[deadbaguette]

Beautiful gorgeous wife surrounded by flowers as she SHOULD be !!! Amazing commission I got from @mx-paisley I'm so unvelievably happy with it!! She's my homescreen so I can stare at her everyday 🌻💛

[versodepresso]

🌟Arthur Nightingale references🌟

I was struggling working with only in game screenshots so I decided to make this, figured i would share as it could potentially be useful to others as well :) Face

Full Body with armor:

without armor:

side views without arms:

Neck details

Arm details

Leg details

Armor details

These are fully free to use by anyone whether you are drawing him yourself or want to send them to someone you are commissioning, no need for credits. I will note though that this did take me a decent amount of time to make so if you are feeling generous I have a tip jar on Ko-fi. I also take art commissions myself, you can find my art on @eyesscoop and I also have a Vgen page! Thank you 💖

[morimhe]

fuck it uninfesting Arthur

[raenef]

i asked myself what was stopping me from putting longer hair on arthur in blender and then i realized nothing at all so i went ahead and did just that.

[pragnificent]

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

[thingsamylikes]

I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.

[koroart]

Save me Mr. Final Fantasy save me ( late night doodles — gn everynyan 😴😴 )

[koroart]

Some WoL doodles I managed after a few days of not doodling what I want

[urdreamydoodles]

A Warren Worthington III X gender neutral reader where they’re also a mutant with abilities like Superman? Childhood friends who bond together over having to hide their mutant abilities everyday, the reader loves his wings, they always talk about running away to find a better place for themselves, to finally be free to express themselves away from their strict families and when the day arrives— their first steps into the X-Mansion, they confess their feelings for one another

WHERE THE SKY IS WIDE — A Warren Worthington III One Shot

Pairing: Warren Worthington III (comics) x GenderNeutral!Reader

Description: You are Warren Worthington III's childhood friend, and one day you escape from your prisons together and confess your feelings.

Theme: Pure fluff and comfort

Words: 1700

Reply to anon: OMG yes, my first one shot request! Just so you know my dear readers, my favorite type of request is "one shot". I love my baby boy Warren.

The first time you saw Warren Worthington’s wings, they weren’t bathed in golden light or spread wide in defiance of the world that wanted them hidden. No, they were trembling. Half-open, half-furled, their silken-white feathers shaking in the moonlight, caught between the instinct to stretch and the fear of being seen. You knew that fear well. It sat in your chest like a stone, made your hands curl into fists when you walked through hallways lined with portraits of ancestors who would sooner disown you than see you as you truly were.

You stood there, at the edge of the Worthington estate’s grand garden, the cold biting at your skin, watching him try to fold his wings away as if they were something shameful.

“They’re beautiful,” you had whispered.

He had flinched at the sound of your voice. You had seen the war in his expression, the hesitation before his fingers twitched—then relaxed, as if daring himself to believe you.

“You think so?” His voice had been quiet, uncertain, so very different from the confident, charming mask he wore in school, in public, in the presence of people who only ever saw what he allowed them to see.

“I know so.”

And that was how it started.

●

Years passed, and secrecy became second nature to you both. You grew together in the careful shadows of expectation, your stolen moments carved out between the weight of your families’ demands and the ever-looming threat of discovery. Warren learned to tuck his wings beneath fine-tailored suits, to smile in a way that put people at ease, to pretend he was something softer, something human, something normal.

And you—well, you learned restraint. Learned to pull your strength into yourself, to move carefully, to never let the heat of your power rise too high, lest you accidentally make the world feel as fragile as it was in your hands. You had been made to feel like a monster for as long as you could remember, forced to contain yourself within limits set by those who would never understand you.

Warren understood.

Perhaps that was why you always found yourselves returning to this place—this quiet sanctuary where no one was watching, where the weight of expectations couldn’t reach you. The world outside demanded smallness, demanded obedience, but here, beneath the open sky, it was just the two of you.

“Do you ever think about running?” you asked once, lying in the grass beside him, staring up at the stars as if they held the answer.

Warren huffed a soft laugh. “Every single day.”

“What stops you?”

“The same thing that stops you.” He turned his head then, watching you with those piercing blue eyes, searching for something he already knew was there. “Fear. Obligation. A thousand reasons that shouldn’t matter but do.”

You exhaled, long and slow, feeling the ache of it settle in your chest. “If we left, where would we go?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Anywhere. Somewhere with wide skies and no walls. Somewhere we don’t have to hide.”

It was a foolish dream. You both knew it. But it was yours.

●

The night before Warren was set to leave for one of his father’s business events—a weeklong affair where he would be paraded around like a prized possession, a Worthington heir rather than a person—he found you waiting for him beneath the old oak tree in his backyard. The place you had claimed as your own when you were younger. The place where secrets had been exchanged in whispers and where, for fleeting moments, you had been allowed to be free.

He said nothing as he approached, his wings rustling as he let them stretch slightly, no longer bothering to fold them away in your presence.

You smiled. “Are you ready for a week of pretending?”

“I don’t think I ever stopped,” he admitted, dropping down beside you. “But you? You don’t belong in a cage, you know.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Neither do you.”

Warren looked away. “I think I do. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Something in your chest tightened at the quiet resignation in his voice. You had seen Warren angry, defiant, reckless—but this was different. This was the exhaustion of someone who had spent a lifetime trying to fit himself into a world that had no space for him.

And you—you—understood that feeling better than anyone.

So you moved before you could think, before you could stop yourself, reaching out to brush your fingers against the soft curve of his wing.

