#all this unfolding as his grief is transformed bit by bit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

levanterhaze · 3 months

Text

✧ PAST LIVES WITH CARMY BERZATTO

→ carmy berzatto x reader

→ in a whirlwind of past lives, emotional turmoil, and unresolved history, follow the angsty love story between the chef Carmen Berzatto and a lost soul attempting to mend the fragments of their shattered past.

→ warning: anxiety, angst, just a little bit of fluff but not too much lol

→ 3kish

first chapter: the midas touch

Stepping into Carmen Berzatto's mind was like getting swept up in a lively dance of memories and traumas, a vibrant mix of anxiety, anger, and the poignant notes of grief.

In the whirlwind of working tirelessly and mulling over unspoken feelings, Carmen found his unique forte. Picture him slicing through onions, yet mentally transported to that fateful family dinner where everything unraveled. His hands shook, sweat lingered on his temples, and, ironically, an old faithful cigarette became his solace, a bittersweet affirmation that his lungs were indeed alive.

On the whole, revisiting the past was a vivid nightmare for Carmy, a realm he seldom painted with optimistic dreams. Yet, every so often, his mind would wander back to a face from days gone by, a time when life seemed more carefree and innocent, a canvas where he felt secure enough to unfurl his heart into something beautiful.

Did he yearn for that? It was a perpetual query whenever her image crossed his thoughts—the sweet, well-intentioned girl who appeared in his life like a gift from the cosmos, a surreal deity he deemed himself unworthy of.

Before the portrait of his life transformed into its current state, there was someone. Sweet, cozy smiles. Hands entwined like an unbroken melody. Glances as sugary as stolen kisses. Pledges of everlasting love whispered in the hush of the night. A dream. An obsession. Two hearts shattered like fractured stardust.

Now and then, Carmy pondered the whereabouts of the girl who once occupied a significant space in his heart—the muse of his first love. Nostalgia and melancholy clung to this initial foray into matters of the heart, an indelible mark like the lingering stain of aged wine—permanent, resilient, and unforgettable.

In those reflective moments, a palpable grudge gripped Carmy for breaking that girl's heart—a girl who poured everything into a relationship destined for the shadows. He sensed his own brokenness, juxtaposed with her radiant beauty. He avoided becoming something she could mend, thus choosing distance as his peculiar brand of self-preservation.

But what if...?

These three small words, weighty with possibility, haunted Carmy like an incessant rhythm.

He could have had it all. Or perhaps nothing. Or even the splendid paradox of both worlds colliding. Yet, in the grand tapestry of life, did it truly matter? Carmy had forged a path to his present, and the dreamy girl who lingered in his musings was surely distant enough to forget the whimsical boy who once broke her heart.

Anxiety unraveled the threads of Berzatto's faith, gradually fading like the waning embers of a once-robust fire.

Returning to Chicago, it felt like rediscovering the world anew.

What do you do when your dreams dissolve into echoes, vanishing in the blink of an eye? When every effort seems futile and never quite enough? The echoes linger in your mind, tears poised on the brink, waiting for the opportune moment to make their dramatic entrance.

Life in Los Angeles was meant to be simpler. You envisioned a dream, thinking everything would unfold seamlessly. Young and too naive to fathom the intricacies of the world. Pursuing an acting career in a world where vultures circled fresh talent felt like social suicide. You were never prepared, but for years, you tried relentlessly.

Exhaustion took hold—utter weariness. Voices echoed in your mind: too thin, too fat, perhaps she's passable, but not captivating enough, if only she had more curves, maybe she'd be more fuckable.

Nothing ever seemed enough, and you grew weary of the constant striving.

So, on a Thursday, the decision was made to return to Chicago. Leave the rented L.A apartment behind and embrace the small space that belonged to you. Driving back home, the air in Chicago felt oppressive. Breathing seemed challenging. The dense air, pregnant with memories and echoes of past lives, served as a stark reminder.

It's real. It's Chicago.

Coldness embraced the season, and the darkened apartment resembled a skeletal frame. Fragile white walls, devoid of adornments. It was just you and your ego, weathered by years of struggle.

Then, the need to shop emerged, a necessity to prevent impending insanity. The fridge echoed emptiness, much like your stomach. The nearby supermarket beckoned, and you welcomed the walk. A peculiar sensation enveloped you as you traversed the streets—a desire for recognition, yet a deeper hope for anonymity.

A passing gaze stirred anticipation, only to be met with moistened lips and your hastened steps. Later, as you gazed upon your reflection in the glass of the dairy section, self-loathing consumed you. Disdain for the red lipstick, its inadequacy on your lips. Disgust for the perfume that clung to you. A loathing gaze at your reflection, prompting the question: when would this cease?

Earphones encapsulated your ears, resonating with melancholic '80s tunes at a volume that drowned the outside world. Nearly ten at night, the door beside you opened, prompting a swift move to retrieve that damn cheese. In that fleeting second, blue eyes and a nose akin to Apollo's altered everything. Suddenly, you found yourself in a snug loft, surrounded by abundance, with a boy destined to shatter your heart.

A pause ensued. Earphones draped around your shoulders, seemingly programmed for such moments. Carmy's name hovered on your lips, yet you restrained it. There was an ordinariness, a professionalism in the way he scrutinized the products, evoking a suppressed urge to laugh.

Indeed, it was Berzatto.

"Carm?"

And as if, in some way, time had rewound a few years, Carmen feels something tug at his chest.

There you were. In the flesh.

The twin emeralds staring at you, as if you were something out of this world, suddenly felt like too much to bear. Looking at Carmy was like gazing at that boy you once fell for. Filled with dreams, ambitions, and fears.

You could be mistaken, but you swore you saw his lips move to the rhythm of the nickname: angel .

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're here," he says as if your presence is an impossibility, just a meter away.

"And you're here," a small smile graces your face.

"I-yeah, I’m here. Los Angeles?"

A failure , a shattered dream, a colossal disappointment .

But you simply shrugged, lips twisting into an upturn smile. That's when Carmy gives a hint of a grin.

It's really you.

"I'm sorry," but did he truly feel it?

The silence lingered uncomfortably, both of you staring at each other as if in a standoff. You smiled first, a beautiful smile he already knew. Carmy took a step forward.

"I wrote you an email. When... You know. I'm really sorry, Carm," your eyes sought traces in his outwardly weary expression. He glanced down, just for a few seconds, and nodded, shaking his head.

He didn't know what to say. And what could he do? His inbox was flooded with messages he probably would never read. And knowing there was one message among many, a message from you, made him hate himself even more.

"Are you living around here?"

"Down the next block," you bit your lip.

"I have a place," he suddenly says. "Actually, Mikey had this place, and you probably knew that, but I, after, uh... I'm with the restaurant. The Bear."

"The Bear," you repeat the name with such poise and affection that makes Carmy's heart almost leap from his chest.

"You should drop by if you like," he looks directly into your eyes, like an invitation. "I’d like to," and then, the longing.

You shared another moment of silence, just two familiar strangers trying to connect after years in the shadows. Carmy felt his own body slowing down a feeling that had been cold for a long time. Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this.

"Okay," was all you said.

Carmy slipped you a phone number, never hinting that it belonged to him.

A couple of weeks passed since that unexpected supermarket encounter, and a persistent sense of disappointment clung to your routine. Part of you understood. Maybe Carmy wasn't into revisiting the past, a ghost of what his life once held. You accepted that. Yet, he seemed well, on the surface at least. You figured, at the very least, you could be friends if the history still held some weight.

On the flip side, time has been kind in aiding your healing process. Unpacking boxes in the apartment felt like therapy for a mind that had weathered its fair share of storms. Some items were old enough to consider tossing, like clothes and forgotten books. Amidst these relics, something intriguing caught your eye.

Two sketchbooks. It had been ages since you held one, forgetting that you were once an artist. They were dusty, and as you opened them, a rush of emotions accompanied the doodles of a past version of yourself.

There was Millennium Park, scenic landscapes, a woman on a train, and countless pages filled with familiar green-eyed gazes. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing the depth of your feelings for Carmy.

So many sketches of him, capturing every detail—nose, eyes, hands, lips, his entire essence. Undoubtedly, he was your muse. A mix of drama and nostalgia coursed through you, and amidst the clutter, you decided to keep these memories of a former you.

And thoughts about Carmy? They remained.

One evening, you found yourself outside The Bear. No one seemed to notice you, but the lively atmosphere tempted you to step inside, maybe greet Carmy, and shoot him a teasing look for giving a number that didn't quite belong to him.

But you hesitate.

Chasing someone who clearly wasn't interested felt a bit degrading, and despite your annoyance with life's twists, you weren't willing to go that far.

As the days whisked by, the Berzattos kept popping up, serving as constant reminders. A chance meeting with Natalie at a cozy café unraveled, and she could hardly believe it was really you standing there. She hugged you warmly, apologizing for everything that had transpired between you and Carmy.

In the end, Carmy hadn't spilled the tea about your return to Chicago. And even though you pretended not to care about the opinion of your super-talented ex-boyfriend and chef, there was a subtle sting to your pride. You shared the thing about the supermarket encounter, the email, and the phone number.

Sugar was livid.

In The Bear's kitchen, Carmen's sister stormed furiously towards the office where her brother would likely be sorting out bureaucratic matters with Syd. With a hand on the door and furrowed brows, Natalie burst in like a typhoon.

"What is wrong with you?"

Sydney paused mid-motion, holding a notebook and pen in hand, her eyes shifting from Carmy to Sugar.

"Good morning to you too, Sug" he continued writing something in one of the notebooks, but Natalie had no patience for her brother at the moment.

"I’m not joking, Carmy.”

Finally, he looked at her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Angel ?"

Carmy froze in his tracks.

"What about Angel?"

"Sorry, is Angel a person or...?" Sydney seemed confused, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"You didn't even mention she was in town. And worse, you gave a fake number! What's your problem?"

"Sugar, can we discuss this later?" Carmy already had his hands over his face, sliding through his hair carelessly.

"No, we can't."

"Ooookay, I think that's my cue. Talk to you later, Chef."

And just like that, Sydney was far enough away for them to continue the unwanted argument.

"Care to explain yourself?" Natalie crossed her arms, leaning against one of the walls.

Carmy sighed, feeling defeated.

How could he convey his dark thoughts to his sister without leaving her extremely worried? How would he say that he felt dread at the prospect of something good and beautiful approaching his broken and confused life? How could he explain that sometimes feeling like a victim was safer than letting someone truly enter his life?

"I... Did you-did you see her?"

"Of course, and she seemed really disappointed, Carmy," Natalie poured out to her brother. "Why did you do that? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

"No. Nothing. Angel... She's just... Too much, you know?" Carmy felt powerless, like an open wound. "She was part of a version that doesn't exist anymore, and I know it wouldn't work out. Seeing her is like... It just wouldn't work out, Sugar."

Natalie felt sorry for her brother. She knew Carmy, and despite being irritated, she knew he would have a justification.

"Oh, Carmy..." Sugar approached, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Even if you don't want any kind of involvement with her, apologize, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"I know you will."

The phone rang three times before you answered.

Pouring yourself a generous glass of red wine, you settled in to enjoy one of your favorite TV series. It was a healing day, for sure. Just wine, television, take-out food, and your own company.

" Hello ?"

"Hm, angel ?"

Involuntarily, your heart did a somersault. Even though you knew who it was, you tried to tease Carmy. "Is this really your number, or is it just another lie you want to tell?"

"I'm sorry."

The time it took for his response was enough for you to sit on the sofa and savor the wine on your lips. "It's okay, Carmy."

"No, no. It's not okay. I’m a fuckin’ asshole."

"I guess, but I understand that you don't want someone from your past in your life, and... well, it was kind of a jerk move, but you don't owe me anything."

Things weren't going according to the script Carmy had planned in his mind.

His house was dark, only the bathroom light on, and the cold wind kissed his face in the dimness of the night. He was afraid that if he pulled his hair any harder, strands would come out in his hand. Anxiety was eating him alive, and the worst part was that he had made his own bed.

"That's not true. How can I make it up to you?"

You smiled to yourself, considering the possibilities. "For lying?"

"For being a fucking idiot, angel. Tell me."

Your sigh made Carmy's heart race. He expected you to yell and curse him with all the names he deserved. But your calmness was worse than he could imagine.

"I don't know, Carmy. You were the one who gave me a fake number. Maybe you have to figure that out."

"Sure, sure. I, uh, will think about it. By the way, Natalie gave me your number, so..."

"I figured."

"Are you free tomorrow? In the afternoon?"

"Maybe..." you toyed with the remaining liquid in the glass.

"Let's grab a coffee or something, yeah? I'll text you then."

"Okay. Goodnight, Berzatto."

Carmy was in the midst of deciding whether he regretted scheduling this coffee.

Strolling through the chilly streets of Chicago, he had the unruly companion in his hands and the smoke flooding his lungs. With every step, it felt like he was ready to take three steps back. As if little devils were rolling dice in the game and angels were rolling their eyes.

He was about to flick the cigarette away when he saw you. And damn , you looked like a mirage.

The face sculpted by angels, the sweetness and wildness in the gaze that only he could recognize. And that red lipstick... He'd be damned to hell.

Approaching, he stamped out the cigarette and watched your face light up. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Berzatto. You showed up."

"We made plans."

"Yeah, that’s why I was worried." and again, the calmness was like a stab in his chest.

During the walk to the coffee shop, Carmy and you talked about life's nonsense and how things seem different now.

"How’s Chicago treating ya?"

" Ugh . It's hard to find something to do in this city. I mean, after I went to Los Angeles, I really thought chasing dreams was something special. You can't imagine my reaction when I found out I wasn't the only one," you smiled to yourself, holding the coffee cup. "I feel like a failure. An imposter."

"Why?" Carmy looked at you and clenched his own fist, tempted to touch you.

"Throughout all the years I spent in L.A, I realized that my dream was getting farther away every day. And every day..." you glanced at him briefly. "Every day, I wished to have my old life back, y’know? Simpler times."

"I understand."

Of course, Carmy understood. He had been through hell on earth to be where he is now, but there was a certain innocence and delicacy in the past that he couldn't leave behind. A moment in his life in which you were also a part.

"The greatest chef Carmen Berzatto sympathizes with the story of a fake rising star?"

And as if it were scripted, Carmy and you stopped in the middle of the avenue, connecting in an inexplicable way.

"You'd be surprised."

And amidst random conversations and reminiscing about people from the past and times that certainly wouldn't return, the night appeared as a pleasant surprise, and you found yourselves again in the block where you had met, in front of The Bear.

"Well, I guess that's it," you said, still trying to stifle the laughter because somehow, Carmy Berzatto could draw some laughs out of you. "Thanks for the coffee and the walk, Berzatto."

The strange silence filled the night air, condensing your breaths.

But at that point, Carmy felt good, so good that his mind had given him a respite.

Without hugs and touches, you awkwardly said goodbye and went your way. "Actually..." Carmy made you stop in your tracks. "I'm kinda starving, and uh, if you want to come in, I-I can whip up something quick. If you want."

Your smile made Carmy feel at home. "Sure."

You didn't understand much, but watching Carmen Berzatto move through the kitchen of his own restaurant was like witnessing art come to life.

Everything was so clean and empty. There was a large counter where you sat, just observing the magic unfold. Seeing him like that brought back memories you weren't sure if you should remember.

There were nights when Carmy experimented with new recipes, and you both spent the night in the kitchen—him as the chef, of course, and you merely assisting, grabbing an ingredient here and there. Even when he claimed it looked like shit , you would kiss him and say it was great, that he was talented. To you, Carmy was Midas.

Watching him from behind, you couldn't help but notice the tattoos and how his muscular and oh-so-masculine arm moved swiftly to stir the contents in the pan. You lowered your head, thinking you might be seeing too much. You knew nothing about Carmy's love life; it was a topic you avoided all afternoon, like a minefield—not safe yet.

"Here." Carmy crossed the small space to the counter, holding a spoon and a coppery liquid close to your face. "Try it."

You almost choked on your saliva but kept your composure as his large, sparkling emerald eyes met yours. You opened your lips slowly, waiting for him to place the spoon in your mouth. Carmy didn't know exactly how much time passed, lost in your lips—inviting, scarlet, as soft as velvet—and your sinless eyes. It was somehow sensual and intimate that he could die. As the taste hit your palate, it was like an explosion of flavors: honey, orange, citrusy, and sweet all at once.

He stood there, waiting for a reaction.

"So good." Your eyes were locked onto Carmy's, and all he knew was your lips, dangerously close, making his heart beat irregularly.

"Yeah?" He approached meticulously, you noticed.

"Yeah."

You weren't sure what you were doing. Carmy wasn't either.

Submerged in a world already known in aquamarine, you felt your heart beat faster. His hand touched the side of your thigh, and that little touch of skin-on-skin made your body burn. Not a common burn. Burning for Carmy. For something you once had.

And this was the worst way to burn.

"Bear," you breathed. He was so near, my God, you could sense the nicotine and cologne, the distinctive essence of that man before you. If you extended your fingers, you could brush against his face, yet you refrained.

The endearing pet name left Carmy suspended. What in the world did he believe he was doing?

Inviting you for coffee after being a colossal dipshit, thinking that cooking a meal could mend the bygone years? Believing that crafting a repast would reconstruct the past and heal the heart he once left broken?

"I’m sorry," Carmy retreated, his hands gracing his temples, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, and traversing his entire countenance. "I-I don't know, uh, what I was doing."

"Carmy."

"No. I-I'll serve the dishes, and I hope it doesn't taste like shit." He moved with celerity, evading the recent occurrence. His finesse was so adept that you began questioning yourself.

He initiated the retrieval of plates, the sonorous clink of crockery harmonizing with the cascade of hex he cast into the ether. You descended from the counter, advancing towards him, heart racing, and mind more befuddled than ever. Was this the intended outcome, after all?

"Carmy!" you implored, as if your words were echoes unheard. He appeared agitated, fervently seeking something you couldn't fathom.

"Where the fuck’s that shit? I swear to fucking God, all these fucking assholes stresses the fuck out of me. They come here, cook, and leave everything a fucking mess, and I can't even find the FUCKING WINE CORK!"

Carmy's metamorphosis when angered was perturbing. His visage flushed crimson, veins on the brink of eruption, and words discharged without restraint.

"It's okay!"

"No, fuck that shit!" he forcefully disengaged as you tried to soothe him. Carmy leaned against the stove, trembling hands and bowed head. It was too much. It was enough. "You should leave."

"What?" You could hardly believe it. Humor was almost slipping off your tongue, but the way his muscles moved under the white T-shirt, and how he didn't even look at you, said it all.

"Just fucking go, alright?"

You yearned for a day when clouds were as ethereal as cotton and the sun gleamed unprecedentedly, perhaps a day when Carmy Berzatto's enigma unraveled. Until that day materialized, you’d simply leave. You seized your coat and left.

Berzatto’s downfall was knowing that this was the pattern.

No matter how many attempts he made, worthiness eluded him. Each time, he became the architect of your heartbreak, irrespective of the circumstance.

It was his eternal condemnation.

#carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto smut #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear imagines #carmy the bear #carmy x fem!reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #carmen berzatto #the bear season 2 #carmy imagines #carmy x you #past lives fic

99 notes · View notes

humdinky · 6 months

Text

hey all! i just wanted to take a minute to stand on my little soap box and tell you about a manga i picked up last december. it has gotten much more attention since then, but i'd still like to throw my thoughts into the mix.

on the surface, the summer hikaru died explores a pretty common horror trope: what if a person you loved changed into something unrecognizable? do you reject them, or try to connect to the person that they have become? of course, this fear is twisted into something more threatening in a supernatural horror format. what if they literally died and came back as something else that could potentially harm you and your family?

we follow two teenage boys: yoshiki and his best friend (and one sided crush) hikaru, who goes missing in the mountains for a week and miraculously reappears unscathed. he looks the same as ever, but yoshiki can tell that what came back is no longer the hikaru that he once knew. now, yoshiki must come to grips with the fact that something sinister has taken over his friend’s body - and that it has a strong attachment to him.

that's the basic premise, but this manga is still ongoing and there are plenty of different directions it could take. if you haven't read it yet, it's worth experiencing firsthand. beyond the body horror are themes of grief and repressed homosexuality, as well as subtext to read into. i'm not going to be spoiling any explicit plot details, but i'd encourage you to stop reading this and go check it out if a bl manga with gorgeous art, toxic but engaging romance, and body horror sounds appealing to you.

the first thing you'll notice about this manga is that *chef's kiss* gorgeous art! it is uncanny, as you would expect, but it is drawn with so much care. the heavily detailed background art and visual horror create a rather oppressive atmosphere. the author also really excels at conveying character emotions through facial expressions, and there's a lot of very subtle bits of information that you can pick up from them.

being a body horror manga, this aspect is of course given extra care. when it gets supernatural, it takes on an oddly surreal quality. i'd even say that the transformations of hikaru take on an air of eroticism. that sounds out of place, but the author understands that the line between fear and attraction is thin. there is one scene in particular that would be very sexual if not for the absolute nightmare scenario unfolding before my eyes.

one of my favorite things about this manga is the confidence the author has in the reader. yoshiki having had feelings towards' the previous hikaru is never outright stated, it's just assumed that the reader will pick up on it. the village yoshiki lives in views homosexuality as some kind of curse, and the insecurity this creates in him is shown very subtly. the camera's gaze and the little things he says all convey this, like his apparent guilt over staring at hikaru shown through the shadow on his face. his fear of and attraction to hikaru's transformations also conveys this idea. he's also coping with grief in an unhealthy manner, and this is shown through the almost experimental way he's sometimes drawn. but yoshiki is not the only important character, and hikaru also has some depth. his character is harder to parse, but there's more to him lurking below the surface. he's more delicate than his outgoing demeanor would suggest. hell, it's understandable - being a literal monster means his position in yoshiki's life is extremely tenuous. our two main characters form a codependent relationship based on a fear of being alone, something very human and compelling in a messy sort of way.

something that i do not see being brought up quite as much is how tshd uses horror elements to discuss the fears around coming out and dealing with same-sex attraction. so much of hikaru’s internal struggle is such a wonderful metaphor. many of the moments between him and yoshiki serve as a dual narrative - the surface-level narrative but also this very delicate story about two boys from a rural village who realize they have feelings for one another. the whole story in fact is one giant metaphor for dealing with the anxiety losing who you thought you were and embracing concrete truths about sexuality and love.

overall it left me with some very strong first impressions. it is both an excellent horror manga and a nuanced exploration of loss and sexuality. i also find it very refreshing that their relationship isn’t built on any sort of deception or lies, and that yoshiki is aware that he’s an imposter, just not the extent of what exactly he is or what is happening in the town.

