Tw: in this chapter nothing too crazy, violence, drinking, drugs in the background.
Part 15 -
The descent from the hotel balcony was both embarassing and terrifying in equal measure - with the batman insisting on putting me over his shoulder firefighter style as he stepped off into a freefall. It took every thing in me not to scream, which would have defeated the point of the stealthy exit, but somehow I did manage it. The cable we descended from seemed to have some kind of a counter measure that whirred into life and slowed us as we neared the bottom of an alley at the back. There was a light on in the hotel kitchen but no one seemed to be around to notice us, so he simply set me on my feet again and waved me after him as he strode fearlessly through the dark winding passageways, past overflowing trash bins and vents spewing steam into the already stifling night air. It struck me, in an ironic way, how like the joker that was; the fearlessness, moving through the city like they were a natural part of it. I envied it as I had to intermittently jog to keep pace, almost tripping in one of the many potholes when a couple of startled rats darted across the alley in front of me, making me jump.
By the time we arrived at the club, even though we had driven most of the way, I was already cursing the high heels I was sporting as part of my cover outfit. I had opted for a chunkier base, not confident in the batman's plan and wanting to have some chance of running without breaking an ankle - but they were still uncomfortable. I'd also been careful to pick out a pair of boots, as I figured that was the best way to smuggle in the switchblade I'd picked up from the back room of a shady corner store. I could feel the cold metal against my ankle.
I was not prepared to go into the lion's den totally unarmed, however adamant the batman was that I wouldn't need to be. As we sat in his tank-like vehicle, in yet another shadowy back-alley, he handed me a tiny ear piece and a map detailing the route to the Galante's underground records office. I stared at the paper in front of me, dread suddenly gnawing at my stomach. I scanned and re-scanned it, trying my best to commit it to memory.
"Put this on" he said gruffly, handing over a silver bracelet too.
I frowned.
"You don't think I did a good enough job on the outfit?"
"No. Look here," he said, flipping open the heart charm to reveal a concealed button.
"Let me guess, if - when, it all goes south, I press that and you'll come to my rescue?"
"If you need it. Yes," he answered flatly.
I grabbed it and struggled to attach it to my wrist, adamant that I wasn't going to ask for help.
Once I managed it, I grabbed my purse and gestured for him to let me out of the vehicle. With a hiss of hydraulics the door drew upwards and I stepped out onto the patchy asphalt. The summer night air was hot and dry.
I pulled down the hem of my dress and took a breath to steady myself, before stepping forwards on unsteady legs. By the time I reached the corner and turned onto the street, I had steeled my nerves enough to project a kind of confidence, striding towards the distant queue of party-goers on the street.
The bouncer looked over my ID and waved me through with an unchanging expression, and the muffled music greeted me as I entered the lobby leading to the club floor. I paid my fee to a woman in a ticket booth, gave her colleague my purse so they could do a half-hearted bag search. They waved me along with just as much enthusiasm as their colleague, and I soon passed by the cloakroom and over the faded art deco tiles, up an ornate angular staircase to the interior of the club. At the leather padded doors, I slipped past two people stumbling out and the thumping bass, punctuated by red and blue strobing lights, hit me like a shockwave.
This nightclub was different to the ones I'd been in before, the music seemed far more aggressive. The crowd was diverse but mostly uptown - the boujie avant garde crowd, bankers, and trust fund kids.
The vibe was more new money than old, in contrast to the fine skeleton of the art deco ballroom it used to be. The people nearby had plenty of gaudy displays of their wealth, primarily through designer labels and flashy watches. It was clearly a place to come and be as decadent and wild as possible. I assumed that was why security seemed so casual. I doubted their patrons would be too happy about running all their flashy jewelry through a scanner and walking through metal detectors to get in. With a bang, I dodged a flying champagne cork. Turning to see where it had come from, I was met with the sight of a young guy with his undone tie hanging around his shoulders, his shirt half unbuttoned and a pair of raybans balancing askew on his head. He cheered and sprayed the people in his booth with the jet of foaming bubbles as the women shrieked in protest at him getting it in their hair.
Moving on, I walked down the row of booths that skirted edge of the busy dancefloor. I saw more than one person openly snorting white lines from the black polished stone of the tabletops and tried not to stare. The nearer I got to the wall of speakers at the front, the more I could feel the air inside my lungs vibrate with each beat. The darkness in this section of the vast dancefloor was so intense that I could only see snapshots of peoples' bodies as they moved around me - like a flip book animation. I felt dizzy and disoriented as I pressed on, weaving in and out of them toward the back of the venue.
Before I could break out of the crowd I felt a hand on my arm.
"Dance with me," said a voice as a pretty woman with slick back hair drunkenly pulled me into her.
I wanted to protest as I quickly realised she was high as a kite, but she began to sway as she clung to me.
"Don't you just love this music?" She yelled in my ear over the thumping bass.
"Uh, sure..." I said trying to grab ahold of her arms so I could put some distance between us.
"The DJ is from Berlin, he's played Berghain. Have you been?" She said, still clinging closely to me.
"To Berlin? No."
"Oh you'd love it!" She yelled back.
"Sorry but I'm working, I really have to go," I protested, gently prising her grip off of me.
"Oh, I'm sorry honey. Go get that bag!" She said, planting a kiss on my cheek and then spinning around, arms thrown wide with her eyes to the heavens.
Relieved to have dodged her inebriated advances, I kept moving through people under the roving spotlights and smoke. It wasn't long before inadvertently caught the eye of a man who reached out for me from the grey haze but I quickly side stepped him, not wanting to get caught up again. Finally, I made it to the back and followed the wall along to the left, past the bar towards some restrooms. I noticed the large metal door and initially walked by towards the restroom, trying to inconspicuously check if anyone was watching. I saw there was still a guard present despite what the batman had assured me. I anxiously watched from near the bar for two minutes and saw that he wasn't going to leave.
"Are you at the door yet?" Came the batman's familiar voice over my earpiece.
I pulled out my nokia burner and flipped it open figuring it would look less suspicious to pretend to be on a call.
"We have a problem," I hissed under my breath.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, the business deal might not go through. One of them isn't going to budge."
"There's a guard at the door?"
"Yeah that's what I've been saying, he could make the whole thing fall through."
"Alright, well we need to make him leave his post."
"I mean, I can try, I've been trying to run alternatives. We just need him to bite."
"We only have one shot. Try it and see."
"Alright. Well leave it with me and I'll get back to you. Bye." I said, pretending to hang up and put my phone away.
I scanned the crowd lining up at the bar and noticed two particularly tall men. One of them looked like a roided out gym nut. I felt safe in betting he'd have a hair trigger temper. I put myself next to him, being sure to have him on the non-scarred side of me. I stumbled and bumped him slightly immediately catching myself by gripping his arm and profusely apologising.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry!"
He turned and his face lit up when he saw me and he threw an arm over my shoulders.
"No worries! How's about I buy you a drink?"
"Sure. That's kind of you, handsome," I nodded meekly.
I asked for a jack and coke and quickly turned to the big guy on the other side. Seeing that his attention was on trying to get the attention of a bartender, and no one else seemed to be watching, I stumbled and grabbed him by the arm, repeating the same trick. He was just offering me a drink when the other guy turned around to hand me the one he'd bought.
"Hey man, she's with me, beat it," steroid guy warned.
The other one looked taken aback.
"Relax man, I was just buying her a drink."
I failed to suppress a slight smirk at the ridiculous argument that was evolving as i'd hoped it would.
"Hey, I don't want any trouble. I'll just leave," I said as innocently as possible and backing up.
"Now you've scared her away. Look!" One of them said gesturing to the other.
"Scared her away? She's coming with me, she can recognise a high value man," the steroid guy said squaring up to the other.
They hadn't even looked at me the entire time they'd started arguing and I began to slip further back into the crowd.
By now it had reached boiling point, as the second man grabbed the first by his shirt collar and then almost instantly there was a beer bottle smashed over someone's head and and all out brawl erupted, dragging several other nearby patrons into the fray. I moved back towards the nearby door and watched as the security guard ran in to try and help his colleagues break up the chaotic mess before it pulled in even more people. Everyone's attention was on the fight as I reached the door and placed the false card over the scanner.
"Now. Do it now," I urged over my earpiece.
"Hold it there. One, two, three. There should be a green light now."
The light flashed green, just as he'd said.
"Now type on the keypad. 10085."
I did as he instructed and there was a series of clunks as the door popped open about an inch. I heaved it open and slipped through, closing it behind me as fast as I could.
I was in a small room with an old vaulted ceiling and a stairwell leading down from it. It was warmly lit and the old carved stone looked far more like something you'd expect to see in Europe than the US. I quickly darted down the multiple flights, which then opened out into an atrium, with several doors leading off from it.
"Where now?" I urged.
"The second door on the left. Use the key again."
I did as he instructed, holding the keycard to the sensor and waiting until it clicked green.
Once I was inside the room, I noted it looked a little like an old library or a study.
"Am I definitely in the right place?" I muttered.
"Yes. The don is meticulous. He has a papertrail on everyone."
"Well where the hell am I supposed to start?"
"The cabinet on the far right. My source admitted that he keeps records of anyone who works with him in there. Even the basic heavies he keeps around."
"I'm not even gonna ask how you convinced him to give that information up..." I muttered as I flicked on the yellow-green light of the banker's lamp and began to rifle through the alphebetically stored files.
"You weren't kidding hjg names as the papers shuffled by my fingers.
I realised that the first cabinet only went from A-E and looked down the rest of the row in growing dismay.
"There's enough scandal in here to take down the entire fucking city... Is there anyone, any department that isn't on the take??? That isn't in the mob's pockets?" I was so overcome seeing the sheer volume of the corruption laid out before me - cold, hard proof, undenyable.
I felt a rising rage at the scale of the rot, at seeing just how deep it wormed into the very foundations of the city.
He said nothing to acknowledge my rhetoricals as I looked around the room in dismay.
My eyes caught on a leatherbound 'page-a-day' diary, and the fountain pen beside it. Unable to resist, I left the file drawers open and picked it up.
I flicked back through the more recent pages, past meeting dates and social calls until something caught my eye.
"What are you doing? Have you found anything yet?"
"Yes, but not in the files. I think this is the Don's diary. It's about the two dead men they found out by the docks. Remember? one burned and one chewed through by rats, like some kind of Saw trap."
July 17th
TMK and MW found.
There was a pause as I could hear him checking some kind of database.
"Look for anything under the name McKinney, or Watkins."
I did as he said and pulled out the files.
"There's more than one McKinney," I warned.
"Terence, or Terry, is who we're after."
I slotted the other files back, careful not to disrupt the order and flipped the remaining two open.
"Terry Mckinney. It's marked with a big red stamp. So's this one on Matthias Watkins. You think Galante had them killed?"
"Seems like it. Maybe they went to work for Scarecrow... if we can find who else is on his list -"
"Right," I affirmed, hurriedly putting the diary back and going back to flipping through the paperwork in search of more red stamps.
"What do you see? We don't have long now."
"Uh... there's a handful of others. I think some are already dead and gone but... theres an Adam Kaufman, and a Cameron Mitchell, and uh... Manh Nguyen, and Tate Jackson."
"Okay good, you need to get out of there fast."
I hurriedly slotted back the files i'd pulled out and shut all of the heavy drawers as quietly as possible. Rushing out into the central atrium, I softly closed the records room door behind me and darted up the enormous ornate staircase back towards ground level.
"You need to move faster, you're going to get caught."
"I'm going as fast... as I can," I muttered as I flew up the stairs, desperate not to trip.
I could hear the faint thumping of the nightclub bass as I reached the door, surprised by how much it dampened the sound.
"Ok let me out," I ordered, placing the key back on the pad.
I waited while he did whatever kind of hacking was required to trick the scanner again and I tugged the door. The sound hit me in one huge wall as I popped back out into the teeming club floor and it closed behind me.
I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when someone stepped in front of me. It was the door guard. Turning around hoping I could make a run for it, I instead saw a large man in a finely cut custom suit and two more men accompanying him.
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AI is trash and I NEVER use it. This work is transformative and therefore copyright applies to it.
Summary : As the final battle reaches its darkest moment, Legolas finds himself racing desperately toward the one person who matters most. There, he gathers you into his arms, confessing everything he had held back—his love, his regrets, and the truths he wished you had known sooner. But even with him by your side, fate remains unchangeable, as some endings are written long before they arrive.
A/n : Finally! We've made it to the part where it led to this whole story happening in the first place! Yes, younger me loved angst lmao. It was hard to rewrite it tbh, cause younger me wrote this so freaking bad! I almost had a seizure reading it. Plus, I was so busy with work, I've developed a freaking writing block again! So do pardon my bad wordings and typos >< I hope yall see and read the vision i had for this haha (might edit if its terrible lmao), enjoyy <3 (Part of the f!reader is not from middle-earth series | Can be read as a one-shot as well!)
Warnings: blood/injured, major character death!, angst, hurt/comfort, war!
Wc : 12k
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Back in Dale, Gandalf stood amidst the chaos of battle as human spearmen and archers drove their weapons deep into the hide of a massive troll. The beast let out a furious roar, thrashing wildly before finally collapsing beneath the relentless assault.
Nearby, Gandalf swept his staff in a swift motion, striking down an approaching orc before turning his attention back to the battlefield. His expression remained hard, yet beneath it lingered the faintest glimmer of hope despite the carnage surrounding him.
"We may yet survive this," Gandalf spoke, his voice steady despite the sounds of war raging all around him.
"Gandalf!" Bilbo shouted suddenly, his voice cutting through the noise as his eyes remained fixed on something beyond the hill.
He stood frozen at the wall, his breathing uneven as he stared into the distance, unable to tear his gaze away from the figures moving far below. The concern on his face was unmistakable, his brows drawn together as unease settled heavily in his chest.
Hearing his name, Gandalf immediately hurried over to where Bilbo was standing, his robes sweeping behind him as he moved. Reaching the wall, he followed the hobbit's line of sight and looked out across the battlefield.
There, riding along a narrow spur of the mountain, were Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili, making straight for the place where Azog waited.
"It's Thorin," Bilbo breathed, the name leaving his lips as he watched the distant figures. Anxiety clouded his face, his eyes remaining fixed upon the distant riders, following each of their movements with growing unease. His heart quickened for them, though he could do nothing but watch.
"And Fili, Kili... and Dwalin," Gandalf continued, narrowing his eyes as he studied them from the wall. "He's taking his best warriors." His expression darkening as he recognized exactly what Thorin intended.
"To do what?" Bilbo asked, turning quickly toward him, his brows drawn together in confusion. There was worry in his voice now as he searched Gandalf's face for an answer.
Gandalf did not answer at once. His gaze remained fixed upon the narrow mountain path where the four riders were slowly vanishing from sight. His expression grew grave, his eyes hardening with quiet understanding before he finally spoke.
"To cut the head off the snake,"
"Gandalf!" The voice rang out from behind, rising above the clash of steel and the cries of battle.
At the sound of his name, Gandalf turned at once, his robes sweeping lightly with the movement. "Legolas... Legolas Greenleaf," Gandalf stared, recognition flashing across his face as he watched the elven prince approach with urgency written plainly in every hurried step.
"There is a second army! Bolg leads a force of Gundabad orcs. They are almost upon us!" Legolas announced, his voice steady despite the haste of his arrival. His eyes remained fixed upon Gandalf, the weight of his warning plain upon his face.
"Gundabad..." Gandalf murmured, the word lingering on his tongue as his brows slowly drew together.
For a moment, his gaze swept across the battlefield below, taking in the tide of war with growing unease. Then, he'd seemed to have understood something, his expression growing increasingly grim as the pieces finally fell into place.
"This was their plan all along," he said quietly. "Azog engages our forces, then Bolg seeps in from the north."
"Wha... the north... where is the north, exactly?!" Bilbo asked in a panic, quickly turning toward Gandalf with widened eyes. His gaze darted anxiously between the wizard and the battlefield, desperately trying to understand what was happening as worry tightened every feature upon his face.
"Ravenhill," Gandalf answered without hesitation. Turning immediately, he strode toward the parapets with long purposeful steps, his eyes lifting toward the distant hill where Thorin and the others had ridden only moments before.
Standing at the edge of the wall, his gaze remained fixed upon the towering height shrouded in the haze of battle, knowing all too well that Ravenhill was where Thorin now stood.
"Ravenhill..." Bilbo repeated quietly, his face draining of what little colour remained as the dreadful realization struck him. His eyes widened as he looked toward the distant hill, his heart sinking deeper with every passing second. "Thorin is up there! And Fili and Kili... they're all up there!"
At the sound of Kili's name, Tauriel, who had been standing silently behind them stiffened almost instantly. Alarm flashed across her face as she lifted her gaze toward the peak of Ravenhill, her emerald eyes searching desperately through the thick mist that shrouded the mountain.
While the others remained focused upon the distant hill, Legolas found himself unable to keep his thoughts fixed upon Ravenhill alone.
His eyes instinctively swept across the battlefield below, searching endlessly through the countless warriors locked in battle, yet unable to find the one person he longed to see.
All he could think about was you, and amidst the chaos of war, the smoke, and the endless sea of soldiers, it had become almost impossible to find you. If only he had known... he would never have left you alone in the first place.
➽──────────────────────────────❥
In a brief moment of uneasy peace amidst the chaos of war, Thranduil walked slowly through the battered streets of the city. With each measured footsteps, it carried him past the countless fallen bodies scattered across the ground.
His gaze lingered upon the fallen, many of them his own elves who had given their lives in battle. It was a sight no king wished to behold, yet his expression remained composed, revealing little of the grief that weighed heavily beneath his calm exterior.
The silence endured only a moment before one of his commanders came running toward him. The elf halted at a respectful distance, lowering his head as he awaited his king's command.
"Recall your company," Thranduil ordered. Though his voice carried its usual authority, there was the faintest tremor beneath it as his eyes remained fixed ahead, never once turning from the path before him.
Upon the words of the elvenking, his commander immediately obeyed, raising a great horn to his lips before sounding a powerful blast that echoed across the battlefield.
Gandalf came hurrying toward them, his grey robes billowing behind him as he crossed the war-torn streets. Every step carried the weight of urgency, and the concern etched upon his face only deepened as he approached the Elvenking.
Stopping before Thranduil, he looked upon him with a grave expression, knowing there was little time left. "My lord, dispatch this force to Ravenhill! The dwarves are about to be overrun. Thorin must be warned."
For a moment, Thranduil said nothing.
Then, slowly, his gaze moved beyond Gandalf, falling upon the battlefield that surrounded them. The bodies of his fallen elves lay scattered across the streets, their armour dulled by ash and blood, their lives spent defending a land that had already taken far too much from them.
"By all means," Thranduil finally replied, his voice calm yet carrying a deep bitterness beneath its surface. "Warn him."
His eyes remained upon the fallen. For the briefest of moments, the unshakable composure of the Elvenking broke. A flicker of sorrow crossed his features, almost too subtle to notice, but it was there—the weight of every soldier lost, every life he had failed to bring home.
A king could command armies, but he could not bring back the dead.
The expression then vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced once more by the familiar mask of royal composure. Turning away without another glance, he continued forward with deliberate strides, forcing himself not to look back.
"I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land—no more."
"Thranduil?!" Gandalf called after him, disbelief and frustration evident upon his face, as he watched the Elvenking walk away without looking back. His brows furrowed deeply, his hands tightening around his staff whilst he stood rooted in place, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.
"I'll go!" Bilbo's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward, his small frame carrying a determination far greater than his size suggested. Worry still lingered in his eyes, but he lifted his chin firmly, refusing to retreat from the danger that lay ahead.
"Don't be ridiculous! You'll never make it!" Gandalf answered at once, turning sharply toward the hobbit with widened eyes.
"Why not?" Bilbo asked, looking up at Gandalf with knitted brows. Though fear still rested beneath his expression, it did nothing to shake the resolve in his voice as he waited for the wizard's answer.
"Because they will see you coming and kill you!" Gandalf said firmly. His grip tightened around his staff as he faced the hobbit, his expression leaving no room for argument. Gandalf was absolutely determined to stop Bilbo from throwing himself into his certain death, that's for sure.
"No, they won't."
Gandalf looked at Bilbo peculiarly, his brows furrowing deeper as confusion briefly overtook the urgency upon his face. His eyes searched the hobbit's expression, trying to understand the quiet confidence behind those unexpected words.
"They won't see me," Bilbo stared back, the corners of his mouth barely moving as his hand instinctively drifted toward the pocket that concealed his greatest secret.
'It's out of the question—I won't allow it!" Gandalf continued to disagree, taking a firm step forward as his voice echoed with unmistakable authority. His expression hardened, yet the worry in his eyes betrayed that his refusal came not from anger, but from a desperate wish to keep Bilbo alive.
"I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf," Bilbo said quietly, as he held the wizard's gaze.
For a long moment neither of them spoke, the sounds of battle filling the silence between them before they finally exchanged a small, understanding nod. Without another word, Bilbo turned and strode away, disappearing around a nearby corner.
Reaching the shelter of a narrow alcove, Bilbo pressed himself against the stone wall before slipping a small golden ring from his pocket. He stared at it for a few quiet moments, his expression thoughtful as the familiar weight of responsibility settled upon him once more.
Taking a steady breath, he slowly slid the ring onto his finger, vanishing from sight in an instant. Hidden beneath the Ring's magic, Bilbo ran swiftly through the battered city, weaving between the last desperate clashes of the battle.
Through the Ring-enhanced vision, the elves seemed to appear as radiant beings of brilliant white light while the orcs took the form of dense, shifting shadows.
His eyes darted from one skirmish to another as he continued onward, searching for the safest path through the fights.
That was until a brilliant light suddenly caught his attention in the distance, streaking across the battlefield with incredible speed. Even through the Ring's strange vision, its radiance was so overwhelming that Bilbo instinctively flinched, quickly pulling the Ring from his finger as the brightness almost blinded him.
As the world returned to normal, his eyes widened with recognition when he realized it was you, galloping forward like a bolt of light before he noticed the direction in which you were heading.
"Oh no," Bilbo gasped, dread washing over his face as the realization struck him. Without wasting another second, he turned sharply on his heels, sprinting back through the city as fast as his legs could carry him.
Still struggling to catch his breath, Bilbo hurried back to where he was before. The air around the rest felt tense, as though he had returned in the middle of an uneasy moment. Yet he paid it no mind, his thoughts consumed entirely by what he had just seen.
Bent over as he fought to steady his breathing, Bilbo's lips moved several times, your name escaping in broken whispers before he finally managed to force the words out clearly. "She's—she's going after them!" he panted, both hands braced against his knees as he lifted his head to look up at them, panic written plainly across his face.
Legolas' brows furrowed deeply the moment Bilbo spoke, his expression tightening as concern washed across his face with immediate intensity.
He did not even need confirmation to understand the name Bilbo had struggled to say. For deep down he had already known, had always known up to now, even as he silently tried to deny it within himself.
His jaw tensed, a flicker of dread crossed his features, his gaze locking onto Bilbo with sharp urgency. In that moment , it seemed as if the surrounding chaos had slowly begun to fade for a moment beneath his rising panic.
"Where is she?" Legolas interrupted at once, his voice strained and breath hazy, as urgency overtook every trace of calm he had left. His eyes searched Bilbo's face frantically, unable to steady himself for even a second, panic clearly etched itself across his expression now.
"She's going to Ravenhill—" Bilbo managed to answer between ragged breaths, still bent forward as he tried to steady himself.
The moment the direction was spoken, the air around them seemed to change. A heavy silence fell, and every eye turned toward the distant peak of Ravenhill.
Legolas looked there at once. His gaze fixed upon the dark silhouette in the distance as panic took hold of him. In an instant, it all came running back to him, your destined fate. The one you cried over, the one you feared over, the one he couldn't force himself to believe would happen to you.
Without another thought, he stepped forward. His pace quickened with every stride, as though some unseen force was drawing him toward the mountain. His face remained set, his eyes unwavering, for every part of him already knew where he had to go.
"Legolas," Thranduil called out firmly, his voice cutting through the urgency like steel as it reached his son.
Legolas paused mid-step, turning back slowly to face his father. The Elvenking stood tall before him, every inch the ruler of his people, his expression composed and resolute. Yet beneath that unyielding authority lingered something far harder to conceal.
There was a plea in his eyes, restrained but unmistakable, as though he wished to call his son back yet lacked the words to do so.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
There was a silent battle between them—one wishing for the other to stay, to not throw himself into danger, while the other had already chosen the path he could not turn away from. Thranduil's silence carried the weight of a father's fear, while Legolas' carried the certainty of someone who knew there was no other choice.
And Legolas understood. If he stayed here, if he allowed himself even a moment of hesitation, he knew that decision would follow him for the rest of his life.
His jaw tightened as he held his father's gaze one final time. Or perhaps, in that moment, he was no longer looking upon his father, but his king. The silence between them stretched endlessly, filled with all the words they could not bring themselves to say.
And in that single look, Thranduil saw it once more. It was as though he were staring back at a younger version of himself—a son who carried the same unwavering determination, the same stubborn resolve that refused to bend once his heart had chosen a path.
The sight was painfully familiar. All of this for a love that will never be guranteed.
Slowly, Legolas turned away. Breaking eye contact for real this time, he sprang onto a riderless horse and gathered the reins firmly in his hands.
Without another word, Legolas drove the horse forward with urgent force, launching himself into motion as he rode toward Ravenhill at full speed. Determination burned in his eyes as the battlefield swept past in a blur, the wind rushing fiercely against his face while the sounds of war faded into the distance behind him.
Legolas drove the horse forward at relentless speed, the wind tearing past his face as the chaos of the battlefield blurred into streaks of motion and sound beneath him.
Every thunderous strike of the horse's hooves against the broken earth drove him forward, faster and faster. Yet his mind no longer belonged to the battle raging around him. There was only one thought that remained, one name that echoed through him again and again like a silent vow he refused to break.
His grip tightened around the reins until his knuckles turned pale, his jaw set so firmly that it ached. As though determination alone could challenge what fate had written, as though his will could bend the future away from the one thing he feared most.
No matter how far Ravenhill loomed ahead, no matter how impossible the distance seemed, all he could think was that he could not let you get hurt, not now, not ever.
But it will never be easy. Fates never been well, at least to him. The path ahead grew steeper and harsher as he pressed onward, the horse straining beneath him while debris and shadowed remnants of battle flashed past in violent bursts.
Memories of you surfaced unbidden in his mind, each one sharper than the last. Your presence intertwining with every breath he took, as though you were the only thing anchoring him to purpose.
Fate could not be allowed to take you, not when you deeply mattered to him, that you were alive and well.
As Ravenhill drew closer, the air itself seemed heavier, filled with mist and the distant roar of battle that made every second feel stretched and fragile.
Legolas leaned forward over the horse's neck, urging it onward with quiet desperation, his expression set in a rare mixture of fear and resolve that betrayed how much was at stake.
The thought that he might arrive too late clawed at him, but he pushed it away relentlessly, refusing to let doubt slow him even for a bit.
In his heart, there was only one truth now: your death would not be your fate, not while he still had breath, not while he was still moving toward you.
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There you stood beside the horse, staring at it as though it were some wild creature you had no intention of trusting. Its calm breathing and occasional shift of weight only seemed to make you more uncertain, your eyes narrowing as you studied it like it might suddenly decide to throw you across the battlefield.
"Yeah, no..." you muttered quietly beneath your breath, shaking your head as you looked it over. "I don't really like you."
You took a deep breath, briefly looking away as though you needed a moment to gather every bit of courage you had left. Then, reluctantly, your gaze returned to the horse.
When you looked back, the horse was still there, still looking at you in that annoyingly patient way. Your face immediately twisted into offended disbelief. "Quit staring would ya?"
All you could see was its stupid face staring right back at you, almost like it was judging you or mocking you for even considering this.
"Ugh, I can't believe I’m doing this…" you huffed, grabbing onto the saddle as you tried to force yourself upward, your hands slipping slightly as you searched for balance.
With a frustrated groan, you pushed off the ground with one foot, then the other, struggling awkwardly as your body refused to cooperate the way you wanted it to.
After a few clumsy attempts, you finally managed to haul yourself up, barely getting your weight over the saddle before you flopped into place with a small jolt. "Hoo… alright…" you said afterward, a faint hint of pride slipping into your voice as you exhaled.
Adjusting your grip on the reins, you tried to look compose now that you were technically in control, even though your earlier struggle still very much haunted your dignity. "Look at that… professional rider," you whispered to yourself with fake confidence, immediately side-eyeing the horse again.
You took a few quick breaths, staring ahead as your hands tightened around the saddle. Every bit of confidence you could gather was forced into place as you prepared yourself to finally move.
And the moment you did, the horse suddenly jolted into motion, neighing loudly as it surged ahead with both front legs lifting slightly, its energy snapping forward like a release of tension.
"What the fu—" The words barely left your mouth before a scream followed.
You immediately grabbed onto the horse, arms wrapping around it as tightly as possible while the world around you became nothing but a blur of movement. The wind rushed past your face, your heart practically leaping out of your chest as you desperately tried to stay on.
"Why are you so fast?!” you yelled at the horse like it could understand you, your legs clinging awkwardly as you tried not to immediately become airborne. "I just got up here, can we chill?!"
Your body moved awkwardly with every step, your balance constantly threatened as you struggled to understand the rhythm of riding. Every second felt like another near disaster, and for a moment, you were certain you were about to become a very unfortunate piece of battlefield decoration.
But slowly, somehow, you adjusted. Through nothing but instinct and stubborn determination, your grip became steadier. Your posture shifted, your movements began matching the horse’s pace, and the panic slowly gave way to focus.
You were still terrified of course, but at least you were no longer one second away from falling off.
Your breathing slowly began to steady as you forced your eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to ground yourself amidst the chaos surrounding you.
The sounds of battle, the cries of warriors, and the thunder of hooves all blurred together, but you pushed them aside. Instead of focusing on everything happening around you, you turned inward, searching for that familiar warmth of your own power.
With a sharp inhale, you activated your powers.
The world around you seemed to shift. Time itself appeared to slow, every movement outside your immediate control stretching and softening as though the battlefield had been submerged beneath still water. The clash of weapons, the movements of your enemies, even the rushing figures ahead became clearer, easier to predict.
In contrast, your own movements sharpened. Your senses heightened, your reactions quickened, and every second felt as though it belonged entirely to you.
Of course, the ride itself was still anything but graceful.
Every powerful stride of the horse sent a harsh jolt through your body, threatening to throw you from the saddle with every passing moment. You fought to keep your balance, gripping tightly as you leaned with the movement of the beast beneath you.
From the corner of your vision, movement began to appear from every direction. Of course they'd come at you now.
Orcs surged into your path from every direction onward, forcing your body to move before your mind could even catch up. Your hand immediately found the hilt of your blade, drawing it in one swift motion as the steel flashed beneath the battlefield light.
Using the horse's momentum, you leaned into the movement and swung in a wide arc. The edge of your blade cut cleanly across an approaching orc’s chest before you smoothly shifted your grip.
With a quick twist of your wrist, you reversed the strike, catching another enemy that had rushed toward you from the side.
Crimson droplets scattered through the air with every strike, catching the light for only a fleeting moment before vanishing beneath the thunderous rhythm of the horse's hooves.
Your blade moved continuously, flowing from one motion into the next, every slash and turn carrying you forward without allowing the battle to slow your path.
Even then, the horse refused to slow its reckless pace. You were forced to move with it, ducking beneath wild swings of rusted axes and twisting away from desperate hands reaching for your legs.
With every passing second, your confidence in riding grew ever so slightly, though your occasional panicked yelps whenever the horse made an unexpected turn proved you were still far from mastering it.
Somehow, against all odds, the two of you barreled through the battlefield together, surviving one impossible stretch after another until the rough terrain ahead finally became too steep for the horse to continue.
Pulling firmly on the reins, you guided the horse to a stop, finally bringing its relentless pace to an end. Carefully, you climbed down from the saddle, your feet touching the ground once more as your legs immediately wobbled beneath you, still trying to adjust after the wild journey.
You let out a long, exhausted breath, standing there for a moment as you regained your balance. Then, turning toward the horse, a small, sheepish smile slowly found its way onto your face.
Despite everything, you had to admit it had gotten you this far.
You reached out and gently patted its neck, looking at the creature with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. "I forgive you for your impulsive decisions, by the way," you said softly, the corners of your lips lifting with quiet amusement.
The horse simply stood there for a moment before beginning to wander away, leaving you behind as it disappeared further along the mountain path. You watched silently, a faint smile lingering on your face until it was finally gone from sight.
Only then did you turn around. Your gaze lifting toward the steep hill towering before you, its rocky slope disappearing into the mist that cloaked Ravenhill.
The smile slowly faded from your face, replaced by quiet determination as the weight of what lay ahead settled heavily upon your shoulders.
Gritting your teeth, you drew a slow breath before stepping forward without another moment's hesitation, forcing yourself onward despite the exhausting climb as each step carried you higher and closer to the summit.
Your legs burned with the effort and your breathing gradually grew heavier, but you never once stopped moving until, at last, you reached the top.
The cold wind of Ravenhill greeted you immediately. It swept fiercely across the mountain peak, tearing through your hair and sending countless snowflakes swirling through the air.
You narrowed your eyes against the freezing gusts, carefully stepping across the uneven ground as the harsh weather made every movement more difficult.
Your cloak fluttered wildly behind you, forcing you to pull it closer around yourself as you searched the vast white landscape ahead. Your eyes moved from one side to the other, desperately looking for any sign of life.
It was then that something caught your attention—a trail of crimson staining the otherwise untouched snow, fresh drops continuing forward one after another, their stark contrast against the white sending an uneasy chill racing down your spine.
Your footsteps slowed right then. You could not tear your eyes away from the trail before you, watching as each drop of crimson marked a path through the snow.
With every passing second, your breathing grew quieter, shallower, as though your body already understood what your mind was desperately trying to deny.
A painful knot formed in your stomach. Your fingers slowly curled into trembling fists at your sides, your hands tightening as fear began to take hold. Your brows drew together, and your expression shifted as countless terrible possibilities rushed through your thoughts, each one more frightening than the last.
For a moment, you simply stood there. Unable to move. Unable to look away.
"...No..." you whispered beneath your breath, shaking your head ever so slightly as though refusing to believe what the trail before you might lead to.
Then you looked up. There laid someone ahead, entirely motionless. Your eyes widened instantly, as your heart seemed to stop beating altogether. Your body then began reacting before your mind could even have the time to process what it had seen.
You broke into a run without hesitation, stumbling through drifts that reached your knees, your boots slipping against the frozen ground as you desperately fought to reach them.
You fell hard onto your knees, the impact against the ice barely registering. The cold bit through you, but you ignored it, scrambling forward through the snow with desperate urgency until you finally reached the figure lying motionless before you.
