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mossgh0st · 14 days

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As If It’s Heaven’s Gate (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Summary | Levi is caught in a dark place following the battle of heaven and earth. Believing he’s undeserving of life’s sweetness, he deprives himself until you show up on his doorstep. Inspired by and based on Too Sweet by Hozier.

Content | Angst, Fluff. Sort of slow burn? No use of y/n. Levi is a grump, reader is shorter than him. Brief mentions of off-screen sex. Italics are song lyrics that each section is inspired by.

Pairings | Levi/Reader. Mentions of Jean/Pieck.

Notes | As soon as I heard Too Sweet, I knew I needed to write about Levi. Header is from ‘kii on Pinterest. Hope you enjoy!

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It can’t be said I’m an early bird, it’s 10 o’clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?

After the war, Levi becomes a creature of the night. His meticulous bedtime routine and eves of deep, restful slumber have become wrought with nightmares, teeming with the faces of everyone he’s ever loved having succumbed to their bitter ends. He’s forgone the tea, a relic of a previous era; he now prefers an amber liquid that stings on the way down. A balm that numbs, heavy bottomed glass filled only a quarter of the way. When he ventures beyond the confines of his home, he asks for the tippy top of the top shelf - Levi always takes his whiskey neat.

You know you don’t gotta pretend. Baby, now and then, don’t you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

Some days, he’s lucky if he retires before the sunrise peeks over the hills and pulls itself up to the high point of the sky. Letters go unanswered, bookshelves less sparse as he fills the majority of his time with thick, leather-bound tomes. The newspaper has becomes the perfect kindling, headlines boasting peace negotiations melt and turn runny with the heat of the blaze. When Levi wakes each hazy afternoon, it’s with the lingering scent of bonfire strung about the atmosphere. His once grey eyes have turned deep, a color so sharpened it resembles the water on a lake just before the claps of thunder rumble and bring down swells of rain.

But while in this world, I think I’ll take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three.

He knows he won’t live forever. He’s not at all interested. At this point, he’s pleading for the same sweet release from the world he afforded Erwin. Levi has spent so much time dwelling in the night, the darkness is threatening to become him. Then, you show up, one damp afternoon. Modest sundress, two small bags, a green ribbon tying back your hair. The glow you emanate is too much for him. He wants to be angry, filled with a rage so intense it convinces you to leave running in the midst of the spring storm, ribbon flying behind you. The pit in his stomach solidifies when he can’t bring himself to be irate, softened by the cold flush of your cheeks and the sheepishness of your smile as you stand, delicate in his doorway.

You’re too sweet for me, you’re too sweet for me.

At first, your presence does nothing to alter his routine. You rise with the sun, the first blinks of morning are spent brewing a sweet coffee in his kitchen, silent save the chattering of the birds. The dregs of his previous evening’s fire catching in the wind and mingling with the scent of bitter coffee grounds. Levi rises long after the sun has hit it’s peak, emerging in loose slacks and a half undone shirt, the sleeves rolled. You cross paths only briefly, while he pours his glass of amber whiskey and you prepare your cup of evening tea. A silent understanding has occurred - you can stay, if you don’t intervene. So you read in the overgrown garden, take your coffee with milk and two sugars, visit the bookstore, the seamstress down the block from the town’s main square, and worry about him only when you are tipping over the ledge into sleep.

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The first change is subtle: tea leaves are disappearing faster than you’re brewing them; you know he’s dipping into the store after you retire each evening. Then, when the usual night terrors creep up again, plaguing your mind and leaving your lungs in a vice grip, the second change occurs. Levi waking and comforting you after a string of particularly violent dreams, a different sort of understanding passes when he murmurs, “I still see them, too.” You find him in your bed then, most mornings. Your routines still separate, bodies occupying different halves of the day for weeks. Coffee, bookstore, seamstress, reading, garden. It continues on, life in your solitary bubbles, except the brief overlapping in the early morning when your breaths mingle in the same space between your sleeping forms.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong.

The paradigm shifts once more when he begins to rouse the same time as you. A brief wave of shame washes over you as you realize he’s already awake, you cannot observe his closed eyes and smoothed forehead, the lines of his face set in peace, the soft parting of his lips, or the slow rise of his chest beneath the thin blankets. That morning, you show him how to make the coffee, and he grumbles after burning the first pot, squinting in the bright light. He notices you smiling out of the corner of his eye and something rattles around in his chest. You add three sugars to your cup. He accompanies you to both the bookstore and the seamstress, his silent presence a new comfort. Levi wants to ask why you chose him, chose his home, when there are happier and more accommodating friends, current or former members of the 104th. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’d be better off with someone like Mikasa, in her quiet cottage by the sea. Even Jean and Pieck, or hell, Reiner and his family.

You're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain.

Within a few months, Levi’s world has changed. It’s brighter, fuzzy around the edges. There’s a few sundresses in the closet of his room, a growing stack of books on his dresser. A knit shawl is draped over the chair in the living room; and the guest bed hasn’t been used in several weeks. He lets her brew the coffee in the morning, his palate now well suited for the taste, and takes chrysanthemum tea in the evenings. The garden has a bench now, front row to the beds of geranium, lavender, and snapdragon. When you smile at him through the kitchen window, an understanding dawns on him, an awakening blooms inside of him. He’s seen this look before, many times; over a shared water jug during an expedition, sleepy and exhausted over a fire surrounded by their comrades, during meetings with military leadership, after the battle of heaven and earth, and on the day you were assigned to his squad. You would never go to Mikasa’s, or to Jean and Pieck, even Reiner, or anyone else. He would never let you.

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape.

The first touch of morning is chill, a breeze dancing its way through the open window, sheet gathered at his waist as Levi rouses from sleep. He hears your hums from the kitchen and swings his feet over the bed. He’s drawn to you like bees are to flowers, cloying aroma and sunlight and all things good. Forgoing the tie of his robe, he begins purposeful strides down the hall. Then, you’re there, back turned and hair down. The hem of your pale nightgown sways as you wait for the pour of coffee, glowing in the sunrise, hands over your upper arms to stave off the late summer air. You’re lost in a daydream. Levi comes to stand behind you, listening to the melody you hum quietly. The deprecating, nagging voice he contends with daily in his mind is quieted - it’s just you now; always you.

If you could sit in a barrel, maybe I’d wait.

It’s quiet when he slides an arm around your waist, body warm and flushed. It’s quiet when you turn in his hold, meeting his grey gaze with lingering surprise and pink cheeks. It’s quiet as he pulls you in closer still, hands coming up to rest on his chest. Quiet, as Levi brushes his forehead against yours, eyes closed, fingers flexing in their hold of you. Completely silent, as he tilts your chin up, up, up, and brushes his lips with yours. The taste of you nothing like he had ever dreamed, and oh, had he dreamed. When you push up onto your toes to deepen the pressure, sigh into his mouth, his black bitter heart nearly bursts through his chest.

Until that day…

And when he takes you shortly after, coffee long forgotten, limbs so tangled it’s near impossible to discern where you end and Levi begins, lips parted and dewy with sweat and each other; he can only think of the sweetness this life has afforded him in you, how the bitterness of his past has made way for this belonging.. well. There’s truly no such thing as too sweet, is there?

#levi aot #captain levi #levi heichou #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #levi blurb #levi oneshot #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi Ackerman oneshot #aot oneshots #attack on titan oneshot #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #user!moss writes

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infinitystoner · 1 year

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01. Mishaps

Part One of Box of Rain

AO3 | Loki Masterlist

Summary: After the universe plummets into chaos, you find yourself working alongside a merry band of misfits who’ve made a home for themselves in Tønsberg, Norway. When a harrowing incident occurs, Loki is forced to confront his feelings.

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

Word count: 7.4k

Content: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Humor, Mutual Pining, Eventual Fluff, Mentions of Depression/Past Trauma, Mentions of Blood, Post-Infinity War, Canon Divergence, Loki Lives, Asgardians of the Galaxy, Second Person POV, Loki POV

*header designed by the talented @tripleyeeet. and shout-out to the incredible @use-your-telescope for being a kick-ass beta.

The view looking out across the fjord was one you’d never tire of. As the sun set, heaven and earth collided, and for a brief moment, you existed within a world made only of skies, framed by towering mountains on either side. It was serene. Mystical. Otherworldly. Seemingly as if you were living on a totally different planet. And, in a way, you were. A changed planet, at least.

You let out a contented sigh as you watched the amber sun sink lower on its path across the sky, its hazy rays glistening on the water. Flashes of gold reflected across the ethereal cerulean inlet, shimmering and rippling with the last light of the day. Broad stripes of coral and lavender wrapped around you like a cozy blanket as the sun dipped slowly behind a jagged peak, kissing the distant horizon. Time slowed down, and all you felt was stillness and peace.

You almost forgot about the harsh reality of the near-dystopian state of the world. Almost. Moments like these were always as fleeting as they were unforgettable.

You inhaled, relishing the way the fresh, crisp air left a dash of salt on your lips. Your eyesight adjusted as you turned around, taking in a new view that was less than desirable. A small, plump codfish floundered at your feet, its spotted scales catching the last rays of receding daylight.

“Sustainably caught and everything,” a proud voice rang out from below. You glanced down at your furry companion and winced.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked for your assistance, Rocket,” you sighed, wrangling the poor fish into your grasp before tossing it into the waters along the jetty. The raccoon scrunched his wet face in dismay as the tail fin disappeared with a glug beneath the placid inlet.

“What the– That was gonna be dinner,” he growled, kicking at one of the jetty rocks in mock protest.

You had grown quite accustomed to the dramatics of your new friends and simply rolled your eyes as you removed your gloves, wiping your hands against the rough cotton fabric of your coveralls.

“Spare me. We’re supposed to be monitoring and mapping movements. Not doing meal prep,” you said as you climbed up onto the harbor, only pausing to retrieve your tablet off the low stone wall of the dock. “And now I’m late for a meeting.”

“How exactly is that my fault? If you hadn’t been daydreaming, sunshine…”

“You smell terrible, by the way,” you called over your shoulder, hurrying up the stone steps toward town.

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly smellin’ like a rose yourself!” you heard Rocket call out as you turned the corner.

Despite New Asgard’s remote location, it was a bustling place. The people of Tønsberg had accepted the Aesir with open arms, and you’d witnessed firsthand how the Asgardians’ unique culture and traditions had seamlessly blended with the local Norwegian way of life.

And you were lucky to be here.

The immediate aftermath of losing half of the Earth’s population had been devastating. Three years later, the planet – the universe – was still responding to the aftermath of mass extinction.

It had been a haunting phenomenon, the collective grief of half a world wondering if those who had disappeared would ever return. You had to believe, in some way, that they would. That you’d finally obtain a resolution. But losing your entire family in the blink of an eye was still something you were coming to terms with.

Most days, it seemed there was no closure to be had. By anyone.

The assembled trauma and utter shock had gotten you through the most chaotic times. And yet, you had never been more alone in your sorrow. Everyone you loved – everyone who loved you – vanished in an instant. Your grief had eventually led you here, to Norway, to your great aunt’s abandoned cottage. You never imagined it would also lead you to a new family of sorts.

