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silentexplorer18 · 3 years

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Pen & Ink Soulmates: A Kakashi Hatake Fic

Summary: A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said. Lies. Or the story in which you sneakily convince Kakashi that soulmates aren't all that bad.

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Writing on skin, Minor Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Abduction, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Hospitals, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Word Count: 12,100+

Note: For clarity, this fic occurs over a relatively large chunk of time, but it might make more sense to pretend Kakashi joins the ANBU in later teenage years (though we could pretend two high-level Jonin could talk with such maturity at age 13 if we wanted to!). Basically, I didn’t stress a timeline too much, but I hope you still enjoy it as much as I do! :)

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Hi, soulmate!

Soulmate?

Are you getting my messages?

Let me know if you want to talk.

Can you see the moon where you are?

I found the prettiest flowers today at the market. I wish I could draw you a picture of them.

Do you like flowers? I have a hard time picking a favorite.

You’d been trying. The whole connecting with your soulmate thing was supposed to be exciting and invigorating, but so far it had only left you with the bitter taste of defeat.

A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said.

Lies.

Apparently whoever was supposed to be on the other end of your soul connection didn’t care about the messages you sent. They weren’t as eager to speak with you as you were to speak with them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The alternative was much, much worse; a fate you weren’t willing to consider.

You had a soulmate. They just weren’t ready to talk yet.

So, you threw yourself into training. Every swift movement and taunt muscle, every hit target and victorious sparring session, all the work left you feeling strong and powerful. When your soulmate met you, maybe they’d regret taking so long when they saw how hard you’d been working, how skilled you’d become.

Thankfully, you had a sparring partner that liked to keep you on your toes. Kakashi had been training with you for about as long as you could remember; he was your closest friend and greatest ally as you worked to become a talented shinobi. Of all the people in the village, he facilitated and supported your growth more than anyone. You could rely on him for almost anything (except for being on time).

But there was one problem.

Kakashi didn’t like talking about soulmates. You couldn’t blame him. Deep emotional connections wasn’t a topic he wanted to dwell on, not after everything that had happened throughout his still-young lifetime. So you kept the conversation civil, even as your heart desperately yearned to talk to someone about your sudden fear of being alone, your deep, unrestrained terror that there was no partner to your soul, no body to receive the messages you delicately penned on the skin under your wrapped arms.

But apparently there was.

You learned that roughly a year later, after many failed attempts and more destroyed pens than you cared to admit.

The amount of times you’d tried to contact your soulmate had dwindled, both due to the lack of response and the influx in your shinobi duties. Regardless, you still took the time to try every once in a while.

Usually, your messages were sweet or silly. A few times, you’d merely asked if anyone was receiving your carefully written words, begging to know there was someone out there for you.

But every sensible person reaches their breaking point. And evidently both you and your soulmate broke in very different ways on the same day.

Good evening, soulmate. I didn’t do much today, but I can give you a run-down if you’d like.

It was a game you’d started a few months into your attempts at contact. Pretending someone was there was much, much easier than thinking about any alternative. So you tried your best to leave messages despite how much it hurt.

Staring at your wrist, you considered the scribble of the letters, the handwriting you only tried to make semi-nice now. That was your soulmate’s fault; you were past the point of a perfect first impression. But what to write today? What could entertain your soulmate, maybe even draw them out? You weren’t sure.

When the first inky letter swirled across your skin, your heart leapt into your throat, and your pen dropped from your hand. Your thoughts of what to write were quickly forgotten. There was someone. There was someone! There was someone waiting for you!

You leaned forward, hand clamped around your wrist to keep it steady as the words appeared on your skin.

You’re putting us both in danger. Stop writing to me.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what you expected.

After all the waiting, after all the time, that’s what your soulmate was willing to give you? Your jaw clenched, hand releasing your wrist so you wouldn’t inadvertently snap it. What a jerk.

How dare your soulmate assume you were incapable! How dare your soulmate treat you like nothing more than a hindrance! How dare your soulmate act like you were some worthless flower that would be trampled over by a single breeze!

You clicked your pen, hand pressing just a skosh too hard into your skin as you carved a message back to whoever that jerk was.

I can take care of myself.

The reply came a few minutes later.

Good. I don’t want you in my life. Leave me alone.

Oh.

Years of waiting for a soulmate, and the one to finally show up didn’t want anything to do with you? Great, just great.

You closed your eyes, hands shaking as you drew your knees closer to your body. Alone. You were alone. No matter who was destined to be by your side, nobody would be there. The tears burned in your eyes, but you tried to keep from shedding them. You were a shinobi. You were strong. You were… alone.

No, no you weren’t. You still had Kakashi and Kurenai. You had Asuma when he bothered to chat with you. You weren’t totally alone. You had people in your life to keep you company. Hell, you were even supposed to meet Kakashi for breakfast tomorrow!

You went over your list of friends in your head, desperately trying to drown out the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that the person who mattered most would never want you.

Kakashi was late to breakfast the next morning. Even later than usual. You idly wondered if he’d been called on an emergency mission while trying to keep your thin soup down.

The events of the night before rested at the forefront of your mind, making your stomach queasy with the memory of the harsh words.

Your soulmate had washed them off your arm by morning, but the message had already been branded in your mind. There would be no forgetting.

When Kakashi finally deigned to arrive, he looked much worse than usual. It was hardly perceptible to the untrained eye, but you knew something was wrong after so many years of friendship with Kakashi. He was even quieter than he usually was, picking at the cold soup you’d ordered for him.

It had been spur of the moment to order for the both of you, a decision brought on by being too wrapped up in your own thoughts. However, Kakashi didn’t comment on your unusual gesture.

For once, something went your way.

After your relatively brief and quiet meal, you offered to walk with Kakashi to the Hokage Tower, desperately craving the fresh air. He accepted your offer with a half-hearted nod, and you fell into step alongside him, trying to keep up with his impossibly lanky figure.

“You’ve been going to the Hokage Tower a lot lately. Is everything alright?”

Hummed, the sound still gravely from failing to use his voice all morning. “They’re pushing me up to the ANBU.”

You froze. The ANBU? One of the most elite and dangerous positions that a Leaf shinobi could accept? Your best friend—the talent, the protector, the lost child inside willing to throw his life away for the sake of his home, for the people who had left without him—an ANBU?

Kakashi stopped a few paces in front of you, casting a distasteful look over his shoulder at your expression.

“I can handle it. Stop fussing.”

With quick steps, you joined his side again, clenching your fist in embarrassment. “I’m not fussing. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

“We die young as shinobi,” he murmured, continuing his walk toward the tower in the distance. Suddenly, the structure appeared to be looming rather than protecting, and a chill crawled along your spine.

Of course shinobi died young. All bodies gave out eventually, and shinobi would fight until that occurred, regardless of whether or not it was to their detriment (it almost always was). But Kakashi was the most talented shinobi you’d ever encountered. He wouldn’t die young, you hoped. He had so much left to live for, even if he couldn’t see it through the haze of his own pain and guilt.

The remaining walk to the Hokage tower was silent. And afterwards, you took flowers to the memorial stone. You prayed for the dead. And just this once, you begged them to look out for the living, too.

The day Kakashi joined the ANBU, you knew. The matching tattoo colored your bicep in sweeping increments, a sharp red rattling your heart within your chest. The reality of your situation washed over you like the worst kind of genjutsu.

Your best friend was your soulmate. And he didn’t want you.

The realization left you shell shocked for a few days, unable to even speak or look at Kakashi. Even without the contact, your mind couldn’t escape from him. However, you eventually managed to safeguard your heart as best as you could. You wouldn’t tell him yet; something within you couldn’t handle that risk of rejection, especially when it would come from Kakashi. But you weren’t willing to throw away the lifetime of friendship the two of you shared. So you put on a smile and met Kakashi at his favorite restaurant, just like usual.

“You haven’t been here for a few days,” he noted as you sat down, watching you intently. “Everything alright?”

You shrugged, fingers trailing down the side of your glass. “Yeah, just wasn’t feeling up to anything.”

It was a partial lie, one Kakashi could easily prod into if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He let you be. And you relished in the way the conversation eventually grew normal between the two of you, right up until he rose from the table, leaving you to pay the bill.

Everything was normal. But you cried again that night anyway.

Life fell back into the usual pattern after that. There were times that you could almost pretend the weight on your shoulders wasn’t there. Kakashi was away on more missions with the ANBU, so you were able to bury your head in your training and missions and pretend nothing was wrong. At least, you could pretend until a pen caught your eye.

The words on your skin had been so brutal, and you hoped they were just because of the pain Kakashi had endured. You hoped it came from a place of love rather than hatred; perhaps Kakashi’s intention was protection rather than cold-hearted rejection.

At least, that’s what you thought until you found Kakashi sparring with Gai.

You tried your hardest not to invade their privacy, not to listen to words that weren’t meant for your ears, like the good friend you were, but Kakashi’s voice was too sharp, too defensive, to not draw your attention.

“—but it’s a waste of time, Gai. Soulmates are unnecessary. Especially for people like us.”

“You’re hiding from your future, Kakashi. Wasting all your youthful days that you could be spending with the one who will love you as much as life itself!”

Another failed attack. The clang of clashing kunai.

“A soulmate could only be a liability to me. You know what kind of missions I’m being sent on.”

“They’re your soulmate, Kakashi. Soulmates are built to work together. They fill the cracks like the best kind of glue!”

Kakashi scoffed. There was another clang, the gentle zip of shuriken on the breeze.

“I’d never love them anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’d say something so cruel—”

You turned away, unable to listen anymore. The pain pooled heavy in your gut. The message he’d written hadn’t been a reflexive, angry reaction. His beliefs were set in stone. He didn’t want you.

So, you held your chin up, resigned yourself to eternal loneliness, and pretended the whole soulmate dilemma didn’t exist.

If being Kakashi’s friend was the closest you could get, then you’d ignore the sting in your chest when you looked at him. You’d be his friend. Nothing more.

Your resolve lasted a few weeks.

There was whispering. There had always been whispering, but this day was much worse than usual. He’d been mocked, insulted, shamed. Openly. And aside from Gai, nobody had said a word otherwise. You couldn’t stand it, watching him mask the pain as much as he masked his own features. His feigned nonchalance couldn’t fool your perceptive eyes. You’d been watching too closely; you knew him too well.

Curled at your desk that night, you wrote a message on your wrist, scared of talking to him again but unable to leave him alone.

You’re a good person.

Hours passed before you received a response. It was curt, defensive, everything Kakashi carried to protect himself. You don’t know me.

But you did.

Although it was difficult to sleep, you tried your best not to toss and turn too much as you brooded over your feelings. Was it worth saying more? Was it worth risking the hurt, the rejection?

In the morning, you’d made your decision, especially after noticing his words had already been rinsed off your wrist.

Cleaning your own wrist, you wrote the message in your head a thousand times over, only hoping the words wouldn’t hurt you so much when they reached his skin.

You're a good person, Kakashi Hatake. I won't let you tell me otherwise.

Kakashi met you for lunch just like usual. You wouldn’t have found anything odd about the meeting, but he showed up on time. Apparently your message had rattled him enough to throw him completely off his rhythm.

Rather than comment on his early appearance, you just smiled as he sat down, choosing to dig into your meal. Kakashi followed suit, pulling out a book while he waited for his bowl.

Silence settled between you, and you let it. After all, you were trying to make the situation appear normal. The last thing you wanted was for him to figure out you were in on the secret that was bothering him. So, the two of you ate. You sipped your tea, glancing out at the people passing on the street until Kakashi finally broke the silence.

“My soulmate knows who I am,” he murmured, setting down his raman bowl.

You plastered on a smile, knowing you had to fake congratulations, had to fake knowing that he had, in fact, zero intentions of finding his soulmate.

“That’s so exciting, Kakashi! I’m glad you’ve finally found yours!”

He laughed dryly, scratching his neck. “It’s not quite like that.”

You tried to neutralize the way your expression dropped. Either Kakashi didn’t notice, nose stuck in his copy of Make Out Paradise, or he didn’t care. You bit your lip, brows furrowing before you could stop them. “How so?”

But you already knew the answer to that.

“I’m not talking to my soulmate,” he said curtly. “It’s not something that interests me.”

You shook your head, sighing softly. He’d never let anyone in, never let anyone close. Kakashi was too reserved for that, and you resigned yourself to the knowledge that he’d never care to change the fate he’d chosen for himself. For such a hopeless romantic, he had a terrible tendency to reject love.

“You’re so foolish, Kakashi,” you whispered, balancing the chopsticks on the rim of your bowl.

His eye snapped to your face. Though he appeared nonchalant, you could tell that he slightly bristled at your words. “You’re one to talk.”

“Mine won’t talk to me,” you pointed out sharply, eyes dropping to refold your napkin.

His expression softened minutely, but his tone stayed firm. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re shinobi, (Y/n). Love in our line of duty is fatal.”

Pursing your lips, you caught his eye again before dropping his stare. “Perhaps,” you murmured, knuckles straining in your lap. “But you can’t say it’s pleasant to live without love.”

He was silent for a moment as you both stared at anywhere but one another. Kakashi was ruminating under your words while you wallowed in the silent pain of listening to your soulmate openly deny your importance. It hurt, but you wouldn’t admit that, least of all not to his face.

Before he could speak again, Gai had clapped Kakashi on the shoulder, greeting him as warmly as ever.

You slipped out of the shop, enough money to cover both your meals pressed into the owner’s hand before either of the shinobi could realize you’d disappeared.

Although your conversation with Kakashi had stung deep within your chest, you appreciated the insights it gave you.

Kakashi Hatake was aware his soulmate knew his name. And he was terrified.

The fact that he’d brought it up at all was enough to tell you how jarring the event had been for him. That, and the way he responded at the mere notion of knowing his soulmate. He was like a cornered cat lashing his claws out in terror. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, not his soulmate, not you. But in his desperation to protect himself, reinforce the walls he’d so meticulously crafted to fortify his aching heart, Kakashi Hatake was willing to scratch.

However, you weren’t willing to let it go that easily.

He was scared of having someone care for him. You were willing to start small in the hopes of changing that.

Along the curve of your inner wrist, you swirled the letters that would become the first of many.

Stay safe on your mission.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Today is supposed to be cold. Wear an extra mask.

He didn’t. Worse yet, he chose to do the opposite. Although it was hard to tell, you knew his mask and undershirt were the spring/summer fabrics rather than the fall/winter ones.

The bastard was spiting you. Well, spiting his soulmate. So, unwittingly spiting you.

It was still irksome.

As the two of you wandered around the village, helped the farmers, and even took a leisurely stroll around the village perimeter “just in case,” you relished in the way Kakashi moved. It was obvious he was cold, regretting his unnecessary fashion stance.

But you couldn’t stand to see him cold.

He looked close to dropping to the ground for a rapid succession of push-ups just to rekindle some warmth. As smug as you were about watching him suffer, you weren't willing to let him perform a Gai for a small semblance of relief.

Swiftly, you unlooped your scarf, draping it around his neck unceremoniously. It wasn’t much, but the fabric was warm, and it would certainly help a little.

If only you knew how happy the gesture made him.

As the two of you walked back to the heart of the village, Kakashi walked a little closer to you than normal. And, for some reason, you didn’t really mind.

When Kakashi didn’t show up to lunch the following week, you weren’t surprised. You’d only just returned from a mission, and word of Kakashi’s travels had already graced your ears. He was heading to the Village Hidden in the Sand. For what, you weren’t sure. Some missions were still classified even for you.

Despite knowing how skilled Kakashi was, you still worried about him traveling alone through the desert.

The click of your pen hurt a little less when you clicked it now. It helped to know who your soulmate was. It helped to feel like he cared about you still, even when he so clearly loathed his soulmate.

Remember to drink some water today.

A few hours later, you were surprised to see a response scribbled across your inner wrist.

Yes.

Just one word but finally a positive one.

Rest when you can.

Kakashi stared at the words delicately placed on his wrist. His mission had taken longer than expected, and he was beginning to think his soulmate knew that.

Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi like him. A high-ranking one, too, for them to determine the length of time he was supposed to be away for.

He’d been receiving one message per day. At first, it irritated him to no end. But now, he didn’t hate it quite so much, even if he often didn’t bother to reply. The messages were always harmless. Sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they were giving him advice, a little reminder meant—he assumed—to help him through the day.

While the sender certainly had the best intentions when sending the note, the message still left him irked. He was alone for this mission, and the sleeplessness and general strains of traveling had started to take a toll on him.

Only a day’s journey left until he could return home and try to shake the sand out of every nook and cranny of his backpack. Only a day’s journey left until he could sleep in a bed. Only a day’s journey left until he could go to dinner with the others. Just. One. More. Day.

He could make it. He had to.

Kakashi had been injured again.

The news swept through the village like a wildfire, and you showed up with two Make Out novels and a bowl of raman, nearly being knocked over by Gai’s comically large bouquet in the process.

Kakashi accepted Gai’s flowers with moderate amounts of grumbling and a few lackluster attempts to get him to leave. Eventually, he did, and it was just the two of you.

You filled the vase at his bedside with water, delicately stuffing as many of the stems as you possibly could inside the glass.

Kakashi watched you move around him, cherishing the silence. At his bedside, you unclasped your bag, pulling out the blindingly colorful books and the container of Ichiraku raman. After making sure the utensils were settled and there was a napkin, you turned back to Kakashi, just missing the warm expression on his face.

“You should rest,” you encouraged gently, “and eat up.”

His eye squinted playfully. “You fuss too much.”

You smiled, smoothing a shuriken printed blanket over the starchy hospital ones. It was yours, but it still smelled faintly of dogs and Kakashi and spice. Hopefully it would stave off some of his nightmares, having something that smelled vaguely like home.

“I fuss just enough. Now, don’t stay up too late reading. Some rest will go a long way.”

“You fuss too—” He yelped as you pinched his toe through the blanket, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re lucky you have me as a friend.”

Kakashi’s expression softened, mind racing toward how close he’d come to death yet again. “Yeah, I am.”

He relished in the way that simple statement delighted you, watching the way your expression lit up.

“Get some rest,” you encouraged again, turning to leave him in the bright, quiet room.

As per your request, he did.

Although he listened to your advice, it was only marginally. In true Kakashi fashion, he’d talked his way out of the hospital after a measly two days of treatment.

His body needed more time, but Kakashi was always one to push himself.

Since the Hokage stalled sending him on another mission, something he both hated and appreciated, he occupied the following days in his normal rhythm. He trained privately, visited the memorial stone, and wandered the village nose-deep in supposedly trashy romance.

You’d caught him wandering around a few times, and even saw him lightly competing in a challenge against Gai.

The sight made your blood boil even though you knew it was Kakashi being Kakashi.

He had no sense of self-preservation, which wasn’t particularly helpful when you—his soulmate—were watching from the sidelines.

Did he even care that he could leave you all alone? No, probably not, your mind taunted. Kakashi didn’t care about soulmates; you knew that.

If only you could convince your heart not to care.

That afternoon, you let the letters curl across your wrist as you watched him do another training exercise with Gai, looking faintly more fatigued than normal.

Give yourself time to recover.

If he found your message, he didn’t care to respond.

Kakashi would visit the memorial stone in the morning; you knew how his routine worked.

He felt it fitting to visit them as often as he could, an apology for living the life they all should have lived.

You couldn’t blame him. You visited the stone often, too.

But you couldn’t today, not while you were traveling to the Village Hidden in the Sand with a scroll. So, you asked for a favor, scribbling on your wrist: Pray for mine, too, please.

He was starting to grow accustomed to your messages. A small part of you wondered if he kept an eye out for them. But that was silly. You were thinking about Kakashi. He probably was just reading his book when the words appeared, his wrist already in his line of sight.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But it still didn’t dispel your excitement when the answer scribbled across your skin a few minutes later.

Sure.

He’d been taking on so many missions lately, wearing himself to the bone just to be a good shinobi. A part of you wondered if he was trying to avoid thinking about anything other than his shinobi world. That hunch didn’t stop you from worrying.

Soulmate or not, Kakashi’s actions would have worried you. He looked exhausted as he shuffled through his laundry. You’d brought him takeout from his favorite restaurant to hopefully get something other than rations in his stomach before he left on his next mission.

Who knew how long it would be before he drug himself in, requested another trip, and raced off to somewhere new. You would’ve thought he was avoiding you if it weren’t for the obvious delight in his eyes when you caught up with him outside Hokage Tower.

But there was a reason he was working himself to exhaustion. Possibly long-dead memories brought back to life that he couldn’t stand thinking about. You didn’t even want to know; you just wanted him to be okay.

A week later, you saw him walking through the village gates yet again. Back again. Planning to leave again. It was always the same, just relentlessly overkill at present. He was taking on too much, and one day he would slip up and regret it. You didn’t want that.

So you stayed behind the kiosk you’d been perusing, fingers untangling the wraps around your hand. It was a simple message, but you hoped it would help snap his mind out of whatever hole he’d buried it in.

Please don’t overwork yourself.

He didn’t respond. Not a word graced your hopeful skin.

But Kakashi caught you outside one of the stores in town and asked if you wanted to meet up for dinner that night. He would be around for a while, he said, but he was too tired to cook.

Despite trying to hold on to your resolve, a small part of you couldn’t help but hope he was staying because you asked him to. It was probably wishful thinking, but you were grateful for whatever force made him stay nonetheless.

I believe in you.

Kakashi scoffed at the message on his arm, printed in the spot where his glove met his sleeve.

He found it after a competition with Gai. Hardly anything worth fussing over, but his soulmate had still sent him encouraging words.

Had they been watching? Had they seen the fun (though he’d never admit it) that he and Gai had been having? Had they wanted to join in?

For a long time, he’d been able to avoid thinking about his soulmate altogether. Now, though, they’d found a way to weasel into his mind with the words swirling over his skin.

He wasn’t willing to consider whether or not he enjoyed it.

I worry when you’re reckless.

The message shouldn’t have stung Kakashi’s heart, but somehow it did. His soulmate was watching and worrying, hearing the stories about his travels. Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi, too.

Were they okay with forsaking love in the name of war? Could they abandon emotions for the sake of duty? Maybe. His soulmate had never directly asked to be anything more than penpals, though even that notion was quite one-sided.

But the message on his wrist betrayed his soulmate’s strength. They worried about him. They listened for the stories and understood when something went wrong.

Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder if they were reckless, too.

If he never took the chance to know them, would he care if they threw their life away as often as he’d tried to? He wasn’t sure.

The next Make Out novel comes out today. I reserved you a copy at the Northern bookstore. It’s less crowded.

Kakashi didn’t understand why his soulmate was being so nice to him. Not after his harsh words at the beginning, not after his sparse replies and general lack of interest. But whoever they were, they were trying, and he had to admire that.

At first, he was surprised his soulmate was not only fine with him reading erotic novels in public but also encouraging it. But, then again, his soulmate was meant to be compatible with him, right?

There would be butting heads, of course. All soulmates lost the honeymoon stage eventually. But this seemed deeper, warmer. His favorite book in a quiet shop on his day off. It was kindness. And it felt both strange and wonderful.

He vaguely regretted not doing anything for his soulmate. Though, maybe they were okay with that. Maybe they enjoyed being alone, just like he did.

Maybe if he kept lying to himself, he’d continue to enjoy it.

But crouched in a tree a few hours later, he couldn’t shake the gratitude deep in his chest. The novel was amazing. And he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on it if it weren’t for his soulmate’s generosity.

Two words.

Thank you.

Kakashi had arrived home from another long mission. Although unscathed, his clothes were a mess. Dirt and mud clung to his legs, dried blood was smattered across his upper body, and a few rogue twigs and leaves stuck to him in strange places. He needed a shower. Desperately.

But something within Kakashi was restless, and he chose to wander around the village absently.

Something must have happened for him to look so dazed and unattached, but you tried to avoid asking anything direct in public.

Instead, you hopped beside him, catching his arm with the tips of your fingertips. He hummed in response.

“You just got back, right, Kakashi?”

He hummed again. “Yep.”

“Have you bought groceries?”

“No... Why?”

“A bunch of us are going to dinner tonight. You should come. It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

He inspected you for a long moment, and you could tell what he was thinking. The laugh bubbled in your throat before you could help yourself. “It’s Iruka’s turn to take Gai home, don’t worry.”

He stared for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Okay.” Another small, dazed nod. “I’ll come.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you told him the establishment and the time. That alone made Kakashi’s mood improve, though he’d never admit that aloud.

An hour later, though, he was still wandering around the city absentmindedly. So you figured his soulmate could take matters into their own hands.

Blood in your hair? Isn’t that a bit macabre?

He replied an hour later.

No.

But the next time you saw him, he was dressed in a new uniform. Not a single pristinely white hair was out of place.

