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vampire-the-askerade · 11 months

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Hello! How are ya?

If you're in the mood, could you write something for Strauss x f!tremere that works really hard, maybe even *too* hard? Like, borderline thinking she will be killed or something if she fails (like college, where is she failed she would be terribly behind), so he shows up to her room to check on her and she is slouched over notes and almost hyperventilating so he has to calm her down and reassure her? General fluff and cuteness. <3

[Hello! I’m doing alright. So sorry this took a bit to get here, I’ve had the worst brain fog lately so words hated me for like a week or something, haha. Hopefully it was worth the wait though :)]

Strauss x f! Reader

There were many things that Strauss had learned during his many years of being a regent. One of these things was the difference between when someone hadn’t been seen in a while because they were busy and when someone hadn’t been seen in a while to the point of it being concerning. Such was what he suspected the case to be with you tonight.

When he had seen you at the end of the night before, it seemed like you were stressed about something, though he was not able to tell what that was. You had seemed troubled, but not so much that it was alarming at the time. However, Strauss had neither seen nor heard you at all tonight which became concerning as it was now pushing 1:00 in the morning. This was more than enough time for you to have risen from the hold of the morning and come down from your room; even if it was not to report to him, then for a myriad of other reasons.

That is why Strauss had made his way up to the door of your room and began knocking. It was gentle at first, but he then gave another, more firm rap at the door when you didn’t answer even after he called your name. Eventually, enough was enough and he was turning the doorknob which he found was unlocked, and announced himself as he let himself in.

The sight that he saw when he was in the room wasn’t anything that Strauss had not seen before, at least in one form or another. He had thought that you weren’t likely to fall prey to major burnout, but here you were, hunched over your desk, shoulders shaking, and so much into your despair that you probably didn’t even comprehend that he was there, at least not fully.

“Childe,” Strauss called softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “What troubles you?”

It seemed that you did not notice him as previously thought, but you did little more than gasp a bit before your breathing went back to its stunted attempts to even itself. If he was going to find out what was happening then he was going to have to stop your hyperventilating.

Once again from his experience of being a regent for so long, Strauss was often prepared for most situations that could arrive. And, though perhaps not the most coddling of people naturally, he wasn’t completely without empathy; some understanding of people was useful to have, be that for ill or good. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small vial with a flat bottom. Popping the lid off of it he sat it on your desk out of the way of where you were lying your head and arms. Soon a soft and calming aroma was wafting into the air.

This was already starting to help you calm down, but it wouldn’t do the job alone. However, Strauss was hopeful that now you would be able to explain at least something about what had happened.

“Now, if you could, tell me what you have been doing.” It was a command, but a gentle one.

“I…I have been studying the… the….”

You seemed like you were still having trouble talking clearly much less explaining things, but you were able to sit up a bit more and motioned to the material on your desk.

Looking it over, Strauss could see that it was indeed something that he had assigned to you a few nights prior, and stressed only last night how imperative it was for you to learn it.

He should have known to be a bit more cautious with his insistency as this was indeed something that many young Tremere would often fret over seeing as it was one of the first things they would have to present to a higher member of The Pyramid themselves rather than having their regent do so. But, once again, you being one of his most promising pupils in quite some time led him to mistakenly believe that you were somehow immune to this anxiety.

Strauss gave a thoughtful hum, “I see,” he seemed to be disappointed, though at his own shortcomings in this situation rather than anything that you were doing. “And, for how long have you been studying?”

You gave a shaky breath, deep yet still troubled. The fact that you were breathing at all was concerning as the one of only reasons for kindred to partake in the act was to try to calm their nerves, a soothing method leftover from their past human life. There was an equally shaken exhale before you responded, “Since last night.”

“When did you revive and start your studies again tonight?”

“I didn’t.”

“Beg pardon?”

You froze for a moment when you thought that you might have offended him somehow with your answer. However, a glance in his direction let you know that he was truly puzzled and not wanting you to expound your answer in apology.

“I was awake the whole morning.” You explained.

At this Strauss gave a sigh, an exasperated and almost woeful sigh.

“To be awake with the sun is something that even seasoned kindred can struggle with. It was neglectful for you to attempt something so foolish.” He was correcting, but it still held the gentle tone that he had maintained since he had come into your room.

“Neglectful?” Your question came in a mumble.

“That is correct: neglectful. To both your health and your studies.”

“But-“

“Yes, I know. You stayed awake this whole time to study the required material.” Strauss interrupted, something that he only did when he thought that teaching was more important than manners, and thus catching your attention.

“And, tell me, childe, did your actions result in a better understanding of your reading, or did it upset you to the point of being ill?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to as you both knew the state you were in right now. Strauss wasn’t going to let you delve back into your sorrow, though your body threatened to return to its violent sobs at any moment.

“Worry not. I am not angry with you. This whole ordeal is partially my fault. As your regent, I should have better prepared and worked with you rather than expecting you to be able to accomplish all of this work alone.”

There was something more soft about this side about Strauss; something that you could have sworn you had never seen him show to anyone else before. And, to be honest, he thought so as well. Though he might never admit it verbally, or perhaps even mentally, he did have at least a bit of a soft spot for you.

A small and endeared smile made its way to his face without his knowledge as he continued, once again placing a hand on your shoulder. “My erring was due to you being very bright. You excel in so many other things that I had thought you could handle something of this caliber with ease as well. That, however, was unfair of me to expect of you.”

It seemed that you were starting to settle, but not fully. Strauss, not wanting to make you more stressed by feeling like he was eyeing you like a hawk, decided that he should give you space for a while.

“You are to spend the rest of the night away from your studies. I do not care how you use your time, as long as it is away from those books and your notes of them.” He instructed, this time in a more firm and demanding tone so that you knew how serious he was about it.

“But, what about the exam? It's coming up soon and you told me that if I don’t do well then- then-“

“Do not worry about that now.” Strauss once again cut in to keep you from spiraling again. He also scolded himself for telling you of the student who did so poorly with his tone, memory, and presentation that the invigilator used Blood Boil on him. That was a yarn that he most certainly should have saved for after the examination. But, once again, he underestimated the stress this whole thing would place on you.

He started to make his way to the door. “You shall do fine. More than fine; you shall do well. I have as much confidence in you as I have had in all of my other students combined. That is if you rest and allow your mind to achieve its full potential. An overworked mind is an underutilized one. If the path of knowledge is not clear, then the haze of clouded memory with prevent it from passing.”

Strauss had to stop himself from giving another platitude. He was trying to calm you right now, not teach another lesson. So, he ended his time in your room by saying, “Rest and be sure that you do not make yourself go mad by staying in this room. Be sure to walk about if you need to. As you are aware, we are the only ones in the Chantry at this time, so you will not be disturbing anyone if you are wandering. Farewell.”

By the way you were looking when he shut the door, Strauss felt it was safe to leave you alone. He was also hopeful that you would sleep, or rather, the vampiric equivalent of it. He couldn’t be too outwardly affectionate with you as his role of regent was supposed to be equally attentive to all in his charge, and showing you favor would call his qualifications into question.

However, he did make sure to, “forget,” his aromatic vile on your desk. Not only to leave you with its soothing properties for a while longer but also so that he could return to you later when he went to retrieve it.

#maximillian strauss #vtmb strauss #strauss x reader #maximillian strauss x reader

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elbasanluis · 2 years

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final act: scenes one, two, & three

September 24, 2022

Fenrik’s face was the first she saw when she awoke that evening.

Despite the tenderness of her limbs and an ache in her head that threatened to never leave, Elba rose out of bed with incredible speed. She launched herself into his arms. This never-ending nightmare had to have been only that. But over his shoulder, the room was not her own, nor the compound. When his large hand traveled to support the back of her head, the fingers, which threaded into her hair, yanked hard. Elba was tossed back. The face of Fenrik morphed to Lori. The demon-wolf was a trickster by nature, she’d recalled reading.

“Neat, isn’t it?” Lori-Jane’s nose scrunched. Enough blood and guts had been smeared in the past ten days, that Elba did not speak. She’d been cornered into everlasting silence. And as she cowered, she took in how differently her mother appeared now. She’d held up the nickname of a chameleon. Something Elba once found one-of-a-kind and liberating, felt worrying. Because, now, there was a reality to the nickname. Empathy had been acquired over the years, but as mother and daughter eyed each other, Elba could no longer force herself into reasoning with madness. It was miraculous, to be face-to-face with the beast who’d stolen everything and more from you the second you were born.

What would you do?

The stars had read long ago this wasn’t a situation Elba would walk from unscathed. She did what she knew her chosen family would encourage. She’d fight and she’d fuss. She’d bitch and she’d moan. But Elba would ride the ship down, all the way. This time, she launched herself across the mattress for entirely different reasons, hands reaching for her mother’s throat. “You bitch.” Elba screamed out and watched as her knuckles turned white. Lori-Jane only smiled, the same trick used on Fenrik coming into play now. Now when Elba yelped, it was because her skull blazed hotter than a campfire. This did not stop a stream of curses from leaving her mouth. Her mother wouldn’t know peace for another second, not until Elba’s throat was forced slashed again.

“Hold on.” Lori gasped, more or less enjoying the fire she’d never seen in her daughter. She did not wish to fan it away so soon. Lori’s smaller hands wrapped around Elba’s wrists, freeing herself only to say, “Your father’s at the restaurant downstairs. We’re meant to meet for dinner.” The disheveled Elba was ushered towards a garment bag hanging in the hotel room’s closet. Anything she touched in this luxurious space would surely turn to grime. If only the same could be said for her mother. The bag came undone with a satisfying zip, the color of red striking them both upon its arrival. “A final supper as a family.” Lori adjusted her daughter’s hair, watching the waves fall whoosh down her back. Of course, Elba flinched away. “I’ve always said red was your color.”

Lori continued, sauntering across the room in a color that complimented her just as well. The grimoire was unsheathed from the safe. Elba had recognized it from the night she found it, of course. However, she’d also seen it each time Lori had taken it out for light reading while inhabited in Elba’s body. The hearing had been troublesome, but each thing her mother looked at to consume, Elba had been able to comprehend. Her nerves had spiked like never before, between shimmying into this new outfit and thinking of routes to escape. The most important question sprung to mind first.

“Where are they? Lixin, Lys, Sebastian?”

Lori’s smirk was sickening enough to cause a cramp in Elba’s side, “Well, they aren’t family, but why don’t they join us for a decadent dessert?”

September 25, 2022: one a.m.

Lori was more powerful than any being who had ever witnessed her. Her palms were faced towards the sky, a circle of fire encapsulating her sacrifices into a single circle. At random, they would be plucked. They would be killed. They would be appreciated for all eternity until Lori finally saw the Night for herself. She watched as all four of her possessions came together into a huddle, their backs against each other. It was curious how truth revealed itself in all its glory in their final seconds. Her sacrifices seemed as though they’d give themselves to save the other. It was purity Lori would be snatching tonight. God only knew, it’s how you created power, through the incorruptible. A wicked digit spun round, taking her time as she chose who was worthy enough to lead the pack. Elba, sadly, had always been a follower and would be saved for later on. Redcaps, however, boasted their strength and largeness. Her nose crinkled in delight. Sebastian was freed from the circle and the other three continued to be bound to it. Magic, of course, is Lori’s second in command.

“Come, boy,” she challenged. She admired his fighter’s stance. “You look as if you’ve trained all your life for this moment. I won’t let you down.”

Lixin’s excruciating warning came at the moment a sickening crack sounded through the night as Sebastian’s body fell limp. To hear his death over a banshee screech was astounding. Lori broke most bones in the redcap's body with a flick of a hand. There was only time to act in the moments following. It would seem Lixin’s banshee wail had also cleared the magic fire surrounding them. A path now clear towards her mother, Elba took it upon herself to act as the ultimate distraction. She did not look to the two behind her and hoped they fled.

Soon, her fist was coming into contact with Lori’s jaw. She, too, had trained for this moment.

“Don’t play with fucking fire, girl!” Lori roared with bloodlust like no other. The ritual will be finished tonight. As soon as this girl was dealt with, the others would be hunted as prey. She’d expected the fire to come hurdling her way, but the reality was worse. Lori pushed her palms away from her body and sent her daughter a treat.

Elba recognized this growing cloud of mist as the same fog which blanketed the compound when she’d been trapped between Earth and the Night. Earth and purgatory. Then, she realized Lori intended to swallow her whole and trap her beyond the veil. Her blood was not pure, like the others. She had not been as crucial to this ritual. Elba had only stood in the way of being what Lori endeared herself to most – being the true anchor to the other side. The need for control fueled Lori.

The mist stopped feet from her face, because Elba now stood with her own hands out, chanting the one spell she’d watched her mother read over and over again for days. It surprised them both that Elba’s last resort had been the only resort. She was only repeating the first line of four of a spell and this wouldn’t hold for long. Elba could feel her limbs starting to give. She tasted copper on her tongue. But, with what energy she could muster, she held on for dear life. She soon learned the phrase could be chanted inside of her head. It only then did Elba realize Lori-Jane had sat Ira, her father, to the side of the original circle. She’d wanted him to be a spectator to his own daughter’s sacrifice. And surely would be the next death to follow. Elba screamed. Knowing they were in fae’s territory, she even hoped her shouts would reach the ears of any enemies she’d made over the decade. Anything, anyone, any being.

The wind whipped at a furious rate. She only wished it could blow out the fire of chaos her mother ignited for all to witness and bear. “I can beat you!” Elba willed into existence, still fighting against the tide that wished to capture and tear her to pieces. “I don’t want to go! I’m not ready to die!”

It was then, a voice broke through and an entity appeared. “Is that right? It’s about time you decide to live.”

The familiar voice did not break Elba’s focus. Their presence pushed more energy through her body, giving her more belief she could slay the fog. Blonde hair still somehow shimmered under a moonless sky. “H-hi,” Elba stuttered, flabbergasted. She was in awe, to put it simply.

“Hey, El. Keep fighting.”

“I don’t think I can for much longer,” Elba admitted with a trembling chin. “It’s too strong, Astoria. I-I don’t know the spell. I can’t do this all by myself. I can’t.”

“That’s bullshit. You are strong enough to do anything you set your mind to.” Astoria squeezed Elba’s shoulder, “And you aren’t alone. You’ve never been.” Her best friend might’ve faded away, but she was replaced by two other entities.

Alvaro and Dahlia stepped forward together, from the Day, and linked hands with Elba. Their pack was wiped out, and the two women fighting on these grounds of Old Elysia were the only two to remain. The former pack leaders needed one to become Alpha, to control the other side. They wished Elba to live.

“Dahlia,” Elba cried, “Al.” She couldn’t believe she could feel the warmth of their hands again. If the afterlife offered them, death was not so daunting. This instilled a new face of bravery upon her soft features as she squeezed the hands of her family. Of her old family. The family who would ensure she reunited with the family she’d chosen on the island.

Lori's favorite part of being the anchor had been communicating to entities on the other side of each new moon. It was a privilege. She’d met many souls and communicated with past ones. Any true anchor could wipe the veil down in a fail swoop. As her mother looked onwards with wide eyes, she realized, again, the new moon was on her daughter’s side. She recognized the look in Elba’s young eyes, even from afar. Her fate as the true anchor was battling against Lori’s tides.

“Repeat after us, child,” Dahlia reassured, beginning with the familiar line Elba had repeated for nearly a minute now. It continued into the second verse, the third, and fourth until Elba had memorized it too. Though she was the only one to possess the power to send the great fog away, Alvaro and Dahlia chanted alongside her. They chanted louder and louder, the tremendous mist eventually shooting towards the sky. It exploded into a million stars.

“I-I did it,” she marveled. Then, she was seeing all black, as she passed out and tumbled to the woodsy floor below.

All 5’8 of Ira San Luis had managed to pull his unconscious daughter into his arms. After a minute or two of sprints, she must’ve awoken with the bump and thuds of each step. “I did it,” she again said and stirred. Elba’s eyes adjusted as Ira lightly dropped her down to her feet. They hadn’t been alone together in over a decade, leading Elba to stare at her sandy-haired father as he struggled to catch his breath. He was vastly opposite to Lori, always had been. Her vision was much clearer now. She quietly asked, “Where are we going? Where is she?”

Ira’s head poked east. “You remember where you found the book, don’t you? Faes have done nasty things over the years, but,” his pace quickened back to a full-on run. Elba found it easy to catch up with him, her adrenaline never leaving, despite passing out minutes prior. “Some faes thought it funny to cast curses on pieces on their land, curses to wield off evil beings. Most faes cannot visit themselves. A demon-wolf certainly can’t.”

“I’ve been there,” and even though she’d never been in this part of these woods, somehow her feet knew where to lead them and she fell ahead of him. It was soon after they came into the clearing she and Fenrik had once been witness to. Like clockwork, Lori-Jane also appeared. Werewolves were masterful trackers without the magic she possessed. There was a row of trees she could not step foot past. Ira was safe to catch his breath in peace, knowing his wife could not come past the threshold. For once in his life.

“I’m going to kill him first,” Lori stated plainly, her eyes growing furious. Her mother’s hair had been dyed a sandy color, mirroring her father’s. Elba wasn’t sure if the intention was to outcast her, even with the simplest thing as hair, but it felt like a sleight when you searched between each face of the San Luis family. “Come on,” growled Lori, “I thought we said our sweet goodbyes at dinner. Now’s dessert.” She emphasized, her werewolf incisors larger than any Elba had ever seen. You’d have thought she was part bear, but she appeared as whatever nightmare you imagined.

Where Lori had entered this new ring impulsively, Elba had done it inherently. This was where she’d felt most home, second to the compound. On these lands. In this clearing, near this shoreline. Elba stepped closer. She stepped closer, and closer. The invisible barrier was the only thing between them and even then, Elba daringly crossed it. It did not matter what power Lori exerted. So long as Elba did not allow anything to control her, Lori was powerless. Elba had spent years upon years hiding from her mother, cowering behind her father. Now Ira yelled from the background, pleading with Elba to come back into safety.

Lori took a step back. Elba another forward. A finger was pointed to the scars on her neck, “Do you understand how much power it takes to still be alive after this? You should be very, very afraid of me.”

Lori stopped moving. Her smirk widened. “Oh, you want the position of big, bad demon-wolf, my girl?”

“I will do anything to put a stop to your hurt,” Elba’s gentleness returned. The trees blanketing the horizon began to uproot themselves, the sound causing Lori to look around Elba. Because she couldn’t look over her shoulder. Elba looked down at her mother for the first time. She truly looked down on her.

“I don’t care,” Lori sighed, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. She refused to admit defeat of any type. Her daughter knew but one spell. She’d practiced hundreds. Yet, in a harrowing sight, vines and limbs and tree branches rose behind Elba’s larger frame. They’d protect her. Even the Earth knew she was pure. Her flesh and blood refused to. Yet, Lori gulped. When her eyes rounded, Elba even saw herself and where she’d inherited them. She always thought the kindness of her father’s eyes had been why, but it was okay to be wrong. Elba half expected an apology or a sorry attempt. A white flag in the sands. She pathetically played out the camera roll of them hugging, before Lori could break her heart one last time. “I wish I’d have… ripped your fucking head off.”

The trees did the work Elba desired, springing to life and lurching forward. Lori’s words were to be her last. Limbs slithered and snaked around her mother’s legs, arms, chest, and neck. Elba did not look away as Lori-Jane was squeezed to death and torn to pieces by mossy branches. The trees retreated to the safety of their land and posed along the horizon once more. All that remained of the supposed demon-wolf, was a pile of rubbish on muddy grounds and whatever coated her daughter. From head-to-toe, Elba was bloodied.

Red certainly was her color.

#*#drabble*#blood tw #gore tw #death tw #september 2022

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 years

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Betrothed - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 3: Blood

Summary: While treating Illumi’s wounds, you learn something about his past.

Warnings: Well...blood. Mentions of past abuse. Choking.

Words: ~1800

Story Masterlist

“You could at least try to relax when you’re at home, Lumi.”

As usual, every muscle on Illumi’s body was tensed as he shifted around on the small wooden chair, his upper half completely bare.

Running your hands over his delicate skin, you couldn’t help but humming happily while opening the first-aid-kit.

Lumi.

That nickname wasn’t really creative, you had to admit. Yet there were still many thoughts connected to it.

How it sounded a lot like ‘Luna’, for example - the latin word for ‘moon’. Illumi pretty much had a moon face anyway.

A wet and warm feeling on your fingertips got you down to earth again - it was your husbands blood, steadily running down his whole back. Quickly, you got a gauze pad to absorb it and started working.

Had it come to you fancying him that much that you already lost yourself in daydreams?

The deep cut on his shoulder would most likely leave a scar, no matter how well you’d treat it. Yet what bothered you more was the fact that he had acutally tried to hold the gap together with his way too big needles.

“Sorry...” you whispered as you tugged them out of his flesh, but he wouldn’t even flinch.

He insisted it was fine, and you knew that he was used to the pain. But he could still feel it, even if his face remained as cold and calm as always.

God knows what’s going on in his head...your husband was very hard to read, actually.

But you knew he wasn’t just a puppet for his family. Illumi had some thoughts of his own, and you burned to get through to him.

The flesh wound was still bleeding, and since it hadn’t been properly closed in hours, you needed to clean it first. “I’m so sorry” you repeated, pouring some disinfectant into the cut.

“Stop apologizing.” The way he emphasized the words made him almost sound irritated.

“B-But I-”

“You’re assisting me as I demanded, so there’s no rational reason for you to say something like that.” It were moments like this that made you think Illumi actually tried to calm you down - the best he knew how. Through choosing his words wisely.

After the bleeding stopped, you began stitching up the wound while your husband was still sitting as if frozen in place.

“I-I just don’t want you to feel more pain than necessary...” He was used to way worse. You were well aware of that fact, and yet-

“Y/N.” Hearing your name escaping his lips, you immediately got attentive. “Is that the reason you’re holding back while sparring with me?”

For a long while, the room fell completely silent.

Because both of you knew he was right.

“I see.” Before you could even think of an answer, Illumi jumped up from his chair, running his hand over your handiwork. “Thanks for the bandage.”

Oh god, he was preparing to leave again. Maybe forever this time.

Soon, he’ll tell his parents you were unfit for an assassin’s spouse - too soft and weak.

Death was a bearable punishment for your shortcomings, but simply being thrown out like a toy one has grown tired of?

How pathetic, being afraid of conseqences you now only imagined. Knowing very well that empathy was considered futile in this environment.

And yet you were shocked it came that way, only because of you speaking your mind.

“Illumi, wai-”

He cut you off right there, turning around with his hand reaching for your neck.

Illumi’s aura had always been intense, laced with a bloodlust that seemed like it was imprinted on him at his very birth.

