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warriors-rewritten-chaos · 7 months

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Family Reunion Gone Very, Very Wrong

Alderpaw meets his great-grandpa for the first time!

Based on the Cursed!Redtail AU by Sammi Safetypin on YouTube

TW for body horror, general horror, gore, blood, mentions of nausea and vomiting, graphic overuse of commas and italics, and terrible writing

General rundown on the AU proper as I understand it: Redtail fights off Tigerclaw instead of being killed by him and StarClan gives him the gift/power of immortality as a result to use in continued service and protection of his clan. He eventually loses his mind completely due to the constant grief from losing all of his family and his continued life. He believes that everything is a threat to his clan and becomes zealously, murderously overprotective of them. He ends up killing Jayfeather and Lionblaze, with Hollyleaf only surviving by escaping to the tunnels and Dovewing survives only by having her clanmates discover what’s happening and save her. Redtail is brutally mauled and driven off but still doesn't die.

Also, any wounds Redtail gets never close or heal (or stop bleeding, I think).

Alderpaw likes going foraging. Most things make him nervous, like treating patients or talking to other cats, but foraging is always a guaranteed calm affair. He likes seeing if he can recognize specific kinds of plants and keeping track of how many he recognizes. Sometimes he sees small animals running about and watches them. Yes, foraging for herbs is a comforting task.

But it isn’t today.

Alderpaw freezes as a bizarre sensation registers in his brain. His paw is sticky where he’d just stepped. When he shakily raises it to get a better look at what he stepped in, he’s hit with the overwhelming smell of blood. And it isn’t any animal blood either. There are chunks of calico-patterned fur stuck in it as well.

At this point, Alderpaw is shaking so badly he can hardly stand. But he manages to steel his nerves. If there's this much blood, the cat that’s bleeding must be very badly hurt. They could even bleed out if not treated quickly enough! While Alderpaw might be a coward, he isn’t going to just stand idly by as a cat suffers. He reluctantly goes sprinting off in the direction the blood trail leads.

When he sees what the cat that made the trail looks like, Alderpaw immediately wishes he hadn’t followed them.

The calico is laying in a pool of their own blood, still as stone. Their fur is absolutely covered in both lacerations and the blood still pouring from them despite the cat apparently being dead. They have to be dead. No cat could survive wounds this severe. When he looks, he can see the cat’s intestines peeking out from a hole in their gut and the inside of their throat from the deepest claw wound he’s ever seen.

Alderpaw is shaking again. He feels the bile rising, can taste it on his tongue. Even when he vomits, he can’t turn away. He’s shaking so hard he can’t move. His heart is pounding so hard it hurts. He’s going to die from fear. Leafpool had told him it could happen. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. Why had he followed the trail?

Suddenly, the cat shudders and jerks and yanks themself to their feet as if they had suddenly returned to life. As they move, the gashes gush and tear further and their organs peek out through their stomach just a bit more. With quick, jerky movements as if recovering from rigor mortis, the cat turns their head and looks directly at Alderpaw. Their eyes are wild and bloodshot, opened almost unnaturally wide as if something was physically holding them open. Their claws- at least the ones that don’t appear to have been ripped out- are unsheathed and their teeth are bared.

While the cat had almost looked ready to kill Alderpaw at first, their posture changes the more they look at him. It seems to soften in a way, but their desperately wide-eyed expression never changes, even as they somehow speak despite their throat being torn so wide open Alderpaw thinks he can see their vocal cords move as they do.

“S q u i r r e l f l i g h t?”

His voice is rasping and cuts out several times. It isn’t nearly as deep as Alderpaw’s father’s is but definitely enough to identify the cat as a tom. Never mind that! He called Alderpaw by his mother’s name... Does this monster know Alderpaw’s mother?

When Alderpaw doesn’t react, the tom steps closer. He hasn’t blinked at all throughout this entire painfully long exchange. Can he even blink? How is he standing? Is he even alive? Why is he bleeding so much?

“D o n ‘ t y o u r e m e m b e r m e?”

The tom tilts his head with a jarring snap and another gush of fresh blood onto the grass beneath him. His mouth curls into a too-wide smile that shows all of his bloodied, yellow teeth. Just how much blood does this cat even have to be losing all of it and still have more?!

“I t ‘ s m e . . . Y o u r e m e m b e r g r a n d p a R e d t a i l, d o n ‘ t y o u?”

That name makes Alderpaw’s heart stop. He knows of Redtail, of course, he’d have to live with moss stuffed in his ears to not know. He’s heard stories of his great-grandfather, a cat who had been given a great blessing and mission by StarClan only to have gone mad and murdered two of the Prophecy Cats. He had been driven off after that, thought gone for good. But he clearly wasn't. He’s right there in front of Alderpaw’s eyes, real and horribly wretched and still alive.

As the lacerated tom steps closer and closer, the scent of blood is overpowering, choking in it’s stench. Up close, it’s so, so obvious that Redtail should be dead. He can see all of his wounds, can see his veins his organs everything that he shouldn't see. Alderpaw is terrified, and just as the monster nearly reaches him...

Alderpaw bolts.

“C o m e b a c k!” Redtail screeches, claws just nearly missing Alderpaw’s flank as the apprentice runs as fast as he possibly can. He doesn't dare look behind him. He can hear Redtail’s agonized cries filled with rage echoing behind him as the demonic tom continues to give chase.

“Y o u c a n ‘ t l e a v e!”

“I w o n ‘ t l e t y o u!”

“D o n ‘ t l e a v e m e a l o n e a g a i n!”

Don’t stop running don’t stop running don’t stop running don’t stop running

That mantra is on repeat, echoing throughout Alderpaw’s brain as he runs. He keeps running even when the desperate shouts fade and cease. He keeps running even as he tastes blood from how hard his heart has been beating for so long. He keeps running even when he gets back to camp, sprinting straight into the Medicine Den and practically bowling over Leafpool in his efforts to get inside get to safety help me protect me save me-

“Alderpaw?!” His mentor exclaims in shock right before Alderpaw passes out from exhaustion.

...

As Leafpool frets over her nephew, a pair of wide, bloodshot eyes watch them from the trees.

“A t l a s t . . . I ‘ m f i n a l l y b a c k . . .

M y p r e c i o u s f a m i l y . . . I ‘ l l p r o t e c t y o u . . .”

#happy halloween! have this badly written horror-fic!#Warrior Cats #not rewrite related #Random AU #not my au #tw body horror #tw gore #tw horror #tw emetophobia

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commandsfear · 8 months

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fateviled ➤ {padme}

only stubbornness keeps the tears from falling. she can feel the burn of them in her gaze, throat tight and breath shaky, but she keeps her chin up and her mouth drawn in a thin line. ❝ except there’s no doing anything again, and we must live with our mistakes. ❞ as the words press out less than kindly, she finds a bitter smile pulling at her lips. living with her mistakes? goddess, IT WAS A MIRACLE SHE LIVED AT ALL. she lacks warmth as she regards him, burrowing deep within herself to find that steel that had allowed her to survive being queen, being senator, now a rebel. a strength she had found lacking more and more when her heart was so fully intertwined with anakin skywalker. but here, her heart has detached from her will. after all, is this man the same one she had loved so fully?

i don’t know you anymore. she had spoken in the final hours of her previous life, and that horror has not fully left her. still, too much of him is unrecognizable. the scars that mar his face are parts of a man that she had given her entire heart to, the gloved hand that curls around her own, no longer flesh and bone. and, oh, her own grief is stifling as she forces herself to keep her gaze steady though everything inside of her begs to look away. (SHE CANNOT TRUST HIM; SHE CANNOT TRUST HER HEART.) ❝ you could not have loved me better. because you loved me wrong, anakin. ❞ they are awful words to admit, and the burn as they bleed out of her, but what was left now? she was. left to carry on by herself, their children and their hope. a dead woman not quite dead yet. but it was what the galaxy needed to believe, so that they might be safe. safe from him. ❝ you sacrificed the lives of billions for us. you betrayed everything, knowing what i stood for. how can you call that love? ❞

vader felt his throat constrict. his already labored breathing grew shallow, harsh droid-like vents escaping him. this conversation was a farce, a WEAKNESS in its purest form. they’d kidnapped the queen of the rebellion only for vader to buckle beneath the overwhelming love anakin skywalker had for the woman who had once… who was his wife. even if they were opposed, their marriage still stood in some taxidermied form.

he should kill her. HE SHOULD KILL HER. but he can’t even bring himself to lift his free hand while holding her’s. every squatted out ounce of compassion seemed to rise up like bile in his throat. or like a song. obi-wan probably would have called it a song… even telling him all of the last things that he wanted to hear, padme’s voice still sounded like the most gorgeous melody. if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that they were still in a meadow on naboo. youthful innocence and love could bind them in his mind’s eye.

waking up as he was now, he thought he had lost her forever. yet, here she was. alive. alive and seated like a portrait, as if vader had to be worried that he’d smudge paint if he touched her cheek. palpatine had told him she was dead. did he simply not know or had he LIED? anakin skywalker would never believe that the emperor could lie, especially to him… but vader had grown from the twenty-two year old jedi who thought he was a chosen one.

“how can ANY LOVE be WRONG?” he asked, voice cutting between his shaking, true voice, burned vocal cords strained and his synthesizer’s deep baritone, “i saw you die, angel… what else was i supposed to do?” anakin might have flinched as the memory of his hand using the force to clench around her throat, but vader didn’t. instead, he felt SHAME. for years, he lived, stewing in that emotion, thinking padme was dead by his own hand. was this a second chance or the force laughing in his face?

#fateviled #fateviled (padme)#❧QUEUE.❧#❧VERSE: DARK LORD.❧

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shadowlineswriting · 11 months

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Shelley

Folks, we must now discuss one of the most beautiful books ever written: Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley.

I can feel your face grimacing in confusion. Frankenstein, you’re thinking, beautiful? No way. I’m going to prove it to you, don’t worry. Also, spoiler alert.

A lot of people get Frankenstein wrong. They think it’s about a mad scientist who basically created a zombie and then the zombie turned evil because all zombies are evil and BAM Frankenstein.

Wrong on so many counts.

It’s true that this book is about a scientist, although for the majority of the book he’s just a student. While studying at college, he discovers the secret to life and becomes obsessed with playing God. This isn’t due to an overwhelming sense of his own power so much as his continued pursuit of knowledge. We all fall into that trap at times, so before you get too judgy, remember how it felt the last time you learned something you were really, really excited about and how you wanted to know more. This is like that, times ten.

Anyway, the student’s name is Victor Frankenstein (it drives me nuts when people refer to the monster as Frankenstein, because at no point ever is that the monster’s name). Victor works incessantly on creating a man to see if the secret of life that he discovered is, in fact, controllable. He succeeds in creating the man, of course, but that’s when things go south.

It’s not because of the monster. The monster, for all we know, could have turned out to be sweet and gentle. But when Victor realizes what he’s done, he essentially runs away and abandons his creation. The book says:

“I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.”

The poor creature is left to learn about life on his own...and because he looks like a monster, he has to learn everything the hard way. He’s unable to approach people because they’re so afraid of his hideous form, which means all that he has to learn (like what fire is, and food, literally everything) comes from trial and error. It would harden anyone.

Victor’s creation, though, is still not a bad guy. He’s just unbearably lonely. Eventually he does learn about people and how to survive, and he even learns how to speak. After a lot of time passes and he finally finds Victor, he tries to explain his loneliness.

“Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred.”

You can’t help but sympathize with the creation on some level. Victor does, and finally he agrees to make the monster a companion.

To be fair, in this amount of time, the monster has gotten into all kinds of mischief (including killing someone), but whether that’s from maliciousness or desperation, I leave to you to decide.

Anyway, a lot more time passes and the monster stays on his own. Victor starts working on the companion, but then he changes his mind. He justifies it thus:

“They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being deserted by one of his own species.”

This is when things get dark, because Victor chooses to destroy the companion he was working on. The monster, in his grief, then kills Victor’s wife in revenge. The two then reach the ending of the novel, in which Victor is determined to kill his creation and the monster is determined that Victor should suffer. It’s so sad--and so unnecessary.

The language in this book is lovely. There are so many good quotes (in fact, there’s one that I liked so much I turned it into a tattoo). Shelley wrote the novel brilliantly.

The whole story is sad, but the reason I think it’s so beautiful is because you can’t help but be grateful for what you have after you read this. Little things that we never think about are worshiped by the monster.

I leave it to you to decide who’s the real villain of this story, Victor Frankenstein or his creation, but before you choose you really have to read the book. Now that you know what it’s truly about, check it out!

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levis-coffeecup · 2 years

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chapter 2| Blood, Sweat, and Scattered Pages

WC-5.5k

Content/Warnings

canon- compliant, canon-typical violence, spoilers for No Regrets OVA, descriptions of PTSD, grief, depression, heavy angst and themes, strong language, self-hate, death.

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Masterlist | Playlist | Other Works

JAN 845

Mae wipes the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand, as she cleans her medical equipment with a rag. It has been 3 days since Mr. Mendes had left, and the clinic is not the same without his kind eyes and rambunctious laughter that erupts at every silly thing.

Handling the clinic all alone is exhausting and she misses him. But it'll be fine, he'll be back in 2 weeks. And all will be well after then!

It is a regular day, the sun is out, and people work at their stores, sweating under the blazing sun.

The gates of Rose open with a jarring sound and her head swivels back. Eyes piercing through the window in the clinic that displays the city.

The Survey Corps trudge inside human territory. Faces defeated as they return from a mission. People gather around the streets and taunts are thrown around. Pity creeps up in Mae’s heart as she sees the scene unfold.

And then she catches a familiar raven head and her lips turn into a frown.

It's been 2 weeks since that eventful day when he threatened to kill her. 2 weeks since the day she resolved that she’d somehow get him out of her spot. And she has come to the conclusion that he is insufferable.

Her mind reels back to the one conversation she’s had with him.

"Hey, looks like you're here again today."

"..."

"What is your name?"

"..."

"How was your day?"

"Can you shut your annoying ass up?"

"The silence was awkward I was just trying to----”

"It wasn't awkward for me."

Mae has given up on him. He’s a gone case. Not only is he violent but also rude and humiliating. He lacks human decency and that grumpy asshole just can’t move his butt somewhere else.

He filters through the group of soldiers and a person chases behind him. They sport big rectangular glasses. And their brown hair sways with every step of the horse, as they speak animatedly.

Levi rolls his eyes, averting his horse away from them as they start to chat his ear off.

A small smirk forms on Mae’s face, as she watches the interaction from afar.

Good. If she can’t annoy him, then someone else must do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The city bustled with life.

Children ran along the alleys, and the cleaners scowled as they dirtied the places that had been freshly swept. Civilians bargained with vendors to save a mere penny or two. And the stray cats found sleep, in the dusty roads of the noisy markets.

It was the life everyone knew and then in a moment, it all turned to death.

The frivolous chatter that lingered a few hours ago has turned into screams. Panic colors the walls, as people wail in terror. Their mind dwindling between all that is lost and all that will be lost.

Death flocks around today. It manifests in many forms.

Civilians run around, stomping on stalls and everything else, precious fruits crushed beneath their feet as fear surges through them. Somewhere there is a forgotten teddy bear, lost on the floor, tramped and ruined in all the rampage

The Garrison soldiers finally work for once in their life, panic evident in their actions. They usher the citizens of Wall Maria, and stand atop the walls, searching for the dreaded creatures that have broken through and ruined years of peace with a single stomp.

And to the people who have seen the horror of the titans, death manifests in the form of acceptance. It settles over their bloodied features in a numbing way, as they carry their lifeless body into the territory of Rose.

Wall Maria has been breached and Wall Rose falls next.

Mae sits still on the squeaky chair in the pavilion close to the gates. They are open, and civilians of Maria are walking in, tattered and hopeless from all that they have witnessed on this cursed day.

Doctors bustle around, overwhelmed by the increasing number of injured evacuees. And patients scream as they are operated on without any numbing medicine.

Resources are low, and extinction looms around at every nook.

Mae stares through the open space between two pillars. The water flows gently, and the harbor is full, lined with ships. A loud whistle pierces through the air and another ship comes in, so full, that there isn’t even a place to step a foot in.

Soldiers usher the evacuees out of the boats. Silence fills the area once again, it is more haunting than any scream.

With their arrival, the number of injured increases once again. Doctors panic, frantically moving around from patient to patient..

For some reason, Mae sits still, unable to move her body.

6 ships have docked already and her family still isn't here. Mr. Mendes is safe, probably with the patient who called him to Sina. And she’s glad that at least he’ll be okay.

But she can’t help the anxiety flooding through her mind. And the worry in her heart increases as she prays that somehow her parents come back alive, safe and sound.

“Doctor.’” Someone shakes her shoulder. And she looks up lost and bewildered.

It's a girl, around her age itself. There are tears in her eyes, and her hair is disheveled, sticking to her sweaty forehead.

“Please save him, please,” she begs and her face contorts into an expression of pain. It's only then that Mae notices the man that she’s carrying on her back.

He is old, and tufts of his grey hair are poking out of the hood over his head. The ends of it are dyed crimson. Lines of distress are scattered all over his face, and he groans in pain.

Her eyes flit downwards and she notices his severed leg. It is cut from the knee. Blood drips out of it profusely, and she can see the muscle and bones melded together.

Mae gags as horror fills her mind once again. What if her parents come back in a condition like this? Will they even be lucky enough to get treated, with the amount of injured coming in?

“Doctor please fast,” the young girl cries louder now, and she can see how her face resembles that of the old man. He must be her father.

Mae breathes in, pushing her fears away, as she wears the white gloves kept on her desk. They turn clammy with sweat that leaks through her palms.

Covering her mouth with a mask, she steps forward and studies the man, as the girl places him onto a bed.

The slits of his eyes are barely open, and he’s lost a lot of blood. If he falls unconscious then he’s sure to fall into a coma, and there’s no remedy for that yet.

“Keep him awake, do whatever you can, don’t let him fall asleep.”

The girl nods and encases his hand in both of hers.

Mae lifts his shirt up to dab some saline on his wounds. Deep oval imprints lay along his waistline, purple in color. It is the spot where the titan grabbed him.

She inspects his severed leg next. Fingertips reaching out to disinfect the area. But as they touch the jagged end of the leg, a yelp erupts from his mouth.

A bout of energy surges through him and his hands fly upwards, clutching his face. His fingers dig into his cheeks and the man starts screaming in pain.

“LEAVE ME! YOU WRETCHED CREATURE… Humanity will destroy you one day.”

Her hand retracts and she just watches in horror, as he crunches up and down. The blood from his leg stains the entire sheet red. And her eyes widen as she staggers back.

Not good, he is having a panic attack. This only worsens his chances of survival. But all Mae can focus on are the dangerous thoughts that his condition ignites in her mind.

What hell have these people seen that they are left in a state like this?

His daughter tries to mutter reassurances to her old man, but he’s in a state of such fear that nothing seems comprehendible to him.

“DOCTOR! HELP HIM PLEASE.” she bawls out, as she looks at her with pleading eyes.

Mae gulps, her hand reaches forward, in an attempt to hold him down, but he’s constantly thrashing his limbs around. His screams are deafening, and slowly they turn into pleads

“I have a family to go to...Leave me please.”

Her grip loosens, and a gleam of moisture settles over her eyes. Her parents still aren’t here yet, what if a titan is clutching them too? Or are they on some street, panicking just like this old man is?

“DOCTOR!”

A dangerous picture flashes in her mind. It’s her father, with his torso clenched in a titan’s mouth, as he screams in the moment of life and death.

“DOCTOR!!!’

Every sound around becomes insignificant, and her mind remains stuck on thoughts of her father being stuck in a brutal situation.

“DOCTOR!!!’

The old man flops down, exhausted. His body is still for a second and two.

A shuddered breath escapes his lungs. Then nothing.

Silent tears prick Mae’s eyes as she looks at the man’s body. Now motionless and a peaceful expression on his face.

Harsh hands break her out of her reverie, they push her and she turns back to find the young girl staring at her with menace in her eyes. Angry tears stream down her cheeks and her hands are balled into fists.

She lurches forward once again, pushing Mae into a nearby wall. Her hands roughly clutch the collar of Mae’s white coat and she forcefully pulls her forward.

“I didn’t carry him all the way here for you to stand and do nothing.” she seethes.

The commotion is enough to catch everyone’s attention. People rush towards them, pulling the girl away from Mae. In a few moments, the soldiers are here, throwing her out of the room, as she thrashes her limbs left and right in their firm grip. And spews curses at Mae’s failure.

“It's okay, she was being unreasonable,” someone next to her reassures.

But it wasn’t and Mae knows that well enough. No words leave her mouth, she just moves towards the bathroom.

Many people have died today, most at the hands of the titans, but some also because of the shortage of doctors and the vast number of people that have been injured.

