think you need the break more than me. On a related note— you look terrible man. Have you been sleeping at all?”

“I sleep,” said Peter defensively. “I don’t really need much though, you know?”

“Physically, sure. Mentally? You’re still just as human as the rest of us Peter. Have you talked to May about it? Or Happy?”

“Can we please drop this? It’s just been a long day, alright?”

“What happened? I thought you said it was mostly quiet?” asked Ned, confused.

“I meant it was quiet for New York, I was still busy pretty much all evening,” said Peter, falling backwards onto Ned’s bed.

Ned sat down at his computer, spinning around to face Peter. “Fine, but I’m definitely going to harass you later, and you better actually sleep after we trade off in a few hours. Anyway, I am SO PSYCHED or this! God I hope its worth all the hype.”

“I can’t imagine it being a flop. The tech behind it is revolutionary, and the head developer has been working on the game for like a decade,” said Peter, as he scrolled through the GameSpot special coverage from that day.

“Wasn’t SI contracted to consult on it, too?” asked Ned.

Peter felt his throat begin to constrict. The nails of his right hand bit into the flesh of his palm as he forced himself to take a slow breath—hold—and release…

“Yeah, Mr. Stark consulted on it himself. Some of the engineering on the headset is similar to the BARF technology. I think he might have worked on a couple system AI’s as well.”

“That is so cool man. So this is almost like his last tech contribution? Last gift to the world…”

“I doubt that. It was just a consult job, most of the work was done by Argus. Plus, Mr. Stark had years worth of projects and updates on file. We’ll probably see things he had a hand in being released for the next ten years at the least,” said Peter.

“Still pretty cool though,” said Ned with a shrug.

At that moment, Peter heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the front door.

“Looks like they’re back,” he said, continuing to scroll, this time through discussions on Reddit.

“Have you had dinner yet? You know if you haven’t she’s going to force you to eat before you dive.”

“Nah, I didn’t get a chance to stop off earlier. What kind of leftovers do ya have?”

“I think there’s meatloaf and some chicken adobo left at the moment.”

“Yaaasss… Chicken adobo…”

Just then Ned’s bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Leeds poked her head in, a large smile on her face.

“Peter! I thought I saw your coat by the door! I’m glad you were able to make it tonight! Edward has been excited about the sleepover for weeks,” she said.

“Oh my god, mom! It’s not a sleepover! I doubt we’ll even sleep much!”

“Isn’t that what sleepovers are about?! You’re ridiculous… Anyway, have you eaten?” Mrs. Leeds asked, looking at Peter.

Peter had to bite back a smile, but shook his head.

“Hala ka, you’re going to waste away into dry bones! I don’t care how busy you are these days, you shouldn’t be skipping meals. You’ll blow away in a strong breeze. Come, I’ll heat something up. I know how bad you boys get about eating when its a normal game. A full immersion VR? You’ll forget you even have a real body that needs sustenance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Peter, dutifully following her into the kitchen.

“You are in luck. We have some leftover chicken adobo from last night. I know you like that recipe. Did May ever give it a go?”

Peter flashed back to the gloopy, slightly charred mess that was May’s attempt at cooking the dish. “Eh… Yeah but it wasn’t quite the same. Still needs a bit of work.”

“Huh,” Mrs. Leeds said, sounding confused.

“Peter!” shouted a voice from behind him.

“Hey Angie,” said Peter, before he felt arms wrap around him from behind in a bear hug.

His heart throbbed in his chest. His breath caught and wouldn’t come.

Thanos was coming for the gauntlet he couldn’t let him have it he had to run the aliens were grabbing him he had to—

“You never come around anymore! It’s been months—!”

“Stop that Angelica. It’s been a crazy year, and Peter stays very busy between school and an internship. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? It’s already way passed bedtime.”

Angie rolled her eyes dramatically but stomped back off towards her room to do as she was asked.

“Sorry, dear. She just missed her big brothers, you know.”

Peter did his best to force out a grin, but he wasn’t sure just how well it came off because the next thing he knew Mrs. Leeds was giving him a tender kiss on the head and muttering about making some cups of cocoa.

It was moments like this that he truly felt the strange reality of the fact that he had lost five years of his life. On the surface level everything felt mostly the same— Aunt May along with the majority of his friends had also been snapped, as well as several of his teachers. But while they were gone, Ned’s little sister aged from an innocent five year old, to a ten year old girl who had grown in a world in more confusion, pain and desperation than Peter could really comprehend. Freshman he had helped tutor in school had graduated. Families he had known were irreparably torn apart, seemingly overnight.

It felt like while he was still the same, the rest of the world had tilted slight to the left, leaving him unbalanced and unsure where to step next. He’d always felt a bit out of place anyway after the spider bite, but now it was so much worse. Sometimes Peter wanted a taste of what normal used to be like, without freaky spider powers, world protecting responsibilities and the guilt of looking around him and wondering if he deserved to be here at all.

He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall— fifteen minutes till midnight.

“I should probably go brush my teeth too and get settled in. The server will open soon,” said Peter as he stood.

“Yeah, though there shouldn’t really be much to do other than to actually connect since we calibrated your account the other day,” said Ned.

Within ten minutes Peter had taken care of his nightly necessities and given Angie and Mrs. Leeds both a hug goodnight, settling in on the upper bunk of Ned’s bed.

“Last time I’m asking— are you sure you don’t mind me giving this the first run?” asked Peter.

Ned sighed and spun around from his computer to send Peter an exasperated look. “Do you not want to take it on its maiden voyage?”

“That’s not what I said,” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Then stop worrying. Just have a good time for once. Also, I downloaded a couple files to the gear. Not sure how reliable it is yet, but a few beta testers put out some first floor tips on the DL as a downloadable in game file, so check that out once you dive. It might help out a bit.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“No problem. Now get going, and be sure to take plenty of notes in your journal to send me later.”

“See you around, kid.”

“I am older than you are by two months. Shut up and dive, loser.”

Peter smiled as he fitted the Nervegear onto his head, laid back and said, “Link Start.”

———————

In a remote, nondescript server room a certain file kicked to life. It’s programming had been remotely accessed, a mere accident of oversight. The digital pathways that connected it to the Argus servers, while known about, had been forgotten in the chaos of the last few years. The file was not one created within the system, but one created to interact within it. The Cardinal system downloaded the precious data, implementing it in the category that best described its form and function.

Program designation: Client

System ID: Ferrum Vir

Administration level: GM

. . . .

Installation Complete

————————

At 12:00 am EST on November 5th, 2023 (1:00 pm JST), Peter Parker joined 10,000 others in the world’s first full dive MMORPG— Sword Art Online.

And so did a very confused Anthony Edward Stark.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #irondad and spiderson #marvel cinematic universe #iron man #spider-man #MCU #sword art online #mcu/sao #fanfiction #crossover fanfiction #ai tony stark #post endgame #mostly canon compliant #im not even sure what to tag this #i have no idea where im going with it #aire101 writes #not ffh compliant

9 notes · View notes

wiseabsol · 4 years

Text

WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 13: A Start

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/13/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 13!

CHAPTER 13: A START

Alright, on to chapter thirteen. Before I begin, since there have been some people in the comments expressing interest in my full reviews, they can be found at: wiseabsol (dot) tumblr (dot) com (slash) tagged (slash) dominion (percent sign) 20by (percent sign) 20aurelia (percent sign) 20le. I might also run the idea of setting up a forum for “Dominion” by Aurelia. That way, you all would have someplace to read my reviews on this website, as well as discuss the story with each other outside of the reviews section.

On to the review. Zuko has slept past sunrise, which may be an indication of how bad a shape he’s in, since firebenders are supposed to rise with the sun (Azula, note, still rose with the sun while hospitalized). But he managed to sleep the night through without nightmares, which is progress for him. Turns out he’s achieved that by drinking a sedating tea left by Iroh.

“The old man had even gone do far as to pretend Mai told him, to try to get Zuko to talk. It was the kind of thing Azula would do.”—Iroh and Azula are both cunning, strategic thinkers, which may be part of why she makes Iroh uncomfortable. She probably reminds him of himself when he was younger. If she’d been a boy, it’s possible that he might have tried to take Azula under his wing…but given that she was a girl, and thus had gender roles that she was supposed to conform to (hence him giving her a doll), he didn’t. That and Ozai snapped her up quickly, with Iroh soon afterwards writing her off as Ozai’s “creature.” But I wouldn’t be surprised if we later find out that part of why Iroh considered her so dangerous was because she reminded him of his younger self, rather than Ozai.

Apparently Zuko blew up at Iroh for the deception, and said some things he shouldn’t have. Old habits die hard.

“What his uncle couldn’t know was that there was no help for what he did.”—Yeah, sleeping with your sister is not something you can take back.

Zuko has some manservants in the room with him, who offer him fruit, foot washing, and hot towels, which he doesn’t accept. What even is the point of being royalty if you can’t enjoy some nice things, Zuko? Though you probably don’t think you deserve nice things. As the manservants go about getting him ready, Zuko has this pleasant memory of Mai: “Mai used to put his hair up for him, when she woke at the same time as Zuko. She wasn’t much good with hair, in truth, but that hardly mattered. More often than not, it was just thinly veiled foreplay”—So they were a genuinely sweet couple at one point.

But then it’s time to go to Squicktown: “But when he tried to recall those mornings now, it was his sister’s slim fingers that raked through his hair, her mouth that he tasted, the warmth of her skin—“—That’s gross, buddy. While we could chalk this up to being a sign of his continued obsession with Azula, it could also be a sign of trauma. Good memories triggering associations that trigger bad memories. If he was wanking off to the memory of Azula, then I’d say it was an obsession thing. As it is, it’s causing him distress, so trauma seems more likely.

“A memory made all the more painful by having to wonder how much of that Azula did at their father’s command, those years he abused her under the guise of training….”—Sadly, I think Ozai does believe it was training. Though this is also the dude who believes that suffering is instructive.

“With such dark thoughts as he had for company, he barely noticed the comings and goings of the palace staff anymore.”—Losing your situational awareness is not good, Zuko. Especially when you know there are people who aren’t happy with your reign.

“Uncle thought it started shortly after Zuko was banished. She would have been eleven.”—Ugh. That is vile. Though I suspect that Ozai was grooming her before then.

Ozai is dying from his burns. While I’m inclined to say “Good riddance,” if he dies, it means that Zuko will have committed patricide, which will cause a public outcry and earn him more enemies. Also, Azula will never forgive him for it.

“The man lived to plague him, he knew.”—Ozai is absolutely that spiteful.

“He remembered asking Iroh if his banishment might have been planned. If his father might have sent him away just to do that to Azula, to remove the last family member she might have turned to for defense, the last witness to his crimes. He remembered the look his uncle gave him then, when he said they may never know.”—I think it’s probable that Ozai was looking for an excuse to get rid of Zuko, just like he did with Mai and Ty Lee. He wanted to isolate Azula, but he also wanted to get Zuko out of the picture so he could make Azula first in line for the throne.

That being said, I don’t think Ozai believed that Azula would turn to Zuko for help. The siblings were already poisoned against each other back then. I think the look Iroh gave Zuko wasn’t because he knew the answer to the question—it was because he knew that it wouldn’t have mattered whether Zuko was there or not. Ozai would have done this to Azula anyway, and given how careful they were to hide it, I don’t think Zuko would have noticed that something was wrong until the abortion. I doubt that Iroh would have noticed either, since he was so focused on Zuko. While the idea of, “If I was there, I could have done something!” is a comforting one, it’s also naïve on Zuko’s part. He was a child then, too. And given Zuko’s disposition at that age—to confront evil head on, without thinking through the potential consequences—he probably would have ended up in a much worse position than he did in canon. He would have been a security risk to Ozai—a security risk that can’t lie well. No, I think Zuko being there would have resulted in disaster. Iroh, on the other hand, might have been able to figure out a quiet solution. But he wasn’t there, and so the possibility passed.

Iroh, in any case, left after receiving a letter from Rai, without telling Zuko the contents of said letter. Iroh says this is so Zuko can have plausible deniability, but because Zuko is in bad mental shape, he’s slipping into some paranoia about it—paranoia rather like Azula’s at the end of the series. He’s unkempt, he can’t sleep, he is wracked with self-hatred and guilt (Azula was, too, though her mind expressed it through Ursa’s hallucination). If he starts banishing people, it will probably start rumors that madness runs in the family.

“He wondered if his uncle began to mistrust him around Azula. If he knew what you did, he would never trust you with her again, he reminded himself.”—Which would be fair of him, Zuko. But Iroh is too convinced of your goodness to suspect that you would hurt her intentionally. He was ready to handwave away you killing her as an act of self-defense.

“And Mai would not receive the old general at her parents’ house, sparking rumors she had left the palace to avoid him, rather than her husband.”—I think because Mai knows that Iroh will side with Zuko in a conflict, and that’s not something that she wants to deal with right now. I do not blame her.

Zuko continues to contemplate Iroh’s visit, sliding into self-pity as he thinks of how tired Iroh must be getting of him: “[Iroh] was probably just as relieved to go as Zuko was to see him away….”

“‘It isn’t fair,’ [ . . . ] That one mistake with Azula should poison the only healthy, loving relationship he had with any blood relative. It wasn’t fair.”—Zuko thinks this, but he’s the one who is pushing Iroh away. I think he could have told Iroh a portion of the truth—that he and Azula argued, that he got angry and intentionally hurt her, and that he feels horrible about it now. I think that would shake Iroh’s faith in Zuko, but I think he would still be supportive, and would understand, finally, that Zuko still has lingering behavioral problems from Ozai’s abuse that need to be worked through. It might have opened up some routes to healing faster…though I daresay that Mai wouldn’t have been pleased with Zuko giving his uncle a sanitized version of the truth.

Zuko’s chamberlain comes in, with a list of what sounds like some very important meetings that Zuko should go to, but Zuko has other plans for his day. He’ll still keep the meeting with the “Advisory Board for the Reformation of Asylums,” which Zuko created sometime in the last few weeks. For now, though, Zuko is going to see Mai and Lu Ten.

We transition to Iroh meeting with Rai. Apparently, Iroh recruited her after her banishment from the Fire Nation. Rai catches Iroh up on how her time with Azula went, but feels that she could have done more for Azula. Iroh interrupts her by placing a hand on her knee—weird choice there, Iroh—and says that it was for the best that she didn’t reveal that she knew who Azula was, because, “‘She might even have killed you.’”