You’ll never get used to seeing him like this.

“Are you scared?” he asked just before his fingers wrapped around your throat, repeating the question at your lack of reaction. “Are you afraid of me?”

Slowly but increasingly, the pressure on your neck began to become discomforting, making you wince a little.

Yet your look wouldn’t falter, rather decided taking on a staring contest with him.

“I’m afraid of you leaving me.”

Just like that, he retracted his hand.

The look in your eye gave it away. Every word, every syllable you spoke was true.

Even Illumi could tell just how much genuine affection they held - and he wasn’t immune to it either.

You cleared your throat and he only now realized just how much force he had used on you. Yet instead of apologizing as would be appropriate, he decided on continuing his interrogation.

“Why?” Illumi croaked, sounding a little bit broken. Hewasn’t able to speak any more, still baffled at your statement.

To ever think you could caught him off guard with such a simple sentence - but even through his poker face, you could feel his mind racing.

You sighed quietly, nervously tapping with your foot. “Do I really need to repeat that? It’s embarassing...”

No answer. Instead he stared you down even more intense.

“I like you, Lumi. This is my home, and I feel happy when I’m with you. Simple as that.”

Finally, he gave in to his exhaustion and took a seat on the sofa, with you following him closely after.

No matter what might follow, right now he needed some time. That much was obviously. So you just try to share your calming aura in silence.

You knew that puzzled expression way too well.

He’d put it on whenever something went past his comprehension, like when you once asked him about thinks he enjoyed or his dreams for the future.

“You look so sad...” you had once commented at an old photo of his. If you had to guess, he was about 4 years old at the time it was taken.

“Dunno” he tried to avoid further conversation back then, “Can’t remember.”

Just how often did you want to tell him that it was wrong? That his parents - no, his whole family - was full of sociopaths, and that they had stained his innocence through their wrongdoings and overeagerness?

And yet you had always kept quiet in the end.

Because you knew what it meant to him. The last bit of his sanity would probably break down if he knew all of the pain he had endured was wrong and abnormal.

Yes, their bonds were sure strange ones: They manipulated and harmed each other, all for the sake of the greater goal and the continuation of their bloodline.

That was probably how criminals beyond redemption desperately try to cling to their last bit of humanity - through the only people they can trust and be close to: Other murderers.

But at least you wanted to make him learn how to feele truly loved: For what he really was, and not only his obedience or achievements.

Right now, however, his elbows were resting on his knees, he was bent over and holding his chin with his hands. That position made it even harder for you to read him.

“I trust you with my life” you said without the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice. “It belongs to you ever since the day we married.”

Illumi cocked his head upwards, empty orbs staring holes into you.

“They think I’m a monster.”

Huh?

Usually, Illumi isn’t really a man of many words. That fact should change tonight.

“I heared them talk” he began explaining as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “About regretting training me so harshly. I was their first child, more like an experiment at how to raise an even more powerful assassin.”

You nodded in silence, trying to signalize him that you were listening - and that you cared.

So he kept on. “I’m the reason my brothers were allowed more freedom. Having the right to feel and think on their own. And now Killua has left us. If I hadn’t been a failure, they would’ve trained him stricter.”

He blamed himself, thinking he was responsible for being a failed experiment.

Dear god.

“Mother said she’s afraid of me. I was 10. Everyone else at the family at least bear certain, acceptable emotions. She said I’m dead on the inside and it freaked her out.”

Every single word of him shot needles into your heart, tears already filling the rim of your eyes. You grabbed the fabric tight, trying to hold yourself together for your sake.

“Illumi...”

You knew from the very second that many things were haunting that poor man’s conscience - but what he had just confided was just hard to bear.

In an attempt to comfort him, you instinctively shuffled closer until there was no gap between the two of you. It was an awkward closeness, but soothing nonetheless.

“It’s okay” he spoke in a tone that was unfamiliar soft for his standarts. “I understand how you all feel. I may not be able to emphasize with any feelings, but I can intelectually comprehend them.”

“Now cut it out!” This time it was you disrupting him, through a soft poke on his already injured shoulder.

"That’s bullshit and you know it. No person is absent of all emotions. You just shoved them into the back of your head and tried to surpress them. With your kind of childhood that was probably the only way to survive without completely losing it.”

His eyes shifted between your face and the place where your shoulders would touch, soaking every word like a dry sponge.

“And you do care about your family, right?” Well, how couldn’t he? It was the only way of mimicking normalcy he could pretend to have. “You’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“I just don’t get it” he murmured as you softly caressed his hand. “My allies are usually also mass murderers and psychopaths. But you are almost perfectly normal.”

Normal? You were an assassin too, goddamn it!

“Most would describe you as a very kind and sympathetic person. You should despise or at least fear me. They all do.”

“Not everything has to be logical, Lumi. I don’t think it makes sense either, but I also doubt that you’re a bad person. You’re much more of a victim.”

“Is that so...” That question sounded more like he was highly doubting it.

Just now you were realizing how slumped he was leaning back on the couch. That whole conversation had probably drained his energy reserves more than any mission ever could.

“Rest now, dear.” Carefully, without alerting him, you wrapped your arm around Illumi’s head and gently led him to your lap. “We can talk later.”

Much to your surprise, your husband would slowly close his eyes, swiftly drifting into sleep at hearing the steady beating of your heart.

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Y/N” he whispered those last words barely audible, fingers squeezing the flesh of your thigh ever so slightly.

“You didn’t. You never do.”

___

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lemonmeringueprincess · 3 years

Text

The Mind of a Broken Soldier (Leave Me Be, Chapter 2 )

Hello People of Tumblr ! It’s ya girl Hazel ! I am back again with another chapter which i am 100% sure NOBODY request it because nobody requested this story in the first place but i’m still continuing it because i feel like it. I was planning on continuing this story and give sly nods to WandaVision and The Falcon and The Winter Soldier here and there along the way. Not in this chapter but... maybe on future chapters. But I’ll see how this one goes and where my idea leads me to.

So you need to read Chapter 1 to be able to understand this chapter properly because this chapter is solely Bucky’s point of view of the reader and some random thoughts. I love reading novels and love their style of writing hence i aspire to write a decent and proper story fanfiction. I mean when you read some books, there will be several chapters viewed from that other characters’ perspective so i decided to implement that style to my story.

So once again, thank you so much if you decided to pop by, read it and love it. Don’t be shy to pop by my message box to share some ideas you have or maybe you just wanna vibe together, I’d love to do that with you guys too. But please please please don’t be mean if you don’t like it. FYI, this chapter is slightly shorter than the first chapter. Love, Hazel .

Disclaimer: No disclaimer or any warnings. But definitely do me and yourself a favour and check out Chapter 1 so you can properly comprehend this chapter with ease :)

Characters : Bucky x Reader; teeny weeny mention of Sam :)

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“Look man, I know we don’t really see eye to eye but I call to check on her…How’s she doin’?” Sam heaved a sigh of empathy from across the line.

I tightened my grip upon the thin, slick and smooth communication tool which now known as smartphone that I hadn’t had the chance to acquaint with. I let out a sigh of desperation, desperate of ways to haul her from the rabbit hole she’s now falling into. My fingers combing through my unruly long hair that’s bundled up in a disheveled bun. A bad habit of mine when I’m in desperation and anxiety.

“It’s been a week since Steve walked out from her life and if I’m being honest, Sam, she’s not doing very well. She’s…she’s been nestled up in her room since then.” I heaved another sigh of despair, my right human arm gripping the kitchen counter tightly in effort to prop myself while the other man-made hand still latched onto the phone.

“I even had to force feed her just to keep her alive for god sake.” I asserted whilst rubbing my right eye with the heel of my right human hand and quietly strutting towards her door. Leaning my side against the stark beige wooden door, plopping my ear against it to silently eavesdrop, just like how I had done countless times to check on her well-being without having to barge into the door. Soft whimper gradually shifted into muffled sobs. I closed my eyes, let my head hung low as if my neck was already tired enough to brace the weight of obstacles and desperation that merge into one and let out a long exhale.

“Gotta go, Sam… I’ll call you back.” I lowered my voice into mutter and hung up.

Even though I had known Steve for so many years, sometimes I still couldn’t decipher what’s in head. Recalling back to the 40s, way before he and I even considered enlisted into the army, women would always prefer me over Steve to take me out as their dancing partner when we’re at the bar. I felt bad for him and he’d sometimes complained that if only there’s the one out there who would see him through his frail and tiny stature. Seventy three years later, he abandoned the woman who’s been through with him through thick and thin, put up with his stupid decisions and god knows what more for eight years, for Peggy.

The woman whom he knew for only two years and only dated briefly.

The woman whom he’d share his infatuation and obsession with.

The woman he met at the army who didn’t even spare him a glance…not until after he’s gone through physical changes then eventually decided to give him a chance.

I wouldn’t even consider that as official if they only exchange flirting and longing glances at the office…

bar…

and even Howard Stark’s Lab.

Clasping my hand upon the door handle, I levered it down and pushed open the door generating soft creaking from the hinge. I tiptoed my way in and left the door ajar. There she was… dressed down in only white camisole and panties while curled up in a fetal position upon the bed which was a bit too spacious now for a single person. Her back facing towards me, shoulders quivering from muffling her own sobs into whimper.

Oh Steve… what have you done…

I slowly crept my way towards her and slowly sank myself on the bed. I was hesitant to lay next to her but I tried to push that thought away considering her mental health was already at stake. If I left her untended, she might eventually spiraled into deep depression and she’s already halfway there. So I laid next to her, draped my arm over her frail, delicate and small body to hold her close as if sheltering her from her own whirlpool of emotions . While offering her the comfort of silence, my mind wander off to how on earth Wanda dealt with her own grief… poor kid not only lost her significant other but also her twin brother and parents as I was informed by Sam. My train of thought was halted when I heard her croaked a rhetorical question,

“H-h-he’s not coming back, is he? Did that prick even try second guessing his decisions?”

I wish I could do more than being her shoulder to cry on and dragging Steve back by the ear. That punk really took all the stupid with him. I contemplated whether I should say something decent to comfort and lift her spirit but I retracted. “I’m sorry, Doll… “ Were the only words I could muster from my still-healing disrupted mind. After Hydra’s infamous torturous events and being sent away to Wakanda to get my mind fixed. I found that I had difficulties of expressing my thought and feelings emotionally from the years of being over-electrocuted and memory-wiped conducted by Hydra, more strenuous than my old self. Not that I couldn’t do it but I realized it took more time to do so.

But even so I still try to rack my brain, dig deeper to find something nice to say; to make myself feel a tad better for at least doing something good in my life for once after the horrendous past, to at least counteract all those gruesome dirty work I unconsciously did to the others.

“I tried talking some sense into him, but he was very adamant of his decision. That punk…I’m really sorry…” i tried to string those words together carefully, worried that one step further or slight wrong move might set the fire ablaze even more. At this point, I was scared considering I had never connected to women emotionally. Sure I’d dated many women back in the 40s, but never considered them seriously… Now I know how it felt to wear their shoes, to know how it felt to be ditched and forgotten, even though I didn’t experience it firsthand.

Running out of options and words to say, I scooted closer whilst tightened my embrace and inhaling her scent, a hint of fresh bed linen and lavender; Steve hates it when women used too much perfume to the point it’s suffocating. I remember he’d always complained about the atrocious penetrating smell of perfume whenever we walked past the women at the bar.

“Doll… tell me what to do… I can’t bear seeing you breaking apart like this and I am running out of ways to numb your pain…” I consoled.

I used to be a good pep talker, a great one even; constantly spewing encouragement and lending a piece of advice or two to Steve. But I guess I had to shift my roles and be the good listener instead.

I did not expect her to open her heart and confide everything, as if she was confessing everything to me. I could only fervently listen to her anguish secrets that had been tormenting and keeping her awake. I felt really bad for the insecurity and self- doubt she had to endure these past years. Constant comparison with Peggy and doubting herself; nevertheless, she still fought her way to prove her worth… such strenuous and tenacious effort just to keep Steve’s attention to her…

Oh Steve… if only you’re in my position now, you’d know how much effort it took for her to keep up with your fantasy. They said love is full of sacrifices but not as much sacrifice from one side, both sides needed to make equal sacrifices to make things work, if one sacrifices too much, they’d weaken because they’re giving out too much and eventually died, just like her.

I knew Steve was always oblivious with things, but never as horrid as this. My heart sympathized and mourned for her. Eight years of relationship that she fought so hard to keep slipped out of her hands just like that.

“I-i-i-it h-h-h-urts, Buck… it hurts…He’s my first love, first kiss and…”

I felt her body shook under my embrace. No longer able to withstand her emotional suffer, I tried to soothe and lull her to sleep.

“I know, Doll. But I promise you’ll get through it, I promise to be with you every step of the way. We will get through it. I am not going anywhere. I am not going to walk out this door, not until you kick me out because you’re so sick of looking at my face. You have my word, Doll. I am staying.” I promised.

I promised myself I’d be there to pick up the pieces regardless of any circumstances, because it’s the right thing to do. I’d be there to hoist her up when no one else could. i’m doing what a good friend would do... It’s the right thing to do … Right?

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jjmaebank · 4 years

Text

Fight for Me - Rafe Cameron

A/N: okay so this is based off the scene from one tree hill between Brooke and Lucas, I acc cried writing this because that scene makes me bawl my eyes out, Sophia Bush’s acting >>>

I would also like to thank Cort @pogue-writings because she really helped me understand Rafe’s character and I wouldn’t have been able to write this w out her, so this one’s for you Cort!!

Also I expect tumblr to fuck with the italics in the flashback so I’m sorry in advance

Warnings: this one’s sad :(( also mentions of drugs and substance abuse

Words: 1.8k

“What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me! I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me!” +

Another night had gone by. Another night of Rafe throwing a party, getting high and flirting with other girls. Another night of Rafe Cameron ignoring your existence.

You and Rafe had been dating for a good few months now and at first it was everything you had ever wanted. He would spend every waking moment with you, taking you out on romantic dates and telling you how much he loved you. He would make you feel so fucking special, he made you feel worth something. Rafe had come into your life during a very dark period, but he had been the one to help you out of it. He had been there for you through everything, held your hand and supported you when you had needed it most. He had been your lifeline.

But now? Now, it was like he didn't exist. He would neglect you when you needed him most, dismiss you when you tried to speak or simply full on ghost you. He wasn’t the same Rafe you fell in love with, or at least he’d hidden this side of him for a very long time.

You had gotten into a massive argument one night and you had hardly spoken since.

“Why are you like this Rafe!” You cried to your boyfriend.

“What the fuck do you mean, (Y/N),” Rafe spat, continuing to pour the white powder out onto the glass coffee table.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew what you meant,” Rafe snarled, still not diverting his attention from his next fix.

“You’re so...so bipolar!” You yelled as the tears continued to stream down your face, but he didn't seem to care.

“Tell yourself what you want (Y/N), but I don't have time for this,” he muttered.

His lack of empathy made the pain in your chest grow stronger.

“Why, Rafe? Why is it that you’re so loving, so affectionate some days, and then completely hostile others? Is there something I’m doing wrong?” You asked, a pleading tone in your voice.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rafe replied, now rolling his note into a long cylinder.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” You cried, your body starting to shake as you withheld sobs.

Rafe sighed in irritation, putting down the note briefly to finally look up at you.

“Can’t you see I’m busy here (Y/N)?” He said dismissively, immediately returning to his addiction.

Your heart sunk even more; you didn’t think it was possible to feel this neglected and alone standing next to the boy who claimed to love you, next to the boy you loved. But it was.

You sighed in defeat before bringing yourself to speak again.

“I think we should take a break,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear over the sound of himself inhaling the white powder.

He rubbed his nose, sniffing a little before looking up at you again.

“A break?” He asked, seeming unfazed.

“I..I don't want us to be over Rafe...” you said, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes, “but I think you need to do a lot reevaluation over the choices you’re making right now and how it affects the people around you.”

You expected him to protest, for his eyes to widen as he heard your words. You expected him to rush over to you and plead against it, for him to fight for you. But he didn't.

“Whatever,” Rafe shrugged, “beats me.”

You held in a sob as you heard those words come out of his mouth. He didn't care. You couldn't bring yourself to experience the embarrassment of crying in front of him again so you rushed out of his house as fast as you could, not giving it a second thought.

It had been two weeks since your ‘break up’; but you and Rafe had similar friend groups and hung out at the same places so you practically saw him every single day, and it hurt.

Somedays he would call and ask you how you were, making you think the old Rafe was back. Somedays he was silent and ignored you when he saw you, but you swore you could see guilt in his eyes. You hoped he felt guilty, that he was beating himself up over how he’d acted towards you, the same way you cried yourself to sleep almost every night over the fact that he let you go with such ease. Were you really that disposable to him?

Tonight he was throwing another party at his house while Ward and Rose were away in the Bahamas. You perched on the end of the couch that Rafe was sat on with Topper and two blondes. They were doing lines of coke of course, when was Rafe not inhaling that shit.

“(Y/N), you want some?” Rafe laughed, wiping his nose after doing a line.

You gave him a look; he knew you didn’t do that.

You kept scolding yourself for even being there. It wasn't healthy seeing him, it just made you miss him more. But part of you urged you to stay in case he spoke to you, in case he apologised for how he acted, fought for you.

“Suit yourself,” Rafe shrugged before sprinkling another line for the blonde sat next to him.

She was all over him, stroking his hair and shooting him flirty looks. You wanted to vomit, but the worst part was he didn't seem to care, nor that you were sat inches away.

After what felt like an eternity of sipping from a half empty cup, watching everyone have fun while you had a miserable time, Kelce stood up on the glass coffee table.

“How about a game of spin the bottle!” He shouted, receiving multiple yells and shrieks of excitement.

You felt a pit form in your stomach; you knew this couldn't end well, but you were somehow glued to your seat, the hope that maybe you and Rafe could patch things up blocking the warnings your subconscious was throwing at you.

Around a dozen people had gathered around the coffee table where the white powder had now been replaced with an empty beer bottle. You crossed your legs and pulled the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands in anxiety; you didn't want to be here.

A few rounds went by and you were already sick of watching strangers play tennis with each other’s tonsils. You promised you would leave after that round but just as you were getting up the bottle landed on Rafe. You froze.

Your heart rate practically went through the roof, you could feel your heart thumping in your chest so intensely you were scared others might be able to hear it. Your hands were already clammy from the stuffiness in your hoodie and this only made it worse.

Rafe shot you a quick glance, as if to check whether you were okay and for a split second you relaxed. He wasn’t going to do anything, he wouldn't.

But the next thing you saw was Rafe leaning in to the blonde sat next to him. Your heart sunk.

“Just a joke right?” He laughed whilst licking his lips.

His lips connected with hers as her hands went straight to his hair. His hair that you used to play with in bed on lazy or rainy mornings. Her hands stroked his cheeks, the cheeks you used to squish and prod at when he was feeling goofy or cracking jokes. But what stung most was w watching her kiss his lips. His lips that he used to kiss you with, that he used to whisper sweet nothings to you with, that he used to tell you he loved you with.

You felt sick, physically and emotionally sick. You let out a muffled sob as you covered your mouth with your sleeve and stood up quickly, running out of the room. It felt like déjà vu, but a worse version of what you’d already experienced, much worse.

“(Y/N)!” You heard someone call out behind you. You knew exactly who it was, but you just ignored him and kept running.

You were halfway through the garden by the time Rafe managed to catch up to you, having yelled your name multiple times. He grabbed your arm and pulled you backwards, spinning you around to meet his gaze.

“(Y/N),” he gasped, “god since when could you run so fast?”

“Do you think this is some joke?” You replied, your voice shaking as you held back tears.

“What? No.” Rafe said, taking a more serious tone than before.

“I can’t believe you!” You cried, letting a tear slip down your cheek.

“(Y/N) it was just a game!” Rafe exhaled, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Great, just great!” You threw your arms up in the air, “so we’re just a game too?”

“It’s a party! Shit like that happens all the time,” Rafe said, still not seeming to understand why you were upset.

“Not when you have a girlfriend!” You shouted, you were full on crying at this point. “And not when she’s sat right next to you!”

“You put us on a break remember?” Rafe exclaimed, failing to comprehend.

“A break...you’re not supposed to cheat on a break Rafe, you’re supposed to work to make things right again!” You choked, your throat closing up causing your voice to sound strained.

“What did you want from me (Y/N)?” Rafe cried out, pain now laced in his voice as he saw you break down in front of him.

“What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me!” You cried, clenching your teeth to stop you from letting out sobs.

“I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me!” You continued through sobs, your body shaking, your voice cracking.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Rafe responded, his voice hushed and strained.

“You just are,” you sighed, the last of your tears falling as you wiped them away.

With that you walked away, not giving him another minute of your time. You knew it was futile, and your heart had suffered enough. You were done.

Rafe stood there in shock as he watched you disappear right in front of him. Part of him was screaming at him to run after you and kiss you, tell you how much he loves you. But the other part of him knew he couldn’t. Rafe was in pain. He hadn’t realised what he’d been doing had affected you so much. He knew he’d acted off and distant, but it was only because he felt overwhelmed sometimes. He never learnt how to be loved, let alone how to love, so he couldn’t handle it sometimes, it would freak him out. But seeing you like this, hearing the pain in your voice, the pain that he’d caused? It broke him. He was no better than his father, and he hated himself for it.

Rafe let his own tears fall as he came to terms with the reality of your situation. He’d lost you because he couldn’t love you the way you wanted him to. There was nothing that hurt him more than knowing he could never be good enough for you, he didn't know how to be. All he’d ever wanted to be his whole life was good enough, always living in the shadow of his sister, never living up to his father’s expectations. And now he knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t good enough for his father, and he sure as hell wasn’t good enough for you, and now he knew he never could be.

A/N: idk how proud of this I am but there u have it!

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#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #drew starkey #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

It’s Only Water (Day 1)|| Mina, Frank and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @inbextween and Frank SUMMARY: After weeks of planning, Frank finally puts his play into motion. When it rains, it pours. CONTENT: Domestic Abuse references

If she wasn’t so worried, Mina might have scolded herself for how quickly she responded that she’d meet with Bex. Mina really would do anything for her. Anything. Bex only had to ask, and Mina would be there. Even if that meant meeting late at night in the woods. Especially if that meant meeting late at night in the woods. She had her phone out to make sure that she got the location right. She walked carefully, looking out for monsters, people. It grew oddly quiet, the closer she got to where she was supposed to meet Bex. Nothing stirred. That worried her. Everything about this worried her. She tried not to let it show too much. As she drew close to the marker on her phone, Mina called out, “Bex?” She couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t see Bex, and she was supposed to already be there, and everything about this felt wrong. Something was wrong. Mina didn’t have time to comprehend just how wrong it was, though.

