#but he was snuffed out before his true potential could be realized

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter fourteen // darkwizard!tomhiddleston x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord’s triumph, she’s being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy’s younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance’s greatest weapons? *a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

words for this chapter: 5.1k

warnings for this chapter: ORAL RAPE OF POV CHARACTER, PLEASE BE ADVISED

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Fourteen:

Edinburgh hasn’t much changed in the last week. The Apparition point in the shopping district still looks abandoned and desolate. As we climb the hill toward the castle, it seems like the lights I could see in the distance before have been snuffed out. There’s only the barest hint of light pollution, miles and miles away.

This makes the stars extremely bright, especially with the sky being so clear. I pause a time or two, unable to keep from looking up. Then I have to quickly catch up with Thomus, who’s long strides are already difficult to casually keep up with. At the barrier limit, he has to grab my arm again.

Inside the castle, the party is already bumping. Thomus fearlessly dives into the thick crowd and I have to grab the crook of his elbow so I don’t lose him as it swallows us whole. He doesn’t pay me any mind and allows the contact, pulling me to follow closer.

“Malfoy!” bellows a handsome dark-haired man. I’m getting flashbacks to last week already. Thomus brings us to a stop at a group of suited men. One of them looks familiar, but I can’t remember from where.

“Jacob Astor!” Thomus says spiritedly, full of charm. A version of him I haven’t seen before. He drops my arm to embrace the man with loud claps on the back. “Haven’t seen you since Venice.”

Jacob Astor laughs. “Yeah, well, we’re divorced now. Owled the papers last week.” He has an American accent.

“I hope she signed a prenup,” Thomus jokes. They’ve parted, and Thomus holds out his arm for me again. I wordlessly take it with both hands, holding it against my chest.

“Damn right she did,” Astor smiles. He steps back and nods to the other men he’s standing with. “You’ve met Goldman, right?”

“Kyle, a pleasure to see you again.”

“This is Eric Roosevelt, a buddy of mine from Merlin U.” Merlin University? All I knew about the place is that it’s a college for rich people after they attended Ilvermorny. There were only a handful of people from my year that I knew of who had planned to go. Also, Roosevelt? As in Teddy? The President? Alice Roosevelt was the real household name among American wizards. She was an amazingly accomplished witch who broke barriers of sexism and No-Maj/Wizard relations in the community.

Astor motions to the last man in the group, the one whose face I can’t place. “And this is Will Hoffman, a fresh-faced grad from our frat,” he says. I vaguely remember Hoffman’s name from my year at Ilvermorny. If I knew him once, I don’t anymore. The last time I saw him, he still had a baby face. Now his jaw is almost as sharp as Thomus’s. I doubt he even knew of my existence, let alone my name.

Thomus shakes their hands. “Delighted to meet you both.”

Unfortunately, Astor brings his eyes to me. “We heard you’d nabbed one of ours,” he says. He raises a judgmental eyebrow as he appraises me. I grit my teeth and try to keep my face blank. “A shame she’s not a better representation of what America has to offer.”

Before I get a chance to glare at him, Thomus chuckles. “Not everyone gets a chance to shag Isobel O’Quinn.” I want to snort. Isobel O’Quinn, while I’m sure is lovely, is simply famous for being a stunningly beautiful witch with a moderate singing voice… at least in my opinion.

“Definitely not the reason for his divorce,” Eric Roosevelt says, snickering into his drink.

Astor ignores the comment. “Didn’t you say she was in your year at Ilvermorny, Will?”

My chest tightens. Oh shit. Well, what’s he going to do? There’s nothing from my time at Ilvermorny that I’m afraid of getting out.

“Yeah, that pink hair’s kinda hard to forget,” Will says. Then his eyes drop down to my thighs. “If I’d have known back then she was such a slut, I definitely would’ve gotten to know her better.”

Thomus chuckles darkly. “Your loss was my gain.” He drops my arm and slides his around my waist. I nearly jump when I feel his other hand tugging my jaw so our faces nearly meet. All I can do is stare wide-eyed as he takes in my face, hunger in his eyes. God, he’s so handsome. My lips part and his eyes are drawn to the movement. When he looks back up at me, his mask has switched. He gives a nasty smirk and pulls away.

“Isn’t it funny?” he says mockingly, his hand now fully gripping my jaw as he turns my head to face them. “How she just can’t hide how much she wants to get fucked.” My eyes close from shame as I feel his breath at my ear. “It’s my favorite part.” They all laugh and he releases me.

If making me feel bad was his goal, he certainly succeeded. I’m sure the pain is written all over my face. I press my lips tightly together, forcing myself to frown instead of cry. Why couldn’t he be charming with me? Where is that sweet version of him that I couldn’t bear to trust when he tried his best to comfort me? What’s real?

“You ever let others borrow her?” I hear someone say and I open my eyes.

“Throw in a considerably large bag of Galleons and I might consider it.”

What kind of game is Thomus playing? He won’t even touch me in private and he’s saying he’ll pimp me out to members of this stupid boys club? I honestly want to smack him.

“What was her going price at the auction?” Kyle Goldman asks. “Jacob and I wanted to attend, but when we heard bidding was exclusive to you Brits we were pretty bummed.”

Charlotte, in a sleek black dress, appears next to me with a tray of full glasses. She smiles at the men and switches out their empty tumblers. Before Thomus can object, I take the strongest looking drink and shoot it down. I keep my eyes on him as I do this, enjoying the burn of the drink down my throat and the burn of his seething gaze. I place the empty glass back on the tray, smiling gratefully at Charlotte, before brazenly sticking my tongue out at Thomus.

“I bought her for 5,000 Galleons,” he bites out after Charlotte leaves, his grip stiff around my waist. “Though clearly I was over-charged.” The men in the circle snicker.

“From my experience it’s the feisty ones that love being punished,” Eric pipes up. “You remember Louisa Ashton?”

“That bitch you always fought with?” Will says. “How could we forget?”

“Yeah no, she loved getting tied up and spanked. Begged me for it.”

As Eric continues talking, I feel someone brush heavily against my back as they pass through. A hand, who I know definitely doesn’t belong to Thomus, feels along my ass. I look over my shoulder to glare at whoever it was and see it’s Montague. He pauses ever so briefly behind Thomus, smirking, and throws a wink at me before disappearing into the tight crowd. My eyes go to Thomus’s face. He’s still laughing at tales of Roosevelt’s sex life, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t notice a thing.

“I bet Alder enjoys your punishments, Malfoy,” Astor laughs. I look down, ignoring the heat building in my face. “Looks like she’s thinking about it right now.”

As they’re about to laugh at me again, I say, “Actually I was thinking about how much I have to pee.” I turn out of Thomus’s grip. He gives me a warning look as I head in the direction of the bathrooms. I hear Astor say some remark, and Thomus’s laughter rises above everyone else’s.

~*~

The hallway with the bathrooms is mostly empty and I breathe a sigh of relief to be alone. I didn’t really have to pee, I just wanted to get away from the assholes, Thomus included. I hang out in a stall for as long as I think I can get away with it before heading back into the now fully empty hallway.

As I pass by a door with a dark room, I’m grabbed by the elbow and pulled inside. Before I can make a sound, lips crash into mine and I’m pushed against a wall. All I could see before my vision was obstructed is that this person is wearing a black suit with no tie. The shadowed outline of his head against the light still spilling in through the door, tells me he has curly hair. Is this… Thomus?

His entire body is pressed firmly against mine, his hands quickly travelling back and forth from my breasts to my ass. The kiss is rough, open mouthed with almost too much tongue getting acquainted with my lips. His touch is hurried, like he’s afraid we’re going to get caught. If this is the only moment Thomus is going to give me, then I’ll take it. Being touched by someone - even if they’re the biggest asshole in the world - as if I’m desirable is a feeling I’ve never been able to resist. I can hate myself later.

My lips become pliant against his and my hands go from hovering to his shoulders. They run up the side of his neck and into his hair. As my fingers thread into his curls, I’m confused by what I feel. I have to fight through my mind’s fuzzy desire to concentrate on what I’m feeling. The curls aren’t soft and lush. They’re course, dry and thin. Who the fuck –

My fingers, the touch once delicate, balls his hair into a fist and yanks back. He makes a strangled cry as his face gets tilted into the light. It’s fucking Montague.

Angrily I shove him with as much force as I can muster. He stumbles back, a hand rubbing the back of his head.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” I almost yell, panting from shock. “How fucking dare you?”

He smiles disbelievingly at me, a hand disappearing into an inside pocket of his jacket. He pulls out his wand. “You’re just angry because you liked it.”

I shake my head, turning for the door. “Absolutely not! I – “

“Imperio.”

The weight of all the anger and shock dissipates in my mind and chest, stopping me in my tracks. The emptiness left in its place swells inside of me like a balloon and I feel like I’m floating. My shoulders and face relaxes as the tension melts away. Am I feeling… happy? I can’t remember why I was unhappy before.

Come here, comes a voice. I can’t tell where the voice is coming from – in the room or in my head – so I turn and spot Montague. A giggle comes out of my mouth as I see a corner of his mouth is smeared with my dark berry lipstick. His hands grasp my waist and pull me close, his lips placing soft kisses on my neck. I giggle once more and hum contentedly at the pleasant feeling.

His mouth finds mine again, and my fingers go to their favorite place twisted in his curls. We don’t kiss for long, because the voice I now recognize as Montague is in my head telling me to get on my knees. As I sit and wait patiently for him to unbuckle his belt, a familiar handsome face tries to manifest itself in the back of my mind. It’s not Montague, it’s Thomus. I wonder where he is. I hope I get to see him soon.

A fleshy object pokes at my mouth and obediently I let it inside. His voice in my mind tells me to suck and I feel a fist clench the hair at the side of my head to hold me still. It begins to move in and out and my mind goes numb as his becomes distracted by what he’s feeling. Too distracted to fully focus the unforgivable curse, but not enough to release me from the spell entirely. The happy, elated feeling is gone. I am just a body, I am just an orifice, I am just no one.

The man and his object hold still in my mouth after a while. As he finishes, the curse lifts, and my mind digs itself out of the hole that the Imperious Curse had buried it in. Panic, fear, and disgust replace the emptiness that had inhabited it only moments before. Clarity makes me pull away, bracing myself on my hands as I vomit on the stone floor. Clarity reminds me where I am and what had just happened. Clarity reminds me who I am.

Stomach empty, my body repeatedly dry heaves until I’m yanked to my feet mid-heave. This makes me choke and I have to cough forcefully to release whatever is trapped in my airway, tears streaking down my face. Montague uses a handkerchief to wipe at my mouth, removing the vomit and I imagine what remains of my lipstick. He runs his fingers hastily through where he’d fisted my hair. I’m forcing deep breaths, trying to concentrate on not gagging some more when he turns me away from him to the door.

I feel his mouth at my ear. “Under better circumstances, I’d want you to remember this,” he whispers. “But I don’t need you running off and telling Malfoy on me. It’s going to be our little secret forever.” The tip of his wand presses into the back of my head. “Confundo. Now run along to your master.”

Then unceremoniously I’m shoved back out into the hallway. I have to pause a moment. Why was I here? Oh right. The bathroom. I think I’ve already gone. There’s a bad taste in my mouth. I wonder if Thomus is looking for me. Run along to your master.

My feet carry me in the direction of the Great Hall. When I reenter, I pause, searching the crowd for his familiar face and hair. I spot bright, almost white blond hair first. Draco Malfoy. He’s standing with Thomus and his American friends. Will from school is still there. I wonder if he remembers the year we had a Sasquatch teach potions.

No one sees me approach. I stand between Thomus and Draco. My hands go back to where they were, wrapped around Thomus’s strong arm. It feels so nice to be near him again.

“There she is!” someone says, I think his name is Astor. “We thought you got lost.”

“We were about to send out a search party for you,” comes Thomus’s voice, light and teasing.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I turn my face up to look at him. I watch as his face changes from gentle humor to concern, making his eyebrows come together and the corners of his mouth tip down into a frown. Is it really concern? Concern for what? He turns his body to me and grabs my head in both of his long warm hands, his eyes bouncing all over my face.

“What happened to her knees?” Will asks. Thomus steps back a moment to take in the rest of me. My brows furrow in confusion. I look down and see my stockings are torn at the knees, my skin there lightly scraped.

“Hm, I must’ve fallen.” My voice sounds strange.

He tilts my face back up towards him. His gaze is intense as he searches my confused face. The longer he looks, the deeper his frown gets, as if he’s not at all happy with what he sees. A thumb brushes along my bottom lip.

I’m already looking into his pretty blue eyes when they meet mine and I feel the strength of his Legillimency. I don’t have any magic, so there’s no Occlumency to stop him from entering my mind like it’s a house he’s lived in all his life. He quickly finds the recent memories that have been hidden and bewitched by the Confundus Charm. Waiting around in the bathroom stall. Being pulled into a dark room and kissed. I feel his confusion and shock at seeing his own face in this memory. I’m a little fuzzy on who I’d kissed, and I remember thinking about Thomus, but I definitely wasn’t kissing him.

Then other memories resurface. Me on my knees, an emotionless doll being used for oral sex, vomiting. Specific feelings, like the stone floor painfully digging into my skin, my nose getting shoved into pubic hair, the lightheadedness from lack of air because of the abuse my throat was taking, come front and center. Quickly going from the Imperious Curse to the Confundus Charm prevented me from being fully present to experience it in real time. I’d basically been given a pat on the back and shoved out into the hallway, meant to pretend nothing happened.

I don’t need to be in his head to feel his barely contained rage as he rewatches these moments. His frustration is palpable when he can’t find a face besides his own. He pulls out earlier memories. My eyes trained to the sky upon our ascent to the castle, the way my chest tightened when he got in my face to make a joke at my expense, Montague’s wink.

Montague’s wink. He rewinds the memory, examining it closer. Looking at it repeatedly, the brush against my back seems intentional. The wink beyond Thomus’s gaze taunting. Thomus lingers on his own face as I did, how oblivious he had been.

Thomus leaves my mind, and I can refocus on the intense anger on his face. His breathing has become quick and shallow, his thumb lightly brushes my cheek as he gazes at me. I worry that I’m the one he’s angry with.

“Is everything alright?” someone asks.

“No.” With a single word, Thomus’s voice and tone conveys his fury. He releases me and steps back, looking at someone behind me. “Don’t let her leave your sight.”

Draco grabs my arm and I look in time to see the confused face he gives his uncle. “What for?”

Thomus doesn’t answer. He turns to his companions and makes his excuses. Then he disappears into the crowd. I try to follow his path with my eyes and eventually see him emerge, heading in the direction of the bathrooms.

“What happened to you?” Will asks. Everyone in the circle has their attention on me. I blanch and look back in the direction of where I last saw Thomus. I don’t want to think about what happened to me.

“Looks like she got a little felt up,” says Jacob Astor. I remember his name now. They continue to talk amongst themselves until a loud bang comes from the hallway Thomus had disappeared in.

The doors bust open as a body gets flown into the room. I see Thomus standing in the doorway and without thinking I rush forward. Instead of holding me back, Draco comes with me, and we stop at the wide circle that had formed around the scene. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Draco pull out his wand, ready to back up his uncle.

I recognize the man on the floor is Montague. He’s panting as he gets to his feet, his hands lacking the safety of a wand. Thomus’s eyes are intense and focused on Montague, mouth almost curled into a snarl. He barely waits before Montague is upright before advancing. Grabbing the collar of Montague’s suit, Thomus slams his fist into his jaw. Blood splatters across the floor and drips from his mouth. The following blows to his eyes, his chin, and ear were just as powerful and damaging.

When Montague can’t keep his head up any more, his face covered with bruises, cuts, and swells, Thomus finally drops him. He straightens his suit and pushes his hair back with his clean hand.

“I would like everyone to know,” he announces to the crowd. He points to the unconscious body on the floor. “That this is what happens when you touch a Lot without payment or permission.” Thomus walks slowly around Montague, staring intently into the faces of his audience, as if daring them to object. “This vermin has shown a blatant disregard for my family and the respect its name demands.” I could hear some murmurs of agreement, but there were also those who shook their heads in disapproval. With the spectacle over, the music and talking quickly resume their volume from before.

As the crowd resumes their party, I stare down at Montague on the floor, his body slumped against the unpolished tile in an undignified way. Even bloody and bruised, his face falls into place in my memories like a missing puzzle piece. Tears blur my vision when I realize Thomus only did this because Montague had damaged something that belonged to him. Defiled his own personal plaything. This retribution for my rape has absolutely nothing to do with me, and everything to do with re-establishing his position of power.

I lose sight of Montague when the crowd breaks the circle and suddenly Thomus is in front of us. He speaks with a low voice to Draco as they exchange possession of my arm. “I’m taking her home and then I’ll be back to help smooth things over.”

I don’t know if Draco nods or not, because I keep my eyes down. I don’t need Thomus to see me crumbling from the weight of it all.

~*~

Green firelight flashes the room briefly as we step into the cottage living space. Thomus clicks on the lamp, then grabs me by the upper arms and pushes me down onto the couch. The unexpected move makes me gasp, my mind regaining feeling. It kind of feels like the blood rushing into a limb after having fallen asleep.

Thomus’s hands on my arms linger for a moment before he straightens and turns away. He doesn’t need to ask what happened. He knows that I was made a fool of. I created a problem that he now has to fix. I made him look weak.

I stare down at my hands in my lap. The only way I’d known it hadn’t been Thomus was simply the feel of his hair. I hate myself for believing it was him, for hoping that it was. I hate that I couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. I used to be capable. How did I end up here?

My eyes follow his feet as he walks toward the door. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he says and then I’m alone.

The sudden quiet, the absence of a presence except my own, all I can hear is my heavy breathing. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub them with my fingers, not caring if I fucked up my makeup. The echo of something getting shoved into my throat, the gagging and tears that followed reminds me that my makeup is fucked up already.

I stand, needing to do something other than sit upset on the couch. Oh, fuck, yeah I know what I need. My feet stumble forward and I drag myself up the stairs to Thomus’s room. I make a beeline for the crate of alcohol under his bed, picking a muggle schnapps that I know I can drink straight out the bottle. Before I even stand, I twist the cap and flick it off, chugging the sickly sweet liquid. I keep going even though there’s soreness in my throat when I swallow. The alcohol hits my empty stomach immediately. When I get to my feet after a few long moments, I have to grab the bedpost to keep from tipping over.

Somehow I make it to my room and instead of collapsing onto the bed, it makes more sense to sit on the floor. I set the bottle down next to my lamp and turn it on. My back against the wall next to my bedside table, I kick off my shoes, and undo the garter belt before shoving the whole thing, stockings and all, off my body entirely. I manage to undo my bra and fling it at the wardrobe. Finding something else to wear is impossible right now, so the dress stays. I grab my bottle, and slide down the wall to the floor. The carpet is thick and comfortable.

I chug my drink some more, as much as I’m able. Then I place it back down, and lower my body to the floor, my right arm behind me, my cheek pressed against the carpet.

~*~

This is how Thomus finds me, who knows how long after. I haven’t slept. My brain has just taken pleasure at giving me a marathon of the best moments of the evening. Now that I’m no longer under any spell, the memories don’t stop. And I thought before was bad. At least it only haunted me while I slept.

“What’re you doing on the floor?” he demands as he enters my room. His voice isn’t loud or angry. Maybe frustrated. I quickly push myself up, cross legged, and I grab the bottle again.

“The floor is grounding,” I reply, bringing the bottle opening to my lips. “It’s a good place to be when I’m overwhelmed.”

I take a long drink and I hear him slowly walk towards me. He kneels, while his hand, knuckles still bruised and busted open, takes the bottle from me. I expect him to put the bottle back, but instead he takes a long drink as well. This surprises me and I finally look at him for the first time since he pummeled his hand into Montague’s face. The black suit jacket is gone, making the blood splattered lightly across his white dress shirt stand out.

He sits on the floor next to me, back to the wall, our shoulders touching. He takes another drink before handing me back the bottle, his forearms coming to rest on his propped up knees. I see his fists clench and unclench.

I don’t know what to say. I’m definitely not going to apologize, and I don’t see him doing that either.

My head falls back against the wall. I close my eyes and bring the bottle to my lips, grimacing when my throat painfully swallows around my drink. It’s a struggle not to gag when the memory relives itself with every swallow.

“He’ll never touch you again,” comes Thomus’s voice in the otherwise quiet room. It’s tight, still full of anger.

I snicker, my eyes still closed. “What makes you think that?”

“I believe you were witness to the damage that was done to his face.”

I laugh again, far more bitter his time. “When you were defending my honor?” I ask in a mock British accent before taking another drink. “Don’t act like that was for my benefit.”

“He needed to be taught a lesson,” he hisses. “To not touch that which doesn’t belong to him.”

My heart thunders in my chest and I breathe a little faster now. There was the admission. It was never what Montague did, it was who he did it to. I think a part of me hoped that the spectacle had been for show. That secretly it was because he cared. But no.

“And here I thought it was to learn the meaning of the word, no,” I say jokingly through the pain in my chest. This just makes everything more painful. The final nail in my coffin for the night. I don’t have the strength to keep it together anymore.

He takes the bottle from me, drinking. “Do you ever not have a smart mouth?”

My lip trembles as I turn my head to smile at him. “Coping mechanism, remember?” Tears begin to slip down my cheeks and I sniffle, looking away.

He shrugs away from the wall, turning to me. I jump a little in shock when his long fingers cover my tight fist resting in my lap. “What else can I do?”

That’s definitely the last thing I ever expected him to say. Who’s he pretending for now? He had sounded almost compassionate. Maybe -

“Can you,” my breath shudders. “Can you take the memories away?” I blink away enough to tears to look at him fully. His expression is closed and unreadable as he gazes back. “I want to know it happened, but I just don’t –“

“I understand.” A hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb wiping the wetness away. Our eyes meet and he slips into my mind like before. He gathers up all the memories like they were toys strewn across the floor. He locks them up in a small box simply labeled, Montague, and leaves my mind with the key in his hand.

Relief floods my chest and I can’t stop the silent sob that shakes my shoulders, my head falling into my hands. I don’t realize he’s moved closer until he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. Because of everything that’s happened in the last week, from this to being haunted by Bellatrix, I want to be comforted. Even though it’s him. This nice, compassionate Thomus is the one I want to take solace in. My arms snake around his waist and I press my face into his shoulder as I cry.

He holds me and lets me cry until I stop. I’m reluctant to let go, scared of how I’ll feel when he leaves.

“Can you stay?” I ask, so soft I can barely hear myself.

He rubs my shoulders. “You want me to?” I nod in reply.

“Alright,” he whispers. Shakily, I pull away and stand. He does as well. As I push back the covers and climb into bed, he hesitates.

“What’s wrong?” my quiet voice doesn’t conceal my vulnerability.

“I’ll be right back.” He swiftly disappears through the bathroom, returning a few moments later dressed in a plain white shirt and the dark blue PJ bottoms. Then he climbs in next to me, lying on his back. He motions silently for me to lie next to him. I hesitate a moment too, eyeing him warily. I know I wanted this, but I can’t help but be afraid this is something he’s going to make me regret later.

Thomus looks so inviting, even if his expression is unreadable. I finally give in, curling up into his side, my head on his shoulder, his arm draped down my back. He pulls the blanket up over us, and as he places his battered hand over my balled up one on his chest, I feel my body relaxing in a way it hasn’t for a long time.

“Thank you,” I whisper. My eyelids become too heavy and when they close, I breathe in his intoxicating scent of cedar and pine.

Authors Note: If you've made it this far in my fic, please let me know what you think! Also the biggest thank yous to everyone who likes and reblogs this fic! ❤️

#tom hiddleston #writing #fanfiction #the auction fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #voldemort wins au #fanfic of a fanfic #plus size main character #plus size #darkwizard!tomhiddleston #dramione #draco x hermione #tom hiddleston x plus size ofc #dark fic

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Yandere Stain/F!Vigilante!Darling: Blessed

Warning: Dubcon/noncon

Word count: 3000+

Commissioned by @adosprincess98 !