But she wonders if people have died because of a doctor’s failure to control their emotions.

She watches her reflection in the mirror. Red hands are engraved on her white coat. The blood of a father, and the hands of a daughter. A symbol of both the people she has failed.

And then she catches her eyes, they are red as well, tinged with tears and laden with disappointment. A symbol of another person she has failed.

Herself.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The doorknob rattles and Erwin sits straighter when he sees Levi’s short figure slip inside his office.

“Levi,” he extends his hand forward. “So how is everything going?”

Levi takes a seat. He can see how all the stress takes a toll on Erwin. Stacks of paperwork are lined up on his desk. His blonde hair is messy, shrouding most of his eyes. And the bags under his eyes have gotten darker with time.

“Can you shut up with these counseling sessions of yours and get to the point.” Levi’s gaze is fierce and as always he speaks with no filter.

Erwin let out a sigh, now used to how harsh he can get at times. “I want you to be a Captain, Levi. “

The thought has been on Erwin’s mind for quite some time now, but the breach of the wall makes it urgent. He’s not a Commander yet, but he knows he will be. Even a blind man can see how weak Shadis has gotten after the expedition and the collapse of the wall.

“Your skills are exceptional and we need to put them to better use. I want you to guide a team, a squad of elite soldiers who will be assigned the most challenging hurdles... You can pick whomever you like, doesn't matter if they are in any squad or not.”

Levi thinks for a while. He’ll get his own room, and he’ll also have access to the kitchen. His pay will be higher and people will have to look at him with respect and follow his orders.

“I’ll need some time.”

“For what?” Erwin speaks a little too quickly, as he sees Levi’s eyes flicker to the stacks of paperwork kept on the desk.

There aren’t any schools in the underground, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Levi is illiterate.

But he wants Levi to say it out loud so that he can help him with it. That's the whole reason why he is proposing this to Levi at this early point. Where he hasn’t even become the commander yet.

He wants Levi to learn to read and write. So that a few months from now, he will be able to put his potential to good use.

Erwin leans forward, staring at Levi’s unchanged expression. He can tell him to read a sheet and see him fall into shambles. But he doesn’t want to humiliate him like that. He just wants to help him.

Levi gulps, but his face remains stoic, “I need time some time to understand my duties and also assess the cadets so I can pick my squad members.:

“Oh.. sure.” Traces of disappointment dawdle in Erwin’s voice. But Levi doesn’t care. He gets up, ready to head back to his room.

“Wait,” Erwin stops him. He opens a drawer and takes out a stack of paper. “Here’s some paperwork submitted to me by Miche. This way you’ll know what all reports and records need to be filled, and how they are submitted.”

Another file falls atop Levi’s hands.“And these are the stats of all the cadets, and of the 100th training corps as wells.”

Levi nods, a little grateful that Erwin is handing them all these things. It will make things easier for him.

As he heads out of the office, Erwin’s voice reaches him again.

“I’ll be here if you need any help.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mae watches the river that flows beneath her feet. It's dark, and her vision is blurry due to the tears that stream down her face as she reminisces about the events of today.

Leaves crunch in the background and she instantly knows that the grumpy midget is here again. Walls! And here she thought that he’d be a little too tired after the mission.

But he’s back. He’s not tired, he’s back. And that too on the day she’s having a horrible breakdown.

His footsteps thread closer, and she muffles her cries to save her from the embarrassment.

“You can continue crying, I'm not here to disturb you or anything.”

She rolls her eyes and turns her back towards him. He is such an asshole, so rude and insensitive and blunt. She despises him with every cell in her body.

Unfortunately for Mae, thoughts of him don’t distract her for long. A silence settles, and her mind snaps back to the way her parent’s faces lit up when they finally reached Jinae.

Her mother tackled her in a hug and her father had the biggest smile on his face, now that his family had reunited again.

And then he frowned, seeing Mae’s disheartened face. He asked her what’s wrong, but how could she tell anyone that she just stood back and watched a person die when her job was to save him?

A sigh escapes her lips. It had been so long since she had seen them but yet, she wasn’t able to speak to them properly. Nor did she cook them a good dinner. All that had happened today weighed heavy on her shoulder. And they went to sleep eating an apple.

Frustration wells up in her eyes in the form of tears. This time they are silent and she can only exhale a shaky breath.

Regret, doubt, and shame, all of them are here today.

Her eyes flit down and fall on the crumbled article she found on the way.

‘Refugees to be settled in evacuation centers by the coming week.’ It says in dark red.

Her teardrops smudge the ink, and turning back, she aims the newspaper at Levi. It misses terribly and falls a few meters ahead of him. He picks it either way.

“Is this true?” her voice quivers, and he panics as he sees the paper. Fancy symbols, randomly dance along the sheet and he can’t understand a thing.

He runs his brain, to find a plausible lie. But what should he say? That the paper is so crumbled that he can’t even read it?

Crickets chirp louder, and every other sound gets amplified, as silence hovers. Mae turns back again and stares at him with her red-tinged eyes.

Her eyes point towards the newspaper in his hand.

“You are in the Survey Corps, aren't you? Can you just answer me once? “Irritation quells her voice and she believes that maybe this time he’ll ignore her too. Just like all the other times, he did when she initiated a conversation.

“How did you know?” He tries to divert the topic.

“I saw you today. Now please tell me, it's really important to me.” Her voice gets an octave higher at the last bit.

“Tell you what?’

“What is written in that goddamn article... that places being emptied and made into evacuation centers?”

Levi sighs. The news about this came to the headquarters just a few hours ago.

With the flood of evacuees that now need to be settled in the land of Rose, every man knows that a food shortage is to follow.

As it is the crop production was bad this year, and with the loss of Maria, the situation is difficult to handle.

The government wants to take some precautions. And it's easier to manage hopeless refugees when they are in one spot and not scattered around, in the walls.

“It's being highly thought about.” His words are harsh. They strip Mae away from any reassurance that she needs at the moment. And now she knows that after some time, her parents will be gone somewhere far as well.

Yet, she doesn't know if she’ll be able to spend good time with them with all that is weighing on her mind.

She wants to share it with someone. She wants to talk about it. But who can she even tell? How can she tell her parents, who have so much faith in her, that she is failing as a doctor? In a profession that she herself chose?

Her father is a tailor, and by no means is that a prestigious profession.

Her childhood is filled with memories of her peeking through her room, past her bedtime, and seeing her father sitting in front of an empty plate. And her mother would longingly look at items on the storefront and walk away at the sight of the price label.

In her family, money has always been a big differentiator.

Mr. Mendes was a rich man, her father’s good friend, and an acclaimed doctor.

Old age struck him hard. His health fell backward and daily tasks became a pain in the ass. His clinic suffered and as someone who had just graduated in Biology, she saw an opportunity rising for her.

In the end, everything was given to her on a silver platter, a good mentor, an amazing workplace, and something feasible.

But she failed to stand strong on her own expectations and now the burden of a life runs sluggish on her mind. It is heavy, her shoulders shake as she carries it. And she is afraid that if she doesn’t get this out then her guilt will kill her from the inside.

Levi watches Mae intently. Her body rakes and she buries her cries into her knees.

A small part of him wants to know what’s wrong.

Life has been cruel to him, but it hasn’t made him crueler. He knows full well what it's like to be miserable.

He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

He gets up, to place the newspaper next to her. He taps her shoulder, but she remains placid, facing the front and completely ignoring him.

“A man died because of me.” The words slip out of her mouth in a hush, as tears roll down her cheeks.

Levi’s eyes open a tad bit wider when her voice reaches his ears. The words hit home, and he is grateful for the darkness of the night that hides the small split in his facade.

He has killed many before, without feeling an ounce of remorse or regret. Their deaths profited him in some way, and he credits his survival in the underground to them.

But he has also witnessed meaningless death and it is the worst thing he has ever experienced. Like drowning in an endless pit of water.

But he rolled along when grief submerged him down. Because he knew that it was something he had no control over.

Then he came upon the surface and made decisions that led to the demise of his dear friends. And he finally knew what felt worse than a meaningless death. It was death that you had partaken in.

How could he console her when he hasn’t even been able to console himself? And what should he say, when it was clearly her fault? Just like it had been his with Isabel and Farlan.

So instead of saying much, he just says, "I understand.”

It's just mere 2 words, spoken in a span of a second. But in that second, the man that Mae deems as rude and insufferable gives her the warmth and acceptance she thought she'd never receive.

The words feel like a soothing balm to a bleeding wound. There is no judgment in his voice. There is no blame, and a little reprieve brims up in her heart.

But does she deserve this reprieve?

Does she deserve to feel this after her hands have sinned?

She chose to be a doctor, not because it was her passion. But because it was a well-paying profession. But what if she’s not cut out for it?

What if she always fails at the job?

What if she’s never good enough?

Should she have followed her hobby and opened a bakery instead?

“Just try your best to make sure his life doesn’t go to waste.” Levi’s voice cuts in again, it saves her from the vicious current of her thoughts.

She doesn’t understand what he says, but someone is hearing her out. And someone is speaking to her without any judgment in their tone. And it's all that matters to her, in that moment.

“Thank you... mister” her voice is hoarse, from all the crying, It brims with emotion.

“It's Levi.”

“Levi,” she tests the name on her tongue. It's a beautiful name and she never thought she would find anything beautiful about this brash man.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

FEB 845

Levi’s eyes burn as he stares at the pages splayed all over his desk. His eyes droop down low and he can’t help the constant restlessness that settles in his left leg. Making him bounce his ankle again and again.

Miche’s paperwork is piled in front of him. It's a mess and also a daily occurrence.

He pushes his chair closer to the desk, hoping that at least some progress is made today. The chair screeches and he winces as a loud- high-pitched sound comes out.

The sound of loud snores continues, and his eyes flicker to his sleeping roommates. They sleep so deeply that they never wake up, despite the loudest noise he makes.

Levi wishes that someday he’ll be able to sleep so carelessly as well. Without any care of this world or any nightmares.

But he knows that isn’t possible for him.

Even now as he shares this room with these guys, he isn’t able to trust them. They are his comrades, and harming him will cause them great penalties. But all his mind sees is danger. It sees sleeping next to strangers as being in a vulnerable position.

Sleep leaves him weak, in a defenseless state. Anyone can stab him, anyone can harm him. And a moment of weakness is all it takes for your life to flicker to death.

His mind sees danger everywhere, in his sleeping roommates, in the vicious eyes that follow his every movement. In the world outside the walls, and in the future as well.

Because by now Levi knows that this world is dangerous and it can always get crueler.

But by now he also knows it's not just the world, but also his own issues that are standing as barriers.

He’s different. And people aren’t brought up the way he is. He can see it when he sees the scowls that form on people's faces. In reaction to something he did that seems completely normal to him.

He thinks differently. He acts differently. He has issues, but he doesn’t know what to do with them.

So he needs that position of captain. So at least a few of his issues are going to be solved. And he wouldn’t have to lie about sleeping late just to hide his insomnia

The candle shudders as a gust of wind snoops in and his attention snaps back to the filled sheets in front of him.

Complicated symbols swarm across the page. And he doesn’t understand any of it.

He runs his hand up his hair. Jaw clenched as frustration settles in his stomach. He stares at the sheet once again, This time the syllables are dancing, mocking his failure. And he resists the urge to flip the table over just so that he doesn’t have to clean the mess that it will make.

It's been a month.

It's been a month since he has waited an hour every night, just for his roommates to sleep, so that he can learn the language.

It's been a month since he has aimlessly copied syllables, on copious amounts of paper sheets. Hoping that he ends up learning something, but he still stands helpless.

Some days he just tosses in his bed, scared to go back to the blank pages of his notebook. Because that seems so much better than facing his own disappointment when he fails again.

It's been a month, and he still hasn’t made any progress and now he knows that reading and writing isn’t something that he can learn all by himself.

He is tired and discouraged, in desperate need of help but he doesn’t know where to find it.

A defeated sigh escapes his mouth. Blowing the candle off he gets off his chair. The door closes with a loud thud and he walks away.

His legs carry him to the stable. It's dark and the night is so peaceful. His horse stands, waiting for him, and Levi pets him and looks at him with love-filled eyes.

At this point, his horse is the only friend he’s made.

He unties his horse and just as he’s about to turn away he catches Erwin's silhouette in the window. Erwin raises his hand up, gesturing to him to wait. And Levi pauses, skeptical whether he’s going to lecture him about the curfew or say something else.

In a minute Erwin is down, standing right in front of him. “Have you made a decision about the position yet?”, he says between his huffed breaths.

“Not yet.” Levi crosses his arms, and Erwin can sense the defensiveness in his posture.

“It's been a month Levi, you know what’s at stake don't you?”

Guilt flashes through Levi but his eyes remain steely, unflickering. All of humanity is at stake. One kick, any moment, and they will be no better than titan shit.

And all that's in between is his ego. It’s his fucking pride that’s stopping him from asking for help. But it's a weakness, and if he shows that to people, they might exploit it.

Being vulnerable is scary, and there are a thousand logical reasons in his mind that are pulling him down before he reaches out for help.

“Do you need any help?” Erwin has been supportive. Hange has annoyed him, but always respected his boundaries and stepped away when he needed space. And Miche has been nice to him as well.

A small part of him says that maybe it won’t be so bad. He might get to know a few soldiers a little better and maybe they’ll accept him as well. But he can’t ignore the dread that lingers in his brain.

If the news of his illiteracy reaches the soldiers, then he is going to be seen as absolute filth.

As it is, people despise him because of his potty mouth, his past, and his intentions to kill Erwin.

And he can’t afford to tarnish his image anymore. He knows the value of trust and respect when you fight alongside, with your lives on the line. And now that he will be working here for the rest of his life, he wants to fit in.

He sighs, and his attention shifts from Erwin to his brooding horse. He unties its rope and mutters, “not yet.”

And then he lumbers away with his horse by his side, into the forest.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night is cold and it is late. Wind slips through the spaces in the trees. And the river water creates its own melody as it clashes against all that stands in its flow.

Mae sits at her usual spot, relishing this moment where she finally has some time for herself. She doesn’t come here that often anymore and she misses it.

Handling the clinic all alone is hectic. Her parents are long gone, settled in an evacuation center on the borders of the district. It’s been a month since the breach of Wall Rose. And it’s been a month since Mr. Mendes has left.

She hasn’t heard a word from him yet.

She wonders when he will come back again. Wasn’t his trip supposed to be a week-long only? And haven't those days passed three weeks before itself?

The only good thing that’s come out of all this is that she has gotten pretty used to handling the clinic all by herself.

A cold wind blows, leaving a trail of goosebumps all over her skin. She gets up, ready to take her leave. She needs to wake up early tomorrow and open the clinic as well.

As she turns around, she sees Levi’s short silhouette approaching from afar. His horse trots right behind him, and by now she knows that he’s the only one who comes here this late at night.

‘Just try your best to make sure his life doesn’t go to waste.’ His words often ring in her head. But she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to be good enough to add value to that old man’s death.

Ever since he has died, her brain panics at the sight of any bleeding patients. And her hands shake, scared to make the same mistake again.

Nonetheless, she’s glad someone heard her out that day. She wouldn’t know how to act with such a heavy burden on her head.

A heavy mist hangs over the forest. It gives Levi’s silhouette a ghostly glow. But Mae isn’t scared of him anymore.

His figure draws closer and closer, and she smiles at him as she walks, heading in the opposite direction,

Things between them have become more cordial. They aren’t friends by any means, and they have nothing in common. So they don’t speak to each other. But the silences that were once awkward have turned comfortable. Time has rolled by and sitting together in silence has become a habit. He minds his business, she minds her own.

And he doesn’t threaten her in any way now. So she doesn’t mind him anymore.

Levi nods back acknowledging her. The distance between them reduces. And as Mae walks past him, Levi stalls and swivels in her direction.

“Mae…,” he calls out hesitantly.

Anxiety flutters in his heart and he clutches the reins of his horse tighter. The conversation with Erwin still lingers on his mind.

He needs to hurry up, he can’t keep people waiting like this.

Mae turns around and looks at him.

The thought of asking her has been toying in his mind for quite some time now. She isn’t affiliated with the Survey Corps so at least his professional life won’t turn into a joke.

“I.. want to say something,” he mutters awkwardly. “You remember the day you threw the newspaper at me, and I-,... you had to tell me what you meant.”

“Yeah...” She nods, fully interested in what he has to say.

“I can’t read.”

Her eyebrows shoot up as she looks at him. Reading is an essential way to communicate with the world. From food labels to the newspapers, it's everywhere.

And education is free in most cities. So how did this man grow up without feeling the need to read?

Somehow she mutes her expression and her curiosity squeaks in, “How much do you know about the language?”

“I can speak... fairly well.” His answer renders her quiet. That means that he knows nothing.

“Do you need help with it, I can tutor you?” The words fly out of her mouth before her brain processes them. And she curses when she registers what she has said.

She’s busy, now that she has to take care of the clinic all alone. Why the hell would she want to tutor him? He’s not even a friend of hers. Is he even worth all the time that she'll have to spend on him?

But then she sees the hope that flickers on Levi’s face. And her heart softens a bit.

He mutters out a quiet yes. And she stands frozen, not knowing how to take her words back.

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silverstarlightwrites · 3 years

Text

An alternate AU to this one that occurred to me just now

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Naruto dies.

Something in Sasuke breaks, and he goes berserk. Haku and their ice mirrors scream as they flashboil in the black flames Sasuke summons forth, and it takes only a howl and a wild gesture to send Amaterasu blazing across the bridge to consume Zabuza and Tazuna as well. The stone melts underneath them, while Kakashi snatches up Sakura and flees, and it’s not until Sasuke feels the weight of wet clothes - crushing Naruto’s body to his chest, bloody and so absurdly hot - that he realises the bridge has disintegrated, and the water is burning.

It’s instinct and desperation that let Sasuke to douse the fires he’s conjured, and even then it aches and tastes like blood and acid, and he’s sinking when Kakashi whips across the surface to catch him, the moment the flames are gone.

Sasuke cries into Naruto’s chest, and refuses to let go. Sakura is cold and silent, and she neither speaks nor eats for the grim, slow trek back to Konoha. And it is slow, even further drawn out by the constant fluctuation of chakra from Naruto’s corpse, carried awkwardly and painfully by Sasuke alone.

It’s not Naruto’s chakra, of course. Kakashi dreads the inevitable questions, resolves not to lie when they come, and somehow their absence is even worse.

The moment they walk through the southern Konoha gate, there are Anbu all over them. They pry Naruto’s body from Sasuke’s arms, despite his shouting and kunai, despite the way Sasuke’s eyes ignite into blood red to fight-- But he doesn’t summon Amaterasu again, doesn’t expend the chakra he doesn’t have to try and kill their own. Sakura touches his shoulder, just two fingers, and her face is pale and hollow when she shakes her head, but it’s still more interaction than she’s allowed for the whole trip, and Sasuke obeys her. Blinks his eyes black, slumps in place, and then sags against Sakura.

She catches him, and he’s shaking, and she stares over his shoulder, unblinking, at the Anbu wrapping Naruto’s corpse in chakra-absorbing paper scrawled endlessly with Seals.

Kakashi isn’t sure what she sees, and he isn’t sure he wants to know.

One Anbu stays behind, and they instruct the gutted remains of Team Seven that the Hokage wants to see them. Kakashi can’t bring himself to intervene when Sasuke snarls and lunges, or when Sakura lets him. Doesn’t step in when Sasuke tells them to Fuck Off or when he punches them weakly in the chest - and the Anbu clearly thinks he’s simply not going to get involved, because when they try to catch Sasuke’s wrist they aren’t expecting Kakashi to move. Too fast to be safe, too fast for the chakra use not to burn.

Sasuke leans back into Kakashi as the Anbu trips, and Kakashi feels himself close his hands on Sasuke’s shoulders. “Don’t touch my kids,” he hears himself hiss, and if he doesn’t quite know when he accepted them as his then he doesn’t quite care either.

One of them is dead, and they won’t be permitted to mourn him properly because of the beast caged inside him without his knowledge.

The thought makes Kakashi sick. It all does, all of it. Konoha’s abuse of an innocent child, Kakashi’s complicitness in allowing it to happen. Hiruzen’s cruelty in allowing it also.

In allowing all of it.

Sasuke has lost enough.

The Anbu doesn’t need telling twice, and they leave Kakashi to cajole his kids into seeing Hiruzen. It takes more effort than he’d care to admit. Just physically, the three of them are a wreck - and it’s worse emotionally. Mentally.

“You let them take him.”

It’s the first thing Sakura has said since Naruto died - in a burst of blood and scarlet chakra - and Kakashi suddenly thinks he’s never felt anything so cold as her voice. When he meets her gaze, it’s like drowning.