Frank had been preparing this for weeks. Scouting the area, making sure it was secluded, off the path, but not too strangely out of the way. He had set up traps (an iron net, iron bear traps, and his favorite, an iron tripwire that would trigger if she tried to run once she was inside of the area) and built his own seat up in one of the trees to watch and lie in wait. The prosthetic hand he now sported had iron in the fingertips and the knuckles, the palm. Cold iron. It would hurt. He wanted it to hurt. The iron knife he’d stabbed Bexley with was sheathed in his boot, ready for the final blow-- he hadn’t even cleaned the blood off. It would hurt more. He would make it hurt and he would savor it. Finally, he heard her footsteps approaching and pressed himself low, the crossbow in his hand ready to aim. Just a few more steps. She looked nervous. Good. She should be. The first shot was a warning, right in her shoulder. The second was on purpose, a bolt through the leg. Frank dropped from the tree before she could say much of anything and aimed the crossbow once again. “Surprised?” he asked, grinning.

Being shot was one of Mina’s least favorite experiences. It had only happened a few times. Before the two crossbow bolts lodged themselves into her, she’d been able to count the number on one hand. Of course, she’d need two, now. She stumbled, first as one of the bolts sunk into her shoulder and again when she was shot in the leg. The shock was more prevalent than the pain, confusion causing her eyes to widen as she frantically looked around her for the source of the attack. And then he dropped down from a tree. The warden. Frank. His name was Frank. He was a human being with a human name standing there with a gleeful human grin on his face. “You,” she said, and her stomach started sinking as she realized that it wasn’t Bex that asked her to be there. Mina had walked herself into a trap. This was what carelessness got her. This was what being overly emotional and under prepared got her. “I don’t want to fight.” She was already backing up, despite the pain in her leg, looking for a way out of this situation. A part of her wanted to kill him for what he’d done to Bex, kidnapping her and chasing her through the forest. But Bex hadn’t wanted him dead then. Mina doubted she’d want him dead now.

Frank laughed and it echoed and it was void of any empathy. “You might not,” he growled, “but I do.” He lifted the crossbow again, aiming directly at her. He was tired of waiting, he was tired of being yanked around by people. By Bexley, by her mother, by his own parents. THey’d all done this to him. They’d all made him into this. “I think I’m gonna enjoy killing you, monster,” he growled. He was already enjoying the amount of confusion on her face as she had tried to figure out what was going on. He smiled again, a toothy, angry thing, splitting his face in half. “Bexley says hi, by the way,” he chided. He wanted her to get angry. He wanted to make sure she fought back. It would be pointless if she didn’t fight back. His finger stayed on the trigger, even as he lowered the crossbow. “I dropped by to see her the other week. She was with another girl. At least, until I stabbed her. Not sure where she ended up after that.”

Eyes widening again before they narrowed, Mina practically snarled at the boy, her eyes full of hate. She stopped backing away. “What do you mean you stabbed her?” Stabbed her? Why would he stab Bex? Wasn’t his whole point that he wanted to protect her from the dangerous, murderous Fae? “Why would you stab her? She’s human. She’s human. What about your bloody code?” Unless his code wasn’t like hers. Unless his code just allowed him to kill whoever and whatever he deemed necessary, and he’d now deemed an innocent human girl necessary. Mina didn’t understand it. But she had made him a promise, hadn’t she? “I told you if you hurt her again, I’d take your other hand,” she said quietly, coolly. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t going to let her emotions rule her. She was furious, though. She’d rip his hand off with claws and teeth if she had to. She didn’t care. She shifted her weight into her uninjured leg, keeping herself light and ready for an attack. She wasn’t making the first move, but she wasn’t running either.

“You’re really asking me why?” Frank spat, bewildered that she was still caught up in this strange narrative that what she was doing wasn’t hurting Bexley. “It’s because of you!” He snarled back, loosing another bolt. But in his fury, it had flown high right. He threw the crossbow down and lunged at her, swinging his new iron first. It whistled through the air. Why wasn’t she getting angry, too? He wanted to see her angry. One swing missed, but he swerved on the back swing to try and slam his knuckles into the side of her face. “My code is about erasing scum like you from the earth! And sometimes civilians get caught in the crossfire. Whatever happens to her now, it’s your fault!”

“Because I cared about her?” Mina asked, ducking left as he shot. He was just as sloppy as she expected, and, certainly, he could blame it on the missing limb, but she knew what it was. He was reckless, overzealous, out of control. He was a shoddy hunter. No matter. He wouldn’t be much of one at all when she took his other hand. She wondered if Nell’s hellhounds would want it. She stopped wondering about anything as cold iron connected with the side of her face. She couldn’t help but cry out, the heat and cold of the metal at war as she felt the burn forming on her cheekbone. She cradled her face with one hand. “You’re a fool,” she spat out.

“Because you poisoned her mind!” Frank hissed. His knuckles connected in a satisfying crack and he could smell the iron burning her skin. He grinned and turned back to face her, curling his prosthetic into a fist. “I’m the fool? Have you looked at your life recently? Or her life?” He swung again. Again. Always with the iron fist. He wanted to burn her again. He wanted to hear her scream again. He was backing her straight towards one of his snares. It would bind her leg and burn all the more. “You ruined everything!” He shouted, charging her now, bent low, ready to tackle her.

Mina tried to dodge as many of the blows as she could, but she was tired and injured and slow. She’d been sleeping even worse than normal since she and Adam had gone into the portal. She wasn’t doing her best. Again and again the iron burned her skin, through the sleeves of her shirt. He burned her arms, her jaw. Scales formed around the burns as if trying to protect her, but there was no protection, no tolerance for cold iron. “Have you looked at your— “ she cut herself off with a short scream. She’d pivoted out of the way of his tackle only to step on a pressure plate, triggering a bear trap that dug metal teeth into her leg.

Frank tumbled to the ground as she pivoted, but his ears were greeted with music as she screamed in agony. One of his bear traps had gone off. He rolled and stood back up easily-- he’d always been agile on his feet-- and turned back towards her. “We had a good thing going,” he snarled, reaching down to slowly pull out the iron knife sheathed in his boot. He held it up to her so she could see the blood caked on it. Turned it over in his hand as he watched her from a safe distance. “And you ruined it. She has to die now because of you.” He gripped the handle of the serrated knife so tight his own knuckles turned white. “I hope you know that this is your fault.”

“You call a lie a good thing?” Mina asked, but she paled considerably. It wasn’t from the loss of blood, either, or the pain. Not completely. “No, no, no,” she said, her fingers clawing at the bear trap as she tried to free her leg. He would not kill Bex. He would not. Her blood was still on his knife. She bared her teeth at him, sharp and deadly, with a mix of fear and fury pouring itself into her. She stopped trying to mess with the bear trap. She’d rip him apart the second he got close enough to her. She just needed to get him close enough to her. “You’re delusional,” she said, her voice low. She sneered. “It must feel good to be able to lie to yourself like that.”

“A lie?” Frank growled, advancing quickly. But he stopped just shy, watching her teeth bare and her scales crack across her skin. He was confused for a moment, but blinked it away. She might not be the type of fae he thought, but he understood how they worked. He held the knife up. “It wasn’t a lie until you came along!” He lashed out, then, unable to hold his ire back. The blade slashed across skin satisfyingly. “I’m not delusional. You are.” His teeth clenched as he stepped back, away from her grasp. “Thinking you could keep her safe, thinking she could ever have a normal life with you?” He gestured emphatically to himself. “I could’ve taken care of her! I could’ve protected her! Even if she never loved me back, I could’ve given her those things. But you? What have you given her? Really think about it and ask yourself that-- what have you given her except pain and heartbreak?”

“It was a lie to her. She was never going to return your affections.” And maybe Mina didn’t know that explicitly, but she knew it was the truth. There was no way Bex would have seen this reckless boy as anything more than a friend. She jerked back, the knife slashing across her collarbones. “I never thought I could give her a normal life. I just wanted her to be happy.” Without thinking, she ripped the crossbow bolt out of her shoulder and used it as an improvised weapon. He might have escaped her claws, but that gave her attacks just a bit more reach. “I’m not the one that tried to kidnap her. I’m not the one that’s made her bleed. When she wakes up screaming at night, it’s not because of me. She’s not afraid of me.” Mina grinned, mouth bloody. She was breathing heavy. Everything hurt. She managed to stand, even with one leg still caught. “I may be a monster, but you’re the bad guy in her eyes.”

Her words cut Frank deeper than any wound. Certainly deeper than the bolt slashing at him. He jerked back, watching a thin line of blood begin to pool on his arm. Grit his teeth and glowered at her. Without much warning, he lunged at her again, knocking them both to the ground. He grabbed the bolt in her leg as he did and twisted, his other arm bracing against her shoulders as they collided with dirt. “You have no idea why I did what I did! I was trying to save her from them and you people led her straight back!” He lifted his fist and punched at her face. “And now we’re all suffering! You, her, me!” He punched again. “Why couldn’t you just let me take her away from here?”

Between the ambush and the iron and the fact that Mina was already tired and weak, she knew that her chances of making it out of this were growing slim. Pinned to the ground, being beaten, her leg still trapped in the iron maw of a bear trap. Frank wanted to kill her. She was in no shape to even try fighting him off. “She didn’t want you to,” she rasped out. Then she spat blood into his face. “She didn’t want you to take her, so I couldn’t let you.” She weakly reached out with one clawed hand, webbing between her fingers and scales trailing up her arm under her sleeves. She dug sharp nails into whatever skin she could grasp. She hoped he did suffer, for Bex’s sake.

Frank fought against nails tearing at his skin. He didn’t care. He wanted her to die. He wanted her to suffer. He cried out as they scraped at his face, his arms, his chest. Blood was soaking the both of them, but he knew only his blood would hurt her. He drove his thumb into the bolt hole in her shoulder, the iron of his prosthetic nearly cauterizing the wound as he did so. He could smell it burning. He grabbed his knife once more, still stained with Bexley’s blood, and held it above Mina’s chest. “Odell sends her regards,” he growled, before he drove the knife into her side, right where he knew it would hurt. Where he knew once he left her, she’d bleed out. Slowly, painfully. Suffering. He leaned down close to her. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, and his voice was flat now, “I’ll make sure Bex joins you soon.”

There was still enough fight in Mina for her to scream, not in pain but in raw fury as Frank said that Bex would be joining her soon. She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him. Even if it was the last thing that she did. She lashed out with her claws again, but there was only so much that she could do like this. There was a knife in her side eating away at her slowly. There was still a crossbow bolt in her leg. She was still trapped. There was only so much she could do. But she still tried, still raked her nails against his face. “I’ll kill you,” she snarled out. She felt feverish. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”

Even through nails raking across his face, Frank could feel the fae getting weaker. He gave his knife another good shove, feeling her blood leaking out over his hand, before he yanked the blade out, listening to its serrated edge tear through her skin, her muscle. Finally, he stood back up, spitting blood down, wiping it from his face with his sleeve. His chest heaved as he looked down at her. “Guess you’re not gonna keep that promise after all, are you,” he spat back, before driving his knife into the ground near her head. He didn’t want the trophy, nor the reminder. He stepped away, tempted, almost, to stay and watch her die. Watch the light drain from her eyes. But if anyone came along them, it would be bad news. He would return tomorrow to dispose of the body. Without another word, he turned and walked back into the brush.

He couldn’t get away. Mina had to kill him before he hurt Bex. She had to. She had to. “Come back,” she muttered. “Come back. Come back. Come back.” She attempted to sit up, groaning but pushing through the pain as her hands went to the bear trap around her ankle, and she attempted to pry it off. She had to get it off. She had to go after him. She couldn’t let him get to Bex. She was weak, too weak to pull it off. She needed to call someone. She needed to call Morgan, tell her to get help, tell her to make sure that Bex was safe. Bex had to be safe. Mina searched for her phone frantically. She found it, and she wanted to sob. She’d dropped it, and it was just out of her reach. There was no one to call. There was nothing to do but sit there and bleed out and hope that he didn’t get to Bex. Mine sat down and pulled her chest towards her knees, careful not to bump the bear trap too much. Not that it mattered. She was in so much pain her eyes were going spotty with it. She rested her head on her knees and put one hand over the wound in her side, attempting to stem the bleeding. She was hurt. She was dying. She wasn’t going to be able to get to Bex. That was Mina’s last coherent thought. She wasn’t going to be able to get to Bex.

Bex ran. Her heart was beating in her throat. Frank was going after Mina. She held the phone tight in her hand, staring wide-eyed at the messages. It’s not me! She tried to shout, but he’d taken the card out. It’s not me! He’d left it there on purpose. He’d wanted her to see. He knew she’d come running. Or did he? She didn’t care. She didn’t care. He could come for her, she didn’t care. As long as he didn’t hurt Mina, she couldn’t let him hurt Mina. “MINA!” she screamed as she ran through the forest. Flashes of before played at the edges of her vision. Sometimes when she looked down, she wasn’t wearing shoes. Sometimes a fog that didn’t exist curled around her. Sometimes she was swallowing dirt and mud. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”MINA!” she shouted again, her voice raw, full of terror, of dread. She was sure this was the spot. Her shoes dug at the ground. She spun in a circle, looking up at the trees. “Mina!” she tried again. “Mina, please!” She twisted and burst through a patch of bushes. “Min--” her voice caught mid word. There, in the middle of the clearing. A body, curled up, so covered in red, she was barely recognizable at first. Bex felt her body fill with ice. She raced over, tripping over her own feet, the vines on the ground, the rocks. She fell over next to her and reached out to touch her, but paused. Was she breathing? “Mina,” she sputtered through tears, placing her hand on her forehead. It came away stick with blood. “Mina, please.” She looked down at the trap around her leg. She needed to get it off. She started prying at it. It wouldn’t budge. “C’mon,” she grunted, “COME ON!”

The tugging at her leg made Mina cry out, even if she tried hard not to. She bit down the sound as much as she could, trying not to be loud. She couldn’t be loud. She couldn’t. Her head felt foggy; she knew she’d lost a lot of blood, too much. She’d lost too much blood. Not bothering to lift her head, Mina moved her hands down to try and help pry off the thing around her leg, but she wasn’t sure-- Everything was so fuzzy. She couldn’t be loud. It hurt. Everything was wrong. There was a tug, the teeth of the trap briefly exiting her leg before they dug back in. “Stop!” she managed to gasp out. “Stop. Stop. Just-- second. I need a second.” She needed a second to catch her breath. She needed a second to remember how to breathe. Blinking blood out of her eyes, Mina finally looked down at the hands near hers, trying to pry the bear trap open, before following them up to see who was attached to them. “Bex,” she murmured, and it felt like there was a weight lifted off her shoulders. Bex was okay. Bex was alive. That was all that mattered. Nothing else mattered. And then everything came crashing back to her, and Mina strained to sit up, her eyes frantic. “No. No, no, no! Leave! He’s still--” She looked around as if expecting Frank to appear out of thin air. “Please, leave! Please, please, please. He’ll hurt you-- He’ll kill-- please, Bex, please.” She tugged weakly at Bex’s hands, trying to push her away, but Mina didn’t have much strength left. All she could do was beg the word repeated and slurring together over and over again. “Please. Please. Please.”

Mina started screaming, hands coming down to try and fold into the mix with Bex’s. She let go briefly when she told her to stop, hands shaking. She didn’t know what to do. She was useless. She wasn’t strong enough. She needed to be stronger. Ripping the knife out of the ground, she wedged it between the teeth, careful not to let it touch Mina, and then gripped the metal of the bear trap as Mina started begging her to leave. Her desperation pushed wild magic into her palms and she felt metal bend under her fingertips briefly. She squeezed and it crumpled and she tore the metal apart until Mina’s leg was free. Her hands burned. She didn’t care. “I’m not leaving,” she said, scooting back up towards Mina’s face. She brushed her hair away from her eyes. There was so much blood. “I don’t care if he comes back.” She would tear every bit of his mind out if she had to. Pocketing the knife, still slick with Mina’s blood, she shoved her hands under Mina’s shoulders and began to prod her to sit up. She was no medical expert, she couldn’t assess the injuries herself. She needed to get Mina back to town. It was such a far walk. They wouldn’t make it. Bex swallowed back tears. “C’mon, we have to go,” she muttered, lifting Mina’s arm around her shoulders. “We gotta stand up. Can you stand?” She wasn’t going to listen to her begging, even if it made her chest seize and her eyes water. “I’m here,” she repeated, “I’m here, I’ve got you. Y-you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Blood smeared across Bex’s side, but she didn’t care-- all she cared about was getting her back. Saving her. She couldn’t let her die. She wouldn’t. She would drain every last ounce of life from Frank and shove into Mina if she had to. She wouldn’t let her die.

“Please, leave. Please. Please.” Mina kept repeating it, even though her words became choked as Bex started moving her, the wound in her shoulder that had been mostly cauterized by iron opening itself up as her shoulders were tugged on. “I care. I care. I care. I--” She groaned, cutting off her own words, but she managed to stand, even though it was hard, even though she didn’t want to. There was still a crossbow bolt in her “good” leg. She needed to pull it out. She looked down at it, the parts of her brain that were still functioning through the haze of pain and panic telling her what a bad idea that was, and it was an effort not to lean down and pull it out. The main reason she didn’t was because she couldn’t. It was already too much effort to keep herself standing, despite the fact that she was leaning against Bex, barely supporting her own weight. She was getting blood all over Bex. It was like her dream. She was getting blood all over Bex. “I don’ want him to hurt you. Please, go. I’ll--” She gagged against a lie that wouldn’t even come out. I’ll be fine. But she wouldn’t. She was dying. “I don’t want him to kill you. He’s going to try to kill you.”

Bex saw the bolt as they stood and she winced. She needed to take it out, but there would just be more blood. More blood. So much blood. She was trembling, shaking, not from exhaustion or effort. Fear gripped every muscle in her limbs. She had to swallow it down. If she didn’t move forward, Mina would die. “Just shut up!” Bex snapped. “Just stop. I’m not leaving you here to die. No matter what. Let him come.” Let him come. She would tear him to shreds. She moved Mina away from the bear traps, careful to not step on anything else. Lowered her down to sit against a tree before worrying her hands over the bolt in her leg. “I-- I have to pull this out,” they weren’t going to get far if they left it in. “It’s gonna--” she looked at Mina. Hurt stuck on her tongue. She looked like she was in so much pain. The picture burned itself into Bex’s eyes. She would never forget. Never forget. She yanked her jacket off and ripped the sleeve off with her teeth, before setting it under Mina’s leg. She’d taken basic first aid, she new she had to tie off the wound. Above it. “Ready? One, two--” she yanked, “--three.” Tossed the bolt aside and tied off the sleeve as tight as possible. Thunder rolled above them. Mina was slipping fast. She wasn’t going to be able to walk. Bex shuffled in front of her and pulled her arms over her shoulders. Reaching back around to let her sag against her back. “I’m gonna get you home, okay?” she said, and she wondered if it was a lie. “We gotta go now.” She swallowed her tears and her fears and her pain, and lifted Mina, grunting with effort. She would get her home safe. She would, she would, she would.

The bolt being removed from Mina’s leg was nothing compared to the pain in her side. She flinched, barely, feeling the Bex tie the jacket but little else. She leaned her face forward into Bex’s neck before jerking back, gasping. She stumbled, putting her legs down and managing to stand on shaky feet. “No, I can’t--” She put her hand over the wound in her side. The movement had caused it to bleed more, though it was coming out sluggishly. “I can’t.” She wasn’t going to make it home. There was simply no way. The rain might help, might offer some relief to her injuries, but there was no way that she could make it back to town with Bex carrying her, and there was certainly no way she’d make it all the way back to the East End. “Bex--” she stopped herself. Asking Bex to leave wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t do that. “I-- I’m not going to make-- I need water.” This wasn’t how she wanted Bex to find out, but there was no other option. She used the hand that wasn’t pressing into the wound on her side to turn Bex towards her, forcing her to look at her. “A lake. A stream. A pond.” She’d even take a puddle, at this point. “Just-- water. I’m not going-- I can’t. Make it home. But there should be water.”

“Stop moving! Stop!” Bex called out, reaching for Mina as she jerked away. She watched globs of blood pour from her side. Fuck. This was so bad. “Stop. Just--” but Mina cut her off. She wasn’t going to make it home. She wasn’t going to make it. Bex’s mind was combing through the thousands of ways she could try and argue, try and figure out how her stupid magic could help. Why couldn’t she stop the bleeding like Nell could? She wished Nell were here, she’d know what to do. She wished Morgan was here, she could help. But it was just Bex who was here. Just Bex. Thunder clapped again and this time drops of rain began to fall. Lightning lit up the sky. Bex flinched away from it and looked back at Mina as she spun her to face her. “Water?” Water. She could do that. Water. The pool. It made sense. Bex reached back out for her and tucked herself around Mina, helping to support her injured foot. It looked ready to fall off, she could see muscle and bone. Bex held back the wave of nausea and focused on Mina. “Just lean on me. I’ll find you water. I’ve got you.” And she started off. Water, water, she needed to find water. How the fuck was she supposed to find water? “Just stay with me, okay? I’ll keep talking. Focus on my voice.” She needed Mina to stay conscious, she couldn’t do this alone. She had to do this. She had to. “I’m sorry I got here too late. I tried. I came as fast as I could. But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving. What-- what do you wanna do when we get back? Maybe we could see a movie. We haven’t watched a movie in a while.” They were lies. She knew they were, but she wanted to give Mina something to fight for. Maybe she would fight to stay alive for her. Thunder rumbled again and rain poured through the trees above them. Bex felt her feet begin to slip on slick mud as the dirt beneath them soaked up the moisture. She would keep going. No matter what. She would keep going.

“Water,” Mina murmured. It wouldn’t magically fix everything immediately, but it’d stop her from dying. It’d save her leg. Again. She leaned on Bex again, unable to stop herself from sagging against the younger girl, even if she tried to support some of her own weight. She was so tired. She was so tired. The pain in her side was dulling to a numbness, the heat and chill of where the blade pressed in fading much like she was. “I’m here,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’m here.” She closed her eyes, just for a moment. “Movie’d be nice. Whatever you want. I’m okay with whatever you want.” She couldn’t really hear what Bex was saying, all of it fading into gentle white noise. Soothing. Peaceful. She was dying. Maybe, if she died, Bex would save herself. “Tell Morgan I’m sorry, if you can,” she said. The last time she’d been close to death, Morgan had come for her. Mina didn’t think Morgan was going to be able to come this time. It was for the best. This was much worse. She was just sorry Bex had to see her like this. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry… sorry…” Her voice trailed off. Her thoughts trailed off. Mina couldn’t stop herself from becoming deadweight.