Rai, though, has more faith in Azula than Iroh does: “‘No.’ The cook shook her head, surprising Iroh. ‘She makes threats when she’s under duress. And she certainly knows how to sell them [ . . . ] But she never struck me as particularly bloodthirsty, either then or now. She would avoid unnecessary violence, if only to keep a low profile.’”—Thank you, Rai!

Rai, bless her, also dismisses Iroh’s question of whether the wounds could have been self-inflicted. I see why he would ask this, given the self-harm Azula committed in the asylum, but it does make it clear that he hasn’t seen her any time recently, after she started getting better. He then wonders if maybe the asylum had been mistreating her and covered up the signs, since his visits were announced in advance and he only ever saw her from a distance.

Then he wonders if Zuko was the one who injured Azula—ding, ding, Iroh, you are correct! “It would go a long way toward explaining his obvious guilt, and Zuko had always been given to emotional excesses.”—No kidding. In regards to the burn, he thinks, “He could not see what purpose it had served, except to hurt her…”—CORRECT AGAIN!

Rai, meanwhile, wonders about Azula being sent to the asylum. She thought that Azula might have been jailed or banished by Zuko instead. This ticks Iroh off: “Her brother showed her compassion,” he insists, but Rai is not convinced, since the workers at the asylum might have hurt Azula. When she expresses that, Iroh responds hotly, “‘He knew naught of this, woman,’” and breathes out flames. I’m not fond of him calling her “woman” here, because when men do that, it’s often meant to be dismissive or demeaning. The show of flames is also not cool of him. Control yourself, Iroh.

Rai isn’t impressed by him and plans to leave, but Iroh has more questions. He asks what happened to the man who assaulted Azula, and Rai responds: “‘Dead,’ Rai told the woodplank floor, her voice barely breaking a whisper when she crossed white arms under her ample bust.”—Why are you noticing the size of her breasts, Iroh? But also, this does seem hard for Rai to talk about.

Iroh assumes Azula killed the guy, but Rai corrects him, telling him that she did it herself. “The woman raised her eyes to his, and Iroh was reminded uncannily of his missing sister-in-law.” Oh, I hope that Ursa kills Ozai. I feel like it’s improbable that that will happen, but I want it. Also, the phrase “silk hiding steel” comes to mind here, both for Rai and Ursa.

Rai discusses her reasons for killing Lee—both to give Azula a measure of protection and for justice—and how her own husband, Shou, abused her. “If she had been abused, of course this cook would look coldly on what she likely viewed as excuses for the abuse of Azula. Her own husband probably made her parrot lines like that, that it was an accident, she did it to herself….”—As much as I obviously empathize with Azula, I should point out that there is, theoretically, some danger in Rai doing the same. If Azula had continued to behave abusively towards others, Rai’s empathy for Azula’s suffering might have made her inclined to excuse Azula’s actions, much like Iroh currently does for Zuko. And if she’s excusing those actions, then she might have been caught off guard and hurt by Azula during their time together.

That being said, in this case, Rai’s empathy is refreshing, and also lends itself to a more accurate reading of Azula’s character than Iroh has. Iroh, very confused by this point, asks Rai why she would go to such lengths to help his niece. As it turns out, Rai worked in the kitchens at the palace, while her husband was an imperial firebender. She couldn’t accuse him of abuse or get away from him, but when Azula started banishing people, Rai was banished before he was—and so she managed to escape and stay ahead of him all of this time.

“‘Rai,’ he said quietly, a little concerned for her sanity at this point, ‘you must know she didn’t mean to help you. She banished her servants because she was crazy, not out if any altruistic urge.’”—It rubs me the wrong way that Iroh thinks that Rai might be crazy. There’s a part of me that wants to throw at him, “You only think that because you’ve never known what it’s like to be helpless,” but I know that’s not true. It’s not like Azulon was compassionate to Iroh or cared about his emotional needs, and losing Lu Ten would definitely have made Iroh feel helpless. Still, this grates on me, possibly because Iroh is a very privileged man and hasn’t faced the same hardships as Rai. I feel like Ursa would understand Rai, though. I don’t know if they would get along—somehow, I doubt it, since Rai has faith in Azula and Ursa does not—but I’d love to see a conversation between them someday.

Much to Iroh’s discomfort, Rai talks about how the palace staff knew that Ozai was mistreating Azula, and hints that there were rumors about the sexual abuse, too: “Those years Prince Zuko was banished, her father kept her so close [ . . . ] She turned up all manner of strange injuries [ . . . ] and even disappeared for a week once. There were some as said he killed her. And those were the least of the rumors. [ . . . ] There was something…wrong there. [ . . . ] Everyone knew it. And no one did anything. [ . . . ] Not even me.”

When Iroh points out that Ozai was the Fire Lord and there was nothing that she could have done, Rai is not consoled: “‘And she was a piece of work,’ Rai finished bluntly, holding his gaze. ‘I know. She was also a child, with no one to treat her like one. I thought I might be someone to look out for her, even years too late’”—God, it’s so nice to hear someone point out that no matter how cruel Azula was, she was a kid and didn’t deserve what happened to her. It’s so good to see someone want to look out for her and help her. I’ve never thought that Rai could have been an inspiration for Tam, but she’s hitting the same points, even if she’s a very different person. I wish we had more of Rai in this, but I suspect her role in the story is done by the end of this chapter.

As their conversation winds down, Iroh reassures Rai that she did help Azula and pays her for the information. Rai urges him to help Azula, even if Azula pushes him away. “‘She really seems to hate you,’” Rai says, and I think that’s due to, A.) Ozai turning Azula against Iroh, B.) Iroh’s claim of killing the last dragon, C.) Iroh sending Azula gifts that catered more towards who Ursa wanted her to be, rather than who Azula wanted to be, and D.) Iroh choosing Zuko and telling Zuko to confront Azula and take her crown from her. Iroh says his goal is to help Azula, but he inwardly admits that he’s not sure how.

We shift back to Zuko, who is just arriving at Mai’s place. Mai’s uncle, the warden from the Boiling Rock, is there, and isn’t happy to see Zuko. He escorts Zuko in, and there is a brief exchange with Mai’s parents, during which her mother seems to imply that Mai’s uncle better not mess things up with the Fire Lord. Once the rest of the family is gone, Tsutomu quickly establishes that if it weren’t for Mai, he’d gut Zuko, because Mai has told him everything.

I’m not sure this was a wise call on Mai’s part—the more people who know a secret, the harder it is to keep—but I understand why she did it. She knows that her uncle is loyal to her. She knows that he doesn’t like Zuko. It would feel safe to go to him with this. That and he has contacts who could help her.

“Zuko was glad Mai had him to support her through this. But the warden would have done his utmost to poison her against him”—You did that yourself, Zuko.

“But then, a man who lays with his sister and tries to kill his father, what would you know about [family]?”—Woof, yeah, Zuko is a walking Greek tragedy. I’m curious about what Hu Xin did to be considered an equivalent.

“And I’m not sure that’s something I can allow in my niece’s life, regardless of her wishes.”—Fair, but you can’t support Mai if you’re executed for committing treason and regicide, Tsutomu.

Zuko asks if Mai’s parents know, but Tsutomu dismisses the idea: “‘They still think you fucked that waterbender.’” I am slightly amused by the confusion there, but not amused by the warden calling Katara a “nubile little savage” right afterwards. Gross and racist, Tsutomu.

“Zuko could only stare at him, sick with the realization that Mai’s parents suspected he cheated on her, even if they didn’t know with whom. And they still treated Zuko better than their daughter.”—More evidence that monarchies and patriarchies are terrible. The warden acknowledges that, saying that Mai’s parents expect this sort of thing from a noble husband, and that they think that Mai should suck it up and make sure her son’s and her family’s futures are secure, rather than let her hurt feelings get in the way. Which the warden thinks is bullshit, and as much as I don’t like him, I agree with him.

“‘Be the man that she deserves,’” he tells Zuko, and I’m like, “You tell him, Scary Warden.”

Zuko goes to find Mai, who is still wearing her crown. “She wouldn’t if she meant to desert him, would she?”—Dude, she earned that. I wouldn’t give it up without a fight either. Like, I don’t like monarchies, and I’d set up a council if someone gave me a crown…but like hell if I’m giving up that crown! It’s shiny!

Mai has been waiting for him to approach her to talk. I don’t know if I’m supposed to find the bed exchange amusing, but—Mai, come on. The bed needed to go. How could you sleep in it again knowing that Azula was raped and impregnated there? No, let it burn. Throw some oil on it while you’re at it. There’s bad juju in that mattress. I don’t think making Lu Ten in that bed erased the aura of squick. Though also, Zuko, you should have offered her a different bed. Come on, my dude.

“‘Really?’ Mai sprang like the jaws of a trap snapping closed. ‘So you were thinking of me the whole time you were with her?’”—Yikes!

Mai continues to press him on why he slept with Azula, with him getting “unaccountable angry that she wouldn’t just accept his explanation.” She doesn’t buy that the fight spun out of control, though that was a part of what happened. But that isn’t why it happened. Zuko reveals the ugly truth of it: “‘She made me so angry [ . . . ] I just lost control.’”—Meaning that Zuko didn’t have sex with Azula because he loved her. He did it to punish her.

Mai then asks why Azula would sleep with Zuko, and Zuko tries to explain that it’s because Ozai abused Azula. Mai isn’t convinced by this—maybe she thinks that this is some kind of Morgana plot on Azula’s part—and doesn’t believe that Ozai would admit to the abuse, either.

“‘He just let it slip, in a moment of anger!’” Zuko says, to which Mai responds, “‘Really? Because that sounds a lot more like you.’”—Yes. Yes, Mai, Zuko and Ozai are very similar people. Similar explosive angers, similar self-centered natures, similar disregard for Azula’s personhood. Yes, you got it in one, even if you don’t realize it yet.

“‘You’re a fool if you think it ever happened.’”—This is so ugly. Mai, don’t be this person. Don’t be the person who thinks that the rape victim is lying.

“‘Because I know Azula, I know how she thinks [ . . . ] She makes you feel sorry for her, you give her want she wants. You let her bend again when she starved herself, maybe you’ll give her a royal pardon when it turns out Daddy fu—’”—Mai, I don’t think you’ve ever understood Azula. Not really. Right now, you sound like all of the Azula-haters out there, who see Azula as a conniving snake, rather than a deeply troubled girl. And honestly, when did Azula ever act weak to try to get what she wanted? And why would she want this story to be spreading about her? It will make everyone look at her differently. At best, they’ll pity her; at worst, they’ll find a way to blame her for what happened, or say that it served her right, even though she was a child.

Zuko raises a hand to strike Mai at this point, almost adding wife-beater to his sin list, but Mai intercepts him and tries to kiss and come onto him. When Zuko pushes her away, Mai asks him why he didn’t push Azula away, too—which HE SHOULD HAVE. Which he had opportunities to do! But he didn’t and he doesn’t know why.

Mai has a theory, though: “‘It wasn’t just the fight. You wanted her. You lusted after her. Your own sister. [ . . . ] You act like you caught some disease that impaired your judgement. [ . . . ] But people don’t do what you did without feeling that way for a long time. And you never said a word to me.”—I think Mai is correct here, though this doesn’t touch on how his resentment towards and his desire to dominate Azula pushed him over the edge. I also want to sit her down and say, “He didn’t know, so he couldn’t have told you,” because I don’t think that Zuko knew on a conscious level what he felt for Azula, besides anger. Also, Mai, would him telling you have made it better, somehow?

“‘You would never talk about her! I had no one I could talk to about her—’”—Ty Lee is glaring at you from the other side of the planet, Zuko.

Mai accuses Zuko of raping Azula, which he denies, but Mai asserts what I’ve been saying for chapters now: “‘If she was crazy, how could she give consent?’”—Thank you, Mai! Thank you for calling him out on this!

Mai wants to play the blame game, either having Azula or Zuko be entirely at fault for what happened. It’s not that simple, though. The truest answer here is probably Ozai—he’s the one who messed both of his children up—but at the same time, Zuko was in full control of his actions, unlike Azula. So we can’t and shouldn’t absolve him of responsibility.

As Mai starts to cry, Zuko tries to hug her, but she pushes him away. “‘I want my husband [ . . . ] I want the man who would never do this! I want the man I trusted!’”—This reflects the pain that people feel when they find out that one of their loved ones has abused someone, except without the denial that usually comes with it. It feels impossible to reconcile the person you thought you knew and cared about with who they’ve been revealed to be. As much as I don’t like how Mai demonizes Azula, I understand and feel for her here.

Zuko asks if this means that she won’t come back, but she clarifies that she will, with some conditions. After all, there’s Lu Ten to think of. “‘He asks for you every day.’ A tear dripped from her chin, and watching this, Zuko needed a moment to realize she was talking about their son.’”—Dude, think more about your son! You barely seem to!

Mai’s conditions are reasonable: Talk to her before telling their son about what’s going on. Give her her own quarters. Don’t come into them unless she summons him. Keep her in the loop about the search for Azula. She’ll probably have more requests in the future, but this is a good start.

We switch over to Aang and Katara, who are visiting Bumi in Omashu. Bumi captured Azula at one point and she escaped, which is what the pair are here to discuss with him. We get the detail that there are now bounty hunters looking for Azula, and that the people of the Fire Nation aren’t thrilled with the search.

“[Aang] began to realize that he was not these people’s hero. He wondered if Azula might be.”—Honestly, Aang? Yeah, she is. Their princess is the youngest firebender master in centuries, she has blue fire (which could be seen as a sign of Agni’s blessing), and she conquered Ba Sing Se with only two comrades, after their most famous general failed to. Iroh and Zuko are also, technically, traitors to the Fire Nation, since they defected and helped overthrow the king. This isn’t even touching on the dismantling of the Fire Nation’s military, the trials against many of the Fire Nation’s nobles and generals, or the massive amounts of reparations that Zuko has given to the other countries. Are these things, in the broader sense, justified? Of course. The Fire Nation’s imperialist regime brought 100 years of suffering to the world, suffering that is still fresh for the other countries. But from the perspective of the people of the Fire Nation, this looks like a deep betrayal from their leaders. The fact that the economy is tanking and the crops aren’t good must look like further signs that Zuko is bringing disaster onto the realm. Of course the people would look up to Azula instead. She brought them glory. Zuko is forcing them to feel shame. It’s little wonder that they prefer her to him.