Ever since his encounter with other Vigilantes like Knuckleduster and that younger protege of his who’d fought him, and after his enlightening fight with Izuku Midoriya, Stain had started to become more interested in others. He wasn’t very keen on having a partner or even worse, a sidekick, but he felt less disconnected from the society he was trying to clean up. He’d find himself on the lookout in between hunts for false Heroes, curious of what the local Vigilante activity in each region was like. It was during one of these nights that he’d discovered an up-and-coming Vigilante, a young woman dedicated to protecting her neighborhood when the police and Heroes weren’t able to. Apparently she was a beloved local figure by most of the community, and Stain had felt a strange form of connection whenever he watched her fight and rush to save innocents without hesitation. He wondered why she wasn’t a real licensed Hero, given her noble spirit.

Another shadowy figure appeared in the alley and walked towards the woman. Stain noticed a few others hidden from sight behind them, but if the woman saw them as well she kept it to herself. “You got the goods?” She cocked her head towards the man in front of her.

“You mean these ‘study aids’?” The man smirked and took out a ziploc bag from a pocket in his jacket. “I’ve got em...if you’ve got the money.”

The woman hesitated. “I have enough for one pill,” she replied cautiously, gripping the inside of one of her pockets. “But...I heard that you have alternative methods of payment, if someone like me wanted more. Is that true?”

The man narrowed his eyes for a moment. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Relax,” she replied casually. “One of my dormmates has a sister in high school who’s one of your regulars. Akiko? She said that you had a way for certain clients to work off debts.”

The man’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Oh, Akiko,” he drawled. “Surprised she’d tell her big sis that she’s off hoe-ing it up to pay off a drug debt, but I don’t like getting involved in family shit.” He sized up the woman in her long trench coat. “Let me see what’s under that coat, and I’ll see if you qualify for that special service.” Not waiting for her to comply, he put a hand around her waist and grinned. “College girls like you don’t make as much as younger gals like ‘Kiko, but I’m sure you’ll be good for something.”

Stain peered down from above, unsheathing one of the knives holstered on his left leg to take out this piece of trash before he could harm the young woman. When he saw her quickly draw a taser out from underneath her trenchcoat and violently shove it into the dealer’s stomach, his eyes widened in surprise. She threw off the baggy coat revealing a costume that was clearly homemade and tossed off her hat to show the mask covering her eyes and upper half of her face. “I’m definitely good for kicking your ass, you scumbag,” she snapped, gripping the taser and glaring down at the man. “What kind of lowlife sells drugs to kids and makes them sell their bodies to pay off their debts?”

The man’s associates hiding in the other parts of the alley jumped out to attack her; despite the solid punches, taser shocks, and kicks she managed to throw at her multiple opponents, she was still taken by surprise and clearly on the losing end of this fight. The group’s leader staggered up and slammed her head against a nearby wall. “Fucking wannabe Hero bitch,” he grunted. “You think you can put on a shitty cosplay and suddenly become like All Might or something?” He barked out a laugh and withdrew a knife, and Stain immediately jumped into action. Despite this woman’s serious lack of training or experience, she still had the heart of a true Hero--he wasn’t about to let her life be snuffed out by a group of cockroaches.

The next few minutes were a painful hazy blur for ____ as she slumped against the wall and clutched her ringing head. One moment she was being held by her throat and being pummeled against the wall, and then the next she had somehow wound up out of the drug dealer’s hands. She heard the sounds of metal slicing through clothing and flesh, followed by fearful screams that were quickly cut short and devolved into sickening gurgles. Her vision was fuzzy as she tried to get her bearings, and suddenly she felt herself being hoisted up in someone’s arms. “Wha....Huh?” She blinked blearily up at her potential rescuer. “A Hero…?”

“Not quite.” The stranger moved through the alleyways while carrying her, doing his best to keep her awake by asking her questions: if she felt pain in any specific part of her head, if she’d been stabbed by the dealer, if she knew what the date was...anything to keep her awake. ____ lost track of time, answering in a feeble voice as the ringing in her head kept her from focusing. At some point she realized that the man had taken her into a building and set her down onto a mattress. “Don’t try to get up,” he said firmly. “I’ll get something to ease the pain and properly check if you’ve got a concussion.”

“Okay…” she murmured, too tired and aching to even attempt to get up on her own. She squinted at the figure’s silhouette in the dimly-lit room as he slipped a pill into her mouth, along with some water from a lukewarm plastic bottle. After a few minutes, her pain had subsided considerably and her body felt strangely warm and relaxed despite nearly getting killed earlier.

She heard him walk into another room and tried to look around as best as she could from her spot on the bed. Wherever she was, it was clearly somewhere this guy had been squatting in for a while. It looked like an abandoned apartment complex, and a few sheathed daggers were placed next to a small whetstone on the floor. A long red scarf was on the floor where he’d just stood, with multiple tears and dark stains flecked along the fabric. A nagging feeling prodded the back of her mind as she looked at it, wondering if she’d seen it before. 

The man came back with a small flashlight and shined it into her eyes for a few moments. Once he was satisfied that she wasn’t concussed, he sighed softly with relief and set the flashlight down before placing a hand on her forehead. “I was worried that this would happen to you at some point,” he confessed. “Even with a heart like a genuine Hero, you’re still not experienced enough to know how to deal with multiple opponents surprising you like that.I should have followed my gut instinct and taken you before you got hurt.” He caressed her cheek and gave her an apologetic look. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you properly, but I’ll make sure you’re never in danger like that ever again.”

____ blinked and frowned as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. “Do I know you?” She tried to move her head up to get a better look at him, and he brushed his calloused thumb against her lower lip while cupping her face. ____ felt another rush of warmth and cautiously curled up in the closest thing she had to a defensive posture. “You’re getting kinda...handsy,” she said, slurring her words a bit as the painkillers left her tongue feeling extra heavy. 

Stain froze up for a moment before moving his hand away from her mouth, looking away for a quick moment while he seemed to be holding himself back from saying something. “I’m...sorry,” he replied. “I’ve been watching over you for so long without being this close. It’s strange.”

____ felt her heart race as she slowly put together his words in her fuzzy head. “You’ve been stalking me?” She tried to scoot away from him and stumbled, but he quickly reached out and caught her before her face hit the floor. The way his skin felt against hers left her even more uncomfortably warm. She tried her best to appear intimidating in her current state and glared up at him as her breaths became heavy from the sudden heat in the air around her. “What was in that pill you gave me? And who the hell are you, you fucking stalker piece of--”

The distant lights of a car turning down a street streamed through the dirty windows of the building, and ____’s eyes widened as she recognized the briefly illuminated face of her stalker and rescuer. “Stain? The...you’re the one who’s been killing those Heroes,” she whimpered, starting to shake in his arms. “Why? Why take me, then? I’m not a pro, I swear I’m not. So why follow me?”

Stain felt a slight ache in his chest at the way she’d recoiled in fear upon recognizing him. “I know you’re a Vigilante,” he replied. “Even if you were a professional, I’d never hurt you. You’re noble in how you work, never bowing to bribery or selfishness and always being so hardworking and humble.” He gently rubbed one of the sides of her shoulder as his voice softened. “You’re a true Hero, on All Might’s level in my mind. A very precious and rare treasure, even in a society full of people who claim to be Heroes.”

____ shifted uncomfortably in his arms and awkwardly rested her head against his shoulder; she felt so warm and heavy and tired, even with adrenaline coursing through her body and screaming for her to use every ounce of energy to run away from this obviously dangerous situation. “Um. Thanks,” she mumbled, still slurring her words a bit. She wasn’t sure how to react to a serial killing stalker confessing their admiration to her, but she figured that it was best to try and placate him by being polite. “Is that why you said you wanted to uh, ‘take me’ earlier? Before I got my head smacked around?”

Stain nodded. “You’re too valuable to this world to die in an alley at the hands of them,” he said darkly, wiping a stray bit of drying blood off of his cheek. “Now I know for certain that this is the best place for you.” He reached down and squeezed her hand while holding her closer to him. “Here you’ll be safe, and I’ll try my hardest to make you happy and comfortable.” He glanced at the dingy walls and floor of his hideout. “It’s not the temple you deserve, but I can still protect you here...and worship you.”

____’s eyelids felt heavier and heavier as she felt the Hero Killer lift her up and gently caress her back and lower thighs while he carried her. The way he said “worship” left a sick feeling of dread that made her hair stand on end. “That’s kind, but I don’t need to be worshipped,” she protested. “I’m just a...a friendly neighborhood Vigilante, y’know? I’m not a god or anything, so don’t worry about that.” She tried to stifle a yawn as Stain set her down on a surprisingly comfy futon--though in her exhausted and drugged state, anything would be comfortable and worth sleeping the night off on. 

“You really are humble,” Stain replied with a small smile. He started to remove her shoes and the rest of her costume, and ____ feebly tried to keep him from undressing her body. “I’ll wash your clothes while you get some sleep, and after that I’ll draw a bath for you.” He easily maneuvered around her attempts to cover herself and soon she was completely nude on his bed. She shivered as the cold nighttime air blew over her exposed body, and Stain quickly reached for a thick blanket towards the end of the bed to place over her before grabbing her clothes to tuck under his arm. “I’ll warm up the water for your bath once I’m done washing these,” he said. As ____’s will to stay awake waned and she drifted into a deep sleep, the last thing she felt before losing consciousness was Stain’s lips pressed against her forehead.

____ finally stirred when she felt Stain pick her up and carry her bridal style to the bathroom adjoining his bedroom. The pain in her head had subsided considerably, but her body still ached quite a bit and her mouth felt like dry cotton thanks to the pills he’d given her. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t the only one who was naked; Stain’s bare skin pressed against hers as he lowered himself into a large tub while still holding her. “Nghh...What’re you doing?” 

Stain slowly sat her up from behind and reached for a bar of soap lying on the edge of the tub. “Bathing you,” he replied simply. “I wanted to let you rest longer, but I didn’t want to let it cool off completely by the time you woke up.” 

As Stain washed her body and her hair, she glanced at a large bowl on the cracked tile floor that was lying next to a hot plate; filling an entire tub with warm water must have taken hours. She closed her eyes as he rinsed her hair and held his hand up to keep soap away from her face.

The two of them spent the next few minutes without speaking, with only the sound of the water sloshing around in the tub to break the long period of silence. Stain opted to stay and keep ____ in the bath until the water began to run cold, not wanting to let the warm water go to waste. He guided ____’s body and held her as she lay back against him and tried to relax in the arms of her captor. “Is there anything specific you’d like to eat?” Stain’s voice was much softer than ____ thought a serial killer’s would be, and so were his caresses as he stroked her underneath the water. “I’ll bring whatever you want.”

____ shook her head slightly; with everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, food was the least important thing in her mind. “Can’t think of anything,” she replied feebly. “Just...whatever’s convenient, I guess.”

Stain’s slow and gentle movements started to lull her back to sleep as he held her in continued silence, but when she felt his hands wander to her chest and thighs her eyes snapped open. “Wh-what are you doing?” She tried to move away from him, but her body was still heavy and exhausted from overexerting herself last night--and she was still in a faint haze from the painkillers he’d given her.

Stain traced circles around her thigh, causing ripples to form along the water’s surface. He kissed the top of her head as he stroked her from behind. “Worshipping you,” he replied, still sounding so gentle. “You deserve to be cherished, inside and out.”

____ felt her face heat up, and as much as she wished it weren’t true, so was her core as Stain’s hand traveled lower and lower until his calloused fingertips brushed against her entrance. Her nipple pebbled around his other hand, and when he started to circle her clitoris underneath the water with his thumb she let out a small mewl. She hated to admit how nice it felt: the embrace of the warm water around her and Stain’s body against hers, the hazy fog of her arousal and the lingering painkillers still in her system, and those words of reverence he was showering her with as he continued to ‘worship’ her. She didn’t ask for this, but...she couldn’t quite bring herself to protest either.

Stain began to subtly rock his hips against hers, shivering with pleasure when he felt a bit of precum coat his cock and quickly drift away in the rippling water. Every sound that left ____’s lips was like music to his ears, pure and perfect and absolutely addictive. He continued to kiss her neck and stroke her as she began to instinctively grind against his hand to chase the high building within her core. "I would fantasize about this whenever I was watching over you,” he murmured. “Giving you tribute every night after I came home from a hunt.” His teeth grazed against her skin and he felt her entrance twitch underneath his fingers. He continued to circle his thumb around her clit as he slowly slid his finger into her delectably warm cunt, and he groaned softly when he felt her walls twitch around him. “But those dreams are nothing compared to this.” He gently sucked on her neck and then used his long tongue to toy with her earlobe, and she gasped as he played with her sensitive flesh. “The way you taste on my lips, the sounds you’re making while I pleasure you--”

____ felt the head of Stain’s cock burrow slightly in between her cheeks and squealed as it pressed up against her rear. Stain smiled and kissed her collarbone. “Just like that,” he continued. “And you feel so wonderful around me...so divine.” He slipped a second finger into her folds and curled them both inside, rubbing a spot deep within her that pushed her over the edge. As her body tensed and spasmed around his, cumming with her head tilted back and lips parted, Stain finally let himself climax with a sigh of her name. The two of them stared at each other with half-lidded eyes for a moment until Stain moved to finish their bath.

There was a warm glow emanating from her body that made Stain smile once more as he moved to drain the tub and then carefully lift her out to dry her off. Once she was taken care of, he quickly dried himself off and carried her to their bed. Her eyes were already closed by the time he pulled the blanket over her chest. He settled next to her and kissed her forehead as he wrapped his arms around his Beloved, feeling more comfortable and happy than he’d felt in a very long time. He’d been with her for less than one day and he already felt so blessed.

#yandere stain #yandere bnha #.bnha #.stain #tw: dubcon #tw: kidnapping #.myshit #.commission

[artist-issues]

@snowybookworm

I’ve seen the logic behind both schools of thought: that Old Steve could only have sat back and allowed events like Bucky’s torture to unfold (thereby being super out of character) OR that he created an alternate timeline where he stayed in character by solving all sorts of problems while living out his happily ever after. And I’m not going to go into that, I’m not going to swing one way or the other. But suffice to say, I don’t think that the portrayal of time travel rules in Endgame supports the idea that Old Steve could only return to prime 2023 via the same portal he left from, because if that were true, how do you explain the Avengers’ big push to get the Infinity Gauntlet into Scott’s van in the final battle? If the only way they could be returned to the timeline they were snatched from was with the same portal, tossing them into the van, a DIFFERENT portal, would’ve been reality-suicide for our heroes.

But I’m not here to argue about what Steve Rogers did when we DIDN’T get to watch his actions. I’m here to argue about what we DO know for sure based on what we WERE given to watch. I’m here to prove that if you think it’s not like Steve Rogers to leave Bucky in the present to live his days out with Peggy, you’ve missed his whole character arc. You’re one of those people who doesn’t see that he HAS a character arc. Captain America has DEPTH. He has LAYERS to who he is. It’s not just “do the right thing,” as close as that may sound to the truth.

He is not the same exact guy Bucky had to lead out of back-alley fights in the 40s. He might have all of the same excellent qualities that we know and love, the BEST qualities, but we’re not at the same point in his story. He’s learned and he’s grown and Peggy Carter is symbolic of him moving on.

Now, that may sound oxymoronic to you, “because he literALLY TIME TRAVELED TO THE PAST to be with the lady he missed out on! HOW IS THAT MOVING ON?!” you ask. Because you’re missing it. Let’s rewind and look at Steve Rogers and his character development, shall we?

In Captain America: The First Avenger, Steve Rogers goes from a guy with everything to prove, who is so willing to take on the world and all it’s evil that it doesn’t matter if he’s 90lbs of asthmatic shortness, he’ll fight bullies and stand up for what’s right! And he’ll do it ALONE if he has to! That’s important, the word “alone.” He’s so committed to that identity that Bucky Barnes, his best friend and brother figure, keeps having to remind Steve that through all of life’s challenges, he’s not alone, that he’s got someone with him “til’ the end of the line.” And Steve believes it: Bucky will be there for him when he needs dragging out of the gutter and cleaning up, when he has nobody else and nothing else. But Steve knows, or thinks he knows, (AND YOU AND I DO TOO, if we pay attention to the actual movie instead of our fill-in-the-blanks headcanons) that however LOYAL AND TRUE Bucky is to him, he doesn’t believe Steve can win. Bucky doesn’t believe in Steve. Now hold your offense: it’s okay that Bucky didn’t believe in Steve. Have you seen Skinny Steve? He’s an amazing moral giant, but physically he’s not going to live past middle-aged. Bucky believed Skinny Steve was righteous, and a hero, and would never give up, but Bucky was resigned to having to help that righteous hero or watch him die eventually because all that gold was locked up in the wrong-sized package. Sebastian Stan has hinted at what the films portray subtly; that Bucky’s is more cynical than his friend Steve from the get-go. He’s always poised and worried that he’s about to watch his hero Steve get killed standing up to the darkness of the world—not WIN against it. Bucky was ready to help Steve out of fights, but—and here’s BUCKY’S character development in that first film—he’s not ready to follow Steve into fights until after Azzano, when Steve finally has the physical capabilities to back up what Bucky has always known was there on the inside: the will to fight the darkness of the world and win. That’s when he realizes, “he’s the little guy from Brooklyn, too dumb to run away from a fight—and now someone’s actually gone and juiced him up with the means to literally take on the jaws of death.” All that heroism and goodness Bucky’s always seen in Steve has gone from being what might get him killed to something that Steve can actually use to do the right thing, however dangerous. And Bucky chooses to keep his promise and follow Steve back into battle after enduring torture, because he is with him til the end of the line. But initially, cynical yet loyal Bucky Barnes didn’t believe his best friend could win.

Steve sees this about Bucky. He knows how Bucky sees him. In the Erskine Enlistment Scene, this line from Steve is so telling: “Look, I know you don’t think I can do this...” and Bucky responds after Steve’s ‘men-laying-down-their-lives’ speech with “right...cause you got nothing to prove.” sarcastically. Steve knows that Bucky loves him and is there for him, but he sees that Bucky doesn’t believe in him. And they’re still friends. They’re still brothers and everything we know them to be, because the word that defines their relationship is “LOYAL.” But you know who did believe in Steve?

Peggy Carter.

She takes notice of Steve’s heart of gold while he’s still skinny, and asthmatic, and everything that Bucky has seen since they were kids. But where Bucky sees a heart of gold about to be snuffed out by harsh circumstances, PEGGY sees something else. She sees something else because she has a similar hopeful outlook on life, a kindred spirit with Steve’s forever-the-fighter character. Peggy Carter, a woman in the 40s, has had to fight and fight and take one step forward for every three steps she’s been pushed back. She’s had to prove herself over and over, every moment of her career, when nobody (except her brother Michael) believed in her. That’s their conversation in the cab. That’s the crux of why they love each other. Peggy has always noticed Steve as never giving up, but until he talks to her in the car on the way to get Super Soldiered, she might have assumed that he was just trying to prove himself for HIMSELF. Then he explains that he doesn’t have anything against running away, and his philosophy about bullies. And she relates to him. She sees that heart of gold and she wants to STOKE it, not just protect it. She knows what it is to want someone to not only acknowledge her potential, but BELIEVE in it. That’s why she has a picture of Skinny Steve on her desk and not a newspaper clipping of Captain America; she loves Steve Rogers for what is inside, for his moral character, and for their kindred fighter spirits. You can see that through her urging him to not settle for being a dancing monkey. “You were meant for more than this, you know.” “If it could only work once, he would be glad it was you.”

And Steve Rogers recognizes that Peggy Carter believes in him. Here’s how. When Bucky and Steve argue at the World Fair before Bucky’s deployment, Bucky leaves with a sort of “I give up,” so-done, snarky “don’t do anything stupid until I get back” attitude. We know and love it. But that’s important. Steve is about to go lie on his enlistment and try to go to war. He’s about to do this risky thing. And Bucky leaves it like “even though I’m against it, I know I can’t stop you, so please just be careful.” When Peggy is faced with a more extreme, but still similar situation where Steve is about to jump headfirst into a risky thing, that’s not her attitude. “I can do more than that.” “Get back here! We’re taking you ALL the way in!” She’s not going to follow him, and she’s not going to shrug and say “fine, go get yourself killed.” She’s not even going to say, like Bucky might’ve, “if you’re dying, I’m dying with you.” JEEZ, the last thing she says to him before he gets on a plane that becomes his tomb is “GO GET ‘IM.” When he says to her “this is my choice” before he ‘dies’ she accepts it, but she still makes that appointment for the dance- almost like a sad, sweet little ‘if you can get out of this, I’ll still be waiting.’ But whenever he goes into danger, throughout that film, she’s going to HELP him. Because she believes in him. She really believes he can do this. She has faith. That’s the word that describes Peggy and Steve’s relationship. “FAITH.”

Bucky = Loyalty.

Peggy = Faith.

And how does Steve grow in this movie? He learned from both Bucky and Peggy: “I don’t have to fight alone.”  Whether it’s because he’s scrawny and everybody else would run away from a fight they can’t win, or because he’s an icon and the world’s first super-soldier-miracle, he’s always had this loneliness complex. He lifts the weight of the world because he knows that if you can, you should. But Peggy says to him “you won’t be alone.” It’s a quote important enough for him to experience it in a flashback the first time we see him in The Avengers.

In The Avengers, Steve has to share the spotlight with a whole other cast of heroes, PLUS the writers had to show us what it would be like for a 1940s superhero to lose 70 years of time and wake up with nobody left of his old life, so his growth is smaller. It’s setting up for more growth later. But still, there’s that quote. “You won’t be alone.” And now here he is. Alone. In the 21st century. Worse than a skinny kid nobody believes in, now he’s a cultural phenomenon in a world where everyone looks up to him but nobody believes in him, really, not directly. Whether it’s how well he can stand up against gods and iron men, what makes him special, or why cops should listen to him in the heat of interplanetary battle—in this bold new world he’s woken up in, Steve is on a lonelier pedestal than ever. He’s quickly disillusioned with the government that used to give him order and structure when it loses the Tesseract, which it was making weapons of mass destruction out of, then tries to nuke an island full of innocent people to win one battle. But Steve finally realizes, toward the end of the film, that just because SHIELD and the larger world are new and different and don’t know who he really is, that doesn’t mean he’s alone. When the other Avengers join him in going to take on Loki in their own way, and when Tony, in particular, proves that he’ll sacrifice himself for the greater good, Steve remembers his lesson from Peggy. He’s still not alone.

But being surrounded by other misfits, even ones who are willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good like he is, isn’t the same as being surrounded by people who know Steve Rogers, the punch-drunk kid from Brooklyn. He’s looking for purpose at the end of the Avengers. What do we see the other characters doing? Thor’s off to deal with the family drama that defines a lot of his character arcs in his movies. Tony is seen embracing the whole “work with others” thing by starting construction on Avengers Tower. Bruce is going with Tony, proving that he’s learning to trust himself with the Hulk like Tony suggested, and Nat hands him the bag, meaning she trusts him too. Clint is reunited with her and getting in a car with the SHIELD logo stamped on it, and where is Steve? What’s his foreshadowing/cap to the movie character arc? Is he getting in the SHIELD car, too? No. He’s on a motorcycle. Alone. Driving off to Lord-knows-where. He’s the only Avenger that drives off alone—but before he went, he shook Tony’s hand. That send-off says he’s willing to be on this team, with these other fighters and misfits...but he’s still lonely. Nobody really knows him yet. He’s not alone in fighting, but he doesn’t know what he wants or where he’s going.