“We could go back to the falls, too,” Bex said, trying not to let Mina’s dying voice get to her ears. She could hear it, she could feel it. With each step, Mina sagged more and more. Bex’s pace slowed as she strained against her weight. She’d never known Mina was so heavy-- or maybe she had. She’d always felt so light with her. Nothing had ever been heavy. They’d always been light together. “You can tell Morgan yourself, when we get back, okay? You can tell her yourself. Don’t apologize,” she said through tears. They washed down her face and mixed with the blood that had smeared onto her. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” Thunder continued to rattle the sky and Bex’s bones. Lightning was quickly becoming the only source of light. With each flash, she saw trees and more trees ahead of her. They needed to find water. How was she supposed to find water? She knew there was a river that ran through the park. She just had to find it. She could find it. She would find it. She had to keep going.

Suddenly, Bex stumbled. Mina’s weight toppled down with her and she tried her best to keep her from hitting the ground too hard. Bex did. She felt her wrist buckle and cried out. She didn’t care. “Mina?” She looked at the other girl. She was so pale. She’d never seen her so pale. A ghost of herself. Red and white. “Mina, wake up. Mina,” she begged, shaking her. “C’mon, wake up! I-- I can’t do this without you. I can’t do this without you! I need you! Mina!” But she didn’t budge, didn’t move. She needed to get her to water now. Bex’s desperation was growing. Gathering up all her strength, all her energy, all her everything, Bex pushed herself back up to stand, shuffling MIna onto her back fully and wrapping her arms around her legs. She could do this. Shoes wholly unfit for this trek dug into the ground as she pushed on forward, Mina slumped on her back. She wasn’t going to let her die. She let the magic she’d been taught guide itself into Mina-- it didn’t feel quite right, snaking its way down Bex’s legs like little strips of poison, but it was enough. It had to be enough. Thought light thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t the same as feather falling, but if Mina’s weight slumping against her was going to fall anyway, at least it would topple slower. She felt only marginally lighter, but it was enough for Bex to push forward. She tried to listen through the rain as it washed away blood that just kept coming. She couldn’t hear anything over the thunder shaking the sky and the forest. She was lost. Everything looked the same. Tears mixed with rainwater. “I can’t do this alone,” she said again, but she wasn’t sure who to. Mina was unconscious and there was no one else around. She had to keep going.

She was by herself. Alone, in the forest. Running again. Bex choked on her own breath, trying to fight through the nightmares that were clawing their way into her mind. Frank was still out here. He might even come back. He might already be looking for them. She couldn’t fight him like this, her magic wasn’t stable enough, she was struggling just to keep it on Mina. If he found them, they were both dead. She had to keep going. Just like before, she had to keep going.

It felt like hours, as the forest fought against her. But it couldn’t have been. She could still feel Mina’s steady heartbeat against her back. It was growing fainter. If she needed water, Bex could only hope and plead that the rain might be helping slow the process. Mina could heal fast. She couldn’t out heal this, though. Not even with the rain. Bex could feel it. She slipped and stumbled and fell and kept going. Over and over and over again. Her body was reaching its limit, but she just kept going. She had to keep going.

Her foot came down, but the earth beneath it slid away, and now they were falling. Bex cried out, trying to grab onto Mina to keep her from landing too hard,--but the hill pulled her down, pulled them down, and she was tumbling head over heels again. Down a hill, in a forest, running from a boy caught in a delusion. She wasn’t alone this time, even if she felt like she was. Her head smacked hard into the ground and she blacked out. She couldn’t keep going.

Her eyes fluttered open. Rain was the only thing she heard. Rain, a ringing in her ears. How long had she been out? “Mina…” she sputtered. The treetops came into view above her. They were spinning. She blinked but they kept going, rain drizzling onto her face as she tried to make the world slow down. She needed to get up. “Mina.” Pushed herself up, coated in mud and leaves and twigs and blood. Again. She looked around desperately, the world tilting left and right in a daze. “Mina?” Started feeling her way around, wiping mud from her eyes. “Mina!?” A soft groan pulled her attention. Twisted and-- there. Beneath a tree, laying face down. Bex rushed over to her on legs that only stayed up right for seconds at a time-- rolled her onto her back. She was still breathing, heart still beating. Bex bent over for a moment and let out a long sob. Hands curled into Mina’s bloody shirt. She couldn’t do it. She’d failed. Mina was going to die and she’d failed. She curled up on the ground next to her, holding her close. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t…”

Her voice trailed off. The sound of rain echoed around them, through the leaves and the branches and the rocks. She heard the way it rustled like wind and the rushing of water. She heard the rushing of water. Through the rain battering trees, she heard the rush of water. Bex’s head shot up and she scanned the treeline. Lightning showed her it was thinning. She couldn’t give up yet. She wouldn’t. “C’mon,” she huffed, grabbing Mina again and dragging her towards it. “We’re almost there,” she grunted, her voice breaking at every syllable. “I found it, Mina. I found water. We’re here. We made it. Please, say we made it in time.”

She broke the treeline and there it was. The river was spilling into a small lake, the sight a sanctuary. Bex dragged Mina over to the shore as fast as possible and waded all the way in with her, until she could fully submerge her. Red pooled at the surface where she held Mina under. “Tell me I made it in time!” she shouted, as she waited. “Please, Mina!” She sobbed. It didn’t show in the rain. Something was happening. Mina’s body was changing in her hands.

Bex watched, silent. Only the thunder and rain made noise.

When Mina was little, she wasn’t allowed to be herself. She wasn’t allowed to shift, to look Fae. Not completely. Some of it she just couldn’t escape. Scales were hard to control, and they broke out against her skin like rashes when she was dehydrated, when she was excited, when she was scared. She’d always had trouble controlling that, accepting that, but things had gotten better the more she learned to be okay with what she was. In White Crest, things had gotten easier, things had gotten more in control. But she’d used that control to appear more human for as long as she could. She’d used that control to hide herself.

The thing about nixies was that it wasn’t a glamour that made her scales look like skin. That was really her skin. Those were really her scales. Her appearance changed as she wanted it to, as she needed it to, and it was as useful as it was inconvenient at times. She used long sleeves to cover up her inhumanity just as much as she used them to cover up her scars, and it was fine. She was used to it. She shoved down so much of herself that she didn’t even know how to do certain things. She didn’t know how to shift the bones in her legs until they fused together, and she didn’t know how to feel comfortable with the fact that she wasn’t human. She’d never be human. However, she didn’t know how to be Fae, either, and it was to a point that she didn’t want to ask. She couldn’t be both. She couldn’t be either.

But pain doesn’t care about what you know. Near death doesn’t care about what you remember. The body will fight to keep itself alive. The body will do what it must to make sure the heart beats. The moment she touched water, Mina began to change. Webbing formed between her fingers, her nails grew into claws, her teeth became sharp. Scales sprung up all over, covering her body. Her feet changed, the bones shifting, becoming longer, thinner, but the process was made uncomfortable by her mangled foot. Mina wasn’t quite awake, but she whined a bit in pain, the sound catching in her chest. She was breathing heavily through the gills in her neck, water and oxygen filtering in and out, and she barely managed to open her eyes, looking through the water above her to make eye contact with beautiful brown eyes before her own fluttered shut again. She was safe. She was in pain, but she wasn’t about to die. Her body had protected itself. She just didn’t know what the cost of that would be.

As Mina’s body changed, Bex stayed still. She’d known, hadn’t she? That Mina wasn’t human. No one at home but herself had been human. Sometimes Bex didn’t even feel human. But not being human didn’t make someone less. Not to Bex, not to the people who mattered, the people who understood. She held tightly onto Mina the entire time. Scales rubbed against her bare arms. They felt smooth. Her hands and feet turned into webbed claws, fins. The water made sense now. Everything made sense now. Something was warring inside of Bex’s head., but it was beaten down by the desperation she’d been holding onto for the past horrifyingly long moments. She didn’t even know how long it had been. She let her own body sink into the water, floating. It felt nice. She pulled Mina into her chest and let her rest under the water. Thunder groaned in the sky again and lightning pierced through it, lighting the reflections of the surface, her own tired face, caked in mud. Bex looked up at the sky and wondered if it was crying for them. Had the rain given them the time they’d needed to get here? Was God looking down on them, on her? Was something else, something bigger? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anymore.

Soon, the red was washed away. Bex lifted Mina slowly to examine the wounds. They were angry, red marks that made her just as angry and red. Frank had done this. She wanted him dead. But that wasn’t what she needed to focus on right now. They needed shelter. To wait out this storm. Wind was whipping up, warning her of the monsoon that was to follow. She’d lived here long enough to know. Mina had stopped bleeding enough for now, scales stitching skin back together to close her wounds. The gash in her side still looked so raw, but she could fix that later. Her eyes scanned the edges of the lake, their surroundings. There was a small dock on the other side and Bex waded around towards it, her limbs light in the water still screaming in protest against her movements. She had to keep going.

She reached it and hoisted herself up, holding Mina’s arm with one hand, before hooking both arms under hers and lifting her out as well. She was still covered in scales, claws, fins. If someone saw her like this, Bex was worried they might hurt her again. If Frank saw them, he would hurt them both. She looked back over her shoulder. A building. A house. The boat house. Bex laid Mina on the doc and stumbled towards the boat house, shoving the door open. She grabbed the jacket hanging on the hook-- it was old and moth eaten, but would do. Grabbed the first aid kit, the old safety blankets, a tarp, a lighter, and tossed it into one of the wooden boats, dragging it down the dock to where Mina lay. She pulled Mina in, grabbed the rope and started up towards the building farther back in the trees. It looked old and abandoned, but it would do. With the last of her energy, she dropped the boat off in front of the house and carried Mina inside, wincing and apologizing as her feet dragged on the ground. The only thing her mind would consider thinking about right now was getting Mina inside and safe. Just keep going. You’re almost there.

Once Mina was deposited on the couch, Bex went back out to the boat and grabbed the other supplies, shutting the door and dropping them in the middle of the room, before heading around the house to look for more supplies. More blankets, a towel, more gauze. Something to start a fire. She came back out into the main room and crouched next to the couch, and got to work.

Removed her tattered and bloody shirt and everything underneath, her torn pants and the tourniquet she’d put on her leg. Set to work wrapping each noticeable injury with the gauze. Her leg, her side, her shoulder. Her arms. There were burns she didn’t know how to deal with, but didn’t think she could, anyway. Wiped up the rest of the blood and water with the towel before she laid the old jacket over her bare top, and wrapped the blankets around her legs, tucking her in. Brushed her hair out of her face and put one more blanket on top to keep her warm. She was too tired to clean up the mess.

She had to clean herself up still. She stumbled back into the bathroom with some of the gauze and towel and washed mud and grime from her face, picking out pieces of twigs and rocks and other things. It sat in the sink drain. She wished there was running water, but sticking out the towel into the pouring rain worked well enough. She lifted her wet shirt off and winced, remembering the stitches in her side for the first time that entire day. They were torn. Slowly, she wrapped the bandages around her midsection, covering it up as her hands began to tremble again. Hung up her shirt to dry, a greater tremor in her arms. Exhaustion, this time. Maybe more. She didn’t have time to look at the rest of herself

And finally, finally, when she was all done with that, she shuffled back out into the living room. At first, she sat on the chair at the old table. Her eyes wouldn’t leave Mina. Eventually, she moved over to the floor and sat down next to the couch. She lifted one of Mina’s arms gently and took her hand and laid her head next to it. “I made it,” she murmured. She passed out soon after.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: mina #domestic abuse tw #frank #it's only water #//i blame virginia #she doesn't ever give the poor fae child a break #also this is in many parts and i apologize in advance #mina

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dreamingofscully · 4 years

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7x15. “En Ami” - X-Files Rewatch

WRITTEN BY WILLIAM B. DAVIS

(Sorry but that taints this episode completely for me. I rant a lot about how incredibly creepy and stupid this ep is - warning ahead!)

This episode is ALLLLLLL about WBD/CSM wanting to possess something (Gillian/Scully). Also he’s stupid (I prefer to think of him as the bumbling thug from Anasazi than into some sort of sympathetic and omnipotent villain that the show keeps wanting us to see him as).

Mulder is unused to Scully knowing about random stories before he can tell her. That should arouse his suspicion, and is one of the reasons he is so adamant something is wrong later on in the episode.

Scully’s light blue turtleneck. 😍

CSM tempting Scully and telling her not to contact Mulder. That should be her first warning something is wrong. She’s written pretty stupidly this episode (no surprise given the writer) but I explain it by her confusion over not being able to trust herself. She’s slowly transitioning from a position of absolute skepticism to something with more ambiguity. Her instincts scream at her to NOT TRUST CSM but she ignores them because she’s not sure if she can trust herself anymore.

CSM traps her in the building so she can’t change her mind about seeing him. What a fucking creep. The only way he can possess her is if he tricks her, forces her into it. Gross.

That Mulder immediately calls her when he uses the “family emergency” excuse. ❤️ He either knows something is strange or is just concerned about her because he loves her and he’s worried about Maggie. 😍

All of the “revealing” shots this episode. CSM/WBD is just a fucking creep.

“You keep your guard up, a wall around your heart. How else do you explain that fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a life alone? You'd die for Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him.” - CSM

He has no idea that M&S are already involved, Krycek has been easily keeping that from him. What a fucking idiot.

Her sarcasm. How wrong he is. He’s completely off the mark. She HAS been walled up about believing things, that’s her downfall this episode, she’s not sure what to believe or who to trust.

“I’ve been a destroyer all my life.”

He really has a high opinion about himself which I couldn’t care less about.

It’s all about the power for him. How original.

He compares his want for power to Scully’s decision to go into medicine. That they are similar at all. They couldn’t be MORE different. He can’t comprehend that people have different motivations to him. He has ZERO empathy.

Scully doesn’t want to talk to Mulder on the phone, she knows she wouldn’t be able to lie to him.

He’s so worried about her. 😥

How she’s able to stay asleep. I could see her falling asleep because she’s exhausted, but it would be a LIGHT sleep. She’s definitely been given something to make her deeply unconscious. There is NO WAY she wouldn’t wake up when she’s carried from the car to the room and undressed. He puts the gloves on to inject her with something. The implication that his weak ass carries her is fucking hilarious (it was his stooge that did it, and who probably undressed her too).

That she doesn’t leave immediately upon waking is the biggest error of her character this episode. I can see her doing the rest not trusting herself but there is no way she’d stay after this. The writing is fucking terrible.

LGM/Skinner interaction is the best part of the episode. But I still hate it. Fucking WBD/CSM.

The fucking sexy dress. This episode is all about objectifying Scully. More than even fucking Milagro. Who cares what her motivations are, what she would normally do, lets show her bra over and over and put her in a strapless dress and imply that CSM fucking changed her clothes while she slept.

She’ll be reluctant to wear a similar dress again, because it reminds her of this stupid creepy asshole.

Calling her “Dana”. UGH.

She’s finally had enough, returns immediately. Mulder’s pissed - understandably.

CSM realizes how much he likes her after all, thinks he has a right to her company. Ugh what a creep.

Scully trying to justify her actions and explain her decisions. (They were just stupid because the writer is a hack! WOW IMAGINE THAT WBD AND CSM ARE SO SIMILAR.)

That she trusted his words - so uncharacteristic. Mulder’s disappointment.

CSM throws away the disc which can supposedly save millions because he can’t possess Scully. The world must burn because he’s a petulant child that can’t have his way. What a fucking asshole.

A few points to address:

He doesn’t do anything to her while she’s sleeping, he just wants the sense of power and control it gives him. He wants her to feel that he COULD have done whatever he liked. UGH.

The implication that he’s the father of William is complete horseshit. Scully would have done a paternity test, WOULD HAVE PERFORMED IT HERSELF TO ENSURE SHE COULD TRUST IT, and would have known who the father was as soon as possible after his birth.

I prefer the theory from @dnscully that she was healed/returned to normal from the craft in Biogenesis/Sixth Extinction, and thus became pregnant naturally. Like with any pregnancy, it takes time and luck (and the effects are not immediate), so she conceives William around the time of “all things”.

This episode takes away Scully’s agency (forces her into CSM’s building early on, takes away the normal decisions she would have made, takes advantage of her vulnerabilities - her mental state at this time and her desire to cure people, AND DOES THINGS TO HER WITHOUT HER CONSENT WHILE SHE IS UNCONSCIOUS). It should never have happened, and I am really upset about the existence of the things that happened - for Scully and for Gillian.

After the events of this episode, Mulder is really hurt by Scully's actions. She's his only person in the world and he feels as if she broke his trust. He needs time to forgive, to get over what happened. Scully feels really awful about what she put Mulder through, and in hindsight knows she made a terrible mistake.

It doesn’t matter that Mulder has gone off and done stupid things like this before, that he’s trusted people he shouldn’t. That’s one of the things that Scully has tried so hard to rid him of - his willingness to trust and believe in anything. That the person he looks towards, his TOUCHSTONE, goes against everything that she seems to hold as true would be devastating for him.

The “you always keep be guessing” gets twisted in this episode. Does he really know her? Can he trust her? Does she really love him? Should they be together?

A headcanon:

I think the events in this episode, combined with his brain surgery in Sixth Extinction, his mother’s death, and his mixed feelings about finding out about what happened to Samantha would trigger a depression. M&S go through a rough patch for a bit.

My fic Momentum takes place directly after this episode and deals with the above theory/headcanon and goes through the next two (Chimera, all things). I’d love it if you gave it a read and let me know what you think! (Or you can wait until after Chimera/all things.)

#xfiles #x-files #x-files rewatch #x files rewatch #msr #msrheadcanon #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully #season 7 #csm/wbd is a creep #objectification

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the-apocryphal-one · 3 years

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Next of Kin

Summary: A special kind of pain squeezes her heart. The soft question that emerges from her lips is only natural. “Do you have any family?”Astarion x Isaniel

Also available at AO3 and ff.net!

A/N: Merry Christmas to all your lovely readers!

She should have done this before now. She knows she should have.

But there just hadn’t been time, at first. In the earliest days after her infection, she’d been teetering on a tightwire of panic and desperation, hastily cobbling together plans to get this thing out. Even when they’d stopped to eat or make camp, the thought of writing a letter to her son had never entered her mind—much to her shame.

Then, as days passed and nothing seemed to happen, she’d grown complacent. Maybe their parasites were defective. Maybe the ceremorphosis had failed. Maybe they could walk away from this with nothing more than some trauma and psionic abilities.

Then the sickness came and slapped her in the face with the reminder that nothing about these parasites is normal, nothing can be taken for granted, and nothing is all her son will know of her fate if she’s not careful.

But how do you do it? How do you say goodbye to your only child across hundreds of miles with no body language or facial expressions?

For the past few nights, Isaniel has been trying and failing to figure that out. Each time, she has pulled out parchment, stared at it for an indeterminate amount of time, laboriously pushed out a few words, stared some more, then folded it back up and returned it to her pack.

Tonight, she vows as she sits near a large, flat rock that will substitute as a desk, she’s not getting up until this letter is done. She pulls it out of her jerkin, smooths it out, places it on the rock, and uses a few pebbles to hold the corners down.

Selakiir, it says.

If you’re reading this, I’m very likely dead or worse. We can never foresee our fates, but I have a reasonable certainty as to what my particular ‘or worse’ is. The details are included in an additional, enclosed letter. That had already been written, perversely coming easier than this one. You may ignore it if you wish. I would not hold it against you if you did.

That was as far as she’d gotten. Now, she dips the quill back in the inkpot, sucks in a breath, and pens, I hope that the person who delivers this will be able to give you a first-hand account of my fate, so they can

Soothe you? Selakiir is bafflingly, wonderfully outgoing…but he is also private in his grief. When his father died, he withdrew from adventuring, his friends, even her. He’s not the type to accept banal well-wishes, especially from strangers.

answer any questions you have.

Her quill stalls. She stares at the drying ink, trying to muster up something else to say.

When she writes letters, they always end up much like her: detached and logical. But this is supposed to be a goodbye letter. The last thing her son might have of her. It…it has to be right. She can’t leave him feeling like she saw this as some sort of duty. If there’s one thing she’s always wanted to make sure Selakiir knew, and was always afraid he didn’t, it was that she loved him.

Remember: my love for you is like the moon. There are nights when it doesn’t know how to show all its self, but it is always there.

No, that should be in the closing paragraph. It’d be more final, more poetic. A lovely note to leave things on. But she can’t make herself scratch it out. There’s this foolish, superstitious fear that Selakiir will find out and be hurt. Isaniel grimaces, struggling to wrestle small talk, emotion, something onto the paper so it’s more than this dry thing.

It’s almost funny that I ended up adventuring like you

We’ll meet again in Eilistraee’s

I’m sorry I won’t be there for your wedding. The present I was making is in

Don’t you dare try to avenge me. Stay far away from

Isaniel presses her head against the heel of one hand and bites down an uncharacteristic scream. The paper’s empty spaces and crossed-out lines mock her.

“If you stare at that any more intensely, it’ll burst into flames.”

“Iblith!” she curses, startling so fiercely she upends the inkpot. She’s still thinking in Undercommon, so her next few words come out in it before she catches herself and switches back to Overcommon. “Dos olist mzild taga—stop that.”

Astarion is bent double with laughter, guffawing so hard some of the others are glancing their way. There are actually tears in his eyes. “And miss out on the chance to see you jump like a wet cat? I could never.”

Gods, he can be so juvenile sometimes. Something dangerously close to affection laces that thought, banishing the bitter frustration of failure.

Ever since that day he recoiled from her hand, Astarion has haunted her thoughts more than she would like. She has sought him out more frequently, asking questions, trying to understand him, trying to sort out what she should feel. He is dark and dangerous and cruel—and yet there is something in him, raw, genuine pain that mirrors what she once knew, that she cannot turn away from.

So, Isaniel is not surprised that Astarion’s bouts of childishness have become something she can think on with almost-fondness. Empathy, revulsion, confusion, curiosity already spin together in a whirlpool; what’s one more emotion on the pile?

That doesn’t stop her from shooting him a dour look as she rights the inkpot, though. “I will remind you that I have a rapier and that someday, I’ll be so startled I’ll stab first and ask questions later.”

“Ha! Duly noted.” Astarion gingerly—because of course he’s still worrying about getting stains on his clothes—sits next to her. Unabashedly, he peers at her pathetic letter. “What are you writing?”

She lets him peek. There’s no way he knows Undercommon…and even if he does, he won’t break her cipher. “A letter to my son. In case I die or transform.”

“Your son? That is a very important letter. Who will you entrust with its delivery?”

“Whoever among us is still alive, I suppose.”

