#she can still hear Earth. and the abandoned village is alive again. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hxwks-gf · 4 years

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» 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊

𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢. 𝚠𝚑𝚘'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐?

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚠𝚌: 𝟸.𝟼

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 & 𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

That familiar stench of thick, viscous blood stretched far across the open field in which you stood, breathing heavily with your fingers gripped tightly around the hilts of your swords. They, along with half of your face, were stained red with it.

You were so tired. Every muscle in your body ached with exhaustion. But no matter how many Titans you viciously cut down, more and more seemed to take their place. Fighting them in an open field put you and the rest of the squad at an enormous disadvantage, and now you were paying the price.

You clicked the bottom triggers and listened to the empty space within the gas canister. You had maybe one or two good forward pushes before you were completely out.

“Fuck,” you muttered, sheathing the swords and wiping the blood out of your eyes. Looking around, you could see no one else nearby. You were completely alone after you had been separated on your horse by a handful of Abnormals. And as soon as you had vaulted from your horse’s back to attack, it got in the way of the onslaught of Titans and was ultimately crushed beneath one of their enormous feet.

Their blood had evaporated, leaving behind only your own from a wound at your hairline. Your eyes were getting heavier and heavier by the second, and the soft patch of grass underneath a lone tree nearby was suddenly calling your name. Dying in comfort didn’t seem like a bad way to go….at least it wasn’t getting eaten alive.

But the sun was already setting, slashing the sky with vibrant reds, oranges, and purples. You couldn’t remember what phase the moon was in tonight; all you could do was pray it didn’t give too much light for the Titans to walk around after the sun disappeared.

No food, no gas, no back-up. In the middle of Titan country. No matter how you looked at it, you were fucked. The fields stretched on and on as far as the eye could see—the rest of the squad could be miles and miles away by now, having absolutely no idea where you were.

You decided to at least take a rest under the tree while you figured out how much longer you had left, and what you would do with that limited time. You leaned back against the trunk and stretched your legs out in front of you, watching the sun sink lower and lower behind the mountains that loomed in the distance.

It was strangely beautiful, you thought to yourself as you rested your heavy head against the tree and stared at the sunset through half-lidded eyes. The winds whispered through the grass and brought with it the scent of the forest, extinguishing the putrid odor of Titan blood that had lingered behind. If these were your last moments on earth, you weren’t complaining too much. It was as close to peace you would ever get.

Movement out of the corner of your eye made you sit up abruptly, nostrils flaring with alert.

“Shit,” you muttered, seeing the gangly limbs of a ten-meter ambling across the field. You could feel each of its footsteps reverberating through the earth.

It was the only one you could see, and you could take it down easily enough. But that would use up the last of your precious gas and leave you truly helpless if a more pressing matter arose in the future.

You tapped your finger against the trigger of your sword in thought, weighing your options. The Titan hadn’t seen you yet, but if you moved, it most definitely would. If you sat still for long enough it just might pass you without noticing.

Decisions, decisions.

What would Levi do?

“Tch,” you scoffed, glaring toward the Titan. You knew Levi never would’ve gotten himself stuck in this situation to begin with. And you could already hear the earful he would give you if by some stroke of luck they found you alive. You’d be stuck scrubbing the floors for months.

You raised your eyes to the sun that had sunk behind the mountains, casting the valley below into hues of dark blue and black. The moon was nowhere in sight. Could you have been fortunate enough to have a moonless night?

The Titan in the distance still meandered about languidly as the last few remaining rays of the sun stretched over the mountains. Just a few minutes more and you would test Hange’s theory about the Titans’ inability to move without a light source.

It was getting harder and harder to see with each passing second, and soon enough your vision of the wandering Titan became just a dark speck on the horizon. The air was still and quiet, save for the whispering breeze that ruffled your hair and your green cloak. As you slowly got to your feet, your eyes scanned your surroundings to the best of your human ability and saw that you were completely alone again.

Trost was east of you. You wondered how far you would get before the sun rose again or you collapsed from exhaustion. The wound along your hairline had stopped bleeding, but it was giving you an excruciating headache.

“Just get as far as you can,” you commanded yourself, leaving behind the comfort of your tree as you started walking east. Your footsteps were silenced by the soft grass. “Push as hard as you can, and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

You could hear Levi’s voice in your mind. “Don’t give up on me, cadet,” he’d say. “Come back to me.”

“It’d be easier if you came to me,” you argued with his voice aloud as you picked your way across the open field. “You’re the one with the horse.”

No one answered except the crickets chirping in the grass. The stars twinkled overhead, as if trying to keep you company while you walked on foot in the most dangerous part of the country—alone, with scarcely enough to defend yourself, and no food to give you energy.

If you were fucked, at least your last thoughts would be about Levi.

“There’s still no sign of her,” Jean called down from atop the abandoned farmhouse. “I can’t see anything without the moon.”

Levi tried his best to keep himself under control. Goddammit, why did she have to be the one to get separated from the group? He looked up at Jean and nodded stiffly. “Keep looking.”

“Yes, sir.”

He paced the length of the farmhouse with his hands folded tightly behind his back. He had half a mind to go out and look for her himself, but Jean was right. Without the light of the moon, he wouldn’t be able to see much of anything. And he couldn’t risk overexerting his poor horse.

Levi felt a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he could tell the rest of his squad not to bother him until they had any useful information regarding [Y/N]’s whereabouts.

“She’s resourceful,” Hange said softly, and Levi let his shoulders relax. “And she’s smart. Too smart for her own good, to be honest.”

“I know we should have made for Trost hours ago,” Levi muttered, kicking a rock with his boot. “I’m putting everyone at risk for making us stay behind and look for her.”

“We take risks every day. What’s one more?”

“You’re the only one who knows why I took this risk.” He glanced over at them. “You’re the only one who knows what she means to me.”