Warren inhaled sharply, freezing beneath your touch.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, as if those words unraveled something deep inside him, something that had been held too tightly for too long.

“I know.”

●

The stars were fading into the first blush of dawn when you finally spoke again.

“One day,” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the quiet rustling of the wind, “we’ll go. We’ll find that place where the sky is wide, where no one can tell us who we’re supposed to be.”

Warren’s fingers curled into the grass, his wings shifting ever so slightly, as if they wanted to lift him away from all of this.

“One day,” he agreed, so soft, so sure.

You didn’t know when that day would come, if it would come at all. But for now, for this moment, it was enough to know that he was beside you. That when the time came, when the weight of this world became too much, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And maybe—just maybe—that was love, even if neither of you had dared to say it yet.

●

The night you left, the world was silent.

No alarms, no shouts of protest, no final attempts to keep you bound in golden chains. Just the sound of your breath, steady and certain, and the quiet rustling of Warren’s wings as they stretched against the cool night air. You had spoken of this moment for years, whispered it like a sacred promise beneath moonlit skies. And now, here it was—no longer a dream, no longer a fantasy, but something real. Something tangible.

You glanced at Warren as he stood beside you, the dim glow of the streetlights casting his face in sharp relief. There was no hesitation in his expression, no flicker of doubt. He was ready. You both were.

With one last look at the world you were leaving behind, you stepped forward.

And you didn’t look back.

●

The X-Mansion wasn’t what you expected.

You had imagined something grand, something imposing, something that carried the weight of the legends whispered about the X-Men. And in many ways, it was. The sprawling estate, the towering windows, the sheer presence of the place—it all spoke of power, of history, of something greater than yourselves.

But it was also something else. It was warmth. It was home.

The moment you crossed the threshold, a strange kind of peace settled into your bones. Here, Warren didn’t have to hide his wings beneath expensive suits and forced smiles. Here, you didn’t have to cage yourself, didn’t have to measure your every movement for fear of being too much.

For the first time in your life, you could simply be.

Charles Xavier had welcomed you with a knowing smile, his gaze understanding in a way that made your chest ache. “You’ve both been running for a long time,” he had said, his voice kind, unwavering. “Rest. There is no need to run anymore.”

And so you stayed.

●

Days passed in a blur of new faces, new routines, new freedoms that still felt too fragile to be real. You watched Warren shed his old self like a second skin, watched as the weight that had clung to his shoulders for years began to fade. He flew more now—not in secrecy, not in stolen moments of defiance, but freely, openly, the way he was always meant to.

You had never seen anything more beautiful.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found him on the mansion’s rooftop, his wings stretched wide against the fading light. He was lost in thought, the golden glow catching in his hair, painting him in shades of fire and divinity.

You stepped closer, quiet but not unnoticed. Warren turned at the sound of your approach, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Getting tired of all this yet?” you teased, tilting your head.

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that spoke of years spent knowing one another, of unspoken words that no longer needed to be said. And yet—there was something left. Something unfinished.

You took a breath. “Do you ever think about that night?”

Warren’s gaze flickered to yours, searching, understanding. “Every day.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of it press against your ribs. “We made a promise to each other.”

“I know.” His voice was softer now, like the brush of wind against your skin. “And I meant it.”

The space between you felt impossibly small, charged with something unspoken, something that had always been there, waiting. Your fingers twitched at your sides. His wings shifted, feathers rustling in the quiet.

“I was never running from something,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I was running to something. To you.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the sound of the wind, the distant hum of the mansion, the rapid beating of your own heart.

Then Warren moved.

It was slow, deliberate—his hand finding yours, his fingers tangling with your own as if they had always belonged there. His other hand lifted, brushing against your cheek, hesitant but sure.

“You were never alone in that,” he murmured.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was right. Like the answer to a question you had both been asking for far too long. Like the final piece clicking into place.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “We made it,” he whispered.

You smiled. “We did.”

And for the first time, you believed it.

[dollface-xoxo]

The Winter Soldier 🖤

He is so tragically beautiful 🥹

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: This was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. A/N: Unbeta'ed, so sorry for the mistakes! Warnings: NSFW but not that explicit. Word count: 1,379 words

The team had made a last minute decision to go out, but you weren’t in the mood to join them. It has been quite a while since you’d had some time to yourself, and you happily retreated to your quarters with a bag full of late-night snacks in tow.

The thought of having the living area all to yourself was oddly comforting. There was something incredibly liberating about walking through the quiet corridors alone. After carefully stashing your snacks in the kitchen, you glanced around the hallway to ensure no one was around. Satisfied that the coast was clear, you stepped out of your room wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks.

The polished floors gleamed under the fluorescent lights and begged you to indulge in one of your guilty pleasures: dancing and sliding across the freshly waxed surface. You were mid-slide, grinning to yourself like the Cheshire cat, when an unexpected groan pierced the silence.

The sound startled you, nearly making you lose your balance as you skidded to a stop. You scanned the corridor, heart pounding in our ears, as you tried to pin point the source of the noise.

You were met with silence for a few moments. Just as you had convinced yourself that your imagination was getting the best of you, you heard it again. Only this time, it was unmistakable— it sounded like your name.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of a crack in one of the doors. Immediately, you knew that it was the source of the sound. Approaching slowly, you realized that it was Bucky’s room.

Shit! You thought back to earlier, replaying the moment you watched the others leave. Had Bucky gone with them? You didn’t remember seeing him head out. Could he still be here?

A soft, almost pained whimper reached your ears, followed again by your name.

