#i die and resurrect every time he touches her face like that

[jimmymcgill]

Fringe 1.17 "Bad Dreams"

#fringe #fringeedit #olivia dunham #peter bishop #polivia #tvedit #scifiedit #mine #2024edits #i'm fragile #i die and resurrect every time he touches her face like that #po

[elegantduelliste]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tension grows amongst the companions as secrets are revealed.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 14: Tension

Ao3

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Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Sexual Language, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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We’ve all had to learn to make accommodations. And it has caused me to miss my peace amidst the night orchids. Though the journey has been difficult, I can feel bonds starting to form. Where deceit lies and trust begins, I have yet to learn. I wonder, how many of them I will be able to call a friend when this is over.

— Shadowheart, diary entry 26 in newly bound entries of surviving tadpoles & outlanders

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Such a strange idea waiting for the heart to be broken.

Stranger still, waiting to break one’s own heart.

The tale of any relationship unfolding like origami with worn creases trying to make it stabilize.

Tav floated on her back in a pond, staring up at the clouds. Undergarments christened by the crystal blue waters, hugged her body tightly. She danced her pruning fingers on the surface of the liquid, summoning puckered ideations of an unrealized romance between her and Astarion.

In her dreaming state, she imagined the vampire being the one to pull the sword out of her stoned heart. Pulling and pulling until the curse set upon her was alleviated.

A tightness clasped around her throat when she imagined his waves of hoary tresses entwined within the billowy vanilla clouds passing by. Oh, to feel a hunger for someone one day only to experience mourning their touch the next.

She cupped both of her cheeks. Her fingers ran down the knobs of her collarbone, sides of her breasts, strumming her ribs with the same wandering journey Astarion once spoke to her about when he caressed her in his tent. Tenderly. Sweetly. Unbound to feel her executioner’s teeth covet her flesh. Desperate to resurrect the forspoken recollection of his touch. Letting her float up to heaven with his voice near her ear, only to drag her back down from her Elysium to remind her she was still alive.

Seven days had passed and she missed his scent in her hair.

Seven days had passed and she missed his hands encircling her waist.

Seven days had passed and she couldn’t help but imagine that who she thought him to be, was a myth of her wishful beliefs.

He planted a seed and she became his wine. He eclipsed her sun and she served his darkness. He fed her etiquette and she satisfied his appetite.

The bard was reluctant to admit that she had been captivated by a man that may not fully exist. A black mamba whose dubious gaze clocked her every move, before capturing her with his venomous bite one too many times.

Lips parting to push out a soft puff of air, she let her hands fall listlessly back into the water. She roughly skimmed them across the surface—attempting to fist the escaping liquid—much like she wanted to continue holding onto her embryonic feelings towards the pale spawn.

He seemed unhappy when she told him they should end their companionship, but not in the way a rejected lover would by tearing through the night on unhallowed ground. It was disappointment shadowing his eyes and a dramatic quip placated upon his perfect lips he left her alone with on the pathway.

“Well, pardon me while I go die of a broken heart,” Astarion professed in pseudo shock, placing a showy hand across his chest. ”It’s unfortunate really—I thought we got along rather melodically. Though, I’m sure there’s plenty of other tadpole-brained bards in the proverbial sea. Please do have a splendid evening,” He paused in thought before articulating his final word to her. “...songbird.”

Gods! It bothered Tav how uncaring he seemed. It’s not as if he wasn’t being honest with her when he spoke about certain subjects, but he was clearly omitting truths—finding loopholes around her concerns with his ambiguity. His flippant attitude towards her, vexed her in ways she shouldn’t even concede herself to plummet her thoughts upon.

Did he truly have little to no interest in her? Better yet, why did he continue to force himself to have sex with her if he didn’t like her? She felt used at times, like she had been the one taking advantage of him.

Is that what she had been doing this whole time? Relying on him to provide her with the affection she besotted after in her daydreams? Were they both only using each other?

But, what about what she actually wanted? What she began to unchain her shackled heart for—

Her hand rose out of the water like a reawakened invocation for her idleness and settled delicately on the nearly healed bite marks above her breast tissue. The songstress tapped at the tiny dim brown dots making up her soulmate mark that he had appeared to fixate on betwixt the fang marks.

Why did he choose this spot? She wondered.

Tav wasn’t sure she was comfortable with him feeding from her privately anymore. She knew he wasn’t fully there when he bit her. That far off look—his complete withdrawal from their intimate moment—Astarion had been completely overtaken by the ephialtes she knew he relived day in and day out. Though, what if he accidentally harmed her during another episode?

It was at a crossroads she stood at. One leading into a clear meadow of amnesty from his former life and the other leading into the bleak caverns of the underworld where all his torments resided.

Yet, what of the middle path? The one waiting to be traveled. With deadened forest roots risen out of silted earth and life brimming inside resting tree cavities. Impossibilities being the catalyst for possibilities.

“I did the right thing,” she voiced aloud in reassurance to herself, knowing not even her hymns resounding from the valley in the mountains could save them.

For now.

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The road leading to the Mountain Pass disentombed secrets from their residing magic casters.

Upon saving the aggressively cautious Barcus Wroot, he informed them that he saw a rather large fire engulfing a building north of the windmill the goblins tied him to.

And with the usual debates to lend aid to more hopeless souls in the Wilderness, they swiftly arrived at Waukeen’s Rest Inn.

Flaming Fists scattered about. Some dead; some alive. Drow bandits and goblin raiders laying around in their own pools of blood like painted ragdolls. Knights screaming and screaming at the sealed doors of the inn—until they flung open.

More are found dead. Suffocated from the smoke. Burned alive. Counsellor Florrick barely intact, almost succumbing to the fumes polluting her lungs. She was desperate to find the Duke Ulder Ravengard, father to Wyll, kidnapped and taken to Moonrise Towers.

Wyll does not rest for several days. Their journey had suddenly become more than any of them bargained for. He pleaded with Tav to find his father on what she knew would be an imperative mission. She does not refuse.

Later, Mizora arrived with outstretched cambion wings, to castigate Wyll for disobeying Zariel’s orders to slay Karlach. His breach in their pact cost him his appearance. Thick onyx horns sprout, curling backwards from the handsome brown-skinned man’s forehead. Thin slices of boney cartilage protrude under his skin on his upper cheeks and neck. He writhed in pain: cursing her; the hells; himself.

And then, disharmony struck. With eddies of discord blowing over the camp.

Gale informed everyone that he was a literal walking bomb. The Netherese Orb inside his chest would not calm lest its hunger be consummated in arcane artifacts imbued with magic.

“Let me get this straight,” Astarion frowned, holding his sharp jaw. “Any type of armor, weapons, or items we find with strong magical properties that—oh, I don’t know—could probably assist us on this godsforsaken odyssey, will have to be consumed by a man whose feet are already in his own grave?”

Tav slowly nodded, feeling a pit in her stomach. This was the first interaction the former lovers had in a week beyond simple civil exchanges.

Ever scrutinizing her under his dark lashes, his age lines deepend around his mouth as he contorted his lips. “For one man?”

Again, she nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Her heart ached in tandem with her gradual breaths. And much like her time wading as a forgotten mermaid in the pond’s embrace, her broken thoughts about Astarion momentarily returned, before she quickly caught them to tie around the roots of water lilies so they could drown at the bottom of her murky watery floors.

“Gale is our friend. We won’t abandon him,” she hesitantly replied, knowing they could possibly get caught in the explosion if the orb decided to activate. “I will not see him left for dead like his goddess once did to him!”

Stormy eyes swept over to the wizard. His shame was palpable. Innocence lost to Mystra; taken by the weave. Tav shared his sentiment. They had both loved someone so religiously, that they committed the treason of destroying their bodies in their names. Omens foreshadowing cumbersome emotions over future romances.

Through their suffrage did they offer penance, Intercessory prayers to the seats of worship. Side by side with the saints they prayed in earnest, Only to be answered in blood. Farewell, go with the gods.

Shadowheart was monotone, critical with her doubt. “And you would bet his one life over the rest of ours?”

Tav pushed her index finger into her chest firmly. “What I would bet is that we should give him the opportunity to find real treatment for his affliction. Do not make me choose, Shadowheart,” she pleaded. “Have you all forgotten your own requests and the dangers that belie them already?”

The cleric concentrated on her response, offering little more than a sigh. “Very well.”

Wyll’s cathartic tone made its presence known like the curling heat from a loaf of fresh bread. “Gale has been with us from the beginning. Have we truly any right to condemn the man at this juncture? His suffering is no more or less than our own. Besides, finding items for the orb to consume shan’t be too difficult to come across.”

The songstress nodded in agreement. “Wyll makes a valid point. Even if we have to take on a few more quests along the way to secure those items, we—”

Astarion interrupted her, huffing out an annoyed laugh. He threw up his hands in defeat and walked towards his tent to retrieve his daggers.

Tav called after him as he marched out of camp. “Astarion, wait—“

“Let him go, soldier,” Karlach mumbled within earshot of her. She had kept mostly to herself during the dispute and it surprised the womanly elf suddenly hearing her speak.

“She-lak! Have you gone mad?!” Lae’zel chastised, snarling her hand to emphasize her point. “We are soon to become ghaik and instead you would ask us to additionally take on this burden as well? If he is too weak to survive his ordeal, then leave him to his fate.”

They should be upset. At Gale. At her. This was too much to ask of them. The cold inviting shroud of Death itself would be preferred over breaking up their entourage at this stage. Choices came in extremes for this predicament: succumb to one’s fate alone or continue risking each other's lives with their yesterdays.

A heavy paw patted the bard’s shoulder. “Yet, Gale still walks amongst us for the time being. Let us not be so hasty to cast out one of our own knowing what awaits us in the Shadowlands. We will need all the help we can get.”

The scent of oak and fruits hit Tav’s olfactories.

Halsin.

It was the prospect of having found ‘infernal iron’, that Halsin offered his altruistic services to seek out Dammon the blacksmith. Back to Emerald Grove did he travel—the wood druid comparable to the solstice in Kythorn. A warm bear steeping in nature’s gracious light amidst a field of upturned sunflowers.

The bard turned to smile at the man towering over her. “Were your travels kind to you?”

“I expected you to be further along the pass by now, but I am grateful I’ve managed to catch up—given my middle-age amongst the youthful,” Halsin chuckled. “And before you ask, Dammon is working on the infernal iron piece as we speak. He said it should be ready for Karlach by the time we head back down in the area to seek out the Underdark.”

Karlach fisted her hands at her sides, shaking excitedly. “Eeeee! I don’t know what to say! Halsin, I would pick you up and swing you around if I could! Thank you so much for this.”

“Enough of this foolishness!” Lae’zel roared, walking through the crowd of their group. “I would rather slice open my own throat than stand here another moment to witness anymore of these inane activities!”

The space before them grew silent. It was scarcely a revelation when the gith expressed her displeasure, but the intensity of her anger directed at them had never attained this level.

Finding her spry footing, Tav paraded after the githyanki. “Lae’zel, please at least tell me where you are going in case something were to happen.”

Lae’zel continued ahead until she arrived at her tent, grabbing up a waterskin and her longsword. “I’m going to speak with Astarion.”

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The sound of clashing steel, reminded Tav of setting personal boundaries.

Cold metal striking with brute impact against each other. Forceful, yet necessary. The promise of fatality or defense depending on how the blade made contact. Testing the resolve of one’s faith in their morality by striking during that perfect opening with the brunt of a pommel.

Tav had no plan when she decided to track them down. Haplessly relying on her compassionate magnetism to speak with her obstinate comrades and their matrimony to their own causes.

Which brought to mind the actual disposition of her charisma. Most bards were gifted with the art of persuasive speeches or gregarious notions. Their outgoing personalities flirted with music and charmed the delights of people far and wide.

However, she relied entirely on thoughtful observation and processing to eventually deliver direct oration. But, her unchosen leadership required curtailing days into mere minutes. There would be no quarter extended for her verdicts in most cases.

So, when the bard arrived at her destination, the performance had already begun.

The staged cathedra of Astarion and Lae’zel’s bladed pirouettes, oversaw the valley below. And, oh, how the heavens breathed upon patches of wheat, kissing their florets of golden chartreuse in waves.

It was quite evident why Lae’zel was a known poster child for her crèche. Donning trousers and a black leather harness barely covering her breasts, her longsword sang with abiding precision as she swung it sideways towards the vampire.

He ducked down, narrowly missing the slice cutting heavily through the air. Protruding out his limber leg, he attempted to trip her stance only to be rebuffed by her springing backwards.

“I’ve seen better sweeps from a hatchling, spawn,” the yellowish-green woman taunted.

Acrobatically, he spun a short sword in his hand. “I was only testing your nimbleness, my friend.”

“I am in no mood for tests. Come and strike!”

Tilting his head slightly towards Tav’s location, he pressed a finger against his lips. “Hush a moment.”

A lone tree hugging a section of rocky crags near their spar, provided instant refuge for the bard. She hid behind it, covering her mouth to control her breathing. Tav had little interest in eavesdropping, but to manifest now, could possibly cause Lae’zel to erupt further into her rage.

“What is it that you hear?”

Anticipating the rogue had likely heard her, the songstress peeked around the tree trunk, catching a wide smirk clinging at the corners of his mouth.

“My mistake. It must have been a ballad upon the wind,” he replied. “Shall we continue?”

Oh, he definitely knew.

Astarion looked out of place in the midst of the shimmering bronze sun rays bouncing off the ragged stones of the mountain. An achromatic timepiece from a bygone era. Baroquely carved ivory abs and chest exposed to serve as a fable that drew enamored breaths on top of an isolated summit.

She could not thaw her eyes away from him and the thoughts that persecuted her previous choices. To feel naked flesh pushed against naked flesh again as that translucent cage once had entrapped her underneath him back in the forest clearing.

Tav clutched at her shirt. No, stay focused.

Monogramming the ground with their steps, the pale elf dodged Lae’zel’s oncoming attacks more than executing his own.

“You seem angrier than usual,” he cheekily commented.

Lae’zel perked her brow. “Are you not also frustrated with how things are?”

“An understatement,” Astarion scoffed, sidestepping a vertical swing of her weapon. “Though, the plebs have the majority ruling here.”

“Tsk’va! You speak true,” she spat. “Once we arrive at the crèche and I am granted liberation by the zaith’isk, our brainwashed leader will see that this expedition’s flaws lie within herself.”

Tav rolled her eyes. She was not in the least bit shocked to hear Lae’zel bashing her to Astarion. Par for the course with that batlike snout of hers.

“Speaking of, what is your status with the bard?”

“My status? You make it sound like I recruited her in my endless harem of simps! But, to answer your question, she made the mistake of cutting things off between us. It’s all rather nauseating and best left as some poor soul’s lost sonnet,” he reported with a sly grin.

Bastard, Tav swore in her head.

The githyanki relaxed her stance, stopping her sword from cruising into another onslaught. “I have misjudged you.”

Astarion rested his weapons at his sides. “Oh? And which part about me did you misjudge? My godsgiven beauty? My expertise in poisoning the drinks at that nasty goblin party? Please do regale me with tales about me.”

“I have been watching the way you perform in battle. When you bare your teeth to rend our enemies necks—I cannot help but notice the primal instinct in your eyes. Should you allow me to swill your taste, I can promise both our blood red urges will be fulfilled,” she recited poetically.

I’ve never heard her voice so soft before—wait, is she hitting on Astarion?! Oh gods, the bard grimaced, once more covering her mouth as she gasped.

The vampire cocked his head to the side, examining her intensely. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Lae’zel held her sword to the side, gripping the hilt tightly. She narrowed her eyes at the spawn inquisitively. “Why have you not tried to bed me yet?”

Astarion offered a short laugh. “I was not aware the gith knew how to flirt.”

“Tsk, my people are capable of many things and I thought given your rakish behavior, you would seek out my bedroll,” she aggressively stated, with a rosiness filling her cheeks.

“Hmm. May I approach?” He pointedly asked.

Tav watched as he strode up to the petite woman, using his hips as part of his usual gait when he meant to seduce another.

He bent down to whisper into her ear, a few of his curls—those same curls Tav loved winding her fingers around—tactfully dusted the githyanki’s temple.

Lae’zel took a step backwards, conceding to whatever he told her from ochre colored irises. “Very well, but know this: I will not wait long before I take another.”

She bowed respectfully to him, taking up her belongings to head back down the passageway down into camp.

“You can come out now.”

Tav scanned the area before stepping out from behind her sanctuary of the tree. Particles of dust in the dusked sun, floated excitedly through beams casting final gleams through branches.

Astarion fumbled with a waterskin he retrieved from the ground, dousing his body with its contents. “Why were you hiding?”

She averted her gaze to peer at the now dimming sunlight, trying to distract herself from droplets of water scandalizing his bare torso. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Ah! Are you sure it wasn’t to listen in on some juicy gossip to spread around?” He teased.

“I assure you that falls out of my own interests,” she insisted, stopping a few feet from him. “I didn’t know you and Lae’zel were…friendly.”

“It would appear that I’ve managed to impress her in more ways than one,” the spawn said, twirling a hand in the air. “She has come to find me quite stimulating.”

The bard stared down at him. Hunter to hunter ready to pursue the game of taste. The killing time.

“Out with it, I don’t have all day to stand around waiting for your tongue to loosen,” he gibed, pursing his lips like a bow.

She jutted her left hip, stationing her hands firmly on either side of hips, fingers pointed downwards. “Did you accept her proposition?”

Astarion circled around her as a devil would compass a prophet, tempting a soul to waste.

She felt his undeath exhalation furl the tendrils at her nape. “The mask of jealousy does not suit that lovely face of yours.”

“Who said I was jealous? Maybe I’m asking because I’m hopeful your next bedmate will relinquish me of my ‘blood bag’ duties,” Tav contested, tracking his movements by the light route of his feet.

Liar.

Of course she was lying to herself. She was irrevocably jealous and they were both tackling the other for control.

Astarion roosted himself back in front of her. “Aww! Has my bite proven to be a tad too much for you, darling? Can’t quite escape how it makes you feel.”

Ah, he was toying with her. Implying more than just a general weakness of strength, but the arousal he knew so readily poured in the middle of her thighs when he pricked his fangs into her suppleness. The arousal that seemed to appear out of habit when he was near.

She blew out a sigh, struggling to moderate her accelerating heart rate. “Assumptions make an ass out of you.”

“Is that right? Then, let your mouth rest and pull out that blade by your side,” he purred thickly, reaching out to thumb the busk of her underbust corset.

“For what?”

“To spar of course,” the vampire casually unveiled.

Tav wrapped a tight hand around his wrist, forming half moon nail marks into his skin “Is that a challenge?”

“No, sweetheart. It’s an invitation,” he crookedly smiled.

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Notes:

Githyanki Words

She-lak = benevolent burden Tsk’va = shit Zaith’isk = purifier, device to remove mind flayer parasites

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #tav #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion acunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #epistles of saints & sinners #bard tav #spawn astarion #female tav #fem!tav

[kuumara]

We're friends!

Will and Mike have been close ever since Erica can remember.

The first time Lucas invited them to their house to play in the backyard- Erica was watching them, and even back them Will and Mike were always very touchy. When they played with swords, Mike would die and roll to the ground a lot and Will, the healer, would have to resurrect him every time.

For which Will needed to touch Mike and perform some spell. Erica can imagine Mike enjoyed having Will's attention even back then, which was the cause for him throwing himself to the ground very often.

However now, as the party let her in Mike's basement to have a movie night with them, she sees that now they're even more touchy than back then.

Will laying between Mike's legs, forehead pressed to his neck and Mike's arms all around him. It's like they were dead, not participating in conversations and the only movement being Mike's hand absent-mindedly going from Will's nape to the middle of his back.

It all made Erica want to barf. No- she's not homophobic, she wants to barf even when Max and Lucas are all lovey-dovey. When anyone is acting couple-y, she wants to barf. Erica doesn't see colors of the rainbow.

But- are Will and Mike even a couple? She'd asked Lucas one time, a year ago, but all he did was choke on his spit, from laughing. So she assumed they weren't. But she will have to ask him again.

The next time she saw Will and Mike together, was at a Hellfire Club meeting. During the session they were normal (maybe made their characters have ridiculous amounts of romantic tension), but after it was when Erica wanted to vomit again.

Everyone had already left, and Erica remembered that she'd forgotten her coat. But she couldn't just step into the room- she heard Will giggling. And she doesn't want to be seen as a creep, because she's anything but a creep.

She could hear Mike trying to desperately flirt with Will, and was succeeding, apparently. Erica had a disgusted frown on her face the whole time.

"I- I seem to have lost my phone number- can I have yours?"

"Mike you already have it-"

"No! Are you an orphanage because I want to give you kids-"

"MIKE!"

It's like he had them written on his hand or something, so they weren't even his- but Will seemed to love them all the same, because he was giggling like a maniac.

And the third time was when the boys had a sleepover at their house. Dustin asked her to get him his cook book from his backpack in Lucas' room (he was helping with the cooking), so she went to her brothers' room and-

They were sleeping in (on) Will's sleeping bag, Mike sprawled across Will and him- cuddling Mike. They didn't do anything when they saw her, except greet her, get up lazily and ask if breakfast is ready. They're definitely dating.

"Are you dating now?" She asked when they passed her. Now they both froze.

"No- I mean- I don't mean it in a bad way," she clarified.

"No," Will blurted, and Mike looked at him as if he'd just killed his dog.

They stayed looking at each other like this, before Will took a deep breath and went to the kitchen, Mike following him sadly. And oh boy did Erica mess up this time. Look like she doesn't have any other choice than to... fix this.