"...Fili..." His name left your lips as nothing more than a fragile whisper. The moment you saw him, everything inside you seemed to stop.
Your expression fell apart, disbelief washing over your face as you stared at him, your mind refusing to accept what your eyes were seeing. He looked so still. Too still.
"No... no, no, no..." you repeated frantically, your trembling hands hovering uncertainly over him, moving from his shoulder to his arm before pulling back again. You were completely lost, panic was already consuming you with every thought in your mind.
"Please... please..." Your voice cracked as tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision. With shaking hands, you placed them over him, closing your eyes tightly as you reached deep within yourself and gathered every remaining trace of magic you had left.
A warm golden light slowly spread beneath your palms, flowing gently across him as your magic carefully mended every visible wound, every cut gradually fading until they were no longer there.
Hope flickered desperately across your tear-stained face as you waited, your breathing held captive by a fragile belief that perhaps—just perhaps—it had worked. "...Come on..." you whispered, your voice breaking beneath the weight of your desperation.
Your eyes remained fixed upon him, searching for the smallest sign of movement. "...Please wake up... please..." The words grew weaker with every repetition, carrying a desperation you could no longer hide.
The wounds that had once covered him slowly faded beneath the warmth of your magic, every cut and injury healing as though they had never been there. But nothing else seemed to have changed.
His eyes, though no longer clouded by pain, remained open, fixed upon a sky they could no longer see. No matter how desperately you wished otherwise, you knew deep within your heart that it was already too late. Your magic could heal what had been broken... but it could not call back someone who had already slipped beyond its reach.
You lowered your head, resting your forehead gently against his shoulder as the strength you had been desperately holding onto finally began to disappear.
The grief you had kept buried broke through all at once. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, falling into the snow beneath you as your body trembled. A quiet sob escaped your lips, fragile and broken, carried away by the cold wind that swept across Ravenhill.
"...I'm sorry..." you whispered. Your voice was barely louder than the whispering wind around you, the apology leaving your lips with a pain that felt far too heavy to carry. It lingered in the silence of the mountain, spoken to someone who could no longer answer.
For what felt like an eternity, you remained there. Your arms stayed wrapped around his cold body, your thoughts empty, your mind unable to process anything beyond the unbearable ache in your chest.
Slowly, your head lowered until it rested against his chest. For a moment, you almost wished that if you listened closely enough, if you stayed there long enough, you would hear it again.
His heartbeat. The sound that had once meant he was still here.
"Liar..." you whispered, your voice trembling beneath the weight of your grief.
They were all liars. The promise of meeting again. The feast he'd had spoken of as though it was something certain, something waiting for them beyond this battle.
It was never supposed to end like this. Not this. Not a goodbye. Maybe you'd see yourself gone, but you just couldn't see them be the one to go.
Minutes had passed before you finally forced yourself to move. Slowly, and painfully, you pulled away, your hands lingering for a moment longer than they should have before you let go.
Standing again felt impossible. Your body moved as though it no longer belonged to you, every motion slow and unsteady beneath the weight of what you had lost. The grief threatened to pull you back down, to make you stay there forever.
But somehow, you managed to rise. Even with tears still clinging to your face, even with your heart feeling heavier than ever before, you stood.
Your tears did not cease, nor did the ache that hollowed out your chest. Yet somewhere beneath that crushing grief, something else began to take root. The sorrow that had threatened to consume you slowly hardened into a quiet, unyielding resolve.
Your eyes, once clouded with helplessness, now carried a different light, one sharpened by vengeance for the one who had torn everything away. Slowly, your trembling hands curled into fists until your nails bit into your palms.
You drew in a long, unsteady breath. It caught painfully in your throat before leaving you just as shakily, as though even breathing had become an effort. Piece by piece, you gathered the fragments of your shattered heart, forcing yourself to hold them together for just a little longer.
Because falling apart now would save no one.
Your gaze slowly lifted, finding the ancient stone staircase that climbed higher into the mist-covered heights of Ravenhill. The worn steps disappeared into the white beyond, their end hidden from sight, yet you stared at them as though there was only one path left for you to take.
Kili. His name echoed relentlessly through your mind, drowning out every other thought. At least you could still save him.
You had to.
Without giving yourself another chance to hesitate, you broke into a run. Your boots struck hard against the weathered stone, the sound echoing through the mountain as you climbed higher with every desperate step.
Your lungs burned for air, your legs protested beneath the strain, and the freezing wind cut through your cloak as though it wished to drag you back.
But none of it mattered. You pushed onward, ignoring the exhaustion clawing at your body, refusing to slow for even a second.
The higher you climbed, the louder the sounds of battle became. The clash of steel echoed through the frozen air, accompanied by the guttural cries of orcs and the sharp ring of blades striking against one another. Though hidden by the thick veil of mist, the battle felt impossibly close now, each sound urging you to move faster.
Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, matching the frantic rhythm of your footsteps as you pushed yourself forward with every ounce of strength you had left, desperately praying that you had not arrived too late.
The ruined paths of Ravenhill twisted endlessly before you. Each turn seemed to promise an end, only to reveal another stretch of broken stone disappearing into the mist. The tower itself felt determined to delay you, making every passing moment seem unbearably long.
Then, at last, the path opened before you. You stumbled into a clearing overlooking the battle, your breath catching as your eyes searched desperately through the swirling mist.
And there, you saw him.
Kili was locked in combat against two orcs, his sword moving desperately as he fought to keep them at bay. Every strike forced him back another step, leaving him barely enough time to catch his breath. Relief hit you first, followed almost instantly by panic as you realized just how close you had come.
"Kili!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, your voice breaking as it echoed across the distance while you rushed toward him as quickly as your legs would carry you.
But the clash of weapons, and the desperate struggle surrounding him drowned out your voice completely, leaving him far too occupied to hear you.
Still, you refused to stop. Your fingers tightened around the hilt of your blade until your knuckles whitened, your breathing growing harsher with every step as you desperately fought to close the distance between you.
The cold wind lashed against your face, the mist parting only for brief moments before swallowing the battlefield once more, but your eyes never left Kili for even a heartbeat.
Then, without warning, movement burst from the drifting veil of mist beside you. A towering figure emerged with terrifying force, its hulking form cutting through the white like a nightmare brought to life. Bolg.
You barely had time to react. With brutal force, he swung at you, the sheer strength behind the blow leaving you no chance to defend yourself.
Your eyes widened in shock as the impact struck, hurling you violently across the battlefield before your body crashed against a jagged outcrop of stone.
Pain exploded through your back. The force of the collision drove every breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping soundlessly as the world spun around you.
All you could hear was the dull ringing in your ears, drowning out the cries of battle and the clash of steel until everything blurred into one endless, disorienting haze.
"Kili!..." your voice faded almost instantly into the chaos, swallowed by the ringing in your ears.
Your vision wavered as you struggled to lift your head, every movement sending another wave of pain through your body. The rock at your back felt impossibly cold, your limbs heavy and unresponsive as the scene before you dissolved into shifting fragments of movement and shadow.
Across the battlefield, Kili finally turned, his face snapping toward you the moment he recognized your presence. His eyes widened instantly, shock and fear flashing across his features as he saw you lying there among the chaos.
He shouted your name, his voice raw and desperate as he took an instinctive step forward, his focus breaking away from the fight for just a moment. Panic was written clearly across his face, but the sound of his voice reached you only as a distant echo, swallowed by the haze clouding your senses as your vision continued to blur and distort.
Then, slowly, warmth began to return to your body as your magic activated on instinct, golden light flickering faintly beneath your skin and spreading through your wounds.
Your breathing steadied little by little as the pain dulled, and your sight gradually sharpened, pulling the world back into focus as the blur around you slowly cleared.
Relief barely had time to settle before horror replaced it completely as your vision locked onto the scene unfolding ahead.
Your breath caught sharply in your throat as the scene you feared most began to play out directly in front of you once again.
There it was, currently happening before your eyes with terrifying precision. Every detail returned with cruel familiarity, as though fate itself had been waiting patiently to prove that it could never truly be escaped.
"...No..." Your voice was scarcely more than a breath, as you watched it all. You could only stare, frozen in place as your body refused to respond. Every muscle screamed at you to move, to run, to stop what was happening before your eyes, yet the pain still weighed heavily upon you, keeping you trapped in that single moment of helplessness.
With brutal ease, Bolg had seized Kili by the head, forcing him off balance as the young dwarf struggled against the crushing grip. In his other hand, Bolg lifted his heavy mace, the wicked, pointed end angling toward Kili's chest.
Time seemed to slow right then. Your eyes widened in horror, every instinct screaming at you to move as the image before you mirrored the one that had haunted your mind for so long.
In that split second, everything continued to slow as Kili was thrown back, his body lifting into the air before falling toward the ground. And as he fell, your eyes found his across the battlefield.
His expression softened the instant he saw you. Tears had already gathered in his eyes, reflecting the sorrow and fear written across your own face. But even then, there was something painfully familiar in his gaze.
He had seen you.
He had understood.
A small smile slowly appeared on his face, gentle and painfully familiar. The same kind of smile he always gave you, as though even now, even at the very end, he was still trying to comfort you in the only way he knew how.
Still trying to tell you that everything would be alright.
That was the last image you saw of him, before he fell still against the cold ground. And that sight shattered something inside you.
"No—!" The cry ripped from your throat, raw and broken, as your entire body trembled beneath the weight of what you had just witnessed. Tears blurred your vision almost instantly, spilling freely down your cheeks as you stared ahead in disbelief, unable to accept the reality before you.
Your hands reached out without thought, trembling as your fingers stretched toward him. As though closing the distance, even by a little, could somehow change what had already happened.
The world around you seemed to fade into a distant haze. Every sound muffled and every movement painfully slow, as if time itself had chosen to stop while you remained trapped within that single moment.
The silence that followed was then shattered by movement within the mist. A figure emerged slowly from the haze, and the moment Tauriel's eyes fell upon the scene before her, everything changed.
Her eyes widened the moment she saw what had happened, disbelief flashing across her face before it quickly twisted into something far more painful. Shock gave way to grief, and grief turned into a burning fury that consumed every trace of hesitation within her.
The pain in her expression was unmistakable. She had lost him.
And Bolg was the one standing before her.
Without a moment of hesitation, Tauriel charged toward Bolg, her blades flashing through the mist in a storm of rapid strikes. Every movement carried the weight of her grief and fury, each blow fueled by the pain she could no longer contain.
Bolg answered back with equal brutality, meeting her attacks with overwhelming strength as their weapons collided again and again. Each clash sent sparks flying into the cold air, scattering snow beneath their feet as neither of them showed any willingness to yield.
You forced yourself up, you had to. Your legs were still shaking violently beneath you, struggling to stand, while your vision still blurred with tears as you tried to move forward.
But even with every ounce of strength Tauriel poured into the fight, it was becoming clear that she was being pushed beyond her limits. Her anger and grief drove her forward recklessly, leaving openings that Bolg quickly exploited as his overwhelming strength forced her back step by step.
Then came one final, devastating blow. With that one final brutal strike, Tauriel was sent flying through the air, her body crashing down beside you in a heap of broken movement and shallow breaths. She landed hard against the ground near you, her strength momentarily gone as she struggled to push herself up.
You immediately turned toward her, your eyes widening in alarm as your chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths. Seeing her lying there, wounded and unable to continue, something inside you finally broke.
"NO—!" rage erupted from you in a raw, broken scream as you saw her fall. Whatever control you had left disappeared in that instant, replaced by a rage so overwhelming that it burned away every trace of pain that still lingered.
You surged forward without a second thought, your grip tightening around your weapon as fury replaced grief. Your vision cleared right there and then, your focus narrowing until there was only one thing before you.
You ran, and every step burned. Your magic surged outward in waves, bending perception itself. The air around you then began to stretch and distort, slowing everything in Bolg's path while you moved through the gaps with unnatural speed.
Each strike you made came in bursts—fast, and precise with your blade flashing in and out of slowed motion as you exploited every opening.
Bolg swung at you with brutal force, but you slipped right through it. Your movements were sharp and unpredictable as time itself seemed to fracture around you like it did back at the battlefield.
Bolg's expression remained frozen between moments, unable to comprehend what had happened. Even the blood that spilled from the wounds seemed trapped in time, flowing outward in slow, crimson streams that caught the light before falling silently to the ground.
Your final strike landed with devastating precision. His massive frame staggered backward, his balance breaking as he dropped heavily onto one knee.
A low, guttural groan escaped him, his hand pressing against the ground as he struggled to remain upright. The strength that had once seemed unstoppable was finally beginning to fade.
You stood there barely holding yourself together after it was done, your entire body trembling from exhaustion as each breath left you harsh and uneven.
The adrenaline that had carried you this far was slowly disappearing, leaving only the unbearable weight of your injuries and the limits of your own body. With it, a cough suddenly ripped through you unexpected. You doubled slightly, as blood spilled from your lips then, dark droplets falling onto the untouched snow beneath your feet.
The sight blurred before you. The edges of the world began to fade again, your strength slipping away faster than you could grasp onto it this time. You could feel yourself slipping, your body barely holding itself together.
Then— A hand suddenly reached out from behind.
Before you had any chance to react, it seized you and dragged you backward with brutal force. Your body twisted in shock as your breath was stolen away, fingers tightening around your neck and cutting off the air you desperately tried to draw in.
Your eyes widened as you were forced to turn, and there he was—Bolg. Still alive, still standing.
His grip remained firm and unforgiving, holding you in place as though he had never intended to let you escape. His expression carried a cruel satisfaction, almost amused by your struggle.
"You bastard…" you forced out, the words strained and broken as you clenched your teeth. Both of your hands immediately reached for his arm, fingers digging into his thick skin as you fought desperately against the force holding you in place.
Bolg only smirked at you. A cruel, satisfied smirk slowly spread across his face as he watched your struggle, taking pleasure in the anger and helplessness written across your expression.
The sight alone sent something hot and violent burning through your chest, your lips curling into a quiet snarl as your eyes sharpened with fury.
You refused to give in. Even as your strength faded, even as your vision threatened to blur once more, your mind searched desperately for anything that could give you an advantage.
Your eyes moved past him, and thats when you saw it.
The edge of the cliff.
Gritting your teeth hard, you commited. With whatever strength remained within you, you shifted your weight, forcing your exhausted body to move despite the pain coursing through every part of you.
Bolg's grip tightened as he realised too late what you were attempting, but you had already made your choice. With one final burst of strength, you threw yourself forward, dragging him along with you.
Together, the two of you crossed the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the mist below.
The moment you went over the edge, everything turned black. The world vanished beneath you, as though the hill itself had swallowed the last pieces of your strength and left nothing behind but silence. The pain, the noise, the battle—all of it disappeared, fading into nothingness.
You had no sense of time as you drifted in and out of consciousness. The cold started fading, the battle as well, even your own thoughts dissolving into distant fragments you could no longer grasp.
Then, from the depths of that endless darkness, something stirred.
At first, it was no more than a distant echo, so faint you could scarcely tell whether it belonged to the world beyond or to the fading corners of your own mind. It called your name again and again, each time a little clearer, drawing you toward it as though guiding you through the thick veil that lay in-between.
Your consciousness answered reluctantly. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone, resisting every attempt to lift them. A shallow breath caught in your chest as awareness returned in fractured pieces, each one slow to find its place, until the silence around you was no longer empty but filled with the quiet rhythm of another's voice.
With great effort, your eyes finally opened. Your vision blurred painfully as you forced your eyes open, shapes forming above you until a figure finally came into focus. There he was, the person kneeling close with urgent concern etched across his face.
"…Legolas?" Your voice came out as little more than a weak whisper, hoarse and fragile as you struggled to lift your head. The moment you tried to move, exhaustion immediately pulled through your body, every ache and injury reminding you of how close you had come to collapsing completely.
At the sound of your voice, Legolas' expression shifted. The tension in his face softened slightly, relief flickering through his eyes, though it was quickly overshadowed by the worry that remained. Leaning closer, his eyes remained fixed on you.
"Yes… it is I," Legolas answered quietly, his voice steadier than his expression as he studied you closely, his brows drawn together in concern. "You are alive… but barely," he added, his gaze scanning your condition before he spoke again, more firmly this time, "Tell me… are you in a state to stand?"
The moment his words reached you, something inside you snapped fully back into urgency. Pushing yourself up despite the pain, your movements were rushed and unsteady, your breath catching sharply as your body protested against the sudden effort.
"Kili…" you muttered immediately. Ignoring the concern in Legolas' eyes, you looked past him, already trying to push yourself forward as though determination alone could carry your failing body onward.
Legolas straightened slightly, his expression tightening as he stepped into your path. "No," he said firmly, his voice calm but unyielding as he looked down at you. "You will go nowhere in this state. You can barely remain upright."
"I don't care!" you snapped back, your voice breaking with desperation as you tried again to move forward, your hands shaking as you fought against your own weakness. "He's still there—if I don't—"
"Listen to me," Legolas interrupted, his tone sharper now. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of worry and urgency, trying to make you understand what you refused to accept. "You will not reach him like this. You will fall long before you ever see him again."
You shook your head immediately. "No..." The word came out weak, yet filled with stubborn refusal. You tried to push yourself up again, your hands gripping against whatever support you could find as your trembling legs struggled beneath you. "I can still go."
Legolas' expression tightened as he watched you fight against your own body, his concern deepening when he saw how desperately you were forcing yourself forward.
"You are barely standing."
"I don't care." The answer came too quickly.
Your breath trembled as you fought against the tears threatening to spill again, your fingers curling tightly as you tried to force your unsteady body to move. Every part of you was exhausted, every movement painful, yet none of it mattered when your mind was still fixed on him.
"I have to save him, Legolas." Your voice cracked. "I can't just stand here while he's—" The sentence died in your throat.
"While he's there... cause I refuse to believe."
You looked back at him, and for a moment, all the walls you had built around yourself crumbled. The fear, the guilt, and the helplessness you had been carrying since the moment you saw Fili and Kili fall were all laid bare in your eyes.
"I was already too late once..." The confession came out as a fragile whisper, barely carried by the cold air between you. Your gaze lowered, your voice shaking as the weight of those words settled heavily upon you. "I can't let it happen again."
You looked back at him once more, tears gathering in your eyes as your determination fought against your breaking heart. "I cannot be too late again."
Legolas fell silent, his expression softening as he saw the desperation behind your stubbornness. He understood the pain in your eyes, but he also saw the truth you refused to acknowledge.
You were willing to break yourself completely if it meant reaching him.
A brief silence fell between you, heavy with the weight of everything neither of you could bring yourself to say. Before you could gather the strength to argue again, Legolas moved without warning, stepping forward and lifting you into his arms in one swift motion.
His hold was firm but careful, catching you before your weakened body could give out completely, his expression tightening as he felt just how little strength you had left.
"Legolas—!" you gasped in surprise, your eyes widening as your hands instinctively reached for his shoulder, startled by the sudden movement. For a moment, you tried to resist, your fingers tightening as if you could still force yourself out of his arms, but the exhaustion that had been consuming you finally won.
Your strength faded almost instantly, your body growing heavier against him as you reluctantly allowed yourself to lean into his support.
"Rest," he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance despite the worry still evident in his eyes. "I will not let you fall."
The fight within you slowly disappeared at those words. Your protest died before it could leave your lips, your grip gradually loosening as exhaustion finally overtook you.
Your head lowered against his chest, and for a moment, all you could feel was the warmth of his arms around you and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.
It was calm. Steady. A quiet contrast to the chaos you had endured only moments before. The sounds of battle, the cries of the wounded, and the weight of everything you had lost slowly faded into the distance as that single heartbeat became the only thing you could focus on.
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Reaching the top in heavy silence, Legolas carried you through the mist-covered ground. His steps remained steady despite the exhaustion weighing upon him, his arms never loosening around you as though he feared that the moment he did, he would lose you too.
The moment your eyes lifted, you saw Tauriel—kneeling beside Kili's still form, her face streaked with tears and dirt, her expression shattered in a way you had never seen before.
Your chest tightened painfully at the sight, a dull ache spreading through you as Legolas carefully lowered you to the ground. But the moment your feet touched stone, you were already moving.
"Kili…" you breathed, your voice barely audible as you stumbled forward. Your legs gave out halfway, forcing you to catch yourself before pushing forward again, limping desperately until you finally collapsed onto your knees beside him.
The cold seemed to seep into your bones as you stared at his face—still, pale, and lifeless in a way that made your stomach twist violently. "No…" your lips trembled as tears filled your eyes almost instantly, spilling down your cheeks before you could even stop them.
Your hands lifted shakily, hovering over him as golden light began to flicker weakly between your fingers, your magic responding to your desperation before you could even control it. "No, no, no… Kili, please…" you whispered, your voice breaking as you leaned closer, your entire body shaking uncontrollably.
You pressed your hands over him, forcing every remaining ounce of strength you had into your magic, desperately willing it to reach him, to bring him back.
The golden glow grew brighter, spreading across your hands as the warmth of your power surrounded him. But the more you gave, the heavier your body felt, your breathing growing uneven as your strength slowly began to disappear.
"Don't do this… please don't do this…" Your voice cracked as tears fell freely, landing against his cold skin. "You can't go yet... you can't leave me..."
Your hands trembled harder as you fought against the exhaustion consuming you, refusing to stop even as your vision began to blur. "I can't lose another one..." you whispered, the words barely holding together as they left your lips. "Not you too..."
"Please, Kili... please just wake up..." you pleaded, your voice growing weaker with every word. "Please... just open your eyes..."
The golden light continued to burn between your fingers, but it began to flicker as your body struggled to keep up. Every breath became harder, every second draining what little strength remained within you.
"Stay with me... please..." Your voice fell into a broken whisper. "You can't just leave me like this... you're being too selfish..." But no matter how desperately you tried, no matter how much of yourself you poured into him, your body was already reaching its limit.
Still, you refused to stop, even as your magic burned hotter than it should, even as your hands shook uncontrollably over him.
Time continued to slip away, each passing moment feeling heavier than the last as the glow from your hands grew weaker and weaker.
Your breathing became ragged, every breath catching painfully in your chest as you fought to keep your eyes open, refusing to surrender no matter how exhausted you'd become.
Gritting your teeth, you forced more magic through trembling hands that could barely stay steady. "Come on..." you whispered hoarsely, frustration creeping into every word. "You can't just stop working now..."
You pushed harder. Your entire body trembled beneath the strain as another wave of magic flickered uncertainly around your hands before faltering once more.
"Don't be this useless..." you panted, never once looking away from Kili, your entire world narrowing to the hope that refused to die inside you. Blood slowly trickled from your nose, staining the snow beneath you, but you didn't even notice it.
"Come on... come on... come on-!" you repeated desperately, until the words finally dissolved into a cry of complete helplessness.
"Stop it!" Legolas' voice cut sharply through the silence as he stepped forward without another moment's hesitation. His hands closed firmly around your shoulders before pulling you back, gently at first, then with enough strength to finally break your reach.
Even as he drew you away, your eyes never left Kili. They remained fixed upon him, desperately memorizing every detail, as though looking away would mean accepting a truth you simply could not bear.
Only when the distance between you had grown did you finally blink, your gaze slowly lifting to meet Legolas'. His expression had completely changed.
The calmness he carried so effortlessly was gone, replaced by anxious eyes that searched every inch of your face. It lingered on the blood beneath your nose, your trembling hands, your pale complexion, and the way your breathing refused to steady.
Tears stained your cheeks, your eyes swollen and glistening as they met his. The concern in his gaze was quiet, almost unbearably gentle, and somehow that made it even harder to remain composed.
Your lips quivered as another sob threatened to escape, shaking your head weakly before the words tumbled out. "No... no, no..." you pleaded, your voice breaking. "I can heal him. I can still do it."
Legolas' brows drew together, pain flashing across his face as he held your shoulders a little more firmly. His voice was low, steady, and filled with reluctant sorrow. "No." He swallowed before continuing. "No... you cannot."
"I can!" you cried, trying to pull away from him despite your exhausted body. "I can, okay?! Just let me try!"
His grip tightened instinctively. "Look at yourself!" Legolas exclaimed, fear finally breaking through the restraint in his voice as his eyes searched yours desperately.
"You are exhausting every last piece of yourself. You are pushing your body beyond its limits." His breathing was uneven now, his composure cracking beneath the weight of watching you fall apart. "Must I lose you as well?" he asked quietly, the anger in his voice giving way to unmistakable fear. "If you do not stop... there may be nothing left of you."
"He's gone," Legolas continued quietly, the words leaving his lips with visible reluctance, carrying a sorrow that was gentle rather than unyielding.
His eyes lingered on you instead of Kili, as though he feared the truth would wound you more deeply than any blade ever could. Even as he spoke, his expression remained soft, the pain in his gaze betraying how difficult those two words had been to say.
The reality settled over you with crushing weight, slow and inescapable, until your eyes drifted back toward Kili once more. He layed utterly still, his face pale beneath the cold mountain light. The silence surrounding him was so loud, almost deafening to you.
Your lips parted slightly, but no words came, your gaze still refusing to leave him as though you could somehow will him to move if you simply looked long enough.
Yet nothing changed, and that unbearable stillness finally shattered the last of your hope. "I'm sorry..." you whispered, voice trembling so faintly it was almost lost to the wind.
You lowered your head, letting the tears slip quietly onto the snow as your shoulders gave a small, defeated shake. "I'm so useless... I always am..." The words came out barely above a breath, spoken more to yourself than anyone else, carrying years of doubt that seemed to surface all at once.
At last, the fight haddrained from your body. Every muscle that had been held together by desperation suddenly gave way right then, as your knees buckled beneath you.
Before you could fall, Legolas stepped forward without a thought, catching you securely with both hands. His movements were quick but careful as he steadied your weight against him.
His brows knit tightly together as he looked down at you, his eyes searching your face with unmistakable concern.
They lingered on your pale complexion, the tear tracks upon your cheeks, the blood beneath your nose, and the exhaustion that had stolen nearly all the strength from your body.
For a brief moment, he simply looked at you, his expression softening with quiet care, relief flickering across his face that he had caught you before you hit the ground
"Come," he said gently, his voice calm despite the worry that still lingered beneath it. "Perhaps my people will have a remedy for the strain your body has endured. There may yet be an antidote for this over exhaustion."
As he spoke, he carefully guided one of your arms over his shoulders before lifting the other into place, making certain your weight rested securely against him.
Though his movements remained composed, there was an unmistakable urgency behind them. His jaw set tightly without you noticing, and his eyes never straying far from you, as though his only concern now was getting you somewhere safe before you were next to fall victim to cruel fate.
Walking beside Legolas, you could barely remember how you had even left. Each step began to felt distant, as though your body was moving on its own while your mind drifted somewhere far behind.
Your eyelids were becoming heavier by the second, and no matter how hard you fought to keep them open, the darkness at the edges of your vision continued to creep inward.
You felt it. You knew what was coming.
The weakness spreading through your body was impossible to ignore now, settling into every limb until even lifting your foot became a struggle. You tried to take another step, gritting your teeth against the exhaustion, but your legs simply refused to obey.
They buckled beneath you without warning, your entire body pitching forward as your strength finally gave out.
The sudden movement caught Legolas off guard for only a moment. Instinct took over before thought could, and he immediately tightened his hold around you, preventing you from falling completely.
His brows drew together in alarm as he lowered himself quickly, carefully catching you before you could hit the frozen ground. One arm of his supporting your back while the other steadied you against him.
He gathered you into his arms without hesitation, cradling you close as his eyes searched your face with growing concern, every trace of composure beginning to crack beneath the fear of watching you fade before him.
You could barely hear him. His voice sounded distant, muffled beneath the relentless buzzing filling your ears. Yet you thought you heard him say your name. The sound came again, a little clearer this time. "...Are you alright?"
Those were the only words that truly reached you. The world then continued to blur, followed along with that strange buzzing wrapping around you in an almost comforting silence.
But beneath that stillness was still fear, quiet at first, before growing stronger with every shallow breath you took.
Your chest tightened painfully, your breathing becoming quicker and more uneven as you desperately tried to draw in enough air, only to feel your lungs refusing to cooperate.
"Legolas.." you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as your eyes searched frantically through the haze, trying to find his face among the blur.
Your gaze darted back and forth until you could just barely make out his outline leaning over you. "It's… so cold…" you said shakily, your breathing growing faster as panic slowly settled in.
"Why is it so cold?" Your lips trembled as you tried to move your hands, lifting them slightly toward him, but the effort barely lasted. Confusion flickered across your face when you realized how little you could feel, your fingers barely responding despite your desperate attempt.
"I... I can't feel my hands..."
The fear in your voice struck Legolas more deeply than any blade ever could. He could only stare back at you, his lips parting instinctively with no words abled to be spoken, every thought caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.
His eyes searched your face desperately, as though looking hard enough would reveal an answer, but there was none. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Legolas found himself without a solution. The helplessness that gripped him in that moment frightened him more than any enemy he had faced upon the battlefield.
He instinctively drew you closer, his arms tightening around you with careful strength, almost as though he could shield you from whatever was happening simply by refusing to let go.
And somehow, that was one of the few things you could still feel.
You shifted weakly against him, your trembling body seeking whatever comfort it could find as another wave of exhaustion washed over you. Your fingers curled faintly into the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him with the last bit of strength you had left.
"I'm so scared..." The confession barely left your lips. Your breathing trembled as your eyes fluttered, struggling to remain open, struggling to stay present.
"I don't want to die..." A shaky breath escaped you, and the fear you had been desperately trying to hold back finally broke through. "I don't want to..." Your voice cracked completely, the words dissolving into a quiet sob as you clung to him, terrified of the silence waiting beyond the pain.
Legolas' lips moved again. Nothing. Nothing left his trembling lips. His chest tightened until it almost hurt, his heartbeat racing as he watched you struggle in his arms, every shallow breath you took making his own feel heavier.
His hands shifted beneath you uncertainly, adjusting their hold as though terrified that even the slightest mistake would make everything worse. "You are not going to..." he finally managed, the sentence faltering before it was complete.
But his voice failed him. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes despite every attempt to remain composed. He lowered his head briefly, taking a slow, uneven breath as though trying to regain control of himself. But the fear remained, heavy and undeniable.
"No..." he whispered, almost to himself before looking back into your eyes. "No... you will not." The words trembled as they left him, fragile beneath the weight of everything he could not bear to lose. "You cannot."
Slowly, one of his hands rose to your face, his fingertips hesitating for the briefest moment before gently cupping your cheek.
Your skin was frighteningly cold beneath his touch, and the realization settled heavily inside him, stealing what little composure he had left. His thumb brushed softly across your cheek, lingering there as though trying to warm you, while another shaky breath escaped him.
"Forgive me..." he murmured, his voice scarcely louder than the wind. "I never meant to leave you alone in the forest." His eyes lowered briefly, unable to meet yours as guilt washed across his face.
"I was afraid... more afraid than I wished to admit. After what you said... I feared you were right." He swallowed hard, forcing the words out despite the ache in his throat. "So I walked away." At last, his gaze returned to yours, filled with quiet regret. "I was a coward."
Hearing his confession, you could not help the small smile that found its way onto your face, faint and fragile though it was.
Your lips curved ever so slightly despite the exhaustion weighing upon you. Your eyes softening with it, as you looked at him through the haze clouding your vision. It was almost bittersweet.
This... this was the very moment you had seen countless times within your visions, unfolding exactly as you had always feared it would.
"You know..." you whispered, your voice weak and uneven as you struggled to gather enough breath for each word. "I was... a bit hurt..." The smile never quite left your face, though it trembled faintly at the corners, carrying more sadness than resentment.
Legolas looked back at you, relief washing quietly across his features as he saw that smile, however faint it was.
His shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, the panic in his eyes gave way to something gentler.
A small, rueful smile tugged at his own lips before he lowered his gaze. "I know," he admitted softly, the regret in his voice unmistakable. "It was... an awful thing for me to do, was it not?"
"It sure was..." you answered, letting out the faintest breath of what almost sounded like a laugh before a flicker of pain crossed your face. You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself before speaking again. "...Pull me in closer."
He did not hesitate to. Legolas carefully adjusted his hold, drawing you closer against him with the greatest care. One arm supported your back while the other settled securely around you, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he instinctively tried to shield you from the bitter wind.
His warm breath fanned softly across your face, a strange contrast against the cold that had settled deep within your body. It felt unfamiliar now, distant somehow, yet it grounded you just enough to keep yourself from drifting further away.
Your eyes slowly lifted to meet his once more, lingering there before your lips parted again. "You lied to me too..." you murmured quietly. "I know what you said to me... back at the tree."
Legolas froze. The words struck him immediately, and for a long moment, he simply looked at you in silence. His expression faltered, guilt flickering plainly across his face as his eyes searched yours, unable to find a single excuse worth speaking.
"...That is on me," he said at last, lowering his head with a slow, defeated breath. "I told myself... I would speak the truth when I returned. I thought there would be time."
You studied him quietly before speaking again, your voice scarcely louder than a whisper. "Then... tell me now."
Legolas closed his eyes briefly, drawing one slow, unsteady breath before opening them again. They glistened with tears he no longer had the strength to hide.
"I love you," he whispered, the words leaving him with a tenderness that made his voice tremble. "I have loved you... ever since we were children. Through every passing season, every journey, every year we spent apart... it has always been you." His hand gently brushed your cheek, his thumb trembling against your skin.
"You are everything to me. More than I ever found the courage to tell you." His breath caught painfully.
"I cannot lose you," he continued, his voice cracking as tears finally slipped down his cheeks. "Not again." He shook his head helplessly, struggling to steady his breathing.
"For so long... I believed you had abandoned me. I thought you had left me beneath that tree... to wait for you through the passing years... alone... forever, like my..." His words caught in his throat, he just couldn't bring himself to finish. Instead, he lowered his forehead gently against yours, his shoulders trembling as quiet tears continued to fall.
His tears fell silently against your skin, warm against the cold that had already begun to consume you. Each drop carried a weight far heavier than words, a sorrow you had always known existed but never wished to see reflected in his eyes.
It was the pain you had imagined in your darkest moments—the unbearable ache of watching someone you loved break apart before you, the kind of hurt that settled so deeply within your heart that even breathing became difficult.
And yet, even then, even with everything slipping away, you found enough strength to offer him the smallest piece of yourself that remained. “Hey… you look ugly when you cry, you know?”
For a moment, Legolas said nothing. His forehead remained pressed gently against yours, his breath trembling as he stayed there, as though moving even an inch away from you would make this moment disappear.
His eyes remained closed, his expression broken in a way you had never seen before, before he finally gave the faintest nod. It was such a small movement, almost nothing at all, but it carried everything he could not bring himself to say.
A quiet laugh escaped you, fragile and weak, yet somehow still filled with the warmth he had always known from you. The sound was quiet, but it carried a faint warmth that made the sadness between you feel a little lighter, even if only for a moment.