“I had to. The Hokage will explain.” Because Kakashi is bound not to. By an oath that maybe he shouldn’t have taken, by a promise extracted by force. Why shouldn’t he tell them?

He doesn’t, of course. He scoops Sasuke up, and despises that Sasuke simply allows it, and offers Sakura a hand as they start walking. Sakura ignores it, striding ahead with her back too stiff and her hands clenched too tight. The walk to the Hokage Tower, while significantly shorter, is the same as the trip from Waves to Konoha.

Hiruzen ushers them into his office, tearful, and Sasuke struggles stiffly out of Kakashi’s grip. Red flickers and whorls through his eyes, and it’s impossible to know if he’s fighting to ignite his Sharingan or if he’s fighting not to.

“I’m sorry.” It’s low and mournful and wet. It’s insulting.

Sakura snaps. She flies into a rage, screaming obscenities. Her teammate is dead, and she’s never experienced loss like this before, and gods but she watched it happen, and no pitiful, pathetic ‘I’m sorry’ can ever undo that. That Hiruzen even tries sends her over the edge.

Nobody stops her. By the time she burns out, the office is torn apart, papers scattered everywhere and the desk overturned. Sakura has scratched her nails bloody against the woodwork. When she collapses to the floor and howls, Sasuke finally approaches her, sinks to her level, and wraps his arms around her.

Perhaps he understands, then. Perhaps a hug - so tight as Sakura clings back that it may be the only thing holding her together - is all he wanted after the horror of his clan’s slaughter.

Kakashi catches himself wondering if Sasuke ever got that hug, but he knows the answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Hiruzen explains to them what a Jinchuriki is. He explains the basic concept of a Bijuu, and gives them a short summary of the Nine-Tails. They take it blankly, too much to process over the top of their raw grief, but they look to Kakashi as if searching for confirmation and Kakashi nods. Tells them it’s true.

And then, because it’s not enough, it’s pathetic an explanation, he hears himself continue.

Because “He deserved better. We failed him.” Hears it spin, feels more than sees the way Sasuke and Sakura twitch and shrink, and then corrects himself. His own voice is like tar in his throat.

“You failed him.”

Sasuke and Sakura follow him out of Hiruzen’s office, and Hiruzen doesn’t try to stop them.

Kakashi sets the pack to watch them when they all end up at the war memorial. It wasn’t exactly a decision to go there, of course, but it never really is. All eight ninken are there already when they arrive, and they encourage Sakura and Sasuke to collapse and curl up with them, but Kakashi resists. He has something else to do.

And it’s dark by the time he comes back, his kids and his pack all bundled up in his far-too-tiny apartment, but he wakes them all the same. Demanding Naruto’s body back hadn’t been easy or clean, and the results of the chakra-draining done to preserve as much of the stray Nine-Tails chakra bleeding out of where it had torn free upon Naruto’s death is... messy.

Naruto’s body stays wrapped up the way Kakashi walked out of the Anbu Blue Vault with it. Only his head is visible, and his hair is knotted and matted with blood and oil, but it doesn’t stop Sakura from running her hands through it, or Sasuke from laying his head against Naruto’s chest.

Not enough people come to Naruto’s funeral. The whole fucking Village should mourn him, the child who protected them from the Nine-Tails for his entire, short life. His loss should have been overwhelming - it should have brought all of Konoha to a fucking stop.

But it doesn’t. Umino Iruka attends, and he’s quiet but he weeps ceaselessly the whole day. Sakura and Sasuke seem to welcome his presence, so Kakashi doesn’t nothing to discourage it.

Hiruzen shows up, perhaps halfway through. It takes all of Kakashi’s still-wan strength to hold Sakura back from trying to maul him, and Sasuke doesn’t fight one way or another when he lights up his Sharingan at the Hokage’s approach.

“Go. Away,” Sasuke snarls at him, and for just a moment it seems like Hiruzen might scold the boy, who’s been stripped of his family in half a dozen different ways, over and over again, as if he’s expressing his grief incorrectly, and that moment is all it takes for Kakashi to speak over all of them.

It’s the voice he used as the Hound. He hasn’t heard it for years. “You should go, Hokage-sama. You don’t want to make me choose a side here.”

Because Kakashi is loathe to fight Konoha at all, let alone its leader, but he knows without a doubt that he will. For Sasuke. For Sakura. If ever the decision must be made, Kakashi knows he will turn on Hiruzen in an instant if it would protect his kids from ending up like him.

Konoha would not make a broken blade out of Sasuke. It would not strip Sakura of her soul.

Orochimaru comes. He seeks out Sasuke, and the power he offers is too tempting for Sasuke to pass up - but he refuses to sneak away in the dead of night. Team Seven’s progress has halted in the aftermath of Naruto’s death; Hiruzen has tried several times to full the gap in their unit, but Sakura and Sasuke vehemently refuse to accept one, and Kakashi does not make them. He will not.

Naruto cannot be replaced. The gap can never be sufficiently filled.

And so comes the morning that Sasuke asks for their company in leaving. He’s been suffocating under Konoha’s weight for a long time, Kakashi realises that morning, and he’s finally reached his limit. Kakashi doesn’t try to talk him out of it; he won’t succeed. There’s no point. Revenge has been his motivation for so long that Sasuke will never quite learn how to give it up, and now he has so much more for which to seek vengeance.

It will only be Itachi first. After that, all of Konoha is culpable for Naruto’s death, and the endless suffering he endured before it. Kakashi is not fool enough to think he can change Sasuke’s mind.

Sakura agrees on the spot. She’s unrecognisable from the bubbly genin Kakashi took custody of from the Academy. She’s gaunt and messy and angry, and she’s forsaken her friends in order to follow Sasuke into the dark. She’s clinging to him, ferociously, in a different way than she’d tried to before.

She’s clinging to Sasuke the same way Kakashi had clung to Rin - how Rin had clung right back - after Obito’s death. Sasuke is her constant, her reassurance that Naruto’s absence won’t just be for nothing, that someone is going to pay for it. That she’s going to help make that happen.

You don’t want to make me choose a side, Kakashi had told Hiruzen, as if they were words of fucking prophecy. Because here are his kids, minds made up, choosing a side that Kakashi would rather flay himself than join - and yet, here he is too, and he knows already he’s going to go with them.

Choosing against Konoha tastes like ozone and fear and self-loathing, but choosing against Sasuke and Sakura is unconscionable. Even this, even this, Kakashi will do. Watching them die is a terror that keeps him up at night, a nightmare with its hands around Kakashi’s throat, a dread that’s getting ever colder. That this might lead to that outcome takes his breath away.

But the thought of not being there is even worse. Konoha forsook Sasuke when his family was wiped out, and Konoha forsook them both once again when they came home bloodied and shattered. Konoha has gone on the same as always, as if nothing even happened, and it always has when the whole world was supposed to shatter and didn’t - with Obito’s eye in Kakashi’s skull and Rin’s blood on Kakashi’s hands - and that truth does absolutely nothing to stay Sasuke’s hatred or Sakura’s wrath. They are young and angry and wounded, and there is no words Kakashi can say that will convince them to reject the power on offer, no matter how dangerous and untrustworthy the source may be.

And he refuses to let them do this alone. Everyone will want their heads, but Kakashi has fought and killed the best of them, and if - in the end - his only purpose is to protect his remaining kids, where he failed to protect the third, then perhaps the Hound yet serves a purpose still.

So Kakashi selects a kunai, and helps them score through their Konoha hitai-ite, and lets them lead him into hell.

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starbornsinger · 3 years

Text

Nepenthe

Azriel x Gwyn one-shot (light angst, fluff)

Warning: ⚠️ ACOSF spoilers, mentions of abuse ⚠️

The day was not turning out as Azriel had originally anticipated. That much, at least, he had gathered. Now today wasn't like other unanticipated, unwelcome distractions. Those were the kinds he dreaded— days where he would return to the townhouse soaked in blood he wasn't sure belonged to him.

Those days haunted him on ones like this.

Yes, today was a different kind of unexpected. Rhysand had decidedly summoned him for lunch in his office, to discuss politics and prisoners and what color he and Feyre would paint the baby's room. It went in and out of Azriel's mind. Most things did, these days. The time after the war, after spending months trying to get those goddamn Illyrians back in line, it was taking its toll on him. His shadows, which curled behind his ears like tufts of dark hair, now seemed to swallow Azriel’s face whole, clenching around his body with an armored ferocity Rhysand was accustomed to.

Maybe, Azriel told himself, that was why he called him here. To see what he was up to. How he was doing. It annoyed him, when Rhys fluttered around him like a concerned mother hen, desperate to understand his feelings and thoughts.

He doubted he deserved to be cared for like that.

And maybe, he thought with a wry snort, it was why he had sent him on such a meaningless errand. A distraction, one he merely welcomed with indifference.

"There's a book," Rhys had drawled, leaning back in the chair pushed out from his onyx desk. Behind him, the portrait of his Mate seemed to glimmer with curiosity. "In the library beneath the House of Wind. A history book, about the royal bloodline. Feyre is making a family tree, and wishes to learn more about my ancestors. If you don't mind, I'd like you to retrieve it for me."

As though Azriel had nothing better to do. Truthfully, he didn't. But still he had replied slowly, his voice tight, "Can't you get it yourself? Or send Cass?" Rhysand only barked a laugh. When it came to his brother, Azriel knew he would do anything he asked. For his brother, he would have jumped into the Sidra if he had asked. It was beyond the duty to the High Lord with which Azriel regarded Rhysand; but that didn't mean he wouldn't give him grief for such a stupid task.

"No, shadowsinger," he had purred in reply, mouth stretching into a taunting grin. "I cannot. I'm far too busy looking at paint samples with my Mate. And besides, the priestesses like you best, don't they?" Rhys barked a laugh. Azriel opened his mouth to retort, to defend the way his shadows flinched, but he set his jaw tightly. The shadowsinger gave a subtle nod, then rose from his seat. A soft brushing of knuckles against his stony mental shields had him pausing in the doorway.

You can hide it, Rhys had said. You can hide many things from us. But you can't hide from me. You need this today.

Hide it, indeed.

Azriel huffed as he flew, wings beating against the cool summer breeze that rippled across his dark head. He needed to stretch his wings, to clear his head and focus on the warmth beating down on his back. The sun, hanging lazily in the afternoon sky, illuminated the blues and reds of his wings and cast his shadow over Velaris as he made his way to the library. He told himself he had only wanted to get it over with, and that was why he was moving so quickly, darting across the sky. That he wanted to go back to the townhouse and sulk. But Mother damn him, he couldn't stop that swell in his chest as he came nearer and nearer. That swell was akin to dying a joyous and euphoric death— there was no other way Azriel could accurately describe it. His heart pounded in anticipation at what he knew lay beyond those ancient doors.

Her.

Azriel had become accustomed to Gwyneth Berdara’s strange beauty and equally strange humour during their training; had grown to like her friendly nature and competitive, passionate spirit. If anything, he admired her. He might have even feared her. That cheerful female with copper hair that shined in the light of the sun and moon, both of which seemed to love her. They had spent months, moving side-by-side, grinning at each other across the ring while trying to slash the other with a sword.

Their encounters outside of training were brief, and conversations short. He supposed he wasn't one for talking, and allowed her to lead them in a dialogue. But as time went on, Azriel found the little smiles on her rosy lips now reflected on his, and the bright laughter that filled his ears now echoed softly in his own throat. With her, he felt his emotions bob to the surface, and for once, he didn't stop them.

From the moment he'd met Gwyn, she'd held Azriel's attention with a preternatural ability, and had caught him off guard more times than he'd like to admit. The shadowsinger, spymaster, king of shadows— taken by surprise by a young priestess.

His lips turned upward at the thought of her.

᯽

Azriel landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, his wings snapping behind him as he eased into a walk. His descent down the swirling staircase to the library was a silent one. Azriel had been to this athenaeum hundreds of times, far more than he could count, but it had never gotten easier.

The pain and sorrow he felt in the priestesses' sanctuary was suffocating, at times. Not because he had felt the same anguish himself, but because he had rescued many of them from it. Because the shadowsinger had seen the horrors they'd escaped from, and faltered, unknowing of what to say or do to offer comfort.

He remembered rescuing Gwyn. Azriel was the first of the Inner Circle to arrive. He remembered dragging his blade across the throat of the Hybern general who thought he had a claim to Gwyn, who thought he was worthy of even gracing her presence. His scarred hands shook even now with fury, fury and rage towards the soldiers who had defiled her home and her body.

Azriel knew though, it was nothing compared to the pain she must have felt. He couldn't bring himself to think of it. Every inch of him now trembled with that dark rage, the joy now vanished without a trace, and he clenched his fists— the fists of a killer, he thought bitterly. Distraction was a fruitless effort. They had hurt her, and he had made them pay with their lives.

He only wished that killing them might have eased her mind, as he hoped to. It didn't. Even now, he found himself staring at the wall late at night, wondering if those mental scars were healing.

Or if they were just as ugly and unavoidable as the ones he bore on his skin.

Melancholy filled him as he walked further into the forlorn depths of the ancient library. He seemed to disappear into it, willing the shadows nearby to whisk him away into oblivion.

᯽

The hymn sung during today’s dawn service had yet to leave Gwyn's mind. It was a soft, gentle song, full of joy and sorrow and hope— the beacon she needed today. When she had woken this morning, the heaviness of her heart had weighed on her with a particular viciousness. It had been difficult to rise, to dress in her familiar blue robes and run a brush through her tangles of copper hair.

But she had done it. A small victory. And she had dragged herself to morning service, as she did every day. It had taken her many months to work up the courage to attend after arriving initially. She couldn't bring herself to fill her heart with music, with love. Not when it was so ravaged by hate. Gwyn didn't know if she deserved to feel joy like that. But when she was through with feeling sorry for herself, through with feeling such overwhelming shame, she dragged herself to that first service and never looked back.

Now, she led the songs with a fervor she hadn't felt in the 2 years since Sangravah. Now, she was bursting with life. With passion. Although the shame had never quite left her, she was happier. Lighter. Gwyn was healing, and happy to do so.

Gwyn had suggested the priestesses sing an older selection of music today, one that cried love in the rawest of forms. It was in a language long forgotten, and the words that had been lost were replaced by lyrics in the common tongue. The song carried on long after the service had ended, caressing the dark confines of her mind and coaxing her out of her stupor.

Perhaps, she thought to herself with a small smile, it was magic. To her, music was magic.

And so Gwyn carried on with her day, pushing the cart that only seemed to get heavier and heavier as the hours flew by. She nodded to priestesses that passed by, and offered small smiles to those she recognized the scents of. The library was a quiet existence, save for the occasional conversation; so she filled the silence, humming and singing and tapping her fingers as she worked.

᯽

It was that soft singing that caught Azriel's attention as he stood before Clotho, his hands resting on the desk politely. Perhaps a reminder to those watching that he too, was damaged. A silent request to be accepted into their sacred space. He had asked politely about the book Rhysand had requested, and a silent prodding about the possibility of him seeking it out. With a shallow nod, Clotho permitted it, and waved a gnarled hand of dismission. She too, seemed to perk up at that singing, but merely shrugged when Az raised a brow. He studied her for a moment, before nodding and turning away. Clotho returned to her work without another word, but a secret smile ghosted her lips.

A few priestesses had indeed watched from afar, but quickly returned to their work as he approached the endless rows of books. Level Four, Section 3A, he repeated over and over. Level Four, Section 3A. Curiously, Azriel glanced over at the group of priestesses who now spoke quietly, and offered a rare, gentle smile to the group before descending down the spiral ramp to the next level.

Still that singing seemed to follow him, echoing off the stone walls.

It was, in simplest terms, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His shadows harmonized with the gorgeous melody, a reverence of the Mother like no other. The song called to Azriel with an intensity that made his blood tremble, and pulled him until his feet seemed to move on their own, down and down and down into those depths of darkness and light and beauty. He picked up speed, his heartbeat erratic as his mind echoed with that damn music.

When he reached the fourth level, he turned in the direction Section 3A, looking up at a nearby sign. But when he took the first step, his shadows nipped at him, grabbing him by the sleeve and tugging him in the opposite direction. Come, they whispered. Find her.

Azriel hesitated for a breath, glancing back at the sign, then obliged. He was walking blind, betraying every battle instinct that had drilled into him. Ignoring them, he let his shadows guide him with a racing heart, until he found the source.

Mere feet away, there she stood, her straight copper hair tied back by a simple blue ribbon, the same sapphire shade as his siphons. A few stray wisps of red were tucked behind her delicately pointed ears. His shadows wanted to curl around those pretty ears, to run their dark fingers through the silky strands of her perfect hair, but he quickly tugged on their leash before they could slip away from him. Gwyn's lips moved gently, her voice vibrating with a clarity he wasn't quite sure was possible for Fae— but she wasn't entirely Fae, was she?

This damned female would surely be the end of him.

He felt his knees wobble, as her voice waltzed towards him on a star-studded breeze. Azriel had heard beautiful singing before— had been to the theatre several times with Rhysand and the Inner Circle, had tapped his foot to the sound of street performers on the cobblestone pathways of Velaris. But this was nothing like them. She was casual, examining the spines of books and then tucking them into spots on the shelves, rearranging them until she was satisfied. Her musical prowess was a stark contrast to the sight of her; Mother, just seeing her standing there was a perfect melody that made his blood sang. The words that left her lips though, were something wholly magical.

Gwyn was confident in her singing, confident enough to do so in a near silent library where all listened and admired her talent. When Gwyneth Berdara sang, the troubles of the priestesses weren't simply forgotten. Instead, they became tangible, and beautiful, and raw. They became a song, a flawless execution of emotion, a dance of mourning and a waltz of life , all at once. It was a release; a rebirth. It was an almost laughably common occurrence for females to cry tears of relief during her performances, but one that gave Gwyn a swelling sense of pride.

In her songs, there was an honesty that only Mor had ever shown; it was all swirling together like she herself was Cauldron-blessed and the Mother was pouring Gwyn's soul into the world. Time had frozen for— well, Azriel wasn't sure for how long. The faelights flickered around them, two beings lost in the eternity of the library, one seemingly unaware of the other.

If Azriel hadn't known better, he might have admitted how much his heart had calmed. How his chest had warmed, and the heavy weight he had been feeling on his shoulders had slowly but surely vanished. But he dare not say a word, and instead, savored the moment in contented silence.

His shadows, on the other hand, were perfectly content to dance and harmonize alongside her. They hugged the shadow cast at her feet, their misty forms swaying between them. Azriel clenched his fist, and swallowed. Stop it, he tried to command them. And of course, they ignored him wholly. Gwyn's song came to a close, and she hummed the tune to herself as she pushed the cart a bit further down the aisle. The shadows followed, and Azriel took a silent step forward, beckoning them. You're supposed to listen me, you know. They laughed at him in reply.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop, shadowsinger?"

Azriel's heart stopped.

᯽

Gwyn had known Azriel was near the moment he had stepped foot into the library. She wasn't sure how or why, but something in her seemed to suddenly resonate— a feeling ringing inside her that she couldn't quite explain, and only seemed to grow louder and more intense.

Until it was behind her, and she swore she felt the most tender of brushes against her ear, tucking her hair back. A bit of darkness flickered in and out of the corner of her eye, and a smile formed on her lips. Gwyn welcomed his shadows, let them settle at her feet and dance to her song. She had always liked them, anyway. She had been humming throughout the day, but when she had felt that warmth in her blood, it was as though the voice of the Mother had whispered into the curve of her ear: Sing.

So she did.

Gwyn had heard Azriel's soft footsteps as they approached the rows of shelves on Level Four. It wasn't particularly hard to identify them; no other males outside of the Inner Circle were permitted to visit, and no other was as subtle about his movements as the shadowsinger was. Months of training and sparring had accustomed her to his preternatural stillness. Yes, Gwyn assured herself, she had become very familiar with him. Had deduced that it must be him. Nothing more than that.

She dare not admit that she would have felt him and his shadows even if she were blind and deaf.

So finally, Gwyn spoke. Her lips curled into a teasing smile, and she turned to face Azriel fully. And of course, there he was, standing at the end of the aisle as she had expected. What she hadn't expected however, was that his eyes would be as wide and mouth hanging open as it was. Gwyn blinked, the only indicator of surprise, before she soothed her expression into one of cool teasing. The High Lord's spymaster straightened up as well, setting his jaw tightly. He cast his gaze to the floor.

"Gwyn," was all he said in greeting.

"Azriel." Her teal eyes sparkled, and her freckles seemed to glow like stars in the faelight. "What brings you here? Surely not my singing." A soft laugh.

What he wanted to say was, Yes. It was you. You and that damn gorgeous voice. I couldn't hear anything but you. Couldn't think about anything else. Hell, I forget walking down here.

But instead, he simply answered, "Book."