--

i need byler cuddling so i made this. hope u like it i love my aroace qween😱

#byler #byler fic #byler ficlet #byler fanfic #byler fluff #byler au #will byers #will byers fanfiction #mike wheeler fanfiction #mike wheeler #erica sinclair #stranger things #stranger things fic #my ficlet🐶

[shadyruinskryptonite]

Titan Bending Chapter 15 - Retaking Wall Maria Part 2

Warning: Violence consistent with cannon, NSFW so MDNI, language, major character death (both consistent with canon of both AOT and ATLA as well as diverging from canon), so much trauma literally everyone is so traumatized, very much slow burn, a little enemies to lovers, SO MUCH ANGST, hurt/comfort, hurt and delayed comfort, AFAB reader

Chapter Warnings: Part two of retaking Wall Maria so 🎶Second verse, same as the first! 🎶all of the same warnings apply to this chapter as last chapter.

Seriously though, if I ever put a trigger warning that you know or even think won’t sit right with you, please protect yourself. Message me and I’ll give a summary of the chapter without any of the triggers. I know that’s a goofier little trigger warning but I take my mental health very seriously and I want you all to do the same.

WC: 3981

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Masterlist

Tags: @mochminnie @sseleniaa @naruwitch

Whatever hit me is much softer than I was anticipating. When I open my eyes, I see Mikasa has body checked me out of the way. Before I can really register what happened, she pivots mid-air and is flying back at Batteringram. But he’s had enough of a chance to get up, and in the time it took Mikasa to rescue me he’s back on his feet.

Eren tries to push him back, but it might as well have been a spider ant facing off against a goat gorilla the way the Collasal kicked him onto the wall.

As everyone takes off to try to use their thunderspears, I call out, “Aim for his joints!” but it’s no use. Before any meaningful progress can be made he lets out steam that’s too hot for me to even bend easily.

When everyone touches down, I begin healing whomever I can as quickly as I can. Armin still doesn’t have a plan. It really feels like we’re doomed to die here.

As if on que, like something out of a nightmare, the Armored seems to resurrect.

In exasperation, Jean exclaims, “That bastard! What’ll it take to put him down for good? Why won’t he just…stay dead?!”

I was thinking the same thing right about now.

But Armin is in his own world. He’s noticed something.

“Armin, what is it?” I inquire.

“He’s…thinner.” Is all he responds. 

We all listen as he explains that the Collosal seems to lose mass every time he lets off steam. It’s clear that he’s come up with a plan but he doesn’t let us all in on it, just tells us to deal with Reiner because he and Eren will take care of the Collosal. I pat him on the shoulder before we all go our separate ways.

We try to engage Reiner but he ignores us. When we realize he’s focused on Eren, Jean calls to me. “Now feels like the perfect time for your earlier idea, y/n. Let’s surprise the hell out of him.”

I smile and call back, “Right!”

No more flying under the radar. Be as auspicious as you can!

I gather whatever water I can from the ground and ride it like a wave towards Reiner. I keep enough to keep moving in front of him but also freeze his feet so he topples to the ground. As he fights to get loose, I put on a bit of a display, spouting up in front of him.

“Y’all aren’t the only ones with secrets,” I call just as I release his feet to allow him to lunge at me. As he does, Mikasa hits the back of his knee sending him to the ground. I slice wherever I can find purchase but he doesn’t stay still long enough for me to make any meaningful hits.

As we try to ration our last thunderspears, the Collosal lights up and sends out a blinding wave of heat. Even from where we are we can feel a bit of it.

No time to think about that though. We jump into action trying to blast open Reiner’s mouth, but Sasha gets hurt in the process. I immediately drop with her and Connie to try to heal her.

Fuck, only one of the thunderspears hit.

I can tell Mikasa is contemplating attacking anyway, but while Connie tries to talk her out of it, Hange appears out of nowhere with a Hail Mary in the form of an extra thunderspear. Blowing his mouth open, Mikasa finally has the opening she needs.

Reiner is blown from his titan at the same time as Batteringram starts to fall. 

It worked…both sides won their segments of the battle.

Mikasa quickly chops of Reiner’s limbs and as soon as the dust settles we’re able to take stock of the situation. Hange lost her eye. Everyone has what seems to be some sort of injury. Despite continuing to move forward, my head throbs with every beat of my heart. 

I heal whomever I can to the best of my abilities and then we all work to bandage each other up. As soon as we get ourselves sorted, Hange begins to try to interrogate Reiner. The contents of the tin he was holding ended up being much more innocuous than we expected, just a letter from someone named Ymir for Krista.

It was so difficult to start calling her Historia and now look at me, I had to stop and think about who Krista even was.

When Hange moves to kill Reiner like I thought we all wanted to do, it’s actually Jean that stops her.

So Jean boy was just lashing out at Connie and Sasha earlier because he was feeling the same way they were.

After sending off Mikasa to find Levi, it’s clear that Jean is second guessing his own feelings, but Hange reassures him that what he said hadn’t been her deciding factor to wait to kill Reiner. Although, the way she said it and the way she’s acting is very odd. 

This has been rough for everyone but I think Hange’s been through a lot the last few hours. Where is the rest of her squad anyway?

Mikasa fires off a flare, signaling to kill Reiner. But before we have a chance, the most hideous thing on four legs comes out of nowhere, carrying another blond man with tell-tale titan markings under his eyes as well as some cargo. This ugly beast scoops up Reiner and takes off, leaving Jean to beat himself up some more.

This time, when Hange tells Jean he was only a factor in her decision, there’s a tinge of sympathy that leaks into her tone.

There she is.

When we go to meet up with the others, I get there first because everyone else’s gas has them moving slower than usual. The sight itself almost knocks me on my ass. A charred corpse is laying on the roof, and Eren and Mikasa are crying over it.

No…

I don’t want it to be who I think it is so I don’t let the thought cross my mind. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion in the process to administer the injection. Just as it’s about to be given to the body before us all, the annoying red-headed kid appears with Commander Erwin, who is in about an equal state.

God why…

It’s almost too much for me to bear. I want to look away, to run away, but I can’t bring myself to leave the roof. When Levi makes the call to save Erwin all hell breaks loose. Mikasa pulls her sword, Eren loses his mind and gets decked by Levi, who then in turn gets tackled by Mikasa. I try to pull her off of Levi amidst the ensuing argument about who will be saved, and with as tired as I am and as bad as…well… everything hurts, the best I can do is keep her from slicing clean through his throat.

I can’t bring myself to say a word.

As the red-headed kid, whom Eren called Flock, starts defending Erwin, I almost go to freeze his spit so that I don’t have to hear him anymore. In the split second I think about this, Mikasa breaks free and takes a pass at him and throws me to the side. Luckily, this is just as Hange and the others arrived and she was able to hold her back. I scramble to not fall off the roof and catch myself just before it gets to that point, getting pretty cut up on the shingles along the way.

By this point, Mikasa is sobbing and I can feel my heart breaking. I still can’t bring myself to say a word.

Luckily, Hange jumps in. “Listen, Mikasa. There’s people I wanna bring back, too. Hundreds at this point. Ever since I joined up with the Scouts, every day brought a new farewell. But, you need to understand, eventually you’ll have to let go of everyone you’ve ever met. I know that’s tough to accept, it’s tough for me too, it’s hard to stay sane living like that. It hurts, it really hurts. I know. But even so, all of us just have to push forward.” By the time she finishes speaking, her voice is just a whisper.

She’s a lot better at dealing hard pills to swallow than I am.

She continues to hold Mikasa as Eren makes one last plea with Levi.

I can’t imagine being in Levi’s shoes right now. 

He makes it clear that he’s choosing Erwin and banishes us all from the roof so that we don’t become collateral damage when his titan transforms. Once everyone else has flown away, I hang back for a moment.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said get lost!” Levi barks at me.

I’m silent for another moment before I take a step closer.

“Oh, wanna get a final word in about who you want me to choose?” he says with sarcasm dripping from every word.

“No,” is my quick response. I don’t wait before I continue, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry this has fallen on you. No one should have to play god like this. Sure, I have my own opinions about who I’d like to see saved and why, but you don’t need that right now. At the end of the day, you were selected for this shitty responsibility because it’s your decisions that Erwin trusts the most. Not Hange’s or Mikasa’s or Eren’s or Flock’s or mine. I guess I just wanted to let you know that no matter what anyone else thinks, and no matter who you choose, you can count on me to back you up.”

I can see the pain and weight of the decision in Levi’s eyes as I finish speaking, but I think I catch a hint of gratitude in them as well. I give him a sad smile and pat him on the shoulder before finally leaving the roof and watch on with the others, holding them as tears stream down their faces.

Not you, they need you to be strong.

When there’s a burst of light indicative of a transformation, the titan that emerges looks not like Erwin, but Armin. I allow my face to be riddled with shock, because that is the main emotion I’m experiencing alongside everyone else. But, deep down, I’m also relieved.

Losing him would’ve been tough.

As everyone else goes to peel Armin out of his pure titan, Hange and I along with Flock go over to Levi, who’s still with Erwin. 

He said it was time to let Erwin rest. I don’t know to what extent I believe that, but I think Erwin has done his time. Erwin was the past of the scouts. Armin is the future. 

Looking over, I see Armin emerge in a cloud of steam, still unconscious, but his hair flowing like it should and his skin its normal, healthy color.

I feel like I shouldn’t let on how happy I am with the choice Levi made, but I can’t wait to throw my arms around that kid in the biggest bear hug when he wakes up.

We get an unconscious Armin and Sasha set up on top of the wall, and when everyone else embarks to looks for any survivors, I get to work healing Sasha. It’s pretty quick work on the first heal. Even though it sounds counterproductive, the only thing I can do on more severe injuries is improve it little-by-little over time and through multiple healing sessions.

Eren insisted on staying back with Armin, so he’s with us as well. Just as I finish up and am about to take off to help search for survivors, he stops me.

“Hey y/n?” he says, his voice so timid he sounds like a small child.

“Yeah bud, what’s up?” I say as brightly as I can manage with a smile that I hope doesn’t look too forced.

“What was your opinion? Who did you want Levi to pick? I noticed you didn’t say anything the entire time we were on the roof.”

My face shifts and my smile turns sad as I answer. “I wanted him to pick Armin. And, just like you, my motivations were completely selfish.” I turn to look at the sleeping boy. “He was the first person that I had a real conversation with here. And there’s something inspiring by how much he seeks knowledge. But, I didn’t speak up because I figured you and Mikasa already had that pretty well covered. I also knew that my choice was one that would more overtly benefit me, versus Erwin who would be the clear option for humanity.” I shrug before turning back to Eren and saying, “but the funny thing is, the more I’ve thought about it the less I think that’s such a black and white answer. I think it was less of a choice between men and more of a choice between past and future.”

I leave him to think about what I said as I rejoin the others on the ground.

A few hours pass by with no luck. I help Hange search since her entire sense of vision has been altered and she doesn’t have her glasses. I also don’t want her to have to search the area where her squad died alone. 

I can tell she’s found someone based on how she stops in her tracks. I can tell it’s Moblit by how she sinks to the ground. 

I hold her as tightly as I can and let her cry. Not just for Moblit, but for Erwin and everyone else. It seems like she’s getting a decade’s worth of grief out. As I continue to hold her, I carefully reach down and put my fingers to his neck. I knew there wouldn’t be a pulse but I had to confirm. 

Once the sobs that were absolutely wracking her body subsided and she was left more or less just sniffling, I suggested we move on to a different area or even just go sit by the canal for a moment. She opted for the latter.

As we sit on the bank in silence, I bend a small amount of water into my hands to help get her cleaned up. At least get the blood and some of the grime off of her. 

Her complete and total silence leaves me at a loss for words.

Maybe it’s better to be quiet at a time like this. I don’t have to fill every painful silence with words attempting to be motivational.

I completely lose track of time as we sit there. We’re suddenly broken out of our trance by a flare going up.

Armin!

I jump up, forgetting to check my eagerness and immediately feeling guilty. Hange doesn’t say anything about it though, and we fly up to the top of the wall together.

By the time we’re there, Eren has informed Armin about everything that transpired and Armin quite clearly doesn’t know what to do with everything he’s just been told. The gravity of it all mixed with the fact that he had to eat Batteringram nearly makes him throw up before someone shoves a canteen in his face.

He keeps asking why him? Why not Erwin?

Hange answers, “You’re right Armin, I believe it should have been used on Erwin, too.”

Yikes Hange. That’s a bit much, doncha think?

“To be brutally honest,” I elbow her lightly in the ribs. “Nevermind, it’s a shame we had to choose in the first place.” She pauses before continuing, “It’s over now. Erwin told Levi to use the syringe as he thought best, and Levi chose to use it on you. What’s done is done. Erwin’s life and the power of a titan both rest on your shoulders. No matter what anyone says that’s the truth. It’s part of who you are now. Accept it.”

Wow, that was worse than when Levi tried to comfort them after they became murders.

Still in total shock, he says, “Wait…so does this mean…I need to become…Erwin’s replacement? There’s no way…I can’t!”

“Don’t misunderstand us, there’s no chance in hell that you could replace Erwin,” Levi responds.

Oh great, now we’ve got the two of them competing for who can be the least helpful when it comes to comforting them.

“That said, your self doubt aside, you have a strength within you that nobody else can claim. Don’t let any of us regret this. Not me, not either one of our mutineers here, nor anyone else,” he looks at Hange pointedly as he says the last part. “But especially don’t regret it yourself. Consider that your new mission.”

Wow that was actually really well said.

Luckily, even though she isn’t lucid, Sasha manages to break the tension by telling us all to shut the hell up.

Finally, it makes Hange chuckle, even if it’s only a little bit. She addresses Armin again and I brace for impact, but this time she has a much kinder tone. “You know, since Erwin chose me to succeed him as commander I’m more or less in the same boat as you. We’ll just have to grin and bear it while doing what we can.”

When Armin admits that he’ll try, Hange takes that as a positive sign and annonces that they’re going to the cellar and that Eren and Mikasa should guide she and Levi. 

Before they take off, as Eren and Mikasa stretch a little, Mikasa says, “Oh, y/n, how are you feeling? I’m kinda surprised you’re not just as laid up as Sasha honestly.”

The kids all look at me expectantly, but Hange and Levi snap their heads towards me, concern apparent.

I wave them off and dismissively say, “Oh I’m alright, thanks for checkin kiddo. I’ve been through one hell of a lot worse.”

The kids smile but there’s something akin to betrayal on Hange’s face and I can’t read Levi’s expression at all, as per usual.

“Y/n…”

“What happened?”

Hange and Levi speak at once, the former sounding like she was bordering on tears again and the latter sounding like I had committed high treason.

“Oh, seriously, it was really nothing. I just got knocked over in the Collasal’s transformation, that’s all,” I try to reassure them.

“Knocked over?” Eren says incredulously. “You got blown back so hard that your body left a hole in a house! You were unconscious for, like, five minutes!”

“Plus I saw how badly I flung you on the roof, you had to get at least some scrapes and bruises from that,” Mikasa adds.

I roll my eyes at them and try to dismiss everyone once again, but Levi stomps himself over and aggressively grabs my arm and rolls up my sleeve, jostling me in a way that does admittedly hurt. 

“Would you watch it you little shit?!” I say to him as I try to take my arm back.

But he doesn’t relent. “We’re not going anywhere until we give you a full once over.” As he’s checking my arms and anything exposed for injuries, he says over his shoulder “is anyone else playing tough and hiding something?”

Everyone shakes their heads no vigorously and I finally am able to wrench myself out of his hold. I look at everyone as I say, “Seriously, I’m fine. I jumped in the water right after and healed myself head to toe. Like Armin said at the time, I’ve got a concussion but it’s minor at that.” I look at Levi last and hold eyecontact for a moment longer than the rest, almost baiting him into not believing me.

With a huff, he takes Eren and Mikasa with him and Hange and they leave to find the cellar.

Once they were gone, I tell Connie and Jean to stay put and ask Armin if he’s up for a little walk on the walls with me. He agrees, and we walk all the way to the other side of Shiganshina in complete silence. When we get there, we sit down with our feet dangling over the edge.

“Armin?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you a hug?”

He nods and just like I had promised to myself, I give him the biggest, tightest hug I can manage. This is the first point that I almost find myself emotional, but even so I’m able to keep it in check.

“I’m so, so glad you’re okay,” I whisper into his ear.

“Me too,” he says, but it comes out almost like a question.

I lean back so that I can look him in the eyes and when I speak, I speak gently. “Levi was right, you know? About how strong you are.”

His eyes widden and fill with tears as he looks away. He almost angrily says, “I’m not as strong as Erwin though! Why would he choose me, someone barely above being a cadet, over him, the literal leader of the Scouts?! I can’t even face anything without crying and shaking!”

“Well, first of all I think the fact that you’re willing to cry and shake and show your fear is exactly what makes you strong. I for one push any negative feeling so deep down to a place where I never have to deal with it and where they then build up and take over every fiber of my being. True strength involves understanding your emotions and knowing how to sit in them so you can let them go and move on. I look up to you a lot in that way, honestly. But, as far as why you were chosen over Erwin goes, what Levi said immediately after the fact was that it was time to let him rest. And I think that’s fair and there’s something to be said for that, especially because we don’t know what their conversations were like behind closed doors. But I think it has a lot to do with one of the arguments that was made in favor of choosing Erwin. Flock was saying that when he found the commander, he almost put him out of his misery then and there but that he was a devil because only a devil could’ve gotten us to that point and it takes a devil to lead in this kind of world and as a devil he should be forced to go on experiencing this world. I think that maybe there’s a chance that Levi agreed. Agreed that Erwin had turned into a devil, that is. But I also think it’s possible that he knew him before it had come to this, and that a devil isn’t who Erwin truly is. That he was forced to become one and that this was his much deserved reprieve after having to throw his own humanity away. I think, between your mind and your heart, Levi sees in you the humanity that Erwin had lost along the way. Eren asked me earlier who I had hoped Levi would pick, and my answer was easily that I had wanted it to be you and that my motivations were selfish. But what I specifically told him is that, to me at least, it was a choice between the past and the future. Erwin lead in a world where we don’t know anything. Hange will be perfect to lead a world where we’re learning. And, one day, you’ll be perfect to lead a world that looks completely different from the one we know today.”

He doesn’t say anything but I know he’s taking in every word I said. After a while I stand up and motion for him to join me, saying, “Come on, let’s head back and learn the secrets of the world.”

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #avatar: the last airbender #atla #the gaang #Levi Ackerman #Levi x y/n #Captain Levi #Levi x reader #Hange Zoe #Prince Zuko #Zuko #Zuko x y/n #Aang #Katara #Sokka #Toph #Suki

[the-sprog]

We've all heard true crime podcasts talking about Jason Todd's murder (and/or where the second Robin has gone), but what about the Batson's death?

Two renowned archeologists die at a dig site in Egypt , one from where years after Black Adam emerges, under mysterious circumstances. Their daughter, Mary, who had followed them there, mysteriously disappears (whereas the Batson's bodies are found, hers isn't).

The only other known connections to the three are Mary's twin, William, and Ebenizer, the uncle the kid was staying with.

But low and behold, not even a year later, kid's in the system and then disappears. Some people claim they see him sometimes in the streets of Fawcett, some say his uncle killed him to get the money that William was supposed to heredit.

(Of course, the citizens of Fawcett who actually care, those that actually know the kid, won't let him get hunted down by money hungry reporters and insensitive young adults who won't think twice about asking a child about his dead family)

Ebenizer dies not many years after that. And like that, there are no connections to their deaths. No explanation to where the twins are.

And then

Then Captain Marvel appears (along with Black Adam) 4 years after the incident.

The true crime community immediately latches onto him, convinced he's the real CC Batson, who miraculously survived whatever attack killed his wife and gained powers from it.

It doesn't help that when questioned about the site and the origin of his powers, their connection to Balck Adam the Captain becomes squimish and avoidant.

Some are convinced Black Adam was the one to murder the Batsons and that Captain is CC's ghost in search or revenge.

The people in the archeologist community don't even ask. They can't bare to treat this superhero like the friend that once knew and have been mourning for years, only for it to get snatched away when the Captain doesn't recognize them.

So imagine when, 2 years pass, Marvel has joined the Justice League, has been making progress in finding his sister, there are more members of his family now. And people haven't really given up on it, but no one really had the balls to outright ask him.

That's when Batman brings the new Robin to the Watchtower for the first time. The whole squad had heard of the new Robin, but no one had ever commented on him. Well, maybe the other two members of the Big Three had something to say, but the rest of the League didn't have a death wish, so they refrained from touching such a delicate topic.

The third Robin was smart, calculating, and so like Batman himself that the others can't help but miss the second Robin's childlike exuberance. Heck, even the mischievous and angsty first Robin would've made them more comfortable.

The kid mostly kept to himself, but no one could ignore the way his eyes were staring holes in Captain Marvel. Something that made everyone queesy. Batman included.

Sure, the Captain had always been an incognita, something the Bat never quite managed to crack. He'd heard the rumors, but had never managed to confirm them. More things pointed towards an unfortunate uncanny resemblance and some very awkward coincidences than a true and proper resurrection of any sort.

The way the Captain talked about his powers, how they worked, the very history of the Champions of Magic... If you added CC Batson to the equation none of it added up.

But Robin's stare was knowing.

And that scared everyone in the room.

"So the rumors where true then, Mr. CC?" It's a surprise to only Billy when Robin calls him by that name.

"Robin-" Batman started to admonish, only to be interrupted by the Captain.

"Where did you heard that name?" It was the most intimidating they'd ever seen him.

"It's aaaallll over the internet. Everyone thinks you're Mr. CC Batson, but I know you are."

The Captain's face was calculating, brows furrowed, looking at every inch of the child's masked face as if it held every answer to all the questions in the universe.

He let out a sigh. "CC Batson died 6 years ago in Egypt, Robin. There's no... Weird conspiracy about it."

"But-"

"Robin! Enough. Stop trying to force people into telling you their secret identity."

Robin turned towards Batman defiantly. "You're acting like you don't already know!"

"I don't."

Robin sputtered. "I-b-w-whAT!?"

The rest of the League stared in shock. Sure, most of them had also heard the rumors about the fallow hero, but none had wanted to confront him directly about it. If it was true, it surely seemed like a hell of a sore subject.

To have it all layed out by a child, so sure of himself, and to see the Captain's reaction, so cold and guarded, it only reinforced their belief that was a conversation that had to stay far away from.