Without hesitation, you pushed open the door, a growing sense of dread and concern rising inside you. Bucky often had nightmares— you’d heard his anguished cries echoing in the dead of night. You didn’t want to let him suffer for a minute longer than necessary— not if you could help it.

But as you silently pushed open the door, the sight before you stopped you in your tracks, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the super soldier, sprawled out on the bed. He was shirtless. You could see the muscles in his abdomen rippling like waves as he writhed around on the mattress.

Another muffled groan escaped him and your eyes were drawn to the pillow he had clamped over his face. It would have been an alarming image, if it wasn’t for the fact that his pants were undone and his flesh hand was wrapped firmly around his cock.

You froze. Every single coherent thought vanished from your head in an instant. You stood in the doorway, mouth parted in silent shock as a flush of heat rushed to your face as your brain scrambled to process what you were seeing.

This is not what you had expected. At all.

Your instincts told you to turn around, to leave and grant him the privacy he so clearly thought he had. But for some reason, your feet refused to move. You stayed rooted to the spot as a cocktail of emotions swirled inside you— shock, embarrassment and lastly desire.

Only when he groaned your name again, the sound muffled by the pillow but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine and a flood of heat between your legs. Your heart raced as you realized that he wasn’t just lost in the moment— he was lost in the thought of you.

Your instincts finally kicked in, belatedly propelling you to turn on your heels and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. But your socks betrayed you, letting out a squeak against the polished floor.

Bucky’s movements stilled.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter under his breath, his voice low and filled with mortification. There was a rustle of sheets and before you could fully escape, his voice called out.

“Who’s there?” His words came out sharp and panicked.

You came to a halt outside his room, cursing your hesitation. You glanced around the corner just in time to see him sit up, clutching the tiny pillow against his lap, as though it could shield him from the situation he had found himself in. HIs face was flushed, his chest heaved and his wide blue eyes locked onto yours.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking, overwhelmed by shame. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his vibranium hand. “I… I didn’t know anyone was—”

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out. “I—I mean to, I shouldn’t have—” Words failed you, and you swiftly darted out into the hallway, hiding around the edge of the doorway.

But you didn’t go far.

Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest and for some reason, your legs felt like lead, stopping you from running away. You pressed your back against the wall, taking a shaky inhale to calm your thundering heart and trying to process what had just happened.

You needed to keep walking. You should be retreating to your room where you could pretend none of this ever happened. You should. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Something was pulling at your strings, master of puppetry controlling your actions, refusing to let you leave. It was desire. The way he had said your name— with so much longing— played in your mind on a loop. You hadn’t missed the way his body moved, the vulnerability he’d displayed on his flushed face. And then there was the way his eyes had widened with shock when he realized it was you.

Before you could truly think about your actions, your feet had started carrying you back to the door. You hesitated for a second but the pull inside you— the part of you that craved him— propelled you forwards.

You stepped back inside.

His face was crimson, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Was it anger? Embarrassment? Or… something else entirely?

You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face but the tension in the room weighed down on both of you.

Wordlessly, you approached him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and he immediately curled in on himself, clutching the pillow tighter to his chest. His body was angled away from you, his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to meet yours.

You shuffled closer, moving carefully, unsure if he wanted you to stay or to leave. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t give you any indication that he was aware of your presence. But you could feel the tension radiating from him like a forcefield. His knuckles were white against the fabric of the pillow, and he sat so rigidly it was as if his body didn’t know how to relax anymore.

“Bucky,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with kindness and affection.

Still, he didn’t respond. He seemed paralyzed, trapped in this moment of shame and uncertainty.

Slowly, you reached out, unable to control the tremble of your hand as you cradled his cheek. He flinched at first, his body stiffening, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your touch gentle but deliberate, and when he didn’t resist, you applied the lightest pressure to turn his head toward you.

At long last, his eyes met yours— his pupils dilated, unfocused and vulnerable.

You held his gaze, letting the air between you grow heavy with meaning. Your thumb brushed fondly against the stubble on his jaw, and you leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving him every chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

When your lips first met his, they moved slowly, with tenderness, almost searching. You gave him the opportunity to object… he didn’t. And suddenly the heat building inside you made it impossible for you to hold back. You deepened the kiss— conveying your longing— leaving no room for doubt, no room for misinterpretation. You wanted him.

And as his lips began to respond to yours, the pillow slipped from his grasp, forgotten as he surrendered to the intensity of your connection.

[sukoshininja]

Voltron: Legendary Defender

0/?

[heavnlysaturn]

when i accidentally call them "arcane season 2 episode 9 minute 33:58" instead of perfect

[deggza]

Ｎｏ. . . Ｙｏｕ ｗｏｎ＇ｔ．

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x09 - “The Dirt Under Your Nails.” ↳ "I thought I wanted us to give magic to the world. Now... all I want... is my partner back."

[reyenii]

8 times jayce touched viktor

and once viktor touched jayce back

[ronwestbreeze]

NONBELIEVER | viktor

summary: you would think two zaunites would come together and change the world. but perhaps fate had other plans for the two...

word count: 5.7k

warning: no use of y/n, angst and ambiguous endings???

author's note: so act 3 really messed me up lol but enjoy some angsty viktor because why not? the gif is from this set!!

ACT I: MOB

Like Viktor, you lived and breathed the Undercity just not in the same way.

Your face used to be what artists would paint, even for a revolutionary.