Hange smiled knowingly and patted his shoulder. “We’ll find her, Levi. I know it.”

You lost track of how many hours had passed, and you could no longer feel your feet. Your legs felt like jelly. You could barely see straight. At some point during the journey, your wound had split open and dripped fresh blood down your face.

You were so tired. Every inch of your body ached.

Come back to me.

“I can’t!” you sobbed into the open air, feeling salty tears spill from your eyes and mix with the blood on your face. “I can’t do it!”

As you cried out in anguish, your knees buckled with exhaustion and you fell to the ground with a pained grunt. The grass felt so soft against your cheeks as you pressed your face into it, sobbing uncontrollably into the dirt. Pretty soon the sun would rise again, and the Titans would wake to hear your cries. You knew for a fact you had no strength left to fight them.

Come back to me.

You sniffled, wiping the snot and blood from your nose with your sleeve. Levi would be disgusted by the state of you, but the thought of his repulsion made you crack a smile.

With some effort, you rose into a kneeling position and tilted your face towards the sky. You could hear birds beginning to chirp, and the glow from the rising sun in the distance slowly started to illuminate your surroundings.

You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, feeling the cool morning air on your bloodied cheeks. Mornings have always been your favorite time of day. It was quiet, still and peaceful, before everyone else in the world had a chance to wake up. You wondered if this would be the last early morning you would ever get to see.

You opened your eyes and looked forward again, expecting to see Titans milling about. But to your fortune, there were none in sight.

But what was in sight was a cluster of old, abandoned houses. A village.

Shelter.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, struggling to get to your feet. It wasn’t Trost, but it might as well have been a chest of treasure waiting for you. There would be rations hidden somewhere, and maybe a bed to sleep on. Protection from Titans. Maybe you would live to see another day.

Each step forward was agonizing, but you ground your teeth so hard you thought your jaw would fall off to keep yourself from faltering. A hundred yards. Fifty yards. Twenty—

“Captain!” you heard someone shout. You froze in your tracks and tried to find the source of the voice, and your eyes landed on a familiar face standing on top of the one of the houses. It was Jean. You had found them.

He slid from the roof and landed not-so-gracefully in the grass, running full speed towards you.

“Jean,” you said weakly, reaching out a hand to him. He caught you right before you could collapse to the ground again, hefting you up in his arms and carrying you towards the village. Your head lolled to the side and fell against his warm shoulder. You couldn’t stay awake any longer. The last thing you saw was the rest of the squad running towards Jean carrying you, but the only face you could focus on was Levi’s.

Levi rescinded his normal post at the head of the squad to sit beside [Y/N] in one of the wagons as they began their journey back to Trost. He still couldn’t believe it. She had survived a night alone, with no food, barely enough gas for one launch, and blades that were one strike away from snapping. If she had been anyone else, she would be dead.

The others had said nothing when he held her hand the entire time Hange stitched up the wound that had split open along her hairline. They said nothing when he ran his fingers along her jawline and over her parted lips as she slept. It was as if they had known the entire time.

Levi watched [Y/N] carefully in the back of the wagon, his grey eyes never once leaving her face. She hadn’t woken up yet, not since she had passed out in Jean’s arms after he found her in the field. He was concerned her head injury had forced her to slip into a coma, but Hange dismissed it.

He vowed that once [Y/N] awoke, he would tell her how he truly felt.

White light filtered in through an unseen window, and you were certain you were dead. This was what came after. Eternal blankness.

But pretty soon your surroundings came into clearer view. You were in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed. Sunlight was trickling through an open window nearby, and the sounds of a city spilled over the sill.

You blinked your groggy eyes and groaned in pain. God, everything hurt. With a weak hand, you reached up and felt the coarse bandage that was wrapped around your forehead.

You had survived.

“You shouldn’t touch your bandages,” a voice said beside you. “You’ll get them dirty.”

You slowly turned your head and focused on Levi sitting next to you, a book in his lap. The dark circles underneath his eyes were harsh against his skin, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“How long have I been asleep?” you croaked, wincing at your voice.

“Two and a half days,” he replied, closing the book and setting it aside.

“Shit,” you muttered. You shut your eyes and swallowed painfully. “I thought I had died.”

He was quiet for a moment before scooting his chair closer to your bed. You cracked an eye open and watched his furrowed brow and concerned expression as he folded his hands atop the sheets. Something was bothering him.

“What is it?” you asked.

Levi didn’t look at you, but his eyes narrowed while he studied his folded hands. “Everyone I’ve ever cared about has been lost,” he spoke, and you could hear the emotion hidden behind the words. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “But you—you’re the first one to come back.”

You were stunned into silence and the only thing you found you could do was stare at him in shock. Levi...cared about you? “What are you talking about?”

“I...I thought I had lost you,” he said tightly, still not meeting your eyes. “I was willing to force the entire squad to stay behind and look for you, even if it put them at risk. I couldn’t leave you behind, not knowing if you were alive or not. I just...couldn’t do it.” He looked up at you then, his face hardened with determination. “[Y/N], I can’t bring myself to say the words because I’m convinced I’ve been cursed and you’ll be taken away from me again if I do, but…” he trailed off and focused on his hands again.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said softly. “When I was out there, all alone and trying to find the strength and courage not to die in some forgotten field, you were the voice in my head telling me to get up and move. You told me to come back to you.”

Levi’s jaw twitched again, and his dark hair fell into his eyes as he bowed his head to his folded hands.

“And I did,” you murmured. “Because I knew you would kick my ass if I disobeyed an order.”

A flicker of a smile passed across his face, so fleeting you almost missed it. He stood up and tenderly placed a hand on top of your head, ruffling your hair. His thumb stretched to gently caress your bandaged forehead as he watched you with those tired eyes.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, picking up his book. “Get some more rest.”

You nodded and he turned towards the door.

“Levi?” you found yourself saying.