Unless the Captain wanted to talk about it himself.

But they sincerely doubt it.

(That's why it's such a shock to them when, about 6 years after that conversation, the Captain shouts a word, leaving behind a small child who introduces himself as Billy Batson)

#it seems i can't stray away from tim and billy were childhoow frinds and the first time tim sees cm he's convinced thays CC #but i also accidentally nught have made tim too yoing here #mmh #like would he remembered? #hed be 4/5 when the batsons died #i weote him with a 10/12 yo in mind #mmh yeah tim would have to have been 6 at msot #so that hes 12 here #but naybe he sounds too little for a 12 yo #dc #captain marvel #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #billy batson #batman #justice league #ficlet #tim drake #i couldn't fit it in #but billy isnt 18 at the end there #13 #Fawvett is jsut weird like that #time is flimsy and people grow at their own rate not at the same one the world spins at

[light-imperfected]

some nights you dream about dying.

(…it's easier to sleep now. less nerve-wracking, like you're going to be told off for slacking. you still have nightmares, but that can't really be helped, and they're less intense as time has pulled you away from—all that. still hurts to think about. you have a cat, anyway, and that makes it marginally more tolerable.)

it starts like it always does. you can feel godslight burning there. that slow burn frozen in place by the stars sputtering and dying out, at long last. and you with it. in the dream, you open your eyes, and there's a girl standing in front of you, blue and mechanic. white dress, red sash. she holds out her hand and you take it. she pulls you up.

"didn't think i'd find you here," she says.

"I could say the same for you," you answer.

she laughs, offers a knuckle to the cat, who shrinks back from it and skitters under the bed, spooked. she shrugs (can't win 'em all, she says) and walks you through the house. she takes a moment in the kitchen to look through the cabinets (sparse, since you don't cook) and study the handful of origami figures perched along the counter (bits of paper your boyfriend folded the last time he was here). it's a bit nerve-wracking. in the dream, you get nervous as you wait. but she leaves them alone, walks outside, takes a seat on the front porch and offers you the space beside her.

you sit.

it's dark out. orange from the streetlight glints off her blue-metal chassis. it would be cold, if either of you were human. fibonacci light pollution dims the starlight far above. your breath clouds the air faintly, made visible in the dim light. she doesn't breathe at all.

you know her. mirage, right? she walked out of the mists last year like this was her home turf. she was kind. back then—you were still stumbling over living. thinking back makes you cringe. but it's when you met him first, right? so you have to be grateful for having lived through it.

or something.

so much has changed since then. you want to tell her this. your mouth stays shut. she says, "it's time."

you'd accepted it before you even stepped into the city, and at every point you faced death not knowing if it would be the last time the stars would resurrect you. the grief still aches, bleeds, digs its claws in. you say, "I wish"

she says, "everyone does." her optic tilts a bit. "he's asleep. he'll find out in the morning. i'm sorry."

that aches.

"it was good," she tells you. "i'm glad you had the time together. damn, i didn't know i was a matchmaker! y'all started dating and didn't tell me?"

"You weren't," you start saying, voice suddenly thick. there. she'd been gone. the loneliness of losing that last glimpse of home slams into you again.

silence, then she says, "tell me a story."

"I don't have any." your shoulders hunch, just barely, when you admit to this. "I came here, and I was so afraid of being alive—I didn’t know what this was—I took so long to understand it was no punishment, or that I didn't care if it was or not. Some days I wish I had died right there, in Hell.

sometime all that time feels like a waste. a whole year, and so little changed. you curl up farther as you continue, picking at the gold curlicues on your fingers. "I am afraid of it. You'd think I wouldn't be."

"i understand," she says, patient. "most people are, despite saying otherwise."

"I wish I'd gotten it over with before I got here." you look down at your hands. "Instead I have—all this." in this city that won't let you die.

"it's always scary. i'm sorry." she takes your hand. her metal is warm, even at night, from her processors whirring. "but it can't be all bad. you have a boyyyyfriend now," she croons, teasing but without mockery. "tell me about him."

it nearly breaks your heart again to know you’re leaving him, but you speak. at some point in the story (the time you dropped him in a manta touch pool) you notice you're leaking, the gold lines on your skin coming apart, light spilling out. by the end there's not much of you left—just your hand, reaching out to grasp at anything at all, and she takes it.

she pulls you close. it burns, but she holds you anyway. it hurts. you think you're sobbing with it, but you're not sure of much of anything right now.

and then it all falls apart.

in the aftermath, she's still there. her hands collect brightness. it burns, but she holds it anyway. bringing them together, she lets the light pool into a wobbling orb. stares at it flaring against blue metal.

she makes the long trek to the center of the city, carrying light all through the night. she holds her hands out over point zero. looking at the light glimmering in her palms, she lets go.

as she watches the glow fade, she recites, quietly,

taurean reaper of the wild apple field / messenger from earthmire gleaning / transcripts of fog / in the nineteenth year and the eleventh month / speak your tattered kaddish for all suicides:

- - -

you wake up.

you're breathing hard, a hand to your racing heartbeat. at the foot of the bed, the startled cat lifts up her head, then pads over to lump herself on your chest.

"Hey," you tell her. you're still here. you move a hand up to pet her, careful, on the head. she purrs, content. you think of those last whispered words. praise to them, how they loved it, when they could. And you murmur in answer, your voice rising unbidden, "Amen."

#v2isdead.com #drabble #wc: long ass 👍 #cw: suicide #second person low caps is avante garde i know i know

[sollucets]

ok so. so i made it out of midnight museum e3 alive but im gonna have to do something normal and calming for a while now because oh fuck me too many moths even like skipping scenes and cringing away from the screen. im unwell. many disorganized thoughts go here

so i Was right about dome frankly. i mean the hints were there (jib dialogue last episode + the long time no rent thing from e1) but for me it was that hes too stupid to be a full person (sorry baby i love u). like saying ‘is this normal’ about resurrection and lit. just going with whatever happens to him and running headlong into stupid situations. he literally Only just woke up. he has no brain head empty hes just doing the One thing hes been told hes good at and useful for. oh no baby :( they really keep putting him through it every episode LMAO.

got a Lot more worried khatha this episode plus a bunch more face touching. and sitting by his bedside. tor is So good with those shiny eyes of pain like … i dont know how he does that but its incredible. his face. his little tsundere look away / posture adjustment when dome woke up like you didnt literally die for this man recently. they are getting gayer each episode. again ive established i dont care about “bl status” it doesnt matter to me if they kiss but boy its just so…. they HAVE to know what theyre doing with this

i really like this show i Would Not have put myself through this for less agh. i still almost quit multiple times

that opening flashback scene with triphob’s grandfather was really good. by the way. i love immortals i love immortality. i love the moon (showing up just barely in blurry flashbacks)

bright did fucking Great this episode. im not too familiar with him, mostly from f4 thailand bits but he was so fucking creepy!!!!! tragic little murdery sadboy. what a mess. the whole house invasion scene was Sooooooooo. augh. freaky. everything he did was fucked up

i have some…. thoughts…. about the girl in this episode, rin, and her agency / lack thereof honestly. combined with the bride’s “men writing her story” thing….. its. hmmm. but i’m not sure i’m equipped to express that properly without rewatching and frankly i dont know if im capable of rewatching this episode

if i turn my lizard brain off also the vampire moths are a great horror concept and they were very aesthetically cool to someone who does not have. a lifelong fear of those fucking things

also yeah ‘cycle of death and rebirth’ confirms the reincarnation thing but i’m thinking that not only did khatha enounter past life dome / “that person” / “chan” but also like. present life pre-memories dome? and that’s why he was surprised when dome didnt remember him. it wouldnt make sense for him to be surprised a reincarnation didnt remember him. they definitely met pre-wipe

v fun to learn that june is immortal too??? but like. frankly im still so confused about her lmao. she was an immortal museum worker before this?? but she became the bride?? but they all forgot her past but she remembers being immortal and the artifacts? but she has bride magic now??? dont get me wrong i like her a lot shes great for wisdom and being the only one nice to dome but hoo boy

ok. theres all the bits in no particular order

so. yeah!!!! yeah i was so proud of myself for being mostly chill with the first two episodes of murder and body horror but uh i was NOT good with this. gods fuck why moths

#long post #mm #mm spoilers #fuck it ill put it in the tag. i want someone to talk to about this #midnight museum

[marmolady]

Reunions: 2029... OR 'Backwards Mermaid'

“Jesus-frigging-christ, Liv! You need to breathe air--”

There was a protest. Not especially decipherable as the child was still desperately trying to shove her face back in the water.

From the shore, the beginnings of a crowd watched.  

“I don’t care if ‘backwards mermaids’ only have gills, you’re a little human girl and you need to breathe to not die!”

Taylor hauled her six-year-old from the sea and up toward the shore, with more than a little difficulty. Whenever Liv was pulled above the surface of the water, she’d holler at the top of her lungs and thrash about wildly.

“I’m dying! I’M DYING!”

A concered Isla tugged at Michelle’s hand. “Mommy, Liv hurt?”

“Not at all-- she’s just playing a game with Auntie Taylor.” Then Michelle called out to her friend. “Do you need a hand there?”

“Nope-- I’ve--- just about-- got her---”

Further up on the sand, Zahra gave Craig a nudge. “See? This is why we’re having no kids. This is kids.”

“Dunno, Z, looks kinda fun… and I’ll bet Tayls doesn’t even need to work out to stay in shape anymore.”

Panting heavily, Taylor dragged her daughter onto the sand by her legs, then dropped her there.

“There! I’ve done my part-- you can just stay out here for the seagulls to feed on.”

Craig’s jaw dropped. “That is cold.”

Zahra sniggered. “Parenthood’ll do that to a person.”

Then Taylor walked a few more steps onward and collapsed onto the sand herself, settling on her back and groaning.

“Oh no,” Liv puffed out at last, between guffaws, “I died. Rest in peas.”

Reggie poked his cousin with a toe. “Yep. She’s dead all right. We should bury her!”

And he rushed off to grab the largest shovel he could find.

Isla tottered over and crouched down over Liv. She stroked her big friend’s forehead. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Make you better.”

“Hey!” Reggie cried as he returned with a bucket overflowing with sand and waving a spade at Isla. “That’s my cadaver!”

“Where the hell did that kid learn the word ‘cadaver’?”

“Some book, probably. He’s a Graleister baby, isn’t he?”

Liv wasn’t letting ‘being dead’ put a dampener on her backwards-mermaid bit. Dramatically, she put a hand to her forehead, while Isla looked at her with increasing concern.

“Lala, I’m a backwards mermaid so I died. From all the horrible, horrible air that my mommy made me breathe.”

“Sad!” said Isla.

A little way away, and still keeping an eye on things in case the backwards mermaid was resurrected, Taylor groaned as she sat up. Definitely a bruise coming on after that struggle.

Michelle came over to sit with her, offering a much-needed refreshment. “You know… I think the toddler stage maybe isn’t so bad after all….”

Taylor snorted a laugh and gratefully took the drink. “Thanks! It’s peaks and troughs… the highs are pretty great now, and even the lows… let’s just say I don’t miss the screaming tantrums.”

“She’s so excited to be back here,” Michelle commented. “I guess it’s to be expected she might be veering on the side of too excited.” She looked to her friend, who appeared wistful as she watched the children play. “How about you? Is it strange to be back?”

It felt like coming home. From the time the plane touched down, it had been as though Liv had taken a breath of fresh air after being boxed into a more artificial, more complicated world. It was natural that Taylor felt some guilt in taking her daughter away from this place, away from her beloved Tio Diego… but still it felt like they’d made the right call.

“It’s strange in that it doesn’t feel like we were ever away. I was talking with Estela about it last night; we should come back more, not just for the reunion. Liv’s pretty settled in Northbridge now, so it shouldn’t be too disruptive to spend our holidays back here whenever we can.” She offered Michelle a grin. “You could always join us.”

Michelle laughed. “I’m lucky I can even swing the reunion every year. The only way I’d get any real time off was if I had Mat Leave… and we’ve pretty much landed on Quinn being on mom-duties next time round so I can finish my residency and maybe go on to a fellowship. If I want to specialise as a neurohospitalist, there’s not a lot of room for taking my eye off the ball. It’s already one hell of a balancing act with a wife and toddler, I’ll tell you that much for free.”

“I don’t know how you do it, to be honest,” Taylor admitted. “But we’re thankfully very flexible at this stage. Whenever you have a window and you’d like some friend time, just say the word. That’s been one of the things I’ve liked most since we moved; most of us really aren’t too far to reach out to.”

A sudden movement to her other side made Taylor jump out of her skin. “Jesus, ‘Stel! How do you still sneak up on me like that?”

Estela smirked, and played with her wife’s hair, pulling out some seaweed. “Been for a dip?”

“Two words. Backwards. Mermaid.”

“Goddamnit, Livita-- backwards mermaid…..” Estela muttered, shaking her head.

Michelle cracked up at just how obvious it was that this game was an ongoing thorn in her friends’ sides. “If it helps, I think Reggie’s done a good enough job in burying her with sand that Liv won’t need rescuing from herself for a while.” She craned forward to check out what the kids were up to. “And Isla’s decorating Liv with shells, that’s sweet. You know, she just adores Liv. I’ve always thought it was a shame both her moms are only children, so she’s always going to be missing out on the cousins front. It’s pretty great to have Liv, Reggie and the twins as ‘cousins-that-aren’t-cousins’. She’ll always have that extended family, forever… because we all just can’t help but coming back together.”

Liv dragged herself out of her sandy ‘grave’ and skipped over to plop herself down in Michelle’s lap.

“Hiya Auntie Michelle!”

Michelle put her arms around her and squeezed, not even minding the wet sand. “Hiya Liv! Are you a human girl again now?”

“I’m not really anything right now,” Liv said, “I was a backwards mermaid-- that’s a mermaid with a fish head and person legs, but then Mom took me out of the sea, so I died. I only had gills so I couldn’t breathe!”

Before Michelle could respond, Isla had barreled over and was trying to peel Liv off her lap.

“Liv, that’s my mommy!”

“It’s okay, Lala, I’m just having a cuddle with Liv right now-- why don’t you sit on Auntie Tay’s lap? I bet she’d love that.”

Isla considered for a moment, then broke into a grin. She opened her arms and let Taylor pull her into a cuddle.

“So,” Michelle said. “What if I told you, Liv, that I could give you special pills that would let you breathe above the water-- even though you’re a backwards mermaid?”

Liv’s little face lit up. “You could do that?”

“Hey, I’m a doctor. Of course, I’d need permission from your moms.”

“Moms! Can I have the special medicine? I’ll be a mermaid again!”

Taylor shared a smirk with Estela. No more fishing Liv out of the sea as she tried to shove her head under until she passed out? And Livi wanted this? Hell yes.

“We’d better take the good doctor’s advice….”

All-seriousness, Michelle held out her hand flat, and with the other ‘picked up’ something tiny and invisible from it.

“Okay, Liv. I’m going to need you to take one of these with a drink of water. That’ll give you a perfect pair of lungs that will work alongside your gills; that way you can play up on land with the other kids… and come up for air when you’re swimming.”

“Wow-- you’re so smart!”

“And the rest of these,” Michelle said, still keeping Liv’s attention, “I’m going to give to your moms. Just in case they ever need to bring you up for air.”

Taylor held out her hand and accepted the invisible medicine.

Dr. Nguyen, you are a genius.

#endless summer #playchoices #liv montoya #taylor montoya #michelle nguyen #es fanfiction #isla nguyen kelly

[saibug1022]

Val's Resurrection (Part Three)

Word Count: 4426

Lucas Thomas x M!MC (Valen)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

A/N: Part three! This one is the end of like, "plot" stuff but I do have a part four coming that contains...mature content. Once again, thanks to the @itlivesproject for your amazing game and the inspiration I get from playing it

Val cursed as their phone died because of course the ritual had to give him his old phone that seemed to die whenever he needed the damn thing instead of a new one that actually fucking worked! He tucked his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, a smile fighting its way back onto his face. He was just so damn excited to be alive he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else. Not when his friends were on their way. He was gonna get his fucking life back. He just had to hope he didn’t have to repeat senior year because he might rather be a ghost. 

No sooner did Val hear a car engine than he heard a car door slam open. He looked up, trying to pull himself to his feet but it was no use so he just stayed on his knees in the grass, grinning like a madman. Multiple people were screaming his name and running but Noah was the first to reach him. He slammed into Val so hard they not only fell into the grass but rolled a few times. Val laughed the whole time, clinging to his friend as tears streamed down his face. He left his anger behind years ago when he chose to take Jane’s place, and Noah had been there for him since day one as a shadow. Without him Val had no idea if there would have been any humanity left for the ritual to restore. 

“You’re back,” Noah muttered into his shoulder. “Holy fuck you’re back. God, Val, Val I’m so so sorry, I can’t say it enough, I-”

“Noah, shut up,” Val told him, still smiling. Noah chuckled and nodded, finally pulling back. 

Val barely managed to sit up before he was tackled again by Andy, Connor, and Stacy, then Lily, Dan, and Ava jumped onto the pile (Lily even pulled Noah back into the hug), everyone just trying to reach a piece of him as they all laughed and Val reciprocated the affection. He tried to reach all of them, wanting to feel them just as much as they wanted to feel him. It had been so long, so goddamn long since he felt a human touch, really felt it. Felt the warmth, the reassurance, the life in it.

“I missed you guys so fucking much,” Val muttered into someone’s chest, he wasn’t even sure who’s. It was all a tangle of limbs and warmth and clothes and Val wouldn’t have it any other damn way

“We missed you too,” Lily replied.

“Every day,” Dan added and he felt his hand get squeezed by who he assumed was Dan.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Ava appeared above Val with a grin. “We literally made a ritual to bring you back and it fucking worked.”

Val beamed up at her. “And you all casted it together?”

“Yeah?” Ava raised an eyebrow.

“So you guys literally saved me with the power of friendship?” Val pointed out and Ava groaned, disappearing back into the pile. 

“We definitely didn’t miss the bad jokes,” Andy claimed and Val kicked him.

“Ow!” Stacy said.

“Sorry Stace, was going for Andy,” Val apologized. He then heard Andy grunt in pain as Stacy laughed. “Why thank you.”

“But of course,” Stacy giggled.

“Wait a minute,” Val frowned a little. “Where’s Lucas?”

“Here.”

Everyone slowly untangled themselves from him and Val sat up just as Lucas knelt in front of him. Lucas’s hands shook as they came up to cup Val’s face and as soon as he did it was like every ache and bit of tension Val held just faded and his eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the warmth of Lucas’s palms. He felt Lucas shift and then felt him press his forehead to Val’s and for a moment they both just sat there, enjoying each other’s presence and touch.

“You’re warm,” Lucas muttered.

“I’ve been laying in the sun,” Val explained with a small smile. “It’s nice. It’s been so long since I felt…anything. Much less warm.”

“I’m glad you’re warm again,” Lucas told him and Val couldn’t help but laugh a little. “What?”

“Nothing,” Val pulled back as he shook his head, opening his eyes to meet Lucas’s. “I just…I missed you. It feels like yesterday and forever all at once. Thank you. All of you guys.”

Val pulled back fully to give everyone a smile. 

“Thank you guys, for not giving up on me,” Val told them all, making sure to meet every person’s eyes. “It didn’t really feel like it to me, all those memories are still messed up, but I know it’s been years. You all have your own lives now, friends, but you still helped me. Thank you.”

“Val you will always be our friend,” Dan assured him and he reached over to put his hand on Val’s knee. 

“Yeah, we’re always gonna be here for you,” Connor agreed.

“But also please don’t die again,” Lily requested and they all laughed.

“I’ll try my best,” Val promised. Their hands fidgeted in their lap and they looked down at them.

“Valen?” Lucas prompted gently and Val looked up with a hum. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Val shook his head. Lucas gave him a look and Val rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” Lucas gave him a small smile. “Now what is it?”

“How long, exactly, has it been?” Val asked quietly.

“About five years,” Lucas answered and Val sucked in a breath. They’d all definitely moved on then. Val knew they all had to visit him so they didn’t live around really. They probably all went to college. Made friends. Hell Ava built a coven, that much Val knew. It was a stupid, selfish thought that shouldn’t be nagging him so much but…did Lucas? Did he move on? Not just from Westchester and ghosts and monsters but from, from Val? Val bit their lip and hissed in pain. Right. Everything hurt. Ow. “Are you alright?”

“Again, I’m alive, so huge improvement there,” Val snickered. “From what I can tell I was restored right to the moment I…changed.”

Val saw Noah look down at the ground out of the corner of his eye.

“So yeah. All the aches and pains from everything that happened that night are as if they happened just a few hours ago,” Val winced as they shifted. “And the bruises. Got a lot of those. I’m also thirsty and starving. Last thing I ate was spaghetti five years ago, so.”

“Let’s get you back to the cabin,” Connor decided and climbed to his feet. “We can get you some food and water, some pain meds, and you can shower.”

“And change?” Val requested hopefully and Connor laughed.

“Yes, and change,” Connor agreed.

“Great,” Val nodded. “One problem. Walking is a struggle.”

“I don’t remember you hurting your leg that night,” Stacy frowned at Noah who shook his head.

“I didn’t,” Val confirmed. “I didn’t have legs for five years. Theoretically I know how to walk but in practice…”

“I’ve got you,” Dan said and next thing Val knew he’d been swept up off the ground and into Dan’s arms.

“Aren’t you a therapist?” Val raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Dan smiled.

“How are you so strong then?”

“You’re tiny and frail,” Ava interjected and Val squawked in offense.

“I am not!” Val replied.

“You are kinda small,” Andy snickered.

“You’re shorter than me!”

“Not anymore, I’ve been on T for four years, I had a growth spurt.”

“Oh shit you did,” Val realized as Andy stood. “Wait, no, that means I’m the shortest now!”

“Come on, tiny,” Stacy laughed and ruffled his hair and Val let out a hiss that made Stacy’s eyes widen. Meanwhile Noah and Connor started cackling.