“My, don’t you have a low opinion of our abilities.”

It’s not quite that; more like she’s just not picky. But he’s clearly preparing to launch into some spiel, so she chooses to simply wait rather than argue the point.

He doesn’t make her wait long, gesturing dramatically with his hands as he speaks. “Not that you’re wrong. Without you keeping his thirst for revenge and delusions of grandeur in check, Wyll will run off and get himself killed. Lae’zel and Shadowheart will kill each other before the sun goes down. Gale—” He chuckles. “Well. Need I go on?”

Irritation nips at her. Eilistraee knows her companions’ colorful range of personalities have given Isaniel more than one headache, but she still feels protective of them. “Yes, actually—or am I supposed to believe you wouldn’t be leaping into situations fangs first?”

“Ah, but if there’s one thing you can trust me to do, it’s survive those situations. I can see that letter to your son, darling.”

She snorts at his transparency. “You just want to read it.”

He just shamelessly grins, unapologetic about being found out.

Isaniel toys with and discards the idea of chastising him. The matter is too small to make a fuss over, and his cat-like tread and nimble fingers mean he can very much lift the letter off her if he wants. Although…hm. Maybe she can twist this back around on him. She shrugs with feigned disinterest. “Well, it’s not like you could, anyway.”

Astarion inspects his nails. “Oh, I’m sure I can get a scroll of Comprehend Languages somewhere.”

“It’s not just in Undercommon. It’s encoded too.”

He’s visibly taken aback by that. It’s childish of her, but she can’t help thinking, That’s a point for me. Gods, it’s too fun to match wits with him. “You write to your son in code?”

“It was a game we played when he was little.” It had simultaneously been a way to teach him and soothe her paranoia. “We’ve kept it up since.”

In a calculated move, Astarion twists and leans in close. His voice drops, becomes husky. “You do know there’s nothing more tempting than something you can’t have, yes?” His eyes deliberately trace a path up her neck and settle on her mouth.

He’s trying to knock her off balance. Isaniel would rather walk barefoot on hot coals than let him know he has—though not, she suspects, for the reasons he intended. Let him stare at her mouth or neck, he’s a flirt and a vampire spawn. No, the feel of his breath tickling her skin, the way his hand is almost but not quite brushing hers, is more alarming. It’s too intimate. Distracting.

She hastily delivers the coup de grace before he can spot the rapid flutter of her pulse. “What better way to guarantee your delivery? Stubbornness or curiosity will make you hold onto it until you crack it. But you won’t, so you’ll have to bring it to Selakiir to find out what it says.”

A heartbeat. Two. Then Astarion laughs, throaty and deep, sits back, and shakes his head. “Well played, my dear.”

With fresh distance between them, Isaniel exhales in relief. She hastily tries to cover it up by pretending to shift in her seat, but there’s a certain twinkle in Astarion’s eyes that tells her she failed. She clears her throat, praying that her face doesn’t betray her fluster. “I’ll give it to you when I’m done.”

She expects that to be the end of it, for Astarion to fire a parting quip and wander off to tease someone else. But her surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he props his chin in his hand and studies her.

That look in his eyes…is that actual curiosity?

Like paper thrown into fire, her own is fanned. She hasn’t bothered to ask how old he is, but she can make an educated guess. The Underdark’s abusive culture forces drow to mentally mature well before their twenties; surface elves like Astarion can afford to wait until their first century or so. Of course, magistrate isn’t the type of position you typically get straight out of adolescence, so there could be anywhere from a rough fifty years to another two hundred on top of that. For some reason, she doesn’t peg him as any more than three hundred, pre-turn. Post-turn adds another two centuries.

For humans, several hundred years encompasses several generations. But for an elf… His parents and siblings could still be alive. So could his possible children. Unless he, like her, had a half-human child. They would have died in the time he spent enslaved.

Selakiir’s warm brown eyes and smiling face flash across her mind. A special kind of pain squeezes her heart. The soft question that emerges from her lips is only natural. “Do you have any family?”

A shadow briefly flickers across his face; then, like a rat fleeing for its life, it is gone. He smiles brightly and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, let’s not exhume the past. There’s nothing interesting about it.”

Isaniel furrows her brow, but before she can say anything, Astarion rises, brushes his trousers off, and struts away. As is all-too-common of late, her gaze lingers on him until he disappears inside his tent. She exhales slowly. If he departed with such alacrity, it’s probably for the best she didn’t get to push him. Eilistraee knows how well that went over last time, and she’d just been clumsily trying to comfort him.

She glances down at the letter. Inspiration strikes. Spontaneously, she pens in another sentence. If accompanying this letter is a pale, white-haired elf named Astarion, point him to the Dancing Haven.

It’s unusually risky of her. If Cazador really will stop at nothing to get Astarion back, she could be bringing a vampire lord down on her congregation. And Astarion just might be callous enough to repay them by selling them out or abandoning them. He does not deserve such risks, the old Isaniel insists.

But then, she wouldn’t be here now if an Eilistraeen hadn’t taken a risk for her over a century ago, when she hadn’t deserved it.

She adds, I don’t know if he’ll actually go there, but like me, he’s fled some sort of dark past. I hope that, in absence of my aid, he can at least find refuge.

Bantering with Astarion seems to have unlocked some wellspring of words from deep within her; the mention of her past gives her the subject. Speaking of which, you may have all my belongings, including the forge and the new house. The password to disarm the magical traps is the same as our old one—I hope you remember it? Your father was always fondly exasperated by my insistence on having them, but you loved to show them off to your friends. My memories of you two are the best in my life…

The next day, she hands Astarion several pages and a “thanks” that holds more meaning than he knows.

Drow isn’t officially a language in 5e, but it was in older editions. So even though Isaniel was technically speaking in Undercommon for a bit, I went ahead and borrowed words from their dictionary. Rough translation:

Iblith: shit

Dos olist mzild taga: You stealth (intended to be akin to sneak or skulk) more than— (“a drider” is what she would have finished with)

Also Overcommon is just Isaniel’s name for Common.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x charname #isaniel gelin #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing

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shiekah-marine-embassy · 3 years

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How Did We Get Here?

A summary of an upcoming tale about my character Anderson, inspired by my own recent struggles.

Anderson spends several days comatose. Wakes up in an unfamiliar place, bound tightly to chair. Is unable to speak. Minutes later, attacker walks in. Attacker commentates on how Anderson was found on the coastline (attacker’s territory) in Yiga Attire. This was received as a threat and Anderson is now subject to imprisonment, torture for information, and Master Kohga will be contacted for ransom arrangements.

Anderson displays elevated levels of distress, which continually continues to increase as the attacker gets closer to establishing contact. The operation is temporarily forfeited when his screaming and begging is so loud that the gag may as well not have been there. Attacker displays frustration and confusion at Anderson’s distress, which is extreme even given the situation he is in.

Attacker removes the gag, and Anderson takes some time to compose himself before explaining that he was actually on the run from the Yiga, after a demon god accused him of treason and sabotage, turning his former lover, several of his friends, and the clan leaders against him. In the ensuing fight he managed to slaughter his ex-lover, incapacitate the right-hand man, severely wound the leader and demon god, and just as quickly made an escape.

He expresses fear and concern that if the leaders were to be made aware of his whereabouts, they would most definitely want him back for the sole purpose of subjecting him to what he describes as a “fate worse than death”, and that traitors and killers like him are not killed, but instead brutally and slowly tormented for the rest of their lives. Anderson undergoes extreme emotional distress and remorse upon recalling the events and is no longer able to compose himself to form words.

Attacker is skeptical, and comments on how the story sounds quite unbelievable. However, despite their skepticism, attacker agrees to not contact Master Kohga right away, and instead will bring the matter up with their boss. As collateral, though, it will be necessary that he is kept heavily restrained until it can be proven that he is not here on a sabotage mission. Several interrogations will follow for the next few days, sedatives will be administered as necessary, and any noncompliance will be met with unrelenting punishment.

Anderson reluctantly agrees, deciding that a few days of hell would be better than a lifetime and maybe more of unbearable agony. The attacker acknowledges, re-gags him twice over, blindfolds the man, and plugs his ears. They then shut off the light to the cell and secure the door, leaving to presumably report this new development to the boss. Anderson then experiences a full mental breakdown, crying and thrashing against his restraints until he passes out.

An approximate 16 hours pass before someone enters the cell, and removes the captive’s earplugs- but leaves all other forms of restraints in. This person is presumed to be the boss- and their footsteps can be heard pacing the cell as they begin to mark on the preposterousness of the captive’s story. Anderson cannot shake hearing a certain familiarity in the boss’s voice, but nonetheless is terrified of what is to come of the situation.

Very shortly after, boss slowly removes the blindfold. Is revealed to be the Captain Sonii of the Shiekah Marine Embassy, and she remarks on how this wouldn’t be the first time that the Yiga try to break in by pretending a part of the clan was betrayed by the others. However, she does admit that there is a certain sadness, fear, and fury in his eyes that she has not seen before.

Captain Sonii continues on by saying that she does know what there is a demon god that stands by the Yiga, and that Anderson must have done something drastic to anger the entity so much- to which the captive responds by squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away. It seems that the Shiekah Captain is able to infer the source of his distress.

She goes on to remark that, if her intuition is correct, she could draw the fact that Anderson was falsely accused of treason, to which the captive replies with surprise and looks back at her. Captain Sonii chuckled and begins to explain that the whole reason the Shiekah Marine Embassy was founded was to give those who have been framed, misinterpreted, and accused a second chance. And she herself was one of those victims and built this army so no one would have to suffer the way she did, having no one to fall back on.

She concludes that, if there are no rescue attempts by any Yiga within the next three months, she will offer him a high-ranking position on the crew. However, until then, he is not to be left unrestrained, and under constant remote surveillance. Other stipulations follow, along with warning him that in the meanwhile he will be interrogated regarding both the Yiga Clan, and the events that conspired up until his capture.

She appears to snicker to herself, before producing a small knife, and explains how misinformation and fabrication are not tolerated. She begins to draw the knife very slowly up his throat, merely slitting the skin open and deliberately avoiding airways and major arteries, all the while making delicate yet terrifying threats about the consequences if he truly is lying and plans on sabotaging them.

He withholds his pain and terror- yet still in agreement with himself that as bad as things were now, they at least have an ending in sight. The captain notes his resilience, and reminds him of the stipulations one more time, before dismissing herself. Anderson seems relieved that she is gone, and several nightmares within the following few days about what would happen should he be captured by the Yiga confirm his confidence that this is the better option.

Over the following few months, his restrictions are gradually loosened, from a few weeks of full body restraints to a few weeks of wrist and ankle shackles and the allowance of basic entertainment, to simple handcuffs and special requests of food, to complete freedom to move about his cell and partake in recreations under supervision.

After a period of a little over three months, he is called in to be formally interviewed by the boss. He explains that his specialties lie in the operation of, hijacking, and repair of hardware is his specialty, along with an innate knowledge of robotics and machinery. He goes on to admit that he is the owner of a divine beast and use that divine beast in any missions they may need it for.

Under the agreement that she is allowed to connect the divine beast to the Embassy’s centralized army database, to which Anderson shows no opposition to, she hires him and as promised is given the title of leader of the tech division, more specifically the hardware sector, while he will be working aside another leader, August Staghorn, who oversees the software sector. He is given his own room and is now allotted all the freedoms and benefits of a level 3 crew member.

August and Anderson were initially very hesitant about one another, Anderson being intimidated by the software leader’s large stature and reluctance to speak, and August being intimidated by the hardware leader’s very apparent stoicism and distrust. However, as time goes on, they learn more about one another- Anderson learns that August is mute and communicates completely nonverbally (although he can hear and comprehend things perfectly fine), and August learns that Anderson suffers from a small case of Autism Spectrum Disorder and sometimes has trouble handling himself.

Both, in secret, study for months on end about the other’s problems; Anderson teaches himself to both use and interpret sign language, and August teaches himself how to effectively communicate with, comfort, and understand people with neurological disorders. They gradually become more compatible with one another, but neither seem to really notice any large change until they are put on a collaborative project together.

The two and their teams are instructed to begin work on a new semi-terrestrial divine beast construct. The ease at which they have communicating with one another seems to surprise them both, as each admits that they spent a long time studying how to communicate with the other more effectively. Upon realizing, both are overwhelmed with a feeling of rejoice and instantly embrace, getting emotional over one another.

August then goes onto admit that he had admired Anderson ever since he joined the tech division and heard about what happened to him beforehand. August expresses his empathy and admits that while his stature may be big, he considers himself to be rather meek. He reveals a bit more about himself, and states that the reason he was hired here was due to five or six years back, he was subject to a series of tests against his consent and ultimately had his vocal cords completely dissolved which led to him not being able to speak, and complications eating.

Due to these complications and receiving no compensation for the damage done, and the perpetrators never caught, he ended up losing the job he had and not being able to pay rent. He couldn’t find any new jobs either due to any hirer’s lack of understanding of his condition and refusing to change their policies. Ultimately he came down to Lurelin where he intended to spend what he presumed were his last days, alone.

However, at that time, the Shiekah Marine Embassy was surveying the area and they pulled August aside for questioning about his apparent loitering around the area. When he could not answer the soldier, he was asked to attend an interview with an interpreter and the boss, where he explained his story. The captain immediately could tell he had exceptional potential that others couldn’t see, and he was offered a position.

The two go on to discuss how the captain is quite the powerful woman; she clearly went through a lot of effort to found this army and is quite ruthless- but at the same time seems to have an innate understanding and compassion for those who have been wronged, just hidden behind a cold, yet ambitious exterior. Anderson admitted that he wasn’t so sure about her first, but soon came to realize that regardless of how tough she is, what was most important to him was her understanding.

August commentates that he knows about Anderson’s distrust of having a significant other and expressing affection and did not know how long it would take him to heal from that traumatic event. Regardless he confesses that he has feelings for Anderson, however, to the other’s surprise, reciprocates those same feelings, stating that he was truly taken back by how much August put into being able to communicate and understand him better, something that no one in the past had done before.

August humbly dismisses it as nothing more than something he was passionate about and should not be praised so highly for. Anderson intervenes, however, by mentioning that he knows that the two of them would not have studied each other’s issues without their knowledge if they were not meant for this. August cannot supply an argument against this, and thus, their relationship is made official.

And so, life continues on, there are ups and downs, but one thing is certain- there’s definitely room for a whole series here.

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bitch-i-migth-be · 4 years

Text

Crash Course | Chapter 02: A sister's musings

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton,

Words: 1′778

Tags: BAMF Danny, BAMF Jazz, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing

Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-

But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.

A/N: Author liberties were taken by someone who doesn’t own shit at the moment.And they will continue to be taken. Enjoy.

CHAPTERS: 1, 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

Jazzmine Coraline Fenton had not planned any of this for her future.

In fact, no matter how many people thought otherwise, she didn’t have anything planned for her future.

Not anything concrete anyway.

Even since she was little she had been good at a great many things and excelled in a few more, much to her parent’s delight and the chagrin of the parents of the other children in her class. But there had never been something she particularly loved, nothing that could convince her of which way to focus herself, so she decided to just- spread and conquer, in those years.

Looking back on it now, she supposed the main reason she held herself to such high standards was so she could get some proper attention from her parents, who, unless there was a need for basic interaction or an academic event, tended to focus on their career.

Not to say that they didn’t care for her, they did, but they couldn’t be called role model parents by any means. They could get so encased on their research that sometimes it was safer for everyone involved to just let them to it and enjoy the little ghost-free interactions that could be encountered every now and then.

When Danny had grown up enough to be an acceptable company (which was still pretty little considering the standards of human interactions the senior Fentons could provide to other people, let alone a child. At that point Jazz was more than ready to take anything she could get) there was not as much reason to keep striving for their parent’s attention, but the habit had been already ingrained, and good notes were not a bad thing to have, so there was not a motive to stop.

Danny was as cute as a button (still was, but he got all flustered and retreated to safer pastures whenever she brought it up, so she refrained. No way she was reprieving herself from her brother), and she was ecstatic to have someone to play with that wouldn’t, couldn’t really, run away screaming from the crazy-psycho-wannabe ghost hunters.

What with them sharing parents and all.

It would be a good empathy exercise if anything else.

So Jazz made sure to teach Danny her ways. They took care of each other and then promptly proceeded to have their very own improvised survival training in their own home. Sadly, even with all of this, she worried it might not be enough.

In other words, the main reason she had to get into psychology? Her family. Specifically her brother.

It was clear to her, and to anyone else if they had bothered to look into it, that their parent’s main concern was not their family dynamic, and as long as the food was not openly engaging in hostilities against the younger ones, they refrained to paying more than the basic of attention to their doings. Which was a good thing for when the kids wanted to play around, but not so much for when they really needed parent supervision.

Jazz had taken it upon herself to learn more about what made people tick. Taken it upon herself to learn how to take her family from barely functional to something a little less distressing to witness. And she would succeed even if she had to glue their parents and them together to make it work.

For a while, it looked like it was going to stick.

And then the Ghost Portal had backfired on all of them.

Their parents had been over the moon that their apparent failure had been a ruse, a ghost trying to mess with their work, they said. In either case, it had only caused them to become even more invested in the ghost research, and now that they had legitimate proof of the existence of ghosts and their realm it would be even harder to talk them down once they got going.

Unlike her progenitors, she was more concerned with the impact the frequent ghost attacks that followed the accident would have, and the obvious repercussions there would be against her family if anyone put two and two together and realized her parent’s shenanigans were at fault of all the public destruction via ghost.

And Danny-

For the first time since she could remember Danny was pushing her away.

It was telling, than even neck deep in ghost attacks the thing that could hurt her the most was his reticence to talk to her. Nonetheless, her brother needed her and she would always rise to the occasion no matter how stubborn he could get about it.

It had taken a while for her to understand, but eventually, she did.

He had died.

Her parents had, however unknowingly, put the final nail in the coffin.

Literally.

Jazz had been devastated. But then, she was not the one who died, was she? Or did he?

She stuck by her brother. She listened. She observed. And by whatever miracle, she confirmed that her brother, while wary, was still her brother. He was not a vague impression, not a faded memory, not unfeeling, not uncaring.

Au contraire, her little brother was, if the ghost fights were anything to go by, caring way too much to be healthy.

It was, to some point, comprehensible. Danny thought the activation of the portal was on him. He felt compelled to help however he could.

Which was unfair because honestly, their parents were the ones that fucked up. But alas, the responsibility they held for the attacks didn’t mean they were capacitated to deal with the consequences.

So she continued to stick by her brother. Talked him down when it was obvious he would keep going his merry stubborn way even if it half killed him again. And then brainstormed together how to make the best out of this god-awful situation.

Jazz was not a fighter, so she had to resign herself to back up, running interference, and dealing with collateral damage. It was not as much as her brother, but in needed to get done.

And then, in one of the many attacks to Amity Park she had been able to talk down a small group of ghosts.

She prevented them from attacking, all thanks to her knowledge of psychology. It was not her fighting prowess that ‘defeated’ them, it was her words.

She had been useful.

So, maybe, she didn’t need to be an excellent fighter to help her brother out. Maybe- maybe she just needed to understand better.

Because, really, weren’t most the ghost just people? Dead people, yes. But still people. Persons whose feelings had amplified at the moment of crossing over. And that just translated to tons of unfinished business. And what was the point of a psychologist if not help people? She could help others in her own way.

She wanted to.

That was a thing that apparently she shared with her little brother

Danny took it upon himself to protect the humans.

But who was helping the ghost?

Not all the ghosts were evil. If her brother’s tales about the Ghost Zone and its size where anything to go by, with the Ghost Portal they could have completely razed over the town if they wanted to. It didn’t add up. Some of the ghosts would even just come to the living world to mess around, not hurt, just play.

She had seen her brother herding the tiniest-non-humanoid ones that would sometimes flock in their neighborhood around as if they were little sheep. It was kinda cute, actually.

So maybe, if they learn what made them tick in an emotional sense, they could talk it out with the ghost. Maybe not all of them, but most. And wouldn’t that be a great help to relieve Danny’s load?

When she brought it up to the others- well. Sam and Tucker had just stared at her.

“What are you talking about?” They asked.

She had tried to explain, and they just looked at her like she had a screw loose. She was flabbergasted. They had spent way more time than her in the presence of ghosts. How had they not noticed?

The two teens had exchanged glances, gotten up, said their goodbyes, and made their way home. And that was it, an easy dismiss. She could only gape after them, and turn to her brother.

He was already looking at her.

He stared at her too, but he gave her a melancholic smile

“They don’t want to understand.” Was all he said.

That was enough to comprehend.

And that was the thing everything reduced to, wasn’t it

You could not see what you did not want to acknowledge. Not even if it was slapping you right in the face. Their parents were proof of that.

Because the truth was that no matter how many people bitched about it her little brother was a hero.

Phantom was a hero.

And at the end of the day, Sam and Tucker were just civilians.

They didn’t know how bad it could get.

They didn’t know the grimmer parts. They didn’t think about them, they didn’t have to, because her brother was shielding them too.

That all the ghostly abilities her brother had acquired were not just “cool ghost powers”, that no matter how many times Sam talked about the responsibility she was not the one losing sleep over it, that no matter how Tucker sometimes wished he was ‘special’ too, there was always a price to pay. And Danny’s had come with interest.

They didn’t want to acknowledge that Danny had died.

Jazz was the one waking up to her brother screams, the one constantly smuggling medical equipment into the house, the one fretting about whether her brother occasional lack of pulse in his sleep was a bad thing this time, the one to share sleepless nights along with her brother just talking trivialities so they could pretend for a moment.

Danny had always been hers like Jazz had always been his.

If their constant quarrels and natural stubbornness could not tear them apart in the middle of their parent’s madhouse but made them stronger, then a triviality as whether one of them was dead or not was not going to tear them apart.

And maybe someday she would have to join him on the other side. But that was cannon fodder for the future.

For now, she would only concentrate on ways to help. The faster she learned the better.

And if She and Danny had flourished and learned to cope in the madhouse their parents had built.

What better option to have an intensive course than another madhouse, right?

-.-.-.-

NOTES: :D

I like to believe that clothes were not the highest priorities in the Fenton household because Jack and Maddie can survive off jumpsuits alone and probably tried to convert their children too.

So Jazz and Danny would get their hands in any scrap of normal clothing they could, and by this point, Danny doesn’t even care if he has to use Jazz’s hello kitty sweater because that is better than his dad’s face.

He was already bullied anyway, might as well bite the fucking bullets.