He glanced at you over his shoulder with his hand resting on the doorknob. “Yes?”

Your lower lip trembled as you looked at him with glistening eyes. “You’re not going to make me scrub out the mess hall for being reckless, are you?”

Levi arched an eyebrow. “We’ll find out.”

Before you could sputter out an answer, he was already gone. You settled back against your pillow with a happy sigh and felt the exhaustion sneaking back into your bones. Another nap sounded nice. As you slowly closed your eyes and slipped away to the dreaming world, your last thoughts were of Levi.

They would always be of Levi.

#this is so self indulgent #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin levi #shingeki no kyoujin fanart #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #levi ackerman imagine #attack on titan imagine #my writing

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kelyon · 3 years

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Golden Rings 18: A Bouquet

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Lacey Gold looks deeper into her past.

Trigger warning for grief over a deceased parent.

Read on AO3

Her mother is dead.

It does not rain on the day of Mama’s funeral, even though it should. The skies should break open and flood the earth. The sun should never shine again. All of nature should be consumed by darkness and despair.

Instead, it is a lovely, sunny day in early summer. Pink roses burst into life all over the castle grounds. They were her favorite flower. Mama always wanted her to get married at this time of year, when the roses bloomed.

Now, every pink rose that was in the gardens covers the casket. Even the flowers that showed only the slightest bud have been cut down before they had a chance to bloom. Some of them are already turning brown.

The roses are dying. The roses are dead. This is wrong. Mama wouldn’t want her favorite flowers to die.

She stands beside Papa at the graveside. Both of them are dressed in black. He says nothing. He does not let himself weep. He must show strength as a leader to their people. Mama is not the first casualty of what the common folk are already calling the Ogres War.

It is a small funeral, only the castle inhabitants and the villagers who live nearby. Traveling is dangerous now, and those far away cannot take the risk. King Midas should have come, or at least sent a royal envoy. The rest of Mama’s family and friends should be here. The whole kingdom--the whole world--should mourn the loss of the greatest woman of this generation.

As it is, all she has of her mother’s family is Uncle Pierre, Aunt Therese, and their children. Her cousins stand in the cemetery with the rest of the meager party. Little Claude may be too young to understand the words being said, but she knows her aunt is gone. She stays quiet and still. Jeanne cries into a handkerchief. She despairs for the future, for everyone in the land. Andre tries to be a man--he knows that he will see more dead very soon--but he cannot keep his lip from quivering. This is the first death that has come to their family. Does he know, somehow, that he and his father will be next?

Papa’s brother, Uncle Armand, keeps his head bowed. His long, curling hair falls over his face. Normally a man of laughter and warmth, he is solemn.

Ermintrude, Mama’s closest friend, is as stone-faced as Papa. It must not be decorous for a lady to weep over someone who is not a blood relative. Even if you have known her all your life and raised your children together. Even if you were the last person to see her alive. The last person to hear her screams as monsters ripped her out of your hands and left you holding nothing but a broken necklace. Ermintrude does not weep, but she holds her own daughter’s hand in a clenching grip and does not let go until long after the funeral has ended. Mathilde clings to her mother with equal desperation.

A cleric prays over Mama’s casket. She does not hear what he says. She speaks when it is time to speak, repeats the words she knows by heart. She sings the hymns and makes the signs. But it does not reach her.

They cover the casket in dirt. The pink roses will never see the sun again. Mama is dead. The world has ended.

What future is left for her now?

****

Mrs. Lacey Gold started the morning by walking away from the pawn shop and towards Marine Automotive. These red and navy mary janes were the lowest heels she had, and the sound of them was strange on the sidewalk. Mrs. Gold was used to the sharp click-clack of her stilettos, the powerful stride she made sure to use every time she went out in public, no matter how she felt in the privacy of her own skull.

But things were different now. She was different. She wasn’t just Mrs. Gold anymore. But she wasn’t Lacey French anymore either.

Truth be told, she had never thought much about being Lacey French, not the way she thought about being Mrs. Gold. She’d never trudged the halls of Storybrooke High thinking about how Lacey French would walk. She’d never pulled on an oversized tee-shirt and jeans because she thought that was the sort of thing Lacey French would wear. She had never wanted to be herself, she just was.

She wanted to be Mrs. Gold. She’d put effort into it. But now Mr. Gold didn’t seem to care. So she had to try something else. She had to try being someone else.

Why not Lacey?

Above her, Marco the handyman was hammering something into the roof of the hardware store. When she looked up at him and waved, the old man just frowned and muttered something in Italian. Maybe it was a curse. Maybe it was a sign against curses, something that protected good men from vile harlots. Either way, Mrs. Gold squared her shoulders and kept walking.

Marine Automotive was right across from the old abandoned library. Mom had always wished that the library would open up again, so she could get access to more books. At least once a day, every time she had a free minute, she would sneak off to her rocking chair by the window with some well-worn paperback. The flower shop was named after one of her favorite books.

The garage was empty when she got there, no one in the office and only one car lifted up into a bay. A young kid, Billy Citrouille, was rubbing his backside in front of a space heater. He stopped when he noticed her.

“Hey there,” he smiled. His dark eyes were warm and his white teeth shone against tan skin. “How are you today, Mrs. Gold?”

Her first instinct was to giggle. She wanted to bounce on her heels and twirl her skirt and make some stupid joke about getting her motor running. Over the years, Mrs. Gold had had a lot of fun playing with Billy. He wore loose coveralls, but she could make them feel very tight when she wanted to.

But she was trying to be better.

Lacey looked around the empty garage. “Is Manny in today?”

Billy shrugged. “Business is slow, so he went over to Game of Thorns for a bit.”

“Oh.” Her stomach sank. “Did he… say when he’d be back?”

“He’s supposed to be on a fifteen minute break, but he left an hour ago, so there’s no telling.”