But now it was stained with blood of your own. Beaten out of you mercilessly until cool shackles were clamped onto your hands and steel bars shielded you from the world. You have been in prison for some time now. Months, maybe a year? These days you’ve lost count. The only way you could tell how much time had passed was the growth of your hair. That was the price of being a revolutionary. That was the price of taking risks no one else would. Now you tasted blood and smelled old pipes. That was life in Stillwater Hold.

How you got here was the same story as any other inmate. You had planned to destroy a part of Piltover to make a point. To show that the people of the Undercity would not rest or become the ants under their boots. Most of your comrades had escaped from Enforcers, others were killed in the explosion, and then there was you. It was a sacrifice so that your comrades could have time to escape. And you’ve long accepted your fate.

That is until a certain professor decided to mess with fate.

After being forced out of your cell to meet this Professor Heimer—something, you weren’t really sure about. All you knew was that these Enforcers really liked to manhandle you especially roughly and took pleasure in seeing the black eye and blood on your teeth. That you were used to.

“Oh dear, could we please get her a towel at least?” The professor chided with a shake of his head. “Goodness, at least have her be presentable!”

Eventually, you got the rag, albeit it was thrown at you. After spitting on one of the Enforcer’s shoes, you wiped the blood and dirt from your face as the professor began speaking.

“Well, you certainly live up to your name. The Rebel Moon, is it? You may or may not have heard of me, but I am Professor Cecil. B. Heimerdinger and I are here as a Piltover Academy representative!”

A beat of silence went by. You realized then he was waiting for a response. You rolled your shoulder back and rubbed your aching jaw. “What are you meeting with me for?”

Professor Heimerdinger cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well….it seems you’ve left yourself a bit of a…reputation. I specifically admire your work on the bridge a year ago—marvelous work!” Sarcasm. You didn’t quite appreciate the condescension either. Seeing the unimpressed expression on your face, he quickly continued, “What I mean to get at is that we found some of your…erm, blueprints and I was surprised to see that most of them had been handwritten yourself, is that right?”

One of the Enforcers placed down a file filled with your old blueprints. They were mostly a copy of the Piltover Bridge, others were for weapons that your previous comrades built off of your drawings. Then there were the private drawings. The ones filled with naïve dreams of rebuilding the Undercity, changing it to a place where it was safe for everyone.

You snatched the files and hid those drawings in the file earning a quick yank from one of the Enforcers holding your chain. But after a subtle look from the professor, the chain loosened, and you frowned, anger boiling in your blood. “Where did you get this?”

Heimerdinger raised his hands, “I come in good faith, child, that I can promise.”

“I don’t particularly care about your promises—”

“Oh yes, very true,” The professor tapped the table thoughtfully. “But I do think you will like the proposition I have for you.”

Apparently, you had the potential talent of being an architect. One of the best in your generation it seemed—which somehow, he got from just looking at your old blueprints. And now he was convinced that you should join his Academy and that this was the perfect opportunity for you to change your life. To start over. To—

“Become one of you people?” You frowned and pushed the file away from you. “I’ll take my chances in here.”

 Heimerdinger, of course, was quite the persistent man.  “Imagine what you could do with your talents, Miss Moon. You’re still so young, you don’t have to waste your life behind bars. You can start anew!”

“I’m not wasting away in here.” You say simply, your shoulders are heavy and your face still sore. Carefully and slowly, you leaned back in the chair you were sitting in,  trying not to put too much stress on your recently dislocated arm. “That’s the thing with you Upsiders. You all don’t know anything about what it is to fight. And what it is to sacrifice just so your people can see the light of day. I don’t need your handouts. I’m doing just fine here. It’s where I belong.”

At that, he frowned. “I’m afraid I disagree with you, Miss Moon.” He pushed the file back toward you. “You have the chance to create something beautiful for your city, for your people. You have the chance to help them live. You have the chance to be something greater.”

Greater. You weren’t great. It was either great or nothing.

Somehow, Heimerdinger managed to strike a deal and get you out of Stillwater despite your rejection. For some reason, he was so determined to make you into something that you weren’t. And you were determined to fail. You were determined to prove him wrong. Even if he tried to impress you with the new uniform, the scenery, and the architect of Piltover—just to inspire you—you would not break.

If anything, seeing all this luxury only made you angrier. Even if they preached about you now being free with new chances, there were still shackles clamped on your wrists, imprinting themselves like a tattoo. To remind you that even if you’ve gotten this chance, there is always a chance for you to go back. And they wouldn’t hesitate to send you back once you mess up. Which was what you were counting on.

But it seemed that Heimerdinger was a lot more astute than you expected. The professor had you in his study during the day to work and look over some blueprints for new housing at the Academy. It left you with very little time to plan something reckless that would have you sent back to prison. Which, you guessed, was what Heimerdinger wanted. So, you entertained him and worked on the stupid blueprints, redesigning everything as fast as you could so you could get done faster and have more time on your hands.

Of course, that plan went quickly out the window when there came more demands for blueprints. Leaving you swapped and buried deep in work you didn’t even want. And yet, admittingly, it was a nice distraction. There was a small part of you—the child you—that enjoyed some of this. You would never admit that to Heimerdinger and yet you couldn’t put the pencil down. Eventually, you began receiving so many different requests for different projects that Heimerdinger got you a lab over your own, so all your stuff didn’t get overcrowded in his study.

Requests were filled with more designs or redesign for specific buildings they were hoping to update to catch up to the times—and then there were a few that had you designing weapons. The more you worked, the more of a reputation you began to build in the Academy. The new Undercity kid. Rebel Moon. Hephaestus. It was all ridiculous.

That’s when another fellow Undercity student finally found you.

“I fear those papers would catch on fire the more you glare at it.”

