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heliads · 3 years

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Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

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You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

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confused-as-all-hell · 3 years

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Inner Circle

The bastard-born warriors, the Illyrian half-breed, the monster trapped in a beautiful body, the dreamer born into a court of nightmares … And the huntress with an artist’s soul.

The Inner Circle, bright and fierce and carefree. A dashed court of hope who met beneath the mask of moonlight, who refused to bow their heads, who wept into the cradle of their hands the first time they heard the word “family.”

Rhysand’s most trusted, the group of lethal warriors taking point at every battlefield. The same lethal warriors who lived together in a townhouse, arguing over the night’s dinner, setting up fortresses of pillows and blankets in the sitting room.

The world saw them as monsters.

The world didn’t see them cooking breakfast together, didn’t see Mor laughing with her feet propped against the table, or Cassian swearing brightly as he burned slices of toast, or Azriel and Feyre sipping their tea and grinning, or Amren whacking a laughing Rhys over the head with her dressing gown. The world didn’t see them taking care of each other, looking out for one another, protecting and defending their family.

Family. It’s still such a precious word.

Lovely Morrigan found a house of people who love her, who waited for her opinion on warfare and politics, who listened when she said “No, I don’t feel comfortable.”

Brilliant Cassian discovered his heritage didn’t matter to this group of snickering warriors in pajamas. He was still important, even if he was a bastard. He mattered.

Wonderful Feyre set down her knife for the first time within those walls, allowed her defenses to drop. She was loved, and it was a miracle, that love. She had friends who would never allow her to wander into the forest alone again.

Caring Azriel was accepted without thought, drawn into the tangle of snowball fights and laughter instantly, admired for his mind rather than his body. He returned to the light after so many years in the dark, dark, dark.

Fierce Amren was not only a monster when she was in the townhouse; she was a teacher, someone to learn from, an object of respect. She couldn’t hold back her grin the first time she received Solstice gifts.

Proud Rhysand was no High Lord amid the gales of laughter and teasing. He was a brother, the person to come to for quick healing or a last drink before bed, or sometimes a comfort when the terror won out.

Rhys’s night was full of stars, each one named for a family member. His darkness was tangled in light. He lit the lamps at night, tended to the fires himself, chased every wisp of fear and hurt away.

They had only each other, a final blockade between Velaris and the worlds beyond. It was enough, they said.

They protected each other, not just while sparring or hunting, but from the little dangers. Amren always dimmed the roaring fire when Azriel’s eyes grew too haunted. Rhys would began chattering loudly whenever idle talk of the Hewn City reached their ears outdoors.

When they were young, they swore an oath to put each other above the world.

And so they did.

Cassian stood before Feyre and told her it was okay, she could take her guilt out on him. He held her when she wept.

Rhys gave his own life for his family’s safety, his body and sanity and dignity, time and time again.

Azriel positioned himself before his home, a final defense, and he would not move, not with those brilliant lights inside.

Feyre forgot her terror and hatred to save those who had shown her such kindness, who made her feel so loved.

Amren died willingly for the group of star-shine bright warriors who chose her gifts with such care and precision, who did not think her a beast.

Mor went up against the female who rent her brother into such misery, who had abused her High Lady for years.

Not a monster, not at all. Just a sister trying to do her best.

When the Inner Circle said they would defend each other, this did not exclude a single soul. Any male or female who hurt them unforgivably was at fault.

Rhys and Mor saw their family struggling, and they were furious. We loved them for their devotion; don’t you dare turn on it now.

“Family,” Cassian told Mor once, drizzling chocolate onto a stack of banana cakes, “odd, isn’t it? That those who do not share your blood might love you all the same? That they might protect you, die for you?”

She ruffled his hair, and he yelped. “You know I’ll always protect you,” she said with a wink. “Got to even the score some day.”

Mor always, always, always remembered Cas defending her from day one.

And so, when Nesta Archeron began to sling insults at him, ruin his pride, shred his trademark grin until it was thin and weak, Mor never forgave her. Nesta liked hurting people, thought it amusing, but Mor didn’t think it at all worthy of laughter when she watched the dregs of Cassian’s smile fall. Nobody was allowed to hurt her family, fucking no one.

When Feyre told Rhys of her sister’s neglect, the fury and rage that had settled within Nesta’s very bones, Rhys never really forgot that day’s thought. He tried to love Nes for Feyre’s sake, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the tears pouring down his mate’s face, her misery at her sister’s constant hurt.

When Amren fingered the jewels gifted to her for Solstice, she could only see Nesta standing in the doorway, snow turning her hair damp, the tentative smile on her High Lady’s face, the achingly eager bark of Cassian’s laughter. She cared for Nesta awfully, but you could care for someone and see their faults.

And Nesta Archeron had her faults.

She had her wonderful, golden moments, as well. Times when the gratitude on Rhys’s face was painstaking, days when Feyre’s grin of delight would light the darkest corners of the world, bare seconds when Cassian could hardly contain his giddy chuckles.

Nesta bent her knees, her head, apologized for her bitter comments and harsh treatment of the Inner Circle. She admitted she had been wrong, not in refusing to kiss their asses, but disdaining to offer them so much as a lukewarm glance. She did not apologize for her trauma, but for the cruelties she had dealt before the fact.

And they forgave her.

So, I would like to believe somewhere, Feyre is curled up at one end of the sofa, gesturing wildly with her hands as she tells a story to Cassian, who tries to get sips of tea into her mouth when she pauses for air. Amren sits primly in a hideous pink loveseat, ropes of ruby slung around her throat, flipping idly through a thick tome. On the carpet, Rhys and Azriel sprawl out, heads together like schoolboys, discussing the newest bit of information the latter’s shadows have hastened to report. Mor lounges on the other side of the couch, Nyx cradled in her arms and giggling, his chubby fingers grasping at a laughing Nesta’s dangling earrings.

They all deserve their peace so much, and I so often cry thinking I will never know that love, that joy. But they do, so I will be happy for them, and I will defend them as I hope they would defend me.

Every last one of them has fucked up, and will do so again.

Every last one is worthy of love, of warmth and kindness and respect.

I wholly believe they will build a gentler world, a sweeter world. One where Helion can winnow to their door with his face bright instead of miserable. One where Tarquin might send gifts for Nyx to their home instead of murder reports. One where Feyre will let Nyx play in the garden without a battalion of guards.

The Inner Circle isn’t perfect, but they love each other.

They aren’t monsters, just a group of dreamers who have never known reprieve from their nightmares.

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books-letstalkaboutem · 3 years

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The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue Quotes that I Loved

This is just a list of quotes or excerpts that I highlighted while reading the book- literally all of them and there are a lot. I’m going to go ahead and say spoilers below just because there are so many quotes and while I don’t think the quotes actually spoil anything, I don’t want to accidentally spoil something for someone.

Some of the quotes might seem a little weird out of context but these are quotes that hit close to home, made me say “Hell, yeah, Addie!!!", quotes that made me laugh, and then basically all of the other quotes that I loved while reading.

I know that I didn't completely fall in love with this book like so many other people did, but it was still so beautifully written and there were so many amazing quotes in this book.

And just a heads up, I read this on my kindle, just in case the page numbers I list don’t match with your copy of the book.

Spoilers Below:

Quotes that Hit Close to Home

“Three and twenty, a third of a life already buried.” Page 39

“The day passes like a sentence. The sun falls like a scythe.” Page 41

“[...] and when she dies it will be as though she never lived.” Page 42

“I am so tired of not having choices, so scared of the years rushing past beneath my feet. I do not want to die as I’ve lived, which is no life at all. I—” Page 46

“[...] she swears sometimes her memory runs forward as well as back, unspooling to show the roads she’ll never get to travel. But that way lies madness, and she has learned not to follow.” Page 61

“His parents meant well, of course, but they always told him things like Cheer up, or It will get better, or worse, It’s not that bad, which is easy to say when you’ve never had a day of rain.” Page 97

“But then a night would go long, and a day would start late, and now he feels like there’s no time at all. Like he is always late for something.” Page 119

““I see someone who cares,” she says slowly. “Perhaps too much. Who feels too much. I see someone lost, and hungry. The kind of person who feels like they’re wasting away in a world full of food, because they can’t decide what they want.”” Page 140

““Life is so brief, and every night in Rennes I’d go to bed, and lie awake, and think, there is another day behind me, and who knows how few ahead.”” Page 167

““I mean feeling like it’s surging by so fast, and you try to reach out and grab it, you try to hold on, but it just keeps rushing away. And every second, there’s a little less time, and a little less air, and sometimes when I’m sitting still, I start to think about it, and when I think about it, I can’t breathe. I have to get up. I have to move.”” Page 177

““Small places make for small lives. And some people are fine with that. They like knowing where to put their feet. But if you only walk in other people’s steps, you cannot make your own way. You cannot leave a mark.”” Page 179

“It was such a lovely jar she had kept them in. But the glass is cracking now. The water leaking through.” Page 215

“Moments of joy register as brief, but ecstatic. Moments of pain stretch long and unbearably loud.” Page 225

“[...] you’ve never felt called to any one thing. There is no violent push in one direction, but a softer nudge a hundred different ways, and now all of them feel out of reach. Page 226

“[...] in wanting to live, to learn, to find yourself, you’ve gotten lost.” Page 226

“He lets it ring, holds his breath until it stops. He tells himself that if they call again, he’ll answer. If they call again, he’ll tell them he is not okay. But the phone doesn’t ring a second time.” Page 229

“He misses the structure, misses the path, misses the purpose. And maybe it wasn’t a perfect fit, but nothing is.” Page 257

“That he’d blinked and somehow years had gone by, and everyone else had carved their trenches, paved their paths, and he was still standing in a field, uncertain where to dig.” Page 283

“And those first two years, he was happy. He had Bea, and Robbie, and all he had to do was learn. Build a foundation. It was the house, the one that he was supposed to build on top of that smooth surface, that was the problem. It was just so … permanent.” 283

“Choosing a class became choosing a discipline, and choosing a discipline became choosing a career, and choosing a career became choosing a life, and how was anyone supposed to do that, when you only had one?” Page 283

““The vexing thing about time,” he says, “is that it’s never enough. Perhaps a decade too short, perhaps a moment. But a life always ends too soon.”” Page 333

“He is all restless energy, and urgent need, and there isn’t enough time, and he knows of course that there will never be. That time always ends a second before you’re ready. That life is the minutes you want minus one.” Page 421

“The world is wide, and he’s seen so little of it with his own eyes. He wants to travel, to take photos, listen to other people’s stories, maybe make some of his own. After all, life seems very long sometimes, but he knows it will go so fast, and he doesn’t want to miss a moment.” Page 438

Quotes that Made Me Laugh

“Henry loves his sister, he does. But Muriel’s always been like strong perfume. Better in small doses. And at a distance.” Page 120

““Sorry, Book,” she mutters, lifting the cat gingerly onto the back of the old chair, where he does his best impression of an inconvenienced bread loaf.” Page 248

““It’s Halloween!” defends Robbie. “It’s the twenty-third,” says Henry, but Robbie treats holidays the way he treats birthdays, stretching them from days into weeks, and sometimes into seasons.” Page 274

Quotes that made me say “Hell, yeah, Addie!!!”

“If she must grow roots, she would rather be left to flourish wild instead of pruned, would rather stand alone, allowed to grow beneath the open sky. Better that than firewood, cut down just to burn in someone else’s hearth.” Page 31

“[...]from this moment forward, her life will be her own.” Page 48

“There is a defiance in being a dreamer.” Page 117

““It has only been two years,” she says. “Think of all the time I have, and all the things I’ll see.”” Page 132

“It will take time, but time is the one thing Addie has plenty of. So she opens her eyes, and starts again.” Page 192

“But then Addie straightens, lifts her chin, smiles with an almost defiant kind of joy. “But isn’t it wonderful,” she says, “to be an idea?”” Page 261

Quotes that I Love

“[...] never pray to the gods that answer after dark.” Page 7

“What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?” Page 15

“The things that last, even when memories don’t.” Page 16

“As if you couldn’t like one place and want to see another.” Page 23

“Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.” Page 35

“The kind of place where time slips and blurs, where a month, a year, a life can go missing.” Page 39

“[...] attraction can look an awful lot like recognition in the wrong light.” Page 56

“The rise isn’t worth the fall.” Page 56

“Being trapped, buried alive, these are the things that scare you when you cannot die.” Page 57

“Funny, how some people take an age to warm, and others simply walk into every room as if it’s home.” Page 58

“Déjà vu. Déjà su. Déjà vécu. Already seen. Already known. Already lived.” Page 66

“[...]a lifetime of knowing brushed away like a tear.” Page 73

“[...] and it is sad, of course, to forget. But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten. To remember when no one else does.” Page 77

“[...] ideas are so much wilder than memories, that they long and look for ways of taking root.” Page 77

““These days, everyone’s looking down,” muses Sam. “It’s nice to see someone looking up.”” Page 101

“Being forgotten, she thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered?” Page 103

“If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?” Page 103

“Dreamer is too soft a word. It conjures thoughts of silken sleep, of lazy days in fields of tall grass, of charcoal smudges on soft parchment.” Page 11

“She considers the cut of their clothes, the absence of bone stays or bustled skirts, and thinks, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, how much simpler it would be to be a man, how easily they move through the world, and at such little cost.” Page 129

““I remember you.”” Page 135

“The darkness claimed he’d given her freedom, but really, there is no such thing for a woman, not in a world where they are bound up inside their clothes, and sealed inside their homes, a world where only men are given leave to roam.” Page 163

“She watches these men and wonders anew at how open the world is to them, how easy the thresholds.” Page 165

““I think there are many ways to matter.”” Page 179

“But ideas are so much wilder than memories, so much faster to take root.”” Page 210

“He is full of roots, while she has only branches.” Page 212

“Easy to stay on the path when the road is straight and the steps are numbered.” Page 229

“Outside the window, the day just carries on as if nothing’s changed, but it feels like everything has, because Addie LaRue is immortal, and Henry Strauss is damned.” Page 235

“[...]I didn’t want to live forever. I just wanted to live.”” Page 236

““There’s this family photo,” he says, “not the one in the hall, this other one, from back when I was six or seven. That day was awful. Muriel put gum in David’s book and I had a cold, and my parents were fighting right up until the flash went off. And in the photo, we all look so … happy. I remember seeing that picture and realizing that photographs weren’t real. There’s no context, just the illusion that you’re showing a snapshot of a life, but life isn’t snapshots, it’s fluid. So photos are like fictions. I loved that about them. Everyone thinks photography is truth, but it’s just a very convincing lie.”” Page 239

“God, it feels good to be wanted.” Page 256

“[...] And ideas are wilder than memories. They’re like weeds, always finding their way up.”” Page 261

“Homesick—Henry knows that one is supposed to mean sick for home, not from it, but it still feels right.” Page 262

“Dressing up, he thinks, is just like watching cartoons, something you enjoyed as a kid, before it passes through the no man’s land of teen angst, the ironic age of early twenties. And then somehow, miraculously, it crosses back into the realm of the genuine, the nostalgic. A place reserved for wonder.” Page 274

“Bea always says returning to campus is like coming home. But it doesn’t feel that way to Henry. Then again, he never felt at home at home, only a vague sense of dread, the eggshell-laden walk of someone constantly in danger of disappointing.” 282

“He doesn’t know what he believes, hasn’t for a long time, but it’s hard to entirely discount the presence of a higher power when he recently sold his soul to a lower one.” Page 284

““You can’t make people love you, Hen. If it’s not a choice, it isn’t real.”” Page 290

“He has asked the wrong god for the wrong thing, and now he is enough because he is nothing. He is perfect, because he isn’t there.” Page 290

“A life reduced to a block of stone, a patch of grass.” Page 299

“The present folding on top of the past instead of erasing it, replacing it.” Page 306

“She knows the paint will fade, rinsed off by a puddle, or simply wiped away by time, but that’s how memories are supposed to work. There—and then, little by little, gone.” Page 307

“Without the bells, the organ, the bodies crowding in for services, the church feels abandoned. Less a house of worship and more a tomb.” Page 311

“God is so large, why build walls to hold Him in?” Page 311

“Once you know about a thing, you start to see it everywhere. Someone says the words purple elephant, and all of a sudden, you catch sight of them in shop windows and on T-shirts, stuffed animals and billboards, and you wonder how you never noticed.” Page 314

“There is a freedom, after all, in being forgotten.” 325

“Memories are stiff, but thoughts are freer things. They throw out roots, they spread and tangle, and come untethered from their source. They are clever, and stubborn, and perhaps—perhaps—they are in reach.” Page 327

“They’ve been lucky, so lucky, but the trouble with luck is that it always ends.” 329

““You said it yourself, Luc. Ideas are wilder than memories. And I can be wild. I can be stubborn as the weeds, and you will not root me out. And I think you are glad of it. I think that’s why you’ve come, because you are lonely, too.”” Page 332

“She closes her eyes, reminds herself there are many ways to leave a mark, reminds herself that pictures lie.” Page 337

“She may not feel the years weakening her bones, her body going brittle with age, but the weariness is a physical thing, like rot, inside her soul. There are days when she mourns the prospect of another year, another decade, another century. There are nights when she cannot sleep, moments when she lies awake and dreams of dying. But then she wakes, and sees the pink and orange dawn against the clouds, or hears the lament of a lone fiddle, the music and the melody, and remembers there is such beauty in the world. And she does not want to miss it— any of it.” Page 342

“Luc’s smile darkens. “Because time is cruel to all, and crueler still to artists. Because vision weakens, and voices wither, and talent fades.” He leans close, twists a lock of her hair around one finger. “Because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end,” he says, “everyone wants to be remembered.”” Page 351

“It is a sign, when even gods and devils dread a fight.” Page 367

“And this, he decides, is what a good-bye should be. Not a period, but an ellipsis, a statement trailing off, until someone is there to pick it up. It is a door left open. It is drifting off to sleep.” Page 419

#the invisible life of addie larue quotes #the invisible life of addie larue #the invisible life of addie larue by ve schwab #ve schwab #quotes #my favorite quotes #addie larue #henry strauss #luc #bookish quotes

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shadow-sovereign · 3 years

Text

I’ve got another Ashborn/Jin-Woo fic idea.

This one is an au world, though I’m still working out the exact details of the setting. I know that I want it to be a no electricity, everything’s run on magic world. No cars, internet, and phones.

The setting is a somewhat isolated town near the mountains and a forest with one dirt path leading to the next village, several miles away. It’s a town where the people have worshiped a death god (Ashborn) for as long as they can remember.

In return for sacrificing some animals and produce here and there, Ashborn keeps them safe from invaders. But unbeknownst to the townspeople, the temple priests in charge of the sacrifices have recently begun keeping the offerings for themselves, leaving them vulnerable.

Now, Ashborn isn’t being malicious about it, but without people actively praying/sacrificing to him, his attention begins to wander. Maybe it’s even harder for him to visit the mortal plane without the anchor of their worship. So, he doesn’t even notice when that town he used to protect is attacked.

The townspeople are able to fend off the invaders, but many are injured in the process. And they know that the retreating force were mostly just scouts, a bigger force to follow. Everyone’s frantic, wondering why Ashborn didn’t defend them.

Obviously, the temple priests aren’t willing to admit that they’ve been slacking on their duties, so they tell the people they’ll research the old texts to figure out what Ashborn wants from them. There, they find reference to what they perceive is a human sacrifice, made a couple thousand years ago. The texts say that the human woman gave ‘her mortal life and heart’ to Ashborn, and in return, he protected the town and helped them prosper.

The priests think this means a greater sacrifice gets greater reward. It also gives them an excuse to tell the townspeople, that the death god requires a human sacrifice every so often. They’d rather sacrifice a human than admit their mistake, knowing the townspeople would call for the missed sacrifices to come from their own wealth.

It takes them a while to convince the townspeople, but then it becomes a question of who to sacrifice. Not wanting a mob to form if they start fighting about who to sacrifice, the priests lie and say they’ll look for a volunteer. In reality, they look for someone who won’t be missed.

Thus, we have Jin-Woo’s family, living out in the woods. His father is a hunter, selling meat and furs in town. He’s often away in the forest, checking traps and hunting animals. His mother tends to their garden, along with Jin-Woo and Jin-Ah. No one in town would notice for a while if one of them went missing.

The priests find Jin-Woo when he’s in the woods and threaten his family to get him to come with them quietly. They make him write a note, saying that he’s willingly sacrificing himself to save everyone. Since Jin-Woo will be dead by the time anyone reads the note, they figure there won’t be a way to prove one way or the other whether his sacrifice was willing or coerced.

What they didn’t count on was Ashborn’s reaction.

Ashborn feels it the moment they kill someone in his temple, cutting out Jin-Woo’s heart and throwing it in one of the black flame torches next to the throne. He’s livid, the room growing dark as he appears inside.

His anger permeates the room, demanding to know what they’ve done, his rage only growing as they explain what and why. To have that ritual from so long ago twisted by their greed.

The woman that gave her ‘mortal life and heart’ to Ashborn was never a sacrifice, but his consort. He replaced her mortal heart with one of his own creation, the ‘black heart’, so that she’d live for a long time by his side. And as his consort, he naturally took care of the people of her hometown, wanting to make her happy.

But now the temple that was built to house them both has been defiled, a seventeen year old boy sacrificed in his name. Even though it’s not his fault, he still feels guilty that Jin-Woo’s life was cut short. And so, he offers Jin-Woo’s spirit a choice.

He doesn’t have the ability to heal Jin-Woo’s body as it is, but he can create a new black heart for him. Not telling him the original meaning of it, but that it will extend his lifespan if he accepts it.

Jin-Woo isn’t quite happy about the idea of living longer than a normal human lifespan, but he’s unwilling to move on and leave his family behind. He accepts the heart, then asks if Ashborn will help him defend his family from the invaders.

Ashborn agrees, but says that he wants Jin-Woo to move into the Temple. With that Black heart inside him, Jin-Woo is now able to command his shadow soldiers, and he wants to get to know the person who’s essentially become his second in command. (Again not mentioning that the heart originally had that power because it was meant for his consort.)

Jin-Woo moves into the Temple while the Shadow soldiers start patrolling around the village. His family slowly moves into the Temple, too, packing up their stuff, moving the garden. His father has to go around collecting his traps from the forest, as the Temple is on the other side of the village.

While this is all going on, everyone starts getting to know each other. Jin-Woo and his family have conversations with Ashborn and get introduced to some of his most trusted shadow soldiers. Igris and Bellion are made the family’s guards, but Jin-Woo also becomes close to Beru, Iron, and Tank.

Jin-Woo and Ashborn slowly develop a friendship and eventually, Jin-Woo asks about the story behind that woman who was said to give her ‘mortal life and heart’ to him. Ashborn is a bit reluctant to tell him, but doesn’t want to lie to him either. After revealing that she was his consort and what the black heart originally meant, he’s quick to reassure Jin-Woo that he doesn’t have any expectations of that from him, but that he couldn’t just let him die when he was killed in his name over such a misunderstanding.