You knew that Valkyrie had led the surviving Aesir to Earth, that Thor and Loki had fought against the invaders in Wakanda, ultimately failing to stop what Rocket called the ‘Snap.’ You also knew Thor had gone on to kill the madman who inflicted his cruel interpretation of order on the entire universe. The same tyrant who had tortured Nebula. Who had tortured Loki.

And while they all bore witness to his demise, none derived satisfaction.

Still, you didn’t know the whole story and had long accepted you never would. Rocket, while he loved to yammer on about all sorts of things, never actually gave you any information you couldn’t easily seek out online. And none of the others ever spoke of it. It was as if they had chosen to exist outside of reality, weary and burdened by their experiences. Their silence was like a heavy cloak that draped over them, concealing the past and shielding you from the horrors that resided within their minds.

Nonetheless, you cherished your otherworldly friends, grateful for the moments of joy and camaraderie that you shared in the midst of persistent responsibilities. Which, for you, meant working under the guidance of Asgardian leadership, developing ethical frameworks that promoted sustainable interactions between the citizens of New Asgard and the natural world. It was a far cry from your previous profession, but one that gave you a renewed sense of purpose amidst the lingering mayhem.

You hurried along the cobbled walkway, popping in your headphones as you bypassed New Asgard’s central square, where a statue of Odin stood tall and imposing, watching over his people. Veering off the main path, you opted to take the shortcut over the hillside while there was still enough light left to guide you.

As you walked up the trail that wound through a thicket of trees, you pulled your tablet from your bag to email your daily report to Valkyrie. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the figure approaching from the opposite direction until it was too late.

With a jolt, you crashed back to reality as you collided with someone along the narrow path, the device falling from your grip.

“Oof,” a deep voice resounded from above you. You snatched out one of your earbuds, your other hand searching for purchase against a broad chest.

“L-Loki,” you stammered as you looked up at his stoic face, framed by his perfectly groomed curls that obediently rested atop his broad shoulders. How he always managed to look so impeccably regal despite the blistering cliffside winds was a mystery you were too eager to solve.

“Hello.” The resounding timbre sent a shiver down your spine as your fingers absentmindedly lingered on the soft wool of his dark pea coat. Loki looked down his nose at you, his eyes flitting from your fingertips to your face. Then he frowned.

He was not a fan of his personal space being invaded and you knew this. However, there had been a few moments between the two of you when he almost seemed to welcome your touch. Your mind flitted back to the time your fingertips grazed his while sitting together at a council meeting. You recalled the way your shoulders often touched as you walked side-by-side along the docks, and how he never removed your hand from the crook of his elbow as you navigated through the crowds on village market days.

And then there had been the time you’d excitedly hugged him after successfully tagging your first Norwegian cod, and you swore he hugged you back. You thought about the hug a lot. Too often, perhaps. It was all strictly platonic, of course.

You felt Loki’s cool fingers wrap around yours, and you hurriedly took a step back, snatching your hand away.

“I am so sorry,” you said as you shoved your headphones into your coat pocket. Your already wind-chapped face grew even more heated under his puckish gaze. “I was– ”

“Preoccupied?” Loki mused, his eyes crinkling with mirth. The playfulness in his tone calmed your nerves a bit.

“Mmm. I’ve been down at the docks all afternoon.” You forced out a laugh in a poor attempt at regaining some semblance of composure as Loki squatted down to retrieve the forgotten datapad at your feet.

“Thank you,” you murmured as he handed it back to you. “Again, sorry for that less-than-graceful display.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, his piercing green eyes surveying your form. God, he was always so intense.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind, I’m sure. As do I,” Loki commented as he cast a knowing glance in your direction. “I just left Thor’s.”

“Oh. How is he today? Will he be joining us later?” you asked, trying to keep up with Loki’s long strides as he turned off the path in the direction of Valkyrie’s secluded lodge.

“The same, I’m afraid. His apathy for– ” Loki opened his arms and gestured down the hill “ –all this grows by the day. But I don’t imagine that surprises you,” he replied, quirking an eyebrow.

“And I’ve asked him to come tonight,” he continued as he turned to knock on the cabin’s front door. “But no promises were made.”

Valkyrie placed a steaming cup of tea in front of you as you set down your tablet and propped your head on your hand.

“This proposal is ridiculous. They’re already manufacturing synthetic food products in labs across the globe. Asking us to operate a fish farm would not only skew our ecological research, but it essentially violates New Asgard’s sustainability treaty,” you lamented, glancing across the table at Loki.

He was surrounded by an imposing tower of folders and an array of alien technological systems that rivaled the inventions of Tony Stark. He still obstinately refused to use Midgardian tech, deeming it inferior to what he could procure from elsewhere in the universe. He stopped thumbing through a stack of papers, his eyebrows slanting up as he gave you a bemused look.

“Exactly. Why is the Council giving us a hard time?” added Valkyrie, settling into a chair and pushing a holographic map out of view as she too looked to Loki for an answer. “I did not agree to come to this planet just to be controlled by another group of insane bureaucrats.”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, a weary sigh escaping his lips before he responded. “Because they can, I suppose. The entire universe is in chaos – and not the kind I usually revel in, mind you,” he said, casting a sly wink in your direction that immediately made your cheeks flush with heat. You quickly took a sip of your drink as Valkyrie suspiciously peered at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“But, by all the Nine, the governing bodies of this particular realm are so tedious. I can admit I’m at my wits end with these negotiations,” Loki continued, seemingly oblivious to your flustered state.

For the next half hour, the three of you continued to address the unremitting concerns of the new world order. As you brainstormed, the holographic map in the center of the room flashed various graphs and statistics. In any other situation, you’d find meetings like this incredibly irksome, but Loki had a way of keeping you fully engaged.

Why did you find everything about him so alluring? Your heart fluttered as you watched him reading over his notes as the conversation lulled, the urge to reach across the table and smooth the deep creases on his brow overwhelming. When he ran his thumb under his bottom lip as his eyes flitted back and forth across the page before him, you couldn’t help but imagine how his lips might feel against yours…

When you realized you’d been staring, you fumbled with your own notes, ignoring the smug expression on Valkyrie’s face.

“I believe we have a solid plan,” Loki said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And if all else fails, I can always use my charm to persuade them otherwise.” At his words, a flash of seidr shot from the palm of his hand as five more Lokis appeared around their commander.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Valkyrie sneered, rolling her eyes as she stood up from the table. Loki waved his duplicates away with a huff, turning around as the door creaked open behind him. Thor sauntered in, his eyes glued to his phone as his wide frame strode through the glowing data projections.

“Ah, how kind of you to join us, brother,” Loki scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “We were just discussing the most recent inane request presented to us by your friends at the Disunited Nations.”

Thor grunted in response, still mindlessly scrolling. Loki, however, was not so easily dismissed.

“Care to verbalize those rousing thoughts, your majesty?” he said sharply, his frustration palpable.

Shit. You stared at Valkyrie, eyes wide. The last thing you wanted was to be caught up in an altercation between two brooding demigods. She subtly shook her head, motioning for you to join her in the kitchen.

As you stood, the blonde Asgardian bristled, finally glancing up from the device dwarfed in his palm. “Erm, sorry. What is it you’re rambling on about?” Thor muttered, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“The prospect of a fishery…” Loki did little to hide the annoyance in his voice. “As king, I thought you might have an opinion. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

Thor shrugged, scrolling through his phone once more. “I don’t know. You seem to have everything under control. I’ll just… be over here,” he replied, drifting to a nearby chair.

Loki abruptly stood, sending his belongings to his interdimensional pocket with a flick of his wrist.

“I see. Then we will move ahead with our plan– ” he paused, giving you a knowing look across the room as he walked toward the door “ –to continue the monitoring and not risk further contamination with foolhardy farming practices.”

Thor let out another grunt as Loki exited the cabin, turning to you and Valkyrie with a look of indifference. “What’s got his cape in a twist?”

Damn it. You quickly dismissed yourself, snatching your tablet from the table and hurrying after Loki. It was dark out now, but not so dark that you couldn’t make out his stately form descending the hillside. At least three of your strides equaled one of his, and you found yourself breaking into a graceless jog as you struggled to catch up with the god.

Before you could stop yourself, you shouted out his name. Loki turned on his heel and held up his hand, conjuring an orb of glimmering light.

“S-sorry, hey,” you panted as you finally reached where he stood waiting. “I thought we could walk back together?”

He pursed his lips, glancing over your shoulder at Valkyrie’s cabin. Perhaps this wasn’t your brightest idea. After what felt like an eternity, Loki responded.

“Of course. I- I should not have made such a hasty exit. Apologies for my imprudent behavior.” He spoke with a twinge of forced formality that sent your mind reeling. He obviously wanted to be alone right now.

“Oh. No worries,” you replied almost too casually, cringing internally as you fell in step alongside him. The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, and it took every ounce of your resolve not to gawk at the handsome god. The way the moonlight illuminated his sharp features was absolutely devastating and definitely not something you’d be thinking about as you drifted off to sleep later.

You turned your focus to the warm glow emanating from Loki’s floating orb, humming in delight as you observed the tendrils of gold light wafting through the nipping sea air. You were endlessly fascinated by his seidr, from his masterful displays of sorcery and deception on New Asgard’s training fields to simpler charms such as this. Everything about Loki was beautiful. Otherworldly. Unattainable.

He finally spoke up again, his tone guarded. “I do hope I didn’t cause any offense,” he said, his eyes darting over to you briefly before flicking away. “Thor and I… it’s complicated.”

You shook your head. “No, no, not at all,” you replied, trying to sound reassuring. “Your reaction was justified.”

There was another moment of silence before Loki let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “He’s– things are just very different now.”

He was right. Everything was different. You tried to ignore the ache in your own grief-stricken heart as you cautiously reached out to touch Loki’s arm, hoping to offer some comfort. “I know,” you said softly.

Loki glanced down at your hand on his arm, then back up at you, his expression softening a little. “You do know, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched as you regarded him, taking in the way his eyes sparked with an intensity you’d never seen before. It sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about you in the same way you thought of him. Perhaps it was simply a trick of the glimmering light?

“And that’s part of the problem,” he continued. “Thor blames himself for everyone’s loss. Not just our people’s.”

Oh.

Suddenly he stopped walking, and you realized you’d reached the small gate that led to your cottage. For a moment, you hesitated, reluctant to say goodnight just yet. Loki had never spoken this openly with you before, and you didn’t want the conversation to end.

“Would you like to come in for some tea?” you asked as the twinkling orb disappeared from the space between you. Had he kept it lit only for your benefit?

“Ah, I’m afraid I must prepare for my journey to Vanaheim tomorrow.” He gave you a sad smile as you opened your gate, no doubt detecting the confusion on your face. “A strictly diplomatic visit. Valkyrie is aware. And it’s probably best if I spend some time away from New Asgard.”

“Well, the offer stands. You, me, and a cup of tea. Perhaps when you return?” you asked, attempting to conceal the disappointment in your voice. Loki didn’t owe you anything, after all.

“Of course. When I return.”

The next few days were relatively uneventful, all things considered. You continued your research of now-endangered fish species, while Valkyrie prepared for a convening with neighboring republics. Loki was off-planet, as were Nebula and Rocket.