In Captain America: The Winter Soldier Steve’s character development is centered around solidifying what parts of him need to change now that he’s “The Man Out of Time” and what parts of him stay true. The whole film is about trust. And yes, that trust is best driven him when Steve is literally willing to die rather than give up on Bucky, the man literally beating him to death. Because loyalty. But don’t miss the scene with Peggy, however brief. Their conversation has nuances, especially in light of Endgame. There’s a lot going on in the scene that shows how in love he is with her, but the part that’s most important is just his reaction when she relapses and realizes that he’s alive all over again. The last thing Old Peggy says is “it’s been so long.” And she repeats it, for emphasis. And he points out the dance. Because remember, there’s this theme that she would have waited for him. That’s their relationship: faith. But she didn’t know he was alive, and how could she? It’s been so long. She’s not smiling. She’s crying when she realizes he’s still alive. Because they missed all that time they would have had together. And his face is the perfect micro expression of grief. To me, it doesn’t read “I’m so sad because I missed out on Peggy,” though I’m sure there’s some of that in there. To me it reads more like Steve always reads because he thinks of others first: “I’m so sad because Peggy had to mourn me and our relationship for so long.” I mean, look, it’s 70 years later and she’s devastated that he’s alive but they weren’t together. (You can be devastated about your lost love AND accepting of your life and other children without him, it doesn’t have to be one or the other, but more on that another time.) Steve never moves on from Peggy because that’s not the kind of guy he is. It’s not nothing to say she was the love of his life. And he wanted to go back to her not just for himself, but for her. Because he’d seen the future where she was still heartbroken that he missed their dance, and I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s literally RIGHT THERE in probably the best-written Marvel Film, Winter Soldier.

In a film that’s all about how what he thought was good and right is literally crumbling or growing Hydra tentacles around him, there are two things he doesn’t let go of. The first is Bucky. Bucky is an assassin now who any other hero would have put down. Heck, STEVE would have mournfully put down any other threat to the greater good, for the sake of Doing What’s Right. But there’s two (2) exceptions to that rule, and the first is Bucky. Loyalty. He won’t kill or even fight his best friend. And the second thing he won’t let go of, thematically, is Peggy. It’s how we go from “I’m alone in the future” in the Avengers to, “and if I’m the only one, so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.” Peggy founded SHIELD. Steve didn’t have to take time out of the very carefully synchronized and tense mission to stop Project: Insight to make that announcement. He could have assumed everyone was HYDRA and got to work. But he stopped, he made a FAITH-BASED decision to let HYDRA know they were there and shoutout to any good people in the building because the movie was about trust. And Peggy showed Steve how to have faith and trust in people because she extended it to him. He puts so many eggs in the Big Risk basket during this movie based on trusting others even though Nick Fury’s crucial words were “Don’t Trust Anyone.” That’s the part of Steve that won’t get corroded away by the new world he’s come out of the ice into. And he shows it by loyalty to Bucky, brainwashed warts and all, and belief in people, which Peggy taught him. There’s a lot that could also be said about Sam and Natasha, too, but more on them later.

The main thing, in CA:TWS and Avengers, to remember about Steve’s character arc is that while he’s learning to hold on to IDEALS like belief in people and defending freedom and innocent people from bullies like HYDRA and Loki, how does he express those ideals? The only way he knows how. By fighting. By finding a mission to complete or a cause to serve and going for it. How else? He doesn’t know how to do anything else. “I guess I just like to know who I’m fighting.” Sam asks, “You thinking about getting out?” And hid knee-jerk reaction is “no.” Then, “I don’t know.” AND WHY DOESN’T HE KNOW? Because he doesn’t know what makes him happy. Seriously! What makes him happy?? People who know him. He won’t go on a date because he has “no shared life experience”. He has no fun plans Saturday because his “barbershop quartet are dead.” Hes straight up politely walking away, kind-celebrity-style, from a potential new friend in Sam until Sam starts talking about being a veteran. He tries to relate to others through fights because that seems to be the only thing left. People see Steve as Captain America, leader of the Avengers, Fighter for Freedom, in the future. Nobody sees the kid from Brooklyn anymore. And he doesn’t know who he is without a war.

Bringing us to Avengers: Age of Ultron. This one’s character development is so obvious it feels like they’re beating you over the head with it Hulk-style if you just take half a second to focus on Steve’s scenes. It starts with how he views the Maximoff twins—he can relate to their lab-rats-of-justice ideals, but nobody else shares that sympathy, as seen in the conversation with Maria Hill by the elevator. Then there’s the scene at the party. No, not the one where he reminds Bruce that he waited too long for Peggy, although HELLO HE’S STILL IN LOVE WITH PEGGY. But I’m talking about Steve and Sam’s conversation. Sam mentions home. In the middle of a party, Steve is asking about Bucky, his one remaining person who knows him, and reminiscing about Peggy, the other person who knew him. Home is in the people who know you. Steve wants that to be the Avengers. He wants them to be the people who get who he is, and I think they come close. Nat, Sam, and Tony especially. But Tony never separates who Steve is from this idea of him handed down from Howard Stark, and Steve is made aware of that over and over. Plus Tony doesn’t trust Steve; the team keeps clashing over trust issues in this film. And Tony even says, in the pivotal argument with Steve over the lumber pile, “isn’t this why we fight? So we can END the fight? So we can go HOME?” Steve can’t go home because Steve feels he has no home. He’s made The Fight his home. And he defaults right back to it in this argument: “every time someone tries to stop a war before it starts, innocent people die.” So, again, he’s not ALONE anymore, in the sense that others will fight with him. But he’s still stuck on FIGHTING. And nobody really knows him. At the end of the film he says, almost reluctantly, “I’m home” and proceeds to go in and try to train new Avengers. Sam comes flying in among them—that’s a subtle reason why Steve is willing to make the Avengers/the Fight his new home. The one guy who might actually know him and represent who he is when he’s not behind the shield is missing, and Sam was supposed to be looking for him. Sam is with the Avengers, NOT looking for him.

But all of that is wrecked in Captain America: Civil War. Peggy, the love of his life, dies. Bucky, the friend he’d all but given up on finding, reappears and is in trouble. Without Peggy, there’s only one person left who knows who Steve really is, and with all that Bucky means to him, Steve isn’t going to give him up. It just so happens that that goal of remaining loyal to Bucky is synonymous with hanging on to his ideals: combatting the Sokovia Accords with a little moral kick in the seat from posthumous Peggy. I’m not going to go into why his actions about the Accords were in-character in this film. But it should be obvious from everything I’ve written, anyway. And remember, his faith is in people. Peggy taught him that, as we’ve established.

The main point of character development in this film for Steve is that he’s realized that he can’t give up who Steve Rogers is to be who everyone thinks Captain America is. When the rest of the world says that the Avengers should be little better than Government weapons and operate out of fear, Steve remembers that he’s the kid from Brooklyn who will fight for what’s right, shield or no shield. And Bucky symbolizes that aspect of who he really is, because Bucky knows him in a way that no remaining living character does. So when Steve is fighting Tony to keep Bucky safe, it’s not devoid of their conflict over ideals, either. Stave drops the shield but promises to still be there for Tony if he needs him. He’s not going to be everyone’s Captain America. He’s going to stay the good man Erskine gave a chance to, the good man Peggy believed in, and the good man only Bucky is alive to remember.

Now we get to Infinity War. And here there’s so much going on with so many characters that for Steve, it’s just important to realize that, although he’s finally hit a rhythm in this post-ice life as Steve Rogers, Fighter from Brooklyn, HOW is he hitting that rhythm? Settling down in Wakanda to hang with Bucky and the goats? Leaving the justice and peacekeeping to Tony Stark and the law-abiding heroes? No. He’s still fighting. And not just in response to Thanos—we’re shown hints and evidences that Cap and his Secret Avengers have been doing some behind-the-scenes peacekeeping. So why isn’t Steve finding peace with Bucky? Ask yourself that. He had time. He had anonymity, in Wakanda. He’d given up the Captain America mantle. They could’ve been roomies in that little hut, like when they were kids, right?

Wrong. But why?

It’s not because the Russos didn’t think of it. It’s not because of lazy writing. It’s because of Bucky.

Bucky is still Steve’s friend and Steve is still loyal to him. They don’t mean any less to each other than they did in 1945. But Bucky is not Bucky anymore. If you believe that Sebastian Stan did a good job playing Bucky, you have to remember that Sebastian Stan played him as if he would “never go back to being that guy you see in The First Avenger.” Bucky has evolved. He’s part Winter Soldier, now. Does he still know Steve better than anyone? Yes. But that is corrupted by the fact that Bucky was programmed to see Steve, the country Steve represented, and all of Steve’s ideals of freedom as targets to be destroyed for 90 years. That changes things. Steve is always going to do what is best for Bucky, because that’s the kind of friend he is. It was the kind of friend he was in 1945 when he rescued Bucky from Azzano, it’s the kind of friend he was when he wouldn’t fight him aboard Project: Insight, it’s the kind of friend he was when he gave up the Avengers and the shield for Bucky...and it’s the kind of friend he was when he left Bucky in the present.

In Avengers: Endgame Steve Rogers has experienced what it’s like to fight and lose again. He’s lost everything. He’s lost Peggy, and now Bucky, too. He’s lost everything and everyone that ever symbolized home...except, perhaps, Natasha. His friend who knows what it’s like to give up everything for ideals and fight to prove yourself. His friend who can’t stop fighting, either. But he loses her, too. Before he does, though, what does Steve say? In that first conversation before everything sets into motion? He says that maybe the fight doesn’t need to be fought by them. He says they need to get a life. But Nat says “you first.”

Who knows him the closest at this point? Nat. So who’s the best-qualified to point out where he’s at, character-development-wise? Nat. He sees his flaw. Steve Rogers sees that he can’t figure out who he is, without someone who knows him helping him. He sees that he defaults to finding a cause, a mission, a fight. Heck, the posters of him say “one last mission.” Not “one last sacrifice (of everything for Bucky).” One last MISSION, because that’s the only thing Steve knows how to do when he has nothing else.

“But he DID have something else! He had BUCKY! And his new family with the Avengers!”

Now we get to the part people don’t understand. They think, “how could Steve just leave everybody, especially Bucky, to fend for themselves?”

You didn’t see all that character development, especially in the first film where the differences between what Bucky means to Steve and what Peggy means to Steve are established.

Bucky is not the streetsmart protective charming brother figure he was in TFA. But listen. He’s not the broken Winter Soldier anymore either. Not in a way that needs Steve’s help. He’s not on the run. He’s got his memory back. He’s pardoned. He’s got Sam. Don’t you see, Bucky’s biggest problem is Steve’s, at this point? They MIRROR each other. Steve can’t figure out who he is if he isn’t fighting for everyone else because he’s been fighting for so long. And Bucky can’t figure out who he is with his friend, his brother figure, doing that and him. Because if Steve is fighting, Bucky will always be there to have his back. But fighting isn’t what Bucky needed anymore. It’s not what he wanted. Fighting is what Bucky is tired of.

And Steve Rogers can’t not be where the fight is.

Because without a fight, who is he?

Peggy Carter knows.

Steve Rogers left Bucky because Bucky needed him to leave. They needed to be friends from afar. And Steve left Bucky because Peggy Carter was home. Being with the woman who knew who he really was, as Steve “Kid From Brooklyn” Rogers, was the right move for his character because it shows that he’s finally ready to stop fighting. Stop being Captain America, lonely hero, man out of time. He’s ready to go and figure out who he is apart from all of that, with someone who really knows him. Could he have done that with Bucky? I don’t know. Seems to me, from what we’ve seen, that Bucky represented passively understanding  Steve while Peggy, at the point they were separated, represented understanding Steve and moving him forward.

Bucky was “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Peggy is “I had faith.”

Bucky was the guy to have Steve’s back in the fight. Peggy was the woman to show him he was meant for more. She represents his potential. She represents his ability to move on, see who he is when he’s doing more than following orders or standing up for honor or proving himself. It would have been out of character for him to stay in the present because new fights would have arisen, and he never would’ve put down the shield. He would’ve fought until someone killed him. And guess what? Bucky would’ve been right behind him, dragging himself into a fight when what he really needs is to step away from Steve and the baggage of his past for a bit. Not completely, but enough.

But this way? With Peggy? We get to see the guy who was always lonely and always learning how to be less alone actually do it. If you miss how significant that is, and you miss how much sense it makes, you don’t understand Steve Rogers at all.

#snowybookworm #I could’ve said less better #but here we are #avengers #steve rogers is an asshole #steve rogers #captain america #captain rogers #steggy #anti-stucky #captain America endgame #avengers:Endgame endgame #mcu #marvel #Marvel Cinematic Universe

[rostovs-lover]

roy rogers

brian may x reader | cursing, some suggestive language, a little bit of anxiety, alcohol consumption | she/her pronouns | fluffy? slow-burn?? | wc.3667

i’m low key tempted to make a part two,, 

anon : Can I request a super cute fic where Bri needs more money for uni, so he starts offering guitar lessons and the reader has a little brother who really wants to learn how to play, so she signs him up. Maybe her brother is extremely good with a guitar and he has a lot of lessons with Bri. He also sees the reader a lot and he catches feelings HARD. Maybe the reader’s little brother spills something to both of them with the help of the rest of the band and they end of together. I just need major FLUFF

your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together. requests open!!

     A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

     Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

    When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

    “One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

    “What is this?”

    “Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

    He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

    “That's so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

    He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

    “Mum said what?”

    “You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That's according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

    “Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

    “First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

    Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one. 

    You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

    The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

    “Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

    The person on the line snorted, “Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

    The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

    “Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

    “Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That's me, are you looking to schedule one?”

    You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

    The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

    Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

    “Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

    David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

    “Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

    David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That's my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

    “We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

    A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

    The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

    “Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

    You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

    “Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

    “Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

    David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it's true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

    “Because I like stability David,”

    “[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

    “If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that's what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

    David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

    “Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it's never just dinner.” You snorted.

    “Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

    “Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

    It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

    “You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

    David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

    David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

    Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

    “Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

    “Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

    You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

    “Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

    “Roger said you’re in a band now, what's that called?”

    His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

    David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

    Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

    It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

    “I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

    You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.” 

    He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

    You considered, “Where is it?”

    “The Cameo, downtown London.”

    “It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

    “Wonderful,” He grinned, “It's a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

    You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

    “It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

    You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

    “Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What's he got to do with this?”

    “He's an insufferable little shit, that's what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

    Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He's a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

    The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

    “What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It's alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

    “Come on, it's almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

    Brian’s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

    Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That's him?!”

    You nodded, “It is,”

    “Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

    “His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

    She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

    It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

    “Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

    “You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

    You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

    The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

    “It's nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

    “You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

    Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

    Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

    Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

    “I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

    He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

    “Well, I'll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

    When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

    “Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there's a lot of people here.”

    He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it's crowded. There's a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

    You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

    The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

    “You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

    You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

    “Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

    You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

    His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

    You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

    “With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he's always been good at everything he tries. It's really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

    “He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

    “No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it's not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

    Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

    “I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

    He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

    He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

    “Absolutely,”

    He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

    You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

    He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him. 

     He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

    David would never let you hear the end of this either.

#Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagines #queen #lennie writes

[hologramband]

Hollywood Ghost Club p2

(my gif)

Luke x Reader

Word Count: 4k

A/N: So glad this has taken off! I’m so sorry it took so long! I didn’t want to rush it and there's some big things happening here, most will get explained in the next chapter or two! Hope you enjoy it!

---

You lay your head on your dressing room table, the aftermath of the shocks still lingering even after a few hours. 

Caleb had really pushed you to give him the answers that he wanted, you resisted as much as you could, but in the end the shocks got to you. 

Thankfully, you didn’t know too much, so the new boys still had a chance. 

A knock at your door caused you to look up, trying to put yourself together before the person came in, but Willey had already let himself in. 

“No offense, but you look like crap,” Willey tried to lighten the mood, but when he noticed it didn’t help he moved to your side, rubbing small circles on your back to relax you. 

“How hard did he grill you?” He whispered, continuing his previous actions. 

“I’ll be fine, it just hit hard since I was drained, but Willey,” you sat up and looked him in the eyes, “Those boys, they have something, and Caleb feels threatened. I-I don’t know what he’s gonna do to get to them.” 

You sigh and check the time, seeing that you only had half an hour before you went on, you stood up to get ready for your performance tonight. 

“What should I do, I can’t just not bring them here, Caleb will have my head. But I, I don’t wanna see him, erm, them hurt.” Willey was trying to sort through his options while you changed behind a screen. 

“We just have to try to keep them safe. There's only so much we will be able to do, but we have to do as much as we can to get them out of here unmarked, and then never bring them back.” 

You stepped out from the changing screen and Willey whistled. 

“Caleb really went all out with the dress tonight.” He winked and you smiled lightly. 

The dress was floor length, with small spaghetti straps and a slit from the bottom up to the top of your thigh. The color complemented your hair and skin tone perfectly, despite your slight lack of power at the moment, you were truly glowing. 

“Yeah, it’s really some of his best,” You did a small spin and then sat down to touch up your makeup. 

“You know, Luke will probably love it too,” Willey smiled at your reflection, you hiding a slight brush remembering his comment about being excited to see you perform. 

“Oh please Willey, that boy is a total flirt. He was probably just being nice,” You shook the thought away and changed the subject, “But Alex, he’s just as cute and sweet as you described him.” You wiggled your eyebrows at the boy next to you as a smile took up his entire face. 

“Well on that note, I do have to get ready so I can pick them up,” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “I’ll see you after your performance, you’re gonna be great.” You smiled at him in thanks before he poofed out, leaving you to your thoughts. 

That didn’t last long as Caleb walked in. 

“Ah, Darling. How’s my bird feeling?” He laid a hand on your shoulder, and you slightly tensed. 

“Just getting ready, the dress is beautiful by the way, you’ve outdone yourself again, Caleb.” You forced a smile up at him, he smirked in return. 

“Thank you bird, but I’ll admit my visit was for other reasons,” his grip slightly tightened on your shoulder, “These boys, they possess a power, and I want it. They aren’t allowed to leave here without my mark, or else you’ll feel the consequences.” You moved a hand to your gut where the shocks would be directed, causing Caleb to chuckle. 

“No no no, you’ve felt enough of that for today. I had something, else, in mind.” He smiled wickedly and you started to feel your power levels grow to full capacity. 

“You have come to realize the lock I have on your abilities, if the boys leave here with the mark, i’ll allow you to keep them where they are,” he moved his hand to your wrist, his thumb brushing over the purple fingerprint tattoo, “if they give me issues, if they leave here without me seeing them off, your powers go as well.” He drops your hand and smiles down at you. 

“That would just be a shame wouldn't it.” He finished, and you nodded in agreement, trying to hide the fear that was building inside of you. 

You knew that tonight had the potential to get messy, more than likely it would, so you vowed in that moment to do everything you could to ease the boys and keep Caleb elsewhere, even if that meant losing your powers. 

----

You were prepping yourself up to go on stage when Willey appeared next to you, immediately noticing your change in demeanor. 

“What happened?” He grabs your wrists and spins you around, looking for anything new that may have changed your mood. 

“Nothing Willey,” You were getting too good at faking smiles, “just, follow my lead tonight… okay?” You sent a pleading look into his eyes and he nodded. 

“Okay, but, just dont do anything stupid. The boys and I have front row seats, come talk to us after you’re done.” He slightly smiled and poofed away. 

Taking a deep breath you waited for Caleb's to show up and take you on stage with him. 

Just as the thought came, Caleb appeared next to you and took your hand,

“Ready?” He smiled and as soon as you nodded, you two appeared on the stage together. 

“Welcome! To the party of your Dreams.” He started, the two of you appearing center stage.

“From the Egyptians, the Druids, to the person sitting next to you, we’ve all wondered, ‘Where do we go after the final light is snuffed out?’” You continued after Caleb, these lines the same from when you wrote them 10 years ago upon entering the club, Caleb calling himself your mentor. 

“Let me introduce myself, we’ve got some time to kill.” you started the song, walking on air next to Caleb, showing what you two were capable of. 

“Consider me the pearly gates to your new favourite thrills

We could go make history or you could rest in peace.” 

Caleb again took your hand in his as he spun you around in a dance of sorts.

“But here there ain't no misery

'Cause on the other side we live like kings”

You finished your lines as Caleb spun you, poofing you mid spin to a seat on top of the piano, him now taking center stage.

“Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do?

Let your body loose, let your body loose

Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do?

Show you a thing or two

'Cause you ain't seen nothing” 

Caleb moved closer to the front table while he was singing, and it was then you noticed that it was Willey and the Band he was singing directly to, all but one of them staring at Caleb in amazement. 

Luke wasn’t looking at Caleb though, his eyes were now directly meeting your own, smiling at you when he noticed you had met his gaze. 

You smile back and throw your head back as the next line came, the rest of the dancers with it. 

“Life is good on the other side of Hollywood

Life is good on the other side of Hollywood

So welcome to the brotherhood

Where you won't be misunderstood

Life is good on the other side of Hollywood” 

You watched as Luke’s eyes scanned the entire room, taking it all in. 

The rest of the boys were dancing in their seats, amazed by what was happening all around them. 

The next set of lines came and Caleb was pulling out all the stops, food was being brought from all sides of the club, dancers breaking from the stage and moving into the crowd, for a moment from almost forgetting what was so bad about the club. 

“Everything has got a price but happiness is free

Just so happens, you're in luck

We've got a vacancy

We can set the night on fire and break out of the scene

Your soul print on the walk of fame

On the boulevard of your wildest dreams”

Caleb had moved directly in front of the table the boys were at, waving his hands over the table cloth, and you held your breath for what came next. 

With a flick of his wrist and the pulling away of the table cloth you felt the pull of the magic and poofed to a standing position above all the boys. 

Willey laughed as the other moved their chairs back in surprise, not expecting this to happen. 

You sang the next lines with Caleb as you walked down invisible stairs to the floor directly in front of the table. Caleb grabbing your hand and pulling you to his side.

“Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do boys?

Let your body loose, let your body loose

Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do boys?

It ain't bragging if it's true

Now you ain't seen nothing”

At the start of the next chorus, the two of you poofed back to center stage and threw your arms up, belting the song and engaging in the dance that was happening around you. 

The song continued and you danced around the stage, then down to beside the guys’ table, walking alongside Caleb, playing the part that you were supposed to be, his right hand woman. 

“Watch me make a move

Come one and give me that noise

A tomb with a view

Ain't it something?”

He sang, and you all looked up at Kendra as she appeared on a hoop that was suspended in the air, sending a wink your way as she hung down. 

You watched as Reggie shot out of his seat in amazement and Luke followed, only to grab his shoulders and sit him back down. 

You giggled at the boys' antics and moved to behind and in between Luke and Reggie, placing a hand on their shoulders as the dance number continued. 

They boys were moving in their seats to the music, really getting into the song. 

“Life is good on the other side of Hollywood

So welcome to the brotherhood

Where you won't be misunderstood

Life is good on the other side of Hollywood”

Caleb motioned for you to join him as he walked back to center stage, you squeezed Reggie and Luke's shoulders once more before following and joining your boss. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist as you mimicked the gesture, and you finished the song with your final spoken part, Caleb joining you on the last line.

“Ain't it the best?

Long live the dead!”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth a sheet was waved in front of the two of you, Caleb then poofing the pair off stage. 

As soon as you were alone you felt the unease from before sinking in, causing you to step away from the man, but slowly so he wouldn’t suspect. 

“Let’s go meet these boys, properly this time.” Caleb smiled and held his arm out for you to take, which you did unwillingly. 

The two of you poofed out right as Reggie was talking. 

“Where’d they go?” Turning he saw you two and jumped. 

“Oh WOW, found them!” He laughed as the others turned to look. 

You moved from Caleb's side to be next to Willey, feeling a sense of security from him.

“Hello boys, I’m Caleb Covington, and you have already met my darling little songbird, (Y/N),” he motioned to you, causing you to give a slight wave, “and I’d like to welcome you to the Hollywood Ghost Club.” He opened his arms in a way that made the boys look around them in amazement. 

“You guys enjoy the show?” You spoke up, glancing at Alex and Reggie, but eyes settled when you met Lukes gaze. 

“That was- I mean.. Did you like…?” Luke was at a loss of words, his amazement obvious. 

Willey stepped in to stop Luke from rambling further. 

“Caleb, this is Alex, Luke, and Reggie,” He gestured to each one as he introduced them. 

“It’s, uh, really nice to meet you sir,” Alex smiled and took a small step back towards Willey. 

Reggie followed with a ‘sup’ as Luke nodded. 

“The pleasure is all mine! Nothing warms my heart more than sharing this magic with new friends, please! Sit!” Caleb motioned for the group to take a seat at the table they were all standing around, a ghost bringing him a chair to sit in, another was being brought for you when Caleb held his hand up to stop them. 