#the summer hikaru died #hikaru ga shinda natsu #hgsn #tshd #txt #manga #shounen ai #bl manga #manga recommendation #lgbtq #gay #horror #romance #certainly brings a new meaning to 'exploring each others bodies'#when im in a who loses his head first competition and my oponent is a gay white haired dude 😨

95 notes · View notes

sunflowerabyss · 4 months

Text

Charms of Fate: Chapter 8

Paring: Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways with Hogwarts. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: none? idk. fluff

________________________________________________

In the quiet loneliness of his thoughts, Remus found himself consumed by your presence. Since that day in his cluttered office, the memory of your touch lingered like a gentle flame, a constant warmth that danced on the edges of his consciousness. The soft imprint of your lips on his skin became an indelible mark, a sweet reminder that traced his every waking moment.

The thought of you became a steady companion, accompanying him from the moment he opened his eyes until the time he surrendered to sleep. Even in the realm of dreams, you painted the canvas of his subconscious, integrating yourself into every corner of his mind.

As the days unfolded, Remus recognized a profound truth within himself—he was undeniably, irrevocably in love with you. It wasn't just a fleeting infatuation but a deep, soul-stirring affection that colored the world around him. Your laughter echoed in his mind; your smile etched into the very core of his being.

Yet, amidst the beauty of this newfound emotion, a quiet fear lingered. Remus knew the dangers that lurked within him, the potential for harm that his condition held. He longed for you, yearned to fully embrace what blossomed between you both, but the specter of his own perceived monstrosity held him back.

In the stillness of the night, as the moon cast its silvery glow over his thoughts, Remus couldn't escape the magnetic pull you held over him. Love had taken root, entwining its tendrils around his heart, leaving him to navigate the delicate dance between desire and restraint.

________________________________________

The air around the Hogwarts grounds held a crisp, autumnal chill as Harry and Professor Lupin strolled along the bridge, the gentle rustle of leaves accompanying their conversation. As Harry kicked a pebble along the path, he decided to broach a topic that had been lingering in his mind.

"Professor," Harry began tentatively, "can I ask you about my parents?"

Remus' features softened by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, nodded and offered a small smile. "Of course, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath before plunging into the inquiry. "What were my parents like? I mean, really like?"

Remus sighed, the weight of memories settling upon him. "Your parents were remarkable people, Harry. James was a bit of a troublemaker, always up for a prank or mischief. But beneath that exterior, he had a heart of gold. He was fiercely loyal and cared deeply for those he loved."

Harry's curiosity prompted him to ask, "What about my mum? Did you know her well?"

"Lily," Remus spoke her name with fondness. "She was an extraordinary witch, talented beyond measure. More than her magical prowess, though, Lily was an uncommonly kind woman. She was there for me, offering her support without judgment."

Harry's gaze dropped to the pebble he kicked along the path. "Did Professor (L/N) know my parents too?"

Remus nodded, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Yes, she did. Lily was her best friend all throughout Hogwarts."

Remus's eyes softened with nostalgia as he continued to share tales of your and Lily's enduring friendship. They stopped, both leaning against the railing, looking out over the forest.

"Lily and Professor (L/N) were inseparable," Remus reminisced, a distant smile on his face. "They complemented each other in the most magical way. Lily's vivacity and warmth balanced (Y/N)'s quiet strength."

He paused, momentarily lost in the memories. "I remember seeing them together, often sitting by the fireplace, engrossed in discussions about magic, life, and everything in between. Lily's fiery spirit and (Y/N)'s calm wisdom created a dynamic that was a joy to witness. I'm sure if you asked, Professor (L/N) would love to tell you more about their friendship." Harry hummed, nodding his head slightly.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves as if nature itself was eavesdropping on the tales of camaraderie. Remus's voice held a blend of gratitude and longing. "Your mother and father, Harry, were a steadfast friend to everyone. In times of trouble, they would face challenges with you, hand in hand. Their friendship was the kind that left an indelible mark on everyone lucky enough to witness it."

Harry, intrigued by the connections that existed between his parents' generation, couldn't help but wonder about the dynamics between his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms teacher.

"Professor," Harry asked tentatively, "were you and Professor (L/N) friends?"

Remus's expression softened as he delved into the memories. "Yes, Harry, we were friends. We met during our time at Hogwarts. We belonged to the same house—Gryffindor."

"How did you know each other? For how long?" Harry asked.

He continued, "We were just acquaintances at first, at least until your mother finally let your father take her out. It wasn't until our last year at Hogwarts that I considered her a really good and close friend."

Harry's curiosity persisted, and he asked, "What happened after Hogwarts? Did you stay in touch?"

Remus's expression shifted, carrying a touch of melancholy. "After your parents… after that fateful night, things changed. The entire wizarding world was struggling with the aftermath, and each of us coped in our own way. Unfortunately, she and I lost touch over the years. Life took us in different directions."

He added, "I regret the distance that grew between us. I feel having her close would have made it easier."

Harry, the curious boy he was, pressed on. "Professor," he asked cautiously, "did you… love her?"

Remus sighed, his gaze distant as he weighed his words carefully. "Love is a difficult emotion, Harry. She was, and is, a remarkable person. She was my confidante, a dear friend." Someone I trust.

Harry, sensing there was more to the story, pressed on. "I mean, did you ever love her romantically, Professor?"

Yes. I have loved her since the day I met her. Nothing has changed.

Remus hesitated at Harry's more personal inquiries, glancing nervously as if questioning the appropriateness of the conversation. Harry, undeterred, waited for an answer.

With a sigh, Remus began, "Harry, should you really be asking such questions?" Harry, ever the inquisitive teenager, leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Well, I suppose I could say it this way--if I were to love her, it would span a thousand lifetimes, and even then, it wouldn't be enough."

#remus lupin #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #older!remus lupin #older!remus lupin x reader #professor!remus lupin x reader #professor!remus lupin #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #hogwarts #jk rowling

41 notes · View notes

gcthvile · 4 months

Text

Winn Maximoff

Full name: Winn Pietro Maximoff

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Nicknames: he doesn't have any nicknames by others but he does get called svet moy (my light) or solnyshko (sun) by Wanda

Sexuality: Bisexual

Powers: Reality Manipulation, Astral Projection, Binding, Clairvoyance, Concussive Blasts, Cosmic Awareness, Creation, Erasure, Elemental Manipulation, Flight, Force Field, Mechanical Manipulation, Healing, Physical Augmentation, Power Manipulation, Power Bestowal, Power Amplification, Power Negation, Teleportation, Portal Creation, Interdimensional Teleportation, Remote Teleportation, Banishment, Telepathy.

Backstory

Wanda's encounter with Julian in upstate New York brought an unexpected spark into her life. Despite the mundane circumstances of a car breakdown, their connection grew during the time he spent fixing her car. Julian's charm and genuine nature resonated with Wanda, providing a sense of warmth she hadn't felt since Vision.

Their romantic journey unfolded, filled with shared laughter and meaningful moments. Julian became a beacon of joy for Wanda, helping her heal from the wounds of the past. Their love bore fruit, and Winn entered their lives, bringing newfound happiness to the Scarlet Witch.

However, fate took a cruel turn when Julian met an untimely end in a tragic car accident. The loss left Wanda devastated, burdened with the responsibility of raising Winn on her own. Despite the pain, she channeled her grief into nurturing Winn, ensuring he grew up surrounded by the love and strength his parents once shared.

Winn, inheriting both Wanda's magical abilities and his father's resilience, developed into a unique individual, a blend of chaos and stability. His childhood, marked by the absence of his father, instilled in him a deep appreciation for the fleeting nature of life and the importance of cherishing every moment.

Childhood and teenage years

Winn's childhood was a blend of ordinary and extraordinary, growing up in the care of Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch. Despite her immense powers, Wanda was determined to give Winn a normal life. She shielded him from the complexities of the superhero world, creating a haven where bedtime stories weren't about cosmic battles but simple adventures.

Their home was a refuge, filled with laughter, bedtime rituals, and the occasional use of magic to make chores a bit more exciting. Wanda, with her scarlet-hued powers, taught Winn to understand and control his abilities from an early age. It became a shared secret, a unique bond between mother and son.

As Winn entered school, Wanda juggled her superhero responsibilities with PTA meetings and school projects, ensuring he experienced the typical joys and challenges of childhood. She encouraged his interests, whether mundane or extraordinary, fostering an environment where he could embrace both sides of his heritage.

Winn's journey through adolescence brought moments of curiosity and self-discovery. Wanda, always there with guidance, watched as her son navigated the intricacies of friendships and identity. Through it all, she remained the constant, a pillar of strength and love in a world that sometimes felt too vast.

As Winn entered his teenage years, a shift occurred within him, marked by a growing turbulence in his emotions. The balance that once characterized his childhood began to tip, and a complex mix of anger, frustration, and a desire for control emerged. The charming child transformed into a young man marked by rudeness, aggression, and a penchant for violence.

Wanda, grappling with the challenge of guiding her son through this tumultuous phase, recognized the need for a different approach. She attempted to anchor him, to help him channel his powers and emotions in a more constructive manner. Yet, the scarlet threads that once wove a harmonious childhood now seemed frayed, strained by the intense forces within him.

The reasons behind Winn's transformation remained elusive – a combination of teenage angst, the weight of his powers, and perhaps the unresolved pain stemming from the loss of his father. The Scarlet Witch found herself caught in a delicate dance, trying to rein in the unleashed potential within her son while understanding the complexity of his journey.

Winn's aggression and dangerous tendencies became a challenge not only for himself but for those around him. The struggle to find a balance between the extraordinary gifts he inherited and the turbulent emotions of adolescence defined this phase of his life, leaving both mother and son navigating uncharted waters in an attempt to restore the threads of stability and harmony.

As the years unfolded, Wanda discovered the hidden layers beneath Winn's rough exterior. Despite his outward demeanor of rudeness and aggression, she unearthed a secret well of care and protectiveness within him. Winn, with an unspoken commitment to shielding those he cared about, particularly his mother, revealed a side that few had the chance to witness.

In private moments, his humor shone through, casting a light on a side of Winn that contrasted sharply with the aggressive facade he presented to the world. Wanda, realizing that his protective instincts were rooted in a deep love and concern, sought ways to nurture the positive aspects of his character while guiding him away from the darker expressions of his powers.

The dichotomy within Winn created a complex tapestry of emotions, where his caring nature clashed with the violence that often manifested in moments of perceived threat. The challenge for Wanda became not only understanding her son but also finding a way to channel his protective instincts in a manner that didn't compromise the safety of those around him.

Personality

Winn's personality is a paradoxical blend of intensity and vulnerability. The aggression and violence he occasionally exhibits serve as a protective armor, a manifestation of the internal conflicts he grapples with. Behind this tough exterior, he harbors a deep well of care and protectiveness, particularly towards his mother, Wanda.

His loyalty to those he considers family is unwavering, and he would go to great lengths to ensure their safety. The fine line he treads between expressing his love through protection and the potential dangers of his powers adds complexity to his relationships.

Winn's sense of humor, often hidden from the outside world, provides glimpses into a more lighthearted side. In moments of connection and trust, he lets this facet of his personality shine, revealing a capacity to find joy even in the midst of turmoil.

Powers

Winn's mastery of powers developed over years of training guided by his mother, Wanda. Through a combination of theoretical learning, practical exercises, and real-world experiences, he honed each ability, discovering the nuances of their applications and limitations. The journey was not without challenges, and the occasional struggles with his temper and violent tendencies added a layer of complexity to his training. Yet, over time, Winn learned to navigate the intricate web of his inherited powers, transforming them from untamed potential into controlled expressions of his Scarlet Witch heritage

Winn can alter and reshape reality to a certain extent, bending the TV fabric of existence to his will. He has the ability to project his consciousness or spirit outside of his physical body, exploring different planes of existence. Winn can restrain or immobilize others through metaphysical means, using his powers to create ethereal bonds. He possesses the ability to perceive events or gather information about distant or future events. He can generate powerful bursts of concussive energy, which he can project as offensive attacks. He is also attuned to the cosmic forces at play, providing him with heightened awareness of the universe. Winn can bring objects or constructs into existence through sheer force of will. He also has the power to erase or negate certain aspects of reality, removing elements from existence. Winn can defy gravity and move through the air without the need for physical support.

He can create protective barriers or shields to deflect attacks. Has the ability to manipulate and control machines and technology through supernatural means. Winn can accelerate the natural healing processes, either for himself or others. He has the power to enhance physical attributes, such as strength, speed, and agility. Winn can manipulate the powers of others, altering or controlling their supernatural abilities. Winn can instantaneously transport himself from one location to another. He can create openings or portals between different locations or dimensions. Winn can also travel between different dimensions. He also can transport objects or individuals to another location without physical presence. Winn can exile entities or beings to other realms or dimensions. And lastly he possesses the ability to communicate mentally with others, reading thoughts or projecting his own.

Hobbies

Winn's hobbies reflect a diverse range of interests, providing a glimpse into the layers of his personality beyond the realm of superpowers. Despite his complex powers and intense demeanor, he finds solace and joy in various pursuits.

Winn channels his creativity through art, whether it's painting, drawing, or other forms of artistic expression. It serves as a therapeutic outlet, allowing him to explore emotions and experiences in a tangible way.

Whether playing an instrument or curating playlists, music plays a significant role in Winn's life. It becomes a means of escape and emotional release, resonating with the different facets of his personality.

Winn finds refuge in the world of literature, exploring realms beyond the ordinary. Whether delving into mystical texts or escaping into fiction, reading provides him with a sense of adventure and intellectual stimulation.

Engaging in rigorous physical activities, such as martial arts or intense workouts, helps Winn channel his energy and maintain a sense of discipline. It also serves as a constructive outlet for the intensity that comes with his powers.

Despite his guarded exterior, Winn has a curious side that drives him to explore both mundane and extraordinary aspects of the world. Whether it's urban exploration or venturing into mystical realms, he seeks to understand the world around him.

Fueled by his ability for mechanical manipulation, Winn has a keen interest in technology. He enjoys tinkering with gadgets, staying updated on the latest advancements, and finding innovative solutions to challenges.

In contrast to his more intense pursuits, Winn finds joy in the simplicity of cooking. Experimenting with recipes and flavors allows him to unwind and share moments of connection with others.

Strengths and weaknesses

Strengths:

1. Mastery of Powers: Winn possesses a comprehensive mastery of a wide array of powers inherited from Wanda, including reality manipulation, teleportation, and telepathy.

2. Protective Instinct: His strong protective instincts, especially towards his loved ones, drive him to go to great lengths to ensure their safety.

3. Resilience: Winn's journey has instilled in him a remarkable resilience, allowing him to face challenges with determination and bounce back from setbacks.

4. Versatility: The diverse range of his hobbies and interests adds to his versatility, making him adaptable in different situations and environments.

5. Physical Prowess: Engaging in physical training has endowed him with enhanced physical attributes, contributing to his overall effectiveness in combat situations.

Weaknesses:

1. Temper and Aggression: Winn's tendency towards aggression, particularly in moments of heightened emotion, poses a challenge, leading to potential conflicts.

2. Protectiveness Leading to Violence: While protective, his inclination towards violence as a means of safeguarding loved ones can create moral and ethical dilemmas.

3. Complex Emotions: The internal conflicts arising from his heritage and the loss of his father contribute to complex emotional struggles, impacting his decision-making at times.

4. Struggle with Balance: Balancing the extraordinary nature of his powers with the desire for a normal life presents an ongoing challenge, with potential consequences for his personal relationships.

5. Isolation: Winn's internal struggles may lead to a sense of isolation, as he grapples with the burden of his powers and the potential dangers they pose to those around him.

Hope you guys like him!

@missstrawbs2001 @blueboirick @jackiequick @meiramel @mallowbee4

#oc post #oc rp #oc introduction #oc rpg #marvel #marvel roleplay #marvel oc #marvel x oc

12 notes · View notes

tar-thelien · 6 months

Text

I wanna work on getting a chapter for one of my fics out this coming week but I'm not sure which one

New chapter Looking for Light in Darkness AO3 anf Tumblr

Explanation and links under

Elrond and Elros gets picked up by Maglor who´s on the bridge of falling into complete insanity, Maedhros is tired of everything, and far from stable, but lets Maglor do as he wants and Erestor watches from as safe of a distance as he can. In the end, they are all just doing their best to stay alive - and love tends to grow slowly in treacherous places.

Elros wanted the illusion to break, that they were hostages and not a part of the kinslayer's family.

“I fell.”

“How clumsy of you Nelyafinwe.”

Ereinion, also known as Gil-Galad, was discovered by Maedhros during his travels to visit his kinsman in Barad Eithel. After Fingon, the High King of the Noldor, meets the young child, it becomes apparent that he possesses great likeness to the King himself and therefore also to be the newly crowned King's heir to dispel any rumors about the King himself.

Ereinion's childhood is the centerpiece of this story, which also narrates how his father, Fingon, is struggling to be a good parent while concealing his personal grief. The young prince, meanwhile, is adjusting to a new social setting and trying to find his place in the political world. The story unfolds until the beginning of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

I have the first chapter half written so I've only talked about it a bit before, never actually posted anything other than a quote or two about it.

"Whatever is it that could be hidden in your cloak, Hanno?" Celegorm playfully sang as he made his way across the courtyard towards Caranthir who was dismounting his horse with one hand raised protectively in support, towards something that remained on the horse, wrapped in the red cloak of the third of Feanaro's sons.

It is about Erestor, as the son of Caranthir and Haleth, and how he meets the other Feanorians, his father's side of the family, and how he struggles with his two legacies at a young age, such as why he doesn't look, or grow, like an elf or a human, so basically just a finding yourself/comfort fic with some small angst bits.

7 notes · View notes

danpuff-ao3 · 2 years

Text

The Making of: A Matter of Time

In 2021, a new fest was announced: Snarry Adopt-a-Prompt. I was excited! Another opportunity for new Snarries, oh good! More than that, I was tempted to participate myself. I was still fairly new to fests (I'd only taken part in Luna Lovegood Fest and Ron-Draco Fest earlier that year) and it seemed a shame I'd not done a Snarry one yet!

When the prompt list dropped, I ended up with quite the list of potential prompts I wanted. Like....a lot. My muse was running away from me with a thousand and one ideas (per usual), and I'm never good at making decisions. I ran my choices by friends. Got feedback. Brainstormed a bit.

In the end I chose: "#5. Schoolboy!Harry and Snape are secretly involved. Snape is severely injured in a DE meeting, Harry gives away the relationship by his reaction/panic."

Then proceeded to fret and second guess myself. And if you know me you will find this to be 0% surprising.

There was so much potential in that prompt. There was an old idea of mine I thought I could tie into it. A very specific scene of everyone finding out about Snarry when Severus was on the brink of death. The scene I envisioned never saw the light of day, oddly enough. The story transformed the more I considered various aspects.

First: the reaction. Then: well, if I'm writing a reaction, doesn't that make a good opportunity for outsider POV? I love outsider POV! There's not enough of it, in my humble opinion. But: whose POV? There were plenty of options there. I would need someone who could have eyes on the whole story unfolding. Hmm...

Once I figured one part out, the rest clicked into place, piece by piece in quick succession.

I have a chance to write outsider POV. But whose? And would I be missing anything by omitting Harry and Severus' POV? Who could tell the story best?

So while I rarely write multiple POVs in a story (I like to plant myself firmly in one person's head and stay there; I craft my style around that character's voice, and I worry it disrupts the flow to hop between characters), I decided it was my best option. If this was a good opportunity for outsider POV, I needed to take it! Multiple outsiders, plus one part of the ship itself.

What do they see? If Harry's reaction, and the fallout, are the main points, then I can't have Harry himself as the POV character for that scene. I need someone else's eyes on that. And for that scene, Severus would be in no state to witness his devastation.

And...Well, where does the story end?

If this is a Snarry story, and I'm going to include a POV from one of them, that would have to be at the end. That felt most right to me. If we end with happily ever after then either of my boys could be there to see it.

So where do we start?

Start with suspicion. Onlookers and gossipers. Then: the news, a dramatic scene, and end with...

Where do we end again?

Well, we need massive angst. This story is as ripe for angst as anything else. Heartbreak. Shock and judgment. How do we get there, then how do we get out of it?

The answer was: we don't get out of it.

I am quite fond of my open endings, after all. What if we never find out what happens to Severus? Now that is terrible and fascinating at once. Why not sit with the grief a bit? Some of my favorite stories leave you aching after. Why couldn't I do the same?

So that decision is made. Only...I needed to end with Snarry. Perhaps Harry at Severus' bedside, grief-stricken and begging Severus to wake up.

Or...

Or we could start there.

So...where do we end again?

Well, if we start at the end, then...Well. Why not work backwards? I'd never done reverse chronology before. That could be fun. We could start at the end and end at the start. We could have a Snarry POV that way. A glimpse at their love story to make it hit all the harder.

Besides. If one begins with grief, shouldn't one end with hope? And in a story like this, wouldn't hope make it all the worse?

I'm an emotional sadist, okay?

From there I needed only to fill in the gaps. Who would be my outsider POVs? And what roles would they play? What scenes would get me from grief to hope, or hope to grief? What sequence of events from happily in love Snarry to an uncertain future?

You know, AAP gave us 6 months to work on our fics, and I began and finished mine uncomfortably close to the due date. I had all of these plans and put them off, put them off, put them off. I had a ton of other projects to finish, and I had plenty of time. Until...you know...I didn't.

It was the end of NaNoWriMo and the due date was looming. There were a lot of start-and-stops. A lot of panic. How am I supposed to do this again? Oh no, it's not working! Too much hurt. Too many eyes. Too new a concept. An idea I cared too much for.

Have I mentioned that I don't work well under stress? I really, really don't.

What really saved me, and this fic, was a last minute decision to participate in Rare Pair Fest. There was a prompt that called to me, humorous and lighthearted (and full of age gap relationships, hallelujah.) It was an opportunity to indulge a bit. I allowed myself to be silly and have fun. I dabbled in both projects until my Rare Pair piece flowed easier. And once I completed that, I switched back to my Adopt-a-Prompt piece feeling rejuvenated.

I suppose one does, occasionally, need a break from the angst.

It was a wild journey for a story I thought I knew how to tell. And though it changed from its original conception, the heart of it remains the same. An affair. A tragedy. A scandal. A look at the Snarry relationship from both outside and inside. A reminder of how many people care about Harry, and how much they care about him. A show of just how deeply Harry cares for Severus; and a sad look at just how young he is, and how strong he's been. How he's been so alone in keeping his secret. Unable to lean on anyone else in his time of need.