If it hadn’t been for Anko talking your ear off about her last mission, you almost could’ve imagined that you and Kakashi were on a date.

It was the closest you would get, a clean vest and all.

But when Asuma blew a puff of smoke and Kakashi glared disdainfully from across the table, any hopes of romance slipped through your fingers.

You were friends. Close friends.

And you refocused on Anko’s story in the hopes of forgetting the state of your friendship with Kakashi for the span of a few minutes.

Every little glance he sent your way certainly didn’t help.

Nor did the way he offered you the last bite of his cake as a thanks for paying for his meal yet again.

Damn, you were in deep.

Be safe on your mission.

His reply came a few minutes later.

Yep.

Although it wasn’t much, the gesture made you smile. It seemed almost like he was waiting for your message, like he’d been checking as he and his companions wandered down the road.

You told yourself it was wishful thinking, but the word scribbled on your wrist in his handwriting warmed your heart all the same.

You’d forgotten. The mission had been too complex, your mind too preoccupied. You’d forgotten to write to Kakashi.

A part of you distantly wondered if he cared, if he even thought about your messages.

He’d started to reply on occasion. It was never more than a quickly scrawled, single word response, but it was still better than the total isolation he’d given you before.

You couldn’t say it was great, or that the two of you talked as soulmates. But it was relatively amicable. And that was a much better foot to get off on than the first time he’d responded to the words you’d scribbled words across your arms.

Things were okay.

And although you had a few scrapes and scratches from your mission, that had gone okay, too.

When your team settled in a clearing for the night, tent built and fire glowing, you drifted off, too exhausted to think of sending a scrabbled love message to Kakashi.

But he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Although you assumed he wasn’t paying attention, Kakashi was one of the best ninja in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. He paid attention to everything, despite his usual nonchalance.

He noticed immediately that his soulmate hadn’t written to him.

After weeks of at least one little message per day.

And he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was terrified. Had something happened to you? Were you injured? Could it be worse?

The idea of soulmates may have left him feeling disgruntled, but your messages had burrowed a home in his heart.

He wasn’t ready to give you or your messages up yet.

So for the first time in a long time, he wrote a real message.

You’re late. Doing okay?

As you watched over the dying flames several hours later, an early morning guard for your teammates, you stared at his words, tracing a finger over the scraggly characters.

Late.

You knew he wasn’t talking about your mission because the four of you weren’t due back for another two days. He didn’t know your identity. That only left the messages…

Was he treating this as a check-in?

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. Leave it to Kakashi to care more than he let on.

Got lost on the path of life. You?

Kakashi stared at your message. He’d been perusing his favorite bookstore for spare copies of the Make Out series’ novels, sleeve suspiciously cuffed and waiting for a reply, when the words had swirled across his skin.

And he laughed. Warmly and purely. Because you’d stolen his line.

You knew him. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing if you would continue to make him laugh so openly.

Surprised with himself, he clicked his pen, words scribbling across his skin before he had the chance to doubt himself.

Glad you’re alive.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. An admission that he wasn’t as dismayed by the soulmate thing as he let on. And you arrived home from your mission absolutely beaming.

You were able to catch Kakashi for lunch before heading off on your next mission with Kurenai. The food was filling, and the conversation was nice. Funnily enough, he was supposed to leave for a mission with Gai the next day. No rest for the shinobi apparently.

Kakashi waved at you as you walked away, and you smiled to yourself. Even if you didn’t have your soulmate by your side, at least you still had some connection to Kakashi. Being by his side was worth the dull ache it left in your heart.

But you would be without it for the next few days. Although you and Kurenai were leaving for no more than two days, Kakashi and Gai would probably be gone most of the week. Part of you hated when Kakashi was away, but part of you enjoyed getting to write to him more often. When he was away, you could be a little less secretive as you scribbled down messages throughout your day in the village.

But, for the time being, you’d focus on the mission at hand.

It was a standard case of bandits in the woods. At least, that was what the scroll had described the mission as. However, as you and Kurenai crept through the dense forest, something felt off.

No matter how far the two of you traveled, the quiet whisper of wind in the leaves greeted you. Despite your speed and silence, you couldn’t sense any animals or hear anything suspicious. Bandits would have left campsites or trash or, hell, even footsteps. But nothing greeted your senses, not even traces of animals. These weren’t ordinary bandits.

Your suspicions were confirmed when eight people jumped from the brush, attacking with a swiftness you hadn’t anticipated. Their presences had been completely concealed.

Kurenai lept to your left, and you lept to the right, sending three shuriken through the air to hit the nearest attacker. While your attack worked slightly, you immediately had to jump again, barely catching Kurenai rushing off through the trees.

This was the failsafe plan; if you got caught, you’d separate far enough that you couldn’t catch one another in the crossfire of your attacks.

But you were outmatched. Whoever these “bandits” were, they were extremely skilled in capturing and securing enemies. One moment, you were wielding a fire jutsu. The next moment, your vision had gone dark.

Capture wasn’t the only thing the bandits appeared to be skilled in. Upon waking, you’d been tied to a chair with restraints stronger than you could break. The room was dark, probably somewhere underground, and you realized you had no idea how long you’d been unconscious. Was Kurenai okay? Had she been captured, too? What did these people want with you?

None of that mattered, not when the first blow had landed across your exposed side. Whatever these people wanted, you wouldn’t give it. So, you took a deep breath, clenched your teeth, and shut out the world. Your village was valuable to you. The people there mattered to you. And you’d follow your training to the letter, or you’d die trying.

Whether it had been hours or days of torture, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that everything hurt, and your vision was starting to go blurry. Despite that, you hadn’t relented. No matter what they threw at your body, no matter what manipulation they tried to play with your mind, you wouldn’t budge.

At the end, at least you’d make the Village Hidden in the Leaves proud.

But there was something that was missing, something you wanted to do before you died, even if it was just selfish, even if it was just a foolish whispering of your heart. You wanted to be buried somewhere your friends could visit. You wanted everyone to know about your end, to know what had happened, to never worry that you were out there somewhere.

You wanted Kakashi to find peace in your death, not guilt.

So there was a secret you had to spill.

You slid the pen from your pocket, clicking it open as you stared at your arm. Slowly, you undid the bandages, greeted once again by blank skin. Swirling the pen across your forearm, you wrote the rough coordinates of your capture on your arm. It wasn’t exact, but hopefully it would be good enough. Then, you wrote the words “urgent note” on your fingertips and wrist, hoping that would encourage him to look. Below the coordinates, you wrote: Abducted by enemies. Not relenting to torture. Getting weak. Send help if possible. Or someone to collect my body. Look at leg later. —(Y/n).

Carefully, you rewrapped your arm, moving to roll your pant leg up. Your hands were shaking, and it was hard to hold the pen, but you had to write to him.

They said the end is coming, and I'm starting to believe them. It hurts a lot. So I'm writing to you. I know you didn't want to deal with the whole soulmate thing, but I couldn't stay away. You were just too wonderful to not stand beside. I'm sorry I didn't leave you be, didn't respect your wishes. But I wanted to be a part of your life. I'm being selfish by writing to you now, but you're the one person I've always been selfish with, so I'm not going to stop at the very end. Please don’t be upset with yourself if I don’t make it.

Your eyes were watering now, vision slightly blurry. Had they drugged you, too? Or was it just the injuries?

I just want you to remember that you’re loved. That I love you. That you deserve to be loved. Please don’t forget that when I’m gone.

Whatever else you wanted to write would not be written. Quietly, the pen clattered out of your hand, and your head slumped forward.

Time was up.

Your vision was blurry when your eyes finally blinked open. You were cold, but the ache in your muscles was a reassurance that you were very much alive. Alive and in a hospital, it seemed.

There was a crinkle beside your bed, and you looked up to see Kakashi thumbing through his book.

What had… You blinked, trying to recall exactly what had happened.

There was a mission… you’d been on a mission with Kurenai… right. Then… and then... you were abducted. Yes, you could remember that now. And Kakashi… you remember thinking about Kakashi. Gosh, everything was so damn hazy. You shifted, wincing as you tried to sit up.

“Hey!” His voice was cheerful, and you blinked up at him in surprise at the warmness in his tone. “Good to see you waking up!”

How had he known you were at the hospital? Had Kurenai… Wait, no. No. Hazily, you could recall writing coordinates on your wrist. They weren’t precise, so someone must have looked for you. You couldn’t remember being found. Everything after the last interrogation was too hazy… too confusing. But Kakashi had known… maybe Kakashi had looked for you.

“You made it in time?”

He hummed, closing his book with a thump. “Pakkun found you. Once I knew what to look for, I could rely on his nose.”

You nodded groggily, reaching up to rub your eyes. The ink was still on your wrist, visible due to your unwrapped arms. You’d forgotten about—

“Kakashi, I’m so sorry about the message.” You turned to look at him, eyes wide and embarrassed. “If I knew everything would’ve been fine, then I wouldn’t have—”

His hand rose, and you stopped, heart hammering in your throat. This was it. This would be the rejection.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to save you.”

Of course. Because he wouldn’t leave a comrade behind; that wasn’t like him.

But that wasn’t the message you were referring to.

If he wasn’t going to bring up the love message, then you wouldn’t, either. “I’m grateful,” you murmured, looking down to finally see the treatment your body had undergone. There were marks everywhere, which meant Kakashi was marked everywhere, too. Marks on the soulmate that didn’t want you…

“I appreciate you waiting,” you forced yourself to say. Maybe he’d get the message and leave you alone.

Instead, he met your awkward sidestep with bluntness. “I figured we should talk.”

Your head felt like it was spinning, and you had the slightest sensation that you were going to be in the hospital for quite a while. It would be embarrassing to be rejected here; it would be embarrassing to cry in front of the nurses.

“Not now,” you croaked, hand scrabbling to grab the invisible cup of water at the bedside. Water, sake, medicine, heck, even the flower water beside you. Anything to push the lump out of your throat. Anything to avoid thinking about Kakashi’s rejection.

You were eyeing up the vase next to you as Kakashi stood, long legs moving to fill a glass by the sink. He handed it to you, assuring your fingers were pressed around the cup before he moved away.

You sent him a grateful half-smile before you swallowed the water like a shot, desperate to drown yourself in something other than your own awkwardness.

“Feel better?”

No, you really didn’t. Your head was still spinning, stomach still queasy. Whether it was from your injuries or Kakashi’s pointed stare, you weren’t sure. “I don’t want to talk about it today. Everything—” you coughed, trying to release the tightness in your throat. “Everything hurts.”

He nodded, humming low in his throat. “I’ll go get a nurse, then.”

You nodded shakily, debating whether or not you could escape from the hospital before he came back. The ache in your side told you moving probably wasn’t the best idea.

“But before I do, I have one question.”

Your head snapped to where he stood by the door, wincing as you did so. “Yes?”

“How did you find out it was me?”

You stared at him for a minute, searching his impassive face. He was one of the best shinobi this village had ever seen, and he was still impossibly clueless sometimes. Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve, revealing a roll of gauze. It was blue, unlike the starchy white medical gauze on your sides. You could fiddle with it; the fabric belonged to you. With nimble fingers, you untied it, letting it pool below your elbow on the bed.

Kakashi stared openly at the ANBU tattoo, and you watched the pieces click into place. He hadn’t even considered what a tattoo would be like for his soulmate.

“I see,” he whispered, fingers unconsciously twitching toward his covered arm. After a moment, he shook himself from his thoughts, gaze again becoming impassive. “I’ll go get the nurses.”

“Kakashi?” you called, shocked as the words left your lips. You hadn’t meant to call out for him, not yet, anyway. But he was standing there staring like you’d held up a practice dummy, focus radiating from him in waves. You had to say something. “Thank you. For saving me… and waiting. And thank Pakkun, too?”

Kakashi’s expression softened. “I will. Now, get some rest. You look exhausted.”

Though, rest was the last thing you would come close to receiving as the doctors gave you a full evaluation. Poking, prodding, and asking questions took up most of the afternoon. Although you tried your best to focus and take in all the information you were given about your physical state, your mind continually strayed to Kakashi. Did he hate you now? Did he want you out of his life? Was he waiting for you or just waiting to ask about the whole soulmates thing? You wished you could quiet the questions swirling through your mind.

That evening, you found a message scribbled across the back of your hand. Although his handwriting was still messy, it was obvious he took his time. He wanted it to be legible.

Get well soon, (Y/n).

It was the first time your soulmate had written your name on his skin. He knew you now. There was no going back to the secretive messages and hidden assurances. Everything was out in the open; Kakashi knew exactly who you were. He knew everything.

That night, you wept.

You wept for the injuries that would bar you from upcoming missions. You wept for the bitter sense of death that had grazed your fingertips. You wept for the compassionate message on your hand. You wept for the fear of being alone again.

You wept for Kakashi and all that he meant to you.

Between the crying and the medical evaluations the day prior, you slept well past the time you’d typically rise. Consequently, it was well past the opening of visiting hours, too.

Kakashi arrived before you woke up and tucked himself into a corner with a book. However, he read very little. Instead, he watched the gradual rise and fall of your chest, comforted by the knowledge that you were still breathing.

When “urgent note” had appeared on his fingers, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. When he read the message printed on his wrist, the sinking sensation had only grown. Fear consumed him more than it had ever consumed him before.

His head had spun with the realization that you were in danger, that you were his soulmate. Summoning his ninkin had happened in a blur. If he was being honest with himself, everything was a blur up until the moment he found you. That moment would live on in crystal clarity in his memory forever.

There are some moments in life too horrific to forget. Finding you unconscious on the floor of a dingy bunker, pen by your side, chest barely moving, would be one of those moments for Kakashi.

The only thing more reassuring than watching you breathe was watching your eyes blink open slowly and focus in on him. He could tell you were nervous about talking to him, and he knew why. The message still hastily scribbled on both of your thighs was more than an acknowledgement of the soulmate bond. It was an admission that you loved him, an admission that you believed in him, that you wanted to stay by his side.

It was also an admission that you believed he didn’t want to stay by your side.

He really needed to talk to you.

“Good morning,” he hummed, tucking his book back in his vest. Smiling, he moved to sit on the chair beside you, feeling it was appropriate now that you were awake. This close, he could smell the antiseptic on your skin, the overbearing flowery scent of the hospital lotion, and the faintest whiff of your shampoo still clinging to your hair despite the days it had been since your last shower.

“G’morning,” you mumbled, stretching lazily. Kakashi watched your movements, chuckling at the way you arched like a happy rabbit after a nap. It was cute and endearing, a movement Kakashi had gotten used to witnessing over the years.

Shifting the other direction, you winced, body instinctively jerking back into a ball. “Ow,” you grumbled, hand moving to put a little pressure on your side. With some effort, you managed to shift into a sitting position, still moving gingerly to somewhat satiate your aching limbs. “I thought I’d feel better today, but I guess not.”

Kakashi snorted dryly. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

You stopped rubbing your shoulder to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

What did he mean? Hadn’t the doctors told you? Surely they would have mentioned… Were you playing dumb or did you really not know? Kakashi stared at you for a moment, scrutinizing your confused expression, before his eyes dropped. He let out a breath, then another, trying to hide the pain blossoming in his chest.

He’d almost lost you.

“You were dying,” he said lowly, gaze fixated on his gloves. “By the time we got you back, we really thought you weren’t…” he shook his head, expression dark. “The medics thought you were already gone.”

It took a moment for you to respond. The doctors said your recovery was astronomical, that you’d been close to death, but the way Kakashi described it, so somber and broken, made the reality of the situation hit home.

You’d almost died. You’d almost lost everything you held dear.

You’d almost lost him.

Glancing back to Kakashi, you found him still lost deep within his thoughts. His expression was dark, fist clenched over his thigh, over what was intended to be your last message to him.

Carefully, you reached out and bushed a hand over his clenched fist. The action drew his attention back to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” you gently offered, stroking the back of his hand once more before pulling away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

He huffed, scooting backward in his chair. “I should have got to you sooner! Protected you! If I’d asked, you could have sent me updates. I could have prevented you from getting hurt—”

“Will you stop with the narcissism!” you chided, wincing as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

He met your gaze, lone eye blinking once in surprise.

“I took the mission. I accepted the consequences of it. I knew what an infiltration would be like. I knew the chances of getting ambushed. You didn’t endanger me, Kakashi. You weren’t even supposed to be on that mission.” Your voice faded, soft and overwhelmed. “But you saved me anyway.” You ran your thumb under your eyes, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. “So claim that. Stop… I need you to stop only claiming your failures.”

He clenched his fist, unclenched it, and nodded once. For the first time in a long time, you couldn’t read Kakashi’s body language at all. What was he feeling?

Part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you didn’t. He’d made space between you for a reason. And as upsetting as it was, you were willing to honor that.

After a few minutes of silence, you plucked one of the flowers from the vase beside your bed. “Did Kurenai bring me the flowers?” You smiled, brushing a finger against the petals. “She accidentally picked my favorites.”

When you looked back up, Kakashi was staring at you again, cheek barely pinking over the edge of his mask.

He could read erotic novels in public, but you made him blush.

“Actually, I brought them.”

Freezing, you stared at him in surprise. “You did? How did you—?”

He flushed again, eyes fixing on the flowers rather than your face. “You buy pots of those every spring, but they always die because you’re out on missions. And you take daisies to the memorial stone a few times a month. You leave iris for your parents, and you bring peonies and cookies for the ANBU guards when you have meetings with the Hokage. And on the second Sunday of every month you’re both in town, you hide 100 tulips around the village for Gai to find.” When his eyes snapped back to yours, your shocked expression made him grow self conscious, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, been paying attention.”

“Why?”

He gestured to the room, pretending to misinterpret your question. “It’s so dull in here. I thought a little decorating wouldn’t hurt.”

You snorted at that, impossibly undignified but oh so delightful.

Of course Kakashi would stall now that he was here.

But… no. He was usually blunt when it came to bad news. So why was he stumbling through the conversation like he’d never spoken to you a day in his life?

Your face shot back to him at the realization, and he arched a brow under your scrutiny. Could he like you? Could you have a chance?

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, tone much more serious than before.

You’d worried him.

Before you could respond, Gai burst into the room with the second largest bouquet you’d ever seen in your life.

“(Y/n)! I heard Kakashi was with you, so I figured I’d bring you some flowers on my way to challenge Kakashi to a shuriken throwing challenge!” He set the flowers—which balanced precariously due to their immense size—on your bedside table, giving you a dazzling smile and a thumbs up.

Kakashi sighed, “Well, Gai, I was just here talking to her—”

What if you had been interpreting Kakashi’s expressions all wrong? What if he didn’t like you? What if this was all his way of trying to stay friends? Although you hoped for something else, the fear of rejection clawed at your throat like a Shadow Strangle Jutsu. This was your chance. The chance to get out of Kakashi’s rejection. Gai was the perfect opportunity.

“You should go!” You chirped, smiling at them both.

“I… what?”

“That’s the spirit, (Y/n)! It would be a shame for Kakashi to waste his precious youth not enhancing his physical prowess!” Gai dropped to his hands, beginning to do push-ups on the floor of your room.

Ignoring the incredulous look Kakashi sent your way, you wriggled your fingers at his bag. “What volume are you on? I need something to entertain me while you lavish in your youth.”

Kakashi scoffed at your statement before fishing the Make Out Violence novel from his pouch. He dangled it in front of your face. “Is this what you’re after?”

You grinned, snatching the book from his hands. “This just so happens to be the volume I’ve been waiting for.”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, feeling his face grow warm again. “You read Make Out Paradise?”

You smiled sheepishly under his gaze, fingers tracing over the edge of the cover. “Really, it’s all your fault. It was so boring waiting in line to reserve that new edition for you. I needed something to do.”

Because that gift from his soulmate, that gift had been from you.

“And now you’re moving on to book two?”

Embarrassed but pleased, you grinned up at him. “I may have figured out why you’re so hooked on them.”

Kakashi laughed. Just a short huff, but still. Could you get any more perfect?

He was about to respond again when Gai grabbed his shoulder, already taking his ear off as he dragged Kakashi out the door.

You settled in with your—Kakashi’s— book, pleased for the reprieve but missing him all the same.

Delving into Make Out Violence was both a blessing and a curse. You lost track of time as you devoured the pages, and the story was so riveting that you barely thought about Kakashi. Though, every time you took a break, love—that sickening concept you didn’t even want to consider in reality—was at the forefront of your mind. So you dove into the novel again with renewed fervor, completely unaware that Kakashi had hopped through the open window. That is, until a warm voice interrupted your reading.

“Having fun?”

In surprise, you snapped the book shut, embarrassment washing over your expression. “A bit. How was the competition with Gai?”

Kakashi shrugged, dragging the chair he’d occupied that morning so he could sit directly beside your bed. “It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary for Gai.”

“Thanks for the book,” you murmured, passing it back to him. “Maybe I can borrow another one of your copies again sometime.”

He took the novel, setting it down on the bed beside you, only to take your hand in his.

His hands were warm even through the gloves, and his fingertips traced over your skin delicately, as though afraid his touch would somehow hinder your healing.

“(Y/n), we need to talk.”

Despite only holding your hand, he could sense the way your entire body went rigid. “Kakashi, please—”

“(Y/n). I almost lost my soulmate this week.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the faint stinging in your eyes. He was right, you were being selfish. It wasn’t like you were the only one who had a terrible, terrifying week.

You just didn’t want to lose whatever you had with him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you didn’t bother to mask the strain in your voice. He already knew how you felt about him. “We can be friends. Anything you want. I just… I don’t want to lose this. You. I don’t want to lose you. Even though I was being so selfish—”

“I read your message,” he said softly, gaze fixated on the bend of your wrist as your hand flexed in his own. “I’ve read it so many times,” he laughed, strained from holding onto unshed tears. “I’d get it branded on my body if I could. Parts of it, anyway.”

He shook his head, looking back to your face. He didn’t miss the shocked expression, nor did he miss the tears still frozen within your eyes. He shook his head again. “I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been, that it was you and you were here all along. And then you almost died and I…” He paused, gaze still tracing along the bend of your wrist.

“You..?” With bated breath, you watched his eyes, the pull of his lips through the mask, anything to give away what he was thinking.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not after how much you’ve grown to mean to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Was he accepting you or rejecting you? Your breath shuddered over your lips, hand trying not to clench his too tightly. “What does that mean? For us?”

Kakashi leaned forward, pressing a masked kiss to your temple. “It means I want to take you for dinner when you get out of here. And—” he stood, letting go of your hand to walk toward the door. The sun was setting. Visiting hours were coming to a close. “Keep the book. I’d hate for you to be bored while I’m gone.”

With that, he vanished from your room, leaving you to wonder exactly what he wanted from you.

Tossing and turning that night, you couldn’t sleep, not with Kakashi’s words ricocheting through your mind. He cared about you, but he was putting distance between you. He was being aloof, just like the cautious jonin he was, but he was exposing vulnerable aspects of his soul to you.

Everything was so damn complicated, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you’d gotten an answer to the questions burning a hole in your tongue.

It took a few minutes to sit up, but clicking the pen against your wrist had become second nature to you after so many years. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Do you love me?

He scribbled a reply a few minutes later, and you wondered if maybe he was just as terrified as you were, if maybe he couldn’t sleep because he was thinking of you, too.

Not like you want me to, but I could. Someday soon.

The thought sent hope skittering through your chest, but you tamped it down. He hadn’t wanted you. He still probably didn’t want you. You were a liability. You were a danger to his way of life. You were—

Ink stained your hand, trickling down your arm, as you realized the pen had snapped under the strength of your palm.

Without a way to stand on your own, you stared at the drying ink, trying to think of anything other than the fear in your chest, the longing in your heart, the nervousness bubbling under the surface.

Kakashi was stuck to the wall beside your window a few minutes later, staring worriedly through the glass.

An ink stain. Of course, he’d worried something was wrong.

He’d been awake waiting for your reply.

He’d been awake because of you. For you. The thought made you dizzy.

Silently, he slipped through the window, crouching worriedly beside your bed. Whatever pretense of nonchalance he kept up during the day, he dropped it now, just for you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded once, stiffly, mind still racing with the situation. Your friendly banter from the morning disappeared, words dried up as your emotions increased tenfold.

A million thoughts rattled through your mind, but you finally settled on one. “You told Gai you couldn’t love me.”

He cocked his head, confusion furrowing his lone brow.

“You were… it was a training day. You were talking about soulmates. And you told Gai that you couldn’t love a soulmate, so it didn’t matter if you didn’t find them…”

Your eyes were watering, and you looked away until you felt the warmth of Kakashi’s fingers circling your own. His hand clung to yours with renewed fervor, though the interaction still held the same touch of softness that it always held when you were injured. Comfort. It has always been an attempt to comfort you, a silent word of compassion. But now that he knew you were his soulmate, would his gestures hold the same meaning?