And you hadn’t seen Thor since the meeting the other night, which was why you now found yourself in the God of Thunder’s cluttered cottage. He’d hastily greeted you at the door, pulling his long unkempt hair into a half ponytail before haphazardly scooping up an assortment of dirty dishes and carrying them to his kitchen.

“Thor, about the other night,” you began, plopping down on your usual spot on the sofa – the cushion nearest the fireplace. It was the one with the least amount of stains.

“Would you like some ale?” he asked roughly, avoiding eye contact as he opened his refrigerator door. You knew he was trying to avoid the subject, as he always did when confronted like this. But you weren’t going to let up so easily this time.

“Thor…”

He continued to ignore you, the sound of glass bottles clinking together echoing through the room like tiny bells ringing out in unison.

“You could, you know, try to be a bit more involved with– ” you paused, searching for the right words. “Human affairs. The people adore you, you know.”

“Perhaps they did. In the past.” Releasing a small grunt, Thor settled down on the sofa next to you. “But I’m afraid your attempts at flattery are in vain, little mortal.”

“I may just be a mortal, Thor, but I am doing the best I can with the hand we’ve been dealt. We all are. And regardless of whatever you think, we need your help.”

He merely scoffed, handing you a bottle of beer before putting his headset on and returning to his video game. Of course you had interrupted him in the middle of some imaginary battle.

Thor Odinson, king of Asgard, ancient warrior, Avenger, god among men. Toiling his eternal days away in a too-small, too-dark cottage, drinking ale and talking shit to teenagers halfway across the globe as he numbed himself to everything around him.

He had lost his purpose.

You empathized with him, you really did. And perhaps you were out of line to address him in such a manner. But in all the time you’d known him, he’d never once displayed even the smallest flicker of sovereignty. No, that responsibility had fallen upon his younger brother’s shoulders. And you could see the toll it was taking on Loki.

When I return.

His parting words echoed in your mind like distant thunder, each rumble a reminder of the restless storm brewing in your heart. You weren’t entirely sure if Loki would actually be returning this time. Perhaps it was the way he had looked at you when he said it – the mask of his unwavering stoicism falling aside for the briefest moment to reveal a kind of hesitant sorrow.

Tension swelled within you, like charged air, ready to erupt at any moment. The deep-seated longing you had tried to suppress for so long now was overpowering any modicum of resolve that remained within you. All you could do was hope the storm would eventually pass.

Frustrated, you sat in silence for a few more minutes before the urge to speak became overwhelming.

“Loki can’t keep going on this way. Managing everything himself,” you blurted out, curling a leg under you as you shifted to face the larger-than-life Asgardian.

“Ah, and there it is. It isn’t diplomacy, or the people of New Asgard, or even me you’re worried about here. It’s my brother.”

Thor punctuated those last three words, and they hit you like bolts of lightning, electrifying every nerve in your body. You winced at the intensity of his tone, but you couldn’t deny it was the truth. Loki’s predicament weighed heavily on your mind. You knew that you needed to gather your wits and find a way to respond, but for now, all you could do was stare at Thor, a silent plea in your eyes, hoping that he would understand the depth of your concern.

“It’s all right. He’s done it before,” Thor continued, casting you a sideways glance.

“Done what before?” you asked, baffled.

“Led the people of Asgard. Without me.”

What? You’d have to address that later. Thor must have somehow noted the look of abject shock on your face because he continued to divulge as he continuously – annoyingly – tapped a button on his game controller.

“Loki has always been better at this sort of thing. Since we were mere children, he’s always had the answers to all of our problems. The problems I inevitably create.”

You straightened your back, voice resolute despite your growing nerves.

“But do you want him to leave? Forever? He’s– you’re all the other has, Thor. If you keep pushing him away– I’m afraid he feels he has no reason to stay.”

“I say this with no malice, but unlike you, I’ve known Loki for a thousand years. He is not going anywhere,” Thor replied matter-of-factly. “He cares for our people more than he’s willing to openly admit.”

“That may be true, Thor. But– ”

“And you,” he interrupted, pausing his game and looking at you, his deep blue eyes searching your own. “You are reason enough for him to stay. Certainly you’ve realized that.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Thor had managed to completely stun you. You were reason enough? Surely he was mistaken. Despite all the small, genial moments between you, did Loki even consider you a friend? Much less someone worth sticking around for?

You opened your mouth, but no words formed on your heavy tongue. Instead, you heard your own incredulous laugh ringing around the room. None of this made sense.

“Thor, I– ”

“You’re not gonna believe the haul we got!” Rocket interrupted, scurrying through Thor’s front door and disrupting any thoughts that had started to form in your bewildered mind.

“Well, c’mon!” the raccoon panted, beckoning you both into the yard.

It was long past dusk, but the glow of the Guardian’s ship was unmistakable along the cliffside. You waved as Nebula exited the spacecraft, rolling her eyes as Rocket excitedly pulled open a hatch revealing a collection of foreign weapons.

“Thor, you shoulda been there. I’m tellin’ ya, it was wild…”

You greeted Nebula with a teasing eye roll of your own. “Successful expedition then?”

“If you consider obtaining inferior technology successful, then yes,” she replied simply, walking over to Thor’s makeshift fire pit. A mischievous grin spread across her face, reminding you of Loki. “I would like to make a fire.”

You glanced over at Thor, who seemed quite preoccupied with Rocket’s latest collection of artillery. At least something had him excited.

“Well, then, let’s make a fire,” you responded, clapping your hands together as you searched the darkened ground for something to use as kindling. “Go grab some firewood. Thor keeps it stacked out back,” you nodded at the lean-to behind his cottage. Nebula let out a dramatic huff as she headed off to grab the wood, and you chuckled as you gathered up some dry twigs and leaves.

Minutes later, the fire crackled to life, illuminating the darkness with its warm glow. Nebula settled down next to you on one of the logs surrounding the amber blaze, looking immensely pleased with herself. Once Thor noticed the merriment happening fireside, he tore his attention away from Rocket’s collection of weapons and came over to join you. His massive frame loomed over the lapping flames, his golden hair creating an ethereal outline around his chiseled face. For a brief moment, he looked younger, raw power radiating from his being. As flickering embers rose around him, you regarded him as the impressive god he was. Yet, as he passed you a large bottle of mead, you noted the hint of weariness lingering in his eyes.

He needed to be reminded of who he used to be. Who he could still be.

“Tell us about the time you slayed the Bilgesnipe hoard,” you giddily implored, hoping to distract him by recalling one of your favorite stories. He’d told it countless times before, but it never failed to entertain.

“Bilgesnipes, eh?” murmured Rocket, curling his lip as he grabbed the mead from your clutch. “I’ve heard their teeth can fetch a pretty penny.”

“Oh, what an epic day that was!” Thor beamed, his large hand falling heavily on Rocket’s back, knocking the wind out of the raccoon. “I was in the wilds of Asgard with the great warrior Volstagg, when all of a sudden…”

You listened intently for the next ten minutes as Thor paced around the roaring fire, jovially describing the most disgusting details of the carnage he inflicted upon the mythical creatures.

“And then– ” Thor paused, eyeballing one of the discarded weapons on the ground beyond the pit. He walked over to it and picked it up, examining it with a playful snicker.

“I wielded the mighty Mjölnir, hurling it right between the antlers of the pack leader,” he said, dramatically lifting the alien artillery above his head.

“Go on then, show us how it’s done!” you shouted as you rose to your feet, feeling the effects of the Asgardian mead rush to your head. Nebula and Rocket both looked skeptical, but you egged him on, enthralled by the idea of seeing Thor wield the foreign weapon in his signature style.

He grinned, swinging the silver contraption around his head with a flourish. But just as he was about to release it toward the cliffside, the weapon malfunctioned, shooting off sparks and emitting a loud, ear-piercing screech.

Then everything went black.

It had been a long day. A long few days, Loki thought as he poured himself a cup of tea. Taking a slow sip, his keen eyes narrowed as he stared at Stormbreaker leaning against his kitchen island. It was probably time to return the axe to Thor – if he even missed it at all.

Loki was teetering on the verge of exhaustion, and hadn’t even bothered to change out of his ceremonial armor. He had spent the last three days on Vanaheim, checking in on the realm’s remaining population. He would never be able to shake the nagging responsibility he still felt to the citizens of the Nine, especially his mother’s people. Not after he had failed them on such a massive scale.

In the immediate aftermath of the Snap, Thor had joined him on these royal visits across the galaxy, but now Loki went it alone. A small part of him still felt the sting of collective disappointment from the Vanir when he arrived via the Bifrost without his brother. It wasn’t that Thor didn’t care, though, and deep down, Loki knew that. He just hoped the others understood.

You understood, at least. And even though he’d been realms away, Loki could not escape you. He didn’t want to.

Just yesterday, as he observed the Vanir children practicing seidr, one of the younglings had conjured a small orb of light, and Loki was overwhelmed with thoughts of you. How your face lit up every time he displayed even the smallest bit of magic. How your infectious wonderment was slowly chipping away at his resolve. How he felt a spark of something he thought he’d never experience again each time you touched him, always so gentle, as if you were afraid he would break…

A sudden bang made him spin around, instinctively conjuring his daggers as his mug clattered to the floor. The front door had flung open with such force that it splintered around the hinges, its agonizing creak reverberating around the cottage like a death knell.

Loki huffed, dissipating his weapons as he realized who the culprit was.

“Nebula, I have warned you– ”

“Loki.”

Something about her tone had a bitterness burning his throat – the usual monotonous cadence he’d come to expect from the humanoid had been replaced with something else. A sense of urgency? Before he could swallow down the acrid taste in his mouth and respond, all hell broke loose.

Everything happened all at once and yet Loki felt like time stopped. A guttural howl cut through the biting wind. Thor. It was a sound he’d hoped to never hear again. Loki’s heart lurched, then plummeted to the depths of the earth’s core as Nebula stepped aside, revealing his brother’s imposing form, outlined by glowing moonlight in the darkened doorway.

Thor’s shirt and forearms were smeared with a dark red substance, your slack body clutched against his chest.

No.

Loki lunged forward as Thor stumbled into the cottage. The look of sheer panic on his brother’s face sent a surge of fear into the depths of Loki’s soul.

No.

“What have you done?” Loki barked out, his hands hovering apprehensively above your body, afraid to touch you.

“They– I– I shot them, Loki,” Thor stuttered, his blue eyes conveying a portentous sorrow Loki hadn’t seen since their mother died.

NO.

This couldn’t be happening. Loki’s chest constricted as his eyes frantically darted from Thor’s stricken face to your pallid one. You looked… were you? He shook the macabre thought from his mind. No. Not you. Not if he could help it.

“Fuck! Here, put them down. Gently.” Loki quickly cleared a spot on his kitchen table with a flick of his wrist.

“Nebula,” Loki said tersely. “How did this happen? What type of weaponry did this?” He glanced at Thor, who still had not let go of your body despite it being strewn across the wooden table. Loki’s brows furrowed in earnest concentration as he returned his attention to you, magically removing your coat and sweater as his fingertips ghosted over your wound. He flicked his head to the side as he slowly, carefully began to weave his seidr around the gaping flesh.

“It was an accident. I– I swear it,” Thor sputtered, choking down a sob.