"You crybaby…" you whispered, the words teasing, though your voice carried a tenderness that hurt far more than any goodbye could. Your eyes remained on him, trying to hold onto the sight of him for as long as you could, as though memorizing every detail would somehow allow you to keep him with you.
Silence embraced the two of you afterward. Neither of you spoke for a while, allowing the quiet to stretch as your gaze remained on him, memorizing the face before you.
Then, after what felt like you had gathered every last bit of strength left within you, your lips parted once more, the words you had been holding back finally finding their way forward.
"I love—" The confession barely escaped before your voice faded away, the remaining words never reaching the air as your entire body suddenly went still.
The warmth and strength that had kept you holding on seemed to disappear all at once, leaving you limp in his arms as your fingers loosened.
Feeling the absence of your breath against him, Legolas slowly lifted his head.
For a moment, he did nothing.
He simply stared. His mind refusing to understand what he was seeing, refusing to accept the silence that had replaced your trembling breaths only moments before. He remained frozen, as though the world itself had stopped with you, before the fragile composure he had been desperately clinging to began to fracture.
His eyes widened, and the calm he had desperately tried to maintain shattered completely.
"No..." he whispered, his voice barely audible as he searched your face for any sign of response. He spoke your name softly at first, almost as if calling you back gently would be enough, but when you did not answer, panic quickly began to take over.
"Please..." he breathed, his voice trembling as his hands moved to hold your face carefully.
His hands moved to your face, holding you with a tenderness that almost seemed afraid to exist. His fingers trembled despite how carefully he touched you, his thumbs brushing against your cold cheeks as though he could somehow bring back the warmth that had been there moments ago. "Open your eyes... please."
The word was no longer a request. It was a prayer.
But the silence that answered him was cruel.
Every passing second carved deeper into his heart, each moment without your voice, without your laughter, without the warmth of your presence, becoming something he could not bear.
Legolas pulled you closer against him, holding you with a desperation that bordered on fear. His arms wrapped around you as though he could protect you from this, as though refusing to let go could somehow undo what had happened.
As though he could hold onto you tightly enough that fate itself would be forced to return you to him.
His forehead lowered against yours once more, his breath shaking as he closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a very long time, Legolas Greenleaf—the elf who had stood fearless before armies and darkness—was left powerless against the one thing he could not fight.
The thought of losing you.
He shook his head slowly, almost as though denying the reality before him could somehow make it disappear.
Tears gathered in his eyes, blurring the world around him as his breathing grew uneven, each breath heavier than the last. "No... no, please..." The words trembled from his lips, barely holding together beneath the weight of the fear consuming him.
The sight of you like this was something he could not bear. His hands trembled as he gently shook you again, calling your name with growing desperation. "Please... stay with me." His brows furrowed, his face twisting with helplessness as tears finally slipped down his cheeks.
Slowly, he lowered his head until his forehead rested against yours once more, his breath shaking as he struggled to keep himself from falling apart.
"I told you everything..." he whispered, his voice fractured by the pain he could no longer contain. "I finally did... but why must you leave me now?"
His fingers remained against your cheek, refusing to move away, holding onto the last trace of warmth he could find. "I love you," he said quietly, "Please... do not leave me alone again."
Legolas could no longer hold himself together.
His arms tightened around you, drawing your cold, motionless body closer until there was scarcely any space left between you.
He cradled you carefully, his fingers trembling as they clung to you. Somehow, he was still afraid the slightest careless movement might hurt you.
A broken sound escaped him then, a quiet whimper that he could no longer hide as his face twisted with grief and disbelief.
For a moment, he stayed like that, refusing to move, refusing to accept the silence that surrounded him. He listened desperately, waiting for the sound he just had been hearing moments ago.
But there was nothing. The steady rhythm he had held onto, the proof that you were still there with him—was gone.
Tears slipped down his face without restraint now, falling silently as he pressed closer, his lips trembling as he struggled to form words.
Each breath grew harder than the last as he remained perfectly still by your side, unwilling to pull away from you.
His hand moved slowly to your cheek again, his thumb brushing gently against your skin as though memorizing the feeling of you one last time.
He stayed like that for what felt like an another eternity, still listening. Listening for the quiet rhythm that had always been there. But alas, silence answered him back yet again.
His expression crumpled completely as the truth finally settled over him, while another helpless sob broke free. All he could do was hold you closer, his embrace becoming almost instinctive.
The wind swept softly across, stirring strands of his hair as he remained kneeling upon the frozen stone, his arms never once loosening around you.
He held you there in silence, his forehead still against yours, his arms wrapped around you as if love alone could keep you with him.
It was too late. Fate had claimed you, just as you had seen in every vision that had haunted your waking hours.
No matter how desperately you had tried to outrun it, no matter how many choices you had changed or sacrifices you had made, it had found you all the same.
In the end, the future you feared had not disappeared—it had only led you here. The mountain stood silent, whilst the wind continued to swept gently across. Snow drifted between the ruins, settling quietly upon the scarred earth as though the world itself had begun to mourn.
Everything continued as it always would. Everything except you. Legolas remained there motionless. His eyes never left your face, afraid that the moment he looked away, this would become real in a way he could no longer deny further.
His fingers still rested against your cheek, unwilling to surrender even the smallest point of contact, while his arms held you as carefully as if you might awaken from nothing more than a deep sleep.
But you never did.
All the words left unsaid, all the moments stolen by fear, all the years spent waiting—they lingered between you now, far heavier than either of you had ever imagined.
The confession had come. The truth had finally been spoken. Yet it had arrived only when there was no time left to live it.
I love fanfiction, specifically reader inserts. Since I’ve been into obey me lately I decided to look up fics with my favorite trope, the isekai trope. Technically Obey Me! is already kinda an Isekai story but I’m looking for a Reader character being from our world (aka she knows of the game/plot) and gets teleported somehow into the Devildom.
I tried looking for some myself, I couldn’t really find any so I thought, next best thing was just to ask around. So I don’t have a preference when it comes to romance. Any of the brothers with the reader will do. (I do love Mammon most but that’s just me.)
And if you don’t know of any Isekai type stories then maybe you can help me find simple Obey Me/Reader stories where it’s just about the reader going through the events of the story. I remember reading a really good multi chaptered fic where it was just about the reader going through the motions of being brought down. It really emphasized the fact that it would be difficult to be surrounded by strangers that are demons. The story didn’t add anything extra it was just the plot of obey me but expanded. Added feelings ya know. I remember in that fic a really good dinner scene where the reader is kinda being picked on by Asmo and Satan. Mammon tries to stop it but doesn’t really care, he’s more so annoyed that he has to take care of the “stupid human”. The story was just really good at that awkward phase in the beginning, I wish I could find it again. It was on AO3.
Anyways, looking for Isekai recs. If you don’t have any, I’d love recs of stories just going through the plot of the first obey me game. Simple to the point. I love romance so I don’t mind who the reader is paired with~.
Ledger!joker x reader/mc, original storyline and characters, strong female protagonist <3
No specific TWs for this chapter other than mention of kidnapping
Part 12 -
The police officers once again dropped me back at the hotel and Lopez hurried to open the door for me, as I still sported my strapped up arm, much to the annoyance of her partner, Hughes. She patted a supportive hand on my shoulder and I
wondered for a moment how long she could keep the flame of her kindness lit in a place, and a job, so marred by shadows and corruption. His harsh indifference and condescension seemed to be the norm amongst the officers; she was the exception, and he was the rule. I wondered again how it was that the comissioner also seemed to have retained his spark of goodness too, and whether that was real, or simply an act just to get me on side...
"Hurry up and get back in the car, I wanna go back to the station and clock off already," officer Hughes grumbled as she carefully handed over my backpack.
"Gimmie a second. Jeez you're worse than my kid and he's only five years old."
I smiled in thanks as she returned to the passenger seat of the cruiser, and Hughes was heavy on the accelerator as they pulled away and disappeared, swallowed up once again by the city.
Most of the night passed by without anything particulrly eventful. I lay restless on the bed, staring at the ceiling and ruminating on the tense and chaotic conversation which had passed between myself and the joker. I thought again about his warning, that Crane had more than a passing interest in my use of his toxin to terrorise the Ibanescu gang, and what that might mean. Surely I was safe enough for now, given that he didn't know my identity, only that he wanted to find the Queen of Spades. Did Gordon know? If he did, would he, or one of his crooked cops rat me out?
I sighed in frustration and turned on the TV, hoping for a distraction from the noise of my jostling thoughts. Wearily, I flicked through the channels until I came to an old movie.
It was a hot day, and the room felt stuffy. I decided to step out onto the little balcony for a moment. As I closed the door to the hotel room behind me, the smell of dusk hit me. The afterglow of the sunset was still faintly visible in the bits of sky that I could see between the tall buildings. I leant against the railing and looked out at the unremarkable city view. The ever-present sounds of the distant traffic filled the air and I stood there until the last rays of light faded. Finally, I opened the door and stepped back into my room.
Turning back around to close it after me, I yelped in shock as I saw that I was no longer alone. The shape of a man silhouetted against the backdrop of lights was the source of my panic. As he stepped forwards I realised in a mixture of relief and renewed dread who he was. It was the batman.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," I cursed sourly.
He said nothing as I tried to regain my composure.
"Gordon sent me to track down the Queen of spades," he said, bluntly.
I paused for a moment, weighing this unhelpful development in my mind.
"Does he know that's me?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell him?"
He paused for a time before finally giving his answer.
"No."
My shoulders dropped a little in relief.
"Not if you agree to talk," he added.
I leant back against the wall with a sigh. First the joker's questions, now his. How had I ended up in this mess?
"Go ahead," I muttered.
"Crane seems to have some kind of... interest in you."
"Yes, J- the Joker warned me," I stuttered as I corrected myself at lightspeed.
His expression told me he noticed. I continued, ignoring his poorly disguised judgement:
"He seemed to suggest that Crane is an obsessive type. Have you dealt with him before? Would you say he's right about that?" I probed.
"He worships fear. He won't miss an opportunity for study and he knows you were dosed with his toxin and survived it, and that you used it to take down the Ibanescu's..."
"So what you're saying is: yes, I'm screwed. That is just fucking fantastic!" I cried out in exasperation.
"It means you need protection, the GCPD need to up the security here."
"And you'll tell them?"
"I already have. Gordon agreed, there are more cops on the way."
The idea of being watched like that wasn't as much of a comfort as he might think, but it was preferable to the alternative.
"So, what do you think his plan is? The end goal?"
"Some time ago, while he was still working at Arkham, and lecturing at the university, he was secretly running experiments on some of the patients."
"Experiments?"
"Many of them were the first victims of the toxin, in it's early stages. It slipped by under the radar for the most part, until he seemed to have devloped a business relationship with Carmine Falcone."
"He was dealing with the mob too?"
"Yes, he testified in several court proceedings that members of Falcone's gang were unfit to stand trial, or not guilty by reason of insanity. He'd have them moved to Arkham, and then they'd be able to escape and be back on the streets in no time."
"How can it be that this went by unnoticed?"
"It didn't."
"So everyone just turned a blind eye?" I muttered.
"Not everyone... not someone working in the District Attorney's office"
There was something about the way he spoke the last part, an uncharacteristic hesitation, which stood out to me.
"Who?"
"Rachel Dawes. She never backed down from the fight against corruption..."
His use of the past tense hadn't slipped by me unnoticed.
"And in this city, of course you pay the ultimate price for working by the book..." I murmured as gently as I could.
"Falcone got picked up and put on trial. Crane had him transferred and she went after them."
"Did she get to the truth?"
"She vistied Arkham and demanded an independent investigation. Crane tried to silence her, to send her mad by exposing her to the toxin..."
"Oh," I said, not knowing how else to respond.
"He'll want to return to his experiments. On a grand scale. Luckily she got the antitoxin and found what she was looking for. It was the beginning of the end for Crane. He unravelled fast from there."
"That's good. It would have been the end of the story too, if only the Arkham board hadn't let that place go to rack and ruin. Maybe then he'd not have escaped so easily."
"Yes. I've been looking into the board and there are some suspicious transactions still taking place." He affirmed.
"Everything's rotten here," I cursed.
He held my gaze for a moment, like he was sizing me up. Even though I knew he wasn't a threat to me right now, his figure was still imposing and unnerving.
"Not everyone, there are still good people in this city," he argued.
"Well that may be true, but they're not the ones with the power. Anyone who makes it up to the level where they might be able to actually make an impact gets bought off - or killed off... like your friend," I replied, softly.
"Why did you come back here?" He asked, suddenly.
"Well, I guess, because I was dragged back here."
"Is that all?"
I sighed.
"No. My life away from Gotham near enough imploded, figured I had nothing left to lose."
"You don't care about the people in the city? About the victims of Crane's attacks."
My eyes narrowed.
"I never said that. That's a fine high horse you got there. But tell me, why is it that the GCPD, even with your help on this case, just had to drag back a kidnap victim to play cat and mouse with her kidnapper? If I didn't care about those people, do you really think I'd be within 100 miles of this sinkhole?"
He gave no answer for a time.
"I just need to know you're not trying to work some kind of angle."
I laughed.
"And what angle would that be?!"
"The joker has a powerful effect on people, he gets inside their heads..."
I snorted.
"You really think I'd come back here out of some kind of, of stockholm syndrome fantasy?"
"Not consciously..."
"Well I'm sure you'd know all about that, if such a phenomenon really exists," I rolled my eyes and stormed over to the bathroom to grab an empty glass.
"You're angry, I understand that. But I have to know I can count on you not to cut and run."
"Can I count on you? Not to use me as bait? If you had been fair to me the last time our paths crossed, things would have gone very differently. I would never have activated that tracker. Why should I trust you?"
"I won't let Crane harm you. You have my word."
I turned on the faucet and took a swig of the water.
"Fine. But i'll believe it when I see it," I sighed, wiping my mouth with the towel and tossing it back over the side of the bathtub.
"I'll need to talk to you again," he warned.
"You know, you could just call me, rather than showing up unannounced on my balcony..." I said matter-of-factly, stepping back out into the room to face him but finding no one there.
Instead, the room was empty once again, the white voile curtains billowing in the night breeze. I laughed lightly, incredulous at his silent vanishing act.
"Like a bat out of hell" I muttered under my breath.
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AI is trash and I NEVER use it. This work is transformative and therefore copyright applies to it.
Exactly what it says. I’m looking for isekai reader fics (again) but for TMNT (the Micheal Bay version). I love reader inserts where the reader is from our world and one way or another ends up in a fantasy world. This time obviously the reader would find themselves either in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014) or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows (2016). Are the Micheal Bay movies the greatest… no. But do I like them regardless? Yes.
Look I know this is a long shot. I tried looking on various sites myself but I can’t find anything. There’s not much fanfic regarding the Bay version anyways but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask and see if anyone somehow has exactly what I’m looking for.
And hey, if you don’t have an Isekai fic, that’s fine, leave me your best and favorite TMNT (Bayverse)/Reader fic that you’ve read! I wanna see what out there~.
Please no OC’s. I’m specifically looking for reader inserts. Thank you for your time~.
(I also posted this on Reddit. Sorry, I’m desperate.)
Exactly what it says. I’m looking for isekai reader fics (again) but for TMNT (the Micheal Bay version). I love reader inserts where the reader is from our world and one way or another ends up in a fantasy world. This time obviously the reader would find themselves either in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014) or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows (2016). Are the Micheal Bay movies the greatest… no. But do I like them regardless? Yes.
Look I know this is a long shot. I tried looking on various sites myself but I can’t find anything. There’s not much fanfic regarding the Bay version anyways but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask and see if anyone somehow has exactly what I’m looking for.
And hey, if you don’t have an Isekai fic, that’s fine, leave me your best and favorite TMNT (Bayverse)/Reader fic that you’ve read! I wanna see what out there~.
Please no OC’s. I’m specifically looking for reader inserts. Thank you for your time~.
(I also posted this on Reddit. Sorry, I’m desperate.)
Summary : Legolas would have done anything to protect you—even if it meant standing against his own people, his king, his father. Given a chance, you were now able to have a change of clothes, after all, the one you were wearing had seen better days. Though, you seemed to forget you were no longer in your own world. Which meant casually beginning to undress in front of the elven prince of Mirkwood had apparently been a far greater scandal than you anticipated.
A/n : I'm backk! It's been a month since my last update... was so busy with work and other projectss, sorry my lovess... T^T Sooo, here is a 14k-ish fic, yes its longgg haha. Theres lore drops, cute teasing between f!reader and Legolas too! hehe ^^ (Part of the f!reader is not from middle-earth series | Can be read as a one-shot as well!)
Wc : 14k
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Sunlight filtered through the towering canopy above, scattering gold across the winding halls of the woodland realm.
The forest seemed almost alive around you—lush ivy curling around ancient stone, soft streams weaving beneath elegant bridges, the air rich with the scent of moss, earth, and blooming flowers hidden deep within the greenery. It was beautiful in a way that felt unreal, almost dreamlike.
And yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, your situation was far from ideal. Your dwarf companions had long since been taken away under heavy guard, much to their loud displeasure. Kíli, especially, had not stopped complaining the entire journey.
"Elves are insufferable," he had muttered earlier under his breath while being marched away, earning himself a sharp glare from one of the guards. "Too tall, too perfect, too much hair."
You nearly laughed at the memory now. Unlike the dwarves, however, you seemed to have somehow landed yourself in the captain's favor—or at the very least, enough goodwill to avoid chains and rough handling.
The elves regarded you with far less hostility, also probably because you were half elven, though their curious stares followed your every step as if trying to unravel some mystery they could not place between you and their captain.
Hours had passed since your arrival, and the anticipation in your chest only grew heavier. Soon, you would stand before the King of Mirkwood himself.
You had heard enough stories from the dwarves during the journey to form some image in your mind—cold, prideful, impossible to reason with. According to the dwarves, the elvenking was everything insufferable about royalty wrapped into one immortal being.
It sure did made you wonder. What kind of person was capable of inspiring such irritation and bitterness from them?
Your eyes wandered endlessly through the woodland realm, unable to settle on one thing for too long. Everywhere you looked, there was something beautiful enough to steal your attention—glimmering lanterns hanging from twisting branches, silver streams weaving beneath carved stone pathways, towering pillars wrapped in ivy so green it almost glowed beneath the sunlight filtering through the canopy above.
The entire place felt alive, breathing softly around you like an ancient creature slumbering beneath the forest.
And the elves. Honestly, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to stare.
Everywhere you looked, there was another absurdly beautiful face gliding past like they had all collectively stepped out of some ancient painting.
Long silver hair, sharp features, elegant armor fitted far too well for your sanity, and posture so perfect it made you painfully aware of the way you were slouching half the time. Even the guards standing still somehow looked majestic. It was deeply unfair.
Your gaze caught on one specifically then. A male elf moving gracefully along one of the upper walkways carved into the glowing halls of Mirkwood. Tall, well ridiculously tall—with silver hair braided neatly down his back, dark green and gold fabrics draped elegantly over broad shoulders as he walked with effortless poise.
Your eyes followed him absentmindedly as he passed overhead, your head tilting slightly without even realizing it.
The elf then turned faintly then while speaking to another guard nearby, and your gaze instinctively drifted lower. Your brows slowly lifted higher the longer you stared, genuine disbelief spreading openly across your face.
"…Ooo." The sound escaped before you could stop it. Your eyes narrowed slightly in pure analysis as the elf continued walking completely unaware of the scandalous evaluation currently taking place beneath him.
"And they got nice ass too, what the hell…" you muttered under your breath, deeply offended by the consistency.
Your expression remained entirely serious. Almost scholarly, even. Like you were conducting some sort of research.
A light tap landed softly against your shoulder then, the sudden contact nearly made you jump out of your skin. Your entire body jerked slightly as you spun around far too quickly, eyes widening on instinct, only to immediately come face to face with Legolas standing beside you.
Golden lanternlight filtered gently through the carved woodland halls behind him, catching against strands of his hair until they almost seemed to glow.
Up close, he looked unfairly composed compared to the complete disaster currently unfolding inside your head. One of his brows was faintly drawn, concern softening the otherwise elegant sharpness of his features as he tilted his head slightly toward you, studying your face with quiet attentiveness.
"Are you well?" he asked gently, his eyes moving carefully across your expression, lingering just slightly as though trying to determine whether something had startled or upset you. "You seemed troubled in a way."
And that was unfortunately the exact moment your brain decided to betray you further. Because now, instead of the elf from earlier, you were suddenly painfully aware of him.
The way he stood close enough for you to catch the faint scent of cedarwood lingering around him. The way his armor fit neatly across his frame, and the way his eyes remained entirely focused on you with such calm sincerity that it almost made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Your posture immediately straightened so abruptly it looked unnatural. "Yeah!" you answered far too quickly, the word cracking slightly halfway through before your hand flew upward into the most aggressively confident thumbs-up imaginable. "Completely fine. Never better."
Legolas blinked slowly in return, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, suspicion faintly flickering beneath his expression.
Even without words, you could practically feel him trying to piece together whatever strange behavior you had just displayed. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly before drifting toward the upper walkways where your attention had been moments earlier, following the exact direction of your previous staring crimes.
Your soul nearly left your body right there and then. The last thing you wanted was to be locked up for staring at someone' ass. Right before he could ask another question—and potentially uncover the deeply embarrassing truth behind your sudden panic, you immediately turned on your heel and hurried ahead to catch up with the others ahead.
"Anyway!" you blurted out far too loudly, walking faster than necessary. "Beautiful kingdom. Very normal amount of trees."
Behind you now, Legolas remained standing there for only a second longer, confusion still faintly written across his features as he watched your retreating figure with narrowed eyes.
You could almost feel his suspicion growing. Yet eventually, he said nothing, merely following after you in quiet silence, though the faint crease between his brows never fully disappeared.
The deeper you traveled into the halls of Mirkwood, the quieter everything became. The soft sounds of water and distant voices faded beneath the weight of something heavier. Even the air itself seemed different here, cooler somehow, carrying the subtle scent of earth, moss, and old wood polished by centuries of care.
One by one, the dwarves were repositioned beneath the sharp watch of elven guards stationed throughout the hall. Chains rattled softly with every irritated movement from your companions, metal scraping faintly against stone as the guards guided them forward.
Bombur muttered complaints under his breath loud enough for half the hall to hear while Bofur attempted to calm him with little success. Dwalin, meanwhile, looked one inconvenience away from committing several crimes simultaneously, his broad shoulders tense beneath the grip of two guards escorting him forward.
Kíli, somehow, still found enough energy to smirk openly toward Tauriel despite the circumstances. "You know," he said casually while walking beside her, "for prisoners, we're getting a remarkably personal escort."
Tauriel didn't even look at him when she spoke. "Speak less."
"That sounded almost affectionate."
One nearby guard visibly sighed, even Fili looked tired of him the moment those words left him.
You, however, gradually found yourself guided elsewhere alongside Thorin. At first, you barely noticed the shift. One guard moved slightly to your side. Another adjusted course gently, steering you away from the others without outright separating you.
Your brows furrowed faintly as you slowed a little, glancing around in confusion while the others continued further down the hall. "Uh…" you looked back over your shoulder briefly. "I think I'm going the wrong way?"
No one answered immediately, the elven guards merely continued guiding you forward with calm silence, though none of them appeared hostile. If anything, they looked strangely cautious around you—as though uncertain what exactly they were supposed to do.
And by the time you fully realized what was happening, you stood at the center of the grand hall itself.
Thorin stood to your left, rigid as stone, broad shoulders drawn tight beneath layers of worn fur and leather as though sheer stubbornness alone held him upright.
Every line of his posture radiated restrained fury. His jaw remained clenched so tightly it almost looked painful, dark beard shifting faintly each time he exhaled through his nose in slow, controlled breaths that clearly weren't calming him in the slightest.
Even the chains around his wrists rattled softly whenever his fingers flexed at his sides, the sound sharp against the otherwise silent hall.
His blue eyes burned ahead with barely concealed contempt, fixed entirely upon the throne before him with the kind of hatred that felt...personal.
You honestly couldn't tell whether he was angry, offended, or merely seconds away from starting a full-scale war directly inside the throne room. Possibly all three.
Meanwhile, to your right stood Legolas, calm and poised as ever beneath the glow of the hall. Yet despite his composed exterior, you could feel his attention subtly lingering on you, as though making sure you were still there beside him.
While there was Tauriel, who stood slightly behind Thorin, silent and observant, her sharp eyes moving carefully between everyone in the room.
The throne room of Mirkwood stretched endlessly ahead, enormous roots twisting around ancient stone walls like living veins. Water shimmered beneath narrow bridges carved elegantly into the earth, reflecting silver light across the chamber.
High above, sunlight spilled through openings in the cavern ceiling, cascading downward in glowing streams that illuminated the throne at the far end of the hall.
It was beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful.
Against the blinding silver-gold light pouring down from above, you found yourself squinting slightly, your brows knitting together as you tried to force your eyes to adjust.
The glow behind the throne was almost unbearable at first, washing everything in a hazy brilliance that made it difficult to focus on anything properly.
But slowly, the figure seated upon the throne came into view.
There he was, The King of Mirkwood. The infamous elven ruler the dwarves had spent days complaining about throughout the journey. The cruel king. The arrogant king. The king who apparently 'looked down his nose at everyone beneath him,' according to Thorin.
…Yet none of them had properly prepared you for this.
Your eyes widened slightly despite yourself, gaze dragging slowly over the elegant lines of his face, the sharpness of his features, the effortless grace in the way he sat upon the throne as though he had been carved there by the forest itself.
Even his expression—cold, unreadable, untouched by emotion, somehow only made him look more ethereal in its own way.
"Damn…" you breathed quietly beneath your breath, completely unable to stop yourself. Your eyes remained fixed upon the figure seated upon the throne, brows slowly drawing together further in genuine disbelief as the full image of the Elvenking finally settled properly into view.
A faint look of awe crossed your face despite yourself as you stared upward, momentarily forgetting entirely where you were supposed to be standing or the fact that this was technically an incredibly tense political situation. "Of course he's beautiful." you muttered quietly.
Beside you, Legolas' attention shifted almost immediately. He stared at you for a brief moment, clearly caught off guard by your reaction, as though whatever response he had expected upon seeing the Elvenking… it had certainly not been that.
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, sharp yet quiet, trying to decipher the look of absolute disbelief written all over your face. "Is something amiss?" he asked softly at last.
The question came low enough for only you to hear as he leaned slightly closer toward you, graceful and effortless in a way that should honestly be illegal. One subtle movement—that was all it took, and suddenly his presence surrounded you completely.
His voice was smooth, calm, carrying that familiar elven gentleness that always seemed to catch you off guard no matter how many times he spoke.
But this time, he leaned too close. You felt the warmth of his breath near the shell of your ear, felt the slight brush of movement as he dipped his head toward you, and suddenly every single thought inside your head vanished completely.
Your entire body stiffened instantly, eyes widening as your pulse skipped violently against your chest the moment his voice brushed so close against your ear.
Panic shot through you for absolutely no reasonable reason whatsoever, heat rushing straight into your face so quickly it almost made your face entirely red.
Every coherent thought scattered immediately, leaving your mind completely blank except for the horrifying awareness of how close he suddenly was. And before your brain could even begin functioning properly again—your body reacted first.
You jumped abruptly, scooting several frantic steps sideways like a startled animal escaping danger, only to move far too quickly without looking where you were going.
A second later, you'd collided directly into something solid beside you. "-Ow!" The sound escaped before you could stop it, your face scrunching immediately from the impact as pain shot lightly through your shoulder.
Meanwhile, Thorin barely moved an inch from the impact. If anything, the dwarf only shifted slightly beneath the collision, broad frame remaining planted firmly in place like a wall of stone while you recoiled backward from him in horror.
Honestly, you were fairly certain you took more damage than he did.
Your eyes widened the second realization struck. Slowly, very slowly—you lifted your head to look at the person you had just rammed into.
Thorin stared back down at you in complete silence, one thick brow already raised while his jaw tightened faintly beneath his beard.
The expression on his face somehow managed to hold irritation, exhaustion, confusion, and concern simultaneously, like he genuinely could not comprehend how someone could survive this long while behaving the way you did.
You recoiled instantly, eyes widening in horror as you turned toward him. "Sorry- sorry!" you whispered frantically, your hands lifting defensively in front of you as if trying to physically shield yourself from his disappointment. "I didn't mean to- I just- he-"
You stopped immediately, because the second you actually tried to think of an explanation, you realized there was absolutely no way to describe why you had launched yourself sideways after Legolas simply leaned closer to whisper near your ear without sounding completely insane.
Your mouth snapped shut again almost instantly, no explanation was better than that explanation.
Heat still burned across your face as you awkwardly lowered your head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line while you slowly shuffled back into your original spot beside them, movements stiff with embarrassment.
You suddenly found the polished stone floor incredibly interesting to look at. Anywhere was better than meeting someone's eyes right now.
Unfortunately, the universe clearly hated you, as the moment you turned ever so slightly, you'd caught Legolas still watching you.
His expression remained composed, well mostly, but there was the faintest flicker of bewilderment lingering in his eyes now, as though he genuinely could not understand what had just happened.
"…I merely asked if you were well," he said after a brief pause, voice low and calm beneath the silence of the hall.
Yet underneath that usual smooth composure lingered the slightest trace of confusion, as though he were sincerely trying to figure out how his question had somehow resulted in you throwing yourself bodily into Thorin Oakenshield.
Your face somehow grew even hotter.
"I am well," you muttered quickly, far too fast to sound convincing while continuing to avoid eye contact with absolutely everyone in that enclosed space. "Too well, actually."
The second the words left your mouth, regret hit instantly. In fact, that did not help, quite literally at all.
Thorin let out a low, exhausted exhale beside you, the sound heavy with long-suffering resignation as he pinched the bridge of his nose for a brief moment, eyes squeezing shut as though he were physically trying to will patience into existence
The lines of his face deepened with irritation, his jaw tightening again before he dropped his hand with a muted grunt, looking every bit like a man who had begun questioning not just his choices, but the very concept of destiny itself.
Ahead of you, the great throne loomed larger with every passing second. The soft, ever-present sound of flowing water echoed through the chamber from unseen channels beneath the floor, weaving together with the distant rustle of leaves far above in the living canopy of the palace.
And unfortunately for you, you had a terrible feeling he had heard you. Very slowly, carefully, you leaned toward your right, lowering your voice into a cautious whisper as though the entire room might punish you for speaking too loudly. "That's the king right?"
Your eyes remained fixed ahead, completely unable to pull away from the figure seated upon the throne. Even from this distance, Thranduil's presence seemed to consume the entire hall without effort.
He sat with effortless authority, posture relaxed yet impossibly regal, one arm resting lazily against the carved throne as though the entire realm itself bowed naturally beneath him.
Silver light cascaded behind him in long streams, framing him almost ethereally, and for a fleeting moment, he looked less like a king and more like some ancient being pulled straight from myth.
Beside you, Legolas followed your gaze briefly before looking back at you. The faintest flicker of amusement touched his features as his gaze briefly swept over your openly astonished expression.
It vanished almost immediately, hidden once more beneath his usual composure, though not before you caught it. "That," he answered quietly, inclining his head ever so slightly toward the throne, "is the Elvenking."
The way he said it carried no exaggeration, just quiet certainty. Yet somehow, hearing the title spoken aloud sent a strange chill through you anyway.
You swallowed slowly, eyes drifting back toward Thranduil just as he finally moved.
The motion itself was subtle—merely the shift of his hand against the throne, the slow rise of his figure from his seat, yet the entire room seemed to still around it.
Every elf standing guard straightened almost imperceptibly. Even the sound of rushing water beneath the bridges seemed quieter somehow beneath the weight of his presence.
Your chest tightened slightly without reason, as Thranduil descended the steps of his throne with measured grace, robes trailing behind him like flowing moonlight. His expression remained unreadable, pale eyes sharp as they settled upon Thorin beside you.
"Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand," he began smoothly, his voice echoing throughout the chamber like silk dragged over steel. "A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon."
You glanced sideways the instant those words left his lips. Thorin had gone completely rigid beside you, every muscle in his body locking into place beneath layers of controlled fury barely held in check.
His hands curled at his sides, knuckles tightening until they blanched, and his jaw clenched so hard it looked as though it might crack under the pressure.
Still, he did not speak—only stared forward with burning restraint, blue eyes fixed upon the Elvenking with a stare sharp enough to wound.
"I, myself," he continued, the faintest edge of amusement threading through his tone, "suspect a more prosaic motive… attempted burglary, or something of that ilk." His gaze never left Thorin as he spoke, pale eyes narrowing slightly as though he were reading something beneath the dwarf's silence, something unspoken but deeply familiar.
Every word was measured, deliberate, and cutting in its restraint, as if he had no need to raise his voice to make it land.
The Elvenking moved slowly now through the throne room, circling almost lazily, though there was something unnerving about the way he carried himself, as though entirely aware that every eye followed him, every breath shifted around him.
"You have found a way in." He said, each step he took echoed softly through the throne room. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule." His voice lowered slightly then, almost deliberate. "The King's Jewel. The Arkenstone."
At the mention of it, something dark flickered across Thorin's face. His shoulders stiffened further, fingers curling tightly at his sides. Beside him, you could almost feel the anger radiating from him in waves.
"It is precious to you and your people beyond measure," Thranduil said calmly. "I understand that."
His pacing then slowed, seemed to be taking in a moment before he continued. "There are gems within the mountain that I too desire," His voice softened faintly, his gaze distant for only a brief moment. "White gems of pure starlight."
For the first time since entering the throne room, something shifted in his expression—not emotion exactly, but memory. Something old. Something bitter.
The atmosphere changed alongside with it, even Legolas beside you seemed quieter now, his posture subtly straighter as silence settled heavily through the hall.
Thranduil then looked back toward Thorin, his attention fully back at him once more. "I offer you my help."
The declaration was simple, almost gentle in tone, yet it carried weight enough to silence even the faintest rustle in the hall.
It did not sound like generosity, it sounded like control wrapped in courtesy. The words lingered in the space between them, suspended in the air, as though waiting to see who would dare challenge their meaning.
Thorin's eyes narrowed slightly at it. He did not move, though suspicion was written plainly across his features now. "I'm listening," he answered carefully, voice low and guarded.
A faint smile touched the Elvenking's lips then—not warm, not kind, but full with quiet amusement. It was the kind of smile that belonged to someone who already understood the outcome of the conversation, and was merely deciding how much truth to reveal at once.
"I will let you go… if you but return what is mine."
As he spoke, Thranduil resumed pacing leisurely across the throne room, the sound of his robes brushing softly against stone the only thing breaking the silence. Yet halfway through his movement—
He paused.
It was small, almost nothing. But in a room like this, where every breath felt accounted for, even the slightest hesitation felt like a fracture in reality.
His pale eyes shifted first, breaking away from Thorin mid-thought as though something had quietly redirected his attention without warning. And then they landed directly on you.