“Oh,” she said again. It was suddenly very difficult to swallow. “Great.”

“Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Gold? What’s going on with that gorgeous caddy? I’m surprised it’s giving you any trouble.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not Mr. Gold’s car. This is just… a family thing.”

“Oh, okay,” Billy said. Then he began to nod. “Oh that’s right, you were Manny’s niece!”

“I still am,” Lacey snapped, more angry than she wanted to be. “There’s no expiration date on being someone’s family.”

At least, she hoped not.

Without saying more to Billy, she left the garage. Game of Thorns was on a dinky little side street in Old Town, only a block away from Marine Automotive. The location didn’t offer much opportunity for foot traffic, but it was the best the owners could get when they bought it. All the properties on Main Street, all the good places, were owned by Mr. Gold. Moe French took it as a point of pride that he owned the deed to his building, that he had paid off the mortgage in ten years. Owning property meant equity, it meant security, it meant being the lord of your own castle.

It meant he had something to sell to Mr. Gold when the cancer treatments had wiped out all their savings and the medical bills were still unpaid. It meant his family became tenants, renters in their own home, swallowed up in the financial ruin that came with tragedy.

When they got married, Mr. Gold had given her this building as a wedding present.

In the spring and summer the exterior of the shop hosted a riot of potted and hanging plants for sale. The front was covered in ivy, always advertising the greenery within. But on this winter afternoon, the ivy was dead. All the plants were kept inside. The store barely looked open or alive at all.

The front window display was themed for Valentine’s Day, one of the busiest days of the year. Faded red cloth provided a backdrop for limp paper hearts and plastic vases full of dusty fake roses. Of course, all the real flowers had been sold already. Cheap, plastic garlands were strewn haphazardly around the window. The whole thing looked so tawdry, so pitiful.

She tried not to think of the hours Mom had spent every holiday, planning out designs for the displays. And then the hours more they had spent together, executing her vision. “It’s more than just color, Lacey-loo. There’s texture and balance and harmony--and always some memorable details. A good display will tell a story. That’s what makes people want to stop and look. And then come in and buy.”

Dad was trying his best, she knew he was. But it wasn’t the same. Nothing could ever be the same again.

Tempting as it was to linger in front of the window reminiscing, she knew she had to go inside. Mrs. Gold tried to press her fingernails into her palms, but then remembered she was wearing gloves. Right. So she would just have to do this without any of her usual crutches.

Great.

Game of Thorns smelled damp and moldy. Most people would say it smelled like flowers, but Lacey knew the smell of floral foam and pesticides, of fertilizer chemicals and a building that had been patched up with endless haphazard DIY projects for as long as she could remember.

Refrigerated flower cases lined one wall, mostly empty. The flickering fluorescent lights provided most of the illumination in the store. There were overhead lights, but it looked like her father was keeping them off when there was no one in the store, to save on the electric bill.

Merchandise was crammed into every inch of floor space, but she knew the path by heart. The tables of gifts and knickknacks, the shelves of mugs and boxes of chocolate, the helium tank and the display of balloons--nothing had moved. Except for the accumulation of dust, nothing had changed at all.

That was Storybrooke for you.

The cash register was in the back of the store. Did the drawer still stick when it rang out, or had Dad ever fixed it? He’d been saying he would fix it for years now.

Behind the desk, someone was reading a newspaper. Lacey could tell it was a man, but the paper covered up his face. She stood in the middle of the floor--near the desk, but not close enough to touch the counter. Which one of them was behind the paper, her uncle or her father? Who was she going to see first, and how would they react to seeing her again?

She took a breath, and cleared her throat.

The paper lowered. Long, curling hair in a neat center part emerged from the other side. Then raised, dark eyebrows and wide, dark eyes. The eyes lit up. The paper was cast aside.

Uncle Manny beamed at her and stood up.

“Hey! Look who’s back!” Arms wide open, he walked around the desk to offer her a hug.

Lacey accepted his embrace and hugged him back. How long had it been since her last hug? Months or years? Uncle Manny’s coveralls smelled like metal and motor oil and aftershave. Smelling it made her feel like a kid in the best way--small and weak, but loved and valued.

She felt safe.

Dad’s younger brother had never been married and never had children. But he had been around for Lacey’s whole life--another parent in the web of family love she’d grown up with, and then been away from for so long. Uncle Manny had an open enthusiasm that Dad never bothered with. She could show him her crayon drawings or her middle school science projects and he would shower her with praise. When she became valedictorian, he’d been so proud of her he actually cried.

When the hug ended, she didn’t know what to say. Torn between saying nothing and saying everything, Lacey blurted out something completely stupid. “Your hair didn’t used to be so long.”

Uncle Manny laughed and clapped her on the back. “It was that cousin of yours, Janine. This past October she convinced me that if I let it grow out more, I wouldn’t look so much like a white man with an afro.”

Lacey let herself smile. “Well she would know. She’s the hair stylist.”

“I thought this would be better than getting it close-cropped. Curly hair is the French family trademark, you know.”

“I know.”

“Big hair and big brains, that’s us. All except for your father, but I think he’s adopted.”

Now Lacey giggled. The joke wasn’t funny, but it hadn’t been funny the first time Uncle Manny had told it to her when she was five years old. The funny part had been Lacey very carefully explaining to her uncle that Dad couldn’t be adopted, because that would mean she wasn’t really a French and that was impossible because she definitely had big hair and big brains.

Uncle Manny had been so tickled by the exchange, he had repeated it at least once a month ever since. Dad--who his entire adult life had kept his hair so short that almost no one knew it could curl--had never thought it was very funny. Which only made it better as a joke.

“It’s good to hear you laugh again,” he said. “It’s good to see you!” He held her by the arms and looked her up and down. “Yep, still pretty. You got that from Linda.”