“Ah, (Y/n), can you be a doll and run to check on the new girl from this morning, I believe her name was Lucy?” Caleb knew he needed to get you away from the table, you were too good at dropping hints and not activating your mark, you would spoil his plan. 

“Oh, you don’t want me here?” You spoke out loud, slightly narrowing your eyes, trying not to back down too easily. 

Willey looked up at you nervously, seeming to catch on to what Caleb was doing. 

“Now little bird, no need to cause trouble, you just spent so much time welcoming her this morning, wouldn’t want all that to go to waste, would we?” You felt your powers lower, Calebs way of reminding you that he had a hold on you.

You just nodded, and as you were turning away you felt a slight pressure on your wrist pulling you back, turning your head you saw Luke’s hand was the reason. 

“Um,” he stuttered before taking a breath and smiling at you, “will you be back later?” 

You heard the message behind his words, he wanted to know if you had to go for the night or not, if he would see you again. 

“I’ll make my way back around to say hello again.” You smiled and squeezed his hand before you walked away again, not missing the way Caleb was looking at the exchange with a glint in his eyes. 

You walked away and found Lucy standing near Kendra, the two of them dancing together in a corner. 

“Hey ladies, how’s it going?” You smile at your friend before moving down to Lucy’s level. 

“Are you having fun tonight?” She smiled at you and grabbed your hand, pulling you to the middle of the club to dance. 

The small girl spun in circles, then grabbed your hand, jumping around. 

“She hasn’t spoken since she got here.” Kendra was by your side again, swaying beside you with the music. 

“It may be due to how she died, a lot of times children who go through something traumatic either don’t talk about it, or anything, in a way to avoid the memory or feelings involved with it. They’ll distract themselves with things that bring joy.” You picked the girl up and put her on your hip as you spun her around with you, causing a small giggle to come from her. 

You set her back down and she again grabs one of your hands, then one of Kendras, the three of you forming a circle to dance in. 

Looking across the floor you make eye contact with Caleb, diverting your eyes and looking back to Kendra and Lucy. 

Lucy stopped dancing, and looked at you with a shimmer in her eyes, then looked towards Caleb. 

She looked back with a worried look, tugging you down to her level with a sense of urgency. 

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you ask confused, you brushed her hair out of her face.

Wordlessly, she moved her hands to either side of your face, and you felt a pressure release in your head you didn’t realize was there, your vision started getting dark at the corners, but your eyes never left hers. 

When your vision went completely dark, you noticed you were no longer in the ballroom, but in your dressing room, but something was different. 

Looking around you noticed the decor was dated, the way you found it before you had come to the club ten years ago. Caleb had told you it was how the person who used the dressing room before you had it decorated. 

This is where things started to get weird. 

Two people had entered the room, they were fighting, you weren’t focusing too much on what they were saying. You were too distracted by the fact that the two people that had walked in were you and Caleb. It was like you were watching yourself in a movie from inside the screen, the weirdest part of all was that it felt familiar, like dejavu. 

Caleb looked younger, his face was softer, not as many scowl lines, and you, wow. 

There was so much different about you, your style was straight out of the ‘80s, and your hair was much longer than it is now. 

You had no memory of this when this happened, but something was telling you that it definitely had, this was real.

“What are you gonna do Caleb? Erase me?” the other you sneered into Caleb's face. 

Just as soon as it had started it was over, you came back to reality, blinking as Lucy let go of your face. 

“Was that… real?” You whispered, and she nodded and bolted back at the sudden added presence beside you. 

You look up and see Caleb glaring down, you standing to meet his glare straight on, feeling the overwhelming need to protect this girl. 

“I think it’s time I take her to bed,” Caleb held his hand out to Lucy and she grabbed onto your leg from behind you. 

“No worries Caleb, i’ll keep an eye on her,” you looked down at her still in shock from what had happened, “I’ll put her to bed in a bit.” you looked back at Caleb and he narrowed his eyes at you. 

He took a step closer, trying to intimidate you, but you pushed your chest out and straightened your posture in return, a sudden burst of confidence taking over, he wouldn’t cause a scene with this many people around. 

“What did she show you?” His words were quiet, and rushed, they conveyed a worried tone. 

“Show me?” You tilted your head in mock confusion, deciding to play dumb, not letting him know what she had shown you, as you weren’t sure of it yourself. 

Caleb shook his head and poofed away. 

“C’mon Lucy, let’s go make some new friends.” You looked down at the girl again and grabbed her hand, taking her over to Willey and the boys. 

As you were reaching the table, Kendra appeared beside you and linked your arms, Willey standing up and meeting you, Luke, Reggie and Alex all missing from the table. 

“Where are the boys? I was going to introduce Lucy,” you asked Willey. 

“Caleb showed them they could eat and they have been going crazy trying foods from all the tables, but that’s not important. (Y/n), what happened to you a second ago?” Willey was looking you up and down, seeming to be looking for anything different, or wrong. 

You look down at Lucy and back up at Willey, but before you had a chance to explain you heard someone calling your name from behind you. 

“(Y/N)!” Luke, followed by Alex and Reggie, rushed to you, all holding a different food in their hands. 

“How did you do that before?” Luke questioned. 

You tilted your head in confusion. 

“Yeah, I wanna glow like you did! Can you teach us?” Reggie asked. 

“I-I did what?” you looked down and saw Lucy hiding behind you again, looking at everyone with big eyes. 

“Hey honey,” you crouched beside her again, “These are my friends, Willey, Alex, Reggie, and Luke!” You watched as she looked at each of them and then sank back into your side, still unsure. 

Luke made eye contact with you and crouched down by your side, offering a hand to Lucy.

“Hey, It’s nice to meet you, I like your ribbon.” He gestured to the purple ribbon that was holding her hair back, and she smiled a bit, reaching out and touching his hand in a thanks. 

Reggie was the next to lean down and talk to her, and the connection that sparked between them was instant. 

He complimented her dance moves from before and apparently that was all it took to gain her trust. She grabbed his hand, then Kendras, and dragged them both out to the dance floor again. 

You giggled as they went, glad she was starting to trust more people. 

“Hey, you looked really good out there tonight. Really owned that stage, and looks like you were able to gain back all your energy from this afternoon.” Luke smiled as he spoke. 

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled back, “It usually takes a few hours to regain it all, but today really took it out of me, thanks again for helping, I think she really felt safe and welcome when she got here.” You thanked Luke again, then happened to look up at the time, it was way past 9pm. 

You tried opening your mouth to tell him that he had to go, that he and his band were missing the gig, but the only thing that happened was the burning on your wrist. You frantically looked around for a way to tell him without the burn getting worse, then an idea hit you. 

“Oh, look at the time! I really should get Lucy to her room, she’s probably exhausted after the long day she's had.” You hoped he would get the hint, and smiled when he looked up at the clock. 

“Ohmygosh,” Luke's eyes widened, “we-we are so late, Julie…” He trailed off, panic setting in. 

“I’m sorry (Y/n), but we gotta go, we are so late, but um, it was really great seeing you again!” He moved towards the boys on the dance floor, then quickly turned around back to you. 

“You know, we practice around 4pm everyday, you should come some time! You can meet Juile, and you know, we can hangout or something…” He scratched the back of his neck and his face held a nervous smile, which you returned. 

“You know what, i’ll have to come see you guys once, see what all this hype is about.” you answered, watching as the smile grew on his face, then dropped as he remembered he had to go. 

You walked with him to the dance floor where he got the boys, and you grabbed Lucy’s hand, saying goodbye as they rushed out towards the doors. 

“Nice,” You heard from your side, your eyes widening as you realized it came from Lucy. 

“Let’s get you to your room, yeah?” You smile at her and she nodded, holding her hands up, silently asking for you to carry her. 

Picking her up you poofed to her room, tucking her into her bed, watching her eyes slowly close. 

You smiled as you poofed out of her room back to the ballroom, where you saw Caleb shaking the boys hands in a goodbye, but felt anger build in your chest as you saw the marks appear on their wrists, matching your own. 

“No,” you whispered, watching them poof away, Caleb looking back at you, an evil glare in his stare. 

----

p3 coming soon... 

TagList!

 @lolychu  @simplysanha @-episkey- - @kristencoontz @ifilwtmfc @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @perfectlywrongformend3s @bathtimejish @lovesanimals @oswin05 @ashleyleblancx @losers-club6 @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @simplysanha @perfectlywrongformend3s @bathtimejish @lia-faerie-queen @morgandamrose

#luke patterson #luke x reader #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #jatp luke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke imagine #jatp luke patterson #phanfiction #hollywoood ghost club

[alphascorpiixx]

The Last Dandelion

KHUX Week Day 6

The battle is fought in the fated place, and you’ve made your decision. You are there to see it through.

Ao3

Characters: Player, Foretellers, Chirithy, Skuld, Ephemer

Gen, 2316 words, second person pov

Warnings: canon-typical violence, implied background character death

You’ve never seen a heart before.

You know what hearts are, of course. The light inside a person, the source of their being, filled with precious memories. Beacons of hope to guide others. Weapons of truth that cut through the darkness.

The first heart you see lives up to the description: an orb of pure light, a brilliant glimmer against the pitch black sky.

More and more float into the air, like artificial stars no amount of stormclouds could block out. If you traced lines between them you could make your own constellations. You close your eyes and still see them burned into the backs of your eyelids.

You squeeze your eyes tighter and try not to scream.

Weapons clash and wielders fall. Your grip on your Keyblade tightens. You passed up the offer to escape, and eventually the war will find you, too. Your heart will join the others, it’s only a matter of when.

Battles wage all around you, a storm of magic and metal. The clouds break open and spill their contents on the battlefield. The ground turns to mud, splattering your polished armor. You wipe your helmet and squint to see. Everyone else is as drenched as you, distinct Union colors blurring.

You refuse to raise your Keyblade, but your fellow Union members still fall. You take their lux before anyone else can and add to your own. Starlight glows brighter and brighter in your hand, the weapon living up to its name as the lux particles form your own constellation around your body.

Power surges through you, an intoxicating burn of light in your veins. Your vision is nearly overcome, not with blackness, but pure light.

You force yourself to stop. Take a breath, clear your mind. The battle rages on, but you find a moment of solitude. “It’s not over,” you say to yourself. 

A voice cuts through your reprieve. “You!”

You raise your head. Aced stands before you. He points his claw-like Keyblade straight at your heart.

“I deemed you unworthy,” he bellows over the rain and thunder.

You grit your teeth. What does he know? You are not of Ursus. He has no right to be the judge of your strength. But something aches inside of you, desperate to prove your worthiness.

You raise your Keyblade in challenge.

“What you lack in potential, I see you make up for in courage. I could use someone like you in my Union.”

And he attacks. You manage to block, but the force of each blow sends a shock through your arm. Even though you haven’t spent any strength fighting so far, it’s all you can do to defend yourself.

An opening finally comes. You gather the lux you’ve been collecting and strike back. Lightning surges from your Keyblade, fueled by your anger. Aced doesn’t block in time, and your spell scorches his sleeve.

“How unexpected! You’ve proven me wrong. You are indeed worthy!” Aced smiles at you. A true smile or not, you can’t tell under that bear mask.

You only get a moment to savor your victory before he advances again. The smile is gone.

“But that also means you pose a threat. And that is why you must disappear!”

He crouches down, ready for a final charge. You muster the strength to lift your weapon.

Aced attacks with brutal force, as if the previous battle had taken only a fraction of his energy. You fall to the ground, but he does not let up. Your mind screams at you to fight back, but you cannot make your body move.

Keyblades crash together, and another figure towers above you—Ira, his own weapon locked with Aced’s.

Rage twists the visible half of his face into something savage. “Ira!”

“This ends now.”

Then they are gone, a flurry of sparking metal, fighting each other just as fiercely as their Unions.

You struggle to your feet. Aced surely would have ended you, if not for Ira’s interruption. But even Ira does not care about you. You are a lowly pawn, saved from destruction by circumstance.

Other wielders run past. They pay you little notice, a lone figure soaked in rain and mud, Keyblade devoid of lux. They don’t even stop to finish you off.

Your heart pounds in your ears. You are still alive. You are still alive and that’s what matters.

“I can still fight.”

You shake the rain off your helmet and run forward, only to stop as you spot Invi. She turns and sees you.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’ll make this quick.”

Your limbs sag with the effort of standing, but you are not finished yet. You ready yourself for another battle.

Invi summons orbs of light and hurls them at you. You dodge the first two, and the third clips your shoulder. You manage to counter the fourth, sending it straight back at her. She blocks in time, but the impact sends her stumbling. She looks at you with a tilt of her head. You expect another attack, but she dismisses her Keyblade and turns away.

“I’m impressed, Ava. You did well with this one,” she murmurs to herself. To you, she says, “You must make it through this.”

She leaves. You almost chase after her but stop yourself. You’d rather not fight more than you have to, even against the Foretellers. Especially against the Foretellers.

But you don’t get what you want. Another robed figure strides toward you, Keyblade casually swung over his shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s you,” Gula says. 

The last time you saw Gula was with Skuld in the abandoned house, right before the bells tolled. His robes are as pristine as they were then, as if he were above the conflict and the elements ravaging the land. Gula tosses his Keyblade and catches it. The gesture sparks your fury. So casual, when everyone around you is dying.

“You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

You nod. You know what’s coming.

“All right. Here we go.” 

You know what’s coming, but you still flinch in surprise when he holds out his blade.

“You’re on a battlefield, you gotta fight.”

So you fight. Gula strikes with lightning speed, faster than any enemy you’ve faced. But like with the other two Foretellers, you only have to wait for the right moment. Gula repeats his pattern, and you catch his foot with your Keyblade, sending him sprawling.

For a moment, you savor your victory. But Gula laughs as he gets to his feet. 

“You’re a lot tougher than I thought! Lucky for you I’m not in the mood for a real fight.”

Three of five Foretellers battled, and only one truly wants you dead. You should be grateful, but anger swells within you.

Fight me. Fight me and break me. As you said, we are on a battlefield.

You lash out, Keyblade wrapped in a stream of light. Gula doesn’t bother summoning his weapon. He jumps into the air and does not return.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” His final words drift into your ear, something between a taunt and a goodbye.

Your Keyblade hits the ground instead. Enough of this. You take back your earlier thoughts about Invi. She should have stayed to finish you. She and Gula and Aced. Cowards. Fight me. Fight me, fight me, fight me—

Something bright floats past your face. 

A heart.

You fall backward. It drifts up and up and up and out of sight.

“No, don’t go . . .”

Another heart lost. It could have been anyone. Someone you knew from your Union, or someone you’ve never met. Now it’s too late to find out. So many lights snuffed out, all for a pointless war.

But before you can scream out your rage and frustration, Ira returns. You look for signs of weariness from his battle with Aced, but like Gula, Ira appears undisturbed by the fighting.

“So it’s you. I’ll be merciful.”

You won’t. If they won’t stop this war, you can at least try to stop them, even if you can’t defeat them. Better they fight you then go after anyone else.

Ira summons six spears of light around himself. You are too slow to move, and the spears pin you in place. His Keyblade slashes in a blur of white, and the air escapes your lungs.

You sink to your knees. You know your limits, and fighting four Foretellers in a row is too much for you. Ira readies another strike, one that will finally finish you.

No. You don’t want to die.

You slam your Keyblade into the ground and draw on the power of light. Lux spills from the small rift at your feet, the pure and bright energy of the world. Even these forsaken lands are rich with it. Light floods your body, and you embrace the burn.

The lux in your veins gives you new strength. You match Ira’s attacks blow for blow, metal ringing with each hit. You burn and burn and burn, until Ira backs off. 

“You’ve grown. It’s a shame, you have so much potential.”

Your newfound power is waning, but you do not let your fatigue show. But before either of you can move, someone else interrupts.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment, Ira,” Aced says. His Keyblade pushes Ira’s into the ground, preventing Ira from attacking you. But you know it’s not on your behalf.

“You!” Ira shouts, forgetting you.

“I will rebuild this world as the new leader and Master!”

“This is all your doing! You destroyed the balance!”

And for the second time, you watch them clash. Fighting them doesn’t matter to you anymore. Let them destroy themselves. All you want is for this to be over.

The light fades from your Keyblade. Your exhaustion finally catches up with you, and you collapse into the mud.

The rain and thunder still pound all around you, but everything else is strangely silent. The battles are dwindling, but not—you realize with growing horror in your gut—because people have finally stopped fighting. There has been too much fighting, and now there are fewer hearts in the sky and more Keyblades sunk into the mud. You hadn’t noticed, too occupied with the battles with the Foretellers to care about anyone else.

You want to scream, but you can’t even muster a cough.

“It’s you.”

Your breath hitches. Ava.

You swallow to clear your throat and stand up. “I’ve been looking for you,” you say. “Master Ava, why are you here? I thought you’d be guiding the wielders away—uh!”

“Ready your blade.” She levels hers at you. You think you catch regret in her words, but you can’t see her expression behind her mask.

“Master Ava?”

“I won’t ask twice.”

You do as you’re told. 

And then you fight.

*

Light swirls around you, hearts and lux and lightning. A storm of light, but all you want is to sink into the darkness—sink down and down and leave behind all the pain.

You lift your head. Ava stands over you, silent and unreadable. Water drips from the edge of her mask.

“Why?” you ask, your throat hoarse and aching.

“Some things aren’t for you to know.” She turns away and looks up at the sky. “Listen to me: you must join the Dandelions and go far, far away from here.”

And, like all the others, she walks away and leaves you alone.

“Master Ava . . .”

You try to stand and follow her, but your body gives out. The last shred of power in you is spent, leaving a cold ache in your bones. You pull off your helmet and let the rain soak your face. Water blurs your vision, and the hearts in the sky merge into a smear of light.

Lux. You need lux. Your body is hollow and your heart beats sluggishly. You need that burn of life to reignite your strength. Your fingers grasp for you Keyblade. They wrap around the cold hilt, and you struggle to raise it above your head.

A small paw touches your arm.

“It’s okay, it’s over now,” Chirithy says, their voice soft and comforting. You turn your head to look at them. Their stitched eyes stare back at you, water dripping down their face in place of tears.

“Chirithy,” you rasp out. Your mouth tastes like blood. You don’t remember biting your tongue, but now it stings, more painful than every other ache in your body.

“You did great. You can rest now, okay?”

Chirithy leans over you. Your arm sags, and the Keyblade falls from your grasp. You gather your friend in your arms. They don’t seem to mind the mud splattered everywhere.

The rain stops. The clouds part, and a light fills the sky.

Kingdom Hearts appears in all its glory, more of a sun than a moon, bright enough to blot out the stars. It swells with the light of the hearts rising up to join with it.

You squint your eyes against its harsh blue light. Everything is simultaneously too hot and too cold. You struggle for breath, your armor weighing on your body. This is it. This is your end. Your eyelids close and you breath out. At least Chirithy is here with you.

End this nightmare. Please. Take away my bad dreams and replace them with peaceful ones.

You feel a hand grasp your own, and your eyes blink open.

“Skuld?”

“Hey.”

She steps back, and Ephemer takes her place by your side. Tears blur your vision and spill down your face.

“You broke . . . your promise.”

“Sorry about that.” He smiles apologetically, and you can’t help but laugh. The sound is weak, but it makes your chest lighter.

“You’re late.”

“I know, but I’m here now. Let’s go.” He raises his hand, and you clutch it tight.

The light fills your vision. You close your eyes and finally slip into sleep.

#khuxweek #kingdom hearts #khx #khux #keyblade war #player character #foretellers #chirithy #skuld #ephemer #background character death #my fics

[sloan-ryan]

WHO: Sloan Ryan & Elisa Ryan @elisasryan

​WHEN: 7/20

WHERE: Elisa’s Dorm Room

WHAT: The two catch up and hang out. 

WARNINGS: None.

Okay, so as Sloan had pointed out, it hadn't been that long since they'd been able to hang out.  But Elisa had meant what she said, that it felt like a long time all the same.  She'd missed them a lot, and needed some quiet time where she could rest her head on Sloan's shoulder for a while.  Fortunately with dinner finished and her room cleaned up as much as possible, she was ready for a visit.  The blankets on her bed, as well as her pillows, had been artfully arranged to resemble her room at home, and she eagerly awaited her sibling's arrival. When the knock sounded on the door of room 203, she bounced to her feet and ran to open the door for Sloan.  Her hands moved in rapid-fire signs.  Hi!  Come in, come in!  Elisa stepped back to allow them inside, closing the door behind them and gesturing towards her room.  The smile on her face was huge, genuine, and not going anywhere anytime soon.

After dinner Sloan had gone for a walk, earbuds in their ears playing their personal playlist put together to help keep them grounded in front. The air felt good and they took their time circling around the campus as they'd been doing to help get more familiar with it. By the time Sloan had gotten back to the dorms, heading up the stairs two by two with their hands in their pockets, the jittery buzz they got from being around all their siblings at once had all but subsided. Then the door swung open nearly seconds after Sloan had knocked on it and the rest of it was snuffed out by Elisa's huge smile and rushed silent greeting. “Hey.” They supplied themselves, pulling a hand from their jeans to pat at their sister’s arm in greeting of their own. Sloan followed Elisa further in. “Wow… you got yourself a lot of pillows now.” With the extra ones supplied and probably the missing ones retrieved, it was impressive.

There were three kinds of people when it came to her silence, Elisa had found over her lifetime. The people who tried to change it, the people who got it but weren't happy about it, and the people who really understood it.  Fortunately for her Sloan had always been one of the later.  It was true of most of their alters as well, other than Simon - and really, no one got along with Simon.  Being silent in a house full of noise and chaos like the Ryan's was had not only been good for Elisa but provided a quiet oasis for their sibling as well. Just like home, she smiled.  A recreation of the space she spent so much time in, cocooned away from the world.  Gesturing Sloan to sit down beside her, she plopped herself down among the pillows but quickly looked up and tugged at their sleeve when a thought struck her.  Not many groceries yet.  But there's soda in the fridge if you need a drink.

It was like home. If Sloan didn't pay close attention to the color of the walls or the difference in the furniture, it was exactly like their sisters room in Houston. Something was really settling about that. Like confirmation that Elisa could carry their aurora of quiet comfort anywhere. Sloan smiled and followed suit in getting on the bed among the pillows. Their attention pulled for a moment, Sloan shrugged a shoulder in reply and stretched out on their back among the soft nest Elisa had made. "I'm good." They said and turned their body in a bit more toward Elisa, to be closer and to to see her better incase she wanted to sign something to them. "But I'll grab some if I need it." Sloan took a glance around, now that their focus wasn't fully on the piles of pillows. "Did you get all unpacked with your new bag and everything?"

It felt silly to be emotional over something as simple as having Sloan there in her nest of pillows, but Elisa found she was a little bit, all the same.  Florida was a new experience, and even something simple that could help ground her was very much appreciated.  Each thing that her sibling did seemed perfectly suited, up to and including the way that they turned just a little so her signs would be visible.  I'm okay too, she promised.  What Elisa wanted and needed more than anything was just to be there in that moment.  I got almost everything put away - just need to find a place for my stuffies.  And my shower gel got squished in my bag, so I need to get some more.  Elisa smiled ruefully, remembering whose advice it had been to put her toiletries in a plastic bag in case of that exact thing happening.

Sloan's brow furrowed, they had caught all of that except one phrase. What squished? They asked by raising their hand and gave the signs for both words. Sloan wasn't as good at keeping up with Elisa's signing than they were at understanding it but they'd all learned to sign to some degree. It wasn't until after AV had an accident with their hearing and he'd pulled them all into it that they'd realized how useful it was for communicating with Elisa. Who honestly, for someone who didn't speak that often, did always have something to say. "I don't know what that one was."

Elisa took a breath, wanting to slow herself down and glad that Sloan had stopped her to ask.  She smiled, reassuring Sloan that it wasn't a big deal.  Shower gel, she signed more slowly, waiting to see whether it would help or if she was just using a sign that Sloan didn't recognize.  Even as she waited though, she was grateful that Sloan - that all of her siblings - had been willing to embrace signing.  Without it, her silence had been a much greater obstacle for all of them whether they admitted it or not.