Your entire body stiffened beneath his sudden attention, shoulders locking instinctively as though your instincts had decided to react before your mind could even begin to understand why.
The moment Thranduil's gaze fully settled upon you, everything changed.
You saw it immediately. The cold, distant indifference that had coated his expression just moments ago faltered so suddenly it was almost jarring, like something carefully controlled had slipped for the briefest fraction of a second.
His steps stopped completely, the faint, cutting amusement that had lingered in his eyes vanishing without warning, leaving something far more exposed in its place.
And then came something you never would have expected to see on the face of the Elvenking.
Shock. Pure, devastating shock.
His pale eyes widened, searching your face with alarming intensity, as though trying to make sense of something impossible standing before him.
The color seemed to drain from his expression bit by bit, his posture stiffening in a way that made the entire throne room fall eerily silent.
A faint crease formed between your brows beneath the intensity of his gaze then, unease slowly coiling in your chest the longer he continued staring. Because whatever was reflected in the Elvenking's eyes now—it went far beyond mere surprise.
There was sorrow there, deep and unmistakable, tangled together with something dangerously close to panic and a disbelief so nakedly exposed it almost hurt to witness.
It looked less like recognition and more like someone confronting a wound they had once buried, only for it to suddenly stand breathing before them again.
Your chest tightened uneasily at the sudden shift. The room itself even seemed to still around him in response. Even the guards along the walls stood more rigid, uncertain whether to move or remain frozen in place.
Thorin noticed it too, his brows furrowed slowly as his sharp gaze shifted between you and the Elvenking with growing suspicion, the earlier fury in his posture momentarily replaced by wary calculation.
He did not speak, but the way his stance subtly adjusted made it clear he no longer viewed this as a simple exchange of threats and bargaining.
Legolas, who stood beside you had gone noticeably still, confusion flashing clearly across his features for the first time since entering the hall, whilst Tauriel's eyes narrowed slightly, her attention sharpening immediately.
But the Elvenking just seemed to look like he had seen a ghost.
His lips parted faintly, though whatever words had risen there seemed to die before they could escape. His eyes roamed across your face with unsettling intensity, searching every feature with near-desperate focus, as though comparing you against a memory he had carried for far too long.
There was nothing regal in the look anymore, nothing distant or untouchable. Only someone trying, and failing to convince himself that what stood before him could not possibly be real.
Like he was looking at the past itself, and there it was, staring right back at him.
Then, barely above a whisper, "…Lumena?" The name slipped from his lips so faintly you almost believed you had imagined it, carried into the silence like something forbidden dragged unwillingly from the depths of memory.
Yet despite how softly it was spoken, the effect was immediate. The air itself seemed to tighten around the word, tension rippling outward so suddenly it felt as though the entire hall had drawn breath at once.
Your own brows pulled together completely, the name repeating itself in your head in loops.
Lumena?
Ahead of you, the Elvenking looked as though he regretted speaking at all. The instant the name left his lips, something shuttered violently behind his eyes, his expression tightening with sudden awareness, as though he had revealed far more than intended.
Despite himself, he could not seem to look away from you.
No—Not you.
His gaze had shifted lower now, fixed intently upon the pendant resting against your chest. And the moment he truly saw it, whatever fragile composure he had left seemed to fracture completely.
Before you could even begin to make sense of the name lingering in the air, Thranduil moved. One heartbeat he stood near the foot of the throne, distant beneath silver-green light and shadowed branches overhead—then suddenly he was before you, crossing the hall with such unnatural swiftness it hardly looked like movement at all.
The sharp sweep of his robes cut across the stone floor as he closed the distance in an instant, the suddenness of it forcing you to stumble backward in alarm.
Your breath caught hard in your throat, eyes widening as instinct immediately screamed at you to move, though your body barely had time to react.
"Wha-?" The sound barely escaped you before his hand moved.
Long pale fingers caught suddenly against the pendant hidden beneath your collar, gripping the chain with startling force before dragging it free into the open.
The motion snapped the pendant forward sharply, the chain biting briefly against your skin as you were pulled off balance with it.
A startled gasp left you immediately, your entire body lurching toward him from the force as your hands flew upward on instinct, grabbing tightly around his wrist without even thinking.
The pendant swayed faintly between the two of you now, glinting beneath the pale light filtering through the halls. And the moment he had saw it clearly, something inside him broke.
The throne room erupted into motion around you.
Several guards shifted forward instantly, startled by the abruptness of the Elvenking's actions, hands instinctively moving toward their weapons despite their hesitation, while Thorin took a sharp step ahead with visible alarm flashing across his face.
Beside you, Legolas stiffened completely. "My Elven-lord-" The word came sharper than before, edged with alarm as he took a quick step forward, clearly unsettled by the sight unfolding before him.
Yet Thranduil did not acknowledge him. In truth, he seemed entirely unaware of anyone else remaining in the room.
His entire focus had narrowed onto the pendant now trembling between his fingers. His breathing had changed—barely, but enough to notice, as though the sight of it had struck something deep enough to shake even him.
His eyes moved across every detail of the necklace with near-desperate intensity, disbelief warring openly across features that moments ago had been carved entirely from control.
His breathing faltered visibly, eyes widened further in horror and recognition crashing across his face with devastating force. Even his hand tightened unconsciously around the pendant, fingers curling against the silver chain like he could not convince himself the object before him truly existed.
"Where did you get this?" He gritted his teeth, the words weren't spoken calmly a single bit. It was rough, demanding, almost desperate beneath the anger, loud enough that the sound rebounded sharply against stone and carved pillars alike.
His voice rose sharply, raw and demanding in a way that made everyone in the hall freeze instantly. The sheer force behind it startled you badly enough that your heart nearly stopped.
You had never imagined the Elvenking capable of sounding so… shaken.
Panic surged through you immediately, fast and overwhelming beneath the weight of his stare. "I-!" The sound caught uselessly in your throat as your fingers instinctively tightened around his wrist, your mind scrambling desperately to answer while confusion and fear tangled together inside your chest.
"It's-it's my mother's!" you blurted out hurriedly, the words stumbling over each other in your panic. "I've had it ever since I was little-!"
The moment the truth left your lips—
Everything changed.
The tension in his grip loosened ever so slightly around the pendant as your words settled between you, and for one fractured moment, the grief hidden beneath his composure became impossible to conceal.
His stare turned distant, unfocused, as though your answer had dragged him somewhere far beyond the throne room entirely.
A thousand emotions flickered through his expression too quickly to fully grasp—shock, sorrow, regret, yearning, it'd all come crashing together beneath the fragile remains of restraint.
His jaw tightened sharply afterward, like he was trying to force himself back into control, but it was already too late.
His eyes searched yours again—desperately this time, as though trying to piece together every impossible detail standing before him.
"Your… mother?" he repeated quietly. Now they sounded almost fragile, like something spoken more to himself than to you. The Elvenking standing before you no longer resembled the composed ruler who had towered above everyone moments ago.
The distance in him had vanished, leaving behind someone visibly shaken by memories he had not been prepared to face again, caught between memory and grief, struggling to separate one from the other.
His eyes lowered once more toward the pendant still caught loosely within his grasp. For a brief moment, his thumb brushed across its surface with unmistakable familiarity, the movement slow and almost absent-minded, like tracing over something precious long believed lost.
When his gaze lifted back toward your face again, something inside his expression gave way completely.
Because you looked so much like her.
Not enough to mistake you for the woman he had once known—not truly. Time had changed too much for that illusion to survive.
Yet there were fragments. Small, unbearable pieces of her reflected back at him through you. The shape of your eyes. The way your expression shifted when confused. Even the stubbornness flickering beneath your fear reminded him too much of someone he had once known too well.
And it was enough.
For one terrible instant, it was written plainly across his face—that centuries-old grief had surged back into him all at once, tearing through wounds time had never truly healed.
His breathing steadied gradually, though the faint unsteadiness beneath it remained impossible to hide completely. Even now, his fingers lingered against the necklace as though letting go of it meant accepting something he was not ready to face.
The anger that had exploded from him moments earlier faded almost instantly, replaced instead by something quieter, something infinitely more dangerous.
Pain.
"Hah…" He laughed breathless. It escaped him quietly, but it sounded wrong coming from someone like him. Not amused nor cruel, it sounded like grief given sound after centuries of silence.
His eyes lowered briefly, lashes casting faint shadows across features no longer guarded carefully enough to hide the sorrow carved into them.
There was exhaustion there too, ancient and heavy, like he had spent centuries outrunning memories only for them to suddenly stand breathing before him once again.
Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he looked back at you.
"…So you did return," he murmured at last, voice scarcely louder than the whisper of leaves beyond the halls. The words drifted from him quietly, unfocused, as though spoken to someone far away rather than the person standing before him now. "Even after all this time…"
A faint bitterness touched his expression then—not anger, but the ache of someone who had once hoped for something impossible.
His gaze lingered on your face with unsettling intensity, searching through you and beyond you all at once, as though caught between present and memory.
"You said you would find your way back to me," he continued softly, almost breathless beneath the weight of remembrance. "And now… even in death, you still refuse to leave me be."
Your brows immediately drew together in confusion. What?
Your fingers instinctively curled tighter around the pendant now resting once more against your chest, grounding yourself against the growing unease twisting inside you. Returned? What was he talking about?
You opened your mouth slightly, wanting to ask, but before a single word could leave you, Thorin's voice shattered violently through the throne room.
"Oi!" The sheer force behind it made several elves tensed on reflex, armor shifting sharply as hands moved instinctively toward sword hilts and spear shafts.
Thorin stepped forward abruptly, boots striking hard against the stone floor as he planted himself partly between you and Thranduil.
The fury radiating from him now was impossible to ignore. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles visibly twitched beneath his beard, blue eyes blazing with restrained hatred as he glared up at the Elvenking.
To him, none of this mattered beyond one thing—
you looked frightened, and that alone was enough.
"Don't hurt her!" Thorin barked harshly, the insult ringing sharply through the hall with unmistakable venom. Somewhere behind you, you heard one of the guards shift immediately, hands tightening around their weapon.
But Thorin did not back down. If anything, he stepped closer still, planting himself more firmly before you as though daring anyone to try removing him.
His expression had darkened completely now, years of bitterness and distrust toward the Elvenking surfacing plainly across his face.
"Unhand her." Thorin snapped sharply, protective irritation flashing across his face.
Meanwhile, you stared at Thorin in complete horror. Did he seriously just say that to the King of Mirkwood? In his territory?
Thorin however, either didn't notice your panic—or simply did not care at all. His attention remained locked entirely on Thranduil as he continued forward another step, voice rough and edged with warning. "Back to business," he growled. "A favor for a favor."
For a fleeting second, Thorin glanced sideways toward you. The rage in his expression softened only barely, concern flickering across his features before it vanished beneath stone once more.
Then he turned back toward Thranduil, lifting his chin slightly despite the guards already bristling around the room.
It was your first time seeing him look at you that way, but you brushed it off, currently your main focus had to be on the Elvenking before you. If not, who knows? You'll be thrown into prison like the rest.
For several long seconds, Thranduil said nothing. Then slowly, almost like he was forcing himself awake from some distant memory, his eyes blinked once.
The movement looked strangely delayed, his composure pieced together too carefully now to appear natural. At last, his fingers loosened completely from the necklace.
The pendant slipped from his hand and fell softly back against your chest. Even then, his gaze followed it downward, lingering upon the silver as though part of him still could not bring himself to release it fully.
The moment his hold disappeared, you instinctively stumbled backward half a step, your hand immediately flying toward the pendant protectively.
Fingers curled tightly around it against your chest as though shielding it from him now, your pulse hammering so violently beneath your ribs it almost hurt.
The throne room remained deathly silent. No one moved, no one understood what had just happened.
Except perhaps Legolas. Because beside you, his expression had gone strangely pale as realization slowly began dawning across his features too.
"You have my word then," Thranduil said firmly, his tone slightly steadier now . "One king to another."
Thorin then laughed after hearing those words. A sharp, disbelieving exhale escaped him as he slowly straightened, the fragile crack in his composure showing through.
"Ah…" he murmured softly, eyes filled with mockery narrowing faintly upon Thranduil. "Right. A king's word." He spat, bitterness laced beneath his voice, as his expression twisted immediately.
"I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the ending of days itself be upon us!"
The fury he had been suppressing finally surged free now, raw and burning. His voice thundered throughout the chamber, echoing violently against stone and water alike.
You flinched slightly at the sudden raise in his tone, this was no longer negotiation, but rather this was years of hatred finally clawing its way to the surface.
Thorin stepped forward again, pointing directly toward Thranduil with enough force that several guards immediately tensed. "You lack all honor!" he roared. "I have seen how you treat your friends!"
"We came to you once!" Thorin continued, voice cracking beneath the force of his rage. "Starving! Homeless! Seeking your aid!"
Every word dripped with old pain, "But you turned your back!" His voice echoed violently through the throne room now. "You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"
"Die a death of flames." Thorin then spewed in dwarvish.
The moment the words left him, everything was bound to be changed. Thranduil moved so quickly the motion barely registered. One second he stood still—the next he was directly before Thorin once more, eyes blazing furious.
The entire hall seemed to recoil beneath the force of his anger. "Do not speak to me of dragon fire." His voice dropped low, deadly. He leaned forward until he and Thorin stood nearly nose to nose, pale eyes burning with restrained wrath.
"I know its wrath." He spoke, as something twisted suddenly across his features.
And before your eyes, it seemed like a illusion shattered. You gasped softly at it. Burns spread violently across one side of Thranduil's face, blackened scars crawling beneath his skin like remnants of living flame.
The perfection of the Elvenking vanished instantly beneath the ruin hidden underneath, jagged and horrifying.
Thorin looked caught off guard as well.
"I know its ruin," Thranduil continued quietly, his voice no longer sounded merely angry now. Instead, it sounded haunted.
For one terrible moment, you swore you saw it reflected in his eyes—the memory of fire, destruction and loss, before he slowly straightened once more.
The burns vanished instantly beneath the glamour returning across his features, leaving only the cold, flawless face of the Elvenking once again. "I have faced the great serpents of the North," he said calmly.
The room remained deathly silent, taking in every word Thranduil had to say. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon." His gaze hardened upon Thorin. "But he would not listen."
"You are just like him." he said, clearly mocking the son of it.
Thorin's jaw tightened violently, but before he could answer, Thranduil turned away sharply, lifting one elegant hand toward the guards.
The command needed no words. Immediately, the elven guards surged forward. Chains rattled loudly as they seized Thorin by the arms. The dwarf struggled instantly, fury flashing across his face as he attempted to wrench himself free. "Unhand me!"
The guards dragged him backward regardless, boots scraping harshly against stone.
Thranduil could care less, he'd already begun ascending the steps toward his throne once more, every trace of earlier vulnerability buried once again beneath layers of regal indifference.
He sat slowly, as though none of it had affected him at all, lowering his cold gaze toward Thorin. "Stay here, if you will," he said smoothly. "And rot."
The faintest tilt of amusement touched his lips once more. "A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf."
His eyes darkened slightly. "I am patient."
The throne room fell silent again. Yet even as Thorin was dragged away shouting curses beneath his breath—You noticed something. Thranduil's gaze drifted back toward you once more, and the grief in his eyes had not fully disappeared.
You.
More specifically—the pendant trembling faintly against your chest as your uneven breathing caused it to shift. The same necklace he had once seen resting against another person entirely. Against her.
Something dark flickered across his expression then, so quick you nearly missed it. Pain. Fear. Guilt. Perhaps all three tangled together so tightly even he could no longer separate them.
Then he spoke, "Throw her in as well." The command sliced through the throne room in an instant, cold and absolute despite the faint strain hidden beneath it.
For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard him. Your brows pulled together slowly, confusion washing across your face before disbelief followed right after it.
A small breath escaped your lips, shaky and stunned, as though your mind refused to fully comprehend what had just happened. You genuinely thought you'd misheard him.
"…What?" The word barely came out properly, but the guards had already begun moving.
Armor shifted sharply as several elves stepped forward at once, boots striking against stone in practiced unison. The sound alone made your stomach tighten painfully.
You instinctively took a slow step backward, then another, eyes darting quickly between each approaching guard as panic slowly began creeping its way into your chest.
No one hesitated now, not after the king had spoken.
Your pulse pounded violently in your ears with every step they took closer. The throne room suddenly felt enormous and suffocating all at once, the glowing halls seeming to close around you despite their size. There was nowhere to go.
Even if you ran, you already knew how useless it would be. These were elves. You would barely make it past the pillars before they caught you.
And worst of all, Thranduil looked away, though not out of indifference. No… somehow that would have hurt less. He looked away like he could not bear to watch it happen, and that hurt far more than the order itself.
A faint huff escaped you then, almost laugh-like in its disbelief as you continued backing away slowly. Your fingers tightened instinctively around the pendant resting against your chest, knuckles paling beneath the pressure.
"Wait-" Your voice wavered despite your attempt to steady it. "I didn't even do anything-"
But the guards did not stop. One elf stepped forward first, arm extending toward you with clear intent to seize you before the situation worsened further.
Right as his hands reached, someone had moved in front of you, fast enough that you nearly gasped aloud in shock.
Legolas.
One moment he stood at your side, silent beneath the chaos unraveling around him—and the next he had stepped directly in front of you without hesitation, forcing the guards to halt immediately.
There he stood directly before you now, tall and rigid, placing himself between you and every drawn weapon in the room without a second of hesitation.
One arm extended instinctively across your front protectively, not quite touching you yet shielding you all the same, as though his body had reacted long before thought ever could.
The movement had been immediate, natural, effortless in the most dangerous way possible, like protecting you had never once been something he needed to think about.
And in his other hand, a dagger gleamed beneath the dim light of the throne hall.
You had not even seen the moment he drew it. One heartbeat his hands had been empty, the next silver flashed sharply before you as the blade settled with quiet precision at his side.
Legolas held it low, not carelessly brandished nor wildly threatening, yet the meaning behind it remained unmistakable. If anyone moved toward you again, he would not hesitate.
His grip remained steady despite the storm visibly brewing behind his eyes now. The Legolas standing before you now looked dangerous—tense in a way that made the entire hall freeze around him.
"Do not touch her." His voice came low and sharp, cutting cleanly through the suffocating silence.
It was not a plea. Not even a warning. It was a command.
Every guard stopped instantly. Not because they feared the dagger in his hand. Elves of Mirkwood did not frighten easily, least of all by steel. No—what unsettled them was the sight before them.
Their prince stood armed against his own kin, against his father's order.
The prince of Mirkwood stood armed before them now, openly shielding someone his father had just ordered imprisoned.
The realization spread visibly through the chamber in ripples of tension. Several guards exchanged brief uncertain glances, clearly caught between duty to their king and loyalty toward the heir standing before them now.
One shifted his footing uneasily, while another lowered his spear ever so slightly without realizing it. None of them seemed entirely certain how to proceed anymore.
Because this was no ordinary act of defiance.
A flicker of disbelief spread visibly through the throne room. Tauriel straightened instantly where she stood nearby, eyes widening slightly though not entirely in surprise, as though some part of her had always known this moment would come eventually ever since witnessing your interaction not too long ago.
Meanwhile, you could only stare silently at Legolas' back from behind, your thoughts momentarily falling into complete disarray.
You seemed to notice everything suddenly—the tension pulled tightly through his shoulders, the subtle rise and fall of heavier breathing he was trying desperately to control, the way his stance never once wavered despite the dozens of eyes now fixed upon him.
The realization settled strangely in your chest, because Legolas knew exactly what he was doing.
This was not some reckless impulse born from emotion alone. He understood the consequences standing before his father armed like this.
He understood every watching guard now waited for a single wrong movement to turn the throne room into chaos. And yet even knowing all that—he still refused to step aside.
Your fingers tightened unconsciously around the pendant resting against your chest.
One of the guards finally attempted another careful step forward anyway, perhaps hoping the prince's restraint would outweigh his resolve. The movement was slow, cautious, barely more than a shift against the stone floor.
Legolas reacted instantly, as the dagger lifted slightly in warning, while his gaze snapped toward the approaching elf with enough icy intensity to halt him mid-step. "I said," Legolas repeated slowly, each word edged with restrained anger, "do not touch her."
Silence crashed over the room once more before that same old cold voice pierced through it.
"Legolas." Thranduil's voice echoed sharply throughout the hall, the warning beneath that single word was unmistakable. Yet Legolas did not move, he did not even bother to lower his blade, nor did he step aside.
Slowly, Thranduil descended another step from the throne platform, his pale gaze fixed entirely upon his son now. The grief and confusion from earlier had vanished beneath something colder, something far more dangerous.
"You forget yourself," Thranduil said quietly, though the calmness in his voice somehow made it worse.
Legolas' jaw tightened visibly. For a brief moment, you saw conflict flicker across his expression—old loyalty clashing violently against something stronger now.
Still, he never lowered the dagger. "No," he answered firmly at last, his voice steady despite the tension pulling through him. "I remember precisely who I am."
A sharp tension swept across the throne room instantly at his choice of response. Several guards exchanged uneasy glances while Tauriel's attention sharpened further, clearly preparing herself should the situation collapse entirely.
Thranduil stopped only a few steps away, expression unreadable once more. "Stand aside." The command came calm.
And for the first time since you had met Legolas, there was something openly defiant burning within his eyes.
"She has harmed no one," Legolas said, "She's the daughter of Lumena. And if word were to spread that she was cast into the cells unjustly…" His eyes sharpened faintly. "There are many within this realm who would not remain silent"
His grip around the dagger tightened faintly then before continuing. "She is not our enemy."
Thranduil's expression darkened the moment those words reached his ears. "And yet," he replied smoothly, each word measured with dangerous precision, "you would raise a blade against your own king for her?" The question hung heavily between them.
Legolas hesitated, only for the briefest second. But in a throne room this silent, even the smallest uncertainty became impossible to miss.
You saw it flicker through him immediately, the conflict tearing beneath his composure as duty warred violently against something stronger now. Loyalty to his father, loyalty to his kingdom. And then… you.
His eyes shifted toward you at last, just one glance.
Yet somehow it felt heavier than everything spoken between them so far. His gaze caught the sight of your trembling hands curled tightly around the necklace against your chest, the fear you were trying desperately not to show.
And whatever answer he found there seemed to settle something inside him completely. When he looked back at Thranduil again, the hesitation was all gone. "If I must."
The entire throne room seemed to inhale sharply all at once.
Even you froze behind him, eyes widening in complete disbelief as your breath caught somewhere painfully in your chest. Because Legolas had just openly defied the Elvenking before the entirety of his court.
And judging by the slow, unreadable look now settling across Thranduil's face—This was no longer merely about prisoners. This had become deeply, dangerously personal.
Your eyes remained fixed on Legolas' back, your thoughts struggling to catch up with everything unfolding before you.
The way the guards had immediately halted the moment he stepped between you and them, the tension now crackling through the entire throne room because of a single movement from him alone—it was enough to tell you that Legolas held far more authority here than you had first assumed.
At first, you thought perhaps it was because he was captain of the guard, someone respected enough that others naturally followed his lead.
But that thought shattered almost instantly the moment one of the guards finally spoke, his voice strained with visible uncertainty as his eyes flickered nervously between Legolas and the Elvenking.
"My lord…"The elf hesitated, clearly choosing his words with care now, his grip tightening faintly around his spear.
"It is your king's command." His brows furrowed deeper, desperation slipping into his tone as though he genuinely wished not to stand against either side. "Even if he is your father… neither you nor I may openly defy him."
The words struck you so suddenly your mind blanked for half a heartbeat.
"…What?" Your head snapped up toward Legolas so quickly it almost hurt, eyes widening in complete disbelief as the realization came crashing down all at once.
"The Elvenking is your father?" you blurted, your voice echoing far louder than intended through the silent halls.
Several heads turned toward you instantly, though you barely noticed beneath the sheer disbelief crashing through your thoughts.
Your eyes widened further the longer you stared at Legolas' back, bafflement written plainly across your face. "You're a prince?!"
Of all the impossible things this day had thrown at you, imprisonment, emotionally unstable elf kings—somehow that had caught you most off guard.
Your brows pulled together harder in bewilderment, gaze flickering rapidly between Legolas and Thranduil as your mind desperately attempted to rearrange every interaction you had ever had with him into this entirely new context.
Suddenly everything made far too much sense.
The guards listening to him immediately. The way the elves moved around him with instinctive respect.
The hair.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," you muttered beneath your breath in complete disbelief before looking back at him again. "You're literally a prince, and you never told me!"
For the briefest second, something softened across Legolas' otherwise tense expression. It was small—so fleeting most would have missed it entirely, but you caught it nonetheless.
The slightest twitch near the corner of his mouth, subtle enough to vanish almost immediately, as though the absurdity of your outrage had momentarily slipped past his restraint and nearly pulled a smile from him despite himself.
Yet his posture never relaxed, his dagger still angled protectively before him as his sharp gaze remained fixed on the guards ahead, every muscle in his body coiled tight with restraint.
"You never asked," he answered simply.
You stared at him in genuine disbelief. "That is not something people usually have to ask!" you whisper-hissed back immediately, scandalized despite the danger around you. "Who walks around assuming they need to ask if someone's secretly royalty?!"
"Mm." For the briefest moment, Legolas' attention shifted toward you again, only slightly, though it was enough for you to catch the subtle change in his expression beneath all the tension surrounding him.
His gaze swept over you quickly, checking you over almost instinctively as though reassuring himself you were still unharmed amidst the chaos unfolding around you.
Then, quieter this time—low enough that the words brushed only against your ears, he spoke again. "Stay behind me alright?"
The calmness in his voice should not have affected you as much as it did, yet somehow it did.
Your breath caught faintly at the words, despite the guards surrounding you, despite the king standing only a few steps away watching everything unfold with unreadable eyes, Legolas still sounded far more concerned about you than himself.
And across the hall, Thranduil noticed it too. The Elvenking's pale gaze lingered upon his son carefully now, upon the protective angle of his body, the dagger still raised toward his own people, the quiet way he positioned himself between you and every possible threat without hesitation.
Something shifted across Thranduil's expression then, subtle enough that most would not notice.
"Legolas," Thranduil spoke at last, his voice quieter now. The disappointment woven through the single word settled coldly across the hall. "You place yourself in dangerous waters."
The warning lingered between them, not spoken as a king to a disobedient prince.
But almost… as a father watching his son walk toward the very same ruin he once could not escape himself.
"If protecting her places me there," he answered steadily, his grip tightening faintly around the dagger, "then so be it."
Silence followed immediately after, it was heavy and suffocating. And standing behind him, staring at the unwavering figure shielding you without hesitation, you realized something terrifying all at once.
He meant it. This was not reckless bravado nor some desperate attempt to frighten the guards into retreat. Legolas was not bluffing.
If this throne room turned against you now—if his father commanded these elves forward despite everything, he truly would stand against them for your sake.
"You act as though you know her well." Thranduil spoke back then. His pale eyes remained fixed upon Legolas with growing intensity, the faint sneer curling along his lips doing little to hide the tension tightening beneath his composure.
This conversation was no longer unfolding the way he'd wished.
Legolas however, had not lower his dagger despite such warnings. If anything, his posture only straightened further, shoulders squaring instinctively as he stood firmly between you and the guards.
"I do know her," he answered without hesitation.
His gaze then finally lifted fully toward his father, something almost challenging flickering through his eyes now. "She is the girl I told you about. The one I have been meeting when I was a child.”
Legolas tilted his head just slightly then, though the movement held no humor. "It seems," he continued quietly, "I was not lying after all."
As he finished, genuine disbelief crossed Thranduil's face. Just stunned disbelief, as though he could scarcely comprehend the words spoken before him.
"Hah…" A hollow sound escaped him, somewhere between disbelief and bitter amusement as he descended another slow step.
"And now you choose to utter nonsense before your king?" His voice hardened instantly afterward, centuries of authority crashing back into place. "I said stand aside, Legolas." He commanded, the words echoing harshly through the halls.
Legolas did not move though. He'd just planted himself more firmly before you, the dagger remaining steady within his grasp as his expression hardened with quiet resolve. No fear crossed his face now. No hesitation. Only stubborn certainty.
And the sight struck Thranduil harder than he could've ever expected. He was no longer looking at his son.
For the briefest, most painful moment, he saw himself instead. Younger. Reckless. Standing before another throne long ago with that same defiant fire burning in his eyes for someone he should never have loved so deeply.
For her. Lumena.
The memories came uninvited, vicious in their clarity. Soft laughter echoing through moonlit halls, gentle hands reaching for his, silver tears, blood and loss.
It had taken centuries to bury those memories deep enough to survive them. Centuries spent forcing himself not to remember her voice, her smile, the way she had once looked at him as though he alone existed beneath the stars.
He had wanted it all gone. Every trace of her erased from his mind because remembering had become torture.
Yet now you stood before him wearing her eyes, her necklace, her kindness. And his son looked at you the exact same way he once looked at her.
The realization twisted painfully through his chest. Something in Thranduil softened then despite himself, faint enough most would never notice it.
His expression faltered for only half a second, grief slipping through the cracks before his jaw twitched sharply once more, forcing the emotion back down where it belonged.
"…Very well." The words came quieter than before, though the sternness remained. Yet beneath it, there was the faintest tremble hidden within his voice now, almost swallowed entirely by pride.
Your eyes widened at the sudden shift in his expression, confusion written plainly across your face as you stared at him.
Around the hall, even the guards looked uncertain now, glancing uneasily toward one another as though unsure whether they had heard correctly.
Thranduil's gaze shifted toward you slowly then. For a moment, he simply looked at you, really looked at you. His eyes traced the bruises scattered across your hands, the exhaustion lingering beneath your expression, the thin weird clothing still clinging damply against your skin from the cold outside.
Something unreadable flickered across his face again before he spoke at last.
"You," he began carefully, though his tone remained controlled, "will remain under Legolas' supervision." His eyes flickered briefly toward his son afterward.
"Should anything occur…" he paused, before continuing, "It shall fall upon you."
Legolas inclined his head slightly without argument, though relief visibly loosened some of the tension held within his posture. The dagger lowered at last, though he still did not fully step away from you yet.
Thranduil's eyes then seemed to find itself drifting back toward you once more. He paused, his gaze lingered noticeably longer than necessary before he cleared his throat quietly, almost as though irritated with himself.
"And…" His voice faltered briefly before smoothing itself out again. "See that she is given proper garments to change into."
The room seemed to blink collectively in confusion. Thranduil immediately looked away afterward, pretending sudden interest elsewhere as though he had not just spoken.
"It is cold beyond these halls during this season," he added stiffly, the explanation sounding almost forced.
You could only stand there staring at Thranduil in complete confusion as he turned sharply, silver robes sweeping behind him while he ascended the throne steps once more.
Nothing about this situation made sense anymore. Not the way he looked at you. Not the grief hidden behind his anger. And certainly not the strange softness that kept slipping through despite how desperately he tried to bury it.
➽──────────────────────────────❥
The room they had brought you to was far quieter than the throne hall below. Soft lanternlight flickered gently against carved stone walls woven with twisting vines and roots, while silver curtains shifted faintly whenever the breeze slipped through the open archway nearby.
Compared to the chaos from earlier, the silence almost felt nice.
You sat near the edge of the large wooden bed awkwardly, your legs crossed beneath you as you absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your old hoodie.
Honestly, the thing had seen better days several disasters ago. It was stained with dirt, dried blood, ash, and whatever else this adventure had decided to throw at you. At this point, even you were beginning to question how you were still surviving inside it.
"…I smell terrible," you muttered quietly to yourself, lifting the collar slightly before immediately recoiling with a disgusted grimace. "Oh my god."
You had barely drawn breath to continue your complaints when a soft knock sounded against the wooden doorway, light and careful against the quietness of the room. Before you could even answer, the door slowly slid open, pulling your attention away immediately.
Legolas stepped inside soon after, though noticeably slower than before, as though he was still uncertain how to approach you after everything that had happened.
The light spilling into the room caught against his pale hair beautifully, softening the sharpness he'd carried within the throne halls.
Folded neatly within his arms rested a set of dark green and silver clothes, layered fabrics embroidered delicately along the sleeves in patterns you vaguely recognized from the female guards wandering the palace earlier.
The material looked so soft, and warm. Significantly cleaner than whatever remained of the clothes currently hanging off your body.
His gaze lifted the moment he stepped fully inside the room, immediately finding yours. And just like before, something in his expression softened almost at once.
"I brought these for you," he said quietly while approaching, his voice gentler now that the chaos from earlier had finally faded. He held the clothes out carefully toward you, fingers lingering slightly against the folded fabric as though unsure whether you would accept them immediately.
"They should fit… adequately enough." His eyes dipped briefly toward your current state then—the worn fabric, the dirt smeared faintly along your sleeves, the damp edges still clinging from the cold outside, before lifting back toward your face again.
A faint pause followed. Then the smallest trace of amusement tugged subtly at the corner of his mouth, softening his features in a way that almost distracted you entirely.
"Though," he added lightly, gaze flickering once more toward your rather questionable attire, "I fear nothing within Mirkwood was designed with your… unusual attire in mind.."
Your gaze immediately dropped toward yourself afterward, lips pressing into a small line as you looked down at the state of your current clothes.
Dirt stained the sleeves, the fabric slightly damp at the edges from the cold outside, and honestly? You were beginning to understand why every elf in this palace kept staring at your hoodie like it was some strange woodland creature.
"…That was mildly offensive," you muttered beneath your breath, though the lack of actual irritation in your voice made the complaint entirely useless.
The faintest flicker of amusement touched Legolas' features at that, subtle enough it almost disappeared before you fully caught it.
Though, It wasn't long before your attention snapped right back toward the folded clothes resting within his hands. The moment your fingers touched the fabric, your eyes widened almost instantly.
"Wait-" You took the clothes from him quickly, genuine surprise lighting across your features as your hands brushed carefully over the smooth embroidery woven into the sleeves.
The material was softer than you expected, cool beneath your fingertips yet rich and beautifully crafted in a way that made your own clothing suddenly feel even more tragic by comparison.
"These are actually beautiful." you breathed, the awe in your voice came entirely unfiltered as you lifted part of the fabric slightly to inspect it better beneath the lanternlight.
Silver stitching glimmered softly across the dark green layers like moonlight caught within woven leaves, elegant without seeming excessive.
Your brows lifted higher the longer you stared. "You all dress like this every single day?" you asked incredulously before looking back up at him, eyes bright with disbelief. "No wonder every person here looks like they walked straight out of some fantasy film."
Legolas frowned faintly in confusion upon your words. "…A fantasy film?" he repeated carefully, the unfamiliar words sounding oddly formal within his accent.
The question made you pause immediately. Your mouth opened halfway on instinct, fully prepared to explain—before the realization hit you all at once that trying to explain modern cinema to an elven prince from Middle-earth would probably create far more problems than solutions.
"…You know what," you said quickly instead, waving one hand dismissively through the air, "never mind."