A pause. Azriel's cheeks flared, and his shadows made to quickly hide his embarrassment. He coughed. "A book. For Rhysand. A— a history book. Clotho directed me to this level."

"Ah," replied Gwyn. There was no hint of judgement in her tone. At least she didn't think he was a moron. His shadows flicked towards her curiously. "I see. And what sort of history book could interest our mighty High Lord?"

Gwyn's grin was unrelenting, but Azriel was far too stiff to even look up at her. He had been caught. The shadowsinger, the fucking spymaster for the Night Court, had been caught red-handed by a young female. Cassian would have guffawed at the sight of him blushing like an idiot.

Gwyn picked up a particularly heavy book, standing on her toes to reach a higher shelf. She strained, but was determined to reach what was too high above her head. Without thinking, Azriel moved. His strides were smooth, powerful even, and he stood beside her. A comfortable distance away, he took hold of the book, and gently pried it from her hand. A silent request. She obliged, releasing her hold as his scarred fingers grazed hers. A tingling sensation crept up her body from that contact, while Az pushed the book into its slot effortlessly. Gwyn still remained on her toes, looking up at him as he seemingly towered over her. Yet, she was not afraid of him. It was impossible to be, not when he was so gentle, and so strong, and had saved her life—

"Family history," he clarified. His voice was a low caress. "For Feyre." Azriel's hand lingered on the shelf high above her for a moment, a finger trailing slowly down the cracked spine of the book. Gwyn's eyes darted from his face to the book, then back to his face. A moment seemed to stretch into a thousand tiny moments that burned into his mind like etchings on a cave: face, so smooth and gentle, yet lively; plush, pink lips that curved upwards, that seemed to have a magnetic pull to his. If he leaned down far enough, his mouth might have met hers. Gods, she was divine. As expected of a priestess, he supposed.

He took in the rest of her face: a strong, stubborn chin, with equally opposing gentle eyes, that flared with surprise once more. He sensed a gradual change in her scent, one he didn't recognize. Gwyn's freckled face flushed pink, and Az worried that he might have overstepped her boundaries.

So he retracted his arm, and took a step back. The heels of Gwyn’s silk-slippered feet lowered to the floor. The male ran a scarred hand through his dark hair, and Gwyn tracked the movement, her eyes catching on every strand and wave of his silken locks. Her face seemed a bit rosier than it had before. He swore silently, worried he had upset her.

"Thank you," Gwyn said rather suddenly, as though snapping out of a daze. The faint blush did not leave her cheeks, though. Her hand drifted to her necklace, fiddling with it and zipping the small flower pendant along the chain. He only stole a glance at her, not wanting to stare too long and make her uncomfortable. But seeing her in that necklace, touching it so affectionately... Az felt his mind ease into a calm. With Gwyn, he felt absolved. Even for just a moment.

"Would you mind helping me? Find the book, I mean." Azriel asked, jerking his chin towards the section. Thinking for a moment, he quickly added, "That is, if you're not too busy."

Gwyn halted, and chewed on her lip. She glanced up at the other floors, as though looking at something in quiet consideration. then returned her gaze to him. There was no way she could say no— not when he made the sorrow in her mind settle. Not when he made her feel so... happy.

"I would love to."

Something about that smile… It was so disarming. He had no defenses, no stealth, no plans for her. Even his shadows, usually astute guard dogs, had rolled over to bear their bellies to her.

They liked her.

He liked her.

A secret, happy possibility was tucked away in the back of his mind.

Gwyn’s heart skipped a beat, as though she was wondering the same thing.

What they could be.

“Lead the way, Berdara.” He made a lazy motion with his hand, and the corners of his lips tugged upwards. He sketched a bow, like a true courtly gentleman.

She returned the smile, her teal eyes sparkling with a new feeling, and took his arm. "Gladly."

The touch sent his heart soaring.

nepenthe (noun)— something that makes you forget grief or suffering.

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years

Text

Seeds

remember guys! you can ask me to tag them on future updates

Summary: The idea of a soulmate is well known, they will come to you one day, either as a lover or a friend. A single bond made of invisible thread is what will let you feel their emotions, joys and worries, to experience their pain and for them to feel yours.

But beware, for not all blessed unions are meant to be, if you were to hate and push them away, a slow death shall consume them and a garden will bloom within their chest, the flowers will fight and push to feel the sun from the outside, a poetic dead of a broken lover. A beautiful dead for your hollow existence.

You know that your mother was never a good person, or so you have been told.

Miranda meet her when she came from the city to the village, four months pregnant and with the false story of being “sick”, her sickness? She decided to cheat on her rich husband and she wanted to have you away from prying eyes and possibly abandon you here. Your birth giver was upfront about how "Having a bastard could ruin my lifestyle!", Mother Miranda smiled sweetly and had Alcina give your mother refugee and help during the birth, the Lady agreed and housed the woman.

On the night of your birth, Alcina held you in her arms, begging Miranda to let her keep you, but she denied. You were hers and hers alone.

As for your mother? Only Miranda knows what happened to her, but you suspect, that her body is buried somewhere in the forest, alone and forgotten, you couldn’t care any less.

Miranda was the one to raise you, to love you, the one who would be there when you were sick, to kiss your tears away when nightmares woke you up. She was the one to break your body apart and scream in our face how much of a failure you were, just like Alcina or Donna or those pesky lycans running amok outside, but within your failure, she saw minimal success, you were quick to learn how to care for her experiments, which were the signs of cadou rejection and how to treat it, at least, you could be useful until she placed you in the mansion the villagers were building for you.

You have seen so many people been brought to the lab, so many lives being taken for a selfish reason, that you grew numb, there was no anger or pain, you felt no grief when the test subjects saw you and begged for help, you did nothing for there was nothing inside you.

You are surprised when Miranda begins to show interest in a kid, you know he was brought here years ago and somehow had managed to survive the horrors your mother put him through. Interest grew into an obsession and then into pride, hope, you will forever remember how hard Miranda screamed when her golden child came out a failure too, cursing at the skies and asking why? He had been so close to being her perfect little boy and he turned out to be yet another fuck up.

But she doesn’t throw him away, her favoritism shows when she moved him from the medical area into a room in her private chambers, never allowing you to go close to him, slapping you and kicking up a storm whenever she saw you too close to his door, even if you were passing by. But you never resent him, you can’t hate him or her, all you can do is nod and go away.

But curiosity is something hard to get rid of, and so you waited for days almost a month until Mother left to meet up with Alcina, using the moment to sneak into his room. A beautiful room, compared to yours, he had a big bed with a canopy, the thick curtains prevent you from seeing him, it feels like a fairy tale when you part the curtain to peer inside.

Truly like a fairy tale...a beautiful boy lays there, his golden hair is going gray, probably out of stress. He has a couple of scars on his face and some new ones on his arms. You feel like reaching inside and kiss him to break the spell, but it feels...wrong, like if you could tarnish him even further by touching him, like if your mother would appear and toss you aside for laying one of your dirty hands on his skin. No matter how bad you wish to be his Knight and save him, the terror you feel over defying Mother Miranda’s orders makes you stay still.

And then, it happened.

It began as an agonizing stab in your chest, it made you trip backwards painfully slamming your head against the wall, gasping for air when the pain as a needle began to pierce through you slowly making its way to your heart, a pitiful sob left your mouth, rendering you useless while your body overcomes the initial discomfort. It takes all of your willpower to get straight and look up at the ceiling through your tears, the light it's blinding and it leaves you dizzy, almost ready to empty your stomach.

Karl Heisenberg, age eleven, lays on his luxurious-looking bed, his entire body shakes painfully, breaking through his mouth, and the fever that's racking his body is the only thing keeping him from noticing that, his soulmate is standing a couple of steps away from his bed.

But how do you even know this?

Because Miranda told you about the concept of someone blindingly loving you for all eternity, who would be your other half and the missing piece to your broken existence, Dimitrescu once said that those stories were silly little fantasies, that love should be won over and one should prove to be the right person for someone else and not just have it “hand it over”.

You used to dream of the day you would feel the connection between yourself and another person, of being able to experience their joy when their eyes fell on you. But this is far from what you wanted, what you always wished for! All you can feel is pain, radiating from so many places in your body, rendering you useless, overwhelmed with anger, grief, sorrow for “yourself”.

Everything quickly piles up, so consumed by what Karl is feeling that you don’t hear the tray that falls and the porcelain plates that shatter, you vaguely register the sting of Miranda slapping you and the distant sound of her screams.

She drags you out of the room and into the cold world outside her home, across the heartless forest and you wonder...if you might end up like your mother, buried under some tree to be forgotten. But Miranda keeps walking until she throws you at the feet of Lady Dimitrescu, speaking to the tall woman and leaving you under her care, forever.

When you were younger, you used to fear the Lady. She was imposing and so strong, a self-made matriarch, but she's so careful when helping you up and guiding you through her beautiful home, her hands are so kind when she helps you to undress and sit in the tub filled with warm water, racking her fingers through your messy hair...so this is what a mother truly is like?

She only leaves you alone when she goes to fetch anything you could wear, looking displeased when she hands you a maid's uniform "We must send for the seamstress, I cannot have you wearing those shabby clothes" that, for some reason gets you to smile.

Later, her movements are soft as she runs a brush through your hair, the fire makes the wood crack and explode, filling the room with a nice warmth, something you never lacked off but that never truly permeated your body.

"Y/N, care to explain why mother Miranda was so angry, earlier?" you hear the concern in her voice, a bit of worry hidden in a stern tone.

Alcina can see you shrink a bit, as if ashamed of what you had done “I saw the kid mother keeps in her chambers” it comes out like a whisper, scared of Miranda appearing at that moment to slap you again “I think he’s my soul mate, Alcina!”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckles lightly and smiles when you turn around to look at her ”Your soul mate, some dirty man-thing? Oh my sweet girl I hope it isn’t real and you were just revolted by the sight of a man!”

“But I felt his pain and his emotions...it was scary, but maybe he will love me!”

“Just because you can feel what he feels, doesn’t mean everything will be alright. That’s why those romances are so volatile, darling! There’s no real reason for them to work beyond being stubborn and tell yourself that it will work out” the lady is classy and gracious in her movements as she poured herself another glass of wine “That the other person at the end of your bond will fall to their knees the moment they see you, but in reality, they might resent your sole existence and end up killing you!”

“Killing me?” that comes as a surprise, you have never heard of this.

“Yes...a cruel and unjust dead” Alcina brings you to her lap letting one of her hands spread over your small chest with a sorrowful look on her face “Your lungs will get infested with flowers, a bouquet of throe will bloom within your body, each day the garden will grow and fight to see the sun beyond your mouth and it will rob you of all air and kill you in no time”

She sees you wonder about it, a million questions that you wish to ask, everything falling apart when her curious daughters come into the room, moved by the rumors some maids had shared about their mother adopting another child. All too eager to know their new sister.

After that day, the topic is never brought up.

You grow and learn everything under Alcina’s guidance, the woman is hellbent on making a lady out of you. She teaches you how to read and write, about math and how to sing, applauding when you show her the gift the cadou in your stomach gave you, Midas' touch.

Her daughters and your self-appointed sisters, all laugh and joke around you, treat you like if you were another human when you are no different from their mother, another failed creation, a remainder that Miranda was cursed to not have what she wants. But the love of your little family drowns those thoughts, leaving the happiness of your existence in a nice home and the ever-presence of pain and resentment in the back of your head.

As you grow you notice, each cut and wound that leaves a scar on your skin turns to gold when made by you, but looks as pale lines when made by Heisenberg. You can’t help but laugh when the idea of being a piece of pottery repaired via kintsugi pops in your head, and for a moment you ask yourself if Heisenberg also has golden scars to match yours?

You cry the day when you finally leave the castle, trying hard to convey your love for your mother and sisters with hugs and kisses, in low whispers, promises of coming over as much as you can. The Lady kisses your forehead and sends you off with some final words of advice.

"Never lower your head and always do your best, remember you have us and we would never let you fall"

You are eighteen when you become the miracle worker of the village, crafting medicines with alchemy, signing at the church when the congregation asks you to, turning anything into gold with your touch, smiling with grace, and claiming to have been blessed with a precious gift by Mother Miranda to help the poor and keep the village off absolute agony. In the end, everything tastes like vile and ash, the forced smiles and the sweet tone of your voice make you gang behind the long veil that covers your face.

The days when you sing at the church, are the only ones when you can feel all his hatred directed at you, each painful stab making your eyes tear, yet you keep on making the people happy with hymns crafted before you were even born. If you could let him feel how similar your anger for Miranda is, perhaps the pain in your chest would dissipate, but you can't because you are hollow.

Among the villagers you are Lady Y/N L/N, the golden touch child, you are adored and blindly loved, Miranda smiles radiantly whenever she hears nothing but good words from her cattle, how much they dote on you, ready to serve without a thought, the eagerness to work under you. You may have been a failed vessel but you are a success as a flycatcher, bringing the sheep down to the slaughterhouse to be sent to the other Lords.

On meeting day, the pain and emotions that you feel seem to amplify the closer you are to Heisenberg.

As you sit beside your adoptive mother, your smaller hand in hers, while Mother Miranda speaks and praises each one of her children, lingering a bit too much on her golden child. The pressure in your chest grows, it feels like when you submerge in the tub as if your lungs were being crushed under an invisible force, ready to cough and gasp for air.

Across from you, he sits, posture closed and annoyed beyond belief when Miranda asks him to stay a bit longer after the meeting is done, you feel relief when Lady Dimitrescu gets up, opting to ignore Heisenberg in favor of bringing you back to the castle for your scheduled visit.

You two aren't even halfway through your journey back when you notice you are missing something, a small gift for today's reunion, a bag of fine jasmine tea.

"Mother, I need to get back. It seems I misplaced something, you go ahead!"

There's no time for Alcina to respond before you volt back to the church, the soft lace of your veil beautifully flying behind your hurried steps, slowly dropping your speed the closer you get to the entrance of the building, from it you can see Miranda, she as shed her mask off and is touching Heisenberg's face the way you have seen brides or wives touch their husbands' faces.

A pulse of repugnance and despise make you stumble back, pressing your back against the outer wall, it feels like the first time you met him, it's blinding and leaves you disoriented for a second, a hand flies up to your mouth when a wave of nausea hits you. He's not only pissed, he feels filthy and is suppressing a murderous intent behind a mask of indifference.

The sensation grows and grows until it's crushing you. One look up and you see him standing before you, a hand caging you between him and pillar.

"What are you doing here, freak? The tall bitch sent you to spy on me? tell her to fuck off" this isn't the first time you hear his voice, but it feels like it, even if his words are filled with malice, they taste like bitter wine for you.

"NO!...I mean...no, Lord Heisenberg. I came back because I lost something, a small bag"

"So you are afraid the dog stole from you, are you calling me a thief?" your mouth opens to explain to him once more, but the burly man only growls and steps away "Think whatever you want, I can't care any less for whatever the scum thinks of me"

Later, in the solitude of your home, you will call yourself an idiot, asking yourself why you reached for his empty hand when he turned around ready to leave, why you didn't revealed who you were, why you didn't cried when the man slammed your body against the wall.

"DON'T YOU DARE TO TOUCH ME, BITCH!" Heisenberg's tobacco infused breath hits your face, the painful stab of hatred felt like if your body were being torn apart "I CAN'T STAND PEOPLE LIKE YOU, YOU MAKE SICK!"

This time, when he turns around to leave, you don't reach out, you stay there, gasping for hair and coughing like if you were drowning, a slick sensation in your throat makes you gag and cough harder than before, both of your hands are cupped over your mouth, scared at the idea of throwing up.

Thank God you don't.

The moment passes and your body calms down, but your eyes grow wide when you see what made you gag.

A single yellow carnation petal covered in spit rests between your hands.

-----

Yelow Carnation: rejection and disdain

tag list: @happygalaxymilkshake @mightybeeb @kittyb2000

#re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader

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hawkinsindiana · 4 years

Text

i want to talk about it

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER TWO OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: you asked for it! guess what - the anGST IS BACK!!!! i have also decided not to include gifs until we get to s3 content okay? okay. enjoy!

masterlist

You think about that night often, even though there have been plenty of others like it since. It was the breath of fresh air you so desperately needed. And while your relationship with Steve has made certain aspects of your life better, not all of them are so positively affected.

The lump that forms in your throat every time you lie to your baby brother is especially difficult to swallow. You wonder if it will get any easier. Hopefully you won’t have to keep up the charade in front of the kids for much longer.

Especially now that Mike knows, that little shit.

It had only been four days since Steve had suggested the idea of keeping the status of your relationship a secret. Four days. You still can’t believe it.

The group was in the middle of a rather rousing round of Monopoly; Will had just sworn never to speak with Lucas again after a painful double mortgage incident. Steve, bankrupt from Max’s hotels and exhausted by their shenanigans, decided to leave a bit early. In traditional fashion, you made sure to see him out.

Moments after the pair of you disappeared from the room, Dustin sent the Wheeler boy to grab extra sodas from the fridge in the garage. You’re lucky Mike closed the door when he entered; no one else heard him shout in surprise when he witnessed Steve give you a quick kiss goodbye.

Your face flushed beet red in record time. Steve could’ve sworn his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Mike has a habit of catching him in the act.

Thankfully it didn’t take much to convince Mike not to tell the others. He could tell how much it would mean to you to keep this quiet - a part of him understands why. It also helps that the boy would never want to disappoint you. Like all of the kids, they would hate to be the cause of grief in you.

But keeping this from your brother is the toughest part. Mike knows first hand just how much Dustin wishes you two were together. It’s unfortunate he hasn’t figured it out himself yet; Mike thinks he probably never will.

But of course, now that’s the least of your worries.

Billy Hargrove gets bored easily; it explains much of his behavior. When something, or someone, becomes a bit too dull for his taste, he feels the need to stir the pot. You are no exception.

You’ve learned to ignore his posse’s comments in your direction when they walk by; Tommy’s sting a bit more than the rest. Normally, you’d love to fight back and embarrass him - it’s one of Steve’s favorite things about you. But now, Billy’s involvement makes you think twice before saying anything. After what happened at the Byers’, you never know what it could be that sets him off.

Considering what happened last week, you’re certain something similar could occur again.

Billy cornered you at your locker, spewing his usual comments. You were unnerved by his presence but able to keep your emotions in check as he leaned in closer; it was impossible not to catch the stench of cigarette smoke off his breath as he spoke. The hand he had broken months prior twinged in pain.

In a moment of rage fueled by your silence, Billy fisted the collar of your sweater in his fingers. The fabric tightened against your neck as he said the damning line, “I could do it again, you know.”

The delicate knit of the yarn was stretched when he finally let you go. You threw that top into the dumpster as soon as you got home. You couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.

Steve wishes that you’d let him do something about Billy; you’re too frightened about what could happen if Steve confronted him. You would never risk letting your dream become a reality.

All that kept Billy from killing Steve that night was Max, had she not intervened. You’d thank her everyday if you could.

Even though the little moments you do get to spend with Steve help calm your mind, your experiences from November still hang over both of your consciences. Steve just tries his hardest to make sure your conversations are Upside-Down free. He wishes you both could be normal teenagers again without these traumatic experiences haunting your every move. He misses not having to worry about that.

Looking for a way to blow off some steam and relax, you suggested a horror movie marathon to the kids. Since the final semester of your senior year began, you haven’t been able to spend as much time with them as you would like.

Max’s face lit up when you mentioned the idea; Dustin scowled. He hates scary movies. It seems ironic to you considering everything the group has been through.

After sitting through Alien, the red-headed girl’s favorite, everyone decides to take a quick break before continuing. You and Steve are goofing off with Lucas and Max in the kitchen as the microwave’s working on the popcorn. Max just smiles as she watches you two interact.

The pair of you are approaching almost three months of your relationship. In that time, your comfort with each other has grown exponentially. While you don’t express your feelings for each other in front of the kids, it becomes very apparent to Max how drastically different your dynamic is compared to when she first met you both.

“I’m really glad you guys were able to sort things out,” She says before grabbing another bowl from the cabinet.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, the smile on your face drooping slightly at her words, exchanging a quick glance with Steve before speaking again, “Sort out what?”

Lucas continues before she can, leaning back against the counter, “Just... back when you guys were fighting. It must have been for something dumb if you got over it quick.”

That has Steve’s mind spinning for the rest of the night.

In your giddy excitement with one another, you both had completely forgotten about what happened between you two that week. It all seems like background noise compared to what followed.

But whatever it was that had you angry with him, it must not have been something dumb, he thinks. Not with the way you reacted.

The kids decide to move the activities over to the Wheelers’ after finishing The Shining - and you’re thankful they do. You and Steve don’t know how much more of Dustin’s unnecessary screams you could take.

“It’s not even that scary!” Will says as he opens the front door, turning back to your brother as the rest of the kids file outside. You throw Max’s coat to her before she forgets it.