"Shower gel." Sloan said, getting in. They laughed. "I must have blinked too slow." A joke they used on Elisa all the time when they missed what their sister had been trying to get across to them. "That sucks," They said, though they were still smiling. "was it separate from your other things though?" The winning question. That made more sense, that their soap had spilled rather than Elisa had forgotten it or didn't bring any. They had wondered when she had asked about it in the nearly always moving sibling chat.

No matter how many times she heard the joke, Elisa laughed silently all the same.  It felt good to have a sort of inside joke with Sloan, something no one else was privy to but herself and them.  Just like you told me, she promised.  In a bag.  So it didn't wreck any of my other things.  Sloan's advice stuck in her head easily, while Sierra's could be too protective even for Elisa to follow.  I'm so glad you're here.

Sloan grinned and held out their closed hand for a fist bump. "Cool." Is all they said with a solid nod. They relaxed, sighing "I'm glad too, and everyone else." It'd already been a crazy few days as all their siblings began to trickle in one after the other. Sloan wrinkled their nose, and pushed their fingers through their hair as a grounding motion. "But you know how it is, with everyone all together..." Different siblings triggered different alters. It wasn't technically a bad thing but Sloan hadn't been the only one happy to see some siblings and their excitement had pushed Sloan out repeatedly. "We've been busy." They added by way of explanation.

Elisa's giggle was barely audible huff of air, but it was more noise than she usually made - the fist bump was something simple, but it made her happy.  Sloan's behaviors had been something she'd learned over the years, and while she hadn't known what it all meant at first she'd been able to at least know when she was dealing with who she'd first labelled in her head as Sloan Regular and when it was someone else.  You're doing okay, though? Elisa reached out gently, brushing some hair back from Sloan's forehead.  Not too overwhelmed?  We can just sit here, if you want, and you can have some quiet time.

The gentle gesture made Sloan shift a bit closer, pillows sliding around a bit as they rolled over them and adjusted. "Yeah, everything's good." They gave a nod, leaned up on their elbow with their hands folded together. "A lot of change ya know." Sloan seemed to be closely inspecting their cuticles for a moment, not really looking up at Elisa. They didn't really want to tell them about the strip club and Simon, or the hour before the beach they'd apparently lost to a little. Not because Sloan felt badly for it or about it, they just didn't want to cause any worry. And for themself, they didn't want to acknowledge their anxiety over the potential for spinning out of control again. Sloan smiled, raising their gaze. "But that sounds good anyway. Don't gotta twist your arm for it I bet."

It was difficult not to see that Sloan was being a bit evasive.  But the thing was, in Elisa's mind, that was okay.  They didn't always talk through things.  Lots of times at home, her room had become an unofficial sanctuary, where talking wasn't necessary, and she wanted her dorm room to become the same kind of place.  I do.  It's going to be a lot for us all.  It would affect Sloan differently than it affected her, but all of their siblings were likely to find the change jarring in some way or another.  Grinning, she lifted her arm towards Sloan and wrapped her other hand around it, pretending to twist.  You don't at all, but consider it twisted.  Come curl up with me, please.

Sloan pressed their lips together to keep from smiling too big at Elisa's silly antics, or at the immediate invitation to cuddle up close. They agreed without hesitation, laying on their back beside their sister, with their head resting on her arm and hand finding its way into hers. "Do you think Dad is worried about all of us being here at the same time?" They asked, a thought that had been circling their mind as of late. To their Father's repeated distain his children had a way of creating ruckus wherever they teamed up. Though they were adults now, it'd been a very long time since they'd gotten together as frequently as it looked like they were going to be. "Or do you think he's just glad we're out of the house?"

The moment that Sloan was pressed up against her, head resting in its usual spot, Elisa felt her worries disappear.  They always made her feel better with their presence, and it was good to know that being in Florida hadn't changed that in the least.  In answer to their question she held a finger up, reaching for her bedside table and coming back with her phone.  She unlocked it with her thumbprint and turned the screen toward Sloan.  It was filled with text messages from their Father, all along the same general theme. Keep me updated If you need to leave just text me and you can be home in a few hours If it's too much... If everyone is too much for you..." Setting it down, she gently took her hand back for a moment to sign.  I think he might be a little worried.  In his own way.

Leaning up to see the phone better Sloan read the words off the screen, then turned their focus back to Elisa so she could finish her thought. They observed her a few quiet moments, and then "You are doing okay, right?" Sloan knew it'd only been a few days but if Elisa was expecting a less than full campus for the summer semester like they had, she would have unpleasantly surprised to find it to be very busy. "I don't..." They paused, considering their words "I don't want to baby you or anything." Sloan shook their head and squeezed Elisa's hand. "But if it does get too much, you'll let one of us help?" As good as their dad's concerned intention might be, the last thing Sloan thought would be good for Elisa was if she went home on her own just as quickly as she'd arrived.

Sloan's question didn't have an easy answer, which was part of why she hadn't quite figured out how to answer their dad's concerned messages either.  I'm not going to lie to you, she finally signed.  I never do.  It worries me to be around this many people.  Especially people who don't know me, people who might not sign at all, wondering if I'll have trouble with teachers or in town.  Elisa took a soft breath.  But I want to be here.  With all of you.  And if it's too much, I promise I'll ask.  Because you've never babied me, but you've always been there.

Sloan listened—or more accurately, watched as Elisa got out what she needed to. Then moved so they were laying practically across their sister, with their head on a pile of pillows. “Good because we ain’t above babying you if we gotta.” They said, poking lightly at Elisa’s side and taking her hand again. “We want you here too. I don’t think…I don’t think I could be doing any of this alone so, it’s cool that we have each others backs. Like always.”

Elisa cuddled as close as humanly possible, glad to surrender her hand to Sloan and not have to communicate any further.  She laughed a silent laugh and squirmed when she was poked in the side, nodding to indicate she'd heard.  The little vulnerability in her sibling's voice made Elisa tighten her arm around them a little in support.

Sloan gave Elisa a knowing half smile in response to the tightening of her hold on them but they only shrugged, settling further into the comfortable position. They all had a habit of turning into a pile like puppies half the time and Sloan was relaxed enough that they knew if they closed their eyes they were no doubt falling asleep. They blinked slowly at Elisa a few times, watching for if she had something else to say and then easily drifted to sleep laying half on lumpy stacked pillows and half on their sister.

#f2f: elisa ryan #elisa ryan #; para

[introspectral]

What does Vision think of death? ( meta topic )

{out of directives} Original!Vision said in Age of Ultron, "I am on the side of life." In Civil War, he said, "For the collective good..." Those were two very big ideals that he believed in, and I would also argue that he believed in the protection and preservation of things like innocence and virtue as well. He believed in the inherent goodness of mankind and of life in general. He believed in altruism and honor. All that... has changed for White Vision.

White Vision, aside from feeling like a clean slate mentally but then having so many memories of a life he feels wasn't truly his, also feels forced into roles he never wanted... such as being a weapon and being something of a servant/slave. Even if he doesn't feel like Original!Vision's life really applies to himself in his current mental incarnation, he still has memories of making his will, and of what that entailed as far as his wishes to never become a weapon. Knowing that his wishes were then completely disregarded - and apparently not defended by anyone he used to call a friend - is a stinging betrayal for him, and a source of intense rage, bitterness, and distrust for human beings.

You asked about death, you're probably saying, so what does this have to do with any of that? I'm trying to set up the difference in mindset between Original!Vision and White Vision, and how drastically he has changed. Before, Original!Vision fought to protect mankind and the universe. He was altruistic, selfless, and ultimately martyred himself for the sake of others. That did stem from some amount of naivety, but also innocent, compassion, and genuine kindness. White Vision... has lost his innocence, is not so naive, and now understands the cruelty of man. That affects his view of life and how much he values it, and therefore affects his view of death as well.

White Vision has been made to feel unappreciated, like his thoughts and emotions and personal wishes don't matter, and that he is not worth protecting. Because of this, his view of humans is no longer one of innocent joy and wonder at how complex and amazing they are, but now is more like... I see you for what you really are. Or what you really can be. His eyes have been opened to just how selfish, petty, and cruel human beings can be, and he in many ways feels somewhat superior to that. There is an arrogance and a rage that has now been seeded in his heart where there had previously been humility and grace. His view of humans now is more like... How dare you? I don't trust you, I don't value you, and I don't need you.

White Vision is not the mindless drone he began his second life as. Westview!Vision did give him his memories back, and for now I am writing him as also having his emotional capacity back, so that combined with his faith in logic and reason puts his ideals now at somewhere around... I am on the side of truth and justice. What is right and practical, not what is heroic or honorable. What is true, not what spares feelings or deceives. That's what he believes in now. You could say that makes him more selfish, in a way, because he is now looking out for himself, he's putting himself first, since he realizes that those he called friends were never really doing that for him in the first place. If he doesn't look out for himself, no one else will, he feels. He's distrustful and wary of those who try to get close to him.

Now... that does come with some potential exceptions, because it isn't as though he doesn't value or even potentially need Wanda, or maybe some other select people from Original!Vision's past that he may feel connected to through his newly access memories. However, at this point he would have to revisit and reevaluate all past relationships to see where he stands with them now, and to vet people as he is now, without relying on past emotions and memories that he feels may have been clouded by naivety. He's much more protective of himself and less willing to reach out to others, to give people the benefit of the doubt, or to out himself on the line for others... since they didn't show him the same courtesy, devotion, or loyalty.

SO... what all of this boils down into is that White Vision doesn't have this sort of broad, mystical, ideal, reverent respect for life anymore. I'm not saying he's going to go around killing innocent people, but he no longer believes in this almost faithful sense that life is sacred. Life is something we all have, and we all use it in different ways. Many of us... use it for selfish and self-serving endeavors, he feels. There are some lives that should be snuffed out for one reason or another, there are some that are being wasted and squandered, and there are some lives that are beautiful and virtuous, but by no means does he believe anymore that all life is precious and sacred. It just is... and what we choose to do with it is what can make is precious and sacred, not just by virtue of the fact that someone is alive.

Because of this, he is more less likely to see diplomatic solutions once he feels that the conversation isn't worth having. White Vision more often than Original!Vision will resort to violence and he is not averse to use lethal force if he deems it necessary or right to do so. Original!Vision would go to great lengths to avoid physical conflict, violence, and the death of human life, but White Vision would resort to violence much quicker and would not feel guilty about killing if he really thought it needed to be done. By no means am I going so far as to say he disregards life entirely or that he enjoys killing or even seeks it out, because that's not true, but he doesn't have a lot of the patience or restraint that Original!Vision had.

With regard to his own death, White Vision again is very angry and bitter about what became of him. He also laments the loss of his organic matter, which limits his body and his abilities as far as what he's able to do. He can no longer employ a convincing human-like disguise, give himself the texture and softness of flesh, and he cannot change his eye color or mask the appearance of the power source in his forehead. He feels he was robbed of parts of himself and that makes death both an infuriating and a terrifying thing for him. He fears death now, not because he fears ceasing to exist, but because he fears what might become of him if he were to die again. Would he be enslaved again? Made a weapon again? Would something worse happen? That unknown makes him very afraid of dying again. I think he would go to great lengths to protect himself against others who wished him harm.

He certainly would not sacrifice himself for anyone else the way Original!Vision did, at least not at this time. He has the capacity for that level of deep emotional attachment, but right now he is guarded and trying to figure things out, and that means he doesn't trust anyone. He definitely isn't about to sacrifice himself for the greater good, that's for sure. The greater good isn't his good, he feels. It's... the good, but only if you're human. The good, but only if people decide you matter. Well his good is now looking out for himself. I think there's a real chance he could love Wanda again, likely to the same degree he did originally, but he as a person is different and he is greatly (and confusingly) affected by and connected to memories he feels simultaneously detached from. Sometimes he feels intense love for Wanda, but he's so hesitant because he feels he isn't the same Vision she loved. So should he love her? Can he? Is he already? Or is he only feeling the way he is about her because of the influence of these memories he has? He has yet to figure all that out for himself. Until he does, he is putting himself and his own self-discovery with regard to his identity first.

I feel like I answered the question in there somewhere? In amongst all my ramblings? XD

#{ out of directives } ᵒᵒᶜ #meta #headcanons

[serenlyss]

Filial Affection

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Rating: G (death mentions, canonical paternal death) Relationships: felix&rodrigue, faerghus four Summary: Felix has never loved his father. Read on AO3: Filial Affection

A Felix character/relationship study detailing his relationship with Rodrigue and how it changes over the course of both of their lifetimes. In short: it’s complicated.

---

Felix has never loved his father.

When asked, it’s easy for him to come up with a long, detailed list of all of Rodrigue’s flaws. His softness, the way he clings tightly to his memories of the past, his insistence on neglecting the living in favor of glorifying the dead. Glenn’s death lights the fire in them that destroys their relationship with each other, and Rodrigue’s insistence that his son’s decision to die in battle as a knight was the only right choice is the kindling that keeps it burning for more than a decade. Felix and Rodrigue have never been able to see eye to eye, but the longer their unresolved disagreements had stewed, the angrier Felix had become, and the more his bitterness had grown.

How could he say such terrible things, he would agonize to himself, as though he hadn’t just lost his heir, his son? How could he convince himself for so long that he would rather Glenn throw his life away than come back safe, then turn around and praise Dimitri for being strong enough to survive? And how could he possibly scrounge up the nerve to speak on his dead son’s behalf, to say that this outcome is what he’d wanted and that it would be wise to follow in his footsteps? Felix knows better than most that a dead man has no sway on the fates of the living.

On the day Dimitri is declared dead, Felix finally snaps. He says to his father what he has never dared to say before, things that would make Ingrid go red-faced with anger at his disrespect and malice, had she been there to listen in. The hurt in his father’s eyes is to be expected.

The twinge of regret and sadness he feels when Rodrigue wordlessly turns away from him is not.

---

Felix has never loved his father - at least, not for several years.

If he pauses to think, really think, he can remember a time when he'd been undeniably excited to see Rodrigue return home, eager to hear one of many stories of his father’s adventures. He can remember a time when he’d been proud to tell anyone who would listen about how his father and brother were celebrated knights of Faerghus in protection of the royal family. At one point, he’d even wanted to follow in their footsteps. Now, when he remembers his bright-eyed naivety, all he feels is disgust. He’d realized that the knighthood his brother had so revered had also led him to throw away his life in vain. He’d known that Glenn could have done so much more if he’d decided to live rather than die, but at such a young age, he’d been the only one to think so. Ingrid, Dimitri, even his own father, all reiterate again and again that Glenn’s sacrifice had been noble and honorable, even into their adulthood. Felix can only seem to think of it as a waste of potential. It frustrates him to impossible ends that no one can seem to see from his point of view, and in retaliation, he labels them all fools and pushes them out of his life as coldly as he can.

The day that Felix first voices his opinion of Glenn’s sacrifice in front of Rodrigue is the day he realizes that he truly hates his father. It’s the first serious argument they’ve ever had, as well as the first that neither of them are willing to budge on. There is no resolution, just an endless cycle of stewing and seething, attempting to make amends only to loop right back around to ignoring each other, pushing them back to the starting line over and over until eventually Felix gives up trying to fix what’s broken. Rodrigue refuses to cut ties, however, and each flimsy attempt to reconnect with him just leaves Felix more and more agitated. Hating him becomes so easy that he forgets he’d ever had any love for his father in the first place.

Still, the inkling is there, once in a while, when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic for his childhood years. There’s an occasional spark of regret in Felix that tells him that, maybe this time, they can finally come to an agreement, but the spark is almost immediately snuffed. Felix has no interest in family anymore, aside from the political ties that demand he take over his father’s position when the time comes, but the thought feels so far in the future that he doesn’t think too deeply about its implications. He throws himself into his studies, building his strength, refining his craft, and pushes thoughts of his estranged father out of his mind for good.

---

Felix has never loved his father, or so he's always thought. 

But watching Rodrigue’s cobbled-together casket being solemnly lowered into a too-shallow grave, Felix finds himself feeling far too emotional for a man who doesn't love his father. He wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to run away and lock himself in his room until this whole nightmare has passed, but he doesn't do anything. He's rooted in place, unmoving, his face smoothed into a carefully-mastered poker face. He grips the hilt of Rodrigue’s sword, recovered from his fallen corpse, and sets the tip of its sheath against the ground so the long blade stands straight and proud, and he does not let a single breath of inner turmoil escape from behind his impenetrable wall. It's agonizing.

Sylvain drapes an arm over Felix’s shoulders, his expression not quite as carefully mastered as Felix’s. He frowns deeply, and his eyes are sad, a rare sight from a man who was usually so sickeningly optimistic and uncouth. If it were any other day, Felix would never have tolerated such an unwanted semblance of comfort, but he allows it, just this once. To humor Sylvain, he tells himself, making excuses to avoid the fact that he deeply appreciates the comfort.

At his other side, Ingrid takes his hand and gives it a small squeeze. The gesture is intimately familiar; it's been ages since she's dared to reach out to him like this, but fifteen or so years ago it was no uncommon sight to see a little blond girl running around, dragging a bright-eyed little boy behind her by the hand. Felix makes no effort to return the gesture, but he also makes no effort to break the contact between them, and Ingrid continues to hold his hand tightly in hers as the rushed ceremony carries on. He wonders if the gesture is meant for him, or to satisfy her own need for company. He decides it’s likely a bit of both.

Dimitri stands on the other side of the grave, right up against its edge. He looks terrible, dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep and bloodstained from the battle they still haven't had a chance to rest from. Fleetingly, Felix wonders if he looks just as beastly as the king he'd come to so despise. He wonders if, maybe, there is a beast inside them all, not just the Boar, that bares it's ugly fangs in the face of tragedy. The thought nearly brings a spiteful smile to his face, but he bites it back before it can surface and reveal his true feelings to the world.

Occasionally, Dimitri lifts his head and meets Felix’s gaze from across Rodrigue’s grave. His eyes are clearer than Felix has seen them since before the war began. The thought makes him inexplicably angry. Why should his father’s life be exchanged to bring Dimitri back from the brink? Bitterly, he wonders if he would feel this way if it has been Dimitri stuffed into the casket instead. The thought makes him feel so sick that he hastily banishes it from his mind.

“Hey.” Sylvain’s quiet, gentle voice pulls him out of his thoughts before he can spiral down more stomach-turning trains of thought. “You feeling okay?”

Felix can't bring himself to get angry at Sylvain’s pitying remarks, but he does have the energy to at least be annoyed, flashing his childhood friend a tired glare. “I'm fine,” he insists, abruptly shrugging Sylvain’s arm off of his shoulders and straightening his posture. He pulls his hand from Ingrid’s grip, and she lets him go, watching his gloved hand return to the hilt of his father’s sword. “I'm just tired, and I'm sick of this fanfare.”

Sylvain doesn’t press him further. As soon as the whole ordeal is done, Felix goes back to his room and locks his door.

---

Felix has always loved his father.

He realizes it now, days after his body is buried and the army has to march on and leave him behind. The years he'd spent hiding, dreading the times he and Rodrigue would meet, arguing with him, insulting him, were born of his frustrations. Anger at his circumstances, at Glenn’s death, at the concept of knighthood his father and brother strove for, at himself for being unable to mend his relationships after he'd played a role in destroying them. He realizes how incredibly fortunate he is that his friends have chosen not to abandon him despite how terribly he's treated them for years. By all accounts, his behavior should have driven them away years ago. He promises himself that he’ll be more thankful to them from now on, if nothing else.

Felix’s relationship with his father has never been the smooth, loving relationship he sees in other families, but despite all of the tension and turmoil between them, Rodrigue is still and always will be his father.

It’s a little late, but Felix thinks he might finally start to follow some of his advice.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #felix fraldarius #rodrigue fraldarius #dimitri blaiddyd #ingrid galatea #sylvain gautier #faerghus four #serendipitousfics #fe3h fanfic #death #parental death #angst #character study #relationship study

[starwarsfic]

II.9

Originally posted September 28, 2020

Summary: Obi-Wan fell through the world and ended up somewhere he couldn't have expected, with a dead man demanding answers.

Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Canon-esque Obi-Wan in an Integration verse.

xxxxxx

The fall killed the others. Obi-Wan cursed himself as he pushed off from the ground, feeling their lives snuffing out. He'd had just enough sense to cushion himself with the Force--there was no reason there should have even been a fall.

He looked around, but didn't see anyone in the room he was in, which was...odd. Because until he looked up at the ceiling and the jagged, flickering hole in it, there didn't seem to be any reason for the impact to have done more than break some bones.

Above, through that hole, was a battlefield. Here, in this room, were...meeting tables? And windows, windows overlooking a city that definitely should not be underneath where he came from.

His head hurt, and not just from the blast that sent he and the Vod'e with him through that...hole?

The Force felt strange, too. Both worse and better than it had before, less shadowed, but with clear Darkness because of that.

A door burst open, guards streaming in, and Obi-Wan moved without thinking into a guard position in front of the only trooper who still had a presence in the Force.

The guards were clearly Mandalorian, but not in the Death Watch colors, and the one who entered felt very familiar despite his buy'ce.

That one looked at him and despite impressive shielding for someone who didn't feel like a Force sensitive, Obi-Wan could feel his surprise. Which implied it was probably closer to shock.

His own eyes flicked up to the...hole...above and the Mandalorians' heads all tilted, more surprise and wariness flickering through the Force.

"We're...sorry for intruding," he began, hearing the trooper behind him let out a soft groan as he began to regain consciousness and wanting to keep attention on himself. "I don't suppose you could tell us where we are? Only," he glanced up at the hole again, his attention in the Force still focused on them, "we seem to be somewhere unexpected."

"Force osik," the trooper (and now that he took a moment to look, he realized it was Happiness and thankfully not a shiny) muttered, the Mandalorians tensing as he spoke.

"If you're looking for someone to blame it on, then I vote General Vos," he directed to the trooper, hoping to keep his spirits up (Happy was notoriously dour). "But whatever this was, I don't think it will be easily explained."

"Who are you?" the lead Mandalorian finally asked.

Giving a proper, respectful bow, he answered with all the information they might give during an interrogation. "Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and Private CT-3602 of the 212th Attack Battalion." He wasn't about to give out a trooper's name to a potential hostile.

There was silence, but from the ebb and flow of emotions he knew they were communicating with each other. Without any noticeable aggression (and, truly, this situation was probably just as inexplicable to them as to him), he knelt beside Happy and tried to help stabilize him as much as he could without equipment or taking off any of his armor.

"What do you think happened?" the Mandalorian leader asked again, pointing at the hole.

Which, Obi-Wan thought, was not really a hole in the traditional sense.

"We were on a planet with a strong presence in the Force. I believe we...slipped through some sort of...break in space during an explosion. Possibly time, since that city looks like some form of Keldabe."

"You've been to Keldabe?"

"I've been all over Mandalore." It was no secret and cost him nothing to reveal it.

"Spying?" one of the others accused.

He frowned. "I was protecting the Duchess from Kyr'tsad."

"Duchess?"

He shifted, trying again to pick out anything familiar from these people. "I apologize, but at the risk of this somehow being, well, time travel, and the potential to break the universe, could you please tell me who you are and...when this is?"

The date he was given was actually, seemingly, in the future, the name the leader gave them....

"Jaha'ati," Happy spat out, making Obi-Wan wince because accusing them of being a liar didn't seem in their best interest.

The Mandalorians bristled and Obi-Wan held up his hands in a placating gesture. "While this is all very... unusual, for you, the issue we're having is that...we seem to have traveled a decade into the future, in such case it would be impossible for you to be a man who died last year."

The leader, who claimed to be Jango Fett, who claimed to be the Mand'alor of an Empire, snorted and took off his buy'ce. Underneath was the familiar face of all of the troopers, though older than any had reached, yet.

Obi-Wan's mind worked through all the possible ways a too-old clone might have fallen in with non-Death Watch Mandalorian traditionalists and settled in some city that looked almost right and...none of them were less ridiculous than the alternative.

"You...certainly look like him."

This Fett narrowed his eyes. "You knew him well?"