That was a well-meaning lie. The Woolverton look was wispy blonde hair with bright blue eyes. Janine and Chloe looked like Mom in old pictures. Andrew had been the spitting image of Uncle Peter. Lacey had Mom’s eyes and Dad’s hair, but she didn’t really look like either one of them.

She changed the subject. “How have you been? I’m sorry we haven’t talked much since…” She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, the past unspoken, unspeakable.

Uncle Manny kept his hand on her upper arm. He looked her in the face, his dark eyes worried and painfully sincere. “You don’t need to apologize, kiddo. Not to me. Didn’t you hear that love means never having to say you’re sorry?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The quote was another family joke, a line from an old movie making fun of another old movie. Lacey repeated the words she knew by heart, she let the ritual of them comfort her.

Why did it feel so strange to be here? This had been her home, this had been her family. For most of Lacey’s life, this had been her whole world. Had she really outgrown this place so much? Had she really let her marriage turn her into a different person?

Behind the thin walls, the steps up from the basement creaked and groaned under a heavy weight. She swallowed and her heart sank a little more as she automatically looked towards the door into the back room.

Moe French came up from the basement, his arms full with a plastic-lined cardboard box that overflowed with flowers. Dad had always been a big bear of a man--gruff but loving, full of ideas and hope for the future. Lacey remembered the game when he would pick her up over his head and twirl her around. Mom made up a story that Lacey was a clever warrior who refused to slay a dragon, but had tamed it instead and now she could fly on it to anywhere in the world.

Once Mom was gone, Dad had shrunk into himself, and the only thing bearish about him was his temper. A temper that Lacey had inherited and Mom wasn’t around to quell in either of them.

“Oh,” he said when he saw her. “Mrs. Gold.”

He took the time to put the box on the countertop before he turned and brushed his hands on his jeans. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes, so his expression was unreadable.

“So, has the landlady decided it was time to start charging rent?”

She felt her expression change, felt her lips purse and her jaw clench. She felt her hackles raise, all without thinking about it.

Uncle Manny spoke up. “Moe, come on. It’s just Lacey.”

“I know who it is.” Dad didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The judgement came through better when he sounded neutral.

It really was a rare gift, the way he could mean so much while saying so little. Even now, he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. She was his landlady, she could start charging rent. Those were facts. But he said them like they were crimes.

And it was a neat trick, too, because he never had to defend himself. Because he had never actually said anything mean. For most of her adolescence, Lacey had known how useless it was to rant about feeling belittled or shamed or trapped. She would never have a direct quote that she could repeat to him to make him understand how much he’d hurt her.

Even now, she’d take a lifetime of Mr. Gold’s most obscene insults over hearing her father say “Fine,” with no emotion ever again.

Mrs. Gold stepped away from her uncle and faced her father. She said “Hi,” and it felt like a declaration of war.

Dad nodded. Without a word, he turned back to the box and began to pull out flowers. They were mixed roses--every color except white and red, which got their own packaging. He began to separate yellow from orange from salmon from magenta from pink.

Lacey’s heart skipped a beat at the pink roses. They were mom’s favorite. She’d always said they represented the best kind of love--sweet, gentle, light. Red roses were for the burning passion of new romance, and white roses were innocent and bridal. But pink roses were the compromise, the roses of marriage, of the simple love that warmed your heart and made every day a little brighter. A little spark of joy, those were pink roses for Mom.

And that was Mom for everyone who knew her.

She wanted me to marry in spring, when the roses bloomed.

Wordless, Lacey walked over to the counter and watched Dad sort the flowers. He placed the ends of the stems under a cutter and pulled the blade down like a lever. It looked mercenary, but it was for the flower’s own good. You had to cut off the parts that were dead so they could take in more water and stay fresher longer. It hurt, but was a part of growing--or at least staying alive in a world that wouldn’t let you grow.

After a few minutes, he stepped to the side, so there was enough room for her to stand beside him and help. If she wanted to.

That was the flip side of the way Dad said things without saying them--sometimes he could say nice things too. Sometimes it was easier for both of them not to talk. Then neither of them could say the wrong thing. She stood beside him, and began to place the sorted roses into different buckets filled with water and plant food. That way, he would have more room on the counter.

“Well, I guess I’ll get back to work,” Uncle Manny announced.

“Oh, do you have a job? I couldn’t tell,” Dad grumbled.

Lacey snorted. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the slightest grin from Dad.

Uncle Manny ignored the jab. “Lacey-girl, it was good to see you. You come and talk to me any time, okay?”

“I will.” She looked up from the flowers. “Thank you.”

“Ah, I gotta have one more hug!” Uncle Manny crossed the length of the store and wrapped his arms around her again. She felt the press of his lips on her curly French family hair. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you.”

“Aww, do I get a hug too?” Dad said. It would have been good-natured, if it didn’t sound so bitter.

“Brother of mine, you’ll get a sock in the jaw if you drive our girl away again. I’ll go with her this time, she’s better company than you.”

“Get outta here, you mangy grease monkey.”

Uncle Manny went back to the garage and Lacey and Dad worked together in silence. When the box was empty, Dad wiped his hands on a green rag and handed it over for her to do the same. It had been Mom’s idea for all of the shop’s towels to be green. That way they wouldn’t get mixed up with the blue and pink towels they used at home.

Lacey rubbed the rag between her finger and her thumb. The fabric was worn and scratchy, not like the big fluffy towels in Mr. Gold’s house. She kept her eyes on the ground. Dad hadn’t moved. He was waiting.

They were both waiting for the other one to speak first.

Papa, I’ve missed you.

It took her a minute, but finally she did the brave thing.

“Look,” Lacey said. “I guess I’m sorry it took me this long to come visit.”

She wanted to offer an excuse, but there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t be an outright lie. She hadn’t spoken to her father in years because she hadn’t wanted to. Because he made her angry and sad and made her remember things she’d rather forget. Because she had been too busy enjoying the better life she’d had as Mrs. Gold.