“Enough!” Loki bellowed, the intensity of his outburst causing Thor to finally release you from his grasp. “Get out of the way, you useless oaf, and let me handle this. Like I’ve always done,” Loki growled before nodding at Nebula.

“Tell me.”

“Contraxian. There was a malfunction,” Nebula answered somberly. Loki’s eyes once again focused on the laceration across your midriff, noting your breathing seemed to be a bit less labored than before.

“Accident or not, this is too much blood.” Loki’s voice was unwavering, but he could no longer conceal the anxiety creeping across his features. He just needed to stop the bleeding.

Loki steadied himself with a deep, measured breath before drawing on every bit of power he possessed. As he felt the eerily familiar surge of energy course through his veins, Loki thought back to the last time he’d been forced to access this facet of his seidr. That cursed day on the Statesman. He would not – could not – fail this time. But you’d lost so much blood already.

Far too much for a mortal.

“Can’t you do something?” his brother implored, running a hand through his wild blonde hair as he paced around the room.

“I am doing something, but I am not a healer, Thor!”

“Wake up, kid,” panted Rocket. In the brief moment Loki had taken his eyes off of you, the raccoon had hopped onto the table and was now peering down at you. A cold fury burned in Loki’s gaze as he watched the creature pat your cheek with a small paw.

Your eyes fluttered open and Loki finally exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

“See? They’re fine. It’s just a flesh wound, drama queen,” Rocket commented as he leaned over your wound, examining the tendrils of seidr. They weaved around the lesion, binding together to create a bandage of pulsating, shimmering gold. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ve seen worse– ”

That fucking furry arsehole.

“Move back, you insolent rabbit,” Loki spat, giving the raccoon a malicious glare. “And better yet, leave. Now. Before I turn you into a fur stole.”

He continued to thread his seidr around your fragile body, praying to the Norns above that it would be enough.

“Loki…” you groaned, lifting your eyes to meet his. The sound of his name on your lips sent a small rush of relief through Loki. But your dazed expression let him know that you were having trouble focusing. He wondered if you even realized what had transpired. You let out a rugged sigh as you attempted to sit up, but Loki gently pressed a steady hand against your shoulder.

“No, don’t move. Please. Conserve your energy,” he implored, running his fingers along your face.

“I’m– I’m okay.” You gave him a weak smile, reaching out to him before your eyes fluttered shut again. Loki wrapped his fingers around your trembling hand in an effort to calm you both.

“Yea– yes. You’re going to be okay,” he repeated in a whisper, unsure if it was for your benefit or his. He glanced down at the lesion again, and though his vision was slightly blurred from the tears frustratingly welling in his eyes, he could see that he’d been successful this time.

“I– I think I’ve stopped the bleeding,” he said finally, looking around the room and finding no solace there.

Exasperated and drained, he grabbed his cape from a nearby chair, wrapping it around your body before lifting you into his arms as he turned to Thor and Nebula.

“But we need the healers. Now.”

Loki jolted awake at the sound of the door closing. Slivers of receding sunlight filtered through the aluminum blinds, casting long streaks of light across the modest space. It took Loki a moment to find his bearings, and he blinked slowly, watching the warm light dance across the walls.

Someone had been in your room at the clinic, and he’d slept through it. Norns, when had he dozed off?

His gaze flitted between your motionless form and the intravenous bag at your bedside. Grimacing, he wiped an embarrassing amount of dribble from his lips. Gods, I am truly losing it, he thought. He discarded the open book in his lap as he stood, stretching his aching limbs and following the attendant into the hallway.

Loki grasped the woman’s shoulder as she filed a chart, an irritated expression marring his face.

“What did you give them?” he demanded hoarsely, voice still thick with remnants of sleep.

“Something for the pain,” the nurse explained. Her voice was kind. Soft. Forgiving. It reminded Loki of his mother. It made him furious.

“While the healers were able to mend the wound and provide a sleeping spell, pain management is still necessary,” she continued.

You were in pain.

Loki huffed, warily turning back to look through the doorway at you. His brows furrowed as he regarded your current state. Was the extent of your injury so severe you needed something more than Aesir magic could provide?

He flinched when the nurse patted his shoulder. Are all Midgardian healers this bold? he wondered.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” she continued, obviously sensing his unease. “I assure you, your highness, it is a common treatment for humans.”

“Right. Of course.”

He gave a curt nod and quietly made his way back to what had to be the most wretched chair in the universe, shifting his thighs on the seat in an attempt to find a comfortable position. He glanced at you, your body lax against the meager, rigid hospital cot. At that moment, Loki made a mental note to secure funding to update the clinic’s furnishings.

By all the Nine. He never imagined this would be his life: Thinking of ways to improve the day-to-day operations of the Midgardian healthcare system. Negotiating border policies and peace treaties with diplomats. Researching patterns of pollen limitation. Reading your infuriatingly charming reports about the migration patterns of fish…

Of course, these were not things totally unfamiliar to him. He was a prince, after all. A beacon of diplomacy and guile. But Thanos had changed everything. Loki winced as he tried to shake the dark memories encroaching on his mind. He inhaled, focusing on his surroundings.

The uncomfortable chair. The fading scent of antiseptic. The acrid taste lingering on his tongue. The cool leather against his skin. The dull beeping of machines by the bed. The mortal before him.

Not just any mortal, though. You.

Your presence alone challenged the carefully measured control he held over his emotions. And, much to Loki’s chagrin, you had managed to wind your way into his heart. It had changed him in ways he had never thought possible.

Loki let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to get a grip. But he did not leave your side.

“Can you hear me?” he asked softly, inching closer to the bed. There was no answer, only the sound of your faint snores. The sleeping spell was working, then.

You looked so meek. So fragile. It pained him to see you this way. Part of him wondered what would happen if you suddenly awoke to find him there. Would you be pleasantly surprised? Confused? Or worse, disappointed to find that he was the one watching over you?

Would you even care? His heart constricted painfully in his chest at the thought.

He concluded that he would accept whatever outcome. Any response at all would relieve him of the incessant worry churning in the pit of his stomach. He just needed to know you were going to be okay.

Loki’s eyes burned as he blinked back tears. One large hand raked through his wild curls, and he scowled as he shifted back into the seat. How could you have been so careless?

“You infuriate me.” He felt half-mad, confessing to you this way.

“You brilliant, reckless creature. It’s no wonder Thor befriended you. You’re always too eager to go along with his half-brained schemes.”

Loki, admittedly, had been reluctant to accept your friendship. He wondered now why he’d fought against it for so long. He leaned forward, cautiously caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers.

“I’ve not been a good friend to you, have I?”

He paused, recalling all the times you’d been so infuriatingly kind to him. How he wished he had not refused your invitation for tea. Perhaps if he’d been more open with you, perhaps if he had stayed…

“The way you look at me,” he continued. “The way you see me… I don’t deserve it. None of us do.”

“Thor’s guilt is slowly consuming him. And I don’t know what to do. I realize we all have our own ways of coping. Dealing with this… immense loss. What I do know is that I cannot stand by and let you become a victim of his destructive behavior.”

Loki leaned forward, taking your hand in his. What a fool he’d been, so assured that his burgeoning infatuation would pass. A lopsided smile crossed his face as he looked at you, and he finally let the walls around his heart come crashing down.

“I– I care for you, too much to let any harm come your way. I only wish I had realized it sooner.”

With a deep sigh, he rested his head on the mattress, his raven curls fanning across your thigh as his eyes fluttered closed. He never let go of your hand.

This time, Loki heard when someone entered the room but didn’t bother moving away from your bedside.

“I’ve never seen the prince act with such concern for anyone,” a lilted voice commented.

“I have known Loki his entire life. And though he may often refuse to acknowledge his own feelings, I have no doubt he cares fiercely for those he loves.”

Loki frowned, recognizing the second voice immediately. It was Eir, Odin’s former head physician and now New Asgard’s top healer.

“I’m awake, you know,” Loki finally responded when he heard the younger healer leave the room.

“Yes, and that’s exactly why I said what I said.” Eir cast Loki a cautious glance as he righted himself, a glow of seidr washing over him, concealing any lingering signs of exhaustion.

“You cannot hide from me, boy. You’ve been sitting vigil here for nearly a full day. And don’t think I’m unaware of the toll the magicks you wielded to stabilize your friend took on your body. When was the last time you actually slept, Loki?”

The nerve. Loki stood to his full height in an attempt to regain some semblance of power. He peered down at the old healer, her keen glare meeting his own. Her silver brows furrowed, wrinkles carving an ancient map across her face. Loki sometimes wondered if she was as old as the Norns themselves.

“That is no concern of yours, Eir,” Loki responded haughtily, rolling his shoulders back and regally tossing his dark locks over his shoulder. “And I would remind you to not speak so casually when in the presence of the crowned prince of Asgard, lest you forget your place again.”

Of course, Eir was right, and he knew it. Perhaps that is what bothered him most of all.

He had to get out of here. He didn’t want to leave you, but he knew he couldn’t stay another minute. Loki bundled his cape in one large fist and strode past her.

“Your friend is going to be okay, Loki. I promise you, by Frigga’s grace.”

Loki froze at the mention of his mother’s name. He closed his eyes as his fingers curled around the doorframe, bracing himself for an impact that never came. Still, he did not turn around.

“Once the sleeping charm wears off, we’ll discharge them. Likely sometime tomorrow morning. Do you want to be informed when that happens?”

Finally, Loki glanced over his shoulder, his narrowed eyes flitting from you back to Eir.

“Ah, no. No, that won’t be necessary.” He turned and walked into the hallway before exalting a final command.

“You will alert my brother when it is time to accompany our friend back home, understood?”

He didn’t wait for the response.

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki hurt/comfort #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x you #loki fanfiction

206 notes · View notes

seldonhari · 4 months

Note

I watched The Ward, and I replayed the bit where Amber Heard pushes Jared Harris against the wall like four times. I want to shove him. Well, that’s what I came here to say, but then I saw the gif in your header image and ahhh! What is that from?

C, you’re so real for this. Thanks for reminding me of that scene! If I speak… *clears throat* My header’s from The Quiet Ones (2014) and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it’s worth suffering through for Jared. He’s a five course meal. Another creepy guy, but this time extremely slutty and charming. Just look at him

#I want to shove him too 😫#thanks for dropping by

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kimageddon · 7 months

Text

Sins of the Father 4:4

Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Modern/Crime AU

Word count: Approx 5000

Contains/Warnings: Blood, injuries, wounds, NSFW at the end - full chapter available on AO3

Chapter Summary: Maul visits his father and then… doesn't know where else to go.

Notes: See the end of the chapter for notes!

Bad Father, Good Son

He was suspicious immediately. Not only had he been able to enter the gates of the mansion, but only one of the security guards had tried to stop him, only to give up halfway through the sentence. That could only mean one thing.

His father knew he was here.

He had wanted to head right away once Zaiya had accused him, but he’d had to do a little digging of his own first, quietly asking questions and receiving answers on his own, without involving his brothers, and especially not Vizsla. This was something he couldn’t share. It had taken several days to gather all the intel… and a further day to gather the spine enough to come back to this wretched place.

He had lived in this house for much of his life, though many of the rooms he still had not seen. Maul had been pushed away from the main rooms, hidden from guests, forbidden to come out when others were present. So there were still places he found himself lost in.