Even with your reassurance, Legolas continued watching you with clear suspicion now, though thankfully he did not press further.
You grinned faintly afterward, standing up from the bed without another thought, still clutching the clothes carefully against yourself.
"Seriously though," you said while glancing down at your current hoodie with visible judgment, "thank you. I've been wearing this thing for so many days I'm very certain it's evolved into its own living organism by now."
Legolas' brows lifted faintly at your strange wording, confusion flickering briefly across his features as though he was genuinely trying to understand how clothing could possibly become 'biologically dangerous.'
But before he could question it further—You had already grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it straight over your head without a second thought.
Legolas froze instantly, well completely.
His eyes widened then, before he turned away with such alarming speed it would have been impressive under literally any other circumstance.
blonde hair shifted sharply across his shoulders with the sudden movement as he redirected his attention very intensely toward the farthest wall in the room like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in Middle-earth.
"My apologies-!" he blurted instantly, his voice noticeably tighter than before. One hand lifted halfway instinctively, almost like he did not know what to do with himself anymore.
"I did not realize you intended to-" He stopped abruptly, jaw tightening as the faintest flush began creeping across the tips of his ears. "Why," he asked carefully after a strained pause, still refusing to look anywhere near you, "are you removing your garments while I am still present?"
You blinked at him mid-motion. Your old hoodie now hung loosely from one hand while you stood there in the singlet underneath, looking significantly less scandalous than whatever horrifying conclusion Legolas had apparently jumped to in his head.
"…Huh?"
Your confusion only seemed to make him tense further somehow.
Legolas remained rigidly turned toward the opposite wall, posture impossibly straight now as though sheer discipline alone was keeping him from spontaneously combusting out of embarrassment.
"You could have warned me," he muttered quietly, sounding deeply distressed by the entire situation.
You stared at him for another second before slowly looking down at yourself, then back at him again.
Legolas still refused to turn back toward you, shoulders stiff as a board, posture rigid with obvious discomfort. "That is not appropriate." His voice lowered slightly, sounding both flustered and horrified all at once. "Particularly not before an unmarried person."
You paused, staring at the back of his head for a long moment as if you were genuinely trying to figure out where exactly the misunderstanding had begun. Then, almost cautiously, you looked back down at yourself again.
"…But I’m wearing a singlet underneath," you said, like that should have logically resolved everything.
Silence was all that was given back instead. From where you couldn't see, Legolas blinked once, slowly.
Then, as if against his better judgment, he turned just slightly over his shoulder.
And the moment his eyes registered that you were, in fact, somewhat covered, the faint flush that had been threatening his composure deepened instantly, creeping further up his ears in a way he clearly wished was not happening. He snapped his gaze forward again just as quickly.
You frowned now, genuinely even more confused. "What? It's basically the same as a sleeveless shirt."
"It is not the same thing," he answered immediately, far too quickly, as though the argument itself was something he needed to win for survival purposes.
His head turned away again with visible stubbornness, though the tension in his voice had softened into something slightly flustered. "No respectable maiden simply begins changing garments while a man remains in the room."
That made you pause for a second, before realization came kicking in. It was the medieval times you were currently residing in.
Your expression shifted instantly, lips parting before a quiet laugh slipped out without permission, the realization settling in so suddenly it almost embarrassed you on its own. You lifted a hand briefly to your face, half-covering it as you shook your head.
"…Oh my god," you muttered under your breath, still smiling despite yourself. "Right. Different era."
Legolas, still very much turned away from you, tilted his head slightly at the unfamiliar phrase. "…Era?" he repeated carefully, clearly not satisfied with how many unknown words you were introducing into his life today.
"Nothing," you said quickly, letting out another small laugh as you lowered your hand again. "Forget it. I'm sorry. Where I'm from, this isn't really… an issue."
That finally earned a faint shift in his expression. Not quite a turn, but enough that you could see the furrow forming in his brows. "Your world sounds," he began after a pause, choosing his words with visible caution, "deeply concerning."
And that did it for you, as you laughed harder. The sound filled the room warmly, lighter than before, softer too—and Legolas found himself relaxing slightly the longer he heard it.
Because after everything that had happened today, after the fear and tension and tears… hearing you laugh again felt strangely relieving, a little less suffocating.
"…You can turn around now," you said at last, amusement still lingering in your tone as you pulled the new attire properly into place over your shoulders.
Legolas hesitated for a moment. You could practically feel the pause stretch in the air before he slowly turned back toward you, as if cautiously testing whether it was truly safe to look.
And then he did, almost promptly forgetting how to breathe for a fraction of a second as well.
The Mirkwood attire fit you far better than anything he had expected—dark green layers falling neatly against your frame, traced with fine silver detailing that caught softly in the lanternlight with every small movement you made.
The fabric looked almost like it belonged to you already, blending oddly well with your presence despite how out of place you still technically were.
Your hair was slightly tousled from changing, your expression still carrying traces of exhaustion around the eyes, yet there was something about the way you stood there now—clothed in elven garments, light shifting across the fabric—that made you look unsettlingly at home in these halls.
Legolas stared a moment too long. It wasn't dramatic in any outward sense—no sudden movement, no change in stance, no visible reaction that would betray him easily
And yet the stillness that followed felt different. Not empty, but suspended, as though time itself had slowed just enough to make the silence noticeable.
A quiet pause stretched between you both where his usual composure seemed to falter in the smallest, most subtle way—like a thought had surfaced too quickly for him to properly contain it, leaving him briefly caught between instinct and awareness.
His gaze remained fixed, unblinking, as if he had forgotten to redirect it elsewhere.
You noticed immediately, one brow lifting as your head tilted slightly to the side. "…What? Do I look bad?" you asked, narrowing your eyes with sudden suspicion as you studied his face more closely, as though trying to catch him in the act of something unspeakable.
Legolas blinked, straightening so quickly it almost looked like a reflex rather than a choice. His posture reset itself into perfect composure, shoulders squared, chin lifted slightly, as if he could physically force the moment to reset. "No… it is nothing."
"…You hesitated," you replied at once, eyes narrowing further as you stepped half a pace closer, clearly unconvinced.
"I did not," he answered immediately, too quickly, his gaze flicking away for a fraction of a second before returning forward as though anchoring himself.
"You literally did," you pressed, leaning in just slightly now, arms loosely crossed as your expression sharpened in challenge.
"I was merely ensuring the garments fit correctly,"
A slow, mischievous grin spread across your face at that, the kind that spelled immediate trouble. You rocked back on your heels slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Ohhh," you drawled, dragging the word out as if you had just uncovered something scandalous. "So you were looking."
Legolas nearly choked on air. His eyes widened a fraction before he quickly recovered, lifting a hand slightly as if to dismiss the accusation entirely. "I most certainly was not-, but you did... well.. ask me to look-"
"You totally were," you cut in smoothly, stepping forward again with growing confidence, grin widening. "Because if you weren't, that means I look bad, doesn't it?"
"I was not," he insisted again, voice a touch sharper now, though still noticeably flustered. "And no- that is not what I meant-"
You stared at him flatly for a second, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the moment to settle, before tilting your head ever so slightly. "…Legolas," you said slowly, pointing at him with quiet satisfaction. "Your ears are red."
He immediately turned away again.
Legolas had turned away so quickly after your teasing that you nearly laughed again right then and there. There was something oddly adorable about seeing the usually composed prince of Mirkwood suddenly lose every fragment of dignity over a simple comment.
Meanwhile, he stood near the carved archway pretending to admire the architecture with far too much intensity for it to be believable.
You sat cross-legged upon the edge of the bed, sleeves slightly too long over your hands as you adjusted it properly. "You know," you said casually, watching him with obvious amusement, "for someone so calm during sword fights and giant spider attacks… you panic very easily."
You tilted your head slightly, watching the way his shoulders subtly tightened at your words. "Reminds me of the days back then."
Legolas let out a quiet breath through his nose, the closest thing to a sigh he seemed willing to allow himself, his gaze still firmly fixed on the carved archway as though refusing to give your teasing the satisfaction of his attention.
Yet even from where you sat, you caught it—the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, "I do not panic."
"Mhm." You leaned back slightly on your hands, tilting your head with an amused, almost knowing look as your eyes narrowed in playful skepticism.
"I merely prefer proper manners," he added after a brief pause, his posture straightening again as if the correction itself required physical reinforcement.
"That sounds suspiciously like panic." You grinned immediately, pointing at him lightly as if presenting evidence in a case he was clearly losing.
His shoulders shifted subtly at that, a small adjustment like he was physically resisting the urge to turn back around and defend himself properly.
His jaw tightened for a second before he spoke again, voice still controlled but edged with quiet frustration. "Where you come from lacks concerning amounts of decorum."
You snorted softly at that, the sound breaking out before you could stop it as you shook your head slightly, clearly entertained. "You have no idea," you replied, lips curling into an easy grin as you watched him from where you sat, still clearly far too pleased with yourself.
At that, Legolas finally turned his head back toward you, and immediately stopped mid-motion.
His gaze landed on you properly this time, but instead of snapping away like before, it lingered. Just a second too long, then another, as though something had quietly caught his attention without him fully deciding to acknowledge it.
You noticed instantly. "…Why are you staring at me like that again?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly as you tilted your head, suspicious all over again.
The question seemed to pull him out of whatever thought he had drifted into. He blinked once, straightening as his composure tried to return.
Before you could continue, something in his expression shifted faintly. The teasing air seemed to fade from him as his attention sharpened instead, eyes narrowing just slightly as he focused past your words and onto something near your face.
"…Hold still," he said suddenly, voice quieter now.
You blinked in confusion, your expression slipping from playful to uncertain in an instant. "What?" you asked, sitting up a little straighter on the bed, hands pausing where they were resting against the fabric of your attire.
But before you could react properly, Legolas had already stepped closer. Far too close.
You barely even registered the movement. One moment he was still near the archway, half-lit by the lantern glow, and the next he was directly in front of you, his presence filling your space without warning.
Close enough now that the details you usually only caught from afar became impossible to ignore—the faint shift of colour within his eyes, the quiet steadiness of his breathing that never quite matched how fast your own had just become.
Up close, everything about him felt unfairly beautiful, from the pale glow of his skin beneath the silver-green light, the faint scent of cedar and rain lingering around him, to the quiet warmth hidden beneath his usually composed demeanor.
And then his hand lifted toward your face.
The motion was slow, deliberate, careful rather than sudden, but in your current state it might as well have been in slow motion. Your brain simply… stalled.
All coherent thought evaporated at once, leaving nothing but static as you tried to process what was happening and failed immediately.
Your expression froze mid-reaction, eyes widening slightly as your lips parted just a fraction.
Wait. What?
Your gaze flickered rapidly between his face and his approaching hand, panic and confusion tangling together so quickly you couldn't separate them into anything useful.
The rational part of your mind tried to speak, tried to insist there was a perfectly normal explanation for this, but it arrived far too late to matter.
No. Surely not.
That couldn't be what it looked like. Not with how close he was, not with the way he was looking at you right now—focused, unreadable, entirely too calm for whatever situation your imagination had already decided this was becoming.
Your breath hitched slightly, shoulders tensing as your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up, uncertainty written all over your face in the smallest details.
Without thinking, you instinctively leaned back slightly against the edge of the bed, your eyes squeezing shut in sheer panic.
Silence followed. Nothing happened. Slowly, you peeked one eye open.
Legolas was still standing right in front of you, hand paused mid-air as if he had simply stopped halfway through whatever he was doing.
His expression had shifted into open confusion now, brows drawing together slightly as he studied your face like you had just done something deeply unpredictable. "…What are you doing?" he asked carefully.
Heat surged into your face so fast it felt immediate and violent. Your eyes snapped fully open now, and you leaned forward slightly in sheer indignation and embarrassment.
"What are you doing?!" you whispered back at him immediately, voice hushed but frantic, horrified.
For a brief moment, Legolas just looked at you in silence, before understanding slowly flickered across his face. And to your utter devastation, amusement followed right after it. Very faint, very subtle, but definitely there.
"There was a strand of hair upon your face," he explained calmly, lowering his hand at last as if this was the most reasonable explanation in the world, his tone steady in a way that only made it worse. "I was helping you with removing it."
You stared at him, completely frozen in place, as the meaning finally settled properly in your mind. The tension in your shoulders dropped all at once, replaced instantly by a wave of embarrassment so intense it nearly made you physically recoil.
"Oh." The sound came out small, flat, and tragically late. Your gaze flickered away immediately as you lifted a hand to your face, half covering it as if that could somehow undo what had already happened. You wanted the floor to open up and take you with it. Preferably immediately.
A brief pause hung between you both, before Legolas' lips curved ever so slightly, so faintly it might have been mistaken for nothing at all if you weren't already hyper-aware of his every expression.
His head tilted a fraction as he studied you with quiet curiosity. "You believed I intended something else?" he asked, voice calm but with the smallest thread of amusement now woven through it.
His brows lifted just slightly as he waited for your answer, posture still relaxed in contrast to your complete internal collapse.
"No," you answered far too quickly, shaking your head once as your eyes darted away again, refusing to meet his gaze.
"…You closed your eyes," he continued after a beat.
"Well," you muttered, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything, your ears visibly warm as you shifted your weight awkwardly on the bed, "with how you were acting, I panicked."
"That does not answer my question," he said immediately, entirely too composed for someone currently dismantling your dignity piece by piece.
You made a strangled sound of frustration before immediately covering your face with both hands, fingers pressing against your flushed cheeks, "Please stop speaking," you groaned into your palms, shoulders curling inward as you attempted, and failed—to disappear into yourself entirely.
A soft laugh escaped him then, quiet and warm and entirely too fond for your already struggling heart to handle properly.
Before you could recover, his hand lifted again—this time slower, gentler, giving you enough warning not to completely short-circuit again.
His fingers approached your face with careful restraint, brushing against your cheek so lightly it felt more like a suggestion than a touch. The contact was feather-soft, precise, as he gently swept the stray strand of hair away from your skin.
Your breath hitched at the sensation despite yourself, as his thumb grazed lightly along your skin before tucking the strand carefully behind your ear.
"There," he murmured softly, voice lower now, almost absent-minded in its gentleness.
The touch lingered only for a moment, yet somehow it felt unbearably intimate.
Your entire face burned immediately afterward, and judging by the faint shift in Legolas' expression, he noticed. His gaze softened visibly as he looked at you, something warm flickering behind his eyes before a quiet smile finally appeared fully across his face.
It was quiet, genuine, and dangerously fond in a way that made the air between you feel even harder to breathe in.
"You are very expressive," he said quietly, his voice calm and even, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed that he was not entirely neutral about the observation.
His gaze lingered on you with quiet attentiveness, as if confirming his own statement in real time.
You frowned instantly despite still feeling the lingering heat in your face, brows knitting together as you looked up at him in disbelief. "…What is that supposed to mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, lips parting in offended confusion.
"It means," he replied after a brief pause, tone still composed but now carrying a trace of amusement he made no effort to hide anymore, "your thoughts are remarkably easy to read." His eyes flickered briefly over your expression as he spoke, as though demonstrating his point without needing further explanation.
Your jaw dropped a fraction, eyes widening in pure indignation as you leaned back slightly. "Excuse you?" you shot back immediately, personally insulted by the accusation.
Legolas tilted his head just a little then, hair shifting softly over his shoulder with the movement. The faint smile returned properly now, subtle but unmistakably entertained, as though he had found something unexpectedly enjoyable in the exchange.
"You wear every emotion plainly upon your face," he added simply, watching you with unbothered ease.
"Oh, and you don’t?" you countered at once, leaning forward slightly now, eyes narrowing as you tried to regain some ground in the conversation, your earlier embarrassment temporarily forgotten in favour of outrage.
"I do not," he answered without hesitation, posture straightening a touch as if the claim itself was a matter of fact rather than opinion.
You squinted at him immediately, suspicion written all over your face as you leaned in just a little more, studying him like you were attempting to catch him in a lie. "...Mhm. Sure."
His composure almost cracked again. Almost.
A faint shift passed through his expression, the smallest tightening at the corner of his mouth, the briefest hesitation in his eyes, like something inside him had nearly slipped before he quickly reined it back in.
For a brief moment afterward, neither of you moved away. The silence settled differently now—no longer awkward or tense in the same way as before, but heavier in a quieter, more uncertain manner.
Lanternlight trembled gently across the carved wooden walls, casting soft shifting shadows that made the entire room feel more enclosed, more intimate than it had any right to be.
Somewhere far beyond the windows, the sounds of Mirkwood continued on, distant and muffled, as though the world outside had decided not to interrupt whatever this was.
Legolas remained close, closer than necessary. Close enough that the warmth from where he had touched you still lingered faintly against your skin, faint but noticeable in the lingering space between you.
His posture was still upright, controlled, but not quite as effortless as before. There was a subtle stiffness now though, as if he had become suddenly aware of exactly how little distance remained.
His gaze, which had been steady moments ago, flickered again—quick, unintentional. It dropped downward for the briefest second before snapping away almost immediately afterward, as though he had caught himself too late.
It was a new emotion for him, or was it? Maybe he knew, understood what it had meant and felt, after all, this wasn't the first time it had happened.
Author’s Note:
Hello lovely people! I’m pretty sure I included everyone in the tag list, but if you’d like to be added, just let me know!
I had a pretty clear idea of where I wanted this chapter to go, and I’m really excited to share it with you all. I hope you guys enjoy it! 💙
Word count: 3200 words!
You woke up in a small, dimly lit room, your head aching—sharp and persistent. Your eyes fluttered open as you tried to focus, vision blurring in and out while you took in your surroundings.
Instinctively, you went to lift your hands to your head—
But you couldn’t.
Your breath caught.
Your wrists strained, only to be met with resistance. Bound. Tight enough to sting with every slight movement.
The realization hit all at once.
You were tied to a chair.
Alone.
The anxiety crept in fast, settling deep in your chest as your heart began to pound harder with each passing second.
“The… hell?” you managed, your voice rough and unsteady.
You blinked again, forcing yourself to stay awake—memories slowly piecing themselves back together.
The building.
The vents.
The fall.
The Foot.
Your stomach dropped.
You didn’t remember being dragged here… or being tied up.
You must have blacked out.
You forced yourself to look around the room, scanning for anything—an escape, a weakness, anything that might tell you how long you’d been here.
There wasn’t much.
Just a heavy metal door directly in front of you.
Your eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on it. Deep scratch marks were carved into the surface—jagged, uneven, desperate.
Your stomach twisted.
You weren’t the first person to be put in here.
The thought settled uncomfortably in your chest before something else hit you.
Casey.
Your breath caught slightly at the idea. He could be coming for you. He would, right? That’s what he did—he showed up, reckless and loud, ready to jump into a fight without thinking twice.
But then you thought about it harder.
Really thought about it.
Would Casey risk exposing himself… just to get you out?
Reality settled in—harsh and unforgiving.
What were the Foot Clan going to do to you?
Panic surged through you, and you started struggling harder, thrashing against the restraints with everything you had. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, your wrists burning as you tried to pull free—
Then the heavy metal door swung open.
You froze.
Your breath caught in your throat as you went completely still.
Two tall Foot Clan soldiers stood in the doorway, dressed in dark, heavy uniforms. They stepped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind them. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
They just… stared.
You could see their eyes through the masks—cold, unblinking, completely empty.
It sent a chill down your spine.
“You two idiots just gonna stand there and stare, or what?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you felt.
The words barely left your mouth before movement followed.
As if on cue, a woman stepped into the room.
Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, streaked with faded red at the front, framing a face that was far too calm for a place like this.
She barked something at the two men, her tone sharp—commanding—as if they were nothing more than servants waiting for orders. The language wasn’t one you fully understood, but you recognized just enough to know it wasn’t anything good.
At her words, one soldier immediately left the room while the other stepped forward, dragging a chair across the floor before placing it directly in front of you.
Too close.
Your breath caught.
You were scared—no, terrified.
The second soldier straightened before turning and leaving as well, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.
And just like that—
It was only the two of you.
She lowered herself into the chair with slow, deliberate control, back straight, chin slightly raised—like she owned the room, like she had all the time in the world.
Like you didn’t matter at all.
Silence followed.
It stretched.
Seconds turned into something longer—something heavier. The kind of silence that pressed in on your ears, making every small sound feel louder. Your breathing. The faint creak of the chair beneath you. The quiet hum of something unseen in the walls.
Too long.
Your throat felt dry.
You swallowed, the sound almost too loud in the stillness as you shifted in your seat, forcing yourself to sit up straighter. You tried to mirror her posture—tried to look composed, controlled.
Tried not to look like someone tied to a chair with no way out.
“Miss…” you started, your voice rougher than you intended. You cleared your throat, attempting again, forcing a steadiness you didn’t feel. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Her expression didn’t change.
“I was just—working on the ventilation systems,” you continued, grasping for something—anything that sounded believable.
“Simple repairs. Maintenance, really. I must’ve taken a wrong turn or something.”
Even as you spoke, you could hear it.
The weakness in your own voice.
The way the excuse didn’t quite land.
“…Hope you understand.”
The words trailed off slightly, your confidence slipping at the end despite your best effort to hold it together.
Nothing.
No reaction.
She didn’t blink.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t even breathe differently.
Her eyes stayed locked on you—sharp, unwavering, like she was picking you apart piece by piece without saying a word.
“Is there maybe a way you can let me go? This is just a simple misunderstan—”
Her voice cut through yours before you could finish, sharp and deliberate, yet unnervingly calm.
“Tell me about the turtles.”
The words landed like a hammer.
Your chest tightened. Your breath caught. It felt like your heart had stopped, like the air itself had frozen in the room. Every sound outside—the distant hum of the ventilation, the creak of the chair beneath you, even your own shallow breathing—vanished.
Her eyes didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. They bored into you with a precision that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t anger you saw. Not yet. It was cold, calculated curiosity. Like she already knew you couldn’t escape, and she wanted to see exactly how much you were willing to give.
You could feel your mind spinning. Each second stretched longer than it had any right to. What could you say? What could you not say?
And in the silence that followed, your chest tightened even further, realizing just how much was riding on the words you hadn’t yet spoken.
“I’m… sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears.
Her gaze didn’t shift. Didn’t even flinch.
“How long have you been in contact with the turtles?”
The words hit you like ice water.
For a heartbeat, the room felt impossibly small, the walls pressing in, the chair holding you like a trap. You wanted to scream, to lie, to make up some excuse—but you knew the truth was dangerous, and she already suspected more than you could imagine.
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing thoughts, trying to find a way out without giving anything away.
She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her black eyes never leaving yours. The red streaks in her hair caught the dim light of the room, a sharp slash of color against her dark uniform.
“You think I’m asking for fun,” she said quietly, almost casually, but the words were like knives. “I know you’re lying. I can see it in your eyes.”
Your heart hammered, thudding so loud it felt like it would give away your position. You shifted in the chair, but the restraints bit into your wrists. Panic threatened to rise.
“Look, I don’t—” you started, but she cut you off with a sharp gesture.
“Silence.”
She leaned even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from her. You could smell the faint scent of metal and smoke clinging to her uniform. Her eyes were impossibly cold, but in them there was a calculation, a hunger for answers.
She tilted her head, studying you like a predator watching its prey.
“You will talk,” she said, voice low and deliberate. “And I will make sure you regret every second you stay quiet.”
The weight of her words pressed down on you. The chair felt smaller, the room darker. Every instinct screamed at you to find a way out, but you were trapped—helpless.
And somehow, the more she pressed, the more you realized she wasn’t just after information. She wanted to see fear, to test how far she could push you before you broke.
“I swear on my life, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you squeaked out, your voice trembling despite your best effort to sound firm.
She leaned closer, so close you could feel the faint heat of her presence, her dark eyes locking onto yours like steel.
“Leonardo,” she said, the name cutting through the air, making your breath hitch.
“Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo,” she continued, each name pronounced deliberately, like a countdown, like a warning.
Your heart lurched. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You tried to form words, tried to protest, but it felt like the room had shrunk around you, the chair pressing harder against your back, your wrists screaming from the restraints.
“I—I don’t know anything about that,” you stammered, swallowing hard. “I’m not lying!”
Her gaze didn’t waver. It didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. “You will tell me eventually,” she said, voice low, calm, and dangerous. “And when you do… I will know everything.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Every tick of the clock, every small creak in the floorboards felt louder. You realized, with a sinking feeling, that she already knew far more than you had expected—and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to outsmart her.
“Come on, lady. You really think I know anything about… mutant turtles?” you said, forcing a laugh, hoping the humor would break the tension.
She didn’t budge. Not even a twitch.
“That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve heard all week,” you tried again, smiling nervously, leaning into the joke, desperate to convince her.
She leaned back in her chair slowly, eyes scanning you from head to toe, sharp and calculating. Every movement was deliberate, measured.
“I didn’t say anything about them being… mutants,” she said, her voice calm, almost cold.
Your chest tightened. Your stomach dropped.
Shit.
–
It was starting to wear on you.
Hours—spent in this godforsaken chair, hands bound, mind fraying. She hadn’t touched you physically, but the mental drain was relentless. Every question repeated, every stare unblinking. Her calm, controlled demeanor made the hours feel endless.
“Please… I don’t know anything,” you said, your voice breaking, desperation seeping through every word.
She let out a small sigh, tilting her head as if she were growing bored of you.
“Are you an important asset to them?” she asked casually, almost mockingly.
You lifted your head, heavy and aching.
“Sorry?” you croaked.
“Are you an important asset to them?” she repeated, stepping closer, her voice colder this time.
Then she circled you slowly, each step measured, deliberate.
“Are you even worthy enough to be saved?” she murmured, a faint, almost cruel laugh slipping past her lips.
Despite everything—despite the exhaustion, the pain, the fear—you smiled.
You weren’t stupid.
You knew they’d come for you. Maybe not right away, maybe not the way you wanted—but they wouldn’t leave you here. They wouldn’t let you rot.
“Listen, lady,” you said, voice rough but steady, lifting your chin just slightly. “I ain’t got a clue what you’re on about.”
Her expression didn’t change—but her movement did.
In a flash, she stepped behind your chair, spinning it sharply so you were forced to face her again. The sudden motion made your head spin. Before you could react, a glint of metal caught your eye.
A butterfly knife flicked open in her hand.
She flipped it effortlessly between her fingers, the blade catching the dim light as it danced far too close to your face.
Your breath hitched.
She leaned in—close enough that you could feel the shift in the air, the quiet threat in her presence.
“Well… let’s see abou—”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm cut through the room, loud and jarring, echoing through the halls beyond the metal door.
She froze.
Her head turned slightly toward the sound, listening. Calculating.
And despite everything—
You laughed.
A small, breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.
“Guess I am worth saving, huh?”
—
-A few hours prior to this-
Leonardo stood over Donatello, watching as his brother worked quickly at the computer, fingers flying across the keys. The glow of the screen reflected off Donnie’s glasses as he pulled up security feeds, flipping through camera angles and floor plans, searching for any possible way to get you out safely.
You had been captured.
Leo had warned you this could happen. He knew it could happen. And yet—you still went.
His jaw tightened.
He had no doubt Casey and April could handle themselves in a situation like that. They were experienced. Careful.
But you?
To Leo, you were still just a human. Fragile. Unpredictable.
The thought of you tied up somewhere in that building—hurt, scared—made something in his chest burn.
The moment you were taken, Leonardo made the call to retreat.
It had been the right decision.
Tactically.
But it didn’t feel right.
Not when it meant leaving you behind.
Donnie continued scanning, pulling up blueprints, mapping exits, tracking patrol routes. Every now and then, he adjusted something, muttering quietly under his breath as he worked through possibilities.
Leo exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor—his sandals unmoving against the worn wood beneath him.
The lair felt different now.
How did he let this happen?
He should’ve stopped you.
He knew better.
He should’ve been firmer. Should’ve shut it down the second you suggested going in. But instead, he let it happen—and now you were paying the price for it.
His fists clenched at his sides.
Donnie noticed.
Of course he did.
Without looking away from the screen, he reached over, placing a gentle hand on Leo’s shoulder. The contact pulled Leo from his thoughts just enough to glance up at him.
“We’ll get her, Leo,” Donnie said quietly.
“This is her fault. If she had just listened to me the first time, she wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Leo’s voice came out sharper than he intended, the frustration barely contained as he snapped at his brother.
Donatello didn’t react right away. He wasn’t stupid—he’d heard both sides of this argument a hundred different ways already, and none of them really mattered right now.
Because this wasn’t about blame.
It was about you.
And Leo was worried—far more than he would ever openly admit.
He always kept himself composed. Always the leader. Always in control.
But Donnie could see it—the tightness in his posture, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the way his eyes kept drifting back to the screen like he was afraid of what he might see next.
Behind them, Casey and April sat on the couch, quieter than usual.
Mikey…
Mikey was taking it the hardest.
Out of all of them, he was the one you were closest with. The one who could always make you laugh, no matter what kind of day you were having.
Now, he sat slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands.
Silent.
Which, for Mikey, said everything.
His mind raced, running through every possible scenario—none of them good. Every second that passed made it worse.
If it had been up to him, he would’ve gone after you the second you were taken. Would’ve jumped in without a second thought.
But it wasn’t his call.
And now…
All he could do was sit there.
And wait.
“We’ll get her, Mikey. She’s going to be okay,” April said softly, trying to offer some kind of comfort.
Mikey didn’t respond.
He just gave a small nod, barely lifting his head, like even that took effort.
“Yeah… she’s tough,” Casey added, leaning back slightly. “She’ll be okay.”
Something in his voice—too casual, too certain—set Raph off.
They’d never exactly seen eye to eye.
But this?
Casey had been with you.
He could’ve done something. Anything.
Raph’s fist slammed into the worn-out punching bag beside him—harder than before. The chain above it rattled loudly from the impact.
“Ya know,” Raph started, voice low but edged with anger, “she wouldn’t be stuck in there if you did something.”
Casey’s head snapped toward him.
“Yeah?” he shot back, pushing himself up from the couch. “Like what, Raph? There were too many of them. I would’ve been taken too.”
April shot him an annoyed look, tension tightening her shoulders. This was the last thing they needed right now.
Raph stepped closer, his presence immediately more threatening.
“Ain’t she your girlfriend or something?” he barked. “’Cause if I was you… I wouldn’t have let that happen.”
The air in the room went tight.
Heavy.
Like something was about to snap.
Girlfriend?
The word hit Leonardo harder than it should have.
He knew you and Casey were close—he’d seen it, heard it, watched it play out right in front of him. But together?
Something in his chest tightened at the thought.
Sharp. Uncomfortable.
Unwanted.
He didn’t understand it.
To him, you were reckless. Impulsive. Undisciplined. You didn’t follow orders, didn’t think things through the way you should. You put yourself—and now all of them—at risk.
So why did it bother him so much?
Why did the idea of you being with Casey sit so wrong in his chest?
“Enough.”
Leo’s voice cut through the room, sharp and commanding, snapping everyone’s attention toward him instantly.
“The last thing I need is you idiots arguing—especially about her,” he added, his tone tight, controlled… but not as steady as he wanted it to be.
Raphael turned toward him slowly.
Anger didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Listen, fearless,” Raph said, pointing at him, his voice low but loaded.
“We ain’t exactly blind to what you think about (Y/N).”
The room went still.
Tense.
Waiting.
Leo didn’t respond right away.
Didn’t move.
But something in his posture shifted—just slightly.
Raph saw it. Of course he did.
“Oh yeah,” Raph continued, stepping closer, not letting it go. “You can play leader all you want, but don’t act like this is just about the mission.”
“Raph—” Donnie tried, but he didn’t get far.
“No,” Raph cut him off, eyes locked on Leo. “He’s been riding her all day, snapping at her like she’s some liability—”
“She is a liability,” Leo shot back instantly, the words coming out sharper than he intended.
The second they left his mouth, the room went quiet.
Because even he knew—
That wasn’t the full truth.
Raph let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Then why’s she the only one you’re losing your mind over right now?”
Leo’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not—”
“Don’t,” Raph stepped closer, voice dropping, more serious now. “Don’t even try that.”
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Because everyone in the room could see it.
Even Mikey, who finally lifted his head slightly, eyes flicking between them.
Raph tilted his head slightly, watching Leo carefully.
“You think I don’t see it?” he said. “The way you look at her? The way you shut her down the second she does something you don’t like?”
Leo’s fists clenched.
“That’s called leadership.”
“No,” Raph said, shaking his head. “That’s called you caring more than you wanna admit.”
That hit.
Hard.
Leo didn’t have a response for that one.
Didn’t want to.
Because if he said anything—
He might actually have to admit it.
And he couldn’t.
Not now.
Not when you were still in there.
Still in danger.
Still—
His thoughts cut off, frustration boiling over as he turned away from Raph, dragging a hand over his face.
“This isn’t about me,” he muttered, voice tight. “She’s in there right now and we’re wasting time.”
For once—
No one argued.
Because beneath all the tension
That part was true.
Silence settled over the room again—but this time, it wasn’t hesitation.
It was something sharper.
Heavier.
The kind that comes right before action.
Leo stood still for a moment, jaw tight, eyes distant like he was already ten steps ahead—already inside that building, already figuring out how to get you out.
How to fix this.
Donnie’s tablet continued to glow between them, your tracker blinking steadily on the screen.
Still there.
Still waiting.
Mikey slowly lifted his head, eyes red, but focused now.
April crossed her arms, shifting her weight, her worry turning into something more determined.
Even Casey stood a little straighter, tension rolling off him as he stared toward the building in the distance.
Raph looked between all of them, jaw set.
Enough talking.
Enough waiting.
“Then what we doin sitting our asses here?” Raph said.
Dear lord, my rook piercing hurts so bad… like I jumped off a building and slammed my ear into the ground full force. It is so swollen I’m crying #sendhelpdearlorditshurting
Author's note: I’m completely locked into this story right now! Just a heads-up—there may be some plot holes that I noticed while rereading earlier parts. Also, if you’ve sent me a request and it’s taking me a little to get to it, please know that I’m in nursing school and super busy, so sometimes I can only write once a day. Thanks for your patience!
Also if you want to be tagged in updates lmk!
Word count: 3796 words
The kitchen felt quieter after he left, though not in any comforting way. Splinter’s presence had lingered, leaving behind a tension that sat heavy in the air—thicker than anything either of you had said aloud.
Leonardo stood across from me, posture stiff, arms crossed tightly over his chest. you knew how much Splinter’s opinion meant to him. He always tried to be the best—the best leader, the best son. Always proving something. Always carrying more than he let on.
you looked down at my coffee, watching the slow swirl of cream fade into the dark, neither of you speaking. The silence stretched, thin and fragile, like it might snap if either of you said the wrong thing.
you didn’t even know what the right thing was.
Or if you had the courage to say it.
“This is… silly,” you muttered, more to myself than to him.
He huffed quietly, the sound low, distracted—like his mind was still caught on the few words Splinter had left behind.