Jin-Woo is a bit embarrassed by the revelation, but knows Ashborn enough by that point to trust he’s telling the truth about not expecting such things from him. But it does get him thinking later, seeing Ashborn in a new light. It hadn’t occurred to him before that a death god could fall in love with humans. He assumed a god would see humans in a more distant way, a species that’s so much weaker and dies in the blink of an eye.

It makes him curious, wanting to get to know Ashborn better. He finds that they both value loyalty and family, are ruthless in the pursuit of keeping their people safe, and both enjoy the simple things in life. Family meals, stargazing, the first bloom of flowers in the Spring, petting an animal as it purrs in your lap, and many other things like that.

Slowly, they start to fall in love.

For Ashborn, this presents a bit of a moral quandary. It’s already an awkward situation with Jin-Woo having the black heart inside him, even with his promise of having no romantic expectations. He’s not sure if Jin-Woo will react badly if he confesses his feelings.

There’s also the difference in their status. Some humans would feel pressured if a god admitted interest in them or worry about retaliation if they refused. He doesn’t want Jin-Woo to accept his feelings out of fear or obligation.

On Jin-Woo’s end, he wonders if Ashborn would even be interested in someone like him. He’s fairly young, seventeen when they met and eighteen by the time he realizes his feelings. But surely every human must seem young to someone so ancient.

And even if age isn’t an issue, he doesn’t know if he’s Ashborn’s type. What was his human consort like? Does Ashborn prefer women or does gender even matter to gods?

Jin-Woo would probably start by asking the shadow soldiers if any of them were around when Ashborn’s consort was alive. Asking them what she was like and how Ashborn treated her. They’d end up having a conversation about Jin-Woo’s feelings and maybe give advice. At least one of the summons would know that Ashborn liked to take his consort stargazing or that she sometimes cooked his favorite food. Things like that.

Ashborn, meanwhile, is thinking of ways to subtly get across his feelings. Courting Jin-Woo without being obvious about it. Starting with making sure Jin-Woo at least thinks of him as a friend, not as his patron god.

So, they’d both be thinking of activities to do together. Finding gifts that the other would like. Ashborn would also try to get closer to Jin-Woo’s family, so that they wouldn’t feel concerned if the two of them started dating.

It’d just be both of them trying to show that they can be a good partner, hoping that the other person will start seeing them in a romantic light as well. Eventually, they’d start to catch on, maybe the shadow soldiers and Jin-Woo’s family giving them hints that the other person likes them. Then someone will clue Jin-Woo in that he needs to be the one to confess first, as Ashborn is worried about their difference in status making things awkward if he expresses interest.

After confessing, they start going on actual dates and live happily ever after.

And Ashborn figures out a way to extend the lives of Jin-Woo’s family, too. A way that’s less traumatic than literally cutting out their heart and replacing it with one of his own creation. And thus, they all get to live long, happy lives together. The end.

#Solo Leveling #fic ideas #Sung Jin Woo #Ashborn #black heart temple au

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beccarooni · 3 years

Text

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

#my fic #fanfic #thor fanfic #loki fanfic #infinity war au #infinity war fix it fic #thor odinson #loki odinson #brodinsons #thorbruce #thorbruce fic #multi chapter #mcu fic #long post #2k #bruce banner #angst

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eleanore-delphinium · 4 years

Text

The Demon’s Head

Damian Al Ghul for a moment was a hero. And in that time that he was a hero, naturally he would meet other heroes.

That was how he met her.

His Raven.

He would describe her as a very graceful woman. She was quiet, kind, generous and lovely. Despite her name sounding as if it should belong to a lonely person or an unkind being, she was none of these. But her name did befit her origins. In the sense that she is the daughter of a being synonymous to satan; and of intergalactic alien origin, the conqueror of worlds. Therefore, the name Raven as ominous as it was, befit her well, and yet also-- not so well.

But that was the thing, he was only a hero for only a moment. That moment was all that mattered, since—after all, that was how he met her. As she continued on her heroic path, he returned to what he knew to be right as a child, the path of darkness.

He took upon himself, the name Al Ghul, a name synonymous to a demon, and he used it well. And thus, Damian Al Ghul was reborn anew, he became the Demon’s Head. The name became associated to a cruel, cruel man. But he changed the ways of his organization, and tread very, very strictly on a grey line. And in doing so, he keeps his Raven. And remember it well and do not forget, he only stays on that grey line to keep her by his side.

And if anything were to happen to his beloved Raven, he will cross to the darkness before one could even blink his own eyes, and will burn everything and anything in his path with his bare hands.

So, make no mistake by taking his Raven away or you will live a life even more painful than death. For Damian Al Ghul has a league of assassin as his army, who are extremely loyal to him. And him alone.

Killing for him was as easy as dropping a needle on a hay stack.

Damian Al Ghul, the leader of the league of assassins, stood inside his throne room made of beautiful marble in ivory and gold. The sun high up in the sky, its light entering the space so blindingly. The sunlight weaves through the pillars and mashrabiya* leaving beautiful intricate patterns on the marble floors. The sunlight helped give an illusion of brightness and happiness and warmth to the chamber.

Damian was facing his throne, his back against the door as he read the papers he was holding with his right hand. His left hand resting against his back, atop his green cape. He was wearing his black with gold uniform and armor with a green cape in contrast to the almost white room. And with his cold facial expression one would be reminded, that all the sunlight was giving after all, was just an illusion of warmth.

Damian Al Ghul was not kind at all. But of course, there is an exception to the rule.

The door suddenly opened with a burst and a loud bang, and Damian’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. He had strictly told them that he shouldn’t be disturbed unless necessary. He coaxed himself thinking that it had to be an emergency. With narrowed eyes he tilts his head a bit to the left to acknowledge the presence of the intruder.

“My Lord!” A man in an all-black suit says hurriedly as he kneels on the floor with a thud. His left leg against the floor while the other propped up to let his right arm rest on top. His head bent toward the floor.

“What is it that you have to report?” His enunciation of every word unhurried and heavy. Damian could hear the gulp from his poor frightened little underling. Even if said underling was twenty meters away.

“It’s—it’s the Lady.” The poor man could barely say. And even though the sun was high up in the sky, and that it’s light shone brightly in the room, making the chamber look as if it was glittering, it became cold. So cold, that both people seemed frozen in place, but the poor underling was the one fighting his shivers.

“What about the Lady?” Damian asked a little too clearly, that the poor subordinate could only kneel on both knees, bend his body and rested his forehead against his hands that was now on the floor. At this point, Damian turned slowly, as his green eyes landed on the man in black.

“What about the Lady?” He repeated even more slowly than the last. And Damian saw his assassin shiver in fear.

“She-she has been missing for a few days, and we searched for her—but—but—she is nowhere to be found.” He reported as calmly as he could. The subordinate thought the room couldn’t possibly get any colder than it already was, but he was wrong. The moment he finished his report, he was kneeling there in pure horror, he was sure he will die today.

“It seems that my league of assassin who are supposed to be like a shadow, cannot protect their lady in the shadow.” It was spoken slowly that it was certain: that this was the calm before the storm. “It seems that my league of assassins lack training.” He concluded.

“You cannot even track down your lost lady, why do I even keep any of you!” Damian’s voice echoed through the chambers; his fury clear. And yet, anyone who knew their lord, would know that was not the full extent of his anger.

No, it really wasn’t.

“Lady Shiva!” He summoned and instantly a woman with black hair up to her neck in red appeared beside the kneeling assassin.

“It seems that you have been lax in training the league.” He tells her and as she bends her torso to bow. Before she could start with her apologies, he continued on. “Prepare the top ten men in the league, and have them follow me. We will look for the lady.” He started walking down his throne.

“No, in fact, I will be looking for her. And if you so choose to have people follow me then so be it.” He said when his eyes landed on Lady Shiva as he approached them, the assassin up on his feet, his head bent low as to be respectful to their Lord.

“When I find Raven, I hope my league’s errors would be corrected. But that would be wishful thinking, won’t it, Lady Shiva? I will personally see to their training when I return.” Lady Shiva and the assassin gave way to their Lord.

“Of course, my Lord.” She mutters as he completely disappears.

~.~.~.~.~

Damian held a woman in blood stained and dirt-filled white robes on his arms. Her face had cuts and bruises and she looked so weak and small against his shoulder. When he looks down at her injured face, there was a softness in his glance. A gentleness unbefitting of the Demon’s Head.

But as gentle as he was as he held her, the scene behind him was not. Orange flames flickered as he walks out from the heat and the building calmly.

“I want anyone who is even remotely related to this tracked down, and I want them tortured.” He said so calmly as he held the woman he loves in his arms. His gentle glance has become cold as he looks at his subordinates in front of him. The crunch of green grass under his feet as he continued on into the night that was illuminated by the orange flames behind him.

“If done well enough, then maybe I won’t be so strict when I train you all. Prove that you all aren’t so useless after all.” His tone stone cold.

The gentleness from before must have been an illusion. Because this was the Damian Al Ghul, they all love, respected and oh-so-feared.

“Of course, my Lord.” One replied with a bow.

“No.” They pause as they wait for Damian’s final instructions. “Keep the master mind alone, I would love to capture and torture them myself.” And the shadows that was surrounding him disappeared. Raven stirred in his arms, against his chest.

“Damian?” She called out weakly. And he stood frozen as he took a peek eagerly at the woman in his arms. “They didn’t know.” She mumbles and he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes on her. She means that it wasn’t the Justice League’s fault.

“They didn’t know it was going to be a trap.” She tried to keep her head a float.

“And look at the price you had to pay.” He said bitterly as he sneered a little and continued walking to the jet.

“I—” She couldn’t even say anything to defend the Justice League, because she felt the turmoil in Damian. How could she defend the Justice League knowing what he was feeling?

“I didn’t mind that you wanted to continue being a hero. I would not take that from you.” He sets her down inside the jet. “And I know that you know this to be true, I only stay in between good and bad for you. If you are taken out of the equation, I have no qualms in being the Demon’s Head, in its truest sense. But you choose to love me, despite of who I am. And I will not have any one harm you. Less others think that the Demon’s head is weak.”

“You are not a bad person, my love.” She replied, as she cups his cheek. He closes his eye and places a hand over hers. He opens his eyes and meets her violets irises.

“But I can be, if I am without you.” He whispered so gently as his forehead laid against hers. The words completely true. They stay like that for a minute in silence, and he pulls away.

“You shall stay in Nanda Parbat as you recuperate. I will inform the Justice League.” He stares at her sternly but she does not refuse him and he turns away from her.

The Justice League has been quite cautious about Raven. They knew of her relationship with the leader of the League of Assassins. And what the risk of putting her in imminent danger would mean considering Damian’s nature. Therefore, Raven was treated as if she was glass and yet, also fire.

“I begged them to give me the mission.” She said softly, she took note of Damian’s body twitching but she had to continue on. “After you left, and made a name for yourself as the new Demon’s Head, they were uncertain of where my loyalties lie.” She found it difficult to talk due to her injuries, but she had enough strength to heal herself a bit, to keep herself conscious and stop internal bleeding. And so Raven did, as she continued on.

“And then you made a point to show that you were not like your predecessor. And yet, you also made it clear you could be far worst. And I, your beloved, was someone who they could not risk in the forefront anymore.” She moved in her seat, as she felt her insides return back to how it should be. “I just wanted to do one more mission, where I wasn’t treated like a bomb, and after that, I will be done.”

He turned to look at her with a shocked expression. Her voice was calm as her face was gentle. Despite her battered appearance, she looked like a saint to him. The words he couldn’t seem to say aloud, she felt, and she responded as she closed her eyes.

“Yes, I was going to leave the Titans, and be with you. Commit fully to you.” Her voice was soft but his thoughts were a mess. And it was clear to Raven, all of his thoughts, as if they were all written on the air for her to read.

“The Justice League thought it was a harmless mission; therefore, they could let me go. It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, nothing more. But we were ambushed, and I was captured.” She sighs and opens her eyes to look up at Damian. The water in his eyes finally gave way as he blinked when their met, and she inhaled a breath.

“You could have died.” He said it lightly, that Raven’s heart started beating fast in her ears. His cold eyes that had never been directed at her, has finally landed on her. “You could have died, if I was just a minute too late.” And like his eyes that could no longer contain his tears. Raven could not ignore his emotions. And she broke into a sob, as she covered her lips with her fingers. He knelt beside her, as he put a hand on her cheek.

And his face was not cold nor was it warm. The eyes she had seen him use with his fellow assassins had disappeared. She didn’t expect that the day he would look at her, the way he did his subordinates, would happen.

“Are you crying for me?” He whispered and she sniffed as she looks at him. But still, even if his cold stare was frightening. She could never be afraid of Damian Al Ghul, even if he was an Al Ghul, and the current Demon’s Head.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to contain the emotions. And she could feel the apology he was about to say. And before he could, she leans her forehead against his. Places her right thumb over his lips as her palm rested on his jaw. “But I swear to you, I am done with being a hero. I want to walk that grey line with you.”

And his lips turned up into a smile. A smile that was only ever directed at her. His gentleness and kindness only exclusive to her. His warmth only reserved for her. And she could feel it all in her chest, and in her very bones.

The love he has for his beloved Raven.

And the danger, if he loses his bird.

(FIN)

Notes:

*Mashrabiya = those wooden windows with intricate design; (wiki says: is an architectural element which is characteristic of traditional architecture in the Islamic world and is a type of projecting oriel window enclosed with carved wood latticework).

#damirae #Damian Wayne #raven #Damian al Ghul #damian x raven #damian al ghul as the anti hero demon head of the league of assassins #Robin x Raven #raven as the love of his life even if she is a hero #drabble #romance love #alternate universe #alternate reality story #alternate timeline #evil damian #teen titans justice league leaving the team kidnapped captured male lead to the rescue

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snek-snacc-ficc · 4 years

Text

One Is A Genius, The Other’s Insane

Summary: Logan had seen enough of the world to know it was a horrible place, greatly in need of a competent leader. That was a job he was more than willing to fill, and so, by the age of twenty, he began his tireless work to plan the perfect scheme for world domination. Things became much more complicated, however, when Remus, his complete opposite in nearly every sense, stumbled his way into his life.

(Pssst, it's a Pinky and the Brain au)

Words: 3,177

Logan Ackeroyd couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realized the world was a horrible place. It had been more of a gradual thing really. He studied history in school and learned of all the horrors man had committed against man throughout the thousands of years of humankind's existence. Everyday he’d watch the news and see atrocities happening across the globe in real time. When he turned sixteen, he had to get a terrible job as a fast food cashier, enduring impatient, rude customers demanding cheap food that tasted like it had been chemically manufactured (and he figured it most likely was), just so one day college would be slightly more affordable. And, perhaps worst of all, when he did reach college, he was forced to listen to pretentious English professors take the likes of Sigmund Freud seriously. Listening to an old man tell a room full of his fellow peers that Hamlet wanted to copulate with his mother was the last straw, and so, by the age of twenty, Logan Ackeroyd decided that he would take over the world.

He wasn’t the absolute perfect choice for Earth’s ruler, he knew, but he also knew that he had an immense amount of intelligence, and a righteous moral code, and that put him above nearly every other world leader in his book.

Unfortunately, Logan found, working to become the world’s benevolent dictator didn’t pay well, in fact it often depleted his pocket book, and so he took up a job as a middle school science teacher by day, and would dedicate his nights to working out the perfect scheme for world domination.

It was supposed to be a secretive, solo endeavor. Involving others in his plan could get messy and chaotic, which was rather counterintuitive to his goal. Along with that, it could prove disastrous to alert others of his plans for fear it could somehow lead to interference from the authorities. It was best, he decided, to simply keep to himself with a clear mind. All of that, however, was ruined the day he met Remus.

Logan’s trip to the hardware store was meant to be quick and simple. He was working on what he thought was the verge of a breakthrough, (a prototype of a device that would allow him to brainwash the masses through the use of a high pitched sound wave), but he was missing some of the tools needed for its completion. When he turned around from the shelf he had grabbed a collection of bolts from, he was brought face to face with a man with a handlebar mustache staring at him. He was startled for a moment, but the feeling quickly gave way to annoyance.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past him.

“Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Logan looked down at his long sleeved polo. He hadn’t noticed the red stain on it earlier and he thought it odd that the stranger would point it out.

“I don’t believe so. There’s a stronger possibility that it’s jam.”

“You should totally lick it to find out.”

“That would be highly uncouth,” Logan deadpanned, hoping the peculiar person would soon leave.

“It could be cool. If it is blood then you’d be like a vampire.”

Logan moved towards the check out, delving into an explanation of the definition and proper pronunciation of “uncouth.” The man continued to trail behind him, apparently satisfied with his shopping trip of a cartful of spray paint, chattering on about what seemed like disconnected nonsense. By the time he was finished with his purchase, excusing himself once again to leave, Logan was relieved to no longer be burdened with the annoying distraction.

He rushed to his lab with the missing parts once he reached home, eager to begin work on the project once more. He had little time to do so though, as right as he began the door to the room swung open. Logan jumped, grabbing a screwdriver on instinct in case he had to defend himself, and spun around to see the man from the store standing before him.

“What?!- Why’re you-” he sputtered, completely flabbergasted.

“You left this at the checkout,” the man said, thrusting forward a plastic bag with a collection of wrenches in it. Logan hadn’t even realized he’d left it behind, but his attention had been split when he was checking out thanks to the other.

“So your first reaction was to stalk me and break into my house?!” Logan’s voice rose with anger and unease. “How did you even find where I live?”

“I followed your car.” The man said it like doing so was the most casual thing in the world. “I almost missed ya, but I caught up just in time. Lost you for a second at a stoplight though. And when I found you again your car was already in the driveway and you were gone. I tried knocking at the front door but you never answered, so I just walked in and heard you doing...whatever this is down here.”

Logan was silent, both confused and slightly disturbed that the man’s first solution had been breaking and entering, but he had little time to dwell on that. His cover was blown. His lab had been exposed to an outsider who would most certainly bring an end to his work. It had always been a concern of Logan’s, but he didn’t think he would be faced with it so soon. He kept his composure though, already theorizing which high security prison he might be thrown into.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose now that you know of my secret you will contact the authorities. I’d rather you do it now and get it over with. My phone is right over there if you need to use it.”

The man did not move to grab it however. He remained where he was, darting his gaze around the room.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, still taking in the surroundings.

“B-Because you know of my nefarious plans now, to take over the world.” Logan gestured to the large bulletin board on the wall labeled “Plans for World Domination,” using the same tone of voice he used when re-explaining concepts to students that had been zoned out in class.

“You’re trying to take over the world?!” the other sounded ecstatic, “Woah, how?”

That hadn’t been the reaction Logan expected at all, and he still was unsure whether it was a trap of sorts or the man in question really was this...dense seemed the best way to put it. Either way, he had little left to lose. If he was going to get arrested, at least he would finally get the chance to explain his genius plan to someone beforehand. He turned back towards the device on the work desk.

“Well if you must know, I’m working on this prototype of a device that would send out a high frequency noise to anyone within a ten thousand mile radius. Once it’s finished, I was going to hide them on numerous radio towers and implant a message within it that would brainwash everyone that heard it, allowing me to gain total control of a large number of people quite quickly and efficiently. The only problem thus far seems to be a simple yet pesky error on my part; These wires on its main control panel keep falling in the way when I try to work on it, and there's no way for me to move them all at once and simultaneously continue my work.”

“Well I can help with that Dr. Dork-enshmirtz, here.” He moved over to the control panel, lifting up the bunches of wires that hung over it. “That better?”

Logan, though still a bit stunned, dug around in the bag the man had brought over, taking out the wrench he needed to continue where he left off.

“My name is Logan,” he said, “but that is quite helpful, thank you…?”

“I’m Remus,” the other chirped eagerly.

“Thank you Remus.” As much as he loathed to admit it, it was fairly nice to have some sort of companionship. Being able to share just a bit of his idea already gave him a rush of excitement, despite the odd circumstances it had occurred under. And having someone to be an extra set of hands was an added bonus.

“Would it be possible for you to further offer your assistance to me?”

“Sure thing Nerdy Wolverine, as long as I get Australia privileges when you brainwash everyone. I’m gonna make a spider army.”

The plan fell through in the end (Logan hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to travel the globe, climbing thousands of radio towers), but from that moment on Logan had Remus as his partner in justifiable crime.

---

"Heeeyyy Logie, what are we gonna do tonight?"

Logan rubbed his temples. For ninety-five nights in a row Remus had asked this same question, and every single night Logan's response was the same.

"The same thing we do every night Remus, try to take over the world."

"Ooo neat! What are we gonna do this time? More sabotaging jam companies?"

"No Remus," Logan sighed, "after last night's disaster we're lucky we aren't on some government watch list." He was most disappointed that out of all of his plans that one fell through. Creating a utopia where only Crofter's jam was consumed would have been a dream come true. But alas, he had to move on.

"Truth be told I am rather stumped as to what our next approach should be, but I'm sure with some copious amounts of effort I will come up with another brilliant idea."

"Why don't you take the night off Brainiac?" Remus asked.

"Take the night off?" Logan scoffed, "When the world still remains in the clutches of corrupt, incompetent leaders? Never. Besides, what would I do if not plot to take over the world?"

"You could take a nap," Remus suggested, "You've got circles under your eyes so dark you could pass for a MySpace profile picture."

"While I appreciate the concern, my friend, I am quite fine. Though my sleep schedule is a bit off of an average rhythm, rest assured I have calculated a routine that keeps me functioning regularly. Though, given that you sleep a full 9 hours each day I doubt a set sleeping pattern can do much to create normal behavior." Logan muttered the last bit watching Remus grind his nails against his teeth like they were a nail-filer.

Remus halted his movement, inspecting his hand with one eye closed as he spoke. "Well then we could do something fun. We could watch this one documentary I want to see about this religious cult that made all it's followers fuck each other on a bridge and then jump off," he let out a cackled laugh, "Crazy how all that religious stuff can control people like that."

Logan scrunched his nose. "Remus, I ask that you keep your disgusting documentary drivel to yourse-" He paused for a moment, the last thing Remus said sinking in.

"Remus, what did you just say?"

"It's crazy how all the religious junk can control people," Remus repeated, "that's partially why I gave up organized religion, in fact…"

He trailed off but Logan wasn't listening, the gears in his head turning, formulating a new idea.

"Remus," he exclaimed, eyes lit up as he cut the other off without realizing it, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Hm, well I think so Logie," Remus said, "but I'm actually allergic to synthetic body glitter."

Logan grit his teeth, face falling.

"You would make for wonderful evidence to prove it's possible to de-evolve, Remus. No, I was referring to the idea of preying on the population through the use of religion. If I were to somehow convince the masses that I were a god I would have the world tied around my finger; They would do anything I commanded."

"Woah, you'd be a much better god than Sky Daddy Logan," Remus said, "but how are you going to get that many people to trust you?"

"From what I've observed, most people seem to distrust claims of the supernatural due to a lack of perceivable, verified evidence," Logan said. "If I could find a way to create some sort of projection of myself to a large number of people all at once, it might be enough to convince them that I am a deity. And right here in America would be the perfect starting point, because most people here are rather gullible and severely lacking in critical thinking skills."

Remus clapped his hands together.

"Yay! We're gonna start a nerd cult!"