It was luxurious; antiques and ridiculous items decorated the walls and floors. It was made to look like a family-owned mansion, as though he and his Father had lived there for years, along with the ancestors of his family.

Another lie to add to an already numerous pile.

How much of his life was even true? He had almost been driven mad with all the things he’d been supposed to remember. All the falsehoods and half-truths. For so long, he had thought he had escaped it. He lived with his brothers for years, walking his own path.

Or so he thought.

Perhaps that was the biggest lie of all. He’d had nightmares like this, dreaming he was free and clear, only to realise he wasn’t free at all and he felt the claws of his Father’s control on his back. Thinking that he had escaped when in reality his hands and feet were still bound to strings that his Father pulled and manipulated like a master puppeteer. Usually he would wake with a start in a cold sweat. This time he was not waking up.

The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world he did not exist.

He’d heard that somewhere. He didn’t remember where, but God damn it if it didn’t fit the man that lived in this ostentatious but ultimately hollow house.

As much as the house was a maze and he didn’t know all the rooms, he definitely remembered the way to the study. He’d walked this path a thousand times. Usually with a sense of dread only a child can feel. On his way to be punished for whatever slight the old man had decided Maul was guilty of.

This time, rage overwhelmed the sense of dread and fear. He refused to be afraid of this man any longer. The door to the study was closed and Maul didn’t even knock. With a rough jerk of the handle and a shove, the door opened with a loud bang. The crimson Zabrak strode into the office, his golden eyes bazing, as though if he glared hard enough, the old man might just catch fire.

“What a surprise this is,” the soft but clear voice spoke and Maul’s blood ran cold. That voice. How long had it been since he’d heard it? It still prickled the back of his neck. Made his breath catch in his chest. Maul forced himself to swallow his apprehension. He turned to face the man. “I had wondered when you might come to see me, son,” he said with one of those vindictive smiles Maul remembered so well.

Sheev Palpatine sat in a high wingback chair behind a large mahogany desk. He wore a charcoal grey sweater, a glass of some amber liquid sat on his desk next to a few papers and a tablet in his wrinkled. Clearly he was relaxing for the evening, but for some reason he had allowed Maul to enter.

“Are you spying on me?” Maul growled. Palpatine stared him down, those watery blue eyes impassive, maybe slightly amused.

“And why would I do that?” the old man asked, calmly.

“I have never understood why you do half the things you have done,” Maul replied with a barely concealed snarl.

“Therein lies the problem, my son. You do not think, you do not understand.” Maul’s lip curled as his Father’s gaze grew cold.

In truth Maul did understand. His father did this for power. For control. For cruelty, and for fun. He seemed to enjoy seeing Maul suffer. That part Maul didn’t understand. Why did he seem to enjoy tormenting him so? Just another power grab? Why did he seem to hate his own son?

“All I need to understand is you’ve been having people follow me — and this?!” he withdrew a small yellow envelope from within his jacket, still full of cash and flung it, flicking his wrist and the package slapped onto the desk, ruffling the papers for a second. It was only after about three seconds did his eyes finally flick downward to the envelope.

“What about it?”

“You pass this to my people, to give to me — why?!” His teeth grit and he glared down at the old man. A slow and sinister smile began to creep across his wrinkled face.

“Do you really think I would abandon you?” he chuckled, as though it were obvious. The bottom of Maul’s stomach dropped out and he felt sick. It was as though he could feel a layer of dirt on his skin and he wanted nothing more than to tear it from his bones. The look on Palpatine’s face was a mixture of smug and sardonic.

Abandon him?

Maul remembered the frightened little child he once was, the way he cowered and hid from his Father’s punishments at first. Then the way he had shut himself down. The way he made himself stop feeling. He had hardened his heart to it. He had used the pain to make him stronger. Better.

Yet no matter what he did, how he filled his father’s requests to the letter… It was never enough. Nothing was ever good enough. Maul realised with a wrenching feeling in his gut, that his nightmare had indeed come true.

Palpatine had far more than kept tabs on him. If Zaiya could find the trail, then it was likely others could too. If his people found out, there’d be mutiny. If there was some crime committed… Was Maul the patsy? Is that all he had ever been? Palpatine couldn’t afford Maul to start talking, so this was what, insurance.

How stupid could he be?! He knew this man better than anyone and for five ignorant years he thought he was living his own life for once. But it was a lie.

He wasn’t free. He never would be.

“So if anyone ever comes for you, you have a scapegoat to throw at their feet, is that it?” Maul asked in a dark tone. Palpatine just smiled, his arms shifting to lay in his lap as he sat back in his seat.

“Now, now, would I do that to my first born son?” he laughed softly. Maul’s rage swelled in his chest.

“You call me that after what you’ve done?!” he spat, bitterly. “You think I will take anything more from you?!”

“Well, I daresay your own little club might begin to wonder why your profit margins so drastically changed,” Palpatine said calmly. “I would hate for them to… well, misunderstand.” So that was it. His father was trying to ensure Maul didn’t act out against him.

Suddenly the door opened and two large burly fellows in black suits stood in the doorway, another two close behind.

“Escort him out,” Palpatine said tersely. Maul cursed under his breath, his father must have called them when he shifted in his chair. Large hands gripped his shoulders as he attempted to shove them off, telling them he could walk. He did not miss the call from over his shoulder as he left however.

“It was good to see you, son! I shall hope you visit again very soon.”

══════════════════

Knock knock.

Zaiya’s eyes slowly creaked open. What time was it? She groaned softly as she rolled over. 6 AM? No wonder she was so tired. She definitely needed to—

Knock knock.

So she hadn’t imagined it. Dragging herself from her bed, luckily she’d not been working late the night before. In truth, since her last encounter, after Gunray, Grievous, then of course Maul, she’d kept her head down, not wanting to encounter anyone while she quietly collated the information.

If she saw that crimson-skinned bastard again, she thought grimly, it would be too soon. She sighed to herself and glimpse through the peephole. And froze.

“…the fuck?” she hissed under her breath, and without thinking, opened the door. Her mouth opened to spit venom at her visitor when again she was shocked into silence.

It was Maul.

More than that, he stood in the doorway, eyes averted and seeming unfocused. His shirt was torn, his jacket gone, knuckles and face covered in blood and swollen. His shoes were scuffed and he was dirty all over.

“I—I didn’t… I didn’t know where else to go…” he said hoarsely. Zaiya stared at him.

She should tell him no. She should tell him to leave. Tell him she didn’t want to see him. That whatever this was, wasn’t her problem.

She opened the door wider and stepped back to allow entrance.

Damn it. What was she doing?!

He entered and without a word, she cleared a space for him on the little two seater couch in the living room section. He sort of slumped in the chair, looking exhausted, and didn’t move again until she returned with a cup of tea. She handed him the cup, and he took a sip immediately, wincing slightly, and she saw the cut on his lip.

“What happened?” she asked softly, sitting beside him, she laid the little first aid kit on the table, opening it carefully. There was a long silence as he placed his cup down beside it.

“I went to see my father.”

Zaiya felt her stomach tighten and she resisted the urge to say something spiteful. She would let him talk. She reached out to take his hand, and he offered no resistance.

“I looked into what you said,” Maul continued, he looked like he was in pain from far more than his injuries. She began to tend to the cuts on his knuckles carefully. He didn’t seem to need stitches for any of these, thankfully. Not that she cared of course.

“You were right, he was having me followed. For all these years I thought I’d finally escaped him and— it was just a joke to him.” He heaved out a breath and Zaiya’s gaze flicked up to his face. He really looked like hell. From the look of it, he definitely needed a shower, but she didn’t want to interrupt him. So she decided to just ensure his wounds weren’t infected at least.

“He admitted it… like he was concerned about me—!” Maul spat, looking disgusted. Even Zaiya made a face. “All these years, I thought I was finally free of him. I thought he was out of my life… I was in the same city, yes, but I was living my own life— far from everything he represented.” Maul looked away, “I was wrong,” he said sourly. “After he gave his little taunt, he had his people escort me out.”

“I take it they were less than hospitable,” Zaiya said softly, gesturing to the state of him. Maul grimaced.

“They were not.” He paused and let out a deep sigh and glanced up at her. “I should go… after the last time I… I behaved disgustingly.”

“Yes you did,” she said flatly. “Yet you came here anyway.” She tilted her head slightly, “why?”

“I… don’t know,” he admitted, that strained look still on his face. “I managed to fight those fools back enough to get to my bike and I just drove… next thing I know… I was here.”

Zaiya searched his face. He looked genuine… and miserable. She lowered her gaze to his hands again, wondering why she wasn’t telling him to leave.

“You need a shower,” she said finally, “come on.” She moved to stand, gently taking his hands in both of hers. He stood easily but looked a little confused.

“You should be telling me to go.”

“Yes I should,” she admitted.

“I probably wouldn’t do the same for you,” he admitted with a grim expression.

“I doubt that you would,” she confirmed.

“Then… why?” he asked, bewildered. Zaiya took a deep breath, and looked down at his bloody hands.

“Most children only have monsters in their nightmares, and when they wake, all is well. People like you and I… the dreams are far more pleasant than reality,” she said quietly. “Even the bad ones.” There was a silence that passed between them. After a moment his hand squeezed hers. She glanced up, seeing understanding in his golden eyes.

There were no words for a while, and she led him to the bathroom where he could shower and get cleaned up, she would have to tend to his wounds when he had washed the dirt from them. While he was in there, she went to her closet and retrieved a set of men’s clothes, folded up in the back as well as a spare towel. She knocked on the door softly, opening it to bring them to him, and stopped as she saw him. He was stripped to the waist, and while he was indeed impressive to look at, her gaze softened to see the bruises starting to form on his ribs.

“I’ve got something to help with that when you’re done,” she told him quietly. He looked at the pile of fabric with a questioning expression.

“You have men’s clothes?” he asked.

“They’re my boyfriend’s,” she replied in a deadpan manner. She expected a roll of his eyes or some smart comment. What she wasn’t expecting was the sudden stricken expression that passed over his face for a brief moment.

“I see,” he said, his voice becoming hard. Zaiya blinked in surprise.

“I’m kidding,” she clarified with a slight frown. “I have them in case I need to disguise myself, or my work associates need to lay low.”

“Work associates…?” he frowned again.

“The… the guy. The one Saxon saw me with. He’s helping me, and my mentor told me to always be prepared,” she shrugged, her gaze trailing away. “It’s not like I have time for a social life these days anyway.” She caught herself and shook her head. “So, get yourself cleaned up and we can get those wounds dressed. You need to avoid infection.” She suddenly felt a little flustered under his intense gaze and pushed the clothes and towel into his hands, retreating from the bathroom again.

It was another fifteen or so minutes before he returned, giving her time to tidy up her files and make some toast. He’d probably be hungry after being awake all night. The door opened slowly, and it was strange to see Maul in a t-shirt and sweatpants, but he had to be more comfortable in this than his ruined suit. She offered him a place of freshly made toast, but took it back when he reached out with his hand.

“Hang on…” she said, and gestured for him to follow, taking her place on the couch again, putting the plates on the coffee table. Maul sat beside her again, and now that he was clean, she began to disinfect and cover his wounds. His eyes watched her as intensely as he had the first time.

“Why are you investigating my father?” he asked finally. “Who hired you?”