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kurojiri · 4 years

Text

their silhouettes

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Tom Riddle/Luna Lovegood Square Fill: Luna/Tom Summary: The longer he went on knowing of her existence, the more he wished he could see their silhouettes melting into one more frequently considering how sporadic the universe allowed for them to meet face to face. Word Count: 3,521 A/N: @rarehpbingo & for @tunavibes

Or read o: ffnt | ao3

War had never scared him or gave him the same scars that most mortals were prone to.

He could never fully explain that there had always been a borderline fascination with that subject as he grew up. As if, there was a piece of him that had been born to learn all aspects regarding it. The subject was always able to be wined down to his soul with ease as he learned about its placement with humanity. The battlefield was a place where he could faintly belong to, let alone call home. A moment that made sense when all else didn’t. It may have split him with the rest of his comrades when he met them, but Tom didn’t care.

He just knew that he had a pull to walk in and register without a fuss when it was time for him to be drafted. Since it did give him a chance to examine and learn how it felt to be placed into the drums of war directly.

The war had dragged into the soils of his orphanage, seeing that the damage straggled most of the walls there. Luckily, most of the children and patrons hadn’t been there due to evacuation rounds. But it still shook the building and forced Tom to see first-hand of war; and the chaotic mess that he witnessed, he found that he had liked it. The madness painted a turn for his life. He, of course, knew of his mortality, but he had respected war. Understood it too as it had flashed its destruction in the steps of where his childhood once rested.

The moment his name had been called the letter had not burned. The simple order had been a waking call from his own blood. His goodbyes were short and unneeded. The pack of his clothes and small processions were less heavy after the evacuation. It had been a short journey with Tom getting registered, having filled with a new uniform and once again having to make pleasantries with strangers as his name had been processed. He may have been a boy, but war never cared about that little fact.

In the face of death, age and health made no significant changes. Tom had come around to that when he saw the range of ages, and generations that had been called. They had been nameless then, and even still now.

When he received a new bed and schedule for training Tom did his best to find why the call of war didn’t devastate him like the rest.

The average hours of when he spent on a quiet night had dwindled. And when his name and group had been called, he heard it again: the drums of death. They had grown into elusive instruments as they murmured into his ears when he stepped into the fields or towns. He could always capture the melody of bodies falling and fading. They were often louder in the beginnings and endings of each battle.

It had been a hauntingly beautiful experience for him. Like black veils made of silk touching his skin when Tom held his weapon and aimed when he felt another pair of eyes watching him. He always managed to soak in the earth’s wails when his opponents didn’t last long.

And as clock work, Tom went along his way listening to the world as platoons clashed with each other.

It had been an abnormal night, with the winds whipping his face as the rain had been relentless every time he walked out of any building. In the midst of his musing a war went on. Tom Riddle had believed that coincidences were not linked with destiny. Not since his long stay in Wool’s orphanage for the last seventeen years. Yes, he had been able to leave that place for good when he had been drafted, but somehow Tom couldn’t escape the way his memories dragged him back to those days. When Tom had wondered what and where the world would take him.

Obviously, he hadn’t thought that the war would have been the exact form for him to explore the continent. Or when there had been time off for him to be allowed to explore the way his emotions were dragged when he met her.

She was like if the sea and moon created a being from each other. Someone he knew that could and would spell for Tom to feel funny. Her laugh had been the first clue.

He hadn’t caught her name the first time they met. But she had been ungodly distinct. Between the rest of perky faces and flirty pouts, her messy silver blond hair had been a sight. Her eyes, so lively and dreamy had been the embodiment when the moon hung out the bright stars at night. Tom couldn’t ever forget a face like hers.

And he hoped that she wouldn’t forget him when he left town the following morning.

Tom Riddle didn’t believe in destiny, but that didn’t mean that he stopped hoping for a chance of meeting in finding her again after the war was done.

Unworldly. She had a deadly charm about her when reminders of her came up to him. Each spilled in ill-timed moments.

Tom had been in the middle cleaning up his side and locating any injured company when a shade of silver hair pinned down by a white nurse hat flashed by him. His heart stopped. His teeth biting the side of his mouth.

He didn’t turn around.

(But he had wanted to. Badly.)

Tom instead steeled himself to grab the closeted person that had been tucked inside a trench. Their pained groans and cold hands thanked him when he half carried him back to camp. He continued on, marched to the groove of when death sunk its teeth for a last slip of the fading bodies all around them.

Just like clockwork.

He needed to stop that tick of freezing when he caught that particular shade of blond in crowds. It could kill him. It would have if he did not have the reflexes that he trained himself to have. But how could someone blame him when she had been so incredibly rare species to find in this time and age.

The meeting had been something that he couldn’t write off. He had tried. Oh, did he try when her figure vanished in front of him.

Tom had been minding his own business. Walking. Mourning for whatever he was supposed to do when half his platoon died off from the months of losing limbs from infection or the bullets that kept on hitting their targets like they were intended. Some had been taken away. By their own woes, by their own stupidities or by other factors Tom didn’t want to discuss. Because, what had been the point?

What had made them humans? Their sympathy and empathy? Or was it the conscious fact of wanting to prolong a force greater than them?

He didn’t know what to do then. When all the stars had been shining and where the sea and land united, she had been there. With no shoes, her dress had been discolored and tattered from being used too often near the sea. She had looked wild. Untouchable by man itself. It had intrigued him to find someone that had torn herself from the norm. From the society that didn’t understand him, and he to them.

She didn’t goad him to change. But she had been very open. So much he couldn’t fathom that he would ever be able to comprehend the utter nonsense she had told him.

Nonetheless, in her essence it was there!

The very secrets of his life that he wanted to explore. She held out her palm towards his hand. He hesitated his next move when their skin made contact.

(It had been very cold, colder than the ocean waves that soaked his ankles.

But when their skin touched, his veins felt so alive.)

The war went on.

Regardless if he had an inkling about what to do about his tomorrows. They weren’t promised as other civilians or rather, certain areas of countries that didn’t get attacked like his own home did. London would not be his first choice of coming back to, but when he needed to see something familiar, he had to admit that the nostalgia of it had been what he craved. Anything to let Tom have a sigh without the terminal loneliness of being without a home parted with him. He just needed that.

Anything tangible for him to grasp after he woke up from that night.

She had disappeared on first light, when the moon waned and the ocean waves pulled away from the rock, he slept in. His coat had kept him warm and with no sign left that he had met her but only in his memories. It had been a sad drink for his heart to see it unfold. A trait and feeling that had been agonizingly alien for him to undergo. It had ended up making him numb when he cleaned his knees and walked back to the path where civilization was.

Not that the trip there had done him any favors. They never did when he noticed how much he missed the smell of the salty air that the beaches could only give him when he remembered her silver eyes.

He hadn’t realized it when he aged again. Calendars were not as often provided to many soldiers, and he, well, Tom Riddle hadn’t bothered to keep track about how he stayed fighting like the rest. He had no letters to write for someone else to read them let alone, to wait for someone else’s response. He had no need to pose for photos either. All the months of trying not to die and listen to death’s sympathy had been what he needed to stay occupied when he didn’t think about her. She became a living ghost in his thoughts. Always managing to step into his focus.

Always making Tom wonder if he had gone mad long ago and had instead made her up. He couldn’t put it past him into running into a circle like that, he had never been a social person that could connect to strangers; and she, she had been far too interestingly alien to be a common girl he randomly met by pure fate.

No.

Tom must have finally got hit too many times by stray bullets and had instead been taken away to a remote hotel that had been hastily made into a low fund hospital for the mentally afflicted. If he concentrated long enough, maybe he could hear the flutter of a loose spine of a book being pressed to his hands. The wind would be far less harsh and the sunlight would be fanning the whole dull room that would have been temporarily his, as someone well-meaning would have pushed him into there as a forgotten decoration because not all soldiers were heroes that demanded first class treatment.

That would make sense after all his troubles that he collected when he wanted to listen to the devil orchestrate a whole rhapsody that no mortals but him alone could decipher.

But then. But then! Her ghost had touched his heart all too well. Like a siren roaming in the corners of his journeys and endlessly capturing his sanity. She had become a staple of his monologues. One day Tom would understand the insanity of him hearing the devil and death making a pact. He would see how it all connected with her.

But until then, Tom Riddle, supposed he would have to record everything eventually by the stray blank pages from a journal a comrade gave when he noticed how Tom kept muttering soft melodies he heard when they cleaned up their equipment after another skirmish between the major battles. That had been a start. And, a new beginning of itself when he saw a pattern of musical notes had clashed when her image came when he had a pen and ink ready to fill the pages.

It would all make sense, he told himself. It would.

On a warm spring day, just as he was coping in small intervals, Tom had seen that he had not been dreaming. The gun shot that hit his hip, had narrowly missed anything major as it had shocked his whole body. Most injuries prior had been small compared to the blood that had doused the earth now. It all seemed quite a sight. For him, a man now after living inside the war for most of his young years had grown accustomed to the smell of gunpowder and fresh iron that blood produced. His own forehead had been sweating, his eyes seemed to take into making everything appear to have a double reflection.

He knew that he could be saved.

Yet, that had not stopped for Tom to wonder if he would ever see her again. If, for some reason only that Death knew himself, would let him stay on the ground as the gunshots went on. He could not fully right himself up.

But he had wanted to. The gun had not fallen far away from him. He could stretch out for it, could bend to one side and press on the wound. A medic had heard him wail in pain; it all could work out.

(But then, why did Tom choose to sink down on the earth and listen as the earth danced to the beat of life and death wrestling for command?)

She did not appear beside him on his deathbed.

And simply, because, death didn’t want him either. The war zone left him cold, sweating but overall fine. The loss of blood had only made his light-headedness seem like he had been dragged on the soil for hours but eventually the darkness turned into light that came beyond his eyelids. If she were not a ghost, then surely, she would have visited? Or did that mean that his mind still liked to play tricks with himself?

He had been placed on bed rest for the remaining week, where the seconds went on longer than he thought were possible. It hadn’t been his favorite time ever given that he was not immune to the smell of infections and wounds that reopened by the screaming patients. Where the souls that had been cracked and wanted to be released from their world altogether. Tom never understood those individuals, but that hadn't meant that he didn’t scoff at their agony. Instead, he had listened to the inner clock that their bodies were made of; they got tangled, some were cut so suddenly and few were mended. But it had been in the ones that were silenced that he knew death had heard their wishes.

Most of those departures hadn’t been as swift or forgiving.

Nonetheless, it had been expected for people like Tom that had grown so much closer to death and war. From his youth where he wanted to gain a real home in those terrains, he had cultivated a type of wisdom. Inherently as he was mortal it did not rationalize his obsession over her. Nobody had ever gotten close to her beauty, to her eccentric behavior and imprint she had painted on his heart.

It had made sense why the sea borders always haunted him. When the rain hit his body they all reminded him when he saw her shadows, when he thought he heard her laughter behind him.

She had never spoken directly at him since that night.

And that had been hard to swallow, because it made him wonder what had been the point for her to grab his attention if she only wanted to taunt him. To make him crumble by the sound of her voice. It had been a cruel existence for him. To have lived for war and death and then to be infatuated by the moon and seas as they had been the extension of her.

If she commanded the seas the way she held over his sanity, Tom was sure that he would never be able to escape from her. Nor, did he want to. She was—Tom could see that a life without her meant that he could never see what laid beyond that.

Not that a normal life had suited him anyways.

When he was able again, by their standards he had his hair cut again. The clothes he borrowed were not perfectly trimmed for his thin figure, but it was something he could use for the time being. His mind was foggy though. The kind that felt like cotton was plugged to his ears and his mouth was dry no matter the cups of water he drank. Strange.

It had been a while since he took a stroll by the ocean.

Maybe that had been why no one wanted him near a body of water since it had been a place where he almost lost his life once. But what they didn’t know was that Tom had been prepared to see her. To have that iron taste become salt. To have the waves wash his wounds while he could soak in the sight of her sad smiles. Her slim hands would reach down to cup his face, and he would just listen to her, to death playing in the background.

It wouldn’t have scared him.

But then she hadn’t come then. And he had been wondering why they couldn’t hold one conversation where he didn’t feel like he was the only one invested into their futures. She had once told him that she longed for more todays than tomorrows. And he had not understood. Because wouldn’t anyone sane would want more tomorrows? But when she had looked at him, and when the ocean waves had circled to his feet, he almost understood the need to live in the present. With her, it felt like Tom wanted to rearrange his sensibilities.

If only to be closer to the way she lived. Contentions like that meant that he would have to compromise. That he would eventually come to the conclusion that he was never sane.

He may have been born a bastard son. A forgotten orphan and a broken soldier, but she had made him feel like he could take over the world if he wanted and succeed.

So he limped all the way back to the first sign of the beach. The same one from the town he first met her. Most buildings had been in the middle of construction. Or left to rot. They didn’t look at his direction. Not even when he slid down the rocky sections where the water was lively. The sand had become heavier in his socks, but he had ignored it when he closed his eyes patiently.

The wind had been kinder that afternoon.

No one bothered to call after him.

No one until he felt the waves hush. The salt dimmed for a second until it brushed and sloshed itself inside his nose. He was sure his nose wrinkled.

But before he could touch his own face another set of colder hands did. Softly at first that he was pretty sure it had been just a memory that often ridiculed him when his isolation posed a threat to his future. Yet what stopped his heart for one painful second was that when that hand urged for him to lean down a soft cheek had touched one side of his. The heat of another human being was there.

Her skin still stung his blood when he opened them to memorize the way she looked untouched by time.

When she pulled away, his eyes took in the grey of her eyes, how bleached and fair her hair was that it almost blended to his snow-white skin. Her clothes were moderately fixed. Still they clung in the direction that most clothes did when they were wet. He made the motion to strip off his jacket when she declined his offer. He should have been annoyed by that gesture; but when she was there again after a long period of separation he caved by clinging to the way she kissed his forehead. Tom leaned in to her embrace quickly after that.

If this encounter was all in his mind, then he would thank his insanity for producing such a lovely image before him.

Anything else would have destroyed him.

Which had been why he was an easy target for her, after all it didn't take much for him to follow her off the rocky surface. To be engulfed by the waves and not fear death when she was there. Singing to him softly in his ears as his lungs burned.

The ocean had never scared him before, and it still didn’t at that moment because she kept saying his name until he couldn’t remember how it felt to be alive before her existence. The last image he could conjure was the way her hair swayed with the water and her lips opening and opening for one more kiss.

#rarehpbingo #tom riddle x luna lovegood #tom x luna #Tom Riddle #Luna Lovegood #hp #TW: character death #TW: Drowning #wwii #CANON DIVERGENCE #siren luna #wc: 1-5k #tuna #ts: their silhouettes

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

AU Troy Character Timeline

Right, so I saw an incredible breakdown of Troy’s mental journey/state of ego last night ( that I’ll see if I can get permission to post at some point ) that really kicked my confidence into overdrive for writing out a definitive timeline for the version of him I write about in drabbles/fics etc as it was so amazingly similar. This isn’t complete, it couldn’t be because man I have a lot of stuff for this guy, but I hope it’s interesting for people maybe looking for a somewhat logical bunch of HC content that works well with the info we were given ingame.

Writing this was like doing a jigsaw puzzle. Except ten pieces are missing, and you have 2 dominos and a Mrs Cupcake card instead. If you like any of this, feel free to use it. I’ll eventually expand on it in my own works.

Pre Pandora Era - 28 years pre BL3

Severe self esteem / image issues from very early childhood. Leda’s death left Typhon both terrified of Tyreen and desperately paranoid about her safety, leaving Troy to feel far less valued and loved as he found himself constantly failing to compete for attention from his remaining parent.

Typhon never outright called Troy a freak, but he overheard plenty of discussions with his mother and with Tyreen explaining why he was so sick all the time, why he looked the way he did, why he was broken. He never discussed these, they festered in the back of his mind for the rest of his life.

Strived from an early age to be useful, being useful gave him the belief he was valued, and a “Great job kid!” from his father felt good enough that it could almost replace feeling loved.

Misses his mother intensely from the day she died, for the rest of his life. Had no one else to have platonic intimacy with bar his sister, which never felt as freely given as with his mother.

Developed an extremely crippled sense of social behavior and rules. The only people the Twins could interact with till they landed on Pandora ( which I HC was between 18 -19 ) were each other, and their Father.

Left alone on a giant empty planet with no one to tell them no, or instill an understanding of social rules to them regarding others, left them with only a feeling of personal value for each other. This is an extremely dangerous state of mind for any person who will need to function in a social structure, especially a person in power.

Had it hammered into them over and over by their father that the galaxy outside their home was filled with murderers. Animals. Bandit filth. Not like them, not like their parents, horrible, vicious things that would kill them the second they could.

Internalised that to the point where it was a crucial part of their development of self as children. The twins would genuinely struggle to comprehend any other human they met was a person, because they were told their whole developing lives that no one they would meet bar their father would be.

Pre COV - 8 years pre BL3

Lands on Pandora with Tyreen. Woefully underprepared and worried sick, didn’t want to leave Nekro but had no other choice but to go with his sister or die. Misses his father immediately, but avoids talking about it, knowing it will cause an argument.

Disliked that their father had kept them on Nekro intensely, but not enough to hate him the way Tyreen did. This never changed and the regret for leaving him only rotted inside him over the years.

Very excited to finally meet new people, but his social skills are learned through watching old echos and while he can mimic them, he doesn’t understand social intricacies as well as he’d hoped. This sabotages their first few attempts to communicate with Pandoran non bandit natives.

Comes across as weird. Stutters, not good with eye contact, awkward in body language and very unnatural in appearance. Extremely tall (6″7), very thin and sickly looking with sallow skin and dark under eyes. His missing arm and quarter of his shoulder draw far more attention than he had ever expected and he becomes instantly self conscious of the damage to his right side, strongly disliking how it’s pointed out every time they try and interact with one of these idiots.

The twins only had the clothes they had travelled in and at this point they are pretty much rags patched together over nearly 2 decades. Didn’t understand how much appearances were going to matter, Troy had been sure he’d be able to “Mingle with the locals no problem.”, and now feels like he’s letting his sister down by failing to perform the way he’d been so sure of. They move onto the bandit clans once they get laughed out of the first small town they try to impress.

Their first few interactions with bandits have very bad results. They both get mocked a lot, Troy gets insulted even more. This is the first time in his life he’s met other men bar his father and the harsh reality that he is not like other men is really starting to hit hard. He’s monstrously tall, he has no muscle, he’s bony and sick and the bandits make very clear to him that he’s a freak.

Unable to defend himself verbally to people that don’t seem to speak a coherent language, he feels impotent and emasculated. Troy’s gift with words has always been his strong point, something he was proud of, and the bandits barely even understand what he’s saying. Any interest he’d had towards them as other people gets quashed. They clearly aren’t the same as he and Ty, they are beneath them. Savages. They aren’t people after all. His dad was right.

This is the point where he fully switches to seeing almost all others as non-persons. They aren’t people, they aren’t what he and Tyreen are, or they wouldn’t act like this in response to the twins. Any possible empathy he could have developed over time is aborted at this point, and he begins to craft the God King persona he understands he will need to disguise his shortcomings under if he’s going to be in the public’s eye.

Begins to create it piece by piece. Designs their outfits, designs his tattoos and mods, his monstrous arm, their name.

The Calypso twins are born, and the COV with them.

Early COV Era - 7 years pre BL3

As he learns how to communicate with bandits and craft a persona for Tyreen that they will be drawn to, the COV starts to form. While the huge majority of their followers are people they see as not even being the same species as them, they do also begin to fill the higher ranks with people they are meeting over time that they see as having value.

People with skills in categories they don’t, engineers, media experts, accountants, are drawn to the COV for the same reasons as the bandits. Opportunity, just a different sort.

Joining in the early days means having the twin’s ears, and those who have excellent ideas, or bring talent to the upper echelon that the twin's don’t have themselves, eventually end up as high priests and Saints. Department leaders (eg: Mouthpiece ). These are the kind of people he sees as people, though still not on par with himself or his sister in value. These are the few he would be capable of having functional conversations with, building simple relationships.

He has found value in his ability to be very useful within the COV. Leading the Media and Propaganda department has given him a huge amount of power, even if he still physically feels extremely frail.

He’s settled into living in Tyreen’s shadow, she’s the star, but he’s the puppeteer, and he’s happy for it to be that way for the most part. While she can sometimes step out of line or treat him like he’s not equal, he’s quick to remind her of her place during these outbursts, and their relationship is relatively stable.

Troy is fiercely loyal and surprisingly gentle with people he has a bond with. Despite his desperation to have meaningful connections, to be cared for and liked as himself, they don’t stay around him long.

No matter how hard he tries to give them what he thinks they want, they eventually leave, and he doesn’t understand that they are distancing themself because of how he treats other people, not them.

Troy’s complete inability to view the vast majority of people as people means he has a total lack of empathy towards almost everyone else, and this is a terrifying thing to experience first hand. He doesn’t understand this is why his “friends” leave, why they stop being friendly with him, or request to be transferred to another district.

“Why did you do that to them..?” - “Huh? Ohhhh, relax haha, it’s just a bandit.” - “What do you mean, just a bandit, they felt that Troy, what’s wrong with you?’ - "The hell? No, it’s a b.a.n.d.i.t. It’s not like us, it’s not like you, it’s just.. you know, a bandit! Doesn’t matter what I do to em.” -shrug- - “-horrified silence-”

He blames himself each time this happens and damages his already fractured self esteem further. He can’t comprehend that his actions are the problem, because he simply has no way to understand his actions are bad.

Each time someone close to him leaves, it’s another hit to his already crumbling self worth. He has absolutely no strong bonds with anyone bar his sister, who at times seems to barely like him, and he is genuinely desperate for validation and care from someone who likes Troy, not Calypso, not the God he pretends to be.

Every time another one of his “friends” vanishes, another of his little connections to his own humanity breaks. He gets angrier, and sadder, the God King a little more snarling and quicker to snap. It’s a sore point Tyreen tends to dig in during arguments too.

She doesn’t need anyone else, but she’s seen the near manic excitement and happiness he has when he connects with another person over a shared interest or they show actual genuine kindness towards him and not his title. If that person then becomes upset with his lack of empathy, or scared of it and abandons him, it’s another open wound on the already dying soul inside him that’s barely still breathing.

He has a complete and defined understanding of right and wrong, but those rules only apply to people, and his social development from infant to adult left his comprehension of other people so stunted, he cannot fathom that the vast majority of others are people.

God King Calypso is a fucking nightmare to anyone bar the select view he sees as “people like him”. A feral, cackling monster, as likely to airdrop a million dollars onto a tiny village and record the reaction, as he is to rip a bandits arms off during a raid and live steam them bleeding out. All the same to him. Just background NPCs in his game. Placeholder actors in his life. They don’t matter. All that does matter is how they make him feel, or how they further his sister’s goals.