It was an accented voice that stirred you out of your spinning thoughts. You definitely had been glaring at the blueprints of a recent request for an apartment just a few walks from campus. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward the man—he seemed a little bit older than you, walked with a cane, intrigued amber eyes, and a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“If you’re here for a request then just leave it over there with the rest.” You murmured before turning your attention back to the blueprints after pointing toward a desk in the corner stacked with many more requests.

There was a short breath before he spoke, “Ah, no, I actually already sent a request just a few weeks ago…I’m impressed by your work, the professor has a knack for spotting talent.”

You didn’t respond as you kept staring at the blueprints, twirling the pen in your hand, feeling the weight of the shackle around your wrist.

You heard him clear his throat, “So, you are from the Undercity?”

“What’s it to you?” You grunt before outlining.

“Well, truthfully, I didn’t expect the Academy to accept another one.”

At that, you swirl around in your seat and sized the man up carefully. He was pale, slightly hunched to hide his true height, neatly combed dark hair, and he had very fine cheekbones. “Another one? What, too many Zaunites in your perfect little school?”

“I would’ve thought they had enough once I joined.” He gave a knowing smile that made you pause and narrow your eyes.

“…You’re…from the Undercity?”

He moved toward you; the click of his cane echoed in the quiet room and offered his hand to you. “I’m Viktor. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Miss Moon.”

You stared at his hand for a moment, tilting your head, “Great things? That doesn’t sound right.”

Viktor chuckled, still holding his hand out. “Eh, some people might have a few opinions about you. Unfortunately, it made me all the keener to meet you in person.”

“Am I what you expected then?” You asked as you eventually shook his hand, your shackles clinking a bit.

With a small smile, he squeezed your hand, “No. Not at all.”

Your brow twitched as you studied him. He was delicate-looking. But his hand was a bit larger yet slender. They were calloused, just like yours yet warm compared to your coldness. It was then you realized that your hand was still in his and you pulled it away and turned back to your work.

“My name’s not ‘Miss Moon’ by the way.” You grunt as you refocus.

There was another soft chuckle and a click of his cane before he was gone. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder and stare at the doorway, a little bit too intrigued.

After that, you didn’t stop seeing Viktor. At least twice every week you’d get a request for him to polish some designs for his work. Sometimes he’d send his assistant, Sky, and sometimes he’d come in person himself.  At first, you weren’t entirely sure about him. But the fact that he was from the Undercity along with his assistant was slightly comforting. At least you weren’t alone here. Still, it was odd. Foreign.

“Have you ever gone out to see the finished product of your work?” Viktor asked you one day, deciding to linger even after delivering yet another request for something to do with a Hexcore.

“No.”

“Why?”

You frown and glance toward him. He was looking over some of your finished blueprints with a strange look accompanied by a smile. “I’m just not interested.”

Viktor blinked and met your eyes with a small frown. You didn’t say much more—truthfully there wasn’t much more to be said about it.

“Well, it’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve ever seen. If that’s any consolation.”

You felt something in your chest at his words. Perhaps some of you did want to see the finished products of your design. And yet you were always rooted in this lab. In the dark under one lamp, barely seen by other students. Hephaestus.

Viktor tapped your workbench thoughtfully and hummed, “I’ll leave you to it, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not my name.”

He laughed and left your lab.

On another day he came into your lab in quite a hurry. He left his requests as usual before rushing out. Only he left a ring behind. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the ring on the floor and toward your workbench before sighing. After grabbing the ring, you pushed up from your stool and left your lab. This was the first time you’ve walked around campus or went anywhere besides your lab or Heimerdinger’s study.

You asked around for Viktor’s lab until you stopped on a bridge, spotting something quite familiar.

It was the newly remodeled dorms. They glistened like gold in the sun. Build just like how you imagined them in your head. Just like how you outlined it on paper. Only in your dreams could you imagine what they would look like. But seeing it….It was real. And it was beautiful. And it came from your mind.

“Ah, Miss Moon, odd seeing you here!” Viktor approached you quite smugly from across the bridge. He glanced toward the dorms and gave a grin, “They just got done with it last week. What do you think, hmm?”

You narrow your eyes, “You scheming little eel.”

Viktor blinked almost too innocently, “I haven’t a clue what you mean—ah, I was looking for that.”

He gestured toward the ring in your hand. You gave it back to him while your eyes couldn’t help but draw back to the dorms. There was a tightness in your chest and a small ache behind your eyes.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, his voice gentle as always.

You snapped out of your reserved awe and cleared your throat. “They did okay, I guess.”

With that, you darted back to your lab, the dorms imprinting themselves in your mind.

It became a routine at some point. Viktor began visiting your lab a little more often. At first, you didn’t notice this. But some days he’d come back to your lab a second time that day just to linger and see what else you were working on. At first, you thought you found it annoying. But as the days carried on and turned into weeks, you began to begrudgingly look forward to his visits.

“At least make yourself useful. Look over my work and see if there’s anything I missed.” You tried grunting when he leaned a little closer than usual to look at the blueprint you were working on.

“Hmm, I can try.” Viktor hummed as he flicked his eyes over the finished prints. “But they’re all probably perfect as usual.”

“Don’t you have some work to get to?”

“Not particularly, no.”

For some reason, he started leaving shit in your lab. Which would lead to you having to go and find him and return his stuff. Stuff like a screwdriver or some paperwork. Today it was a journal as you trudged through the campus and finally found his lab.