She’d known this was coming.

“My client wishes to remain anonymous,” she began, “but what I can tell you, even though I shouldn’t… is that I am here to expose him. To unearth every dirty secret and bring the dossier to someone that can do something about it.”

“You think there is someone that can do something about it?” Maul scoffed. “If you have been investigating him for as long as you have been here, you know how powerful he is…!”

“I do, which is why I have been working with people that can hopefully point me in the right direction.” She looked up at him again for a moment. “I have some allies, and we have a lot of dirt, but we need more. So far, he’s pinned quite a lot on you.”

“You don’t think I did it? That I am not working for him?”

“I did… but I don’t think that anymore,” she admitted.

“What changed your mind?” he asked cautiously. Zaiya finished with one hand and took up the other, looking into his eyes as she spoke this time.

“You did,” she said simply. “Of course this could all be an elaborate ploy. I wouldn’t put it past him…” she said bitterly, but then her expression softened. “Though I am confident that you are being truthful.” She wrapped his hand up, and gestured to his torso.

“That’s unnecessary,” he muttered and tried to wave her off as he reached for the toast. She seemed to have been correct about his hunger.

“You’re bruised and it’s going to swell, let me put an icepack on it… or should I just call an ambulance?” she threatened firmly, glowering at him. Maul raised a brow and looked at her for a few seconds. After a lengthy pause, he sighed, and gave in, lifting his shirt again while she reached for the ice-pack and wrapped it in a protective layer so it would not freeze his skin. She paused as she turned back, and had to force herself not to follow the contours and curves of the tattoos, and his body. It was hardly the time.

“You speak of my father like you know him,” Maul said quietly, as he held part of the bandage in place as she wound the other end around his ribcage. He was broad enough that he had to lean in, nearly hugging him as she wrapped the bandages firmly but not too tightly around him.

“I know some of what he’s done,” she said evasively. “I have seen the things he’s done here.” She avoided his eyes again, but he didn’t press.

She could feel his gaze on her as she tended the rest of his wounds, feeling her skin prickle and tension rising within her. She should send him back, or call his brothers… or do… something. Something to get him out of there, so he would leave.

“There, that should—” she looked up as she finished the last of the bandages, and the words died in her throat. Maul was looking at her with such an intense expression, that her breath caught in her throat. He looked to her eyes, then to her lips, and back again.

She shouldn’t…

He leaned in, and one of his bandaged hands caressed her cheek.

This wasn’t a good idea.

He drifted closer, lips parting…

She mustn’t let this happen.

Zaiya closed the distance and pressed her lips to Maul’s. At the acceptance of his affections, he leaned in further, snaking his hands around her, to pull her closer via her hips. The kiss became more intense, and she could feel a roughness, where his lip was split, and taste blood.

She pulled back slightly.

“You need rest,” she said quietly, though Maul, it seemed, didn’t want to stop kissing her.

“I need you,” he breathed a hair’s breadth away from her own lips. There was a deep melancholy in his eyes, a pain that she understood well. He didn’t want to be alone, and she was sure saying even those three words was hard for him. It was unspoken, but from the way he gripped her, he meant it. Her body relaxed in his grasp and he surged forward, kissing her deeply.

The hesitance in her mind faded away as she began to relax. Her plush form moulded against his as he pulled her even closer. This time her hands slid up over his shoulders and very gently caressed the back of his head between his horns. He let out a sigh against her mouth and gripped her hip tighter.

The rest of this chapter is NSFW - if you wish to continue please check out the full chapter on AO3

Notes: Hello friends!

Well… that break was far more extended than I anticipated! A few weeks became like 5 months. Yikes.

So in the time since I have seen you last, I was nearly made homeless, moved house, fell into a rut and creative depression and I am clawing my way back in an effort to finish this story by the end of the year. Sins is becoming my focus for the time being, though I do still have the desires to continue A Prince of Dathomir and with Ahsoka coming out - ohohoho do I have ideas for that series!

In the meantime, I will be mostly focusing on Sins for the time being, hopefully I am able to get it done sooner rather than later. I still have 2 chapters of Sins to write and to get about 30k words by the end of the year? Idk if I can make it with my current life being what it is, but we shall see!

So, I'll do my best to post some more Sins next fortnight!

----

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#star wars #darth maul #sins of the father #nightsister oc #modern au #crime au

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doubleicons · 2 years

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hope you enjoy it ✫✫✫

credit @levinez ✫✫✫

don’t repost ✫✫✫

like/reblog ✫✫

#amber heard #amber heard headers #amber heard header #headers amber heard #amber #headers #header #twitter headers

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amberheardlove · 2 years

Text

🩰i’m everybody’s type

#amber heard #amberheard #amber heard layout #twitter #icons #pfps #layouts #amber heard icons #header #green #cowgirl #3 days to kill #movie #actress #Vivi Delay #Vivi Delay layout #Vivi Delay icons

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saintsofwarding · 10 months

Text

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by keltii-tea

Chapter 23: An Awakening

Donna knew the subterranean tunnels like the back of her hand. She cradled Angie in the crook of her arm, the doll hanging round her neck like a sleepy child. With her other hand she held an old lantern, its unsteady light filling the caves with its shivering amber glow.

Rose tried to keep track of their turns- left, right, left again- but soon her head began to swim as they wound through the serpentine tunnels, an eternity of rough stone and stacked brick, niches enclosing the melted nubs of candles, flickering shadow and the rustle of Donna's trailing skirt. Even Angie stayed quiet.

"How do you know this place so well?" Rose whispered, after what felt like ages of tunnels and steps and caverns.

"You learn what you must when you wish to evade notice," Donna said. She paused at a doorway, shading the lantern with her hand, then pushed on into the darkness. "And when you wish to...not deal with family squabbles."

Rose stifled a laugh. "Donna, you're so cute."

"And, um," Donna went on. She laughed, hiding the place on her veil where her mouth would be with her hand. "...sometimes, when Mother Miranda would grow annoyed with Karl and Alcina's antics, she'd take a goat and- well, it's really quite funny actually- she'd-"

She cut off and slammed her hand over the lantern, so suddenly Rose gasped; she went rigid as Donna's free hand slid over her mouth. A moment of silence, of Rose's heartbeat, of nothing save the echoes of their passage and the distant, melancholy dring of water against stone-

Then a bellow sounded. The same one she'd heard when she and the others had entered the village. It rumbled through the rock walls, vibrating under Rose's boots. She ached to reach for her sword, or for her mold, but she forced herself to keep still, to wait until the last echoes of the sound faded, until the silence stretched again.

The darkness down here, when the light was gone, was like her dreaming-place deep in the megamycete's memories. Black as used motor oil. Impossible not to imagine things crawling beyond the scope of her vision, creeping closer with every heartbeat. Relief flooded her when Donna lifted her hand from the lantern, light trickling out from between her long, pale fingers.

"I'm sorry," Donna said softly.

"It's...totally fine. What was that?"

"Something hungry," Angie said, sing-song, and tittered, tapping her porcelain hands together with wicked glee.

They pressed on. This series of tunnels was the most direct way to House Beneviento, Donna had explained back in the cave church.

"But," she'd added, "it's also the most dangerous."

"We don't have time for anything else," Rose had told her. The closer they got to daybreak, the closer they got to Ouroboros straight-up carpet-bombing the village, and this time there would be no tricky escapes. Not unless they ran now, of course, but Rose was sick of running. There would only be more chases, more dangers.

Her boots crunched on a dusting of crystal shards on the floor, evidence of some long-ago death. A warding saint overlooked it, lupine face set in a fanged snarl.

Rose regarded the saint, the crystal, then made up her mind. No: this time, one way or another, there would be peace. Whether that meant freedom, or death, only time would tell.

The tunnel floors sloped upward, steadily, soon becoming so steep the floor was cut by necessity into chiseled-out steps, a long, long flight of them spiraling toward whatever lay beyond this passageway. Rose's entire body ached by the time they reached the top, her breathing coming in ragged gulps.

Donna didn't seem affected at all by the climb. She stopped by a small wooden door at the top, listened, then turned the key that was already in the lock on their side.

"We must be very quiet through here," she said. "Do you understand?"

Rose nodded.

Donna pushed open the door. A smell hit Rose, at first masked behind damp and cold, then, as they stepped through and into the dank, dungeon hallway beyond, it grew. It developed. Meaty, organic, foul and sweet. Wind off roadkill on a hot summer day.

Rotten meat, and lots of it. Rose's eyes watered; she pressed her hand over her mouth, but it didn't help at all.

Past cells sunk into the walls, blocked with rusty bars, gates hanging open, hinges fused into place. Detritus littered the flagstones- broken furniture and crates, old gurneys, rags and trash and- Rose saw, with a shudder- little white shapes that consolidated into animal bones.

Hundreds of them. Some not so little; that one looked like a cow femur, gnawed and pitted, scraps of sinew still clinging to the bone. This place looked like a slaughterhouse's scrap heap, an elephant graveyard on an industrial scale. The remains left behind by dozens of wild beasts over the span of decades.

Lycans, Rose figured, though there was no sign of them. Had they all been roped into Moreau's little cult? Given Donna's caution, Rose suspected not.

Donna's hand was white-knuckled on the lantern, but her quick, tapping step never slowed as she whisked them through the dungeon, holding her skirts delicately above the filthy floor. At last they found a door, a massive, iron-studded thing with streaks of rust bleeding down its planks. Donna pushed through; it opened onto a tower staircase, spiraling upward into gloom, the walls set with torch brackets and smeared with old gore.

An entire, massive deer skeleton lay, partially-eaten, in a pool of stagnant water on the floor. From its size, the huge, branching antlers, the extra eye sockets pitting its skull, and, most notably, the vestigial second head that sprouted from the cheek of the first one, Rose figured there were more mutants than just human ones roaming the valley.

Donna stepped over the creature's antlers and began up the stairs, Rose at her side. The lantern swung wildly, throwing eerie shadows over the walls, as she ducked through a narrow doorway and emerged into the hall beyond.

It spanned away and away, dusty echoes brushing the collapsing far walls. A fortress-place, austere and martial. Yet Rose couldn't help but think of a cathedral, its distant vaulted ceiling magnificent despite the holes chewed into it. More carrion lay heaped in corners, and, like the village, primitive fencing and structures had been built from bones and trash, turning what had once clearly been some kind of Medieval military base into a diseased-looking warren of dens and half-eaten prey.

Over the smell of death Rose detected the familiar bitter sting of mold, the smell of all of the Black God's mutants.

Monster wolves, Teodora had called the lycans, once upon a time. Holy figures in the pagan religion of the area; saints, or demigods, touched by the Black God's gift. Sorry, Teo, but I don't see anything holy about these monsters.

Because they were everywhere. Dozing in their dens; curled up in heaps on the ground. One of them ripped and tore at something meaty in a corner, but either they were quiet enough, or the thing was distracted enough, that it didn't look their way as Rose and Donna passed.

Rose's pulse threaded through her, shocking white in the corners of her vision; she searched the shadows, but everywhere she looked she saw more dozing lycans, each one a potential death waiting to happen.

"What," Rose whispered, when they ducked through a short adjoining passageway, out of the lycans' earshot, "the hell. Is this place."