Every year that passes by leaves the God King more polished and defined, more in control a persona, while inside its impenetrable shell Troy DeLeon is slowly being suffocated by the weight of his own sins, without having the ability to understand he had been sinning at all.

God King Era - 4 years pre Bl3

By this point, Troy’s isolation is now deadly. He is a deity, worshipped by billions, with absolutely no points of human contact in his life to anchor himself to reality. No one to help him understand how to apply his sense of right and wrong to his followers, only his sister, who is even more toxic and vicious than he is.

Every day since starting the COV, he’s distanced himself further from the worshippers, the bandits, the acolytes. They are screaming war meat now, they are chips to barter with, numbers on a viewer count, flesh to tear into when he wants to feel something.

His relationship with Tyreen is crumbling. She’s quicker now to imply he’s not as important, he’s not the Siren. She’s called him a parasite in front of a merger board, a burden during a discussion with department heads. Each new crack at his inner ego only strengthens the persona further. Makes it more attention seeking, more willing to lash out at others, more vicious.

His “friends"are long gone, either fled from the behemoth the COV now is, or far away in other districts, planets, cities. The people he is close with now in working relationships are held at arms length. He doesn’t let anyone near him anymore, he’s afraid they will leave too if he does.

The isolation pushes him further into the God King persona every day. If he’s Troy Calypso, he doesn’t NEED anyone else. The further he sinks into it, the more aggressive, the more twisted his actions become, but he doesn't see it that way. This is what his followers want, so it must be fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine to ravenously tear into heretics on livestream if 8 billion people are tuning in to watch?

He’s becoming cruel, he’s becoming vicious, but the man he was before he reached Pandora is still whispering that Tyreen is treating him wrong. That this isn’t how it was meant to be, that he’s not weak or a burden.

But listening to that voice means also having to listen to the one telling him he’s warped into something disgusting that his mother would be so let down by, that his father was right about him being a broken monstrosity. He continues to ignore it, and he loses himself further every day.

The deeper he recedes into the God King, the more he starts having nightmares, the more those whispers in the back of his mind get louder. He does what he can to ignore them, but sometimes something will set him off.

An argument with Tyreen, a momentary feeling of regret for leaving his home, a pang of loneliness. He often can’t sleep, and he knows if he starts to wonder why, clarity for the horrors he’s done could crush him.

Drugs, sex, bloodlust, he tries anything to take his mind off the intrusive thoughts that grow day by day. That he’s a failure. He’s a freak. He’s a cold blooded murder, but every now and then he’ll wake up in a cold sweat and hate himself so much that he wishes he’d never been born.

The feeling passes very quickly as the God King shifts back into place and swallows it down, but while it’s there it’s horrific. He see’s himself from other people’s eyes for just a moment and god what has he turned into. What has he done. He’s a fucking monster.

The man he had been is so damaged under the mantle of this vicious God he’s wearing as a skin that it’s barely alive anymore, and it’s what begs him to kill it in those fleeting moments where he sees past his own facade, where he just for a second realises how many people he has hurt.

He tore his throat out a couple of years before the start of the game story in a moment of lucidity after being sleep deprived for days on end. Tyreen reached him in time when his implanted vitals tracker each twin keeps for the other alerted her to his condition, but it was close enough that he was bedridden for days after her energy transfer closed the wound.

She had been furious with him and made sure it was was kept hushed, the rest of the clergy believing he was on reprieve. Only the twins know the truth of what happened.

He never takes the collars off anymore now, the scars are still there. Convincing Tyreen that it had had happened during a nightmare when he’d left his prosthetic on by mistake was easy. Convincing himself to try and forget he’d been lucid and how it still feels like the right thing to do, is not.

By the point the story begins, Troy is in a constant state of exhaustion, and knows deep down everything he has been through and done to others was for nothing. Tyreen doesn’t care about him the way he does her. She may never have, or she changed, he doesn’t know anymore.

What he does know, is that he won't ever be a real God, and that the only reason he’s still alive is because he is useful.

Maybe he should never have tried so hard to be useful.

Phew.

I guess in a nutshell, my Troy’s greatest downfall is the God King persona.

As long as that shit is active, as long as it’s being worshipped, he’s never going to snap into reality. The reality that other people are there, that he’s been hurt so badly as a person, it’s all impossible long as he is being treated as, and believes, he is a God.

The manic moments of clarity he has in the later stages of the COV rule are few and far between, but they eat him alive as he can’t understand why he suddenly feels so terrible, why he’s filled with such consuming remorse.

Peel the God King off the broken man underneath it and you leave him bare, confused, scared. You make him have to deal with reality, with people, with himself. That’s when you get him to show regret, and understand what he’s done, and understand what Ty has done to him.

That’s the redemption.

When he realises the game he was playing was real for billions, and suffers for it. It ends where it ends as my Troy ain’t dyin’ :P I’ll get to my rewrite eventually. I hope to keep exploring these ideas in the future. Just desperately wish I’d as much to work with for Tyreen as I do Troy. GB YOU HEAR THAT? YOU HEAR THATTTT??

#troy calypso #tyreen calypso #borderlands #borderlands3 #borderlands 3 #bl3 #my hcs #my writing #calypso twins #leech lord

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runenc03 · 3 years

Text

HH - Kaycee’s fifth year (part 6)

Writing date: January 2020

Genre: fluff. And an approaching war

Warnings: maybe some harassment? It all ends up being okay and nothing terrible happens

Word count: 6.3k

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

Summer

"Have you ever heard about horcruxes?"

Kaycee was sitting in Professor Dumbledore's office, her stomach slightly squeasy because of the nerves she felt all throughout her body. She shook her head, unsure of herself, before looking to her side to see if her sister knew anything about it. Hermione's brows were furrowed, but her head was slightly tilted, two signs Kaycee had learned to recognise through years of being with her sister. It indicated Hermione didn't know something yet, but was inquisitive to learn more about it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, looking at them with a kind smile, but a serious expression in his eyes.

"Horcruxes are very, very rare objects. They're also a very dark form of magic, which is why most people have never heard of it before. A horcrux is an object in which a piece of someone's soul is placed. The process is not something I'd recommend, though. In order to make a horcrux, one has to splinch their own soul. I've obviously never experienced it myself, but it's said to be one of the worst kinds of pain to exist."

The heavy silence Kaycee thought would follow was immediately killed by Hermione's voice full of disbelief.

"But why would someone do that? That sounds gruesome!"

The headmaster nodded understandingly at her.

"That's the clue, Miss Granger. You can't kill someone who has put a part of his soul in another object. Horcruxes always make it possible to return from death."

Kaycee heard Hermione gasp, and she knew her sister had connected the dots. She, however, still had difficulty comprehending where this conversation was heading, until her sister started whispering the answer to the questions that were swirling inside of her head.

"Voldemort has put a part of his soul in a horcrux."

"I'm afraid it's not just one horcrux, Miss Granger. Voldemort has indeed used this technique to be able to reclaim his life, but he has splinched his soul not once, but at least 3 times."

This time, it was Kaycee who gasped. She just couldn't imagine wanting to splinch your own soul. She promptly started shivering at the idea, for once hating how much empathy she possessed. Her shock didn't make her forget her confusion, however, so she asked her headmaster the question that had been burning on her tongue throughout the entire visit.

"But, Professor, what does that have to do with me, and my strange feeling?"

The old man's eyes went from serious to grave, as if he were about to convey some very bad news, and Kaycee suddenly went from sweating to being very, very cold. She wanted this to be over with, so she could crawl in her blankets, the familiar prison for once protecting her from the outside world, instead of the other way around.

"Miss Granger, that's where it gets very interesting. First of all, I want you to know that nothing like this has ever happened in the entire history of Magic, or at least as far as we can read back. That being said, I do have a suspicion I am pretty confident about. You undoubtedly remember your first year, and the diary you wrote in."

Dumbledore's voice got lower, his guilt about not being able to prevent all of that from happening evident in the way he spoke, and Kaycee nodded, half to indicate that she was still following, half to let him know that she was well now, and didn't hold any grudge.

"The diary was a horcrux. When Mr. Potter destroyed it with the basilisk fang, a piece of Voldemort got destroyed along with the object. Since you had been taking the diary with you for such a long time by then, the influence of the horcrux had kind of put itself inside of you, Miss Granger. I know that sounds very concerning, but I want you to know that you were not a horcrux, the influence of the horcrux had merely started residing inside of you, if I can put it like that. Of course that influence got destroyed at the same time that the source of it, the horcrux, got dismantled, but the place it had stayed at, didn't immediately get occupied again. Not that your mind misses anything, it's quite the opposite, really. If anything, your mind got stretched with that influence, and since that space didn't exist before your first year, it was empty after Mr Potter's battle with the basilisk."

"So, my mind is basically larger than average?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"It is, Miss Granger, but that's not all there is to it. After doing some research, I found out that such 'mindgaps' have existed before yours, although they were made in other circumstances. Losing a mind twin, for example, is an unfortunate event in which the mind twin experiences a void in their mind, but fortunately, that's not the case for you, Miss Granger. In fact, your mind has magically filled itself again, with what I expect to be exactly the feeling you have described. See it as an extra gut feeling, an extra internal compass, if you would. Miss Granger, I know that this must come as a surprise, and if it was possible, I wouldn't let you dwell on it any further, instead opting to let you enjoy your teenage years to their full extent, but I'm afraid that in times of war, we must use everything we can, and that includes the extra capacity of your mind."

Kaycee was fast to nod, agreeing completely with what her headmaster was saying. Unlike what Professor Dumbledore had expected, Kaycee didn't feel all that shocked or overwhelmed anymore. True, this was not what she expected, but she finally had an answer now, finally knew for sure that the feeling was not something she made up, or exaggerated. It was useful, she was finally useful in this journey to the light - as she liked to call the war going on around them.

"What's the plan, professor? I'm up to whatever you see fit."

The headmaster smiled at that, his eyes twinkling with pride.

"I would like you to come to my office every 2 weeks, for an extra class outside of your normal classes. I will teach you how to understand your power, how to use it, and, if necessary, how to suppress it. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, Professor. I look forward to it."

And she did. For so many years, she had been struggling with the memories of her first year, the nightmares, the guilt of holding onto that diary for so long.

It was time for her to step up, do her part, help her loved ones.

She was ready.

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

Autumn

Sean breathed out a sigh of relief when he finally found her. The sight of her sitting there with crossed legs, looking up at the sky through the massive window, her hair cascading down her back, made him feel so many things at once. It was breathtaking, really, and he could've stood there all night, up there in the astronomy tower, without moving an inch. He knew that wasn't an option though.

"So there you are."

She didn't move, didn't say anything at first, but Sean knew he was allowed to come closer. He vaguely registered how the wooden floor creaked as he moved, but his focus was on Kaycee. He was still hesitant to do anything. She was the one who ran away so suddenly, after all.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that. It was not your fault, I promise."

She said it with a quiet, hoarse voice, and he knew right then and there that she had been able to think while looking at all those constellations above them. It had made her calm. Another wave of relief crashed over him.

She wasn't going to run from him.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She finally looked at him, a million stars seemingly reflected in her eyes at that moment. She nodded, stretching out her arm to him, beckoning him to sit down, but - to Sean's disappointment - letting go of that arm as soon as he was sitting beside her. For a few seconds, she said nothing, and he didn't push her. He knew that she would start when she had found the right words.

"Look, we both know that I like you as more than a friend, right?"

Sean tried his best to hide his surprise that she didn't beat around the bush. For some reason, the dark blue colour of the sky combined with the bright spots scattered across it had made him think their conversation would be a meaningful one, one to start gradually but last forever in his memory.

"Did I say too much...?..."

Her voice, a lot softer than normal, brought him out of his thoughts, and he started to speak immediately, not wanting her to be insecure because she decided to be brave enough to finally address their dynamic.

"No, no you definitely didn't Kayc! I just....didn't expect you to be so open about it so suddenly."

She smiled at that, still a bit shy, but at least more comfortable now.

"Sean, when Ron asked me to come smell his Amortentia, I just, I don't know....for some reason I really didn't think it would be that much of a big deal, but then I smelled it and I just...panicked, I guess."

Those last few words made Sean panic in her place. Had he actually been mistaken about her signs and did she not feel anything for him? Had he really been that arrogant? A cold spot formed itself in his chest, and the longer Kaycee waited with continuing her story, the more it spread out towards the rest of his body.

"So....what did you smell then?"

He tried to be casual about it, he really did, but the cold spot had reached his throat and made it hard to speak. Kaycee finally turned her head, now looking at him instead of at the constellations, a small smile on her face.

"Come on Shamu, like it's not embarrassingly obvious already. I smelled...well, this is probably pretty unique for Amortentia, but I smelled sweaty dance rooms, and parchment, and freshly cooked meals. Sean, I already knew I liked you. I mean, I guess I made it pretty obvious. Smelling you in Amortentia though...it brings everything on a much higher level. And I...I guess I underestimated how serious my feelings for you were, but we both know Amortentia never lies, now does it?"

And he knew as well that Amortentia never masked anything. Whatever you smelled while hanging above a cauldron of the lovely liquid was what your deepest desire was in terms of love, and that wouldn't go away after your crush stayed uninterested or your teenage years passed.

No, what you smelled in Amortentia, counted for the rest of your life.

"Sunflowers, hairspray and just a hint of sweat, but the good, 'I gave my all and created something magical' kind, not the disgusting one."

"What?"

He almost laughed at the clueless expression on her face, but then he didn't, suddenly realising that this could very well become the moment he could officially ask her to be his girlfriend.

"It's what I smelled in my Amortentia, Kaycee. I think we both know who smells like that, don't we?"

"Well, I hope I don't smell like sweat all the time."

She said it while laughing, but Sean could hear the relief she was trying to cover up. Had she been so insecure about his feelings for her? He thought he'd always made it pretty obvious she was it for him.

"No, you don't. You smell like sunflowers most of the time, but if I talk or think about you, I always picture you dancing, so I guess that's where the smell of hairspray and sweat comes from."

And then, when he saw the doubt on her face:

"Kaycee, it's you. And I don't know what that does to you, I hope it makes you happy, although it can also cost me my friendship with you if it makes you panic, but it has to be said. I am completely in love with you, and I've known it for far longer than my Amortentia class, or than going to the Yule Ball with you, even. And there's nothing I can do about it. I can only hope you feel the same, really, because there is no way to get over what I feel for you."

He didn't know why he said all of that. It was true, in fact there was nothing more honest he had ever said, but even he realised that this was probably a bit much to take in all at once. He should've said those things all separately, at the right time, but then again, he had been walking around for almost 3 years now, his head repeating these words like a mantra, over and over again.

All the while, Kaycee's face stayed unreadable.

"Sean....wow. I wish I could say something as meaningful, but you're the one with the right words, aren't you?"

Her tone was so controlled, almost restrained, that his first thought was that she was angry with him. He should've known better.

"It's one of the many reasons I'm in love with you as well. You want to hear some other ones?"

Sean could only nod, overcome with a second, huge wave of relief, gratitude, and slight disbelief. When talking about this moment to others later on, he would always contemplate telling them about how Kaycee's skin seemed to bask in the light those millions of stars emitted. He never did. It was something only he would ever know, and he knew he would always remember it.

"Your friendship with Hermione is something that makes my heart warm. Or the way you don't try to overpower me when we dance, but rather dance with me, next to me. I love how you can engulf me in your arms, how you offer me comfort, but also see me as my own person. And then we haven't talked about all the sweet gestures. Like, I love it when you take my hand, or lay yours on the small of my back. Or when we duelled in the DA last year, you never held back, you duelled against me to win, which made me feel that much more accomplished when I managed to win. You saw me as your equal opponent, not as a little, fragile sister or a too-naïve Hufflepuff. You saw and continue to see me as the deepest, rawest, most true version of myself. And that, Sean, is something I'll always be grateful for.

He couldn't help himself anymore, needed to diminish the distance between them, so he opened his arms, ready to wrap them around her.

"Come here, Kayc."

And she did, with a surprising amount of eagerness. She shuffled closer, and then, when Sean expected her to come to a halt propped next to him, she moved again, this time lifting herself up and sitting down again on his lap, leaning backwards and laying her head on his shoulder, looking at the stars again.

They were silent once again, but Sean wasn't one to stop talking because a moment was beautiful. He believed words had a great power, and if used in the right way, they could make that beautiful moment even better.

"Kaycee, does this mean..."

He still couldn't outright say it. Was it because of all the years he had stayed silent before this, or because of the intoxicating smell of her hair currently tickling the right side of his neck, he didn't know. He wanted to kick himself for ruining this moment with his words, when Kaycee's next ones made him smile again.

"Do you want it to?"

Something in her tone was open enough to finally give him the courage to go through with it. He took her hand, interlacing her fingers with his, letting them rest on her lap.

"Kaycee Caitlin Rice, do you, at last, after everything we've been through, want to be my girlfriend?"

She said nothing at first, only raising the hand that was holding hers and kissing the back of it. Sean could feel the outline of her smile on his skin. His heart was soaring, burning, even, and he loved every second of it.

"I would love to be your girlfriend, Sean Charles Lew. Very much so."

And that was it. He gave her a kiss on her hair, and put his arm around her middle, pulling her just a smidge closer to his chest. He needed to feel her, to assure himself that this had actually just happened. For some reason, he'd always thought getting together with Kaycee would be something grand, something with music, flowers, lengthy speeches, tears. It hadn't been anything like that, this was probably the most silent get together in the history of Hogwarts.

Still, he looked up at the stars again, wanting to cherish this moment, no matter how silent it had been. What followed could be his imagination, but he swore he saw one of the stars wink. It was all that was needed to tell him that the roaring of his heart was loud enough, and, judging by the way Kaycee's thumb kept rubbing over his arm, he knew it sounded like music to her, too.

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

Winter

"Mione! Look, quickly!"

She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice, already having to remind herself that she had to stay silent. This was a library, after all.

Her sister shuffled closer to her after putting away her wand, trying to watch their friends sitting at an old wooden table through the same small gap in between 2 seemingly endless rows of books.

"Oh, there's mistletoe above us, Neville!"

Neville promptly looked up at Luna's wondering tone of voice, and Kaycee squeezed Sean's hand, smiling when he immediately squeezed back, as well as putting his chin on top of her head.

"I wonder how it started blooming here so suddenly...the living conditions in a library aren't exactly ideal for a plant like misletoe..."

Kaycee could almost feel the identical grins that were on both Hermione's and Sean's face now. She herself, couldn't help but grin as well. They should have known Neville would start thinking about the misletoe's traits, rather than its meaning.

"Well Neville, in a place like Hogwarts, I believe everything is possible. You do know what this means, right? I've already checked, there aren't any nargles in it, which means it's real mistletoe, and not giving me a kiss would mean lots of things, starting with being bothered by hinkypunks for the rest of your life. Now of course I understand if you do not wish to kiss me, but -"

"I do!"

Neville had cut Luna off, and everyone, including Neville himself, only realised a few seconds later what he had actually said. Kaycee smiled, hidden from Neville and Luna by that massive wall of books. She hadn't expected their plan to go so easily.

"I mean, I do want to kiss you, Luna. Especially under a misletoe. It's tradition, after all."

Neville's voice was a lot softer now, and Kaycee silently thanked him for it, afraid for a second that Madam Pinch would check on the pair and their moment would be completely ruined.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Luna sounded even brighter than usual, although Kaycee's fangirl heart could also be playing tricks on her. Either way, she was excited beyond words for what was about to unfold right in front of her.

And then, it happened.

After Neville had taken one last deep breath, he lowered his head, hesitating for only a second before finally letting his lips touch Luna's. For just a second, nothing happened, they just stayed like that, quiet, in peace, and Kaycee was about to swallow her 'awwww' when something changed.

Luna had shuffled closer to Neville, wrapping her arms around his neck. His reaction was a bright smile, not even hidden behind Luna's lips. His arm was next, Neville wrapping it around Luna's waist, squeezing her side when his hand ended up laying there. Kaycee thought her jaw would actually drop, the whole thing looked so fluent. It took her brain a second to realise just how right this had to feel for both of them in that moment, and her heart melted a little more. They deserved it so much.

By now, Luna had moved her arms, one laying on Neville's chest, the other on his left sideburn, tilting his head so she could reach it. Then, they separated, but as soon as they looked into each other's eyes, they diminished the distance between them again, Neville taking the lead now, following her example of laying a hand on his cheek, moving his thumb across her jawline.

They pulled away slowly, both of them seemingly not wanting this to end. It was only now that Neville started to blush. He pulled her even closer, Luna responding to that by putting her legs over his lap and once again wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Do you think he's going to confess?"

Kaycee whispered her words in Sean's ear, afraid the faintest sound would ruin the cozy bubble Neville and Luna were in right now. He made a face, telling his girlfriend wordlessly that he didn't know, but hoped it would finally happen. Kaycee could feel his arm coming to hold her waist, and in this moment she could only think about how much she wanted Luna to be able to feel the same thing, not just now, but always.

On the other side of the wall of books, Luna placed her forehead against Neville's, her eyes closed.

"Did you know that when you're in love, there are little elves in your belly? Everyone always thinks those are butterflies, but that's not true."

"Is that so? Well...it's good to know what's going on in my stomach, then."

Okay, Kaycee had to admit that one was smooth.

"Yeah, when I first felt them, I wanted to know what caused the feeling, so I started searching for an explanation and eventually, I found an article about it in an old edition of the Quibbler."

Kaycee noticed that while Luna's eyes were still closed, Neville's were wide open, looking at the girl in front of him. Kaycee didn't think she'd ever seen so much adoration in someone gaze.

"When do you feel them, Luna?"

Luna's smile got even broader, her whole body actually emitting a warm glow.

"They always crawl around when we sit in the greenhouses. Or when I help you with your homework. Or when you accidentally touch me and apologise while you really don't need to. Also when you just smile at me."

Neville answered with a kiss on Luna's forehead, and Kaycee knew that this was the start of something extraordinarily beautiful.

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

"Hey, babe!"

As soon as Kaycee heard those words, she turned around warily. This was definitely not Sean. He had nicknames for her, yes, like darling, or love, or baby, when he was in a particularly clingy mood, but never babe.

Upon seeing the guy who had clearly called out on her as there were no other people in the corridor she was currently standing, she put on an unimpressed face, trying to seem unaffected, but wrapping her thin coat tighter around her body. The past week had been remarkably warm for this time of the year, and Kaycee had secretly started hoping Spring would come early this year, but apparently, thin coats didn't protect you against creepy dudes. Not that thick coats did, really.

"Hey, I was talking to you there!"

This time, Kaycee couldn't ignore him anymore. She took a closer look at the guy. He was striding forward urgently, black hair sleeked back, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. She didn't trust him one bit.