---

Tireless nights were spent working to bring the plan to fruition. Logan had to work out exactly how he could create a convincing projection of himself, as well as find a power source with enough energy to fuel it. After weeks of building, planning, and re-working the contraption was finally finished and ready to be put to use.

It was about half past ten o'clock when Remus and Logan headed out to the nearby electrical company. Its small amount of security and large source of power made it the ideal location to put his plan into motion. When they arrived and had successfully snuck through the wired fence, Logan turned to Remus.

"Here," he said, handing him a thick metal pole he had under his arm, "you use this to knock out the security guards while I hack into the security system and cameras. Try and meet me in 15 minutes."

Remus gave a two-fingered salute.

"You got it Dorkenshmirtz."

Logan rolled his eyes at the nickname, but couldn't truly be annoyed by it. So far everything was going perfectly according to plan. Logan even found himself grinning as he made quick work of disabling the security, the flow of adrenaline making him nearly burst with excitement. Once the system was completely down, he turned tail to head to the main center. He unzipped the bag he was carrying, carefully taking out the disk-like platform he would use for the projection, and untangling the series of wires and cords to put together. To his dismay, he found that the last cord was slightly bent, most likely from being shuffled around in the bag on the trip over, and wouldn't properly plug in to the outlet without hands on assistance. The concern was quickly diminished though. Remus would be able to hold it in place while he was on the platform. Just as the thought crossed his mind the door swung open and Remus stepped in. His hair was slightly more astray than usual and a noticeable bruise was forming around his jaw, but he was smiling madly, chipper as ever.

"Did you take all of the guards out?" Logan asked.

"Yup, I bonked 'em!" Remus said, proudly. "A few of them put up a fight but I went like this," he swung the pole through the air, "BONK!"

Logan couldn't help the amused quirk of his lips.

"Wonderful," he said, making his way towards the platform, "Everything has been put into place, except the cord over there. I need you to hold it into the outlet for this to work. Do not let go."

Remus nodded.

"Amen Sky Daddy!"

He plugged the cord in, keeping it upright and steady. Almost immediately the platform lit up with a surge of power. Logan walked towards it, nearly trembling. Finally after years of work, trying and failing and trying again, he was going to succeed. The world would finally be his to craft to his perfect, peaceful vision.

Once it was completely charged up Logan took his step onto the platform. Outside an enlarged image of himself filled the sky for miles. He cleared his throat, preparing his speech for the people, when suddenly his moment was interrupted by the sound of Remus cursing to himself as softly as he could manage. His head whipped around and to his horror he saw sparks of electricity flying from the place where the cord met the outlet, sending repeated shocks through Remus, who was struggling through the pain to keep the cord plugged in.

Remus looked to Logan, seeing him hesitate.

"Go on," he whispered, though his voice was strangled with discomfort, "I'm fine."

Logan turned back around once more, but got no further in his speech as he caught the sparks growing larger out of the corner of his eye.

Time seemed to freeze for Logan, his head was spinning, torn between the task at hand and Remus' pained whimpers.

He'll be fine.

He'll get electrocuted and die.

It's one person vs the future of the rest of the world. This is what I've worked towards for years, and I'm going to blow it.

But he's helped so much.

Stupid, loyal Remus with his constant screw ups, and dumb jokes, and annoying nicknames, and laughter and chatter that always rang through the house, that filled a void I didn't even notice was there before, and-

Remus cried out, his body completely jolting with an electric shock, but still he forced himself to keep hold of the cord.

"Remus let go!" Logan shouted.

"N-no, y-you-" Remus couldn't get out another word before another strong shock struck him. The surrounding wires and cords were jumping with sparks as well, and Logan caught sight of a fire starting at the floor where Remus sat slumped weakly against the wall.

"Remus!"

Without thinking twice Logan bolted from the platform, heaving Remus into his arms just as the flames began to grow and approach his body. He rushed out of the building, lungs burning from the toxic fumes of smoke that filled the air, but he didn’t slow his pace until they reached the car, the sound of sirens already blaring in the distance.

The drive home almost certainly broke the speed limit, but Logan cared little about that, glancing at Remus, unconscious but miraculously breathing, every few seconds until they reached home.

---

It was evening two days later when Remus finally awoke. He groaned, blinking his eyes open. Just as he came to, Logan walked into the room, rushing over to the bedside.

"So Logan,” Remus said, flashing a dopey smile up at him, “what do you want to do tonight?"

Logan threw his arms around Remus' neck, the position awkward due to him being sprawled out on the bed, but neither paid any mind to it. Tears leaked out of Logan's eyes, that he tried to hold back.

"I think," he said, sniffling, "that you can choose what we do tonight Remus."

Soon after, the two were curled up on the couch, Remus' head resting on Logan's thighs. Logan sipped hot chocolate from his #1 DICK-tator mug, a Christmas gift from Remus, carding his fingers through the other's hair as a true crime documentary played on the T.V. Maybe, he thought, world domination could wait a bit when he had his whole world lying right in his lap.

---

Ah! I’m so glad I finally finished this! Think of it as my own little celebratory work to welcome in the new Animaniacs reboot.

Taglist: @bullet-tothefeels

#sanders sides #intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical pinky and the brain au #slight angst

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cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July: "Look At Me"

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~1640

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

A/N: I don't know how parole works in the best of cases so here's me avoiding the issue by having Iruka avoid it too.

Is this whump? It references whump, and it's heavy on the care/comfort, and honestly I'm using this month as a whump series and like. Today I just needed some fluff.

A continuation from "Mistake"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read On The Archive

For the first time in a long time—ever, really—Kakashi finds that he’d rather stay in the village as opposed to leaving for days or weeks at a time for missions. Alas, he is one of Konoha’s best assets, and a weapon is only good if you use it, right? So he receives his missions and keeps his pouches stocked and his kunai sharp, as always.

The change in his routine is Iruka. Then again, the change started back when he started seriously flirting with the other man; the routine hasn’t changed now that they’re dating, but it certainly makes it easier and they get less odd looks. But he makes time before he leaves to see Iruka and say goodbye. Even if he has to leave in the middle of the night.

It was how he let Iruka know he was serious about pursuing a relationship—that he woke Iruka up, tapping on his window, two weeks before they actually started dating to say goodbye. Iruka had worried over him, asked about his supplies, offered ration bars, and asked him to come home safe. It was what pushed him through sleepless nights, waiting for the right time to strike; that soft, sleepy, “come home safe.”

It still is.

When he gets back, every time without fail, he checks in with Tsunade, and then his very next stop is wherever Iruka is. He’ll sit on the roof of the Academy, wait at the Mission Desk, help with grocery shopping; whatever Iruka’s doing, Kakashi needs to be near him to come down from the mission high. Iruka seems to understand and doesn’t push. It’s wonderful.

He’s two kilometers away from the village—two kilometers from getting to see Iruka again—when he notices movement in the trees a ways out. And sure, it could be another Konoha shinobi coming or leaving, but with the state of things can Kakashi really take that chance? If they’re ANBU, he won’t notice them. If they’re Konoha shinobi, they’ll appreciate his checking in. If they’re someone else… well, T&I has some fresh blood who need to whet their chops, last he heard.

Kakashi flashes silently through the limbs of the trees, looking for whoever caused that movement he saw. He moves for about five minutes before coming to the edge of a small clearing and stuttering to a halt.

Chakra wire?

He lightly runs his finger along it, testing the structure. Different villages have slightly different ways of building their tools. This is Konoha wire. Why so far out of the village, though?

A quick glance with the sharingan shows Kakashi a few more traps set up around the clearing, along with an opaque fūinjutsu barrier in the center. A barrier that he recognizes.

He smiles and replaces his hitai-ate. Carefully, he makes his way through the traps—now that he knows who set them, seeing the non-lethal way to get through them is fairly obvious. Iruka would never set traps with ways through if he were on a mission, but this close to the village? He likely feels safe enough to set his traps like such.

Kakashi stays vigilant until he reaches the edge of the seal and presses his palm along the firm, cloudy barrier. He only needs to wait a few seconds before the barrier turns translucent, and soon after that breaks apart completely.

Iruka sits cross-legged in the grass grinning up at him, a scroll spread out in front of him. “Hello, Kakashi,” he says.

“Hello dear,” Kakashi responds, and bends over to kiss Iruka’s head. Iruka closes his eyes and leans into the affection given, and Kakashi’s home. He steps around Iruka’s side and looks over the scroll. “What are you up to out here?”

“Practicing a barrier seal,” Iruka shrugs.

“And this couldn’t be done at your home? Or at a training field at the very least?”

Iruka shrinks.

Suddenly worried, Kakashi kneels in front of him and offers his hands. “Iruka?”

“I’m… Um.” Iruka slowly takes his hands, and takes a few deep breaths. “I’m okay,” he says in a smaller voice.

“You promised,” Kakashi says. “Just before I left, remember?”

“I do. I’m sor—” Iruka chuckles softly. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Kakashi brings their hands up to kiss Iruka’s fingers, smiling. “You’re welcome. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“But should you?”

“Probably.”

Kakashi stares pointedly at him. They had spoken, just a few days before he left for his mission, about keeping open communication; they’d discussed Iruka’s triggers, his tells, his limits. They’d discussed Mizuki and how he’d treated Iruka, and small changes Iruka can make to shift his perception of the events of back then and how he responds to potentially triggering material now. They’d also heavily discussed Iruka seeing a therapist; while Kakashi was versed in field response for trauma patients, it won’t help Iruka in the long run. He would try anything to help Iruka, but he’s trained to take lives, not… whatever it is therapists actually do.

(He wouldn’t know; he’s been avoiding his own semi-required therapy for over ten years.)

Iruka swallows, saying, “Mizuki is receiving a hearing today for a reduced sentence. They had to move him through the village, from the prison to the Tower. I came out here to avoid any chance of seeing him while he’s in transit.”

Kakashi can be honest. He stopped really listening when he heard Mizuki and reduced sentence.

He’s been fantasizing about killing this man for weeks, and casually hating him ardently for over a year. Mizuki is out of prison for one day. He’s receiving a hearing to determine if he can get a reduced sentence.

He stands up and brushes himself off.

“Kakashi?”

He grins down at Iruka. “It seems I have another assassination to complete, excuse me.”

He turns and readies to jump back into the trees, but Iruka reaches out and snaps his hand around Kakashi’s ankle. Kakashi doesn’t turn back around.

“Kakashi please. Please don’t do this.”

“He’s a threat to the members of this village,” Kakashi says nonchalantly.

“He has plenty of guards and won’t leave their custody. Plus he has no way to mold chakra anymore. Mizuki’s no threat.”

“He’s a threat to you.” Kakashi surprises himself with how dark his voice gets.

“Mizuki hasn’t been a threat to me for over a year, and even then—”

“I have an obligation as your partner to end him. He—” Kakashi can’t say it. If he says it, abused, aloud, it becomes real. And if it becomes real, Kakashi will lose himself to hate and the chase of revenge.

Iruka hears him anyway. The fingers around his ankle tighten. “Kakashi, look at me.”

“Iruka—”

“Look. At. Me.”

He does. He turns his face down to Iruka and sees him, really sees him. Iruka has a gentle smile in his eyes and a relaxed posture. His lips are still in a firm, steady line, but he’s… he’s calm. He’s—

“I’m okay,” he says. “Really. Tsunade-sama… she already assured me that this hearing is just a formality given to prisoners around their one-year point, and that Mizuki isn’t getting out.”

“But—”

“Would you just… Just stay?” Iruka lets go of his ankle and folds his hands together in his lap. “I did come out here to be alone, but now that you’re here, well,” he smiles, but looks away like he’s embarrassed to say, “I’d rather be with you.”

Kakashi glances back towards the village. Two kilometers away, Mizuki was walking around with minimal guards. It would be so easy to just… slide a kunai across his throat and flash-step away.

“Besides,” Iruka continues. “While I appreciate you wanting to defend me, I’d rather Mizuki stay alive.”

“What? You’d—!”

“I’d rather he live with what he’d done, live with the consequences of his actions,” Iruka says, “than get to have the easy way out and die. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s not worth it.”

Kakashi doesn’t agree. But…

He can cede that it’s not his call to make.

“I have to send in a mission report,” he says quietly.

“Can I help you write it?”

Kakashi nods; the mission he’d been on was an A-rank, and Iruka has that clearance. He sits down in the grass beside Iruka and waits while his partner takes another sealed scroll from a pouch on his vest and releases the seal. A small stack of blank mission reports appear in place of the seal, along with a pen. He smirks at the readiness of his partner, leans against his shoulder, and waits for him.

Iruka eventually says, “Whenever you’re ready,” pen ready.

Kakashi begins giving his report orally, and Iruka writes it down for him. After a few minutes, he’s relaxed and calm enough that he can appreciate Iruka talking him down from going to kill Mizuki.

He finishes. Takes the pen from Iruka, signs the report, and tosses it away; then, he asks, “How secluded is this clearing?”

“I’ve been out here all day, but you’re the only person I’ve seen,” Iruka shrugs.

“Good.”

He slips his mask down, tips Iruka’s chin up, and murmurs, “I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright with you?”

Iruka blushes; it’s always worth asking him for permission for this reason alone. “You don’t have to ask for that, Kakashi,” he responds, and brushes their lips together.

“I like asking,” he whispers into Iruka’s mouth. They lay down in the grass and forget the world. His report is finished and he can turn it in when Iruka’s ready to head back to the village. They kiss gently for hours, hold each other for hours, breathe and look at the sky and live in the leaves.

And for one afternoon, the shadow of Mizuki isn’t a part of their lives.

#whumpmasinjuly #look at me #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

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oligbia · 3 years

Text

Rat

Chapter 3

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The first week of classes at UA went by with ease. Hero training was intense, a current focus on strength building right now, but Mr.Aizawa was already speaking about a future plan to start working on quirk development and teamwork. The academic classes quickly started to pick up in lessons, tests and deadlines already approaching. You found the material pretty mundane, topics you had studied before. However, like she had promised, Hado did frequently need help.

She asked for help during Friday afternoons, a way to review the week’s materials. The two of you were seated in your living room, the Musutafu heat still brutal. Hado was sprawled out on your floor, acting as if she was about to melt. Beads of sweat formed along your hairline, you peered over your books to look at Hado.

“Hado, it really isn’t that warm. You need to do this work before it gets late.”

Hado groaned, rolling from her back to her stomach, resting her head on her hands. “C’mon L/N!” We should at least take a break! You can’t work in this heat!”

You rolled your eyes. You had to admit to yourself, a break did sound sort of nice. “Fine, but after that we need to do things. We have a math test on Monday.”

You hopped up, getting a few popsicles from the freezer. You brought them back, offering her a cherry one. She humed contently, taking the popciple into her mouth, licking at it. You enjoyed your own, giving into the heat.

“We’ll start doing team ups in training soon, and I was thinking about it.” Hado’s voice was casual. She still managed to take you by surprise every time she brought up hero training. She never seemed like the kind to be thinking that far ahead.

“What about?”

“Well, as great as you are, you're not good for combat like Amajiki or I would be.”

You tried to hold back your displeasure. You were aware you didn’t have a conventional quirk for being a hero. You couldn’t really teach all the rats in the world combat, and rats are only so deadly. Hand to Hand combat wasn’t something you were particularly keen with, so that was out of the question. You were going to fall behind soon if you didn’t figure it out. You knew you wouldn't be a combat hero, you were best off being a rescue and recovery hero, but you still had to pull ahead in class somehow.

“But, I think you could play an3 important role in our teams!”

Your eyes locked with Hado’s as she bit off the end of her popsicle. You gave her a look that tried to convey you wanted to hear more. She looked at you, whispering a small ‘oh!’.

“See, Amajiki is really good at close combat. And I’m good at far away combat. But, if we are both busy, we can’t see what's happening around us. Because if we want to fight off villains while also rescuing, we need a third person, and that's you, L/N-chan!”

You blinked, following her. She was smarter than she would ever let on, once you get over the fact she struggles with math. “Are you suggesting that I would play some kind of control center type role?”

Hado nodded, “Mhm! You are like, the one keeping us safe, while also doing the rescuing to let us focus more on the fighting! Then, if it gets bad, you can come in like backup!” She threw a handful of fake punches, pretending like she was fighting some invisible villain, eventually falling to play dead. She whispered through her pretend dead act, “See, this is when you come to rescue me.”

A small smile grew on your face, finding her amusing. You didn’t know many heroes who worked in a support hero role. Thinking on it, you suppose a hero like Mr.Aizawa or 13 are the closest you could think of. The idea wasn’t undesirable, it was probably better for you.

“If you wanted to try it out, I think that Amajiki and his friend, Toagta, are going to go train tomorrow morning. We could always join them.”

You shrugged. “Maybe, we need to do this week’s academics first. You can't be a hero if you flunk out of first year.”

***

No human should ever willingly wake up before the sun is up. But, there Hado was, throwing tiny pebbles at your window at the crack of dawn. You had learned a few things about Hado in the week you’ve known her: She was incredibly stubborn, She was extremely kind, She was smarter than she let on, She was never going to understand the quadratic equation, And she was never tired.

You threw the covers off you, opening the window. The summer air was cooler now, waking you up by sending a chill up your spine. You yelled down at her as quietly as you could. “Hado! What the hell are you doing?”

“L/N, are you not a morning person?” She pouted, not appreciating her harsh language.

“It’s…” You looked at your alarm clock, horrified, “It’s 4AM Hado! What do you want?”

“Training with the boys, silly! C’mon, the train leaves in, like, 20 minutes!”

You rolled your eyes. You were already awake, might as well go. You threw on some hero tee shirt and shorts, pulling a zip-up jacket over your shoulders. You ran down the stairs, leaving a note for your grandad, and left the house.

Hado waited at the door, rolling between the balls of her feet and her heels. “C’mon slow poke! We’re going to be late!”

Nejre linked elbows with you, pulling you alongside her. The two of you sprinted to the pretty much empty train, hopping on right before it rook off. The two of you stood together, holding into the upper rail. Hado smiled, watching the land and city pass by through the window.

You hadn’t done any training with someone, or really much training at all. You had done some stamina training and a little muscle work, but when it came to the entrance exam, no one was really sure what to expect, so you didn't have much of an idea for what training to do beforehand. You knew that one on one training with Hado and Amajiki was maybe possible- you weren't sure either of them had any idea how to do hand to hand combat either.

The train stopped at your platform, Hado flashing you her sweet smile before walking out. You followed behind her, like a baby duck following its mother. The two of you made your way to the beach, the morning sun slowly rising from the sky.

“I’m not really sure what to expect, honestly. I think Amajiki said his friend had a really powerful quirk though.”

You nodded, remembering Amajiki’s friend. He was the blond who frequently could be caught frequently staring at you unapologetically. You kinda remember his dark blue eyes, they were always somewhat inviting and equally unsettling.

The two of you finally approached the beach, Amajiki’s figure able to be made out in the morning’s shadow. Hado ran before you, messing with Amajiki’s hair when she reached him, thanking him for inviting you both. You gave him a small wave, which he returned with a small nod.

“Mirio is over there, he was stuck in something. He is probably fine now.”

“Stuck?” you asked, confused about what someone could get stuck in at the beach at close to 5 AM.

“His quirk- sometimes he gets a little stuck in objects.”

Hado giggled, “C’mon sillies! Let’s go!” She locked grabbed both of your wrists, both of you being drug behind her as she wandered into the beach.

Hado and you ended up seperating from the other two, Hado walking you through how to use your upper arm as a defense from someone else’s punch. You weren’t bad at the blocking part, it was the anticipating and timing that kept throwing you off. The two of you were just taking turns at throwing fake punches at the other, quickly getting into a rhythm.

“Do you know what you want your hero name to be? We get to pick those soon.” Hado threw a jab your way, your arm barely making it up intime to shield your face.

You shook your head, throwing one back at her. “Not really-”

Hado shrugged as she flawlessly defended herself. She was defending herself easily but her jabs felt weaker in comparison to yours. She threw a jab at you, your arm not reaching her in time, her weak blow landing in your shoulder.

You looked at her defeated. She moved her shoulder in circles. “L/N, you need to teach me how you throw punches. Mine are weak.”

You tossed your jacket aside. “Well, with a quirk like yours you really don't need to be able to throw punches. You have a distance advantage.”

Hado beamed, “You remembered!”

You shrugged, “It was a solid plan, Hado. I remember good ideas.”

The two of you heard a large bang in the distance. Amajiki looked like he had somehow turned his arms into long strands of seaweed, trapping Togata. Except-

“Is he naked?” Hado said it before you could. Togata was most definitely naked, and he was waving at the two of you from a small confinement of seaweed that definitely did not hide more than you wanted to see.

Hado broke into a fit of laughter as your face turned bright red. You had never talked to Togata, but you had somehow already seen him naked.

Hado pulled you behind her as she ran to the boys.

“Amajiki, you can turn into more than just animals?!”

Your face was still burning red as you avoided the glances Togata was most definitely sending your way. His voice was chipper as He broke himself free from Tamaki’s comfinments. “His quirk lets him manifest to living things- plants are technically living.”

“Could he turn into a person then, like if he ate their blood or flesh or something?” Hado poked at Amajiki’s seaweed arm that was still attempting to cover Togata’s privates.

Amajiki looked at Hado with panicked eyes and babbled about anxiously, “Why would I ever eat a human-”

Toagata pulled a pair of pants on, “Sorry about that ladies, it's hard to control my pants when I use my quirk!”

Hado smiled innocently, somehow unphased by the very naked boy infront of her. “It's alright! My name is Nejire Hado, and this is my friend Y/N L/N! She’s a little anti-social, so you won't hear much from her.”

You looked at the ground, mumbling. “I’m not anti-social, just uninterested in conversation right now.”

Togata fastened the belt on his pants, “Oh well that's too bad! I’ll just have to talk to you another time!”

You let out a “mhm” trying to be polite, but it was hard when you had just seen this kid naked. Hado didn’t seem to pick up on your discomfort. “Togata, you’ll have to ask L/N about her quirk sometime, it's really cool! Oh! And she can tell you about hero equipment! She knows all about it.”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know all about it, just basic stuff. I’m able to read, I'm not a support student.”

Togata smiled warmly, “That's still more than me. I’ve never been a good student, that's why I wasn’t able to get into 1-A!”

You blinked. How was he so upbeat while literally calling himself dumb?

“Well, me and L/N need to go finish up our training! We’ll see you boys later.” Hado sang the end of her statement, waving the two a goodbye. Tamaki nodded and Mirio waved frantically as the two of you wandered off to finish some training.

When you were gone, Mirio turned to Amajiki. “Tamaki, what is L/N’s quirk?”

“Something with rats. She’s able to control them somehow. I’ve really only ever seen her use it a few times.”

Mirio’s smile grew into a small frown, a finger scratching his chin as he watched you and Hado throw some more punches around.

“That seems like a neat quirk, why wouldn’t she want to develop it.”

Amajiki smiled, almost laughing. He placed a gentle hand on Mirio’s shoulder, smiling at the blond. “Not all of us are praised for our quirks, Mirio. She may still need to come around to it.”