Dad looked around, trying to find something to do. He began to move the buckets of roses into the flower case. “The shop was always here,” he said, not as gruff as he could have been. “You own the place, you could have come by any time.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” She’d taken her coat off to work, and now she clutched it over her chest. “I didn’t want to… embarrass you.”

Straightening up, Dad looked down at her. He was tall--a trait she had not inherited. His face was worn out, tired. Was he still disappointed in her?

“You didn’t have to do it, you know. Marry him. The rent wasn’t that overdue. I could have worked something out on my own.”

She’d married Mr. Gold on the day before Valentine’s Day. Two weeks after the January rent was due, one day before a huge influx of cash would be coming in for the store. If Mr. Gold had demanded that she marry him in lieu of rent, the timing could not have been more painfully tragic.

But that wasn’t what happened.

“I didn’t marry him for rent money, Dad. I married him because… because I wanted to.”

He grumbled and shook his head. Turning away, he reached into the bucket of yellow roses and counted out twelve blooms for a grab-and-go bouquet. Out of habit, Lacey went to her old place by the cash register and leaned over the counter.

More silence. It was times like these when she missed Mom the most. Mom loved words, she lived in words. She understood how to talk so people would listen, and she never said the wrong thing.

Dad counted out more bouquets, at least one for every color of roses. When he came to the bucket of pink roses, he lingered. It looked like he was trying to pick out the best ones, the largest, freshest blooms. As he had with all the others, he wrapped the bouquet in plastic and secured it with a rubber band.

But instead of placing it in the display, he set it on the counter in front of Lacey. She didn’t pick it up, but put her hand over the stems. There were thorns on these roses, but they were still so beautiful. Beauty and pain, Mom would say sometimes. No life was complete without both.

“I don’t… understand,” he said slowly. “And I don’t want to understand. Why you would… want that. Want him.” Dad shook his head. He looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.

Lacey bit her lip. She waited for the rest of it. The condemnations, the accusations, the “we raised you betters.” She’d certainly heard enough of that once Mom got sick. Once she wasn’t everything he’d always wanted her to be.

But Dad just sighed, and put his hand over hers on the bouquet. His big hand covered half her fingers, stopping at her wedding ring. “Your mother… would want you to be happy.”

He didn’t ask if she was happy, or if Mr. Gold made her happy, or if he could help her be happy. But somehow, it was enough. Just to hear him say it. Mom would want her to be happy.

She knew what he meant.

****

It was a long walk to the cemetery. She might have asked Mr. Gold if she could borrow the Cadillac, but she didn’t feel like telling him that she was going anywhere. It was none of his business.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. Her feet walked like they were separate from her mind along the rows of headstones. They took her where she needed to go without her having to think about it.

Past the crosses and obelisks and statues of angels. The back of the cemetery wasn’t quite a potter’s field, but it also wasn’t as neat and well-maintained as the section by the gates. That was where the mausoleums were, the polished marble and memorial benches for people who used to be rich and influential.

Even in death, there was no equality.

Before she got where she was going, two tombstones stood out to her. Small and cheap and side by side. There were no decorations in the stone, no carved images or poems. Even adding dates would have been too expensive. All they had were words:

PETER HOWARD WOOLVERTON, BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

ANDREW PETER WOOLVERTON, BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

“And uncle,” Lacey whispered as she stood by the graves. “And cousin.”

Unlike a lot of other headstones in this section, these had all the snow and moss and bird shit cleared off. There were flowers in the little vases, cloth bouquets that wouldn’t be affected by the cold. Daisies for Andrew, calla lilies for Uncle Peter.

Lacey wondered who was maintaining the graves. Even though Aunt Terri hadn’t been in the car crash, she had been all but comatose ever since it had happened. She’d withdrawn into her own sadness, leaving Janine to hold herself and Chloe together. Did Janine have time to care for the dead? Did Aunt Terri have the will for it? Or was it a family decision, an event? Maybe mourning was the only thing all of them could do together anymore.

Her family had been falling apart. They had been breaking at the seams while Mrs. Gold had strutted around like a prostitute, flaunting the money she had earned from being a fucktoy to the man who held all of Storybrooke in the palm of his hand.

Shaking her head, Lacey moved on. She wasn’t strutting now. She was hunched over in the cold, burdened by her memories. She had carried the plastic-wrapped bouquet all the way from town, through the neighborhoods and woods and into this lonely graveyard.

It was two rows up from Andrew and Uncle Peter. This was a double headstone. Her father’s name was already carved onto it, right beside her mother’s.

LINDA WOOLVERTON FRENCH

To Lacey, the grave looked like a double bed, like Mom had gone to sleep before Dad and was waiting for him to join her. Waiting for them to be together again at last.

There was already a bouquet here. Pink roses, brown and withered from at least a week’s worth of exposure to the cold. Was it wrong to leave Mom’s favorite flowers out here to die? Wouldn’t she think that was a waste?

But wasn’t death always a waste?

Crouching down, Lacey took the old bouquet and set the new one down in its place. The granite was dark and polished. She could see her own reflection in her mother’s grave.

“Mom,” Lacey whispered.

Mama.

For days now, she had been in a cycle of crying and being too worn out to cry. Ever since her fight with Mr. Gold, she’d felt like the world had ended. But the truth was that the world had ended before. The world had ended the day after she’d graduated high school, when Mom had gone to her doctor and come back with the diagnosis. Then the world ended a thousand more times: When she gave up her scholarship and her dreams of going to college, when Dad sold the store to Mr. Gold, every time there were new results from the doctor and none of them were good, every time Mom checked in to the hospital.

The time Mom didn’t check out of the hospital.

The funeral, more costs, more spending money they did have. Less than a month afterward, Andrew and Uncle Peter tried to leave Storybrooke to interview for jobs that paid double what the cannery offered. They took the widowmaker highway. It lived up to its name.