“Oh my god get me out of here,” Val pleaded and Dan laughed at him as he carried Val to Connor’s Camaro.

“Since when do you hiss?” Ava asked. “That’s my thing.”

“He didn’t when he was alive but as the shadow he did it whenever something pissed him off,” Connor laughed and Val flipped him off. “Just don’t start doing happy flips.”

“I think I’d break my entire body,” Val commented as Dan set him in the backseat of Connor’s Camaro. Lucas and Noah climbed in the back with him while Ava took the front seat, and the others headed for Amalia’s Highlander. Val felt Lucas’s hand take his and he bit back a smile. He fought the urge to lay his head on Lucas’s shoulder and instead focused on Noah speaking.

“So what exactly do you remember?” Noah asked.

“Everything before changing I remember perfectly fine,” Val answered with a shrug. “And I’m making new memories okay, I remember everything since I woke up. But as the shadow it was different, like, like everything was muted. Or blurry. I remember some basics. But details or stuff I didn’t care about it hard or just straight up not there. Like I have no idea who or what we were fighting but I remember Karter and Amalia and Abel and Lincoln and I remember Jocelyn redeemed herself.”

“That’s an improvement at least,” Connor pointed out and Val nodded as a yawn bubbled up in his throat. Lucas switched which hand was holding Val’s so he could wrap his arm around Val’s waist and this time Val leaned into him without even thinking about it. 

“I’m gonna sleep for like three weeks,” Val warned him and Lucas chuckled. 

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t,” Lucas admitted and Val just kinda hummed in response. His limbs were slowly getting heavy as the adrenaline from finding himself alive began to fade but he was determined not to sleep yet. 

They made it back to the cabin and this time Lucas carried him inside, setting him very gently on the couch in a way that was just so Lucas. He was always so precise and careful, especially with Val. God he hoped he hadn’t lost that.

“I’m making you actual food,” Noah announced and Karter barely even opened his mouth before Noah rolled his eyes. “Yes I’m making enough for everyone, sit down, Fallon.”

“What are you making?” Amalia wondered.

“I seem to remember being promised all the spaghetti I want once I was better,” Val smirked and Noah rolled his eyes again but he still shot Val this smile with an emotion behind it Val couldn’t quite understand.

“Yeah yeah spaghetti it is,” Noah sighed.

“And in the meantime I’m going to shower, if that’s okay?” Val asked Connor and Connor raised his eyebrows at him. 

“This is as much your house as it is mine,” Connor assured him. “Go.”

Andy came over and offered his hand to Val, pulling him to his feet. He then went to pick him up again but Val held out a hand to stop him. 

“No, I need to get used to walking again,” Val shook his head. “Just help me.”

“You got it.” Andy wrapped an arm around Val’s waist to help hold him up and Val wrapped an arm around Andy’s shoulders for balance. His legs completely gave out from under him the first step but Andy caught him and helped him back to his feet. 

“I swear, you and me are gonna have a talk,” Val glared at his legs and Andy broke out laughing. “Oh shut it, Kang.”

“You’re definitely Val,” Andy shook his head with a grin. “Talking to inanimate objects and everything.”

“I’m gonna turn you into an inanimate object,” Val threatened as he managed a few more steps.

“How exactly are you planning to shower?” Andy wondered as he got Val into the bathroom and Val immediately collapsed onto the side of the tub. Since when was walking so exhausting?! Stupid shadow. He couldn’t have been a ghost with legs? Val paused.

“I had not thought that far ahead,” Val admitted, trying and failing to hide the disappointment in his voice. He definitely couldn’t stand that long and it wasn’t like he could, what, ask someone to help him? The only person he’d been comfortable asking was Lucas and he doubted Lucas would still be comfortable with that after so long. “I guess I can sit?”

“That’ll be a pain but you do you, dude,” Andy shrugged and headed down the hall again as another person appeared in the doorway.

“If you want, I could help you,” Lucas offered and Val’s eyes widened. 

“Wait, really?” Val blinked and Lucas nodded as he came in and shut the door behind him. “Uh, thanks.”

Lucas just flashed him a smile as he moved over to the shower and turned on the water. Val watched him, looking for any sign of hesitation or discomfort on his face or in his body language. Yet he found nothing. It was just…Lucas.

“You don’t have to do this,” Val found himself saying anyway and Lucas paused to look at him in confusion.

“What?” Lucas asked and Val’s eyes dropped to his hands, picking at one of the scabs on his knuckles. 

“You don’t have to help me if it’d be, I dunno, weird,” Val shrugged. “It’s been five years, things probably changed for you which would suck for me but I get it, I won’t be mad or anything. Or if you, you have someone I’d be happy for you.”

“Val,” Lucas kneeled in front of him and held his hands in his so he’d stop picking at his skin. “What about what I’ve done since you woke up makes you think anything has changed for me?”

Val paused and actually went back and thought about what Lucas had done. Calling him sweetheart, holding his hand on multiple occasions, having Val lean against him in the car, holding his face in the field, the forehead touch…

“....okay you may have a point,” Val muttered and Lucas laughed as he kissed Val’s forehead. “Okay cut me some slack, I’ve literally only been alive for like, an hour.”

“You’re adorable,” Lucas said as he turned the water on and Val decided to pointedly ignore the way that made his face heat.

Val moved to sit on the toilet lid instead of the bathtub so Lucas could mess with the temperature.

“Oh, Stacy said to tell you she and Dan are going to get you clothes from their apartments,” Lucas told him and Val frowned in confusion.

“Okay Dan’s clothes I get but why Stacy?” Val asked.

“They aren’t their clothes, they're yours,” Lucas explained. “After you…”

Lucas took a deep breath and Val noticed how it shook. He put a hand on Lucas’s back and felt him relax under his touch.

“After homecoming your parents gave each of us some of your things,” Lucas continued. “They let us look through and choose anything we wanted to keep. Stacy kept some of your jewelry and those black jeans you liked, Dan has a few shirts of yours and I think a jacket. They went to just get those instead of get clothes from your parents’ house since we figured you’d want to be the one to talk to your parents.”

“I think I’d rather let them think I’m dead,” Val grumbled.

“Speaking of your things though,” Lucas closed the curtain and wiped his hands off on one of the towels before he pulled something out of his back pocket. A notebook, a very familiar notebook bound in black leather and engraved with a bundle of Aster in the front and stars all around it, even a small moon in the corner. A strip of leather held the journal closed and it looked well taken care of, even if worn.

“My song book!” Val gasped as he snatched it from Lucas’s hands. “You kept it?”

“I was the only one that knew about it,” Lucas said. “So when I saw it while we were looking through…I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else to read it.” 

“You were right,” Val chuckled as they flipped through it. He looked up to give Lucas a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lucas.” 

“Anything for you,” Lucas replied easily. “The songs are beautiful, by the way. All of them.”

It took Val a second to realize what that meant and he immediately slammed the book shut, face bright red. 

“Oh God,” Val muttered. “Did you…?”

“Mhmm,” Lucas hummed, a stupid grin on his face and Val groaned.

“I can’t believe you read my songs about you,” Val whined. “This is literally the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

“You just came back to life an hour ago after being dead for five years.”

“I said what I said, Lucas.”

“Oh come on, they were sweet,” Lucas rolled his eyes. “I liked Snow on the Beach, especially.”

“Yeah?” Val couldn’t help the way that made the corners of his mouth twitch upward. 

“Yeah,” Lucas confirmed. He reached up to brush a strand of lavender hair from Val’s eyes. “Ready to get out of this suit?”

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for five years,” Val snickered and it was Lucas’s turn to be embarrassed, forcefully clearing his throat as Val took off his tie. “Oh you were thinking about it the entire dance.”

“Shut up Val,” Lucas laughed and Val just grinned as he managed to shrug off his blazer. His hands struggled a little with the buttons as the adrenaline surge had left them shaking, but Lucas helped him only for his breath to catch once they got the shirt off. For a second Val thought it was flusteredness but then Lucas reached forward and gently ran his fingers down the long scar making a straight line down Val’s chest.

“Oh. That.” Val muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas immediately pulled away. “I just, I don’t understand, how did you get that? Was that from…?”

“Dying?” Val finished and Lucas nodded. “No, no it wasn’t from then. Junior year do you remember me missing school for a few weeks?”

Val waited for Lucas’s hum of confirmation before continuing. 

“And you know that thing Cody did to me and Lily before the crows attacked, with his car,” Val sighed. “It wasn’t the first time. This time though, he got a little too risky. The car slid on some black ice and actually ran me over. Broke pretty much all my ribs. They had to do a surgery for like, thirteen hours to make sure none of my rubs punctured any of my organs.”

“My God,” Lucas shook his head. 

“Yup, that pretty much sums it up,” Val nodded, eyes now on the pale scar. 

“Let’s just, let’s just get you cleaned up, okay?” Lucas offered and Val nodded readily. 

Lucas helped him get off the rest of his clothes and then Lucas’s came off. Val valiantly managed to keep his hands mostly to himself (he still had to hold on to Lucas for balance). The feeling of hot water on his skin felt amazing. He would’ve needed a warm shower after the shit that happened after Homecoming anyway but now? It was just incredible. They ended up just standing there under the water for a while, letting Val just stand and feel it. It was barely too hot but Val literally could not care less. He hadn’t felt heat in so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he accidentally burned himself in his search for it. 

“You okay?” Lucas murmured and Val nodded as he laid his head on Lucas’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Val assured him. “Just enjoying being alive again.”

Lucas helped him stand long enough to get his hair washed out (which thankfully didn’t further wash out the dye in his hair or Val would have been pissed) then helped him scrub off all the blood, dirt, and grime from homecoming and a bunch of spots of this weird black goo. Lucas told him it was something his shadow self gave off which was, in fact, disgusting. They’d only been finished a few minutes when there was a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” Val called over the sound of the water.

“We’ve got your clothes,” Dan called back. “I ended up grabbing you a pair of my sweatpants if you don’t want to wear jeans.”

“Thanks Dan, we’ll be out in a minute.”

“We?”

Lucas laughed as Val groaned into his chest.

“Oh, hey Lucas,” Dan chuckled.

“Thank you Dan, we’ll finish up,” Lucas replied, laughter still in his voice while Val tried to crawl under his skin and hide forever. They heard retreating footsteps and Lucas kissed Val’s hair. “Come on you, let’s get you in some clean clothes.”

“Please,” Val groaned.

Lucas turned off the water and grabbed the towels and clothes Dan had left on the floor. When he got back he immediately wrapped Val in the fluffy towel and Val swore they would’ve started purring if he could. He nuzzled his face into the towel, just to feel it against his skin in all honesty, and Lucas chuckled as he rubbed the towel up and down Val’s arms to help dry him off. Getting into the clothes was interesting and involved a lot of embarrassment on Val’s end and laughing on Lucas’s, but eventually they managed to emerge.

Things had definitely changed. His friends had changed. He could tell in the way they held themselves, how they talked about themselves when they filled Val in on their lives and he shoveled spaghetti in his mouth, and the looks they kept giving Noah. But somehow everything also felt exactly the same in how they laughed and ate and teased each other. It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t a carbon copy of their lives before, it would take some getting used to. Even with the changes though it felt…normal. A new version of normal, but a normal all the same. 

After a while though everyone had to start going home. Val got a long hug goodbye from all his friends and congratulations from Karter’s friends. Soon it was only Val and Lucas, Connor and Noah, and Karter and Amalia. The latter two said good night and headed to their room as soon as everyone was gone and Val was ready to get comfy on the couch when Connor cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Actually, uh, we have a room for you," Connor told him and ignored the offended noise Karter made from the stairs.

"Me and Amalia have been sharing a room and you've had an extra one this whole time?" Karter huffed as they walked away. "Typical." 

Connor just rolled his eyes and gestured for Val to follow. Lucas did too (to help Val not fall down the stairs and get further bruises) until they ended up in a not particularly large bedroom but a comfortable one, decorated in blues and purples with a big comfy looking bed and already with some pictures on the walls.

"You've had all this ready for me?" Val looked at Connor with wide eyes and Connor scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

"Well we figured that when we got you back you wouldn't want to go back to your parents'," Connor explained. "And Noah knew what kind of stuff you liked. There's no clothes or any of your stuff from your house but-"

"Connor," Val cut him off with a laugh. "Thank you." 

Connor grinned and pulled Val into a tight hug that he really should not be receiving considering the state of his everything but it was a good hug and Val went five years without hugs, so. 

"It's good to have you back," Connor muttered Val held onto him just that much tighter. Connor clung to him for one further moment before pulling away. "See you guys in the morning. Yes, Lucas, you can stay the night."

Lucas grumbled something under his breath and Val laughed.

"Good night," Connor gave them one last wave before he headed downstairs to his own room.

The moment he was gone Val stumbled into the room and fell face first onto the bed with a satisfied groan and he felt the mattress dip as Lucas laughed and sat next to him. Lucas's fingers stroked his temple, brushing back his hair and Val made a very happy hum noise almost like trill.

"That's new," Lucas chuckled. 

"Yeah I guess the shadow stuck with me a little more than expected," Val snickered. He lifted his head enough to fold his arms under it. He looked up at Lucas who was smiling until his eyes landed on something and he froze. "What? What is it?"

"Your head," Lucas answered and trailed his fingers along Val's forehead. "The cut is gone. There's not even a scar." 

"What?!" Val sat up and pulled out his phone, using his reflection in the black screen to examine his forehead while his other hand held his hair out of the way. Sure enough his forehead was completely unblemished, like the wound had never been there in the first place. "What the fuck? That's, how is that possible? I-it's probably just the ritual right? It's still mending my body or something?"

Lucas didn't reply, instead rubbed his thumb at what looked like dried blood along Val's hairline. At first he thought they must have not gotten all of the blood off in the shower but then he saw the substance on Lucas’s fingers and it was not blood. Not at all. It was the same black goo Lucas had gotten off him in the shower, the shit he'd given off as a ghost.

"Oh god," Val whispered, his voice shaking as panic threatened to crawl it's way out of his throat. The room seemed to darken as of course a cloud covered the sun right when Val was fearing the shadows.

"Hey I'm sure it'll be fine," Lucas assured him and took his hands. He squeezed Val's shaking hands and kissed the back of one. His eyes darted around the room and he swallowed. "Right now I need you to take a deep breath and calm down, love."

"Right, right, okay," Val nodded. Couldn't figure anything out if he was panicking. His grip tightened on Lucas's hands as he took a deep breath, then another, until his breathing had evened itself out. The room brightened again, which was nice. 

Then Val realized that the curtains were closed and the lights were on. 

"Wait, I did that?" Val gasped and Lucas nodded hesitantly. 

“I think so,” Lucas replied.

“....well shit.”

#it lives in the woods #it lives within #choices #playchoices #ilw #ilw fic #ilw spoilers #it lives project #lucas thomas #lucas thomas x mc

[riftwalker-limbro]

You say warframes being dead is not necessarily correct, and that is an interesting semantic can of worms i do Not have the energy for rn, but also

Vince did die

Like, that was very much a thing he did

Verica and the rest you can say maybe aren't Dead dead but Vince literally got resurrected. He didn't cheat death but Kelth cheated it for him. Might as well get a new birthday while he's at it

(Also sorry if you already touched on this before and i Don't Remember but how does Verica feel about the fact that her man got exploded?)

HEE HEE OH GOOD POINT GREAT POINT YES

edit: oops this became an Essay.

i compare becoming a warframe to dying because in a way it is an immense transition, only instead of getting to any kind of afterlife you're now functionally almost immortal and also almost entirely different from how you were before. what you are now is influenced to an incredible degree by how you were before. you can never go back.

he absolutely was blasted apart. to smithereens. refactored into gorey confetti. how he even managed to survive that with his personality mostly intact is part of the "functionally almost immortal" bit above - if, in a human, you manage to fuck up the brain area, it's done, it's over. there are several additional such crucial areas. a warframe? built to survive long enough to inflict permanent damage, and preferably longer. warframe's vital memories and functions are stored on a much more distributed scale, experience locked in all tissues from their pinky fingers to their heels, functions mashed together into a soup of war-ready monster meat, very difficult to kill completely, irreversibly. when vince made his fatal rift jump, he tore himself apart - but thanks to this built-in redundancy of function, of memory, kelth and ordis and sufford were able to find enough pieces for the helminth to combine into a functional warframe again. he can never be the exact same as he was before - some small parts will always be missing, lost forever. what is left, however, will be the most him he'll ever be again.

I imagine that whatever a person considered important in life - say, the memory of proposing to a loved one - will have been backed up in enough places in the memory-tissue of a warframe so as to almost never be completely lost, in events such as what vince had happen to him. but some little things - the exact sound of a laugh, the specific curl of a smile, the faces of students he was particularly proud of - might not have been so lucky.

verica does not at first know about the confetti event. as far as she knows, she just went to sleep one day, and the next, she woke up in the chair of a mushy helminth-infested room, and an unfamiliar-yet-familiar warframe was standing by her side, non-existent expression unreadable but anxiety clear in every line of his body. and since all relevant memories lost were from the before-times, she doesn't initially notice that he doesn't know how she takes her tea anymore, because she doesn't take tea at all anymore. he tells her, eventually, because he's tearing himself apart about it - only on the inside, this time. he hates that he can't remember certain things, and he doesn't dare to ask her to tell him again, because he's afraid it'll hurt her to remember when she was human. but they eventually settle into a routine of sometimes just- sitting together, reminiscing. it's as much a way of dealing with having a past you didn't want to say goodbye to but now can never face again, and a way of reassuring each other that they're still them, allowing the other to know you exactly, not caring about the parts you've lost along the way to find each other again, because the important part is that you're both still there, still have each other. they're two of very few relics left over from that time, that place, and it's up to them to keep it alive.

verica treats the confetti event as an inevitability - because she's seen a few out-of-control warframes get airlocked, failed test subjects, neglected experiments - she knows the madness of not being properly guided to consciousness, awareness. sure, you can swallow a helminth sample and technically be changed into what constitutes a warframe, but that doesn't mean your transformation was entirely correct, that you came out entirely alright. you need a little conscious-minded work here and there, which the helminth in Kelth's ship is able to do - vince, as he gets hoovered up and collected, is very much raw material, still. vince, as he gets rebuilt, is much closer to how he used to be than right after he ate the sample. still not the same, though, which is why he ditches his old name and takes up a new one, with the meanings i've gone into before.

that doesn't mean she liked that it happened, though, and she carefully asks him about what exactly went wrong, and she tries to help prevent anything like it from ever happening again, and to not put him in situations like that again. he was never meant to experience any of that in the first place. she may have followed him into hell, half by accident - but he never made that choice in the first place.

#I was feeling a little. wordy apparently #eh #thank you for the ask this was a lot of fun!!! #vince #verica #rift asks #rift lore

[salisburyhare]

GOD OF THE SEA

Longlisted in the Page & Blackmore Competition, 2021

“September 6th—We have seen the sea in its calmest and in its fury, and we must acknowledge the wonderful works of God, for what man can set a boundary to this expanse of water?”

Excerpt from the 1809 diary of John King, one of the first Christian missionaries to New Zealand.

You come from over the waters like a new and living promise. You are the word made flesh—you are the mouth made man. Gulls squall their rubbery language and the ocean glitters like rippling scales. You think back to being five, acting out Moses parting the waters to a cohort of ruddy relatives. Your mother, buckled and bristling in her new sage-green dress, pulling out a swathe of blue silk and billowing it in the air, letting it catch and bulge like liquid. This will do for the water, she had said. This will part nicely.

A silver fish flickers beneath the waves and you picture it multiplying, becoming a school, a bestiary—a moving feast. You will feed every strange mouth in this new land, you think—you will bring the words that will make them clean: Lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. 

This will do for his staff, said your Mother, and dislodged an axe from the shed. She put it into your hands and your memory is faulty, it was so long ago, but you swear the wood writhed, serpentine, between your palms.

On the tenth day at sea the cook dies and is given a water burial: we therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body. Your voice wraps around the deck like a thick black snake and the cook drops like a stone or a man in a noose. The sky overhead is blue and heavy with charging lightening, backlight-glowing. In your diary you have started counting the numbers of dead among the sheep and pigs. On the back page now you make a slow, black mark for the numbers of dead men. You could hope that the mark remains solitary. You could hope that no one else will die. You could.

You stay awake long after the others have retreated into the darkness below deck. You watch the sky shake out like shining foil, glittering like the sea if all the salt turned into light. If the cook is resurrected in his body you picture him shaking back to life like some pale deep-sea creature, blind-eyed and albino from the darkness, lungs full of salt so he glows from within.

On the twenty-seventh day a plague of locusts descends upon the ship. They are thick-bodied, thudding into the wooden mast like a head beaten again and again upon dry earth. A day of clouds and blackness, you think. There is a crack in the boards above you—you look up and the sky is bristling with bodies like shrunken angels. They are four-winged—shelled and skeletal, terrible with eyes. In the heat’s delirium you hear them saying in their voice of many voices a mighty army comes, such as never was in ancient times nor ever will be in ages to come. 

Someone brings a dead locust below deck and its iridescence seems to take light like a black nebula, like a hole or a pit in the sky. You hold out your hand for it. You are struck by the sickening thought that you could touch it to your lips like a burning ember, leave your mouth a nest of singing scabs, melodising repentance. The thought makes you laugh. The laugh makes you hurt.

These will do for the Egyptians, says the voice of your Mother, and in your mind she raises her arms to the sky as above her it blackens with thousands of shivering bodies.

Some weeks after this you cross the line of the equator, and one of the sailors dresses up as Old Neptune, the God of the sea. He glints in the sunlight, and in the years to come your memory will colour him in swathes of cardinal and purple, whirling around the passengers like a frenzied dervish. He laughs belly-deep and the long shadows of seabirds flicker his face in and out of sunlight.

The sailors he heals with his hands. The emigrants—dirty, weary, teeth aching—he christens with salt water. He glitters in the sun like Egyptian chariots swallowed by the Red Sea, still drifting in the black deep in all their finery, bejewelled and perfectly preserved. You wonder if their white eyes look up to the shapes of circling sharks and mistake them for descending angels. 