Mirio nodded, looking at the violet haired boy. “Huh. Alright.” Mirio watched a little longer as you nailed Hado in the shoulder, frantically apologizing. He smiled softly, something about you undeniably drawing him in. “Let’s go mess around more, Tamaki. I bet if you ate some crab you could make little pinchers!”

#oligbia original #oligbia rat #mirio x reader #mirio togata #mirio fanfiction #mirio #mirio fluff #mirio x you #bnha mirio #my hero academia mirio #togata mirio

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zelenacat · 3 years

Text

When We Were Young- Chapter 16- An Obitine Story

Saturday came too quickly for the Duchess, she had now clue how she was going to tell her children she was pregnant again. She was thirty five now, dear God, what if something went wrong?

A knock scraped the door, “Lady Mother?”

“Come in, Tristan.”

Her second son wasn’t surprised to see all the shades drawn in the Duchess’ personal parlor, still, he seemed on edge.

“Is everything alright, Lady Mother?” he asked.

“Quite,” Satine swallowed, “I just have something important to tell you all.”

Tristan nodded and took a cookie from a plate of them. Tyra entered five minutes later.

“I’m on a discovery day,” she explained, “basically I’m supposed to look inside myself with the force.”

“And naturally,” Tristan began, “you’re here instead.”

“Naturally.” Tyra agreed.

Korkie and Mara came in together, happily chatting about Korkie’s schoolwork. However, when Satine got up and locked the door, they quieted down.

“I’m very nervous to tell you all this,” the Duchess began, wringing her hands, “but it does affect us all.”

Korkie stood and helped his mother to the couch. Satine waited till he was seated again to continue.

“No one can know about this,” she began, “just like no one can know about your parentage.”

Tristan and Tyra looked at each other. Mara’s brow furrowed.

“Lady Mother,” Korkie piped up, “it’s alright, you can tell us.”

“You’re getting twin sisters,” Satine said shakily, “and I was never able to tell your father about you.”

The shock settled in.

“Lady Mother,” Tyra began, “Father is in the Outer Rim, is that right?”

“Yes.”

Tyra’s face saddened, “There are rumors that the Council predicts he will be there for almost a year.”

The Duchess straightened, “I hadn't heard that.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Tyra frowned deeper, “but we never know with the war.”

Satine leaned back in her chair, “Ah, yes, war.”

“Is there any way we can help you conceal this?” Mara asked.

“We’ll see whether or not they’re force sensitive,” the Duchess announced, “but likely they will have to be split up.”

“One to the Temple and one-”

“I don’t know.” Satine interjected.

“Congratulations, Lady Mother,” Tristan smiled, reaching over, “I’m excited to meet my sisters.”

“So am I,” the Duchess smiled sadly, “thank you for your support, Tristan.”

Everyone turned to Korkie.

“So our father continues his trend of leaving you with children even though he’s a Jedi.” spat the Duke of Sundari.

“Korkie!” Tyra warned.

“You know what,” Korkie stood, “no, why does he do this?”

“Korkie,” Trsiatn began, “calm down.”

“The holonet portrays him as some hero,” Korkie crossed his arms, “yet he leaves you pregnant every time without a second thought!”

“Korkyrach Kryze,” Satine snapped, “I won’t hear anymore of this!”

Korkie didn’t move.

“Don’t raise your eyebrow at me, young man,” the Duchess warned, “your father is certainly a hero, he just doesn’t know he’s a father.”

“Some intuitive Jedi he turned out to be.” Korkie snapped.

“Korkyrach-”

“I’m happy for you, Lady Mother,” the Duke of Sundari continued, “I really am, I just don’t see why you defend him!”

Satine swallowed, “I love your father, Korkie, and as soon as it’s safe to reach him I will contact and tell him.”

“I don’t want to meet him.” Mara frowned.

“I’ve only seen him in passing,” Tyra piped up, “but he seems nice.”

Mara turned, “How can a man who doesn’t care about the mother of his children be nice?”

“He doesn’t know.” Tristan offered.

“Still,” Korkie added, “if he loved Lady Mother enough to marry her-”

“We’re not married.”

All eyes turned to the Duchess.

“I lied to him, I was the one who kept him in the dark,” tears welled in Satine’s eyes “if anyone is to be blamed for our fractured family it’s me.”

Korkie shook his head, “I can’t believe that, Lady Mother.”

“You needed to protect us.” Mara added.

“It’s true,” Tyra seconded, “the Jedi Council would’ve likely expelled our father, or at least had us killed.”

Tristan reached out to the Duchess, “You can’t blame yourself, Lady Mother, this is what life has thrown at you.”

“Thank you, children, for your support,” Satine swallowed, eyeing Korkie, “we will not speak of this again until we have plans.”

Tyra stood and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“Take care, Lady Mother.”

Mara came next, following Tyra’s example.

“I wish you well, Lady Mother.”

Tristan embraced his mother.

“Congratulations, Lady Mother.”

Korkie kissed his mother’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Lady Mother.”

“Don’t be,” Satine replied, “there’s so many secrets floating around.”

“I hope you won’t keep anymore from us.” Korkie replied.

“I don’t intend to.” Satine promised.

Ahsoka arrived the following Monday.

“My lady, if I may,” Almec began, “what do the Jedi know of our ways? Do we really want them meddling with our children's education?”

“Surely there is nothing to fear from exposing them to new ideas,” Satine smiled as memories came to her, “Prime Minister.”

“Duchess Satine.”

Anakin kissed Satine’s hand, playing the party of Jedi Master of Almec.

“Master Skywalker, so good to see you again,” Satine turned to Ahsoka as if she didn’t know her, “this is your Padawan, I assume.”

“Yes, m’lady, may I present, Ahsoka Tano.”

Ahsoka’s grin threatened to barge out of her calm face, “Duchess, Prime Minister.”

Satine gave some welcome thanks about the peace keepers of tomorrow, and how important it was that they be instructed correctly. To which, Master Skywalker awkwardly replied that he had to return to battle, but that Ahsoka had the full confidence of the council.

“Cadets: Korkie, Amis, Lagos,” Prime Minister Almec summoned, “come greet the Jedi.”

“Woah,” Amis pointed, “is that a real lightsaber?”

“Amis-”

“Dude,” Korkie gestured, “she’s a Padawan.”

“Right.”

The Prime Minister was horrified.

“Padawan Tano,” Satine began, “may I introduce Cadet Korkie, my nephew.”

The children shook hands, failing to hide their glee.

“Excuse me sir,” a clone popped up, “but it is time to depart.”

Almec held out his hand, “Please, Padawan Tano, no off-worlders may carry weapons on Mandalore.”

“Perhaps your Master should take your weapon.” Satine suggested.

After a quick second, Ahsoka passed her lightsaber to Anakin.

“Welcome to Mandalore, Padawan Tano.” the Prime Minister smiled.

On their way to the Royal Academy of Government, Amis and Lagos pestered Ahsoka with questions about the Jedi Order. Satine was disappointed to note that Korkie was faking his disinterest poorly.

“Enough of this talk children,” Almec waved his hand, “you are the future leaders of Mandalore, you have nothing to do with the Jedi.”

Korkie turned to Ahsoka, who raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you agree, Padawan Tano.” the Prime Minister asked.

“I think sympathy is an important attribute for any leader,” Ahsoka began, “be they Mandalorian or Jedi.”

Almec nodded politely, clearly displeased.

Apparently, Ahsoka’s lesson went well, Korkie told his mother all about it after the class. Except, Korkie came to see her the following afternoon with his friends.

“There’s no food shortage,” Korkie began, “we found stores of food at the government port.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, “How do you know this?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I beg to differ.” Satine argued.

As a cadet explained about the secret recording they’d managed to capture, the Duchess’s mind whirled.

Korkie himself, Satine noticed, was angry.

“We have to find the one responsible.” he stated energetically.

The Duchess put her hand on her son’s arm, “This is a serious matter, I agree, but the source of this evil may be more than you cadets can handle.”

“People can be very deceiving,” Satine continued, walking towards the door, “you don’t want to get yourselves into trouble.”

Korkie scoffed, “But, Auntie, don’t you see, you can’t ignore this!”

“I won’t, trust me,” Satine stroked Korkie’s head, “but for your safety you must let me handle this. Now run along, all of you. There will be time to save the world when you’re a bit older.”

Satine went straight to Almec, who seemed very worried indeed.

“No, Almec,” the Duchess straightened, “this must be addressed immediately! Children and corruption never mix well, do you know what this means for the system?”

They came the next day when Satine was in her office. She turned to find the secret service facing her, the prime minister’s personal guards. Suddenly, everything became clear.

“Don’t,” Satine held up her hands to keep them away from her stomach, “I will go willingly.”

She couldn’t help but despair, Almec was a traitor and a wise politician, he would ruin all the good work she had done for the past seventeen years. Not only that, but they would soon realize her condition, and it would be all over.

The next friendly face she saw was Ahsoka, “I’m getting you out of here.”

Satine nearly cried, “Ahsoka, no, it’s a trap!”

The Padawan was shocked.

“I see you’ve found the Duchess, youngling,” Almec smiled, “you may stop your playacting now Sergeant.”

The guards stood at attention, “Prime Minister, sir!”

“Using a Jedi mind trick was a very poor decision,” the Prime Minister continued, “my guards have been trained against such archaic magic. And now you have revealed yourself as a conspirator. Set for stun!”

Satine winced as Ahsoka was hit with a stun ray.

“You little fool,” Almec goaded.”

A guard handed the Prime Minister a holopad and pen.

“Sign it,” Satine looked up to face Almec, “sign it and confess to your treasonous ways.”

The Duchess growled, “There is only one traitor to Mandalore here, Prime Minister, and that’s you! You control the black market, you have betrayed the public trust, and you used your office to accumulate wealth and power! It’s shameful!”

Almec actually laughed, “You’re idealism is inspiring, Satine, but honestly, I established the black market for the people.”

“That’s absurd!” Ahsoka shouted, eyes flashing.

Satine realized in that moment that Korkie must’ve told her about the secret, and it pained the Duchess to know that Ahsoka would die trying to save her if necessary.

While Almec gave his “humanitarian” excuses about the black market, Satine grumbled at him.

“My patience has run thin, Duchess, Sergeant, put the shock collar on her!”

Ahsoka’s eyes went wide.

“No, no wait,” she begged, “the Jedi Council won’t-”

“The Jedi Council has no authority on Mandalore,” the Prime Minister spat, “who cares what they think?”

The shock came, if Satine’s hands weren’t bound, she would’ve cradled her stomach. Fortunately, the shocks were centered around her neck, but the Duchess knew her whole body would suffer.

“I would rather die,” Satine gasped, “then sign your confession!”

“That can be arranged.” Almec grinned.

“You’re wasting your time,” Ahsoka growled, “you’ll-”

“Bring me those traitorous Cadets!” the Prime Minister barked, ignoring Ahsoka.

“No,” tears welled in Satine’s eyes, “you can’t they’re just children!”

Almec laughed.

“I’m afraid your nephew will have to suffer needlessly,” Almec announced as the children arrived, “put the shock collar on Cadet Korkie.”

Satine watched helplessly as her son’s face contorted in fear, but he did not step backward. Ahsoka however, wouldn't have this. The Duchess watched impressed as the Padawan knocked down three guards by herself, allowing Korkie and his friends to overpower their guards, even with their hands tied. After a quick skirmish with the stun gun, Ahsoka was able to get the shock collar on Almec.

“Stop fighting!” he yelled.

His thugs looked at one another.

“Send for my personal guards.”

After the guards arrived, Satine had the great pleasure of locking Almec up herself, but she would not, however, let that pride get to her.

“You must know by now,” Satine turned to Ahsoka, “that I did not bring you here just to teach. I knew something was amiss, but I didn’t know who I could trust. Luckily, I made the right choice in Padme, a friend of the Senator’s was bound to be useful, especially a Jedi.”

“I never doubted you, Duchess.” Ahsoka smiled.

“Neither did we.” said Korkie, going in for a hug.

On the way out, Satine insisted that Korkie and his friends be escorted back to the academy.

“But-”

“Listen to me, son,” Satine leaned in close, “my ladies will help me, I’ll let you know if anything has changed.”

“Of course,” Korkie paused, “Lady Aunt.”

Satine kissed Korkie’s head before they left.

“Momdalore,” Ahsoka began, “Padme said that my mission was especially important, but I didn’t realize-”

“It’s alright,” Satine put a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder, “you got us out of there.”

“So, so,” Ahsoka’s eyes went wide, “you’re really-”

Satine hushed her, “My ladies will accompany me to the medical ward, I would like you to stand guard at the door.”

Ahsoka grinned so wide Satine thought she was liable to burst.

“I’d be honored.” the Padawan nodded.

Khaami and Parna were very fussy when the Duchess returned.

“Oh, Satine,” Parna cried, “we thought Death Watch got you!”

The Duchess shook her head, “Never.”

Khaami lowered her voice, “We’re glad you all are safe.”

“They gave me a shock collar,” Satine whispered back, “accompany me to the medical ward.”

The nurse on call asked if she should send for the doctor.

“No, thank you,” Satine smiled politely, “I’d just like my vitals checked, it’s been a frightening couple of days.”

When the nurse left to prepare, Khaami and Parna went in search of an old sonogram machine. The most modern ones were as large as holo screens, but the one Khaami found was likely one that belonged to Satine’s mother. This one was about ¼ the size.

“I used one like this,” Khaami whispered, pouring gel on Satine’s stomach, “I can remember how to work it.”

Parna kept on guard for the nurse, who was at the end of the hall quietly humming to herself. Satine watched as the machine blinked on, and after a while, Khaami found them.

“How long?” Khaami asked.

Satine thought back, eyes on the screen, “About eleven weeks, almost a first trimester.”

“They’re beautiful, Satine,” Khaami smiled, “two healthy little girls.”

The Duchess once again found tears in her eyes.

“Six children?” Khaami whispered in awe.

“I know.”

Khaami began turning off the machine just as they heard Parna’s voice.

“Oh, excise me, nurse,” she laughed, “the Duchess would just like some water.”

Satine pulled down her shirt without wiping the gel away. Khaami hid the machine under the medical bed.

“You ready, Your Grace?” asked the nurse.

Satine amiled, “Yes, thank you.”

After a moment, the nurse frowned.

“Your heart rate is a little high.”

“Nerves, Your Grace?” Khaami suggested.

“Yes,” Satine nodded, “I don’t think I’m quite over the whole ordeal.”

The nurse smiled sympathetically, “Perhaps a night’s rest then?”

“Yes.”

Satine sat up and swung her legs over.

“Your Grace,” the nurse swallowed, “if you are in need of any other medical assistance, please do ask.”

The Duchess understood her immediately, it was nearly impossible to fool a doctor after all, “Thank you.”

Upstairs in her room, Satine showered after bidding good night to Ahsoka. As she dried her hair, Satine’s thoughts unconsciously wandered to Obi-Wan. God, she missed him. Then, as if the universe knew what she was thinking, Satine’s comm beeped. Puling her nightgown over her head, Satine rushed to the table.

“Obi-Wan?” she asked quietly in utter disbelief.

“I was wounded, but I’m alright now.”

Satine began to shake, hearing her Jedi’s voice had put her into shock. The Duchess collapsed into a chair.

“Satine?”

“I,” she quivered, “I, are you alright?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, “I just heard about what happened.”

“I’m alright too.” Satine smiled sadly.

An uncomfortable pause followed, only ending when both Satine and Obi-Wan spoke at the same time.

“I love you.”

“I just wanted,” Satine paused, “you love me?”

“Yes, my darling, I do.”

The Duchess burst into tears.

“Satine-”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Satine breathed, “because-”

“General Kenobi?”

The comm flicked off. Satine cried a little more. Obi-Wan was still embarrassed about their relationship, he was a Jedi after all, their poster boy.

“Satine,” Obi-Wan’s warm voice cooled, “Satine, did I upset you?”

“I don’t know what to do.” the Duchess gasped.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“But you don’t want anyone to know about us.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “I’d get in trouble, so would you.”

“I understand,” Satine forced the words out of her mouth, “you may leave me if you wish.”

There came a moment of silence, and Satine’s heart dropped.

“Satine-”

“Ben,” the Duchess sniffed, “what am I going to do?”

The Jedi’s voice softened, “What’s wrong, my darling?”

“I have a problem-”

“Do the people know?”

“No,” Satine swallowed, “but I could get in a lot of trouble.”

Obi-Wan understood immediately, “Who made you do what you did?”

Satine was quiet.

“Because if you’re being blackmailed-”

“It’s medical.” the Duchess blurted.

“Satine?”

“Ben-”

“General Kenobi?”

“Not now, Cody!” Obi-Wan shouted.

Satine flinched at his ferocity, she imagined so did the clone.

“Sorry, General.”

The Duchess heard a door close.

“How badly were you hurt?” Satine questioned suddenly.

“Not terribly.”

Satine snorted, “I don’t believe that.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “I’ll be out of fighting for at least two months.”

“Obi!”

“I’m fine, really, Satine, I-”

The Duchess yawned, “I’m too tired to be lied to, Ben, and I need sleep, but know you can call me whenever.”

The Jedi’s voice turned gooey, “Sleep well, my love.”

Satine blew a kiss at Obi-Wan’s blue figure, he winked back. The Duchess was so tired she completely forgot to feel guilty for concealing the truth from her Jedi.

In the morning, after arriving on the platform and putting her son at ease, Satine watched as Korkie and Ahsoka joked around.

“It was an honor to serve with a Jedi Knight.” Korkie winked.

“It was my privilege,” Ahsoka retorted, “to be your teacher.”

Just then, Master Skywalker descended onto the platform, looking mildly amused yet concerned,

“I hope this assignment wasn’t too boring for you.” he said loudly.

Ahsoka shrugged, “Well, it had its moments.”

“Oh,” Anakin clutched his chest, “like the part where you enlisted untrained children to help you overthrow a corrupt government?”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka turned back,”that was a highlight.”

“We had fun!” Korkie shouted.

Anakin snorted, “And would Your Royal Highness accompany Ahsoka on a mission like that again?”

The Duke of Sundari almost answered, but then his mother cut him off.

“You better not be planning to take my Korkie anywhere, Master Skywalker.” she raised an eyebrow.

Anakin bowed, grinning like a fool, “I would never disobey any order from you, Duchess.”

Satine clicked her tongue, “That’s good to hear, do tell my favorite Senator she’s an angel for sending Ahsoka.”

Anakin smiled like a young loverboy should, possibly something about her choice of words, “I will.”

Satine turned as the ship sped off, ordering the children back to their studies.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Wrapping an arm around Korkie Satine walked to the speeders waiting for them.

“No more sneaking into government warehouses.” the Duchess commanded, shooting a look at her son.

“Never again, Lady Aunt.” Korkie bowed.

“Study hard.” Satine waved.

Back at the palace, Satine summoned the nurse from the night before to her quarters. She could tell the woman was nervous, her curtsy was quick.

“Your Grace.”

“Tell me your hypothesis,” Satine leaned back, “tell me why you think I was in the med ward last night.”

The nurse straightened, gathering her courage, “I found an old ultrasound machine under your bed.”

“Which means?”

“You’re expecting.”

Parna and Khaami looked at one another.

“The image saved,” the nurse continued, “and your twin girls are healthy.”

“No one can know.” Parna crossed her arms cooly.

“I won’t tell,” the nurse vowed, “I’ve seen what women do to get out of these predicaments.”

“That won’t be the case here,” Satine assured her, “the only others who are aware of my condition are my head guards and my ladies.”

The nurse nodded.

“Do tell us your name.” Khaami added.

“Hera,” the nurse smiled, “there was an ancient goddess who my mother revered.”

The Duchess grinned, “The goddess of childbirth, how fitting.”

“I’d love to be of more help,” Hera continued, “especially with your second ultrasound.”

“Second?” Parna frowned.

“It’s recommended you get two,” Hera explained, “your second should be about the five month mark.”

“I’m exactly eleven weeks.” Satine told her.

“Then we should have some time,” Hera smiled kindly, “I’m sure this must be hard with your duties.”

Satine huffed in agreement. Parna’s comm flashed.

“Your personal advisors are waiting in the throne room with the ruling council,” she told her lady, “they wish to discuss the upcoming elections.”

“Ah,” the Duchess stood, “I must go, thank you for your time, Hera.”

“Please look for me if your Grace requires anything.” the nurse curtsied.

The ruling council were keen to hear Satine’s personal recollection of recent events, and once she told them, they revealed that Almec’s friends weren’t happy with his arrest.

“A public statement was made this morning by his deputy,” Countess Bralor frowned, “who claims to be innocent of any crimes.”

“It is good that elections are in a month,” Governor Eldar stated, “as the new Governor of Concordia, I was hoping to make an official request that you attend the swearing in ceremonies of the winners.”

“But we are unsure,” continued one of Satine’s advisors, “it could be portrayed that you had a hand in Almec’s downfall.”

“He destroyed himself.” the Duchess responded coldly.

The counselors looked at one another.

“Perhaps if you were to do an interview, Your Grace,” Countess Bralor suggested, “and share your experiences with the public, perhaps they might appreciate what you went through.”

Satine hated interviews, they made her feel exposed.

“How about a press conference.” the Duchess suggested.

It was scheduled for later that day. Satine made sure to wear one of her corseted gowns. On one side sat her personal advisors, the ruling council was on the other, and behind her stood Parna and Khaami.

“I am before you today to discuss our former Prime Minister’s fall from grace,” Satine announced, “I know many of you are as shocked as I was to discover the truth, and I am here to answer any questions you have on the subject.”

One reporter raised her hand.

“What was the Prime Minister’s reasoning for doing what he did?”

“In his mind,” Satine began, “the black market and food shortage were assets to Mandalore because it funneled money into the government while keeping the citizens innocent of their knowledge as to where their money was going. It was essentially a tax on the most needy in our system.”

Another reporter raised his hand.

“The former Prime Minister blamed you for these crimes,” he asked, “why do you think that was the case.”

“He needed a scapegoat,” Satine replied, “and he knew I would not rest until my government was free of corruption. Almec put a shock collar on my person and attempted to do so kn my nephew, who is a minor. Three other Cadets were jailed because of their efforts to inform me.”

There was some muttering about the shock collar, and the jailed children, before Satine continued.

“The former Prime Minister did not act alone, we know it was not possible for him to do so,” the Duchess straightened, “therefore, the new efforts to capture corrupt criminals in government positions will be doubled. You may expect many more revelations in the coming weeks.”

With that, Satine left. Dramatic as she liked to be, the Duchess knew she had made enemies that day. Corrupt officials who vowed never to lose their wealth. Well, if they gained it through improper ways, then they would.

Within a week, they had a new Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister, a new liaison to the Republic Senate, and the first liaison to the Sepereatist Senate.

#satine kryze #Duchess Satine #satine x obiwan #obiwan #obi wan kenobi #obitine #korkie kenobi #korkie kryze #areyallstillhere?

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the-wintershade · 3 years

Text

in another life (I surely was there)

pairing: loki x reader summary: he wants to create a new world and he needs you -- loves you, but love is corrupt and he fails to realize the corrosiveness of his affections. wc: 3.1k+ genre: slightly angsty, dark, unhealthy desires, villian!loki

The first thing he learns is there is always darkness in the dawn.