“Did we watch the same movie?” Dustin answers as he pulls his backpack over his shoulder, his face stunned as he looks between you and Steve, “And he’s the one who looks like Danny Torrance!”

“Alright, alright,” Steve grabs the door from Will and he ushers them out, “Go on, get out of here.”

Mike runs back before it’s shut, looking over his shoulder to the others to make sure he wasn’t followed. His eyes peer through the crack as he steps onto the porch, a smug grin over his features as he lowers his voice, “If you two do anything weird in there-”

“Oho, that’s enough out of you,” Steve slams the door before Mike can continue, making an effort to lock it immediately after.

Your muffled laughter reaches his ears, turning to see where you’ve disappeared behind the couch to grab a pillow you’d thrown to try and silence your brother.

“You think his antics are funny, huh?” Steve asks, placing his hands on his hips as you pop back up, your eyes sparkling, “Clearly I enjoy them much more than you do.”

“He’s lucky we haven’t killed him yet.”

“Steven!”

“What?”

You scoff lightly at him, tossing the pillow onto the couch before plopping yourself down, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Steve’s expression flattens as you look away from him, gaze not focused on anything in particular. The thoughts he’s been having about the rough patch you two experienced begin to overwhelm him. The unanswered questions regarding your aggression towards him make him anxious - Steve can’t stand it when you’re unhappy with him.

It comes out before he can stop himself.

“You know, uh, what Max and Lucas mentioned earlier? About us?” Steve’s words make your brow furrow, confused as to why he’d bring it up. That seems like something he’d want to keep in the past, “Yeah, why?”

“I mean-” Steve exhales before sitting down next to you, his knee grazing yours, “I was mad ‘cause I thought that you’d been the reason Nancy...”

He stops for a moment, shaking the memory from his mind. He has no desire to bring his previous relationship into this one, “I don’t know, I guess you never mentioned why you were angry.”

He just shrugs after trailing off, eyes focused on the carpet; Steve’s not able to look directly at you while he admits it, “It just doesn’t make any sense to me, that’s all.”

Your jaw clenches as you remember the cause of your anger and how it transformed you. It seems so stupid now, that his behavior towards you meant that he’d rejected your feelings. Turns out, it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

You push those thoughts away; you’re not interested in furthering the conversation any more.

“It’s not important,” You state plainly, also not able to meet his gaze, “Lucas was right, it was dumb.”

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you re-adjust on the cushion, “Let’s forget about it, yeah?”

Steve shakes his head - he’s quickly growing tired of you dodging his questions, “No, I want to talk about it. I want to know.”

“Why do you care so much? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Because I was an asshole to you and you just…” He trails off as he leans away, arm draping over the couch, “You just took it! You accepted it like nothing had ever changed, like nothing ever happened between us.”

You huff, back pressed against the arm rest, voice quiet, “Damn right nothing ever happened.”

You freeze, surprised at your own comment. You didn’t know that you were still holding onto aggression directed at his obliviousness to your true feelings. But Steve doesn’t catch on, he only grows more concerned at your response, “What the hell are you talking about?”

You take a deep breath, thankful that he didn’t seem to understand, effectively saving your ass from whatever this revelation could’ve caused. The room is silent as you move to the edge of the seat, “Like I said. We should forget about it.”

Steve scoffs, his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose as you stand up, “I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me.”

You don’t turn to look at him as you take a few steps, instead opting to push both hands through your hair as you answer, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do! What - is it so horrible that I want to know what made you mad at me?” He raises his voice and you turn towards him, desperately trying to calm your temper, “Steve-”

“So we’re keeping secrets now too, huh?” Steve says as he gets up too, arms crossed over his chest, “This whole thing’s under wraps anyways, why not bring that into the relationship? What a great idea. You’ve really outdone yourself this time, truly-”

“Oh my God, Steve-” You interrupt him, growing so impatient of him that you don’t even register what happens until it does, “Fine, you want to know?”

“Yes!”

“I thought that Nancy told you everything! Everything about how I felt.”

Your lip gets caught between your teeth as you cast your focus to the ceiling, hating how you can never seem to keep your emotions bottled up anymore - you used to be good at that.

“I must have been more obvious than I wanted because she had figured it out. That night at Tina’s party was when she finally felt confident enough to confront me about it. And I just…” You swallow the lump in your throat as you feel the tears start to burn behind your eyes. There was a reason you wanted to keep this away from him.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed at her, Steve. I just screamed at her,” Your tone softens as you remember the words that you spit at her, guilt flooding you all over again, “I was so sick and tired of watching her pull away from you when you deserved someone who actually cared about you and I was right there! The whole fucking time!”

“I thought that she told you about how I felt,” You mutter, shoulders slumping with embarrassment and shame, “I thought she told you and you had decided to reject me.”

Steve used to think that seeing you bloodied and beaten by Billy was the saddest he’d ever seen you. But seeing the look on your face as you realize what you’ve said - he’s not sure which one is worse. And it’s all because of him.

He should have listened to your protests; you were right.

Steve doesn’t know what to say.

Even though it’s only been official for a short amount of time, getting to be with you has been an absolute joy. It’s been perfect knowing that the sparks are mutual. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it again if they weren’t. Steve can tell there’s something different about why being with you feels so amazing and terrifying at the same time.

But the idea that you’ve kept your feelings locked away and hidden from him longer than he thought? That brings about a pain in his chest that’s greater than he’s ever had before.

“How - um, how long had it been since…” He doesn’t know how to finish - he’s not entirely sure if he wants to. He’s not sure he wants to know.

One tear hits your cheek, then another, “A year.”

Even though it’s whispered, it’s enough to make him dizzy. He sinks back onto the couch, his head in his hands as the information overwhelms him. The entire time that Nancy was lying to him, you were right by his side.

You heard everything.

He can’t believe that you just swallowed it - all the times that he gushed about her to your patient soul, telling you the plans on how he was going to ask her to the junior prom, mentioning how he thought she was the one for him. He can’t take it.

You still can’t look at him, it would be too much. Instead, you opt to pick at the sleeves of your hoodie, waiting for Steve to finally address what you admitted.

You grow impatient yet again, emotion scratching your throat, “Please just… say something.”

It seems like hours pass although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

“I can’t do this,” The sound of Steve’s keys being pulled from his pocket catches your attention. Your eyes finally snap up and he’s already moving quickly to the exit, and you brush hair from your face before following him, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t-” He pauses as he pulls on the handle, briefly looking over his shoulder in your direction - still not able to directly catch sight of you, “I don’t know. I just need to think.”

The photos on the wall shake as he slams the door; you force your face into your palms.

It’s ruined, you’re sure of it. He can’t even be in the same room as you anymore. Maybe you’re not as good at keeping secrets as you thought.

Steve’s filled with regret as soon as his fingers leave the doorknob. What the hell is he thinking?

His mind quickly flashes back to the argument you two shared that night on the train tracks; he had forgotten all about it until now.

“You’re the one who caused this mess in the first place.”

His jaw clenches.

“This whole time, I knew you never liked her.”

His exhale stops short.

“You feel so threatened by her that you had to do something about it!”

His stomach churns.

The thought of you interpreting those words as further evidence of his rejection completely fills him with regret.

And then Steve remembers how willing you were to separate from him - it hits him that you didn’t believe he’d ever see you as anything other than a friend. The very notion of him being aware of your feelings had you shutting yourself away from him completely.

He has to go back in. He can’t leave you to believe those things. And although he doesn’t think apologizing would be enough this time, he at least has to give it a shot. For your sake

Steve’s about to shove the door back open when it locks from the other side. You’ve accepted that he’s not coming back in. Why would he want to?

A shallow breath gets pushed through your lungs; it doesn’t help to calm you. At he sound of the engine of his car running, a whimper passes your lips. You’re certain you’ve lost him again.

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrsukai / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @bakugouishusbando / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @wisdaemon

wow there are so many of you

if you wanna be added to the taglist (of if you’ve changed your url), just lemme know!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x henderson!reader #st fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #st imagine #my writing #almost paradise

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codedredalert · 3 years

Text

O’ Death [One Piece, Law] -- oneshot

Law-centric character study || 1157 words

The first time Law dies, he is ten and the world ends in fire.

(Written for the OP Tarot Project Death card.)

Death Upright: Necessary endings, illness, change, letting go, transition, rebirth. Reversed: Living unaware, resistance to change, delayed endings.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, character death, chronic terminal illness and pain

(On Ao3)

===/\===

I. Faith

The first time Law dies, he is ten and the world ends in fire.

Somewhere between the rain of explosives and artillery, the marines in uniform dragging bodies into the street, and numbing horror, some part of Law is mortally wounded. It's a small part, and it goes into shock as Law buries himself under the crushing weight of bodies being carted out of the city to be burned.

His parents' son and sister's brother dies. He is carted away with a nameless heap of his country's people. The part of Law that is light, love, and innocence goes with them to the grave.

That he still breathes is of no account.

===/\===

II. Flesh

The second is a slow death, from when Law is nine-and-a-half to twelve-and-nine-months.

Amber Lead hurts.

It's noticeable in the lungs first, in the hacking cough, and the sensation of never getting enough air no matter how many rasping breaths he might struggle to take. It goes for the intestines next, sitting heavy and painful in his gut, making even the thought of food unrealistic. By the time it takes to his skin, hard patches which crack and ooze blood and plasma…

Everything hurts, all the time.

Law's days are numbered. He counts them, three years from his parents' last hushed argument about his dying sister and himself.

Some days are better. Some days are worse. Some days, dying is scary, but living just hurts so much.

Hate keeps him going.

Hate straps scavenged explosives to his small chest with patchy-white hands.

"Let me join you," Hate says to Donquixote Doflamingo with Law's failing lungs. "I want to see the world burn."

===/\===

III. Heart

Law's third death is a surprise, but that is the risk of walking around with your heart in someone else's body.

Humans are social creatures. So, despite everything, it's rejection that hurts the most.

He'd overcome the impossible, escaped the fall of Flevance, fought through overwhelming grief and weakness, scraped together enough willpower and supplies to get to Spider Miles—and the Donquixote inner circle scattered away from him, screaming.

Disgust. Avoidance. The desire to eliminate him like vermin.

Again and again it happens, at every hospital Corazón stupidly, ignorantly, drags him to. Law is subjected to fear and rejection time and time again.

It chips away at the pale shadow that had roused itself in the ashes of his burning city. He barely has the energy to be bitter, he wants to be bitter, to rage and rail and protest "I lived! I lived, and this is what I got."

But he's tired and everything hurts and he's twelve and he's dying and he's dead—he just hasn't stopped bleeding yet.

"You poor boy," whispers Corazón, thinking Law sound asleep. Law isn't, not truly—he hasn't slept properly in years. The strangled breaths, the twisted gut and the cracked skin don't allow it. "You poor boy."

And Corazón wept.

With his back to the man, Law feels tears fall upon his head. The heat and salt of them were alive, deeply human, and a remedy for great wrongs. Corazón swept the hate out, replaced it with the soft mortal thought of "I'm small and I'm scared and I don't deserve to die."

The tears he'd thought long-dried well up in his eyes and Law wept too.

From that point on, Corazón is Cora-san, and Law is a boy who deserves to live.

(I love you.)

(You are free.)

Cora-san dies in his place to make it true.

===/\===

IV. Fear

Law's fourth death is by his own hand.

He learns his lesson—everyone around him dies. He hadn't learned well enough from Flevance, but the lesson had been repeated in Cora-san and well. . . he didn't fancy a third time.

He sends his people far away with every provision he can make for his failure. They're holding him back, he tells himself. So he looks his oldest, dearest, closest friends in the eyes and tells them to go ahead to Zou. That he'd meet them there soon. He doesn't tell them what he's going to do—Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin corner him to ask, but he's foul-tempered from stress and fear, and stubborn enough that they let the matter drop. He refuses to risk them, so he bundles up everything worth living for and banishes it, watches the Tang sink slowly below sunset-dyed waters for maybe the last time. He stands on the shore replaying the sight to burn it into memory long after they're gone.

"It's for the best," he argues at the yawning blank landscape of the winter half of Punk Hazard. He knows exactly what—who—he is up against, and preparing for death is only prudent. His exhaustion and selfish desire to hide with them in the Tang forever just isn't realistic. It doesn't matter how he feels. This way he can't be tempted to cowardice, to run into the waiting arms of those who love him and just . . . live.

He has a debt, a duty, and he's already made Cora-san wait for so long.

It doesn't matter how he feels.

When the marines come knocking, when Monet reveals that she has been one of Doflamingo's all along, when his careful contingencies start collapsing around him, and allying with Straw Hat constantly feels like the dream where he misses the step on a staircase and falls—

Law goes through the whole thing half-numb, smirking or scowling to hide his racing heart and whirling panic.

Dressrosa is the end of everything, one way or another. Law is terrified but he can't show it, not with the Straw Hats watching him for direction and the slightest indication that he'd betray them.

Despite Law's best efforts, Doflamingo cuts through Law's plans, unloads a round of lead bullets into Law's chest in a mocking parody of Cora-san's murder. Somehow, deep in his heart, Law expected this. Law has run all the possibilities and permutations, failure is very real. It's Doflamingo, after all. And Law is only Law.

But Straw Hat—impossible, aggravating, miracle-working Straw Hat—charges straight ahead. He causes pirates and kings to argue for the privilege of killing Doflamingo. It's bizarre, to have an entire crowd believe Doflamingo so easily killed—like he isn't a beast of mythos, the closest thing to invincible, the idol god of Law's desperate youth.

In the midst of the rabble, Law finally manages a fragile belief in what he's been trying to convince himself of for thirteen years:

He is not infallible.

All men must die.

All men must die, and Doflamingo is only mortal.

In that moment, Law decides, against all logic and reason, to bet everything on Straw Hat.

Impossibly, they win.

High above the rising dust of Dressrosa's ruins, Straw Hat defeats Doflamingo. Law picks Straw Hat from the sky and Doflamingo's dominion dissolves along with his birdcage.

It's over, everybody lives—

—and Law is free.

===/END\===

(On Ao3) ( patreon ) ( kofi ) ( paypal )

#trafalgar law #donquixote doflamingo #monkey d luffy #corazón #corasan #donquixote rosinante #donquixote rocinante #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #opfanfic #op fanfiction #op fanfic #op #my writing #mine #tarot

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

Text

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #transformers headcanon #my writing #rodimus x reader #minimus x reader #minimus ambus #rodimus prime #human reader #self insert

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dearmantis · 3 years

Text

Blood on your hands

Pairing: Pietro x Reader

Summary: Westview was your home, but the nightmares you have every night tell a different story. When hallucinations start to take over your day to day life a around the same time Wanda introduced you to her brother Pietro, one of your best friends tries to help.

Help herself, not you.

! Part two of Old wounds ripped open, can be read on it’s own though !

Warnings: spoilers for episode 7 of WandaVision(?), mentions of death and blood, angst, nightmares, a bit of survivors guilt, horror (if you squint a bit), hallucinations, some weird/ creepy stuff involving a corpse (not Vision and not sexual, it’s just weird and a bit sad)

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Blood on your hands is less focused on Pietro and instead centered more around the Reader and their experiences after the events of Old wounds ripped open. It does involve Pietro again though, don't worry.

Also, some parts of this seemingly got mixed up for some reason so if some passages make no sense and feel out of place that's why. I've been trying to fit it but I mightve overlooked some parts so please tell me!

You had weird dreams since your first day in Westview, your head filled with blurry scenes, blues and whites bleeding into each other as calm voices spoke to you, warm hands caressing your skin, creating scenarios that made no sense but felt familiar enough, like they had had happened once, in a world, a life, vastly different from the one you lived in now.

It would’ve been quite beautiful if they weren’t accompanied by a deep feeling of melancholy, sadness seeping into your body and clinging onto your bones every night, the pictures becoming clearer and the feelings stronger with every passing day.

The night a day before you met Pietro, Wanda's twin brother you don’t remember ever hearing about even though you had been best friends with Wanda since you were 4, the dreams changed.

Suddenly, the sorrow and heartache transformed into fear, cold sweat clinging on your skin every time the panic got strong enough to rip you out of your sleep and you woke up, drenched and shaking.

There was no comfort in the emotions that overtook you during those dreams, no warmth in the sorrow that seemed to fill you up like water, drowning out everything else.

Just this overwhelming sense of terror and grief, slowly choking the air out of your lungs and turning your muscles weak.

You thought about talking with Wanda about what you saw and heard in your dreams, about the gunshots, the screams, the blood, but something held you back. As soon as the idea came up in your mind you knew that this was not an option, no questions, no but’s.

You just knew.

However, as the days went on, the dreams became worse.

People turning to dust, Wanda crying and screaming, a man dying, burns all over his body, a stone being ripped out of the forehead of a strange man, his body falling dead on the ground… and a man with white hair being shot and killed.

All you were able to do was watch, unable to prevent what was happening.

In those dreams you could heal, your hands glowing in a warm golden light, heat burning in your fingertips, but no matter what you did, people continued to turn into dust, the burns stayed, the stone was still gone and you were always too far away to save the man, distancing yourself further every second no matter how hard you fought to get closer to him.

You felt useless, helpless, undeserving.

The fear of Wanda finding out about your nightmares grew steadily with every dream, the outside signs of your sleepless nights becoming more and more obvious, but no matter what tricks and tips you tried, not a single night was slept through calmly.

It didn’t help that the scenarios all held the same familiar feeling the ones before the meeting with Pietro did. Melancholy and pain now ruling hand in hand over what was once supposed to help you relax and restore your energy for the next day.

You started hallucinating after 2 days. Vision was always gone or with Wanda and something about Pietro's company made you feel uncomfortable, so you started to spend your time more by yourself, now really regretting that you didn’t get a dog when the idea first came up.

It began with randomly seeing people on the street turning to dust.

The first time it happened you felt like you were going to turn to dust as well, your heartbeat loudly hammering in your ears as you ran out of the house screaming, trying to help and save your poor neighbors from certain doom. It happened two more times before you realized that your mind was playing tricks on you,, too exhausted to work like it was supposed to.

Halloween night was the worst.

Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to actually rest, you decided to spend the night on the couch, watching any kids show or movie you could find, until you slipped back into unconsciousness at around 11 pm during a scooby doo marathon.

Wanda had invited you to come along with her, the twins and the boys since both Vision and Agnes would be busy that day but you refused, claiming that you felt sick and wanted to spend the night in your bed sleeping and watching TV. The young mother had looked you up and down, pity in her watchful eyes, before she took your hand, squeezed it, and told you to call in case anything happened and you needed help. You had nodded, thanking Wanda and promising her to come over as soon as you felt better.

The reason why Halloween was the worst was because the dream you had was different once again, this time for seemingly no reason at all.

Wanda was currently being dragged away from a body, the body of the man you had seen before in previous dreams. The one who got shot while you were in the air, unable to get closer to him no matter how hard you tried. Her hysterical screaming was the only thing you could hear, sokovian insults directed towards those dragging her away, someone named Ultron, and you.

You were on what you recognized to be a helicarrier, even though you don’t remember ever having seen one or heard of one, the word unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.

Wanda stared at you as you slowly approached the body, still being held back but now silent like everyone else around you, all of their eyes focused on you and you alone.

An empty feeling had started to fill your mind since the helicopter had landed, not a single emotion or thought racing through your head when you lifted your hands, a warm golden glow engulfing them, and placed them on the man's chest.

The wounds healed, golden threads filling the wounds before turning into normal human tissue, but his heart stayed still, no matter what you did.

“This is your fault too. You promised you would be there! You promised you would keep him safe, you disgusting liar. I tried to defend you so many times but HYDRA and Ultron were right. You’re useless.”, Wanda uttered, her eyes wild and glowing in a deep shade of red, her hands called to fists.

Your powers got stronger and stronger, now able to rebuild entire missing limbs like you had done just a few minutes ago to save an old man instead of only healing small cuts like during your first weeks with HYDRA, but death was still irreversible to you.

A part of you simply accepting what she had said as the truth.

You should’ve been there. You directly disobeyed orders. This is your fault too. There was no denying of these simple facts.

Another part of you however, the part of you that was trained by Hydra and followed Ultron, filled with toxic thoughts and jealousy because Wanda was stronger than you, got more attention than you, was more important than you overall, saw a chance to strike.

“You knew that he was still getting used to his powers, Wanda. And you knew that he was already getting exhausted, making him slower. It was your job to protect him too. After all, you’re the one who can rip through those robots like nothing. I’m just a useless healer.”

Both of you would regret these words years later, Wanda sitting in her room only two months later, hysterically sobbing and shaking like a leaf, none of the other Avengers being able to do anything other than calling you, begging you to take a break from helping with the rebuilding of Sokovia because something was wrong with Wanda and no one knew what to do. When you arrived you laid in each other's arms, trying to calm each other down, talking about how much you missed each other and what happened during and after Pietro's death.