He turned to face you, his figure looming even from across the kitchen.
But something had shifted.
The tension was still there—tight in his shoulders, sharp in the way his arms were crossed—but it wasn’t the same as before. There was something quieter underneath it now. Something heavier. Like Splinter’s words hadn’t just passed through him… they’d settled.
Sat.
Weighed.
His gaze flickered toward you for the briefest second before slipping away again, jaw tightening as if even that small moment of eye contact was too much.
He opened his mouth.
“Listen…”
The word came out lower than before. Not sharp. Not biting.
Careful.
And that alone made my chest tighten.
you stilled where you stood, fingers curling slightly around the warmth of your mug. you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
This wasn’t a lecture.
you knew that.
There was no edge to his voice, no command behind it—just hesitation. And Leo didn’t hesitate.
Not like this.
Whatever had been building between us—the tension, the arguments, the looks, the things left unsaid—it felt like it had finally reached a point where it couldn’t just sit there anymore.
Like something had to give.
And it all depended on what he said next.
He took a step toward me.
Then another.
Slow. Measured.
Like he was thinking through every movement before he made it.
The distance between us closed quickly, and suddenly the kitchen felt smaller—too small. The hum of the fridge, the faint drip of the sink, even my own breathing—it all felt louder.
Closer.
His eyes still weren’t on you.
They hovered somewhere just past your shoulder, unfocused, like he was trying to find the right words in the air instead of looking at you directly.
That… scared you more than if he had just snapped again.
He stopped right in front of you.
Close enough now that you had to tilt your head slightly to look up at him.
Close enough that if you moved, even a little, you’d brush right into him.
Not trapped.
But not free to walk away either.
And he knew it.
His hand flexed once at his side, fingers curling slightly before relaxing again. you watched it—watched the way he seemed to be holding himself back from something.
From saying too much.
Or maybe from saying exactly what he needed to.
“I just wan—”
“Guys!! You’re not going to believe this!”
April’s voice cut through the lair like a crack of thunder.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Jarring enough that it shattered the moment completely.
Leo’s head snapped slightly toward the sound, his body going still again—but this time not in the same way as before.
The softness was gone.
Replaced instantly by control.
By distance.
You felt it immediately.
The shift.
Like whatever he was about to say—whatever had been sitting right there, on the edge—had been shoved back down just as quickly as it surfaced.
Gone.
Or at least… buried again.
You looked at each other one last time.
Whatever he was about to say—whatever almost happened—it lingered there, unfinished, hanging between us like something fragile that had been dropped but not quite shattered.
Then it was gone.
You turned at the same time, the moment slipping away as you made your way toward the living room.
The noise of the lair grew louder with each step—voices, the TV, the usual chaos—but it felt distant, like your mind hadn’t quite caught up yet.
April stood near the center of the room, slightly hunched forward, hands braced on her hips as she caught her breath. Her hair was a little out of place, chest rising and falling like she’d rushed all the way here without stopping.
“Hey, angelcakes! What’s happening?” Mikey called from the couch, half sprawled over the cushions like nothing in the world could possibly be urgent.
April didn’t even acknowledge him.
That’s how you knew it was serious.
She straightened quickly, lifting her wrist—the custom watch Donnie had made her flickering to life as she tapped the screen.
“I just found out the Foot has their hands on a stabilized mutagen canister,” she said, words coming fast, still slightly breathless.
The room shifted.
Just like that.
Donatello appeared from the garage entrance almost instantly, wiping his hands on a rag as he stepped into the room, eyes already narrowing behind his glasses.
“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head as he moved closer. “That’s not possible. There’s none left.”
April looked at him, jaw tightening slightly.
“I don’t know how they got it,” she admitted, pulling up files on the screen. “But I intercepted chatter—this isn’t a rumor. They have it. And they’re planning to use it.”
She turned the screen toward him.
Donnie leaned in, scanning quickly—his posture stiffening the longer he looked.
“…That’s real,” he muttered under his breath.
The room went quiet.
Even Mikey sat up.
Raph pushed off the wall, arms crossing as his expression hardened, already shifting into action mode.
“Well,” he said, voice firm, eyes cutting toward Leo, “let’s get our hands on it.”
All eyes moved.
To him.
Leo hadn’t spoken since we walked in.
He stood a few steps behind the rest of us, posture straight, arms at his sides—but there was a tightness there. Controlled. Focused. Like he’d locked everything down the second the mission dropped in front of him.
Like whatever happened in the kitchen… didn’t matter right now.
Or at least, that’s what he was pretending.
His gaze flicked briefly—just once.
To you.
Then back to April.
Raph rolled his shoulders slightly, the movement slow but loaded with anticipation. “So what’s the plan, fearless leader?”
Leo’s jaw tightened just slightly before he answered, like he was locking everything back into place—pushing whatever had almost surfaced earlier down where it couldn’t interfere.
When he spoke, his voice was steady again.
Controlled.
“We need to find a way to get our hands on it,” he said, eyes shifting to April. “Do you know where it is?”
April nodded quickly, already pulling something up on her watch.
“Yeah,” she said, tapping the screen before turning it toward the group. “I tracked the signal to an old lab building—abandoned on record, but there’s definitely movement inside.”
Donnie stepped in closer, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the data.
“…I’m picking up heat signatures,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Multiple. And—yeah—there’s some kind of shielding around the main room. That’s probably where they’re keeping the canister.”
Raph let out a quiet huff. “So we go in, take it, and get out.”
“It’s not that simple,” Donnie cut in quickly. “If it’s stabilized mutagen, it’s going to be in specialized containment. If that gets compromised—”
“We’re not breaking it,” Leo said firmly.
The room fell quiet again.
His tone left no room for argument.
“We get in, secure the canister, and get out without drawing attention.”
Mikey raised a hand slightly from the couch. “Quick question—how do we not draw attention when we’re, you know…” he gestured vaguely at all of them, “…this?”
That earned a small pause.
A real one.
April glanced between them, then back at Leo.
“…You can’t,” she said simply. “Not without being seen.”
And that’s when it clicked.
Donnie’s head lifted slightly.
Raph’s brows furrowed.
Mikey slowly lowered his hand.
Leo didn’t move right away.
The room held its breath.
“Well…” you started, shifting your weight slightly, forcing yourself to speak before the silence stretched any further. “I can probably get to it. I could slip in through the ventilation shafts.”
There was a beat.
“Great—” Donnie started, already turning toward his tablet—
“No.”
Leo cut him off instantly.
Sharp.
Final.
The word landed heavy in the room, stopping everything cold.
Donnie blinked, mid-sentence. Raph’s brows pulled together slightly. Even Mikey sat up straighter.
Slowly, Leo turned to face me.
And just like that—he was different again.
The softness from earlier? Gone.
His arms crossed over his chest, posture straightening as that familiar leader persona snapped firmly into place. Controlled. Unyielding.
Distant.
“Do you have a single clue how many Foot soldiers are in there?” he said, voice low but edged, eyes locked onto yours now.
You held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“One wrong move,” he continued, stepping just slightly closer, “and you’re done.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because they were wrong—
But because of how he said them.
Like you weren't capable.
Like you needed to be shut down before you even tried.
you straightened slightly, crossing your arms in return.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I couldn’t handle it,” You shot back.
A flicker of something crossed his face—fast, almost unnoticeable.
Frustration.
Or something else.
“This isn’t a game,” he said, sharper now. “You don’t get second chances in there.”
“And you think I don’t know that?” you fired back, taking a step toward him now. “I’ve handled worse than a ventilation shaft and a few guards.”
Raph let out a quiet, low “oh boy” under his breath.
Mikey leaned slightly toward Donnie. “Round two,” he whispered.
Donnie didn’t respond—his eyes were glued to the two of you.
Leo’s jaw tightened again, his gaze hard—but there was something underneath it now. Something less controlled.
“You’re not going in alone,” he said.
Not if.
Not maybe.
Not we’ll figure it out.
A decision.
You tilted my head slightly. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
That made his expression shift—just barely.
Because now?
Now he had to say it.
Out loud.
“…We’ll need someone who can move through without drawing attention,” he said, the words more measured now, even if his tone wasn’t.
April stepped forward slightly.
“I can get in through the front,” April said. “I’ve done it before. If they think I’m just press or snooping around, I can buy time.”
You nodded, thinking it through for half a second before speaking.
“We can get Casey to go with me.”
April didn’t hesitate.
“Perfect,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “I know he’ll be in.”
Leo’s expression darkened almost instantly.
“The last thing I need,” he said, voice tight, “is another variable to keep track of.”
His eyes flicked between the two of you before settling on you again.
“Well,” you said, lifting a brow slightly, “you did say you didn’t want me going in alone.”
That hit.
Just enough to make him pause.
His jaw tightened, shoulders stiffening like he was physically holding back the argument that wanted to come out. For a second, it looked like he was going to shut it down completely—
But he didn’t.
Because he couldn’t.
Not without contradicting himself.
Not without admitting this wasn’t just about the mission.
“…Fine,” he said finally.
The word came out clipped, reluctant.
Forced.
“But you stick to the plan,” he added immediately, stepping closer, his voice lowering just enough to make it feel more personal. “You stay in communication. And the second something feels off—you get out.”
His eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary.
Not just giving orders.
Warning you.
You didn’t look away.
“I’ll be fine,” You said.
That didn’t make him feel any better.
It showed.
Behind you, April was already dialing, pacing slightly as she waited for Casey to pick up.
Mikey leaned toward Raph, whispering just loud enough to be heard, “He’s gonna lose his mind, isn’t he?”
Raph smirked faintly. “Oh, yeah.”
Leo ignored them.
But his hand flexed once at his side again—subtle, but there.
April perked up suddenly.
“He picked up,” she said, turning slightly away. “Hey—yeah, hi. Quick question, how do you feel about breaking into a Foot Clan facility tonight?”
A pause.
Then she smiled.
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”
—--
You stood atop a nearby high-rise, the city stretched out beneath you in a sea of flickering lights.
The wind cut cold against your skin, tugging lightly at your clothes as you watched the building across the street.
The Foot’s activity was steady.
Too steady.
Figures moved in and out through the front entrance in timed intervals—heads down, shoulders squared, blending in just enough to pass as normal. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like late-night workers filtering through a building in the middle of New York.
But you knew better.
The plan was simple.
Once the movement outside died down, Casey and you would make your way across the rooftops, slip onto the building, and find an access point through the ventilation system.
April would go in through the front—draw attention, ask questions, keep eyes off us while you moved inside.
Simple.
On paper.
You exhaled slowly, watching as another pair of “workers” disappeared through the doors below.
April stood a few feet away, adjusting her jacket, already shifting into that confident, reporter persona she wore so easily. She knew she couldn’t just walk in and start asking questions outright—not here. Not with the Foot.
But this building was in the middle of the city.
Public enough.
Busy enough.
The Foot couldn’t risk being obvious.
No weapons. No armor. No masks.
Just people.
Which made them harder to spot—
And way more dangerous.
Behind you, you could feel it.
Before you even turned.
Leo.
His presence wasn’t loud, but it was there—steady, unmoving. Watching everything. Watching everyone.
Watching you.
You glanced back over your shoulder.
He stood near the edge, arms crossed, gaze locked on the building—but it flicked toward you the second you looked.
Just for a second.
Below, April was already making her way toward the front entrance, her figure growing smaller as she slipped into the flow of people outside.
“Here,” Donnie said, stepping closer, holding out a couple of small devices. “I made these so we can keep in touch.”
You took one from his hand, turning it over in your fingers for a second before clipping it onto your belt.
“Thanks, D,” you said, glancing up at him with a small smile.
“Sweet,” Casey added, already shoving his into his pocket like it was nothing.
Typical.
The moment didn’t last long.
You moved.
Crossing the rooftop quickly, the wind picking up around you as you made your way toward the vent access. Your boots scraped lightly against the concrete, the sound swallowed by the city below.
Leo reached it first.
Of course he did.
He crouched down, gripping the metal cover before pulling it up with a low creak, setting it aside carefully. The opening beneath was narrow—tight, dark, barely enough space to crawl through.
Casey didn’t hesitate.
Already dropping down and pulling himself inside like he’d done it a hundred times before.
You stepped forward, crouching slightly as You prepared to follow—
And then—
A hand wrapped around your shoulder.
Firm.
Warm.
Stopping you instantly.
You froze.
Leo.
You didn’t have to turn to know it.
But did anyway.
He stood close behind you now, closer than before. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him even in the cold air, his grip steady—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to keep you there.
To make sure you listened.
“Be… safe in there,” he said.
His voice was lower now.
Quieter.
Not the leader.
Not the commanding tone from earlier.
Just him.
His eyes met mine, and for a second—just a second—there was no frustration, no tension, no control.
Just concern.
Real, unguarded concern.
“…Okay?”
You softened a little at that, Your hand lifting to rest over his where it sat on your shoulder.
“I will,” you said gently. “Promise.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Like he wanted to say something else.
Like he almost did.
But he didn’t.
His hand lingered for half a second longer before finally letting go.
And just like that—
The distance was back.
You gave him one last look before turning, lowering myself into the vent and pulling forward.
The metal was cold beneath your hands, the space tight as you crawled deeper inside.
Behind you—
You could feel it.
Even without looking.
Leo didn’t move.
Didn’t say anything.
He just stood there—
Watching.
Until you disappeared completely into the dark.
—------
Leonardo pulled himself back up onto the adjacent rooftop, the cool night air hitting him as he steadied himself beside the others.
The team had already fallen into place.
Donnie stood off to the side, tablet glowing in his hands as lines of data and small moving signals flickered across the screen—tracking every movement inside the building.
Raph was near the edge, watching the street below like a hawk, his attention locked on April as she blended into the crowd and slipped inside.
Mikey… was leaning against a vent pipe, whispering something to himself about “mission impossible vibes,” clearly trying—and failing—to take things seriously.
Leo didn’t comment.
Didn’t look at them.
He moved straight to Donnie’s side.
“Status?” he asked, voice low, controlled.
Donnie tilted the screen slightly so Leo could see.
“April’s inside,” he said. “Moving through the main floor. No one’s flagged her yet.”
Leo nodded once.
His eyes shifted.
Two small signals blinked steadily across the map.
One of them—
yours.
He focused on it immediately.
Watching as it moved slowly through the ventilation system, steady, deliberate.
Safe.
For now.
He didn’t realize he’d stopped paying attention to everything else until
Donnie noticed.
Of course he did.
Donnie’s eyes flicked toward him briefly before returning to the screen, a small, knowing look settling behind his glasses.
“So…” he started casually, like he wasn’t about to poke at something very obvious.
“What’s going on with you two?”
Leo didn’t react at first.
Not outwardly.
His posture didn’t shift. His gaze didn’t leave the screen.
But there was the slightest pause.
A fraction too long.
“…Nothing,” he said.
Flat.
Quick.
Too quick.
Donnie hummed softly, unconvinced.
“Right,” he muttered. “Because you definitely don’t snap at people for no reason.”
Leo’s jaw tightened slightly at that.
“I’m focused,” he replied. “There’s a difference.”
“Mm,” Donnie said, tapping lightly on the tablet. “You’re focused on her tracker.”
That landed.
Leo’s eyes flicked to him—sharp, brief.
Then back to the screen.
“…I’m monitoring the mission.”
“Uh-huh.”
Donnie didn’t push right away.
Didn’t need to.
The silence stretched just long enough to make it obvious.
“You know,” Donnie added after a moment, quieter now, “you could’ve just said you were worried.”
Leo’s hand curled slightly at his side.
“I’m always worried,” he said. “That’s my job.”
Donnie shook his head faintly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Leo didn’t respond.
Couldn’t.
Because the truth sat right there, unspoken—and way too close to the surface.
Instead, his gaze locked back onto the screen.
On you.
Moving deeper into the building.
Every step you took—
he followed.
He didn’t understand his own emotions anymore. The most composed turtle of them all was conflicted.
About you.
He wasn’t stupid. He saw it—the way Casey’s hand would linger on yours a moment too long. The way your face would light up whenever his name came up. The little stories the others would tell about the two of you spending time alone.
And yet, at the thought of you being alone with him, a sharp, unreasoning anger filled Leo’s chest.
It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. He was supposed to be the level-headed one, the leader. The one everyone could rely on.
But there it was anyway—hot, relentless, and utterly distracting.
He clenched his fists at his sides, jaw tight, eyes flicking back to your blinking tracker.
And he hated that he couldn’t look away
—------
“God, it smells strong in here,” you muttered, crawling carefully behind Casey.
The metal walls of the vent were cold against your hands, the narrow space forcing you to move slowly. Dust hung in the air, and every shift of the vent panel groaned under your weight.
Casey moved ahead without hesitation, seemingly oblivious to the tight squeeze and the stifling smell. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves in check. One wrong move, one careless sound, and the whole plan could fall apart.
“Almost there,” Casey whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the building’s ventilation system.
You nodded, keeping your breathing steady, though a shiver ran down your spine.
Footsteps echoed somewhere below. You and Casey froze, pressed tight against the narrow vent walls. Two pairs of boots shuffled carefully beneath you, then stopped.
A woman’s voice—muffled, sharp, and not English—cut through the silence. She spoke in short, commanding tones, the kind that made your stomach twist. The sound faded as the soldiers moved on, but your pulse was racing.
You crawled, careful with every squeak of metal. The vent twisted sharply, forcing you to crouch low.
Then, without warning, the floor panel beneath you gave way.
You yelped as you plummeted into the room below, barely able to grab onto the edge—but your hands slipped.
Above, Casey froze, pressed tight against the vent wall. He considered jumping down—being the heroic guy he always claimed to be—but before he could act,
he saw the Foot soldiers swarm around you.
You were on the ground, barely able to move.
Pain shot through your body from the fall, and every instinct screamed at you to get up—but before you could make a sound, the soldiers barked orders at each other in harsh, clipped tones.
Strong hands grabbed you, yanking you to your feet, and before you could react, they dragged you into the shadows.
Casey’s heart pounded in his chest, but exposing himself now would mean certain death.
He stayed frozen, watching helplessly, as your figure disappeared from sight—leaving only the echo of his own frustration and the chilling reality that
Author's note: Leo in the bayverse movies is kinda nasty sometimes LIKE i understand where he is coming from most of the time but he is kind of a dick to his brothers for like zero reason. need him to yell at me like that lowkey
Word count: 6479 words
The cold settled in the moment I stepped onto the ice.
It wasn’t biting, not enough to be uncomfortable—but it lingered, sharp against my skin, curling into my lungs with every breath. Each exhale came out in a soft cloud, fading just as quickly as it appeared.
The rink was alive in a quiet kind of way.
Blades carved steady lines into the ice, the sound crisp and rhythmic. Laughter echoed from somewhere across the rink, mixing with the faint hum of music playing overhead. Lights reflected off the surface beneath our feet, turning it into something smooth and glass-like, almost glowing.
I stood there for a second, taking it in.
“…I forgot how much I missed this.”
Beside me, Casey crouched slightly as he tightened the last lace on his skates, tugging it firm before tying it off with quick, practiced hands. His movements were easy, automatic—like muscle memory drilled in from years on the rink, just a different kind.
“Yeah?” he said, glancing up at me. “Didn’t peg you as the type to miss freezing your face off.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting my weight as the cold seeped through the soles of my skates.
“It’s not the cold,” I said, nodding toward the rink. “It’s this.”
Casey followed my gaze for a moment, watching a couple skate past, their movements uneven but determined.
“…Yeah,” he said after a second, a little quieter. “I get that.”
He stood, rolling his shoulders once before stepping up beside me at the edge of the rink. For a brief moment, we both just stood there, watching the flow of people—some confident, some clinging to the railing, all moving in their own rhythm.
Then Casey pushed off.
His blade cut into the ice with a sharp, controlled scrape, sending him forward in strong, grounded strides. There was power in the way he moved—built for speed, for impact, for control in tight spaces. Hockey.
I followed a second later.
The second my skates touched the ice, everything fell into place.
The balance settled under me instantly, edges catching clean as muscle memory took over. I pushed forward into a smooth glide, weight shifting effortlessly from one foot to the other, each movement controlled, precise—years of figure skating settling back into my body like I’d never left.
The cold air rushed past, brushing against my cheeks as I picked up speed without thinking.
It felt… easy.
Familiar.
Like stepping back into something that had always been part of me.
I exhaled slowly, letting the rhythm take over for a few seconds before I noticed Casey glancing over his shoulder.
“…Okay,” he said, dragging the word out as I pulled up beside him. “Yeah, that’s not normal.”
I smiled faintly, not slowing as I matched his pace.
“It is if you know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, no,” he shook his head, letting out a quiet breath of disbelief. “That was way too smooth.”
“That’s the point.”
He huffed a laugh, adjusting his stride to stay beside me.
“Alright,” he said. “So what—this is like a hidden talent thing, or…?”
“Or I’ve just been doing it for a while,” I replied.
“Yeah, that makes more sense.”
We fell into an easy rhythm after that, skating side by side as the sounds of the rink blended into the background. His strides were heavier, sharper—cutting deeper into the ice with purpose. Mine were quieter, lighter, guided by edges and balance rather than force. Different styles, completely—but neither of us had to adjust much to stay in sync.
After a moment, he spoke again.
“…So how’d you end up with those guys?” he asked, nodding vaguely. “Not exactly your average crowd.”
I let out a small breath, eyes focused ahead as I leaned slightly into a curve, letting the edge carry me.
“Honestly? I could ask you the same thing.”
He smirked a little at that.
“Fair.”
There was a brief pause, the only sound between us the steady scrape of our skates against the ice.
“Just kinda happened,” I added after a second.
“Wrong place, right time.”
Casey nodded once, like that was all the explanation he needed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds about right.”
He pushed forward a little harder, gaining a bit of speed before looping around in a loose arc, cutting across my path with a quick hockey turn before falling back into place beside me.
“They’re good, though,” he added. “Your guys.”
A small smile pulled at my lips.
“They are.”
“Little weird,” he said.
“Very.”
“But solid.”
I glanced over at him. “You’re one to talk.”
“Hey,” he pointed briefly at me as he skated, “I’m completely normal.”
“Mm. Sure you are.”
He bumped his shoulder lightly into mine as he passed a little too close, the contact brief but steady enough to throw off my balance for half a second.
“Careful,” I said, correcting smoothly, shifting onto my edge without breaking rhythm.
“Relax,” he shot back. “You’ve got it.”
I let out a soft laugh, pushing into a longer glide, one foot trailing behind me in a clean, controlled line, posture straightening instinctively.
Casey slowed just slightly, watching.
“…See, that,” he said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“You make it look like you’re not even trying.”
I shrugged, letting the movement carry me.
“I’m not.”
“That’s not helpful.”
A small smile tugged at my lips as I turned slightly, letting the edge of my blade guide me into a smooth transition. Without really thinking about it, I spun—quick, centered, controlled—years of practice making it effortless before I settled back into a glide like it was nothing.
When I looked back at him, he was staring again.
“…What?” I asked, a hint of amusement in my voice.
He blinked, like he’d been caught, then let out a short breath.
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just—yeah. That’s actually kinda cool.”
“‘Kinda’?” I echoed.
“Don’t push it.”
I laughed, the sound lighter now, easier.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
We just skated.
The cold air, the steady rhythm, the noise of the rink—it all blurred into something distant, leaving just the movement and the quiet understanding settling between us—his power, my control, somehow meeting in the middle.
Casey exhaled slowly, glancing around like he was taking it all in again.
“…Haven’t done this in a while,” he admitted.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded slightly. “Same.”
Another small pause.
Then I glanced over at him, a hint of challenge creeping into my tone.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Casey’s head turned toward me, brow lifting slightly.
“Oh, you’re serious.”
“Very.”
A slow grin spread across his face, something more competitive slipping into his expression now.
“…You’re on.”
—---------------
The lair buzzed with noise.
Not chaotic—just alive.
The TV cast flickering light across the room, reflecting off the concrete walls as the sound of a hockey game filled the space. The sharp crack of sticks, the rush of skates, the distant roar of a digital crowd—it all blended into the usual background chaos.
“—NO, that was a penalty! There’s no way that was clean!”
Michelangelo was halfway off the couch again, one foot planted on the cushion as he pointed aggressively at the screen, like the players could hear him.
“It was clean,” Raphael shot back from across the room, arms crossed, completely unmoved. “Your guy just got outplayed.”
“He got demolished! That’s not the same thing!”
Donatello barely glanced up from where he sat, fingers moving across his tablet.
“Technically,” he said calmly, “body checking is a legal maneuver within regulation play—”
“Donnie,” Mikey cut in, whipping around dramatically, “I don’t need facts right now, I need support.”
“You came to the wrong turtle.”
Before Mikey could argue further—
Footsteps echoed faintly from the tunnel.
“Wow,” a familiar voice called. “I could hear you from halfway down the sewer.”
April stepped into the room, brushing a bit of dust from her jacket as she looked around, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Mikey lit up instantly.
“April!” he said, spinning toward her. “Perfect timing—you’re about to witness injustice.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been here for three seconds.”
“Exactly. You’re unbiased.”
Raph snorted under his breath.
“Unbiased doesn’t mean blind.”
April laughed softly, shaking her head as she stepped further into the living area, her gaze flicking between them.
“You guys are unbelievable,” she said. “Is it always this loud down here?”
“Yes,” Donnie answered simply.
“Always,” Mikey confirmed.
April’s attention shifted as she looked around the room, taking in who was there—
Then who wasn’t.
“…Wait,” she said, brows pulling together slightly. “Where is everyone?”
Donnie didn’t look up. “Define ‘everyone.’”
“You know what I mean.”
Mikey followed her gaze, looking around exaggeratedly before slowly sitting up straighter.
“…Hold on.”
He pointed toward the empty space beside the couch.
“Where’s (Y/N)?”
There was a brief pause.
April answered without thinking, her tone casual.
“Oh—she went out with Casey.”
That landed.
Not loudly.
But enough.
Raph’s head tilted slightly.
Donnie’s fingers stilled for half a second.
Mikey blinked.
“…Out?” he repeated.
April nodded, shrugging lightly as she stepped closer to the table.
“Yeah, they mentioned something about an outdoor rink. Skating, I think.”
Silence slipped in.
Quick.
Noticeable.
Across the room—
Leonardo stopped moving.
He’d been near the counter, one hand resting lightly beside his mug, posture relaxed in that controlled way he always carried himself.
Now—
Still.
Not rigid.
Not obvious.
Just… still.
April didn’t notice.
“They seemed pretty excited about it,” she added, glancing back at them. “Casey was going on about hockey, and she said she used to skate—like, actually skate.”
A quiet clink echoed through the room.
Ceramic against stone.
Leo had set his mug down.
A little too hard.
Mikey’s head snapped toward him immediately, eyes widening just slightly.
Raph’s gaze followed, slower—but sharper.
Donnie definitely noticed.
April blinked, looking between them. “…What?”
Leo didn’t look at anyone.
His gaze stayed forward, jaw set just enough to give him away—if you were looking for it.
“I have training,” he said.
His voice was steady.
Measured.
Too measured.
Mikey tilted his head, squinting. “…Right now?”
“Yes.”
Raph pushed off the wall slightly, arms still crossed. “Didn’t you already train this morning?”
Leo’s expression didn’t change.
“I’m going again.”
Short.
Final.
There was no room for argument in it.
He turned before anyone could say anything else, footsteps echoing against the floor as he headed toward the hallway.
Controlled.
Even.
But his hand flexed once at his side, fingers tightening before relaxing again.
Then he was gone.
The room sat in silence for a second longer than it should have.
Donnie adjusted his glasses slightly. “That was quite the behavioral shift, yes.”
Raph huffed quietly, shaking his head just a little. “He’s ain’t subtle.”
April looked between them, confusion turning into realization as she replayed the moment in her head.
“…Wait,” she said slowly. “Did I say something?”
Mikey turned to her immediately.
“Yes.”
“You absolutely did,” Donnie added.
April blinked. “…What did I do?”
Mikey leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing something important.
“You started something.”
April’s eyes widened slightly as it clicked.
“…Oh.
—--------------
The cold lingered a little more once we stepped off the ice.
Without the constant movement, it settled in—biting at my cheeks, seeping through my clothes as I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. The sounds of the rink faded behind us, blades and laughter turning into something distant as we stepped back onto solid ground.
I flexed my fingers slightly, still warm from the gloves.
“…Okay,” Casey said, exhaling a cloud of breath into the air. “That was worth it.”
I smiled faintly. “Told you.”
He nudged the door open with his shoulder, holding it long enough for me to step through first before following me out into the open air.
The sky had darkened while we were inside, the last traces of daylight gone. Streetlights cast a soft glow over the sidewalk, reflecting faintly off patches of ice and snow.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
We just started walking.
Boots crunching lightly against the ground, breath visible in the cold between us.
“…You’re way better than you let on, you know that?” Casey said after a minute, glancing over at me.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t ‘let on’ anything. You just didn’t believe me.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Didn’t expect that level of… whatever that was.”
“Skill?” I offered.
He gave me a look. “Don’t push it.”
I smiled a little, looking ahead again as we walked.
The quiet wasn’t awkward.
Just… easy.
The kind that didn’t need to be filled.
Casey kicked lightly at a patch of snow in his path before speaking again.
“…You should come out more,” he said. “Not just skating. Just—out.”
I glanced at him. “Are you saying I don’t go outside enough?”
“I’m saying,” he started, then paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. “You seem different out here.”
I raised an eyebrow slightly. “Different how?”
He shrugged, but his gaze lingered on me a second longer than before.
“Less… guarded, I guess.”
That made me look away for a second.
The cold air filled the space between us again as we kept walking, the distant hum of the city settling in around us.
“…Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “It’s easier out here.”
Casey nodded once, like he understood exactly what I meant.
“Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”
Another stretch of quiet followed.
Comfortable.
But now… a little more aware.
I glanced down the street ahead, recognizing where we were getting closer to.
“You don’t have to walk me all the way, you know,” I said. “I’m good from here.”
Casey scoffed lightly. “Yeah, not happening.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not walking you.”
I shook my head slightly, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Stubborn.”
“Smart.”
“Debatable.”
He let out a quiet laugh at that, his breath fogging in the air.
We slowed as we reached my place, the street quieter here, the noise of the rink long gone.
Casey stopped, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“So,” he said. “I’ll see you around?”
I looked at him, a small smile lingering.
“Yeah,” I said. “You will.”
He nodded once, like that was enough.
“Good.”
There was a pause.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… there.
Like neither of us was in a rush to break it.
Casey shifted slightly, hands still tucked into his pockets, glancing down the street for a second before looking back at me.
“Well,” he said. “Get inside before you freeze.”
I rolled my eyes lightly. “You’re the one standing out here.”
“Yeah, but I’m built for it.”
“Sure you are.”
He smirked faintly.
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
Like this was the part where one of us was supposed to leave.
I hesitated.
Then stepped a little closer.
Casey didn’t move—just watched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
“For what?”
“For today.”
Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, softer than before.
“…Yeah,” he said. “Anytime.”
And before I could overthink it—
I leaned in.
Pressing a quick, light kiss to his cheek.
It was brief.
Warm despite the cold.
And then I pulled back just as quickly.
Casey blinked.
Once.
Then again.
“…Okay,” he said, clearly thrown off, one hand coming up to the back of his neck. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I smiled, just a little.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.”
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he let out a small breath, a crooked grin slowly forming.
“…Alright,” he said. “I’m definitely walking you home again.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head.
“Goodnight, Casey.”
I turned slightly toward the door—
Then he spoke again.
“Hey—”
I paused, glancing back at him.
“You coming back to the lair?” he asked. “We were probably gonna hang out for a bit.”
There was a small hesitation.
Just enough to matter.
“…Not tonight,” I said. “I think I’m just gonna stay in.”
Casey studied me for a second, like he was trying to read if there was more behind that answer—
Then he nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll probably head back.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Another small pause.
“Get inside,” he added, softer this time.
I smiled faintly. “You too.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that.
“Yeah. I will.”
I gave one last glance before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind me.
And when I looked back through the window—
Casey was still there for a second.
Then he turned—
And headed back the way we came.
Toward the lair.
—-------
The walk back felt shorter.
Maybe it was the cold.
Maybe it was the fact that Casey’s mind wasn’t exactly… focused.
His hands stayed shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the night air as his boots hit the pavement in steady rhythm. The streets were quieter now, the city settling into that late-night calm.
But his mind kept replaying it.
That moment.
The way you stepped closer—
The kiss.
Casey let out a quiet breath, shaking his head once like that might reset him.
“…Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “Did not see that coming.”
A few more steps—
Then the familiar entrance came into view.
He didn’t hesitate, pulling it open and slipping inside, the colder air of the tunnels wrapping around him as he made his way down.
By the time he reached the lair—
The noise hit first.
Voices overlapping, the flicker of the TV casting shifting light across the room, the low hum of Donnie’s tech blending into it all. It was the same as always.
Comfortably chaotic.
Casey stepped in, pushing a hand back through his hair.
“Yo.”
Michelangelo popped up immediately from the couch, twisting around so fast he nearly lost his balance.
“CASEY!”
He leaned over the back of the couch, eyes lighting up.
“Where have you been?! We’ve been bored for like—hours.”
April stood nearby, leaning against the table with her arms loosely crossed, a small smile on her face as she glanced over.
“Pretty sure it’s been twenty minutes,” she said.
Casey smirked, shaking his head. “Relax, I was out.”
Mikey practically fell off the couch. “WITHOUT ME?!”
Casey held up a hand. “Hey, they don’t make skates big enough for your feet, man.”
Raph snorted. April let out a soft chuckle. Mikey glared down at his feet, muttering indignantly, “These are proportional!”
Casey shrugged, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. “I played hockey; she skates better than me.”
That earned a small laugh from April and a quiet shake of the head from Raph. Mikey froze, eyes wide.
“Better than you?” he repeated, slowly. “No way.”
“Way,” Casey said simply, leaning back slightly. His gaze softened as he remembered the rink, the way you moved—fluid, precise, effortless.
April glanced between Casey and Mikey, noticing the subtle shift in his expression. She tilted her head. “Sounds like fun,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” Casey admitted, taking a small sip of water. “She’s… really good.”
Mikey flopped back against the cushions, staring at him. “I would’ve fallen immediately.”
“You would’ve tripped before you got on the ice,” Raph muttered dryly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The room settled into its usual rhythm again. Mikey muttered about betrayal, Donnie went back to his tablet, Raph leaned back against the wall smirking, and April’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Casey, a knowing glint in her eyes.
Casey leaned against the table, quietly spinning his water bottle in his hands, still thinking about the evening—the way you’d laughed, the way your blades had cut across the ice, the warmth of your small gesture before parting. It was simple, quiet, but it stuck with him.
Around him, the lair buzzed on, unaware—or maybe unwilling—to notice just how much his mind was elsewhere.
– – – –
The next evening, you stepped into the lair.