Death and debt. Over and over. The world never stopped ending.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Lacey whispered.

In hospice, the nurses had told them that hearing was the last sense to go, that they should keep talking even if she seemed unresponsive. Mom could hear her. Mom was listening, even if she wasn’t talking.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she didn’t stop them. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save us. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop any of it.”

She knew that it was irrational to blame herself for events that were beyond any human control. She knew Mom wouldn’t want her to think that. Mom wanted her to be happy.

“I’m sorry I only saved myself.”

That’s what it had been, to marry Mr. Gold, to do whatever he said in exchange for whatever he would give. She had been running away from her old life, the life of poverty and scraping by. She’d escaped. She’d gotten out. She’d saved herself and never looked back.

Until now.

She hugged her arms over her chest. She thought of all the hugs she’d ever had, and all the hugs she’d never have again.

“You know, I thought it would be easy. To not love someone. Because God knows if you love someone, you can lose them. It destroyed Dad. It destroyed Aunt Terri. I thought it would be easier to just not bother loving the man I married. To marry someone who would never love me. It was just a deal.” Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just a deal.”

A sob racked through her. She fell on her knees and let her tears fall onto the snow.

I love him.

“I wasn’t supposed to love him! I didn’t want to love him. I thought I was safe with just sex. I thought that was all he wanted too.”

But as soon as Mr. Gold had stopped demanding sex from her, as soon as he had started treating her with kindness--even that lukewarm politeness that she hated--then she had begun to see something real about him. Something that she just had to fall in love with.

He is so good. It’s hard to find, but it’s there. He’s so loving, Mama. He loves me so much.

Hearing those thoughts in her head, thoughts that she wanted to believe but knew were lies, just made her break down even more. Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe all these years of grief and loss and hopelessness were finally compounding on themselves to the point where she was hearing voices. What other finale could there be to this joke of a life than to end up in some kind of asylum?

The snow was seeping through her coat. She had to stand. She had to get somewhere warm. She had to start walking. She had to go home.

Or at least, back to Mr. Gold’s house.

“I miss you, Mom,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

I wish he could have met you.

****

She’d stopped crying by the time she got to the entrance of the cemetery. It wasn’t cold enough for her tears to freeze to her face, but her eyes were raw, and her skin was chapping in the wind. Her makeup was ruined and there was a trail of snot running down the front of her scarf. Not much she could do about it right now.

A black Mercedes-Benz was parked in front of one of the mausoleums. The car was smaller than Mr. Gold’s Cadillac, but newer and more luxurious.

She picked up her pace. The last thing she wanted was for somebody to see her like this. Especially not someone as important as--

“Mrs. Gold?”

Fuck.

No! Not Regina!

Mayor Mills came out of the mausoleum that bore her family’s name. Like Lacey, she held a bouquet of withered flowers--white chrysanthemums, it looked like.

Oh right. It was Wednesday. Every Wednesday Mayor Mills went to put flowers on her father’s grave. Everyone knew that.

How does everyone know that?

Maybe if she stayed far enough away from the Mayor, she wouldn’t notice what a state she was in. So Lacey just nodded and kept on walking.

But Mayor Mills didn’t give up. “Mrs. Gold, is that really you? I’ve never seen you so subdued.”

Run! Get away from her!

She couldn’t run. Now that the Mayor had seen her, she had to stop. She had to turn around and make polite small talk until she let her go. Before she turned around, she took a second to rearrange her scarf and put on a decent expression.

“Well, it is a cemetery,” she tried. “You’re not supposed to be happy here, right?”

“But you look downright tortured, dear.” The Mayor’s face was full of concern. “Are you alright? Do you want to talk?”

This was the second time Mayor Mills had offered support to Mrs. Gold. The first time had been when she’d seen her in the alley with Dr. Whale. Just like then, Mrs. Gold had the strangest urge to confide in the Mayor. She wanted to tell her everything, everything about Mr. Gold and their marriage and how miserable she had been for so long.

But the voice in her head had been screaming ever since Mrs. Gold turned around. Was that a sign that she was even crazier? This was an offer of help and her subconscious or whatever was reacting like the Mayor was holding a dagger to her throat.

“I--” Mrs. Gold began. But it was hard to even speak over the racket in her thoughts. “I need to go.”

“Oh, let me give you a ride back into town.”

You made me walk barefoot through the snow, you merciless bitch!

These fucking thoughts would only get worse if she got into the Mayor’s car. And she had enough of a headache as it was.

“No, thank you, Madame Mayor. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Why, it’s no trouble at all! I’m happy to help someone in need.”

Get away from me, you monster!

“I’m sorry.” She began to back away. “Mr. Gold doesn’t like me to get in cars with anybody but him.”

The lie worked. The Mayor’s expression changed from insistent concern to sympathetic understanding.

“Well,” she said, more huskily than she had been speaking before. “You’re a good girl for doing what Mr. Gold tells you to. Will you tell him that you saw me here? Let him know I’m always around for you, whenever you need me.”

The Mayor smiled, all red lips and white teeth.

Burn in every hell, you lying, murdering--

“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Gold said loudly. She didn’t have time for the bullshit ramblings of her own head. “Have a good day, Madame Mayor.”

“And you as well, Mrs. Gold.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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carloswilliamcarlos · 4 years

Text

Once Upon a Dream (Kylo Ren x Reader)

Warnings: Rated E for Everyone, gratuitous fairytale fantasies.

Words: 1.3k

AN: A royal AU for our dark prince of Alderaan.

You have a million duties that weigh on you daily as the eldest princess in your family. But the only one that matters is marriage. To your family’s utmost delight and your deepest dread, you’re betrothed to be married tomorrow. You’ve only met the man this morning. He’s everything you always feared he would be: thin, cold, frail, paler than a ghost, hair grey as death. He’s empty, he’s lifeless, he’s bleak. He’s your lack of autonomy in human form.