“Vik, I understand you’re a busy man, but you can’t keep leaving your shit in my area.” You huffed, throwing his journal onto his workbench, breaking him from his focus.

“Oh, Miss Moon,” He looked genuinely surprised to see you. “I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Yeah, right, so you didn’t leave this in my lab on purpose? You just happen to leave it there for me to find and bring to you?” You hummed, tilting your head as you got a good look at what he’s been working on—something a lot longer than what you’ve been doing. The Hexcore was what he called it. You didn’t understand it yourself—or cared much to learn about it. But you did notice some of your designs were used for his work.

“Mmm, you make me sound like a calculating stalker.” Viktor hummed as he got to his feet, joining your side. So, close his arm brushed against yours.

“Are you?” You quipped dryly while studying the Hexcore.

His slender fingers gently brush along your elbow. “I wouldn’t call myself a stalker, no. Are you interested?”

You glanced at him and realized he was talking about the Hexcore. “No. Just give me the why.”

Viktor hummed once more and leaned against the table, his fingers still brushing gently along your elbow. “For our home.” At that, you felt a tightness within your chest, your features falling slightly. Viktor, who had become very astute with your expression, gently grabbed your arm and squeezed it. “What’s with that face?”

You remember your life before the Academy. You remember your determination to prove Heimerdinger wrong. “Sometimes…I feel as if I’ve gotten too comfortable…too used to all of this….”

In the end, it was always your people above everything else. A revolutionary never dies, that was the simple truth.

“I think I’ve gotten too comfortable too.” Viktor frowned softly, tilting his head a bit to get a better look at your eyes when you averted your gaze. “And it’s all your fault, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes only for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. A lick of fire had been rekindled within you, breathing life into your soul, into your body. When he brought his hand to the back of your neck, when he practically cradled your face and brought you closer so he could deepen the kiss, when he touched you so gently as he always did, it was as if for a moment that heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Leaving you weightless for even just a moment. That bit of relief was a breath of fresh oxygen in your lungs.

The heat from his lips moved from your mouth and down to your jaw and to the crook of your neck. Your back was pressed against the workbench as he practically clung and draped himself over you. And you let him. Even when he desperately wanted to feel you and kiss you all over, he was gentle. He always was.

The days didn’t change much except for whenever he was free, he’d head straight for your lab. Whether on a break or in a hurry, he’d always stop by and pepper your face with quiet kisses and touches before leaving for his lab. It was routine. You were getting comfortable. Comfortable in his warmth. In his gentle hold.

“Just stay,” Viktor murmured against your jaw as you examined some of his work with the Hexcore. “Your presence is better than that tea Jayce always makes.”

“I can’t, Heimerdinger wants to meet with me soon, and I got a bunch more new requests on my desk.” You hummed while looking through Viktor’s partner, Jayce’s, notes. “I think that Jayce guy requested some designs for a hammer of some kind—that’s been taking up most of my time as of lately so I can’t necessarily—”

“I know, I know,” Viktor rested his chin on your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment as he slumped against you.

His health had gotten worse, which was something you and everyone else noticed. It did worry you how much he was working lately without much sleep, but you quickly learned how much of a stubborn man he was—especially when it came to his work.

“What do you think Heimerdinger wants to meet with you about?” He voiced your constant question out loud.

“Don’t know.” You murmured, trying not to think too much about it—or his health right now. “Won’t know until I get there. Probably wants to send me back to Stillwater.”

At that, he pinched your waist, “Don’t joke like that.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Losing you is not funny to me.”

You placed Jayce’s scribbles down and wrapped your arms carefully around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder with a soft hum. He instantly relaxed in into your hold, but of course, you could tell his mind was still half Hexcore and half you at the moment. “Be sure to get some rest, okay?”

As usual, he gave a half-assed noise of slight agreement.

ACT II: REBEL MOON

It wasn’t long before Jayce Talis became the Man of Progress and Viktor became buried in his work. And then you were promoted. The lead architect of a very important project for Piltover. No longer the Rebel Moon but Hephaestus, Piltover’s future.

But.

But.

Everyone saw you as the kid saved from the Undercity and made a new. Everyone saw you as the future of their city. You were part of the progress of tomorrow. And you kept chasing Viktor, trying to keep up with his mind but he—he had become so work driven—so ambitious on the Hexcore dream that he had forgotten everything else.

You were angry. Angry at Piltover. Angry at what you’ve become. Angry at Viktor. This wasn’t the life you had chosen. All of this was envisioned for you. This wasn’t for you. You had nearly gotten so swept up in all the glamour and success that you had nearly forgotten—

No. You would never forget your people.

So, when your lab went up in smoke when you destroyed the project that you had been assigned to as lead architect, when the Enforcers tackled you to the ground and arrested you on the spot, when one of them grinned as if they’d been waiting—waiting for you to finally mess up, you knew right then that you would never be what Heimerdinger, what Viktor, or what anyone saw for you. You were a Zaunite after all. And a revolutionary. A rebel. Always.

It wasn’t long before you were placed back in Stillwater Hold. In the same cell. With the same shackles. You didn’t even get to tell Viktor goodbye. Would he have even realized it? Or perhaps, it was better off to leave him to his Hexcore dream. Perhaps, that was best. Yes.

But your mind was no longer settled with just staying in a cell and living out your sentence. One thing Piltover did give back to you was your fighting spirit. Rekindled your fire. And breathed life into your dead soul. And so, you weren’t quiet in the cell. You made noise. Cried out for war until the rest of the prisoners joined you. It wasn’t long before a riot broke out. The prisoners overpowered the guards, and you led them to escape.