You barely made it a few steps in before—
“Son of a—!”
A loud clang of metal echoed through the space, followed by the sharp scrape of something hitting the floor.
You paused, blinking.
“…Donnie?”
The noise had come from deeper in the lair, and without thinking, you followed it—your footsteps echoing lightly against the concrete as you made your way toward the makeshift garage.
The moment you stepped in, the scent of metal and oil hit you.
And there he was.
Donatello was halfway under the Shellraiser, only his legs and the edge of his shell visible as sparks briefly flickered from beneath the vehicle. Whatever he was working on clearly wasn’t cooperating.
“…okay, that’s not supposed to—” he muttered under his breath.
“Hey, Don,” you called, stepping closer.
There was a pause—then the sound of something being set down quickly.
A second later, he rolled out from underneath the Shellraiser, adjusting his glasses as he sat up.
“Oh—hey!” he said, a little breathless but smiling. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
You smiled back, glancing up at the massive vehicle.
“Wow… it’s looking great, Donnie.”
And it was.
Even from the outside, it looked more reinforced than before—new plating, cleaner welds, pieces that looked like they definitely weren’t part of a normal garbage truck.
Donnie pushed himself up to his feet, towering slightly as he grabbed a nearby rag and wiped his hands.
“Thanks!” he said, clearly pleased. “Leo actually had a few improvement ideas, so I’ve been trying to stay on top of everything.”
“Leo, huh?” you said, stepping a little closer, your hand brushing along the side of the Shellraiser. “I think it looked amazing before the improvements.”
Your fingers trailed lightly along the metal, cool beneath your touch.
Donnie snorted softly, amused.
“Have you even seen the inside yet?”
That caught you off guard.
You hesitated, glancing back at him with a small, slightly sheepish smile.
“I mean… not really,” you admitted. “I’ve seen it in action, but—”
“Not up close,” he finished for you, already grinning.
You laughed quietly, looking away for a second.
“…Not quite.”
“Well,” Donnie said, stepping toward the door and pulling it open with a bit of a flourish.
“After you.”
You raised an eyebrow, smiling.
“Wow. A gentleman.”
“Only on special occasions.”
You laughed, ducking slightly as you stepped up and into the Shellraiser.
And the second you were inside—
You stopped.
“…Okay,” you said softly. “Yeah, this is insane.”
It was nothing like the outside.
Screens. Lights. Organized chaos of tech lining the interior. It felt more like stepping into a mobile command center than a vehicle.
Behind you, Donnie climbed in, clearly pleased with your reaction.
“I’ve been upgrading the internal systems,” he explained, moving past you to tap lightly on one of the panels. “Navigation, defense protocols, communication—basically everything.”
You turned slowly, taking it all in.
“You built all this?”
“Well—” he adjusted his glasses, trying to play it cool, “—refined it.”
You smiled, shaking your head slightly in disbelief.
“Donnie, this is incredible.”
For a second, he just stood there, clearly trying not to look too proud of himself—
and failing.
“Okay, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s pretty great.”
You laughed softly, leaning back against one of the seats as you took everything in again, your eyes flicking over the glowing panels and controls.
“Do I get to go for a ride?” you asked, turning and spinning lightly in the front seat, hands gripping the sides for balance.
Donnie snorted, leaning casually against one of the consoles.
“Only if Leo says yes,” he said, giving a small shrug. “Which is… statistically unlikely.”
You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically against the seat.
“Of course it is.”
He smirked a little at that, tapping a few buttons absentmindedly.
“I mean, you could ask him,” he added, glancing over at you. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
You turned your head slightly, giving him a look.
“Wow. So supportive.”
“I deal in realism.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head as you glanced back toward the front windshield.
“…He’s not that bad,” you muttered.
Donnie didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he just adjusted his glasses, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Didn’t say he was.”
A quiet beat passed.
Then—
“You gonna ask him?” he added casually.
You hesitated for a second, your gaze drifting away from his as you let out a small sigh, shoulders relaxing just a little.
“Uh… something kind of happened the other night,” you said, trying to sound casual—but not quite pulling it off. “Not really in the mood to talk to ‘lame-oh-nardo’ right now.”
You giggled under your breath, like you knew exactly how ridiculous that sounded.
Donnie raised an eyebrow, immediately intrigued.
“Oh?” he said, dragging the word out slightly.
He reached over and pulled the Shellraiser door shut with a solid thunk, then dropped into the seat across from you, leaning forward with interest.
“Okay,” he said, resting his arms on his knees. “Talk to Donatello.”
There was a light laugh in his voice—but his eyes were sharp behind his glasses.
You shifted slightly in your seat, leaning back as your gaze drifted toward the front windshield instead of him.
“I don’t really know…” you started, exhaling softly. “He’s just been… sharp with me lately. I think that’s the word.”
Your fingers tapped lightly against the armrest as you thought about it.
“Leo and I have always been good,” you continued, quieter now. “But the other night he kind of just… snapped at me.”
You frowned slightly, shaking your head.
“And ever since then, he’s been short. Like—” you paused, searching for the right words, “—not ignoring me, but not really… talking to me either.”
Donnie didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t joke.
He just listened.
Really listened.
His expression shifted slightly, thoughtful now as he adjusted his glasses.
“…That’s not normal,” he said after a moment.
You let out a small, humorless laugh.
“Yeah. I noticed.”
A quiet beat settled between you, the low hum of the Shellraiser filling the space.
Donnie leaned back slightly in his seat, arms crossing as he thought.
“Did anything happen?” he asked. “Like—before he snapped?”
You shook your head slowly.
“Me and Mikey were just playing games for a bit… Then Casey dropped in. I went to say hi to leo while he was meditating, and he’s just been…” You trailed off, staring out the front windshield, the soft hum of the Shellraiser filling the space.
“Well…” Donnie began, leaning back slightly, fingers steepled under his chin as he thought.
“Now that you mention it,” he said after a moment, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “last night when April was over, she said you and Casey were skating. If I’m correct…”
You felt your stomach twist just a little.
“Yeah… that’s right,” you admitted quietly.
Donnie’s expression sharpened, his gaze flicking toward the front as if he could already picture it. “Leo’s body language… tensed up the second it was mentioned.”
You shifted in your seat, fidgeting slightly with the edge of your sleeve.
“You noticed all that?” you asked softly.
Donnie gave a small, knowing smirk, adjusting his glasses. “I notice a lot. He may not say anything… but it’s there.”
The air in the Shellraiser seemed to thicken for a moment, quiet except for the low hum of the vehicle’s systems.
You let out a soft sigh, leaning back against your seat. “Figures. That sounds… just like him.”
Donnie nodded slowly, eyes still thoughtful.
“Hey, Donnie,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “Are you going to tell Leo about this conversation? Things are already… awkward, and I really don’t want to make it worse.”
Donnie leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Your secrets are safe with me,” he snorted, a teasing glint in his eyes.
You gave a small laugh, letting some of the tension slip from your shoulders. “Good. Because I’d rather survive his silent treatment than have it get worse.”
Donnie laughed at that, the sound echoing softly in the Shellraiser.
“Leo is always like tha—”
Before he could finish, the Shellraiser door swung open with a firm creak.
“Leo’s like what?”
You both froze.
Standing there, framed by the dim light of the lair, was Leonardo. Hands planted firmly on either side of the Shellraiser door, his stance tall and imposing. His eyes scanned the two of you like he was trying to read every thought before it could be spoken.
The quiet hum of the Shellraiser suddenly felt deafening.
Donnie straightened, adjusting his glasses, but didn’t speak.
You swallowed, heart thumping just a little faster, and shifted slightly in your seat, suddenly aware of how exposed you both were under Leo’s gaze.
“Looks like you’re working hard, Don,” Leo spat, his tone thick with sarcasm as he turned away slightly, clearly not fully engaging—but making sure you both knew he was watching.
You and Donnie exchanged a quick glance, neither of you saying a word. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft hum of the Shellraiser’s systems.
Donnie finally pushed off from the vehicle, stepping fully out, hands relaxed but ready.
“Hey, Leo… listen, we were just talking,” he said carefully, voice calm but cautious.
You caught a hint of a laugh in Leo’s voice, low and dry, like he was amused and irritated at the same time.
“Oh, I’m sure you two were,” he replied, the words sharp but not overbearing, his gaze flicking between you and Donnie.
You shifted slightly in your seat, fidgeting with your hands. The weight of Leo’s presence pressed down in a way that made the Shellraiser feel smaller, more confining.
“Well, now that you’re here… did you wanna see what I added to the Shellraiser?” Donnie asked, his tone light, trying to ease the tension.
“I have no interest,” Leo barked, sharp and cold.
What a dick, you thought, glaring at him. Donatello had been working his shell off making improvements Leo himself had asked for, and now he’s dismissing them without even a glance?
You stepped out of the truck, following Donnie, your jaw tightening.
“Hey,” you said, voice firm, cutting through the tension. “Donnie put a lot of work into this, and he deserves a little credit, whether you’re interested or not.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched slightly at his sides. “I don’t need to give him credit for following instructions,” he shot back, voice low but edged with irritation. “He’s doing what he was told. That’s his job.”
“His job?” you repeated, incredulous, stepping a little closer. “Donnie didn’t just follow instructions. He improved your ideas, made it better than what you asked for, and he deserves acknowledgment—not a dismissal.”
Leo’s stance stiffened, chest rising as he took a step toward you. “I’m not dismissing him. I’m being realistic. He doesn’t need me patting him on the back for doing what he’s supposed to do.”
You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Realistic? That’s just an excuse to be dismissive. Effort matters, Leo. And Donnie put in effort—and you’re being a jerk if you act like it doesn’t.”
A tense beat passed. Leo’s jaw clenched, his eyes sharp, but you didn’t back down. “I won’t stand here and let you make him feel small. Not over this,” you added firmly.
Donnie shifted beside you, awkward but grateful, as Leo’s expression softened fractionally, though the pride and irritation lingered.
Finally, Leo let out a controlled exhale, stepping back slightly. “You think I’m being unfair,” he said, voice tight. “Maybe I am… but I won’t let this turn into praise for every little thing.”
“Not every little thing,” you said, nodding. “Just the things that actually matter. And this—this matters.”
He said nothing after that, eyes flicking briefly to Donnie, then back to you. The tension still hung heavy—but the argument had been made.
“Well,” you said, letting the words roll off your tongue just a little louder, “you know Leo can be a real asshole.”
Leo’s eyes snapped to yours immediately, sharp and focused, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, silent but clearly listening.
Donnie shifted awkwardly beside you, glancing at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
You, meanwhile, just let a small, sly smile tug at your lips, refusing to look away. Mission accomplished: Leo had heard, and you weren’t backing down.
The garage felt charged, every hum of the Shellraiser louder than before, as if it was holding its breath along with all three of you.
You stepped away, brushing past Leo’s tall, solid frame as if he were just another person in a crowded hallway. Your movement was casual, but your eyes caught the faint tension in his stance as you passed.
Heading toward the living room, you let Donnie lead the way, gesturing excitedly to Leo as he pointed out all the improvements he’d made. Tools glinted under the overhead lights, welds shone, and circuitry hummed softly—a testament to Donnie’s work.
Leo followed silently, shoulders stiff, hands tucked loosely at his sides, watching Donnie’s every move. He didn’t say a word, but the way his gaze lingered on you for the briefest of moments before snapping back to the Shellraiser made it clear: he was aware. Every step you took, every laugh or comment Donnie made, he noticed.
You kept walking, trying not to smirk too much at the unspoken tension you’d stirred, letting Donnie shine while Leo silently processed the scene.
By the time you stepped into the living room, you felt like you could finally breathe again, letting the cool hum of the lair settle around you. Donnie and Leo were still in the garage, absorbed in their own world, and you decided to give them some space.
Your attention immediately shifted to the couch, where Mikey was sprawled across the cushions, his eyes glued to the TV. Raph sat beside him, arms crossed, grumbling quietly at whatever was playing.
“Hey,” Mikey greeted without looking away from the screen, tossing you a bag of chips. “Where’ve you been? You missed all the action!”
You laughed softly, taking a chip and sinking onto the armrest of the couch. “Action, huh? You mean chaos?”
Mikey grinned, barely containing himself. “Tomato, tomahto! Totally the same thing.”
Raph muttered something under his breath, but you could tell he was half-listening, half-annoyed, the way he always was when Mikey was hyped.
You leaned back, letting yourself relax for a moment. But even as the room’s casual energy surrounded you, a small, familiar tension lingered in the back of your mind—the one Leo left behind. You knew it wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
—-
You walked into the kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee. Casey was supposed to stop by soon, though you had no idea exactly when. You’d texted a bit earlier—no one besides Donnie really knew what had been brewing with Leo.
Opening the fridge, you pushed past the sodas to reach the coffee creamer buried deep in the back. As you pulled it out and closed the door, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. Leo had entered, his presence announced by a deliberate huff, sharp and deliberate, like the air itself stiffened around him.
You poured a splash of creamer into your coffee, swirling it slowly, then turned to face him. A teasing smirk tugged at your lips, just enough to let him know you were aware of the tension. He wasn’t fooled; he knew exactly what you were doing.
“You better watch it,” he began, voice low and sharp, “or—”
“Or what?” you cut in, leaning forward just slightly, letting your smirk grow. You could see the way his shoulders tensed at the challenge.
He didn’t speak, just stared through you, those piercing blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, measuring you, calculating.
“You know,” you began, voice firm but careful, “I don’t know what this… switch up was, but I never did anything to you.”
Leo’s jaw tightened, a faint clench that betrayed the effort it took to keep his composure. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, like he was physically restraining himself from saying something sharp.
“You think it’s that simple?” he said finally, voice low, controlled—but every word carried the weight of unspoken frustration. “You waltz in, make everyone else laugh, shake things up, and suddenly I’m the one out of step?”
You shook your head slightly, refusing to step back. “No. I’m not the problem, Leo. You don’t have to snap at me—or at Donnie—just because you’re… unsettled. That’s on you, not me.”
His eyes flicked away for a moment, and you caught the faintest sigh escaping him. A moment of vulnerability, quickly masked by his usual rigid posture.
“I’m not snapping,” he muttered, but the words were thin, unconvincing.
“Oh really?” you asked softly, voice just above a whisper, letting the tension hang in the air. “Because it sure felt like it.”
He stared at you again, silence stretching between you like a taut wire, neither willing to let go—but both fully aware that this conversation was far from over.
“Is there an issue?”
Master Splinter’s calm voice cut through the tension like a gentle blade. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes scanning the two of you carefully. The subtle weight of his presence made the air feel heavier, as though even the hum of the lair had quieted in respect.
“No, sensei,” Leo replied quickly, straightening his posture, his voice clipped but controlled. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, betraying the irritation he was trying to mask.
You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, letting your expression remain neutral, though the heat of the argument still lingered in your chest. Splinter’s eyes lingered on the two of you, unspoken understanding passing in the silence—he could feel the tension, even if the words weren’t said aloud.
“Very well,” Splinter said softly, his tone calm but carrying authority. “But remember, sharp words and unspoken frustrations have a way of growing when left unresolved. You would both do well to address them before they fester.”
Leo’s jaw tightened again, but he didn’t respond, merely inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. You stayed quiet as well, letting the sensei’s words settle, though the undercurrent of challenge between you and Leo hadn’t dissipated—it had only been paused.
Splinter gave a small nod and quietly left the kitchen,
leaving the two of you alone again, the silence now ringing louder than before.
Authors note: Did you know Nurses usually walk 5-6 miles during a 12 hour shift? I learned that in the lecture I wrote this fan fic in ahahhahaa- This also isn't proof read..
Word count: 1248 words
Synopsis: A quiet night in the lair turns unexpectedly tense when Casey’s playful flirting draws more attention than expected. Someone watches from the shadows, calm yet unnervingly focused, and the air between them begins to crackle with unspoken feelings.
Michelangelo shouted as he threw his controller onto the couch cushions and jumped to his feet like he’d just won the Super Bowl.
“THREE IN A ROW, BABY!”
I stared at the TV screen, the bright “YOU LOSE” flashing mockingly back at me. My defeated character slumped in the corner of the screen while Mikey celebrated like a champion.
I sighed, rubbing my face before looking up at him.
“Great job, Mikey,” I said with a small smile.
He pumped his fists in the air, spinning around in a victory lap across the living room.
“Thank you, thank you! I will be accepting trophies and pizza slices.”
This was the third time in a row he’d beaten me.
At first it was funny.
Now it was starting to get irritating.
I pushed myself up from the couch and walked over to the TV stand where the stack of video games sat beside the console. The cases were piled unevenly, some half open from Mikey digging through them earlier.
Behind me, Mikey had already collapsed back onto the couch, stretching out comfortably with his hands tucked behind his head like a king admiring his victory.
I flipped through the cases slowly.
“Hmm…”
I pulled one out.
“What about Minecraft?” I suggested, holding the disk up over my shoulder.
Mikey made a face immediately.
“Ugh, no way.”
I turned slightly.
“What? Why?”
“Too many blocks,” he said dramatically, waving a hand like the very thought offended him.
I laughed softly and slid the case back into the stack before pulling out another.
“Well…” I said, examining the cover. “What about a hockey game?”
I held the case up so he could see it.
Before Mikey could even respond, a familiar voice echoed from the sewer tunnel entrance.
“Hockey? Sounds like my kind of game.”
Both of us looked up as Casey Jones walked into the lair like he’d been summoned by the word itself.
His hockey stick rested casually over his shoulder, and he tossed his mask onto the nearby table as he strolled into the living area.
Without hesitation, he dropped onto the couch beside Mikey.
Mikey grinned.
“Ohhh, we got a professional opinion now.”
Casey leaned forward slightly, eyeing the game case in my hand with interest.
“Hockey game, huh?”
I held it up again.
“Thought it might be fun.”
Casey cracked a grin.
“Yeah.”
He reached out and took the case from my hand, flipping it over to look at the back.
“That’s definitely happening.”
Mikey pointed excitedly.
“YO! You should play!”
Casey raised an eyebrow.
“Are you kidding? I’d destroy you.”
Mikey gasped.
“RUDE.”
I laughed as I took the disk back and moved toward the console.
“Well there’s only one way to find out.”
The console hummed to life as I slid the disk inside.
Behind me, Mikey scooted over on the couch to make room while Casey leaned back comfortably, stretching his arms along the top of the cushions like he was settling in for something good.
“Oh this is gonna be fun,” Mikey said.
Casey smirked.
“For me, maybe.”
Casey leaned back into the couch cushions like he had already won before the match even started. One arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch behind Mikey while the other loosely held the controller, his posture relaxed and full of confidence.
The kind of confidence that was just begging to be challenged.
Beside him, Michelangelo practically vibrated with excitement. He leaned forward so far his elbows were digging into his knees, eyes locked onto the TV screen like the loading menu was the most dramatic thing he’d ever witnessed.
I walked back over to the couch and tossed Casey one of the controllers from the coffee table.
“Alright, hotshot,” I said, dropping down onto the cushion beside him. “Let’s see if you can actually back up that ego.”
Casey caught the controller smoothly with one hand without even looking, flashing a crooked grin.
“Oh I definitely can.”
Mikey pointed dramatically between the two of us like a sports announcer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to witness the greatest gaming rivalry in sewer history.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face.
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m enhancing the experience,” Mikey said proudly.
The game’s menu music blasted through the speakers as the team selection screen appeared.
Casey immediately started flipping through the teams.
“Obviously I’m picking the best one.”
“You picked that in two seconds,” I said suspiciously.
“Instinct.”
“You didn’t even look at the stats.”
“Didn’t need to.”
Mikey crunched loudly on a chip from the bag he’d grabbed off the table.
“I love the confidence,” he said through a mouthful of chips.
I selected my team a little more carefully, scrolling through the options before locking it in.
Casey nudged my shoulder slightly as he leaned forward.
“Ready to lose?”
“Ready to be humbled.”
The puck dropped.
For a split second both of our players skated toward it—
Then Casey stole it immediately.
“HEY!” I shouted.
“Too slow,” he said calmly.
His player darted down the ice like a rocket, weaving effortlessly between the defenders.
“Wait—what—how are you already—”
Before I could even catch up—
GOAL.
The loud horn blasted through the TV speakers.
Mikey exploded off the couch.
“NO WAY!”
Casey lifted both arms in the air like he had just scored in an actual championship game.
“Told you.”
I stared at the screen in disbelief.
“…That was like ten seconds.”
Mikey pointed accusingly at Casey.
“Okay hold on—hold on—have you played this before??”
Casey shrugged like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“Maybe.”
I slowly turned my head toward him.
“You didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Mikey collapsed back onto the couch laughing.
“Oh my god, you totally got hustled.”
I groaned and leaned forward again, gripping my controller tighter.
“Rematch, Jones.”
Casey cracked his knuckles dramatically.
“Oh absolutely.”
The second round loaded.
This time, I was ready.
The puck dropped again, and I immediately snatched control.
“Yes!” I shouted.
Mikey jumped up on the couch behind us.
“GET HIM!”
Casey leaned forward now, his relaxed posture instantly shifting into focus as he narrowed his eyes at the screen.
“Oh it’s like that now?”
“Yes,” I said determinedly.
Our players slammed into each other across the ice as we fought for control of the puck.
“Pass pass pass—NO NOT THAT GUY!” Mikey yelled like he was coaching from the sidelines.
Casey bumped my shoulder lightly as he leaned closer to the TV.
“Careful,” he said.
“You’re in my space.”
“You’re losing.”
“I’m not losing.”
Right then my player broke free down the ice.
I took the shot.
GOAL.
The horn blasted again.
Mikey screamed.
“LETS GOOOO!”
I threw both hands up in victory.
“Yes!”
Casey leaned back into the couch again, laughing.
“Alright, alright. Beginner’s luck.”
“Excuse me?”
Mikey clapped loudly, the sharp sound echoing off the concrete walls of the lair.
“This is the best day ever!”
He bounced once on the couch cushions before flopping back down beside Casey Jones, still grinning like he had front-row seats to the greatest sporting event in history. The bag of chips crinkled loudly in his hands as he dug around for another handful, eyes darting between the TV and the controllers like he didn’t want to miss a single second.
Casey chuckled at Mikey’s enthusiasm before shifting slightly on the couch. He leaned a little closer toward me, resting his elbow casually along the back of the couch. His posture was relaxed, but the crooked smirk on his face said he was about to say something.
“You know…” he started, glancing from me to the hockey game paused on the screen.
“If you ever wanted to learn hockey,” he continued, his tone dripping with playful confidence, “I’m your guy.”
He gestured lazily toward the television with his controller, where the digital players skated across the bright white ice.
“Skating’s pretty hard,” he added, shrugging like it was common knowledge. “Balance, stopping, turning without wiping out. Most people can barely stay upright the first time.”
Mikey nodded seriously beside him.
“Oh yeah. I would fall immediately.”
Casey barely acknowledged him, his attention still on me.
“But I could teach you the basics,” he said, flashing that same smug grin. “Stick handling, skating drills… maybe even get you on the ice sometime.”
I folded my arms slightly, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Oh really?”
Casey shrugged again, leaning back into the couch cushions like the offer spoke for itself.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m basically a professional.”
That earned a small laugh from me.
“Well… funny you mention that.”
Casey tilted his head slightly.
“What?”
I leaned forward a little, resting my elbows on my knees as I looked over at him.
“I used to be a figure skater.”
For a second, Casey just blinked.
“…Wait.”
Mikey’s head whipped around so fast it was almost impressive.
“You WHAT?!”
I smiled a little at their reactions.
“Yeah.”
Casey leaned forward now, resting his forearms on his thighs as he studied me more closely, like he was trying to decide if I was serious.
“No way.”
“Oh, Way.”
I nodded toward the TV screen again where the hockey game still waited to start.
“So maybe,” I said casually, “I could show YOU a thing or two.”
Mikey gasped loudly.
“OH SNAP.”
Casey let out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Figure skating and hockey are two completely different things.”
“Both involve skating.”
“Yeah but—”
“Balance. Edges. Control.”
Casey narrowed his eyes slightly.
“…You’re serious.”
I gave a small shrug.
“Triple spins.”
Michelangelo grabbed Casey Jones by the shoulder dramatically, nearly shaking him.
“DUDE, she’s like a ninja… but on ICE.”
Casey leaned back against the couch again, letting out a small laugh, though there was a hint of genuine impressment on his face now. His earlier smug confidence had softened a little as he looked over at me.
“Okay… that’s actually kinda cool.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning back into the couch cushions and stretching my arms comfortably along the back.
The conversation settled for a moment, the soft hum of the TV filling the quiet as the hockey game’s menu music looped in the background. Mikey was still muttering to himself about “figure skating ninja moves,” while Casey tapped the controller lightly against his palm like he was itching to start the next round.
I tried not to notice it at first.
I figured he was busy with whatever he had been doing before coming into the room.
But every so often, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
The quiet clink of ceramic against the counter echoed softly through the lair.
It bounced off the concrete walls and metal pipes overhead, a small sound in the otherwise relaxed room.
No one reacted.
Michelangelo was too busy leaning halfway over the back of the couch, staring at me with wide curiosity like I had just revealed some hidden ninja ability.
Beside me, Casey Jones lounged comfortably against the cushions. One arm rested along the back of the couch while the other loosely held the game controller, tapping it lightly against his palm while the hockey game menu glowed on the television.
“Okay… that’s actually kinda cool.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly, leaning back into the couch.
The cushions dipped slightly as I settled into them, stretching my arms along the backrest.
For a moment the room felt easy again—Mikey muttering excitedly about spins and ice and ninja moves while Casey chuckled under his breath.
I tried not to notice it at first.
Across the lair, in the kitchen area, Leonardo stood near the counter where his mug rested. Steam curled faintly from the tea as he remained there, tall and still.
He looked busy.
Occupied.
But every once in a while, his gaze drifted across the room.
Toward the couch.
Toward us.
The first time I caught it, he looked away quickly, lifting the mug to his lips like he’d only been lost in thought.
So I ignored it.
Casey shifted slightly beside me, leaning forward as he studied the TV screen.
The game menu music looped quietly in the background.
Mikey continued rambling from behind the couch, still completely fascinated with the idea of spinning on ice.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement again.
Leo set his mug down on the counter.
The sound was soft—but deliberate.
He stood there for a moment, arms resting against the edge of the counter as he looked toward the living area, Watching.
Then he pushed himself away and walked away.
“Another round?” Casey says, showing me the controller.
“I think I might take five. “ I say standing up and walking toward wherever Leo vanished.
I paused at the threshold of the hallway, taking a deep breath. The faint hum of the lair’s ventilation echoed around me, mingling with the distant sounds of Casey and Mikey still squabbling over controllers.
Leo was nowhere in sight, but I could feel the quiet tension lingering in the air, the kind that made even the hum of electronics feel heavy.
I stepped lightly, careful not to make too much noise, my fingers brushing against the cool stone walls as I followed the faint trail of his presence. Around the corner, the dojo lay bathed in soft shadows, the large windows letting in a muted glow from the city lights outside.
He was sitting cross-legged on the polished floor, his eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees.
I hesitated for a moment, watching him. There was something calm, almost regal about the way he sat, but the subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed the fact that he wasn’t entirely relaxed.
Taking a quiet step closer, I lowered myself to the floor a few feet away, mimicking his posture as best I could. My heart beat a little faster than it should have, the silence between us thick but not uncomfortable.
A few slow breaths in, a few slow breaths out.
I glanced sideways at him. His mask hid most of his expression, but the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell, all told me he was trying to keep himself together.
For a moment, I simply sat there, letting the quiet settle around us. Then, softly, I spoke.
“You… okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight”
He didn’t open his eyes right away. Instead, his head tilted slightly, acknowledging me with the barest hint of a nod.
“I am,” he said finally, voice low, measured. “Just… collecting myself.”
I smiled faintly, understanding completely. Without another word, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, letting the quiet of the dojo—and of him—wash over me.
Minutes passed in shared silence, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts, but connected in a way that made the noisy lair behind us feel like a distant memory.
Slowly, imperceptibly, he shifted, his back straightening a little, shoulders relaxing, and I felt a warmth in the space between us—a quiet acknowledgment of trust, of closeness, of something unspoken.
I opened my eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dim light of the dojo. Leo’s form was still, his back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees—but the faint tension in his shoulders told me he hadn’t fully relaxed.
I shifted slightly, stepping closer, careful not to disturb the fragile calm.
“You know,” I said softly, “you don’t always have to carry everything on your own.”
Leo’s head shot up abruptly, and his eyes narrowed—not at me, but in irritation.
“Why are you here?” he snapped, voice low but sharp. “Go bother Casey if you’re so worried about someone other than yourself.”
I blinked, startled by the sudden sharpness. My hand paused mid-air, unsure whether to reach out or retreat.
“I… I wasn’t bothering anyone,” I said carefully, stepping back a fraction. “I just wanted to—”
“No,” he interrupted, standing abruptly, the soft calm of moments ago replaced with controlled tension. “This is my space. My training. My meditation. If you want to be here, you can go watch the chaos in the living room with everyone else.”
His words stung more than I expected. The dojo, usually a place of quiet focus and calm, now felt charged, electric with the edge of his frustration.
“I wasn’t trying to intrude,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I thought maybe—”
“Thought maybe what?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the calm exterior. “That you’d just stroll in and disrupt my focus? That this is a game? That your presence here doesn’t matter?”
I swallowed, heart hammering. He was mad… not at me directly, not entirely—but mad nonetheless. And somehow, it stung all the same.
“Leo…” I started, taking another careful step toward him.
“Go!” His tone was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Seriously. Go bother Casey or Mikey or anyone else. But not me. Not here.”
I froze for a moment, my chest tightening. And then… slowly, I stepped back, lowering myself to the floor and sitting a few feet away, giving him the space he demanded.
Leo let out a deep breath, closing his eyes again, though his jaw remained tense. Even in meditation, even in stillness, the annoyance—and something more, something unspoken—hung in the air between us.
I stayed there, quietly, letting the silence stretch. My presence hadn’t left entirely, but I’d learned that sometimes, even when someone pushes you away, being nearby—silent, patient—was still a kind of closeness.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
I simply stood up and walked out.
-----------------
End of part 1 twins, Not the best but what everrrr...
Ledger!joker x reader/mc, original storyline and characters, strong female protagonist <3
Part 11 -
"Who is responsible for the gas attacks?" I asked, driving straight to the point.
"You know, I saw Alexe Ibanescu here four months ago. They were transferring me temporarily so that they could reinforce the security measures in my cell - I bit one of the orderlies, you see," he paused and frowned, as if wondering whether to continue down that particular avenue, before shaking it off, "-anyhow, he was shaking and screaming, in the grips of terror. The staff say that's all he ever does now. Screams until his voice gives out." a look of perverse enjoyment lit up his face as he watched for my reaction.
I didn't know exactly how much the GCPD knew, or at least suspected, about my involvement in that particular crime. But I had to hope it wouldn't come back to bite me.
"Fascinating," I said, sarcastically, "now let's get back to the point of my question."
He smiled, ignoring my request.
"They have to keep him sedated and strapped up in a straight jacket or he'll claw his own face until it bleeds..."
I paused for a moment, almost feeling sorry for anyone in that state of mind. Then I remembered prescisely why I had condemned him to that fate and wished I could have seen his suffering in person.
A knowing look came across the face of the man opposite me. A kind of recognition of my innermost thoughts. He knew what I was thinking and it disturbed me.
"They say someone deliberately gave him enough fear toxin to permanently fry his brain, and that's why he's stuck in a living nightmare..." he added, slyly.
Unwanted memories of my own brush with the drug's same effects forced their way into my mind. The horrible visions and hours writhing in pain, cold with sweat, teeth clamping together so hard I thought they would break...
He was getting to me and he knew it. It felt harder to breathe. I stood up and turned to leave. Desperate to get some air. Cursing my loss of control. I tried to feign calmness, but he knew. He knew he'd hit a weak point. As I reached for the door, he called after me.
"Jonathan Crane was fascinated by what happened to him... before he escaped."
I froze in place, cogs whirrring away in my frightened brain.
"Dr Crane saw that?"
"Former doctor. Oh yes, and he was not happy," J said with a dramatic sigh and a shrug.
I turned to face him.
"Why?"
"That's definitely more than one question, doll."
"Well, what did he say specifcally J. I need you to -"
I was so rattled i'd even referred to him by the familiar name i'd sworn not to use again.
"You need me?" He cut in with a sly smile.
"I need you to tell me what he said!" I urged
"You know, not long after he escaped the head nurse here took her own life. There's whisperings of some kind of scanadlous affair, murmurings that she was the reason he successfully escaped..."
I watched his movements as he spoke, seemingly excited by the melodrama.
"Tell me what he said," I urged.
"I am," he said coldly.
What did he mean?
My head was spinning.
So, Crane was responsible for the gas attacks, that wasn't surprising news. Though no one had proof, it was the widely accepted theory that the so-called Scarecrow was the cause - But the fact he knew what I had done to Alexe, and it angered him, certainly was news worthy of note. I was trapped, standing on thin ice, hearing audible cracks. I could barely even discuss it without admitting I was responsible for the attack on the Ibanescu crime family. There were half a dozen top GCPD officers listening to my every word, recording it.
"So he was angry, that the vigilante used his toxin?"
"Oh yes, he wouldn't shut up about it, see, after I bit that orderly, I had the cell next to his for a time. He was furious! And fascinated. He wanted to know why. You know how these quacks are, even the former ones," he rolled his eyes.
"Quacks? As in doctors?" I asked, not following his rambling train of thought.
"You know, you're really not following the rules..." he tutted.
I said nothing. Irritatingly, he wasn't wrong.
"I'll cut you some slack, for now. Yes, quacks as in doctors."
Thinking it was better to shut up and listen for a while I said nothing, only nodded in acknowledgement. He seemed pleased with this development.
"They just won't let it go. The questions never stop..."
He looked around us and leaned forwards for a moment.
"They ask and they don't listen. Once they are driving at you, trying to 'work' on you, they just won't stop."
"And Crane was one of them... before he ended up here," I muttered, finally starting to appreciate the point being made as the joker was getting more and more worked up.
"Always with the questions...
Why did you do that?
And how does that make you feel?
Why did you kill those people?
Are there voices telling you to do it?
Do you see demons?
And how does that make you feel?
Do you like pain?
Do you feel sad?
Did your mommy and daddy treat you well?
And how does that make you feel?
Have you always felt that way?
Did your schoolteacher molest you?
How does that make you feel?
What makes you crack?
Why do you see the world that way?
And how does that make you feel?
What's your real name?"
He slammed a hand down against the metal table with a loud bang, making me jump as he erupted into waves of laughter.
I watched frozen in place still. There was something thrilling about it, the air felt charged with a kind of dangerous static electricity.
Finally he snapped his head back up to look at me.