Later that night you stand in the darkness watching Saint Elmo’s Fire flicker in the sky above you. You are an educated man—you know that colour and glory are themselves children of science, which is a creation of God. You know something explicable happens in the air above; something measurable.

But still—you feel salt crusting dry on your forehead like a mirror of the stars overhead, and you think what man, small as a toy on black water and dwarfed infinitely, would not look to the cosmic brain above and forget where it ends and he begins? 

You are nearing the end of your journey. You know this means you are nearing the beginning of your journey. A great white cloud like a cotton curtain coils along the skin of the sea, Mount Egmont tipping above it like a crystalline promise. You are put in mind of speaking pillars, rippling columns, impossible vastness. From this cloud comes not a sublime voice, but the rubbery twanging of new birds: a Babel of their songs.

You are standing at the prow and you feel the insistent press of children at the backs of your knees as they flock to see their new land. You rest your hands on their heads and see again your mother, smiling down at you from her green height, a yellow bowl like a concave sun held between her hands.

This will do for God, she had said, balancing it on the windowsill where it pooled with sunlight like a bowl full of fire. 

#longlibrary

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Omg can I please get a hannibal x a shy girl reader ? Like he’s really possessive of her and she doesn’t know how to handle it but she likes him so they date??

Sorry this took so long, anon. I’ve been bouncing ideas around and this one in particular, I believe, fits your request. Y/n feels out of place among Hannibal’s fancy friends and it becomes even more obvious when he abandons her at a party. 

Trigger warnings: social anxiety, sexual harassment, overstimulation

You and Hannibal had an agreement about large gatherings. He could only bring you to a party if you had a week's notice and at least three uninterrupted hours of gaming time prior to the event.

For this event, you needed a solid six.

One of the major Maryland universities was awarding a lucrative research grant to a student of clinical psychology, and every influential name in the industry was expected to be there. As a recent college grad with a bachelor's in business you didn't know what to do with, you couldn't imagine a less welcoming environment if you tried. You couldn't fit into their world and more importantly, you didn't want to. But the thought of being noticeably different in any situation was twice as terrifying. So you spent the whole week repeating your mantra; blend in, be quiet and make it through the night.

But Hannibal had different plans for you.

Halfway through the week, just when you'd pushed the party out of your mind, Hannibal presented you with a gift.

"What's the occasion?" You asked. You hoped that if you pretended not to know, it would just magically go away.

"I brought you something to wear on Friday." Hannibal answered, hanging the garment bag up on the bureau. "You know I'll take any excuse to dress you up."

He unzipped the bag and placed a black silk dress into your arms. "Try it on so I have time to get it altered if it needs it."

The material was cool to the touch and outlined your figure so perfectly, you felt even a little naked. Hannibal, of course, loved this. You were his own personal Venus de Milo. His goddess and his muse. 

“Yes, that will do nicely.” He observed, looking at you hungrily. 

“Seems a little short for a such a sophisticated event, doesn’t it?” You raised an eyebrow. The answer was yes and he knew it. He was very deliberate in everything he did. “I don’t want to come off the wrong way.” 

“And what way would that be, darling?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your figure. 

“I mean--” You searched for the right words. “It’s a gathering of the Mid-Atlantic’s most esteemed academics, I feel like, in a dress like this, I might be seen as, well, a...” 

“A prostitute?” Hannibal finished, choosing a much nicer word than you would have.

You looked down. “Yeah. It just doesn’t seem all that appropriate.” 

Hannibal approached you and lifted your chin slightly to look into his eyes. “Many Christian denominations believe that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, yet she was Christ’s right-hand woman. She was first to see him crucified and first to witness his resurrection.” 

“Dr. Lecter,” You smirked. “I never would have taken you for a religious man.” 

“Goodness, no.” He shook his head. “But any reputable academic is expected to be familiar with biblical literature and its many contradictions and impossibilities.” 

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You are my divine feminine, Miss [L/N].” Hannibal said in a low whisper. “And I want everyone to see it. If they see a common whore, it would only be a reflection of their own jealousy.” 

Hannibal's rationalization almost made you forget about your fear of being noticed. Almost. It all came rushing back when you arrived at the event. Not one person your age was in attendance. The women wore long, flowing evening gowns that reached the floor. The length of your skirt alone guaranteed that all eyes were on you. In a simple black silk dress, you looked the very model of high society. Silk was a sign of luxury, and Hannibal wanted everyone to know that you were a woman of means. His woman, to be precise. That was why he brought you to these functions in the first place. To put you in a dress short enough for any wandering eyes so see the smattering of love bites running up your inner thighs. He wanted everyone in his field to know that you were completely and entirely his.

You realized too late that this was all his little exercise in showing you off.

Everyone seemed to know him. He only knew a handful of people by name, and you didn't know anyone.

"And who is this delightful young woman?" A woman with a light southern twang in her voice asked, looking at you as if you were a caged animal on display.

"I wasn't aware you had a daughter, Dr. Lecter." The young man beside her laughed. "Or is she your side piece?"

Your eyes scanned the room for the nearest exit. It would be unbecoming to make a scene, so you plotted a way to slip out quietly.

“Darling, meet Dr. Charlotte Ramset and her TA, David.” Hannibal introduced, notably ignoring the young man. “Dr. Ramset, this is my intended, [F/N] [L/N].”

"I didn't realize she was also a ventriloquist!" The lady, presumably Dr. Ramset, joked. You'd heard that one a million times. She looked at you. "Tell me about yourself, sweetie. What are you studying?"

The lady was old enough to be your grandmother and reeked of too much perfume.

"I graduated last year." You said, quietly. "With a BA in business."

"See, there's a good woman." David added. "Only speaks when spoken to. They don't make ’em like you anymore, baby."

Hannibal tightened his grip on your hand. "On the contrary, David. See, Miss [L/N] is quite a bit like myself. She only dignifies those she deems worthy with a response. There's nothing wrong with being selective."

The lady laughed at David's expense and smiled at you. "Good for you."

You smiled back just a little, not ready to bring your guard down yet. "I've had to deal with more than enough. It's best not to engage."

"Oh, I know, I know." The lady said, shaking her head. "That's how it is for us educated gals. Always having to put up with pigs. See, I went to college in the sixties, so I can tell you some real stories."

This was a new experience. Talking to Hannibal's friends and having them listen to you was something you never considered possible. Now, you were one of the educated gals. You were just about to strike up a conversation with this woman, when the man next to her decided someone desperately needed to play devil’s advocate.

“I find that sexist, actually.” He cut in. “Not all men are pigs.” 

The silence following his comment was deafening and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Whatever progress Hannibal and Dr. Ramset made breaking down your defenses was completely reversed and you were ready to retreat.

Dr. Ramset took a long sip of wine and adjusted her shawl. “David, none of us said anything about men, you drew that conclusion yourself.”

“I mean, look at you.” David gestured to your dress. You knew exactly where this was going and you wished you could just disappear. “You’re basically asking for it.” 

Dr. Ramset glared at him. “David, that’s enough.” 

“I’m just stating facts.” David crossed his arms. “If you dress like a slut, what do you expect?”

Dr. Ramset and Hannibal seemed to have an entire conversation through prolonged eye contact before one of them broke the silence. 

"Charlotte, I hate to have to excuse myself so soon, but the president of the university is expecting me." Hannibal said, dropping your hand. Your heart hit the floor when you realized that he would be throwing you to the wolves.

"Of course, Dr. Lecter." She nodded. "Duty calls."

"I trust you'll keep an eye on my beloved [F/N] in my absence?" His voice hardened. The severity in his tone frightened you.

Dr. Ramset didn't seem disturbed or even surprised in the slightest by his gently threatening demand. "Of course."

"Thank you. And [F/N]?" He said, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. "I won't be going far. Please, try to have fun."

You tried not to look affronted, but you were going to have a long talk with Hannibal when you got home. 

"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking." David continued, his inability to take a hint positively astounding. "Why don't you respect yourself enough to cover up, [F/N]? You have a boyfriend!"

Your eyes scrolled across the room looking for any sign of Hannibal, but he was gone. Dr. Ramset finished her wine and stared at her TA with the resigned disgust of a death row jailer.

"Any other thoughts?" She said, snatching a fresh glass of wine. You looked at her with a clear expression of discomfort.

"Come on, do you see any other woman in the room dressed so provocatively?" David's voice broke mid-sentence. "No. Because they're educated enough to know that real men don't care about their bodies."

The hotel clerk approached the group. "Mr. Hosmer, there's a call for you."

David narrowed his eyes. "Uh, what?"

"Someone is on the phone asking for you." The clerk repeated. "Says it's an emergency."

David shrugged. "Fine."

Just when you thought you would be rid of him, at least for a moment, he planted his hands on your hips in attempt to "get by" you. His touch was like that of an insect crawling across your skin; unexpected, filthy and leaving you squeamish.

"I'm so sorry about that." Dr. Ramset's words echoed in your ears, but you didn't really hear them. You were too focused on grounding yourself to process what she was saying. 

“Dr. Ramset?” You said, quietly. “Which one is the president of the university?” 

She glanced at a tall woman in a dark blue suit, surrounded by equally important looking businesspeople. You followed her eyes. “That’s Dr. Mary Hosmer.”

Your ounce of righteous fury was squelched in two seconds when the reality of having to talk to someone, especially someone of stature, set in. You looked sheepishly back at Dr. Ramset. 

“Could you please ask her where Hannibal went?” You whispered. “I’d really like him to take me home now.” 

Her face turned sympathetic. “Of course, [F/N]. Stay right there.” 

You nodded. “Thank you.” 

Dr. Ramset crossed the floor and politely greeted the president. You took a few slow, calculated steps closer, just to get in earshot.

“Pardon me, but, have you seen Dr. Hannibal Lecter?” Dr. Ramset said, casually. 

“I wasn’t aware Hannibal had even arrived yet.” The president answered. “I haven’t seen him.” 

Your eyes widened. You fought the urge to freeze, but you had to move back before Dr. Ramset knew you’d been eavesdropping. You heard everything you needed and rushed back to where she’d left you.

“Dr. Hosmer said he stepped out.” She told you upon her return. “He should be back soon.” 

You tried not to show that you knew she was lying. “...oh.” 

“Would you like me to stay with you until he comes back?” 

You knew you were completely on your own. You didn’t know what was going on, but you had an inkling that it had to do with the president and David sharing a last name. All you knew for certain was that you couldn’t trust anybody. 

“Don’t bother.” You shook your head. You took off for the door, but Dr. Ramset grabbed your wrist. 

“I’m sorry, [F/N].” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. She didn’t look mad, but afraid. “But Dr. Lecter told me to stay with you. Please. Don’t make this harder for me.”

You recalled how seriously threatening Hannibal’s request was. She wasn’t answering to the president of the university. She was answering to Hannibal. You didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. 

“Right.” You conceded, stepping back in. “I’m sorry.” 

The actual award ceremony was much longer than it needed to be, and it dragged on even longer knowing there was no reason for you to be there. Other than that, you awkwardly followed Dr. Ramset around the party like a lost puppy the whole time. You were back to your original plan: blend in, be quiet and make it through the night. 

Just when you thought the party would never end, someone tapped you on the arm. You turned around, hoping with every fiber of your being that it was Hannibal, but it wasn’t. A tall woman in a dark blue suit stared back at you. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss.” She said, apologetically. “But have you seen my son? I saw him talking to you and Dr. Charlotte earlier, perhaps he told you where he was going?” 

You’d pushed that man completely out of your mind. You shook your head. “He left to take a phone call and I haven’t seen him since.” 

A hand found your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Hosmer, but I believe I saw the boy on his phone out in the lobby.” 

“Dr. Lecter!” The president’s eyes widened. “How nice of you to finally join us.” 

“...Yes, I believe he left right after making unwarranted comments towards my intended here.” Hannibal ran his hand down your arm lovingly. 

“Well, boys will be boys.” The president chuckled. “Maybe you should teach your girlfriend not to wear such revealing clothes.” 

Hannibal smiled and pulled you in protectively. “Whatever the case, I hope you find him very soon.” 

Her phone chimed in her back pocket. “Oh, that’s him right now.” 

“Wonderful.” Hannibal said. “[F/N] and I will be taking our leave.” 

He hurried you towards the door, his hand tight around yours. A blood-curdling scream came from behind you. You looked back for just a moment and found the president hollering in pain and falling to her knees. 

“Let’s go, darling.” Hannibal tugged at your arm. “They don’t deserve your presence.” 

“Hannibal, I swear.” You said, once you were in the safety of the car. “If you killed every man who looked at me like a piece of meat, sooner or later, there won’t be any men left.” 

Hannibal smirked and reached for his seatbelt. “Wonderful.” 

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #anon ask #anon request

[lovelikedestiny]

Andy and Nicky as immortal siblings or The Song of the Lost and Lonely - Part 1

Andromache is six years old when her brother Nikolaos is born.

The moment this tiny, fragile human being holds onto her finger with a hand that is so small, she swears to protect him with all her might for the rest of her life.

While her heart glows with an affection she hasn’t felt before and which takes her completely by surprise with its force, she vows to keep her soft, little baby brother safe - whatever it takes.

It is Andromache who shows Nikolaos how to ride and to fight with axe and sword and fists and to shoot arrows which he can soon do better than Andromache herself. She teaches him all she knows and shares every experience with him, the good and the bad equally.

Since Nikolaos is able to walk, they are inseparable and they grow up to be warriors, fight side by side like two halves of a whole in battle, understand each other without words like no one else and rely blindly on each other.

Andromache trusts no one as much as she trusts Nikolaos.

Whenever she is angry, vibrating with rage, Nikolaos is able to coax this wrathful fire inside her into smaller flames that don’t hurt but spend warmth. He gives her comfort with few words that are nevertheless deep and wiser as his age lets on, makes her laugh with dry remarks, is her unwavering hope.

On the other hand, she is his adamant rock when the world is hard and merciless, guides him through tough decisions and helps him to get the self-confidence he has now. Because they are unbreakable and should bow to no one except mother nature.

Sometimes when she looks at him, they are both young adults, one of the finest warriors of the tribe, she sees him in her memory: a child a little smaller than the others, with a mop of brown hair and big, bright eyes, analyzing everything with great curiosity and earnest concentration.

But with the respect that comes with their abilities and age, also great distrust and fear ensues, fear of losing the leader position to them.

To the siblings with hair like sun-kissed ebony and hazelnut, eyes like ice and emerald and skin as pale as the moon itself.

They betray Andromache and Nikolaos.

They kill them.

Andromache screams, screams in despair when they cut Nikolaos’ throat, take her sweet baby brother and his blood splatters across her face until she can taste it on her tongue.

Tears make her eyes burn as they drop Nikolaos carelessly, his lifeless limbs hitting the ground cause a dull sound that drills itself into Andromache’s ears and she can’t stand that she swore to protect him and failed.

She wails and curses and begs, hands reaching out to touch her brother one last time but they kill her before her fingers can caress his cheek like she always did to calm him when he was scared.

After their resurrection they pay them back twice as much and Andromache remembers the man that killed Nikolaos. She saves him for the last, ignoring his begging because the feeling of having lost her brother forever has shaken her to her very core and she knows that she will never be able to forget it.

“Andromache,” Nikolaos says, voice trembling and insecure. His used blade falls from his hand as soon as Andromache rushes to him.

“I thought I had fucking lost you!” She barks, pulling him roughly into a bone-breaking embrace while she sobs and throws insults at him he doesn’t reply to. “How could you do that to me? Fuck!”

“I’m sorry.” Nikolaos even has the audacity to apologize for his muder and Andromache cups his face, inspecting his tears and the scared expression because they are fucking alive although she can still feel the knife at her own throat and the blood on Nikolaos’ neck is haunting.

But all she finds in herself is a relief turning her legs into a wobbly mass.

I will protect you, little brother. And nothing will make me break my promise.

They have different opinions about the reason for their inability to die.

While Nikolaos believes that their magnificent healing has a purpose and they were chosen by destiny, Andromache thinks that something decided to be their pain in the ass. But she agrees wholeheartedly with her brother when he tells her determinedly that they could use their condition to help humankind.

Centuries pass, Andromache and Nikolaos remain.

They save and protect, help, fight and die but they keep living and if it weren’t for the calming, constant presence of Nikolaos by her side, Andromache surely would have gone crazy.

The knowledge and assurance that she is not and will never be alone, is an immensely important supporting pillar for her strength and mentality. The other way around it is the same, she can see it in his eyes every time he kisses her cheek to wish her a good night.

Tribes worship them as gods, serve them jewellry, weapons, food and drinks.

Soon they have different names, are either saints or demons, saviors or destroyers. They are feared or admired, considered as enemies or allies.

The only thing that doesn’t change next to their appearances is their sibling bond, growing constantly like a tree, all sturdy trunk, strong branches and ancient roots, reaching deeper and deeper with every passing century, impossible to cut down.

They act as each other's anchor when the storm around them is raging.

Whereas Nikolaos develops a great interest for the different religions of the people and enthusiastically soaks up new aspects and discoveries, always willing to learn and teach, Andromache can only see the bad that humans bring.

Instead of acting like rational beings she watches how they start one war after another, kill for territory, greed, power, wealth, and Andromache slowly starts to have enough of this bullshit. That she and her baby brother can’t die anymore doesn’t mean that each death is free of pain and she detests seeing Nikolaos get killed for nonsense the other humans fight about.

It is not worth it.

Nikolaos’ too kind heart and his determination to “do some good” like he keeps saying, and Andromache’s growing aversion against all the madness she witnesses every day and her restlessness arising out of their lives, cursed with eternity, lead most frequently to fights between them.

Another problem is their similarity: they both can be stubborn as mules, not willing to give in quickly or admit being wrong which is why they separate after each fight for some time to cool off and think about it in peace. Nevertheless, their arguments don’t last long.

However, what stays the same is that Nikolaos always apologizes first because he hates letting a matter unsettled and Andromache also suspects that he tries to piss her off with the so-called wisdom that the cleverer gives in.

No matter how hard she tries to beat him at apologizing first, he is always quicker than her and acknowledges her scowl with a shit-eating grin.

The dreams of a beautiful woman with hair like black silk and golden skin seem to confirm Nikolaos in his thesis that they are not meant to be alone and although Andromache doesn’t believe that these dreams have any meaning at first, she shares Nikolaos’ thoughts that they are getting strange.

They meet Quynh.

And her whole world takes a turn because suddenly Nikolaos’ opinion doesn’t sound so absurd anymore. What she doesn’t expect either is losing her heart to the fierce yet joyful warrior.

It is nearly disgusting how happy Nikolaos is for her when she and Quynh kiss for the first time in front of him and a part of her feels bad for him since everyone he has loved and will love is inevitably going to die.

“Please don’t burden yourself with thoughts of this kind,” Nikolaos asks her quietly, tugging at a strand of her hair as they lie with their faces towards each other under a warm blanket. “You deserve to find joy and happiness in this world which can be so unkind, Andromache. Even if it is my destiny to outlive everyone I chose to be my love, I am not without love itself. I love you, my sister. And I love Quynh, dearly. Being with my family for the rest of my life is more than I could have wished for.”

“You’re right,” Quynh says the next morning, her dark, mysterious eyes fixed with warm affection on Nikolaos who is preparing a simple breakfast over the fire. “He has a kind heart.”

Andromache interlaces their fingers. “So do you.”

Then there is Lykon.

His resurrection raises hope in Andromache that Nikolas will find eternal love after all but despite the enthusiasm of having found a fourth one like them, her brother makes more than clear that he has no interest in some kind of romantic relationship with him.

It takes not much for Lykon to fit like a missing piece into their group. His smile brightens the day, he laughs and is optimistic as fuck, gives very good advices, flirts playfully with Nikolaos and even Quynh or Andromache and is another reason for Andromache to view their immortality as a gift rather than a curse.

Maybe it is a gift, she thinks involuntarily during a night watch.

Quynh is sleeping in the middle of Lykon and Nikolaos and has pressed closely to Lykon, to share their body heat, who in turn has slung one of his arms around her. Nikolaos lies with his back to them but Andromache knows that it is because he is facing their surroundings to be able to protect them if necessary.

Then Lykon dies and the pain crushes Andromache under its force.

Their small family, everything she had, is being torn apart.

And suddenly her small understanding of immortality as a gift is destroyed, burned to ashes in a blink. As she holds a sobbing Quynh, sees tears gathering in Nikolaos’ eyes and has the feeling of not being able to breathe anymore, she hates everything.

Because what it means is that she can lose Quynh, her lover, and Nikolaos, her baby brother.

Like she has lost Lykon, her best friend.

What Andromache doesn’t get is how Nikolaos can still believe in the good and destiny and this shit after all they had to endure and will have to endure - because they can die.

This terrible discovery holds Andromache’s heart in an iron grip and drowns her in the fear that it could be the final time whenever one of them dies.

It isn’t exactly helpful for her negative attitude towards their immortality.

But Quynh regards their eternal lives just like Nikolaos as an opportunity to help wherever they can. “Just consider it as a chance to do things right,” she whispers sweetly into Andromache’s ear, drawing invisible patterns on Andromache’s bare skin, her touch a pleasantly burning trace.

“You sound like Nikolaos,” Andromache accuses her and looks pointing at her brother who is sitting in some distance, leaning against a rock and does a great job at pretending that he didn’t hear them making love a couple of minutes ago while keeping an eye on their surroundings.

“Maybe I let myself be inspired by him.” White teeth flash as Quynh smiles widely before her lips curve into a smile more tender and softer. “We can’t dwell on past pain forever, love. Lykon’s death was a terrible blow and wounded us deeply and he will forever be missed.” Andromache kisses her to drive away the grief in the voice of her soulmate, not able to bear the sadness she can feel in her own heart like a thorn. “But we cannot hold onto this sorrow. It will destroy us if we do and I’m looking forward to spending some more centuries with you. Life has so much more to offer.”