His voice, coupled with a gentle tug on your hand, had you vanishing into his gaze yet again.

“Soulmates are supposed to be your other half, right?” he asked softly. “If you’re mine, then maybe the whole soulmate thing can work out.”

Even in the moonlight, you could see the blush peeking over the edge of his mask.

You’d stood beside him through thick and thin. You fussed. You took care of him. You let him take care of you. You bought books for him, and he watched your favorite movies with you. He took you out to your favorite restaurants, and you always paid for him. You trained with the strength of a hurricane, and you always kept him mentally and physically on his toes. But no matter what, you’d both been able to rely on one another. It wasn’t romantic love, not yet, but it was the closest thing Kakashi had ever experienced to romantic love. He was close to being in love with you, and the revelation of the soulmate bond had changed those feelings very little.

He’d always been on the precipice of falling in love with you. Now that he knew you and he were destined for one another, the proposition of falling didn’t seem all that terrible anymore.

“If it’s me, you think it’ll work?”

This time, he flushed fully, pinking to the edge of his hairline. “Yeah. You’re… you’re perfect for me.”

Then, it was your turn to grow bashful under his praise. Perfect. He thought this could work because you were perfect. Not perfect in general. Not perfect to him. But perfect for him, with all of your many imperfections.

He wasn’t in love with you. He wouldn’t say it yet. But he was falling, and that was impossible to ignore.

His words left you lost in another world. All this time, he was rejecting his soulmate for fear they wouldn’t truly be his other half. But you were his other half, and he could see that now. He could love you. He could see a future with you. He could—

Kakashi’s warm voice brought you back to the present, hand still gently squeezing your fingertips. “Did you hurt your hand?”

He cares.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, just a little ink.”

Kakashi stood, striding toward the other side of the room. He washed his hands under the sink before returning a moment later, damp rag in hand. This time, he sat on the edge of your bed, hand enveloping your own.

With slow, delicate movements, he swirled the rag across your skin, stealing the ink from your skin almost as effortlessly as he’d stolen your heart. If only you knew how easily you’d done the same.

“I was so scared you’d hate me when you found out,” you whispered. His hand tensed under your own, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. You continued, “Since I kept talking to you, both as your soulmate and myself, I was so worried you would feel betrayed.”

“I did,” he murmured quietly. “At first.” He flipped your hand, wiping away the stray trails of ink that had escaped from your palm. “When I got the message, I couldn’t believe that you’d… after all this time, it was you. And when we found you almost dead, I thought the world was punishing me again, just like everyone else…” Looking away, he began wiping the remaining ink spots off his hand, leaving your fingers to fiddle with the fabric on his knee. “But on the way back, all I could think about was the things I’d said to you. How could you trust me after I so blatantly pushed you away? How could you look me in the eye and put your faith in me when I hurt you so deeply? The fact that you’d tried to stay by my side after everything, the fact that you put your faith in me to keep you safe, after all the things I’d said to you… you never betrayed me. You’ve been by my side all this time, and I want to be by yours. Completely.”

You squeezed his knee, searching his face for any sign of illusion. “Is this real?” you whispered. “I want this to be real.”

Kakashi smiled, eyes crinkling as he took your hand. You looked dazed and happy as you stared at him; he’d never encountered anyone else so stunning.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, brushing a masked kiss over your forehead, then your eyebrow, and finally your cheek. The pressure sent sparks across your skin, and you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter.

He hovered over your lips, breath ghosting across your skin through the durable material of his mask. You leaned forward, nudging his nose with your own. It was a silent message that you wanted his affection as much as he craved yours.

His breath puffed against your lips once again, and his voice, barely audible, filled the minuscule space between you. “Would you mind closing your eyes?”

Instantly, you complied, proving to him yet again how lucky he was to have met you. You put your faith in him time and time again, and he promised himself in that moment under the moonlight that he would do everything he could to be as compassionate a partner as you had been for him.

One of Kakashi’s hands released from yours, and you faintly heard the brush of fabric against skin. Your stomach fluttered as you felt his breath on your face again, warmer and closer than before.

And then his lips caught against yours, a gentle press against your tingling skin. His hand cupped your cheek, and you melted against him. The scratchy blankets and the faint hoot of owls faded into the background. Everything seemed to disappear except for you and Kakashi and the oh so delicate kiss between you. From the brush of his lips, so soft and tentative against your own, you sighed, leaning into him even more than before.

He groaned when the two of you pulled away. “I can’t believe I waited so long for that. Make Out Paradise really doesn’t do it justice.”

Make Out Paradise also hadn’t prepared him for the way his heart would race at the sound of your laughter.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching toward your bedside table. “Surely there’s a good passage in here somewhere.”

If it meant more time by your side, Kakashi was willing to spend an eternity searching the pages with you, stealing kisses for every paragraph you skimmed through.

In the morning, the nurses were alarmed and horrified to find Kakashi Hatake laying in your bed, one arm wrapped gently around your side, masked nose nuzzled into your neck. On the other side of you, his fingers brushed the cover of a well-worn Make Out Violence novel.

It was indecent, a break of protocol, and, most of all, a shameful mockery of their hospital security. But when you woke to find Kakashi’s nose tucking a little closer into your neck, a mumbled “good morning” slipping into your skin, neither of you could think of a more fitting way to wake up. For the two of you—soulmates, real soulmates—the scenario was somehow perfect.

He wasn’t one to care about looking indecent. You could certainly get behind that.

You welcomed sappy, romantic gestures. Kakashi was willing to privately oblige.

Yeah, you both thought, the soulmate thing could definitely work out.

Masterlist

A/N: Don't mind me casually fandom hopping again. This fic has taken ages to finish, but I'm so excited with the result! I have several more Kakashi fics currently underway, so I hope to get a few of them finished sometime soon! Have a nice day! :)

#kakashi hatake #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #hatake kakashi #hatake kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi x you #hatake kakashi imagine #kakashi hatake fanfiction #anbu kakashi #silent writes

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lostgreekgod · 3 years

Text

delusion: part 2

"a/n: hello, hello! cant say i didnt sniffle a little writing this one.

words: 6539 (the word limit kind of faded away as i got emotional)

pairing: loki x f!reader

warnings: angst, but ends with fluff. but a lot of angst. mentions of death, blood, and fingers. and dead bodies. and hypnotism?

another a/n: thanks to @theaudacitytowrite for this little adventure. cant say I wont miss it.

tagging all those who requested for a part 2: @karushinekomiya @midnights-ramblings @savoryloki

read part 1 here!

37 minutes. That’s how long it took for y/n to have her soul crushed. Not crushed, ripped, and trampled all over repeatedly, until her very essence was terminated, until she was nothing but a bag of bones, muscles, and blood. She fell back into her bed as she watched Loki leave her. Forever. She didn’t matter to the god. Of course she didn’t. why did she ever believe that she would be of any importance to him? A mighty god like Loki, a literal prince! What was some simple Midgardian to a being of such alleviated status? y/n felt something trail down her cheek. She was crying. 4 years, 3 months, and 27 days of not one tear- not even when her parents left her to rot- and it took only 37 minutes for her ex-lover to have her eyes release such a foreign substance. She wasn’t even sobbing, just one lonesome tear trailed past her cheekbone, just one tear that contained all her anger, sadness, and pain. She wished she could cry harder. She wished she could cry her eyes dry, and just spontaneously combust while she was at it.

“Okay since the door is open, I’m assuming you guys aren’t doing anything that will scar me for life-“

Nat. Of all those times she could walk into y/n’s room, she picked today. She faltered as she took in the image of y/n sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and into nothingness.

“y/n?” she whispered as she reached for her friend. Her blood froze as she took in y/n’s face. Pale, like a corpse. y/n still hadn’t acknowledged Natasha’s presence. Gently shaking y/n’s shoulder, Natasha called her name again. Nothing. Was she even breathing? Natasha began to panic. Her only friend- aside from Wanda- What ever happened? y/n was fine when she left training a while ago-

“Nat,” came y/n’s voice, a gentle, hoarse whisper.

Rushing to her side, Nat brushed her hair away from her face. “y/n, what happened?”

Finally, y/n met Natasha’s eyes. The pain was so evident in them, just bared out for the whole world to see. Vulnerable, weak. Natasha had never seen y/n like this. The y/n she knew was strong, so strong.

“y/n,” she breathed, “talk to me.”

“He left me.” Her voice cracked, almost as if it wanted to match with the likeliness of her cracked heart.

“What? Right now?”

y/n nodded, not trusting her voice. If only she could find a release for that awful swell in her throat.

“Hours before a mission?” Natasha could have slapped herself for blurting out something so insensitive. Here laid her friend, literally looking like death, and she was worried about a mission. Sure, they had 4 lives to save, but what good was a near-dead agent in a rescue operation?

Natasha had initially come over to y/n’s room for last-minute mission prep. Yes, they had about 2 hours left for the mission, but she could never be too careful with anything.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

y/n simply continued to stare at the ceiling. Natasha wished she could see what she was thinking. Although she looked like death, Natasha couldn’t help but notice how she had cried just one tear. Anyone could tell that she needed a while to collect herself. Natasha decided to step out, probably approach Fury and issue a last-minute change of plan. She could take Clint and Peter. Not the best replacement, but she could have Peter go in and look for the agents, while she placed Clint at a farther position, as backup for Peter.

“Stay.” y/n breathed out when Natasha began to retract her arms away.

Perhaps Natasha could stay and provide her friend some support, just for a few minutes. She felt awful about how she couldn’t help more, but this was the most she could do at the moment. ‘Missions first, personal problems next. What are you a hero for?’ as Fury would say. Natasha thought of Loki. How she wished she could knee him in the groin and then cause him a slow painful death.

“Coming up with a plan for murder?” y/n asked, somewhat with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Looking up at y/n’s face, Natasha relished the little smile on her face. Heartbroken as y/n was, she was still alive.

“You know me so well.” She snickered.

“Don’t bother Nat. He doesn’t deserve it.” Lies. Although y/n really wished to let Nat murder Loki, her love for him outdid that need.

“y/n, as much as I would like to stay with you like this, I’m afraid I have work to do. I need to find replacements so the mission can still-“

y/n’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? Replacements?”

“Yes, you obviously cannot go on a mission in this state. I mean, have you seen yourself?”

No. No, no, no. The mission was the only distraction she was counting on. If she stayed behind, she would probably end up doing something she never once thought she would.

“I want to come, Nat. I’m fully capable of fighting today.”

“y/n, think about this. Loki- “ Nat paused, concern refilling her when y/n flinched at his name. Rephrasing, she tried again, “he’s going to be there too, and we cannot risk any mistakes.”

“Nat. you know me. You know how I am. Would I let a little squabble in my personal life come in the way of my work?” y/n was probably lying again, she didn’t know how she could manage being in close proximity with the same person who managed to suck out her very soul, but it was so much better than the alternative. If y/n was deemed unfit for the mission, she would have to spend a day doing nothing, and that was not something she was looking forward to.

“Let me partake in the mission, Nat. I promise ill be okay. I just needed a few moments to collect myself.” y/n added a little smile at the end, hoping she could have Natasha fooled into believing that she was fine.

Gauging her response, Natasha studied y/n’s face for a moment. It was obvious she was lying, but Natasha knew better. She had to let y/n do this. Nodding, she relented.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” she asked, squeezing y/n’s shoulder once before standing up.

“Promise.”

He still had 2 hours to burn. 2 hours before he set out on a mission with the person he loved, aka the person whose heart he broke. Once her best friend, Natasha Romanoff found out, she’d probably come straight up to his room to kill him. He would have laughed if he was capable of feeling anything at the moment. He laid in his bed. The mattress was cold, hard, empty. Not even an hour since he left y/n for good, and he was already missing her. Her soft body flush against his chest, as he inhaled her chocolaty scent. The little sighs she subconsciously let out when he wrapped his arms around her. The little twitch in her lips when he whispered something in her ear. It was too late before he realized what he was doing. His heart stopped as his mind screamed at him, you can’t think of her! You don’t deserve to think about her, let alone lay next to her!

Inhaling deeply, he curled up into a ball. How he wished he was someone else. If it weren’t for his past, he and y/n could have lived one of the sweetest lives. Sure, she was a Midgardian, he would still figure out a way to keep her with him forever. If only.

“Top of the morning to you, brother!” Thor’s voice bellowed. Loki groaned internally. It seems, while he was in the middle of his self-deterioration, he forgot to lock his room door.

“What’s gotten you so sullen?” Would he simply leave if Loki didn’t respond?

“Brother. Hello.” Thor said again, shaking Loki’s shoulders. Clearly, he was unaware of Loki’s mental state- but then again, Loki was always like this with everyone. Except his y/n. His y/n? Nope, not anymore. Just y/n.

“Thor.” Loki said, finally acknowledging his cheery brother’s presence.

“Ah, finally. It seems to be getting harder every day to obtain a response from you, brother, hence I must ask- is everything alright?”

Loki wanted to laugh. Hysterically. So, he did. Slow laughter built up in his throat, and before he knew it, his laughter boomed all the way from his stomach. Cold, dry laughter that would run chills up one’s bones. When was the last time he had laughed like this? Out of sorrow? Out of spite for himself?

“Whoa. Am I dreaming? I have never seen you laugh like this, brother. I am now very concerned for you.” Came Thor’s voice, causing Loki’s laughter to die down. Laughter is supposed to make people feel better, right? But the feeling in Loki’s stomach would prove that otherwise. I do not deserve to laugh.

“To what do I owe your presence, dear brother?” Loki was surprised his voice sounded so collected. Almost as if he didn’t just take someone’s heart and stomp all over it. His heart churned as he remembered what he had done. He just wanted to lay in bed and sob.

“It is mission day, brother! We must prepare!” Thor bellowed; his previous question forgotten.

“As it is. Leave. I shall arrive at the quinjet in due time.” Loki hoped Thor didn’t hear how his voice wavered in the slightest.

“Brother- “

“Leave, Thor,” he breathed, his voice cracking at the slightest, “I beg of you.” Maybe Thor didn’t sense the wavering earlier, but he definitely caught this. Besides, Loki never begged.

“What did you do, Loki?” Thor asked gently. It now dawned on him why Loki crawled into a ball. Since they were children, Thor had seen how he would do that every time something had hurt his heart.

Loki scoffed at how Thor questioned his deeds. Of course, Thor would suspect him of some wrongdoing. It was never ‘What happened, Loki?’. Just the accusatory, ‘What did you do now?’. Although, this time, it was his fault. All his fault. Monster.

“y/n,” he said.

“y/n? What happened to y/n?” Loki could feel the sudden anger surge in him. Big, ugly anger- filled with resentment for himself. Why won’t Thor leave him alone? Why can’t he just leave, leave Loki to rot in his room?

“I broke her heart, Thor. I took it, trampled all over it, and left her to scavenge for the shattered bits. Is that enough? Or would you like me to tell you more? Leave, Thor. Leave me alone. I will report at the quinjet for the mission soon.”

Thor realized Loki’s predicament. He knew a situation like this might arise sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected it to occur at such an intensity. His little brother had only begun to experience the joys of love, of living, he had just begun to heal, and his demons were eating at him already.

Sighing, Thor began. “Loki. Look at me.” When Loki didn’t respond, Thor forced him to face him and meet his eyes.

“I may not have a clue about how you deal with most things, but I do know what you are feeling right now, brother. I have known you for many millennia, and no matter how clever and secretive you are, I can always tell how you feel. You feel undeserving of y/n, am I correct?”

Loki inhaled sharply at Thor’s accurate judgment. Was he so predictable?

Almost as if reading his mind, Thor continued, “You aren’t predictable, dear brother. In fact, you are far from it. But it wouldn’t take a fool to see how you feel about y/n. We all see how you look at her, Loki. Like you love her. Like you would do anything for her. But what you don’t realize is that we also see how she looks at you. She loves you, regardless of your scars, your past; she loves you for your heart- she loves you for you, Loki. Anyone who’s incapable of seeing that is simply an ignorant idiot.” Loki’s eyes widened at Thor’s revelation. y/n loved him regardless of what he had done in New York. She loved him, not because he was a god or a prince, but because he was him. Because he was Loki. How could he have been so blind? He wanted to smack himself for being so naïve & insecure. He should have just talked about it to y/n, like she always suggested. ‘Talk to me if you have a problem, Loki. It’s what all couples do. They support each other,’ she had said to him once.

“It isn’t too late. It never is. You can always fix it. Do you understand?” Thor said, bringing Loki back from his thoughts.

Loki needed to sit down and think, and Thor shaking him to elicit a response to his monologue wasn’t really helping.

“Are you done, brother?” Loki asked, his voice and face still monotonous. He needed time with himself. Besides, he never responded to Thor in any other manner. To break that ritual now was to sin.

Thor, however, couldn’t see past Loki’s monotony. Sighing, he said, “I hope you think of my words, Loki. You need y/n, as much as she needs you. Come to terms with that for yourself.”

“Based on what we can tell, they’re going to ask us for the hard drive before they give us Agents Samson, Waller, Bryson, and Stevens- so we’re going to have to stay on our toes,” Hill began, Natasha and y/n listening on intently. Loki wasn’t anywhere to be found, but then he hardly attended the briefings. He simply read case files and had a pretty good idea of what was to be done. “Natasha will be our front. She will deliver the drive, while y/n and Loki go in search of the agents. We need to ensure that we find our men before the decryption of the drive.” She said, looking back at her tablet.

Just then, Loki walked in, looking as pristine and collected as ever. As if he wasn’t running on sleep from a day ago, as if he didn’t have a broken heart weighing him down. y/n’s anger surged. It was infuriating how he wasn’t affected even to the littlest. She put on her mask of indifference perfectly. Last night didn’t happen. Loki was simply her coworker, and she was going to have this mission take place perfectly.

“Um, Agent Hill? Is it possible for me to take Agent Romanoff’s position?” y/n’s voice rang before Hill could give further instructions. Loki noticed how y/n looked calm and ready. Ready, to pounce like the lioness she was. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. Usually, when they met up at briefings, she’d give him the tiniest of smiles, but the sparkle in her eyes would speak more than what they could converse in a lifetime. That one moment always made his morning. He wouldn’t deny the sting he felt in his chest when she asked Agent Hill to change her position.

Agent Hill looked into her tablet and frowned. “I’m sorry Agent y/l/n, but this is the best way we can proceed while ensuring minimal casualties. Loki’s seidr, accompanied by your stealth will help in a faster rescue. Not many people are capable of resisting Natasha’s sweet-talking, so it is best for her to be on the receiving end of the exchange.” she said, winking at Natasha; grinning as Nat returned the wink. “And guys, a quick note. We don’t know these people; we don’t know how they work. If in case shit goes down, call for backup. We’ll be in ASAP. You have a 60-minute time bridge to be in and out. If you’re not out by then, we’re coming in. Understood?”

Quickly sheathing her disappointment, y/n nodded in agreement, “Affirmative, ma’am.” It seemed as if she had to face him after all. But no matter, she reminded herself. I am a hero. An Avenger. My people before myself.

“Alright guys, let's move in. I will enter through the main, you both through the back doors. Wait for my signal, and as soon as you receive it, go. Do not waste your time. I assume you have memorized the floor plans?” Natasha asked, putting a gun into her thigh holster. y/n nodded as Loki simply stared.

“Go on then, good luck.”

Loki used his magic to put some sort of cloaking around himself and y/n as they walked quietly towards the backdoors of the abandoned silo. The rival organization had set up a temporary location there for the exchange, and their current invisibility enabled them to walk comfortably.

Loki took a deep breath. It was unwise to have a conversation, nevertheless an intimate one during a stealth mission, but he had to talk to her. Let her know that he was sorry.

“y/n, I have to talk to you about earlier,” he began, looking for a reaction in her.

He waited for a moment. Several moments.

“y/n.” he tried again.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion in her.

“I’m sor- “

“Don’t. Don’t for one second, think you can talk to me. Not after what you did.” She sneered at him, fresh fury blazing in her eyes like Greek fire. Loki flinched at her sudden reaction. He never flinched. “You do not get to talk to me after I bared myself open to you like I did, only to have you scoff at me, and deem me worthless.”

y/n was now angry with herself. It enraged her how Loki was able to elicit such a response from her with 3 mere sentences. She had to stay more collected. Ignorance, she decided. The best choice of weapons.

Loki decided to attempt again later. He could not give up on his love. He could still hear Thor telling him about how he could fix it. Loki used his seidr to pick the lock on the back door. So far, they couldn’t see anyone. No snipers, no guards, nothing. He ignored the chills that ran up his back.

y/n had her gun at the ready. It didn’t matter if they were invisible, there could be heat sensors. She wasn’t going to let the little kerfuffle from a few minutes ago faze her. Her skin rose in goosebumps as she sensed the eerie silence. Something was wrong.

On Natasha’s command, they moved in, both walking on guard in perfect formation. y/n in front of Loki, with her gun out, while Loki stayed behind her with his daggers in his hands. They walked around each other in perfect sync as they scanned their surroundings. They moved past the pitch-dark corridors as y/n tried to look for signs of an ambush. So far, they had to have encountered at least a few guards. The plan was to silently take them out as they continued to look for the kidnapped agents. y/n looked back at Loki and turned away before he could make eye contact with her. His heart pumped steadily, his blood filling with adrenaline in response to the suspicious silence. They approached another door, and based on the floor plans, they had to go through the room ahead. The only problem was that it was a very big, and possibly empty one. Some sort of a torture chamber, y/n figured, from the lack of furniture and other basic things. She cracked the door open. A single chair. That’s all she found in the center of the room. Was that blood? y/n’s muscles froze as she noticed the table with numerous surgical tools- no, torture devices. A little knife-like object laid in a steel tray, covered in blood. And fingers. So many fingers. y/n gasped at the image in front of her. The junior agents had been tortured in the very room they were in. She looked around for active cameras. 4 in each corner of the room. She was thankful for the invisibility curtain Loki’s magic was able to provide. Suddenly, Loki was tapping at her shoulder, trying to get her attention. He frantically pointed at a bundle in the corner of the room. White sheets. Drenched in blood. She moved towards it slowly. Please don’t be what I think it is. Please.

Uncovering the flimsy cotton, her eyes widened. “The Agents.” She breathed, meeting Loki’s eyes. He looked as mortified as she did. All four of them were dead. Tortured, left to bleed out slowly. It’s a trap. y/n realized, her blood curdling up. Only then did she notice the tripwire around the sheets. We’ve been tricked.

“y/n!” came Nat’s voice in her earpiece. “y/n- it’s a t-t-trap! Crack. G-get out of t-there! N-n-now Crack. R-r-rendezvous at-t b-back- Crack.” not even the static in Nat’s transmission could have left them confused about what they had gotten into.

In a blink, there were lights, everywhere. Red lights, lasers, sirens, noise resonating all over. They had been spotted.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here,” Came a deep, cold voice from behind them. A man in a white coat, followed by a woman who seemed like an assistant- who was followed by at least a dozen men who looked like SWAT agents, except they had much more brandished weapons. The 2 doors in the room shut with a bang, leaving Loki and y/n trapped; with 4 dead agents, and the many people who probably wanted them dead- but not before having their fun.

“Agent y/n, and Loki, the God of Mischief.” He sneered at them.

y/n pointed her gun at him while Loki drew out his daggers and flipped them. That would have had y/n swooning on a good day, but not today.

“The one and only,” Loki stated. “Now let us through, or it will be the end of our short-timed pleasantries.” he sneered, adrenaline flooding in his veins, causing his green irises to turn almost completely black.

“Now, now. There’s no reason to be so hostile,” the man said, his mouth twisting into some crooked sort of smile. “After all, I am sure you do not have the capability to fight past all of my soldiers.”

He was right. Loki’s seidr could probably take out a few, and y/n’s ammunition a few more, but not before they were electrocuted or whatever those hi-tech weapons were capable of. She needed to contact backup. And fast.

“Let us out, unworthy scum. We’ve given you the intel anyway.”

“Behave, Agent y/n. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to fall for a corrupted drive?”

Loki wanted to smash his teeth in. How dare he talk to his beloved like that?

“And you are?” y/n asked the man, changing the subject and trying to stall him. The drive plan had failed, which meant that Natasha could be in trouble. Besides, they needed to come up with a new plan to get out without any more trouble. Not even 10 minutes in, and they were already cornered.

“Fred. I am also a doctor.” The grey-haired man said. y/n would have laughed if she wasn’t already upset and running on almost no sleep.

“.. your name is Fred?” she asked, silently trying to reach for her walkie.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, but I was expecting something more ... traditional. Something that would suit that malice in your eyes a little better,” She stalled. “Something more Russian. You look very Russian.”