"They won't let it go, ever" he reiterated, boring holes into me once again, that low serious tone back again so suddenly.
Before I could respond, the door behind me flew open and Gordon pulled me out. I felt like I was drowning and he'd just dragged me up to the surface for air.
I watched silently as the guards re-entered the room and closed the door. I leaned against the wall, feeling the rough bricks against my sweaty palms. He'd quickly ushered me into a stairwell away from the rest of his cops.
"Are you alright?"
I nodded, trying to bring myself back to my body faster.
"I can handle it... he's just so intense. I guess being locked up here certainly didn't do anything to improve his mind... I think anyone staying here would go crazy, if they weren't already when they came in," I shook my head.
The comissioner smiled wryly.
"It certainly doesn't help that the Arkham board seem to keep cutting back spending and turning a record profit."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, the latest owner doesn't want anything to do with the facility, but that means that the board seem to have free rein to do whatever they want... including not paying for the upkeep of the hospital.
"...and if they'd done that maybe Crane wouldn't have managed to escape?"
"Exactly," he nodded, "listen, you should get some rest. The clown will keep until morning and I doubt we'll get anything more out of him tonight," he sighed, patting my shoulder.
I wanted so badly to trust him, but he was the head of a corrupt police force. I wondered how he'd risen to the top, what dark deals he'd had to make to get there. And reminded myself not to get overly familiar.
"No," I said finally, "I can handle it. Let me go back in. We have to get to the bottom of this."
"But he's talking nonesense..."
I shook my head slowly, piecing it together.
"No, he's being sly. But there was something in there. If it is Crane, how did he escape? The head nurse? Did that get looked into further?"
"The cops on that assignment said they'd found her in her bathtub not long after. It makes sense that she would have motive to take her own life after he escaped with her help and left her to face the repercusssions..."
"No more career, and probably criminal charges..." I muttered, thinking.
"And I assume the coroner's report matched up?"
"Consistent with suicide, yes."
"Right, certainly convenient for Crane. She can't spill any of his secrets now she's dead..." I muttered.
"Very," he seconded.
"He was talking about the Ibanescu crime boss, and the attacks on them. Alexe is an inmate here now, or what's left of him anyhow... Crane was furious at someone using his toxin for a high profile crime like that. He was happy enough to sell it in the Narrows while he was out, but while he was locked up in here he felt someone was stealing his thunder..."
"Yes. What was it they called her? The Queen of Spades?" I mused, trying my best to believe my own lie that I knew nothing about her.
He nodded slowly.
"If only we could track her down, maybe she'd be able to shed some light on the situation..." he said, and I couldn't tell from his pointed look whether he could see through my bullshit or if I was in the clear.
"Maybe, but if you focus on what you do have... there's more he knows. I'm so sure of it. Let me back in. I want to dig into it."
He relented and walked me back to the door to the interview room. I straightened up and smoothed my clothes, not wanting to appear shaken up on my return, despite my exit confirming it.
Tag List:
I reclaimed my seat in silence, holding the bemused gaze of the man opposite me.
"You came back," he smirked.
"So that was what? Two questions?" I said, ignoring his comment.
He frowned.
"I would've said far more than that, but i'm in a charitable mood. You look like you could use a little helping hand."
"Two then. So go ahead, ask away," I said impatiently.
He was silent for a moment, watching me before he spoke in a considered way.
"Where did you go?"
"A tiny rural town - Well, that's where I settled. At first I just went wherever I could get to on the tiny bit of money I had."
"Yes but where?"
"Out in the middle of nowhere, that was the point. The great plains. I never saw so much sky, not here."
He snorted a little.
"Not downtown, at least. Out on the bay maybe... No, Gotham's an island, sure, but it may as well be an open air prison. A closed system... it's own little anomaly."
"Well there we don't disagree," I muttered.
He caught my gaze again and held it for a while.
I decided to try a less direct attempt to obtain the information I needed with my next question.
"When was the last time you saw the sky? I can't imagine you get yard time..."
He chewed his lip for a moment, thinking.
"Hm, not since I was carried in here. Not since we parted ways. Early morning sky, grey clouds. Then nothing but the ceiling," he said, indifferently, turning the spotlight back to me.
"My turn. How did that happen?" He said, gesturing to my bandaged wrist.
I coughed, uncomfortable at the emotional sting of recalling it.
"I don't want to talk about that."
"And that's why I asked. You agreed to the rules..." he said with a 'tsk tsk' of condescention.
I ground my teeth for a moment considering how to answer.
"Someone killed my cat. I turned him down and I guess he didn't like that. I was going to go and... confront... him, but my friends stopped me. I wasn't thinking straight," I admitted.
He began to laugh.
I felt anger rising in my chest watching him.
"What's funny about that?" I snapped, unable to keep it in.
His laughter faded and he looked back at me for a moment.
"I wouldn't have stopped you," was all the answer he gave.
It left me consfused, did he find it funny that someone had killed my cat? That I was devastated by that? Or simply that my friends had stopped me getting revenge? I couldn't tell...
I moved to ask something else but he cut me off -
"That was your question, doll. It's my turn now."
I wanted to protest but knew that he was technically right so I let it slide.
"How'd you get the money to live out your little, uh, house on the Prarie fantasy?"
I frowned.
"I'm a waitress in a diner. I emptied my bank account when I left Gotham. I didn't have much but it was enough for a month or two. Worked odd jobs the first few months and made it out to a little town where someone was willing to give me a job and someone else was willing to let me pay cheap rent. If that satisfies your question."
He grinned.
"You have a little twang in your accent now. Trying to assimilate with the natives... and a waitress? In a diner? Hardly paradise..."
"It was good enough for me. Far better than where I came from, better than a moldy apartment in a miserable city. No rats in the hall, no landlord trying to solicit me for sex to pay my rent... no crazies taking me hostage" I contested, fed up of his condescending tone.
"But a guy will still kill your cat when you refuse to go on a date with him," he said plainly.
He'd rendered me speechless now.
My death glare was so hot with contempt it could have raized the Asylum to the ground.
"Don't bite, I'm just making an observation," he protested.
"I think that's enough for today," I said coldly.
"Come on now, don't be like that, dollface. We were just getting somewhere..."
I said nothing, sizing him up and moving as though I was going to leave.
"Don't you want to ask me more about what Dr Crane is up to out there?"
I slowly sank back into my seat.
"Fine... that was a question, by the way."
He realised his mistake, and grinned.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint!"
"What's Crane's plan for the city?"
"Hm... you know, some of the inmates and even some of the staff say that Arkham's haunted..."
"Wh-" I stopped myself posing a question and thought more carefully about my wording, "I don't see how that has any bearing on the current situation..."
"Aren't you even a tiny bit curious? I really thought you would be, given how you acted over at Parkview..."
I sighed. I could tell he was pushing me towards asking further questions.
"You didn't answer that one yet," I protested, but gestured with my hands as if to say, 'continue'.
"Well, they say they see the figure of a man covered in blood, wandering the halls."
"Hardly surprising that some of the inmates see things..." I muttered.
"No, no - this is different. Like I said, the staff have seen him too."
I rolled my eyes.
"Anyone stuck in here, staff or patient is bound to catch something out of the corner of their eye. The building gives me the creeps but I don't think it's because of something supernatural."
"Hm," he shrugged.
I knew he didn't believe in it either. So why was he insistent on bringing it up?
"You've still not an answered my question..."
"Oh, his plan for the city is to send people crazy, crazy with fear."
"No. We know that what I meant is -"
"The past can really come back to haunt us (y/n), do you regret killing those two men?" He interrupted too eager to get to his own question.
My throat closed up in panic. I knew it would have come up sooner or later, but it still caught me off-guard. The fact that the cops were listening, recording probably, stopped me in my tracks. I was desperately trying to work out how to answer without it coming back to bite me.
"Well, that's not entirely true, is it?" I countered.
"No?" He asked, bemused.
"You put me in a fight for my life. That's what led to it. That's what led to me stabbing you..."
He laughed.
"That's very funny. That's not how I remember it at all... I remember you stabbing them to death and then, after I turned that girl loose and agreed not to kill you, you gave me a judas kiss and stabbed me."
I thought about the little kid on the hospital gurney and pushed aside the riot of emotions threatening to throw me off course. There was no way of skirting around it. I would just have to hope that the GCPD decided not to come after me. What cjoice did I have left now?
"I killed them because they were going to kill her and me too. You're right"
He sat back and gestured as if to say 'well, there you go.'
I wasn't done though...
"But you set that whole thing up. You turned her loose, sure, but I wasn't free to go. I tricked you and took my chance while I had it. I had to get away. From you..."
"Answer the question," He pressed coldly.
"Yes. Yes it haunts me. I have nightmares about it. About the blood... sometimes I wake up and scrub my hands raw."
"Like Lady Macbeth," he mused.
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.
"You know, you really shouldn't feel bad. If i'd asked them to, they would have killed you without giving it a second thought. To them it's just business. These, uh, these mob men, they don't care. They just follow orders... sure, maybe some of them feel bad in the beginning, but it gets easier each time. They all just blame the guy at the top."
He turned then, looking around the room and shifting his attention away from me.
"Just like you, comissioner. Whatever happens to this city, if your boys in blue can't save it, they'll blame you. Anything bad they do, comes back to you."
He began to laugh again, rocking back and forth in his seat.
I thought about what he'd said. Part of the danger he posed was that, however twisted his methods, no matter how extreme his worldview, at least some of it did make sense...
"Once it's all over and the dust has settled, they'll toss you aside. Heros are needed during a war, but they have no purpose during peacetime. You'll see..."
His gaze snapped back to me.
"They need you right now, but when they don't..."
I paid him no mind, growing increasingly tired of his meandering approach to giving up information.
"Where is Jonathan Crane?"
"Now that, I don't know. Though he spoke a lot about tunnels, if that helps..."
"That doesn't narrow it down much in this city."
He shrugged.
"If you wait long enough, I'm sure he'll come to you..."
"Very funny, but we need to stop him before he sends half the city into a state of psychosis, not after."
Before either of us could say anything further, the door opened with a loud clang and James Gordon approached me.
"That's enough for today. We have some leads to chase up now."
"You're welcome commissioner!" The joker replied in a false sweet tone.
Gordon ignored him, instead wordlessly gesturing for the guards to take him back to his cell.
Not the comfortable warmth of a blanket pulled too tight, not the dry bite of a heater left on overnight.
This was living heat, thick and amber, pressing against your skin like a second layer you hadn't asked for. The second thing you noticed was the ceiling. Lacquered wood. Red silk hangings. An oil lamp swaying on a chain of hammered bronze.
Not your apartment, the room looks like it's from a completely different time era.
You sat up so fast the room tilted, and the silk sheets pooled around your waist.
A room materialized around you in pieces, a carved vanity, a screen painted with twin phoenixes, shuttered windows bleeding gold light through their slats. A tray of food sat on the low table nearby. Someone had been anticipating your consciousness.
The door opened before you could fully panic.
He was younger than you expected, given the room. Given everything. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than you, but the way he carried himself, straight spine, measured steps, one hand clasped behind his back, made the space rearrange itself around him like the room itself was paying attention. A scar pulled at the left side of his face, pink and permanent.
He looked at you the way someone looks at a problem they have already decided to solve.
"You're awake," he stated with a small smile.
"Where am I?" Your voice came out rougher than you intended.
"The Fire Nation Capital." He moved to stand near the window, not approaching, not retreating. "The palace, specifically. You were found unconscious near the outer gates three days ago. The guards assumed you were a threat." A pause, something flickering through his expression. "You were not a threat."
Fire Nation Capital? You have never heard of a palace like this before in geography.
Three days. You touched your own face, half-expecting to find something different.
"I don't... I'm not from here. I don't know how I got here. I don't know where here is, exactly, I mean I've never heard of..." You stopped. That sentence had no safe ending.
He watched you flounder with patience that didn't quite look like kindness. "You'll stay in the palace," he said, as if the matter had been considered and settled long before this conversation. "Until we understand how you arrived and where you belong."
"You don't have to do that."
The sentence was said with a desperate voice which sounded like 'Please don't throw me out!'
"I know. But it is not honorable to leave a lady in need."
He left before you could find the words for the particular feeling that sentence left behind.
--------
Weeks became a month.
The palace was enormous and you were given a corner of it: the room, an adjoining bathing chamber, a small garden terrace that looked out over red rooftops cascading down toward the harbor.
You were not a prisoner. No one said you were a prisoner. But the world outside those walls was entirely illegible to you, the currency, the customs, the way people spoke around you like you were something fragile that had arrived without instructions.
Also people bended elements like Zuko who bends fire, and bending is something you are unable to do in any way or form.
And so you stayed.
Fire Lord Zuko or simple Zuko, you kept having to remind yourself, which felt absurd and then slowly stopped feeling absurd, checked on you with a regularity that was either conscientious or deliberate.
You hadn't yet decided which. He answered your questions about the world with the directness of someone who had run out of patience for anything indirect, and you found that, unexpectedly, you preferred it. He didn't soften things. He didn't perform warmth.
When he sat across from you at dinner and told you the history of the war like it was something he needed to say out loud to someone who had no prior judgment about it, you understood it was a different kind of intimacy than most people offered.
You thought, sometimes, that you were beginning to understand this world and it might not be that different from the world you came from.
But mostly you understood Zuko.
Or at least you thought you understood him.
-----
He came to your terrace one evening near the end of your second month.
The sun was going down and taking the heat with it, and the harbor below had gone from silver to copper to something deeper, and you were watching it with the specific pleasure of someone who has learned not to take anything for granted.
You heard his footsteps before you saw him, as you had learned his footsteps patterns.
"You look like you're thinking," he said.
"I'm always thinking."
He came to stand beside you at the railing. For a while he said nothing, which was one of the things about him you had come to understand.
The silences were never empty with Zuko. They were weighted, working.
"There is something I need to discuss with you." He said it to the harbor.
"Okay."
"The servants talk." He paused. "The court notices things. You've been living in the palace for two months. You eat with me. You walk the grounds with me." Another pause, shorter. "They have come to certain conclusions about the nature of your stay."
You turned to look at him. "What kind of conclusions?"
His jaw moved. "The kind that have become difficult to ignore. Word travels fast in the capital. There are rumors in the city now about a woman living in the Fire Lord's wing." He finally turned to look at you. In the low gold light, the scar looked less like damage and more like topography, just part of the landscape of him. "It puts you in a complicated position. Without status and protection."
Your stomach did something uncomfortable. "Zuko..."
"I've thought about this carefully." He said it with the clipped certainty of someone who had, in fact, thought about it carefully, and did not want to be interrupted mid-conclusion. "The most practical solution, the one that resolves the problem entirely, is marriage."
The word landed in the warm air between you and just sat there.
"Marriage," you repeated.
"You don't know the outer city. You don't know how things work here. If you were to leave the palace without status, you would be..." He stopped. Looked back at the harbor. "Vulnerable. People would take advantage. The simplest way to protect you, to make it impossible for anyone to use your position against you, is to give you a position that cannot be questioned."
You stared at the side of his face. He stared at the harbor.
"If you don't want that," he said, and something in his voice changed register very slightly, "I'll find another solution. But it would be more complicated."
You thought about the city below, which you didn't know. You thought about the currency you didn't have, the language you were still learning at the edges, the fact that you had arrived here with nothing and been handed warmth and silk and someone's careful, unasked-for attention.
"Okay," you said.
He finally looked at you. Something moved behind his good eye and vanished before you could name it.
"Okay," he repeated, quieter.
The sun went below the harbor. Somewhere in the city below, lanterns were beginning to come on.
----------
There were no rumors.
His head secretary, would have mentioned it. His advisors, who watched the city's pulse like old men watching weather, would have brought it to council.
The servants' gossip ran through the palace like water through stone and none of it, none of it, had ever surfaced in any report about a woman in the Fire Lord's east wing.
Zuko knew this.
He had known it when he rehearsed the conversation on his terrace the night before, parsing the words until they sat right.
Zuko had known you would agree because you had the faith of someone who did not yet understand how the world here worked, who was relying on the one person in it she knew.
He stood at the window of his own chamber long after you'd retired for the evening.
It wasn't something he was proud of, exactly.
But you had arrived with nothing, out of nowhere, and the palace was the only world you knew, and he had watched you for two months learning to trust this place, learning to trust him, and the thought of you leaving, of someone else finding you first, of you being out in the city where he couldn't...
He stopped that thought, it's already decided that you would become his wife.
He was the Fire Lord. He had spent enough of his life doing things he wasn't proud of for reasons that seemed, at the time, like the only available reasons.
Zuko went to his desk and began drafting the announcement.
He was not his father. Zuko had told himself this so many times it had become something close to prayer. He was not his father. He had ended the war, burned the war councils and rebuilt the ministries and sat across from Aang in rooms full of people who had every reason to hate him and done the work anyway, year after year, because that was what it meant to not be his father.
Zuko also promised himself he would find a way to deserve being your husband. He told himself he would spend however long it took making the cage into something that didn't feel like one. He told himself this was different.
watching 90s-2000s tv is crazy because it’s like wow. there used to be good writing and acting and more than 10 episodes per season and a new season every year. we really had it all.
Ledger!joker x reader/mc, original storyline and characters, strong female protagonist <3
TWS for this chapter: (ptsd) nightmares, violence, guns.
Part 10 - #
The way one of the officers kept looking at my face in the rearview during the drive to the hotel was really starting to grate on me. I was long since used to people stealing a look here and there, but some of them didn't know when to stop and it became outright rude. Perhaps he thought I couldn't tell that he was doing it, since it was via the mirror rather than direct eye contact. I sighed irritatedly and pulled out my sunglasses from my backpack. Sometimes I liked to wear them for the psychological barrier they created between me and the outside world, and now was the perfect time for that. Behind the dark tinted lenses, I watched the lights of downtown roll on by, musing on my past relationship with the strange city and her many dark secrets.
The hotel was a simple branch of a national chain. Nothing especially fancy, but definitely preferable to the crumbling establishments on the east side: hiding out here would be much more comfortable. By the time I was checked in and the elevator opened on the third floor, I was ready to drop. I fumbled with the room key and finally threw open the door.
Locking it and tossing my bag down onto the king size bed I rushed to unlace and kick off my shoes. I grabbed a glass of water and inspected the little tray of refreshments in the corner. I was incredibly hungry from all the travelling and seized on several packets of crackers and a candy bar. Opening the minifridge, I found several cans of soda and bottles of water. I collapsed back onto the bed with my little stash and made it disappear in no time.
With a contented sigh I sank back onto the bed. I hadn't meant to fall asleep just yet, fully clothed and on top of the bedsheets, but before I knew it I was out like a light.
I woke up feeling a little cold with a dry throat at 5am. Blinking through bleary eyes, I managed to get up to drink from the bathroom faucet. I kicked off my jeans and sweater and finally struggled out of my bra. Then I crawled underneath the sheets after I had struggled to prise them free. Why did they always insist on wedging them so tightly under the mattress when they made the beds in hotels? I didn't want to feel like I was one of Arkham's inmates; strapped down in my sleep.
I fiddled with the radio on the bedside cabinet, eventually tuning it into a classical music station and left it playing quietly in the background. A couple of people were talking in the hall, but their voices were hushed. I laughed a little at the stark contrast to my last hotel stay in Gotham. This place might as well have been the Four Seasons in comparison. I sighed and rolled over, pulling one of the pillows close to my body. As the music lulled me back to sleep, strange visions twisted to life behind my heavy eyelids.
One in particular seemed to take on a life of its own. I was adrift at sea, or on a lake, in a little boat. The water was unnaturally flat and still, the sky was full of bright stars. At first it brought a smile to my face, one thing I'd loved about getting out of Gotham city was seeing the stars for the first time. No light pollution, no glass or concrete blocking my view, only wide open skies on the flat open plains, no urban sprawl - no major population centres for miles. I'd often fantasised about how wonderful it must feel to drive those wide open roads in a car that let me put the top down, just me and all that sky.
In my little boat, I laid back and gazed upwards. For a time it stayed calm, serenity washing over me.
But then something changed. The stars began to disappear, going out one by one until there were barely any remaining - snuffed out like candles. The boat began to rock, slowly at first, but quickly becoming more and more violent as the wind picked up around me. It got worse and worse until I was lost in the middle of a storm. I clung to the seat of the boat, my arms wound around the crude plank of wood, praying it would stop. Thunder crashing and white forks of lightning cleaving the sky in two. It was deafening. Water was lashing down on me, soaking me to my bones. The air had a metallic tang to it.
Eventually, one of the waves was so big that it capsized my little boat, throwing me into the frigid water. I coughed and spluttered, struggling to surface. The churning water seemed to slow a faint and eerie green. My body was rolled by another enormous wave, sending me tumbling through a white flash of bubbles. I could no longer tell which way was up, which was down and began to panic.
Then, suddenly, I surfaced, coughing so hard I felt like my lungs would come up. Noticing I was near a beach now, I struggled towards it until I was able to dig my hands and feet into the shifting sand, clawing my way out of the water and towards dry land. I felt like some sort of primordial creature.
Evolve or die.
The gritty sand scratched my skin and got under my fingernails as I dragged myself free.
Adapt to survive.
I didn't have the energy to get upright, just lying for a while, face down in the wet sand, head twisted to the side so I could breathe, hacking up the last of the water. As my breathing slowed I listened to the sounds of the now distant storm.
Suddenly, I heard a voice - familiar in tone. I looked up to see the figure of a man standing in front of me, one arm outstretched. I was relieved to recognise him. It was Tony.
I made a fragile grab for him and it took him little effort to hoist me to my feet, as large in stature as he was, and strong as an Ox.
"I worried you never made it... I thought you'd bleed out in the snow somewhere that night."
"I like the snow. I'm Polish," he shrugged with a mischievous grin.
"I thought you died," I breathed shakily, touching his arm in disbelief.
Curiously, he said nothing, only staring at me for a moment.
Without me noticing, the beach, and the water had disappeared, bled away into somewhere else entirely. I turned to look around at the space, open and dusty. It looked like one of the old warehouses down by the docks, with a few beams of light pouring in through the holes in the roof. I turned to check if Tony was still with me, and he was. I could hear the murmuring of distant voices and peered out from behind the stack of crates.
There were a handful of mobsters playing cards and drinking beer. A haze of cigarette smoke filled the air around them.
"Where are we?" I whispered.
Tony shook his head and took out the Beretta that I had become the latest custodian of. Before I could react he stepped out and began shooting. The men were caught off guard by the ambush and all fell in a hail of bullets and the sound of breaking glass bottles. One of them rolled to a stop beside me, green and glinting. I looked up at the scene, a tableau of total carnage. The room was uncomfortably silent now.
Tony approached the only one of the figures showing signs of life and quickly put a stop to that with a final shot to the head which rang in my ears.
"What did they do?" I stuttered out.
My eyes settled on the blood spattered cards still clutched in the hands of the nearest man. The front card was the ace of spades - the death card.
Tony didn't answer.
Suddenly, a new voice caught me off guard.
"They were merely in the wrong place, at the wrong time."
Unsure of the direction of the low voice I spun around, my eyes searching frantically.
"Memento Mori - Remember death. At the end of all things..."
I strained my eyes in the dark, moving to try and see around a large stack of crates.
"...around every corner".
I found myself mere metres from the source of the ominous voice. A figure seeping out of a cloud of billowing green-tinged smoke. My eyes stung and my throat burned as I stumbled backwards.
Looming ahead was the nightmarish figure of death himself, his gaunt, skeletal hands protruding from frayed robes - patchwork winding sheets, musty and earthy from open graves, and coarse burlap. I froze in terror, like harvest wheat ready to be reaped, and I was suddenly in the open fields.
Then the black sky glared over the green stalks of the maize, swaying in the ill wind. I began to run, heavy legs blundering forwards in blind panic.
"There is nowhere to go..." warned the low, whispering voice.
It sounded like the wind in the flat leaves of the maize rustling in the breeze around me. Dry, and raspy.
Again the figure appeared in front of me and I stumbled to a halt.
"You cannot outrun fear," he said coldly, as the crows began to take flight, launching themselves into the dark sky above.
Their cacophony of caws echoed around us as they took to the air on night black wings.
"You cannot escape death."
I caught sight of the glint of his milky eyes, polluted with the blue hue of death, and a flash of cold metal as he swung his scythe towards my head.
I woke up with a jolt and inhaled so sharply it triggered a coughing fit that ended with me drinking again from the wash basin. I wiped my cold sweat from my brow and sat with the lights on for a while, trying to calm my racing heart.
I felt sick to my stomach and eventually crawled back into bed, but not before opening the window blinds. The sight of the pink clouds that signalled the oncoming dawn were some comfort to me after being so badly tortured by my subconscious.
Red sky at night, Sailor's delight.
Red sky in the morning, Sailor's warning...
I shook my head in mild amusement. At least back in the real world I wouldn't have to be in command of any boats.
"No sailing for me, I guess" I muttered, climbing back underneath the heavy covers for warmth.
I still had another five hours before Gordon wanted me back at Arkham and I intended to try and get as much sleep as I could before then. I would need a well rested brain and body for everything that was sure to follow.
I soon found myself returning, a reluctant visitor to whatever particular circle of hell the rotting institution was, being led deeper into the maze of old hallways. The faded splendour of the arched neo-gothic architecture in the lower security wings soon gave way again to the more brutalist looking higher security wings.
Gordon, despite his initial reluctance, had evidently agreed to J's demands for a different setting - I soon found myself sitting in a shadowy interview room. The table and two chairs in the middle were surrounded on all sides by open space. Gone was the telephone and visiting booth.
For some reason, it was still shocking to see him without his makeup. I had seen his bare face once or twice before, but not like this. I'd seen it absent of the garish paint, but not without the green tint to his messy curls, not just pale skin and dark circles. He looked far more sickly and a little gaunt, no doubt from all his time locked in the deepest recess of the crumbling Asylum. Everything here was grimy, and tinged in a pale greenish light, like some alien landscape. I watched as the guards sat him down and bolted his restraints to the floor.
I coughed nervously as the police officers left and was glad to see an armed guard would be remaining in each corner of the room. This was so much worse than the separation of the scratched up bullet proof glass in the visiting booth. I felt raw and exposed in the cold room staring down the man in the striped uniform across the table - the stripes of a tiger, or a snake perhaps, as he sized up each of the occupants of the room like his prey.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" He said, finally breaking the stony silence and gesturing to the permanent 'smile' he wore.
I sighed, realising he was still going to make it as difficult as possible to get to the point of my visit.
"You know my answer to that question already," I said, unimpressed.
"Not even this one?" He asked, lifting his shirt to expose his torso.
The guards seemed antsy at his sudden movement, their hands darting to their weapons, holding them at the ready.
"Relax," he muttered, rolling his eyes disdainfully at the nearest before turning his attention back to me.
seeing that he wasn't going to let his shirt drop until I entertained him, I broke from his cold gaze to take a look. Sure enough, there was a sizeable scar, his pale flesh marred by a red line, fading at the edges, but still bright and raw in the middle. My mind replayed again how his expression had changed, softened even, as I thurst the blade forward. He hadn't realised right away... I could hear his laughter as he sank to his knees, distant, dream-like.
"No one's ever left a mark quite like you," he concluded, a wild, unreadable look in his eyes.
"Is that why you were so determined to pull me back here? I know it has nothing to do with the attacks," I challenged, folding my arms and leaning back against my chair, trying to maintain an air of disinterest.
He shot me a disapproving look.
"You know, it's no fun if you don't play along. Don't be so cold."
"I'm here, aren't I? Unless you start giving me the information you claim to have, I won't be."
He chuckled as I continued.
"For someone with your level of intelligence I expected better... but I can see you don't learn. You keep trying the same old patterns. That's what led you here..." I gestured to his cuffed hands and around us at the grimy tiled walls of the Asylum.
I watched his face closely, the tiniest movement betraying a flexed jaw, teeth clamping together ever so slightly in irritation. He was so used to being the one able to pick people apart at the seams, with scalpel precision.
"Touché," he muttered, leaning back on his chair until the front legs left the floor.
"So, what exactly do you have to tell me, that you won't tell the GCPD, or the Batman?" I pushed.
He sighed, lazily throwing his hands behind his head as he continued to swing backwards, just shy of the chair's tipping point.
"No, no, no" he muttered darkly, "This won't do... I think we need to establish the rules of the game first. Don't you?"
I considered this for a moment. Given how the last 'came' we played had ended, I didn't like the sound of that.
"Fine, but if I don't like the rules, I'm not obliged to play."
He shrugged as if to say he had no objection there.
"So. What are the rules?"
"Well, first of all, it's only a two player game. These, uh, fine men from the GCPD's SWAT team, they're not in play."
He nodded his head to the guards at the corners of the room.
"That's not something I have the power to change." I protested.
"No?" He said cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow.
I thought for a moment. I wasn't sure if he knew that Gordon was on the other side of the wall. But he was smart. He probably did. He'd know they were listening in.
"It's not my decision," I shook my head.
He sighed dramatically.
"Then I can't help you," he said with feigned anguish.
"What are the other rules? You may as well lay them all out now, not one by one."
He considered this.
"You never were good with delayed gratification," he said with a knowing smirk as he stared me down.
This time it was me who tried to hide my frustration. His thinly veiled innuendo, the deliberate threat of revealing what we had done, whilst the detectives listened in, was a calculated and devastating blow.
"I make no promises," I muttered, signalling that I wanted to leave the room.
As soon as I was on the other side of the glass, Gordon rushed to stop me.
"Are you alright?"
I waved him away.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. But you see the problem? He wants them out of the room. Just us two."
Gordon frowned.
"Obviously that's not gonna happen. He's kept in maximum security for a reason."
"But you know he won't talk unless they leave. Can't you put them just outside the door? You can still see everything. It's only a few more feet."
He looked incredulous at my insistence.
"Are you out of your mind? No one wants to be in a room alone with him."
I laughed a little.
"Well no, but the way I see it, I've already been there, and I'm still here today.
"That was different..."
"He's not going to kill me, at least not until we've played a few rounds of his little 'game'... besides you're keeping an eye out," I urged.
Gordon sighed in frustration.
"Lock him up tighter if you want, put him in a straight jacket if makes you feel better, but you know he won't talk otherwise..."
"Don't get close enough for him to touch you, I'll get them to shorten his restraints," he relented finally.
I nodded.
As we reentered the room, the clang of the iron door behind us was like the toll of an ominous bell. I watched as the comissioner had the specialist staff shorten the reach of the chains connecting his cuffed hands and feet to the desk. There was a flurry of activity around us as people moved in and out, until it was just three of us left. As he moved to quit the room, Gordon caught me softly by the arm.
"I have to keep you safe, not just this city. Don't let him get to you."
I met the gaze of his concerned eyes and nodded resolutely. Then, as the door swung shut a final time behind me, there was eerie silence.
The joker was silent, and unusually still, boring holes into my skull with his dark glare.
"This is the trade-off. Take it, or leave it." I said, thinking how furious he must be at the increased restraints.
He stayed silent as I approached slowly and pulled out my chair.
He still said nothing as I sat down.
"So, what are the other rules?"
Still nothing.
I watched him for a moment, holding his silent gaze.
"All that effort from me and now you won't speak. Like a child throwing a tantrum?" I sighed.
There was still only silence. I'd have to try a different tactic.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me. When you asked me why I would leave Gotham - why I would willingly seek out a boring, uneventful life."
He said nothing but there was a glimmer in his eye that told me his interest was piqued.
"I had that life for the past two years. It was boring, but it was good. And then, I had the most awful week. Everything fell apart around me. And to top it all off, you and the GCPD conspired to drag me back to Gotham..."
He began to lean back in his chair again, pushing it to the precarious point of balance.
"Sometimes, you can try and try to change your path, but you find yourself back in the place you started. Back in the pit. I guess in that sense at least, we're not so different..."
The corner of his mouth crept up into a smile.
"Acceptance. Very mature of you," he said finally.
I bit my tongue at his condescention.
"So what are the remaining rules of play?"
"There are only two more. The second rule is that for every question you make me answer, you answer one of mine."
I frowned.
"I don't have time for a little heart-to-heart."
"Well then, you better make each question worthwhile," he shot back with a grin.
"Fine," I muttered, "and the third rule?"
"No lies. If you try to deceive me, the game is over."
"Only if that goes both ways. Rules for both players," I challenged immediately.
He hesitated before shrugging his shoulders in agreement.
I thought about it all for a moment. I wondered what mind-bending tactics he was sure to employ. I didn't want to be put through his verbal autopsy, but what could I do?
"How can I trust you to play by the rules of the game when you're the one who said you live without rules?"
He hummed in consideration.
"Well, you're the one who said we fall back into the same patterns. Why can't I try something different?"
There it was. The first a-ha moment. I sighed.
"Something different would be me deciding not to play at all. Forfeiting the match."
He let the chair fall back onto four legs with a sudden crack of metal against the stone floor which made me flinch.
"If you want to save this city then you're going to have to play..." he said, his voice dropping lower into a much more sinister register.
"Fine," I relented.
He grinned and I felt my stomach twist in anticipation.
Please let me know if you want to be added or removed!
Please consider commenting! I am having a SHIT time right now with work stress and other crap, I'd really appreciate the motivation to keep at the story, as I don't even feel like doing my hobbies rn. 😭 💕
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AI is trash and I NEVER use it. This work is transformative and therefore copyright applies to it.
Quick reminder for fanfic writers both on here and ESPECIALLY on AO3…
If your main character has a name and described appearance, DO NOT use the character x reader tag. Like…seriously.
That is an OC. Use the “x oc” or “x original character” tag. Stop using the “x reader” tag. It will not give you more reach because people looking through the “x reader” tag aren’t going to read it. Three guesses why.
You are also making the filtering system null and void, which is harmful ESPECIALLY for archival sites like ao3 where the tags and filtering system are specifically there to make things easier. It’s basic fandom etiquette guys. Common sense and consideration for others. It won’t kill you to tag things correctly.
The Bewilderment of Alluring Attraction [Fellowship X Reader]
A.N: hey guys! This one shot is based off of this one of my imagines! It was really fun to write and helped me work through/explore an aspect of myself. I hope you all enjoy it!! Please let me know what you think!
Request: none
Pairing: its complicated? none really?
Summary: A female human warrior joins the fellowship. She’s a complete badass and a flirt. In addition to this she is bisexual (though no one knows…yet)!!!
DISCLAIMER: please do not misinterpret Legolas’s confusion for homophobia or biphobia!! It is intended to be that Legolas, as unexposed to anything other than strict elvish customs, is just confusion and is more like OMG WHAAaaa!!!!
(In case you don’t get the joke the very first lyric of the song is “She’s a freaky young gal, a bi-sexual. But a hustler though…”) and tbh that’s how the reader be movin’ in this fic.
I aim to be this outspoken one day.
I love confused Elves being confused by human customs in LOTR/the hobbit stories. It itches the same spot as Isekai’s do.