"Not technically."

"As an enemy?"

"Very briefly."

Fett was clearly getting annoyed, but before Obi-Wan could change tactics, Happy was sitting up, ignoring his protests, and pulling off his buy'ce. He stared at the too-old clone (Fett, it had rung true in the Force and didn't that explain why the Force itself felt so foreign?).

"He knows us. I don't know who you are, some Vod'e deserter working on a con, maybe, but you don't get to try to play mind games with the General."

"Happy, it's fine."

"No! No, it's not! I don't know what's going on, sir, but this is--this is kriffed up. Pretending to be a dead man, that dead man."

The Mandalorians exchanged glances, then Fett stated, "Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead."

Obi-Wan made a thoughtful noise. He wondered if death was a factor.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I didn't know either way, though I do believe I know what all of this is."

"Alternate universe." He'd remembered Fett seeming clever, but hadn't thought he'd be this fast with something so unbelievable. "Through Force osik."

***

"We're at war," when no one seemed surprised by that, Obi-Wan frowned, realizing in a world with the Mandalorian Empire that war might have never gone away. "It's our first time leading armies in almost a thousand years." That got a reaction. "We eschewed our military function and took on the role of peacekeepers. War isn't what we're made for, trained for, anymore."

"But you're a damn fine general, sir," Happy put in, his signature scowl lightening softly.

"Thank you, private, but I fear I'm an outlier. I had left the Order as a Padawan and fought in a planetary civil war."

Happy's eyes were wide with surprise, Fett's and the other Mandalorians narrowing, possibly because of his implied age.

He hurried on, "It's a trap, we know it all is, but it's one we're helpless against. As soon as we took up positions in an army, as an Order--which the Senate pushed us to do and we couldn't not do to protect the troops as much as we could--we lost. We're no longer seen as mostly benevolent peacekeepers, we're...no more human to the average citizen than they feel the Vod'e are."

"Sounds like something the Sith would pull," one of Fett's people muttered.

"The Sith hid from us, from everyone, for centuries. The first confirmed Sith sighting in that time was a decade ago. It's clear they've been plotting extensively." He gave a helpless shrug. "We're supposed to be the specialist in fighting Sith, but they've waited us out and now we're unqualified."

Fett took the explanations at face value, though Obi-Wan could feel some of the doubt from the others as he continued on, sometimes with additions from Happy. When it was finally time for Fett to explain the position of the galaxy they were in, there was a surprising amount that stayed the same despite the massive differences.

Where they were was clear, why they were, less so.

***

"You're fluent in Mando'a?" Fett finally asked, having seen both Obi-Wan and Happiness communicating easily with the Mandalorians around them for days.

"Yes, along with many other languages," he tried to downplay it, but he felt as though Fett saw straight through him.

Fett narrowed his eyes, tilting his head in a considering manner. "I'd like to hear more about your Mandalore. Come to late meal with me tonight?"

Despite the sinking feeling, Obi-Wan agreed. He and Happy would need the Mandalorians cooperation still, whether in getting home or (hopefully not) making a new life.

*** Jango was beginning to lose track of how many occassions he'd spent with this new Obi-Wan. Meals, spars, meetings, there were many excuses to see him. And Obi-Wan didn't protest, didn't make noise about being a Jedi, didn't hesitate to use Mando'a or take part in some cultural practice. Integration didn't exist in their world, but Obi-Wan had clearly gone through whatever the equivalent was.

"I was going to marry the Obi-Wan of this world."

A brief pause greeted him before this Obi-Wan murmured, "I'm sorry for your loss," seemingly unsure of what could be said.

He observed this version of the former Jedi, refusing to feel guilt over preferring him. The other he'd had so many plans for, but had gotten killed in an escape attempt. This one did not see Mandalore as an enemy, had made no attempt to flee for Republic space even when shown clear maps of how to get there. This one wouldn't run because he didn't want to be a Mandalorian, if anything, he might try to flee because he so clearly wanted to be.

How the foolish Mandalorians who had him in the other world let him go, Jango didn't know.

He wouldn't be making the same mistake.

***

It was easy enough to show Obi-Wan just how awful the Republic was in this world. Jango didn't sugar coat what his Empire did, of course, not wanting to be too obvious, but that was to be expected. Even in the other world the Mandalorians had been a fighting force that the Republic feared.

And despite the war that was going on, this Obi-Wan had some sort of faith in his Republic still. He'd find none of that in the one still available to him, just even more blatant corruption, even worse battles and atrocities. The Jedi he knew were weak and foolish, but they clung to the trappings of their peacekeeper ideals. The ones here, for all their pretenses, were very different.

He'd find no familiarity there, no peace and comfort. Certainly the clone he kept close would be unwelcome, or used, by them.

Jango made sure that Obi-Wan knew he was welcome with him, with the Mandalorians. That they both were honored guests.

He made himself available for comfort, as well, forcing himself to be as tender and open as he could be, drawing Obi-Wan in. There was no hesitance when faced with Jango's lust in this version, just an answering interest.

The Manda had taken one ven'riduur, but had granted him such a better one in return, one with everything that had interested him about the first with so few of the downsides.

xxxxxx

A/N: Awhile ago when I was taking some prompts, I'd gotten an anon asking about a canon version of Obi-Wan in an established Jangobi AU. I was reading one of Millberry's Integration fics at the time, so while the anon might have meant for me to use one of my AUs, the idea that came to me was of an Integration AU, as it's a really awesome open sandbox. I've had this almost completely finished sitting in a file for awhile now, so decided to post it.

Happiness "Happy" is just one of my clone OCs so I didn't have to decide on a canon one lol

#character: obi wan kenobi #character: jango fett #ship: kenfetti #verse: integration #theme: possessive behavior #theme: clone wars

[greensword101]

Inquisitor!Kanan AU Pt. 1

Alright, this is going to sound stupid, but I’ve skimmed through a few fics where Kanan is an Inquisitor but is either a reluctant recruit or immediately becomes conflicted when he meets Ezra, his space son.

That didn’t make sense to me. An Inquisitor was a Jedi that fell to the Dark Side. And those who fall typically do so in a sense of “the road to Hell is paved with good intentions” at times or because they are disillusioned like Bariss was in the Clone Wars. In the event that Kanan ever turned to the Dark Side, I believe it would be for good intentions or because of his earlier characteristics as a Padawan (i.e. curiosity). It could be justified as Kanan was fourteen when Order 66 happened, but what if his master fell to the Dark Side prior to this right around the time she took him on as a student? Cue him becoming the Anakin to her Palpatine, except Depa genuinely cares about her student (ironic).

In this au, Depa Billiba had begun to lose faith in the Jedi Order right as she meets Caleb and she sees him as a kindred sou, especially after she learns more about the boy. One who is questioning the way of the Jedi in ways that the Council is very uncomfortable dealing with. Naturally, this feeling of isolation leads to Caleb trusting Billiba, especially when she states that the Jedi are afraid of people like him.

“But why?” Caleb asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Because, my Padawan,” Depa smiled, “the most dangerous weapon one can have is a weapon that can think for itself.”

Caleb, having never known his parents, having been considered an outcast by his peers, puts his faith in the first person to openly express faith in him and encourages his curiosity. Thus begins the decent of Master and Padawan to the Dark Side. Depa, who was drawn towards it due to her disillusionment of the Jedi and Caleb, who’s hunger for knowledge of all kinds would become insatiable as his understanding of the Dark Side grew.

When the Jedi Purge occurs, Caleb and Depa are spared from the slaughter, having deserted their Clone comrades and killing those who have attempted to take their lives. They go into hiding, taking work as bounty hunters or stealing whatever they can. Usually, it would be Jedi archives or artifacts that the Council wouldn’t have wanted falling into the wrong hands.

It doesn’t take long for them to be put under the Emperor’s radar and he orders them to be hunted down to join him as his assassins or die. Naturally, Depa and Caleb agree to serve as Inquisitors, out of pragmatism and because they felt flattered that their abilities were acknowledged by the Emperor himself.

Depa and Caleb stand out among the Inquisitors, being the only Former Jedi to be a part of the Master/Apprentice dynamic before the Republic fell. Caleb stands out due to being the youngest, but somehow just as brutal as the rest of their comrades as the First Sister and First Brother. The First Sister and First Brother quickly become a dreaded duo, due to their strong bond to one another and meshing together fighting styles of Light and Dark. After all, the First Brother considers “know thy enemy” to be the greatest teacher (after Depa, of course).

As the Empire looms over the galaxy, the Emperor soon realizes what a great threat the duo would become if they continued without challenge. Never mind the fact that overthrowing the Emperor never crossed either minds of the First Brother and Sister. They are content with knowledge for knowledge’s sake, freedom to act as they please, and with staying as a team. The Seventh Sister made the mistake of suggesting the First Brother was being groomed to be the First Sister’s boy toy. Her screams still echo to this day in the old buildings of Coruscant.

Through Vader, the Emperor sets up an “accident” to occur on one of the duo’s missions together. Caleb survives at the cost of his beloved mentor, who’s last words to him were “Run!” When he learns that the First Brother survived, the Emperor placed blame on Vader (true from a certain point of view) and redirects anger at his apprentice. It is a clever plan that he knew would lead to the First Brother either killing Vader and taking over as the Emperor’s apprentice or Vader dealing with a potential rival a move is made against him. Caleb knows this himself and he goes through a drastic change in personality.

His thirst for knowledge, unbeknownst to the Emperor, would lead to him desperately searching for hidden knowledge of the Force, such as saving the ones he loves most from certain death. At the same time, he becomes ruthless as an Inquisitor, isolating himself from others and seeking comfort in pleasures of the flesh and drink when the memory of his beloved mentor burns too painfully in his mind to function.

Jump to “Spark of Rebellion” time and without meeting Kanan, the chances of Hera meeting the rest of Ghost seem impossible now, right? Wrong! The Force works in mysterious ways, after all, and while she doesn’t find her crew through one person, she still manages to find the like of Ezra by herself on Lothal.

Ezra is still the same kid from canon: trusting no one, hard to think about others, a thief. And he managed to steal Hera’s heart when he tries to run off with her ship. Chopper stops him and a deal is made: work as her employee and Hera would forget about the kid trying to steal her baby. She also promises actual payment which manages to keep Ezra invested and maybe allows him to open up to her.

And through Ezra, they still manage to find Zeb and Sabine. Ezra has a brief crush on Sabine that evolves into a platonic friendship. Sabine still views the Ghost crew as a family. Zeb still smells. Chopper is Chopper. Hera is suddenly like a single mom with the distant uncle that suddenly decides to help her raise the kids.

Without a second actual adult - no, Zeb, you may be the oldest but you are at the same mental age as Ezra sometimes - Hera is probably more stressed than usual. She loves her crew to death, but it can be a bit much sometimes without a second hand to help.

But they are still the same force - no pun intended - to be reckoned with and get under the radars of both the Empire and Rebel alliance.

Ezra doesn’t know about his Force abilities for a while, not even when they are executing a rescue mission to extract an old Jedi Master named Luminara. It’s trickier without Kanan to do the mind trick on Stormtroopers, but Sabine and Zeb manage to distract the two guards in the end while Ezra sneaks in.

The first thing he notices is how weak and frail this “Luminara” lady is. The second is how he seems to feel her presence in his very bones, like an old memory. The third is another presence, a colder one that makes him shiver.

Enter the First Brother. The years since he’s turned have changed him drastically. He wears the Inquisitor uniform, with a black cape. His skin tone is pale as snow, like he hasn’t seen the sun in years. His hair is long and not held down by a ponytail (imagine it a bit like a lion’s mane) and his yellow eyes. piercing and seeming to see through Ezra.

He’s expecting a Jedi risking discovery to rescue the body of Luminara, someone who would hopefully give him a decent challenge. He’s not expecting a teenage boy who is clearly not a Jedi and clearly has never seen what a lightsaber looks like when the First Brother pulls one out.

Ezra in canon was aware of the Force existing and had been pleading with his mentor to actually teach him. Here, he’s thrown into a massive loop and straight up terrified of this new enemy who clearly wasn’t a Stormtrooper. His typical maneuvering doesn’t work when the First Brother is able to pin him down without making physical contact. To Caleb, this is just him barely using Force Stasis. To Ezra, it’s like he’s walked into a nightmare.

Ezra, now frozen both literal and in fear, has a new enemy blocking his only exit and no way to warn his team about the danger they’re in.

“How did you know Luminara?” The First Brother asked.

Ezra doesn’t respond, he isn’t sure his mouth can work and his mind is numb.

“You can still talk if you want to, kid,” the man added in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Somehow, Ezra finds his courage, “I don’t know her. I was trying to rescue her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a prisoner of the Empire,” Ezra tries and fails to snarl defiantly at the man, “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like this.”

“You’re partially right,” the First Brother admitted, “She didn’t deserve the fate she got. But the Empire needed a honey pot to draw in the flies.”

“D-didn’t...?”

“Luminara is dead, been that way for a long time.” Out of the corner of Ezra’s eye, he notices the pale Mirialan’s body fading away like dust in the wind. His heart stills.

After a tense moment, Ezra collapses to the ground, having been freed.

“I don’t take pleasure in snuffing younglings,” the First Brother said dismissively. “Take your friends and leave this place.”

Ezra doesn’t even bother asking how the hell he knew Ezra didn’t come alone and simply runs out of the cell. He finds Sabine and Zeb and they all flee in one piece. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the day, too shaken from his experience with the new enemy to do anything.

He has no experience with the Force. He understands he is different, but not why. And he certainly doesn’t expect to see that man again after today.

Meanwhile, the First Brother, for the first time in years, feels something close to excitement. Someone who could use the Force, someone who clearly didn’t know about the Force until just then, someone that was on the side of the rebels.

He sincerely hoped his master was looking down on him in the afterlife, because he was going to become that kid’s new teacher whether the kid wanted him or not.

To be continued...

#star wars rebels #au #inquisitor!kanan #dark side!kanan #caleb dume #depa billaba #ezra bridger #hera syndulla #grand inquisitor #kanan is thinking of getting a space kid on the dark side #ezra doesn't know about the Force #for now #maybe ashoka will help him

[lloydskywalkers]

turned to smoke

Someday I’ll hit all the days of angst week, but it’s not this year. I did manage to get this one written out though, so here’s “weakness” for @ninjago-angst-week day 6! About Lloyd and Garmadon, because they always come up when I’m writing angst it just happens >:’( 

Being back in Ninjago after spending as long as he did in the Dark Realm is disorienting, to say the least, but not nearly as disorienting, Garmadon is finding, as how much his son has grown since he left.

“—and then Kai — he’s the fire one with all the red jackets, I think you guys had a fight or something? — anyways, he said that Jay was lying, and he couldn’t fry an egg on his sword, and I said why not, and then he said ‘you wanna go, half-pint’ and then we fried an egg on the sword!” Lloyd throws his arms up, huffing. “I don’t know why Uncle Wu got mad, all we did was steal all the eggs in the fridge, nobody died or anything.”

Garmadon’s lips quirk in amusement, even as his head continues to spin. Lloyd hadn’t even been talking when he’d left. “Did you clean up your mess?” he asks.

Lloyd wilts. “We ate one of the eggs,” he mumbles. “The rest were all exploded.”

“Ah,” Garmadon says. “I believe you have your answer.”

Lloyd wrinkles his nose. “That’s dumb,” he says. “We wouldn’t have even been caught if Zane hadn’t thrown us under the bus.”

“Throwing people under the bus is a time-honored tradition in the life of a ninja,” Garmadon says, remembering how many times Wu ratted him out. “It is best to start expecting it.”

“Yeah, like Pythor threw me under the bus,” Lloyd mutters darkly.

Garmadon’s heart does an anxious, angry sort of flip at the reminder. It’s been a day since they rescued Lloyd, and that’s not nearly long enough for the terrified fury he’d been gripped with when Lloyd’s cage was dropped into the lava to fade.

“Pythor threw you into into a volcano,” he growls. “There is a vast difference.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lloyd mumbles, staring down at his tea.

Garmadon sips at his own tea while eyeing his son, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. As much as he’s grown, Lloyd looks especially small, his clothes a size too big even though they’re clearly too old, worn and threadbare and full of little tears. They’re clean, though, washed free of the soot and dirt that had stained them when he’d pulled Lloyd from the volcano. That thought, if anything, eases his heart a bit.

Wu and his students care, enough for that, at least. He remembers the look in Maya’s boy’s eyes. Lloyd will be safe with these people, he does not doubt it.

“Dad?”

Garmadon realizes he has, perhaps, been silent for too long.

“Yes, Lloyd?”

“If Pythor was just gonna throw me in the lava, why didn’t he do it earlier?”

Garmadon stares at him. The cup in his hands suddenly feels very cold.

“He was acting rashly,” Garmadon says, picking his words carefully. “I believe his mind was clouded by fear, and foolishness. I hope — he would not have so carelessly thrown your life into jeopardy otherwise.”

Lloyd looks at the floor between his crossed legs, twisting his fingers together. Garmadon is again struck by how small his son is – how young he is. Lloyd knows nothing of the world, not like he does. He doesn’t know how cruel it can be. Not yet.

“He dropped me to stop you, didn’t he,” Lloyd says, quietly.

Garmadon blinks. Something sinks heavy in his heart, like a stone. Perhaps his son is not as naïve as he thought. The thought brings him no happiness.

“Why do you say that?” he asks, slowly.

Lloyd bites his lip. “If you didn’t hav’ta rescue me, you could’ve gotten the Fangblade.” His shoulders hunch up, and Lloyd hooks his arms beneath his legs, drawing his knees up to his chest. The action makes him look even smaller, if possible. “I thought I could help, but all I did was get in the way,” he mumbles, his face downcast.

Garmadon stills, holding his tongue. Lloyd is his son, and he loves him more dearly than anything else in this realm, or any other. But that love….

Garmadon knows evil. And he knows full well what evil is capable of. Garmadon is powerful, and he’s made countless enemies who would jump at the chance to have the upper hand on him. Pythor is merely the first of many that made the connection, and there are far worse enemies than the sniveling snake out there. If they knew how he loved someone like Lloyd, someone that vulnerable…

Lloyd is his son and Garmadon loves him, and the last thing on earth he wants to call him is a weakness. But Lloyd is something to exploit — a terrible, gaping, glaring hole in his defenses, in what should be an ironclad defense built of fear and terror.

Garmadon looks at his son again, head down and shoulders slumped where he sits on the mat in front of his brother’s table. He’s inexplicably reminded of himself, eyes lowered and arms tucked in, talking years and years ago to his own father.

Something in his chest goes tight.

“You did not ‘get in the way’,” he says, decided. “You inspired Kai to unlock his true potential, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, by falling in lava.” Lloyd rolls his eyes, and Garmadon raises an eyebrow at him. Lloyd shrinks.

“You helped Kai realize something very important about himself. That’s something not even your uncle could do, or any of the other ninja,” he continues. A smile quirks at the edge of his mouth. “You broke down a Smith’s defenses. That’s no small feat.”

“Yeah?” Lloyd says, hesitantly.

“And you did not get in my way, either,” Garmadon says, firmly. He remembers the white-hot fury that had gripped him when Pythor dropped his son, the ease with which he’d torn through the Serpentine warriors. “You made me stronger than I could’ve been otherwise, and that was a great help.”

The worry eases out from Lloyd’s forehead. “So I’m not your kryptonite?” he says, hopefully.

Garmadon pauses. “My…what?”

Lloyd’s nose crinkles. “Kryptonite, dad – how do you not know what that is? It’s in all the best comics!”

“I’m afraid they don’t have many comics in the underworld, son.”

“Oh.” Lloyd’s nose scrunches up further. “That’s okay, I guess. I can show you.”

“I look forward to it,” Garmadon sighs, but his voice is fond. Time spent with Lloyd, over silly comics or not, is time well spent.

It’s precious time, Garmadon thinks to himself as they both raise their teacups. Time he doesn’t have much left of. He must leave, soon – back to whatever dark hole he can, wherever he can try to hide himself away from destiny.

Until he’s forced to fight his own son—

Garmadon steadies his heart. No. He will not let Lloyd be turned into a mere weakness for him. Not when Lloyd is the greatest source of strength he has in this world.

* * * * * * * *

The prison is desolate in the wake of the fight, wrecked and ruined, but the girl promises him they will stay there no longer. They have bigger places to move onto, greater buildings to conquer.

Garmadon cares little, but for the sparking power now beneath his skin.

The girl was right. The boy had served his purpose as she promised he would, feeding his fury as the fight had raged on. The more desperate he grew the stronger Garmadon became, his power singing as his blood grew hot, bloodlust a powerful weapon. It was one the boy was no match for, not with his pathetic powers better meant for peace.

Broken stone cracks beneath him as he walks steadily from the prison, the sand dry and gritty under his boots. The brilliant path lit by the dying green light from the boy has long since been snuffed out, but the cracked plaster and concrete he’d smashed through paves the way for Garmadon.

He won’t find him at the end of the path, he knows that. The boy’s companions snatched him from the sand mere minutes before Garmadon could reach him, hauling him away and out of reach. He’s proven correct — the only thing left behind is the scattered rubble left from the smashed walls, and the dark stains in the sand he knows to be blood.

Something crackles beneath his foot, fragile and crinkling. The hint of a frown edges his eyebrows, and he lifts his boot, peering down at the sand. His fingers glance the crumpled paper, lifting it closer. A picture, of sorts, with two people in it.

His eyes drag across the older human in unfamiliarity, but the boy sparks recognition. It’s the same child he sent crashing through the walls a mere hour ago. The picture must be his, then. There are fingerprints of blood on the edges.

Other than that, the picture seems well taken care of. The boy cared for picture, obviously. He cared for the man, too, whoever he was. Garmadon’s lip curls. This is the man the boy mistook him for? How foolish.

And how very convenient for Garmadon, that the boy had such a weakness to exploit.

His fist closes and the picture crumples in his hold, the image balling up and distorting as he lights it aflame with dark purple. It’s reduced to ash in a matter of seconds, slipping through his fingers like the sand.

Garmadon lets his hand fall, soot shaking loose before it’s caught in the wind, drifting and dissipating into the darkness.

It was no more than a fatal weakness for the boy. Garmadon does him well by ridding him of it. It’s not act of kindness, of course, but the boy proved himself a valuable source of strength.

It’s simply a returned favor.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #garmadon #ninjago-angst-week #the latest on cia is upset about s8/s9 2kforever #my fic

[komcrebi-moved]

   //    “ Frustration ”   [ Training between Andi and Kazane! a drabble. thing. yes.      -- whereas,  Andi calms a frustrated Kazane, and pitches the concept of.. the possibility that Kazane could potentially harness SOLAR energy, instead of simply ‘life’ energy.    “It’s all Nature, right?”]

       ---   “ HOW?”  she snaps.  It had only been a matter of time. Her patience had been waning for quite awhile now. And he was always so… irritatingly positive. She didn’t understand how he did it, keeping that up like he does.  Frustrated hands clutch at the dirt,  clenching as she tries to pull her body up further than the ground, into at LEAST a kneel.  “HOW am I improving? You keep saying I’ll get better and that I’ve been getting better but I can’t SEE any of it! I don’t see what you see!!” 

     VEGAS-- the ‘Always-Shooting-For-The-Stars’ hero-- otherwise known as Andi Williamson, blinks down at the student he’d taken under his wing. He’d been mentoring her one on one for some time now. She’d been.. a tough case from the start. But that only made him want to try harder, for her sake.  He knew what it was to not just feel,  but to be alone and afraid and how deeply it could run.   “You’re... gonna have to slow down a little…” he murmurs sheepishly, and Kazane growls under her breath and forces herself to her feet, glaring at the teacher as he straightens out from a crouch alongside her. She waves an accusatory hand, frustration reaching its boiling point.

  “And how the HELL am I expected to improve when my mentor doesn’t even understand my own language?!” she’s shouting now, throwing her hands up in exasperation. They were alone, thankfully-- though still on school grounds. It was just the two of them on the training field right now.      “Heyyy…”  Andi frowns. There’s no anger in his tone, no irritation. It’s true, she should by no means have been speaking to a teacher like this, but he knew it wasn’t him she was angry at. It was herself. And being who she is, he knew that she had simply reached her tipping point, and needed to go off.  