All Loki could do was stare at y/n with a prideful smile when he realized what she was trying to do. His little lioness, so daring and clever.

Grinning like a madman, Fred turned to his assistant. “I like this one. Although, what’s all this about being Russian? I just don’t get it.”

y/n would have responded if not for the dart in her neck.

“Hey!” she felt the poison running through her veins in no time. Her sight faltered, her own voice sounding distorted.

“No!” Rang Loki’s panicked voice. His heart fought against his ribcage. What had he done? If only he hadn’t gestured at the bundle, if only he told y/n it was better to leave the moment they spotted it. They knew the junior agents were dead the moment they saw it, what was the need for him to have y/n uncover the sheets?

“Don’t worry, Mr. Laufeyson. It is only a sedative. Your girlfriend will be fine.” The doctor chortled.

It was now y/n’s turn to freak out. “How did ... how did you…” she mumbled; her eyes widening at the colors that brimmed in her vision. Her heart calmed to a surprising rate, a sloppy smile on her lips as she sank onto the floor.

“Please, Agent y/n. Like I said, I’m not stupid. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the way you look at each other?”

Thor’s voice rang in Loki’s ear. ‘It wouldn’t take a fool to see how you feel about y/n, Loki.’ He would have smiled if it weren’t for their current state.

“Mmm,” y/n hummed. Understandable, she wanted to say. “Un- un- under the sea.” She managed, with a goofy smile and a giggle bubbling from her chest.

Chuckling at y/n, the doctor said, “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

That was all Loki heard before everything went black.

He gasped loudly as he woke up. Where was he? He scanned his surroundings and realized he was in a lab-like settlement. No doors, just 2 bullet-proof glass windows behind which a number of doctors and agents stood. Along with Fred. His heart sped up as he took in y/n. Strapped onto a bed with numerous wires attached to her head. She was still unconscious from the sedative. He pulled at his arms only to notice he was shacked to the walls.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Laufeyson!” Loki heard a cheery voice through the speakers. “Shall we begin?” Fred asked, pausing for a few moments as Loki realized he was waiting for a response.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his mind numb. How was he going to get out? Where was Agent Romanoff?

“Ah, so glad you asked. This nice lady here,” he gestured, “is Doctor May. She specializes in hypnotism.”

What did they need a hypnotist for? If they were planning to hypnotize Loki, they were in for a disappointment because that really wouldn’t work on him.

Looking at Loki’s expression, the doctor smiled. “Don’t worry, it's not for you! It's for our dear y/n here! Doctor May here has so skillfully come up with a serum that we can test on y/n. We’re going to turn her against you, watch an epic battle- to the death; and if she survives, hooray! We’ll have her rejuvenate and train before using her to infiltrate SHIELD!” he cooed. His tone did not go with the threats he was spewing. "Oh, I also forgot to mention, we're giving her superstrength, just for the sake of it. see what happens."

Loki’s blood turned to ice. “What if she doesn’t survive?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Oh well, if she doesn’t, we’ll harvest your powers and whatnot! But not to mention we will be very disappointed in her.” The doctor said, frowning playfully.

Loki’s chest seemed to cramp up onto itself. He tried to pick the locks on his cuffs with his seidr.

“Did you really think we’d let you have seidr while in captivity? Gosh, SHIELD. Keep thinking I’m stupid. See what that does for you.” Fred mumbled, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“No! No. Fred. You do not want to do this,” His silver tongue was the only thing he could rely on now. He couldn’t let them hurt his y/n. Ignoring the sweat running down the side of his head, he donned a sweet smile and crooned, “let her go. I am far more powerful than she is. If you release her, I promise to submit to you, causing you no difficulty. My seidr and my other strengths. All yours. I will give you any intel you need.” He promised, his nerves slightly betraying him. That’s it. Take the offer, Fred. Let y/n go. It’s my fault she’s here anyway.

“Hmm, let me think,” Fred said, placing his index on his chin. Uh oh. “How about no?” he snapped, quickly letting that carefree smile adorn his face again. Loki’s smile faltered. “Unfortunately, your proclamation isn’t as fun as my idea, Mr. Laufeyson.” No seidr, no backup. He was going to have to fight the one he loved.

“May, commence operation Omega!” Fred yelled, bouncing on his toes. “I’m so excited!” he yelled, his arms flailing around. Loki couldn’t help but notice how the man’s appearance did not suit his personality even by a percent. Creepy.

He watched as y/n’s body started shaking. She was seizing. His stomach dropped as the horror registered in his mind. The wires suddenly detached from her head with a sickening pop as she opened her eyes. Her e/c irises now glowed bright blue. Like electricity in her fibers. Loki’s chest clenched at y/n’s foreign expression. How long had it been since they got in? Surely Agent Hill must have realized something was wrong by now?

He flinched as the shackles around his hands clicked open. He was incapable of fighting y/n, let alone killing her. He couldn’t stand the idea of landing his fist on her.

“Ah, hello? Subject 7? Can you hear me?” Fred’s annoying voice crooned.

“Yes,” y/n said, her face devoid of any expression. Almost as if she was a robot. Loki’s skin rose up in goosebumps as he heard her cold emotionless voice. This was not his y/n.

“Good,” the doctor beamed. “Destroy.” That’s it. One simple command for y/n to turn to Loki and snarl at him.

“y/n,” Loki whispered. No, no, no. He felt tears prickling in his eyes. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than lay a hand on her.

“You’re pretty. But I’m going to kill you.” y/n smiled, her mouth letting out a little giggle. That wasn’t her giggle. It was cold, malevolent.

“Doctor May, what was that? It was cute, but I don’t remember asking for that?” Fred asked, frowning at the lady. Stuttering, she said, “I-I believe the serum hasn’t taken complete effect, sir. Part of Subject 7’s personality i-is still accessible to her.”

“Aw,” Fred groaned. “Do I have to kill you, Doc?” he asked the lady, whose eyes were now wide as saucers.

“N-no, sir. I assure you it won’t be a p-problem. I will have it fixed b-before administering the next dose.”

“Okay!” Fred smiled again.

Loki overheard their little conversation. Could he still reach for his y/n, which was buried underneath the cold exterior, courtesy of the serum?

“y/n,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. She didn’t respond, but simply charged at him with a growl.

Loki dodged her, putting a safe distance between the two of them before trying again as his mind screeched at him. All your fault! Why did you let y/n uncover the sheets? You knew it was dangerous, you knew they were dead!

“y/n, it's me,” Loki said softly, trying to get her to look at him. He took a step towards her when he saw that she wasn’t going to lunge at him.

“y/n … I know you’re in there.”

Loki thought he saw a flicker in her eyes.

“Doc! What’s going on?” Fred exclaimed; his face glued to the glass.

Loki decided to get closer. “My love,” the words sounded foreign to his ears, no doubt, but it had never felt so right.

“Come back to me,” He whispered, reaching for her; tears obscuring his vision. “Please.”

y/n lunged at him; a perfect roundhouse directed towards his face. But Loki’s reflexes had always been faster. She circled him, like a predator assessing its prey.

Fred banged at the glass. “Subject 7! We do not have all day!” He yelled, and now y/n was rushing towards Loki. She swung her fist at his jaw as Loki dodged her, only to receive another punch on his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he glanced at y/n, his eyes speaking words he never had a chance to say. Rubbing his neck, he said in the gentlest voice he could muster, “Please, my love. You do not have to do this,” he paused, gauging y/n’s reaction. He noticed how her movements faltered every time he spoke in that gentle voice. “It’s okay, y/n,” he whispered, his eyes holding hers as he reached to cup her face. Everything slowed down when clarity sank into Loki, chilling his bones like ice on a hot plate. He now knew what he had to do.

“It’s me, look at me, my love,” he breathed, his eyes searching hers. Flicker. His y/n was fighting underneath the shadow that had taken over her body.

“I love you,” He whispered to her. 3 words, just 3 words to let her know how sorry he was. To let her know he never meant any of it. to let her know, that it was all his fault.

“I love you, my darling, I always have; I’m so sorry this ever- “ Loki’s voice muffles down as the next event unfolds.

She’s suddenly kissing him, she’s kissing him like she’s never kissed before- raw and hungry- and for one moment, for one moment y/n's emerged from the shadow of the serum- to tell him, tell him that it was okay. That she understood. One kiss to let him know that she’s forgiven him, one kiss to let him know that she loved him too. Loki’s eyes widened as her warm lips held onto his like her life depended on it- except this time, it did- and he was kissing her back before he knew it. he wrapped his arm around her, his other arm knotting in her hair to support the force of the kiss- and he’s crying, he's crying as her fingers tangle in his hair, he’s crying like he’s never cried before- the tight wraps around his past wounds ripping open, he’s crying like he’s never going to experience this feeling ebbing from the depths of his heart ever again--

And he’s suddenly on the floor with y/n’s hands around his throat, her eyes electric blue again, a menacing smile playing on her lips.

“Yes! Yes!” Came Fred’s voice. “Finish him, Subject 7!”

y/n stared at Loki, her hands lowly tightening around his throat. He could only stare back at her, his tears running silently as he placed his hands around y/n’s wrists.

“Do it, y/n. Do it. I did not deserve you anyway,” he said as he choked on a sob, “but I just want you to know- I have always, always loved you; and I wish last night never happened. I wish for you to never, ever experience the pain you felt last night, I wish for you to be treated like the queen you are- “ he paused, meeting her eyes, a thousand emotions swimming in his mind; making it impossible for him to speak the numerous confessions he was attempting to make.

“I love you, y/n, and I regret not believing you when you said you did too.” He choked out before shutting his eyes and accepting his fate. He embraced death like an old friend, waiting for it to swoop in and steal his soul. He waited for that cold feeling of release, of being free. He would die for her instead.

“I love you too. I never stopped,” He heard a sweet voice whisper. He opened his eyes to y/n’s e/c ones. She had fought the serum. Her lips quivered as tears brimmed in her eyes, freely falling down her cheeks, as Loki’s hands reached for her cheeks. “I love you,” she said, and everything blows apart as the building explodes.

// a week later//

y/n opened her eyes to 2 smiling faces, groaning at the throb in her head. She noticed the other Avengers next to her, all smiling, grateful that she was okay. She was in a hospital bed.

“Welcome back!” Natasha and Steve yelled, causing y/n to shut her ears.

“Guys! Stop yelling!” y/n manages to say before furrowing her eyebrows and shutting her eyes.

“How long was I out?” she asked, her eyes still shut.

“a week,” Sam replied from her left.

“Whoa.” She whispered, trying to recollect the events that had unfolded.

She froze as the images came rushing back to her. She tried to kill Loki. Then she kissed him. ‘I love you,’ he had said, and the building had exploded on their fragile reconciliation.

“Loki!” she gasped, sitting back up, her eyes flailing around to look for him. Was he dead? Please don’t let him be dead.

“y/n! Calm down! You have 3 cracked ribs, not to mention the messed-up head, thanks to serum Omega. We need to make sure it still isn’t in your bloodstream,” Nat says, holding her down.

“Is Loki okay?” she asks Natasha, her heart in her throat.

“I'll bring him to you,” the red-haired agent smiles at her, before turning to the door. “Stay put,” she calls behind her.

“What happened to Fred?”

“Who?” Steve asked quizzically.

“That weird doctor.”

“Oh, probably died from the explosion. Our people are there as we speak, y/n, we’ll find out soon. Feel better, we’ll tell you the rest later.” he said with a warm smile.

How did they manage to get out? Sure, she was knocked out after the explosion, but she did witness the intensity. It would have been impossible to extract them from underneath the rubble- unless--

“y/n?” Loki’s tentative voice came from behind the infirmary’s door a few moments later. She looked at him, searching for any injuries he might have sustained. Loki ran up to her, grabbing her face, “You’re okay.” He said, kissing her gently. He snickered as y/n’s hand crawled up into his hair, pressing his lips into hers harder.

“So are you,” she smiled, looking at him with a look of pure adoration.

“What happened?” she asked Natasha, her fingers looping into Loki’s as he sat next to her.

“I escaped, noticed that you both hadn’t made it to the rendezvous point only to encounter more agents, fought my way out, called for backup, and the rest is history. The question is, what happened to you? We got only Loki’s version. Gotta hear yours,” she says, all in one breath.

“Perhaps give us a while before that?” Loki asks her, Natasha gasping slightly at the little smile on his face.

“Careful Loki, smile any wider and people might think y/n’s making you go soft,” she joked and turned around to leave, gesturing at the team to follow.

“Hey you,” y/n whispered, her index tracing Loki’s jaw. He leaned down to envelop her in yet another kiss, this one sweeter than the best Asgardian mead, filled with promises of tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss when her fingers knotted in his hair.

“I love you," Loki whispered, thanking whoever that he could say it to her again.

"Forever?” y/n asked, her voice still hazy from the kiss.

“Always.”

112 notes · View notes

sugarstickery · 3 years

Text

An Allegory Within the Dark

This is an unofficial fan translation of chapter 3 of Jujutsu Kaisen’s first light novel, Departing Summer and Returning Autumn by Gege Akutami and Ballad Kitaguni.

Summary: Mahito stumbles across an unusual human in his search for a place to call ‘home’.

Featured characters: Primarily Mahito, with brief appearances from Hanami and Jogo, along with an unnamed novel-only character

Timeline: An undefined time prior to the events of the Vs. Mahito arc

An Allegory Within the Dark

If you want to hide a tree, you go to the middle of a forest.

So if you’re looking to hide a person, you should go to the middle of a city.

Following that logic, it makes sense for curses worthy of being the true humans to set up their hideout in the city center.

Cursed spirits would actually have it much easier if they spent their time in places crammed with fear where humans and the like can’t live: deep in the mountains or in densely wooded areas, for example.

But for a group of curses plotting to overturn the current era, a base in the heart of the city is crucial for invasion and seeking refuge. That being the case, it’s also better to try aiming for a location with a high concentration of negativity.

Anyway, that’s how some employees from a scam business ended up massacred.

“This really is the simplest way to handle it. All of them nest together up here away from the public eye, so clean-up is a cinch.”

Jogo laughed while trampling the burning remains of a corpse underfoot.

Roughly two minutes ago, there were about six humans in the office.

The curses considered a few ways to handle dispatching them but ultimately decided that burning was the fastest, so Jogo quickly turned them to ash.

“But humans used this building, didn’t they? Won’t it be a problem if there’s property management or something?” Mahito asked, poking at an ostentatious vase displayed on a shelf.

Apparently the concern was unnecessary. Jogo tried to answer with a grin, but a nonsensical language cut into their conversation.

“⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⎎⍜⋏⏁ ⟟⌇ ☊⎍⌇⏁⍜⋔”

“Oi, bastard—! Stop talking, Hanami! It makes my head itch!”

Though Hanami spoke in nothing but meaningless sounds, the intention behind it was somehow transmitted directly into the minds of others. This was usually unpleasant and it irritated Jogo.

When he noticed Mahito still looking his way, Jogo continued to explain despite his frustration.

“Hmph... What? There’s no need to worry. I asked Geto what his aim was, and it looks like these were the kind of underhanded humans who got involved in plenty of unethical things.”

“Hm. So basically, other humans won’t actually come close if they get that curse stuff happens here.”

“Exactly. Any respectable, straight-laced human would never come near this place under normal circumstances. It’s the perfect city-center hideout.”

“Is it really?”

“...What is it, Mahito? You don’t seem satisfied. What’s there to worry about? It would put us in a great position to start preparing our plans for the city, and it’s great for a quick escape if we need one.”

“Mm... No, you’re right, but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“It’s just... This room is really tacky.”

“Huh?”

With a pop, a small eruption burst forth from Jogo’s head. His narrowed eye looked like a painting of a gently sloping mountain.

“It’s tasteless, isn’t it? Stuff like that gaudy gold lion in the sparkly jar or this cheap-looking sideboard.”

“What are you even saying?! I have no idea what’s gotten into you lately, but you’ve been so annoying!”

“Movies.”

“Movies? Are those overly-embellished portrayals of humans really that interesting?”

“They’re references for my studies on the structure of a soul,” Mahito replied with an ambiguous smile.

If humans could see him, they might be reminded of a proud elementary schooler discussing the knowledge they gained from a book report.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t find the stories that interesting either, but I don’t hate the sense of visual aesthetics that humans have. That said, this room has too many useless colors and really hurts the eyes.”

“Such bratty, selfish complaints... We can just burn or toss anything that’s an eyesore.”

“No need, I’m going to look for a place to settle down on my own.”

“What? Ah, hey— Where are you going?”

Not waiting for Jogo’s response, Mahito waved over his shoulder and vanished like smoke or a gentle breeze, off to who-knows-where.

“Geez… Maybe it’s because he was born from human fear, but even knowing he’s a curse, he tends to be way too frivolous. Watching movies and all…”

While grumbling out his complaints, Jogo took a pipe from his shirt pocket to put in his mouth.

Unlike human cigarettes, this wooden pipe somehow imitated a screaming face when smoked.

“But that Mahito...”

Jogo spun around to survey the room with his one eye.

“...He says that, but it doesn’t seem tacky to me.”

“⊑⏃⋏⏃⋔⟟”

“I already said shut up!!”

You can only find a hideaway that suits you by looking for it on your own.

Mahito wandered through the city with this in mind. He alternated left and right turns on a whim any time he happened across a traffic light, walked alongside stray cats, or sometimes simply went in the direction of clouds that he liked the shape of.

While traveling along his chosen path like this, he keenly felt just how laughable humans were.

Though the city belongs to them, no one walking in and out of it was more free than Mahito.

Everyone seemed constrained. They were captured by ties of obligation and vanity, living in a wide, deep, big city with such narrow outlooks.

Unaffected by the enormous sky sprawling out endlessly overhead, they box themselves into their concrete city with their own hands and limited perception of souls, passing the time by whittling their lives down further and further.

Mahito even learned the words for some of these human concepts to study later.

For example, they call it “morals”. They call it “common sense”. They call it “emotion”.

But a human soul isn’t anything more than the resulting mechanical movement that comes from external stimuli.

And so they let go of freedom and live tightly controlled lives, fearing the judgmental stares of others, stooping to flattery for society’s approval.

“...What a waste.”

Everyone is bound by ostentatious shackles of their own making.

That’s why these curses know there has to be a change, as far as humans go. Those who cannot do anything but crawl in such an unsightly way under the magnificent sky must hand over the world.

Mahito thinks. He ponders over any topic his soul turns toward. He walks wherever the wind blows him.

Before long, the time had come for the sun to descend in the western sky. He could hear the burbling of a river.

“Not bad.”

The hideaway Mahito found was under a bridge, across the river.

It was a tunnel, vacant and huge like a temple.

Pipes ran along the inside, clear water flowing from them and into the river. It looked like wastewater was drained here after being purified, so there wasn’t much discomfort.

Apart from the humid air and the moss that emitted a peculiar grassy smell, it seemed wide enough to splash and jump around in, and the concrete’s cool texture provided a refreshing welcome.

There’s a season that curses are partial to.

Negative human emotions accumulate from the end of winter to spring, and it could be said that the rainy season served as the so-called peak of their ripening.

The inside of the damp tunnel held the same atmosphere. There was a gloominess there in the dim lighting that could easily nurture fear. It gently moistened Mahito’s skin; he felt cozy.

“Yeah, let’s stay here.”

When choosing a place to live, it’s best to trust your instincts.

Perhaps humans should do the same, but what they can’t readily do, Mahito can decide without hesitation. If he’s free when he wanders, then he’s free when he settles down, too.

Mahito stepped into the tunnel in good spirits, knocking solidly on the concrete floor.

The soul’s metabolism smooths out in comforting spaces. But…

“Huh?”

After walking a short distance, Mahito discovered “that”.

He initially thought it was some garbage or something that a human illegally dumped. But before long, it became clear that it was a sack-like silhouette leaning against a wall.

At first glance, it perhaps looked like a mere collection of rags.

But the shape of a soul was there.

—Ah, it’s alive.

Yes, just as Mahito had realized, it was a human.

The tattered clothing and wildly overgrown hair and beard hid his shape, but it was undoubtedly a human.

His exact age wasn’t clear from his outward appearance, but whether he was 60 or over 80, he looked elderly.

Mahito thought it was a bit of a pain.

There was already a visitor living in his precious hideaway.

Of course, taking care of this issue would be an easy matter for him. But he felt the same discomfort as a homeowner finding a stain on the wall of their new house.

‘Anyway, if I’m gonna deal with this, let’s get it done,’ Mahito thought, reaching out toward the old man with a little sigh.

Whereupon, unexpectedly, the old man spoke.

“...I’m sorry if you’re displeased.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what you came here to do, but... I’m sure your mood has soured after stumbling across the home of an old fool. But I have nowhere to go, either.”

Mahito was a little taken aback.

The old man was clearly aware of Mahito and turned toward him to speak. This wouldn’t be surprising at all if he was talking to a fellow human.

But Mahito is a curse.

The eyes of a mere human can’t clearly perceive cursed spirits.

It isn’t impossible, though. If humans are born with cursed energy, it isn’t unusual for them to be aware of the existence of curses.

What caught Mahito’s attention was this old man’s lack of ‘eyes’.

As in, he had no eyes in the physical sense. Instead, in the empty sockets that once held them, there was a burn scar that was painful just to look at.

Even sorcerers rely on their eyes to view the world.

They depend on their field of vision to spot cursed spirits. That’s why so many of them use sunglasses and the like to conceal their line of sight, as it helps them remain unaffected. It also helps them maintain a balanced mind when their daily life overflows with curses.

However, that was not the case for this old man.

“Can you see me?”

When Mahito asked, the old man answered with a gentle nod.

“At the very least, I can feel you.”

“But you can’t see the world?”

“Naturally. That includes the scenery, what you look like, what color your skin is, and even your gender. Even so... I know you’re there.”

“...Are you a sorcerer?”

“Most likely not.”

“You’re being pretty vague, even though you’re talking about yourself.”

“For a long time, that’s what I’ve been the most vague about.”

Mahito began to notice something strange.

He can feel the shape of a human’s soul.

He knows the movement of a soul’s metabolism, whether it takes on a harsh form, withers weakly, or flickers with liveliness.

However, this old man’s soul was hardly metabolizing.

It was like a meadow with no wind, or a still sea, or the blue sky on a cloudless day.

No, it would be most appropriate to compare it to a stone.

His soul was like a stone on the side of the road.

No fancy ornamentation, no polishing. Unmoving, unwavering.

Calmly passing the time while growing moss.

That was the shape this old man’s soul had.

No matter how calm or how old a person is, the human soul always flickers.

As the years stack up, common sense doesn’t disappear, selfishness isn’t eliminated, and fear isn’t conquered.

But this old man was different.

The old man’s soul was at peace. He had sincerely accepted that everything would decay with time, but that didn’t mean he would throw his life away. It was truly similar to the way in which nature existed.

It was Mahito’s first time meeting anyone like this.

For a while, the tunnel became something of a den for Mahito.

He had gotten a hammock from somewhere, which he hung up between the pipes. He lounged in it and read, passing the time in comfort.

In a movie about life on a deserted island, a human who was desperate to survive made a hammock. Through it, he was able to regain a little peace of mind.

Since it looked surprisingly comfortable, Mahito gave it a try and it worked out nicely.

The arguments and fights of the outside world didn’t reach the inside of the tunnel, where only the burble of the small stream could be heard.

It provided a good environment for soothing the soul.

While leisurely absorbing new knowledge from his books, Mahito would sometimes absentmindedly gaze up toward the ceiling, or glance down at the corner where the old man squatted, looking as he always did.

“How do you live like this? It’s pretty mysterious...”

In the end, Mahito didn’t kill the old man.

It’s important to note that the old man wasn’t much of a hindrance for him. If it would make no difference whether he was there or gone, then Mahito figured getting rid of him would be more of a hassle.

The old man was just there, even quieter and more carefree than a stray cat.

Mahito knew the phrase: ‘man is only a reed, but he is a thinking reed’.

He found it hilarious and also genuinely liked it. It simultaneously boasted about being trapped in thoughts of the soul, while also showing that humans were frail as weeds.

It could be said that the old man was an unthinking reed, then.

No – he was even quieter than that; more like grass or some type of moss. In any case, the old man said nothing and simply carried on living.

Every now and then, the old man would suddenly shuffle off elsewhere, but he would be back to sleep before Mahito knew it. He was surely getting food from somewhere, but he never seemed to gain weight. If he lost any while in the tunnel, he would eat just enough to gain it back when he left, and no more.

It was a style of living so close to nature that it seemed more like a phenomenon than a life.

“That’s why I seriously wonder if you can see me.”

The suspicion was uttered suddenly.