Thrown onto the ground after portaling to Joutenheim, he cowers in the face of danger and death but swallows the unnecessary emotions with a pearly grin. There’s nothing that grin can’t repair, can’t magically fix.

They speak, the giant’s red stare burning holes in Loki’s perfectly concocted excuse. He bites back his unrestrainable irritation and partial embarrassment and continues with the facade hoping that they’ll grant his true desire.

….

He watches it in your face.

Your eyes zone onto his and he feels the anger, hurt, disappointment vibrating in the air around you — even if you are several feet in front of him. Your chest heaves, blood stains your brow crimson, and your eyes curl with darkness, conjuring every hateful emotion available to you.

But you smile at him, lips painted red. And it’s the smile that frightens him the most.

It’s not a smile of joy like he’s used to, but a smile with the promise of retribution, with the inkling of death and the promise of a deep, chilling anguish.

He knows he shouldn’t have left. And you turn away from him, throwing yourself back into the slaughter, defending the innocent while he watches, rooted in place, afraid — not by you but for you.

…

You ignore him.

Even when beaten to a pulp and unable to lift a leg muscle, you refuse his help. It is the captain who carries you to the safety of the jet as you cling to consciousness.

He feels how desperately you sway between life and death and hovers around, wanting to fight the man of black with a sharpened scythe. He can’t take you away, you still have sinners to punish, breakers of justice and righteousness to cleanse.

Your work here can’t be done. It’s barely begun.

He watched you go into the fray, punching wildly, impacts of limbs constantly striking you, repeatedly, without stopping. He would have stepped in if you hadn’t been so, so—

Your eyes peel themselves open and a moan escapes your mouth and it’s like he’s breathing again for the first time. They don’t stay open long enough; he needs to feel that wrath inducing stare pin down. But he can relax. You’ll pull through, he’s sure of that.

….

He finds out quickly that everything won’t go back to normal with flowers...or chocolate...or a gem refined by the dwarfs.

Nothing brings you back to him and he eats every present he brings you with no eye contact, no acknowledgement, and no indication that you’re aware he’s here.

He feels hollow, invisible, a ghost to forever haunt an unbeliever.

Bandages nearly obscure your face and now he feels horrible for leaving you and the others to fight the demon spawns of some alien race. He may have made a terrible mistake there but he couldn’t comprehend how you could ignore him so well.

He couldn’t understand how you frosted over in one day and now you were an impenetrable block of ice that no amount of warmth and care and heat he produced, you wouldn’t crack.

He was supposed to be the heartless one, not you. This was wrong.

…

“Why are you avoiding me? Why are you trying so hard to be as far away as possible?” He breaks the tension in the air, splitting the unspoken rule of silence established when it was just the two of you in a room.

It wasn’t like him to talk about motivations or ideas behind doing things. It wasn’t like him to bring up conflict. He was doing a lot of things he wasn’t used to doing now.

You glared. There was nothing in your eyes that gave the inkling of a promised answer.

He took two steps forward and you crossed to the other side of the room.

He felt it then. The split, the divide, the chasm that had opened between the two of you.

You wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. And he was still holding onto who you used to be. Both stuck in limbo. Both trapped in each other.

Instead of saying anything, you exited the room and Loki just stopped and stared. Maybe it’s time to give up. Maybe it’s time to let go.

…

You fall through the air.

And you smile.

That’s the first thing he finds strange. The second is your obvious lack of concern for your own safety. Because you used to warn him all the time to protect himself and be careful, always with a hidden undercurrent in your words.

Loki wasn’t good at emotional attachment so he brushed away your warm eyes, easy to fall into, and did whatever.

Now he feels what you must have felt when he was being reckless. Uncertainty. Fear.

The wind whips your hair and Loki only hesitates a second in horror before catching you and teleporting you to solid ground with him.

He holds you firmly, but you still refuse to pay him any mind. “Don’t—“ he breathes raggedly, as if he’d run a mile in the past few seconds. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He watches you fragment. The walls you’ve carefully built fall for a moment and only a moment before those soft, open eyes shift into a predatory, hateful gaze.

You shake out of his arms and weave out of his reach. “You should have let me fall.” You toss over the back of your shoulder and it’s the first time Loki can remember the echoing staccato of hurt.

…

He doesn’t leave. Not this time. Not even when the whole team is beaten senseless.

Not even when his skin is turning all shades of black and blue and his legs crumple under the strain. Not even when this battle is going so far left that he’s certain that you’ll all be overrun.

He bites back the bile worming its way through his throat and cuts down another monster, a twisted creation he likely had some involvement in sending there. His fingers ache from gripping harder than necessary on the handle of his knife. He lets them flex, breathing against the tight cage he forced them into.

He’d missed it. It was too late for any reaction as it sunk into his abdomen.

He couldn’t scream. Oh no. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a whimper or a plea for forgiveness. He was already light years past that now.

Besides the quick response of his limbs that move on their own to drive his weapon down to the hilt into their throat, the pain is still there. Blooming. Spreading faster than he anticipated.

The monster had gotten him good. Better than he could have done while he was paying attention to you.

You were like Tyr himself, a devastating figure of little remorse and brute strength. He knew what that power could do to a person. Its fuel lies in the deep recesses of the mind, midnight ebony and bloodstained red colliding to produce a substance of deep scorching pain. Yours spilled right out of you; it was like he could see it. Like it had a tangible shape, a shadow that clung to you, echoing your movements like a spectral warrior.

And it was impressive and so out of character for you.

Loki was awed by you once again and that awe led to his own demise. Figures.

He’s not bitter about it all, hitting the ground, watching vermillion soak his clothes and bury into the earth. He’s not devastated that his one true wish might not be fulfilled.

He’s thankful. For the first time in his life, he’s grateful to watch you become the force he knew you always could be.

He’s just sorry that he might have been the catalyst for such change.

…

“Loki.” Your face contorts in determination and a firm pleading. “Loki, can you hear me?” He would have thought this was the afterlife, the final test, the final trial to make everything right before he would inevitably be sent to hell. Then he saw the red smeared against the corner of your mouth and knew, oh, I’m still breathing.

He sees no traces of real concern on your face and his own falls at the absence. He just wishes he could make it all right. That he could change that stupid wish he’d made so many weeks ago.

But he was bound.

There was nothing he could do to get out of it all. He’d be stuck until the plan was fulfilled.

“Don’t die, okay? Just-” He watches your face contort in a mixture of pain and anxiety. For the first time in a while, he believes that he may be able to peel the darkness back, beat his doubts and the voices in his head warning him that all this will be for nought.

But they always return, always creep along in the back of his mind, circling like one of Odin’s devout warriors, ravens ready to devour a meal.

He’ll lose you, one way or another.

And that terrifies him more than the blue skin and red eyes he knows he has. It scares him more than his brotherhood with the giants of old and their unnatural complexion — his unnatural appearance.

He’s doing this all for a reason, a purpose that he can see, but others can’t. He doesn’t fool himself that you’ll be able to see it too.

“Hold on.” Your words warm him. He doesn’t feel the sting of the cold when you’re near. He can trick himself and believe that he’s human, not the being of frost that hides beneath the pallor of his glamour.

And when your hand slips into his own, bolstering ice with flame, he breaks in two. He’ll lose you. He knows you’ll leave him too.

…

He can feel you there, right next to him in recovery. He’s well aware of the scorn that the members of earth’s defenders have given you.

He almost wishes that you would run away from him, cast him off like everyone else does. But a bigger part is thankful that you stayed, even if it’s selfish, even if the end will be bitter.

Your hand is right there next to him. It lies limp on the bed, your head lolled to the side in your slumber. His hand crosses the space separating you from physical contact and grasps your hand in his.

You stir, eyes blurry and dark, waiting, coiled and ready to spring. Gently, he brings your hand to his lips. He feels the darkness stir underneath and in a few days time, everything will fall into place.

He’s just sorry it had to be this way.

“I love you.” He’s not lying when he says it. He’s not saying it because it will win you over, not because he feels obligated to. He’s saying it because it’s the truth.

There’s no grin to hide behind, no smile to cover up a trick. Just him and you and the truth.

Your eyes widen but the guard is still there, the walls are still up. He notices the black splotches in your irises recede for just a moment and then the moment’s gone.

The Avengers think it’s a side effect of a monster bite and the black veins, spiderweb bruising, and your general temperament will return to normal. But it won’t. You’ll be consumed and if you don’t fight your way out, you could die.

But he doesn’t see that in your future.

You’re too strong.

Your eyes watch his, waiting for the trick, for the moment the cat is out of the bag. When you don’t see one, your hold on him tightens. The words never come out of your mouth and he’s not sure that you can fully reciprocate his words, but you feel something and it’s strong enough to keep you within reach.

He’s thankful that you’ll share this moment together, that maybe this memory won’t be soiled when the change happens.

…

You’re gone.

The change came a few days later and Hel was right there, as was originally discussed, ready to take you for when the time came, when the final days of asgard were in sight.

He flashed that charming smile at his sister and tired to bargain with her. He knew that not seeing you was apart of the plan, that for this to work in accordance with the frost giants he would have to avoid seeing you.

But that wasn’t enough for him. He was greedy, what could he say?

It’s why he was doing this all in the first place.

For the greed of power, of recognition, of the world paying attention to the insignificant brother next to the heir to the throne. It was for the world to forever know his name. He was greedy and selfish; he wouldn’t deny that.

But he was even more greedy when it comes to you. He didn’t want to let you go. He would fight, tooth and nail, to hold onto you.

But Hel, holding your almost completely corrupted figure from falling to the ground, refused. She said no.

You were her warrior now and you’d be a powerful force at that.

And then she sank into the underground, dragging you, her slave, down with her.

The hole in his chest grew that much larger and without trying to, he fell to the grass where you just stood, gripping it firmly in his fingers, feeling the gap between you grow that much larger.

…

It’s been years now. Odin is dead. Ragnorak has begun.

His face is bloody and he no longer hides who he is, no longer denies his true self from the world.

His skin is a deep cobalt and his eyes burn like rubies set ablaze. He runs with his brothers, no longer ashamed, no longer afraid of the wrath of the Asir. He’s free to burn down his false home as he chooses and Hel has brought her warriors.

The thought of you crossed his mind a few times, wondering where your face would be in the crowd, what powers you would have, how dark and twisted you might have become.

He still feels horrible, but it was for a purpose.

Somehow he hopes he’ll live long enough to see you again, when this is all over, when he’s able to explain everything.

…

“Loki?” He cradled your broken body against him, smoothing the hair and grime from your face. The black lines receded from your face and you were no longer a demon. Loki now looked like the frost giant he was. It was truth to truth, no cover ups or falsities. “Why did you abandon me?”

Abandon?

No, he didn’t abandon you. He helped you work towards a higher purpose. He endowed you with something greater.

“No, no. I didn’t abandon you, (name). I helped you. I made you something greater.” He watched your eyes unfocus and waited before you were able to speak again.

“You lied and corrupted and hurt me. You made me a monster who does horrible things. You dragged me into a war that had nothing to do with me.” You lolled your head over in his direction, the ebony lines weaving in and out of your pupils. “You killed me. My death is your fault.”

He almost dropped you. This was nonsense, slander. You couldn’t be serious. You had to see it his way now. This was necessary. The world was evil and abandones others, but he was there to make it right again.

The world needed a new world order. He was going to give it to them.

“No, (name).” He pulled you closer and gazed deeply into your eyes. “I love you. I want greatness for you. I need you here with me.”

You laughed, laughed harder than you should be able to while on the brink of death. Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “You were always the gullible brother.”

You transformed in front of his eyes and in your stead, Hel stared right back at him. “Like my little performance? I thought that your broken human would be a great way to fool you.”

She streaked against the ash on the ground and Loki stood up, watching her with malice. As he made a dash in her direction, he ran into a bubble, a forcefield of power locking him in. A cage. Another cursed cage.

“You didn’t really think that you’d come on top of this battle.” She smirked and then scoffed at the shock on his face. “You’re too weak brother. You’re too naive. You think you know everything when the person you should have been asking about death was me.” His eyes burned and stinged. “If you want to wipe the slate clean and rule this new world, at least pair with the right person to accomplish your goals. The frost giants never needed you; they needed me. I am going to rule this new world while you sit here in this prison for the rest of eternity.”

He slummed, defeated, tears of shame ready to coat his face. “Oh, and while we were on the subject of your precious little human, you should know that she was wonderful. So much potential, so much power and strength. It’s really a shame that she fell. I was fond of her.”

She smirked when he crumbled. “Tootles, darling.”

Waving, she walked away into the darkness, into death, what she lived and breathed, while Loki sat, in the remnants of Asgard, wondering how he could have thought that this was going to end up any differently.

And as he turned, he found you, sprawled on the ground, a hole in your chest, eyes staring right at him asking, how could you, how could you, how could you?

I love you, I love you, I love you.

…

100 years have passed and he still sits in this forgotten cage in a forgot era. He’s let out from time to time, completing one job or another, but he’s eventually locked up again, doomed to live a lonely existence.

He still sees that face. He still sees your eyes that used to shine.

Loki knew you were aware that he was up to something, that he’d betrayed you somehow, that your story and his were intertwined forever.

And then he sees the darkness take shape, how you’re taking risks you didn’t used to, how your nature changed.

He realized that’s love. That’s what it does to people. Love won’t save, love will corrupt. The name of love means nothing, trust means nothing, and he was foolish to think that you would understand.

But he would find another.

Maybe someone a little stronger, a little purer, and a little more in love with him. Maybe he’d find someone who understood and in the next 500 years, he’d be able to win this time.

Maybe the 6th attempt would be the charm.

a/n: hi, it’s been a while. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and taking the time you need.

I love you. It’s good to be back.

~Ruby

#wintershade #loki fanfic #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki/reader #loki x reader #loki x you

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onyxiana-is-obsessed · 4 years

Note

yes i loved shinsou x reader where shes shy!! my heart just kept on fluttering!! can i request the same thing but this time with hawks? thank you

I really, really like Hawks and I need to write more for him TwT I made this super fluffy! Or I tried to, at least!

Length: 1.7k

Pronouns used: She/her

Tags: @neon-tries-writing

Full Name: (y/f/n) Age: 22 Quirk: (y/q)

Picnic Confessions

Keigo Takami didn’t seem like it, but he was always on alert. His laid-back and often carefree attitude made him seem rather careless. He could notice any little change in someone whether it be in their words or body language. People didn’t often understand or know that, which he fully used to his advantage.

(f/n) was one of them, unfortunately. She thought she was being discreet with her crush on Hawks, she thought she hid it well. She always tried to keep her distance, she tried to keep her embarrassment to a low, and she tried really hard not to fall for him. But it was hard and in the end, he picked up on it anyway.

Aside from being ridiculously attractive and flirty, he was pretty sweet. There were many moments where the two just had heartfelt conversations. They would sit on the roof and watch the stars in the sky while talking about their problems in the world.

That was something both of them cherished dearly. They would often tell each other their problems and would never talk about them again. Almost like a vent session. At first, it was mostly all on (f/n)’s end but as the two got acquainted, he found himself opening up as well. It started out with little issues like a civilian who wouldn’t listen to him during a villain attack to bigger things like his trust issues and lack of emotional support in his life.

(f/n) was always there to listen to him vent, even if he was repeating himself. She didn’t care, she always listened to every single word. After all of that, it was inevitable that the two would fall for each other.

Keigo was able to pick up on it pretty quickly, he was a trained hero after all. He was able to see the blush, he was able to see her defensive postures when he would come around, he would see her fists curl if he was too close, he picked up on every single little detail.

He also realized just how much he liked her too. He hated it when others harassed her, he hated it when she seemed to flirt with other men, and he hated it when she was watching him. He often found himself trying to impress her whether it be with little or bigger things. He found himself trying to do things that made her laugh or giggle or would make her smile in general. Did she forget to eat? He’s already getting her lunch, she needs a little coffee? He’s on it. She’s feeling a bit down? He’s got his dumb jokes and stupid puns ready.

Keigo knew he was in trouble. With his field of work, it was just too dangerous. (f/n) wasn’t a hero, she was actually a civilian he’d ended up getting trapped with.

A couple of years back, he was called in for a villain attack. During the attack, the villain had toppled a few buildings over in an attempt to kill Keigo. It was almost successful. Keigo managed to get trapped in between two buildings with no way out.

That’s when he found (f/n). She was even luckier than him. She had been trapped in the initial attack and had fallen with the buildings. Miraculously, she only had a few injuries. She had a broken pelvis and a gash in her side, none were fatal. Keigo had obviously prioritized her safety over his own and the defeat of the villain. He quickly took her to safety, trying not to hurt her pelvis any more than it already was.

After that, he’d visited her often at the hospital to see how she was doing. They formed a rather quick bond and he found himself coming back once again. He just couldn’t help it, so after that, the two had established a friendship. However, Keigo was looking to change that today.

“Hey, cutie! Come here often?” (f/n) rolled her eyes as the blush spread across her cheeks. She looked towards her window where Keigo floated and smiled at him regardless. He wasn’t wearing his hero suit so it was just a friendly visit.

“I don’t know, I think I do. It is my house after all.” She moved closer, leaning against the window sill as he gave her a cheeky smile. “How are you today, Hawks?” Even after two years of being friends, even after he’d trusted her with his name, she still preferred to call him Hawks.

“I’m good, I’m good! Say! Wanna go out today?”

“G-go out? Where?” There was that adorable stutter he loved so much. It was her telltale sign.

“Out! Come on!” He held his arms out, a way to tell her to jump into them. She looked at him curiously before she nodded. Grabbing essentials like her purse and phone, she walked back to the window and carefully stepped out, using Keigo to steady herself before he picked her up.

She wrapped her arms around him as he flew her to their destination. It was a rather quiet flight, which wasn’t normal for Keigo. When they arrived, (f/n) was surprised to see what he had prepared.

On a hilltop, he’d prepared a little picnic. A blanket, paired up with a cute little basket with a small vase that had one lone rose in it. He gently placed her down and she walked towards it, giggling to herself.

“You kidnap me only to bring me to a picnic?” She teased, making him scoff.

“It’s not kidnapping if you willingly walked into my arms.” He retorted as the two got comfortable. They were able to watch the sunset as they happily munched on the sandwiches Keigo had made, which were actually quite delicious.

After that, they did what they normally would. They laid down on the blanket and watched the stars. (f/n) assumed this was another night Keigo needed to vent, they had started doing something similar to this. The first time, (f/n) had brought Keigo cookies, as an apology for ranting his ears off. He loved it regardless. Ever since the two would always do something nice for each other before or after their rant sessions. (f/n) thought this was no different.

“So?” She asked, looking at him. He turned his head, meeting her eyes. They were so beautiful and even now, in the dark, the (e/c) seemed to sparkle.

“So, what?” He inquired, making her chuckle and look back up at the stars.

“What’s wrong? It’s the usual setting.” He nodded, turning to look at the stars as well.

“I think I like this girl.” Almost immediately, the happy mood in (f/n) faded and disappeared extremely quickly. She did her best to keep it at a low, but Keigo immediately picked up on it.

“Oh? Well then, tell her?”

“It’s not that easy. We… don’t see each other that often.” That was a lie, Keigo just didn’t want to reveal it yet.

“Well, then you might not be a good fit. You’d have to see her more often right? Maybe hang out around her more? Might not be a good fit in my opinion.” She answered, truthfully. Both of them knew she was just being honest and speaking her mind… but Keigo had other ideas. He turned to her again, a teasing smile on his face.

“Jealous?” Her character broke immediately and her face flushed a deep red.

“Wh-what?! No way!” She answered, looking away with a huff. His laughter filled the atmosphere as she desperately tried to defend herself.

“You seem pretty jealous!”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Maybe because you like me!”

“I do not!” She defended, crossing her arms and looking away. Keigo sat up, looking down at her. The blush on her cheeks, the little pout on her lips, the frustration in her eyes, he loved it all. She was just so perfect for him.

Without her realizing it, he’d leaned in close. She only figured it out when she felt his warm breath against her neck. Her head snapped towards him, her (e/c) eyes widening at the close proximity.

“Wh-what-”

“Are you jealous, (f/n)?” She wasn’t able to speak, so instead, she swallowed and shook her head. “Are you lying?” (f/n) shut her eyes tightly and rolled away from him, moving off the blanket and sitting up. He laughed again, leaning back and watching her glare at him.

“Stop messing with me, Hawks!”

“I’m not!” He defended, making her scoff.

“Yes, you are! Y-you’re teasing me!”

“Why? Is it working?”

“Yea-” She immediately quieted down as her blush darkened. “No! It’s not!”

“Then why are you so far away from me?” She looked away, too flustered to even look at him. (f/n) shut her eyes, trying to take deep breaths and when she opened them again, he was inches away from her. He was on his hands and knees and TOO close.

“Wh-what a-are you d-doing?!” Before she could move away, his large wings encased her body, making her eyes widen. She felt her entire being stiffen when he moved closer. His teasing attitude was gone, now replaced by a serious one. He was a jokester, but he wanted her to understand this without having an inkling of a doubt in her heart.

“You did it,” he whispered, staring into her eyes. “You really stole whatever was left of my heart. Got me right on my knees, too. I can’t help it, (f/n)… not anymore.” With that, he leaned in and pressed his lips right against hers.

It took a moment before (f/n) melted into it, her lips slowly moving with his. Unlike his flirtatious and carefree personality, his kiss was hesitant and shy; the opposite. Her hand gently slid up to his shoulder as he moved closer. Their lips fit so perfectly together and it felt so good like it was always meant to be. Both of them felt the butterflies in their stomach, and they felt the weight of not knowing how the other felt lift off their chests.

The two pulled apart and he sighed in relief. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against her forehead.

“You’re her,” he explained, “you’re the girl I fell for.”

“You… aren’t lying, right?”

“I would never. Be mine?”

“Sure, Keigo.” She giggled, making him lower his head with a little chuckle. When he raised his head to meet her eyes, she almost panicked when she saw his tears pooling in them.

“That’s… the first time you said my name.”

#mha #mha imagines #mha hawks #bnha #bnha imagines #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero x reader #bnha hawks #bnha hawks x reader #my hero academia hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha keigo takami #keigo x reader

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tanoraqui · 4 years

Note

hey, pls tell us about those 'kidnapping sizhui back to the burial mounds' aus? 'grave dirt baby'? 'speaker for the dead'? put me down as Scared! and! Intrigued!

Alright, so, the au I’ve mentally titled Speaker for the Dead is inspired by this fic series, which I think has great concepts but wildly insufficient follow-through on consequences

edit: er, this is gonna be the first of several parts. At least 3.

You know the Cluster in Steven Universe? Think of the Burial Mounds like that. Hundreds, maybe thousands of restless souls; some shredded, some simply lost; all neglected. Forgotten. Stewing in their own resentful energy and their exponential shared resentful energy, trapped in these abandoned lack-of-real-graves and forged over time into a nearly-single mass of rage and loss and unfinished business.