Then why do we have to suffer so much agony?

“If it is that important to you, I will try to see life through your eyes,” Andromache promises and huffs when Quynh slaps her lightly. “Hey, I’m making an effort here to work with you, Quynh. I would have silenced Nikolaos already in your place.”

“Oh? And how would you silence me?”

“I have a few ideas.” Andromache murmurs suggestively.

“Could you please be quieter this time?” Nikolaos calls from his position, apparently having a fucking good hearing, and Quynh bursts out into an adorable giggle.

It takes some time for her and Quynh to warm up to Yusuf who dies in front of the gates of Jerusalem.

Andromache herself is not ready to attach emotionally to someone only to lose him in the end and although Quynh is eager to follow Nicolo’s example of believing in destiny and finding strength in it, she is also hesitant regarding their new brother.

Surprisingly, it is Nicolo who clicks instantly with Yusuf and soon enough Andromache recognizes the signals in their awkward, goofy behavior around each other. To be honest, Yusuf wins her heart with his passionate, warm, positive nature nearly as quickly and it doesn’t take long for Quynh to adopt him.

“You deserve this,” Andromache tells Nicolo earnestly, hand squeezing his neck in a caring gesture. “I can see how much he cares for you, little brother. And you can’t deny that you have lost your heart too.”

The tips of Nicolo’s ears are slightly pink but he smiles at her. “Thank you, sister.”

And for some time everything is fine.

They travel and fight together, laugh a lot and Andromache holds every memory of happiness close. It has lifted a burden from her shoulders to know that Nicolo has found a love like she did - a love that will last.

The dark cloud hovering over them is the uncertainty when it will be their time.

As Nicolo reveals to Yusuf that they can die, Yusuf walks off with a pained expression and Nicolo follows after several heartbeats. Andromache can hear them whisper in their tent this night but she purposefully doesn’t overhear them, just holds Quynh closer.

She and Nicolo still fight over their immortality but now Quynh and Yusuf both act as their negotiators even though they can’t understand a word from what they are hissing at each other. The language that she and Nicolo still speak sometimes is long gone, has turned to dust and is still something Andromache clings to because it is the only thing next to Nicolo that has survived from their first life.

For centuries it was Andromache and Quynh and Nicolo and Yusuf. A family of four individuals, loving each other, being companions and friends. A family of two couples. Just a family.

It seems too perfect to be true. And it is.

Andromache and Nicolo’s fight after Quynh is thrown into the sea and Andromache’s heart with her, is the worst.

tbc...

#the old guard #tog fanfic #ficlet #andromache the scythian #nicolo di genova #yusuf al-kaysani #quynh #lykon #Andy and Nicky as siblings #immortal siblings #andy x quynh #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #immortal wives #part one

[saphirered]

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #fjord x reader #caduceus x reader #mollymauk x reader #critical role #mighty nein

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 1

This is a very lightly edited old Reddit post, that I'll publish in parts because the whole thing is like 7000 words. Analyzing Voldemort, the DE and their dynamics, Dumbledore and Harry in comparison, and individual Death Eaters. Hope you like it!

Some say Voldemort is a cartoon villain, or wizard Hitler. I think he is very realistic, and that the focus on his political aspirations ignores interesting aspects of him. I cannot prove that JKR had cults in mind when she wrote Voldemort and his followers, but this is how I read them. It’s nearly impossible to define a cult, so, for the purpose hereof, I’m going with “a group dedicated to the worship of a person”. Many cult leaders in real life present themselves merely as “god’s voice” or “the messiah”, but Voldemort specifically didn’t bother to hide behind a power higher than himself.

Tom Riddle comes from humble beginnings, like many cult leaders - he’s raised in an orphanage. He already has delusions of grandeur, only in this case they’re not delusions, because he really is magic, which makes it all the more dangerous. Look how he reacted to discovering he was a wizard, and how Harry did.

Immediately following the revelation that Lily and James did not die in a car crash, and that Harry is famous, and that he survived an attempt at his life by the worst wizard in history:

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He’d spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn’t they been turned into warty toads every time they’d tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he’d once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

“Hagrid,” he said quietly, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard.”

Heart-breaking. Harry doesn’t believe he can be special, he blames himself for the way he’s treated.

This is Tom Riddle:

“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying. “Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.

“That’s right,” said Dumbledore.

“It’s... it’s magic, what I can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

His megalomania and violent nature are already apparent, as is his preternatural control of his magic. It also hints at rudimentary legilimency.

Dumbledore spells out that young Tom Riddle equated magic with immortality and liked to collect trophies, and that Tom Riddle liked being special, as he resents the name Tom for being too common; he already lives behind a mask and only shows his true face in shock. This, and not Dumbledore’s magical prowess, is what always scared Tom. Voldemort knew Dumbledore knew what he was. That was the only tactical advantage Dumbledore had.

It’s also one of JKR’s strokes of brilliance: Dumbledore saw Tom for what Tom was, and others never did until it was too late, not because he was that clever, but because he knew from experience. Dumbledore had allowed himself to fall for a charismatic but heartless man before, and it took Ariana dying to slap him awake. Dumbledore knows good people can be led astray: It happened to him. It has nothing to do with intelligence or “goodness”. Gellert was able to give Albus exactly what Albus lacked, stuck at home taking care of Ariana: the promise of freedom and a bright future, and the companionship of an equal. Albus fell for it, despite warning signs that should have been obvious.

Later, we know Tom is chosen by a wand of yew and phoenix feather. Both yew and phoenix are associated with immortality; yew trees are very long-lived. Compare this to Harry’s wand, holly and phoenix feather: both these characters will experience death and rebirth, except Tom Riddle’s wand tree is yew, and Harry’s is holly.

From Wikipedia: “The Christian church commonly found it expedient to take over existing pre-Christian sacred sites for churches. It has also been suggested that yews were planted at religious sites as their long life was suggestive of eternity, or because, being toxic when ingested, they were seen as trees of death.” Also from Wikipedia: “Christians have identified a wealth of symbolism in the holly tree’s form. The sharpness of the leaves help to recall the crown of thorns worn by Jesus; the red berries serve as a reminder of the drops of blood that were shed for salvation; and the shape of the leaves, which resemble flames, can serve to reveal God's burning love for His people.”

The two orphans’ wildly different views of death are also apparent in their wand trees. Voldemort will murder to attain his goals; Harry will sacrifice himself. That the phoenix feather came from Fawkes is also meaningful - Dumbledore taught both magic in some capacity, but he never could defeat Voldemort, because they’re too alike. One of Harry’s advantages in this battle is the integrity of his soul, which cannot be compromised.

Next, Tom Riddle is sorted into Slytherin. For a child who is already prone to megalomania, the house values bring out the worst in him, and under Slughorn, he grows into a manipulative, cunning, ruthless young man. I’m not blaming Horace for Tom being a psychopath, but some of the particular ways his psychopathy manifested in seem to have been directly due to Slughorn’s influence. Slughorn is a blood-supremacist, who was convinced Tom must come from fine stock. Slughorn tests drinks for poison using house elves; Tom Riddle tests the effectiveness of his Horcrux’s protection on Kreacher. Slughorn emphasizes the importance of connections and outright praises Tom for knowing more than he needs to, and encourages an attitude of “it’s only wrong if you get caught.” But Slughorn, prejudiced and cunning as he is, is not violent - he is academically curious about Horcruxes, but he finds them repugnant. Tom’s heart is not so faint - at the point of asking Slughorn about Horcruxes, the diary is already a horcrux, and Tom has already murdered his father. This is how Dumbledore describes Tom’s original gang, who were the proto-Death Eaters:

As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts. Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

Dumbledore explains what motivated people to join Tom: some were afraid, some ambitious, some cruel. He controlled his so-called friends, and already started framing others for his own crimes (Hagrid’s framing was followed by Morfin’s and Hokey the house elf’s).

This is followed by Tom’s attempt to become a teacher (Dumbledore spells out his motivations: He is attached to the school, he wants to study its magic, and he already wants to build himself an army). He is denied, oddly chooses to work for Borgin and Burkes, a choice fueled by the desire to trace down more items to make into Horcruxes. Through the memory of the meeting with Heptzibah Smith, we see that Tom was definitely charming when he needed to be, and knew how to make people feel good. He did not use magic to trick her into showing him her precious locket and cup: he used muggle manipulation - flattery, making an old and forlorn lady feel valuable, perhaps even flirting with her (she’s certainly flirting with him). He was pleasant enough that Ms. Smith eagerly looked forward to his visits - but as she showed him her treasures, he was caught off guard by hearing about his mother and how she sold the locket, and she saw him for what he was, although she quickly fell into denial. Sadly, she was murdered two days later.

Why rely on Horcruxes to gain immortality? Tom must have known about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Horcruxes require someone else to perform the resurrection ritual. Either making the Stone is so hard that it would deter Tom (unlikely), or he already expected to rely on followers who would find him and revive him - he certainly seems to have expected his followers to have searched for him earlier. Maybe Horcruxes were appealing because they require murder. In any case, this is followed by the memory of Tom asking Dumbledore for the DADA job again, a decade later. Tom has spent a decade gathering followers, and he has already changed his name to Lord Voldemort. This is reminiscent of real life cult leader David Koresh, and the leaders of the Children of God, Aum Shinrikyo, etc. The meeting between Voldemort and Albus is interesting, because it’s clear that Dumbledore had tried to teach Tom about the power of love:

“The old argument,” he said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.

This did not help. Tom never learned - how could he? At 16, he was already a murderer - who could love him now for who he was? He could never be truly loved, and he could never truly love another, and he underestimated the power of love for his entire life, leading to his downfall - twice (were that it was so simple in real life).

Voldemort is trying to obfuscate the nature of the relationship, like all cults - they never admit this is what they are.

“I am glad to hear that you consider them friends,” said Dumbledore. “I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants.”

“You are mistaken,” said Voldemort.

But LV can’t lie to Dumbledore, who changes the subject. He denies him the DADA job again, and the curse is placed on the job. LV’s ascent is due to begin in a few years. Hagrid tells the story:

Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches...

Voldemort isn’t just interested in immortality. He wants complete control. He wants everyone fearing him - even fearing his name. He has people isolated and distrustful, fearing for their lives.

But we know his reign of terror was dreadful - what I’m interested in is the way he treated his own followers. We know little about how he treated them in the first war, but we do have what Sirius had to say about Regulus’s fate:

From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.

We know the real story of Regulus’s disappearance, and it’s different. Kreacher tells us that Regulus died in the Horcrux cave - but more telling is that Regulus forbade Kreacher from telling his parents what had happened to him. Why did he feel the need to do that? This suggests that Regulus knew LV destroyed traitors’ families, which is a tactic used in cults and other abusive dynamics. We know LV would leverage Draco’s welfare against Lucius for his failure in the Department of Mysteries, too. We know also that instead of going to Dumbledore, or to his own brother, Regulus chose death – unless he was really dumb, and I don’t think he was, he must have been manipulated into believing that was his only option, or his world made no sense after his faith had shattered. So many people never readjust to life outside the cult.

Voldemort “dies” about two years after that, having successfully recruited about 400 followers (“the death eaters outnumbered us the Order 20:1” - Lupin). We can’t say if all these people were genuine Death Eaters or people who had been Imperiused or otherwise coerced, or allies like Narcissa, but that coercion is used to recruit shows that Voldemort did not take his own followers’ ambitions and wishes into account. People who use outright coercion don't suddenly draw the line at manipulation.

#death eaters #cult #death eater meta #voldemort #voldemort meta #harry potter #meta

[meliorist-midoriya]

chasing the sun

synopsis: there’s something screaming in familiarity—in mourning—deep in his soul at the sight of you, a complete stranger. this is the price you pay for resurrection, the sun whispers as it rises.

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, reincarnation au

warnings: mentions and depictions of death, major character deaths, mentions of war (+ description of a battlefield scene), injuries, blood.

word count: 11.7k

a/n: happy (extremely belated) birthday, bird boy. and aaaa my baby’s here, she’s finally here! i’ve been working on this fic for a little over two months now, and i’m so happy to see it fully fleshed out! thank you to @dimplesum​ for beta reading, and the tumblr chaos server for listening to me yell all the time abt this fic :’) disclaimer, i did as much research as i could, but any historical depictions are not 100% historically accurate and i have taken some creative liberty, so please take the historical scenes with a grain of salt! 

important: there will be songs linked throughout the fic to be played in accordance with the scene, i do hope you listen to them for the full experience! it is okay if the ost ends before the scene as that is also on purpose. the beginning of the song will start with 【 ☀︎ 】 with a link to the song. with that said, i hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

crossposted on Ao3

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Keigo, the youngest government official in the empire, stumbling upon a lone concubine in the eastern lotus garden. 

He’d been searching for solitude, away from the viper’s nest of samurai-turned-aristocrats, strutting around the castle with their now-useless weapons strapped to their hips, discussing poetry and politics instead of battle and war tactics.

It’d been disgustingly easy for them to make the switch from warrior to bureaucrat, taking the status boost in stride. Those who couldn’t, they stayed with their lords if they were lucky. The warriors who weren’t… Keigo would need an abacus to count the ones who weren’t so lucky, the countless rumors and reports of wandering rōnin with familiar names never failing to reach over the palace walls to get to him.

(Oh, what he would give to join them.)

Of course, he’d been intending to brood ponder over this in the seclusion of the garden he’d discovered a few days ago, staring at the green buds of the young lotuses in the water until his head spun. The sight of the concubine sitting in his spot (that he was certain was too secluded to be found) told him fate had other plans, however.

He cleared his throat and forced down the grimace once he saw the concubine jump, startled, before trying her best to smoothly turn and bow without looking too flustered.

“Good morning, madam.”

“Good morning—”

He smiled through the static in his brain at the mention of his surname, messily tacked to the honorific that he would never get used to. 

That name… it’s not mine. Don’t call me that.

A discordant mess of jumbled kanji that sounded nothing like the powerfully elegant names in the court. The ill-fitting characters standing out like an eyesore on his documents, the syllables falling awkwardly off the tongue in conversation.

Wholly fitting for an outsider like him, really.

The mention of that name grated something terrible in him, and he settled for keeping his teeth grit into a smile. A sheltered concubine wouldn’t know, of course she wouldn’t know. Practically no one did, so he had no one to fault but his own cursed sensitivity to a name he wanted to burn.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The slight twitch in her demure smile was answer enough, but he’d set aside time for this escape, and damn if he was going to let it go to waste.

“Of course not. Please, don’t mind me, my lord.”

He dipped his head in thanks and you bowed in return, the silence hanging in the air settling into something stiff and awkward. 

A minute passed… 

Then another… 

Then five… 

Keigo was going to go mad at this rate. Neither of you had any intention of leaving the rare pocket of seclusion, and the competitive whisper in the corner of his mind told him that leaving first meant conceding, meant losing.

(In his world, losing meant death.)

Keigo’s had enough of losing in life despite his dumb luck, thank you very much.

So, he did what he knew he did best. He talked. Shattering the awkward silence in an effort to coax the tranquil silence he was searching for back into the little gazebo by the pond. Maybe if he ran his mouth long enough, you’d get tired and leave.

“You’re a new face in the palace.”

With an expectant gaze, he watched the telltale shift from awkward to apprehensive, the rigidness of your stature sharply contrasting the flowing brocade of your kimono as you looked back at him with a too-sharp gaze before casting your eyes away to the green buds in the water. Had he been any slower, Keigo would’ve thought that the conflicted expression you quickly smoothed over was solemn (it was anything but). 

“I would say the same to you, my lord, but every face in this castle is a new face to me.” You tilted your head with a thin-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Although… I’m sure an official who just arrived at the castle for his yearly residence would be an especially new face. Please excuse my rudeness.”

Keigo blinked. Once, twice, his jaw relaxing into a disbelieving smile at the sight of your steely gaze bright with a challenge and a smile sharper than the blades at his waist, the unsaid words ringing clearly. 

Two could play at this game.

Well, now, this was new. 

Perhaps it was your defiance that remained steadfast in this castle, or the blissful ignorance that made you one of the few to look at him straight on instead of down your nose. A little voice whispered that this would change in due time, the politics and power struggles confined within the castle never failing to break down even the most resilient. Those that didn’t know how to play the game correctly simply… vanished.

“Someone’s well-informed, I see.” He folded his hands behind his back, his wish for tranquility long forgotten. “I heard a new concubine has just entered the castle as well. A consolation prize, of sorts, from the farthest reaches of the country. Of course, as I’ve been gone for a year and have only been here for four, I’m not too sure.” He flicks his gaze to you, accepting your challenge with a knife-sharp smile of his own.

“I am curious as to what this concubine’s name is, however.”

You arched a brow, the thin-lipped smile widening into something sweet (that looked better on a fox rather than a beautiful concubine), and you bowed. Any trace of that stiff apprehensiveness dissolved into a graceful fluidity that seemed to disappear within the rippling silk of your kimono.

“Lady Y/N. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

To this day, he’ll never admit how surprised he was at your reverence, nor how his heart did a funny little flip in his chest when you giggled at his flustered response. What kind of fool gave respect to a commoner picked up from the slums?

You. Except you were no fool, and maybe that’s why he kept coming back like a moth to flame.

Time passed, and he found himself in that little garden day after day, morning after morning. Listening to the concubine who told vivid stories of lands he could only dream of, foods he found himself craving, and tales of warriors past. 

The conversations at dawn soon turned into stories of the past, the laments of the present, and dreams of a bleak future. With delicate hands and gently prying words, you two unlocked every bar and lock you’d put over your souls and allowed yourselves to lay them bare for each other, the intimacy of a bond forged in secrets and solidarity far stronger than any alliance or contract.

You two confided in each other in that garden, staring at the dew on the lilypads as you two whispered how you didn’t belong in the palace. How the confines of grand walls with ears and eyes were no place for the adopted commoner and a concubine far from home. Two people in this big world who were just lucky enough, fortunate enough to end up within this lavish palace, your lives guaranteed splendor and comfort. 

Then again—you two would share a conspiratorial laugh—maybe you two were unfortunate instead. What was splendor and comfort when you had to constantly watch for a knife in your back or poison in your cup? When a single misstep could cost you your life? 

Conversations shared with you, the concubine with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, were the most fulfilling he’s had in ages. Maybe it was the sense of formality that the intimacy of the waterside gazebo stripped away, or the unraveling realization that he hasn’t breathed this freely in ages, that he was looking forward to these moments in the morning. The intimacy shared in the garden he selfishly liked to call his own little world.

Keigo catches the smile you hide behind your sleeve when he steps into the gazebo, and he realizes you’re being selfish, too.

He didn’t know how the conversation got here, he didn’t know why he had a hairpin meant for you tucked into his sleeve. All he knew was that when it came to you, he was helpless to the whims of rambling and buying a pretty hairpin made of red jade because it reminded him of a sharp wit with a pretty smile.

“I live for this country and I die for this country. Well, not that there’s anything much to die for anyway.” Keigo’s laugh is empty, and your melancholic gaze even emptier. A fog had blown in that morning, covering the pond in a soft cover of white, and your soft voice and softer touch on his arm (careful, almost) silenced his dry laughter and left his throat even drier. 

“What you would die for is also an excellent reason to live, is it not?”

Your words, whispered into the stillness of the moment, resonated so loudly within his soul and forced a shaky breath out of his lungs as he gazed in awe at you. At the soft, ethereal glow in the fog cast by the rising sun breaking through the clouds, the scent of bloomed lotuses wafting in on the breeze that rustles the dangling pieces of your hair ornaments. He is weak to whims when it comes to you, so he pulls out the hairpin burning a hole in his sleeve to slip into your hair with shaking hands unbefitting a swordsman. Keigo watches your eyes sparkle like the gem in your hair, and his heart lifts with hope as he whispers his devotion into the warm morning, carried by the wind into a sea of blooms.

“I’ll live for you, then.”

And with a smile, you fall in love.

(Keigo falls even harder.)

【 ☀︎ 】

He should have known.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from the son of a criminal.”

He really should have known.

“What was that fool thinking, taking a street rat like you in all those years ago?”

Honestly, he’d like an answer to that, too. Too bad the old man was dead and left him to inherit a position he didn’t even want. To think he’d agree with the emperor for once in his short life.

“Tsk, a son will follow in his father’s footsteps, after all. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.”

Keigo should be concerned that he couldn’t feel how the coarse dirt dug into his knees anymore, his cheek still aching from where the guard had punched him. 

(Okay, yes, he deserved it, but he could’ve done without tasting iron.)

The sadistic glee in the guard’s face after he landed that “disciplinary strike” told him otherwise. With a bitter grimace, he spat red into the dirt.

How long has he been kneeling here? Minutes? Hours? The words echoing over and over in his head pulled him away from his present reality, bringing him back to the blur that was the past two days.

(Three? He couldn’t be sure, time passes oddly in a prison cell.)

The servants whispering about a concubine being expelled from the harem, the handmaid being promoted to concubine suspiciously quickly, and sudden memories of too-loud rustling coming from the treeline that he’d foolishly brushed off. All of it culminated in the form of palace guards dragging him from his study all the way to the harem to throw him at the emperor’s feet.

“Could the street rat not keep his hands off the women of the court? Plenty to pick back where you came from.” 

Keigo wanted to vomit at the cloying stench of sake, unpleasant memories rushing to the forefront of his mind and forcing his limbs to lock from age-old fear. Not like he could use them anyway, with heavy hands on each shoulder pinning his knees to the tatami and his blades having long been tossed away in the struggle to drag him here.

“Oh, my lord, haven’t you heard?” A sickeningly saccharine voice pulled the man’s attention away to coo at the woman curled into his side, cradling a bottle of warmed sake. “Apparently the small-time nobleman who adopted him, did it knowing he was the son of that criminal you were having trouble with all that time ago.”

The grip forcing his head down loosened from the resounding laughter that rippled around the room, just enough to allow Keigo to glare at the loose-lipped concubine. Your opportunistic maidservant who’d been all too willing to take your place in the harem, having taken her chance and fleeing with it. Her tittering giggles and power-drunk grin grated his ears, and he kept glaring. Daring her to look back, to look him in the eye without feeling an ounce of guilt for what she had done.