Moving on. Bumi is apparently 117 years old now. I know that Kyoshi lived to 230, but this is still wild to me. It’s also wild that Bumi became the king of Omashu, considering that he was a commoner and is still illiterate. Not that there’s anything wrong with either of those things—I think that compassion is a much more important quality in a leader, and Bumi has that in spades—but I’m surprised that the Earth Kingdom allowed it. I have to assume his prodigious earthbending was part of what elevated him. I bet there’s a whole story there, which we’ll sadly never see.

Katara is offended to learn that Bumi shared a meal with Azula, but Bumi reminds her that he shared a meal with them, too, when they were prisoners. “It’s the little things that count, you know, Aang [ . . . ] Never forget that.”—Bumi knows how important kindness is, and probably suspects how little of it Azula has been shown in her life.

Bumi doesn’t buy that Azula is crazy and dismisses the danger she poses if angered: “‘Oh, all Fire Nation people are like that’”—Which is too much of a generalization for my tastes. He thinks that Iroh might be an exception, but given that Iroh breathed out flames at the suggestion that Zuko put Azula into an abusive environment, I’m not convinced.

When Bumi compares Azula to her “prince” brother, Aang worries that he might be going senile, but Bumi gently corrects him. They then get back to business—Bumi reveals that Azula stowed away in a cargo caravan and was caught by inspectors when she fell asleep. Aang is surprised by this, but Bumi reminds him that Azula was sick during her stay in Omashu. Azula was with Bumi for two days—god, I would have loved to see that—before he let her go. Aang and Katara are shocked and ask why. Bumi confides that he’s worried that Azula’s capture and death will lead to war, since Zuko threatened as much.

Aang and Katara don’t believe Bumi at first, with Aang going so far as to say, “‘He wouldn’t endanger [the peace] for personal concerns.’”—I’m sorry, Aang, but have you met Zuko? Family is super important to him, even if that family is dysfunctional. Katara understands, since she’s the girl who went on a revenge quest to murder her mother’s killer, but only stopped when she realized that the killer wasn’t worth damaging her soul over. But if Sokka’s life was on the line, you better believe that she would start a war for him. Katara is just as ruled by her emotions as Zuko is, and just as inclined toward dramatic gestures. Aang’s own culture works against him somewhat here, since it emphasizes the communal over blood relations (which are functionally erased, though there must have been someone keeping records of who was related to who, to avoid accidental incest). It makes it difficult for him to grasp how deep a bond with a family member can go, even one who you have a bad relationship with. Zuko and Azula are parts of each other’s identity, difficult though that is for both of them to accept.

Bumi points out that the Earth Kingdom is part of why he didn’t turn Azula over to the Fire Nation or Aang—the Earth Kingdom is more of a collection of countries in a trench-coat, rather than a single, organized government. If Omashu defied the wishes of Ba Sing Se by turning Azula over to safety, rather than to them, the people of Omashu would pay the price. We also learn that since Bumi outed himself as a White Lotus member, he hasn’t had access to privileged information, like Azula’s trial in absentia.

Regardless of who catches Azula, though, the Earth Kingdom sees it as a win. Either they catch and kill her and restore their honor, or Zuko shelters her from them and they can start a war over it—a war which would help them seize Fire Nation resources and recover from the occupation. Zuko has, apparently, suspended reparations to them.

Bumi adds that a war with the Earth Kingdom would be extremely difficult to fight: “‘A continent this vast supplies almost unlimited troops, and plenty of places to hide private armies. And our chain of command is more convoluted than the 52nd Earth King’s family tree.’” The technological gap between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom has also been closing since the war ended, and with the Fire Nation’s military gutted, it would be challenge for them to get an edge on the Earth Kingdom again. Overall, our heroes are in a bind, but there’s still time for them to find a way out of it. Until Azula is captured, that is—that will force the issue.

At this point, some letters arrive. The Gaang, thinking that Azula went to Kyoshi Island to recruit Ty Lee, are relieved that Ty Le “refused.” In truth, Ty Lee would have gone with Azula, but Azula told her no, because she understands the pain that she caused Ty Lee by forcing her to choose between her friends, and doesn’t want to do that again. Zuko tells them that he’s going to Kyoshi Island himself to ask questions, and that they shouldn’t waste the trip, which they accept��but Aang is starting to feel like he can’t trust Zuko, which troubles him.

We cut to Zuko as he arrives on the island. It turns out that Kaede actually bought that Azula and Ty Lee were fighting, and gave Ty Lee some light work to cheer her up. Zuko thinks that maybe Azula told Ty Lee everything and that’s why she’s not acting like herself. I wish that Azula had told Ty Lee, since it would be good for her to have someone in her corner who knows what happened from her perspective. But I understand why Azula didn’t say anything—it’s a memory that causes her shame, she’s used to keeping stuff like this a secret, Ty Lee might have let it slip to someone else, and it would have driven a wedge between Ty Lee and her other friends, something Azula is being careful not to do. But even so, I wish Azula had someone who knew and was supporting her in the aftermath, rather than her carrying it on her shoulders alone. But Azula isn’t used to accepting help from others, especially with things that are this sensitive.

When Ty Lee and Zuko meet, Ty Lee says that she didn’t think that Zuko would want to see her, and Zuko contradicts this with, “‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’” I don’t think that is true, given how Zuko thinks about her and how dismissive he’s been to her in the past. Zuko tries to apologize for that, but Ty Lee is more upset about how he’s treated Azula than with how he’s treated her. Zuko gets to the point: he wants information about Azula, such as why she was crying. Ty Lee refuses to give him that info because it’s personal to Azula, which tells us that Ty Lee wouldn’t have shared what happened to Azula if Azula had told her.

When Zuko says that he’s just trying to help Azula, Ty Lee calls bullshit. “‘You’re just trying to help yourself! She never would have ran if she thought there was any chance of you ever letting her out! But you never saw her; you wouldn’t even answer her letters! [ . . . ] Even I could tell you just dropped her there to forget about her—”—So true, Ty Lee. Especially the part about him never seeing her, which works on both a literal and figurative level.

“‘I never forgot!” Zuko insists, but this is actually more damning. It suggests that he kept Azula there so he would always know where she was and have control over her life.

“‘You never helped her, either [ . . . ] I know she didn’t always treat you right. I know, because she hurt me too. [ . . . ] But that’s not all she was. She’s not a monster. [ . . . ] She feels remorse, and she can repay kindness with kindness. She’s just—seen so little of that, I don’t know if she knows what it looks like anymore.’”—Clearly Ty Lee dumped most of her character creation points into Wisdom (and Dexterity). She might not be cunning, but she understands people, Azula included, much better than most of the other characters do. She has a lot of empathy, which I deeply appreciate.

Interrupting their conversation, though, June the bounty hunter storms into the clearing, with her shirsu paralyzing Ty Lee with a lash of its tongue. And that brings us to the end of another chapter! As always, thank you for the read, Aurelia!

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol

#Dominion by Aurelia le #Azula #avatar: the last airbender #Fanfiction #Review #WiseAbsol

3 notes · View notes

ionlyspeakinmyheroacademia · 4 years

Text

Late Nights and Lavender Tea

series masterlist ☕️

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Ochako Uraraka

Warnings: Some lauguage, gets a lil steamy at some parts, slow burn, MAJOR SPOILERS

Summary: After a year of friendship, Uraraka realizes that she is totally in love with her best friend, Midoriya Izuku. There's just one slight problem. She's in a happy, committed relationship with Iida Tenya.Or is she? As their relationship progresses, she sees a side of Tenya that scares her- and she wonders if she made the right choice to get with him in the first place. And her resurfacing feelings for Izuku aren't helping her case, not in the slightest.Midoriya Izuku always avoids romantic relationships, but he simply cannot avoid his feelings for Uraraka Ochako. She's taken, but Izuku can't help but hopelessly pine after her. After seemingly the millionth late-night talk over tea, he realizes that he's head over heels in love with her. He's in love with a girl who's off-limits. He can swallow his feelings for her sake, of course.That's okay with Izuku. If she's happy, he's happy for her. It's really okay, honestly.Teenage relationships are hard. That's one thing they've both realized.

Notes: This is my first fic, let me know what you think! (cross posted on ao3)

Chapter 4: Want Me to Beat His Ass?

“Tenya,” Ochako breathed, knotting her hands in his hair as they kissed. They were in his room, sitting on his bed making out, as they had been since they escaped from the commotion of the common space. His hands were on her back, one playing with the hem of her shirt, the other pressing her closer to him. They were supposed to be studying, but they got sidetracked quickly, when Tenya had pulled her closer, tossing the book aside.

“God, I love you,” Tenya whispered, breaking the kiss. She leaned back, they hadn’t said the L-word yet. She took a shaky breath, and smiled at him, not sure what to say. She didn’t really know how she felt. Two weeks ago, she thought she did, but now she wasn’t so sure. Ochako didn’t know what she felt anymore, her feelings had gotten extremely out of her control. “You don’t have to say it, I’m sorry if it’s too soon, I know we’ve only been going out for two months-” he stuttered, taking in the look on her face.

“I’m sorry Tenya- I… I’m just not ready,” she said quietly, not looking at him, guilt filling her, overflowing at the seams. His face fell, and he sat up, clearing his throat.

“That’s all right,” he replied, but his voice was stiff.

“Tenya-”

“I said it’s fine,” he said sharply, shocking her. “I told my girlfriend I love her, and she didn’t say it back, that’s totally fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” she remarked, her voice hardening, and she turned to look at him. His eyes were full of anger and hurt and he was staring at his hands, which were clenched into fists. She backed up, and stood slowly.

“Where are you going?” he asked, swiveling to look at her. “I thought we were studying.”

“That’s all right Tenya, I’ll just catch up with you later, I’ve studied enough for today anyway,” she was desperate to escape, she felt terrible, and he had a look in his eye that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

He stared at her, trying to read her expression, which she wiped, conveying no emotion, except for the slight apologetic smile on her face. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiled warmly at him and, knees shaking, hurried out of the room and towards the elevator. She didn’t like this side of him, and yet she seemed to be the only one who brought it out in him. After all, he acted perfectly normal around other people, and even when they had been alone before they were dating, and in the first month of their relationship. He had never acted like this around her until the day of the Sports Festival, and had been getting angrier and angrier. It had only been a week, and at first after their fight, he had tried to be gentle and considerate, the way he had been throughout their entire relationship, but after that, he had been snapping at her whenever they were alone, he had been angrier, more impulsive, defensive. Ochako sighed. She didn’t know what to do.

She was standing in front of the open elevator, debating whether she should click the fourth floor button or go grab a snack from the kitchen. Choosing the latter, she stepped into the elevator pushing the button, and felt tears begin to slip down her face. She wiped them away hastily as the elevator opened, and she hurried towards the kitchen, grabbing a handful of saltine crackers from the pantry, and walked aimlessly through the commons, stopping in front of the door to the courtyard. Some fresh air would be nice, it’ll help me clear my head, she thought, and stepped out into May night, a warm breeze ruffling her hair slightly. She settled herself into a chair, and stared at the sky, letting her troubles melt away.

…

“Ochako?” she heard a familiar voice call, “What are you doing out here?”

She sat up groggily, taking in her surroundings. Why am I so cold? She turned to see Izuku, looking worried. She looked up to see the sky, the sun not even having risen yet, the stars still very bright, and she shivered.

“Ochako?” he prompted, walking over to her and setting a cautious hand on her shoulder. She turned back to him. He was so beautiful, his hair a wild, untamable, green mess, his spring colored eyes filled with concern.

“Hi,” she mumbled, still groggy from sleep.

“What are you doing out here? It’s three AM.”

“I don’t know, I remember I wanted some fresh air, and I guess I fell asleep. I’m sorry, I’ve just been so exhausted lately-”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Okay,” she answered, rising slowly, leaning on Izuku sleepily. He supported her easily, guiding her towards the door. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, well, I was having trouble staying asleep, so I came down to have some tea when I saw you out in the courtyard,” he answered, pressing the four button on the elevator and stepping inside, holding her against him so she didn’t fall. He was stiff, as if he was uncomfortable, but she was too tired to notice.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, her words tainted by sleep, blurring together as they made their way towards her room.

“It’s alright,” he said as he opened the door to her room, guiding her to the bed, and helped her under the covers, tucking her in.

“Thanks ‘Zu. You’re the best,” she mumbled, nodding off into unconsciousness. He smiled warmly at her, and bent down to gently kiss her forehead. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was the door clicking shut.

…

Tenya didn’t talk to her much the next morning, and he sat away from her at breakfast. Ochako knew she deserved it, but he had to respect her feelings, just like she respected his.

“What’s up with Iida?” Jirou asked her as she played with Yaomomo’s hair, the girls were all sitting in Yaomomo’s room, sprawled out on her gigantic bed, talking and catching up on each other’s love lives.

Ochako sighed. “Well, yesterday, we were making out and he told me he loved me.”

“That’s awesome!” Mina squealed. “But wait, isn’t that a good thing?”

“Well, um, I didn’t say it back,” she mumbled.

“No!” Hagakure gasped.

“What happened Ochako? A couple of weeks ago you said you were pretty much ready to tell him, you were just waiting for him to say it,” Tsu asked, looking at her friend quizzically.

Ochako put her face in her hands. “I don’t know!” she said, her hands muffling her yell. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately! I’ve just been having doubts ever since after the Sports Festival…”

Yaomomo sat up, much to her girlfriend’s chagrin, and turned to Ochako, setting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Tell us what’s been going on Ochako, it’s not good to keep what you’re feeling to yourself. We love you and we’re here for you, right girls?” There was a chorus of yes’s from the group, and Ochako looked up from her hands, and smiled at her friends. She was so lucky to have them.

“Well,” she started, sniffling. “It all started the day of the Sports Festival…” she said, launching into the story of the way he acted after the Sports Festival, feeling relieved it was off her chest. “And then last night, he got so angry with me so quickly, I mean, I don’t blame him, he told me he loved me, and then I told him I wasn’t ready… but I don’t know… I just feel like he should respect my feelings too you know? I’m just not ready, it’s not like I’ll never say it…” she trailed off, and tears started slipping down her cheeks. “Or maybe I won't. I just don’t know he’s been so angry at me, I don’t know what I did wrong, he’s just so rough, and then I say something and he snaps, I just don’t know what to do…” Ochako was fully sobbing now, and was being squashed into a six-way hug.

“Aw babe, you should’ve told us,” Yaomomo soothed.

“Want me to go kick his ass?” Mina asked, wiping Ochako’s tears away.

“I’ll help!” Hagakure chimed in. Ochako wiped the rest of her tears away, sniffling.