Mahito wasn’t exactly speaking to the old man. Rather, his tone was that of someone talking to themselves.

But when he noticed that the old man’s soul didn’t waver even after hearing him speak, Mahito finally addressed him directly.

“How long have you been here?”

“Let’s see… I think a few winters have passed, but I’m not sure,” the old man muttered, his reply quiet.

Since they were two beings with souls who were aware of each other’s existence, Mahito felt it would be more natural to chat every now and then.

“Don’t you get bored?”

When spoken to in a soft tone, the old man also responded softly.

“I’ve forgotten how to be bored.”

“How do you usually pass the time here?”

“I don’t do anything, really. I just listen to the sounds.”

“The sounds?”

“The sounds of the water flowing.”

“...Is it fun?”

“It’s not. But I forgot how to have fun a long time ago, too, so it’s not an issue.”

So it was like that. Mahito nodded.

If this old man could no longer even feel the pain of boredom, perhaps his soul was worn down.

Humans of the city gasp and struggle through the hurt of not having enough, yet always wish for more even when they get what they wanted. Their souls grew fat and tattered through the rich accumulation of these negative feelings.

So in that regard, from Mahito’s point of view, the old man had a thin soul – but it could be said that was clever of him.

A fat and full human soul leads to a fear of losing the gratifying present moment, which in turn gives birth to curses.

“It’s hard to get your attention. What’s your name?”

When Mahito asked, the old man looked into the air for just a second.

“I left that behind. You can call me whatever you like.”

“There are humans without names? Even curses have them.”

“If you don’t meet other people, you don’t need a name.”

“Isn’t it a problem if you don’t have one?”

“When is it a problem?”

“When it’s time to be buried.”

“I don’t need a gravestone with a name. I can just be stuffed into a common grave, or maybe I’ll rot undiscovered and return to the earth that way.”

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“…Was that a joke?”

The old man didn’t laugh. Neither did Mahito.

But Mahito had the feeling that this old man was childish, contrary to his appearance. His lack of attachments created an unsullied disposition that might make him younger than he looked.

His interest in the old man simmered and surged.

It was his first time seeing this type of human, his first time feeling a soul with this form. For Mahito, this was a rare specimen.

What kind of path must life take to make this kind of human? What would be the most intriguing shape to make with a soul like that? What uses could one plan for such a person?

And what kind of curse would be born from them?

With these questions fueling his curiosity, Mahito started to chat with the old man.

“Why are you here?”

“…Why?”

The old man looked up toward the ceiling through his unruly bangs.

His eye sockets were empty, but it seems like even without sight, humans tended to stare into nothing when they were thinking. One curiosity of Mahito’s was satisfied.

“You weren’t born and raised in this tunnel, right? As a human, you must have been in that noisy city.”

“Ah, that. I lived a fairly busy life a long time ago. I inherited the house, worked, made money and supported my family.”

“So you were a human in a pretty good position.”

“In human society, yes. Looking back on it now, it was all meaningless.”

“So... what, you basically started living in a hole like a mouse, then?”

“I did that because I lost everything that I needed up to then. I lost my social status, my money, and a place where I belonged.”

“You lost it all?”

“I was tricked. That’s when my eyes were burned, so I lost my sight then, too.”

Mahito incidentally recalled the company Jogo attacked.

“You got tricked, huh? You seem pretty good-natured about it.”

“That’s because I didn’t care much about being tricked.”

“You’re a weird old man. Is this some kind of hobby where you get your kicks when people deceive you or something?”

“I’m just saying, that’s the kind of person I was back then. The ones who tricked me were my old friend and my wife. My eyes were burned in that so-called “accident”¹; they claimed I wasn’t of sound mind and body after that, and under the guise of caring for me, they stole everything I worked for before I knew it.”

“That’s a pretty flashy way to trick someone, isn’t it? You’re talking like it’s someone else’s problem.”

“Those two loved each other, and I was loved by no one. Knowing that was more monumental to me than being tricked.”

It was hard for Mahito to interpret what the old man said.

Love. Is it really such an important word?

It’s said that curses born from love exist in the world. It seems there are tremendously powerful ones among them, too. But Mahito doesn’t understand how the mechanism by which people love each other is any different from a cat’s attachment to a blanket.

Still, Mahito knows for a fact that people are obsessed with it.

“Didn’t you curse them? The ones who tricked you.”

“Not really.”

“’Not really’, huh. You know, normally a human in that situation would get angry and hold grudges, and it would make the shape of their soul deteriorate.”

“It’s true, though. I don’t think I had the energy to even consider seeking revenge or hurting them.”

“...I get it.”

Mahito nodded, filling in the blanks.

Regardless of whether or not he can guess the trends in human emotion, Mahito has studied many movies, novels and poetry so far.

Then there were the humans he tinkered with. Mahito could put together the pieces he gleaned from those things and use them to break down the old man’s story.

“So basically, you were in despair. So much despair that it was like your soul was about to die. That’s how you broke through the creation of grudges and curses and ended up like this.”

The old man slowly shook his head.

“I may have been disappointed, but I don’t believe I felt the intense despair you’re thinking of.”

“Are ‘disappointment’ and ‘despair’ different?”

“They are; this is just my personal experience.”

The old man raised his face, following the memories.

“There was no burning resentment or turbulent sorrow. It’s just... I was tired, I guess. Between work, assets, reputation, my life situation and duties, dealing with others, caring about the family name... I think I was probably just tired and worn out because of it all.”

“And that’s why you didn’t get mad even after being tricked?”

“I was at peace. They say the soul gets lighter after going through disappointments.”

The old man’s voice was calm.

It had a cool quality to it, like muddy water that had been filtered clean.

“I couldn’t see, I had no money, I had no love... But as I was walking through the city with nothing to my name, it all suddenly became inconsequential. And then, as I looked around, I saw the city in a new light.”

“Even though you can’t see?”

“Yes. When you can’t see anything, it’s just sound and wind that goes on forever anywhere you are. I couldn’t even see the walls blocking the city in. It was just endless darkness spreading out forever, like a starless night. For the first time, I understood how wide the world was. And I thought to myself... ah, I’m free, aren’t I?”

Mahito blinked rapidly.

This old man’s thinking didn’t fit any other case he had gathered so far.

Even hearing about his past, he couldn’t understand the old man’s thoughts.

But even from Mahito’s point of view, the old man was certainly free.

Without so much as leaving the middle of this tunnel, he knew that the sky was vast.

Perhaps he knew it better than any member of high society walking around freely in the city. He knew the wide spread of the sky, the soft caress of the wind, the gentle sounds of the water.

This old man, who looked like a simple rakugoka², had no property or social standing. He even lost his connection to other humans... And maybe that’s precisely why he could uncover the elusive meaning of the word ‘freedom’.

He was just existing, just being alive, without attachments, grudges or curses.

“So basically ‘not all those who wander are lost’?”

“Yes, though quoting Tolkien’s works might be a little tedious.”

Mahito smiled when the man immediately caught the reference to a book he just happened to read.

“Were you a bookworm?”

“All I did was cram a lot of information in.”

“It’s good to be well-read.”

If curses are born from the fear that humans feel, could this old man even be considered human?

As Mahito is, he struggles with the expression of human emotions.

But he was calm.

For the first time since coming into contact with humans, he had a feeling of peace.

“I think if everyone in the world was like you, I wouldn’t have been born.”

Mahito looked back at his book.

The old man, staring into nothing as always, fell silent again.

Curses are born from humans, but they also kill humans. There is no way for the two to coexist.

But in this tunnel, a curse and a human were doing exactly that.

Though distorted, this peaceful period of time flowed by gently.

It’s only natural for humans to hate and fear other humans.

Since they can’t see souls, they can only make guesses about the feelings of others, and they’re swayed by their own emotions.

They don’t understand that these things are just a reflection of the soul’s metabolism. They don’t even know where their soul is.

Mahito investigated the matter.

This blind man lost his sight and his connection to others, so his soul received less stimulation.

And so, no longer influenced by unnecessary things in the physical world, he spent a lot of time facing his inner world and reflecting.

“It’s kind of like a monk’s training. Through strong introversion, a person looks at their soul more often.”

Mahito walked around the city, skimming through a beaten-up copy of the Heart Sutra.

It was a sutra handbook that focused on controlling the soul. It looked like humans of the past did their own research into freeing the soul from the material world.

The old man’s life ended up in a similar state without him setting out to do it on purpose.

That was likely how he learned to feel other souls through the darkness he lived in. Mahito concluded this was the reason he was aware of curses.

“I think he was already predisposed, but... seems like it’s easier for introverted humans to show promise.”

If he gave the old man’s situation even deeper consideration, he could probably make a lot of guesses about a sorcerer’s training. There’s even a way to encourage the first manifestation of cursed energy.

In that case, it should also be possible to take a talented person and ‘make’ them into a sorcerer or curse-user.

Unleashing a curse-user made by a curse onto a sorcerer...

That might be a fun experiment. It’s easier to shake up a human’s soul by having them fight other humans, rather than just exorcising curses. Sukuna’s vessel should be no exception.

Although...

—Maybe it’s fine to do that a little later?

Yes, Mahito thought it over at his leisure.

He is free. When it’s time to move, he moves. When it’s time to rest, he rests.

And he was not in the mood to launch that plan into action.

Rather, for the time being, he just wanted to gather knowledge and indulge in thought. He also got some new books and wanted to read fantasy novels while basking in the quiet comfort of the tunnel.

Mahito’s gait became lighter. While walking alongside the throng of people, he even began to hum.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from between two buildings.

“—so damn annoying, yeah?”

Looking over that way, he saw two young humans: a man with long, thin hair, and a muscular skinhead. They were undoubtedly people who looked like trouble.

The long-haired man listened as the skinhead rambled on with his complaints, seemingly in some kind of sullen mood.

“Damn, it’s seriously freezing. Anyway, every last one of ‘em just puts on shitty airs, but it’s all just talk. Nothin’ but excuses. Ah, I wanna kill ‘em all...”

“You say that, but come on. You talk big about wanting to beat these guys to death when you’re pissed, but could you actually kill someone?”

“Sure. Ain’t like killing’s hard.”

“Seriously?”

Mahito squinted and listened, the conversation going in one ear and out the other.

It’s not that he disliked the way they acted or how they spoke bluntly about their heart’s desires. But Mahito knew people like this were all talk.

“Yeah– seriously, anyone’s fine, I just wanna kill someone.”

Then maybe you should do it without saying anything.

Better yet, he thought about practicing some killing methods on them. But Mahito felt the light weight of the book in his hand as he reached out, and he stopped.

Rather than sparing any consideration for this, he just wanted to go back to the comfort of the tunnel and read.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

The skinhead’s grumbling voice sounded like a spell.

But the words would find no power or heart to shelter in. Shut away between these buildings, the most a person can do is talk to themselves. It’s best for humans like this to stick to the narrow back alleys, foolishly thinking they’re enjoying a wide world.

Mahito averted his gaze and made his way back home.

“Why did Gregor become a bug?”

Mahito suddenly asked the old man, not taking his eyes off the novel.

It was a famous book by Franz Kafka.

A story in which a human unexpectedly turns into a poisonous insect.

“The most popular theory is that the bug is a metaphor.”

“Metaphor?”

“It means he was a person who was hated and oppressed within society, treated the same way a human would treat a bug. Kind of like an old man who was suddenly blinded and tricked one day.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Not exactly.”

It was detached and dispassionate, but an answer would come back any time Mahito said something. When conversing with the old man, it felt like talking to a dictionary. He had a lot of information.

He knew about things like the inner workings of the mind and human culture, and he was smart enough to explain it simply in discussions.

For Mahito, who analyzed human souls through books and movies, this old man’s knowledge and conversation helped in its own way.

When do humans get angry? Why do they grieve?

How do they trust and in what ways are they betrayed?

Mahito lived with a different sense of ethics when compared to humans, so there were many things he struggled to interpret. The old man explained them and helped him understand.

He had a strong interest in the experiences of the old man, who had once lived among humans but didn’t act like them.

“After becoming a bug, Gregor eventually hid away like he was told to, but he still ended up being spotted and it led to his death. Jii-san³, why do you think that is?”

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

“That’s a quote from Virginia Woolf, right?”

When Mahito immediately and correctly guessed the source, the old man raised a brow slightly.

“You’re a pretty avid reader, too. Conversations with you are really stress-free.”

“Do you have to go back to living with other humans, then?”

“If you don’t have any attachment to the human world, there’s no need to run from it or stand against it⁴.”

“I see,” Mahito murmured to let the other know he was listening, eyes still on the book.

Even if he wasn’t looking at it, the old man’s perpetually calm soul was aglow in the dark like always.

Mahito read his book in the dim room lit by the brilliance of that soul instead of a candle.

Time quietly flowed through the darkness.

Outside of the tunnel, signs indicating the end of summer crept up.

The end came abruptly.

One day, when Mahito was heading back to the tunnel with an abandoned poetry anthology that he picked up on an aimless walk through the city, he felt a noisiness that shouldn’t have been there.

There were one, two, three swaying souls.

One had a very familiar shape, but it was terribly frail. It was like the dying flame of a candle weakened by the wind.

With the same unchanging gait as always, Mahito stepped into the tunnel.

As expected, the old man was there.

But the unusual thing was the crumpled, strange position that he was in.

He was also sandwiched between two younger men who were looking down at him.

“Oooi, isn’t this bad? Did this guy seriously die?”

A man with long, thin hair spoke in a tone that was not particularly anxious.

“Didn’t I say it? I said I could kill,” a muscular skinhead replied, his voice casual.

“But ain’t this just impulsive?”

“Yeah, well, the old man had some real cheek, looking down on us when he’s this weak. So why not just kick him?”

The skinhead likely played sports, given that his legs were as thick around as logs. Kicking an old man to death would be easier than crushing a can.

The two didn’t seem to have a single scrap of interest in the old man, his life or his soul.

There was no reason, no grudge, no clear murderous intent.

It seemed like they simply arrived at the tunnel somehow. They took the opportunity to do as much violence as they wanted. They beat him on a whim.

It could be said that this way of being is freedom for humans.

Mahito crouched down, peeking at the old man’s face.

The beaten visage of the man with burned eyes came into view. But even at a time like this, his expression was as calm as always.

“Are you going to die?”

Mahito searched for even a mumbled word or two in response.

“...Seems so...”

The old man answered in a hoarse voice. He likely barely had the power left to speak now. It appeared as though the two men didn’t hear him over their loud conversation.

He intently inspected the old man’s soul.

The peaceful soul was not flickering, nor did it hold anger or grief; it was simply coming to an unhurried end.

Mahito was impressed.

This old man had found the true meaning of freedom. He really was released from every tie of obligation in this world. Even on the verge of death, that didn’t change.

Being able to make sure of that with his own two eyes, Mahito felt considerably relieved. In the same way he would watch a flower wither and fall, he observed the old man’s death.

Nevertheless...

“Jii-san?”

He had a feeling.

It’s like seeing a plot twist you don’t want to see if you keep turning the pages of a book.

Or like knowing the contents of a present before you open it.

That kind of buzz spread through Mahito’s chest.

While he puzzled over the instinctive alarm bells screaming at him to stop watching, everything was heading toward its end.

“...I thought I would die alone.”

The old man’s soul dimly flickered.

A smile was on his swollen face.

“...To have someone... here to witness this old fool’s last moments...”

The flicker might have been insignificant, like a single drop breaking the water’s surface. Even so, for an instant near death, at the end of it all...

The old man’s soul ‘metabolized’.

“...Tha...nk... y...”

The old man died smiling.

“. . .”

Mahito’s eyes opened wide, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He thought the old man was different when compared to other humans. To Mahito, he seemed unfettered.

Mahito thought the unique philosophical views stemming from such an extraordinary state of mind had freed him from all the shackles of this world.

But despite all of that, the old man was still captured right in his last moments.

On the brink of death, he clung to someone else so he could avoid a lonely end.

The old man was only human.

For a human, it was likely satisfying enough. Perhaps it was even the proper way for one to die.

“. . .”

Mahito said nothing.

But what felt like a dry wind blew through his chest, leaving him cold.

He didn’t know the name humans gave that emotion. But his consciousness was like yarn tangling in on itself, wriggling around like a worm—

And suddenly, it all cut off at once.

The only thing left behind was the sensation of standing in a dry and barren wasteland.

“—So basically,” the skinhead’s voice echoed. “Police probably won’t do a proper investigation. Not for this old nobody.”

“Hey, hey, hey; that’s still a person,” the long haired man answered lightly.

“Yeah, well, that guy started it.”

“He shoulda looked at who he was talking to before he picked a fight.”

“Anyway, my pants are dirty from all that kicking... That’s a problem.”

“So fussy. That’s what you’re worried about when you just killed a guy? How funny.”

“That ain’t a person. Anyway, don’t you know I like being clean? Ahh, the blood won’t come off... Water doesn’t do any good, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t – but more importantly, if you’ve settled down, I’m hungry. Let’s stop by a convenience store.”

“I dunno. If you’re gonna look, buy a bento and let’s get outta here.”

Mahito quickly stood up in the same way one would when they finished looking for something in a store.

A sense of fatigue was deeply ingrained in his body.

Their incoherent voices persisted, reverberating through the tunnel, smeared with excuses and attempts to escape reality. He couldn’t hear the soft burble of the stream.

With deep-seated listlessness, Mahito approached the skinhead as one would move to pick up fallen trash.

Idle Transfiguration. The technique spreads quickly.

And thus, the moment he tapped the man’s back, its shape was no longer human.

“Ee—!!”

If he just killed them, it would create a nuisance in the form of a corpse, so he simply folded it up into something palm-sized and kept it alive.

Then, with a careless sweep⁵ of his hand, he folded up the other man as well.

“Begh—”

It fell silent.

Mahito gathered up the two, now no bigger than chess pieces, and turned his attention down toward the remaining corpse of the old man.

It was now just a bag of meat full of bones. Not even the soul remained, so he couldn’t use Idle Transfiguration to fiddle with it.

He was briefly troubled by its disposal, which served as the biggest inconvenience.

In the tunnel, there nothing but the sound of running water.

It was a day where the sky seemed farther away than usual.

Clouds peeked out from around the buildings and a good feeling was carried in on the wind.

Mahito aimlessly walked about the city.

“Maybe I’ll catch a movie. It’s been ages.”

He picked a tiny, somewhat old-looking theater and snuck in.

He’s had high motivation lately, and it seemed like some unnecessary things had peeled away from his soul, leaving him more carefree than ever.

Thanks to that, he had also begun to toy with humans more often.

If he can fold a person up and make them small, he wanted to test out inflating one instead, but he slept on the idea overnight. It was pretty fun, but he knew that he was getting too absorbed. He also felt that carrying on with too much persistence wasn’t a good thing.

A change of pace every now and then was fine, too.

He hadn’t closely checked to see what was being screened. It was mostly just plain and obscure movies, but if one went in with no expectations, they might come across a surprisingly interesting tale.

Curiously, he had that kind of a feeling.

While walking through the hall of the theater, he casually felt through his pocket, which had grown bulky with the ‘small humans’ that he had touched.

—Speaking of which, he thought that was a nuisance.

He carelessly tossed some of them away.

Opening the door, he stepped into the theater.

Perhaps because it was a weekday, there weren’t many customers. The silhouettes of what appeared to be students filled out a few seats here and there.

From where Mahito stood in the corner, he had a good view of the screen.

Soon, instead of a curtain raising, the theater was engulfed in darkness.

T/N: [1] In this sentence, the implication is that the “accident” was very much orchestrated by the old man’s friend and wife, who burned his eyes somehow and then merely made it look like an accident [2] The rakugoka is the storyteller in rakugo, a form of (often) comedic theater that relies solely on spoken word from the rakugoka, who only uses a fan and hand towel as props [3] A way of referring to old men in general, basically like “gramps/grandpa”; Mahito never calls him by an actual name [4] Essentially, the old man’s saying that he (or anyone) can exist parallel to human society without interacting if they have no attachments to it and can still find peace, contrary to the Woolf quote [5] Kanji reads sweep, furigana reads cleanse (the same word for exorcism that sorcerers use)

Thanks as well to Pixi for help with editing and tl checks! If an officially translated version of the novel becomes available in your country, please consider purchasing it, or consider buying a copy of the original novel in Japanese if possible!

#jujutsu kaisen #mahito #mahito jujutsu kaisen #mahito jjk #jogo jjk #hanami jjk #jujutsu kaisen light novel #translation #departing summer and returning autumn

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herenortherenearnorfar · 3 years

Text

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins” he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

#the silmarillion #gothmog #orcs #silmarillion fanfiction #angband #fanfic #Sauron gets some mentions

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

this isn't from the alphabet thingy (so if youre only doing requests for that rn feel free to ignore this!!) but could u maybe write something for a reader who spends the entire academy phase pining for dimitri and then after the timeskip when they've maybe already buried their feelings, dimitri goes yandere for them maybe?

Thanks for requesting! :3 Let’s go!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

This much should be okay, right?

Even though you had this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, it wasn’t like you two were doing anything especially strange. Dimitri just... held you. A little too awkward and a little too tight, sure, but after all, he went through, could you blame him? Five years ago, this would have been a dream for you, and even though the world around you turned into rubble and dust, you couldn’t ignore the soft flutters in your stomach now that your wish was fulfilled.

You, too, needed comfort after all that happened.

Back at your time in the monastery, you had only ever dared to glance at the prince. Admired his diligent and firm way of thinking and talking, but also the soft smile and tender laugh falling off his lips. Every day you swore it would be the day you’d approach him, reach out to him. Yet, every day you hesitate, watching the chances you had, dwindle away and so did Dimitri. More and more did he start to distance himself from you and everyone else, for that matter. He may had his struggles - and you, for one, would have loved to be his confidant back then - but he never let them on, even if they were written on his face in pain. Only as things started to become more and more convoluted did something inside him break, vanishing all the light from his eyes and cladding him in somberness and hatred.

Dimitri was nothing like his former self anymore. If he spoke - and he did so rarely - it was hard listening to him, painful even. Before you stood a broken man, someone whose heart had been ripped out and trampled on before reviving him. You didn’t want to be the one pointing out his flaws, not when he was so important in the upcoming battles, and you were thankful for his presence. But he also wasn’t the man you fell in love with anymore, that much you had to realize for yourself.

And yet, who’d have thought that of all people, you were the one he’d let close. Dimitri had stopped talking to so many of your comrades. Stopped eating and moving, spending hours inside the cathedral, and not rarely did you wonder what his mind did in times he stood dead still.

Perhaps, something about the lost reality Dimitri embodied at this time was what made you take extra care of him. You, who got back so much strength from seeing the Blue Lions reunite, have both the prince and Byleth back from the presumed dead, just couldn’t abandon the boy- or rather, man you once loved. Even when he hissed and screamed about you at first whenever you approached him, it soon made space for more silence, and you calmed down, knowing you weren’t one of his victims-to-be.

All you did was bring him food and told him about the news around the monastery. When you took heart and approached him more closely to get his cloak, carefully pulling it off his shoulders with only an exasperate sigh falling off his lips, you almost jumped for joy, even though the garment was stinking abominably and washing it was more challenging than fighting in battle. But it was all worth it for the moment when you returned it, Dimitri adjusting it with daggers shooting from his eyes at you, only for him to mutter a quiet ‘Thanks’ as you left again. To you, this was the highest praise you could have received all your life.

So now that he decided to hold you, you couldn’t refuse. In the end, you didn’t know what happened to him or what he truly was thinking. But in these uncertain times, everyone could need someone to hold and rest their head on. Even a presumed monster like Dimitri, or maybe, especially Dimitri, needed it. You didn’t want to assume anything or think too highly of yourself, but perhaps your dedication of not letting him decay like he did before was the reason he chose you for a change of mind.

Nothing would ever be the same as it was, and you weren’t the naive teenager anymore you had been before. The teenager who still believed that nothing bad could happen in this world and Dimitri was a literal saint sent from the goddess. But your body wasn’t lying either, hands shaking as you returned his embrace, putting them on his back carefully, scared you’d make him disappear if you touched him.

Of course, nothing like that would happen just from your touch, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself. The happenings of the days... they still weighed heavily on your mind too. But how hard must it have been for Dimitri if you were already suffering? Another fight, another important soul perishing from the world. The head of house Fraldarius may not have died in vain, as his last breath was used to put some soul back into the empty, murderous shell Dimitri had been. So how much must the former prince be suffering right now that he’d chose to trust in your company instead of anyone else?

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly. It was only you and him and the wind howling around you two on the balcony you two had retreated to, but he still spoke as if his words were only meant for your ears and no one else.

At first, it had surprised you greatly when he approached you himself, smiling nonetheless. You were almost convinced you died; otherwise, how could you explain the change of heart he had gone through?