"What do you want?"

She was snapping at him, Kaycee could hear it herself. She could only hope he didn't hear the panic sleeping through her tone. She just couldn't help it, the guy was so much taller than her, actually towering over her small form. There was a threatening glow around him that automatically made her want to get as far away from him as possible.

"Oh, well, you see, Kaycee Granger, I've heard some things about you. All good things, don't worry. You're a dancer, aren't you?"

Kaycee nodded, still unsure of where the creepy guy was going. She just wanted Luna to show up so they could go feed the thestrals, which was the reason she was standing here in the first place. Suddenly, his face came closer to hers, and Kaycee had to suppress the urge to lean backwards. She didn't though, because she had finally recognised that dangerous gleam in the boy's eyes. It was a look of pure hunger.

"Do you also like to dance in more...suggestive ways? What do you think about dancing for me? I'd quite like you to give me a lap dance...would you like that, Kaycee?"

This was actually disgusting. She didn't know where this guy got his information from, but it made her sick to her stomach to realise that people immediately linked dancing with sexual things. Even then, she really had nothing against more suggestive dances, but the fact that this guy thought every dancer would automatically want to dance for everyone in that way just went beyond what she thought possible.

"I...stay..away from me."

But even she heard how soft it sounded, vulnerable even, and she could kick herself for being scared of this guy. He didn't deserve that satisfaction.

"Are you sure, sweetheart? I'll surely reward you well..."

And then, there was another voice, not hard at all, but icy, his words echoing through the corridor.

"Do as she says. Stay away from her. For your information, she keeps those kind of dances exclusively for her boyfriend, who is, in this case, only a few feet away from you. If I were you, I'd listen to her."

Both Kaycee and the scary guy looked at the owner of the voice, and if Kaycee had had any way to run to the guy by escaping her threatener, she would have, but he was standing too close, leaving her little more than a few inches of free space on both her sides, her back already against the stone wall.

"Sean Lew."

It was a statement, the teasing undertone completely wiped from his voice, now sounding hollow, empty.

"Geoffrey Zagan."

She had never heard of the guy before, never even seen him. It was only when her eyes fell on his scarf that she realised how the two knew each other. Geoffrey was a Ravenclaw as well.

Sean started walking closer now, his face still void of any emotion. Kaycee could see it though, the cold, threatening glare in his eyes. For the first time in her life, she wasn't completely sure Sean wouldn't physically fight with someone. His steps were deliberate, almost demonstrative, but Kaycee knew he was not playing games. This was a serious matter for her boyfriend.

When the distance between the guys had diminished to 2 feet, Sean came to a halt, right across from Zagan, who had now turned to the other Ravenclaw. That's where the 2 boys stayed for a while, just looking each other in the eye, the silence around them somehow sounding even louder than the words they had spoken a few moments ago.

"Right. I'll go then. Enjoy your girlfriend, Lew."

And with that, he was gone, his steps brisk, with each one he took loosening the iron hold on Kaycee's lungs a little more.

As soon as Geoffrey Zagan had turned around the corner, Sean started talking, his voice harsher than Kaycee had expected it to be.

"I cannot believe this just happened. Honestly Kaycee, how long has this been going on?"

"Sean, stop overreacting. This was the first time this happened, and he didn't have any time to do something to me, now did he? You were fast enough to show him I'm all yours"

She didn't know whether reminding him was a good choice or not, but it was the only thing the could think of.

She saw that her boyfriend finally relaxed at her words, smiling now, and then she smiled too, relieved he wasn't angry anymore. He wrapped an arm around her and rested his hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him, a grin spreading over his face while looking into her eyes.

"That, you absolutely are, my darling. All mine to love."

Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck automatically, as if it was second nature. She stood on her tiptoes, her balance perfect because of all the technique classes she had taken throughout the holiday, and angled her face to kiss him. As a thank you, or as an I love you, or maybe both. Sean immediately kissed back, smiling in the kiss, the arm that was still wrapped around her waist pulling her closer to him, his other hand weaving through her curly hair, angling her face so he could reach her better.

Kaycee pulled back from his lips now, but only slightly.

"I love you Shamu. I truly couldn't help it, what he did...but I'm sorry you had to rescue me."

They were whispering against each other's lips now, the moment feeling delicate, vulnerable, and in Kaycee's eyes, easy to escalate in the wrong way. Sean's angry tone had scared her, even though she wouldn't admit it. That wasn't necessary, however, because Sean could see it in her eyes, she knew she couldn't hide it, and his face was immediately filled with guilt.

"I'm sorry love, I just....I got so enraged seeing him so close to you. Not even because I was jealous, I wasn't, but because of the look on your face. I promise I won't put my frustration on you anymore Kayc."

She nodded, caressing his cheek, and he smiled again, his dimples showing. She couldn't help but poke them, they were so adorable, resulting in the 2 of them falling into a fit of laughter, desperately clinging to each other while trying to get at least a little bit of oxygen.

Their laughter eventually calmed down, however, and a thought suddenly struck Kaycee, promptly removing all happiness from her mind.

"Sean...you lied to him."

Sean looked confused, and didn't know what to say to that, unsure of what she actually meant. She could see it in his eyes, he was already going over all the previous events, trying to pinpoint what he had done wrong. Quickly, she put her hands on his chest, putting her weight forward instead of backwards, showing him she wasn't, and would never be, afraid of him.

"You didn't do anything wrong, in fact I'm incredibly grateful you did this for me in the way you did. Saving me-"

"I didn't save you, I helped you. You would've been able to fight him on your own, I'm not your knight in shining armor, even though I'd like to be sometimes."

Kaycee just continued what she was going to say, but couldn't fight the small grin that was returning on her face.

"Be that as it may, my point is that you made me feel taken care of, but you did so by lying, and I didn't even realise it. You said I dance for you in that way Sean. And we both know I don't. We only do cute and sweet things, never the more...spicy ones. And...I just...I guess I only realise now that you maybe want that and I've been so insensitive about your wants and needs, never even asking if you wanted me to do something like that while you've given me everything I want and more and I-"

"Hey hey, calm down darling, breathe. Please tell me this is just the shock from meeting Zagan, and you don't really think this."

The silence following his words answered him, and she could see that it wasn't the answer he had been hoping for.

"Sean...I just, he made me think, okay? I would understand if you wanted me to do certain things. Why hasn't that happened yet? I mean, we've been together for almost 5 months now, and you're a healthy teenage boy, I would truly understand Sean."

He was shaking his head, and she was afraid he hadn't even heard her, hadn't even wanted to know what she was saying, but to her, this wasn't something unreasonable. She would really understand, she wasn't just saying it to make him happy.

"Kaycee, you're so wrong this time. This doesn't have anything to do with my needs or wants in terms of sexy things, at least not only mine. I know this is going to sound so cliché but I swear I'm telling you the truth. Your wellbeing will always be my number 1 priority. I really don't care whether we do those things now, or in a few weeks, months, years. The thing is, Kaycee, that it'll only be fun for me of I'm 100% convinced you are enjoying yourself too, and until then, I'm happy to wait. Really, I am. Darling, say something please, I want you to understand."

And she finally did. What Sean had said was true for her too, things were only fun or nice whenever the person you were doing it with was happy as well. Kaycee realised then, that the beauty of everything, but most of all these romantic steps, was the knowledge that you were sharing that beauty, sharing the memories, the feelings, not just the activity itself. It all made sense now. And she could only hug Sean, this wonderful young man in front of her, not only for reassuring her he wanted to wait with things, but for convincing her that he was 100% okay with it.

In time, they would make their own, unique, precious, and beautiful memories in that department, but until then, she was going to show this extraordinary human in front of her all the other ways in which her heart longed for him.

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

Spring

This could very well be the worst day of Sean Lew's life.

Not even when he had had to save Kaycee in his second year did he feel as sad as he did now. Back then, he had been able to do something. Right now, it was all out of his hands, irreversible.

Albus Dumbledore was dead, and he would be gone forever.

It was the only thought that was able to sink through the thick fog pervading his brain, the only thing he could hear, over and over again, his inner voice echoeing within his head. He could only sit there, outside, alone on one of the wooden benches after the Headmaster's funeral. Of course Kaycee and his friends had been there during the service, but afterwards, they had all known Sean needed some time alone, and he was grateful that they let him gather his thoughts in solitude.

Until now.

"Hey there Sean Lew. Do you mind if I sit here with you? You look like you could use another perspective on all this."

Sean turned his head, smiling slightly when he heard Luna's voice. His fellow Ravenclaw had a way with words, with saying them, and he realised that it would probably be wise to listen to what she wanted to tell him. He was no fool, having someone like Luna in your life was a true blessing, like a breath of fresh air, time and time again, and he had figured out a long time ago that he should never take her presence for granted.

"You know Sean, when my mother died, my father and I didn't do anything extremely special. We didn't remove her pictures inside the house, but we also didn't put any more on the walls. Her grave was very simple as well, no special bouquets or incredibly long letters. No intricate service, not at all. We said goodbye to her and that was about it."

Her tone was so light when she told about her mum, Sean noted, and he could only be impressed. She didn't sound sad at all, and he wanted to know how that was possible.

"Luna....why are you telling me this now?"

She smiled at that, not looking him in the eye, but rather at the field of grass in front of her.

"Because, Sean, you look too much at the earthly things, the tangible things, the facts. Services, flowers, gravestones....they're not important, or at least not in my opinion. If we follow biological rules, there's no denying that dead people are, and will always be, dead. They won't come back. But what people often tend to forget is that there is one way to keep those loved ones alive, regardless of your religious or scientific beliefs."

A brief silence fell over them, and for the first time since she approached him, Luna turned her head, making eye contact with him.

"You keep them alive in your heart."

And there was something about the way she said it that made him believe her. The fog in his head disappeared, and the sun that had been shining all along, reached Sean now as well.

And deep within his heart, a home for Professor Dumbledore started to bloom.

#hogwarts #hogwartshighlights #hp #harrypotter #seanlew #Kaycee rice #seaycee #dance #nuna #lunalovegood #neville longbottom #fanfiction

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depizan · 4 years

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Inspired by @pyr0clast

Force User meme for Novani, assuming I can figure out the answers for her...

Force Sense (generic ability to connect with the Force)

★★★★☆ – Quite strong, despite how (relatively) late her Force Sensitivity was discovered, and one of the reasons why - once she was found to be Force Sensitive - there was really no question of whether or not she’d go off to be a Jedi.

Force Empathy (ability to know what other people are feeling. Easier with Force sensitives than civilians)

★★★★☆ – Possibly even a 5. Her general Force Sense of people (or other life capable of emotions as a person would recognize them) includes their emotional state. It’s not a power that requires a lot of effort on her part.

Telepathy (what it says on the tin. Easier with Force sensitives than civilians)

★★☆☆☆ – She’s really only practiced this with her master or other padawans and not across any great distances. Might eventually be a 3.

Thought Shield (What it says on the tin. It blocks both of the above skills.)

★★★☆☆ – Good, but not great, and definitely something she has to focus on. Could improve with practice.

Mind Trick (Ability to influence people’s thoughts. You know, the “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”)

★☆☆☆☆ – Novani is terrible at this despite being good at things that should make her great at it. (She has yet to realize that she’s terrible at it because she doesn’t think it’s right. She just knows it doesn’t work most of the time. I mean, she knows it doesn’t seem right, she just hasn’t figured out that she fails at it because of that.)

Force Stealth (Ability to mask your presence from other Force-sensitives)

★★★☆☆ – Good and getting better. She hadn’t practiced it much before Master Cereb chose her as his padawan, but she’s still far from as good at it as he is.

Farsight (the ability to evoke visions of events happening in other places)

★★★☆☆ – Decent. Better if she has a connection to the place or persons involved, or if she’s trying across relatively short distances. For whatever reason, however, it is Farsight in the most literal sense - no sound.

Force Meld (A technique where in battle a number of Force users join their minds together through the Force, drawing strength from each other)

★★★☆☆ – I’m not sure she’s ever tried this, but she’d be okay at it, particularly if the other Force users were those she was close to, like her master or those she’d trained with.

Precognition (Passive ability used in combat to have premonitions of where danger is coming from)

★★★★☆ – She is very good at this, at times possibly too good, as her instinctive reactions are not always the best choice.

Instinctive Astrogation (Ability that allows you to find a route through hyperspace without the help of a navigation computer or astromech droid)

★☆☆☆☆ – I’m going to go with a nope here. For the most part, her powers are strongest around people/life, so I don’t think this would really be in her skill-set.

Comprehend Speech (Ability to understand the spoken language of any sentient, though it does not necessarily mean you can speak said language)

★★★☆☆ – Might be higher with more practice.

Animal Friendship (what it says on the tin)

★★★★☆ – She’s always been pretty good with animals. The Force only aids that.

Plant surge (Ability to channel life energy into plants)

★★★☆☆ – I’m not sure she’s ever tried, but she ought to be decent at it given her other powers.

Force Body (Ability to enhance your body, allowing you to jump mad heights, move super fast, survive otherwise mortal blows, etc.)

★★★★☆ / ★★★☆☆ – She is capable of being better at this than she generally is. Her healing skills come in handy here...when she remembers to use them.

Force Healing (what it says on the tin)

★★★★☆ – With a master who was a Force Healer, she’d have the potential to be a 5. As it is, she’s still very good at it.

Telekinesis (what it says on the tin)

★★★★☆ – She yeets things well and with precision. And, of course, floats them, slows their fall, etc. This, trainee Force Users practice lots.

Force Lightning

★☆☆☆☆ – She has never tried and would be utterly horrified if she ever somehow managed to produce Force Lightning without trying.

Pyrokinesis (Ability to burn stuff)

★★☆☆☆ – Good question. Theoretically, she ought to be able to, but it’s not a Force Power that seems to come up much, which means she probably wouldn’t think of it. Unless she learns it ahead of time from something like Master Cereb lighting a campfire without space matches.

#swtor memes #Novani #long post

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Forty-Nine: He Walked Past ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

Every day, without fail, Uchiha Sasuke walks to the training grounds on the outskirts of Konoha to practice the shinobi arts. He’s done so since his release from the hospital, and even before the massacre, his habitual training was intense for one his age. But as the years have passed, and his graduation date grows ever nearer, his hours at the dusty, well-worn swathes of ground have been growing.

...but he’s not the only one.

Since the loss of her title, Hinata has also called the training fields home more often than not. Her clan, of course, has several of the nicest dojos in the village, thanks entirely to their rather hefty coffers. The Hyūga want for very little, and their pride means investing in having the grandest of any comparable object.

But there’s a few reasons why Hinata prefers the training grounds of the village itself. Mostly is the privacy. No risk of being walked in on, and no feeling of being constantly watched: hard to avoid within the Hyūga compound...especially given that judgemental gazes have only increased upon her over the years since her defeat by Hanabi.

Partially, however, it’s a feeling of being...unremarkable. She’s hardly actually here alone, after all - plenty of shinobi come and go through the multitudes of training spaces day by day. But here, she isn’t just the disgraced Hyūga ex-heiress. No...she’s just another Academy student here to practice her taijutsu, maybe some bukijutsu if she feels up to it. No one’s eyes linger on her, judging and sneering. Here, she’s unnoticed. Just how she wants it.

Sasuke, on the other hand...doesn’t have that respite. Instead, it’s here, among the rest of the village’s population, that he’s the most recognized.

The last of the Uchiha.

Even Hinata can’t help timid glances when he walks by, pausing in her routine to subtly follow him with her eyes. Unlike most of the girls in their class, she isn’t as charmed by his appearance or cold exterior. She’s never really understood why they seem to romanticise it. After all, she can still remember when they first met, when the Academy began that April several years ago. He’d been a bright, if not slightly shy boy eager to learn, and full of hope for a future as a shinobi like his brother and father.

...but now, his only drive is vengeance born of a loss so monumental, Hinata doesn’t even dare pretend to comprehend it.

...why the other girls suddenly found him so alluring once he’d suffered so much...she just can’t understand.

Of course, she has her own fallacies in logic: like trailing after a boy who wants nothing to do with her. But she can’t help but find Naruto’s resistance inspiring. While she only knows bits and pieces of why he’s so alone...she also knows that - in spite of it all - he keeps his head up. And with her own challenges to face, and her own insecurities to overcome...she can’t help but idolize him.

Him. Not his losses. It’s about his perseverance, his tenacity, his refusal to let what ails him drag him down into their depths...as she’s so often felt tempted to do.

But that’s not how the girls see Sasuke. They don’t offer sympathy, or empathy. They all want something from him. Attention, affection...neither of which he seems in any way wanting to give. Their shallow vying for his time grates on her...but she’s never had the courage to say anything. Sakura, Ino...they’re popular. Loud. Assured. If they were to turn on her...well, it wouldn’t be pretty. And Hinata already has the weight of her clan’s disappointment resting on her shoulders. She’s not sure she can bear much more.

All of this goes through her head as he goes by, her stance losing its rigidity and instead just...wilting loosely, somberly. It’s all so unfair, isn’t it…?

...but what can she do? What can any of them do? Children with burdens beyond their means tied to their ankles as they try to stay afloat. Those like Ino...those like Sakura...they don’t know that weight. And though Hinata finds herself frustrated with them...she could never wish that knowing upon them.

It would be cruel.

“Oi.”

Startled from her thoughts, Hinata actually staggers back half a step, heart leaping up her throat with a gasp. Wide, pearly eyes stare openly at her addresser.

It’s...Sasuke?

“S...Sasuke-kun…?”

“You have the Byakugan, right?”

“Um...y-yes…?” Why does her reply sound more like a question? He’s never really spoken to her directly before.

“I need your help.”

Blinking, she watches him turn around and start walking, not even giving her a chance to acquiesce. Not...that she has any reason not to, but he seems to just assume she’ll help.

After a brief pause...she follows.

He leads her to a training ground several over from her own. Like her typical spot, it’s partially nestled in the treeline, hidden from most angles (and other training nin). It’s a spot with several targets set into the trees for kunai and shuriken training. “I was trying a new technique that got out of hand. Several of my knives went off-course, and I’m having trouble finding them in the underbrush. Can you see them?”

There’s a moment to take in his words. They’re so...blunt and to the point. It reminds her of her father’s speech, wasting no time and inflected with little to no emotion. “...um...I-I should be able to…” Taking a steadying breath, she lets chakra build, rushing to the pathways leading to her eyes, which swell with energy as her dōjutsu activates.

Immediately, the world is shifted into an inverted black and white, images and energies outlined and layered. Without moving her eyes in her sockets, Hinata scans the area.

There’s...actually a lot of random gear out here. Kunai, shuriken, senbon...even a sai blade lost and abandoned in the overgrowth. Hinata can’t help but blink in surprise.

“...well?”

“Um...there’s q-quite a few. I...I’m not sure which are yours? There’s...weapons everywhere…”

That gets him to frown. “...really?”

“Yes, a-all sorts. Um...I guess I’ll just...s-show you the kunai…”

“Wait.”

She pauses.

“...we can pick it all up. Someone might get hurt.”

Shock holds her in place for a long moment. He...he wants to…? But it’ll take much longer than just finding what he’s lost.

Understanding then gets her to soften.

...maybe parts of him are still the same.

“...all right.”

With Hinata’s eyes and both of their hands, they scavenge up every piece of equipment in the area, ending up with a rather impressive pile. Some has been here so long, it’s all rusted over. The pair bend over their hoard curiously before glancing to each other.

“...w-what should we do with all of this…?”

Sasuke seems to mull it over. “...dunno.” He reaches in, taking up a few senbon, having already claimed the kunai he recognized. “Is there someone we can tell about all this? People might be looking for their gear...or at least someone might be able to use most of this if no one claims it.”

“T-that’s true. Um…” Reaching into her leg pouch, Hinata withdraws a scroll gifted by one of Neji’s teammates. “We could seal it in here, and t-take it to the administration building.”

“You know about seals?”

“Just...just a little bit.” Tenten hasn’t exactly given her private lessons, given the strained relationship between the cousins. “It’ll be easier than carrying it all by hand.”

After a short while sealing up all the blades, needles, and stars, Hinata stands awkwardly for a moment. Is she...supposed to take it by herself? Or is he going to invite himself along? There isn’t much left to do but turn it in, and...surely he wants to get back to training.

“I don’t know what department to take it to…”

“M-me neither. Is there...a lost and found?”

“No idea...guess we can ask.”

‘We’. Not ‘you’, implying she won’t be going alone. Well...all right then. Scroll in hand, Hinata just...makes her way back toward the village and into the administration building. An obliging chūnin listens to their story, and he points them to a desk for missing items.

“So, this is all unsorted weaponry?”

“Y-yes. We, um...we found it all in the training grounds. Some might not be...worth anything. But we didn’t want it to injure anyone unaware.”

The attendant tucks it away after giving the scroll a label. “Good thinking, you two. We try to do sweeps for lost or forgotten supplies, but things always get missed. Guess we might have to start relying on some Hyūga to help!”

At that, Hinata goes a bit pink, bowing sheepishly as they retreat, deed done.

“Thanks for the help.”

“Y...you’re welcome. I’m glad we found them, and...all that other stuff.”

“Least the lady seemed happy about it. And no students will fall and hurt themselves on a dropped blade.”

“That, um…” Hinata pauses, seeing him glance to her. “...that was a g-good idea.”

“Just trying to think ahead.”

...an awkward silence blooms.

“W...well, you probably want to get back to training, so…”

“Not heading back?”

“It, um...it’s getting a little late. I don’t want to get in trouble.” She avoids directly mentioning her father, conscious of how it might make Sasuke feel. “I can always go back tomorrow.”

“Mm…” He hums in response before adding, “...I’ll probably see you there.”

“Y...yeah.”

“Maybe one of these days we could spar.”

“...eh?”

“Never gone up against someone who can use Jūken,” he replies, a hint of a grin on his face. “Might be...interesting.”

At that, Hinata can’t help but go a little pink. “I...I’m not the b-best at it…”

“Then consider it practice. If you want.”

She hesitates...but then nods. “...a-all right.”

“Cool. See you then, Hyūga.”

“Y...you can call me Hinata!” she calls after him, earning nothing but a wave over his shoulder.

...well, that wasn’t how she expected today to go.

.oOo.

I keep telling myself to make these a little shorter to make it a little easier...and yet I keep overshooting my word count goal xD Anyway, some canon verse stuff! Genin era (or...right before it) cuz I love writing them as kiddos. This'd probably be in my team seven!Hinata AU. I just...I'm thirsty for Sasuke and Hinata interacting in canon. Like at all. YOU LEFT ME HANGING, KISHI. ...*sighs* Anywho, I gotta get to bed, so...that's all for now - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ]#365daysofsasuhina

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