“Thanks you guys. You were right, I just needed to talk about it.”

“Ochako, can I be honest with you?” Tsu asked, setting a hand on her leg.

“What’s up Tsu?” she said, rubbing her eyes.

Tsu and Jirou exchanged a look, and Tsu looked back to Ochako, concerned. “Your relationship with Iida seems to be emotionally abusive, and possessive. He doesn’t seem to respect your boundaries, and gets angry when you call him on it, and he isn’t respecting what you’re feeling, and again, is getting angry with you and acting like a child. Then, when he’s done acting like he’s a child, he expects you to have immediately forgiven him, without apologizing.”

“Tsu’s right,” Yaomomo said quietly. “If he isn’t respecting what you’re feeling, then he doesn’t deserve you. Honestly, from what you’ve told us, I hope he doesn’t continue to get worse. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but if he’s getting angry with you for just saying what you think, then you two definitely need to rethink if you should be in this relationship.”

“You need to be careful Ochako,” Jirou insisted. “None of us know what’s going on with Iida right now, but you really need to think about if you’re happy in this relationship- and if you’re not, then you need to break it off. If he’s taking away your happiness, then he doesn’t get to be with you.”

“We love you Ochako, and we just want you to be okay,” Mina pulled her into a hug.

“Yeah, don’t let him steal your shine Ochako! You’re our star!” Hagakure said, rubbing her friend’s shoulder.

“Thanks guys. I’ll think about what you said. We have internships starting tomorrow anyway, that’ll give me plenty of time to think,” she smiled at all her friends, feeling so grateful for them. “I love you guys.” There was a chorus of ‘we love you too Ochako’ from around the group, and they group-hugged again, laughing.

“A hero’s been captured,” Izuku heard Burnin yell through his earpiece. He turned to Todoroki, taking in his friend’s expression as they listened. They had been on routine patrol, with instructions not to engage, when Burnin’s frantic message had come through. “One of Ryukyu’s interns was taken by a villain- you two are not to engage, do you hear me?” Izuku froze. Ochako was interning with Ryukyu, along with Tsu. Todoroki looked over at Izuku, saw his horrified face, and asked the question Izuku didn’t dare to.

“What’s the name of the hero that was taken?” Todoroki asked, looking at a frantic Izuku, who had broken out of his frozen state and was resorting to panic.

“I don’t know exactly- Uravity I think?” Burnin answered, and Izuku felt dread wash over him, and he started hyperventilating. “Listen to me Deku, Shoto, you are not to go after her. Do you hear me? Wait for backup, and stay away from forty-fifth street!”

“Todoroki, we have to save her!” Izuku said frantically, turning to his friend.

“Midoriya, you heard Burnin. I want to save her too- but we have direct orders to stay put. Look at me, Midoriya,” he said, touching Izuku’s shoulder as Izuku stared at the ground, mouthing fighting and stealth techniques. Izuku looked up unwillingly, tears brimmed in his eyes- not tears of sadness, but of frustration, anger, hatred for the villain who captured the only girl he’d ever loved. “I know you love her. I know you do. But right now what’s best for her is for you to stay out of the way so the heroes can get to her. We’ll be doing no good interfering.”

“I just want to get in, get her, and get out. She’s all I care about. And if I had to fight, I’d have a pretty good fucking chance, because I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I’ve fought villains before, and won. I just want her to be okay, and I’ll do whatever it takes for her to be safe. So let go of my shoulder so I can go save her,” tears of frustration were slipping down his cheeks, but his eyes were full of determination and anger.

“No, Midoriya, you know I can’t,” Todoroki shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t let you go. Remember when we fought Stain, and Iida let his personal motives get in the way and almost got himself, Native, and us killed? I won’t let you get killed. You’re my best friend Midoriya, and I’m not going to let you go.”

“If Sora had been the one captured, you wouldn’t hesitate. You would launch right into battle, am I right?” Izuku ignored the wounded look on Todoroki’s face as he thought about it and continued. “Can’t you see I have to save her? I have to, and I’ll never forgive myself if she gets hurt, that’s why I have to go now, because she could be being tortured, she could… she could be…” he didn’t want to let himself think it, but the thought filled his head, a poison spreading throughout his mind. She could be dead. “I have to Todoroki. Please,” he whispered, his voice full of agony, and Todoroki turned to look at him, seeing the pain splayed across Izuku’s face, and sighed.

“Fine, but we’re going to need a cover,” Todoroki sighed, and Izuku looked up at him, smiled a twisted smile, and whispered a quiet thank you as they dissolved into improvised planning.

…

Izuku crept silently through the abandoned building on forty-fifth street, weaving through the rubble of the trashed hallway, listening for a sound, any sound. It was then that he heard her scream, in the room he was standing next to.

“HELP! ANYONE! I’M IN HERE!” she hollered, and was cut off by a snap, and a bloodcurdling scream came tumbling out of her, a sound he didn’t know she could produce.

“Shut up you brat!” he heard the villain hiss, and it sounded as if he had slapped her. “You’ll draw the heroes right to us!”

He heard her spit, and heard the villain grunt in disgust. “That was the point you jackass,” she snarled, and he felt a swell of pride. That was his girl.

There was another snap, and he heard her gasp in pain. It took everything in him not to burst into that room and kill the villain with his own hands, even though he knew it was illegal. “Well now I have to go make sure no pros are coming to get you. Because if they do, I’ll have to kill you. Nothing personal.”

The villain’s footsteps were getting closer by the second, and Izuku looked around for a place to hide, and then remembered he could fly, and pressed himself flush against the ceiling, not daring to breathe as the villain opened the door and stepped outside, looking both ways, and hesitantly hurried down the hall, and out of sight. Izuku dropped down quietly, and ran into the room.

There she was, in the middle of the room, tears of frustration slipping down her cheeks, her wrists were bound, tied to the chair she was in palm up so she couldn’t use her quirk, and her head snapped up as she heard the creak of the floorboards when he entered. Relief flooded her eyes, and then fear.

“Deku, behind you!” she screamed, and he swung around, pushing off the ground effortlessly, the huge fist being swung at him missing widely as he soared to the ceiling, thanking God that it was a ballroom type. This must have been a hotel of some sort, he wondered before shaking his head in exasperation. Idiot! Now is not the time to focus on the building structure!

The villain jumped, swinging his abnormally large fist at Izuku’s head, who shot out Black Whip and threw the villain back. The villain’s head hit the wall, sending a rumble throughout the room, and he fell to the ground, immobilized immediately. Izuku was honestly surprised that had worked, after all, the villain was a big guy, he hadn’t expected him to go out with one hit.

He remembered Ochako, and turned to her, descending quickly, touching the side of her face before untying her wrists. He looked her up and down. She had a cut above her left eye, and a large gash in her arm. “Are you alright? Do you have any major injuries minus the ones on your arm and face?”

“Yes,” she gasped as he helped her up. “He broke my right leg, and I think he also broke my wrist. I don’t think I can walk-”

“That’s alright, don’t worry, I’ve got you, but we need to get out now, the villain will be back soon.” Ochako nodded, her face twisted in a grimace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as he picked her up bridal style and rose slowly into the air, aiming for a large hole in the roof, where they could escape, and head out to the heroes.

He looked down at her, bringing his hand to cheek and brushing her tears away. “Always. I’ve got you.”

They smiled at each other softly, and for a moment, he thought he was going to kiss her, maybe it was the soft glow of the moon on her face, or maybe it was the love he felt for her taking over his brain, his body, before he remembered she was taken, and they were perched atop the dilapidated building he had just saved her from, and that her leg was broken.

He cleared his throat, and held her close, committing it to memory, breathing in the scent of her jasmine shampoo. “Let’s get you to the heroes, and then to a hospital.”

“Okay,” she whispered, nuzzling her face into his chest as they flew down, and he hoped she couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly from her touch.

…

After he had taken Ochako to the hospital, he called Todoroki, waiting worriedly as they took X-rays of her leg and wrist, hoping they weren’t too serious.

“Where the hell are you?” Todoroki picked up on the first ring, and he sounded anxious and pissed. “Did you find Uraraka? Is she alright? Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry Todoroki, I just checked Ochako into the hospital, I should’ve called earlier- I know that was the plan, I just got distracted, and I wanted to make sure she was alright… how has it been going with Endeavor and Burnin?”

“Oh they’re pissed, they’re demanding you come back immediately- but you’re probably going to stay with Ochako, am I right?”

“Well…” he said sheepishly, “That was the plan, yeah- but I can come if you need me! I just don’t want to leave her alone, not until her parents get here.”

“Fine, stay. I can handle my father anyway. Just get back before tomorrow morning, it’s late anyway, and tomorrow’s our last day of internships.”

“Okay, see you then,” Izuku said quickly, Ochako was being wheeled out of the X-ray room, conversing quietly, and Ochako looked very small and vulnerable in the wheelchair. Izuku hurried over to her, hanging up on Todoroki, and lowered himself to his knees to talk to her.

“Are you okay Ochako?” he asked softly, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. She gave him a look. “Seriously, are you alright? Your parents are on their way…” His voice trailed off as a tear slipped down her cheek, which was still covered in dirt from the building. “Hey, hey,” he soothed, wrapping his arms around her, stroking her hair softly.

“I was so scared, ‘Zu,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes. “I thought I was going to die…. I thought that it was over. I didn’t know if I would ever see you, or Tenya, or my parents ever again, and I had given up. But then you were there, and you saved my life. You’re my hero ‘Zu.”

She said the last part softly, so quiet that Izuku barely heard her, but he was close enough that he did. He pulled her back, and kissed her forehead gently.

“Izuku I-” she started, before she was cut off from behind the two of them, by a very familiar voice.

“Ochako!” Iida called, running towards them, lowering down to where Ochako was, practically pushing Izuku aside and taking his girlfriend into his arms, kissing her. “I heard what happened, Manual and I were helping with the cleanup from the villain’s original attack when I heard you’d been captured, and I hurried here, I had to make sure you were okay…”

She smiled at him softly, and said, “I’m okay Tenya, just a few broken bones and some cuts and scrapes, nothing too serious.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Iida asked suspiciously, looking over his glasses into Ochako’s eyes, brushing her hair aside, just as Izuku had moments earlier. Izuku got to his feet, brushing off his costume, and turning back to Iida examining Ochako as she laughed. Izuku felt a pang of sadness, but pushed it away. As long as she’s happy.

“I promise I’m alright. Now, let go, Tenya. The doctors have to take me to get a cast while we wait for my parents to arrive.” Izuku opened his mouth to offer to go with her when he was cut off.

“I’ll come with you,” Iida said immediately, before Izuku could utter a word. Izuku closed his mouth, and nodded at Ochako when she looked at him worriedly.

“Yeah… I’ve got to go back to Endeavor’s agency anyway,” Izuku said, plastering a fake smile on his face, and leaning down to hug Ochako goodbye. “Call me tomorrow, or later today I guess,” he corrected after checking the time on his phone.

She laughed, and smiled warmly at him. “Thank you again for saving me.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied softly, returning her smile with just as much warmth, and rising, ignoring the dumbfounded look on Iida’s face. He turned to walk down the hall, but before he turned the corner, he looked back to see Iida holding Ochako tightly, the doctors trying to shoo him off, and Ochako smiling, and he let the sadness wash over him as he opened his phone and dialed Todoroki’s number.

“Hey, turns out I’m going to be there sooner than I thought,” he said quietly, as he left the building, pushing off the ground and flying into the air, soaring towards Endeavor’s agency.

…

By the time Endeavor and Burnin finished chewing out Izuku and Todoroki, it was light out, the sun peaking over the horizon. Izuku was exhausted, the fatigue finally setting in, and was heading back to Todoroki and his shared room when his phone started to ring. He smiled at the contact photo, his favorite picture of him and Ochako, the two of them smiling and laughing in the rain, Mina had taken it in their first year, a few weeks before she had started dating Iida.

“Hey, Ochako, how are you feeling?” he said when he picked up.

“I’m okay, my parents just got here- they took the train in, and Tenya is asleep on a chair next to the bed here, it’s quite funny honestly, he’s drooling,” she giggled, and he laughed.

“How’s the leg?” he asked, leaning against the wall as Todoroki passed him, shaking his head and smiling at his lovesick friend.

“It’s alright, they have it in a cast right now, and tonight when I get discharged and back to the dorms, they’re going to have Recovery Girl fix me up.”

“Good,” Izuku sighed in relief. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried about you…”

“I promise I’m alright, don’t you worry,” she said lightly. “Thank you again for saving me last night. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t got there when you did.”

“I’m always there for you, don’t you forget it,” he promised. “You’re my best friend Ochako, how could I let anything happen to you?”

“I’m lucky to have a friend like you ‘Zu,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Same here,” he replied, and yawned.

“Have you slept yet Deku?”

“Well… no.”

“Izuku!” she reprimanded.

“I’m sorry! I’ve been getting chewed out by Endeavor and Burnin-”

“Wait, why?” she asked, confused.

“Oh, no reason,” he lied. She didn’t need to know that he wasn’t supposed to save her, that he wasn’t supposed to go after her in the first place.

“That’s bullshit,” she insisted, “They wouldn’t chew you out unless they had a reason.”

“They were just mad that I was back so late,” he lied again, hoping she couldn’t detect it, he had always been an awful liar.

“Uh huh,” she answered sarcastically, and he could practically hear how heavily she was rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, I should be getting to bed,” he said quickly.

“Alright, well, I’ll see you tonight I guess.”

“See you tonight,” he replied, and waited until she hung up to head into his room, where Todoroki was fast asleep, snoring lightly. Izuku walked over to his bed, and flopped down on it, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

#my hero academia #bnha fanfic #bnha #midoriya izuku #midoriya izuku x uraraka ochako #boku no hero academia #endeavor agency #girl talks #quality girls content

1 note · View note

blancheludis · 5 years

Link

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 6/?, Words: 36.689

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

The door to Steve’s room is thrown open without warning. Steve whirls around, ready for an attack or a barrage of bad news. With more relief than guilt, he abandons the report from Sam he was going through. He has not registered much of what Sam has written anyway. His thoughts these days are occupied with other things, other people.

Clint storms into his room, eyes ablaze, and holding his arm curled around his body as if he is wounded. That, at least, has Steve instantly alert. He has not yet accepted another job for them, but if there is something the Avengers are good at, it is getting into trouble.

“You need to talk to Bruce,” Clint announces, ignoring all proper curtesy.