Oh, something was definitely wrong.

A loud knocking on your door was what ripped you out of your sleep, quickly jogging to it, thinking it must be Wanda trying to check on you. Instead, Agnes was standing in front of you, a sweet smile on her lips.

How Wanda saw his dead body everywhere, and how you couldn’t touch wet things anymore or wash your hands with cold water because it kept reminding you of his blood soaked shirt and the way your hands were covered in his cold blood, the red liquid dripping from them until it dried to a dark brown layer.

“Hey Y/N,”, she greeted, moving past you to get into your house. “Wanda told me about you feeling a bit sick so I came over to check on you. You’re my friend too, afterall. I wanna make sure you’re doing alright.”

Slowly your eyes moved down, landing on your hands.

Agnes was already waiting for you in the kitchen, preparing two cups of tea like this was her house, shooing you back into the living room while loudly talking about how important it was for her to take care of her close friends. You were about to sit back down on the couch when you finally heard it.

Dripping. Something was dripping.

Red.

Turning, your eyes followed the path you had walked as well as you could, moving from the couch, small red drops leading to the door with its now blood covered doorknob, to the kitchen, and then back to the couch.

You silently watched her from the door, your mind still half stuck in the dream you had, trying to understand what was happening when the door slipped out of your grasp, closing on its own.

“Oh Y/N, I didn’t send you into the living room for you to just stand here and stare into nothingness. Sit down, sweetheart. The tea is nearly done, just give it another minute.”, Agnes suddenly said, setting two cups and a small bowl down on the living room table before pushing you down onto the couch and turning the sound of the TV lower. She quickly sat down next to you, covering you and herself with the blanket that had fallen to the floor while you had slept.

“So, darling, tell me about how you’re feeling. Wanda seemed awfully worried about you. She kept babbling about not knowing what was wrong with you, a true sweetheart, isn’t she?”, Agnes laughed, patting your knee before carefully pulling the tea bags out of the cups.

You knew it had to be a hallucination, the man's blood on your hands coming out of the dream you had, just like the people turning to dust, but it looked so real, the feeling eerily familiar to you.

With a big grin on her lips, she gave you one of them, taking a big sip of it while watching you do the same thing from your own cup.

You were nearly finished with your tea when you noticed that you hadn’t told Agnes or Wanda about what was wrong with you. the cup covered in blood when you sat it down, the liquid on your hands seemingly unending and refusing to dry like it had in your dream.

For a while you sat there, together, watching scoobie doo while drinking tea, talking about the boring ads or about your time in Westview.

“Agnes, why aren’t you with Wanda and the twins right now?”, you asked, your voice not louder than a whisper, somehow aware that asking about her knowledge about the nightmares wouldn’t end well for you.

“Like I told you, I wanted to make sure you’re alright and don’t feel too lonely. Now finish your cup of tea so I can leave knowing that you’ll sleep well tonight. I even put out a big bowl of candy on your porch to make sure no one will ring the door to wake you up tonight.”

If that was all it took for her to go, you would obey, you thought to yourself, downing the rest of the bitter tasting tea in one go before standing up.

With every passing second, Agnes company seemed to make you more and more unconfortable, her aura more dominant than usual. You needed her out of your house. Now.

Agnes smiled at you, took the cups and stood up to go to the kitchen. “Not before I washed these, sweetheart. Then I’ll leave you alone to sleep. Wanda will be fine for another few minutes.”

“Come on, Agnes. I bet Wanda already misses you greatly. You should meet them before the twins go to bed.”, you exclaimed, lifting the blanket from her body and folding it.

A sigh escaped your lips as you walked to the door, suddenly stopping when your eyes jumped to the middle of the hallway.

You were frozen in place, unable to move even when Agnes came out of the kitchen.

She dried her hands with one of your towels before carelessly dropping it on the floor, grinning at you before leaving with the words “Have fun tonight, Y/N. I know you missed him so much.”

When the door fell into its lock, you dropped to your knees, hands shaking and legs weak like pudding.

Pietro.

Pietro, Pietro, Pietro, Pietro, Pietro Pietro.

Here.

On your floor.

You didn’t know how long you sat on the floor, staring at that body, just that you still hadn’t moved when the sun started to rise again, your eyes glued to the corpse while you tried to sort through your newly gained memories.

Dead.

Of course your immediate thought had been to blame Wanda. She was the only person you knew who had the power to take away memories and manipulate your thoughts and feelings and she had a motive.

She was your best friend. Your best friend since kindergarten and the only one who knew about your crush on her twin. Memories from inside Westview also came to mind, from when you woke up in Wanda's kitchen after she introduced you to Pietro for the first time, a day before the introduction you actually remember, your memory coming back after “Pietro” had introduced himself to you.

Wanda had tried to explain her decision to bring you to Westview. Reasoned that you were still so depressed and she just wanted you to feel happy, to get the fairy tale ending she thought you deserved, even if it had to be without Pietro.

Wanda, who probably controlled everyone in Westview, including Agnes who had just talked about missing a man while you stared at the hallucination of his corpse in your hallway.

And she would never be cruel enough to you to give you the nightmares and hallucinations you had now.

There was no way Wanda had possessed Agnes to do this to you.

But she had also claimed not to know where the other “Pietro” came from.

As soon as the realization hit, you stumbled to your feet, the world turning as you ran out of your house, pushing past people as you tried to get to Wanda’s house as quickly as possible. She, Vision, the twins… everyone could be in danger.

This wasn’t Wanda.

If a dead robot and two probably imagined or possessed kids can even be in danger...

You didn’t bother to knock, simply storming into the house, screaming for your best friend.

She immediately reached out to touch you, giving you another once over with her eyes.

“What is going on?”, she responded, a confused look on her face as she came out of the kitchen, panic visible in her eyes as soon as she saw you. “Why are you covered in blood? What happened last night?”

“It’s Pietro’s blood, not mine.”, you said quickly, like that explained anything.

“What blood? Hell, Y/N, you look like you died twice. And what’s this about Pietro’s blood? Do you mean that impos-”

Her eyes began to glow red and you knew she was searching through your mind, trying to make sense of your words.

“You knew it wouldn’t hold for long. Me and Pietro were never as affected by your powers as others were.”, you whispered, trying to answer the unasked question that was hovering in the room.

“Not that Pietro. I mean our Pietro. The one who died in Sokovia in 2015. The one I loved… love. The one I love. It’s his blood.”

“I didn’t give you the nightmares or the hallucinations. I didn’t do that. That wasn’t me. I made sure to keep them as far away from you as I could.”, Wanda insisted, probably more to calm herself down than to prove something to you since you also didn’t think of her as capable of that cruelty.

Her eyes lost their glow but she continued to watch you before quietly saying “Go upstairs. Vision is away and the Twins are with Agnes today. Sleep, I’ll make sure you won’t have nightmares. The hallucinations wont stop if you don’t sleep. You’ll keep seeing the blood on your hands and the corpse on the floor.”

You nodded, walking up the stairs like she had told you before entering the bedroom, only pausing for a second when you saw Pietro’s corpse laying on the right side of the bed before laying down next to it.

“I know Wanda, I know. But someone else did, and I want to find out who without being under the control of someone else. I can’t help when you do that. I can’t use my powers if I don’t remember that I have them.”

Slowly, you reached out to lay your hand on his chest, the glow of your powers only slightly dimmed by the blood. If you closed the wounds maybe you would be able to pretend this was simply a happy dream. A happy dream of a life you could’ve had if you had listened to Steve's orders to stay on the ground with Hawkeye to heal civilians, or if you had simply been less of a coward and told Pietro about your feelings before that last fatal battle.

Like seeing his dead body in your hallway and being covered in his blood wasn’t already traumatizing enough, your mind had to one-up itself once again.

If, if, if.

Always those stupid useless if’s.

You carefully covered the body of the now healed hallucinated corpse with the blanket before getting more comfortable yourself and closing your eyes.

You had completely forgotten to tell Wanda about your suspicions concerning Agnes.

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff x y/n #wandavision #wandavision fanfic

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

would everything be different today?

characters/pairings: thor and loki, loki/mobius

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 3913

warning: canon character death

summary: Prior to Loki's arrest, Thor attempts to save them and is arrested by the TVA himself. And sure, he doesn't understand much of this institution, but he's pretty sure this Mobius has taken a liking to his younger sibling. (pre-canon, thor pov)

(still obsessing over loki, who’s surprised? no one! half of this fic was written at 2am when i was Not sober, my beloved Cat / @howgodforgives read it for me tho because they’re perfect!! 💖 this is an au... supposed to happen pre-canon... inspired by this post and this post, i love them too much and simply mashed the 2 concepts together so ya. enjoy ??)

read on ao3

Thor thought he could just do one thing. And when Steve revealed his plan about utilizing their time traveling device, just one last time, the offer his friend came with for him to go back was something he had to.

He had a chance to save Loki.

Now, he knows this is far from thought out, far from logical, and Thor never told Steve when he himself was traveling to. They trusted each other, Avengers and all.

Thor knows he could save their mother, too, if he wanted, but perhaps grief was clouding his vision because he’s simply lost too many, and he’ll be damned if he’d let Loki slip away from him after everything they’ve been through.

They were making progress… weren’t they?

It surely couldn’t be another one of his tricks, and although Thor has been naive in the past, he simply can’t lose her. Not now. Not yet.

And so he goes back for them, and he gets there, he’s on the ship, Heimdall and Loki and Valkyrie and Korg and Thanos , and Thor’s never been prone to irrational anger, he tries , but everything happening all over again in such an overwhelming way nearly has sparks jumping from eyes and fingertips.

Thor is so close. And then he isn’t.

He can’t comprehend what happens, but he’s out of time, out of place, and he’s in what resembles most those office buildings he’s seen so many of Midgard. Being crammed in an elevator with these strange people gave him eerie flashbacks to Sakaar, until he’s finally greeted by a significantly short human, brown suit, silver hair and moustache and a lop-sided grin.

Naturally, Thor smiles back in the midst of his confusion, it’s only good manners, you hear.

“Ah!” the man exclaims, patting his elbow with the other hand guiding him forward, “The god of thunder himself! Mighty pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He nods, following, unsure still what’s going on. But Thor’s made too many enemies of a human lifetime, a long time ago, and he wouldn’t want to get on these humans’ bad side, even though they technically kidnapped him… peculiar.

If Loki was here, they’d probably have their knife ready at lightning speed. Classic Loki.

“Well, thank you! I wish I could say the same, but I’m not sure… where I am,” Thor answers. This really does look like an office, one the Midgardians had a decade or so, probably, before they updated themselves. Modernization, that’s what it’s called, silly humans.

“Fair is fair,” the grey haired human turns to him, “Welcome to the Time Variance Authority, TVA for short! I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’re excited to have you here.”

The man chuckles, and Thor doesn’t know if it’s to himself or directed towards him, until the human shrugs. There’s still two of those persons with weaponry and strange glowing devices on either side of them, and it seems his new acquaintance realises the need for explanation.

“Well, technically, you’re not staying as much as… you’re under arrest,” he then says, smile turning hesitant and scratching his cheek.

Arrest?!

That’s certainly a surprise, given human laws don’t really apply to his own kind. Of course, Avenging has different rules and such… but alas.

It seems his new friend notices his eyes widen, significantly, “But don’t worry, buddy! You’re a special case, of course.”

Thor stammers, he always feels a certain embarrassment over himself when this happens, “May I- may I ask for what offense? I don’t mean to offend, these quarters are quite splendid, but Midgard and Asgard operate different-”

“Oh no,” the man interrupts, keeping a quick pace, “I’m afraid this isn’t Midgard, big guy. The TVA, we, well, control all of time!”

The guards escorting them, they must be guards, stop at the same time Thor stops in pure shock. His father never mentioned anything like this. Is this part of the nine realms? He wonders who these people are, if not human. They surely cannot be gods?

“You control… time?”

“Exactamundo! The sacred timeline, to be precise. Let me show you,” his new acquaintance guides him further with that, until they reach a strangely void room, a single table, pair of chairs and some sort of machine the only things in sight. One of those Midgardian ‘computers’?

And when he’s seated (the chair isn’t quite built for a god of his stature, but he shouldn’t complain, politeness is key, of course), this strange man shows him what appears to be a video. A video of… his life. Thor’s life, that is.

This is absurd. “How do you know this? What-”

“We know everything, buddy,” the man tells him, shuts down the device, grin sheepish, “It’s in the job description, you see?”

Thor doesn’t know what to think, rather, his mind feels somehow numb.

He was just with Loki, she was there, within his grasp, then… this. Thor also doesn’t know how long he sits staring at his acquaintance in confusion until another thought dawns upon him, “Do you have Steve Rogers, too?”

The grin lessens, mouth forming a small o, but the man nods once, “Ah, yes, another department. You two sure know how to cause trouble, huh?”

So he gets an answer, but it leaves him none the wiser, or clearer headed, or understanding. It rather feels like those sort of outlandish dreams children have, like he had when he was younger.

But what can he do? Just face this head-on?

Thor wonders if Heimdall can see him right now. Not… his Heimdall, another Heimdall, who might be alive. A Loki who might be alive, if he can save them.

“May I ask one more question of you, uh…”

“Mobius M. Mobius, at your service.”

“Ah,” he replies, and hesitantly smiles back at the grin he receives, “Then why am I here? This department , I mean?”

The stranger, Mobius, chuckles. It’s short handed and with the professionalism of those Midgardian businessmen with replicated suits and briefcases and phones chiming them down. Is this Mobius even human? More Asgardian?

“We’re in need of assistance, you might say,” he finally answers, and turns to power up the machinery once more, “And I, for one, have a feeling you might be invaluable for the cause.”

Although Thor is not sure he yet understands everything in this strange world he’s now come into, this new friend, Mobius, is very educational, and while the thought of being arrested wasn’t all too pleasing, apparently, they wished for him to work for them, instead.

His offence, that’s yet another thing he still doesn’t understand. Thor wasn’t aware of this, uh, this Sacred Timeline , as they call it. Surely a god of his status should’ve been told, shouldn’t he?

He comes to wonder if their father ever knew about this.

Thor is fairly sure about one thing, that Odin wouldn’t possibly have told them, had he had that knowledge. And what about Hela?

But he quickly learns not to think about this too much, and he counts about three Asgardian weeks in the TVA, although he has no idea how time works here , at all. Mobius always says it’s too complicated to explain, maybe he thinks Thor wouldn’t understand.

Loki always said he was as dumb as a doornail. But she never meant it out of spite, he reasons, surely, they’ve always had that sense of humor between the two of them. He loves Loki very much, even when she lets him down. He only hopes his younger sibling feels the same.

Speaking of Loki, that is another thing Thor learns in this weird world- uh, city? Country? Timeline? The TVA is its own thing entirely.

But what he learns, much like his whole life, is that his destiny will forever and always be tied to Loki, and Loki’s to his. Because his new friends at the TVA hired him to find, and catch, his younger sibling and bring them in for a similar crime to his own.

Although he’s also killing people in the process, Mobius explains much to Thor’s horror, and he’ll have to make sure Loki’s not hurt when he finds him, and ask him why this bloodshed is necessary. Again.

Of course, there must be a good reason as to why she’s doing it, he had a good reason to mess with the timeline himself, he must say, and Loki is incredibly clever, his younger sibling’s grand scheme must be extraordinary. He just wishes she wouldn’t hurt other people in the process, they’ve been over this, but she was getting better!

As Mobius put it, “You know them better than anyone, pal, I’ve got a hunch you’re the only one who can find out where they’re hiding. Well, besides themselves.”

Yes, Thor was not certain this was a good idea.

He traveled back in time to save his younger sibling, not cause him even more pain. But Mobius seems somewhat trustworthy, and very polite. He assured him justice would be served fairly, and even a lesser punishment considering the help he himself provides!

Sometimes, Thor has to follow his gut. Loki always hated this trait of his.

This work proves tricky, and tedious, and of course, his sibling is sneaky and manages to escape the TVA time and time again, and if they would just bring Thor with them, surely, he could talk to her. Not apprehend her, but communicate . Not everyone here trusts him as much as Mobius, though, regrettably.

What is curious about his new friend, and Thor’s spent a few nights now racking his brain about this, is that some of the questions he’s posed about Loki are quite specific.

They must be important for the case, he figures.

Just a week ago, hunched over files and files of timeline lingo and alternate futures that Thor has several conflicting emotions about reading, the grey haired man looked up from his scribbles and met his eye.

“Say, Thor,” he started, scratching his chin and twirling the pen in his hand, “Loki ever tell ya what they fancy for dinner?”

And the god had to blink, shuffling the papers. Did he hear it correctly?

“Dinner?”

“I mean, humans, they have favorite foods, you know? Like, preferences,” he chuckled, “I only assume Asgardians are similar?”

Thor smiles as he does when in situations where he doesn’t understand what’s going on, but simple curiousity never hurt anyone. This person’s strange, stranger than the Avengers, but he loved them all the same. “Of course. Loki’s very fond of goat. Herring, too, and our mother’s apple pie.”

Mobius nodded with a grin, and spoke no more of the subject, until two days later (Thor thinks it was two days, as mentioned before, time here confuses him profusely), where his friend inquired him about his younger sibling’s eye color.

They’re blue, clearly.

More muted than Thor’s own, but never grey, although some of these files have wrongly informed otherwise.

Really, this interest Mobius reveals in his younger sibling doesn’t faze him at first, but he’s thinking about it more and more often, as it turns out. And today, when the suited man asks him if Loki might be interested in water sports, it only sends Thor further into the obyss of confusion.

Firstly, he’s not sure what these water sports entail. Second, although he doesn’t doubt Mobius is a reasonable man, what does this have to do with arresting Loki?

“Forgive me,” Thor replies, “What are, uh… water sports?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, big guy. Ya know, jetskis are quite fun for humans and otherwise. Diving, too. You think Loki would like that sort of thing?”

The god finds himself worrying his lip with little answer to the peculiar question. “Perhaps. They love adventures, you see, that’s a thing we have in common. You think Loki’s hiding somewhere, with, uh… jetskis?”

The grey haired man shrugs. Quite strange.

Then his friend continues as they walk along the hall, past several hunters and seemingly high security offices, “She must like jokes, right?”

“Oh, of course.”

Mobius laughs, “I figured,” and his smile isn’t aimed at Thor, but somewhere into the open air, distant and unexplainably fond, “God of Mischief, pranks in his blood. I’m not too bad myself.”

“Huh?”

When the shorter man opens the door for him, he shrugs again, “Sorry, buddy, this way. I mean, they’re incredibly witty. Don’t need to tell you that, I get it. I heard this joke from a Variant, I think they might like that one. You know it? So once there was-”

And so Mobius continues on, the joke must be brilliant, he’s already wheezing to himself, but now, the god’s pretty sure he understands.

Oh.

Thor’s not as stupid as Loki claims, you see. And he has to say, he knows courtship when he sees it.

Does Thor understand why his younger sibling- or, a version of her, regardless, is hiding out in historic apocalypses ? No, there’s not much logic in this, but it’s certainly in no way surprising.

Loki’s got a knack for adventures and danger simultaneously, after all.

But when he realises what Loki’s doing, he simply has to go, even if his moustached friend isn’t sure how to clear it with the TVA, or if it’s breaking the rules, but isn’t this what they assigned the god to do in the first place?

This is his younger sibling. Loki’s alive. And Thor, well, like he’s done all his life, and like Loki’s done all their life, one must always follow the other, at one point or the other. It’s fate, he decides.

And he finds him, finally , after what feels as hundreds of millions of human years and even longer of their own, in the human city of Pompeii.

Loki isn’t exactly pleased to hear the TVA coming, that much is obvious from his face, but Thor is alone, and it’s only a matter of time before Mobius arrives, so Thor must find a chance to talk to his sibling alone.

And his sibling’s face changes from the expectant grin of a plan to kill the minutemen when they arrive to a gaping mouth in shock. Then realisation. Then frustration.

“Loki!”

And the god of mischief groans, exasperated and loud, the screams of the civilians barely fazing them, “Thor.”

It’s a matter of time, then, because they don’t have much time before they’ll be sunken into the ground they’re standing on, and like Thor first started out his adventure in the Sacred Timeline, his first thought is to get Loki out of there.

It’s his first priority, to keep her safe. There’ll be no death. Not today. Not again.

His younger sibling has their eyes on the volcano as well, their many differences being so in sync at the strangest of times, and before Thor can even think about it, Loki reaches for his arm and they’re teleported somewhere- and some… when? else entirely.

It’s eerily quiet here, a distant rumble from the sky. Rocks as far as he can see. Darkness, besides bolts of lightning striking into the ocean before them, and blinking lights distantly behind them.