"An ancient stronghold. A border between this valley and the next. And the lycans' territory. I see they haven't relinquished it."

"Sucks for us."

Rose saw her rapid blink through the mesh of her veil, as if processing Rose's slang. "Yes," she said, slowly, after a beat. "Sucks for us."

"We're getting out through here?"

"There's an underground waterway that will take us to the misty valley. Now-"

She cut off again with a raised finger, listening to the silence.

"-Now," she went on, "we're almost there. Just a little-"

A bellow filled the air, resounding, shaking the stronghold. Donna gasped; she grabbed Rose's hand.

"Hurry!" she hissed.

They sprinted through the darkness; Donna's lantern burned out as it swung back and forth, but in the light filtering down from above, they could see well enough. That wasn't the issue. Something huge was moving behind them, and from the snarls and growls and the scrabble-scuff of countless claws, its presence had roused the sleeping lycans.

Judging by the sound-

All of them.

Rose's heart hammered. She clenched her hand. The second something nasty jumped at them, she'd hit it with mold so hard it'd flip inside out.

Donna ducked and twisted through the warrens, through the tunnels. Behind them: stone crumbled, chased by the screech of massive claws in stone.

"Here!" Angie yelled, gesturing to a grate in the wall. "Down there! Hurry it up, lazy!"

Donna grabbed the bars- but the grate shook, and didn't open.

Locked. Locked tight.

"You wouldn't happen to be a master of unlocking, would you?" Rose asked Donna.

She shook her head.

"Where's Heisenberg when you need him?" Rose threw a look behind her; the darkness swam in her vision. Were those lycan eyes, glimmering with hunger? Or was that just her paranoia? Either way, the monsters would be on them in minutes.

"I can't make it open," Donna whispered, her hands shaking.

Mold burst from the ground, twining around the bars. Rose yanked; metal squealed. Fuck, these things were strong.

"They're coming," Angie crowed.

"I know! I'm trying to-"

A wave of carrion wind hit her like a blow. Vast claws scythed through the air; Rose half-whirled-

Too late.

A massive foreclaw slammed into her shoulder; pain cracked through her body, those claws clenching, digging in, lifting her off her feet and into the air. Rose let out a strangled yell as she took in what had hold of her.

A lycan. A huge, huge lycan. This one was bigger even than the fucker who'd got her in Moreau's arena, seven and a half feet of roided-out muscle and twisted flesh, a pelt of matted hair sprouting between the gaps of its makeshift armor. That armor looked welded-on, edges red and weeping with fresh sores, cutting in every time the creature moved.

Extra limbs dangled from its body, weak and atrophied, twitching as the beast lifted Rose higher. Its elongated, lupine face was hidden behind an eyeless metal mask, its lower jaw left free to snap and slaver. From its skull sprouted antlers, great branching juts of warped bone hanging with slick, bright-red, shedding velvet.

It screamed. Wet, glutinous spit splattered Rose; the reek brought acid to her mouth, whited out her thoughts. She raked at its claw, mold twining through her skin. Black tentacles burst from the ground at its feet, but with another bellow and a shake of its antlered head, it ripped through them, sending their black fluid raining to the walls.

"Let- go-" Rose strained for her sword, sent tentacles reaching for it to draw it in place of her hand. The lycan's claws sliced deeper; her vision flooded white as something crunched in her shoulder. It heaved her higher and slammed her, hard, into the flagstones. Rose's head hit rock, the impact rattling her to the marrow. Another lift; another slam. This time, stone split, dust billowing. Rose scrabbled at the ground, mold pooling under her hands, but her concentration was shot, her thoughts a choppy mess; the mold wouldn't come, it wouldn't obey her-

Her fingertips scraped stone, then air. The lycan lifted her again and flung her, hard, against the far wall. She slammed into stone and crumpled, gasping for breath. Wet heat throbbed on the back of her head; her vision rolled, peppered with flecks of light. Bad sign. She looked up as the lycan rounded on her, jaws agape, its bloody antlers glistening in the lanternlight.

Around the monster glimmered pinpoints of green. Lycan eyes. Lycans in the shadows, a whole horde of them awakened by their alpha's command.

Rose scrambled back and hit wall.

"Stay away," she said. Her voice shook. She reached for her sword, drawing it in a slash. The antlered lycan advanced; one step, another. The ground shook under its sheer, mutant mass. "I said stay the fuck back!"

Its claws unfurled. The other lycans crawled closer, loping on their knuckles, tilting their heads as if taking her in. Did they recognize her control over their brethren? Over Moreau? Did they smell what she was, that she came from this place, too, that she was a mutant like them? Didn't matter. They were hungry, and her blood was already on the ground.

The alpha let out a howl that chilled her to the bone. It lifted its claws; Rose hefted her sword, heart hammering, preparing to meet it blade-first-

Pale hands wound around the lycan's antlers. It gave a snort of surprise. Short-lived. With a colossal wrench, the wet crack of shattering bone, the pale hands twisted the lycan's head to the side at an agonizing angle. With another wrench, its head twisted clean off. Its body slumped away from the head, hitting the ground so hard it shook. Gore showered from the head, its jaw still snapping for a few seconds. Cadou tentacles burst from the wound, twisting and knotting around one another as if in some futile grasp at life. In a chorus of howls and snarls, the other lycans scattered like scared children.

Rose blinked, spattered with blood and worse, her mouth hanging open.

"Donna?" she managed.

Donna Beneviento lowered the lycan's head, then tossed it to the side, where it still shuddered and writhed. Her black gown and veil were shiny with the monster's blood. She lifted a shaking hand to move aside her veil; under it, her eye was wide, a flush on her cheeks.

"That was so violent," she whispered.

"So amazing, you mean!" Rose took her hand as she came forward, pulling herself to her feet. "Holy shit, can you be my bodyguard forever?"

Donna smiled, shyly, then became serious again, gathering Angie from a nearby chunk of fallen wall. "We need to go. The other lycans won't be scared for long, and..."

"...Meat is meat," Rose said, with a glance at the dead, calcifying alpha. "Got it."

The grate came open with a second application of mold-tentacles. Beyond, they descended a long, narrow flight of steps down to a subterranean canal, a stone dock built into the side of an underground river. It rushed, frigid and ink-black, jostling a rickety motorboat drawn to berth. Rose got the motor started as Donna undid the moorings; it coughed a few times, but got started with a roar and a burst of oily smoke.

Rose brushed her fingers over the horse and shoe emblazoned on the motor's side. No wonder the thing still worked. "Heisenberg made this for you?"

Donna nodded. "A gift," she said, softly.

***

The journey underground passed in a haze of lanternlight, endless black water, rusted grates fencing off branching rivers, channeling the water to some unknown place, deeper still. By the time Donna signaled for Rose to cut the engine, her teeth chattered, her muscles winched tight enough to snap.

Another dock swam from the darkness, and, past it, the corroded remains of an ornate elevator grille gleamed in the lanternlight.

Donna let out her breath.

"There may be no more flowers," she said. "They may be all dead, by now."

"We'll see."

Rose paused for a long moment. "Donna."

"Yes?"

"When we get out-"

"If we get out," Angie interjected.

"When," Rose pressed, "will you...uh, will you stay here? In House Beneviento? All alone?"

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason, I just...you just got it back, and everything, I was only wondering..."

"Please answer my question."

"Okay, okay. Sorry." She thought for a moment. "Would you consider leaving?"

"Where would I go?"

"With me," Rose said. "And Heisenberg. And whoever else. You'd like the outside world, I think, there's way more to it besides just what you saw at the BSAA. There are so many plants. And people on the Internet would go nuts over your handiwork, I mean, your craftsmanship is bananas. And...and there's other stuff, too, Heisenberg loves shitty movies but...there are good ones also, and music, and so much food, I mean, disgusting shit, but so good, so good like you wouldn't believe..."

Rose trailed off.

"I know I'm not selling it super great, but believe me, it's good. And you'd be out of this place," she added. "If you wanted."

"I don't know if Karl wants me there," Donna murmured.

"Bullshit. I saw you two talking. You made up, didn't you? Besides. What he wants isn't all that matters. I want you there."

Donna said nothing.

"Just think about it," Rose said. "Please. You don't have to be alone anymore. Either of you."

"I'm already not alone," Donna said, softly.

Rose smiled to herself.

They rode the elevator up the rest of the way in silence. It let them out at a small gatehouse, a humbler version of the one that had taken them to House Beneviento's main entrance, in front of Claudia's grave. This one was at the end of a small, winding path that took them over a footbridge that swung above a bottomless ravine, through a shadowy wood, and, at last, within sight of the manor itself.

They climbed down to its lawn. The bleak old house seemed completely severed from the chaos in the village, its deeply-peaked roofs rising higher and higher as they approached. It hung in Rose's vision, wreathed in haze from the waterfall, from the soft snow drifting from the dark sky above.

Donna began hunting through the tangle of garden beds and overgrown plants that grew up to the porch. Rose stood, staring at the house. Its windows gleamed. Rose caught her own reflection in them, pale as the snow, still and wide-eyed.

You were here before...

A long, long time ago.

Don't you remember?

The breeze ruffled Rose's hair; she held it back as she lifted her face to the sky. The clouds had parted, and through them shone a ruddy glow. The full moon. It tinged the falling snow bloody for a moment, before the clouds closed in and the light was gone once more.

The smoke from the burning factory, Rose told herself. Its pall had tinted the light red. Must have.

She turned with a start as Angie's grating laughter echoed through the still, snowy air. "Yes, yes, yes!" she shrieked. "We're in business!"

Donna straightened, a glint of yellow cupped in her hands. As she approached, Rose saw it was a plant, a foxtail sprig of bell-shaped yellow flowers, bare roots covered in dark earth. The flowers seemed to glow even in the winter night, motes of pollen drifting round Donna's hands.

"One still lingered," she said, bringing the flowers up to her veil, as if to smell them.

"Will it be enough?"

She nodded. "More than enough."

They entered the house. Donna moved past the ruins of the front hall, the kitchen, its fire once again burnt out. She led Rose down a dark, dank hall papered in florals, back to the elevator she'd seen before, caught up in Donna's vision.

Her heart began to pound; she tasted a trace of bitterness on the back of her tongue. This time, she didn't think it had anything to do with Donna's power. They rode the elevator down in silence, stepped from it and into the dark corridors beyond. The lanternlight played over mold-spotted wood paneling, decaying carpet.

The air played over Rose's face, damp and somehow heavy. The breeze, stirred by their entry, brushed her cheek, substantial as the touch of some invisible hand.

"This way." Donna led her through a door and into what had once been a handsome, albeit eccentric, study. Wood and green leather, antique carpets and a clutter of strange items over every available surface, odd little ornaments and empty teacups, a long-dead plant, a row of dolls. All of them were pale and black-haired, their faces set in identical expressions of melancholy. Bookshelves lined the walls, laden with books, now blackened with rot.

Donna placed Angie in a padded chair, then set the lantern on the desk in the center of the room. The light played over an old-fashioned film projector, its mechanism green with verdigris, but when Donna flicked the switch, it whirred to life, its beam of light ghostly in the darkness, illuminating the drifting motes of pollen in the air.

Donna seemed satisfied. She flicked off the projector; it spun down, silence intruding once more. And it was silent. Down here, even the rumble of the falls was gone, nothing breaking the hush save Rose's own breathing, save the too-fast hum of her heart.