And then someone came along - well, was bodily dropped from a height - who could match them rage for rage and loss for loss, unfinished bloody business for unfinished bloody business. No one living and perhaps no one dead remembers if he said, “serve me, lend me your power, and I will carry your sentiments into the living world”, or if the Burial Mounds said, “serve us, wreak our fury and sorrow upon the living world, and in turn you will live and wield our power.” Or maybe it was an instant mutual recognition and agreement?

Well, we all know what happened next. And then he came back, their deathly messenger, and brought others, and for a brief while there was...life, inexplicably, in the land of the dead. Stubborn, hopeful life.

Then death swept through once more, from the outside this time, and the Burial Mounds took their diplomat into their embrace - but they’d gotten a taste for having their voice heard, now. The living far and wide had buckled under the force of their weeping rage, shared the burning sorrow of their thousand dead hearts. And there was one living thing left on their grounds sympathetic to their power...

But not because he shared their rage, loss, unfinished business - save in that he was young, and all his life was unfinished before him. And he was starting to understand loss, as the rest of his family died out of sight. Mostly he was sympathetic in the other way: kind and accepting, and even as a child disinclined to forget those abandoned by everyone else.

Well. Disinclined to forget intentionally. Because a three-year-old isn’t designed to be swarmed by the thousand and one voice(s) of the Burial Mounds, howling their rage and loss and determination to be heard.

A-Yuan would have died that day, if one ghost in particular hadn’t been too fresh to have sunk into the horde. Barely aware of his own death yet, save that it had hurt, the Burial Mounds’ previous master/messenger stepped in between the boy and the onslaught of the dead - and he was a warrior and defender, he always had been. It had served them well when their unfinished business was little more than the bloody spread of death.

It’s hard to say what exactly happened, then. Suffice to say, once the dest and resentful energy settled - and certainly by the time the cultivator in white arrived - the Burial Mounds had a representative to the living again, their roots sunk deep into his soul, and their representative had a guardian.

Lan Xichen was very carefully not wondering where his brother had gotten this child, not wondering at all - why question; there were far too many orphans, these days, and of course Hanguang-jun was noble enough to save one even while wounded to near death himself.

But the fact remained that the boy - A-Yuan, Lan Yuan now - was laced with incredibly persistent resentful energy. The healers had noticed it first and done their best to cleanse it, and the best of the healers of GusuLan was no small effort. At first, it had seemed to work - the darkness stopped wisping from his lungs when he coughed; the cough and fever themselves disappeared. But still the resentful energy remained, a patina of grime on an otherwise pure soul, and even when Lan Xichen himself played Cleansing, it only seemed to fade, not fully dissipate.

A-Yuan grew sick again, feverish and weeping, complained of hurting in the way of a small child too miserable to give clear answers. Lan Xichen stayed with him, playing Cleansing through the night, and by the wee hours of the morning the boy was positively listless - and still, under close inspection, resentful energy clung to him.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes and sat back to meditate for a moment. He had to collect himself.

His brother was asleep in the next room over. He’d been asleep since he got back from...somewhere, nearly collapsing off his sword with blood pouring from every whip mark and with a feverish child in his arms. His continued unconsciousness was partly at the order of the healers, partly of his own accord.

Multiple rules forbade superstition and the taking of omens, but Lan Xichen could feel in his heart that if the boy died, Lan Wangji wouldn’t wake. Or if he did, he would be...empty, the way he’d been for years after their mother’s passing. The way he’d been, to be quite honest, until Wei Wuxian walked into the Cloud Recesses.

Meditation didn’t help. Lan Xichen picked his [xiao] again and began the first notes of Cleaning, pouring every ounce of power he had into the music. On the bed, Lan Yuan whimpered weakly.

There was a rattling from his waist, where jade keys to all the wards of Cloud Recesses hung as a badge of office. An instant later, something yanked Liebing from his hands and flung it across the room, and with the same force shoved him backward. For an instant, he saw a figure standing above him, dark-robed and terrible.

Then it was gone, a mirage of the flickering lantern - but on the bed, A-Yuan had moved. Instead of lying flat, he was curled up as though leaning against something, clutching the air near his chest like something invisible had been placed there for him to hold. ...Hovering slightly above the mattress as though on a lap, and tired tears spilled from his eyes; he murmured something too quiet to hear.

(Cool hands picked A-Yuan up and held him; a hand brushed through his hair and a gentle voice said, “Shh, shh, A-Yuan, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” He looked up to see a pretty face and soft, sad smile, clad in robes that were dark and smelled of damp and blood.

“Mama?” he said blearily. It wasn’t right, but it was the closest word he had for how safe and loved and somehow refreshed be felt. He clutched the roughspun robes like they might vanish from his grip.

“Is that what we’re working with?” The man’s smile turned teasing, and he held A-Yuan a little closer. “Sure. I did birth you from my own body.”)

Lan Xichen picked himself up carefully, retrieved Liebing from beside the far wall and eyed the boy on the bed. Some presence watched him back - resentful, to be sure, but not like any spirit he’d ever felt. The tokens representing the wards against resentful energy and restless ghosts had both stopped shivering - because it was quiescent, or because it was already inside?

He needed answers, but at the same time, he very much needed to not have answers, because they might force him to a decision that his brother would never forgive.

Lan Yuan has never left the Cloud Recesses since he arrived. This wasn’t entirely abnormal - he’s only just six years old; there are few reasons for a child that young to go beyond the wards. There are excursions for hikes now and than, to introduce the children to nature, but something always interfered - illness, other duties or even punishments. There is the Spring Festival in Caiyi Town for which disciples of all ages are permitted one day free of all responsibility, including the youngest who are taken down with appropriate adult minders. But Lan Yuan always filially elected to use the special dispensation of this holiday to spend all day with Lan Wangji (per Rules 267-270, exceptions to seclusions were allowed for close family, at the Sect Leader’s discretion.)

In his third year of seclusion, Lan Yuan now age six and bubbling enthusiastically about the tales and treats he expected his friends to bring back from the festival, Lan Wangji had asked why he refused this holiday. Wide-eyed and pious, Lan Yuan had replied, “Because I want to spend time with Father!”

Sensitive to too-wide eyes, and too aware of his own shortcomings in the area of festivity and excitement, Lan Wangji had pressed to be sure that this was how he wanted to spend his day: sitting quietly inside, playing music, practicing reading stories of Lan Sect history?

Pressed, Lan Yuan admitted that his Mama said he shouldn’t go outside the boundaries of Cloud Recesses unless his father was with him.

It wasn’t the first time this “Mama” had come up. Lan Yuan’s Mama said it was not just permitted but required that he run shrieking up the path to the jingshi, to greet Lan Wangji by tackling him about the knees with gleeful laughter. Mama said it was okay if he didn’t eat dinner when he was supposed to, Lan Yuan insisted, because the food was “boring anyway.”

“Mama”, Lan Wangji was very, very sure, knew a song that Lan Wangji had composed at the age of sixteen and only ever played for one other person, because somehow Lan Yuan knew it to hum himself to sleep on restless nights. It was possible that he simply remembered it subconsciously from the times he couldn’t otherwise call to mind - music was like that. But when asked, he took on the overly cute look of an untrained liar rather than the dreadful uncertainty that slipped into his voice when questions arose of any time before the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Yuan had never stepped foot outside the Cloud Recesses since the day he’d been carried in, yet it was Lan Wangji who hesitated on the border, marked on this back hill by nothing more than a thin strip of bricks at the edge of the field.

“Rabbits!” Lan Yuan cried, and tugged him forward by the hand. “There are rabbits!”

“Xichen would not have misled you,” Lan Wangji said, amused.

“I know.” Lan Yuan immediately slowed down contritely, and looked up at him with confusion. “But there are no pets allowed in the Cloud Recesses.”

“The rabbits are not pets,” said Lan Wangji, perhaps more automatically defensive than the occassion called for. “They simply find this meadow enjoyable, as it is filled with clover and, coincidentally, sometimes scraps from the kitchens. Also - ” He gestured to the line of brick several feet behind them - “we are no longer in the Cloud Recesses.”

“Huh.” Lan Yuan cocked his head as though this was something he’d never heard before, rather than something he’d been explicitly told they were going to do, this first day of Lan Wangji’s release from seclusion. “It’s colder, in a nice way. And there’s a lot of - ”

He shut his mouth abruptly, as though someone had hurriedly told him to stop talking.

“Rabbits!” he shouted suddenly, for all appearances remembering thei presence with absolute delight. “Can I play with them, Father?” He pulled on Lan Wangji’s hand again. “Can we play with the rabbits?”

“You can and you may,” said Lan Wangji, and let his hand go.

Lan Wangji was itching now, burning, to draw his guqin. But of course this permission meant that he had to spend several minutes carefully coaching Lan Yuan on the way to quietly approach a rabbit without causing it alarm, how to offer some of the lettuce they’d brought and how to pick one up and hold it safely. Mitigating his impatience was the unabashed awe on Lan Yuan’s face when the first rabbit let him pet its ears, and his own gratitude at how several of the older rabbits seemed to remember him. (Or possibly they just recognized “man in white sitting quietly with lettuce”, and found it a more attractive invitation than “quietly bouncing six-year-old with lettuce.”)

But, fascinated though he’d been, Lan Yuan quickly lost interest in the rabbits. He pet them absently, but kept looking around as though more interesting things were happening in the clear air. A sudden wind whipped though the meadow, acrid with resentful energy, and he scooted to Lan Wangji’s side.

(”Everyone shut the fuck up!” Mama’s robes and hair lashed as resentful energy rushed out from him, pushing back the clamoring crowd of ghosts. His fists clenched and his eyes flashed red, and the scent of blood rose about him. “You will line up single-file to talk to A-Yuan, if and when I say you get to talk to him! Right now, he’s playing - oh, look, Hanguang-jun’s getting out his guqin, probably to play Inquiry. Go bother him!”)

Lan Wangji couldn’t stand it anymore. He settled Wangji on his lap and set his fingers for the strong opening chords of a general Inquiry, to announce his presence and summon any spirits within range - and paused, and leaned over to ask Lan Yuan, “Is your Mama here, now?”

“Ye - ” Lan Yuan squeezed his lips shut and shook his head. “I mean, no. Who’s Mama?”

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji said sternly.

Lan Yuan shrunk, but didn’t break.

“Mama’s a secret,” he whispered fiercely. “It’s a rule, like on the wall.”

“I know.” They’d had this conversation before, and Lan Wangji had never pushed beyond this. Even a child was allowed secrets, and Lan Wangji was in forced seclusion, punishment for a crime he didn’t regret but would accept the consequences of nonetheless, in spirit as well as letter (fave for A-Yuan’s near-daily visits - but that was allowed.) Moreover, even from the secluded jingshi, someone might hear his Inquiry and have questions of their own, and- and what if he was wrong? The disappointment would be like death again.

But now he was not just out of his house but beyond the border of the Cloud Recesses for the first time in three years, far from any plausible earshot save the rabbits’ and soaking in sunlight that reminded him of a smile. Now, he thought he’d seen a figure in black for a split second when the cold wind blew. and suddenly the idea of being right and not knowing it was more horrific than any other outcome.

He swallowed a rasping, Please - unseemly, and unjust to burden a child with. He gathered parental authority about himself like a cloak and improvised, “Rabbits do not like secrets. It is rude to keep them in this, their home.”

Lan Yuan bit his lip, and Lan Wangji gentled his voice. “They will still be secrets away from the rabbits’ meadow, and there will be no consequences for any broken rules.”

“Oh!” Lan Yuan sagged against Lan Wangji’s side and let out a sigh like he was coming home at the end of a month-long night hunt. “Thank you, Hanguang-jun.” He bowed formally, from the seating position, in the direction of the greatest cluster of rabbits, which seemed unconcerned by the gathering resentful energy. “And thank you, rabbits, for your hospitality!”

He sat up, posture Lan-perfect, and pointed. “Mama’s there, pushing all the other ghosts into line. He says they have to talk one at a time, like in lessons. Are the ghosts in lessons, now? Is Mama a teacher, like Senior Feng and Great-Uncle?”

Lan Wangji, quite honestly, didn’t hear most of his son’s questions. He was too busy playing, perhaps more hesitant than he had ever played Inquiry in his life, Wei Ying?

He held his breath as the small light of a lost soul alighted upon the strings and plucked out, I am Ying Huang.

The breath seemed lost for good.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Ying,” said Lan Yuan. “Um - ” He glanced at Lan Wangji and back at the space above the guqin. “Yes, I- we- Father can tell your husband that it wasn’t his fault - oh wow, you had a baby? What’s its name?” A pause. “That’s pretty! I bet she’ll be pretty, too - you are, so I bet she’ll be pretty just like her mother!”

The chatter, a six-year-old’s mix of earnestness and polite nothings mimicked from adults, reeled him back from that distant, breathless place. Inquiry was still in effect and the spirit continued to play, far more slowly than Lan Yuan responded, Tell Ying Chao it was not his fault, nor the baby’s.

“A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji managed. “This - Ying Huang. She is not your Mama?”

“No?” Lan Yuan looked utterly baffled. He pointed to somewhere directly ahead of him. “Mama is right there. He’s tall and wears black and has blood all over, sometimes, when he’s angry or sad. Miss Ying is here - ” he pointed at the space on the opposite side of the guqin - “and she’s short and has a greenish dress, and only only has blood on her - oh! Mama’s coming here now...”

Another spirit light solidified as it approached the guqin. This one was brighter and darker at once, strong and resentful - yet not...active in it. It simply was.

It hovered over the strings for a moment, quivering side to side like the eyes of a shamed person, before alighting and gently plucking out, Hello, Hanguang-jun.

There was no way to know that it was him, and yet... Lan Wangji was breathless again, but this time it felt as though he simply had too much inside him to have room for air.

His fingers moved over the strings without conscious direction. He thought he might be mouthing the name. Wei Ying.

The guqin language of Inquiry was necessarily limited; there were only so many combinations one could make of seven strings. There was only one clear affirmative, yes, and no formal or informal intonations.

Nevertheless, Wei Wuxian managed to express, Yeah. Lan Wangji could imagine him shrugging, giving a rueful smile. Sorry about the whole ‘Mother’ lie. It was his idea.

Understandable. The rhythms of Inquiry called for question and answer. Did you not birth him yourself?

“Mama is laughing,” Lan Yuan announced, as pleased as though he’d organized every part of this himself. He sat up straight, hands in his lap, every inch the proper Lan disciple. “Father, can- may we just talk, now, instead of using Inquiry? It’s much faster, and I can understand it.”

“I’m afraid I cannot understand Wei Ying any other way,” said Lan Wangji, feeling real regret, On the guqin, Wei Wuxian played, We really do need a better way - this is boring. But a way with less soul-binding resentful ghost fuckery.

(Another word that was absolutely not in the vocabulary of Inquiry. Wei Wuxian, as always, managed anyway.)

Three years of parenting practice had one of Lan Wangji’s hands protectively on Lan Yuan’s shoulder, the other darting across Wangji’s strings. What do you mean, soul-binding resentful ghost trouble?

Wei Wuxian’s soul moved back from the strings, fading until it was barely visible. Lan Yuan nodded and shifted until he was sitting beside the guqin, between them.

“Mama says don’t worry, A-Yuan is fine,” he told Lan Wangji seriously. “He says it’s a...” He narrowed his eyes in focus. “‘Severe but non-ma-lig-nant case of resentful energy inculcation and imprinting, with a side order of a little bit of passive possession. By the conjoined spirits of the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Wangji must been visibly horrified, because Lan Yuan looked worried as he leaned forward and patted his knee.

“It means I can talk to Mama and other ghosts,” he explained in his own words, “and they can understand living people better when I’m there.” His face twisted skeptically. “Because that’s special?”

“It is very special,” Lan Wangji confirmed, still reeling a little from “passive possession by the conjoined spirits of the Burial Mounds.” But if Wei Wuxian said it was fine, then it must be fine - he would, Lan Wangji was exquisitely sure, mask any danger to himself, but never to A-Yuan.

Still, his gaze flicked to beyond Wei Wuxian, where there was nothing but silence, sunlight, and idle rabbits sleeping, or gnawing down the grass - and, he was sure, still a line of ghosts apparently determined to speak to his son.

Wei Wuxian must have noticed the movement of his eyes, because Lan Yuan began reciting dutifully again: “Mama says that there’s fourteen more spirits here, not counting Ying Huang - who went back to everyone else, now. There’s a draw, he thinks, to A-Yuan, even if they don’t know con-scious-ly that he can talk to them. And, of course, the handsome - oh, the great Hanguang-jun, known master of Inquiry.”

"Will they accept Inquiry with myself,” Lan Wangji asked, “while Lan Yuan continues to play with the rabbits?”

Lan Yuan watched the space where Wei Wuxian was.

“’Lan Zhaaan,’” he repeated, less certainly. “’You’re too - sorry, Mama. ...Yes, Mama.” He turned back to Lan Wangji. “He says you’re a very good dad and he’s so glad you’ve learned so much since the street in Yiling.”

Lan Wangji felt his ears turn red, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t exactly a high bar, to have learned how to treat a child better than to stand in silent bewilderment while the child wailed at one’s feet.

Oh.

“A-Yuan. Do you remember...”

Lan Yuan shook his head, looking down in shame.

“That is fine,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “Do you wish to resume playing with the rabbits?”

Lan Yuan’s entire being seemed to brighten; if he’d been a rabbit himself, his ears would have stood straight in excitement. But he looked guiltily at the line of waiting ghosts.

(They were mostly common people of Gusu, ghostly echoes of clothing in rough cloth and dull colors. Many were bloody, from missing limbs or cut chests or more, others were simply pale and thin. One had the ghost of a cat draped stubbornly around her shoulders. The farther they got from him, the less clear they were to see, but sadness and yearning radiated from all of them, even the ones who scowled or glared, dark energy flicking around their forms like a shadow of the aura Mama could summon.

“Go on, A-Yuan,” said Mama, with one of his warm smiles that felt like home. “Your dad and I will handle the deathly supplicants, but we can’t play with the bunnies nearly as well as you will - but be careful! They might recognize that you’re part radish, and try to eat you!”)

Lan Yuan leapt to his feet with a grin, and bowed quickly to both of them. “I’ll be careful! Thank you, Mama; thank you, Father!”

“Go slowly,” Lan Wangji called as he darted off. “The rabbits - ”

The rabbits had already scattered in the face of Lan Yuan’s run, save for one particularly lazy old one with a whole leaf of lettuce to itself.

He will learn, Wei Wuxian said on the guqin, with a meaningless trill that Lan Wangji had no trouble translating as a smile.

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violet-knox · 4 years

Text

Returning Home

Part 2 of Conflict of Interest

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Summary: You head back to Hogwarts to fight for the Order during the battle and find Severus to get answers to your questions.

Warnings: Angst... with a capital A 👉👈👉👈 Death, Blood, Voldemort and more angst

Word Count: 8386

A/N: This takes place a few months after part 1 in the middle of the war. I’ve pasted a few quotes from the book which I’ll mention at the bottom to avoid spoilers and obviously the credit for that goes to JKR.

Obviously I've been writing too much fluff lately soooooo...... I'M NOT SORRY!

Part 1

Everything was in ruins. The castle in a worse state than the night you’d left, abandoning your home, the responsibility you had to the students that now lay dead on the floors of the one place they were supposed to be safe, the place their parents had put their faith in when they agreed to send them back in September. You’d abandoned your love, your life, everything you’d held dear. A job that gave you everything yet left you feeling so unfulfilled. But what choice did you have? Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, your partner and thought to be soulmate had done exactly what you’d feared and led the once great school into war. And where was he now? Hiding away somewhere to save his skin? Or perhaps he truly was the Death Eater everyone but you believed him to be, gone to stand by his Master’s side. Oh how the great have fallen, crashing and burning to the ground with nothing to show for but betrayal and loss. What would he say to you now that your nightmares had all come true? All that hope you’d carried for him gone. How could he possibly explain this chaos and exonerate himself from the horror he’d caused?

Every corner you turned you were greeted by more bloodshed. Innocents dead, Death Eaters throwing every type of Dark Magic left and right. Not a single stone in Hogwarts walls was left undamaged; some chipped or torn out from its place and most others displaying the blood of students, staff members, Aurors… your friends, ex-colleagues and peers. The sight made you wish you’d both arrived sooner and never shown up at the same time. It made you wish you’d done more than the petty hunting you’d taken part in these last few months. What good were a few caught Death Eaters now that they’d all gathered and attacked the school, destroying the place you’d left to protect?

Heading down to the end of the corridor, you turned towards the loudest of the three halls the castle offered you, filled with nothing but chaos and found a few Aurors, some you recognized, others you thought were too young to enter such a racking fight, defending themselves against a bundle of Death Eaters. You quickly joined them, throwing curse after curse, standing by their side, holding your own against the Dark Magic thrown your way.

You’d barely begun defending the school when suddenly, the wall behind the Death Eaters you fought exploded outwards, sending rockets of stone their way. You quickly shielded yourself, casting protego and watched as the school defended itself. Every Death Eater was thrown off their feet, some greeting death as soon as they hit the ground and others finding themselves not so lucky, facing wounds that would defeat even the best Healer in the world before facing down the end of an Auror’s wand.

Holding your wand up stead, you made your way towards the rubble, casting the killing curse towards a Death Eater the second you saw them twitch and stepped over the broken wall to a sight even worse than that you’d previously been greeted with. Groups of students lay dead as others ran down the corridor only to fall at the hand of another Death Eater. You couldn’t stand the sight and your anger grew the more you thought about how insignificant your helping hand really was these last few months. You were only one person, what could you possibly do to truly help these poor kids?

Making your way down the hall, you did what you could, saving as many students as possible until you heard the familiar sound of a voice you could have sworn could only belong to man of the hour himself, the Chosen One; Harry Potter. But it was him, it had to be, who else would be so bold as to use the name of you-know-who so openly, especially at a time like this?

"You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he'll have the snake with him, won't he? Do it, Harry- look inside him!" You couldn’t recognize the girl's voice at first, the fear hidden in her tone masking her usual confidence, but of course it had to be Miss. Granger.

Silence fell a while and you edged closer towards them, still hiding behind the broken wall, keeping your presence scarce.

"He's in the Shrieking Shack,” Harry finally spoke. “The snake's with him, it's got some sort of magical protection around it. He's just sent Lucius Malfoy to find Snape."

Your heart nearly stopped at the mere mention of Severus. So, it was true. It was all true and you’d been too blinded by love, convincing yourself his words were enough to believe when they were nothing more than lies. Your vision blurred as you placed a hand over your mouth, trying to keep from falling apart, tears running down your cheeks. You slumped to the ground and all the noise, all the chaos around you disappeared as you spiraled down the rabbit hole of grief. There was no need for a spy now, no need to pretend during this wad and if Harry’s words were true, that left you with one obvious conclusion; Severus Snape was a Death Eater.

"He's not-he's not even FIGHTING?" Hermione had never sounded so outraged before, her risen voice snapping your mind back to reality. Your head pounded, fighting your heart which begged to find another explanation for Severus, anything to prove what you had with him wasn’t a lie. You wanted so badly to believe you’d hallucinated this conversation, that Harry had made up what he said was true but the more they spoke, the more your hope faded along with your dreams of a pleasant reunion.

"He doesn't think he needs to fight," said Harry. "He thinks I'm going to go to him."