And here Loki is; a Variant like himself, as Mobius called it. Breathing.

“Why is it,” she nearly yells, clutching the strange device in her hand and giving Thor that familiar glare of destruction, “You always find a way, somehow, anywhere, to ruin my perfect plan, brother? How? How are you here, you damn fool!?”

The insult is as it always is, and Loki looks like his blood might nearly boil over, but Thor just can’t help it.

He feels the tears in his eyes before they even fall. “Loki.”

“What-”

It’s only a small handful of times in all the centuries they’ve lived that he’s managed to stun his sibling into silence, a loss of words. This is another incident to add to the list.

Thor grips on so tight, he never wants to let go.

He can’t remember the last time they hugged, actually. It might’ve been when they were children.

Loki pats on his back, after a minute or two, and a breath of annoyance and… something else sounds at the same time as his own staggering breathing. His sibling’s never returned his hugs, you see, but she’s doing it now. At least, Thor surely wouldn’t mistake her holding onto him, albeit not as tightly as himself.

They sigh, “What has gotten into you now, you idiot?”

Thor laughs. It’s strained, but it feels good. That one, that’s a thing he’s missed. Loki will surely think he’s lost his mind, but there’s nothing he’d rather do right now than listen to him call him the crudest things they could think of.

It feels like coming back home.

“You’re alive,” Thor whispers.

Loki huffs. “You’ve fallen for my fake death, huh? You fall for it every time.”

He shakes his head in response, knowing his sibling won’t be able to see it, but ultimately lets go, and just looks at them. He smiles. Weirdly, hesitantly, confusedly, Loki smiles back.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him again, but it’s softer this time.

“Where have you taken us?” Thor asks instead, and the answer is for once a place he knows of, “This is Midgard, brother, but way after the humans. In about an hour, it’ll be nothing but dust.”

That’s a frightening thought, he decides. He’s already seen Asgard in ruins.

And Thor has to take him somewhere safer, before Mobius arrives. They can’t go back to the TVA without some explanation, Loki deserves that.

His sibling seems severely surprised when he uses his own device, and a protest begins, of course, but Thor finds the right time, in Asgard, and jumps them both to it. Before their mother’s death. They’ll have to steer clear of the past versions of themselves, and their parents, and anyone else, considering Loki was imprisoned, but they’ll be safe.

And easy to spot.

“Now is not a time for a homecoming, Thor,” she tells him, already pulling up the device.

“Loki, no,” he reaches out, and Loki reaches for their knife, classic Loki, “Give me time to explain, before they come.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t raise the knife, “You’re not taking me to the TVA, brother.”

Thor blinks. He almost wants to rewind time on that little screen in his hand, to make sure he heard them right, but stranger things have happened. “You know about the TVA?”

“Of course I do, you buffoon. Who do you think I’m running from?”

He bites his tongue. Oh.

Thor has to shrug. Loki sighs again.

“I know, I know, they’ll arrest me for crimes against the Sacred Timeline ,” they say, in an overly dramatic voice and throwing around their hands in flourish, “I can’t believe they got you to help them. I can’t believe you found me.”

It feels quite like the good, old days, as Stark used to say. “I know you, Loki, even if you don’t think I do.”

They both settle into silence, and this is also strange, but the smile he gets in return, less confused and more nostalgic and… safe, it makes it worth it.

Then, the device in Thor’s hand beeps, and he lets his sibling look at it, and he looks all the more annoyed again.

“Guess I’ll have to surrender now, because of you,” she grumbles, for once, not searching for an escape route, “Who’s leading, anyway? B-15?”

Thor pats his shoulder, in what he hopes conveys comfort. “I’m not familiar, unfortunately. This leader is named Mobius.”

His sibling frowns, but shrugs non committedly, “A new face, then.”

It’s not very often Thor sees Loki in this state, confusion, if ever. His younger sibling’s always been one step ahead of them, two, even, himself struggling to keep up. That’s why he’s always had to watch out for them, before… before the Avengers.

“He seems very interested in you,” he chuckles, and when Loki only frowns deeper, he has to explain his ongoing suspicion, “He’s asked me a great many questions about you. I believe he admires you very much. Even more than myself.”

“So he’s a fan,” Loki says - ignoring the last statement of his, of course, but Thor knows she heard it.

“I’d say more than a fan,” he decides to be honest, and Loki’s brows furrow. Thor pats his sibling’s shoulder once more, “He holds, it seems, similar feelings to when I was courting Lady Jane.”

Loki looks like a giant question mark. “I beg your pardon?”

But they’re interrupted, as per usual. The answer Thor wants out doesn’t get out before Mobius steps out of the time portal, and grins at them both. He seems to hold his gaze at his sibling a little bit longer. His demeanor’s calm, as if… recognition. Coming back home.

And Loki stares back at their brother, eyes wide and brows raised, tilting her head, “This is the Mobius who wants to… court me?”

Thor nods. Loki’s mouth turns upwards to a grin, mischief absent from his face. And even if they’ll deny it if Thor mentions it, his younger sibling’s eyes hold a certain warmth when they look back at the stranger. “I see.”

Many great strange things have happened in what seems a short amount of time, but Thor’s put out of work at the TVA, and his sibling’s put to work instead, and Mobius tells him they’ll reset him.

“Don’t worry, big guy, it doesn’t hurt,” he chuckles, adjusting his tie, “Your friend Steve had the same deal. Wouldn’t call it punishment, but it’s subjective. You did good work, ya know.”

Loki’s sat at Mobius’ now abandoned desk, one hand on a stack of case files, her eyes meeting with Thor’s own. They’re used to goodbyes, as you can tell. And emotions aren’t exactly their strongest suit.

But his sibling nods to him. The smile has no hints of sarcasm, so he counts it as a win. As progress.

Thor doesn’t know if he can stop worrying, after all. He’ll always do it, and what if he, another version of himself, tries to go back in time again?

Loki’s the only family he has left. But at the same time, his younger sibling is right.

The sun will shine on us again. In another timeline, another universe, he figures. For now, Thor will have to let go, but they’ll always be connected after all. Thor and Loki couldn't be more different, but somehow the same.

“She’ll be safe here?” he asks, because he has to, “You’re certain?”

Mobius smiles, like he’s heard it a million times before, “I promised you. I keep my promises, Thor.”

Of course. Of course. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

“You ready?” his suited friend then asks, and he hesitantly nods.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The man nods back, and the device in his hand lights up. The seconds seem excruciatingly long, but he’s got to get back, get moving, even without his younger sibling beside him. It’s a comforting thought, knowing there’s many more of them out there, in other timelines, following each other over and over again, as they’re meant to.

“Thank you, by the way,” Mobius then says, strangely enough, as the beams become stronger and the seconds count down. He winks before holding it out to Thor, a gesture for the reset to be complete, “For bringing them back to me.”

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

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Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Chapter 6 - The Maze Runner Newt Fic

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Masterlist

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Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...or if I was supposed to tag you and I forgot...

Word Count: 2.8k

The boys carried Alby to the Med-Jack Hut as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. At first, he twitched infrequently, muttering softly, but then he was writhing and screaming in agony, twisting this way and that, biting at Gladers like a feral animal.

Once inside the Hut, he only grew louder. You watched as Clint administered the serum that would save Alby’s life, and you heard as Alby’s roars turned guttural.

It hurt to watch them tie him to the bed. How could someone as strong as Alby, the leader of the whole Glade for as long as you’d been there, be reduced to that?

It was all too much. Too much pain, too much loss, too much grief. As Alby shrieked in one room with Newt by his side, Minho and Thomas were patched up in another, and you slipped out the door. You paced the length of the building, came back to the door, turned around again, reached the end of the building, turned around, again and again and again, trying to beat the thoughts out of your brain.

Fear and relief fought for dominance over your emotions. You wanted to grieve for Alby, to celebrate for Minho and Thomas. You wanted to cry big fat tears of sadness, and you wanted to smile so hard your eyes welled up.

How could you be at once terrified for Alby and immeasurably happy for Minho and Thomas? How could Alby get handed a death sentence, but Thomas kill a Griever? Who had designed this cruel twist of fate?

Your steps never slowed as you began shifting the blame onto the people who put you in the Glade.

It’s their fault. It’s all their fault. Every single life lost in here, every nightmare, every frown. The Creators did this.

The Hut door creaked open. You whirled around, expecting Minho or Thomas or Newt, expecting a sign of hope, and saw Margaret.

Her red hair was tied up in a ponytail, giving her an air of self-assurance. The way she held herself was so much stronger than that girl who’d cowered in the Box that you almost did a double-take.

Instead, with your thoughts bouncing from one worry to the next, a question from the back of your mind spilled out. “I thought you worked in the Gardens?”

If Margaret was surprised by your question, she didn’t show it. Right then, she seemed unshakeable. “I was helping for the day,” she replied. She wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving behind dark bloody streaks that made your insides grow cold, then looked back to you, raising her chin proudly. “I’ve been spending the rest of my time with Clint and Jeff.”

Except for when you were making out with Newt--you forced the thought away. That was over. Done. You’d made a kind of peace with Newt; you could do the same with Margaret, especially after she came to Alby’s aid.

You’d been kneeling next to Alby, only a few feet from the Maze doors, just staring at the sting. The grass had tickled your knees. The wind had whispered through your hair. You had only stared.

And then Margaret was there. She’d nudged you out of your dumbfounded stupor, moving you enough that she could start applying pressure to Alby’s sting. When she barked out orders, Gladers leapt to obey. She’d made you a glorified table, shoving supplies into your hands until she was ready for them, and you would’ve thanked her if you could get any words out because she was saving Alby’s life. You’d stuck to her side and held bandages the entire time they carried Alby to the Med-Jack Hut.

“Clint says the Grief Serum will save Alby, and Thomas and Minho are fine, except for a few cuts and bruises.” Margaret’s voice was soft, matching her smile. “And Minho says he’s starved, but he’s just being dramatic.”

An unintentional grin pulled at your lips, bringing a reprieve from the memory of Alby’s wound. “Good to know he’s still a diva. I was worried.”

“It was really brave of all of them to go in...there. I don’t know how you Runners do that.”

Your smile slipped away. Alby shouldn’t have been there, not with just Minho. Not without you. And if you had gone, maybe Thomas never would have needed to go, to witness the true horrors that roamed the Maze at night. You picked your words carefully. “I don’t know how you Med-Jacks do what you do.” There it was again, behind your eyes: the hole in Alby’s stomach. Remembering the look on Alby’s face brought a wave of nausea. “Don’t you feel guilty--” your words were cut off when a howl of agony rose from the Med-Jack Hut. You winced, but Margaret squared her shoulders and ducked back inside.

You lingered by the door. Your feet itched to run away, as far as you could, anywhere where you wouldn’t have to hear anymore. They refused to take a single step closer to the building. It took every ounce of your restraint to even stay rooted near the Hut.

I will not run. You repeated it like a mantra. I will not run I will not run I will not run-

Margaret appeared again. She nodded at you, a confident Everything is under control nod, and closed the door behind her, leaving the pair of you alone outside once more.

“If you’re stung and you don’t get the Serum, you die,” Margaret stated. “If you do get the Serum, you live.”

“But you have to go through that.” You pointed at the door. Behind it, you could strain your ears and hear the sound of Alby pulling at his restraints, bucking wildly on the bed, just like he had been when you left. “And after you go through that, you still might end up crazy.” You spat the words out, even though it wasn’t Margaret’s fault Ben tried to murder Thomas. It wasn’t Margaret’s fault Ben was dead or Alby was stung or everything was changing.

“But you have a chance.”

It was so simple you didn’t know how to respond.

Margaret continued. “We gave Alby a chance. That’s all we can do.” She let her words hang in the air for a few seconds, then took a small step forward. “And…well…I was hoping you could give me a chance too. Time is so precious here. I don’t want to waste any more of it.”

You caught a glimpse of determination in her green eyes before you looked away, back to the door, hoping for Minho or Thomas or Newt to walk out so you could leave. Your heartbeat picked up, your muscles readied themselves for a sprint. You didn’t want to hear her apologize -- if she apologized then who could you be mad at? Who should you be mad at? How was it okay to try being friends with Newt if you didn’t give Margaret another chance too?

“Y/N, I want you to know that I’m really sorry.”

You nearly bolted.

Margaret kept talking, her voice smooth and calm, like she was trying to coax a feral animal into a trap. “When I first came up in the Box, I was so scared.”

“We all were.”

Margaret nodded. There wasn’t a trace of anger on her face. You almost wanted there to be, because then you would have an excuse to get mad. You wouldn’t have to stand here and try to be an adult, try to have a rational conversation. You could blow up and run away and not have to feel guilty because she was mad too.

“I was terrified, like everyone is when they arrive,” Margaret said. And when I saw that there were only boys, I was even more scared. I know you probably felt that way too.”

You said nothing, but memories of the day you woke up in the Box still plagued your nightmares sometimes, especially recently, now that you slept alone. The fear of the unknown as the elevator rose. The panic upon seeing all boys. The deep, freezing, overwhelming horror when you saw the walls.

“Seeing another girl helped,” Margaret’s voice had your full attention, but you couldn’t look at her. You kept your gaze steady on the door. “And Newt helped too. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear that.”

“He helps everyone when they get here.” You were too defensive. He didn’t deserve you being so defensive. Were you acting like this to protect Newt or because you wanted to go against Margaret?

It’s for Newt, one part of your mind thought, while another part raged against her.

Margaret nodded again. “He really helped me adjust to being here. He’s a good leader. We...we spent a lot of time in the Gardens together the first few days.”

It was starting to get painful. You squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made you picture them together. He was smiling the way he only did for you, or the way he used to do for you, and it made your chest ache.

Margaret quickly said, “We weren’t doing anything, though! It was just friendly. We were just friends.”

“Friends don’t kiss,” you spat. In only three words, you’d channeled enough anger to make Margaret go pale. The confidence she had from being in her element was drifting away, her shoulders drawing in, her arms wrapping around herself. She was shrinking before your eyes.

You felt a stab of guilt.

“We only kissed once, I swear! And it didn’t mean anything! Not to either of us. He was comforting me and it just happened. I was upset because…” Margaret trailed off. She took a deep breath. “I was upset because I didn’t feel like I could contribute. I didn’t want everyone thinking I was just another mouth to feed. I didn’t want to be someone who couldn’t help out, who just took. I want to help. I need to help. I wanted to be,” Margaret crossed her arms across her chest as if daring you to argue, “I wanted to be as dependable as you, not some weak girl who could barely dig a hole.”

You thought you must have misheard her, but she was looking at you earnestly, her eyes bright and her mouth set into a firm line.

“And I did find something I can do. I’m a Med-Jack.” She wasn’t trying to squeeze herself into a tight ball anymore. Margaret stood there, a far cry from the scared girl who’d come up in the Box, and said, “I’m proud of where I am, but there are still a lot of things I wish I could take back. You know the main one, but I won’t go into it. I don’t think you want me to.”

You quickly shook your head. Staring at her, at the true version of Margaret, not the one who’d been warped by bitter, angry memories, made you let out a weak laugh. “I’d rather get stung by a Griever.”

A small, playful smile crept onto Margaret’s face. It was shy and timid and eager -- the kind of smile a teenager is supposed to have. “I could fix you up after.” Her tone edged the border between serious and light.

At some point, your eyes had locked onto hers. You let them drift now, glancing to the door. “I bet you could.” You took a deep breath. “Thank you. For saving Alby. And helping the others. You do contribute to the Glade.”

Margaret’s face opened to a sweet, satisfied grin. “Thank you.”

She looked like she was waiting for you to say more. The door started to open, so you rushed out, “And maybe we could try being friends.” Then you darted towards Minho, reaching him when he only had one foot in the grass, and threw your arms around him.

Minho’s laugh sounded like music. “Careful, I’m delicate!” he complained as Thomas slunk out behind him.

You scoffed and pulled away to jab Minho in the side. “No, you’re not.”

When you looked up at him, it was all you could do not to hug him again. Aside from a few scratches and a small bruise on his cheekbone, he looked exactly like the person you’d spent months running through the Maze with. He looked exactly like your partner.

Alby’s wailing shattered your peace. You and Minho moved away from the Med-Jack Hut. He nudged the door closed with his foot.

Minho’s demeanor had darkened at the sound of Alby. There was less joy in his voice when he said, “We’re having a Gathering today.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Because of him?” You jerked your chin at Thomas.

Thomas shrugged and muttered, “You mean this isn’t what Greenies usually do?”

Margaret giggled.

Turning back to Minho, you asked, hope lacing your words, “You’re going to make him a Runner, right?”

“I’m going to try.” Shaking his head, Minho added, “Some shanks are upset about what he did, though.”

The corners of your lips pulled down. You’d heard Gladers talking while they passed by the Med-Jack Hut when you’d been waiting. Most had been in awe of Thomas’s bravery, but a few, namely one loud-mouthed blond Builder, couldn’t get over the fact that Thomas had broken a rule. “What did Newt say?”

Minho heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s on our side, but who knows how the Gathering will go. If Gally picks up steam…”

You shook your head, directing your attention to Thomas. “I’m with you. You should be considered a hero.” Thomas ducked his head, but you weren’t sure if he was embarrassed or reliving last night’s dark memories. You kept talking. “What you did took ten times more courage than Gally has ever shown. Newt knows that too.”

“Newt knows what?” Newt’s voice rose over the creak of the door opening. As he emerged from the Med-Jack Hut, he looked as though he’d aged 10 years. Already, you could see the stress settling on his shoulders, weighing him down.

There was a yearning inside of you to pull him close and take as much of the burden as you could, like you’d done for each other in the past.

But that was the past and this was your present, so you said, “You know Thomas should be a Runner. He killed a Griever. We need him.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince, love.” Newt glanced at the sky, where the afternoon sun hung heavy and golden. “But I guess it’s time to find out how everyone else feels.” With that, he started walking in the direction of the Homestead.

Nearly everyone looked as surprised as you felt by Newt’s abruptness.

Margaret was the exception. She still wore that confident, serene expression when she said, “Good luck, everyone. I’m on your side too, Thomas, if that counts for anything.”

“Thanks.” Thomas watched Margaret until she disappeared into the Hut and shut the door behind her. When she was gone, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, then shifted his focus to Minho and you.

“I’m going to walk with Newt. I’ll see you guys in a bit?” You didn’t wait for a reply. After a few seconds of light jogging, you were next to Newt.

He was frowning. Everything about him was moving down; his eyebrows were drawn together, the bags under his eyes were heavy, the corners of his lips pointed south, and he walked like a man going to his execution.

“You can do this, Newt.” The words flowed freely. “You can be the leader. You can figure this out.”

Newt stared straight ahead. “I’ve never run a Gathering without Alby. I don’t know what to do with that empty seat next to me.” The accent over his words was thick.

You didn’t second guess yourself when you reached out and took his hand. Immediately, he squeezed, gripping you like you were a life preserver and he was drowning. “Alby will be okay.”

“He won’t be the same.”

“But he has a chance.” Those were Margaret’s words coming out of your mouth, but you found yourself believing them more as you said them. “He has a chance, and we have a chance. To escape.”

With every step you took, you grew closer to the Homestead and Newt’s posture straightened.

He looked down at you. His eyes were deep pools of brown, so soft and warm you wanted to drift asleep right there. “We have a chance,” he repeated.

The two of you stopped outside the Homestead door. Your hand slipped out of his. For a second, your pinkies stayed joined, like you were promising each other that you would take your chance.

Then you broke apart.

Tag List:

@anyasthoughts @mara-twins @anapocalypseinmymind @maddeleinegrace @xmberkxm @dreamerinthesun @hungermazes @harpersmariano

125 notes · View notes

orange-axolotl · 3 years

Text

This idea is based of this post! A huge thank you to @tack-tick who inspired me to write this and @dreamsmp-au-ideas for giving them a platform to put it on.

tw: hurt/no comfort, major death warning, I put smajor in place of Sclatt because i saw some cool ideas of him being Phil’s brother somewhere, a role reversal au.

ao3 link

Wilbur’s lost count of how many portals that he’s moved through at this point. The endless voids of stars and the sickening purple swirls that he’d raced through all blurring together as he moves through world after world.

It’s been two weeks since he’d received the letter from Technoblade that had prompted the mad dash. He’s read it so often that he can recite it by memory, can see where Techno’s always steady hand had smeared ink.

‘Dad’s not doing too well. Things aren’t going the way that we had planned. It might help us out if you could by. The sooner would be better.

- Technoblade.’

Most people wouldn’t find that alarming, some would even scoff at the way that Wilbur - a relatively soft musician in a family of warriors - is rushing to help the mighty and untouchable Technoblade.

There are only three people in the world who could read the warning signs, the red flags, the imminent danger in his brother’s words. It’s the reason that Wilbur had received the letter instead of the several more powerful people that Technoblade knows.