Harry's grief permeates the entire work, though he's the only POV we don't have. At least for me, that was what was most present. He can't hide it from anyone. And even at the start, before anything happens, it's there; lurking in the darkness, waiting to come out. Love in wartime makes one so aware of loss. He was afraid, and already grieving in a way.

It was only a matter of time.

He has all the time in the world.

Honestly, I'm the worst.

And you know what? I'm dang proud of that fic. It had the LilaDiurne stamp of approval. And when it was posted, my dear PinaNaponi jumped into my DMs with "DANNI, WAS THAT YOU?" [Cue evil laughter.] Not everyone was so pleased, or prepared, to have their hearts broken. I felt like an all-powerful demon, or at least a pretty accomplished creator.

It's one of the works I'm proudest of; what I consider to be one of my best. (Alongside Contempt, of course.) It's one of those stories I look back on and think: wow. I did that.

(You can all thank @consistentsquash for having to listen to this 😂)

#story meta #navel gazing #snarry #writing #danpuff writes #The Making of #A Matter of Time

6 notes · View notes

stardust-walker · 3 years

Text

Undying Fidelity

(Loki X Sigyn!OC)

Summary: Sigyn is feeling v stressy and depressy after Loki dies. She volunteers to return to 2012 New York with Tony, Steve, Scott, and Bruce. Her reasons weren’t selfish, she promises. Chaos ensues. Big dorks.

My first time writing for any fandom besides TWD but this idea has been in my head since the Loki trailer came out and I couldn’t shake it so here it is lmao.

Sigyn had felt like the world moved in slow motion from the moment the life had left Loki’s body. The snap had only made things worse. It had been 5 years since she had seen pretty much anyone other than Thor and sometimes the residents of New Asgard. She kept to herself more often than not.

It was almost ironic how Loki had spoken of undying fidelity shortly before his life had been snuffed out. Meanwhile her own undying fidelity had seemed to leave her cursed with never-ending grief.

The talk of time travel had gained her interest almost as soon as the idea was pitched to the team. Asgard was an option but she knew that wouldn’t be the best option for her. Odds were that in the time they would send them back to, the residents would still think that she was dead.

Her heart had done a funny sort of flip-flop as they talked about heading back to New York. Her stomach sank even lower as an image of Loki was pulled up on the screen.

“So Sigyn will come to Asgard with myself and the rabbit,” Thor began to announce.

Her brown eyes drifted over to where Rocket had, once again, slapped himself on the forehead in frustration. “As much as I would love to go back to Asgard, I believe my skills are needed in New York.”

“You sure that’s such a good idea there, Frosty?” Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea to have two Hulks in one place? No offense, Bruce.”

“She’s right.” Steve spoke up, “I know what you’re thinking, Tony, and it won’t happen.”

Sigyn locked eyes with Tony for a moment before the older man relented. “Fine. But any funny business and I’m leaving your ass back in 2012.”

She hated travel. Whether it was through space or time, it all sucked to her. All the hair on her arms seemed to stand up inside of the suit as she shared one last worried look with Thor before they were off. Something was different about hurtling through space when you were a lot smaller.

“We all have our assignments,” Steve began as Sigyn stood up straighter and began to glance around. She knew he was around but more importantly she could feel him again.

A loud roar jolted her from her thoughts as she took a step closer to the men she had traveled with. There was the Hulk. Or the old Hulk. However time travel worked, there was the previous Hulk from that time smashing up a car like his life depended on it.

A small smirk crept onto her face as she caught the embarrassed look that Banner had on his face. That was the champion she had seen back on Sakaar. A total wild animal.

This Bruce, however, didn’t seem to have any of that in him anymore. Sigyn’s head tilted slightly as the rest of them watched the green man try to get back into how he was before. “Well, he’s a little confused..” She muttered.

“But he’s sure got the spirit.” Tony joked. “Let’s roll.”

Sigyn didn’t even have to ask where they were going. Sure, they had talked about it in the plans but she felt like she was almost in a trance as she scurried after Tony and Scott as Steve split off from them with a flash of a reassuring smile.

After not using her magic for what was probably years, she was surprised that she didn’t stumble as she landed inside the Stark tower right after Tony. As she slipped behind the stone wall to hide from their old selves, she couldn’t help but sneak a peek. Did her hair really look like that from behind? Ew.

“If it’s all the same to you,” her heart leapt into her throat, “I’ll have that drink now.” Tony gripped her arm a little too hard. Her eyes narrowed as she shot him a look.

The 2012 version of her let out a quiet snort of laughter. She remembered the look that Natasha had shot her. “What?” She heard herself say.

“All right, get him on his feet.” The younger Tony Stark ordered. “Uh-uh. Not you, princess. Come on, Point Break. Get him up. We can all stand around posing up a storm later. By the way, feel free to clean up.”

“Wow I almost forgot how much of an ass you were, Stark,” Sigyn hissed through gritted teeth.

“At least I had style. Speaking of! Mr. Rogers, I almost forgot. That suit did nothing for your ass.” Tony shook his head in mock sympathy.

Steve practically sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “No one asked you to look, Tony.”

Sigyn raised an eyebrow and shrugged in agreement as she caught sight of Captain America. That suit really was terrible.

“I think you look great, Cap. As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s ass,” Scott called out over the line.

“C’mon.” Sigyn whispered, “No one likes a...kiss ass.” She smirked as Tony shot her an appreciative look.

“Who gets the magic wand?” Nat asked.

Thank god that Tony knew his way around Stark tower more than anyone even after years of not living there. Sigyn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the Hydra agents in disguise begin to file into the apartment from their new hiding place.

A laugh nearly slipped out as she watched Loki transform into Steve from across the room. “I mean honestly,” he joked as he turned back into himself, “how do you keep your food down?”

“Shut up,” Thor snapped as he placed a lock over Loki’s mouth.

“I wish I could tell you dearest,” she heard herself say as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. In spite of Loki being in chains. A prisoner. She watched herself grab him gently by the arm to lead him into the elevator with Thor almost like when they used to walk through the gardens together. “But then I would have to kill you.”

Tony’s grasp on her shoulder pulled her out of the moment as he pulled her back towards the window. The plan flooded back into her mind as she began to plummet backwards towards the ground. She let out a grunt as she was finally able to regain her own balance to drift back towards the ground without Stark’s help.

“What’s-a matter, Frosty? No knight in shining metal armor today,” Stark joked.

“You burn my hair with those flaming feet of yours and you won’t make it back to the future,” she hissed through gritted teeth as the small green embers flickered from her own fingers as she continued on a quick course back to the ground.

“Looking fresh, Stark,” Sigyn mumbled as she walked up beside Tony in her own security outfit. The only difference was her long blonde hair hung out from under the helmet. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the extra few inches of metal.”

“That really hurts me, you know. I would think for someone so old you would want to be a little nicer to the younger gen-ow!” Tony rubbed his arm as he received a hard pinch.

“Shut up. Here we come,” she swallowed hard as she spotted herself again out of the corner of her eye. She walked side by side with Loki with her head held high. It was amazing how she could walk like that when she remembered how she’d felt. She had known that Loki had pretty much signed his own death sentence and yet still she walked beside him with pride. He was her husband and she was loyal to him. It was her gift and her biggest curse.

“Thumbelina, do you copy? I’ve got eyes on the prize,” Tony chirped into the ear piece.

“I’m going inside you,” Scott whispered back after a moment. Sigyn’s eyebrows shot up as she shot an amused glance at Tony.

Sigyn flashed him a delicate smile. “I didn’t realize I would learn so much about your personal life today, Mr. Stark.”

“Quiet down, Glinda. We don’t want Elphaba to hear you.”

“May I ask you where you’re going?” Pierce’s voice made her skin crawl as she watched him approach the group.

“A bit of lunch and then Asgard,” Thor answered cheerfully.

“Perhaps a stop for gas. I hear mileage on the Bifrost is killer these days,” past Sigyn cooed as she shot a look back at Loki over her shoulder.

Pierce stood up a little straighter. “I’m going to have to ask you to turn the prisoner over to me.”

Sigyn could almost feel her throat close up all over again as she watched herself take a defensive step back towards Loki. Her hand came to rest a mere inch away from the handle of her knife.

Tony whispered beside her, “Easy, Sig. We know how this goes, right?” He paused. “I see what you mean by the whole fidelity thing though but the victory thing?”

“Hush!” She hissed back as she watched Loki turn slightly with an annoyed look in his eye. The woman turned to face the other way quickly as chaos seemed to be breaking out behind them again. Pierce had always been an asshole that much was sure. She wished she could’ve said she were surprised when she found out he was Hydra all along. Her stomach churned as more thoughts raced through her head of what they would have done to her husband if they’d gotten a hold of him in the first place.

Sigyn squeezed her eyes shut tight as she heard the crackle through the ear piece and a different sort of chaos broke out. “Oh my gods! Stark,” she heard her own panicked voice and the two of them turned to see herself abandon Loki and reach a hand out to steady Tony.

“Aw, you do care.”

Sigyn resisted the urge to punch Tony in the chest for good measure. Her heart leapt as the suitcase with the tesseract spun towards them. Her pulse quickened as Tony leaned down to pick up the case and her gaze wandered for just a moment. Loki had noticed.

“Good job, meet me in the alley,” Tony mumbled as he began to quickly exit the building. She was just about to take a few steps to follow when another explosion happened. Except it wasn’t so much of an explosion as it was a rampaging green monster busting down a door.

“Oh shit,” she hissed through her teeth as she skittered back. Stark landed at her feet with a groan but a softer noise drew her attention. A soft tinkling noise and her gaze flickered to the case. The tesseract.

Time seemed to stand still again as Loki glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with her. A confused look crossed the upper portion of his face for a moment before he glanced back towards the chaos ensuing over past Tony. He had noticed.

With one last look back at her, he knelt down to pick up the tesseract. She thought she heard Tony grunt something but her feet carried her quicker than she could ever remember running before.

Just as Loki stood again, Sigyn came within one step of him. The sudden noise behind him made him turn once more. She gritted her teeth into a grimace as she placed both her hands on the tesseract. Sigyn fully intended to yank the damned thing right out of his fingers but before she could, she felt a strange sensation. A wall of blue and black smoke engulfed the pair of them.

She hated space travel.

Loki landed in the sand with a loud grunt despite the muzzle still over his mouth. The tesseract was still in his grasp. Had he even really seen what he thought he had?

A loud scream echoed through the air around him. His eyebrows raised as another portal seemed to open in the sky right above him. A figure all in black fell through it; arms flailed and legs kicked as the ground seemed to raise to meet them.

Another loud grunt left Loki, this time a more pained one as the smaller figure landed right on top of him.

Quickly, the woman rolled to the other side and let out a quiet groan as she pulled the helmet from her head. With a fluid movement, the black object was tossed aside into the sand before she flopped back onto the sand. A grunt beside her alerted her to the presence of the man. Without even a glance to the side, she reached over and pressed a hand to his mouth to deactivate the muzzle.

“Lovely of you to drop in, Sigyn,” Loki coughed as he took a deep breath.

Sigyn let out an annoyed grunt. “A pleasure, as always.”

Loki caught her gaze out of the corner of his eye as he rose to a sitting position. “You should have just let me take it,” he hissed through his teeth.

Sigyn let out a heavy sigh as she sat up and shrugged off the heavy black bulletproof vest and jacket she wore. “And let you cause more chaos and destroy more cities?”

Loki glanced over at her. A nearly imperceptible look of nervousness crossed his face before he smirked at her. “Who says that’s what I was going to do with it.”

Sigyn rolled her eyes as her gaze flickered forward to a small group of people that were moving slowly towards them. “I would like to think I know you better than you know yourself. Whatever you do, we’re in this together now.” She wasn’t about to lose him again. Not so soon.

“I’m positively touched,” he cooed.

“Til death do us part, darling.” And even after.

#loki x reader #loki x sigyn #loki x oc #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #loki fic #sigyn #loki fanDOM HERE I COME #listen im fully aware this might suck but the idea wouldn't leave my ass alone #chaotic space babies #i know the loki series probably wont start with him falling into the desert #but that scene in the trailer with him just waking up in the sand made me cackle #so here this is lmao

46 notes · View notes

haliyam · 3 years

Text

interim (iii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Hello! This came out longer than I meant it to be, but I enjoyed writing it. I admit that the chapter couuuld have gone without the middle bits, and I trimmed out a lot already, but this is purely self-indulgent fanfic and I love writing about the Warriors/the candidates, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 3

If Zeke is going to shut his door in your face as soon as you try to enter, he gives no indication of it. Eyes to the ceiling, fingers barely grasping his doorknob, he doesn’t even look at you as you take one step closer, then two, only urging you to hurry up with a flick of his fingers. As if anyone else is still awake. With nothing for it, you step inside.

Zeke’s room is lit a warm yellow from the lamps standing next to his desk and sitting at his bedside table. It hasn’t changed much, save that he’s replaced his old bed with a much larger one. That makes sense, even though you hadn’t imagined he could get any taller as a child. The only other addition apart from his much fuller bookshelf is a pack of cigarettes on his desk.

You can’t help but pick it up. “You smoke now?”

Closing his door behind him, he snatches the pack from your hands and walks past you, tossing it back by his desk lamp on the way. “Problem?”

You shrug. You’re surprised, but you suppose that sort of thing doesn’t really matter when you’re a Titan shifter.

He pulls out the chair by his desk and takes a seat, crossing his arms at you with a brow quirked. Somehow, he manages to be intimidating in his pajamas—though that could very well be your guilt. “You wanted to talk,” he says. “So talk.”

The indifference in his voice makes your throat catch, but you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, one hand scratching at the other’s wrist. It seems your courage fell apart at his door. “I’m sorry I didn’t write for the last five years.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I should have.” You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your hands under your elbows. “We were friends. You and Pieck were—are,” you hope, “my closest friends, and… and I left you hanging like that. Even knowing every year that the others hadn’t returned, how worried you must have all been… I didn’t write. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zeke says slowly, irritated. His lip curls, and you feel nauseous. “Why did you stop writing back?”

Your nails dig involuntarily into your arms. “I was a stupid little teenager. I was upset.”

He scoffs, like he can’t bear the sight of you. “What did that have to do with me? ...With us?”

You swallow, eyes downcast, though they briefly flicker to his. “Am I secure here?”

Zeke glares at you. “Of course you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His gaze softens just a little before the walls shoot back up. “Yeah.”

You nod. And then, after a long moment, you reluctantly begin. “Willy sent me to boarding school once I caught up with the necessary schoolwork. It was… well, you know. Boarding school was an entirely different world.” He does know - you had written them until the end of your first year. “And then summer came. Willy wanted me to spend it with them at home, and I did. The first week or so. But he had business to attend to, as always, and Mila invited me to her tour for the Foundation instead. Willy thought it would be nice for us to bond, and I thought…” You gnaw on the inside of your lower lip in embarrassment. “I thought she was finally giving me a chance.”

“Lucy,” Zeke murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment, and you don’t want to know. You’re staring at his lamp, as if doing so long enough will burn out the memory from your mind.

“We visited Marley’s new southern nations at first. It was strange to be treated so well again.”

Zeke shifts in his chair. He has his cigarette pack in his hands now, fingers idly folding and unfolding the lid. “What did you expect? You’re Lucy Tybur.”

“I meant by Mila.” When he falls silent, you continue. “And then we visited Ulodana.”

Your eyes meet at that name. No reminder needed for that—Ulodana was the first country to which the regime deployed its new Warriors only months after they inherited their Titans. By then the rest of the unit had been informed of your true identity, and it was the brass’s idea to bring you along as a spectator. Imagine what more the motherland might achieve if the War Hammer were to join the fight, then-Commander Bruning had whispered to you, the mushroom cloud of Bertholdt’s transformation setting your eyes alight.

“The nations in the south had had time to recover. Grow accustomed to Marleyan rule. But Ulodana was still... bleeding. For the most part, we stayed in the cities which had already begun to rebuild; ones with budding military bases and an increasing Marleyan population. But Mila insisted on bringing us further from the coast—places you and I had last seen as smoking rubble. The people there were… They were still so afraid. Many of them…”

You gulp, pressing your lips between your teeth to regain your composure as you remember the survivors. You can still see them, hear them, smell them. Feel their hands in yours. Mila had pulled you aside and scolded you when you first shed tears before them, saying it was not you who had a reason to cry. And she had been right.

“So many of them were Eldians; others non-Eldians too poor to join the earlier evacuations. They still saw us coming that day, and with no aid forthcoming, they thought the Foundation had returned to deliver the finishing blow. They were terrified, Zeke.” His fingers fall still around the pack as you say his name, but he wears no expression, only studying yours even when he reveals nothing. Even Mr. Ksaver had been unable to read him when he was like this, so you know better than to try.

“Mila spoke with the people there, comforted them. It was jarring to see her so kind, but she was. And even then, it was hard. They aren’t exactly the regime’s priority, and the promise, even the swift arrival of aid with the Foundation’s help, could only do so much.”

Zeke’s gaze stretches far beyond the walls of his room, but he brings it back to you when you pause. “So,” he concludes, “you hated us for doing that to them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You saw what Lady Tybur wanted you to see.”

Appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice, you square your shoulders at him. “Mila didn’t conjure those victims out of thin air, Zeke!”

“That’s right, Lucy.” Zeke rises out of his chair back to his full height, reminding you that he only lets you glare down at him. “The Warriors destroyed their military, their cities, and their homes. And if there were civilians who were too slow, Bertholdt and I destroyed them, too. The ones you saw just weren’t lucky enough to die.”

He advances toward you as he speaks, stopping near enough to barely graze your chin with his chest, and it takes all of the girl from back then to stand your ground. But you can only bear so much, and the sound of the boy you once trusted entirely so remorseless as a man has restrained grief ringing in your ears. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” Zeke asks closely, head tilted toward you. Even with the reflection of his lamp shining into his glasses, his eyes, half-lidded with what must be disinterest, bear no light in them. “Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

“I’m not crying.” You fix another glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. Your vision is blurry and your cheeks are wet with runaway guilt, and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, all right?” you raise your voice, speaking forcefully through your shaking voice.

“I… I thought I’d seen everything here in Liberio, but that place was hell. And Mila said to me… She said it was greed back in Marley that kept things this way. The regime’s… but ours, too. To free the Eldians in the Marleyan internment zones, you… we... made things worse for everyone else in the world. I ate it up. I couldn’t bear to face those people knowing I had been a part of that, no matter our promise. It was easier to turn against the idea of you.”

Zeke is no longer looking at you. You feel like the earth swallowing you whole would feel better than the pressure crumpling at your chest, but there’s no way to go but forward.

“So I did. Held onto that for months and had nightmares about Ulodana for twice as long. By the time I realized how pathetic, how stupid I was… I was too ashamed to write back.”

The steel that has constituted Zeke’s bearing since your arrival has withdrawn. He seems exhausted, resigned as he sets his eyes upon you again. You watch each other for what feels like eternity, in the place where you first became friends, both trying to feel out whether a sliver of that bond between clean hands still remains between the two of you now.

Whatever it is he decides, he asks, “If you knew better... why didn’t you visit? We all heard about Lord Tybur making trips here over the years. He never stopped sending his gratitude to my grandparents and Mr. Finger, either.”

You huff, not at him but at the thought of your older brother, even as you sniffle. “Willy wouldn’t let me. I became… too willful.”

Zeke raises his brows at that.

“When I figured out Mila’s true intentions, I realized just how much the Tyburs were at fault. They hid it all from me when father died, but… I learned everything. Our relationship with the regime most of all.”

You’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, because despite everything, you don’t want to tell him the whole truth about the Tyburs. If there’s anything that might make him hate you for good, it might just be that. You know that certainly did it for you in spite of Lara’s good intentions.

“We knew. My ancestors knew about Fritz’s vow and still refused to speak out for Eldians, didn’t protest the development of the Warrior program when it happened. I mean—” Your hands rake through your hair, stopping only when they’re caught in the end of the half-ponytail you’ve been wearing. “Child soldiers? We always knew Marley was vicious, but we—Marley—sent children to Paradis on a recon mission, alone! I didn’t realize it until I saw my niece. She’s eight now. A baby. At that age we were slogging through the mud, learning to assemble weapons, to kill! What kind of monsters would allow…”

Your hands slide down your face and cover your mouth as your head shakes on its own. You’ve said this all before, to Willy, to Lara, to Pieck, and you’re exhausted. You both know the answer to that question, anyway.

“The Tybur family doesn’t get involved except to play the benevolent Eldians to the world’s devils, all to soften Marley’s image to the world. It doesn’t care that Eldians abroad are even worse off than we are here because of our Titans. It doesn’t care that Marley draws that debt on Eldia’s name,” you murmur, voice fluttering with emotion again, “not its own. Willy didn’t appreciate how angry I was and wanted to keep me at the estate until I could calm down.”

You only realize you’ve been rambling when all you hear is the cracking of your knuckles beneath your thumbs at your sides and the low hum of the lamps around you. Biting your tongue, you venture a glance up at Zeke, who has his back to you on his way back to the desk, hand in his hair. You don’t know if it’s worse than seeing what he must think.

“But I really am sorry,” you take a step, another after him when he doesn’t turn to look. “You all deserved more. I… I understand if...”

Zeke whirls just before you touch the hem of his shirt, seized instead by a thought. “Why let you choose to study here, then? Magath’s summons?”

At this point, you practically leap at the chance to respond, hands raised slightly. “No. It was Lara. She convinced him to let me, when she saw how much I’d studied. Actually studied, you know,” you chuckle, nervously when he acknowledges it with only a tilt of his head. “And by then I had learned enough of Mila’s game to pretend I had given up.”

“Oh.”

You barely just catch the disappointment in his tone.

“And I missed you,” you scramble to add, obviously. “I missed you all so much. I swore to be on my best behavior just so I could come back.”

A hint of warmth fills Zeke’s deep blues, but he glances away with a familiar eyeroll. “Good save.”

You frown. “I mean it. I just didn’t know it had to be said. You were my first friends. I didn’t exactly make many in boarding school. They were too different.”

“So you were just lonely.”

“Not just lonely,” you say, prepared to launch into another passionate speech about how much you ached to see your friends again, how much of your pride you sacrificed to pester Willy to let you go with the promise of Liberio’s impressive own medical program, when you catch the slight amusement tugging at Zeke’s mouth. “You—are you—” you sputter, embarrassment seeping in cold, before you manage to close your mouth. “You… are awful.”

Zeke smirks. “Even if I forgive you?”

It’s infectious, and you have to resist the urge to both laugh and cry at the very concept of his forgiveness. Eyes wide, you watch him carefully. “Do you?”

He crosses his arms again, sitting back against his chair. “I can put you through more hoops, if you’d like.”

“No!” you gasp, the heat of indignation taking over the chagrin, only to sigh when you realize you’ve given yourself away. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all the right to be angry.”