Almost as if she heard his furious challenge, she took a glance at the man pinned to the floor (trying to look down her nose like she had been looked down on. Pathetic fool.)  only to jump at the righteous fury burning in his gaze, fear clouding her conscience for a precious moment. 

More, Keigo urged, rage bitter on his tongue, Guilt, shame, despair, all of it.

I hope you regret this for the rest of your life. Lament, as punishment for ruining hers—

“Don’t assume what I have and haven’t heard, woman,” The drunkard grunted, holding his cup out for her to pour with shaking hands and a meek surrender, “But, the man was losing his mind from age. What was that fool thinking, taking a dirty brat like this in all those years ago? Too useless to bear a son nor keep a wife, so he had to stoop low enough to take in a criminal’s son from the slums.”

Righteous fury welled up in his chest, and his body moved before his brain could catch up, spit landing at the emperor’s feet. Almost immediately thereafter, his head whipped to the side, cheek smarting from the sharp strike the guard’s knuckles had indented into his swelling cheek. He grit his teeth as that same cheek came down on the tatami, someone pressing his head into the ground.

“Years upon years of trying to force yourself into nobility, and you’d think you’d learn some respect along the way.”

Had he not been the one with his face pressed into the ground, Keigo would’ve laughed at the shade of fury-red the man’s face was turning. Sake did not treat him well. The concubines at his side, fearing for their lives, immediately rushed to whisper soothing words and calming pleas. Somehow, it worked, and he reclined back into his seat with a heavy sigh, draining the sake in one gulp.

“The son of a criminal shall inevitably become a criminal. Now that I think about it, this is a wonderful opportunity to get rid of an eyesore. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.” A sadistic grin split his lips around the cup, chortling with laughter at his own (terrible) wit. “Being buried next to his criminal father! What a filial son!”

The table shook from the force of a fine porcelain cup slamming down on it, as if the emperor were stamping his death certificate right then and there.

(He was.) 

“Get him out of my sight. The next time I want to see his head is on the gates of Kozukappara.”

Keigo the official had died in that room, and the man that was dragged out by his shoulders left the castle as a criminal.

“Done saying your prayers?” 

Slowly, he looked up from the white paper fan set in front of him in place of the tantō that should’ve been there for his use (obligatory seppuku, his muddled brain supplied with annoyingly familiar haughtiness, so the ex-warrior could die a warrior. What a joke—) to the man he’d chosen to be his executioner. Normally, he would’ve snapped back with something witty, something sharp, but going days without water wasn’t treating him well. A heavy sigh, and the man ran a frustrated thumb down the bright blue wrap of his katana hilt. 

“The concubine, of all women? An imperial concubine, at that. I’d expect you to know better than that, my friend.”

Ah, the static in his head was a little stronger today. Wonderful.

“I thought I knew better, too. At least I get to die to someone with a steady hand.”

He scoffed, thumb running over the blue hilt again. Keigo idly remembered seeing the man rub his burn-leathered skin the same way countless times, the anxious habit having stubbornly ingrained itself into his being since childhood.

“Must you be so dark?”

“When am I not?” He managed to muster up a slow grin. “I’m hurt, I thought my closest companion would’ve known this after years of keeping swords out of each other’s backs.”

The heavy gong announcing his execution sounded, and he watched his best friend’s melancholic gaze glaze over into soulless steel that mirrored the blade drawn from its hilt. Keigo dipped his head with a solemn smile and shut his eyes in resignation.

I really… should’ve known…

“Keigo!”

Everything paused for a breath, in shock at your shout breaking the stillness of the moment. He didn’t have to lift his head to know who was crying out, trying to delay the inevitable certainty. A sharp smile and an even sharper tongue reduced to nothing but cries and desperation.

“...I’ll continue.” The executioner ignored your desperate “No!” as he shifted his stance, scarred hands steady as he placed the blade against the back of his neck despite the pain Keigo knew he was in. 

It would’ve been nice to hold you in his arms, at least once— 

No, for eternity.

The blade came down and, like a lotus facing the sun in supplication, you screamed your despair into the heavens. 

That day, the blood red sunset matched the crimson pooling on the execution ground’s floor.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Private First Class Takami Keigo marching into a small city on the way to the front lines, rifle slung over his shoulder and feet aching.

They’ve been marching through the night, and for the first time in his life, he found himself grateful for Japan’s humid summer nights. He’d take sweat over losing toes from frostbite any day. 

But, he decides, sighing in relief along with the rest of the company at the sight of a town once they crested the hill, there was nothing like the relief of a warm bed and any food other than the tasteless military rations.

“Tired already?” The low voice beside him would’ve made him jump had it not been so familiar.

“Aw, what’s this? Is Touya-kun worried for little old me?” Keigo shot a grin at the man marching next to him and dodged the elbow that he aimed at his side with a short laugh.

“A tired soldier is a dead soldier.” A pause, and the next response came backed with a dry laugh. “Not like it’d affect you and your monstrous instincts, anyway.”

“Yes, as we’ve been told a thousand times, General.” The teasing tilt to his voice came easy, and he let his best friend elbow him this time, too busy laughing at his annoyance. 

Should he have been a little more worried of the captain catching him messing around? Yes, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Judging by the restless shifting rippling through the soldiers, no one was too worried about getting a scolding when they were so close to a warm meal and rest.

“Think the inn will be big enough to house all of us? Another night sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound all that nice to me.” 

Touya scoffed as if his question was the stupidest thing he’d heard all day, keeping his gaze straight as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, the company shifting around them into formation as they approached the gates.

“You’re complaining like it’s anything new to us.”

“Harsh.”

The conversation faded after that, the rough dirt under his boots soon transitioning into the packed earth of the town’s main street as residents gathered to whisper and gawk at the soldiers passing through, the sight of their uniforms a jarring eyesore in this sleepy town. 

A sleepy, familiar town.

Keigo’s mind was spinning. His restless gaze kept flicking around the too-familiar buildings and shops and people that remained after all these years. The restaurant with the broken kitchen window that was too easy to sneak into, the grocer who still kept his trash bin too close to the alley, the old woman sitting in front of her izakaya who always had ginger candy and a meal to give. 

They slowed to a stop in front of the large inn, and he stared up at the building that looked much smaller than he remembered, the interior much less grand than he’d imagined it to be as they filed their way in, and he found himself in the room he once dreamed of sleeping in. There, Keigo sat in near disbelief, on the futon that wasn’t as soft as he thought it would’ve been.

“How time flies, huh?” He looked up to see Touya dropping his pack next to his futon and sitting down across from him with a melancholy grin.

There was too much Keigo wanted to say, nostalgia bitter in the back of his throat, so he settled for a matching smile.

“Old Man Yasutaro never got around to fixing that boarded up window.” 

Touya barked out a surprised laugh, Keigo’s smile widening into a self-satisfied grin.

“You ever think he did that on purpose? He always did stock too much food.”

“Are you kidding?” Keigo shuddered at the phantom pain of the beatings he earned. “He was scary whenever he caught us, there’s no way mean ol’ Yasutaro would do all that just for a pair of orphans on the street.”

“Mm, I don’t know, he was always pretty sweet to Granny Tamayo, so anything that made him look good in her book.” Touya leaned back on his arms, the melancholy melting into the ease of bittersweet nostalgia. It was easier to smile through the painful memories rather than dwell on the past, so Keigo let himself toss his head back with a laugh.

“God, her ginger candy was the best.” 

“You sure it was the candy? Or the granddaughter who always snuck an extra piece to you?” That earned Touya a frustrated noise of protest and a half-hearted kick he dodged.

“That was ages ago!”

“And you still react like a little boy!” 

Keigo groaned, burying his face into his hands as if that would tune out Touya’s cackling laughter. It was short moments like this that took the weight off his shoulders, the murmurs of public dissent, the leaked plans of a planned riot, the magnitude of his actions tomorrow morning.

(Civilians. Of all things, why did it have to be civilians?)

He suddenly pushed himself to his feet, the heavy weight having pushed itself back onto his shoulders and slotting the familiar hum of alertness back into place. Touya gave him a knowing look that he, decidedly, ignored in favor of getting out before his mind swallowed him whole.

“Dinner is supposed to be in a bit, we should get going.”

“Wonderful job of changing the subject, really.”

“Wonderful job of being annoying.”

Touya dodged another swipe of the leg, laughing at his displeasure as he stood to follow.

“Why thank you, I try.” His grin widened with a certain glint in his eye that Keigo found himself dreading. “Now let’s get going, I heard some of the guys are at Granny Tamayo’s izakaya.”

“What?”

“My, isn’t that little Keigo? And little Touya?” 

Keigo faltered halfway through the entrance, smoothing his grimace into a smile as he watched the old lady totter over from her seat with all the coddling of a grandmother. The soldiers within earshot (who were already drinking and eating away. It was barely sunset—) paused to gawk and grin at the endearing interaction.

“Not so little anymore, Granny.”

“I’ll say. Are you eating alright? Is the military treating you well?”

“Granny!”

“What’s this? Speedy and Torchface have some history here?” Keigo kept his smile smooth, only shifting it just the slightest bit into what he knew would look like a sheepish grin instead of the pained grimace underneath the surface. Boisterous laughter that only alcohol could bring rippled around the spacious izakaya, the men cracking jokes over drinks and food.

“Careful calling him Torchface, he has the temper to match.”

Ah, there it is. Touya shouldered past him to stalk towards the offending table with a scarily wide grin, pulling the loose-lipped rookie into a chokehold, his wide grin unmoving.

“‘Has a temper’ my ass, you’re just jealous that a guy with a bunch of burn scars has an easier time with women than you idiots.”

The laughter only grew louder, Granny Tamayo’s expression softening at the interaction before turning back to Keigo with a nostalgic smile.

“Not so little… I see.” She motioned to the table Touya had made a space for himself at, shoving the rookie (who was still in a chokehold, poor kid) aside to make room for him. “Take a seat, dear, and the drinks will be right out.”

The too-loud laughter and incessantly clinking glasses filled the space up with ear-grating noise, and Keigo wanted to leave. Search for peace and solitude in the quiet streets in a way that was strangely familiar. 

(For a fleeting moment, he thought a quiet garden would be nice.)

However, he’d rather eat with the company of drunks rather than the void of his own mind and the horrors silence tended to bring, so the migraine starting to brew in the back of his head was a small price to pay. As was the heavy arm slung over his shoulder from some random soldier, alcohol-loosened and heavy, and the awkward conversation he found himself following along with perfectly tailored humor.

“Alright, I have two beers as well as a few rounds of edamame and—” 

The familiar voice stopped short, and Keigo felt his heart stop in tandem. Slowly, he looked up and saw the girl who used to sneak out an extra candy when her grandmother wasn’t looking, now a woman in the izakaya uniform balancing trays in one hand and two mugs in the other. 

“...Keigo?”

Almost as if the locked gates had been thrown open, a new rush of memories past had overcome him. Jaunts through the town disguised as adventures, clumsily dancing around an old gramophone and calling it a waltz, and the start of blossoming love. Keigo simply smiled, easygoing and familiar, like it hadn’t been years since you saw him run to the military with Touya the first chance they had, drawn by the promise of food and shelter. Like he hadn’t left a malnourished boy and come back a man with more scars than skin.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“‘Been a while.’” You rolled your eyes, setting down the mug in front of him with a huff. “The two most important people in my life run off to join the army without so much as a word, and that’s what you say?”

His words stopped halfway up his throat the moment he saw Granny Tamayo come up behind you to pinch you on the arm, the half-formed response morphing into a laugh as he watched you flinch back with a surprised (and betrayed) yelp.

“Y/N, darling, don’t be rude to the customers.” You pouted, rubbing at the sore spot on your upper arm.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“It’s fine, Granny. Nothing new, right?” At the sight of his cheeky smile, the old woman scoffs, something endearing, before nudging him out of his seat despite your noise of protest.

“Well, since you two seem to be talking of nothing but the past, why don’t you go take a walk down memory lane?”

“Wha— Grandmother! There’s still customers—”

“Kaede can handle it just fine! Shoo, shoo, get out of my hair.” 

Without missing a beat, Granny Tamayo smoothly plucked the trays from your hands and nudged you two towards the door as the soldiers watching roared with laughter and cooed jokes at the two “childhood lovers”. Keigo turned towards Touya, almost desperately, in a futile search for— what? Escape? Wasn’t he looking for escape in the first place?

“Wait, Granny, come on. Touya’s part of this too, isn’t he?”

“Don’t drag me into this, a trip down memory lane isn’t for me!” With an arm still slung over the now-wheezing rookie’s shoulder, Touya raised the cup of sake he’d ordered as if in toast. Whether it was to Keigo’s mortification, or to the potential opportunities this meant, Keigo didn’t want to know.

Probably both.

(...Probably the former, if he were to be honest with himself.)

A flurry of drunken laughter and lighthearted jokes, half-hearted protests that fell on deaf ears, and insistent pushing at his back later, he found himself standing outside the izakaya, blinking up at the full moon before looking over at you.

“...Did we just get kicked out?”

“I think we did.” You snorted, scuffing a mark into the dirt path with your heel, and Keigo wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. What was he supposed to do? Stuck with the remnants of a rekindling love, the awkwardness that tended to come with years of estrangement and words that failed him when it came to you. 

Well, there’s really only one thing he could do.

Talk.

“So, what’s new with you?” He immediately cringed at his choice of words, forcing himself to school his expression over into an easygoing smile instead of recoiling like he so desperately wanted to do. 

Nice going there, Keigo, really.

“...Same old.” Your quiet answer snapped him out of his thoughts, and he tilted his head, almost like he was beckoning you to continue. “Same old town, same old job, same old life. I pretty much walked the path everyone knew I was going to go on as the granddaughter of the izakaya’s owner.”

You looked up with a sheepish grin, the bright moonlight casting the world (and you) in a silver glow, and Keigo felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Not the most exciting to a man from the military, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve seen a lot—” Keigo rubbed at the identification tag hidden under his clothes by force of habit, the leather cord heavy around his neck. He has seen a lot. Too much, to be exact, but how would he even begin to explain the horrors of man to someone… “normal”? How could he?

For someone whose wit and silver tongue helped him survive all these years, he was awfully tongue-tied tonight. Or maybe it was just you, and the surreal lightness settling into his soul that had him stumbling over his words.

“But you’ve seen enough?” You finished his sentence with a wry grin, and the surprised laugh found itself past his lips before he could catch it. How could he forget? You were always, always a step ahead of him. Back then and even now.

“Enough of my barracks and Touya’s face? Yeah, definitely.” You swatted his arm with a huff, and the familiar action made the next laugh come a little easier, his chest a little lighter as the awkwardness slowly dissipated into something… comfortable. Normal.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” 

“Well, that’s your answer, Y/N. Don’t know what else to tell you,” He shrugged in mock ignorance, and you groaned, going back to worrying at the deepening scuff in the dirt. 

“What, so, we both had boring lives?”

Far from boring.

“...Yeah, I guess so.” 

You pursed your lips and stared out at the quiet street, the beat of silence almost bordering on awkward by the time you broke it with a resolute sigh, starting to walk forward into the moonlight.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make up for it somehow.” 

“And how would you do that?”

“By going back to when life wasn’t so boring,” You hummed, spinning to face him and grandly spreading your arms, as if you were presenting the lantern-lit street to him, “C’mon! Tonight, this main street is memory lane!”

“Aren’t you taking me out of town at one point, though?”

“Oh, hush. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, coming.”

Oh, your smile was radiant, and Keigo had to force himself to keep moving instead of gaping like a fool.

(Was it possible for him to make you smile like that all the time?)

For the next hour, time seemed to stop. The moon stood frozen in the sparkling sky, watching two star-crossed lovers go around town, laughing and reminiscing on what could’ve been. What could be, if Keigo were to be bold. You took him down Main Street as promised, and he found it hard to relate to the memories you spoke of, associating each store with scornful stares and pitiful ignorance. Eventually, you two looped around to the outskirts of town. To the river that looked more like a creek now, and the quaint houses and maze of alleyways. To familiarity.

He smiles as he watches you skip rocks in the creek, laughs when you wrinkle your nose at the dog that always seems to only bark when you two pass by Old Man Yasutaro’s gate, and revels in the memories.

“You still suck!”

“Hey! It’s not like we skip rocks all the time in the military.”

You merely rolled your eyes and continued to skip ahead, the slow and awkward trudge from before revived into the enthusiastic step he remembered, fueled by the joys of nostalgia and escape. 

This, Keigo realizes, is nostalgia.

Not the pain of remembering a past he wanted to forget, not looking at alleyways to remember what used to be his childhood, not thinking of the shops as someplace otherworldly. Rather, it was this. The joy of reminiscing on good times. The joy of breathing new life into old memories.

The joy he now knew was to be found in you.

“Hey.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see you grinning, the moonlight illuminating something akin to mischief in your eyes. “Remember that old gramophone we could never figure out when we were little?”

“You mean you could never figure out. I didn’t want to touch it because Granny Tamayo is a scary, scary woman.”

And a dirty street orphan’s hands had no place on such an expensive thing.

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, following along anyway as you set off down the path with a new purpose. The route was familiar, and Keigo already had an idea of where this was going, but who was he to speak when you were nearly buzzing with excitement?

“What I mean to say is: I figured it out, so—” You spun in place again, taking his hand, and his heart damn near stopped, “—would you like this dance? To some actual music, this time.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? A proper lady needs the proper etiquette, after all.” His cheeky grin betrayed the politeness of his words, and you scoffed, tugging him along.

“Like you would ask me first.” Keigo’s tongue stalled around a response, scrambling for a proper comeback because you were right. Deep down, he knew that he still never would’ve asked you first for anything. It wasn’t his place. First, as a kid on the street compared to the granddaughter of the izakaya owner. Now, as a man with blood on his hands compared to an innocent civilian, untainted by the shadows of war.

Who was he to ask anything from a normal person?

“Lead the way, then.”

There was that radiant grin again, brimming with excitement and sending him reeling. Keigo couldn’t help but let your enthusiasm rub off on him as he followed you to the little communal courtyard behind Granny Tamayo’s home, where he knew that she liked to keep that Western gramophone to play for guests. You broke away to go and try and work the old machine, mumbling to yourself as you fiddled with the knobs and rifled through the records filed away in the ornate cabinet it was sitting on. 

He took the chance to look around the empty courtyard, struck with the realization that it hadn’t changed at all in the years he was gone. He left all those years ago, only to return to a town that seemed almost frozen in time. It was too far from the cities for all the modern inventions to catch up with it, so the only things that changed were, well, the people. Keigo most of all. What if he hadn’t—

The sudden burst of music and your shout of victory cut off his wandering train of thought, and you walked back into his line of vision with a triumphant grin.

“I still don’t know how to fix the tempo, so the song’s a little slow. You’ll have to forgive me for that.” You offered up your hand and tilted your head, still smiling. “May I have this dance?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Like you’d ask me first.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo grinned in well-earned defeat, and his hand slipped into yours with the other on your waist. The music swelled, and he took the first step.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

With too-slow, clumsy steps, the two of you slowly began waltzing your way around the small courtyard. You still kind of didn’t know how to work the gramophone—the song almost eerily slow, despite the years of fiddling—but that didn’t matter in the face of the giddy smiles shared, your soft laughs when he spun you in a flash of spontaneity, and the nostalgia of old times.

Before, he was a scrawny kid on the street who clumsily tried to follow the steps of the pretty girl playing a song on her father’s gramophone. Tomorrow, he would be Private First Class Takami Keigo, fighting for his life on the battlefield. Tonight, he would be normal again, slow dancing to Clair de Lune playing off an old, off-beat gramophone with you in his arms, mourning a start he didn’t get to have.

(As normal as a kid scrounging for scraps on the street could’ve been.)

Your voice, soft and wavering, broke the stillness of the moment, as if it were something taboo that shouldn’t have been uttered into existence at all.

“Keigo?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

You flushed at the endearment, the next words shattering his illusion of happiness within nostalgia with the renewed vigor of confidence in the face of the impossible.

“Will you come home?”

Home.

A simple word, really. And yet it dropped like a stone in his chest. Home meant a roof over his head. Home meant warm food on the table. Home meant a simple life in a sleepy rural town. Home meant the promise of a new beginning.

To you, “home” probably meant nothing more than the place you had known all your life.

To him, “home” meant you.

So, like a dreamer in love, he answered with all the confidence of a fool.

“Yeah... I will. I don’t care how long it’ll take me, but I’ll come home.”

He thought the shaky lilt to his voice would’ve given him away, or the way his step faltered in the already clumsy waltz as if trying to step around what he knew should’ve been the answer. 

Instead, you laughed. Something soft, and let him spin you once more.

“Well, I’ve already waited a couple years, what’s a little more waiting?”

Keigo had to keep himself from double checking if this was real. Dancing with you in the moonlight as he tried to step around the reality of that answer with all the awkward grace of a scared child.

One, two, three, one, two, three… 

Truth be told, the both of you knew the answer long before you had pushed the question into desperate existence, searching for a shred of hope. That his simple answer should have been an realistic “I don’t know” or a pessimistic “no promises”, instead of a foolish “yes.”

Instead, he slowed the waltz to a sway, pulling you close to both ingrain the feeling of you into his soul and to hopefully hide the resigned melancholy of a soldier being carted off to uncertainty.

And, for a traitorous moment, Keigo wondered.

Dreamed, even.

What would it have been like to have a “normal” life? Instead of grasping the hand of desperation, would he have grown out of the side alleys and homes made of boxes into a “respectable” man? Maybe he could’ve gotten a job at the grocer’s, at Old Yasutaro’s restaurant, or maybe even Granny Tamayo’s izakaya. Could he have—he pulled you closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your temple—could he have courted you the “right” way? Brought you flowers and honey-sweet words of praise and promises of a happy future, instead of a single night dancing in the moonlight with a brittle promise hanging in the tense air that the both of you clung onto like a lifeline. A promise that Keigo wasn’t even sure he could fulfill.