Getting to his feet, Steve is glad to be pulled out of the monotony of his spiralling thoughts. “What happened?”

He is prepared for anything, for rivalling groups attacking, for the police knocking on their door, for Tony to – well, he is not prepared for Tony. Then again, he thinks he is neither lucky nor unlucky enough to have to be. The last time they talked, Tony still sounded so very angry, not like he wants to deal with Steve in any way.

Upon a closer look, it does not seem like there is an actual emergency. Clint looks angry but not in the way he is when he is gearing up for a fight.

“He’s being an ass and refuses to give me something for my burnt hand,” Clint says. His voice holds enough petulance to tell Steve that there is more to the story than whatever Clint is going to tell him.

“That doesn’t sound like Bruce,” Steve says slowly, leaning back against his desk. “How did you burn your hand? Did you make him blow up one of his experiments again?”

He tries to keep all judgement out of his tone, but Clint huffs anyway. They are all on edge these days.

“The coffee machine malfunctioned,” Clint explains, glaring at Steve like that is his fault.

He then offers his hand. True enough, half of the back is coloured an angry red, a sole blister sticking out. It looks like it hurts.

“What did Bruce say?” Steve asks, unable to muster much sympathy for Clint, considering he knows someone who is in much more pain because of them at the moment.

“To put it in cool water,” Clint answers. “He’s still angry with me because of Stark.”

Steve winces involuntarily. There is still anger in Clint’s voice, but Steve does not know how to contain it, how to not make things worse. Clint does not like to be told what to think, and all Steve feels capable of at the moment is to yell at him. That is easier than seeking the blame with himself.

“I’m not sure it’ll help if I talk to Bruce,” Steve offers with a shrug.

Bruce might have stopped glaring at all of them whenever he leaves his lab, but nothing is resolved yet. They are all treading very carefully around him, and Steve especially has kept his distance. He is not sure whether that is because he is tired of defending himself or because he is not yet ready to admit the entirety of what has gone wrong with this job.

“Why, Cap,” Clint drawls. His hand is now hanging limply at his side, pain forgotten in favour of going against Steve. “You’re usually so eager to argue your way through everything.”

Steve’s preferred method of problem-solving is actually to punch it until it goes away. That very much did not turn out in his favour this time.

“Perhaps I think he’s right,” Steve mutters, mostly to himself, to test out the words.

Hypocrisy is not a virtue, he is aware of that. At the same time, though, he has never felt this torn about a decision he has made. His arm is constantly pulsing with a need to make this right – only he does not know how.

“Of course you would,” Clint snaps, straightening his spine with an expression of disappointment. “You only stick to your decisions when you get your happily ever after.”

“Clint –” Steve tries, but there is not getting through to Clint when he does not want to listen.

“You’ll see it’s wrong to trust that bastard. I don’t care.”

With that, Clint stomps right back out of the door, burnt hand clenched into a fist. Steve wonders whether Clint’s words sit as wrong with him as they do with Steve. They have worked together for years, have been friends for just as long. This is not the first time Clint’s impulsiveness has caused trouble. It has led to bodged missions, to all-out brawls in bars when they wanted a quiet night out, to full weeks of sulking and Clint making life difficult just because he can.

Clint’s loyalty belongs to Natasha and then the Avengers, in that order. Normally, that is not a problem, because Clint’s loyalty is absolute. Even now, Steve has no doubt that Clint would take a bullet for him without hesitation, even if he would be grumbling about it the entire time. If Steve ordered him to, he would probably take a bullet for Tony too.

Steve just hopes that will not be necessary.

Bruce’s door is closed. That in itself is not unusual. Years of being on the run have instilled a deep-seated need for privacy in him. He also often does experiments that do not do well with outside tampering. Any other door in their base is more of a warning than an actual barrier, but Bruce has a talent for reminding people of their manners.

Right now, the door feels like a solid wall for all that Steve does not want to knock on it. Some of Bruce’s anger about the whole mess with Tony is reverberating inside him, battling against the conviction that he could not have done anything differently, not with the knowledge he had at the time.

They are not violent in nature. They try to do good. Steve does not want to play down what they did, but it was a mistake. Life has left its scars, and one name has been a theme throughout all of their stories. Punching Tony did not solve anything. In fact, it will likely be something that Steve will regret for the rest of his life.

Berating himself for wasting time, Steve takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. “Bruce?”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then Bruce’s voice sounds from inside. “No.”

So much for clear communication, Steve thinks but knows better than to say it. Worse than making Bruce angry is poking him when he already is. Slowly, he opens the door, even though he does not enter.

Bruce is sitting at his desk, a mess of scientific papers in front of him that Steve would barely understand. He is wearing a lab coat and his glasses that barely hide the glare he greets Steve with.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Steve says cautiously, hovering in the doorway. None of the things he currently has to discuss with Bruce is meant for other ears, but he does not want to be so presumptuous to go all the way into Bruce’s room and close the door behind him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bruce answers shortly. “I’m not interested in hearing any of it.”

Steve can only imagine how the conversation with Clint worked out if Bruce is still this irritated.

“Clint said -”

“He’s not going to die because the coffee machine decided to spit at him,” Bruce cuts him off, even going so far as to look like he is going to pat the coffee machine later for a job well done. “And a little bit of pain might do him some good.”

With a sigh, Steve decides that knowing Bruce has a right to be angry and giving him room because of it is all nice and good, but he is still considered the Avengers’ leader and dissent like this will only cause them to fall apart when it matters.

There is not much Bruce could do against a burn, but this is about the principle of the matter. Despite constantly arguing that he is not that kind of doctor, Bruce never refuses to look them over. He should not do so now just because he thinks Clint has done something wrong.

“I know you’re still angry about what happened,” Steve says, keeping his tone reasonable but firm, “but we’re still a team.”

The Avengers are a motley group, thrown together by fate and a desire to make the world better. Out of all of them, Bruce is perhaps the member whose presence is the hardest to explain, considering that they had been hired by a high-ranked military official to bring him in. Bruce does not look dangerous but he is. Before he fled the military research centre where he was working, he blew up his lab, burning whatever progress they made there as well as a few unlucky colleagues. Sometimes it is hard to imagine Bruce as capable of that, but sometimes the fire in his eyes does not leave any doubt.

These exact eyes weigh heavily on Steve now, leaving him nowhere to hide from their intensity.

“Do you remember what you told me when I decided to join you?” Bruce asks, his voice very calm. “That you wouldn’t hurt innocent people. That you wouldn’t hurt anyone just for the fun of it. That the Avengers, despite the name, aren’t about revenge but about justice.” He smiles, entirely without humour. “Tell me, where was the justice in beating up Tony Stark, who was bound and helpless?”

Steve opens his mouth without knowing what to say. That night was not about justice. It was about bringing closure to a lot of trauma. About looking at the man who caused it and seeing the guilt in his eyes, about teaching him about remorse.

In that warehouse, Steve was not the Captain, he was not bound by any code of honour, not even his own. All he saw was the memory of his best friend bleeding out and the man who, no matter how indirectly, was responsible for it.

Staring at his hands, Steve wonders about the way life can ruin good men and keeps haunting them relentlessly. At this moment, he is not sure he can make this right.

“I’ve hurt people without reason,” Bruce continues when it becomes obvious that Steve cannot find any words, right or wrong. “And I’ve sworn to never do so again.”

“It was a lapse of judgement,” Steve argues, even while he thinks about the people he has hurt. “We’re not –”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Bruce snaps. The entire room is still between them but Bruce’s anger makes it small enough to steal Steve’s breath. “That wasn’t a lapse in anything. That was just cruel, and I thought better of you.” He makes a pause as if to make sure his words hit where they hurt. “And what now? You think you can apologize and everything will be well. Was a senseless bit of revenge worth losing your soulmate over?”

“I – I haven’t lost Tony,” Steve says, not even believing himself.

The worst thing is that none of them feels better now. Making the suspected perpetrator of the weapon dealing bleed has not done anything for them to make their peace with their past. On the contrary. Steve is lost in a way he has never been before, unable to trust his own feelings. Clint is convinced he is being wronged by everyone changing their minds quicker than him. And Bucky is downright miserable, unable to cope with the fact that he has doled out more pain into this world despite knowing how hard it is to live with it.

Bruce’s smile turns cruel in how it pins Steve down to his mistakes. “Have you always been this blind?”

Probably. Steve’s sense of justice has always been a rather single-minded one, based on his convictions of what is right and wrong. Paired with his belief that he can dole out that justice and his inability to compromise, Bruce might be right in considering him hopeless.

“Bruce –”

“No,” Bruce cuts him off, completely unapologetic, and gets to his feet, slowly walking over to Steve. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Don’t come to me unless someone got shot. Or if you need someone with common sense to look over your decision if you plan to ever go anywhere near Stark again.”

Steve does not even know whether that means Bruce thinks there is hope. Maybe he just wants to run damage control and keep Steve as far away from Tony as he can. Maybe that is even the wisest decision – although Steve knows he will not stick to it. Cannot.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly because he does not want to leave Bruce like this, does not want to put more distance between them.

Unfortunately, this only causes Bruce’s features to harden further. He is only a few feet away from Steve anymore, when he asks, “Have you told him that?”

With growing unease, Steve realizes he has not. Between all the different emotions fighting inside him, he has not even thought of apologizing. It sort of had been implied in taking Tony back in and – Steve is an idiot. People have told him so before, but there is no arguing that fact now.

Bruce’s face tells him he knows. Without further comment – and Steve is glad for that – he reaches for the door and throws it shut, not caring whether Steve is going to get hit by it.

Steve backs away in time but feels rattled nonetheless. He does need to apologize, of course he does. As he walks off, he wonders how he can accomplish that. His main priority is still to find out the truth – and to keep Tony safe until he does. It is supposed to be innocent until proven otherwise. He has messed that first thing up already, so he should really take his next steps with care.

Without thinking, his feet carry him towards the gym. He is getting nowhere by turning the problem over and over in his head and he has not slept well since it happened. Exhausting himself physically might help. It is his usual coping mechanism, after all.

The moment Steve stands before the punching bags, though, all energy drains out of him. Violence has pushed him into this mess, so he can hardly use it to get him out of it. His knuckles burn as if he had buried them in the bag anyway.

Dejected, Steve turns to the running mill. There is more than one way to exhaust himself, and while it feels like he is already running, trying to get away from his mistakes, he will take what he can get.

After his workout, Steve is not any closer to answers but feels calmer at least. He picks up his towel before he goes towards the shower, intent on washing off all the sweat and the rest of the tension still lingering in his shoulders.

The water does not get warm for the longest time. Steve uses all the tricks he knows and waits for minutes, but the steady stream remains at a temperature just above freezing. Since they have no official permission to live and work here, they cannot even call maintenance. Steve will have to ask Bucky to look into this later. He might not be as handy with these things like Scott, but since the rest of the team is still in Washington, they will have to make do. At least it will give Bucky something else to concentrate on than his own thoughts.

---

When JARVIS informs Tony that Bruce Banner is standing in the foyer of his tower, he wants to close his eyes, bury his head under a pillow, and ignore the world until it leaves him alone. He just cannot seem to get a break. First Steve shows up here, then the search for his lost weapons goes agonizingly slow, and now another Avenger has come to bother him.

Bruce is likely just here to pick up his bike, as promised. The key for it is at the front desk, ready to be handed over. Tony does not have to do anything. He can remain in his penthouse, playing at being invisible.

Yet, he finds himself saying, “Send him up.”

The entire five minutes it takes until the elevator doors open and Bruce steps out, Tony is caught between wanting to pace and finding a way to sit without betraying his nervousness. This is the first time he will come face to face with a member of Steve’s gang since the night of their first meeting, and while Bruce has not been part of the beating, Tony cannot entirely separate him from them. One act of kindness does not make up for the rest.

Still, he hopes he might get some information from Bruce too. Especially what Steve is up to now. They used his USB drive, but they do not have any cameras installed inside their lair, only outside. So Tony knows where they are but not what is going on inside. He also knows that most of their group is still in DC, but that they communicate via a different system. As nice as it had been to go through their files and get a better picture of them, it was not as helpful as Tony had hoped.

When Bruce steps into the penthouse, Tony thinks he looks even less like a member of a gang in broad daylight than he did that night in the warehouse. He is also not quite the man pictured in scientific papers anymore but something in between. The unknown is always dangerous.

“Dr. Banner,” Tony greets. The formality feels wrong, somehow, and he sees Bruce wincing at it. Even though Tony should not care about any of his kidnappers’ comfort, he adds, “Bruce.”

Using Bruce’s full name could be seen as a threat. Out of all of them, Bruce is the one Tony would want to threaten the least.

Bruce opens his mouth, his lips forming around a greeting, but he, too, does not seem to know what to call Tony. In the end, he just nods and says, “How are you doing?”

Tony smiles but does not mean it. “Did Steve send you?”

They are standing across from each other, Bruce still in front of the elevator, not really invited in, and Tony desperate to keep some distance between them while inwardly berating himself for it.

“I am not reporting back to Steve,” Bruce answers slowly, making it sound like a promise.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Tony does not believe him. Steve has not given any sign that he is going to heed Tony’s wishes.

“So what?” Tony asks, with sarcasm dripping off his tongue. “He’s just going to leave me alone?”

He is not sure what to think about that prospect. It does not feel like their story is over, and part of him does not want it to be. The rational part does, however.

“Definitely not,” Bruce snorts without humour. They share a glance full of understanding. “But he knows I wouldn’t tell him anything. And he doesn’t know I’m here.”

That is perhaps what does it. Tony has no reason to think Bruce is telling the truth, but from the first time they met, Bruce has been steady in his behaviour, always calm and deliberate in what he was doing.

Before he can think better of it, Tony gestures for Bruce to follow him. He leads them into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Coffee, or so he is convinced, makes everything better. Even the nervousness that makes his fingers tingle and his stomach curl into a tight knot.

“Want a cup?” Tony asks and points at the table for Bruce to sit down, barely waiting for the affirmative nod before he pulls out two cups.

They are silent while the machine works, until they are both seated, holding their cups like shields in front of them. Any other time, this coordinated awkwardness would have amused Tony. Now, he is just wondering what he is doing here. He should have let the keys be handed over and never opened his door.

“Our coffee machine was malfunctioning today,” Bruce suddenly says. His tone might be nonchalant but the intensity in his gaze is not. “As did our showers. One burned everyone coming too close, the other did its best to turn us into ice blocks.”