“...I was a pretty angry teenager too,” Zeke shrugs. “Then a spoiled little girl had to come and keep disturbing me because if she couldn’t get any sleep, then neither could I.”

Your jaw drops. “That is not how that went. Besides,” you raise your head, every inch the Tybur, even as you slowly make your way to the edge of his bed and take a seat, “that girl was the reason you have any friends at all. I… I bet you missed her.”

“Sure. Now where did you put her?” The full familiarity in his voice has you smiling now, or maybe it’s the grin he openly wears. “Only figured out it was you when I realized there could only be three Eldian runts Magath would ever care to acknowledge.”

You stare at him for a beat and then make to push yourself off the bed. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now that I’ve apologized.”

“Aw, come on,” Zeke laughs, reaching for your arm, and you squint at him as you dramatically tear it from his grasp. Still, you fling yourself back upon the edge. He leaves his desk to occupy the space next to you, one knee drawn up over his sheets. “Honestly? I was more surprised they’d let anyone in Magath’s office with such a messy armband.” He reaches over and adjusts the pale one wrapped around your arm, pulling out the edges folded in. “You know you don’t need to wear this at home, right?”

For some reason, your breath catches as the heat of his fingers gently press through the cloth of your sleeve. You recover with a cough and a quick oops. “Force of habit. That was the one thing boarding school was stricter about than the military.” You smile at him, leaning away from his touch. “Thanks.”

Zeke suddenly withdraws his hands, now watching you instead of the sleeve. “...Yeah. Just make sure you check it before you leave the house tomorrow,” he says sternly. Not a tone you’ve ever heard from him in private.

Regarding him strangely, and desperate to bring you both back from this alien tension between you, you sit up straight and stiffly raise your hand to your shoulder in salute. “Yes, Warchief.”

Zeke responds with a blank look in his eye, mostly, save the tinge of humor kindled by the upward tug of your lips. You can tell he’s about to kick you out of his room.

“I’m kidding.” You lower your arm, sensing the return of that comfortable familiarity. “I haven’t congratulated you on your official promotion, either.”

His mirth fades. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No. No,” you stress, as though he has no reason to ask. “You’ve done what you’ve had to.”

After a long inhale, Zeke sighs as he nods. This time, it is he who fills the silence. “Uh—I’m sorry again about your father. So he was the...”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a once-over, as if to search for Titan marks. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not.”

The slight bitterness in your voice draws Zeke’s gaze back to yours. You shrug before he can say any more of it and try to put it out of your mind. Those are, after all, matters for the Tybur estate. You’re here now, and Zeke has forgiven you. In spite of everything else, the thought makes you giddy with relief, and you rear your head toward him with a smile.

“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Zeke wonders who might have been chosen to inherit the War Hammer instead of its most obvious candidate, but mostly he’s glad it isn’t you. It’s a selfish thought he keeps to himself, but the idea of you living past your twenty-sixth year is one that does not fill him with dread.

Thirty-nine. He’s thinking about how you’ll live to be thirty-nine when your voice interrupts what he imagines you might look like by then. Your tone says you’re fishing for something, so he opens his mouth, meeting your gaze to tell you you’re not quite as much taller than Pieck as you think (he has one joke), nor is subtlety your strong suit, when the whole of you seems to come at him all at once. Your now messy hair, crinkled eyes, that expression he used to find both funny and irritating on your mouth—except the obnoxious grin that subsumes it as he lets the silence pass is suddenly... adorable.

Huh?

Sitting back, Zeke abruptly presses his palm to your face and promptly pushes it away. “Don’t press your luck, Blanchard.”

You smack his hand off, face flushed as you cry out, “Rude!”

He’s already laughing, using your indignation to overcome the urge to gulp down the breath caught in his throat when you suddenly lean back on his bed and raise your foot. You kick it into his side with a strength he absolutely remembers, sending his ribs knocking against his footboard with a groan. “Ow! You—get out of here and let me sleep already!”

You smile to yourself as you lower your legs to the floor, feet searching for your house slippers. “I chose not to go for your face, you know.”

“Are you seriously studying to be a doctor?” Zeke mutters, rubbing at his side. “You haven’t changed at all.”

You chuckle through a yawn, hand over your mouth as you ease yourself to your feet. “Okay.”

He rights himself quickly when you’re crossing his room toward his door already. “Lucy, wait.”

You stop, lean against his desk with a small smile like it’s your room. “Hmm?”

Zeke pretends to shake his head at your audacity, letting you grin a little longer before he asks, “Do you want to meet the new Warriors tomorrow?” You blink, and he starts to regret the question. “I just figured—”

“I’d like that.” You open your mouth, ostensibly to say more, when both of you hear movement from down the hall. Footsteps by the stairs. “I should go. See you tomorrow.”

He waves, content to watch you hurriedly leave his room. When he hears the door to yours open and click shut, he goes himself and catches his grandmother still sleepily making her way out into the low lit corridor. Her hands are searching for the stairway light switch.

“Grandma?” he asks, coming over to set a supportive hand along her upper back. “Why are you up so late?”

“Zeke,” she smiles in greeting, yawning. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Let me. I’ll get new glasses for you and grandpa, so go back inside.” When his grandmother thanks him, he heads for the stairs, bounding down the steps with sudden enthusiasm.

Your words will stay with him long after you’ve forgotten them, and perhaps not for the better—but for the moment, Zeke feels inexplicably light.

So do you when you awake the next morning. Of course you’re still sorry for all you did, or didn’t, do, and you know you deserved all the guilt, the anxiety, being on tenterhooks about your friendships for all that you left Zeke and Pieck hanging. But now that their forgiveness is a certainty, you feel utterly content. Now you can start making it up to them.

Then again, you are so pleased that you could lie in bed all morning and hardly feel guilty.

But you have miles to go, so you roll out of your blankets and get yourself ready for the day. Briefly, you wonder if Zeke has gone ahead again, but you find the answer you wanted as you open the door to the dining room downstairs.

He’s chewing on a piece of bread as he waves at you, the last bite in his hand. “Morning. Breakfast?”

He really has forgiven you, and everything can go back to the way it was. “Morning,” you beam, though you decline as you pass him on the way to the kitchen. “No thank you. I ate too much last night.” You pour yourself some water instead. “Did you have some of the blueberry pie?”

“Yeah. The Galliards always make quality stuff.” He dusts his uniform off as he stands and heads for the sink with his plate. “Though I could tell who cut it because she left the side with the slightly burnt crust in.”

“It’s crispy, and you know that’s my favorite part,” you huff, leaning against the counter next to him and handing him your empty glass. “That was part of my apology.”

Zeke grins, eyes to his task. “Yeah, yeah.”

You refrain from elbowing him and move to start cleaning his crumbs off the table and the floor. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Yeager?”

“Market day. Oh—bring a book. We can drop in on the candidates come lunchtime.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or did you have other plans today?”

“I wanted to pass by the university and find the general book list for the first years, but after the line I went through yesterday... I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a book.”

“Good.”

The two of you head out once the dining room and the kitchen are spotless. The sky is overcast this morning, so the zone takes its time waking up for the day, even with others already on their way to work.

It starts to properly stir on your way to the gate. The view of the zone coming to life is something you once enjoyed watching on break days, especially compared to the lonely silence of the estate and eventually to the rigid rush of boarding school, but you don’t get to see all that much today—Zeke purposely avoids the larger avenue coming to the gate and leads you through side streets and alleys instead. Something about avoiding the morning rush.

You don’t mind. You’re still waking up, too.

Eldians have no real hope of rising through military ranks, save those sacrificed among the Warrior unit, so Zeke’s office is quite impressive. He has his own mahogany desk, an entire bookshelf packed with volumes, yet more books and maps stacked against the wall, and his own gramophone. Not to mention the view outside the window behind his desk. He even has a cabinet to the side for his own alcohol, tea, or coffee—the latter of which he offers to you once you two arrive.

“Coffee, please,” you say, on one of the pillowed seats surrounding the coffee table at the center of the room. Sitting back, you throw an arm over the backrest to peer at the bookshelf behind you. “That’s quite a selection. I can’t believe you have your own office now.” You grin, turning back to watch him quietly preparing you a cup. “Zeke?”

“Coming right up.”

His response seems a little muted. When you question him with a tilt of your head, he jerks his in the direction of the gramophone.

Ah, you mouth. Even the Warchief can’t have his own office without being tapped. Par for the course when there are Eldians about, you imagine. That explains why the guards at the front gate delayed you with meandering conversation as soon as Zeke mentioned taking you to his office.

“So what kind of work do you do anyway, Warchief?” you continue far too seriously, absentmindedly flipping through your book for your marker.

“You know that’s top secret, Miss Blanchard,” says Zeke, who of course plays into it. “Unless you’d like to join the ranks again. You’re certainly welcome to.”

You sigh. You never win when you try him like this. “Commander Magath told you?”

Zeke chuckles, walking your coffee over. “He mentioned hoping you might still be interested in our line of work.”

“Was he mad?” Regardless of your feelings about the regime, you have always remained conflicted about your former drill instructor. There was a time you were certain he wanted you dead, and you won’t forget what he and Commander Bruning put the rest through even more than yourself, but there were flashes of kindness you saw from him that you’ve never witnessed from any other Marleyan as Lucy Blanchard. You still don’t know how to feel about him.

Zeke snorts at such a childish question, pulling out several folders from his desk drawer as he takes his seat. “Should I ask him?”

“Of course not!”

He chuckles in response, and then starts to ignore you completely for his work. Grumbling incoherently at him from behind your tilted cup for good measure, you turn to your book and begin to read.

Your coffee is long finished next to a similarly empty glass of water by the time you start yawning. You’ve read the same page thrice now, and that’s when you know you need to get off your ass and take a little walk around the room.

Zeke yawns as you start a cross-arm stretch by the door. “You’re so noisy.”

“The nerve of this man, inviting me to his office and then complaining when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Breathe more quietly, then.” Slamming the folder he was reading shut, he follows you to his feet and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. “Almost lunch time. Want to go check on the candidates?”

Your deadpan stare at his earlier remark remains until you feel just how empty your stomach is. Skipping breakfast was not your best idea, but you prefer it that way before you have to see the poor children who will one day replace your friends. “All right.”

The two of you wind your way through the complex and out to the courtyard, where the sun remains blessedly hidden as you watch the children at the far end doing their loaded running for the day. You hear them more than you see them, panting as they do their best to earn the honor of that red armband on Zeke’s sleeve.

Zeke catches your doleful expression and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I do not miss those days.”

You grimace at him. “My body hurts just remembering them.”

“Don’t remind me. I was dead last in my class before I built any endurance.”

You don’t comment on the real story behind that. The children are coming closer to your side of the courtyard, though they don’t appear to notice you, and Zeke points them out: Udo, a boy with glasses whose family moved to Liberio from Marley’s new southern territories; Zofia, a girl with a heavy fringe who reminds you strangely of Annie; Falco, a blond boy who—Zeke cuts himself off when the last candidate pushes past them all with a yell. That one is Gabi Braun, Reiner’s younger cousin.

“Cousin? Extended families aren’t made honorary Marleyans?”

“I was a special case, for obvious reasons,” Zeke answers your real question. “And yeah. Otherwise there would be too many of us, right?”

You frown, starting to fall into deep thought again when a familiar bark makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey! No Eldian civilians allowed on base!”

An older man is jogging over, almost comically shaking his fist at you. It’s as he comes up to the building that he notices Zeke on your other side, and now he peers more closely at your face, head cocked forward.

“You—” he starts. The years have been kinder to him than to Commander Magath, so there is no mistaking him. As his footsteps slow, his posture shifts from indignation to surprise, and then finally settles on diffidence. “Is that you, Miss Ty—”

“Blanchard,” Zeke coughs.

“Miss Blanchard?” he finishes.

“Instructor Marras.” Among the three who assisted Magath with Warrior training, he was probably the most bearable, if only because he left you to your own devices. He was much kinder when he discovered your true name, which was a shame. “What a pleasure.”

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again around here,” he smiles widely, briefly acknowledging Zeke. “What brings you back around this end of Marley?”

“This and that,” you say, not quite in the mood to get into it when you can see the children still running. As though he’s read your mind, Zeke steps up next to you and signals toward them. “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

Marras follows his gesture. “Ah. They got a little mouthy since I’ve been going easy on them, so training has been extended. But,” he says, attention back to his visitors, “you rarely come to check in on the new candidates, and you visit us even less, Lucy!”

Waving at you to wait just a moment, he barks at the children to come over. They’re even smaller than you imagined up close, just like your niece Fine, panting as they clutch their replica rifles for dear life. They do their best to salute Marras, but very obviously find it difficult to keep their composure when they see Zeke.

“It’s the Beast Titan,” Udo yelps.

“His name is Zeke Yeager, dummy,” Gabi nudges him with what she must think is a whisper.

Zeke raises his hand in a bland wave, “Hey, kids,” but you can’t help your delighted chuckle. Fine is a very reserved little girl compared to these excitable children. Wide with effort and at a real Warrior’s arrival, their eyes all dart to you, and Gabi’s in particular squint at your armband. “I thought civilians weren’t allowed in HQ?”

“And I don’t remember asking if you had questions, candidate,” Marras snaps in his Instructor Voice. The children straighten up at once.

“Sir, sorry, Sir!” Udo and Gabi yell out. Zofia and Falco quietly exchange glances.

“Hello. I’m Lucy,” you cut in with a smile. “I was a Warrior candidate in my time, just like you.”

You can all tell that they’re itching to ask why your armband is grey instead of yellow like Porco’s was until recently, but Marras doesn’t let them. You find yourself grateful to him for once. “It’s thanks to Zeke and Miss Blanchard here that you’ll get an early lunch in spite of all that yapping earlier. So thank them, get changed, and get your sorry asses to the mess hall.”

“Thank you, Zeke! Thank you, Miss Blanchard!” They mix up whose name goes first between the four of them, but Marras doesn’t bother with a correction and nods. The children salute, all of them a mixture of suitably chastised and utterly relieved.

“Dismissed!”

Nodding and offering you and Zeke grateful little smiles that make your heart melt, the four walk as quickly as they can to storage to deposit their load. Gabi nudges Zofia on the way, challenging her to a race, and the boys bump each other to catch up while Zofia chooses to keep her own pace, simply shaking her head.

Marras sighs, hand over his stomach. “I should get going myself.”

Zeke agrees, “Don’t let us keep you.”

“All right. But you should drop by more often, Miss Blanchard,” says Marras. “I’m sure the Commander would be pleased to see you. He worries. About all of you,” he adds, nodding toward Zeke.

Neither of you replies to that when Marras departs. In fact, you pretend not to have heard it as you both stare into the courtyard. “They seem like sweet children,” you start after a while, “though I don’t remember being that boisterous.”

Zeke breaks the mood with the most disgusting snort as he bursts into laughter. “You? Sure, Lucy. All right.”

You peer up at him, refusing to dignify such a violent reaction with one of your own, even if it does please you to see him laugh so much around you again. “You know what I mean. Maybe I was insolent, but I wasn’t boisterous.”

“Maybe, is it? Well, all I know is I’d grown out of all that by the time you and Pieck were selected.”

“Apparently not enough, Yeager, if you think Marley pays you to tour civilians around HQ.”

You and Zeke whirl in perfect sync to raise your right hands at that imposing voice, except you manage to swing yours right over your ear to pretend you were tucking stray hair behind it just in time to meet Commander Magath’s lifted brow. Behind him stand a surprised Porco and another Warrior candidate, much older than the eight-year olds you just met.

You clear your throat at once, hand falling to your side. “About yesterday, Sir...”

Magath nods at Zeke in acknowledgment before waving at you. “Don’t mention it, Blanchard. It’s a choice for a reason, and really it was supposed to be the briefing.”

That’s as much of an apology as you’ll get around the others, so you nod. “I understand, Sir.” You lean a little on your right side, trying to steal a peek around the corner. “So Pieck has already gone?”

“Not that you need to know, but yes.”

You try not to flinch at the reprimand. Force of habit. “And Braun, Sir?”

Now Magath peers at you. “His debriefing ends today, if you want to see him that badly. Yeager, I’ll leave that to you since she’s your guest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With a nod of dismissal at all of you, he continues down across the courtyard, leaving Porco and the candidate behind.

Porco glances between you and Zeke. “Friends again, huh?”

Zeke stares at him. “Problem?”

You don’t know it, but that’s Zeke’s Warchief Voice, one Porco has never heard outside of training. He immediately shrugs. “Just curious.”

“All right. Lucy, we might as well have lunch first before you go see Reiner.”

You nod, and gesture unsurely at the two before you. “Would… you like to join us?”

“I’m good. Got errands to run for the Commander since Pieck is out and you’re too good for chores,” says Porco, gambling a glare at Zeke in jest. When Zeke chuckles, he sighs. “See you around.” Giving the quiet candidate next to him a light smack on the shoulder, he heads back the way they came.

By now the Warrior candidate looks very confused but also very familiar to you. Luckily Zeke has decided that it’s finally time to introduce you, a former Warrior candidate yourself—and then the boy, who cannot be older than fifteen. “This is Colt Grice. Falco’s older brother, and the new Beast Titan candidate.”

“Oh.” It feels like a weight has settled in your stomach when you realize that it is about time they selected the candidate meant to inherit from Zeke, who received the Beast Titan around a year ahead of the rest. Seeing the children just made you… complacent, think that there was more time. “I guess it makes sense that they chose someone a little older, too.” You smile, slightly guilty about his obvious unease after your reaction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colt.”

“No, it’s my pleasure, Miss Blanchard,” he says politely, shaking your hand.

“You can call me Lucy,” you insist, and then jab a thumb over your shoulder. “The children left for the mess hall, by the way.”

Zeke raises a hand to correct you. “Colt doesn’t need to know that. He’s not made to babysit them like I was.”

“Really?” you ask Colt, who nods in affirmation. “But that was half the fun.”

“She means half the torture,” Zeke says to Colt, who chuckles nervously at his superior. “No, I figured he could take on other responsibilities. Like letting the barracks know that Reiner’ll be having visitors after lunch, and then meeting us at the mess hall. Right?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Colt, clearly eager to please. He gives you another smile before he runs off.

“Falco’s older brother,” you repeat, when the boy is out of earshot. “This isn’t like Marcel and Porco. Why is Falco in the program?”

Zeke clicks his tongue. “The Grices are nephews of one of my parents’ co-conspirators. They need to prove their loyalty, for their family’s sake.”

“After all these years. Poor things.” Not that you’re surprised. Marley has a long memory, however false. “Did you have a hand in choosing him?”

“Wouldn’t that make the brass suspicious? It was the commander’s choice alone.”

“Huh.”

“They’re good kids, Colt especially. Now come on—” he nudges you forward with his elbow as he passes you, “you should eat before you see Reiner or you’ll lose your appetite for good.”

“...That bad?”

Walking ahead of you, Zeke only shrugs. You don’t know if that should worry or comfort you, so you follow suit.

Reiner is in his own room in the barracks, resting, when you visit him. He’s just finished eating his lunch when you arrive, and your shock at seeing him is a perfect reflection of his at seeing you. You last looked upon him as a boy, and though you know he only turns eighteen this year, he is now, most undoubtedly, a man. Almost everything about him is unfamiliar to you. His height, for one, his broad build, the slight stubble he’s neglected to shave for the past few days. His demeanor as he stares at you.

You thought Pieck spoke of growing up in general when she compared the two of you having become completely different, but it’s only now that you understand what she meant. Long ago, try as you might to deny it, the two of you were, with Porco, the most boisterous Warrior candidates in your generation. You left no challenge, even your superiors at first, unanswered; Reiner was certain, no matter his rank among you, that he would inherit before the Paradis operation; and Porco was quick to remind you how stupid and ridiculous you both were.

But that was many years ago. Porco failed but has remained mostly himself, and you failed and realized the sham that is Tybur pride. Between the three of you, only Reiner achieved his dream—and yet you are more similar with one another than with Porco. Even amid his utter shock, the shame in his gaze as he meets yours, though unfamiliar on Reiner to your eyes, is one you’ve intimately known for some time now.

“Lucy?”

“Reiner,” you greet.

Reiner smiles in spite of himself. You do too. You were never close, but if nothing else, you were still Warrior candidates together. “You’ve... grown.” His voice is deep now, just like Zeke’s, but his is… gentle. Another unexpected development.

“That’s an overstatement, compared to you,” you chuckle. He smiles just a little wider, almost shy, but only for a beat. He remembers swiftly enough when he is, just like you.

“How are you, Reiner?” you can’t help but ask. Wrong question. You quickly follow it up with, “I’m glad your debriefing has ended. You deserve to rest at home, with your family.”

“I…” He appears to disagree, lowering his head at once. For one heartbreaking moment, you wonder if you see a shimmer beneath his lashes, but he only seems curious when he blinks up at you again. “Thanks, Lucy.” His voice is steady. Maybe you were imagining things. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since you were called home.”

You don’t complain about the change in subject. “Yeah… I always wished I could have seen you all off,” you murmur, even if part of you is glad you didn’t have to witness Pieck’s sorrow firsthand. Seeing it in Reiner at the mention of the operation, though, you add, “Oh, actually—I just got back a couple days ago, not too long after the rest of you. I’m enrolling in the medical program at Liberio University.”

“Oh?” He considers your words. “So you didn’t…”

That is the question of the century about you, isn’t it? At least among the Warriors. But then who else really knows who you are? “No.”

“Ah.” Reiner nods, more times than is really necessary. You know he doesn’t know whether to congratulate you or to apologize. “The medical program, though. That’s… unexpected.”

“Why does everyone say that?” you laugh. “Is it really so strange for me?”

“Uh—no,” he replies with an apologetic rush. You realize just how much you dislike it in his tone. Zeke says you were always last to say sorry, if you did at all. The same went for Reiner. Where is that obnoxious little boy you knew? “It’s better that way. You’ll do great.”

“I hope to,” you admit, but this visit isn’t supposed to be about you. “Anyway, Reiner… I just wanted to see how you were doing. I missed you all, and I’m really glad you’re back home.”

He’s too slow to conceal his surprise this time, or the way he blinks away coming tears. He always was a bit of a crybaby. To a child who desired to live up to her family name, that was a weakness. To a woman who knows better, you wish you could have told him it was all right. “We… I missed you all, too. It was…” he swallows. “I...”

The truth is you were a crybaby too, just not in front of the others, but you can’t help it when you hear the tremble in his voice, so grown and yet still the same. The first familiar thing of his that you’ve witnessed. Flicking a knuckle at your nose, you nod when he trails off. “You don’t have to say anything. Pieck told me the little she could.”

“Yeah?” he asks innocently enough. And then his voice shifts into something just a little tougher. Maybe harder. “What did Zeke say?”