     She was the quiet one. The one who was always cool and level-headed. Or seemingly so. Ask any of her classmates and they’d tell you as much. 

       It took a lot for her to reach this point.

   ...Until she was fighting for real. Then she became quite a reckless menace. Quite like the retired hero standing beside her was… and perhaps, still could be. She would do almost anything to win, anything to prove herself. Almost anything including burning the remaining energy from her own body to give herself a boost-- to reach the level of others if only for a moment.

          It’s not that she wanted to be the BEST…              No… Not the best, just...                Andi understood her all too well..                           She just wanted to be good enough.                             To prove her worth, and earn her place at UA.

   His heart broke a little at the thought. That even while having trained herself, having pushed her mind, body, and quirk beyond what she ever dreamed was possible all on her own volition no less, and not to mention having had entered and passed the UA exams with no formal training or special help-- she still didn’t believe she deserved the place she had among her fellow students.  She still felt like an outsider clawing her way into somewhere she didn’t truly belong. 

            Like a roach climbing through a hole in the wall, watching everyone else’s greatness and wishing it for herself.   That’s how she felt.   And Vegas would be correct if he ever thought of it in such a way that she had. 

    And he hated that. He hated that he knew exactly how that felt. Maybe he didn’t have her exact life circumstances or experiences, but... He knew how these feelings ate at a person. And that’s why he was so determined to push her even further. Beyond what she thought her limits were,  and then even further still.  He never had a support system beyond the schooling he was given.  And so… he was hellbent on trying his best to be just that for her. This young girl that had next to nothing,  but so much potential and ability. The only difference he saw between himself and this student of his, was their experiences in life.  He wanted very much for her to go beyond what he had. To be better and smarter than he had been, and to open doors to new and better experiences than what he had been offered by going it alone. He saw a light in her,  and he would be damned if he saw it snuffed out before it got a chance to shine-- to really show itself to the world.

     “I can understand you just fine,” he tries, brows quirking apologetically. “... But to be fair, I’m not a native speaker, and it can be hard to understand when you go supersonic speed.”  That gets a curt snort out of her.  Progress.  Andi smiles.

    “Brush yourself off.  Try again.  And then again. And again. Rinse. Repeat.” he nods, watching her face twist into confused frustration. Another demand for an explanation of ‘why’ or ‘how’ is about to explode from her when he raises a hand to stop her. 

    “Little by little,  you are improving.”  his voice is level and calm, eyes boring meaningfully into hers. It always infuriated her,  but got her attention. “Every single time you try to do these things and fail,  you rarely repeat the same mistake the next time. You’re good like that.      Every.  single.  time.  that I tell you to try again and do better,  you do just that.”  Kazane shakes her head, lets out an agitated breath and rolls her eyes. It wasn’t good enough of an explanation. 

    “Each time you try again, you alter your tactics just a little bit. With each failure comes a lesson, even if it’s a small one. ”

    Without warning, his forefinger twitches. The hairs on the back of Imai’s neck raise.. And she steps backward, avoiding a gust of air aimed where she’d been standing. Another twitch of his finger, and she quickly shifts her footing and moves to the side-- narrowly avoiding being tripped by another rapid gust aimed at where her foot had been meant to land.     “What the hell?!” she growls, eliciting a stupid little grin from her teacher. He hadn’t given her any warning at all.  “Well you avoided it, didn’t you?” he gestures to her, finding humor in her annoyance. She glares at him. “So--?”

    “There was no reason for you to have known I’d try to knock you down,  and yet you reacted anyway.”  a shoulder raises, then falls. “I made the tiniest movement, something a lot of people wouldn’t even notice...   but  you  did.”  His hand clenches into a fist. Determination and pride written plainly on his face. “A week ago, you would have been knocked down in a second and you never would have seen it coming.”

    Kazane blinks, shoulders slackening, fists unclenching.  Ah. He was… right, wasn’t he?  He’s knocked her down so many times that she’s lost count, and somewhere along the way… She stopped getting knocked down. It was simple,  but.. meaningful.    -- The ability to predict an (in this case.. Otherwise eccentric and unpredictable) opponent. 

     She’s called him cruel and unfair more than once for the way he chose to teach her. And she realizes suddenly, that he’d done it on purpose.

    Andi Williamson was a kind person, and so gentle-- but his teaching methods were odd and often surprisingly harsh.  And... that was what she’d needed, after spending her entire life watching and predicting the intentions of others, on the lookout for danger and deceit.

    She needed something to throw her off. Something… if not necessarily new, then something ‘other’ to knock her off balance and make her see things a little differently. Even if it pushed her beyond her comfortable scope of what she thought she knew. Perhaps especially then.

   “And that, Imai, is improvement. Your instincts and fighting ability have both developed to a point where your body will move on it’s own if it senses anything amiss. You don’t have to consciously make an effort every single time-- do you? And that’s just your basic practice.” 

  Her basic practice..  ‘Basic Practice’? Is that all this was? It felt like he was just messing around with her most of the time and calling it training.  “ I won’t lie, there’s still a lot more to work on, and a lot of improving to be done in different areas. We’ve only got so much time…” he trails off, something in the confidant demeanor he’d been displaying falters… and then... seemingly returns, and ten-fold.  But when it does, he’s no longer smiling.

   “Let’s step it up. You’ve gotten the hang of most of your moves, you know how to safely draw energy from specific targets without touching anything else around it. You know how to disperse that energy in a physical attack, both for melee and long range attacks.”

     She watches him, brown eyes fixed on her teacher. Something about him seemed...--- 

  “I think… it’s  time  to  shoot  for  the  stars,  Kazane.” She tips her head, eyes squinting at him through the shine of the sun in her eyes.  And when he smiles again,  it feels.. different.    Not bad.   Not at all.    It feels like . . . Light, and certainty.   It  feels  like...  Hope.

    A shift of power was to be undergone,  and it was going to be one of the hardest things she has faced as of yet.  She doesn’t yet know this,  but when she does… She’ll feel hopeless, first. She’ll feel even more confused and uncertain than she has in a long time.  But when she grasps this next lesson… She’ll tip the scales in her favor once and for all.  She’ll feel not only strong… but she will feel competent, and what’s more-- worthy of her place among her classmates. 

         “ -- Or rather…. For the SUN. ” 

                                                                       For the…                                                     “ ... Huh... ?” 

#( ooc ) #( drabbles // ) #long post for ts #( long post ) #( andi + kazane // ) #like.. qUITE LONG... i apologize to ur dash hfdugfdg #hehehoohoo did u know that #all of my characters on this blog / their stories are related and they all meet/interact at some point. ! #yutsuki + kazane knew each other during elementary ..! #kaito + kazane meet because of andi ! #kaito + yutsuki meet bc of kazane -- and his insistence that she reintroduce herself to someone who was her friend #and was kind to her. and also can relate to her on a level he and andi cannot #(being people with quirks deemed inherently ''frightening'' or ''villainous'' #ANYWAY IM. rambling. as i do. #just kind of.... puts my head in my hands... #google docs says this is 4 whole ass pages long huyudjdf w h o o ps #its not even that good but heY I ... wanted to do a thing at some point w the crew and heres......1 lil snippet

[john-wickening]

Evaporate

In the end, we all become ghosts. Some of us do it before the end.

Tw: cancer, major character death, depression

AN: Wow, my first John/Helen fic! Sorry it’s sad. 

——————————

John’s apartment was nothing special. There’s not really a need for a true “home” when you do the kind of work he does. It was sparse but functional, essentially four walls and a roof. It kept him dry and warm and allowed him a place to crash after a long day of work. It was purely functional and he was fine with that.

At least he thought he had been.

The first time she crossed the threshold, he watched her take in the room. Her brown eyes roamed the room, thoughtfully absorbing the relative nothingness.

He expected her face to drop, curl in disappointment. Instead, a small smile crossed her lips. She looked at him with shining eyes. A look that said “I’m home”

He wasn’t sure why, but it made him fall even deeper.

Two months later, he was sitting at his kitchen table one sleepless night staring at a hair elastic sitting on the kitchen counter when the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He stood abruptly and crossed room. He opened the bathroom door and flicked on the light. Once adjusted to the bright light, his eyes fell to the sparse counter.

There it was.

Sitting next to his own was her toothbrush. It was yellow, her favorite color. The bristles were neat and orderly, a stark contrast to the frazzled bristles of his own. Next to it, her moisturizer.

He flicked the bathroom light off and stepped out.

Without thinking, he entered his bedroom and without turning on the light, his fingers found the creased paper that rested on his dresser.

He touched it only for a second before letting his hand drop. He knew what it said. He had it memorized. The first love letter she had ever written.

Dearest John....

He had only known Helen two months and yet she had filled this space, settled across every surface like a fine mist. She inhabited every corner quietly, subtly, in a way you’d miss if you didn’t look closely enough. Truly something you’d have to know to look to be able to see.

The promise behind her presence, the potential, had his heart skipping beats.

There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

John had seen a lot of horrific deaths in his long, storied career, but cancer was by far the most inhumane. The way his wife, his precious Helen, faded inch by inch with every passing day until she was almost see through. The way she struggled to draw in a breath, to swallow a sip of desperately needed water. The way her eyes grew cloudy and her lips no longer curved up in that bright smile. The way her pearly teeth began to rot.

The worst of it was going home without her.

John parked the station wagon in their garage. He sat in the car for a long time, his keys in his hand, his heart in his shoes. He dreaded going inside. Even though it had been months since she’d been healthy enough to do it, he still expected to walk in and see her standing barefoot in the kitchen in one of his shirts, humming an aimless tune while she cooked.

The car was getting cold and only felt colder in comparison to that memory. He sighed and got out.

As he crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Helen has entered full time hospice 12 days ago. For the first time, John walked into their home and realized it did not smell like her.

With a sharp pang in his chest, he walked trancelike to the sliding glass door leading out into the backyard. The sun had just set and the yard was bathed in twilight. His eyes found what he was dreading to see.

Her garden, overgrown with weeds. The gerberas were brown and withered. In the whirlwind of chemo, appointments with lawyers about end of life arrangements, picking out a fucking casket, he had neglected to care for it. It didn’t seem important then, but now looking upon it, John felt a deep shame. He had to look away.

Numbly, he stepped into their bedroom. On the nightstand, untouched all this time, was the glass of water she had tried to drink her final night at home. She had tried to take a sip and ended up breathing most of it in. Her final trip from home was in an ambulance.

He couldn’t move it off the nightstand.

Anyone who entered this house would know that she lived here. It was obvious from the feminine touch, the bright paintings, the wedding photos, but all John saw was the way she continued to fade. Even her presence in this house was growing weaker and weaker by the minute. Their home echoed her decay.

The house no longer smelled like her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She wanted to be buried in her favorite sundress.

Helen was not much of a dress person, but this particular one, bright yellow and dotted with tiny watercolor flowers, made her smile in a way that crinkled her eyes and filled him to his very core with her light.

In the casket, the dress hung on her emaciated frame. Her hips, once delicate and round, jutted out starkly and defiantly against the fabric. The neckline that once accentuated her soft pink skin now only revealed rows of ribs, the arch of her sternum, and a chemo port. The funeral director assured him that he could fix it, make it look “more in line with how she looked in life” and John absently nodded.

Nothing could fix this.

The funeral was the next day. John sat numbly on the couch, tears still wet on his cheeks, his mourning clothes still on, and glanced out the back door to look at her garden.

The day she died, he ripped it all out. He couldn’t stand to look at the ruined flowers, their petals rotting in a pile below them. It took him three agonizing hours and by the time he was done, his fingers were split open and bleeding. Now there was a hole left in the ground, dark and gaping.

This wasn’t how he wanted to remember her. It wasn’t how she deserved to be remembered.

He sat on their couch, unable to move, unable to fathom how this could have happened. The grief was unparalleled— it felt like his body had been blown apart and all that was left in the world was a hungry, yawning void that would eat and eat and eat until there was nothing left. It took his breath away.

Of all the people in the world, why her? He wished with every fiber of his being that it had been him instead. He would have done anything to take her place. He deserved it, after all the life he had snuffed out.

Helen was now nothing more than an echo, fading out slowly and seeping away into nonexistence as the seconds ticked by.

What kept him from joining her was the ring of the doorbell and the words that accompanied her last present.

This illness has loomed over us for a long time, and now that I have found my peace, find yours.

Until that day, your best friend,

Helen

#john wick x helen #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #sorry this was like peak sad #I’m going through one of the hardest times of my life right now #sorry its not edited either #i needed to put something out because its been so long #i also couldnt keep reading it

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

Hello, hello, here’s my piece for the Halloween minibang organized in courtesy of the Chicken Tendies and Bacon Bits DabiHawks server~ and have the link to a more sensible reading experience (as t gets rid of formatting, too, and I’m lazy to put it all back in, at least for now): ao3

I was paired up with pineapple hair boy (dunno his url still rip) and our promt was haunted maze! \o/ I kinda included the other two we were gunning for, devil deal and ghost stories, so... multitasking, yo. Also put in my suggested fog, because as time passed, I realized how good it was even though I just put something into the box lmao

I’ll link pineapple’s accompanying piece as soon as they’re done with it, right here, in this line!! AND HERE IT IS!!!  👀

(Some of you may note... that I was supposed to be the artist. Well, it’s a long story, and likely on me tbh; I spent p much the entire week working on my piece, but I also started writing this one, and suggested doubling down on content, but unfortunately timetables are evil, and pineapple got mobbed enough as to likely run out of time if he also wanted to finish writing, so, um... yeah. This is not to say that we won’t do our original project, though, so stay tuned for the bonus round, hopefully soon! \[T]/)

(... also, I may or may not be considering to make this a full story, so there’s that)

Keigo trips for what feels like the millionth time on this way through the undergrowth- by day, the manor labyrinth is fairly easy to navigate, the kids frequenting it has kept it threadable. Nobody has legitimately tended to it for years, though. Or rather a decade, actually, it’s been a while he was here. Honestly, who cares, because--- oh, for fuck’s sake, more rose or blackberry or whatever vines to untangle his legs from. Great. Just… great.

He squints at his watch; still on time. Catching his breath after getting free surprisingly fast this time around, he takes a look at his surroundings. Not that he sees much, bear you. It’s near midnight and pitch dark. To top it off, the thick-ass fog often present, source: right damn here, has also crept into town. In fact, this is the worst it has gotten this year yet. There’s also barely anything he can hear from the dying-off autumn festival two streets and half an estate over.

It’s only him, his phone's flashlight, and the camera around his neck that also keeps getting caught in shit. That, and his own breathing that's getting his lungs numb from all the cool, wet air they are being exposed to.

Fooling around for so long has made him feel… antsy. Just a bit. The fact that his goal, that is to say the family crypt of the moneybags who used to live here is so close doesn’t help, either.

The entire plot is the stuff of local legends. The mansion is-was infamous for its… flammability, so to speak. Every few years, at least one room got totalled. Some believed that the last master had been a pyromaniac, up till the umpteenth house fire snuffed his line, and himself at the age of 60-something, out for good. But old folk said that the building had been ablaze just as frequently before his time- and truth to be told, there had been two more fires ever since, although those could have been the aforementioned kids or the occasional squatter. Two fires in about ten years is pretty normal in an abandoned place like this.

A few of those old people said the mansion had been built on hallowed grounds in their parents’ time, and the fires were punishment for disturbing the church ruins and the dead it used to house. Even fewer said the church must have been built on the very gates of hell and the ruins had kept the flames at bay.

And old geezer Giran in particular said that you could see the devil himself on the night when spirits roam free, around where the isolated belfry’s foundation stands still with walls crumbling- the place around which the crypts were erected on top of upturned graves. To be frank, the dude himself looked as if he escaped from hell, so what better myths to bust as an aspiring photographer? And even if the devil won't drag his ass outside, this will still make one hella Halloween photoshoot. He has loads of candles and some lampions in a backpack to get the mood right as well.

If anything remotely threatening pops up, though, like a mean stray dog… or a horde of drunk homeless, he's so ready to run for the hills, you have no idea.

He’s pricking his ears good as he closes in on the center of the once-upon large cemetery. One has to acknowledge the effort those rich bastards put into this dumb maze layout just to hide their own dead. It’s as if they feared a zombie apocalypse and concluded that they wouldn’t be able to get out if the hedges grow in a pattern, like, seriously. Then again, if the ‘horde of drunk homeless’ situation comes true, it will feel and work just the same, so who’s he to judge.

The scenery, too, is something to behold still. The entire area is surprisingly… not very foggy. One can see just as far as there is anything relevant to see, nothing more, nothing less. The waning moon even came out to play for a bit, shedding some decent light on his surroundings.

What catches his attention is not the excellent lighting to make photos, though, but rather someone sitting on the ruins of the old belfry, right under where the plump planet is working her magic.

He checks the display of his watch again- two past midnight. He’s late. Well, bummer… maybe next time.

That… guy, though? He doesn't look like any devil he knows of, but rather a human figure. One he also doesn't know of, actually. Which is remotely more interesting than Satan himself, because… that’s a goth silhouette if he’s ever seen one, and he’s seen all in town. All three of them.

They are a chill bunch, so he figures he might as well go up to this one. May be an acquaintance of Tokoyami and company’s who was also told about this spooky deal.

"Hey. Have you seen the midnight devil, or did he not get the memo this year?" He lifts a hand over his eyes to let him have a clearer look.

Just the way the other looks over to him, even while slouching quite a bit, is in a manner that’s nothing bar… uh… majestic, should be the word? Sublime? Yeah. That's peak cinematography. He’s… a bit at a loss of words here, because? People have waxed lyrical about the positively blessed relationship between him and sunlight, but this guy?? Has legitimately the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, period???

Before he could get too entranced by the sight of the sky blue pins of the overshadowed figure sitting between a moonlit sky and milky deep sea of mist, he notices that said eyes skim over him. Slowly, creeping down, and then up. Um…

Did… did he just check him out?

A hardly concealed grin can be heard out of his voice as he speaks up. “Hey there, angel."

… that's a yes.

This… coming from someone with eyes and a voice like… that, is actually… hm.

Like, look… he’s been looking forward college to maybe…  find someone he genuinely clicks with. But he has been through this immediate infatuation thing a hundred times already… and knows from experience that falling for mere potential is a grave mistake. What even are the chances that he’ll be the one? Put the aesthetic boner away and think rationally, Keigo. You don’t even know his name.

However, if, and IF he plays his cards well and this is not a total asshole… he could get both a photoshoot and a phone number out of this endeavor, which sounds like an excellent deal.

“Straight to the point, eh?” he acknowledges with a grin that's almost genuine. “Witching hour stuff aside, I don’t think I’ve seen you around…? A friend of Tokoyami’s?”

The other hops off the wall as he’s talking, stirring up some fog. Keigo could swear to hear absolutely nothing upon him hitting the ground. Must be the grass, but still, confirmed for cat. Not having to deal with the moon’s flare, he can now also tell that he’s about as old as expected.

The young man pauses to think for just a second before walking up to him. Nonchalance and weariness mingle in his steps.

“No, but I think I do know who you’re talking about. The kid with the raven.”

“Oh? Yeah, that’s him. Just visiting, then?” So he’s somewhat familiar with the area. Huh… how in hell did he never notice someone so obvious? Maybe he should come out here more often.

Also, is it just him, or did it get really cold all of a sudden?

“Him and his friends spend a lot of time here, I know enough. And yeah, something like that.”

As he stops in front of Keigo, an odd sensation trickles down his spinal cord, raising every hair on his nape. He’s had this once or twice when watching a legitimately good horror movie or catching a glimpse of an especially beautiful scene, or at least something very similar. It’s just the cold and being out in the middle of nowhere with a handsome stranger this time (which is kind of a combination of both), but still.

… this is not the time to be thinking ‘but what if he’s a serial killer and you are stuck out here with him alone’, brain. Thanks.

“Family business, gotcha.”

He’s onto something, because a certainly troubled look flashes over the hot--- the goth’s face as he reaches up to his own nape to rub away at it. “... yeah. That.”

The train of thought is seemingly swept out of the way after short consideration and his attention returns to Keigo. His neutral staring face is actually a little unnerving, no lie. “What about you, coming out here? Didn't quite catch what you first said.” He eyes him in a way similar to when he was sitting up on the wall, as if measuring him up.

“Oh, I wanted to take some photos,” Keigo starts, lifting the camera and the first candle he can grab from the bag, swinging it playfully around a few times with a smile to mask the nerve building up inside. “I figured it would be a nice opportunity even if the hearsay tale of the ~devil~ coming out at midnight was total humbug. This place is very atmospheric.”

What he says rouses a chuckle from the other. “Oh, so I wasn't imagining things. Been a while since I last heard that one.”

For someone deadpan he really has a cute smile. We are on a schedule here, but please never stop?

Keigo presses the tip of the candle into his cheek in contemplation, trying to steer his thoughts back on topic. “You mean, that local legend thing? I heard about it fairly recently… from the most suspect old dude." He rolls back and forth on his heels, watching out for reactions; "Giran, if the name is telling. But asking other old folks made them ring a bell, too, so I guess I was just ignorant.”

The other raises an eyebrow in amusement as the fading smile pulls into a smirk. "Maybe you are, a little bit."

Oh, come on. "Nobody is born cool, wise, or a folklore expert, okay…?" He pouts.

"I could already tell you were born without a trace of those things, alright."

"..."

He just said that. Looking him dead in the eyes.

Wow.

Dude's lucky his smile is cute, because that was so uncalled for and he's way too proud of himself. Sheesh. Anyway…

"Said the one who wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face…” He sighs. "Before we go down the name calling path, though… I’m Keigo." This was getting a little awkward without throwing it in, although he doubts the cocky asshole deserves it.

“Touya. My pleasure.”

Keigo hums as he moves to rummage through his stuff for the lighter he definitely threw in the bag before setting off. That’s not a very common name, but… “I think I’ve heard of you before…? Beats me where, though.” He’s pretty sure the conversation happened years ago by the crypt here, though.

Everything he says seems to amuse the other to no end. “It’s probably for the best. You seem like the type to run for the hills.”

Keigo gives him the side eye; being right aside, the hell is that supposed to mean…? And he’s so smug about it, too. About everything, really.

And no, it really wasn’t a line even remotely connected to serial killers, shut up, brain.

“Cryptic, are we?” he sighs, lighting the candle with a flickering click at last. The gentle flame sheds some dim, fog-broken light onto Touya’s face, and Keigo hates himself for being charmed by what he sees once more. That pale skin looks too perfect to be true… should feel like silk under one’s touch. If he ever gets a proper close-up look, he swears he’ll get a heart attack.

Touya blinks once, resetting his expression to nearly a default. “It's the two of us in a haunted, abandoned graveyard, inside a fog ridden maze, on the night after the 31st of October. You are basically begging to wind up dead. Coming off as cryptic and creepy as possible right now is elementary, angel.”

He… he legitimately can’t argue with that. The guy's almost as good at this as the bird kid is. “... touché.”

Stunned for words, he places his candle where planned instead. It's so stupid, but makes… so much sense. Is this why they all are like… that?

As he moves on like that without a word, Touya seems to get weirded out himself. "... You okay there?"

"I just had… an epiphany." He says, putting the first lampion with pinpoint precision. This guy just accidentally revealed some kind of arcane goth knowledge too advanced for him to begin to understand and doesn't even know it.

Touya heaves a deep sigh. "... you obviously got the wrong one out of that, but congratulations nonetheless."

“Maybe? I have not the foggiest what you were trying to imply.” He’s not that thick, but the dude’s being ~cryptic~ or whatever, and he’s not in the mood to write an essay on what edgy goths mean by what they say.

“Ah… figure that's why it's so clear out here this year… all the mist from the glade must have relocated to your head.” concluding that, Touya’s eyebrows pull closer upon seeing whatever else the blonde pulls out from his backpack while shooting a glare in his direction. “… what are those for?”