Very carefully, Tony does not look in the direction of one of JARVIS’ cameras. It could be a coincidence since Tony has forbidden JARVIS to do the Avengers any harm other than when they are directly working against him, but little things like that could easily be considered harmless pranks. JARVIS loves to interpret things his way.

“So? Call maintenance,” Tony offers lightly, making sure not to seem guilty He is not, after all. If he really wanted to mess with them, he would do worse things. “Or wait,” he adds, smirking, “that’s not so easy when you’re living with the mob, right?”

Bruce hums, never looking away from Tony. “Just wondering whether that has something to do with your USB drive.”

He is too smart. Tony has no doubt that Bruce would have guessed the intrusion even without JARVIS messing with their systems. This is still Tony’s best way to gather intel on the Avengers, so he pretends he does not know anything about it. Also, it will surely be amusing to watch them try to get rid of JARVIS.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t sell that already,” Tony says, all wide-eyed scepticism. He does not actually think he will get any information about the buyer this way, but it will not hurt to try.

For a moment, it looks like Bruce is going to let himself be drawn into a conversation about this, but then his lips twitch into a small smile and he takes a sip of coffee.

“How are you doing?” he then asks again, with the same professional courtesy as if he did not know exactly that Tony’s pain cannot yet have faded. He might look better, his face not as much of a swollen ruin anymore, but the actual damage sits deeper.

“I’m fine,” Tony replies, dismissive. There is no reason to be honest with Bruce, even if he truly does not report back to Steve. Tony’s default setting is fine. At least until he really is not anymore, and unable to hide it too.

Bruce does not let Tony out of his sight when he says, “I imagine it must be hard to adapt to the soul bond.”

Heat flushes through Tony as he instinctively jerks his left arm farther away from Bruce and under the table. He should be better at keeping this secret, but he guesses it is already out.

He wants to ask about when Steve told Bruce about that. Whether this most intimate of things is something they discuss openly. Then again, the rest of the group found out right after it happened, so it should not surprise Tony that Bruce knows about it too. Only Tony has to keep it a secret, if only to keep these people safe who did him harm. It is just not fair.

“There’s no adaption needed. I’m not going to pursue it,” Tony says with all the conviction he can muster despite the bond thrumming with disagreement right inside his core. “And I’d prefer if Steve would not either.”

Sympathy flashes over Bruce’s face, which is not at all encouraging, but tells Tony what he has already known. There is no getting rid of Steve, not easily. They have already made a mess of something that is supposed to be wonderful. It is only natural that they will make everything else difficult too.

“No one has ever told Steve no,” Bruce says. He does not mean it as a threat but Tony cannot help but take it as one. He guesses he will just have to say no more clearly from now on.

“If your plan was to reassure me,” Tony replies dryly, “you failed.” He stares at his coffee and drinks half of it in one go before he looks up again.

“My plan was to tell you that we are still looking into who hired us, and that none of us is going to come after you,” Bruce says in a tone that makes it clear he believes what he is saying. “Not Bucky and especially not Clint.”

Tony winces at those names, remembers the hunger in Barton’s eyes. The only reason he does not end this conversation right here is that there is no trace of pity on Bruce’s face.

“Why would I believe you?” Tony asks, even though, for some reason, he already does.

It is, perhaps, because Bruce is a fellow scientist. More likely, it is because he has been kind to Tony up until now. For all of Tony’s bad experience with other people, he still falls for kindness every time.

“I don’t think you’ll do, and you’ll surely keep your eyes on us as well,” Bruce answers without judgment. “I’m not here to mend Steve’s bridges, but I believe in the common courtesy of giving you a heads up.”

Draining his cup, Bruce puts it down with a firmness that speaks of endings. Before he gets up, though, he reaches for his pocket. Tony hates the way he automatically tenses up, then inwardly scolds himself when all Bruce gets out is a piece of paper. A number is written on it.

“I’m not going to spy for either you or Steve,” Bruce says firmly as he pushes the paper over to Tony, “but you’re welcome to call me if you need anything.”

Tony does not say anything as he picks it up, studying it closely to buy himself some time. It feels like this is a test, but one where he can only lose no matter what he does. He can either trust Bruce and establish a line of communication that might just backfire terribly. Or he can spurn Bruce, who is likely the only ally he has among the Avengers. Or, more correctly, the only one who appears to be neutral where it comes to him.

Well, Tony has been told often enough he is the king of bad ideas, so he takes out his own phone, saves Bruce’s number and even sends a text so that Bruce will have his number too – all without giving himself too much time to think about it. He can always get himself a new number. Which he probably should have done the moment it became clear that Steve can contact him via his old one.

After that is done, Tony looks at Bruce, raises his eyebrows in challenge, although he is not sure what he is aiming for. Bruce does not rise to the bait anyway.

With a nod, he gets to his feet, clearly not eager to draw this out unnecessarily either, and Tony follows him to the door, wondering whether he should offer his thanks.

Right in front of the elevator, Bruce turns around again, finally some signs of conflict on his face. The part of Tony that does not wish to hide in dread shouts that he knew there was more to this visit.

“Fair warning,” Bruce says and looks guilty about it, “Steve might try to contact you again.”

Immediately, Tony’s arms snake around himself again, pressing against his broken ribs as if the pain will make it easier to deal with this.

“I told him to stay away from me,” he exclaims stubbornly as if words hold any power over them, especially over a gang leader who generally does what he wants.

“Yes.” Bruce nods sheepishly. “But I yelled at him and might have put the idea in his head that he needs to apologize.”

Good, Tony thinks, but it is immediately followed by a strong aversion to the whole idea. He wants to be left alone, wants to deal with the pile of shards his life has turned into, without having to listen to false apologies and even more speeches about fate. Fate has failed him, and he does not particularly want to fix it.

“I don’t need him to apologize to me just because Mummy told him to,” Tony snaps, taking an instinctive step back. For all that Bruce just said he is not here to mend Steve’s bridges, this feels suspiciously like he is doing it anyway.

“It’s not like that,” Bruce argues, even though he must see Tony is not inclined to listen. “Steve – he doesn’t do what others tell him to do. He only does what he cocks up in that stubborn head of his. If he doesn’t want to apologize, he won’t, but sometimes he needs a push to realize that some actual conversation is needed for others to know what he is thinking.”

That sounds like Steve has a lovely character but confirms that he has chosen the right job. Who is going to tell the mob what to do? Certainly no one in their right mind.

“My point stands,” Tony says dismissively, wishing Bruce would not look at him with so much understanding on his face. “I don’t need Rogers’ apology, coerced or not.”

“You do,” Bruce counters immediately, as if he has waited for Tony’s protest, knowing it would come. A small sigh escapes him. “You don’t have to forgive him because of it, but you need to hear that he is sorry.”

In the safety of his mind, Tony can admit that, maybe, he does. An apology is not going to make anything right, but it would go a long way in making him perhaps believe that Steve’s constant talks about keeping Tony safe are true. That there is no more danger coming for him from the Avengers.

He is not naïve enough to trust Steve’s words, but that does not mean he does not want to hear them.

“All right,” Tony exclaims and would have clapped his hands if he did not need them to hold himself together. “Enough of this psycho talk.” He gets enough of that from Pepper when he lets her.

Bruce looks like he is going to say more anyway but then shrugs. “Thank you for the coffee.”

And Tony, in a show of how great he is with human interaction, says, “Thank you for getting me out of the warehouse. Your key is waiting for you at the front desk.”

Right on cue, the elevator door opens. Tony hopes Bruce is too busy with psychoanalyzing him to notice that neither of them ever pressed the call button. For all that JARVIS is supposed to be a secret, he is sometimes very careless.

“Goodbye,” Bruce says as he steps in, still looking like he has much more to say to Tony but knows better than to waste his breath.

Tony waves awkwardly and breathes in relief when the elevator door closes. He is not sure what to make of this visit. All of what Bruce said appeared to be genuine, but they are still on opposing sides of this. Tony wishes there would not have to be any sides at all and they could all go on with their lives. Nothing is ever that simple, though.

While he is on his way back to his workshop, his phone buzzes inside his pocket. Right up until he pulls it out, he is convinced that it has to be Steve. He seems like the type to think that an apology per text message counts.

It is not Steve, and Tony is not sure how to interpret his relief.

What have you done to my bike? Bruce writes.

Tony must have stared off into space for longer than he thought if Bruce has already made his way down to the garage.

You’re welcome, he writes back. It’s not so much of a death trap anymore. But don’t worry, I only used parts that won’t take away its antique charm.

Tony really has not done much with it. He had not wanted to touch it at all, considering who it belongs to, but he could not get the bike off his mind and the way it had practically screamed for help when Tony rode it back to the tower. He could have spent hours on it, remade it into something that is worthy of the name motorcycle. Instead, he had just made sure that it would not fall apart beneath Bruce – all the while steadfastly ignoring why he would care.

Thank you, Bruce writes back, always one for proper manners, although it takes him a long minute to do so. He probably needs to get over the fact that he offered Tony a half-dead bike and got back one that could actually pass the next security check-up.

I didn’t do it for you. I was bored and that thing was an atrocity. He should, perhaps, not protest too much. Rhodey always says that reduces his credibility.

That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful.

Tony is sure that is meant as another lesson, as an indirect comment about the conversation they just had. He could take away something from that. Instead, Tony shakes his head and gets back to work. With some luck, this whole matter will be over soon and then he will not have to worry about it anymore.

#stony #soulmates #marvel #fanfiction #tony stark #bruce banner #steve rogers #clint barton #slow burn #angst #leave the gun on the table #my writing #ao3 #will steve not make things worse?#we'll see next chapter #(Then again why does he ever make anything better?)#mob boss #mob

18 notes · View notes

avatar-of-the-green · 5 years

Text

Swamp Thing 1x06/1x07 Thoughts

My goodness, the last two episodes have definitely been something else. Other posters have already offered their excellent perspectives, I just have so many thoughts that I needed to express. As such, this is very long because brevity is not my strong suit. As always, cutting due to spoilers for the current episode and possible future episodes.

Matt:

I love how this show explores its characters. One of my previous complaints was that Matt had very little depth beyond being a seemingly-nice police officer with a torch for Abby. But with the last two episodes, we were given a deeper look into his actions and frustrations and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Him being the one to kill Alec disappointed me-mostly because I didn’t want him to be a “bad” guy-but the reasoning for him doing so was at least understandable. Not excusable, of course, but basically continuing the appalling cycle of corruption that was started by his mother and Avery.

When it comes to the people we love, for some people, what’s “right” takes a backseat. I have no doubt that the only way Avery was able to force Matt’s hand was due to his blackmail material, in a direct contrast to him pulling Lucilia’s strings without much effort. Him being willing to murder Avery in episode seven basically showed how unwilling he was to remain someone for Avery to manipulate, but even that was completely turned on its head when Avery dropped the paternity bomb.

I wasn’t really shocked about Avery being his father, it was something that I had wondered about as we never really received any information pertaining to Lucilia’s husband and given her rather messy behavior, it certainly made sense. But poor Matt, I feel that the next episodes are going to have him spiraling really badly.

He “killed” an innocent person who later came back as a plant monster that might decide some revenge is in order once his memory returns. The man who manipulated him and his mother is actually his father…whom he also helped to murder. His whole identity is now in question, his relationship with his mother is in shambles and one of the people he cares about just up and left just like he was told she would.

I hope that we have more scenes with him and Liz. Marais has felt very tiny in the most recent episodes and it’s nice to another friendship depicted.

Lucilia:

Oh, Lucilia. I’d feel badly for her if most of the disasters in her life weren’t due to her own bad decisions. The fact that she never expected Avery to have blackmail fodder going back for years was unrealistic to me until I gave it a bit more thought. She isn’t a good person and neither is Avery, but she somehow assumed that his feelings for her made her immune to his perpetual need to control and manipulate everyone in his life.

It reminded me a lot of a scene from the end of Kill Bill: Volume 2 between Bill and Beatrix when she mentions how shocked she was at what he did. She was well aware of-and even comfortable with-the terrible things he was capable of, but the possibility that he would do any of those terrible things to her never entered her mind. Lucilia was exactly the same and it seems like an incredibly naive mindset until you consider how some people are.

She did awful things for Avery for money while deluding herself that it was to protect Matt. I’d bet that if Matt had expressed interest in transferring to other locations prior to episode six, she probably guilt tripped him about leaving her and all she did for him until he dropped it. Her keeping his paternity to herself may have been about “protecting” him from Avery’s influence, but it was also about keeping him to herself-as is sole influence-as well. It’s not that she doesn’t love her son, but she’s so possessive of him to an unhealthy level. I wasn’t all of the nefarious things she did for Avery that pushed her to kill him, but the fact that he involved Matt in a murder and completely shattered his perception of her as his mother. And as Avery said, she doesn’t forgive or forget.

Maria:

She was definitely one of the highlights of episode seven for me. Seeing her in control and getting things done was wonderful and while I’m assuming helping with the Avery murder plot is going to come back to bite her, I’m glad that she was able to deal with Lucilia despite their obvious issues in order to achieve her goals.

While I still believe “Shawna” is inside her somewhere, I’d also like to think the experience in the swamp and finally receiving medication might have snapped her out of her fog of despair. There is nothing wrong with receiving help when you need it and while Maria is terrible to Abby, I genuinely believe she would feel badly about possibly putting Susie in danger with her shenanigans.

Thankfully Avery won’t be around for a little while with his patented “Abby is stirring up all these bad feelings,” gaslighting speeches.

Avery:

He is really going all out to win the title as the most monstrous person in the series. The scene with him and Abby in episode six made me so tense and uncomfortable because it was such classic emotionally abusive behavior. How dare she accuse him of things he (most likely) did! She had nothing before him, she owes him! As though he isn’t a murderous scumbag. As though he doesn’t talk out both sides of his mouth playing on Maria’s grief and Abby’s affections.

It’s mostly my headcanon, but I think he was probably closer to Abby than Shawna growing up, as they had the deaths of their parents to bond over. Shawna was born into money and Abby wasn’t, so anything he did for her she was immensely appreciative of. She was also probably so afraid of being abandoned that she did everything possible to be the “good” daughter, in contrast to Shawna’s more rebellious personality.

She loved and respected Avery until Shawna’s death, which is probably when his mask briefly slipped and she saw the rotten person he truly was. But because she was just a teenager, she rationalized it as being the effects of Shawna’s death and all her fault. But after returning to Marais, Abby is able to see more and more of the despicable person Avery truly is and that infuriated him. He has nothing to hold over her aside from Shawna’s death, nothing to control her with and while I’d like to think he wouldn’t hurt her…his behavior towards Lucilia in the swamp-a woman’s he’s been with for thirty odd years-shows that doesn’t really value anyone.