“Zeke? We didn’t really…” It comes to you as you say it. “...talk about it.”

Of course you didn’t. You were busy talking about you, and he quite literally pushed you away when you tried to ask. But that doesn’t seem to be what Reiner is searching for in the first place. Not with that look on his face—another familiar expression, but not because you know it from your own heart. It’s familiar because you saw it just last night.

“Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

Zeke’s eyes as he said those words were recalling a memory you can never understand, you know now, because it’s the same with Reiner. Whatever he went through in Paradis for years will only ever be a tale to you. Your shared memories ended before you turned thirteen.

Still, the resentment that you saw in Zeke remains in Reiner’s golden eyes; only this time you don’t believe it’s meant for you.

You reach out to him, clearly elsewhere as his fists clench over his knees, but stop when your hand rests on the edge of his bed. “Reiner?”

“Sorry,” he blurts out when he returns to his senses. Somehow, he seems more tired than he already did.

“That’s all right. I should let you rest.” When he nods, shoulders still slumped in apology, you put on a reassuring smile. You understand Reiner even less than you did before, but somehow he also feels more like a kindred spirit than you remember. “When you’re well enough to return, maybe we can have lunch with Pieck.”

Reiner visibly hesitates, but he nods in the end. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You bid each other goodbye, though you tell Reiner to stay seated when he tries to walk you to the door. When you close it behind you, glancing around, you assume Colt has been sent on another errand. Only Zeke now awaits you along the wall outside, one hand in his pocket as he smokes a cigarette, gaze once again far beyond the buildings ahead.

When he isn’t playing up his irreverence to deflect or get on somebody else’s nerves, Zeke has always been aloof in public. In that way he hasn’t really changed, but you realize now that you were a fool to think things could just go back to normal between the two of you. Not that they haven’t, on the face of it; he seems perfectly happy to return to your old dynamic, and maybe all this strangeness is just in your head, or a natural consequence of growing up.

Seeing Reiner, though… you realize maybe you were a little too hasty trying to go back. Just like you, just like Reiner, Zeke must have changed. You wonder how; wonder what he could have done, apart from suggesting the debriefing, that would make a now gentle Reiner wear such resentment. You have some idea, but you brush it aside before you can dwell on it.

“If you want to try smoking,” Zeke chuckles, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blink, cheeks tingling with embarrassment and a sheepish smile when you realize he’s caught you staring. He holds the smoke out for you, but you wave his hand away. “No thanks.”

“So?” He pushes himself off the wall, putting the cigarette out under his shoe. “What do you think?”

You fall into step with him and take a deep breath. “I think maybe he just needs more time to rest. Grieve properly.”

“Generous evaluation.”

“I think it’s more… it’s not my place to say.”

Zeke regards you with an indecipherable look, but it disappears as soon as you try to capture it. He only shrugs. “Okay. I need to get back to work. Want to stay, or will you be going home?”

You pretend to give it some thought. “I can stick around your office a little longer.”

“Good. Just try to keep it down.”

He chuckles at your eyeroll and starts to head back to the offices with you in tow. You stare at his back as he turns a corner ahead of you until he glances over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still with him. You give him a smile, brows raising with a question he answers with a shake of his head. But he’s smiling too, the one you got to know past that wall of apathy, and you know that he can’t possibly have changed all that much.

Zeke is still your best friend—the only one who knew everything about you, and the one who trusted only you with everything about him. You’re sure of it.

/////

I mean, obviously, aside from Mr. Ksaver. Do I think Zeke was the guy whose only friends were younger kids he was forced to interact with for his own survival? Yes. His best friend in canon and the only important person he trusted in his childhood/adolescence was his father stand-in, and even if as he grew up I'm sure he became more sociable (and likeable/'admirable' to Marleyan Eldians as a Warrior), Zeke's existence is a lonely one in my eyes because of the way he viewed life and the lives of others. There would have had to be certain circumstances to gain his absolute trust I think, so feel special, Reader/Lucy. Haha. I swear I love Zeke even if I see him as this sad and lonely bastard.

Also, I know it's not obvious, but I don't dislike Porco. I actually like him a lot (except when he's like -that- to Reiner) and he influenced/es Reader/Lucy more than he knows. And I know I didn't mention Bertholdt in this chapter but that would have been a sensitive topic for Reiner, so Reader/Lucy knows to avoid it for now. (I just wanted to make that disclaimer because I love Bertholdt and I miss him a lot.)

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far.

33 notes · View notes

strangerobin · 3 years

Text

Rue: Chapter 4 (Jasper Hale x OC)

Not everyone is excited for a reunion. Especially when expectations are not aligned.

**Note: Feel free to leave me a comment and tell me how you feel about the story so far!

I had a bit of difficulty writing this part I must say; but I don’t believe that two people meeting again in forever can go back to being in love like nothings happened.

But lemme know what you think!**

Elsewhere.

Adeline ran as fast as she could, her chaser right at her heels as she darted into the woods. Rain pelting heavily, the moon hidden behind clouds, the woods seemed darker than usual.

To make matters worse, she was slowing down. She had been starving herself greatly recently, in a self-loathing attempt and now she deeply regretted her foolish decision. As if it wasn’t enough she was having trouble controlling her hunger, now she was being chased down by an unknown assailant, vampire. She ignored the constant tugging at her heart again, begging her to stop, to turn around and just look at her chaser.

It occurred to her then that this person was the same one who was at Whitehorse. Judging from the female vampire that had approached her just now in the bar, someone or some persons were interested in her. It might not even be her father. But bullshit, she wasn’t going to let this unknown stranger get to her. Nor was she going to let them ruin her peace of mind she had fought to safeguard for decades now. She needed a plan, and she needed it fast.

There was a clearing just a few miles south, if she could just make it there…! Pushing her limits, she ducked under a pine and concealed herself into the night, mindful not to tread on anything that might give her away. Circled the perimeter and watched as the man who had been chasing her stopped in the clearing, apparently confused that he had lost her track somehow.

Now-

Blood pumping, she darted out and aimed for the jugular. Her hand clasped onto the man’s neck in a death grip and pushed him up into a tree.

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” Adeline hissed. The man, blonde she noted, made no move to subdue or even try to escape her clutches. His face was still partially hidden under his hair, but she was aware of his amber orbs observing her behind his curtain of hair. Neither did she miss the scars, multiple healed bite wounds littered across his porcelain neck and clavicles, screaming danger. Her heart hammering in her chest now, a tidal wave of anxiety washed over her and an eerie sense of foreboding was looming overhead. Her mind was trying to make a connection, something about this man just… But the anxiety got to her again and she tightened her grip over his neck even harder.

It occurred to her then that the man’s companion was also nowhere to be found. Was this a trap after all?

“Answer me.” She growled impatiently. “Who are you? Why are you after me? Where is your companion?!”

Yet he only remained mum. This only further enraged her.

“Speak or I’ll rip your pretty head off of its rightful place.”

“Just like how you ripped my heart out all those years ago?”

Momentarily Adeline was caught confused by the man’s reply, until he looked up and the dim moonlight casted shadows on his smooth marble like face. Adeline gasped, dropping her arm and taking a step back. A chill ran up her spine and grasped painfully onto her heart, tightening; just as her mind roared, losing its usual powers of logics and deduction.

“Jasper?”

Back at the parking lot, Jasper had suddenly felt a breeze, a sliver of a shadow passing by, and then the strongest urge he had ever had to run after the shadow. Unknowingly, he had let the urge overtook his actions; until he saw Adeline materialising out of thin air, running at top speed a few yards before him did he finally realised what had happened.

He had chased on then, close on her tail.

And now he watched, somewhat in fascination, at the myriad of emotions that ran through Adeline’s eyes in that instant. Shock and disbelief gave way to confusion, then guilt and grief. He’d forgotten just how expressive she can be at times and how he could read her like an open book.

Except it was his Adeline. His sweet Adeline.

There was no mistaking on his part. She had not aged a single day. Her hair was shorter now, but her countenance, and those expressive cornflower eyes they were the same, fresh from his memory. There was no doubt in it. Now that his vision was so much better, he could even notice features on her face that he would have missed as a human. And yes, he could also smell her sweet hybrid scent, so similar to Renesmee’s yet also different in it’s own way. Oh how his cold dead heart felt, ready to burst, he had never felt so alive since his transformation. Perhaps he shouldn’t be too hasty in accepting this hybrid thing, but it would explain so much of her past actions. And it would also explain so well how they were seeing each other right there and now. And more than anything, he was just… feeling all kinds of emotions now that she was here again. Joy and shock at the prospect of reunion, apprehension and nausea at how events would unfold. But mostly he felt a deep inner relief and serenity for the first time in years. One he did not know that he had been missing until beholding her again for the first time in centuries.

She was the missing piece he had been seeking unknowingly all these years.

He had meant to step forward, to embrace her, to touch her, anything, something just to confirm her presence right in front of his eyes. To hold onto her, to make sure that she wouldn’t just disappear again into thin air again.

But even as he pondered on his actions, those haunting orbs were now settling to something between fear and distrust.

Adeline, her hand trembling against her lips, was slowly backing away as she tried to process the events that had transpired; unsettled, she did not even notice that she had backed herself into the trunk of another tree.

“What sick joke is this?” She finally let out a shaky laugh. Her eyes darting everywhere but him.

With a sinking heart, Jasper swallowed harshly, his throat dry. He’d run through this in his head for uncountable times now. A simulation of their reunion, heartfelt exchanges and eager embraces, passionate declarations; or cold-hearted refusals and further blows to his heart. But nothing like this, not this deer-in-the-headlight shakiness, blatant denial, this refusal of even a simple acknowledgement.

“Adeline it’s me. It’s your Jasper.” He finally breathed, closing the distance. Reaching out a finger to twine her stray locks behind her ear, before leaning in to take a whiff of her floral scent.“It’s Jasper.” He repeated like a broken record.

“No… that’s not possible…” She murmured to herself, frozen in place by shock. Until fear flashed in her eyes again and she jerked away as if she had been electrified.

“What power do you possess? Did Father send you to lure me back?” She swallowed in alarm and closed her eyes, her cornflower orbs filled with unshed tears and undisguised fear.

“Adeline?”

“Please, I’ll go, willingly. Please… just stop what you’re doing, stop messing with my mind will you?” She continued to implore, on the verge of tears. “Stop this. I’ll go mad if you don’t.”

His heart almost broke again at her desperation, her pleads weighing heavily on him.

“No Adeline, darling. It really is me.” He whispered, cupping her face gently to catch her attention.

“No, you died all those years ago. In 1863.” Adeline shook her head furiously, as if every word was a bodily pain inflicted on her part. “I saw the stone, Mrs Whitlock told me so.”

“No, no.” Why couldn’t she just see him for what he was? Why was she so adamant on disproving his entire existence? “I was turned, I was found by a coven of vampires and turned.”

“I don’t believe you.” She finally looked him in the eye and he could see the determination behind, the determination to reject his being altogether as nothing more than a illusion of hers, put into her mind as some cruel joke.

His insides raged then, why couldn’t she see the obvious? He did not come so close to her only to lose her again! Not this time!

“So I will go. I will not shackle you to a life of secrets and miseries. Nor will I bind you to eternal gloom and slaughter your happiness, take your sun and hide your moon.” He recited in a sudden outburst of spite. “Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you.”

Adeline gasped audibly, her eyes grew big as saucers, and a tear glided down her cheek. Her lips trembled and he could feel the turmoil and shock in her. He could practically hear the whirling of the cogs in her brain moving, as she finally put two and two together. Her eyes darted frantically, as the truth dawned on her.

“This can’t be.” She finally let out a hysterical laugh and muttered weakly, backing up shakily and holding onto a branch for support. “This is impossible.”

“It’s the truth, darling. I-”

“No!” She screamed with all her might. “No.” She mumbled again raking a hand through her curls roughly and shaking her head in denial, even as tears were streaming freely down her face now. “You died… you died…”

“Adeline…”

“I have to go.” She muttered to no one in particular. “I can’t, I can’t, this can’t happen, this shouldn’t have happened…My fault, my fault. I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have…”

“Adeline!” He reached for her then, to stop her, to pull her out of her panic.

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, slapping his hand away. “Don’t…” Adeline chewed on her lips and swallowed nervously, before looking at Jasper, her eyes a sea of emotions and anguish. “Don’t try to find me ever again.”

Without so much as a backward glance, Adeline bolted in the opposite direction with lightning speed and melted into the night.

Left alone in the open, Jasper clenched and unclenched his fists. This was not what he had anticipated, in fact the worst had happened. There was a new agony in his heart, a heaviness weighing on him. Could broken hearts break a second time? If so, his had died a second time today. He could make chase, to corner her, to confront her; but was her blatant rejection not evident enough? Did she need to spell it out in black and white for him?

Letting out a heart-wrenching howl, Jasper dropped to his knees. His eyes were burning like coals but no tears would ever fall out, unlike her. He had lost that ability all those years ago, oh but how he wished he could cry now! To let release any, even the slightest of his unsurmountable grief.

But he could not.

Why couldn’t things stayed the way it had been back in Texas? If she had been a simple dressmaker, if he had never joined the army; they would have married, settled down, had a children or two and grew to see each other old. Buried together in the local cemetery, side by side and that would have been it.

Life was so so cruel.

He punched his fists repeatedly into the ground out of frustration.

Until he felt the strangest sensation.

A pull. There was a strange pull at his heart; tugging at his heartstrings, urging him on in the direction Adeline had just disappeared into.

Jasper stood up slowly, gauging at this new sensation.

It was as if an invisible pathway had just opened for him. There was a new lightness in his heart now. A giddiness at what he had just discovered.

And he thought that finally he understood what this all meant now.

This couldn’t be happening.

It was impossible!

Surely he was an imposter?! Her Jasper! Her Jasper had been dead for more than a hundred years, he couldn’t possibly have came back from the dead? And to become a vampire of all things?

A vampire? God forbid, that would mean that someone had changed him!

But she recalled his topaz eyes that shone eerily in the moonlight, the icy cold skin that had cupped her face so lovingly, that marble smooth and hard skin, the bite marks littered all over his neck. Literally nothing about him screamed human; those were the features of a top predator.

Was this some form of joke the universe was having on her? Her Jasper alive all this time? An immortal not unlike her, but stronger and more lethal?

No! No! No! No! She’d left this hole years ago. She wasn’t going to dig herself into another hole now! It couldn’t have been him! Dead as a door nail he was. She’d seen his grave, she was there.

Though no one ever recovered his body. A treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind. And anyhow what was that line that he had recited then? It was word for word from the letter she had written to him all those years ago. No one other than himself could have read it.

Her treacherous mind continued to drift into dangerous territory, and though she tried to steer it away, the barriers were all but down now.

She’d rather it had been a stormy night. That thunder and the rain, they would have distracted her from her thoughts. But no.

The moon was a beacon hung against a starless backdrop, and through the half parted curtains, the clear moonlight filtered in, illuminating every feature of his in a white halo. Everything was so calm, so peaceful, in comparison to the raging storm within her.

She’d never stare into those warm brown eyes again, never run her hands through his thick golden curls, never feel his chuckle rumbling deep in his chest or his beating heart on her palm-

“Darlin’?” Jasper’s lashes fluttered, he had sensed her uneasiness somehow and was struggling to rise from his slumber.

“It is nothing darling.” She murmured before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, relishing in his strong embrace one last time. “It was only a dream.”

He grunted and soon his breathing was even again.

With his handsome face and his wits and charm, he’d be able to rise up in the ranks, and get a fine rich Southern Belle for a wife quick enough.

Father’s threats were still fresh in her mind.

Better this than a mangled body, six inch deep in the ground.

Better leave now when he still loved her, than when he learnt of the truth, the ugly horrible truth.

Every move was another battle. How she withdrew herself from his arms, how she struggled not to sob or to crawl back into bed and confess every little sin she had committed. To stay for another day, for him to tell her that everything would be alright for another day. How her heart broke to leave the ring on the dresser and the heartless note she had written.

One final kiss to his forehead because she couldn’t bear to turn back a second time for she was sure that she would lose her resolve and strength to leave him.

But another day would become another week, another month, another year. What then when Father returned for her? Or when he realised that his wife had not aged a single day since she turned 17?

Better this farewell now. Better to look back with love and fondness and regret, than to let it be corrupted by hate and disgust or worse… blood.

Tomorrow he will wake and she will be gone. And when the time is just right, he will forget her, he will move on, fight the war, get married, grow old. All men do, the world must go on. And only she will be stuck in time, reminiscing the past through rose tinted lenses.

It was alright so long as he lived. She would live with this pain. She would bear this petit mort.

Every. Single. Time.

Until there was nothing more left of her heart.

Was this all for naught then in the end?

Was there no need for to leave him then? Or was his death inevitable regardless of what she did? Was it something that she had done? Something she had miscalculated?

Was he even Jasper to begin with?

She needed to be somewhere, anywhere other than being alone with her thoughts. And as the little house at the end of the lane grew bigger, only then did she realise where her subconscious had lead her to.

“Adeline?”

Standing at the doorway was her half brother, Anakin, smoking. Jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail, tanned torso bare displaying all his tribal tattoos. His black eyes held surprise as he eyed her carefully.

“I didn’t think I would see the likes of you for the next few years.”

“Change of plans Anakin. Is Father here?”

“It’s only me and the tyke; you know me and the old man can never stay in the same room long before ripping each other throats.” Anakin snorted before flicking his cigarette butt away. “But Ad are you alright? You look awful and you’re shaking so badly; and you’re soaked through and muddy. What happened, Ad?”

“Nothing.” She mumbled. “Just invite me in for a bath will ya.” Though now that he mentioned it, she was feeling kind of faint. Intending to push her way in, Adeline stumbled instead and Anakin was by her side in a flash, supporting her.

“Shit you’re weak. When was the last time you even fed Ad?”

“Addieeeeeeeeeeee.” From within the house, a shrill cry sounded. It was followed by loud footsteps and a young girl of 7 or 8 bounded straight into the foyer; her features were Asian, soft brown eyes and straight dark hair. And a sunny smile on her face. “You came!”

“Hey Loreen.” Adeline tried to smile and felt another wave of nausea.

“Lorie be a good sport and run the bath will you? Addie needs a good bath and rest after her long journey.”

The child straightened her back immediately, sensing the edge in Anakin’s voice and the urgency of the matter. “Alright.” She chirped and turned to go into the bathroom.

“I see you’ve both been well.” Adeline remarked offhandedly, to which Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Bath and get changed. I’ll go get you some blood.” Anakin sighed eyeing his dirty sister. “And take those shoes off, I don’t want you trekking mud into the house. I just cleaned the floor this morning.”

Adeline pulled at his sleeve before he could turn to leave.

“Anakin thanks.”

The frown line over his faced softened and Anakin smiled a lopsided smile.

“Well what are family for?”

This time she didn’t have a smart comeback.

#jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x oc #twilight #twilight imagine #jasper hale imagine

27 notes · View notes

cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 31: A Call for Aid

This one is a little bit different - but I really hope you all enjoy it! (I certainly did!)

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Gavriel’s sword hand shot out, the sleek metal shrieking through the air as he sliced and chopped, his feet carefully marking their set pattern over the packed earth. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers practicing; grunts and shouts and sharp clangs echoing over the practice fields as they went through their daily routines. The faint morning sun lit the mists all around them, a golden haze.

Gavriel wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, the familiar ache just beginning to start in his muscles. He sighed, then made to leave the practice fields, finished for the day.

He’d been coming here more often lately, and was staying for longer and longer stretches of time. Following his return from the post in the northern mountains, Gavriel had been different, slightly off. He knew that his queen and his fellow warriors were attributing that difference to grief, to the guilt at the loss of his men. To the three new markings that just barely peeked out the side of his leather jerkin when he raised his arms over his head. But that wasn’t the reason for the change.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, that face wouldn’t go away. The girl with the face of the woman. His lost love. Tamalina, the second princess of Wendlyn.

Gavriel’s feet pounded into the earth as he walked, dirt and rock scattering in his wake.

He turned the memory over and over in his mind – the image of the princess, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Rowan’s snarl of rage as she edged into the room, the shock and hurt that filled her scent. The overwhelming blankness behind her eyes. The golden head of hair that so matched his own.

The possibility grated on him, itching and scratching. A splinter in the back of his mind, that refused to be removed. His daughter.

The girl might be his daughter.

He’d spent the last weeks wrestling with this fact, trying to eliminate it, or at least subdue it. Trying to forget. But his efforts were in vain.

So instead he stormed through the castle, surly and distant. He knew he was beginning to irritate Fenrys, but he didn’t care. The young male could get in line.

Gavriel didn’t want to admit it to himself, but really he was just waiting. Waiting for Rowan to appear, the girl in tow. Waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. To see if it were possible that time had stretched and morphed his memory of the girl until she fit the picture of his love. To see if there was a chance he was wrong.

Even if, deep down, he was sure that he wasn’t.

But it felt shameful to just wait – to not act. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t even sure that the girl was his responsibility. But still, this waiting…it was going to drive him completely mad.

Gavriel reached his rooms, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud and striding over to sit at the desk that straddled the far wall. A window was set into the stone above it, providing a small view of the city. A gray frame surrounding its expanse of blue rooftops and white cobblestones. The great river flowed idly by, casting up great lots of mist that drifted over the many alleys, buildings and plazas. It was picturesque. Gavriel didn’t see any of it.

He didn’t mind his fate, not all that much. The rewards of his life still outweighed the trials. Nor did he hate Maeve, for all she put them through. She was his Queen, and she would always be. So despite everything, he was glad of his position – both for the responsibility and honor it provided, and for the purpose.

Gavriel was the linchpin, a connector between warriors who otherwise might have ripped each other to pieces. He kept the peace between them, and made sure that they didn’t fall apart. Lorcan was their leader, with Rowan as his second, and Gavriel stood mostly in the background, hidden in the shadows. But he knew he was essential.

But for the girl...he wouldn’t wish this life on her. He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. And yet she was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gavriel hoped that the princess would just fulfill her bargain and go – that she would be allowed to leave, unscathed and unburdened. But still, he worried. The power he had felt in her...it was greater than any he’d ever felt before. Only Queen Maeve could match it.

He couldn't imagine his queen just letting the girl go, not when she could be such a useful tool. Not when the princess might be powerful enough to beat her.

Maeve must have a plan, must have some leverage on the child. But for the life of him, Gavriel couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing that seemed remotely possible was…Rowan.

Their Queen had chosen him for this task, chosen him specifically. And the feelings Gavriel had sensed in the male, the changes…they hinted at something more. An attachment of some kind. He couldn’t speculate about the princess, but still – something had shifted in the Prince while in Mistward. And Gavriel was sure that it marked change.