As soon as he’d gotten it he’d called on every single connection that he has, pulled on old favors, tracked down any kind of help that he could find. At every turn there was helpless shrugs and advice to not go anywhere near that server. Blocked from the common every man in a way that it hadn’t been at the beginning.

He places the ender eyes and does his best to focus on the sketches that Niki had sent him. The bare outlines of a podium, the white house in it’s half - glory (Tubbo and Phil) and it’s half - disatrous (Quackity) state. The flag that he’d designed.

His breath catches as his feet find air. He thinks of his father’s glorious iridescent black wings, Tommy’s barking laughter, Techno’s deadpan jokes. The smell of freshly baked bread.

The end swirls around him, stars twisting around him at a breakneck speed.

Phil’s voice starts to echo all around him a moment later.

“I think that there really was something special about it, ya know?” Phil says, sad and melancholic, “The way that we all built it from the ground up. The way that we managed to keep Dream from stepping all over us, but I think that - I think that eras passed us by.”

“Phil?” Wilbur calls out, struggling to keep his eyes open. “What are you doing?”

A beat of silence.

A whispered, “Wilbur?”

“No, it’s one of your other sons. Yes, it’s me.” Wilbur says, the stars finally slow down until they’re merely turning around him. “I’ve been looking for you guys for so long. It’s a bitch of a thing to get on a server without being whitelisted.”

“Wilbur, mate, you really should go home.” Phil says. It takes far too long before Wilbur realizes that he’s crying. “There’s not really much to be done here.”

Oh gods, Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s ever once heard Phil cry.

“Where are you?” Wilbur calls. He doesn’t know if the stars are actually closing in on him or if it’s a trick of the void. He doesn’t much care when he has a crying father to try to talk too, “Dad, where are you? Where are the others?”

“We’re in L’manberg,” Phil says, catching on the word. “You wouldn’t know exactly where I am. I - Wilbur. I think that it’d be best that you stay out of the Dream SMP for right now. You can try again in a day or two -”

Wilbur’s feet finally meet stone, but much more importantly his eyes are fixated on the black feathers of his father’s wings. The feathers are all in disarray in a way that Phil would never let happen. Wilbur isn’t naive enough to think the dark red smeared against the back is anything other than blood.

The room that they’re in doesn’t look like anything that’s been described to him. There are words carved into the wall shadowed so Wilbur can’t make out more than a few words. His hands start shaking when he realizes that they’re the semi - joking lyrics that Wilbur had sent to him, months ago now, after they’d won the war. Wilbur had insisted that they’d need a national anthem.

“How’d you get in?” Phil asks.

“I - I hacked my way in,” Wilbur says, taking a careful step forward. He has to duck so he doesn’t hit the top of the ceiling. “Phil, what the fuck is going on?”

“Stay back!” Phil snaps, whirling around as the sound echoes in the small space. The instinct to obey that voice has Wilbur taking two steps back. Phil swallows, a few tears trailing down his cheeks, he attempts a horrible facsimile of a smile. “Wilbur, we won.”

“You don’t seem very happy about that?”

“Scott - Scott’s dead, Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s heart drops into his stomach. He has to grab at the edge of a wall to keep himself steady as the words slam into him like a blow. “What?” he whispers, “But I thought you were going to take him in peacefully?”

“He didn’t want that,” Phil says, tragedy written into the deep-set wrinkles of his forehead and in the bags under his eyes. “He made sure that we wouldn’t be able to take him in.”

Wilbur forces himself to focus on Phil. He has too because otherwise the grief would overwhelm him. He still doesn’t know how his vibrant, extroverted, and fun - loving uncle had turned into the cold tyrant that he’d been told about.

Instead he focuses on the way that Phil looks like he might turn into dust at any moment. His bucket hat is wrinkled and sags against his forehead, his shoulders curved and his wings hunched defensively around him. He looks old in a way that Wilbur’s never seen him look.

He hasn’t moved away from the wall. He’s so obviously hiding something from view.

“Phil,” Wilbur’s voice is shaking despite his best effort. “Phil, what’s this room suppose to be about?”

Phil takes a deep fortifying breath. His back straightens, his wings go lax against the floor even as they twitch with energy.

“Phil?”

“Do you remember Eret?” Phil asks.

Oh, Wilbur remembers Eret. The deep wounds that they’d left on his already untrusting father and brother had Wilbur and Tommy sending scathing letters for weeks afterwards. He remembers the half - upset, half - amused way Phil had written about the rainbow - themed castle. He remembers laughing so hard that he’d cried when Tommy told him about the crusade that he and Technoblade were undertaking of stealing every single flamingo that Eret had dared put up.

“I remember Eret,” Wilbur says, “I don’t know what he has to do with this. Phil, please, let’s just go and find our boys -”

His communicator beeps. Several rockets go off.

TommyInnit was slain by Dream using [Nightmare]

Dream went off with a bang due to a firework fired from [Rocket Launcher] by Technoblade

Wilbur stares down at the communicator in horror. He glances up desperate to see the same horror echoed in Phil’s face.

Phil doesn’t even look down, instead just staring at him with tears trickling down his cheeks. He’s moved so he’s no longer hiding the back wall. His hand is hovering over a stone button.

“Did I never tell what Eret told us? Before he betrayed us all?” Wilbur shakes his head. Phil smiles a very sad smile, “It was never meant to be.”

A click of a button, the hiss of TNT igniting, the hard impact of Phil slamming into him, the sound of wings fanning out and feathers puffing out into a protective layer.

It all happens so quickly that Wilbur doesn’t have anytime to process it before the sound of utter devastation hits him. The sound of buildings crumbling into dust, the sound of screams, and rockets.

The beeps emitting from their communicators are coming every second.

“Oh my gods,” Wilbur cries out, coughing and spitting when dirt ends up in his mouth. He can’t open his eyes against the dirt and dust that must be lining his face. “Phil!”

Gentle hands wipe at his eyes until he can finally open them again. Phil is staring down at him, the previous grief and tenseness replaced with worry.

“Are you hurt?” Phil demands.

“Oh my gods,” Wilbur whispers as he stares at bloody stumps where wings once were. “Dad. Dad, your wings.”

“Are you hurt?” Phil demands again. The worry replaced with a steely resolve.

Wilbur shakes his head. His hearing hasn’t even been damaged despite how close they both were.

Phil stumbles to his feet, leans his shoulder against a half - broken wall. Wilbur stays laid out against the wall and stares out at the utter devastation of what he assumes had once been a nation. Now there is only rocks and collapsed buildings, people standing the edge of a crater.

He can’t recognize any of them from this distance.

“Wilbur,” Phil says, drawing his attention to him. His tone has gone utterly casual as if he hadn’t just blown up his own nation. “Have you been practicing with a sword like we’ve told you?”

“Y - yes?”

Phil pulls a netherite sword from it’s sheath. He doesn’t look quite right without his wings but even more than that, there’s something gone from behind his eyes. He holds the sword out to Wilbur, “I need you to kill me, Wil.”

“No!” Wilbur says, pulls himself up onto shaking legs. “Phil. Phil, we need to go find our boys. We need to make sure that Tubbo and Niki are alright. I’m not -”

The handle gets pressed into his shaking palm. Phil continues to look completely blank, “Do it, Wilbur.”

“No! Phil. Dad, listen to me. This is nothing. This can be rebuilt in a few weeks. We can salvage what we need to -”

The words catch in his throat as Phil meets his eyes. He takes the handle back out of Wilbur’s limp hand.

“Alright,” he finally says, a hand reaching up to cup Wilbur’s cheek for a moment before falling away. “Alright, Wilbur.”

Wilbur nearly collapses again from the relief, “Thank you. You were scaring me -”

Phil drives the sword through his own stomach. Stumbles backwards with the force.

Wilbur screams. He doesn’t think that he makes any words but if he did then he wouldn’t be able to hear them over the blood pounding in his ears.

“I’m sorry, Wilbur.” Phil mouths, “I’m sorry.”

He stumbles back another step.

It takes him right off the ledge and into the new crater. It’s a free fall that that a mere minute ago he could’ve flown away from. Now, he’s utterly helpless against the gravity pulling him down. Wilbur lunges towards the edge, his hands hanging uselessly where his father had once stood.

He isn’t quick enough.

His father eyes never leave his face.

Philza hit the ground too hard while trying to escape Philza

#text #fanfiction #wilbur soot #philza #role reversal au #hurt/no comfort #this isn't beta'd at all so sorry for any mistakes!#let there be a garden and a man in it

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

Text

Past, Present, Future

This was prompted by the amazing @skyewillows! I know you likely intended this to be the other way around, but this is the idea that first came to me XD Also sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy some angst!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: near death experience, slight body horror?, anti-android sentiment)

It had been supposed to be easy. It had been supposed to be a simple mission: infiltrate the warehouse in the early morning and gather intel on the operations inside. They had known the warehouse was used to store and refine Red Ice. They had known they were the newest dealership in Detroit and therefore would soon get trouble with the other people in the business or get integrated in their doing. That was what should have made it easy: Inexperienced humans afraid or at least worried about what was to come. It shouldn’t have ended like this, Nines thought as he laid in the trunk of a car, motor control deactivated and helpless in the hands of the competing drug den.

All had happened far too fast: Gavin and Nines had infiltrated the warehouse and hid in close proximity to the people milling about. They had learned most of what they had wanted to by the early afternoon, from how they synthesized the drug to where they planned on dealing it to the people. Gavin and Nines were both pretty confident all they would have to do now was wait for the night to leave in silence. Instead, a package arrived in the afternoon that the idiots promptly opened, setting off the bomb inside that ripped through the many shelves as well as one supporting pillar. The explosive chain reaction of instable intermediates in the refinement process from Thirium to Red Ice as the first explosion reached a tank did the rest. Nines could only shield Gavin from the falling debris as the roof and walls were coming down. His human had been his only priority at that moment and even now, when he should worry about his own fate, it filled him with relief to know Gavin had been alive up to that point. His memory had become a bit hazy afterwards as a steel rod from the concrete wall had pierced through his chest while protecting his human, pinning him in between two pieces of debris.

He remembered Gavin’s shocked face, his Thirium-coated hands on his face and… he had been speaking then… what had Gavin said to him? Nines only knew how he had interrupted him with the plea to flee as his sensors picked up on distant voices ordering others to search for survivors. He remembered how Gavin had ran. And then he had found himself in this trunk, immobilized and patched up where the steel rod had pushed through his body. He didn’t want to know what would happen next. Patching up an android to take with them was nothing they did from the goodness of their heart. And knowing that they knew their way around an android’s system well enough to immobilise one made Nines bad feeling even worse.

He tried to reconstruct the path his capturers had taken from the pattern of turns and times spent at red lights. Unfortunately, his GPS was offline too, so all he could do was look for overlaps in his maps. He had found several matches by the time the car stopped, and the engine was killed, but it helped little in forming an escape plan. He was still immobile and as he was lifted out of the car, he couldn’t make out enough to determine which one of his preconstructions had been accurate. A dark bag was put over his head, then he could hear someone giving orders again: ‘Get it inside and hook it up. At least this pig can be of use for us.’

Nines wished he could have struggled. He wished he could have seen where he was dragged or that he could have contacted someone. Even if it was ultimately hopeless, he wouldn’t feel so damn hopeless. His stress levels were dangerously high, and he knew he did the android equivalent of panicking as he was dropped on the floor and could hear computer fans as well as the very familiar sound of a maintenance rig being initialised. Not much later he was hoisted up and connected to the rig. Only then he felt his motor control being returned to him and with the strength of the soldier unit he had been designed to be, he pulled at the arms holding him captive. But however hard he struggled, all he managed was flinging the bag off his head as the arms compensated his thrashing and ultimately restrained him fully. ‘Let me go!’, he hollered even before he could see the lone man that stood leaned over the terminal. ‘Let me go and maybe I’ll grant you a quick death!’

Fury was the only reaction he could manage in his situation, unwilling to let his desperation and fear overwhelm him. He couldn’t give up yet. Even if his pre-constructions showed him no possible way out of here if there wasn’t external help. No, he had to ignore that. Humans made mistakes. Maybe this one had made an error when attaching him to the rig. Maybe he- ‘Shut up, tin-can!’

It could have as well been a punch to the Thirium pump. With how much affection these words could be uttered in the right moment, the right place and time and person, it hurt almost physically to hear it in the context it had long lost. Gavin had said it so many times, these exact words. In the precinct, meaning it. On a case, when Nines thought it was a good idea to remind him of proper police conduct. At a bar night when Nines had been a “phcking know-it-all”. On the backseat of their car when he had reminded him this position wouldn’t be comfortable at all. In the early morning when Nines tried to coax him out of bed when Gavin would have liked to cuddle a little longer.

But no, this time it was uncaring. Condescending. A simple disregard to his feelings, thoughts and person. The words of someone who considered him a mere thing. Switching to his soldier protocols he tried again to push and pull against the arms keeping him immobile with no regards to his component’s integrity. He only managed to pull some of his pseudomuscles apart, the rig didn’t move one bit. ‘Stop that, can’t have you losing any more Thirium!’

Nine looked up to the man that pulled a thick flexible tube over and lost his composure. He couldn’t keep up the façade of that fearless predator when he got the feeling he knew exactly what would happen next. And that recognition filled him with pure terror. ‘No. No, stop!’ The human ignored him, stepping closer and onto the platform. ‘Please, don’t!’, Nines begged, trying to keep the end of the tube in his vision, but the man had already stepped behind him. ‘No, please, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, don’t-‘ ‘Shut up!’, the man interrupted him, his fingers roughly prodding his neck until he had found the right place to press to open the hatch to his neck port. ‘You are just a machine, don’t pretend you feel anything. This is just a fancy program Cyberlife installed to keep their property intact. Playing with human minds, that’s all you plastics ever did.’ Nines wanted to protest, to plead, but the man had already pushed the tube into the port used to refill or replace an android’s Thirium. The RK900 blinked at the sudden intrusion, but the man was already stepping back, attention back on the terminal.

‘Please’, Nines tried once again, knowing it was utterly futile. ‘Please, don’t do this. I have family. We have a cat. Please, I just want to get back to my life!’ ‘You have nothing, bot. Your family has you and can buy another one – sorry – adopt another one now that these idiots were fooled by Cyberlife’s plan.’ ‘That doesn’t make any sen-‘, Nines had begun to protest but choked on his words as he felt the rig accessing his Thirium pump and redirecting the flow without him being able to intervene. ‘No!’, he screamed, static mixing with his voice. ‘No, you can’t do this! Please. Stop!’ The man just stepped back and smirked at him. ‘Sweet dreams’, he teased, then turned and left.

Nines was completely alone in the small room, being notified of his Thirium levels dropping rapidly while he could see the blue liquid flow through the tube on the ground to who knows where. He couldn’t believe he was harvested for the very drug he and Gavin had tried to fight since it had popped up on the market. Gavin… Gavin was safe now, wasn’t he? He tried to remember what had happened exactly as Gavin had disappeared, but nothing came up. Whatever the steel rod had damaged, it must have caused some sort of short circuit causing his systems to shut down to protect themselves until he was removed. He must have made it. He must have made it to safety. Nines just couldn’t bear the thought of him being shot while running away or being caught by the gang to be interrogated or worse. No, Gavin had to be safe. Likely furious and wanting to safe him somehow. How would he react to learning he died? They had been together for quite a while now. He would either be angry and in denial about the fact or struck by grief so hard Nines couldn’t possibly imagine what would happen to him. Gavin was a ride-or-die kind of person and they had found mutual unconditional trust in the other. Hell, they had planned to marry eventually, Nines knowing he would have to be the one to propose to the surprisingly shy man. It would have been perfect.

They could have had so much, Nines regretfully realised. Not a great ceremony, but one of few guests. Tina would have been there. Nines would have convinced Gavin to invite Hank and Connor and maybe Sixty with Allen. Gavin in turn would have convinced Nines to allow Elijah and Chloe there. And besides that there would have been a full life ahead of them. Maybe they would have gone on vacation. Left Detroit for the first time or maybe even America. There would have been Christmases that weren’t coined by revolutions and New Years that wouldn’t traumatise half the population when androids first dared to insert themselves into society. Birthdays and the struggle to find the perfect present. Weekends spent on roadtrips, movie nights with friends, new cases keeping their minds busy. And then the little things. Playing with their cat and laughing at it. Watching a movie only for Gavin to halfway through fall asleep leaned against Nines. Days spent in bed because it was just to comfy. Moments when the sun just fell right through the window on Gavin’s face. Seeing him smile one more time. Hearing his voice whisper sweet nothings. Hearing him call him with another silly nickname. The smell of coffee in the morning. The curses when having overslept. The slow beat of a heart. The way he sighed in content and caressed Nines face when he thought he was already in stasis. The colour of his eyes…

Nines’ systems were shutting down one after the other. His countdown was ticking down. His thoughts were running slow and sluggish. He was long hanging weakly in the arms of the rig. Warning messages popped up, informing him of imminent terminal overheating. Nines ignored it all. He didn’t want to die in fear. He didn’t even want to know he was dying. He tried to remember his short life with Gavin and to imagine how it could have been. It was no surprise to him his mind soon began to fray as his systems switched to critical condition and he saw Gavin before him. Heard his voice: ‘Nines. Stay with me.’ ‘I will’, Nines hummed with a content smile, his tinny voice almost unrecognisable as one. ‘I will fix this, don’t worry’, Gavin’s voice told him and Nines thanked whatever sick twist of fate gave an android the possibility to lose logic in it’s last moments. ‘I know you will’, Nines spoke, not understanding his own words as his voicebox was running on less and less power. ‘I’ve always been safe with you.’ ‘Phck, Nines. Phck, phck, phck!’ ‘I love you, Gavin.’

And then he fell.

He fell on a surprisingly real floor. ‘Phck, Nines, sorry! Nines? Nines? Phck can you hear me? Say something!’ Nine could barely understand the words uttered as his sensors glitched and switched on and off repeatedly. ‘Okay, your LED is still on, please let that mean you’re still alive! Alright, I will get you out of here, just hold on! We will fix you, we will fix you!’

He… wasn’t dead yet? Nines tried to access his internal sensors and saw that he had been disconnected at a Thirium Level of twelve percent. He was still about to die, but the countdown was trickling down a lot slower now that the blue blood wasn’t forcibly extracted. Unable to move he was once again dragged over the floor for what felt like an eternity when Nines watched every millisecond pass by. If this wasn’t an impressive illusion of a dying operating system, then that had to mean Gavin was really here. And that he was about to save him. That there was indeed a future to look forward to.

The sun outside caused his optics to white out, so it was a little sudden as a bottle opening was pressed to his lips. Havin a hunch, Nines allowed the liquid to be poured down his throat. It took a while until his levels rose and several bottles were emptied, but as they sat at stable 60%, Nines could run a quick diagnose and regained access to all systems that remained intact. It weren’t many, but he could jerkily move, he could talk through heavy static, he could hear, see and feel. And he used all of these abilities to jump up, hug Gavin and kiss him clumsily on the lips. ‘Gavin!’, he gave vent to his relief and promptly kissed him again as if he could loose all this again the next second. ‘Hey, buddy, tone that down a bit’, Gavin laughed embarrassedly. ‘Everyone is watching.’

Nines couldn’t care less. ‘Gavin, I want to marry you’, he burst out instead and as Gavin looked at him in surprise and wanted to respond, Nines just interrupted: ‘Elijah can come if Connor is invited too.’ ‘Alright, not what I wanted to say’, Gavin chuckled, trying to free himself of Nines embrace that was more of a vice by now. ‘We should take time off. Drive somewhere. I want to hold you.’ Gavin pushed him away fully now, holding onto his arms. ‘Nines, what’s wrong?’, he asked with worry. ‘I will get you to a repair shop, don’t worry.’

Nines closed his eyes and vented his internal systems that had heated up yet again. ‘I almost lost this’, he whispered. ‘All of this. You. Our future. I don’t want to wait anymore should this happen ever again.’ Gavin looked at him and sighed. ‘Nines, this won’t happen again. I promise. We are partners, remember? We look out for each other. I know, I was quite… I was almost too late this time. But I will always be there.’ Nines looked to the ground, unsure if his legs would support him much longer. ‘Hey’, Gavin said softly, lifting his head up. ‘You know what? Vacation doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll see what I can do, okay? But let’s get you fixed up first, okay?’

The android rested his head against Gavin’s, noses touching. ‘Okay’, he nodded and let himself be guided towards a car by his human.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #angst #angst with happy ending #desperate Nines is my favourite #why do I like to torture my favourite character so much?#how many stories in warehouses used for thirium harvesting will I write in the future?#I don't know and I don't care it's a fun trope #Gavin: Babe there are people watching #Nines: Let them #Tina - taking pictures for blackmail reasons and totally not to embarrass them on their wedding

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