The streets of Zaun were screaming for the Rebel Moon once more. Even now more so than ever when rumors began flying around about a rocket hitting Piltover, resulting in a few councilmembers’ deaths. Your thoughts wandered to Viktor, you wondered if he was okay, if he hadn’t killed himself working so hard. But your focus went back to your people. To the escaped prisoners as you all went into hiding underground. They followed you. Their chosen leader. You had no wish to be a leader, but you did want to be free and help your people.

ACT III: NONBELIEVER

Hiding in the Underground for months began to wear everyone down, even you—their supposed fearless leader. The sickness in the Undercity knew no bounds. Many of your people were getting sicker and dying as the days passed. You did your very best trying to supply and care for them—but you could only do so much.

That’s when you started hearing strange rumors about some healer in the Undercity. A herald or whatever that meant. At first, you didn’t think much of these rumors while being so focused on caring for your people.

Soon, sightings of strange people began appearing. Shouting about the Herald and how he could save their people. You were…wary of this. It almost seemed too good to be true. And you hadn’t seen these strange people yourself, so you thought it was all fake, stories made up to give the people false hope.

You came back from the small local market with more food than you could scrape up. Somehow, you’d have to figure out how to make it last throughout the month. But there were so many people. So many people are coming for refuge, and so many people in need of help.

“Are you the Rebel Moon?”

At the voice, you stop and glance over your shoulder, only to find no one there. Had you imagined it? Were you too wary after months of people coming to you and seeking refuge? The name Rebel Moon became a beacon of hope as much as it was for the name Jinx or that Herald.

Deciding it was just exhaustion messing with your head, you turn to continue forward, only to gasp and stop when you nearly ran into someone standing directly in front of you.

And they had appeared out of nowhere. It was a man that you didn’t know. His face void of any emotion except for a simple smile on his face, strange crystal-like fixtures embedded into his skin, while wearing white fabric far too clean to have come from the Undercity.

“You are Miss Moon, yes?” The man asked.

You stiffened. No one had called you that in a while. No one except… “Whose asking?”

The smile remained on the man’s face, “The Herald has been searching for you, Miss Moon. And he would like to speak with you.”

You gripped the basket of fruit and near stale bread in your hand and gritted your teeth, “I’m not interested, thanks.”

Just as you nudged past the man to continue down the crowded street, he spoke again. Only this time it wasn’t his voice coming from his mouth.

“You’re a hard woman to track, Miss Moon.”

It was like the air had been stolen from you as you whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the man with Viktor’s voice. The basket fell from your grasp, but the man was quick to catch it—somehow so fast—as he handed it back to you. “V-Vik?”

He nodded and slowly blinked, “I feared I wouldn’t see you again. You disappeared so suddenly, almost as if you weren’t there to begin with.” The man’s hand came up to gently brush his fingers along your jaw sending a sharp shiver down your spine. “Almost as if you never existed.”

You flinched almost and stepped back. Thoughts swirled within your mind as you tried to reel from the man speaking in Viktor’s voice. “What…what is this? How are you doing this?”

“I don’t want you to be frightened of me.” He instead said, taking another step forward but didn’t reach out to touch you again. “I only want to help you. I can save those people from that sickness.” You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he knew but stopped yourself which allowed him to continue, his voice gentle. “Only if you let me.”

“You’re the Herald.” It was mostly confirmation for yourself as you let the words slip out.

The man smiled softly, “I wish to see you again, Miss Moon. There is so much I wish to show you. But I will come to you first.”

Before you could ask what, he meant by that, the man’s voice returned, and Viktor’s voice was gone. “The Herald will come tomorrow, Miss Moon.”

And with that, watched this vessel of a man walk away. Leaving you feeling as if you were in some type of nightmare. No, alternate reality. It must’ve been some hallucination. Yes. That had to be it.

Only when the next day came, one of the children at your camp came running to you about the Herald being here, did you know right then and there that this was not a hallucination.

You watched as he entered your camp with those lifeless people that followed him.  Viktor had changed. Covered in indigo metallic skin, his hair slightly longer, his posture straighter yet still relying on a cane—or staff in this case.

Viktor’s eyes found yours almost instantly as if they were magnetically drawn to you. It looked like him.

“Miss Moon.” He hummed as he drew closer, staring at you with the same gentleness despite the distance in his expression.

It sounded like him.

You led him to the tent he would be staying in, watching the lifeless people tend to your people with baskets of fresh fruit and food. Viktor called your name in his accented voice, drawing your attention back to him, finding him already staring at you with an intense expression.

Even in this form, Viktor’s body couldn’t help but be pulled toward you. He let the staff rest while his hands slowly came up to trace and feel this human skin. Distantly he was all too aware of it. How he still reacted to you. With the remnants of Sky lingering in his mind, his thoughts had always wandered back to you. The image of your divine being. If he could still dream, it would’ve only been you he would’ve seen.

There was a strong pull that led him to you. Perhaps sensations of desperation. Even as he leaned his forehead against yours, feeling the little warmth coming from your body against his metallic yet pallid skin—he still wished to mold himself to you. To never stop touching you. To never let you slip from his fingers again

And then there was that look on your face. The furrow in your brow running heavy with exhaustion—you hadn’t slept. At that realization, his hand gently squeezed the side of your neck absently.

“You’re so quiet.” Viktor hummed finally, quietly for only you and him to hear in the stillness of the tent. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “You’re always keeping your thoughts from me.”

You tilted your head, trying to stir yourself out from the haze of his touch. “Are those…those people….are they the ones you ‘saved’?”