Perhaps the girl would join them, and perhaps she would instead be sent out to retake her throne. Maybe they would even help her. Maeve had long coveted the western continent, perhaps she now thought to conquer.

All their spies indicated that war was coming. Adarlan was poised to attack Wendlyn, seeking to stretch their empire eastwards. So no matter what, soon Maeve would send them into battle. The question was – which side would they be fighting for this time?

All Gavriel knew was that he would do all he could to keep that child safe. Whether she was his or not, he owed as much to her mother. To Tamalina.

But he had no idea what he could possibly do to help the princess. He was forced to obey his Queen, to bend to her every wish. All he could do for her was keep her secrets, and his silence. For as long as he could manage it.

Gavriel sighed, and turned to the papers on his desk. He knew there was a report from Vaughn that needed looking at, as well as a dispatch from the eastern border and one from the admiral commanding the fleet currently guarding their western flank.

While Lorcan was still traveling up from the south, and Rowan was stationed in Mistward, Gavriel was the highest ranked member of the blood-sworn in the capital. As a result, he had to deal with much of their mail. He had just begun to sift through the papers when an unmarked letter fell through the pile.

It was light, and hastily closed, the wax seal clumsy and misshapen. But still – Gavriel could just recognize the symbol embossed in the wax. It was a bird, its wings extended in flight, its beak curved and sharp. A hawk.

A frown twisted Gavriel’s face as he used a letter opener to slice open Rowan’s message, and unfolded the paper within.

Gavriel –

I can only hope that this will reach you in time.

Adarlan has sent a company of two hundred soldiers and three demons to attack Mistward, and capture or kill the demi-Fae housed here. There are barely thirty demi-Fae soldiers who have seen battle, and as you know, the fortress is not properly outfitted for war. We have called for assistance from Wendlyn, but I have no hope of victory.

Come to our aid.

I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that I have no right to expect this of you. But I have no choice. I must.

I beg you, please come to our aid.

I will fight and die alongside these men. If you choose not to come, remember me well. If you choose not to come, I will understand.

But if you choose not to come, you doom these men to death.

I beg you, come to my aid.

With you at my side, we have a chance at survival. With you at my side, perhaps these people can live. Have a future.

Please, come to my aid.

Our lives are in your hands.

– Rowan

The paper crumpled between Gavriel’s fingers. That face was still fixed in his vision, only now the eyes were empty, her face white as death. Aelin, dead or dying. Her fires waning.

Gavriel’s chest was a hollow space, empty and still. Thoughtlessly, he stood and walked from the room, his blood spiked with shock. Within seconds, he reached a courtyard and transformed. His lion’s paws thundered on the stone as he raced down the castle hallways and out into the city beyond.

He ran, without needing a moment to reconsider. Without a moment of doubt. Ran for

···

Fenrys was dreaming. He knew it, and yet he still longed for it to be real. Still longed for his dreams to leap from the ether of his mind and out into the world.

In the dream, he was running. His paws digging into the earthy loam, bits of grass catching in his claws, wiping them clean of the blood of the deer he’d just eaten for lunch. Its sweet meat lined his stomach and weighed him down in that comfortable, satisfying way that only a good meal could.

In the dream, the wind whipped through his fur, its fingers flowing over his coat and making it ripple like water. In the dream, the sun warmed his limbs and flashed in his eyes, a bright discomfort. In the dream, there was no catch over his heart, no chains or locks or ropes tying him to a dark queen. He was free.

But he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Now, he was lying on Maeve’s bed. Hating himself. And everyone else under the sun. Drunk, but not sufficiently so. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands.

Maeve had left a while ago now, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It didn’t really matter.

Fenrys didn’t know whether to be glad of the moment’s peace, or to hate it. It was so much easier to just hate everything. To hate this prison, and to hate the moments of freedom he was given. To hate his pitiful, despicable life, with every single ripped-up piece of him still left.

Maeve didn’t call him every night. In fact, she rarely called him more than once or twice a week. But it was enough. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore – it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Probably because it didn’t. It belonged to her, just like everything else.

Fenrys shoved those useless thoughts down deep. He knew damn well what a waste of time it was to dwell.

Instead he took another swig of wine. Perhaps if he drank enough of it, he might just forget. Not only everything he’d been forced to do last night, but also the dream that he’d woken up to.

For it was the dream that was the real torture. Without thought of freedom, captivity would not be so great a burden to bear. So Maeve made sure that freedom was always nearby, just close enough to taste.

Like with that trip to Varese, where he had to watch as Rowan took for granted every single thing he held dear. His ability, his autonomy. His independence. And then Fenrys had to watch Rowan leave, with the knowledge that he would never be able to follow.

It was the freedom that tore at him, not the imprisonment. Cages were rather boring, after all. Even ones made of words and blood and darkness.

Even so, Fenrys didn’t think he regretted taking the blood-oath. He fought it with every breath in his body, and would do anything to be free of it – suffer any torture, break any bond. But were he given the option to go back and change his mind, he didn’t think that he would.

Fenrys had taken it to protect his little brother, and nothing more.

Well, maybe a little bit more.

All Fae males were drawn to power, and Maeve was the most powerful Fae living. They were all drawn to her, no matter her darkness. They had all wanted to serve her.

And maybe just a tiny, minuscule little piece of him had been jealous of his brother. Didn’t like being surpassed and overshadowed by him. It was a piece that Fenrys didn’t particularly like looking at, but he saw it nonetheless.

He thought Connall might see it too. They didn’t speak of it.

Fenrys didn’t even know if Connall was grateful for what he had done. For what he protected him from, night after night after night. Didn’t know if his brother even cared. They didn’t speak of that either.

They were still close though. As close as they had been growing up, running through the alleys and markets of Doranelle, play-fighting on the practice fields. They shared the same power, the ability to slip between the folds of the world. And they had learned it together, had figured out each of its valleys and ripples and tears by each other’s sides.

Each time they jumped, slipping through an invisible crack in the universe, they could feel the other pressing in on them, the whole of the world becoming the warmth of their embrace. And then they would fall out into reality – the open air feeling as empty and lonely as the space between stars.

It didn’t matter how far apart they were, didn’t matter where they were coming from or where they were going, that pressure was there. And it was a comfort, especially when they’d been young, and the power felt far more like a burden then a gift.

Once, when they’d been only eight or nine, Connall had forgotten how to get back. For hours, he’d been lost in the space between spaces, trapped by that crushing pressure. But eventually, Fenrys had managed to coax him back out again – by singing him one of the songs their mother sang while hanging the washing.

Oh the blue skies above, they mark the cloth stark white

Back and forth, back and forth

The moon pulls the sea, the green from the earth

As day folds into night, and the children run free

Back and forth, back and forth

Connall had returned, and their mother had scolded him for being so reckless. But it had just made them realize that no one else would ever understand. Realize that their powers were a part of one another, just as they were a part of one another. Inseparable.

And nothing, not even Maeve, could change that. Fenrys wouldn’t let her.

Right now, his brother was probably up in his rooms, reading. That shy bastard almost always had a book in his hands. When they were boys, it had been like pulling teeth to get him to go outside to train.

And he was such a goddamn know-it-all. It was infuriating. Mostly because Fenrys rarely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, he loved the little guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the fellowship circles and fertility cycles of freshwater selkies day in and day out, for weeks on end. Or at least until the idiot moved on, pursuing some other esoteric piece of knowledge.

Fenrys had actually been quite surprised that when Rowan wrote, asking for information about his weird little demon problem in Wendlyn, Connall hadn’t known anything about it. Fenrys was sure that the ignorance frustrated him. His brother had spent a whole week in the library after they received Rowan’s letter, searching for anything that could possibly solve the mystery. And he found absolutely nothing.

Fenrys had found it a bit difficult not to gloat as he watched his brother stalk about the castle, a scowl fixed to his brow. It was nice to see him stumped over something, for once.

Fenrys couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan was doing at Mistward, wonder what the princess of fire was like. He’d only seen her briefly, a quick look between the walls of an alleyway in Varese as Rowan led her through the city to collect the horses Fenrys had left for them.

It hadn’t been a good look. She’d been well hidden underneath a dark cloak, though Fenrys still caught the edges of dozens of blades beneath her heavy clothes. Her face had been obscured with dirt and grime and sweat, her hair matted together. And the smell, ungh. Overall, not the most remarkable showing.

What had really impressed itself on him had been the sheer weight of her power. A writhing mass of flames, all bunched up and twisted in on themselves, forced within her small frame. Her power was so massive that even untrained, it had actually overwhelmed the icy wind of the Fae male leading her. Rowan’s power was great, but next to hers…the maelstrom of power felt more like a light rain. A drizzle, if you would.

And Fenrys hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head. The touch of the princess’ flames. It burned through him, making him wonder just how wild she would be. But it wasn’t like Maeve would ever let him near the girl.

Fenrys sighed and turned over on the bed. No matter how much he might want to, getting drunk before nine in the morning probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. He should get up and face the day.

He groaned.

But still, he got to his feet and made his way out of Maeve’s private quarters, bare feet padding on the cold stone. His muscles were stiff, and not in a good way - he was looking forward to his morning training session. But first he had to return to his rooms to grab his gear and wash his face.

Fenrys didn’t pass anyone in the halls, for which he was grateful. Everyone in the castle knew of course, but still. Having to start his day with some page boy averting his eyes as he walked past, usually barefoot and in various states of dress, was far from great.

Fenrys pushed open the door to his rooms, and was already shrugging off yesterday’s clothes and reaching for clean ones when he noticed an unmarked letter resting on his worktable. The couriers usually went through the palace rooms each morning, dropping off the day’s mail, but it wasn’t often that Fenrys received anything. Particularly when a higher ranked member of Maeve’s blood-sworn was present.

He walked over to the desk and ripped open the envelope, absentmindedly pulling out the letter and beginning to read.

His eyes skittered over the black ink, and as he read, his fingers tightened their grip on the thin paper, his knuckles whitening. The bottom fell out of his stomach.

Mistward was under attack. Rowan was under attack.

He was calling for aid.

Fenrys felt strangely panicked. Not once, in all the years he had known him, had Rowan ever come close to writing something like this letter. The male was near-invincible – it had never even entered Fenrys’ head to be concerned about him.

But here he was, needing Fenrys’ help.

Would he answer?

Fenrys wanted to be the type of male who ran into danger, heedless of the consequences. Who came when he was called. Who always helped when asked.

But then a deeper, more personal fear joined the panic choking his throat. Maeve.

If he left without permission and without warning, she would not take it lightly. Unimaginable horrors would be waiting for him when he returned. Except, Fenrys could actually imagine them - they had been inflicted on him already, time and time again.

The question was – did he care? What more could she do to him that she had not done already, twice over?

The freedom teased at him, tantalizing, just out of his reach. Only this time it was fear that was holding him back. His own fear. And all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be fearless. To be free.

And the princess...she was at Mistward. She was in as much danger as Rowan. Perhaps if he went, he could see her again. Could save her.

Fenrys wanted to do something good, for once. To do one good thing.

With an invisible twist, Fenrys slipped out of time and space and reappeared in his brother’s rooms.

But they were empty – Connall wasn’t there.

Fenrys made to leave, to check the library, or perhaps the training fields, when something caught his eye. A familiar-looking envelope lay open on the desk, the letter inside nowhere to be seen.

A wry grin curved Fenrys’ lips as he vanished once more.

···

There was a small clearing, hidden behind a spur of rock just outside the palace grounds. It was unremarkable in every way, other than the fact that it happened to lie right at the limit of the distance the twins could jump - and was invisible to the palace sentries.

In short, it was a perfect rendezvous point.

Fenrys appeared out of nowhere, a slip of gold against the sun-warmed rock. By contrast, his brother was a shadow lounging just out of sight, easy to miss in the dappled forest.

Connall’s voice was droll. “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show.”

Fenrys let out a snort. “Touché. I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

He frowned. “Me too.”

Fenrys’ own brow furrowed, the question slipping out. “Why did you decide to come?”

Connall shuffled his feet, his face dark. “It felt like…a betrayal to stay. I owe him too much to abandon him like that.”

Fenrys nodded. Connall was quiet, but he was fiercely loyal to those that were close to him. And he had always looked up to the powerful male, ever since they were in training. He wasn’t about to just stand by while his mentor was fighting for his life.

Fenrys opened his mouth to say something when the sound of an approach rippled through the nearby trees. Fenrys immediately drew his weapons, fear icing over his muscles. If Maeve had already discovered them…if Connall had lied and this was a trap…

But the crunch of leaves and brush of undergrowth spoke of something different, not a person, something else. Something familiar…

Fenrys relaxed his stance as Gavriel shouldered his way past the pine boughs and into the clearing, his lion’s coat bright in the warm sunlight. The male’s eyes were focused and intense, his warm scent filled with a wrinkled tension and fierce determination.

Without a word, Fenrys transformed into his wolf, his muscles stretching and filling with anticipation. He felt that strange ripple behind him that indicated Connall had shifted as well.

Gavriel turned and began to run, his claws ripping into the dirt, his heavy bulk pounding the earth. Fenrys shot after him, flowing into the male’s right flank even as Connall moved to his left. Together, the three of them pierced through the undergrowth, the sun warming their backs as they shot into the west.

The breath in their lungs came sharp and cold, their stomachs empty of everything but the desperate, pleading hope that they would make it in time. That they wouldn’t be too late.

···

Lorcan lifted the tankard to his lips, wincing slightly as the sour beer coated his tongue. The tavern was busier than he would’ve liked – filled to the brim with laughing, hungry people out for an evening of drink and merriment.

He’d spent the whole day running, his first after leaving the rest of his crew with the fleet on the southwestern coastline. He should be back in Doranelle within the next few days, and he was looking forwards to his return. He didn't love being away from the capital for so long. Being away from his Queen.

Usually, Lorcan would’ve kept running through the night, only stopping to catch a few hours’ sleep in some hollow or cave. But after only a few hours of travel, he’d passed a familiar scent. A trail leading north.

Vaughn was also traveling back to Doranelle, and Lorcan had caught up with him by midafternoon. The male was in desperate need of a bed, a hot meal and a drink, so Lorcan had (somewhat unwillingly) capitulated to his plan to stay at an inn for the night.

Now Vaughn was over at the bar, chatting to some human female. She’d begun their conversation with clipped answers and dour looks, but now Vaughn had her giggling away, her cheeks touched with happy red dimples.

Lorcan frowned into his drink.

For a moment, he’d considered joining him over there, to see if he could also find someone who might warm his bed tonight. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Far too tired. And too lazy.

Just then, a maid wandered over to his booth, her arms sagging under the weight of a heavily burdened tray of drinks and food. But she carried them easily, her footsteps light and nimble through the lively crowd. Obviously familiar with this type of work. Lorcan was just beginning to reconsider his earlier assertion, to see if this lithe, muscled female might be amenable to him, when the woman pulled a crumpled letter from her apron and dropped it on the table in front of him, with the words, “This just came for ya, from the evening post up from the coast. Seems like its been a long way, searchin’ for you.” Then she turned, moving to carry her tray back to the kitchen.

Lorcan’s eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to examine the letter. It was unmarked, which was strange. And the very fact that someone was going to such lengths to contact him, instead of waiting until he returned to Doranelle, was also strange.

Lorcan tentatively ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within. What he read there was astounding.

The words took a while to sink in, but when they did, Lorcan found that he was absolutely furious. That he was murderously enraged.

How dare he?

How dare Rowan ask this of him, ask this of all of them? How dare he presume to be above the word of their queen? Presume that Lorcan would betray her for him?

Mistward was under attack, and the lives of the demi-Fae there were in danger, but why in the gods' names did Rowan care? Why wasn’t he leaving them to their fate, and bringing the princess back to Doranelle?

That’s what Lorcan would’ve done. And that certainly was what their Queen would expect. What she would require.

So why, by Hellas’ scythe, was he staying? Why was he protecting them?

Lorcan couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. Rowan was staying. And he would give his life to protect those people. The demi-Fae. His people, Lorcan supposed. Even if he had spent the past four hundred years distancing himself from them.

Lorcan’s teeth clacked together, his jaw tightening. Rowan was staying, and he was asking Lorcan, and presumably the rest of the blood-sworn, to join him. Rowan knew the consequences for deserting, knew what they all would be facing for disobeying Maeve’s orders and coming to his aid. Rowan knew, and he was asking anyways.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like the Rowan he knew, like the Rowan he had fought and trained and worked beside these past two centuries.

That Rowan leapt at death with an indifference even Lorcan did not possess. That Rowan would’ve always made the hard choice, regardless of the consequences. This didn’t feel like that Rowan at all.

But still - this was Rowan he was talking about. The male he had relied upon for hundreds of years. The male who was probably - though Lorcan was loathe to admit it - the Fae he was closest to in all the world. Even closer to than Maeve.

And he'd laid out the facts, bare and unguarded. Mistward was weak and defenseless. They were facing a lethal army, and a battle that they would not win. All of those demi-Fae were going to die, Rowan alongside them.

Rowan was going to die. And Lorcan was fucking furious about it.

He slammed his fists into the table, pushing it out of his way, the beer spilling over onto the floor. Then Lorcan tore up the letter, got to his feet, and moved towards the bar to collect Vaughn.

···

They ran through the night, and the following day. Ran through bracken and field and marsh. And finally, through mist.

They ran until they met up with Gavriel, Connall, and Fenrys, and then they ran some more. There was no time for words, no reason for them. They had all come, and the dice would fall where they would. They would face the punishment they justly deserved without complaint.

They ran until they fell into darkness, until the forest around them went quiet. Ran until they reached the crest of a hill, and the fortress appeared below them, wrapped in darkness and chaos and power. Until they saw a lone female standing before the ward stones, the only thing keeping the castle from being overcome.

...

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

...

Im so sorry for that cliffhanger! (but also not sorry at all lmao) Please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @booknerdproblems @queen-of-glass @westofmoon @morganofthewildfire

50 notes · View notes

robuttsinyourthighs · 3 years

Note

Starscream telling Arcee and the Autobots he killed Cliffjumper cause Cliff killed Star’s trine with an explosion and Bumblebee sadly admits that it’s true and Star tearfully says that Skywarp and Thundercracker were the last of his loved ones after losing Vos... "I lost everyone... At least you still have Jack and your fellow Autobots!" 💔

I kind of took the idea of this and went on a bender. I’ve been writing this on my phone for... well, however long this ask has been in my inbox! I’ll also be posting this on my AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387250

Please ENJOY~!

---------------------------------------

He was backed into a corner yet again. That blasted femme always had it out for him, even after all this struggle and strife to hop on board the Autobot goody-two-shoes-train. He always had to prove himself, even when he wasn't up to something he was never fully trusted and especially not by her. He just wanted a ration, that was all, and Ratchet had sanctioned it and Bumblebee offered to go as his chaperone but it didn't stop Arcee's pent up frustration and mistrust from tailing the seeker and exploding at him.

"I've been with you lot for nearly a year and you STILL want to badger me?" The seeker cracked open the corner of his cube right there in the storage room, not wanting to give the two-wheeler enough time to make him lose his appetite by stalking him to his hab-suite as well.

"It's not badgering, it's questioning. I deserve answers, and the team deserves to know what you REALLY are." The former Con-turned-Not-quite-Autobot sneered.

"And what am I, exactly?" He leaned over her, a common intimidation tactic he used when on occasion he was taller than the other person in the room. "I would so LOVE for you to tell me."

Bumblebee tried to fit between the two somewhat, hands held up while buzzing and beeping his concern and warning Arcee to move back. The blue and pink motorcycle refused, clenching her fists and fighting to not transform out her blasters.

"You are a sick monster who has killed more Cybertronians than any Autobot or 'Con! You killed Cliffjumper in cold blood!" The jet sucked his teeth in irritation and leaned back from her space, folding an arm over his torso and resting his elbow on the back of his hand.

"Oh this old song and dance again? Please, find something new to hyperfixate on," he sneered dismissively, 'We've all lost someone in this war, you're not SPECIAL. Look at your scout, he's always sunshine and fluttering doors despite what Megatron did to his vocalizer." The seeker flicked his wings irritably and his plating flared around his collar and sides, a sign he was more upset than he was letting on. Arcee read him well enough to not want to back down yet, even with Bumblebee between them and actually having to put his servos on her shoulders to keep her back.

"You're nothing but an emotionless, unfeeling BEAST! You're unfit to call yourself a Cybertronian!" The seeker curled his lip in a snarl at that, wings rattling and giving the femme the justification she wanted to finally ping the entire base to assist.

Bee could only keep Arcee back for so long, but he'd be nearly helpless to stop an attack from Starscream. The two wheeler scoffed at the display and took a couple of steps back from the amount of force Bumblebee was putting against the femme.

"Look at you, Screamer. You're NOTHING. No wonder you don't care about the pain and suffering you dish out. You've never known what it's like to lose someone. Who would care about a sparkless THING like YOU??" Arcee didn't have time to flinch when the cube of energon was smashed into her face, the liquid splashing out and covering Bumblebee's chest and arms. The room exploded with movement, Optimus and Bulkhead bursting into the storage room and grabbing both of Starscream's arms and pinning them back and under his wings, Ratchet closely following with the stasis cuffs needed restrain his hands and wings.

On the other side of the spat Arcee was thrashing against Bumblebee until Wheeljack jogged in and promptly bear-hugged her from behind, lifting her off her pedes and trying to get her to stop yelling and listen. Smokescreen stood at the door, watching the chaos unfold and unable to tell what was happening before they'd arrived to the shouting pair smothered in wasted energon.

"Let me at him! Let me go!! He deserves to pay for what he did!!" Arcee nearly got an arm loose to transform it but Bee caught it in time, beeping and pinging her desperately to stop.

Starscream was forced to the ground rather quickly, pinned while the bots bound his wrists and wings.

"Told ya it was a matter of time before Starscream tried something," Wheeljack called over. "Better get on disarming him quick, doc, before 'Cee does it for us." The scout finally had enough. He revved his engine so loudly the whole room was filled with the vibrations of it. When it stopped Arcee was still, though venting heavily from her struggling, and Starscream was seething quietly.

::Arcee started it!:: Bumblebee group-commed them, including Starscream so he knew he wasn't going to just let this go by without all sides knowing exactly how this went down.

That certainly changed the perspective of things a little. Wheeljack flattened his mouth into one of thin annoyance since he looked like an aft for accusing Starscream of being the root of this predicament. Bulkhead and Optimus helped him up and kept him steady on his feet.

"Starscream, can you tell us what happened? Why would you resort to violence?" Optimus started, wanting to open a dialog where the seeker could be heard.