“For not giving up on me. I am thankful that you were there,” his voice sighed into your ear, and you felt the heat rise into your face. Luckily, the armor you two wore for protection also protected your heartbeat from giving away how fast your pulse was racing right now. “N-No problem,” you managed to croak out, scolding yourself for the ordinary answer you gave. It could have been your moment to say something epic! Something groundbreaking! But no, it was humble at best.

“I’m glad Your Highness is finally looking up again, even if what happened had been a tragedy too.”

Biting your lip, you thought to have overstepped with your words as Dimitri pulled back. But in the moonlight shining down on you two, you felt it rather than saw, as his hand cupped your cheek, the leather of his glove warm and soft. “Yes, I can finally see clearly again. I know now what’s important and where my priorities are. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for showing me.”

The kiss that followed was timid at first but changed into unreserved and unstoppable quickly. Part of your brain knew that leaning in and accommodating Dimitri was a mistake, something a teenager might have done, but it had been five years since you felt this way for him. The war wasn’t over, and a love story like this was only true in books, so there was always a chance for it to end in tragedy rather than joy.

But right at this moment, it felt like the world was restored to normality. As if his kiss could defeat all the evils and banish them away. Even if your love had laid dormant for so long, Dimitri was poking at the embers, stoking the fire inside of you. Perhaps, you hadn’t been over him as much as you thought five years ago when he was captured and vanished not long after. Maybe you had just ignored your heart, hoping that one day it would stop aching, but never abandoned your love for him.

“Please don’t leave me.” Opening your eyes faintly, you could see the reflection of the moonlight shining from his. His gaze was wide and adoring, but in it laid so much more than what you could hope for. In fact, you weren’t sure if those feelings you noticed in Dimitri’s eyes were feelings you wanted him to experience when he looked at you. “Not tonight,” he continued, “Never.”

Fear, desperation, desire. It all flicked through his gaze, his lips continuing to play with yours roughly. He sucked and pulled, his tongue slipping in the first moment your lips opened in a gasp for air. It was an amazing experience, yet, a part of you felt like he was devouring you. All these things began to make your head spin uncontrollably, his words being questioned over and over. What did he mean? What did he want? You didn’t want to confront him with wrong assumptions, but you also didn’t want to let him down. It was all so much - too much - to bear, and yet you simply didn’t want him to stop and go away.

“Of course!” you sighed into the kiss. “Anything you wish for, Your Highness.”

“Ah,” he whispered back, pulling you into an even deeper kiss. “The Goddess is merciful with me today. I’m so happy! I am so--”

Your body noticed it before your mind could register what happened, a harsh flinch jerking through every muscle. It shook you awake, slapped away the clouds that had fogged your brain, as you felt the pain coming from your lip. The taste of iron spread over your tongue, and you cocked your head away, reaching up at your lip only to find something hot and wet coating your fingers. Too thick to be saliva. Too red in the moonlight to not be blood.

As you went to question what happened, Dimitri’s lips crashed back down onto yours. An assortment of stings made you close your eyes tightly, drumming your free hands against his breastplate. You wanted to like his kisses, but not if you were bleeding and put in a tight spot with his harsh movements.

But you didn’t need to voice your uncomfortableness nor fight him as he quickly pulled away again. With a sense of horror, you noticed your blood on his lips, his tongue flicking out without ever looking away from you, to lick off the red color decorating him. “--happy! We’ll be together forever, right?”

You had no answer for him as he waited for your reply. This much, it should have been fine. It should have been fine to follow him into battle, to fight for him, and to celebrate his success. Even after all these years and the heartache you experienced before, it should have been fine to fall in love all over again, to care for him and accept him closer, right? Right?

Then why did it feel so dangerous to be in his arms, your lips trembling as they tried to heal the wound he just marked you with?

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oddsnendsfanfics · 3 years

Text

The (Mis)Adventures of Kal and Moose – Kal-entine's Day

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Warnings: Fluffy Valentine’s Day

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Because everyone needs Kal and Moose in their lives. Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

Henry Cavill Master List

Valentine's Day.

A day of love.

A day of romance.

A day for couples to declare their undying love, while single people sat at home with a box of chocolate sulking.

For the last few years, Henry was the latter. He was no stranger to sitting home on “the most romantic day of the year”, feasting on some chocolate from a heart shaped box. Although he didn't recall much sulking.

You on the other hand, were never one to celebrate or sit in on Valentine's Day. Even single, you found an excuse to go out for the evening. Oh the looks you would get, while taking yourself out for a fancy dinner.

This year was different.

It was going to be low key, but no doubt still fun. The best part, Kal and Moose weren't home alone waiting.

“I'm going to need you to do me a big favour, okay pig.” Henry glanced down at Kal who was sitting by his side, watching every move Henry made in the kitchen. “You and Moose need to be the best boys that you can. No mayhem this evening.”

Licking his lips and yawning, Kal huffed as his tail thumped heavily on the floor. He was slightly insulted, when had he and Moose ever caused mayhem? They were the most perfect best boys, ever! What did Henry think he was doing, talking as if they were a couple of uncultured stray dogs.

Walking along the familiar street, you glance down at Moose, sniffing along Kal's street he huffed and picked up his speed. Almost there! A few more minutes and he would be with his best friend, romping and stalking that damn green ball that made that atrocious noise every time it moved. Tonight, maybe, just maybe, they would finally give that thing what it had coming.

“Are you and Kal going to be good?” You ask the unconcerned dog. “Hmm? Play with Kal's toys nicely and not tear Henry's house apart?”

Moose snuffled, whatever that meant. Of course they would be good, they were always good. Ugh, humans.

Stepping onto the front stoop of Henry's home, you asked Moose to sit while you checked to see if the front was unlocked. It wasn't surprising that you would simply walk in, if the door was unlocked. Henry rarely knocked at your place, most times he would be in the house and standing beside you before you took notice.

“Knock, Knock.” You call pushing open the door. Moose whimpers and yips, tugging on his leash. Unhooking his leash, you laugh when he jumps forward nearly knocking into Henry as he tries to get to Kal. “Remember boys, make good choices.”

“Good evening,” Henry smiles taking your coat and hanging it. “I uh, I'm glad you could make it over.”

“Of course, thanks for inviting us over.”

Wow, this was awkward. As much time as the two of you spent together, it shouldn't be this weird or awkward. Biting your bottom lip, you follow Henry into the house, stopping on the way to the kitchen to give Kal a nice scratch behind the ear. He and Moose were already at home on the couch, a few toys between them, as they happily sprawled out.

“Be good, Moose.” You wag a finger playfully at the red aussie, giving him a kiss on the nose. “Wow it smells good in here.” Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to appreciate the smell wafting from the kitchen.

Henry smiled proudly, quickly kissing your cheek. “Spiced fish and coriander rice, with peas.”

“Oh my god, this smells like heaven. Did you make this?”

“Of course.” Henry laughs slightly. “I can't promise it will be the best, but I think it has flavour.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You tug at the sleeves of your sweater.

“Have a seat? Sorry to rush you, but I wanted to get this on the table, while it's still hot.”

“Are you kidding? I will never feel rushed when there is food.” Laughing you grab the bottle of wine from the cupboard, along with two glasses and tote them to the table. The usually cluttered table is clear of all debris, a soft grey linen cloth draped on top, along with an arrangement of rather lovely scented candles. “I like the look. Going formal are we? Shit, I should have dressed up.”

“Non sense, you look lovely.” Henry chuckled, he had put more effort into the meal and table than he had planned. All last minute of course.

“And you look...” You glance at his casual jeans and tshirt. “I like that red.”

“Flattery?” Cocking his brow, Henry held back a laugh. Teasing you. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel fine, now let's eat.” You gesture to the plates in his hand. The fragrant smell is torture, it should be illegal to make you wait to taste food that looks and smells that good.

Seated, you can't help but sit inhaling the aroma wafting from the plate in front of you. Evidently Kal and Moose have picked up that it is dinner time, their respective paw steps coming from the living room. Attempting to look innocent, Kal slides in under the table his large body bumping against Henry's legs. If he is trying to be stealthy it is not working out. Moose takes a bold approach, sitting a few inches from the table he lifts his head and sniffs.

A low growling noise, he licks his lips and bounces to his hind feet before sinking back down into a sit.

“Moose, go.” You wave him away.

“Kal, stop licking my ankle.” Henry shakes his leg, Kal's cold wet nose hiking up the cuff of his jeans. “Kal, go on.”

“Moose, you know better.” Eyeing the dog you can't help but smile. “Worse than kids.”

“I would hope my children didn't hide under tables licking my feet.” Bursting into a laugh, Henry shakes his leg away from Kal. “Kal, go on. Go on boys, I will feed you after.”

Dejected and clearly starving, the two dogs slink back to the couch. At least they had tried for a scrap or even a scratch. Ending their plans, they sulk the entire ten feet that they walk. Poor dears. How ever will they survive? Knowing that dinner is waiting for them, you feel no guilt or sympathy. Spoiled is the only word to describe the pair of them. Worse than children, getting everything they want and acting like they are ignored when they don't.

“If you ever want to quit acting, I think you have a career in culinary.” You compliment reaching for the riesling that Henry had nearly expertly paired with dinner.

“There is more, I have a raspberries and cream or...”

“Wait, there is more? Oof, I may need a moment to let this digest.” You laugh lightly. Henry had gone all out this time. “You have really spoiled me.”

“I may be bias, but I think you deserve it.”

“Oh really? And why is that?”

“I have my reasons, all which are very good but escaping me in this moment. Trust me, when I say, I thoroughly enjoy getting to make you dinner. It's nice having someone to spend time with, especially today. It's been a while since I've had someone to spoil on Valentine's.” Henry picked up his glass, taking a drink of his wine. Licking his lips, he coughed lightly. “The last few years I have been making today all about Kal. Kalentine's Day, if you will. A nice bath, a good grooming, extra time at the park.”

“Sounds like a great way to spend the day.”

“It may be a bit late for the park, but I could offer a nice bath. Perhaps a foot rub?”

“All would be acceptable, as long as you don't take Kal's approach. I'm not much into having my feet licked.” You can't help yourself, it sort of slipped out. Nearly choking Henry in the process. Wine sputtered from his mouth, avoiding spitting it on you, he manages a napkin. His face red and his chest heaving with a silent laugh.

“Noted.” He gasps, caught between surprise and laughter. “Well, dessert then?”

Henry had tried to clear the table without your help, as if. Little good did it do, the second he stood you were on his heels carrying your plate into the kitchen. He rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything about it. He had learned not to argue with you, it would be futile. Keeping his protests silent, Henry watched as you loaded the dishwasher, humming quietly.

Dessert plated, Henry motioned for you to lead the way to the table. As nice as the table looked, you were more than happy to relax on the couch - even if it meant kicking Kal and Moose, the poor souls, to the floor. Diverting course, Henry followed, the two of you chatting about the latest family gossips. He was telling you about his nephew Oscar, when you gasped and stopped short.

Nearly bumping into you, Henry caught himself and both of the desserts that he had in his hand. On the floor of his living room there laid the evidence. All around were pieces of red and brown material. White cotton stuffing littered the room and the look on Moose's face told you nearly everything.

“Moose,” You groan looking at the stuffing flung around the room. The Aussie looking innocent, yet the clump of red material in his mouth is giving him away. “You tore up Kal's stuffy.”

“Stuffy?” Henry's eyes widened. “Oh shit. Shit.”

“What? What's wrong?” You watched as he placed dessert on the coffee table, rushing the to tall shelf that sat behind his couch.

At least he still had the flowers, well shit. His face fell when he found them smashed to the floor and trampled.

“Well,” He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing to the mess in his living room. “Happy Valentine's Day. I had planned on giving you a present, but...”

“Oh, Henry.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I'm so sorry. I... Moose!”

“No, no. It's fine. It's not entirely his fault.” He glanced at Kal, holding the head of the teddy bear in his mouth, “There is only one of them who could have reached it. Eh, bear?”

“Boys,” You sigh and shake your head. “Wait,” You glance curiously at Henry, giving him a sly smirk, “did you say you got me a gift? It's not my birthday. Nor it is Christmas.”

“No, but it's Valentine's Day.” Henry shrugged debating to salvage the gift or move on. “I wanted to do something nice, since....well.”

“Oh! Right.” You can't contain the smile that overtook your face in seconds. “I um, I honestly thought this was just us having dinner as...well friends?”

“And it can still be that, absolutely.” Henry nodded. “I don't want to impose or push anything.”

Stooping to pick up a few pieces of what used to be a teddy bear, you scratch Kal behind the ears and take a seat on the couch. "You're not imposing anything. I just didn't know what we were. Or if we were anything. I thought that I'd come over as a friend and...you know what, let's not bother with this now. We can talk later, sit let's have dessert. I am dying to try this raspberry cream.”

Henry sits beside you, reaching for the dessert bowls, to find one empty. “Moose,” he looked at the dog with red cream on his snout. “I swear to god,” laughing, he hands you a spoon. “Care to share?”

“Well, well, well.” You take the spoon shaking your head, playfully. “Henry Cavill is sharing dessert?”

“They destroyed your present and this is the only dessert, the least that I can do.”

“I wouldn't be against that bath,” You scoop some of the cream from the bowl, “but no feet.”

“No feet.” Henry laughed, his chest rumbling and his eyes crinkling. “Got it.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader

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alch3mic · 3 years

Note

I don't remember if i asked this before. But the cheshire update reminded me... So for to break-up with huntsman response, would they or what if lil red noticed the disappearances of their s/o's afterwards? Like if it went on for too long?

Please be advised of some dark themes ahead such as possessive behavior and mentions of death.

Once upon a time, there was a cute little human who wore a red hood.

So striking was the bright hue in such a dull and gray city that it attracted the attention of many, many people. Some were flowers who wanted to befriend the little human. Others were maggots who wanted to feast upon their kindness. Most were ...wolves, who wanted nothing more than to devour them whole.

And one... was the biggest and baddest wolf of them all.. who.. wanted to..

....

“Stick to the path and you’ll be fine,” their mother said, “just don’t allow yourself to get distracted along the way.”

...If only they had listened to their mother’s advice.

If only they hadn’t been distracted by dirty flowers off the path.

If only they had brushed off the maggots, instead of allowing them to fester in rotted apples.

If only they hadn’t been tempted away by the sweet, false lies of wolves in sheep’s clothing as they strayed them, farther and farther away from him.

.....

...Perhaps this would’ve never happened..?

.....

..Perhaps they’d be happy, living in a peaceful and ignorant bliss..

..But it’s too late now.

The path is gone.

There is no exit.

There are no more flowers.. or maggots...

And now....

There is only one wolf.

“do you understand?”

.......

...No... how... how could you? This.. didn’t make any sense. Just.. what the hell was he going on about!?

His tone had been so controlled and cold the whole time that it sent shivers down your spine, making your whole body tremble in absolute horror as the realization of what was finally going on was setting in.

You had only... asked.. about...

The disappearances.

He had cautioned you before about your growing obsession about what was going on. So many people around you had gone missing with no leads or no evidence that anything ever happened. It drove you mad, watching the people you care about drop like flies while the police could give you no answers...!

That’s exactly why you had simply taken Sans’ warning as the worryings of your best friend.

.....

But..

His gaze was.. empty now.. those familiar eyelights turned completely foreign as they no long held any of the warmth or fondness you had grown use to. Even that once sweet smile he saved only for you had vanished.. and now you couldn’t even recognize the skeleton in front of you.

...This... this wasn’t Sans... right? H-he couldn’t... be like this.. right?

No... No! This wasn’t him..! You knew him! He was kind and funny, with a whole plethora of dumb jokes that he loved to tell you.. and...! And he... always knew how to brighten your whole day! He was your friend, someone who had always been there for you...

Even after you.. turned him down..

.....

And each and every time.. someone important to you had disappeared...

He had been there for you.

....And now.. he was the only one left..

Almost all of the people close to you had... gone away without a single explanation... which is why you began digging a-and.. asked him...!

He took another firm step forward and you inhaled sharply, taking another step backwards only to be greeted by the wall as it pressed firmly against your back. Thick drops of sweat came rolling down your face mixing with the tears that had quietly escaped your eyes, sobs threatening to wrack your whole body as you did everything in your power to stuff them down. The shadows were gathering around him as he continued to approach, swallowing that hollow expressions on his face under it’s twists and turns. Only those tiny white eyelights were left, piercing through the darkness right through your soul.

There was no where else left to run.

...You... had let a wolf into your home under the guise as a friend.. someone who you trusted without a doubt... and now...?

“S-stay back!”

He didn’t hesitate to complete his step, even at your pathetic plea. Your words were too hushed and shaky to carry any weight, falling to the wayside as he took yet another step, nearly closing the distance between you two.

“sweetheart...” he murmured, that low and husky tone making your chest flutter for a moment as a certain tenderness clung to the nickname.

Even his eyelights briefly flickered with a hint on concern, taking in your terrified expression with a calculated stare, but his expression was still completely unreadable to you.

“i won’t hurt you.”

.....

“L-liar..”

...

And just like that, those small signs of your friend vanished, only leaving a complete and total stranger standing before you.

“..You... lied to me.. about...” you began, your hushed words picking up momentum. “About... everything..! I.... I trusted you and..!”

“you trusted everyone because you were so desperate to have something to hold on to.”

....

His cold words cut like a knife into your heart, snuffing out the small fires of resistance that had just barely lit in your chest.

“the moment anyone every showed you a shred of kindness you opened up and began giving everything you had to offer. it didn’t matter if they hurt you or trampled all over your feelings, you always forgave them.. all because you didn’t want to be alone,” he said blankly, taking another step forward.

“T-that’s...”

“not true..?” he asked, letting out a humorless laugh as a hand reached out to lightly stroke your cheek. “well now who’s the liar?”

“That’s not..! Y-you’re....”

The words were failing you now as you tried to pull away, only to have his free hand press firmly on the wall beside your head, trapping you in.

“then why? why did you humor them even when they hurt you? why did you continue to let them slowly eat away at you, piece by piece, without a single complaint?”

“I-“

“why did you care so much for people who didn’t care for you at all..?”

“I-!”

...

...Nothing else came out.

You.. didn’t know what to say..

You could hardly think, his harsh words splitting you apart while he gently brushed away a few tears with his thumb. The contrast between between his actions and words just left you feel confused and nauseous.

“...do you know what it’s like.. to see the person you love most in the world do that to themselves, time.. and time.. and time again?” he asked, his eyelights never straying from your face. “it’s enough to even turn a good dog, feral.”

“....So.. you...you!”

“ate them.”

........

“come on now sweetheart don’t look at me like that.. not literally,” he laughed dryly, still lightly stroking your cheek, “but i did what had to be done. “

You felt sick.

“they were using you.”

The tears wouldn’t stop falling.

“they got what was coming.. for all the sins they committed. a sort of... karmic retribution...heh..”

You had to.. get away from him..!

“i just... need you to understand why i-“

“Understand..? Understand!?” you hissed, smacking his hand away. “What is there to understand Sans?! You...! You...”

The word got caught in your throat, another sob threatening to break free as more tears pulled forth.

He... killed them..

“You’re a murderer.”

His expression didn’t budge on the slightest at your accusation, send small waves of shock and horror flowing through your body. Having him so close you could feel his cold magic rolling off him in waves, sending goosebumps trailing up and down your arms.

“...You hurt innocent people..! And for what!?”

“you.”

......

He answered... without hesitating.. and it was enough to nearly make you wretch.

“Don’t... even try to-!

“everything i did was for you...”

“..Stop it..”

“every cut.”

“Stop it..!”

“every scratch.”

“No-!!”

“every bite.”

“Sans-!”

“all.. so i could protect you.. my little red riding hood.. from the world you refused to acknowledge,” he whispered softly as he grabbed your arms to stop your flailing. “all so you could keep living on in your little fairy tale bliss.”

You struggled against his grasp again put he pinned firmly to the wall, those eyelights painfully burning into your face.

“Please..!”

“i already told you i wasn’t going to hurt you sweetheart, but if you intend to make things difficult then i’ll have to handle you much more roughly than i’d like to..” he said, firmly squeezing your wrists as you failed to pull them from his grasp again.

“...Then.. what do you.. want from me?”

“i want you to understand.”

“I already told you I don’t..!”

“i know.. and that’s... fine..” he said softly, his blank expression breaking for just a second as he struggled to get the last word out, “because i can make you understand, in time.”

....

For a moment, your heart stopped..

..He... he couldn’t...!

“Y-you.. can’t..!”

“...can’t what?” he asked, eyeing you curiously. “can’t keep you here? with me? where you belong..?”

You wanted to break away from his gaze, but you,, couldn’t..

“did you just think i was going to let you go..?”

He laughed again, just as humorless as before, your heart sinking further and further into your stomach as his cold breath brushed against your skin.

“no.. no.. i’m afraid it’s too late to run now little red. our chance at a happily ever after ended a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make our own ending.. one where you understand just how twisted this world and it’s people are.”

“Sans..!” you pleaded quietly.

“one where you understand why i had to do this.”

“Dammit.. stop..! Sans! Please-!” you begged.

You couldn’t take this any more. His expression, his words..! They were all.. too much!

No.. this.. This isn’t..!

This isn’t how things were suppose to be!

You were both so.. happy!

Where...?

Where did it ... all go... wrong.....?

When did you.. stray from the path..?

“an ending where you finally realize that.. you’re mine... and that you’ve always been mine ..and i will protect you.. now.. and forever... my precious little red riding hood.”

#tada!!#here is my slightly original (though altered to fit this prompt) bad ending for huntsman!#just a liiiil’ warning #it’s dark #AND LONG AS SHIT #BECAUSE WOW I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL #and boy howdy do i love writing this boy!!#forgive me everyone but I just couldn’t help myself!#enjoy some angst!!#huntsman!sans #yandere sans #sans #sans x reader #reader insert #death mention tw #possessive behavior tw #alch!writes #alch!answers #zirkkun

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hyrule-kingdom-updates · 3 years

Text

Daruk squinted at Impa in confusion.

“Uhhhhh. You’re gonna what now?”

“A! DUEL!” Impa boomed, dramatically, trying to attract as much attention as possible. If anything, her commanding voice put the other scrambling villagers at ease. “A duel...between the darkness and the light! A prattle...B-BATTLE for the soul of Sheikah life!”

Impa checked the red inked notes on her left forearm again. “I’ve waited for this day for many nights. Zavis, your terror dies upon my light!”

Zavis crossed his arms as he stood on top of the hill, tapping his foot.

“You rhymed the word ‘light’ twice...” he mumbled.

“SHUT UP, NERD!” Impa pulled up her sleeve again, and brandished her kodachi. “No one else needs to get hurt, except YOU! If you’re so confident in yourself, you’ll fight me one on one!”

“I tempting offer, but I must decline.” He walked casually across the towering hilltop, back to the forest. “But if you live, you may have what is mine! Find you way up here, dear cousin Asu! For when you tire of these monsters, I may then easily slay you! MWAHAHAHAHA!”

The forest behind him then erupted with another round of red and blue bokoblins, trampling over each other as they walked down the path.

Impa pulled down her sleeve again, reading through her notes, before turning towards to crowd.

“A coward such as he must have no soul! These moments with him free is inexcusable! Why has no one stopped his evil deeds, is no one up for this job except me? No honor to even face me alone, but by my blade, I swear to BREAK HIS BONES.”

She turned to stare Zavis in the eyes at that last part, but when returning her gaze to the crowd, she saw they were a little put off by it. Impa went to read from her forearm again, but she caught Urbosa in the background waving a hand across her neck intensely in a “cut it” motion, and Daruk was shaking his head back and forth with his lips in a tight frown. Were they not a fan of theater? Impa wasn’t either, but she didn’t think her acting was that horrible.

“Ahem...Anyway.” She coughed to renew the momentum. “They only reason you haven’t been beat yet, it because your dumb MOM has been protecting your useless ass. You haven’t been able to do anything out of your own merit!”

The crowd gasped and hummed “oooo” at that comment. Impa even heard someone whisper, “Oh shit, she pulled the mommy card.”

“And while her incompetency, along with the old king’s, have allowed for your victory, it won’t be the same story when it comes to me! For I have...” She gestured towards Daruk and Urbosa, “The POWER of friendship!”

Zavis scrunched his eyebrows, obviously a bit annoyed at the change in script. But the crowd, somehow, clapped enthusiastically at Impa’s words. Even Daruk brought his hands up, but Urbosa calmly forced them down. Good call, they need to look as cool as possible right now.

“My treasure Champion companions, Lady Urbosa and Lord Daruk! We were brought together thanks to the leadership of Her Majesty, Queen Mallory! Let us prevail were others have not! Clear the way of monsters, while I take care of that Yiga scum, once and for—yeah ok, let’s just start smacking shit now...”