"What are you doing?" she asked Donna.

She had crossed to the bookshelf in front of the desk and bent down. "We had a ritual," she said, after a pause. "Me, and...my sister."

"Claudia?"

"Yes." She straightened, the upper bar of a sheet of canvas in her hands. A screen, Rose realized. For the projector. It must have fallen from its moorings. "She was powerful. My brother told you, yes?"

"Yeah." Rose traced the rim of a teacup. There were two on the desk. Who had Donna had tea with? Angie? Had they sat here together, two halves of a whole, Donna sipping her tea while Angie mirrored her, mimed her, the level of the liquid in the cup remaining ever constant?

A chill passed through Rose. She lifted her hand from the rim of the cup. "He said she was powerful."

"Too powerful. I knew, after Mother's gift, that she...struggled." Donna hooked the screen into place. It hung there, a pale rectangle looming in the darkness. "Too much power, and she was so small. She...she loved games. Hiding and chasing. Hunt-the-thimble. Such a clever little bird."

Rose heard the smile in her voice.

Donna went on. "The games calmed her. Helped her control her power, for a time. This was one of our games. We would watch films, and seeing faraway things brought her back to herself. I wish I could have used my power to help her then. But I had no gift. Not yet."

She looked over her shoulder. "You asked if my visions could be used to see...good things."

Rose nodded.

"I still don't know. But...we'll try."

"Okay." Her mouth was dry. "Uh- how do we start?"

Donna held out a hand. "Please sit."

Slowly, Rose lowered herself into the desk chair. It creaked under her weight. Donna approached the desk, a dark silhouette against the clean white canvas of the screen. She held the yellow flowers in both hands, like a priest presenting some holy relic. Gently, she set the plant into a metal tray on the desk, lain out before Rose.

Donna removed her veil. Her face beneath was still, cold, motionless but for the mesmerizing writhe of her Cadou scar. Its tendrils furled and unfurled as she produced matches, long lucifers tipped in red.

She struck one; the shivering flames underlit her face, her scar, her eye. There was no light in her gaze. Her face had become rigid, a porcelain mask.

Rose thought of the dolls; had there been that many before? They ringed the room, now, a silent audience of blank eyes and somber faces, each one an echo of Donna's. She lit candles, one, two, three, and the scent of them filled the room, all melting wax and sulphur.

"Let me guess," Rose said, her voice unsteady. "Knock once for yes, two for no?"

Donna's soft laugh echoed through Rose's mind. "Just breathe and try to relax."

"Relax," Rose muttered. "Sure. Easy."

She concentrated on the desk and its contents. The yellow flowers glowed in the candlelight. The pollen seemed thicker, now, dancing like stars. Entrancing. Rose watched it, watched Donna's hands as she lowered them to the tabletop, watched the shadows as they leapt against the walls, rising with the movement of the candle flames.

Donna drew a long breath. Her eye fluttered shut as she exhaled. Rose waited, tense. Was something going to happen? Was-

A shudder passed through the house. A tapped drumhead. Deep in its heart, down below, something shifted. A fetal movement.

Hush now, child. The wolves are coming.

A song echoed down the hallways of the house, down the hallways in her mind.

Coming for you, little prophet. Don't you hear them?

Rose's heart lurched. Her vision trembled; for a moment all things seemed doubled, a kaleidoscope-view of the room.

She gasped. It settled, but Rose tasted the bitterness again, stronger than before. The candle flames snapped, then stretched long and trembling.

"Was that..." she began.

A hint of a smile touched Donna's face.

"Don't be scared," she said, and reached out, and turned on the projector, moving aside in a sweep of black skirts.

Again, the spear of ghostlight. Now, it struck the screen, a circle of illumination. Movement flickered in it, but no images. The projector whirred; there was no film in it. Rose opened her mouth to tell Donna this, but no sound came out. She couldn't look away from the circle of light. In her periphery, the shadows cast by the candles climbed toward the ceiling.

The darkness roiled: strange things, impossible shapes in the shadows.

Far away-

Bells, bells in the dark. A child, weeping, on and on and on-

Darkness on the screen. Then a flicker. An image. Rose blinked. Another house. Comfortable, full of art and books, full of warmth. A baby, held in a woman's arms.

She's beautiful, isn't she? A voice, too, echoing from the depths of her memory. She looks just like you.

"What do you see?" Donna asked.

"I..." Rose licked her lips. "I think it's...my parents, my memories..."

"Good. Keep going."

Another image. Another strip of film, bleeding into place. A village, locked in snow. The village, before. There were no calcified mold-tentacles, no lycans; lights glowed through the snow, and above loomed Castle Dimitrescu, upper ramparts lost in the clouds. A storm of crows, and the same baby, one cheek stroked by long, curved golden talons.

She looks just like you...

"Donna," Rose whispered. "I..."

"It's all right." Her voice echoed from the darkness, somewhere.

"No- no, it's not, I..." Rose began.

Her next words trailed away. She couldn't seem to find them again. More memories. The cave church; the Four Lords, looming over her; a coil of fear struck her at Heisenberg's hungry grin.

Her vision, veined with crystal, darkening as it overtook her.

Miranda's smile of triumph, and of something else, a yearning of such excruciating strength it was like a knife to the heart.

They searched and sought and found their saints, as if waiting, in the air. Save us, they pleaded. Save us and spare us. We are lost and we are lonely.

A swimming darkness. A man's arms holding her, his face a blur. I love you, Rosemary. No, no, no, please don't go, please don't say goodbye. Black tears streamed down her face, dripping to the desk like spilled ink.

What do you hope to find here, child?

The memories flickered by, more and more of them, faster and faster. Dimitrescu in the snow; a monastery on a mountainside. Her years with Heisenberg. Years of peace, though she hadn't known it at the time. She barely knew the girl she saw there, stumbling through the dark, ignorant of her own power. Ignorant of everything.

Do you hope to find yourself, down in the depths?

You already know who you are.

You've always known.

Faster and faster and faster. The projector whirred; the memories became a blur, impossible to parse. Rose's breathing quickened. She tasted the bittersweet floral sting of the pollen, now, like she'd drunk straight perfume. She quivered, locked in place in the chair, a prisoner in her own body.

No, I don't know you- I don't want to know you-

Sweet girl. My sweet girl.

You always have.

A smile. Gilded, with teeth.

Don't you understand?

"Donna," she breathed. Mold pooled beneath her, squirming veins of it branching over her skin, up the desk. "Help-"

"It's all right."

"No-" Her voice cut off; with a violent spasm, she shoved to her feet. Agony crackled through her body. Rose screamed. Hands found her arms, her shoulders- Donna's hands, Donna's whispers that she was safe, that she could wake up now- but she didn't feel them, didn't hear them. Her scream echoed, on and on- was it real? Was it in her head? She didn't know. It burrowed down, and down, and down, and her consciousness went with it, until reality was nothing more than the darkness, until reality was the circle of white light retreating, until reality was the voice in her head. Stronger than her.

How can it be stronger than you?

It is you.

Like I am you.

I've been waiting so long for us to be together again.

Rose fell through dreams. A girl watched her mother die, watched her return as a lycan, watched divine miracles happen before her very eyes. The years of the girl's life, the years of blood and worship, toil and blue skies, fields and mountains and the clean cold snap of winter wind. Wolfsong spiraled, a dream, a nightmare. All the years of Miranda's mortal existence, forced into her mind. Carved wooden animals. Books and blue silk, and, in the end, blue lips. A warm hand in the darkness, A wooden table, smeared with blood. A whirl of movement and color, the twang of music as the midsummer dance spun on and on, dancers spinning through pools of lanternlight. The screams of goats dying at the springtime slaughter. Salvatore Moreau as he was before, all black curls and kind eyes and sheepish grin. The man in the wagon, with the blue eyes and the cruel smile, gone like a ghost in the night. And through it all, Eva, Eva, the child with her face, the girl who was at the beginning of all this pain, all this suffering.

She walked with Miranda, by her side as she knelt by Eva, as she died, as she cast herself to the wilderness, to the caves deep in the marrow of the village, to the Black God, waiting-

The megamycete heaved beneath her, rising like a tidal wave from the slurry of memories. She was powerless to stop it, powerless under Miranda's strength. The Black God's darkness crashed down and consumed her, and all Rose could do was let go-

And fall.

***

I have been waiting, too.

So many long years.

Do you know what that's like, my little Eva?

Now, I will keep my promise.

Now, I will return to you.

And in our dreams-

we shall be together.

Always.

***

The crackle of her own bones shattering echoed through her head.

Her scream was real, now, and then it wasn't, choked with a burst of mold and blood in her throat. She pitched over, grabbing at her throat with one hand, the desk with the other; her hand glistened black, overtaken by mold, fingernails curving into talons. They screeched into the mahogany, carving deep gouges into the wood.

The black tears gushed from her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Something was swelling inside her, some leviathan mass forcing its way up- it was in all of her, every cell, every piece of her at once- she couldn't take it, couldn't stop it, not even to slow it down-

It burst free, and it wasn't a scream, but a shrieking bellow, a monstrous cry of agony and rage. Donna cowered in a corner, clutching Angie, both their eyes wide and set on her. Little wonder. She was mutating, so fast and hard it hurt.

Stop- stop- stop- she begged herself, begged her own power, but she could no more control this transformation than she could stop a volcanic eruption with her bare hands.

Another crackle of bone coursed through her. It moved inside her, broken bones re-forming, recombining. A chunk of the desk shattered under her grip. She was growing by the second, gaining mass, the room around her shrinking, gouts of mold pouring from her and sloshing to the floor in a great pool of glistening black.

Something swelled from her back, an unbearable strain. She thrashed from side to side; this room was too small. She had to get out. She had to get away. Wood cracked, and the stone beneath. Dust and grit showered to the floor as the room began to break under her onslaught.

She raked out with one great, clawed hand. Her talons bit deep into wood and stone, gouging out a chunk. She raked out again, and again, burrowing her way up. The house's foundations rained around her, plaster and brick and ancient insulation; she kept going, clawing toward the ground level, toward clear air and empty sky.

She burst forth in a shower of glass and stone and wood shards, raining black mutagen, great sprays and arcs of it that twisted together into masses of ropy tentacles. Still she mutated. Still she grew. Muscle sprouted atop muscle, strands of mold forming more claws, more tentacles, building on more and more mass until she was bigger than House Beneviento below.

The cold air hit her; she opened her jaws and howled as she flung herself into the sky. The tumorous growths swelling from her back grew bigger, more swollen, pulsating with tension.

All at once, that tension snapped.

Vast wings burst from her back. They unfurled, reaching outward, ragged mold slicking into glistening arrays of black feathers. Eight wings: they thrummed against the wind, against the moonlit air, the clouds parting from its red-cast face.

For an instant, she hung against the full moon, her howl echoing off the mountains-

-And, with a single, massive downbeat that shook the air, that shook the foundations of the village below, Rose- Miranda- the monster that was them both- swooped into the sky.

#saints of warding #re8 fic #re8 fanfiction #rosemary winters #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #claudia beneviento #mother miranda #mia winters #ethan winters #re8 #resident evil #resident evil village #chapter 23

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