"That's all he knows, Optimus! He only knows how to destroy and kill!" Arcee shouted past the Autobot leader. Starscream's heckles raised again, wings clattering in their confines even as Optimus began to admonish Arcee.

"HE GOT WHAT HE DESERVED!!" He shouted over the Prime's voice. "Did it HURT, Arcee?! Did you feel his spark GUTTER?!! Did it HURT?! DID HE TAKE PART OF YOUR SPARK WITH HIM?!" Starscream's voice was strong, unwavering and profoundly pained. "I can only hope so! I hope I gave him just one ounce of the pain he put in mevwhen he slaughtered MY TRINE!!"

The two wheeler opened her mouth to argue back initially but couldn't process what she was hearing right away. She was immediately skeptical of his claim. "How? Your what??"

"My bonded!" Starscream stamped his pede in frustration, bending forward and wanting to just collapse but the sturdy Autobots on either side of him holding onto his arms prevented that. "He ripped them away from me! He tore their wings off and made them watch each other while they were TORTURED!!" He tried to lunge forwardn in his hurt and fury, Optimus and Bulkhead changing stances to hold him back more easily.

"He wouldn't do that!" Arcee bit back, though the bite in her voice was ebbing into confusion.

"You don't believe that, do you?" Starscream looked up at her, coolant having flooded down his face in his grief. "You were his partner. You know he delighted in torturing the enemy, don't you?"

"Starscream," Optimus spoke up. "Autobots do not condone unnecessary torture of prisoners. If what you're saying is true, please understand it was never under any order to do so. I am sorry for your loss."

Following Optimus' lead, Bulkhead gave a light pat to the jet's shoulder. "Its messed up that that happened to you... I'm sorry." Bee gave a small whirring noise of sympathy to the seeker, knowing his words wouldn't be enough to help his ache.

The jet was finally settling into his footing and standing properly and very still. A calm came over him as he shoved his hurt and pain deep down. Something finally clicked in Arcee's mind while she watched the jet mask his emotions and lift his helm with pride. The way he brought his snarkiness back into his voice so effortlessly and pretended there were no wet streaks on his cheeks from the tears that were streaming just a moment ago.

This was what she always saw as his facade- his ability to just LIE and feign emotion he couldn't actually feel, the remorseless way he would dupe others into helping him and then stab them in the back without batting an optic, but her perspective had shifted.

His raw emotion, his unhinged E.M. field lashing out just moments before would be a tremendous feat to fake. His shift into calm was not a lack of actual emotion, but it was his defense. How often did he have to do this? To be this convincing? How long had he developed this skill to just HIDE his pain?? How much trauma... His bonded... To lose such an integral part of your spark not once but twice at the same time? Bots wouldn't normally survive that without going insane, which she thought he was up until this point.

He was untrusting, angry, bitter, and always plotting for his own survival, none of that changed. The only new ingredient was the WHY. He wasn't cruel for cruelty's sake. He was just another victim of this ridiculous war, and he was acting out of revenge against Cliffjumper.

In spite of everything he had still joined the Autobots, coming to them scarred and broken almost beyond repair, all at the hands of the Decepticon warlord he never fully obeyed. Everything made so much sense but made it so much harder for Arcee to feel steady.

Her beliefs were upended and in an instant it was as if she didn't know anything anymore.. Who could she be angry with? Who was the real victim here? Who was the monster? She had no focus, she had no real motive if she didn't know?? The clawed servo on her helm startled her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Starscream's calm, vermilion optics gazing down into hers.

"Ground yourself, Arcee. Be proud that you've come so far." What was he saying?? Was he mocking her? A small wave of regret trickled from his field against hers. "Let's clean you up. It's only fair I start taking care of the messes I create." She pulled herself back from his touch and Wheeljack eased his hold on her when he was sure she wasn't going to go on the offensive.

The two wheeler realized she'd been covered in thrown energon and he was offering to make amends. After everything, all these years, he was sorry without actually saying it. She understood him more clearly now, though it would have been easier to just keep hating him senselessly. Jack would be pretty disappointed if she went about like that.

He had already expressed concerns for her before due to her conduct when it came to Starscream and Airachnid. She heaved a sigh and turned on her heel to follow the jet as he began to walk.

"Fine. Let's put this behind us." She sounded stiff and unsure. "No funny business."

Starscream scoffed. "Please, you're hardly my type." The jet brushed his wing against Wheeljack's door as he moved past him, startling the wrecker into turning to give them room to go by and catching the suggestive stare the jet gave. Smokescreen had a front row seat to the show and his jaw dropped in shock, not hiding his entertained he was at all.

Arcee hadn't missed it either and grinned to the explosives expert. "Uh oh, better watch out Wheeljack, I think somebody's got eyes for you," the two wheeler teased in passing.

The rest of the Autobots were left in a mix of relief and amusement, save for Wheeljack's open confusion and concern. "Wait what?? Wait-!!" Bumblebee and Bulkhead broke into laughter, Smokescreen clapping Wheeljack on the back and congratulating him. "Was that serious?! He wasn't being serious!"

Optimus let out a cycle of air he didn't know he was holding, relaxing his shoulders just a little at the progress his team seemed to be making. Ratchet's troubled field got his attention and he looked to the medic.

"Something has you worried?" He inquired down to him. Ratchet tisked and propped his hands on his hips.

"They're going to be unstoppable, you know, now that they're getting buddy-buddy. Who else do you know that can get Wheeljack FLUSTERED like that??" Optimus looked back over to the team laughing at the fretting Wrecker. The smile the Prime made was undetectable behind his mask, but highly evident in his soft and amused tone.

"I don't believe it is entirely bad if Wheeljack is on the receiving end of some teasing once in a while."

The medic gaped up at the Autobot leader. "Optimus!" He scolded but the Prime was already heading out to attend to other duties. The medic scrubbed his hand down his face.

"Out of one mess and into another."

#starscream #arcee #angst #tfp #tf #maccadams #tf fanfic #fanfic #writing #drabble?#probably too long to be a drabble #hurt no comfort #time to get in your feels #transformers #transformers prime

44 notes · View notes

officialotakudome · 3 years

Text

New Post has been published on Otaku Dome | The Latest News In Anime, Manga, Gaming, Tech, and Geek Culture

New Post has been published on https://otakudome.com/wandavision-season-1-review/

WandaVision Season 1 Review

The new era of Marvel Television begins with WandaVision. Following the events of Avengers: Endgame, Wanda Maximoff has continued her grief stricken life in wake of the death of her lover Vision. With her powers ever growing Wanda takes the small town of Westview hostage to cope in a mind-binding super hero take on classic and modern sitcoms.

WandaVision is a 2021 superhero sitcom, it is produced by Marvel Studios and distributed by Walt Disney. It aired exclusively on Disney+. Season one is currently available in its entirety.

Editor’s Note: Near complete to complete spoilers for WandaVision and the Marvel Cinematic Universe as a whole may be present within this review.

The next stage in the Marvel Cinematic Universe begins in WandaVision.

WandaVision begins a new era for the Marvel Cinematic Universe as the first of insanely big budgeted TV series for the Disney+ platform. After the shut down of Marvel Television and incorporating it into Marvel Studios proper many were worried about the future of Marvel properties coming to the small screen. Thankfully while it’s not necessarily on traditional TV the small form Marvel content will continue in even greater heights due to Disney’s push for it’s streaming platform. And WandaVision is already a big part of that move. Acting as an homage to classic sitcoms old and modern WandaVision is a superhero trip that’s for fans of all Marvel content.

WandaVision’s consistent roller-coaster ride story keeps viewers on their toes.

THE GOOD: The series takes place sometime after Endgame. The world is still recovering from the snap reverse & the fact that time has skipped for a majority of the world. Wanda, still grieving over the loss of her lover Vision has lost control of her powers and even some of her sanity. She unknowingly uses her powers to change the small town of Westview into the image of the TV sitcoms she watched with her family as a child. Fearing her power Wanda is investigated by S.W.O.R.D a government agency meant to be the space focused version of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Monica Rambeau has a particular interest in Wanda sympathizing with her after losing her mother to cancer. Believed to be having a waning mental state Wanda changes the world design of Westview based on different eras of TV sitcoms. Wanda is eventually revealed to be mostly sane choosing Westview as her method of coping having lost Vision twice.

As the world design changes so does the storyline Wanda created for the series, including the title, aspect ratio, and cast of characters. Wanda becomes pregnant and soon gives birth to twins. Meanwhile S.W.O.R.D has been sending in agents in an effort to stop Wanda and save the citizens of Westview. But they instantly become apart of Wanda’s Westview upon entering. Even the sympathetic Rambeau becomes a victim of it. The more S.W.O.R.D. intervenes the more erratic Wanda becomes in retaliation. Rambeau eventually regains herself after escaping Westview and returning to real life.

Vision becomes suspicious of Wanda after strange interactions with his co-workers & neighbors. The twins have also begun aging at an accelerated rate and also gain superpowers. One night Vision finally has enough and questions Wanda only for her “brother” Pedro to appear. This Pedro is in the form of the FOX’s X-Men universe, but Wanda has complete recognition of him. S.W.O.R.D ramps up it’s attack on Westview and Vision finds the exit for the altered Westview. As he attempts to escape the area, Wanda’s powers resists him and he’s nearly erased. When his son feels Vision’s pain Wanda increases the reach of the altered Westview which encases others including Darcy who was helping S.W.O.R.D.

Vision and Darcy become apart of the rebooted Westview with slight memory loss. Vision recognizes Darcy and they work together to return to Wanda. However, the world is rejecting them causing a multitude of distracts that stop them in their tracks. Eventually regaining their memories Vision flies off to Wanda, leaving Darcy behind. Wanda feels as if she’s losing control of the world and Agatha Harkins who kidnapped the she reveals she was behind all of the chaos. Agatha reveals that she is an actual witch from the Salem trials era and wanted to absorb Wanda’s powers to control the Darkhold an ancient spell book with powerful magic. Agatha also reveals that Wanda holds the title of Scarlet Witch an ancient witch with chaos magic abilities. S.W.O.R.D unveils a man-made version of Vision which was made from the original with intent to be controlled on their command.

As Agatha threatens the boys in front of Wanda and Vision returns only to be attacked by White Vision. A dual battle ensues between Agatha & Wanda and Vision & White Vision. After a conversation Vision returns White Vision’s memories causing him to abandon S.W.O.R.D. and fly off. Agatha & Wanda’s fight makes it to town where the citizens memories have returned. Begging Wanda to free them she complies only to stop when Vision & the boys begin to disappear. Monica who had returned to the world with her DNA changing her into a superhuman offers to help Wanda. She & the boys along with Vision fight and defeat S.W.O.R.D who were intervening.

Agatha has released magical runes which has taken over the altered Westview. Just as it appears that Wanda has been defeated she reveals that she tricked Agatha. Taking control of Agatha’s runes Wanda transforms into the Scarlet Witch and defeats Agatha. Instead of killing Agatha she returns her to her fake Westview personality as a hostage planning to use her vast knowledge in the future.

Head of S.W.O.R.D, Director Hayward is arrested for his actions. Monica and Agent Woo who had been trying to protect Wanda take care of clearing her name as she heads off with her family. As she releases Westview from her control she says goodbye to her family. Monica is visited by a Skrull posing as a human who invites her to the S.H.I.E.L.D station in space. Wanda studies the Darkhold in her Scarlet Witch form and suddenly hears her children crying her name.

WandaVision is a story of overcoming loss and grief.

Initially, WandaVision is rather slow paced, but picks up around episode threeish. As a fan of nearly all of the sitcoms parodied I think the series personally connects with me more than the average viewer. I was able to get all the references and inside jokes, but I can see someone who isn’t particularly a fan of even one of said sitcoms being lost & put off from the direction. Also just wanted to shout that I was shocked a bit seeing the Malcolm in the Middle repping, but happily so as it’s probably my favorite sitcom of all time. This was surprisingly laxed in action compared to previous MCU work. However, given the focus was to establish magic, multiverses, and other key Marvel elements into Phase 4 this is understandable. Though I can see the heavy focus on story & world building being a major turn off for casual MCU fans. In regards to the action, while it was there it’s what you’d expect from a big budgeted Marvel project. However, I must stress that there’s a rather large absence of it.

The twists and turns that start to unfold midway through the series is a fun ride. And WandaVision knows how to have fun with itself. Commercials were used as inside jokes and one even references Hydra. Kathryn Hahn as Agatha also kind of stole the show with her always on energy. She flourishes with the comedic villain character type. The acting as a whole is probably some of the strongest currently in the MCU.

The series features big implications for the future of Marvel Studios.

THE BAD: The series is a slow burn in such a way that you may have to take small breaks. Normally binging would be an advantage here with every episode being available. But even so it can be a turn off until about episode three or four when things really kick into place. There’s also some balancing issues with the storytelling. Like for example there’s a mailman who frequently pops up as if he’s an important character to the show like Agatha, but it goes no where. There’s a handful of times where it felt like the story went there with certain threads. Also viewers should be warned that this is lacking on action compared to previous Marvel efforts. With most of said action being restricted to the final episodes.

WandaVision is a successful first entry into the Disney+ Marvel TV era.

OVERALL THOGHTS: WandaVision isn’t perfect, but it sets up the future of the MCU in a beautiful way. Though there are a few pointless teases and some stories feeling like they were flat out dropped. Despite this, WandaVision (mostly) lives up to it’s hype. Even with some early opening hiccups for the series. Otaku Dome gives WandaVision an 80 out of 100.

2 notes · View notes

yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 8: Somebody's Watching Me •

Since the day of the rock fight, the Losers had been inseparable. And not only had that day come to be known as the day their bond had been forged but the day they had found a place to call their own: the clubhouse. A small subterranean dugout that Ben had found while playing in the Barrens one day. After many a reinforcement, he had transformed it into a habitable space for him and his six, now seven best friends. After their defeat of the Bowers gang, Ben had taken them into the Barrens, and just across the Kenduskeag Stream to the aforementioned fort where their bonds were furthered forged.

And apart from their dark confessions at the park and the overcast of fear looming over their heads, Y/n had suggested another trip to the clubhouse as a morale booster. They each found themselves there with one another quite a bit, particularly when things were looking gloomy. It had quickly become a sanctuary for the children. And since their taking residency, the dingy little dugout had filled with trinkets and treasures of their own, slowly but surely growing far more homely with each visit.

This particular trip to the clubhouse was less than exciting, everyone was still fairly unsettled from their conversation at the park earlier that day. And the journey through the barrens and across the Kenduskeag was considerably silent apart from the trickling stream and the singing birds. And every so often they would hear the scuffle of Ben readjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

When they had left the park, he had suggested stopping by his house to pick something up and the others complied, curiously. Before they could debate on whether or not to follow him inside, he had returned from his house with a thick brown burlap cloth folded up under his arms. He was unzipping his backpack as he walked across his front lawn, tucking some more unseen things inside before storing the large piece of cloth and ropes in as well.

"What is that, Ben?" Y/n had asked, balancing herself on her bike as it stood still on the pavement, her toes reaching for the concrete.

He had closed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder before grabbing his bike.

"Oh, it's our old hammock." Everyone's face's lit up at his words, the first they had perked since the park. "We had it at our old house, but, we don't really have a good place to hang it here, so I figured we could find a spot in the clubhouse."

"That's a great idea," Mike beamed.

Ben smiled at the comment and turned a little pink. He had always found it odd his interest in architecture, the kids at his old school always gave him grief for it. And over time it became an instinct to bury his interest, to never bring it up. But when he showed the Losers the clubhouse, they were enthralled. With the structure and his abilities. Ben was still getting used to their fascination and support in his passions, but he sure did enjoy it.

And soon enough, the eight Losers found themselves descending the ladder into the place each and every one of them could call home. From the moment they entered, their noses were filled with the overwhelming and concentrated aroma of dust, and fresh layers of earth still damp from previous rains.

It was intoxicating to the Loser's as it became the smell they associated with the clubhouse, their hideaway. Their hideaway from the Bowers gang, their hideaway from the world, and if they believed hard enough, a hideaway from It. A place where they could be stronger than the world told them they were, a place that reminded them that they were stronger than the world told them they were.

But even this trip didn't seem to quite do the trick for each of them.

"I don't see why we're here," Richie snorted, waltzing over to the crooked beam and slapped it gently - learning from Ben's mistakes. "Unless this fucker is demon proof or whatever the fuck that thing is I don't see how this is gonna help."

"Doesn't mean we can't try and have fun while we can," Y/n argued. "Or at least try and clear our heads, calm down a little bit and collect ourselves. We can work something out some other day if we want, but not today. I mean, look at us,"

Y/n gestured around the small circle the Losers had formed at the center of the clubhouse. Apart from Y/n, everyone was quiet and closed off, arms either tucked at their sides or they were wringing their hands. It was not the same seven misfits that stood together against Bowers, but the seven lonely children that were isolated and afraid when It had found them.

"Look, I'm scared too. But somethings telling me we need to enjoy this while we can."

Y/n sighed, her waving arms falling to rest at her sides in exasperation and her eyes fell to the dirt floor. For some unfathomable reason, she would never be able to explain, the turtle from that day at the quarry popped into her mind, and a faint ghost of a smile dusted her cheeks. She looked around at her friends with a reassuring sense of confidence and some of them seemed to take to her words.

A similar thought crossed Beverly's mind and she smirked at her best friend and nodded, hands now tucked into her back pockets.

"Y/n's right, let's just enjoy the rest of the day while we can. It's summer!"

Bill fought the urge to roll his eyes at the familiar argument, but even he couldn't deny the whole idea of forgetting sounded tempting to him.

Poor Eddie - who had been clutching his inhaler tightly to his chest in between puffs of the device - looked around the circle, then up at Richie. Richie looked down at his best friend and shrugged, slapping the kids back and the inhaler nearly flew out of his tiny grasp.

"Whatdya' say, Eddie Spaghetti, you up for some good ol' fashioned repression and denial? Shouldn't be too hard for ya pal, that's what - every Wednesday night for you huh?"

If Eddie wasn't still holding the albuterol captive in his swollen lungs, he would've snapped at Richie for saying such things, and above all that God-awful nickname again! But instead, he rolled his eyes and looked to Y/n, ignoring that his heart was beating just a twinge faster, and hesitantly nodded.

"Great" Y/n smiled, relieved Eddie agreed.

She less than gracefully twirled around - her ankle ached in reply - to look for the boombox Bill had brought last time. Swallowing a wince, Y/n reached the boombox and turned the radio on, giving the room a lighter ambiance already. They soon quickly recognized the song New York Groove, by Kiss as it was fading out.

Y/n turned to Ben and gestured to his backpack.

"So, should we hang up the hammock?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah sure."

Ben took the faded backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it, retrieving the thick burlap cloth as the radio station announced the next song of the previous decade.

The Losers dispersed, making room for Y/n and Ben as they unfolded the hammock, the ends of the ropes trailing in the dirt after them. From the boombox in the corner, came the gentle tune of a piano, and a soft voice spilled into the atmosphere as the last rays of the sun shone through the entrance to the clubhouse.

Ben gestured between two beams structured across the room and the pair made their way over as the song, Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young swelled, giving the rest of the Losers the sense of home and comfort.

"I'll light the fire

You put the flowers in the vase that you bought today"

"Come to me now and rest your head for just five minutes, everything is good"

Ben began instructing Y/n on how to hang the hammock, and the two set to work. Stan and Bev had begun gathering stray leaves that made their way into the clubhouse while they had been gone and set to tidying up. Between the two, it wasn't long before a competition formed to see who could get the most leaves and twigs out.

Meanwhile, Eddie, Richie, and Mike had begun playing a game of cards with a deck that Richie had left last time. Of course, a game hadn't been decided yet. The three boys - mainly Richie and Eddie - had begun arguing over what to play. It was between Bullshit, Sevens and Mike just wanted to play Palace.

"Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated by the

Sunshine through them, fiery gems for you, only for you"

Ben, Y/n, Bev and Stan had finished with their respective tasks before the trio could decide on a game. Everyone's attention was drawn back to Y/n and Ben when they put the finishing touches on the hammock.

"Our house is a very, very, very fine house with two cats in the yard,

Life used to be so hard,

Now everything is easy 'cause of you and our—"

"Alright," Y/n said, dusting off her hands after pushing herself off the dirt floor. "The hammock's all-"

Before she could finish her sentence Richie had leaped to his feet - cursing profusely under his breath when he bumped his head on a low beam - and ran for the hammock. Making sure to go out of his way to shove Eddie to ground for no particular reason and his small frame hit the dirt with a rather loud 'umph'. Protests were thrown across the room but Richie merely stretched out his long lanky legs and rested his head under his folded arms, sighing in content.

"Welp," Richie sighed, popping the 'p'. "You were right, toots. Coming down here wasn't so bad after all. And good thinking with the hammock, haystack. You got a good nugget in there."

Richie winked at Y/n and nodded firmly at Ben. The Losers rolled their eyes in near-perfect sync - a feat easier around one another than one might think - and Richie closed his eyes, ignoring their glares. Eddie was extra furious given he was still feverishly dusting several spots of dirt off himself.

"Alright, wake me when It's dead."

"Enough, Richie." Y/n warned, before turning to Ben. "Ben, what I tell ya? Within the minute."

Ben chuckled and Stan stepped forward.

"Richie, we're sharing the hammock, you have to get up one way or another" He warned.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Stanley the Manley." Richie retorted, still never opening his eyes.

Stan rolled his eyes and stepped around the hammock. Catching Y/n's eye, he gestured silently to the hammock and an unsuspecting Richie. Smirking, she made her way around the hammock and gestured for the others to continue talking. About what, she didn't care. They caught on almost immediately, but Eddie choked. Mike was quick to cover.

"Eddie, if you really want we can play-"

THUMP

"THE FUCK?!"

Stan and Y/n had flipped the hammock and Richie was pulling his dirtied face from the ground with a wince.

"The fuck was that?"

"We all know you weren't m-moving otherwise, Richie." Bill shot.

"Hey, don't throw a fit just cause you guys were too slow."

Richie turned to see Stan sat in the hammock, smirking at him.

"You were saying?"

"Oh, come on! That's not fair!" Richie gestured widely at Stan, looking desperately around the room for scraps of sympathy.

Ignoring Richie's protests, Y/n turned to the others and raised a brow.

"How about we each have ten minutes? That way it's fair."

The Losers looked at one another and a chorus of agreement rang out.

"S-s-sounds good."

"Okay." Mike nodded.

"Yeah, alright."

"I call next!" Bev called.

"Oh, for fuck sake! Don't I get a say in this? Wasn't I the one just violently thrown from the hammock? Eds, come on! Back me up!"

Eddie wore a deadpan look as he met his best friend's eyes, bits of twig that Beverly and Stan had missed unknowingly caught in tufts of his hair.