The initial sentence wasn’t even fully out of her mouth before Urbosa was already rushing towards the group of bokoblins. Daruk gave a polite bow to the applauding crowd, before following in to smash the monsters into the ground.

While the crowd cheered and gasped at the action, Zavis took out a bundle of bananas, and gave it a kiss goodbye, before dropping it down below. The last bunch of bokoblins that were rushing down the trail suddenly stopped charging, and instead went to pick up an eat the surprise snack. But before they even had a chance to peel them properly, Urbosa and Daruk were already taking advantage of the distraction to bash and slash them up.

As the monsters were cut down and the path cleared away, Impa disappeared in a puff of smoke and talismens, and reappeared behind Zavis, who let out a surprised yelp.

“Y-You could have teleported here this whole time?!”

“Yes! But...” Impa projected her voice so the others could hear. “Unlike some people, Zavis, I can prioritize others and their safety over my own ambitions.”

“Still, I feel it would have been faster if you had just—”

“SHUT IT, NERD!” Impa slammed Zavis onto the ground, and he felt the wind get knocked out of him. “Aren’t YOU the one who likes dramatics?” She mumbled after.

Zavis propped himself back up as he sat on the ground, Impa’s kodachi pointed at him. She frowned. “Where’s your sword?”

“Oh! Right, actually...I think I might have left it...” Zavis turned towards the house by the waterfalls, and his eyes suddenly shone with shock and fear. Man, he was a good actor.

“Impa...what the hell—”

“HaHA!” Impa boomed, keeping up the momentum of their dialogue. “It seems that the power of friendship has once again bested you! Champion Revali must have earlier disarmed you! Perfect! Now, prepare to face justice!”

Impa picked up Zavis like he was a puppy.

“You’ll survive if I drop kick you, right?”

“IMPA WAIT—!”

“TOO LATE! I MADE UP MY MIND YOU’RE NOT GETTING OUT OF THIS!” Impa chucked him down below.

“POWER PUNT OF COMPANIONSHIP!”

Impa punted Zavis down back towards the crowd, and before he could make contact with the dirt, Impa summoned a giant frog for good measure, just because she can.

Zavis dramatically fell towards his demise for the second time that day, and the rest of his strength escaped his lungs as he landed sideways on the frog’s back. Daruk immediately ran up to him and held Zavis up like a trophy.

“WOOOO! WE DID IT!!” Daruk yelled. “CHAMP-I-ONS! CHAMP-I-ONS!” The crowded clapped along with him.

Impa folded her fingers together and summoned more talismans from her pocket as she teleported back down with the rest of them.

“Man, that was way too easy! Ok, so bashing Rhoam? Check. Improving our reputation? Check. Fulfilling my lifelong dream? Check.” She walked up beside Urbosa as the crowd continued to cheer with Daruk. “Did I miss anything? I certainly did enough to establish us as heroes, right?”

Urbosa smiled warmly. “Well, I think with the danger out of the way, I think it’s an overall win in my book. You’ve certainly proven to be as capable a leader as Lady Jou.”

“Oh that’s right!” Impa snapped her fingers. “I should do another round of Zavis’ dramatic nerd words to make sure I stay as village leader.”

Lady Jou suddenly strike the ground in front of the crowd.

“Oh! Perfect timing!” Impa strutted over to Jou, who was kneeling in the dirt, and leaning against her sword. “See that everyone? Auntie Jou was so busy with her personal vendettas and dick Rhoam orders, that she even forgot to save her own people from monsters! How could we let—”

Jou started coughing blood, leaning her weight further on her sword.

Impa stopped, cautiously approaching Jou. “A-Aunt Jou?”

Moving closer, she could now see that her white dress, with gold and red trim, had a significant more amount of red than usual.

“WEEEEEEEEELLLLLLL...” a voice suddenly cut through the air, smugly.

Attention suddenly turned towards the end of the main road, where Lady Jou had come from. A Rito descended from the sky, winds whistling before abruptly dying as he landed. When he calmly perk his head up, Impa saw that half his face was devoured by malice, one of his one blue wings was covered with the dark substance completely.

“R-Revali...?”

“IMPA!” Zavis gave a desperate shout behind her.

She instinctively dodged back, just in time to avoid a blast of malice from above. All eyes left Revali, and instead focused on the man with a shit-eating grin. He was floating above them, leaning back with his arms behind his head, as if he were sitting in a bar and watching a show.

“WELL! Well! Well.” Assivus said, clapping his hands. “Lookie what we have here...”

#???#Assivus Hartell #The life of the party and then death #hku spoilers

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whumpeeblog · 3 years

Text

TW: Slavery, Torture Mention, Death Mention, Pain, etc.

K, away on a decently long journey with A, chose to let N look after his estate and slaves for a period.

S shivered in her cell, sore from a recent beating. The vase had crashed with a menacing promise of punishment. But it had been an accident. Not only had the whip sliced her back, but the blades of knives and the threatening chokes of torture had harmed her feeble body. Weakened from the pain, S’s brain played pranks of mirages and lethargic daydreams.

Footsteps outside her cell. No. Please no. She had been certain that K was on a journey and she just wanted to be left to suffer alone. Perhaps it was a trick and now he would torture her again. Jingling keys toyed with the brass lock, and flickering light, too bright compared to the heavy darkness, crept into the cell.

K had instructed N, a close friend and distant relative, as to what each individual slave and prisoner would get for meals and work, as well as for torture. Burning hatred of cruelty towards any living creature stabbed at his heart. K had demanded the torture and work of the wretch in this cell, however, and he had to follow orders.

K had assumed S was too mangled to be recognized, and she knew the rules of speaking out of turn. N would never know it was her. He hadn’t seen her in nearly three years, and her rebellious spirit ran much more wild then.

Soft light dripped onto the figure shaking like a leaf in the corner of her cell. She was unrecognizable to him, just another slave. K had destroyed her, breaking her into something she was never meant to be.

N stepped into the cell, keys ringing in his fingers and a lit torch in the other. He set the flaming stick into a holder in the wall, then took another step. With each thump of his leather boots against the floor, the pain filled whimpers and sobs of the captive grew more desperate.

N crouched closer, and the girl sunk herself further into the wall, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

Hardly a face, covered in bruises and crimson gashes, hung towards the floor. A mangled, broken body melted its way into the stone walls behind it. Muffled wails quietly rung in the dungeon.

N knelt towards the girl, preparing to lift her off of the floor. As his lean figure came nearer, S’s whimpers became more and more horrified.

S’s heart ached to scream for mercy, but there were punishments for that. She remained as silent as possible while failing to hide her trembling tears.

N’s kind heart stung for the child on the floor, her form crushed and shattered by her master. The last thing N wished was to hurt this poor creature, and the last thing she wanted was for him to touch her.

Gentle fingers softly caressed the abused face, feeling the pale skin shiver in fear beneath them.

“Look at me,” N whispered. Something about this prisoner was familiar.

S’s ivy eyes rose hesitantly, but the moment they struck N, his own eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Those eyes were familiar. He had seen the tortured face many times before, but... it wasn’t possible. K had murdered her years ago. She had been tortured, then her head cut off, or at least, that’s what everyone had been led to believe. Couldn’t be. She was dead.

Dew drops clung to the long lashes that framed the eyes staring into his soul.

“S?”

The syllables startled the wretch and she grimaced and pinned herself even harder against the wall. All she wished was to hide away, to be ignored.

N’s soul broke with the realization that she didn’t remember him just yet. This had to be her, and he couldn’t hurt her, no matter what K threatened.

“Child, I’m not going to hurt you.” N cautiously brushed through her matted hair with his fingers in an attempt to gain trust.

S gradually recognized the man. N. The last time she had seen him failed to reappear in her mind. Perhaps he had changed. Surely this was a trap. Either way, K would return and N would give him a report on her, so she best remember her place.

Chains rattled as N removed the rusty collar tethering S to the wall. The chains connecting her ankles dropped. Tears fell throughout the entire process and she internally begged N not to hurt her.

She must obey him, and prove that she was a good slave, to avoid more pain. He couldn’t possibly be the same N who saved her life five years ago, or the same man who convinced D not to hurt her countless times.

A soft jolt singed S’s cut covered body, and whines escaped her as N lifted her body into his arms. Even his soft skin sent agonizing torment through her when he touched any of her wounds.

“Shh..” N cooed, almost fooling the girl with his gentle tone and soft eyes.

Whatever he was going to do to her, it would end in pain. He was just like K now, S was sure of it. K had been soft with her at times too, but he always seemed to run back to the realization of what a lowly wretch she was. She deserved the pain. She would beg for punishment, then perhaps N would tell K what a good prisoner she had been.

Although N attempted his best to lightly carry the girl, each step threw painful pressure on S’s injuries. She groaned. Groans transformed into sobs.

N couldn’t handle seeing the child in such torment. He set her down against a wall, then used his knowledge of the human body to provoke a pressure point, sending S into unconsciousness.

Unfamiliar sheets burned against bloodied skin as S shifted in her ending sleep. Eyes flushed open in shock. Green pupils stared into the crinkling brown ones above her, almost immediately shifting back down.

Oh god I made eye contact. I should ask for punishment. If I do, he won’t tell K and he’ll know I didn’t mean to. But if I talk, he’ll punish me.

The grieving child flinched in preparation for the sting that never came. Her skin jolted when tender fingers dragged themselves through her damp- wait damp?

Puzzled, S’s hand shakily lifted to slip through her slick roots. Had he- bathed her? Surely he must know she didn’t deserve such generosity. The sore wounds had been wrapped and cleansed as well. This tactic was familiar to her. He would show her mock kindness, healing her wounds, only to torture her again when her body was strong enough.

What if K hadn’t actually left, and he had simply sold her? This was a different castle after all... actually... she knew this place. D’s castle. These walls had distanced themselves for three years. And now she was back. The memory of her first visit haunted her. Her body flung to the floor. Her defiant screams of fear and pain. Before K broke her. Before she became what she was meant to be.

N’s words interrupted her thoughts.

“How are we feeling, lass?”

“Better, Master. Thank you. I don’t deserve your kindness.” The raspy voice barely croaked.

His tone tricked S into almost believing he wasn’t angry for the unwanted eye contact. Surely she wouldn’t remain unpunished.

“Dinna think ye were still alive after all these years. K w’d have us believe he’d tortured ya and killed ye. I can see he’s had his fair share of fun wit ya, hasn’t he?”

N’s velvet voice calmed S and she nodded, a saltwater drop searing a gash on her cheek. N’s hand drove towards her face, and his thumb wiped her tears as his palm cupped her trembling cheek.

“Hush, darling.”

“I’m sorry, Master. Forgive me. It’s not my place to cry.”

“No, no, you’re alright,” N cooed.

“I should be punished, sir. Please. I shouldn’t have cried before and I shouldn’t now. Please discipline me and teach me my place,” S’s whines for authority grew frantic. She had to be taught. If she wasn’t, she would forget what she was. They would have to break her all over again.

“No, love. Hush now.”

N grappled a chilly wet cloth. Frosty shudders danced through S when N dabbed her forehead with the rag. Her voice broke into a moaning tremor. All she wanted was to be punished. Sparing the pain now would create more torture later. Disdain blended with agony laced her high pitched whimpers when N’s soft hand guided the cloth against her face.

“I’ll make us supper. What’d ya like, lass?”

Utter confusion clogged S’s brain. He couldn’t have just asked her that. It must be a trap. She wasn’t allowed to eat unless specifically ordered to, hence the ribs that popped out with every intake of breath. She was merely a skeleton, hidden beneath a paper thin blanket of marred skin. S’s stomach was only given barely enough sustenance to pump her heart for a bit longer each day.

The few times that she had attempted to sneak food, S had been punished mercilessly, then given the opportunity to eat as a test of obedience. This must be another quiz of compliance. Although the punches of starvation beat her insides, S understood that the pain resulting from gluttony would be much worse.

Her new master’s patient gaze saturated her with concern.

“What do you want to eat, girl?”

“I’m ok, Master. I don’t eat a lot.”

That’s it. Perhaps he was testing her to see how much she required to continue breathing. If she showed she didn’t eat a lot or need much to survive, he would let her live. If she didn’t take much from him, he would keep her alive and let her serve him.

N stared through her pale body sorrowfully, a pang of guilt and pity trampling him like the wheels of a speeding train. The poor child. Someone had to help her. What had K done to her? What had become of his little lass? Where was the defiant young child who would have fought tirelessly for her innocent life? Was she dead, or was she simply hiding behind a submissive mask of the years of torture she had been subjected to? Patience for K was thinning. S belonged to him though. There was nothing to be done except show mercy to the captive while she was under his care.

K had ordered her torture when she was healed enough. N refused. Even if he did antagonize her, who knew how long her frail body could handle it?

“Come along, lass,” N softly demanded, whispering so as not to startle the girl. He gently settled his arm around S’s back, and she whimpered when his skin brushed against her freshly bandaged tissue. His strength assisted in hoisting her body upright, then he placed out both of his arms for S to use as leverage.

The hint wasn’t immediately taken.

“Place your hands on my forearms.”

Finally, an instruction. S’s sliced wrists snaked onto N’s tan arms, and with a groan, she lifted herself to stand.

“Go wait in the kitchen for me.”

S lowered her head and obeyed the order, limping out the door and down the halls. As she leaned against the walls for support, her delirious brain began to recognize the place. She had not seen these walls in forever, but they remained the same as they were two years ago. Her suffering body hobbled past K’s old suite, as well as D’s, and the years of torment came thrashing back. Pushing the tears in her mind aside, S slowly tripped down the stairs and into the main kitchen. The layout was similar, if not almost identical, to the entertainment, living, and kitchen area of K’s home.

Rather than hop towards the fridge and pick out a meal, S launched herself to her knees, and waited, head down and body prepared for any punishment or mere entertainment N wanted. The impending footsteps thumped down the staircase.

“What’re ye doing?” N’s bewilderment intertwined into his tone. “Git yerself up off da floor.”

S clamored to stand as tall as her crackling spine would allow her, but a slight slump in her body bent her like a weathered tree. Her right hand crossed in front of her to grasp her left wrist, a sign of submission and preparedness to be bound, if her master saw fit. Her head sank. She was do careful not to look her superiors in the eye. If she proved she was a good slave, maybe N would let her live, or at least make her death quick and painless.

Whether N’s intentions were to execute or torture S hid themselves. She had skimmed kindness and humaneness in his amber gaze, but she had witnessed the same thing from K before. He had shown her leniency many times, and she had even seen a tear shed once or twice, but he always ended up afflicting her again. She couldn’t trust those eyes, regardless of how promising and honest they seemed. Proving her worth would save her life, so she thought. She was a terrible slave. A wretch. An enemy who had been shown mercy. She deserved whatever awaited her in the dungeons; whatever waited behind N’s reassuring hand.

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the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

Text

Crown of Thorns

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under her chin, arms clutching her knees.

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped her face, and she leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

Series Summary: After the need for their alliance during the Battle of Titan, King Stephen asked in return for his services, that King Anthony of the Iron Islands’, first born daughter would be given in marriage, to his sons, Prince Steven and Prince James of the Kingdom of Kamar-Taj. Despite King Anthony’s other offers, King Stephen would only agree to one, or there would be war between their two Kingdoms. Leaving King Anthony with no choice, he sacrificed his first born daughter, in hopes of sparing his people of anymore suffering. Anthony prayed that the men would care for his daughter, and love her as he did, but a sparkly crown can hide a thousand secrets.

Pairing: Prince!Steve x Princess!Reader x Prince!Bucky

Series Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Angst, Fluff (There will be some fluffy stuff I promise, I can't resist), Smut: This series will include some aspects of Dub-con/Non-con: Steve and Bucky aren't going to be Prince Charmings. More Warnings will be posted on Chapters.

Masterlist

Part One: End of an Era

Chapter Warnings: Gore, Violence

Word Count: 3.2k

“We’re losing too many men, my Lord.” Sir Rhodes was able to yell over the cries of the men, who were falling quickly, to Thanos’ blades.

“They are surrounding us; they mean to crush us.” Lord Parker informed, Anthony watched in horror as his men were quickly surrounded by Thanos’ guard caging them in a circle of swords and shields.

“Where is King Stephen, we need his men.” Anthony called out, shoving some of his men away from him, Thanos’ men were beginning to edge their way in, making their circle tighter and tighter.

“He is nowhere to be seen, my Lord. I believe that he is-“ Lord Parker was unable to finish his sentence, as one of Thanos’ guards raised his spear, thrusting it through the air with such force, it pierced straight through Lord Parker’s helmet, swiftly ending his life.

“Richard!” A voice called from across the circle of death; Lord Parker’s brother, Earl Parker, yelped in dismay. Distracted by his brother’s death, he was unaware of the closing shield wall, that soon swallowed him in a stampede of iron boots and swords.

“Benjamin!” Anthony called, watching as his own army began to trample each other, in their own desperation to survive.

His breathing laboured, he looked for a pocket or a gap in the closing ranks, but he was unsuccessful, everywhere he turned, more of his men were being stomped and stabbed, either by their comrades or by Thanos’ waiting steel.

“This is the end for you, King Stark, watch as your people and fellow Kingdoms fall…at the hand of Thanos, The Inevitable.” The dark and gravel voice that sent chills done Anthony’s back.

Stark was powerless to stop him, the pit becoming narrower and narrower; he himself, began to fight for breath, the men had caged him in, their bodies pressed closely, Anthony looked to the sky, it was grey and clouded.

‘Fitting.’ He thought. ‘For the end.’

He felt as though, he had taken his final breath, when suddenly through the shouts and pleas, he heard the unmistakable rumble of horses’ hooves. At first, he believed that his mind was playing tricks on him. That in his final hours the Gods were tormenting him, just before his death.

But then came the sound of a horn, not just any horn, but a battle horn.

Turning his attention from the sky, to the nearby hills, he noticed the crowd of horses that were advancing from the horizon. The Kamar-Taj banners flying high on the long poles.

Anthony let out what little breath he could, in relief, watching as King Stephen’s men quickly dealt with Thanos’ crushing circle. As more of his men fell, the looser the circle became, and Anthony’s men were able to free themselves, and take part in the glorious massacre.

Anthony discovered Thanos, who was attempting to flee the battle ground, his horse was injured, and was flaying and whimpering, staggering on its wounded legs.

“Move you, wretched beast. Obey your master.” Thanos roared, spurring the horse’s side, but the horse moved no faster, exhausted and weary.

“This is why you are a unworthy King, Thanos.” Anthony stalked towards him, drawing his sword as he walked.

The horse was spooked by the screeching of the metal as it slid from it’s sheaf. The glint of the metal, that was partially stained with mud and blood, danced in the horse’s eyes, causing it to rear up, sending Thanos crashing to the floor.

Realising that it’s master had been thrown, using it’s last fuse of energy, it broke into a distressed sprint, through the trees of the nearby woods.

Thanos shrunk away from Anthony’s towering stance, the man’s eyes were dark with anger and determination, he wanted to end the tyranny and pain the bad King had brought upon his Kingdom and his kin’s.

“You nearly took everything from us,” Anthony stood over the would-be God, enjoying seeing the man cower.

“My Lord, I did what I only saw as right, I did what I felt must be done.” Thanos stammered, crawling onto his knees, and bowing his head, in supposed shame.

“Five years, you have brought nothing but grief and blood, to my family, to my people, to my Kingdom. Now you must pay the price for your crimes.

“But, your Grace, I am a King, I am the King of Titan, what I did was nothing new, was nothing spontaneous, it will repeat itself for millennias to come. I am…inevitable.”

Anthony could not bear to hear another worthless word escape the man’s mouth. The grip of the handle grew tighter, his fingers curved round the leather grip, as he stood to the side of the fallen King.

“Look upon your Kingdom for the final time, your highness. Watch as the flames of heaven, scorch your damned Kingdom of it’s sin, as it burns you from history.”

Anthony raised his sword, Thanos looked upon the grounds as he was told to, watching the way his men would cower and scream, as they met their deaths, at the hand of King Anthony and Stephen’s men.

“You see, your Grace…you may be inevitable, but I am…The Iron King.”

Raising the sword above his head, he brought it crashing down, slicing through the fragile skin of Thanos’ neck.