Everyone is disposable in his eyes.

I wonder what led him to become such an atrocious person. We constantly hear about the “swamp taking his father,” but the flashback we were shown doesn’t really depict a sadistic child that would become a villain. It could simply be the typical story of a man desperate to rise about his station became consumed by his greed and corrupted by his ambitions, but I hope there is a little more to it than that.

I’m both curious and afraid of what’s going to happen next with him. I enjoyed how his rise from the swamp was a mirror of Alec’s, but with more violence. If he is an Avatar of the Rot, it’s going to make things very interesting in the remaining episodes.

Woodrue:

I’ll just state the obvious that what he did to Cassidy was beyond unethical and potentially remarkably insipid. Alec faked scientific results, and he’s a scientist by loose definition in his eyes, yet he engages in unsanctioned human testing and that’s completely acceptable. Avery really does poison all the people he touches, though his own ambition and his desire to help Caroline probably would have led him down the same road.

I loved that Caroline called him out on his behavior and just how amoral his actions were and how her quick thinking kept Cassidy from being shot. It was painful to witness the change in her towards the end of this episode and sadly I’m sure her situation is only going to get worse. Either Woodrue will inject her with the formula to prevent her Alzheimers from progressing or he’ll inject himself as another test subject and things will fall apart from there.

Abby:

As I stated in one of my notes, I love her but her lack of self-preservation is crazy. She has this incredible need to fix situations and yet makes choices that are incredibly impetuous and could make them worse. I truly wish that we knew more of her background, but one could assume her mother dying and then Shawna dying both contributed to her unhealthy fixation with trying to save everyone and control the situation. She couldn’t help her mother, she caused Shawna to die-but in actuality was just unable to save her from an unseen force-and now she has Alec to focus on and feels as though she’s failing him as well.

With some people, I would say it’s based on a desire for praise or to be a martyr, but with her I think it’s just an effect of having so many unresolved issues and so much guilt. As though saving as many people possible will somehow help her “atone” for those she couldn’t. She wants to save Alec because she cares about him, but also because the situation he’s in could be incredibly dangerous. Two hunters came for him, the next time it could be a team to capture him for study or dissection.

It’s thoughtful of her, but then she has this remarkable reckless streak that almost got her killed several times. Lucilia could have shot her, she could have died from the darkness, she could have died from the Rot. She was incredibly lucky in the first instance and fortunate that Alec was present in the last two. While the end of episode seven was heartbreaking, it was completely reasonable for Alec to tell her to leave. While her intentions have been good, her behavior has been irrational and eventually her luck will run out.

I’m curious as to whether or not the show is involving Abby’s New 52 origin and if the tendril from the Rot will awaken something within her. We’ve already seen (the person I assume) is Anton Arcane, so it might not be such a far stretch.

Abby’s scenes with Alec were just so perfect and it made me so happy as a shipper. All of the touches and her kissing him were lovely. But her crying as she drove away from him in her boat broke my heart. Hopefully her time in Atlanta will give her some time to reflect on things. And with luck we’ll see Harlan again and find out what-if any-consequences have arisen due to her absence.

Alec:

Although I’m almost one hundred percent certain that they’re going with Alan Moore’s interpretation of Swamp Thing, I’ll still refer to him as Alec for now.

Episode six was a particularly painful one for him, as he got to experience the joys of being trapped, shot and hunted like an animal. His anger was justified and while his response was a bit much-I winced at the bark spikes to the face-he doesn’t quite have full control or knowledge of his capabilities yet. He was also completely aware of the danger that people poking around the swamp would pose for him. He is a scientific find of the century and there would be no shortage of people wanting a piece of him. There was also the Matt aspect later in the episode as well. What he did to him was inexcusable, but I really hope Alec doesn’t kill him in recompense.

The near-end of the episode was lovely and definitely understandable. It’s frightening, but sometimes you need to move away from the person you were in order to grow and gain a better comprehension of yourself.

Then the last scene occurred and I may have freaked out a tiny bit.

It was wonderful having Andy Bean back as Alec Holland for episode seven. I love the way that Derek Mears portrays Swamp Thing, he’s so incredible emotive despite the costume and the makeup, but I also love how Andy Bean portrays Alec as well. They have distinct personalities, Alec being affable and charming, while Swamp Thing is more solemn and otherworldly-for obvious reasons. Having Human!Alec back was bittersweet and it was nice that they were able to find a plot-relevant reason to do so. I still really hope we get some more flashbacks to his life prior to Marais, but that may sadly be just a pipe dream.

This episode was definitely a turning point for Alec and his growing acceptance for his role as Avatar of the Green. As wonderful as it was to be the “charming man” he used to be, without his abilities, Abby would have died. Technically, he should have stopped her from getting too close to the Rot, but that might have broken the immersion of the hallucination. But the scene before they encountered the Rot was so beautiful and I’m glad the lighting wasn’t terrible for once. While parts of his new life are undoubtedly strange and a bit traumatizing, it was good to see Alec extolling the wonderous aspects as well.

The way the Green is portrayed is also interesting. We’ve seen the darker aspects with it lashing out in the first episode and it briefly forcing Alec to see those who perished in episode five, but it consciously trying to help him connect with Abby and to save her life was wonderful as well. It was also teaching him something of a lesson. If he even could go back to being human, he would be unable to do anything against the Rot or help anyone except in the traditional sense. Perhaps Abby is able to synthesize a formula to combat the Rot, but then it would have to be tested, approved, mass produced, distributed and analyzed.

Which would be remarkably useful, but would take valuable time that they don’t have. What Abby viewed as him giving up hope was more him coming to terms with his destiny and what that entails. Him asking Abby to leave was so painful to watch, but with something so powerful and ancient intent upon destroying everything, allowing her to remain in harm’s way would have been selfish on his part.

But all the longing looks and the touches throughout the episode nearly killed me. As Swamp Thing he’s been so reluctant to be close to Abby unless it was necessary and the fact that she kissed him-while seeing his human form-may have inadvertently made things a little worse. He can’t be that person again, despite Abby’s belief that he can be cured and despite his talk of accepting his destiny, he doesn’t view a relationship with her as a part of that.

He’s referred to himself as a “monster” and a “thing.” Despite the beauty in his existence and the knowledge of having a special purpose, he still is obviously bothered by his “transformation.” While Abby mentions a cure as something that will help him, which she undoubtedly believes, he probably interprets it as her being bothered by “what” he is and feels insecure about it. In terms of a future, he also can’t offer her much in way of traditional things. Which begs the question of Abby wanting a more normal relationship and him feeling as though she would be settling.

It’s such a delightful tangle of emotions that we’ll have only three episodes to figure out.

#swamp thing spoilers #swamp thing #abby arcane #alec holland #alec x abby #avery sunderland #maria sunderland #matthew cable #lucilia cable #liz tremayne #jason woodrue #caroline woodrue #dctv #dc #episode thoughts #1x06 #1x07

23 notes · View notes

mdelpin · 5 years

Text

To Kill A Dragon - Chapter 5

Previous: Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Next: Ch 6

Chapter 5: Be Careful What You Wish For

Gray Fullbuster sat by himself at the bar in the Fairy Tail Guild. It had been three days since his teammates had left for the Magic Library and he'd been left behind to wait for an offensive that had yet to materialize.

Gray had spent each day the same way, arriving at the guild hall the moment it opened its doors in the morning and staying until it closed at night. He wanted to be able to go the second they got a lead on Natsu's whereabouts. But as the hours crawled by with no news, his mood got progressively worse, covering him in a dark aura that alerted everyone to give him a wide berth.

Despite what Makarov had told him, Gray couldn't keep his mind from imagining what could be happening to his friend, and his fists once again clenched in rage at his impotence.

So he practiced his magic, hoping to keep himself distracted. Focusing his considerable will on making his creations as detailed as possible, Gray formed object after object, anything he could think of, save the one person he wanted to see the most.

Happy chose that moment to fly into the guild. The Exceed looked around and immediately headed to where the ice mage was sitting. He sat on the counter and watched Gray mold for a while before saying anything.

"Do you think he's okay?" Happy asked, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. The usually cheerful Exceed sounded much younger than his six years, waking Gray up to the fact that he wasn't the only one who felt terrible about Natsu's disappearance. They'd gotten so wrapped up in their plans to locate Natsu they'd all forgotten about the young Exceed.

Natsu and Happy were inseparable, yet Gray never once stopped to consider the guilt Happy must be feeling at not being there when Natsu was taken. He studied Happy, trying to think of something to say that would sound reassuring but coming up empty.

He started to plaster a fake smile on his face but thought better of it.

"I really hope so," Gray offered the Exceed a small smile and was rewarded with a weepy hug. He held Happy against him, patting his back and petting his soft blue fur gently, letting him get all his tears out.

He decided he'd step up and take care of Happy until Natsu returned. At the very least it would give him something else to focus on. Once Happy let go of him he suggested, "Would you like to stay with me until Natsu comes back?"

"Are you sure you want me to?" Happy looked at him hopefully, and when Gray nodded, he considered for a brief moment before agreeing, "Okay, but just until Natsu comes back."

They sat in companionable silence after that and Gray went back to molding, making sure to make some fish for Happy.

xxx

"What is that noise?" Gajeel asked irritably. The dragon slayers were all looking around the guild hall trying to pinpoint the source of the repetitive tapping they heard. No one else seemed to be aware of it. The more Gajeel focused on it, the more it sounded like it was coming from outside.

He got up to investigate, with Rogue following behind him. Gajeel opened the door, and something immediately flew inside. It looked like some kind of bird, but it was made entirely out of ice. It must have been tapping at the door with its beak trying to get inside.

The room immediately roared to life. Everyone ready for some excitement after the gloominess of the last few days. They followed the new visitor with interest wondering what it was doing there. After several sweeps of the large room, it finally stopped on the bar where Gray and Happy were sitting.

Gray hadn't noticed any of the commotions as he was once again deep in thought. He jolted when he felt a sharp pain in his hand.

"What the hell!" He snapped, furiously searching for the source of the pain. He looked down and saw a bird made out of ice pecking at his hand.

Gray stared at it in confusion, wondering if he'd somehow managed to use Active Make magic. Once the bird had Gray's attention, it dissolved, leaving a small piece of paper covered in writing on the counter. Gray looked at the paper with trepidation, it could only come from one person. He picked it up warily and read it.

Gray, Come to Lamia Scale right away. Come alone. Lyon

Why would Lyon want him to come to Lamia Scale, and why did he need to go alone? Sure, they'd made some strides in rebuilding their friendship since Galuna Island, but they weren't what anyone would call friends, at least, not yet.

The few times they'd interacted since his return from Tenrou Island had been awkward, and now there was a seven-year age difference to deal with. Then again, it was still better than sitting around doing nothing, and Margaret Town wasn't that far away.

He could take a communications lacrima with him, and they could get in touch with him if anything happened. Gray made up his mind and went to look for the Fairy Tail Master.

He knocked on the door of the Master's office and let himself in. He showed him the slip of paper he'd received from the bird.

"I need to go to Lamia Scale, Lyon needs to talk to me about something."

"Don't you think that's a bit unusual?" Makarov frowned as he looked at the note, "How did you get this?"

"Ice carrier pigeon," Gray grinned, both amused and proud at Lyon's cleverness.

"It still feels like a trap," Makarov pointed out, "Why would you need to go alone?"

"I don't know, but I'm not a dragon slayer, I doubt they'd have any interest in me."

"You're Natsu's teammate. You don't think they'd try to use you against him?"

"They have a shapeshifter in their ranks, Gramps, I doubt they'd need to take me," Gray shuddered as that was skirting dangerously close to the thoughts he'd been trying to suppress earlier.

"You know Lyon best, do you trust him?"

"I do, ever since we returned he seems more interested in being a mentor than anything else. I'll take a communication lacrima with me, and Happy can come. He can fly me out of any danger."

Makarov thought about it and decided to give his blessing. He knew Gray had been going mad sitting around. Having a distraction might be useful for him, it would undoubtedly be good for Happy. He watched them leave for the train station and hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

xxx

Gray and Happy walked into the Lamia Scale guild and looked around for Lyon. Even though Gray had only visited a few times before, he was sure it had never been this quiet. He wondered if something had happened to one of their mages.

Gray saw no sign of Lyon, but he recognized Jura Neekis and headed over to talk to him.

"Gray, I'm getting an awful feeling," Happy confided as he flew next to him.

"I know Happy, me too."

"Hey, Jura. Have you seen Lyon?" Gray asked nervously, "He sent me a message to come. Is everything okay?"

"Greetings, Gray Fullbuster," Jura smiled at him warmly and answered his unspoken question, "Lyon is fine, he's tending to our guest. I'll have Sherry get him for you."

Jura motioned Sherry to get Lyon, and she disappeared into a room Gray hadn't noticed on his other visits.

"Guest? Did something happen?" Gray immediately caught the way Jura had said the word guest. It fed into his feeling that something was off. He didn't know why, but the second he'd walked through the doors of the guild he'd been filled with a sense of foreboding.

Jura gazed at him wondering how much to tell him, but he was saved from answering by Lyon walking towards them.

"I thought I told you to come alone," Lyon snapped at Gray, his complexion becoming pale when he saw the Exceed standing next to his foster brother.

"I did," Gray protested as he looked his brother over with some concern. Lyon was covered in bandages, his skin appeared red and swollen. He looked like someone who had suffered burns recently, something rather unusual for an ice mage.

"What happened to you, Lyon?"

Lyon ignored his question and turned to Jura.

"Jura, do you think you could take Happy to get some fish, he looks hungry. Maybe give him a tour of the guild, too."

Jura nodded in understanding and motioned for Happy to follow him. Happy hovered unsurely, waiting for a sign from Gray before following Jura.

"I swear you're hopeless. Of all the guildmates you could've brought..." Lyon muttered. He took a deep breath and said with a jittery voice, "Let's get a drink."

Gray followed Lyon worriedly. He didn't know what he was expecting when he received the note, but this was definitely not it. They ordered drinks from the bar and Lyon grabbed a bottle and took it with them.

They walked towards the back of the guild and sat at a table that afforded them privacy. Lyon downed his drink and refilled it. He looked at Gray expectantly, bottle in hand as he waited for him to do the same.

"Can you please just tell me what the hell this is about?" Gray pleaded, his anxiety growing by the second. "You look like you're getting ready to tell me my best friend died."