"Oh, don't try that with me, dickhead!" Eddie shot back. "You're the one who threw me in the dirt, why the fuck would I help you, and for fuck's sake stop calling me Eds!"

Eddie took a deep breath after his small rant and glared at Richie. Scattered chuckles bounced across the Losers, Y/n's loudest of all.

"Good for you, shrimp" Y/n giggled.

"So just fuck me then, right?" Richie grumbled from the ground.

Richie was not quite expecting a chorus of agreements echo off the Losers though he couldn't say he was surprised.

"Pretty much."

"Yeah,"

"Uh-huh,"

"Yep,"

Huffing, he sat near the hammock and began finding ways to make Stan's turn in the hammock unpleasant. Stan didn't take this, of course, having many years under his belt of dealing with the loudmouth. Y/n looked at the pouting Tozier boy and felt a smile creep up and a twinge of guilt. She maneuvered around the hammock, and knelt down next to her friend, resting her ankle on the dirt floor where it wasn't strained.

"Oh, don't look so glum, Tozier. It's not a good look on you," She rested her elbow on the boy's shoulder and he quickly scoffed, brushing off her words.

"Oh please, everything looks good on me, toots, and you know it." Richie shot back, turning to meet her eye. "And I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted a piece of this either."

Y/n guffawed, grabbing the attention of the Kaspbrak boy across the room, who was now watching them curiously. Her laughter bubbled into a small chuckle that would be bouncing around Eddie's head for the rest of the day like a catchy song. He watched fondly as the two engaged with one another and he noted how well they always got along.

Y/n shook her head, trying at no avail to shake the smile from her lips. "You wish, Tozier."

Richie held a smile of his own as he looked to her, that was until he glanced past her head and across the room to see the captivating gaze Eddie was held in. His big brown eyes focused on the girl beside him and that familiar pang that always returned when he caught Eddie staring at her like that. Richie swallowed thickly, his quick wit and sharp tongue taking over and he returned his attention to Y/n as if nothing happened.

Richie shrugged, clicking his tongue. "No need to be shy, babe. Everybody wants a slice, and there's plenty for you."

He puckered his lips and exaggeratedly smacked his lips at her and it was enough to do the trick. Her smile was gone, quickly replaced by her lips pressing into a firm line as she shoved his head away playfully. The Losers chimed in almost immediately. Various disgusted and disgruntled 'Beep beep, Richies' rang out after that comment and Y/n finally rose to her feet with a simple grunt.

"Ech, I told you not to call me that, you dick." She grumbled, though she bit back a defeated smile, as she walked away.

"That's my name, don't wear it out-" They said in sync, Y/n joining Bev on the bench on the far wall. "Yeah, yeah, I walked right into that one."

Richie sniggered triumphantly, and with his new burst of confidence, he returned to his attempts to aggravate Stan. Ben meanwhile, had begun making plans for another seating arrangement in his head, to divert some attention away from the hammock. He remembered he had some spare rope he kept with him in his backpack for such occasions - spur of the moment projects - and there were some sturdy enough boards laying around the place. By the end of the day - hopefully, with help - he could fashion a small swing seat for him and his friends. Not to swing, of course, there wasn't enough stability for that, but for sitting.

He shared his plan with Bill and the two got to work. Bill thought it was a terrific idea, given how much fuss was being made over the hammock. Occupying the far corner of the room, was Mike and Eddie sat at the low coffee table the Losers had found last Wednesday. Mike had made the discovery, passing through one of the smaller neighborhoods in Derry when he saw someone had left it out on the street for the taking. The Losers gathered that morning and hauled it to the clubhouse, took all day to get it there but at least they had a surface for cards and such. Between Mike and Eddie, it was a bit easier to decide on a card game. They landed on Palace, and Eddie was finding he was having loads more fun than he did with Sevens.

In between turns, he would find his eyes wandering past Mike at the bench on the wall. Y/n was thoroughly invested in Beverly's story, she was nodding along eagerly with a smile creeping up on her face. Eddie hadn't realized one was creeping up on his own, but he jumped slightly when she burst out laughing. Perhaps he was startled by the noise or he was just on guard from staring. Eddie looked away but he cursed himself when he realized she was looking at him.

She had seen it.

As for Y/n, she felt her stomach do a small flip when she felt a certain pair of brown eyes on her. Still smiling, she looked past Beverly, and on the ground, sitting curled up on a mat at the coffee table, blushing profusely and attempting desperately to avoid eye contact was Eddie.

A small hum of a laugh vibrated through Beverly's chest, and without looking at him, she knew.

"Is he looking at you again?" A smirk painted her face.

Y/n hummed a response she knew Eddie wouldn't notice. With a fleeting burst of confidence, Y/n looked at the small boy, meeting his eye, and winked. She returned her attention to Bev, smirking yet she couldn't help but keep an eye on him. The poor boy blushed instantaneously, his neck and face grew hot and when Mike returned his attention to his friend - he had been too caught up in what cards to play - became very concerned. Eddie was now completely red. But this time he didn't look away, and despite his racing heart and raging blush, he allowed himself to meet her eye once more and much to his surprise, the ends of his lips even twitched into a smile.

Y/n was attempting to hide blushes of her own, but not much time passed until the topic had changed along with the music. Each of them was swept back up in their own conversations in no time, though their minds replayed the small moment over and over. By now, several songs had come and gone, filling up the minutes of the time that wasted away in the company of the Losers.

The eight misfits were not fully immersed in their own activities, but still very much engaged with another. And it wasn't long until the looming threat of their previous subject at the park was briefly forgotten. For now, they were safe, tucked away in their own private corner of the world, lost in the blissful moments of childhood.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Bill inserts the last tack into the wall, the large map reading 'DERRY SEWER SYSTEM' now hangs in the garage. As usual, the Losers had arrived at slightly different intervals. Mike and Stan arrived first, and Mike helped set up the projector while Stan was hanging blankets over the windows to prevent as much light as possible from entering. Ben had arrived shortly after, be had brought the slides that Bill had requested, and the last to show was Bev and Y/n who had left their complex together and ran into Richie and Eddie on the way.

He could hear their conversation coming up the driveway, and the sounds of Bev eagerly greeting Ben and the others - seemingly happy to get a break from being the fourth wheel.

"What's the matter, Eddie? Don't tell me you're afraid of the shape-shifting clown, are ya?" Richie spoke, as the three came to a stop near the garage where they discarded their bikes.

"Oh, fuck off, Richie!" Eddie huffed.

Y/n laughed, but it was very weak and sounded almost forced. "Don't worry Eddie. Richie and I have your back. Right, Richie?"

Instinctively, her hand found Eddie's back and she pats him gently. Y/n smiled weakly, and it was clear she was just as nervous. Her hand fell from his back and immediately, Eddie missed it being there. Eddie didn't know how to respond, all he could muster was a shaky smile in thanks. It wasn't much, but he knew she had gotten the message.

In turn, Richie began ruffling Eddie's hair and the boy flinched trying to escape his friend's grasp.

"Hey! Hey, what the hell are-?"

"Why, of course, we got to protect ol' Eddie Spaghetti! In fact," A light bulb went off over Richie's head and he looked to Y/n who was listening amused. "Y/n and I, are the proud co-founders of... P.E.K.S"

Eddie finally manages to escape from Richie's torment and he huffed, attempting to adjust his hair. Eddie looks up at Richie, giving him an odd look, unknowingly Y/n was just as taken aback.

"The what? What the hell are you talking about?"

Richie swung his arm around Eddie and the three continued their journeys into the garage, finally joining the others. The rest of the Losers were just finishing laying out chairs and pillows for them to sit on.

"You don't know? It's P.E.K.S, that is 'p', 'e', 'k', 's' my friend, P.E.K.S. Protect Eddie Kaspbrak Squad and we take our job very seriously, don't we toots?"

An honest laugh escaped Y/n and for once she was relieved she had stayed quiet and went along with Richie's antics to find out, cause she agreed wholeheartedly. Swallowing her surprise, a smile found it's way onto her face and she looked to Eddie.

"Damn straight, shrimp."

Mike reached the garage door and reached for the handle, he paused taking one look around the room at his friends.

"Everyone set?"

Mike was met with scattered confirmations and with one swift tug of his arm, he pulled the door shut. All remaining sunlight - apart from a few weak rays peaking through the roof slats and the edges of the blankets - had vanished. All that illuminated the garage was the pale white light of the projector where Bill had just put in the slide Ben had brought of Old Derry. The same slide he had found in Ben's room the day they had gone to the quarry.

The group dispersed, getting situated around the projector. Unfortunately, they weren't able to find many seats so that left Mike and Bill standing near the back and Y/n opted for a floor pillow in front of the projector where she could see.

It also didn't hurt that she was near Eddie. But she did feel a bit exposed, she was front and center and the others were tucked in with one another in a way. However, it did give her the benefit of stretching out her bad leg. And yet, Y/n could not quite shake the feeling rooted deep inside her. To her it felt eerily similar to a common phenomenon experienced by millions of people around the globe, to her it felt as if she - and her friends, in their anxious huddle - were gathering around preparing themselves in front of their screen. Accompanied by the sickly feeling of dread and anxiety, mere butterflies - the special kind of butterflies - in her stomach that migrated only when a scary movie was about to start.

And decades in the future her brain would tell her it was nothing more than that. That that awful, nauseating feeling that had bubbled in the pits of her stomach that day was nothing more than a product of special effects and a cheesy plotline. And anytime coworkers would talk about movie nights they had as kids, and engage with her about such things, her mind would show her nothing more than a hazy ersatz memory it had painted for her.

Of her, under blankets and pillows, surrounded by kids - she would never stop to realize the faces were fuzzy, people she didn't know, she always felt alone in these memories. Her at the front of the pack, all crowded around a white television screen, her and the blurry kids, jumping back in fright at the blank white picture of static. This is all she would come to remember. A scary movie, with some blurry faces, five or six at least - one of the faces always stuck out stronger than the others, just a little bit clearer and wildly familiar but the thought would never linger long enough for her to recognize them. Y/n wouldn't remember that she was in fact with Stan Uris and Beverly Marsh, or even Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, and Ben Hanscom all stuffed in Bill Denbrough's garage on a hot summer day in July, investigating the darkest mystery of their small hometown.

But at the moment, all Y/n knew was that they were simply looking at Bill's projector, and he was sharing his theory and where It lives. Truthfully, Y/n did not know what to expect beyond that, but she could not shake that pit in her stomach. The pit that reminded her of the sickly feeling one gets when they are about to watch a horror movie. When the harsh violin plays, and the thunder strikes and one can feel the adrenaline coursing through their veins and they're trembling in all the excitement.

Y/n didn't like that she felt this way, but she tried to dismiss it. Even if there was credit it to it - she didn't want to admit there was but if she did at least she was surrounded by her friends. The slide came into the focus, and the words 'MAP of the city of DERRY' appeared in the corner. Suddenly, all the details of Derry were splayed out perfectly in line with the Derry Public Works system Bill had hung up. The children could now see the entire town of Derry, including the interconnecting pathways and tunnels below, represented by a strangely ominous bright red line. It branched out from the far left corner of the map, skewing off into many different branches, touching every corner of Derry.

"Look," Bill said, gesturing to something he had scribbled on his map. "T-T-That's where G-G-Georgie disappeared."

Everyone's eyes fell on the small 'x' marked on a red line on Jackson street. Scratched in black ink next to it were the words, 'Storm Drain'. Bill gestured to another familiar location that overlapped a red line.

"There's the Ironworks. And The Black Spot."

Sure enough, sprinkled across the map of Derry were the mentioned locations of Derry's biggest disasters. Each of them bordering the sewers.

"Everywhere it happens, it-it's all connected by the sewers," Bill said.

Every red branch, every red line, all came from one spot, one source on the map where everything overlapped. The pits in everyone's stomachs bloomed and they all knew.

"And they all meet up at the-"

"The well house." Ben realized aloud.

Eddie looked back slowly and tentatively towards the screen. Much like his friends his heart was pounding faster and faster. But Eddie could feel the familiar grasp around his lungs, and it only tightened at Stan's words.

"It's in the house on Neibolt Street," Stan said, in a similar realization.

Eddie remembered all too well the last time he had been there. But part of him had hoped it was all a nightmare. Some sick and cruel elaborate scene his mind had conjured up.

"You mean that creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?" Richie asked.

Shakily, Eddie pulled out his inhaler and gave it a good shake before bringing it to his lips. He tried his best to keep the medicine in his lungs long enough for it to take effect but he choked down a gasp, as he hunched over. Y/n moved closer to Eddie and her eyes fell to his free hand. Cautiously, she took it, looking to him for silent confirmation, he seemed too involved with steadying his breathing to notice it seemed.

"I hate that place," Beverly mumbled nervously, unaware of the pair in front.

Y/n assumed he was too frightened to notice her acts of comfort. That was until she felt the muscles in his hand relax, only slightly, and gave her palm a gentle squeeze in thanks.

"It always feels like it's watching me." Bev continued.

Letting out a shaky breath, and slowly but surely regaining his composure, Eddie sat up. Though he neglected to release Y/n's hand, and he was sure in any other moment he would be a blushing mess but this felt stable to Eddie. It felt like a lifeline, a reminder he wasn't alone. Not like Neibolt.

"That's where I saw It." He gulped. "That's where I saw the clown."

Y/n hadn't realized immediately that she had been tracing circles into the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb. It was a habit she had developed since that first night of summer, anytime she was nervous she would tuck in her legs against her chest, and her fingers would absentmindedly find their way to her bandages. The pads of her fingers fidgeting with the frayed ends just to satisfy the creeping feeling of restlessness.

"Tha-That's where It lives," Bill said.

Eddie took another sharp breath of his inhaler, and this time around had better luck holding his breath. Y/n continued to stare at the big red dot on the map, it almost felt as if she were to look away it would disappear. Like finding a spider and leaving the room to find something to kill it with, only to return to find it had crawled away.

"I can't imagine anything ever wanting to live there," Mike said shakily.

Eddie jumped from his seat suddenly, his hand leaving Y/n's and they all watch as he scrambles to front, the projector illuminating his small frame.

"Can we stop talking about this?" Eddie yells, gasping for air his arms waiving desperately as panic overwhelms him. "I-I-I can barely breathe. Th-This is summer. We're kids. I can barely breathe, I'm up here having a fucking asthma attack. I'm not doing this."

Eddie whirls around and grabs the map of Derry's Sewer System and rips it off the wall.

"What the hell? Put the map back." Bill snaps.

Eddie shakes his head firmly. "Mm-mm."

A loud click grabs their attention, and the screen over Eddie darkens briefly before it changes to another slide.

Y/n turns around to look between Bill and the device.

"Bill, what are you doing?"

"N-nothing, that w-wasn't me."

Another click.

And another.

The projector began clicking forward on its own, and it had now reached the beginning of the reel. Photos of the Denbrough family on vacation began to play, the photos changing at a regular pace.

"What's going on?" Stan asked impatiently.

Eddie backed away slowly, his eyes never leaving the projector. Y/n cautiously shifted back on the pillow, farther away from the wall.

"I got it. Hold on." Mike offered gently.

He fiddled with the projector, he pressed every button several times but it was no use. It must have been jammed. At the very least, he hopes it was.

"Guys," he mumbled nervously, words dying on his tongue.

Several photos had come and gone, and the projector now focused on a shot of the four Denbroughs in their Sunday best. They were all holding hands and Mrs. Denbrough's red hair was being whipped around in the wind, blocking her face.

The projector clicked again, but the scene did not change. The shot was brought closer to Georgie, and Ben was instantly reminded of his trip to the library before he met the rest of the Losers.

"Georgie," Bill croaked, as the image zoomed closer and closer to boy's toothy grin.

"Bill?"

By, now Y/n had risen from the pillow and scrambled back into the stool Eddie had previously occupied.

The speed picked up and the pictures grew faster and faster as the projector flew through the slides. The picture moved more like that of a stop motion animation than a movie, every other movement caught on film. The camera angles itself up and changes focus to what is supposed to be Mrs. Denbrough. The red tendrils of hair begin to move, rapidly increasing until it isn't every other fragment but more like a regular picture movie.

And to their horror, the hair is cast aside and underneath is the painted white face of the clown. It's unnaturally buck teeth sinking into the flesh of It's own bottom lip. A wicked smirk drawn all the way up to past It's yellow eyes.

Y/n jumped back, her arms outstretched behind her and she began herding Stan, Eddie and herself away from the wall.

"What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that?" Richie hollered, pulling Eddie and Y/n toward him.

Eddie nearly tripped over Richie's chair as he was pulled into his grasp and Y/n still had her arms out herding them backward. She could hear Eddie's shrieks clearly from behind her.

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

"Stan!" Y/n cried.

Stan had somewhat frozen in place, much like Ben, Bev and Bill had but even they were backing away slightly. He didn't seem to hear her and looked around frantically at her friends. Beverly, Stan, and Richie had not seen the clown before even though they had each encountered it. It had never appeared to them before as a clown and if she wasn't in immediate danger Beverly would have stopped to think about how this thing was in the living room with Y/n while she was asleep.

"Turn it off!" She shouted quickly. "TURN IT OFF!"

Y/n's top priority was ensuring Stan's safety, so she lurched forward and grabbed Stan by the back of the shirt, and yanked him back. He crashed into Mike and Eddie she glanced at the projector, trying desperately to bury the overwhelming thoughts and possibilities. Her eyes landed on the cord and she ripped the plug from the socket but the picture kept moving and she could feel the clown's eyes smiling at her, smugly. Her now in It's direct sights, It began to mimic that night, the clown blinked and the white's of It's eyes had disappeared. Nothing but dark chasms and two glowing yellow irises floating in the center.

It all became infinitely more real to Y/n. And It pissed her off. She raised her good leg, and with a forceful grunt, she kicked the crate and the projector toppled onto the ground. Light from the machine had bounced all around the room on its journey to the floor and it landed upside down, picture crookedly aimed at the wall behind her and to the right of the four boys.

Everyone froze, too fearful to move. Y/n most of all. She had gotten Stan to safety - she could only hope - but now she was in his place when another click echoed throughout the silent room. Frozen on the screen was the clown. It was blurry and It almost looked stuck but all Y/n could do was try and catch her breath, and calm her racing heart. Another click. She felt as if she was stuck, her body not her own and just like a nightmare no matter how much she was begging her legs to move they wouldn't budge. Another click. The image went blank, and several shaky breaths were released.

Another slow click and the gigantic clown popped out of the picture, barely missing Y/n. She shrieked, and only then did her limbs catch up with her brain's signals. She cursed herself and her dumb fucking luck when she felt her footing slip out from underneath her. One of the dozens of slides had scattered the garage floor around her and caused her fall. She landed squarely on her backside and she scrambled back as far and fast as she could as the clown crawled forward after her. It's unnaturally giant size took up the entire garage.

There wasn't a Loser who didn't scream after her. Richie snapped into action and while Y/n had made it pretty far on her own for It's speed and her aching leg, Richie quickly hooked his arms under hers and dragged her across the garage, not bothering to waste time by stopping to drag her to her feet. The others were tumbling across the garage to get the door tripping over one another as they ran and Y/n watched in horror as the clown reached out it's long and thinning twig-like arm after her. It's sharp talon-like claws soaked with her blood - as it had been that night - reached for her and as her legs were scrambling across the pavement. Trying desperately to retract them from his grasp and the last thing she saw before a flood of light engulfed her vision was the clown's black eyes glaring at her as it reached for her legs.

Y/n felt as if her lungs might explode from how fast she had been inhaling air. Before she could process what had happened she found herself looking up at the ceiling of Bill's garage, several faces looking down at her. Sunlight was flooding into the room and she could barely register that the garage door was now open.

"Y/n!"

"Oh, my God"

"What the fuck was that?"

"Y/n? Y/n!"

"I don't know, man!"

Y/n could feel herself shaking horribly, and she suddenly noticed several hands on her shoulder and back and she realized she was sitting up. She flinched at their touch and she looked around the room quickly, afraid she would find It lurking somewhere.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"Jesus, fuck!"

"Y/n?"

Blinking several times she looked around and saw the scattered faces of her friends. Everyone was panting heavily. Her face collapsed in the palm of her hands and she was breathing frantically, reminding herself to at least try and slow her lungs and heart. Her body rocked back and forth slightly, her adrenaline still pumping, needing an outlet. Needing to move. Finally, her breath began to slow and she looked up, nodding at her friends to ease their minds.

"Thanks... Richie," she managed between breaths.

"No problem," he panted, just as jarred. "Just for fuck sake, run next time, will ya?"

Beverly and Eddie came into view and extended their hands for her and she gladly accepted both. Y/n hissed slightly at her aggravated leg and when she looked down she was relieved to see no further damage had been done. Shakily, Stan spoke up.

"T-thanks, Y/n," His eyes held relief, but also a hint of guilt.

A weak and broken smile was all Y/n could manage. Eddie had finally gathered enough air in his lungs to speak and he did just that, albeit quite shaken.

"It saw us." He panted. "It saw us, and it knows where we are!"

"It always did," Bill said, striding out towards the pile of bikes in the driveway. "So, let's go."

"Go?" Ben asked, dumbfounded.

Bill turned to see his friends still in the garage, rooted in place and looking at him incredulously.

"Go where?" Ben asked again, this time his voice wavering.

Bill couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Neibolt." He shot. "That's where G-G-Georgie is."

Stan angrily threw his arm back, gesturing to the remains of their previous encounter.

"After that?"

"Yeah, it's summer. We should be outside." Richie said timidly, a tone they had scarcely heard him use if at all.

Bill felt anger boil up in his chest at the words, his stutter flaring up with it as it usually did.

"I-If you say it's s-summer one more f-f-fucking time..." He snapped, and he felt the anger redirect itself.

Neibolt. He was going to Neibolt with or without his friends. He was going to get his brother. Bill shook his head, dismissing the conversation. He picked up his trusty bike and hopped on. He took off down the long driveway, leaving his friends behind.

"Bill!" Beverly called. "Wait!"

The seven friends look around at one another in disbelief, as Bill disappears around the corner on the back of Silver. He was going to face it alone, and in turn, he gave the Losers no choice less they surely lose their friend.

They had to follow him.

+++

Tag List: @seasidecrowbar @milliehatespeople @supernovavisionary @readyforitbitch @geniedocroe @sivords @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories @mitchs-bad-bitch @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon @cloudymotel @captainshazamerica @kaitlynjones12 @songbird-writes @traceylader @eggytozier @annimalq @lexylovesfandoms @russian-romanova @paigey-mcfreedomly @whitetrash12345 @witch-of-all-things-soft @thatsjoemazzellosbbg @blogforhoes @darkcrystal-wolf @astrobre

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

117 notes · View notes