“Yet, so honest.” There was a hint of a smile on his face as he selfishly pulled your hand against his chest, keeping it there, selfishly. “Yes. They’re healed. No more…senseless pain. I can offer your people this peace. And you can come to stay at our new home. I think…you’d like it. You need peace.” He rubbed his thumb under your eye, making your shoulders grow heavier. “And rest.”

You couldn’t come up with a response. His lips linger on your mouth, and your jaw, and your neck. His fingers thread through your hair which had grown longer since the last time he had seen you. Gentle traces, cool breath fanning along your skin, his arms wrapping around your weathered and scarred form. Even your fingers traced his new skin. Refamiliarizing yourself with him.

But.

But.

It wasn’t him.

Even when his lips pressed gently yet hastily against yours, his body clinging to your human flesh, it still felt like a stranger. Familiar yet unfamiliar.

Confliction warred at your mind as you watched him move through the camp, your people looking at him as if he were a savior. As if the gods had sent him when it was only magic and remnants of the Hexcore embedded into his body. Your eyes couldn’t stop falling onto the lifeless people he ‘saved’. The ones that followed him without much thought. Would your people look like this? Void of themselves? No breath. No heartbeat?

But then you wanted Viktor. You wanted to go to this peaceful land he had created for himself and these people. You wanted to be with him. To be wrapped in his gentle embrace once more. To hear his voice whisper gently into your ear, easing the exhaustion from your muscles.

But.

But.

But.

Viktor reached out toward a boy. Sparks danced along his fingertips. The boy stared in awe. It was instant, your reaction.

Your hand grasped his wrist, stopping him. Viktor’s gaze met yours in an instant. You didn’t know what your face looked like, but it made Viktor falter.

Viktor saw your face and absolute dread filled him. A sense of it at least. It made his body go slack in your grasp—surrendering to you instantly. The glassiness of your gaze and that expression. He had never seen such a thing on your face. Fear. Desperation. Hurt. Sorrow. Grief.

He’d lost you. No. No. He’d…He’d get you back. He couldn’t let you go again…he couldn’t let…

What was this strange feeling in his chest?

You pulled him away from the boy and Viktor allowed himself to follow you. Gazes unwavering. But you forced the words out of your mouth. “This isn’t what I want for these people. This…this isn’t saving them…”

He couldn’t let you slip from his fingers.

You couldn’t let him take your people’s humanity.

He needed to keep you. To keep his humanity.

“Revolutions never rest.” Was your whisper as you released his wrist.

He called your name, but you forced yourself to turn your back on him.

“Show him out.” You murmur to one of the stronger men in your camp. You couldn’t turn back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes. If you did….

Then this conflict would disappear in an instant.

Viktor and his followers left without much problem. Maybe that hurts too.

The yearning for Viktor never left you and yet it wasn’t your job to bring him back. This Hexcore…all of it was beyond you. Maybe all of it wasn’t meant to be for you. Maybe…Maybe he wasn’t meant to be yours….

Days later you had heard the Herald had changed.

Days later the Herald was gone from this world.

Days later your exhaustion and grief wore on your shoulders.

Days later you’re trudging through the Undercity, more baskets filled with fruit in your arms.

Days later, you find a blue shard on the ground, somewhere near where Viktor’s utopia had been.

You picked it up from the ground, a remnant of what remained of Viktor and his work. You saw the manmade tents that were now abandoned, the builds similar to your past designs of what you wanted for the Undercity.

Silent tears fell from your cheeks as you gripped the shard. And you clutched the shard so tight in your hand that you could’ve sworn you felt a soft hum from it. Or maybe you were imagining things. Maybe you were too exhausted. Maybe you really did need rest.

And then.

You heard that accented voice.

“Miss Moon.”

Your breath hitched as the shard suddenly began to glow.

And Viktor’s voice came from it.

“May I show you something?”

And then. There was a bright blue flash.

[criminalamnesia]

Traitor part 8

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.

let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3

thank you again!

after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.

it never ends, does it?

apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.

it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.

you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.

you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.

your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.

it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“hello?” you say as you answer the call.

“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”

you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”

you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.

“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.

she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”

you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.

why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?

your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.

laswell is coming here to do damage control.

you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.

you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.

but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?

you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.

and when you start something, you see it through.

you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.

price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.

“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”

“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.

“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.

“whatever she told you—”

“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”

price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.

“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”

“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.

“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.

“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.

and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.

you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.

like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.

on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.

in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.

when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.

it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.

it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.

and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.

what they condemned you to.

what he condemned you to.

he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.

price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.

“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.

“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.

instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.

“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.

“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.

and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.

but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?

you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.

more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.

blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.

you would’ve thrown it away anyways.

you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.

his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.

you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.

“done?”

and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.

it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.

because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.

and yet he didn’t stop you.

“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.

he shrugs. “you needed it.”

he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.

“least I could do,” he says.

you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?

“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.

“no,” he says, and you know he means it.

he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.

he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”

that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.

and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.

“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.

the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.

“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.

“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.

“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”

you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.

“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.

he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”

“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”

you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.

“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.

“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”

you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”

his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.

those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.

you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.

their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.

“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”

you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”

finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”

you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”

none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.

a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.

you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.

the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.

none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.

(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)

the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.

you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.

you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.

you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.

“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.

you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.

you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.

you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.

nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.

your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.

how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?

you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.

the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.

a new beginning, you think.

you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.

the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.

eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.

who else knows you’re here?

perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.

you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.

its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.

a new beginning indeed.