You closed your eyes, unable to hear anymore. Your head felt like it was about to implode from rejecting the fact that Severus had lied to you, telling you he was fighting, spying for Dumbledore when he’d double crossed the Order, he’d double crossed you. Placing your face in your hands, you brought your knees up to your chest, taking deep breaths as you tried to clear your mind. Now was not the time to panic. Now wasn’t the time to feel resentful. A war had broken out and you were in the midst of it. The important thing right now was to fight and win this battle before all was lost to the darkness that had enveloped your love.

But if Severus had been truthful to you, the one person in his life you knew he trusted more than anyone, then perhaps there was something going on greater than these attacks. Something you were unaware of. Why was Harry Potter looking for that snake and why was it so heavily protected? If anyone knew, it would be Severus, and if Potter and his friends were planning to make their way to the Shrieking Shack then it was only logical for you to go with them. Even if Severus had betrayed you, even if there was no deeper plot, you could still do your part and protect the boy who lived. He was supposed to be the key to winning this war after all, so the best thing you could do for the sake of the Wizarding World was find the truth and protect him.

Just when you’d finally made a decision and jumped back up to your feet, you heard two Death Eaters shouting for Potter, approaching him with their drawn wands. But Miss. Granger had beaten you to the punch, attacking them before making a break for it. With the sudden chaos that ensued, you could no longer spot them. You honestly weren’t sure if they’d decided on their next move, but you knew at least one of them would head to the Shrieking Shack which meant they would all do what they could to assist.

You quickly sprinted towards the Entrance Hall, encountering Death Eater after Death Eater on your way, but finally you’d found yourself outside the castle doors, spotting Potter and his friends running out of range of a giant screaming ‘Hagger’. You couldn’t even stop to question the giant and his eagerness. Time was of the essence. You watched them sprint towards the Whomping Willow and remembered the story Severus had told you about the time he’d caught Sirius Black.

He’d told you about how he’d found him in the Shrieking Shack by following Potter into a secret tunnel under the Whomping Willow. He’d never told you how he knew about the tunnel, but at the time, you hadn’t thought to question it, enticed by Severus’ bravery and ambition instead. Whatever the case may be, his story clearly had some truth to it and could help you find your own way to the Shrieking Shack after those kids who suddenly seemed to have disappeared.

No matter, you knew exactly where they were heading, and they couldn’t be too far ahead of you. Soon enough, you’d managed to make your way to the tree that had begun aggressively swinging its branches in every direction. You quickly found a nearby branch and made your way to the knot under its trunk, immobilizing it as soon as you hit it, just as Severus had described. Ducking into the opening under the tree, you found yourself completely in the dark with nothing but silence accompanying you. Taking out your wand, you cast lumos and began making your way down the seemingly endless tunnel.

Eventually, the end came near and you felt your heart pound aggressively against your chest, your adrenaline beginning to wear as the fear of what you might encounter on the other side of this trap door ensued. You’d come all this way, there was no going back now, no backing down. This is what you’d come for, what you’d left Severus for; the chance to help end this war.

You summoned up every last ounce of bravery you had to spare and pushed aside your doubt along with the trap door, climbing into the Shrieking Shack and immediately found yourself met with an agonizing scream coming from the room next door. You slowly edged your way to the exit, staying with your back pressed against the wall, wand at the ready and found Potter, Granger and Weasley all crouched down, listening in on whatever was happening in the next room. When the commotion settled and you heard he-who-must-not-be-named leave the room, you watched the trio walk in with a lack of defensive precaution.

To say you were baffled by their motions would be an understatement. Clearly there was still someone in there and to head in acting as if they’d been called for dinner without their wands at the ready was completely absurd. You quickly moved forward gripping your own wand tightly, ready for whatever it was you were about to walk into as you followed them into the unknown room. But no amount of precaution or training could have prepared you for the sight you saw as soon as you turned that corner.

“Severus,” you whispered in complete and utter shock. He was lying there with his throat cut out, his hands desperately grasping at Potter as the floor was painted red with his blood. You felt your heart collapse, your head spin in agony as you rushed forward, pushing past Granger and Weasley, throwing yourself on the ground beside Severus. You’d never felt so helpless, so useless before in your life. You wanted to help, you wanted to save him, but you didn’t know how.

A terrible rasping, gurgling noise suddenly issued from Severus’ throat and your attention was brought up to watch his eyes desperately begging Potter for something you could never begin to even imagine.

"Take...it...Take...it..."

Memories oozed out of his mouth, eyes and ears but you couldn’t be bothered to wonder what he was doing, you couldn’t accept this. He can’t die, he can’t. He hasn’t explained himself to you yet. He hasn’t told you how wrong everyone was to call him a Death Eater, how he truly was fighting for the light, how he was simply doing as he was told standing by the side of you-know-who as Dumbledore had asked. He hasn’t told you how much he loved you.

You looked down at your wand and blinked away your tears. This can’t be it, it simply can’t. This is not the end, it just can’t be. Hovering your wand over his neck, you began muttering every healing charm you could think of, holding on to the hope that one of them would work despite the fact that you knew deep down those marks on his neck indicated snake venom was running through his veins, poisoning him and ripping out any smidge of life he had left to give.

You didn’t stop, you couldn’t stop until you felt those familiar slim fingers graze your hand. Severus had motioned for you to halt your motions, but you couldn’t accept that, shaking your head as your eyes filled with tears, looking into his. His hand felt so weak, so cold, colder than usual and his face was so pale. He was dying and you couldn’t do anything but beg and plead for him to stay.

“Please… please don’t leave me,” you whispered, leaning as close to him as you could, placing your hand above him as you dropped your wand.

Severus kept his eyes glued to yours, a few more memories escaping his lips as he focused on your touch, the delicate features of your face, your hair. He’d missed you so much these last few months; they were torture without you and he knew he’d only made it as far as he did with this mission because you’d been by his side. Even when you’d left, it was the thought of seeing your face once this was all over that kept him going. How poetic must it be for your face to be the last he’d see now.

"Look...at....me..." he whispered, bringing your attention from the second flask Granger had used to capture the last set of memories he’d given up and back to him. Your eyes met one last time before that twinkle behind his black orbs vanished, his hand slipping between yours and thudded to the ground.

“No.” The word stumbled out of your mouth as you desperately went to reach for his hand, grasping it tightly with your own and bringing it up to your chest. Your swallowed screams came out as incoherent whines as you tried searching his eyes, finding nothing but emptiness. He was gone.

You’d barely had two seconds to process what just happened when suddenly, the voice of he-who-must-not-be-named echoed through your ears, filling your mind with vile thoughts of anger and fear atop the grief you’d felt for your lost love.

"You have fought," said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."

You closed your eyes, somehow hoping that would shut him out, that it would shut out the world to leave you be or wake you from this hellish nightmare you were living. But you were given no such luck as he continued to speak, his voice resonating the agony and despair you felt.

"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."

Dispose of your dead. He spoke as if the lives lost during this war were nothing more than trash to him and why would he care? He who never learned to love, never cared for someone as you had Severus. You couldn’t bear looking at his eyes anymore knowing they’d never look back at you. His hand lifeless in yours, never to hold you again. Placing two fingers over his eyelids, you closed them and placed his hand over his chest before reaching into his robes where you knew he stashed his wand to retrieve it.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you.” His voice still rang in your ears and you finally remembered you weren’t alone. There was still a battle to be won, a war to end, lives to save. “You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

"Don't listen to him," said Weasley.

"It'll be all right." Granger’s sudden wild tone threw you back and you felt yourself go stiff under all the stress and grief this war had brought. "Let's-- let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest we'll need to think of a new plan--"

The trio all stood to make their way out, but you couldn’t move a muscle. Eyes closed, you hung your head and planted your palms on the ground. You had to wake up, this couldn’t be real. These last few months, they must have been a dream. You’d dreamt it all and you were back in bed with Severus in his chambers at Hogwarts sleeping next to him after making up. It was the only reasonable scenario because this simply can’t be real, it can’t.

“Professor.” But Granger’s voice had just proved you wrong. This was your reality and it was too much for you to withstand. You wanted to stay with Severus no matter what it may bring, yet you knew you couldn’t. You had to protect the children, the students and help the Order fight against that monster.

You took in a deep breath and shoved your grief into a cupboard in the depths of your mind, locking it shut before jumping to your feet, griping hold of your wand along with Severus’ and the flask of memories Granger had left for you. You followed Potter and his friends back through the tunnel from which you came, nothing but silence passed between the four of you as you tried to wrap your head around the events that just occurred.

You couldn’t think straight. It was all just too much. You wanted answers, you wanted to help and that was supposed to be the point in your trip to the Shrieking Shack but instead of having your questions answered, you’d been shown nothing but what you’d lost and could never regain.

The darkness accompanied you out of the tunnel as you exited out of the Whomping Willow and dragged yourself to the Great Hall, following the others. You felt unhinged, like this reality wasn’t your own and perhaps it wasn’t. It was the cruel reality of fate, rejected by those who’d stood over their love’s empty vessels.

You somehow felt yourself envious of those mourning the ones they lost in the Great Hall because at least they could mourn knowing they were loved, hugging those still present in the land of the living. Walking down the room, you gazed upon the students, Aurors and staff members lost in the war, the survivors huddled in groups where the house tables used to stand. Nothing more than hardship and devastation passed from one person to the next.

Fresh tears streamed down your face at the thought of Severus lying there alone in the shack where you’d left him. He should be here. You should both be huddled in the corner alongside the others thanking Merlin you’d survived this long instead of this loneliness you felt accompanying you as you found your way to the nearest wall, throwing your back up against it and sinking down to the ground.

You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, instantly rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort yourself. You’d never felt such a cascading rush of emotions before, thoughts of anger and resentment replaced by agony and remorse the second you saw Severus on the ground. In that moment, it didn’t matter to you what side he was on. He was your heart, your soul, your everything and he was gone.

You could never speak to him again, never see him or touch him. It wasn’t fair. You’d never gotten the closure you needed after you’d left and now you felt like you never would. You’d hoped the end of this war would give you the means to find the closure you needed, whether that be accepting Severus as the Death Eater he was or the brilliant and brave man you’d come to know him as. You’d never thought of the possibility you’d be faced with his death instead because he’d always seemed so invincible to you. He was an amazing Wizard with skills you were sure would have rivaled Dumbledore at his best. The possibility of his death seemed laughable back then. Even now as you sat there, playing back what you’d seen, what you’d heard, you weren’t sure what had happened, why he-who-must-not-be-named would kill him when he’d gained his favour last year, becoming his most trusted follower after killing Dumbledore.

Questions upon questions piled up in your mind and suddenly it became clear to you what you had to do next. The war no longer mattered to you, the battle felt like it had taken place eons ago. You needed answers and the flask Granger had handed you may very well be the only thing you had to provide you with what you needed most.

Quickly standing to your feet, you began making your way to the Headmaster’s office, your pace fastening the second that gargoyle came into your line of sight. You were about to mutter ‘Dumbledore’, hoping Severus hadn’t changed the password since you’d left when the gargoyle spun open with none other than Harry Potter stepping out of it. Your eyes met and you both froze in place, each one aware why the other was there. It was you who’d moved first, taking a step toward the open door before you heard him speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice small and shriveled. “I didn’t know.”

You looked back at him and watched as he handed you his flask, unsure of what he meant. You took it regardless and gave him one last look before making your way into the office. You’d spent many nights here, speaking with Severus, watching him take orders from Dumbledore’s portrait. You’d resented the place honestly, feeling it too crowded, too grand. You much preferred his old office next to the potions classroom, but with the way he looked when he first entered the room, clearly ecstatic about it all had you keeping your opinion to yourself, letting him enjoy the bit of luxury he’d been given.

Your eyes finally met with the pensieve, unsurprisingly pulled out of its place. Slowly, you made your way towards it and looked down at the two flasks in your hand. Without a second thought, you put away the one Harry had given you, opening the second one and poured its contents into the pensieve. The blue and silver looked beautiful swirling around in the water and you only hoped the memories you’d see as you dunked your head in would be just as alluring a sight.

The room spun and you felt yourself falling into darkness until a clear image of Diagon Alley rolled into view. You looked around and noticed the lack of people roaming the streets. It didn’t take long for you to spot Severus in his oversized robes, making headway towards Flourish and Blotts. I remember this night, you thought, smiling to yourself as you quickly followed him into the shop.

Severus made his way straight for the academic section of the shop knowing exactly where to look as you let your eyes roam around the store searching for…

“Hello.” Ah, there you were. “Do you need any help?” Your cheeks burned red, feeling awkward at how innocently young you looked back then. You were so clueless back then and it almost hurt to watch you interact with Severus. Though despite the clear lack of love between you both, at least your past self had the pleasure of speaking to him at all. It was more than you could ever hope to do now.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Severus looked you up and down, seemingly unimpressed with you but looking at him now, you realized he’d hidden a small smirk behind his ‘better than life’ attitude.

“That obvious?” You’d cracked a smile at him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Yes, you could remember this day very clearly now; he was the first customer to have actually struck up a conversation with you while working here and it made you nervous.

“No,” he replied, looking down at the book he had in his hands. Leaning in closer, you realized he’d done that thing he always did when he was nervous and let his hair fall in his face to hide his growing smirk before composing himself and looking back at you. “I shop here every few months and this is the first I’m seeing you.”

“Ah, a regular. Perhaps I should get to know your name then,” you said, pushing yourself to do as you’d been told and show the customers nothing but a willingness to help as you offered him your hand. Severus looked down at your open palm, hesitating before firmly grasping it.

“Severus Snape,” he said, looking into your eyes and shaking your hand. You could almost feel his slim, dry fingers grazing the inside of your palm just looking at the figures you knew were just memories. But you couldn’t help the tears that gathered in your eyes, it was so good to see him so full of life again.

“Well, Severus Snape, do you always shop in the boring section or do you ever explore the rest of the store?”

You chuckled at your own joke, whipping away your tears and immediately looked at Severus, watching him scuff in response before the memory washed away, snatched from you just when you felt yourself reconnecting to him.

“No!” You shouted into the nothingness surrounding you, turning in your place as colour began to settle into place revealing the empty streets of Hogsmeade with Severus standing in the middle of the road, looking as though he was contemplating doing something regrettable.

You ran up to him, standing before him and examined the look on his face. All you wanted to do was cup his cheeks, wait until his eyes met yours and ask him what was wrong, but it was just a memory. You knew if you reached out, you wouldn’t feel a thing. He’d pass right through you and you just couldn’t handle that disappointment. So you held back, waiting for him to make a move instead.

After taking a few more moments, he finally began to walk down the street, stopping right in front of The Three Broomsticks as if he was afraid he’d run into someone undesirable the second he walked in. He paused once more as soon as he’d stepped inside, looking around before making his way to the bar. You followed his lead and walked with him as you searched the practically empty pub; the few people who were present all seemed to be minding their own business, nothing out of the ordinary really.

You watched him slump into a seat, clearly nervous about being here for reasons you didn’t understand. You’d come to this pub with him multiple times and he’d never acted this way. Unless, perhaps, this was the first time he’d stepped foot in Hogsmeade since the night he was thrown out The Hogshead, that would definitely explain his nerves.

Severus suddenly went completely stiff and as you followed his line of sight, you realized why.

“What can I get you Severus.” Your younger self had immersed once again, this time as a bartender. The shocked look on Severus’ face amused you. He’d never looked so confundled before he’d met you for the second time.

“Are you following me?” He shamelessly let out.

“Me?! I’d do nothing of the sort,” You placed a hand on your chest adding a bit of sarcasm to your tone, acting as though he’d offended you to the highest degree while offering him a small smile. Severus eyed you a moment and you laughed at the interaction, realizing now how silly it looked from an outsider's perspective.

“Firewhiskey,” he finally said, adjusting himself in his seat to get comfortable. “Double.”

You looked over to the bar and watched as you reached for a clean glass and a bottle of Firewhiskey. “So, what brings you to Hogsmeade?”

This was the second time fate had brought you together and you remembered thinking it had to be some sort of sign, that coincidence couldn’t possibly explain this encounter when you’d done nothing but think about finding him again after you left your old job. You were nervous that night when you saw him again, wondering if you should go as far as to get to know him a little.

“I work at Hogwarts,” he said, watching you pour his drink before pulling out a second glass and doing the same for yourself. “What are you doing in Hogsmeade?”

You tore your eyes away from the drinks your past self was pouring and looked at Severus to find an oddly curious look on his face. He seemed intrigued rather than skeptical as the tone in his voice perceived.

“Fate,” you said, smiling to yourself, keeping your gaze on the bottle you had in your hand as you sealed it and went to put it back on the shelf behind you. “I got let go at Flourish and Blotts. Said they didn’t need me after the school rush anymore, so here I am.”

You picked up both glasses and offered him one. Watching the interaction had you suddenly feeling the aftertaste of the Firewhiskey on your tongue as your own image take a sip. At this point, you remembered wanting to know more about Severus. He was intriguing to you, different than those you’d met in England thus far. He seemed to have lived a long life despite looking to be in his late twenties. Looking back at Severus, you began to wonder what he thought of you the first time you’d met.

“So, what do you do at that mysterious school?”

“I’m the school’s Potion’s Master,” he replied before taking a large sip of his own. “Have you never been to Hogwarts?”

He rose a brow at you and you could see his curiosity peek. You’d never noticed it before, but knowing Severus now, he must have thought of you as something special if he’d shown you any sort of interest.

“Nope,” you replied with a little too much enthusiasm. “I was sent to Beauxbatons because my parents thought it was more conservative.”

You shook your head, blushing at the sight of yourself speaking of your upbringing. Keeping your eyes on Severus instead, you began examining his expression, trying to memorize every detail of his face. But once again, the image before you began to vanish, and you found yourself in the darkness once again. It seemed as though fate also had a cruel sense of humour, taking away the thing you love just when you felt yourself ready to grab hold of it again.

Spinning around, you tried searching for the new image that should have formed around you by now, but you could only make out a few lights to your left and you’d begun to think something had gone wrong until you realized you were in the dungeons of Hogwarts. You were standing in Severus’ old chambers, before he’d become Headmaster. All you could make out was the pale tone of his face reflecting the yellow candlelight and his hands which were held up close to his neck.

Walking closer to him, you realized he was standing in front of his mirror, tying his ascot, looking nervous once again. You smiled and simply admired him as he looked his reflection up and down, obviously unhappy with what he saw, but you couldn’t say you felt the same. He looked perfect to you, even his hair which he couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with.

You’d never seen him like this before, so worried about his appearance, unable to stand in place. Finally, he walked away from the mirror, whisking away into the sitting room where he began pacing, debating something you could see he was on edge about. You bit your tongue, wanting to ask what was wrong until you realized how stupid that was. He wasn’t really here, this wasn’t really him and you’d clearly been shifting through these memories long enough to forget that.

You frowned, just standing there waiting in anticipation for him to make his next move. Eventually, he composed himself enough to open the door to his chambers and make his way out towards the Entrance Hall where you finally remembered what night this was; your first date.

This was the first time you’d seen him out of his teaching robes, all dressed up in his navy-blue formal attire. You’d been waiting on the other side of the doors he’d opened, probably more nervous than him. He’d visited you many times at the Three Broomsticks after your first encounter there, finally offering you a tour of Hogwarts months later when the students had all left for the holidays.

You watched yourself step inside from the cold, shivering with your arms wrapped around yourself. You let out a giggle as you realized how nervous his first date with you had made him. It was adorable, though you knew what Severus would say if he’d caught you using that word to describe him. ‘Kittens are adorable (Y/N), I am not.’ Though you would respectfully disagree of course.

“I trust you weren’t waiting too long?” He said as he closed the doors. Your younger self was busy brushing snow off your jacket, but you could see the concern in his eyes. You knew that look and it saddened you to see him wear it so early in your relationship. How had you not noticed before his worry over disappointing you had started before you’d even officially began to date?

“Not at all. You’re just on time,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a warm smile. “This school is huge! Will we have time to see it all today?”

“No, but I thought I’d show you the more grand parts of the castle before dinner,” he said, accompanying you down the hall.

“So, does that include your classroom?”

You followed the figures, watching Severus closely, his eyes beginning to soft as he grew comfortable with you. It was an amazing first date and you were happy to relive it.

“If you wish.”

The figures suddenly disappeared as they walked down the hall and you found yourself standing in the dungeons again, this time outside of the Potions classroom where Severus was hesitantly leading you. You remembered this part of the tour; the best part of the castle, unable to help yourself from imagining him teaching a classroom full of students, but it was clear Severus didn’t feel the same way. His nerves were back and he looked unsettled as he opened the door to let you into the room.

“Wow,” your younger self said under your breath and you just couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You were exaggerating your interest and it made you wish the next memory would appear already to relieve you of this embarrassment. But you held out and kept watching if only to remember the lust you knew would blossom between the two figures in the memory.

Ignoring your weak attempt at flirting, you instead resumed your admiration for Severus, trying to read his thoughts through his expression, but all you could see was the unsettlement he’d shown back in his chambers when he was preparing for your date. His eyes darted back and forth from one table to the next, analyzing it as if he was searching for a reason to punish some non-existent students. Was he nervous about the state of the room? Is that why he’d hesitated when you begged to see his classroom earlier that evening?

“So, is this where you work? This is your desk?” You spun around at the sound of your own voice, following Severus’ line of sight to watch you run your fingers over his desk at the head of the class.

“Indeed, it is,” he said cautiously walking up to you. You followed along and watched him approach you as you leaned on the edge of the desk, smiling as if you were about to do something devious. A moment of silence passed, both figures exchanging looks before you spoke again.

“Thank you for today Severus. I enjoyed the tour,” you bit your bottom lip and pushed yourself up so you were standing but a small grasp away from him. There it is.

You sighed out of sheer joy when you saw Severus’ breath hitch as your figure leaned in, placing both hands on his shoulder and pressed your lips to his. He went stiff and you could feel his lips press against yours as you watched, your fingers instinctively hovering over your mouth at the loss of contact you felt.

Your smile grew and tears formed under your eyes when he began kissing back, wrapping his own arms around you, pulling you in tightly before your image quickly pulled them both back a step, enough so that you could jump onto the desk without ever parting from him. The kiss quickly became heated as you wrapped your legs around him, his hands slowly making their way up the desk as he leaned forward, your back pressing against the wood of the desk. Your first kiss looked so normal from here, but at the time, you felt it to be the most magical moment you’d ever experienced. He was amazing the first few months you’d spent together, you could relive every second of it and you only wished you could. It was nice to see this moment again, but you wanted more. You wanted to feel him, to feel the emotions you felt when you were with him back then, not just observe the faint memories of you both falling in love with one another.

“No,” you whispered as the classroom behind the two on the desk began to fade. “Not again, please!”

You begged the nothingness that gobbled up one of your happiest memories, but it was too late. They were gone and you found yourself in yet another memory, a more recent one by the looks of it. You were in your shared chamber; the Headmaster’s chambers. You heard the door slam shut and began looking around, trying to find your figure along with Severus.

“No,” you said when you spotted him, realizing what memory this was. “No, Severus please. Why would you show me this night?”