There came a cheer from the knights, as they watched the fallen King’s head roll onto the battlefield, drowning in a puddle of blood.

~~~~~~

“To King Anthony and King Stephen.” Sir Rhodes cheer, lifting his goblet high, the other men following suit.

“To the Iron King.” King Stephen rose from his seat, lifting his own wine in good gesture to Anthony, the glint in his eyes did not match his unnerving smile.

“To the Iron King.” The men roared, before downing the contents of their goblets, and beginning to scrabble amongst themselves to refill their cups.

Anthony flashed a smile, but swiftly looked down, when he caught King Stephen’s eyes glaring at him from across the room.

“I’d like to thank you, personally, my Lord.” Anthony’s eyes trailed up the woman’s body, who stood before him. A sad, yet warming smile, stretched across her face.

“Lady Parker…” Anthony stammered, his heart tightening in his chest, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Anthony extended his hand, Lady Parker reached for it, allowing Anthony to kiss it gently.

“It is indeed a great loss, losing my husband and brother-in-law, in one dreadful, yet magnificent day. I’d like to congratulate you on your victory against the Titans and thank you for taking young Peter as your ward. You will give him a life that a boy requires to grow into a man, a life that I cannot give him.” Lady Parker spoke solemnly.

“I will do only half the job that you could have done, my Lady.” Anthony replied, glumly “It is I, who should be thanking you. You gifted me two wonderful and strong warriors, and now I have a fine young boy, who has the bloodline and the heritage that will further lead my Kingdom to victory. I will raise him, as if he were my own son.”

Lady Parker’s warm smile, faltered slightly, when Anthony mentioned the idea that her nephew would engage in similar service that the men in her family had been slaughtered in.

“I ask for only one thing, my Lord. Please don’t allow me to speak, if you think that my words may be too bold…”

“Please, Lady Parker, you are amongst friends here.” Anthony motioned to his wife and young daughter who had sat either side of him.

“Peter has seen so much death, in his young life. So much pain, and anguish. After losing his mother to the fever, that also took your dear wife, Gods rest her soul…He has found it hard to adjust to life without that compassion and empathy that only a mother can give.”

“It is true; a boy without a mother, can turn savage. I understand your concerns.” Anthony dropped his head slightly, the feeling of his own past and family mishaps weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“Then you must understand my wish, my Lord. I wish for my nephew to not know bloodshed. I understand as a boy, who will become a man, there are certain qualities that he must possess, but I only ask that you keep him protected from the gores of war and he will no longer know of sudden death and unexpected grief.” Lady Parker swiftly wiped at her cheek, catching a stray tear that seemed to trail down her face.

Anthony was unsure of what to say, of what to promise this poor woman, who stood, practically pleading with him.

“I do understand your wish, Lady Parker, and I will do my best to protect young Peter, from the flames of war and death. He will be an educated man, much like his father.” Anthony tried showing his best smile, watching Lady Parker sigh in relief.

“Thank you, your Grace. Thank you so much.” Lady Parker curtsied a few times, before bowing her head to The Queen, and scuttling away from the table.

With the Lady now gone, Anthony once again caught eyes with King Stephen, who appeared to be unmoved, as he chewed expectantly on his boar’s leg.

Anthony cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable under the other King’s stare.

“Are you alright, my love?” The Queen placed he hand on Anthony’s, pulling away when she felt how cold and clammy it had become, despite the warmth and stuffiness of the room.

“Are you okay, daddy?” Y/N, clutched his other arm, looking up at Anthony’s big brown eyes, watching as they clouded with worry and fear.

“I’m just tired from the battle, we should have waited longer, before we threw this celebration.” Anthony replied, shortly.

“What is the matter, Tony?” The Queen pressed, watching as Anthony continued to shift around in his seat.

“Daddy, why are King Stephen’s sons looking at me like that?” Anthony’s eyes snapped up to the other stretched wooden table, that was in front of them. Ignoring Stephen’s harsh gaze, he followed along the table, spotting Stephen’s two sons, staring at his daughter like she was a piece of meat.

“Pep, I need to speak with you…right now.” Without another word, he stood from the table, most of the hall fell silent, unable to ignore the fact that the King had just upped and left without an announcement.

Smiling awkwardly, the Queen stood from her throne, nodding to the crowd by way of excuse before trotting after Anthony.

“What is it, my darling? Why are you so on edge? We should be celebrating your glorious victory.” The Queen grabbed Anthony’s face, hoping to calm him by rubbing her thumbs over his weathered cheeks.

“There is something I must tell you, my love.” Anthony could barely look his wife in the eyes, as he fished for the words that he needed to say.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, the little girl, who had tugged on her father’s arm, had slid off her seat, and unnoticed by the rest of the guests had followed hot on her father’s heals, watching her step-mother and father, from behind a suit of armour, careful to remain silent so she could over-hear their conversation.

“Just tell me, Tony. It can’t be that bad.” The Queen sighed, her smile kind and her eyes warm, as she continued to coax her husband out of his frightened and weary state.

“I know that we promised to decide together, what would happen when we matched made for Y/N.” Anthony began, his own palms flattening on the Queen’s shoulders.

Y/N ears pricked at the mention of her name, shuffling slightly so she could hear better.

“It was Queen Y/M/N final words to me as her Lady-in-Waiting.” The Queen spoke sadly.

Y/N’s eyes glazed momentarily, when the mention of her late mother was brought up. The memories of her biological mother were becoming hazy as she grew older, her face was beginning to fog, and it made her sad to think that soon she would be completely forgotten. The only thing that kept the memorial tie, was the paintings her father had commissioned, that hung proudly in her room and the halls.

Queen Virginia, who had been Queen Y/M/N Lady-in-Waiting, was not bothered by the paintings of her husband’s ex-wife, as she had loved the Queen almost as dearly, and allowed for one of the paintings to hang in the throne room, to remind others of her beauty.

Queen Virginia, or Pepper as Anthony affectionally called her, had been so close to Queen Y/M/N, and had been one of the few at her bedside, when she unfortunately passed from fever.

“I know, but…” Anthony broke from his gaze with the Queen, his tongue freezing in his throat. Y/N turned back to her father, who had grown paler as he locked eyes with his wife.

“Tony…” the Queen eyed his suspiciously, “What have you done?”

“King Stephen required payment, for the sacrifices of his men, and his overall endorsement in the war with the Titans.” Anthony breathed, he sat on one of the stone window seals, his knees felt weak.

“What did he ask for, it is to be expected? Was it more lands, cattle?” Pepper edged towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“King Stephen…has requested…” Anthony swallowed hard, his mouth and throat feeling dry, “…that Y/N be given in marriage to Prince Steven and Prince James.”

The Queen gasped, her hand covering her mouth, trying to contain her shock.

Y/N, who had been leaning heavily on the armour, slipped on the shining metal, in her dazed state, causing the armour to squeak slightly.

Diving behind the wall, before her father could spot her, she sat with her legs pulled to her chest, and eyes wide, as she re-iterated her father’s words, over and over again, in her head.

She realised that the couple had started speaking again, tuning her ears into their conversation.

“Tony you can’t,” Pepper gasped, “She is only 10 years of age, the boys must be what...7-8 years older than her. Oh, Tony you can’t do this. Have you not heard the stories?”

“Yes.” Anthony replied, briskly, standing from his stone seat, “Don’t you think I hate the thought, of my precious baby girl, in the jaws of those two creatures.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened, she was only little, but she too had heard the stories of the two Princes, who came from Kamar-Taj. Peter had told them to her, when they had been playing in the courtyard.

The story of the two sons; who were so wicked and cruel, they had brought about the deaths of their mothers, when they were no more than infants. Peter had told Y/N a story, of how the Princes had cut one of their nanny’s heads off, when they were only five and six.

“Tony you must refuse the proposal, I will not allow Y/M/N daughter to be mistreated by-“

“She is my daughter too!” Y/N shook at her father’s enraged tone, she had never heard him yell, at least not with so much rage and anger, especially not at his wife.

“Do you think that if there was any other way, I would offer up anything-anything, so that my daughter would be free, I’d give my soul to the devil, I would give up the ability to create anymore heirs, I would do anything, to protect my angel. She is the last thing that I have, that links me to Y/M/N. The only thing that I have left of her.” Anthony’s voice settled down, to almost barely a whisper.

“It must be done. King Stephen says it is all that he wants, and if I refuse then he would wage war against the Iron Islands,” Anthony sighed, “My people can’t cope with another war, it must be done.”

“Daddy, please don’t.” Y/N sprung from her hiding place, taking both of the royals by surprise. She wrapped herself around Tony’s leg, burying her face in his breaches, allowing the rich material to soak up her tears.

“Please don’t give me away to those beasts.” Y/N sobbed, Anthony brushed his fingers through her hair, the top of her head began to grow wet, when his own tears began to drip.

“My little bug, I would do anything to keep you safe,” Anthony hoisted the young girl on to his hip, holding her tightly to his chest, “If I don’t allow this marriage, then King Stephen will cause a war, that could see you and Lady Mother being killed. At least this way, I know that you will be safe.”

Pepper sent him an unconvinced glance, that Anthony had to ignore, choosing to bury his face in his daughter’s hair, savouring the smell of her luscious locks.

“I think it is time for bed.” Pepper announced, watching the young Princess’ eyes begin to droop, as she pressed her head under Anthony’s chin.

Scooping Y/N out of Anthony’s arms, she began to carry her to her bedroom, in her tall tower.

“Would you like me to take her, my Lady?” Lady Maria asked, holding her arms out to take the child.

“No thank you, Maria. I will put the Princess to bed tonight.” Pepper nodded, and Lady Maria curtsied back, before leaving the Queen and the Princess alone in her bedroom.

Pepper begins to undress Y/N, pulling her uncomfortable corset off, and sliding her little night dress over her sleepy head.

“Why did you marry my daddy, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked through a yawn, as Pepper laid her back in her bed.

“When your mother was…unwell…she told me and your daddy, that she didn’t want him to be alone, and that you needed a mother, so she said that daddy and I would be best suited to one another.” Pepper explained, as tactfully as she could.

“But did you love him?” Y/N tilted her head, not wanting to upset her step-mother, but wanting to understand.

“At first…no…I loved him as my King, but I struggled to love him as my husband, I was so worried about replacing your mother, but then I found a letter that she had written me before she…passed away…It read that she wanted me to be happy, and that she wanted Anthony, your daddy, to be happy as well, and she knew that I cared for you and loved you very much as if you were my own daughter, and that is what she wanted for her precious baby girl.”

“So you fell in love with daddy, because of me?” Y/N quirked an eyebrow, still not quite grasping the sentimental memory.

“Well…yes…I suppose we did. You brought your father and I together. Our love for you, was strong enough to bring us together, and now I love your father unconditionally, and he does to.” Pepper had climbed into the large bed, which was, despite it’s size, still a challenge, with her puffy under skirt and poufy gold dress.

“Will the evil Princes love me?” Y/N worried, looking up.

“You mustn’t call them that, little one. And I’m sure that you will warm their hearts like you do, with your daddy and I.” Pepper beamed.

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” you asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under your chin, your arms clutching your knees.

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped your face, and you leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

A/N: I’m back bitches...sorry about the long wait, this book will be updated weekly rather than daily, but I’ve reached a point where I need to be more chill and place less stress on myself with deadlines. Hope you enjoyed, feel free to Like! Reblog! Comment!

And the Taglist is always open!!

Taglist

@readermia @this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @bbywtchh @liakrichards @nisha-misha97 @waywardwifey @xxblueslothxx @randomtails @emma-is-a-nerd @hhxppyyy @viviennebloom @in-a-constant-daydream6 @actualhobbitjenny

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years

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Ooooooh I’ve got a great idea, sooga goes to rito village to confront revali, the only other asshole (he’s a much better bitch than CIL) he knows, and tells him about the cil bullying situation, and no rito could possibly resist helping sooga, and revali can be the ONLY asshole in his group of friends so he ain’t having none of it... bassically I want revali to beat cils ass. hope your enjoying your day!

Oooh? An asshole with an asshole. I'm in, let's fucking go.

"Sooga’s here, Sooga’s here!!"

The rito women immediately started to preen themselves, so excited. Revali couldn't help but give himself a look over as well. Sooga was showing up, unannounced? And apparently without Kohga? Either it was business, or pleasure. Either way, Revali stepped out of his house, being met with the sight of the blade master. Big, strong, he was a real heart breaker amongst the rito.

"Sooga! We haven't seen you in such a long time!"

"Oh you've been keeping up the work out routine, haven't you?"

Sooga, as usual, was swimming in rito women. They surrounded him like feral dogs, clearly wanting his attention. Sooga HATED it, Revali could tell, but it was a sight to see. Sooga looked more uncomfortable than usual however, so Revali decided to be a peach, and break it up.

"Ladies, why don't you let the poor thing breathe?"

"But Revali!!!"

They whined, a few clasping onto his arm. Revali shooed them off, shaking his head.

"Quit being harpies, all of you. Why don't you all fetch him a snack instead, maybe something with fish. You like fish, right Sooga?"

Sooga nodded, trying his best to keep polite.

"I do enjoy fish. If it wouldn’t trouble you ladies-"

"Oh not at all! KRISSI YOU BITCH MOVE!"

They damn near trampled each other on their way to their respective cooking pots. Revali chuckled, opening his front door.

"They like you. You should be flattered, rito men would LOVE to have them flocking the way you do."

"I swear they were about to pick me clean, like vultures…"

He stepped inside Revali's abode, allowing himself to sit down and be served a cup of tea. Never snacks. Revali knew he hated eating, especially away from Kohga. Revali took a seat across from him, getting comfy.

"So. You show up here, unannounced. And without Kohga. For what reason?"

"I actually wanted to come see you. It's...something Kohga can't know about."

Revali was listening. Maybe he wasn't too far off in his assumptions. A little secret between them, away from Kohga. With muscles like that, who could refuse? He nodded, taking a sip of his own drink.

"But of course, Sooga. Just ask for it."

Sooga took a sip, stalling. He wanted those stupid lips, and he wanted them now.

"I'm...not sure how to."

"Sooga, the shyness is endearing, but my time is VERY valuable. So...ask me."

Revali leaned in closer. He smelled mildly of sweat, and holy SHIT he wanted to jump on him right fucking now. Sooga nodded.

"Apologies. You're right. So, I will say it. I'm...struggling with a blade master. Cil. He keeps trying to take MY Kohga from me, keeps making me doubt my relationship with him. I feel as though it's...separating us, and he's...proud like you. I don't detest you as I do him, but I just thought you'd know how to...handle it. In a way."

Not where Revali thought this was going, at ALL. He sat back in his chair, trying to tell his body that his ever increasing boner wasn't needed.

"Are you. Are you saying you're being bullied?"

"It...sounds childish when you put it that way. No, it's...more like, he makes me doubt my work and my love for Kohga. I'm dutiful, and I love my Master, but Cil….gets in my head. I feel like I should...end things with Kohga, if I'm so weak to simple words."

Revali could totally abuse this. Agree with this Cil person, and be Sooga’s shoulder to cry on. But Revali didn't bully for spite. He bullied for the benefit of other’s. Link demanded the most trust from him, and in the process, became a trusted friend in arms. So, despite how much Revali REALLY wanted to suck off Sooga, he did what was right for Sooga.

"Don't be an idiot. Somehow you and Kohga love each other. And this Cil fellow- he's abusing the mushy parts about you to get what he wants. YOU need to remember that Cil isn't some all knowing being-he's manipulative. I want you to go home after this, pick up something special for Kohga, and remember what I told you. Do you understand?"

"....I do. That's, oddly kind of you, Revali."

"Yes yes, I know, I'm a saint really. Don't go telling Link, he'll expect the same treatment."

"If you stop bullying Link, I'll end up bullying YOU."

They both shared a chuckle at that. Them talking shit about Link was one of the things they bonded over. Revali was about to say something specific about Link, when Sooga reached over to hold his hand. Revali felt his feathers fluff up (how embarrassing), just melting under such a big, strong hand.

"Sooga-"

"I just. Thank you. It's...not something that's easy to talk about with other's. They're so kind and they don't understand. It makes the whole situation-"

"Asinine?"

Another chuckle at that. Revali REALLY liked that chuckle of his. He was going to push his luck, maybe try touching something else, when his house was promptly invaded. By eager, loud, rito women, each holding a plate of food.

"Sooga! I'm so sorry I kept you waiting! I brought my seafood curry!"

"Oh don't poison the poor man! Here, try my fish pie!"

"He might as well eat sawdust! Sooga, here, try some clam chowder!"

Sooga sighed, while Revali sat there, chuckling. Sooga didn't deserve all the pestering he got. The women's attention, Revali couldn't help. But he knew one thing he COULD do.

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

"Have a good one Cil! Try not to glare some poor soul to death!"

"And you, try not to catch a disease."

Von laughed at the retort, pulling his fellow blade master aside for a steamy, drunken, sloppy make out session. Cil had made the mistake of joining Von for drinks, and had a pretty awful time. Drinks were shitty, expensive, and all Von did the whole time was stick his hand in between several pairs of legs. Cil decided a walk home in the cold night air would do him some good.

"So YOU’RE Cil."

Cil stood still upon hearing the voice, as well as the crunch of leaves, slowly growing louder and louder. He slowly turned, just in time to see his sudden visitor. Revali, champion of the rito. Arguably the best archer of his kind. Had to be, to make up for that short stature.

"Take it you've been looking for me?"

"Yes, actually. You see, to put it bluntly, I hate how you've been treating a friend of mine."

"You wouldn't be the first. I also don't care."

Cil was already bored. He tried to turn around and walk off, when he stopped, feeling something breeze past his head. An arrow, now buried into the tree in front of him. He turned around, looking at that angry face, and the now drawn bow.

"I think it's time you start caring. I want you to stop it. And I'm being nice, asking you politely. Don't make me act uncouth."

"Unfortunate. Us Yiga don't care for manners, not towards our assailants."

They stared each other down for a moment, before Cil rushed him, blade drawn. Revali dodged, barely able to avoid being sliced, unlike the tree next to him. Revali fired, only to be forced to hide behind another tree, Cil somehow deflecting it with his drawn blade. Cil cracked his neck, slowly approaching Revali's hiding spot. This was way better than just some walk.

"Come now, little birdy. I'll clip your wings quickly if you come out now, rather than later. If you make me wait...I'll make these woods sing with your screams."

Revali turned quickly, firing his arrow. He aimed not for his shoulder or even his head. Instead, he aimed for his hands. The weapon fell as the arrow struck, but before Cil could reach for his weapon, Revali pointed the tip of the arrow at his forehead.

"You can save yourself the trouble. Leave. Sooga. Alone."

"Ah...he's your little buddy, huh? He's not even asking you to do this,"

Cil lifted his hands up in defeat, slowly walking backwards as Revali kept stepping forward, right until his back was against a tree.

"How both you AND Master Kohga care for him so much...I'll never know. But I DO know...that it is a mistake you will both pay for."

He quickly grabbed the arrow from the tree behind him, and jabbed it into Revali's shoulder. Revali was about to just bear it and retaliate, before Cil used his body to push him to the ground. It knocked the bow out of his hands, and Revali was on the forest floor, with Cil wrapping his hands around his throat, and squeezing. Revali flailed, trying to do ANYTHING to be free. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"I'm sorry Sooga was your demise. I pity you. I-"

He didn't get to finish as Revali managed to lift himself up a hit, and swipe his talons at him. It hit right at his face, not just scratching his features, but peeling off his mask. Revali leapt up, grabbing the mask and holding it tightly to his chest. Cil sat there, covering his bleeding face with both of his hands.

"GIVE IT BACK. YOU DO N O T DESERVE TO SEE MY FACE!"

Revali glared at him, meeting his eyes through his fingers.

"If you'll back off Sooga, I'll give it back."

"He is a MUTT-"

"I'll tell EVERYONE I saw your face."

"They won't believe you."

"Rumors are powerful. Many would LOVE to make people think its real, just to humiliate you. Care to risk it?"

Cil hesitated. But when Revali's claws started to glide down the wood, he was convinced.

"OKAY OKAY! JUST. GIVE ME THE MASK, AND WE'LL CALL IT TRUCE."

Revali had no idea these masks were such a huge fucking deal. Whatever. He tossed the mask in his direction, watching Cil frantically put it back on, smearing the blood on his mask. Revali picked his bow off the floor, putting it back into its holster.

"You yigas better keep your word."

Revali was in the skies in just a second, headed right for Zora's domain. He stopped at Mipha’s window, giving it a knock. She opened her window, immediately looking worried as she saw the state he was in.

"Revali! What happened, you poor thing?!"

"I was...helping a friend. Suppose you don't mind doing the same for me?"

Was this a stupid decision? Yes. Like Link level stupid. But...Revali didn't at all regret it. Not for Sooga.

#asks #Revali #Sooga #Cil #this was SO fun to do???#I loved getting some fight scenes #loved Revali and sooga being tender #and in case you're wondering this DID work #cil pulled back a LOT #and hes got a big nasty scar on his face that he hates #and hes too ashamed to tell anyone what happened #also headcanon; instead of blushing #rito feathers get all fluffy

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myhahnestopinion · 3 years

Text

THE AARONS 2020 - Best TV Show

It was prime time for TV in 2020, with many more free hours to fill. I managed to get through a lot of my backlog in fact, finally getting around to watching shows like The Strain. It’s a show about a deadly disease that tears society apart because a lot of arrogant people think they are exempt from quarantining. The disease turns people into vampires, so it’s technically escapism. Here are the Aarons for Best TV Show:

#10. The Plot Against America (Miniseries) - HBO

It’s not TV, it’s not HBO, it’s real life. The Wire-creator David Simon’s penchant for illustrating the human fallout of institutional failures made him a perfect collaborator for HBO’s Plot Against America, an adaptation of Phillip Roth’s alternate-history novel. Following a Jewish family in New Jersey navigating the increasingly-fascist America of a hypothetical Charles Lindbergh administration, the show is a terrifying warning of what happens when hatred and conspiracy theories are allowed to accumulate political force. Notably, while the book ends with history back on the right track, the closing moments here are left ambiguous. The show was a limited series, but in many ways, The Plot Against America is ongoing.

#9. Mrs. America (Miniseries) - FX

Its interests are married to The Plot Against America, but Mrs. America traces the country’s rising extremism from a more historically accurate perspective. The miniseries centers on political activists in the 1970s on opposing sides of the proposed Equal Rights Amendment, but its dialogue isn’t a strict dichotomy. The episodic format is expertly utilized to build out intersectional ideas from the likes of Rose Byrne’s Gloria Steinem, Uzo Aduba’s Shirley Crisholm, and Margo Martindale’s Bella Abzug, detailing the difficulties in building a diverse coalition, and the dangers of a single-minded one. Drawing parallels to current debates, its compelling centerpiece is how conservative Phylis Shafley (Cate Blanchett) successfully defeats the Amendment; voting against your own self-interests, Mrs. America says, is as American as apple pie.

#8. The Outsider (Miniseries) - HBO

Societal collapse comes from within in the two shows mentioned above, but the threat in HBO’s adaptation of Stephen King’s 2018 novel is decidedly an “other.” King clearly had his mind on modern manipulations of truth when crafting the ingenious premise: a man is arrested for the murder of two young boys due to irrefutable DNA evidence, only to provide an air-tight alibi for the crime. To match King’s procedural prose, HBO brought on The Night Of’s David Price, who layers the original work with meticulous mysteries. The Outsider has all the pulpy jolts expected of the author, but the show’s true horror lies in its overbearing grief, best brought to life by Ben Mendelsohn’s Detective Anderson. To say more would be to spoil its secrets; you’ll want to be on the inside.

#7. Perry Mason (Season 1) - HBO

Just like the famous fictional attorney, HBO can’t seem to lose, with Perry Mason marking its third entry on this list. The reimagining of the long running court drama actually takes place before the character’s illustrious law career; here he’s a down-on-his-luck private eye caught up in a scandalous child kidnapping case. The result’s a gangbusters production of old-fashioned moody noir: political corruption, femme fatales, and a more morally-complicated Mason, as played by The Americans’ Matthew Rhys. The lavish period details and character-actor cast, including Shea Whigham, John Lithgow, and Tatiana Maslany, will help draw viewers in, but, I’ll confess, I was already hooked by the season’s chilling opening moments.

#6. Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist (Season 1) - NBC

Dour seasons have dominated this list thus far, but Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist sings a different tune. It’s a lovably oddball premise: an accident during an MRI causes a young woman, played by Jane Levy, to hear other people’s thoughts in the form of popular music. It’s all karaoke, but, emphasized by the presence of Skylar Astin, a worthy inheritor to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s musical-comedy crown. The tracklist, workplace antics, and love-triangle drama all exist in a comfortingly familiar network TV realm, but the show takes additional steps for inclusion with stories highlighting Zoey’s genderfluid neighbor (Alex Newell) and an American Sign Language performance of Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song.” During a year in need of shuffling off stress, there was no better time to queue up Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist.

#5. What We Do in The Shadows (Season 2) - FX

FX’s expansion of the mockumentary feature film of the same name lit up some of the darker corners of its universe in the show’s second season, transforming mundane-seeming material into something completely, uniquely batty. Each creature of Shadows took their turn in the spotlight this season, from a middle-management promotion gifting energy-vampire Colin Robinson unlimited supernatural power, to undead Nadja befriending a doll possessed by her own ghost, to Matt Berry’s Lazlo forging a small-town persona as a bartender/volleyball coach to escape a vengeful Mark Hamill. As always, it was the sympathetic Guillermo (Harvey Guillén), a Van Helsing descendent desperate to become a vampire, who gave the show its emotional stakes, and the vampires within a different kind altogether.

#4. Stargirl (Season 1) - DC Universe

Shadows was lit, but few things burned brighter this year than Stargirl (perhaps too brightly for the flamed-out DC Universe). The superhero drama is one of several that will outlive its original streaming service - fitting, given its obsession with legacy. Based on a character created by DC Comics stalwart Geoff Johns after the tragic loss of his sister, the show finds a young girl taking on the mantle of a fallen hero after moving to a town run in secret by supervillains. With sprightly fight choreography and an unabashed embrace of its comic book lore, Stargirl outshines the overabundance of small-screen superheroes out there. Its highlight is the bright performance of lead Brec Bassinger; put simply, she’s a star, girl.

#3. BoJack Horseman (Season 6b) - Netflix

Throughout its run, BoJack Horseman garnered acclaim for routinely delivering unexpected pathos, and the final season kept it on that track until the end. ...Get it, because horses run on tracks? The unexpected porter of television’s legacy of antiheroes ended in much the same vein as its sister shows - with consequences finally catching up with its protagonist. No amount of fanciful animal puns could soften that painful catharsis, as the show finally trampled its tricky web of abuse through bittersweet means. The series closed out with an especially thoughtful scene, the kind viewers who looked past the wonky pilot years ago were regularly blessed with; to the very end, BoJack, you were a gift, horse.

#2. Better Call Saul (Season 5) - AMC

As good as Bad ever was and better than ever before, the fifth season of AMC’s spin-off completely upended the world of its eponymous lawyer while bringing Vince Gilligan’s universe one step away from full-circle. Saul Goodman found himself in way over his head, and viewers found themselves way on the edge of their seats, as his first foray into “criminal” lawyering swiftly dovetailed with an escalating drug war. Despite the emotional distress of watching fan-favorite character Kim Wexler placed in perilous situations, there are no objections to be had with the drama’s continued masterful storytelling. Ramping up the slow-burn storytelling, season five saw Kim and Saul’s relationship develop in rich and unexpected ways, while still keeping their final fates unresolved. Fans are thus waiting with bated breath for the show’s final call next year.

#1. The Great (Season 1) - Hulu

Who could be the best but The Great? There was a minor television controversy this year over Netflix marketing The Crown as a historical drama despite its fictional interpretation of events; The Great has no such pretentions. An asterix adorns every title card of the show, letting viewers know that its take on Catherine the Great’s coup against Emperor Peter III of Russia is only “an occasionally true story.” The show indeed is not great for education, but it’s the most entertaining television of the year, locking stars Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult in a battle of wits and a fight for the country’s soul under the watch of The Favourite co-writer Tony McNamara. The uproarious comedy slyly collates leadership based in cruelty with leadership based in goodwill in the background of its quite bawdy escapades, a subtle bit of relevant political maneuvering that lets it successfully claim the crown this year.

NEXT UP: THE 2020 AARONS FOR BEST TV EPISODE!

#tv #TheAarons #TheAarons2020 #TheAaronsTV #best of 2020 #the plot against america #mrs america #the outsider #perry mason #zoey's extraordinary playlist #what we do in the shadows #stargirl #bojack horseman #better call saul #the great

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sophi-s · 4 years

Text

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body…

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌

#darksiders #darksiders fan fiction #darksiders genesis #my fic #darksiders astarte #astarte #darksiders abaddon #abaddon #here I go writing about that arsehole again XD #idk #I can't tag properly :P #my art #fan art #darksiders art #also .I.. Gimp #it's so hard to do decent stuff #it's not even that good :/

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