Gray had meant the words as a joke, but instead of laughing or even scoffing, Lyon flinched.

Lyon rubbed the back of his neck slowly, he really wished that none of this had fallen into his lap. He knew how hard it was for Gray to let people get close to him.

Ever since Ur had died, Gray had closed himself off from everyone, and Lyon knew he was to blame for a lot of that. He'd rejected Gray when he'd needed him the most and sent him away, accusing him of killing their foster mother.

It had taken Galuna island for him to realize how selfish he'd been and he'd been trying to make amends ever since, but he knew they still had a long way to go to mend what had been broken.

Gray was stubborn, and he hoarded guilt like a treasure. Lyon didn't think being the bearer of this particular news was going to help. His brother already looked like he'd been put through the wringer, but Lyon knew he couldn't protect him from this.

"We were returning from our mission yesterday afternoon when we first noticed it." Lyon began, surprised by how calm his voice sounded, considering he felt anything but. "There was a cloud of black smoke, so large we could see it from the train. One of the old buildings near the river had caught on fire, it happens from time to time."

"The building itself looked like it had been abandoned for quite a while, but you know how these things are." Gray nodded in understanding, Magnolia was much the same. The buildings were all built on top of each other so fires had to be dealt with quickly or the entire town could be destroyed.

Magnolia, however, had something Margaret Town did not. They had a crazy fire dragon slayer who loved nothing more than to eat as much fire as he could. Gray's heart ached, he could see Natsu so clearly in his mind, and it irked him to not know where he was or how he was doing. Gray could feel Lyon's worried gaze on him, and he met it, prompting him to continue.

"Unfortunately, by the time we got there, the fire had already begun to spread. People were screaming and running to the river with buckets to try to put out the fire, but it wasn't enough."

Lyon paused to finish his current drink and pour himself another. He studied Gray, seeing the confusion and worry on his face. With a sigh, he pressed on.

"That's when we heard the screams coming from inside the building. I rushed in, trying to rescue the people that were trapped." Lyon looked down at his arms, not able to hold Gray's gaze for what was coming.

"I froze everything I could, but it was scorching hot, and my ice wasn't holding up as well as I'd hoped. There was so much smoke, I could barely see where I was going."

"I tried to save them, but I was too late. All I found were charred remains," Lyon bowed his head in shame, "I wasn't able to help any of them."

Gray grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently, being mindful of his injuries but still trying to offer him some comfort. It made Lyon feel ten times worse. He didn't deserve Gray's sympathy, not when he would be the one to hurt him once again. He just wanted to get through this, but the worst was still to come.

"I continued to explore the building, hoping I could help someone, and that's when I saw her," Lyon tried to think of how to describe the woman he'd seen, but no words came to mind that could explain the vast magic power he'd sensed from her or the aura of evil she'd exuded.

"In the middle of that blazing inferno, there was a woman. I rushed to get to her, but she wasn't the least bit concerned. All of her attention was focused on a magic sealing stone. She screeched in what might have been another language, and shot rays of light from her hands into it."

Lyon closed his eyes, trying to free himself from the fear that still gripped him when he thought of his experience. When he opened them again, he saw Gray watching him with concern, but also dread.

"Her power was like nothing I'd ever felt before, even Jura couldn't compare. Next thing I knew, I was filled with this paralyzing fear, and there was no doubt in my mind. She was evil. I couldn't think, or move while in her presence, I was literally frozen."

She stared through me like I was no more than an insect and started talking in this amplified voice.

Take care of him for me, won't you? I have some things I need to take care of but do tell him I'll be back for him and for what is mine.

Then she walked right through the flames like they weren't even there." Lyon shuddered as he remembered the encounter.

"Who was in the stone, Lyon?" Gray demanded, even though he had a pretty good idea.

"I think you already know."

"Where is he?" Gray shouted at his brother as he stood up and looked around the guild.

"Not yet, Gray," Lyon tried to remain calm in the face of Gray's anger.

"Where is he, Lyon?" Gray yelled even louder. How could he be so stupid? He should've realized who this was about the second Lyon reacted badly to Happy's presence.

"NATSU? Where are you?"

Gray started running towards the door he'd seen Lyon come out of earlier.

Happy flew towards him, "Natsu's here?" he asked , his eyes shining with a hope that tore at Gray's heart.

Gray ignored him and kept heading towards the door. He had to see Natsu, had to know he was alive. Happy flew after him continuing to ask questions. Yuka and Toby came out of the room and stood in front of the door. Their message clear. No one was going inside that room until Lyon said so.

"He can't answer you right now, Gray. Please let me finish."

"You don't understand, I need to see him. It's my fault he was taken."

"I highly doubt that. I promise I'll let you see Natsu once I'm done."

Gray glared at his brother furiously, but he could see in Lyon's eyes that he wasn't going to budge until he'd had his say. He grudgingly allowed himself to be led back to the table. Happy followed, looking confused and forlorn and Gray wrapped his arms around the Exceed, not sure which one of them he was trying to reassure.

"I entered the stone to see who was in there and I barely recognized him. If it hadn't been for his hair, I doubt I would have. Natsu was lying unconscious on the floor, his body covered in blood, and his arms and legs bound with magic sealing cuffs. I could barely feel his pulse." Lyon shivered as he remembered the state he'd found Natsu in, it had shocked him.

Lyon looked at Gray with compassion, he hated to do to his brother, but he needed to prepare him for what he was about to see. He let his words sink in before finishing the worst of it.

"He was tortured, and our healer thinks he was raped as well. He's lost a lot of blood, and she believes his magic was drained out of him. She's done all she can for him, but Natsu is still in horrible shape, and he hasn't woken up yet."

Gray looked at Lyon listlessly, his worst fears confirmed. Happy sobbed in his arms.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Happy sniffled.

Gray didn't have an answer for the Exceed, he felt ready to vomit. His overwhelming guilt instantly curdled the contents of his stomach, but he tried to comfort Happy as best he could, holding him against his chest tightly and resting his head on the small Exceed's.

Lyon took one look at his brother's face and said, "Stop it, Gray. There is no way any of this is your fault. I don't know how Natsu ended up in this situation, but I do know there is no way you could've gone up against this woman."

He sighed, deciding he couldn't postpone it any longer, it was time for him to take Gray and Happy to Natsu. He hoped he'd prepared him enough.

"There is more I need to tell you, but I think it can wait until after you've seen him. Come on."

Lyon led the way to the door that Yuka and Toby were guarding which turned out to be the infirmary. They stepped aside and allowed the three of them to enter the room.

Gray gasped, covering his mouth with his hand when he observed Natsu lying on the bed. Happy started sobbing again, and Gray instantly regretted bringing him. Natsu looked so frail. They'd washed him up, so he was no longer covered in blood but in some ways that was even worse.

The healer was in the process of changing his bandages, so the blanket only covered his legs up to his waist leaving his chest exposed. It was covered in angry welts, cuts, and bruises that made it seem like his skin color was purple. It also allowed him to see that Natsu's breathing was very shallow.

The parts of him that weren't injured were so pale that Gray looked tanned next to him. Even covered in bruises Natsu's face looked oddly peaceful and Gray reached out his hand to run his fingers through Natsu's pink hair just to reassure himself that his friend was really there. The healer started telling him all of Natsu's injuries, but she gave up when she saw he wasn't listening.

Happy asked her if it was okay for him to sit on the bed with his friend and she assured him it was fine. When she was finished, she left them alone. Gray sat on a chair and placed Natsu's hand in his. He removed the communications lacrima from his pants pocket and called Makarov as Lyon looked at him worriedly.

"Lyon found Natsu," Gray muttered into the device and then handed it to his brother, unable to continue the conversation with his guild master.

"Gray?" Makarov's voice could be heard coming from the lacrima.

"Master Makarov, this is Lyon Vastia. Natsu is here at Lamia Scale. I found him yesterday afternoon."

"Is he okay? Why didn't you reach out to us earlier?"

"Natsu's in pretty bad shape. It looked like he'd been kept against his will, I thought it safer to keep his location secret until I could contact someone I trusted." Lyon could see Makarov nodding his agreement at his explanation, so he proceeded to give him a situation report.

"Our healer has done all she can, but we should probably make plans to move him to a better facility. Chelia might have been able to do better, but she's not scheduled to return for a few days. I know he suffers from motion sickness so I'm not sure what to do here."

"I should also probably come to you. There's a lot I need to tell you, and I'd rather do it in person," Lyon added, grasping at any excuse to be around his brother. He knew Gray would need as much support as Natsu to get over this.

"Is Gray okay?"

"Not really, it's quite a lot to take in, and it sounds like he holds himself responsible."

Makarov sighed. He'd been afraid of this.

"Lyon, I'm going to send Laxus and Wendy to Lamia Scale. They should be able to get there quickly. Hopefully, Wendy will be able to help heal him further. I'll contact the Magic Council to see if they'll lend me Doranbolt. He should be able to teleport Natsu back to Fairy Tail. Once he is moved, you can bring Gray back. I will contact you once the arrangements are made."

Lyon returned the lacrima to Gray who shoved it into his pocket without looking at it. Lyon continued his story in the infirmary since he understood Gray would not be leaving that chair any time soon.

"Sherry and Yuka were distraught when they saw Natsu's condition. They have great respect for him, and they wanted to help, so they went back into the building once the fire was extinguished."

Lyon wasn't sure Gray was listening, but he kept talking, hoping the sound of his voice got through and let him know Lyon was there for him.

"They found a room that had somehow remained intact. It contained a bunch of books and parchments which they collected and brought back here. I haven't looked at them much, but they seem to have information on dragons and summoning rituals. They might be helpful to figure out whatever you guys got yourselves into this time. They also found another magic sealing stone, but it was empty. Seriously, do you guys ever rest between crises?" Lyon tried to inject some levity to the situation, but it fell flat.

Gray didn't respond, and when the communication lacrima went off in his pocket a few minutes later, he handed it to Lyon without a word.

"Hello?"

"Lyon, Laxus and Wendy should be there shortly. The Magic Council is trying to locate Doranbolt, so hopefully, he will arrive soon. I hope you can get through to Gray on the way here."

Makarov ended the call, and Lyon found himself muttering under his breath, "So do I."

Lyon didn't want to look at Natsu anymore, he'd already seen too much when he found him. He was sure he'd have nightmares about this whole ordeal for weeks.

He sat in another chair and scrutinized his brother instead. Lyon wasn't surprised to see Gray looked like he hadn't slept for days. He knew the two were close. As much as he liked to think of Gray as his brother, Natsu had more claim to the title than he did. They'd grown up together. He tried not to feel jealous by that thought. He had no one to blame but himself.

There was a knock on the door and Wendy and Laxus came in. Wendy immediately moved towards the bed whereas Laxus let out a curse when he saw the extent of Natsu's injuries.

"The old man didn't say it was this bad."

"Wendy, you'll be able to help him won't you?" Happy asked expectantly.

"I'm gonna try my best Happy," Wendy patted the Exceed on the head and gave him a hug before going back to Natsu. She activated her magic and scanned him to determine where to start.

Even though she looked resolute, she couldn't hide the tears brimming in her eyes. She began to heal the worst of the internal injuries first, but just dealing with that took most of her magic. She had to stop and rest before she could start on the broken bones.

Lyon gave her his chair and left the room to provide the members of Fairy Tail some privacy. He set about preparing all of the materials that Sherry and Yuka had found for transport to Fairy Tail.

"Hey Fullbuster, what did Vastia tell you happened?"

Gray didn't make any indication that he'd heard Laxus, just continued to stare at Natsu on the bed. Laxus started to shake the ice mage's shoulders, but Wendy stopped him.

"Just let him be for now, Lyon is coming to Fairy Tail. We'll find out everything then."

"Fine, I hope Doranbolt gets here soon. The old man was getting Porlyusica."

They heard a pained moan coming from the bed and turned to see Natsu stirring. He opened his eyes and looked around, his eyes locking with Gray's.

Natsu started to whimper and pulled his hand out of Gray's roughly. His eyes widened and darted around like he was looking for a way to escape. He saw Laxus and Wendy and begged them in a frantic voice "Please, please don't let him hurt me anymore!"

Natsu hugged himself and sobbed hysterically. Everyone stared in shock at the Fire Dragon Slayer.

"Gray, I think you'd better wait outside," Wendy told him sadly. It broke her heart to say that to the ice mage, who looked like someone had kicked him in the stomach. Tears streamed down his face as he came to terms with the fact that his best friend was now terrified of him. He nodded slowly, stood up and left the room.

Doranbolt walked past Gray as he entered Lamia Scale's infirmary. He thought the ice mage had been crying. What the hell was going on?

He saw Natsu as soon as he walked in the room. He blanched at the extent of the fire mage's injuries. He waited for Wendy to calm the distraught Natsu down and explain that he would be teleporting him and Happy back to Fairy Tail. Once Natsu had calmed down enough, Doranbolt picked him up, grabbed Happy and disappeared.

Gray had walked back to the table he'd been sitting at earlier. He drank the rest of the bottle by himself, not bothering with the cup. He'd never felt more miserable in his life than he did at that moment.

Gray couldn't get Natsu's terrified face out of his mind. He had done that to him. Even though Gray knew he hadn't been the one to actually hurt Natsu, he felt he might as well have.

The one time the flame brain had needed him, Gray had failed him, and some sick bastard had worn his face to hurt him. He suddenly remembered Lyon telling him that Natsu had been raped and he prayed to whatever gods he could think of that his doppelganger hadn't been responsible for that.

Laxus and Wendy went over to him, but he was far too drunk to talk. They looked around for Lyon and explained what had happened. Lyon winced at the news.

He assured them that he'd speak to Gray and get him back to Fairy Tail the following day. He handed them the materials he'd packed. They thanked him for all his help and left to report to Makarov.

Lyon headed back to the table only to find Gray had already passed out. He had no idea how he was going to get through to his brother. But he had to try, before Gray closed himself off again, this time for good.

A/N: Revised May 08,2019. Added about 1K words, but more importantly, gave Lyon some much-needed depth and edited the hell out of his retelling of events. Also gave more importance to the relationship between Gray and Lyon. I think it sounds better now.

#fairy tail #gratsu #ftlgbtales #fanfiction #update #gray fullbuster #happy #lyon vastia #makarov dreyar #laxus dreyar #wendy marvell #jura neekis #lamia scale #tiamat #natsu dragneel #post gmg #chapter 5 #tkad

21 notes · View notes