You spoke to the figure as if he could hear you but of course, he ignored you and slumped into his armchair, the light from the dying fireplace illuminating his outline enough for you to kneel right before him, looking desperately into his heavy eyes, tears forming, threatening to fall down your cheeks as they did his. This was the night you’d left, the night you regretted full heartedly and it hurt to see the aftermath of your fight; the broken man that sat before you.

“I’m sorry Sev, please, I shouldn’t have left, I’m sorry,” you said desperately before giving into the one urge you’d been fighting during this trip down memory lane and tried to place your hand over his only to have it pass right through. You couldn’t bear the pain anymore and felt yourself break down as the memory kept playing. You placed your face in your hands and let your heartbreak escape through the tears you shed.

You’d do anything to take it all back if you were given the chance. If you had a time turner to spare, you’d sit there spinning it until you went back to the right moment to fix things, no matter how long it took. If you’d stayed with him, you could have helped save him, you should have stayed to convince him to fight for the Order. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You never should have left!

Was this your punishment? To be reminded of what you could have had with him? What you’d lost after making the biggest mistake of your life? You kept your head in your hands until you heard Severus shifting in his spot and you opened your eyes just in time to watch him pull out a box from his robes. You looked down at it, focusing your vision to watch him fiddle with the box, the same nervous and disappointed look you saw from your first date, the first time you met now scribbled all over his face once again.

“Oh Sev,” you whispered as you peered inside the box he was slowly opening, revealing a small, but elegant engagement ring. Your vision blurred again as fresh tears formed at the realization of what you’d done. You wanted to scream, to cry until time reversed itself and gave you the chance to rewrite history. He loved you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and you’d slammed the door in his face, rejecting him before he could even ask, all because you let this battle, this damn war cloud your judgment of him.

Severus suddenly stood and you instantly rose, staying as close to him as you could while he walked over to the fireplace, picking up the clock you’d given him for Christmas the same year you’d begun dating and popping out its bottom. He slid the ring inside the clock and reassembled it.

“Oh Sev, I wish you’d asked,” you said through tears despite the fact that you likely wouldn’t have given the same answer back then as you would now. It was true what they said; you really didn’t know what you had until you lost it, and it took losing Severus to know that what you had with him was real and true. It took losing him, knowing you could never speak again to realize how much he meant to you, no matter which side of the war he stood.

Looking back at the clock, you watched it disappear along with the fireplace.

“No, no not another one, please I can’t take anymore,” you pleaded, but it was no use, Severus was gone and once again the scene around you changed and you were back in the Headmaster’s office. For a second, you thought it to be over, that you’d been freedom from your ward, but when you looked to the side of the room, you saw the pensieve was put away and all the figures in the portrait present, which meant this was yet another memory. You let out a defeated sigh, feeling as though this truly was a punishment you weren’t sure you could bear any longer.

“Severus, you made a promise.” You spun around when you heard Dumbledore’s voice, trying to search for his figure, but it was Severus you’d found instead, standing in front of a portrait, looking as broken as he did in the last memory. “You must stay by Lord Voldemort’s side until the time is right. You’re the only one that can do it.”

“You should have picked someone else,” he said looking as miserable as ever. You’d in fact never seen him like this in all the years you’d known him; broken, hollow, left with no ambition, nothing left to live for. “(Y/N) left yesterday. I’ve lost everything to this war.”

You walked closer to him, realizing what he was saying, what he was asking to do. He wanted to come after you, to abandon his post, the position he’d worked too hard to gain, killing Dumbledore, betraying everyone he cared for, all to become he-who-must-not-be-named most trusted follower. He was ready to throw it all away for you.

“You said-”

“I know what I said! I was wrong!” He spat at the portrait. You took another step towards him, ready to make the same mistake you’d made earlier and attempt to hug the memory only for it all to disappear before you. This time, instead of a new memory replacing the darkness, you felt yourself being grasped and pulled out into the real world.

You feel back onto the floor, losing your balance when you came out of the pensieve. All those memories, everything you’d just learned was all too much. Severus hadn’t betrayed you after all, he wasn’t a Death Eater, he was a hero and he’d died just that. You should have gotten up, returned to the battle that was sure to resume any moment now, but you couldn’t. Your body couldn’t handle any more. You couldn’t do anything but lay there on the floor, crying until you had no tears left to shed.

It all felt so meaningless now; winning the war, defending the school. What was the point when you felt like you’d already lost? The hour was up but the chaos had yet to resume. You barely had the energy to drag yourself up and recollect all of Severus’ memories let alone join the others and see what would become of Hogwarts.

Closing your eyes, you took in a trembling breath, trying not to think about the breakdown you felt was on the verge of exploding out of you and gathered yourself enough to leave the office. Standing there as the gargoyle closed, you looked down the hall that led to his chambers. You weren’t ready to revisit the place where it all fell apart yet that’s where your feet were taking you.

Everything was right where you’d remembered it, nothing had changed, not even the picture you'd taken together at the Yule Ball, still propped up on the coffee table beside the armchair. It still smelled just like him, the closet in the bedroom still full of clothes; yours on the left, his on the right. He hadn’t bothered to throw a single thing away, your comb, your toothbrush, your journal still sitting exactly where you left them, nothing had changed.

Waking over to the bed, you picked up his pillow and pressed it to your nose as you closed your eyes and slumped down onto the mattress. Hugging his pillow with the upper half of your body pressed against the black silk covering the bed was the closest thing you felt you’d ever get to feeling his touch, smelling his hair or finding comfort in his arms. Still it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

You missed him so much, more so now than you had the last few months you’d been apart. Your body shock but you had no more tears left to shed. Your mind searched for memories of Severus, but you couldn’t find any more left to mourn over except the last moments you had with him. His eyes slowly glazing over with darkness as his soul escaped your world, leaving you behind.

He’d spent his last breath sharing all of himself with you and you had to honour that. He died so that the Wizarding World may prevail, and you couldn’t let that go in vain. You composed yourself the best you could, thinking of the victory you had to win for him and dragged yourself back to the sitting room.

You looked over the bleak outlines of the furniture you’d spent hours sitting in with Severus before making your way to the fireplace. Picking up the clock, remembering that Christmas morning you shared together, you turned it over, popping out the bottom to find the ring he’d hidden still sitting there, waiting to be worn. You removed it and placed the clock back in its place, shifting the ring around between your fingers to reveal text engraved on the inside of the band: ‘Always and forever yours’.

It was a beautiful ring, small, but you were never one for theatrics and he knew that. The diamond in the middle was crystal clear, pure as he’d once described you to be. Beside it, two small emerald stones were placed on either side, signifying his promise to you; that he will always be with you no matter what the future held. Looking at it now, the memory of him holding it in this exact spot where you stood, you could almost feel his presence around you, as if he’d just proposed and you’d abruptly accepted like you so desperately wanted.

You quickly whipped away the single tear running down your cheek and slowly slid the ring on the ring finger of your right hand, symbolizing what should have been but never was. He was gone yes but his legacy would live on, you would make sure of that.

Before heading out, you searched your pockets and removed the flasks carrying the last memories of your lost love and placed it next to the clock on the fireplace, removing his wand from your person as well, carefully laying it before the clock.

“You can rest now Severus,” you whispered, hoping that by some miracle, he’d hear you from the afterlife. “I love you so much, I hope you knew that.”

And with that, you slowly backed away from the fireplace and withdrew your wand, ready to fight for the good of the Wizarding World, for Hogwarts, for love, for Severus Snape and everything he stood for.

A/N: Ok, I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭

Scenes taken (and edited) from the books: Harry looking into Voldemort’s find to find his location and the heartbreaking shrieking shack scene.

@marvelschriss @bush-viper-cutie @moonie-writes

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valkyrieofsmut · 3 years

Text

Captive Love 25

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: Papyrus yells at Sans to get his shit together, but he's a mess... AKA Sans gets drunk... and remembers some things from the past... that he'd really rather not..

A/N: There is some... possibly triggering events... experiments and tiny skele abuse... little Papyrus is too cute and sweet... Also mentioned possible death. It, as usual, is separated with the ~~~ and should be (at least mostly) safe again at the next set, safe summary in the end..

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Story

Blackout.

Sans rolled over in his bed, feeling like the scars on his chest were going to break through and destroy his soul.

The sun blared outside, shining into his sockets.

"fuck off," he growled, rolling back over.

Papyrus pounded on the door, making the sounds reverberate through his skull. He couldn't tell if it was louder than normal, or it just sounded like it to his throbbing skull.

"GET YOUR STUPID, LAZY ASS UP, SANS!! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!! I KNOW YOU WENT OUT DRINKING AGAIN LAST NIGHT, LIKE THE FUCKING MORON THAT YOU ARE!! YOU'D BETTER BE DOWNSTAIRS IN FIVE MINUTES, OR I'M COMING BACK UP HERE FOR YOU!! YOUR STUPIDITY IS NO EXCUSE TO BE A LAZY DRUNK MORON!!"

The day was hell- actually, life was hell at the moment…

His brother yelled at him about how stupid he'd been every chance he got- like he didn't already know that he'd royally fucked up.

Every place he went reminded him of something he'd shown, or wanted to show (Y/n), her excitement at all the different things she'd never seen before had warmed his soul every time.

Each time someone asked where his pet was made his soul thrum and ache to be close to her. ...and punch the person in the face… She was so much more than the pet they'd had to pretend she was.

Every time he got Grillby's, he remembered her face of delight as she ate it for the first time.

Every bite of his brother's food reminded him that she'd been there and helped him get better at cooking.

Every time he rolled over in bed and smelled her scent caught on the pillow, or the sheets…

And then there was the time he'd gotten back from drinking, and had been stumbling around drunk in his room, kicking random stuff on the floor, only to discover a pair of her underwear that he'd probably tossed in the corner in his haste to get to her.

That had made him collapse in a heap of self hatred and regret.

Sans sat at the table, stabbing his fork at his dinner aimlessly.

“I MADE YOU A WONDERFUL, DELICIOUS, HOME COOKED MEAL! DON’T FIDGET WITH IT AND ACT LIKE IT’S THE TRASH YOU FILL YOURSELF WITH AT THAT GREASE TRAP,” Papyrus snapped at him.

“sorry, boss…”

Papyrus clenched his jaw, staring at his own fork pushing around a bite longer than necessary.

“I WARNED YOU. I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCK IT UP. BUT YOU HAD TO GO AND DO THE STUPIDEST THING POSSIBLE TO FUCK IT UP.”

Sans didn’t say anything.

“YOU DID IT TO YOURSELF.”

“i fuckin’ know, boss!” Sans yelled, scooting his chair back from the table. “i know i’m a fuck up! it’s pretty fuckin’ obvious that i always manage ta fuck everythin’ up!”

Papyrus sniffed haughtily. “I’M GLAD THAT YOU KNOW. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?”

“i can’t do anythin’ about it! i fucked up, an’ she hates me! i took ‘er back ta th' edge a th' boundary, an’ there’s no way i can ever find ‘er, now!” Sans glared at his plate of food. 'sides, she wouldn't care- not that i'm sorry for being an asshole, not that i've been tryin' ta be a better monster, an' made great progress, too! maybe only a lil before i met 'er, but her bein' here made it so much easier to be better…

Papyrus scowled at his brother. “THERE’S ALWAYS A WAY-”

Sans cut him off by standing up, his chair making a loud noise as it almost fell over, and started towards the door as he muttered, “i’m goin’ ta grillby’s…”

After grabbing his coat and slamming the door after him, Sans shortcutted to the bar, intent on getting wasted.

A few drinks in with a good buzz, Sans started looking around.

He wasn’t quite drunk enough to not remember, but it was at least a bit hazy.

“Heya, Sansy!”

He looked over to the bar stool next to him, seeing the cream colored bunny next to him, ordering a drink. He followed her to her regular booth, and they began matching shots, seeing who could get the drunkest first.

Sans opened his eye sockets, his fuzzy eyelights looking around the bar, seeing some drunk monsters starting to be a bit more friendly with each other.

His skull fell to the side as he shifted, realizing that he’d missed a bit of what had happened. He straightened up in the booth seat and looked down at his drink again.

Maybe he should try to find someone…

Even if it was a one night stand, it would be someone to try to get rid of his memory of- no… thinking her name would only start the hurt again… make his soul burn with the knowledge that he was to blame for fucking his life up beyond repair.

But, finding someone might be a good idea; he needed to at least stop jerking off excessively to her panties, or reading those stupid, mushy, trash books he hid on his shelf while imagining that she was the leading lady- and he was lucky enough to be the bastard who’d seen the error in his ways and was given a second chance…

…

Sans tossed back his drink and took the half empty glass from the passed out bunny across from him, downing it as well.

He was finally kicked out of the bar, Grillby chasing everyone out as he closed.

Sans took a shortcut home, but ended up in the field near the echo flowers he had planted to remind him of Waterfall, where he used to look at the Underground “skys” and pretend the crystals were stars.

He yelled loudly for a minute, then tried again, this time making it within a short distance of the house.

He swayed dangerously, but he made it in through the door, getting to the foot of the stairs and seeing the door to the hidden room open. He went to it, hand stopping short only due to him passing out across the floor with a thud.

His vision had gone dark.

Darker...

…yet darker…

…and darker, still…

…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sans felt his soul floating above his body, unable to move as Gaster held him there with his weird powers.

“Just hold still, you little shit…”

Sans could handle it… as long as he left Papyrus alone, he could handle it…

“P-PAPA…”

“What is it? What are you doing in my lab? Why are you here?” Gaster demanded roughly in irritation.

Sans fought as hard as he could to shift his eyelights to see his little brother. He needed to stay away! Sans wished that he could talk, yell at Paps to run, to go hide, to never come there, ever again- but he could hardly shift his eyelights.

“WH-WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO SANS?”

run, bro, run! Sans begged mentally.

“Well, you see, you weak little fool, monsters are stuck underground. We’re not here because we want to be. Your useless brother here, is going to help us escape,” Gaster told him.

“THAT’S AMAZING, SANS!” Papyrus shouted in proud joy.

Sans tried to will his brother to leave, to save himself from the sadistic monster towering over him.

Papyrus’s jaw hit the hard floor as Gaster smacked the back of his skull so hard he fell forward.

“Don’t be stupid, you worthless little runt,” Gaster snapped as he tore the ragged stuffed animal from his grasp. “He’s only a part of the experiment, he’s not doing anything worthwhile.” He held up the prized toy and ripped it’s limb off. “Just like this garbage is only making you weaker.”

“NOOO!” Papyrus cried, a heart wrenching sob that made Sans’ soul hurt.

Gaster glared at the small skeleton on the floor. “You have no need for this trash,” he sneered. “It’s as useless as you are.” He tore at the thing until it was completely in pieces and destroyed.

Sans wanted to punch Gaster in his stupid cracked face.

Gaster plucked Papyrus from the floor and turned to hold him where Sans could see. “Look at how weak you’ve made him,” he gloated. “If you didn’t coddle him and try to protect him from the real world, he’d be stronger.”

Sans could feel his magic gathering in his bones, pushing and fighting against Gaster’s hold on him.

Gaster looked Papyrus in the socket. “You should thank your brother for this- for making you as weak as you are.”

A shot of fear showed on Papyrus’ face before the first hit came.

Red, hot, magical tears built in Sans’ sockets as he fought to get free, to help his brother, but he was only able to sort of flop around on the table.

Papyrus’ cries and tears were background noise for Gaster’s cries and accusations, telling Sans that he could thank himself for his brother not being able to defend himself, telling Papyrus to thank Sans for making him so weak. His gleeful cackling mixed with the noise of the attack.

One of the machines in the room kicked into another level, sounding like it was reversing the flow it had been using.

“sssstttppppp…”

“Haven’t I taught you boys anything? Emotions are weakness.”

“sssttoppp…”

“Weakness is unacceptable- weakness will get you dusted.”

“sstoopp…”

“I thought I had taught you both better- but maybe you’re just slow learners!” The thought was accompanied with a manic and near demonic grin. “Maybe you just don’t learn- maybe you need to be taught over and over and over-”

“stop,” Sans choked out.

Gaster was too focused on what he was doing to notice at first, but when it seemed like a circuit or fuse had blown, he paused his movements.

Sans started shaking, his body twitching every which way as he fought, fought to be able to save Papyrus.

He felt a power just beyond his phalanges, he could almost reach it-

The tears in his sockets grew, starting to stream down his skull, as he stretched himself to touch it-

The power in the lab started to flicker, and Sans felt like his soul was being ripped into tiny pieces with a cheese grater, digging into it and shredding the super sensitive entirety of his being.

“What are you doing, you stupid fucking brat,” Gaster demanded, glaring watchfully at him, ignoring his screams of pain.

Sans couldn’t hear him, though- he couldn’t even hear the screams leaving his own mouth, he was only consumed with protecting his brother, stopping Gaster from hurting him.

A loud crack echoed in the room, followed by the power cutting off and slowly starting back up.

Sans felt weightless, like he had no restraints.

He threw himself from the bed, but felt that he didn’t even touch the floor. He was held by a gathering of power- the same power that he’d tapped into.

The power that was…

Gaster sneered as Sans stood before him, attempting to adjust his magical hold, but it didn’t affect him.

Sans clenched his fists and gathered the power there, ready to stop the attack on his brother, a shimmer moving around his fists.

Gaster cackled at him and tossed Papyrus to the floor. “So, you’ve finally done what you were meant to do this whole time.” The tall monster reached for Sans, but his magic didn’t affect him. He made a displeased face at Sans before flourishing his hands, the gems in the centers of his cutout palms gleaming as he grabbed something in the air and pulled, lines attaching the two shimmering to visible for a moment.

Gaster grinned dangerously in accomplishment and jerked the lines, making Sans stumble forward.

“And to think; all it took to motivate you was a little smacking around of your brother… Maybe I’ll make you…” Gaster manipulated his hands in strange ways, and Sans could feel himself being tugged around by his own magic. “Yes, I could make you the one that hurt him instead… but, I think that I’ve taught him enough about the dangers of being weak… now I think I’ll teach you the dangers of caring for others-” Gaster twisted his hand and made Sans pick Papyrus up, holding him even with his eyelights. “How it can only hurt both parties in the end.”

“i don’t wanna, pap, i swear,” Sans begged him to understand as he felt his hand being drawn back. “i swear it’s not me, paps- ya know i’d never do anythin’ like this ta ya…”

“But it is you, Sans, look at your hand, it’s the one that’s about to hurt the one you love,” Gaster sneered from behind them.

“‘s not- ‘s not, paps- y’re my lil bro, i love ya-”

He was going to kill him-

Sans was going to kill Gaster for making him do this.

“The best part, is that the more monsters I link together, the more power I’ll have… I’ll be able to break down the barrier all on my own- as soon as I link enough souls together,” Gaster crowed in victory.

Sans looked down to his ribcage where his soul sat, seeing a string connecting it to Gaster’s soul, a strange bond forming between his soul and the holes in his palms, the gems floating in the middles, that he’d never seen before- in fact- he didn’t think he’d ever seen this glow before on Gaster.

Sans focused hard, letting go of Papyrus and took a hold of the line and tugged, pulling Gaster instead, turning the larger monster to him and making him stumble to be the right height, even for him to pull all the energy he could into his hands, summoning a large bone and swinging hard, hitting Gaster in the skull, seeing the flash of fear and realization just before it connected.

Gaster fell to the ground, limp, and Sans dropped the bone, letting it disappear as he stared in shock.

Did… Did he just kill Gaster?

He knew he thought about it a lot…

He knew that he wanted to do it to stop him from hurting his brother- wanted to punish him for hurting his brother…

But… why wasn’t he turning to dust…? Why was there… blackness leaking from him?

~~~~~~~~~~

Sans turned to Papyrus when he felt a bit more certain that Gaster wasn't going to get up and attack again.

He felt his soul twist in knots at the expression of pain and fear on his small brother's face, sure that it was partially due to the crack from his maxilla, between two sharp teeth, up and heading to his cheek bone. But the other part would have to come from…

"b-bro-" Sans' voice caught, his hand freezing in mid motion, his phalanges starting to curl closed into a fist. “i… i’m sorry, bro,” he murmured.

Papyrus threw himself into Sans’ arms, small, almost silent sobs leaving his small frame.

Sans felt his soul twist again.

“i- it’s a’right, paps- i- h-he… he’ll never hurt ya again. never…” He murmured against his brother’s skull. “i promise…”

Papyrus held tighter to him, trying to hide his silent sobs better.

“i- imma help ya become th’ toughest monster out there. ain’t nobody gonna mess wit ya…” Sans stroked over his brother’s skull, not quite sure what else to do to comfort him. “ya- ya are th’ great an’ terrible papyrus, after all…”

Papyrus mustered up the strength to give a soft, “Nyeh Heh Heh…”

Sans held his small form closer to his chest, curling around him. "it's ok, paps… everythin' is gonna be ok…"

He just had to get rid of Gaster's body…

After a moment, an idea came to him, and, thinking it through while he held and comforted Papyrus, it seemed to hold up…

He'd hated all these years of going to the lab with Gaster, but… looks like they were finally going to be good for something.

He didn't think anyone else knew about the void between realms that Gaster had accidentally tapped into while trying to find a way out of the Underground.

"S-Sans…" For once, the small skeleton's voice matched his size.

"yeah, paps?" Sans asked quietly.

"Are… Are You Going To Be My Dad, Now…?"

Sans felt like he was the one who'd been smacked in the back of the skull with a bone attack.

"i- n-no, paps- i'm still yer brother, i- i ain't fit ta- i ain't old 'nough ta be a dad-” he corrected, trying to put it in a way that Papyrus would understand, “but… imma take care a ya like one, 'k? ya don't have ta be scared, imma take care a ya… i'll keep ya safe…"

Papyrus tightened his hold on Sans. "I'm- I'm Going To Keep You Safe, Too," he murmured.

"that's 'cause y're gonna be th' biggest, strongest monster out there. no one'll be able ta beat ya, 'cause y're th' best…"

Sans held his brother tight, feeling the newly awakened power burning through his bones as the two held each other, swearing that they'd keep each other safe and alive, no matter what it took.

A/N: Safe summary: Gaster is experimenting in connecting souls together, using his powers to hold Sans down, when little Papyrus comes down with his precious stuffed animal to see what they're doing. Gaster hits Papyrus as punishment for being "weak". Sans completes the connection of his soul to Gaster's to break his paralyzing hold on him and protect Papyrus. At first it works, but then Gaster uses two crystals type things (that Sans has never ben able to see before and isn't sure what they are) in the holes of his hands to focus his power and control Sans, making him hit Papyrus, as punishment for caring for and loving him. Sans tells him the whole time that it's not him. Sans regains control and stops himself, using gravity magic to bring him down to level, and then manifests a bone attack and hits him, very hard, in the head. Sans wonders if he's killed Gaster, and holds Papyrus close while trying o figure out how to hide Gaster's body. Sweet moments ensue in the mostly safe part.

#underfell sans x reader #uf!sans x you #red (underfell) x y/n #underfrick #underfluff #tsundere sans #reader insert #y/n #mutual pining #romance #angst #fluff #multi part story #Read on AO3 #past abusive relationship #Sans is sad without Reader.

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