He would later come to regret this single moment. Of this, he was sure.

(But, as you lifted your head from his chest with glassy eyes and a shaky smile, he knew he wasn’t alone in this regret.)

Keigo knew the words that you wished to let fall into the night air, in hopes of making that brittle promise tangible. Of giving life to a bright future with three little words. The reality crawled up his throat like poison, bitter and cloying, something that he knew shouldn’t be said. Keigo settled for gently wrapping his hand around your head to pull you closer, filtering the harsh truth into something a little softer, the bittersweet tone marking the unspoken truth as a reality instead of the dreams of a future.

One… two… three… 

“Don’t,” He muttered, heart tightening as he felt you go rigid in his arms, “I know. Please, God, I know—”

You slowly relaxed in his arms with all the bitter acceptance of a night before battle, and he murmured the next words into another ghost of a kiss. A whisper against your lips, seen only by the fading notes of a song in the moonlight.

“—but don’t.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo’s breath was rattling, ears ringing with war cries, death wails, and everything in between. The once-blue noon sky was now a startling haze of ash gray, thick with the choking scent of the world burning.

He couldn’t even tell where the carnage started or ended anymore.

(Would it ever end?) 

How long has it been since the first shot?

(Too long.) 

Would he live to see the sunset?

(Of all times to worry about this, why now?)

The incessant drill of artillery fire was nothing new to him, as was the stench of the battlefield that could only be described as death.  What was new, was something that pushed his aching body to keep moving, the autopilot state he usually entered backed with something raw. Something like fear.

Something like the will to survive.

The pain that set his nerves on fire has long since faded, all the pain of countless wounds blending together into something numbed by the adrenaline of survival. Were the wet patches on his uniform sweat? Blood? Both? He couldn’t tell anymore, all he knew was survival and the persistent voice whispering deadly distraction in the back of his mind.

Civilians. You’re fighting civilians, you mur—

The skin of his back prickled, the telltale whistling of something flying screeched in his ears, and his reflexes yanked him to dive out of the way before his mind could catch up. Not even a second later, another explosive detonated behind him and heat blazed across his back. His nerves screamed fresh pain into his senses and he grit his teeth, ignoring the concerning sound of sizzling over the ringing in his ears in favor of ducking into cover, collapsing against the wall of a destroyed building. 

Since when did regular people know how to make bombs?!

In the next breath, someone else had ducked into the small shelter he’d found in this hellscape of a city. 

Well, the remains of one. All hell broke loose once the other side brought homemade explosives into the fray and now, as he stared at the burning and destruction, Keigo wondered if those Westerners who muttered meaningless blessings whenever they passed were right. 

If this “Hell” they spoke of really was on Earth. 

He turned his head, suddenly sluggish, to the man that had joined him in the makeshift cover, and grinned at the familiar face.

“Hey, man.”

(Maybe giving his body a chance to slow down was a mistake.)

Touya ignored his exhausted greeting, instead opting to yank a rag from his pouch as he pulled Keigo to sit up so he could press the rag into the deep gashes the shrapnel had gouged into his back. Keigo immediately groaned in protest at the stinging pain, despite how necessary he knew it was.

“Fucking— how did you even survive that?”

“Dunno,” He let out a weak laugh, “Don’t think I will—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you myself.” Despite his harsh threat, Touya pressed the slowly darkening rag deeper into his wound. A desperate (futile) attempt to stop the life pooling onto the floor underneath them, steadily flowing from the deep gashes in his back and all the other wounds peppering his body.

“Isn’t that the exact opposite—” He hissed in pain at the pressure on his wounds, “—of what you want?” 

“Shut up.”

“You know you don’t want me doing that.”

(He was right. Keigo running his mouth meant that he was breathing. Meant that he was alive.)

Touya pressed his lips into a thin line, Keigo blearily tracking the way his burn scars pulled with the movement. 

Grounding himself, that’s what he’s supposed to do during times like this, right? Hell, he didn’t know. Not every day he came so close to death. Touya really needed to look into something for those sc—

“For the love of the gods, I am begging you to shut up.”

Ah, he said all that out loud? He managed to muster up a sheepish grin, despite Touya’s grim expression.

“Ooh, Touya? Begging? That’s a first, I should stay awake to hear it.” Keigo didn’t have to look to know that the rag was soaked through and Touya was fighting against the inevitable at this point. Keigo? He… he was too tired to fight to keep his eyes open. Too cold.

“Maybe you should stay awake to go home, loverboy.”

“I should.” He fumbled to find purchase, pressing his palm into the ground and scooting his feet closer for leverage. “Can’t leave Y/N waiting after all.”

Maybe it was the delirium from the blood-loss, or the desperation of this cursed situation, but Keigo tried to pull himself up. To move, to get somewhere safer, somewhere where he could survive. His palm slipped on the blood-slick floor underneath him and he came crashing down once more, his strength disappearing along with it as he slumped against Touya.

“Ah—”

“Shit, I’ll get you to the medic.” 

Keigo groaned at the pain of his wounds being jostled as Touya tried to haul the deadweight of his sluggish body up. The reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders (or was it his strength leaving him?) and he licked his chapped lips, whispering the grim truth into the ash-hazy air.

“I’m not gonna make it to the medic.”

“How many times do I have to keep telling you to shut up?” Another attempt to pull him to his feet, and Keigo managed to push out a weak laugh.

“Just a couple more times.”

“Hey… hey, c’mon now, I still have to make fun of you and Y/N for being the most disgusting couple I’ve ever met.” He carefully shook Keigo, trying desperately to get him to keep his drooping eyes open.

“Aw, don’t tease Y/N too badly.”

Something changed in Touya’s voice, a block in his throat that he had to force his words through, and he clutched the dripping rag closer to his wounds as he muttered out his response.

“I won’t.”

“Good, good,” Keigo’s hands clumsily fumbled for the cord wrapped over his chest, tugging at it until it came loose. “Hey, can you tell Y/N that I’ll do my best to come home? In any way I can.”

“...Just do it yourself.” 

“Mm, that would… that would be nice. Coming home, I mean. I promised… Y/N… I would…”

His words faded, and Touya froze, arms suspended in midair around the slumped form of his best friend, his stunned gaze locked on the identification tag hanging from a limp, bloody hand.

“Kei...go?”

【 ☀︎ 】

Waiting was agony.

You used to think you were a patient person, years of dealing with drunks, horrible customers, and everything in between training the patience of a saint into you. 

Today, however, revealed that you were anything but. The moment the company had crested the hill and out of sight, your anxieties slowly overcame you the farther they went. Working in the izakaya helped, the constant flow of customers and orders kept you on your feet and your thoughts off the battle that was no doubt waging mere miles away. Every so often, a wandering patron would come in murmuring that they heard bits and pieces of the battle, and you forced yourself to forget again.

All that effort was lost once the company’s runner came barreling through the town, shouting that the soldiers were on their way back. That they needed spaces cleared for the wounded and their lodgings secured. They called for the doctor, they called for food, they called for supplies. 

If you didn’t know any better, it would’ve sounded like a cry for help.

Word spread like wildfire, and the rush of serving customers turned into the rush of trying to help prepare for the soldiers’ return. None of it helped get your mind off the one thing you didn’t want to worry about. If anything, it just shoved all your worries to the forefront of your mind, accompanied by the dull headaches of something you hoped were just random fantasies.

(Fantasies of a lotus garden, a guarded grin, a red hairpin, a betrayal—)

Would he have to be wrapped in the bandages you were carrying? Would he have to rest in the bedding in your hands? Would he be able to eat the food your grandmother was preparing?

Then, they came. 

A slow straggle of wounded and weary men, leaning and limping on each other as they slowly trickled in through the main street.

There were many things that wouldn’t happen, you would later realize, watching the company trudge back into the town. Their formation was shaky from the hobbling wounded, and you felt your heart drop as you desperately searched the noticeably thinner crowd, trying to peek through the uniforms and bandages and dented helmets for any sign that he had come home. That he had survived.

How many men did they lose?

(Too many.)

You watched the flow of soldiers slowly follow their commander to their lodgings and the doctor, the once boisterous crowd now silent and battle-worn. The rookie that had just been under a chokehold the other night was now cradling bandaged wounds and a gaunt expression that only told of his first brushes with death.

One soldier broke from the crowd to make his way towards you, and—for a fleeting moment—you hoped. 

And just as quickly as it came, that hope you had soon sunk into despair once you saw who it was, and what he held in his scarred hands.

Across the street, a man broke rank, with a heavier burden than most would’ve thought and few would ever experience. He hoped that no one would have to experience this, a death and the task of delivering such news weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Life, Touya thinks, is cruel.

It left such a brilliant mind like Keigo to starve with him on the streets.

It forced him to run to the military in desperation, searching for steady food and shelter.

It snatched away the one man who had salvation waiting for him.

Death, Touya grieves, is even crueler.

Keigo would never get to go home.

He wouldn’t get to see the joy on your face once you welcomed him home with open arms. 

(How could he? When your expression twists into something akin to dawning horror instead of joy, watching Touya make his way up to you with downcast eyes and a heavy bundle of fabric carefully cradled in his palm.)

He wouldn’t get to start the new life he deserved, in a sleepy rural town with the one he adored.

He wouldn’t get to fulfill his promise to you.

A promise that everyone knew was too risky a promise to make. Yet, he believed enough to make it to you.

A promise that Touya holds back on his tongue because he knew this—a little metal disc on a bloodstained cord—wouldn’t fulfill it, not when he hands you the neat square of scrap fabric and watches your tears flow before you even open it. Not when you slip out a worn identification tag, holding it up to the sunset to try and make out the letters you already knew were there.

A lantern illuminates what the fading sunlight could not, casting the stamped characters of Keigo’s bloodied name in an amber glow, and you crumble.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Professor Takami, Head of the Sociology Department, first through the doors of the campus café with essays to be finished grading in one hand and his laptop bag in the other.

The cashier greets him with a familiar warmth as he steps up to the counter, his staple order already halfway punched into the register with a knowing smile that he forces himself to return. There’s a nervous energy simmering under his skin that he can’t seem to shake, and it shows. The barista (Touya. His name is Touya. He literally has one of the guy’s essays in his hand, fucking hell. Get it together, Keigo) shoots the normally easygoing professor a worried look as he slides the warmed pastry across the counter to him, the full sleeves of swirling blue and black ink a stark contrast against the smooth wood of the counter.

“Everything good with you, Professor?”

“Perfect, now that I got my pastry. Think I’ll be even better once I drink some coffee.” 

Nothing was perfect, and he couldn’t even put a finger on what it was. 

He plastered a convincing smile on his face as he picked up the too-heavy plate, careful to hold it steady before making a beeline for his usual table. The faster he got to sit down at his usual corner booth and sort himself out, the better. 

He knew that he would just drown himself in grading papers instead of figuring out what was making him feel off, but it was the thought that counted.

The hum of energy under his skin was nothing new to him. Something deep inside that made him almost jumpy, wary of the peaceful days that had consumed his entire life, lying in wait for… something. For what? Keigo wished he knew.

(For battles yet started, for warcries yet sung, for survival yet fought for.)

All he knew was that the strange hum that threatened to vibrate him out of his own skin was different this time. Wrong. It didn’t help that his sleep had been suffering for the past week, plagued by dreams and nightmares both of eras past, the blurry picture of the same person a constant sight in the swirling mix of history. Images flickering between a secluded lotus garden and an elaborate kimono to an old izakaya and Clair de Lune at moonrise. Images of yearning and blood and tragedy and endings before the beginnings.

At least his conversations with the once-intimidating Japanese Literature professor got a smidge more interesting.

With the resolute click of a red pen, he swept away the thoughts clouding his mind as he resigned himself to his fate of just dealing with the strange mood for now, fully intent on getting to work. Years of repetition and muscle memory had him opening up his email with practiced ease, quietly sighing to himself as he waited for the doubtlessly endless emails from students and colleagues alike to load. 

Would procrastinating just the tiniest bit by fiddling with the rolled cuffs of his sleeves or pushing up his glasses for the nth time help at all? 

No, but it let Keigo expel the weirdly restless energy in what ways he could, the creeping sense of foreboding setting his nerves into overdrive. The page loaded and he frowned at the onslaught of emails he knew were going to flood his inbox. 

Hell, he expected them to.

What he didn’t expect were the contents, the subject lines all variations of “Did you know?” and “There’s no way” and “I can’t believe it” from colleagues he didn’t even talk to regularly. Sure, the email from the cultural anthropology professor made sense, but the graphic design professor? The head of the business department?

Before he could open the first email of many, his laptop chirped out the familiar ‘ding!’ of a new email, the sound rippling through the café as everyone’s phones and laptops lit up with the same message. 

A schoolwide email? Okay, th—

The world slowed to a crawl, everyone in the packed coffee shop silencing almost at once and the shocked whispers rippling throughout the space only serving to make the silence all the more deafening (“Hey, check your email.” and “Look at this.” and “No way.” and it was too loud someone please make it stop—), his ears near ringing as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the picture embedded at the top of the page.

“Looking a little rough there.” The cotton suddenly stuffing his ears muffled the barista’s voice and would’ve made him jump out of his skin had he been focused on anything but burning the email into his eyes. God, he’d barely even registered the guy coming up to serve his coffee, what was wrong with him? “Professor? Was it that email?”

“Y-Yeah, I just read it.” He cleared his throat and slid the mug closer to himself, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to ground himself as he stared at the picture of you. 

The barista merely arched a pierced brow and muttered a soft “ah.” before going back to his spot behind the espresso machine, vibrant blue eyes tracking the rattled professor suspiciously. Keigo was too preoccupied to thank him as he usually would’ve. Too preoccupied with what was staring back at him from his laptop screen.

A picture placed right under the subject line plastering “Unfortunate news about Prof. L/N Y/N” across his screen, the few words in the body text (that he could pick out through the sudden tidal wave of memories past clicking into place) painted an image that he couldn’t help but mourn.

After being reported missing… remains found… will be missed.

Will be missed… 

Well, now that he thought about it, Keigo had been missing you all his life, hadn’t he? 

Both figuratively and literally, always arriving after you left and vice versa, never really seeming to connect in person. Any emails were shrouded with a veil of professionalism that he couldn’t pierce through. Yet, there were things so irrevocably you that he knew to pick out now. The jovial note at the end of your emails, the unapologetically confident sharpness to your words, the extra mug you left for the next person that passed through the faculty lounge (that somehow always ended up being him on the days he was rushing to his next lecture). 

All these things, all these moments, and the fool had passed all of them by.

The restless energy humming under his skin through his entire being disappeared much quicker than it had come, its job done, leaving a gaping  void in its wake that was shockingly familiar. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time this had happened, where the curtains never raised on the beginning you two could’ve had. He took a shuddering, stabilizing breath (that didn’t work), too numb to feel the freshly brewed coffee scalding his tongue that he had hoped would pull him back to reality, hoped the sweet taste would wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat and the splitting headache of years upon years of memories crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Professor Takami had work to get done.

Keigo could mourn later.

Even as he convinced himself of that, he couldn’t even bring himself to brush the dead lotus petals off his work, the sight of the wilted centerpiece only bringing more pain. The cruel coincidence of the once bloomed flowers now dead in his hands didn’t go unnoticed, and Keigo desperately tried to bore the printed words laid in front of him into his mind. 

As if doing that would sear away the sudden onslaught of memories, dead lotus petals igniting a yearning for a long-demolished lotus garden and a pretty concubine who didn’t belong in the palace (or was it a small town and the life he could’ve had?) and the love that slipped through his fingers once more.

Did you go through this too? When he—

The half-graded essays lay untouched for the rest of the day, red ink disappearing in the crimson light cast by the setting sun.

【 ☀︎ 】

When did I…?

He blinked down at the concrete under his feet, stunned, before looking up to see an endless sea of trains passing in front of him. The incessant rushing of the trains around him had replaced the silence of the hotel room he was supposed to be sound asleep in, the too-rhythmic noise of the train tracks surrounding him in an almost ethereal white noise. 

I had just gone to bed… How did I end up at a train station?

He winced at the glare of the midday sun reflecting off of the last car of the train passing in front of him, before stopping short at the sight of someone standing on the other side of the tracks—alone—revealed by the passing train. His heart leapt into his throat and pushed a name he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember out of his lips. There was no way he knew her, the multi-layered kimono and elegant hairpins looked like something out of a millenia-old ukiyo-e print and wholly out of place in a modern train station. But... something deep in his soul knew that it was right, and it sang as he watched the woman turn around. 

“You’re dreaming right now, Keigo. Go back to sleep,”

“What…?” 

“It’s true,” The woman tilted her head with the soft smile that he’d missed so much (missed? Wasn’t this his first time seeing it?) and the ancient hairpieces jingled and swayed with the movement, his gaze locking on a familiar crimson gemstone catching the sunlight, “Don’t believe me? Try to count some numbers, then. One… two…”

Another train hurtled past, blocking his view once more as her painted lips moved soundlessly around the final number.

“Three.”

Keigo sat up with a gasp, staring at the soft shafts of light the sunrise painted on the walls.

It was the start of a new day, and he found himself mourning something lost that he couldn’t even remember.

Dawn finds Hawks, the number two hero, leaping out of his Tokyo hotel window, wind catching on vermilion wings to buffer his descent to the sidewalk.

He was far from home, his current mission dragging him all the way to Tokyo from his agency in Fukuoka. Sneakers touched concrete, and he started down the path where he was supposed to meet with the last person he wanted to see right now. Especially after that mess with the High-End Nomu. He shuddered, spreading his wings as if to remind himself that they were all there, recovered after that hellish fight.

Come to the location on foot, he’d been told, and don’t be conspicuous.

Weird request, and it was kind of hard to remain inconspicuous when he was the number two hero and had a pair of bright red wings announcing his identity to the world. Alas, he needed to cooperate or else he’d end up jeopardizing the entire mission, so Keigo settled for ditching his hero costume in favor of casual clothes and a cap to hide his identity. He pulled a mask over his nose and tucked his wings closer to further help conceal himself as he walked down the street, dipping into the first alley he saw.

His path through the grid of alleyways and side streets had already been mapped out the days before, so it was just a matter of making the short trek there. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t the best, and Keigo found himself slowed by sidestepping trash and the occasional bottle of liquor. The scent of stale alcohol only brought unpleasant fragments of memories, and he pushed them aside in favor of quickening his pace.

“My, not every day I see such a bigshot hero pass by.”

He almost tripped over another bottle, wings ruffling in surprise as he cursed himself for being caught off guard.

There was an old woman sitting there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands as she sat outside her quaint little storefront. 

A flower shop, in this secluded side street? 

“Ah, sorry, ma’am, you have the wrong person. I mean, me? The number 2 pro hero?” He was quick to deny her, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. She merely hummed and took another sip of her tea.

“Do I? Well, this old woman’s eyes aren’t what they used to be after all.” She set down the cup and stepped out of her chair, shuffling over to the water feature on the other side of the doorway that served as an attraction. He could see why, the soft rush of the small waterfall and fragrant lotuses drawing his attention the more he stared.

Suddenly, the woman plucked one of the younger lotuses, patting the stem dry before handing it to him with a smile.

“Uh—”

“You saved my son that day, from the Nomu attack in Fukuoka. This is the least I could do.”

Against his better judgement—he really needed to get going to catch the train in time—he took the half-bloomed lotus in his hands and pulled down his mask to smile at her.

“Your eyes are… actually pretty sharp, ma’am. Thank you.”

She laughed, sitting back in her seat and sent him on his way. The rest of the walk went smoothly after that, and he soon found himself jogging up the stairs to the station, muttering under his breath as he checked his watch. 

Right on time.

【 ☀︎ 】

A strange sense of deja vu creeped into his chest as he stepped onto the platform in Minami-senju station. He’d been feeling off all day, and the weird sense of familiarity that had been tugging at the back of his mind didn’t help. Luckily, he’d managed to arrive in time to catch the noon train so the rest of his schedule should hopefully go smoothly from here. A departing train screeched into motion, and he winced at the rippling glare of sunlight that reflected into his eyes, the strange deja vu rearing its head again.

Keigo stared at the train passing in front of him as he idly twirled the lotus stem in between his fingers. The words left his lips before he could catch himself.

“One… two…” He cut himself off with a sigh, dropping his head and dragging a hand over his face.

It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

Keigo.

His head shot up at the sound of his name, the world darkening under the shade of a passing cloud. Did he just imagine that? He had to. The train station was practically stranded, and there was no one even close enough to call his name without shouting across the station (if they even knew his name in the first place). Despite his better judgement, he wet his lips and shut his eyes, the strangely familiar words passing his lips once more as he desperately tried to recall the familiarity he longed for.

“One…”

I want to see you.

“Two…” 

I don’t even know who you are, but I miss you anyway.

“Three—”

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the train tracks silenced and left him with the raging drum of his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the person standing on the other side of the tracks. The emerging sun smiled upon him, casting the world in light once more as his voice locked around a familiar name he’d never spoken.

It started as a hushed whisper, and he swallowed the lump in his throat to call the name thrice ingrained into his soul.

“Y/N!”

The familiar smile that bloomed across your lips was answer enough as he pushed through the newly arrived train to the other side, to you. He reached out, clawing through the rush hour crowd (why were there so many people? Why were you so far? Closer, closer, closer—) and he nearly sobbed in relief as you fell into his arms, clinging to each other as your souls finally, finally, melded together as one. Now and forevermore.

The questions could come later, but now... he had a promise to fulfill.

He was home.

notes: minami-senju train station is located in very close proximity (a two-minute walk) from what is left of the kozukappara execution grounds, where a temple now stands in its place. he’s made quite the journey to come full circle, hasn’t he?

#takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha oneshot #hawks x reader angst #mha oneshot #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #reincarnation au #from the typewriter #pocuties #cw death #tw death #cw blood #tw blood #cw war #tw war #if you'd like me to add a warning please let me know!