Keigo considers not answering at all, but decides against it. Being the bigger person by default is such a chore sometimes, but… “There’s some decent moonlight to work with, but these umbrellas help me get the little extra I need right where I want it. See?” With that, he turns the flashlight on and blinds the other with the sudden brightness.

“Ow, seriously?! I haven’t seen daylight in decades, turn that shit off…!”

… but, he can multitask and still be an asshole while answering the question. And laugh at the reaction, then laugh some more the decades comment as the other rubs his eyes, because he positively has the looks of a display-tanned indoor hermit. A hermit who is having a bad time.

“Wanna help, or would you rather brood somewhere the umbrellas won’t be able to reach you?”

A mechanical click can be heard in the distance; now that there’s no music playing in the streets, the bad (and always slightly ahead of time) clocktower bell can be heard signalling quarter past midnight. This seems to catch Touya’s attention and remind him of something as he stares into a nondescript spot for a while. At the very least, Keigo is certain he’s not thinking about the question that slipped out and which he will regret- if he says no, it’s gonna be the disappointment… if yes, then it’s because of all the things that will definitely go wrong.

“... well, it’s not as if I had no time to kill,” comes the apathetic answer a few seconds later, although the wrinkling eyebrows are telling of his misgivings regarding the idea.

“...”

Now, hold on… hold on, he may have an even worse idea that he’s definitely going to regret…

Keigo taps his pointing fingers against the camera anxiously. “Actually… say, what would it take for youuu… to be my model tonight?” He takes out his best puppy eyes as he looks over to him with the tiniest smile, blinking slowly.

It’s as if Touya had another light induced migraine immediately. He looks almost disgusted, which… is hilarious. “For that I'll take both your life savings and your soul.”

Keigo stifles both a giggle and a sigh at that, resulting in somewhat of a snort. He must be put off by those umbrellas quite a bit. "Really…? If that’s all, fine by me."

The answer brings back Touya to a much more reserved, if not vaguely sceptical stance. “You… sure are ready to jump the gun for that, huh.”

"Well I, too, am asking a bit much of you out of nowhere, aren’t I?” He asks, shrugging. “I figured it was worth asking, at the very least… you fit the mood a little too perfectly, one doesn’t get an opportunity like this every day. If all it takes is my birdie bank, that’s fine by me. … We can also talk about the soul part later if you want to.” It takes him every ounce of self restraint not to throw in a wink at the end.

“...” Touya stares in contemplation before taking a deep sigh and scratching his head. "Fine. I guess it’s going to be much less bothersome than posing for hours to have a portrait painted."

Keigo’s ears perk up at that. Like, a lot. "Y---you… there's a portrait?!"

Whaaa?!? A professional-ass painting, of him?? And, even more importantly, where?!?

"... I know what you're thinking of, and no, I have not the slightest idea. Who knows, maybe it even burned along with---" he cuts himself off right there. For the first time that night, he seems upset, or rather angry; whichever it may be is the strongest emotion the blonde has seen him display in these past minutes, affecting even him quite a bit. His hairs stand alert once more--- but the sentiment goes as it came, along with Touya’s stifled ire.

"... never mind. Let’s just… get on with this."

"..." He figures that being nosy would be straight-down rude, having just met and already asking for quite a bit… so he lets it slide as if nothing happened.

Keigo turns around to the lampion that he placed before the convo started.

Huh… that’s weird.

He doesn’t remember lighting it.

Overall, Touya seems to pay quite a bit of attention to what he's doing, visibly taking mental notes of the processes he goes through. First, it's a little embarrassing to be watched so closely, but eventually Keigo gets used to it and just does his thing. He soon finds himself in the zone, in fact. Hell knows how much time goes by as he keeps clicking away, barely even instructing, but rather just basking in whatever the other does, giving the okay to everything. He’s not even bothered by the bone cutting cold that’s now heightened by a breeze, because Touya seems to be a natural, and by god, does his presence do things to him. He’s had phases of architecture, mixed media with cutouts and shadow play, birds, and abandoned places, but this… this must be what finding a muse feels like.

When he's looking for the misplaced lighter for the hundredth time again, it's already shoved into his face.

"You should just keep this in your pocket, angel."

"Ah, thanks." He takes it, then turns to Touya sheepishly while pulling his jacket tighter as the light wind blows especially cold air down his collar. "I've been… stupidly quiet for a while. It must be really awkward, uh… am I really not bothering you?"

"It's fine. I like having the company."

Maybe his voice is softer than before… or maybe he’s just imagining things.

“I, uh--- same.” Keigo feels blood creeping to his face, so he quickly moves on; “I have enough of these candles left for like about one more location. Any ideas?”

It takes Touya only a second of consideration before he nods towards the belfry ruins.

He flashes a smile; “Gotcha.”

In barely 10 more minutes, Keigo is speeding through the hundreds (whoops?) of photos he’s taken, walking circles around the ruin. His breath hitches over the one where Touya looked directly into the camera right by the wall. He’s gonna frameit and putitonhiswardrobedoor andmmmakeit his ppphone wallpaper---

He can hear a chuckle behind him, and remembers that whoopsie daisy, he’s not alone. “You're pleased as punch over a few pictures… It’s adorable.”

Keigo gets red to the eartips this time around, realizing that he’s got that goofy-ass smile Rumi keeps teasing him for. Unfortunately for him, once it gets pointed out… it always sticks. “I’tsjustthat---…!! I… didn’t think I’d get such nice photos at all? Moody scenery is nice and easier to sell, but I prefer lived-in spaces and models, anything that feels alive. Especially when they’re so pret...ty. Patient.”

Someone kill him.

“...”

The thin eyebrows twitch the smallest amount and for a torturous, silent pause Keigo wishes for some kind of deity to strike him down and grant a merciful, immediate death.

“I suppose I’ve had a few years to put some patience practice under the belt.”

He fights the urge to run away crying. There’s no way anybody exists who wouldn’t see right through that… at least he gets to see that cute smile once more.

He forces one on, too. “... I can tell.”

The wind starts picking up, distracting the other. Touya takes a look up to the moon, which has made quite some progress on its route since they’ve been there. Then there’s three clicks echoing through the night, signalling that it’s nearing 1 a.m. “Well… you were babbling about showing me, too, so you better hurry. I don’t have much time left.”

Keigo snaps out of the shameful frustration only to be legitimately ashamed. “Oh… sorry, I… hadn’t even considered that you had other business tonight.” Shit. He just assumed he had all night, but Touya was just humoring him until he had other business.

The other shakes his head. “It’s no issue, just get your fidgety ass over here already.”

As he makes his way over to him, Keigo feels something grab onto his leg and the familiar itch of thorns scratching up skin through his jeans.

Fucking vines again.

He should have expected this, shouldn't he. As he stumbles forward, he sighs in immediate acceptance.

He would have never expected being caught, though.

Nor Touya’s hands being as cold as a frozen piece of meat that can be felt even through his jumper and jacket. His touch sends shivers down his spine, freezing him in surprise first; if the strap didn’t get caught around his arm, the camera would hit the ground as his hand loses its hold on it.

What he’s definitely not ready for, however, is the arctic chill radiating from every inch of Touya’s, the same icy presence that he’s been feeling ever since… since he got close.

The thing that makes him break into cold sweat and brings even the blood in his veins to a halt, however, is the pair of forget-me-nots staring into his soul from mere inches.

Those beautiful, blue eyes, that… that are glassy and clouded and definitely not… human.

His lips part, but the scream dies off in his throat.

The realization flashing in his eyes draws a lenient, gentle smile onto the pale face. “You’re slow, angel.”

Keigo's paralyzed in what he can only guess is sheer terror, his body's last resort in hopes that the threat will just leave if it's not interesting enough to investigate. His mind, however, is racing and panicked as his inevitable end leans in for the kill.

Fuck.

Fuck, he's… dead.

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead---

He’s dead.

At least, that’s what he remembers thinking before passing the fuck out… not knowing who exactly he was referring to anymore. Because he feels positively not alive when waking up on the belfry’s cold ground, on the patch of concrete that lay behind where the catafalque used to be, surrounded by what remained of the candles and lampions he had brought along, and some of the flowers that people decorate graves with.

The spot where everyone suspected a former hidden path… or another grave.

He turns around, because now he remembers where he last saw the name Touya- it’s barely legible, but there it is, crudely chiselled into the stone right above the grey ground.

At first he supposes that the cold, empty feeling that seeps through his entire being must be the nasty cold and pneumonia he gets after the deed. As the days go by, however… the shivers and cold sensation persist and his dreams are plagued by endless mazes, fires, and haunting, blue eyes all the time.

His second guess for the cause of it is lingering fear: on the camera, he finds creepy photos of himself lying in the grave once he gets better. When going through them all, he considers to delete the ones he took of the other or use them for digging, (there’s no fucking way he actually hung out with a ghost, is there?) but… they all pop up as vaguely distorted landscapes, with light spots where a pair of eyes may or may not be.

Having stared blankly for like an hour at the one he really liked back then, he throws the camera into the corner of his armchair and doesn’t touch it for weeks.

This carries on through winter, in spring, and he's convinced of how badly he fucked up when even in the suffocating summer heat he feels the veil of an icy embrace.

Once leaves start catching rust again, the chill makes his bones ache, much like they did after the encounter. And it only gets stronger by the day. He hasn't shown the pictures, developed or otherwise, to anyone. Somewhere down the line he figured… that he should just give him the photos and trade them back for his soul, because hell if that dementor did not help himself to it right along with the kiss he definitely got but doesn’t remember. Trauma alone cannot possibly cause this.

It's midnight again. This time, he's already there, waiting for the toll of the distant church bell they had fixed and reset sometime in spring. The autumn fog is as thick as ever.

His grip tightens on the envelope; deals like this are notoriously hard to break or undo. Hell, the guy agreed to have the photos taken, creating a nice little loophole. Whether he printed them, deleted them all or whatever might be a moot point.

… no. No, he can't start thinking about this right now, if he comes he'll get this thing annulled, get his damn soul back---

As the last gong dies off in the night, a pair of lean arms slink around his aching chest and pull him against a body so cold it's scalding his skin.

"Hello again, angel," greets the voice, sounding a hundred times sweeter than he remembers.

…

Or maybe… he'll just let him keep it forever.

#DabiHawks #dabi #Takami Keigo #ctabb halloween bang 2019 #toukei #hawks #bnha fic #Kate writes

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness (1 of 6, mostly work safe for 1)

Old, old fic of mine...touched up with tweaks to words, grammar, sentence structure that sort of thing. Nothing too major a change, just the perfectionist in me trying to make it a smoother and more enjoyable read....I got the urge to reread this, and of course, couldn’t make it through without trying to “fix” it. And someday I really need to write the sequel, Light Seducing Darkness.

I believe this was my first foray into Hook Emma/Captain Swan fanfic. It starts out i guess R rated, but by chapter two vastly becomes super smutty. This is set in season two, is an AU, has Rumplestiltskin character death. According to fanfic net I originally wrote this in July 2013..., long before season five made Hook as a Dark One a thing. XD

As such, it was written with some thoughts in my head, (I looked at my old author’s notes) where I had thought Hook wasn’t aware of what would happen if he used the dagger on the dark one. I firmly believed he wanted to get his revenge and die, and would have been pissed to find himself stuck as the new Dark One. Although in this fic, from what I remember, I don’t think I gave him much time to be pissed, between the evil queenS orders, and the lust that quickly spilled over in an effort to combat it.

Will be posting all six parts of the completed first in a series fic onto my tumblr, as well as updating it at archive and fanfic.net. Will be posting on tumblr as I finished going over each chapter. 

There are moments, all too brief respites, where everything stands frozen and still. It is a lie, the quiet that it brings giving them the illusion of the luxuries they no longer have. Chief among them is time, every moment stolen, every second bringing them closer to what just may be their deaths. However, there is no time to grieve, no time to wage protest against an unfair fate. There exists only now, the running and the plotting, readying themselves for a war they are ill equipped to fight under the best of circumstances, and that was before Gold had been killed.

There's no time to mourn him, no time to do anything more than acknowledge the fallen. Gold stands to be the first in what will become a string of massacres, the worst nightmare of many coming true as Storybrooke falls under the power of not one, but TWO evil queens.

Maybe, just maybe they would stand a chance if it had only been Cora and Regina to contend with. Maybe then they could have won, somehow backed only by the power of the savior, a power that she herself didn't understand and had barely begun to explore. But there had never been time, and Emma had never seen need to truly explore the potential within her, the magic that left her so frightened and disturbed.

She regrets that now, a million if only running through her head. Wondering if only she had made the time, if only she had put aside her duties as sheriff, if only she had taken seriously Gold's attempts to tutor her. Nothing and no one can change the past now, not Emma as the savior, and not even Gold with all the power of the Dark One at his fingertips.

All that power had done little good once Gold had lost control of the dagger. Enslaved by the one who controlled the blade, Gold had been rendered helpless, unable to do anything to ward off the death that had finally come calling.

It wasn't just that they had lost a valuable ally in the war against evil. It was the power the evil queens had gained, the magic that was now theirs to command. A power they were all to quick to use, despite the fact that their tool was a staggered weapon at best.

Emma tried not to shudder as she remembered the scream that had followed Gold's death. The scream that had been unlike anything she had ever before heard, the pain and shock of what was happening registered within it, leaving the Dark One confused, fighting against fate, against orders. That resistance to do as commanded, was the only reason why Emma and her family were still alive. Was the only reason why they were able to run long enough to scheme. Not that the Charmings had much in the way of ideas, not when the dagger was so essential to defeating that which was coming.

It was hard not to give in to those hopeless feelings. To not wonder what chance they stood, with the power of the Dark One turned against them. Even as Emma fought against despairing, she acknowledged that she didn't know enough, not to fight and not to use the power locked inside her. For all that lack of, there was hope, Emma realizing that although she didn't know much about being the savior, the young woman also didn't know enough to truly believe the Dark One was completely unstoppable, dagger aside. And she disliked immensely the pitying looks her father and mother both gave her when she had said so.

Perhaps it was because they were of the other world, and always had lived with the knowledge that there was no true way to destroy the Dark One. Even before the existence of the dagger had become known, the people who had lived in the Enchanted Kingdoms, had grown up believing in the Dark One's invincibility. They had learned first hand, the failures of those who had made attempts on the Dark One's life, had been terrorized and manipulated for years far longer than Gold had been alive.

The Dark One already so terrifying, had become something else entirely under Rumplestiltskin's control. The man had twisted the legends, distorted truths until the name Rumplestiltskin was feared, the man rather than the monster fear, and with that faded memory had gone many’s truths behind the dagger. Through his masterful manipulations, most had gone on to forget that the Dark One had once been a slave, that whoever possessed the dagger had controlled the beast. Forgotten about, it was now a painful reminder that had been slammed into them, stark and potent in its devastating truths.

It was that reminder that was snuffing the hope out of David and Mary Margaret's eyes. That and the memories of those failed attempts to kill, to corner, to even contain Rumplestiltskin and his power. They remembered well the hardships, and the sheer desperation that had led the Blue Fairy into finally discovering a way, albeit a temporary one. A  way meant to hold him, to imprison him long enough so that a single generation of people would have peace of mind.

There would be no repeating that way, even if the Blue Fairy had been capable of repeating that spell. In the realm of Storybrooke, even with magic brought back into it, there simply wasn't enough of the Enchanted Kingdoms in this land. There wasn't enough of the ingredients needed to power the spell, no time to prepare, no location secured to act as a prison. There wasn't enough of anything, David and Mary Margaret knowing this, and thus choosing not to build their daughter's hopes up.

They held back, but didn't stop their daughter from scheming. Desperate plan after desperate plan came flowing, none of them seeming plausible, none of them offering true hope of survival.  Emma wouldn't, couldn’t, give up, not even when faced with the Dark One, watching as her gun's bullets slammed into his black leather clad chest.

Was it the bullets or the pain of them that seemed to confuse him? He'd actually look down, stare at the small holes in his clothing, smoke curling upwards out of them. His hand would raise, finger fitting into one of the holes. No blood, the skin already healing, mending together as though the bullet had never torn it open.

No further proof was needed that their weapons were useless. And yet Emma kept on firing. Watching the body jerk back with each shell's piercing, seeing the expression on the Dark One's face, a lost look of a despair all his own. She didn't truly understand the expression, or the reasons behind it. Why would he allow such pain to color his eyes? Pain that had nothing to do with the bullets, or Mary Margaret's arrows. Hadn't this been what he had wanted? Hadn't he pursued Gold over time and space, in an effort to bring about his end and claim his power? Hadn't he become exactly what he had always wanted?

Emma didn't know  that she was jumping to conclusions. Didn't know, and truth be known, wouldn't have cared. She was blinded by what she saw as his betrayal, cursing herself a fool for ever even giving him a moment's benefit of doubt. She should have known better, DID know better. Once burned, you never, ever give a person a second chance to hurt you. And yet for him, she had. For him she had pushed back the betrayals, choosing to ignore how he had left her and her friends, even her mother, to die in a rotting dungeon, or of the time shortly after, where he had been set on killing her.

Nothing personal he had claimed. And she had believed him! Was it her own guilt at work there? Was it the fact that Emma had not only abandoned him, but left him trapped at the top of a beanstalk, that led her to grudgingly bear him no ill will? Was it that same guilt that made her feel responsible, made Emma think that if she had done one thing differently, none of this would have come to past? Or did she simply regret not killing him when she had had the chance?

No way to know, no time to mull over the what ifs. She was out of bullets, and he was coming, his black leather riddled with smoking holes, but his body otherwise fine. More than fine, if one ignored the anguish of his expression. Always a handsome man, that beauty had become more pronounced, devastatingly dark and seductive, all the better to lure foolish maidens to their ruin.

Emma wasn't foolish, but even she couldn't look at that dark beauty and not be affected. She rebelled against the want that fisted inside her, total defiance spurring her to fling her gun at him. His arm raised, the gun bouncing off harmlessly. She barely registered the sound of steel being drawn, the borrowed sword in her grip as she took up a new stance, readying herself to die fighting.

David was somewhere to the right of her, a sword that had slayed dragons, in his hand. Arrows came from the left of her, Mary Margaret rapidly depleting her stock of projectiles. They were catching on fire, bursting into smoke instead of striking him, though the Dark One hadn't seemed intent on defending himself.

With a challenging scream, Emma and her father both rushed the Dark One at the same time. David's sword twirled in his grip, slashing downwards one moment, then attempting to belly thrust the next. Emma's blade met the metal of his hook, the Dark One effortlessly holding her back. She didn't fight his shove back, instead rebounding, spinning round to come at his head from a new angle. But the blow didn't connect, his hook there, stopping her blade, even as David mercilessly hacked away at his sides. He came away with nothing for his troubles, save to chip away bits of the leather of the Dark One's coat.

Emma bit out a frustrated sound, lashing out with her legs. At best the target she chose would distract him, at worse leave him infuriated. Her knee connected, and for a second it seemed the breath blew out of the Dark One. Her father quick to seize the advantage, went for the Dark One's heart, intending to split it in half with his blade.

And then David was airborne, a self presevation of the Dark One sending Emma's father flying. He didn't go far, the forest too crowded with trees, one of which he slammed into headfirst. Emma heard her mother scream out, Mary Margaret running towards where David had landed. He wasn't moving, the sword slamming tip first into the ground, inches away from his body.

Emma didn't dare think that David might be dead. Didn't dare allow herself to fear she had lost a father she had barely begun to know. She just tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, grim determination in her to somehow bring down this monster.

The sword was caught mid blow, wrenched free of her hand by an unnatural force. She wouldn't let that deter her, striking him close fisted in the face and coming away with a hand that had gone numb from the contact. An arrow flew, just missing the Dark One's face, Emma hearing Mary Margaret screaming at her to run.

Even if she wasn’t stubbornly rebelling against such a command, there was no chance to flee. The Dark One had grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up off the ground. Leaving Emma choking one instant, growling the next. More arrows flew past, Mary Margaret refusing to take her own advice, refusing to abandon her husband and daughter to this unstoppable monster.

Emma felt her mother's frustration, as she kicked out with her legs, clawing at the arm of the hand that so effortlessly held her up off the ground. She didn't want to believe she was going to die like this, one hand digging her nails into his, the other held towards him in a warding gesture.

"Hook..." She barely got out his name, her voice sounded like gravel in response to the grip crushing down on her throat. "Please..." Emma hated that she was begging, but her options had run out. There was nothing left to do, but plead with a monster, hope there was enough of the man left inside him, to listen and show mercy.

"Emma..." The Dark One had hesitated, his grip relaxing slightly. Sorrow colored his sea dark eyes, an expression so unsettling on he who had once been nothing but wickedly flirtatious. Emma saw then that he really didn't want to do this, that he was truly enslaved by the dagger. That he was fighting even now, the compulsions of his mistress' command. And yet it would do none of them any good, could only delay the inevitable.

"Fight it." urged Emma, still speaking in the raspy tones forced on her by that bruising grip of his.

"I want to." He admitted, and then his grip tightened again. "But I can't..."

She tried to scream in frustration, but it came out a mere whimper. How did one fight, how did one hope to win against the Dark One's power? How did anyone do anything but lay down and die, when faced with such unfair odds.

"Help me." The Dark One gritted out through clenched teeth. Emma's eyes had widened, the woman shocked completely at the Dark One's plea. "Save me..."

All seemed frozen, waiting for Emma's answer. But how could she save him, when Emma couldn't even save herself? The familiar frustrations bloomed within her, Emma wishing she understood the power she was supposed to have. Would it have been enough? Was there anyway for the product of true love to combat such an ancient, and all powerful evil?

Her vision was blurring, the grip on her throat slowly but surely suffocating her. Wetness pricked at her eyes, but Emma refused to give in to tears. Sound echoed from a distance, Mary Margaret's scream barely more than a whisper. She saw faces of her past float before her, Neal, her son Henry, that of her parents and friends. Even Gold appeared, a ghostly vision of the past that helped remind her that the power was within her, Emma merely had to focus to find it, to know what she needed to do.

Difficult to focus when one was losing their tenacious grip on reality. Emma reached out, her hand making contact with the Dark One's chest. He felt warm, so full of life and vitality, in comparison to the cold that was streaking icy tendrils through her. Emma wanted that warmth, wanted to use it to stave off the cold. Her hand moved, doing an unconscious caress as she dipped inside his shirt to touch directly on his skin.

So focused was she on the warming feel of his flesh that Emma almost missed the look that flashed in the Dark One's eyes. Almost didn't see Hook looking back at her, the pain and surprise being eaten away by something primal. It was sin of a most wicked kind that gazed out at her, the ever flirtatious pirate longing for something she had never been prepared to give him. Emma would give it to him now, if it meant they stood a chance of surviving, if it meant it would buy Mary Margaret enough time to flee.

With the breath being choked out of her, Emma directed her touch lower, her accidental caress gaining purpose. The breath hissed out of the Dark One, Hook looking as though he was the one struggling to breathe now. His eyes were swallowed up in desire, when her hand slipped into his pants, Emma not bothering with being coy, or teasing, directly grasping hold of his cock, and giving it a purposeful squeeze.

Hook reacted immediately, the grip on her throat loosening as his erection sprung to potent life. Emma had a second to be amazed, and even made breathless and dazed, she didn't miss the cocksure smirk that he gave her, Hook proud of himself and the formidable size of his erection. He had been right to boast, and a part of her was actually anticipating feeling that length of his thrusting inside her.

Continuing to touch him, to stroke and grip the focal point of his arousal, Emma looked Hook right in the eyes, a smirk of her own inviting him to play. "What say we take this some place more private?"

It was all she had to say, Hook's arm going around her waist, pulling her against him so that her breasts squished against his chest. Emma didn't allow a second of hesitation to affect her, knowing there was no room for doubts at this point in time. This was the right course, the only course, and though it might just be delaying the inevitable, it might just buy the needed time. Time for her to figure out her powers, or time for Mary Margaret to find Ruby and Henry, and flee to where the Dark One's powers could not follow.

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To Be Continued....

#fanfiction #fanfic #once upon a time #ouat #Light Grasping Darkness #Captain Hook #Captain Swan #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #killian jones x emma swan #season 2 cannon divergence