You lay awake in your quarters, staring up through your window at the moon. Sliding off your bed, your pry open a tiny, secret gap in your floorboard, pulling out an ivory calligraphy pen. Twirling it between your fingers, you think of him.

The dark-haired prince you’d run around the forest with as a child, splashing in the river, muddying your dress, watching in awe as he lifted little pebbles from the ground without a finger, making them dance around you. He’d swirl them around your head like a halo, eyes lighting up as you giggled.

The day your mother went out to find you and caught him in the act, the pebbles crashing to the ground, the fear in his face. She’d dragged you back inside the castle roughly by the arm. “We don’t associate with force users,” she spat. “That boy comes from a dark and dangerous kingdom. You must never see him again.”

You had snuck out to meet him one last time, that same night. He gave you his calligraphy pen with a trembling hand. “Remember me,” he said. You plucked a single daisy from your braided hair, pressed a tiny kiss to its petals, and handed it to him delicately. He kissed you under the cover of the forest canopy before he and his black robes disappeared into the night.

From then on you’d only heard stories about his kingdom, horrible stories about war and terror and villages burnt to the ground. He was Commander now, leading the charge of tyranny. He had killed his own father, the rumors said. The boy you met in the forest is gone, trapped inside the body of a ruthless killer. Some nights, you swear you can still hear his voice in your head.

The news of your engagement has surely reached him by now. You wonder if he remembers splashing in the stream with you or if your memory has been lost to time, age, royal responsibility.

You know all too much about royal responsibility. After the ceremony tomorrow, carriages will whisk you away to a strange new land, never to see your family or the castle you’ve grown up in again.

You stand at your window, gazing out at the moonlit tree line, the wind whispering forbidden words and the bubbling of the stream sending a shiver down your spine.

You have to go, before you leave One last time, before your future is stolen from you forever.

Candlestick in hand, you creak open your heavy wooden door. You tiptoe down the stone hallway, passing by portraits of your ancestors. At the top of the stairs, you spot the one of your great great great grandmother, the one who looked just like you. You think you catch her eye gleaming as you turn to descend the steps.

The grass tickles your bare feet and brushes against the bottom of your nightgown as you cross the open field toward the tree line, moonlight illuminating your path. You breathe in deep as you step into the forest, darkness swallowing you.

You follow the sound of the stream, dark creatures passing beside you, two fireflies flitting across the path, unidentifiable croaks, creaks, and snapping twigs filling the air. You walk closer, closer, the soft bed of dirt and leaves padding each step.

Across the stream, you see him, kneeling by the riverbed, a cloaked black figure in the darkness.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. Kylo.

You’re breathless.

He says your name, only a whisper, standing slowly.

You’re frozen until invisible arms surround you, lifting you across the water to stand before him.

He reaches up a careful, careful finger to swipe away a tear falling from your eye.

Silence falls over the forest as you stare at each other, struck speechless.

He’s tall, powerful, broad shoulders standing proudly under his robes. His jaw is stronger now, a scar runs down his cheek, he looks all at once exhausted and furious and frightened. But his eyes. His eyes are the same. Warm. Deep. Searching for something he can only find in you.

As you meet them with your own, his whole body softens, a breath of ease relaxing his figure.

There are ten trillion words you could say to each other now. Too many years of memories stolen, of innocence lost, of tragedies you’ve both suffered and caused that maybe you never would have, had you been together. You feel it all then: the life stolen from you, the bleak imminent future, the loss of the only real innocence either of you have ever known.

You can’t think of a single word to say.

So you reach into your nightgown pocket and pull out the pen, displaying it to him in your open palm.

He reaches into his cloak and extends his own hand. Above it, a single daisy twirls in the air, as alive and fresh and beautiful as the day you gave it to him all those years ago.

He’s kept it alive with the force, you gather, pulling his own life force from within him to heal it each time it wilted. What you don’t know is he’s done so every single night, alone in his chamber, before he falls asleep. He’s done so even when he bunked in battle encampments, with soot and enemy blood still clinging to his skin.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” you whisper, another tear falling.

“Never,” he replies, eyes flicking between yours. “You’re the only thing I ever want to remember.”

“Kylo,” you say, heart sinking, looking down at the forest floor. “I leave tomorrow. I’m engage-”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I only hoped I’d find you here before you left.”

You nod sadly, face crumbling. You take a shuddering breath. “I never forgot you either.”

He tucks his finger under your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

“Run away with me,” he says. “Run away with me tonight and you’ll never have to see him again. We can go, now. Leave your kingdom and mine. Start over somewhere new, somewhere far away, somewhere where we can be together always.”

Your heart races. You can’t. Can you? You’d be defying all of your family’s wishes, breaking a generations-long tradition, betraying every role and responsibility you’ve been slave to since before you were born.

It’s perfect.

“We can have a future,” he says. “A future beyond our bloodlines.”

He waits, holding his breath, watching every expression wash over your face, hoping, hoping.

You look into the black depths of his eyes, catching your own reflection. You see it all then. You see a girl, in love, in power, free, human. You see the child you were when you splashed across the stream for the first time, laughing with abandon. You see the woman you’ll become when you leave with him. And you see the gleam in your great great great grandmother’s eye as you turned to take the stairs, to make your choice, to honor the sacred mysticism of possibility.

“Yes.”

You’re running now, laughing wildly, hand in his, dodging dark trees and pounding the earth. Your candle lies extinguished on the riverbed, smoke floating up to the stars.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren au #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #kylo ren fluff #kylo ren x reader au #kylo ren x reader fluff #royal au

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hanmajoerin · 4 years

Text

So my original plan was to write some stupid text post about Gramps grumbling about that one time InuYasha fucked up his bonsai trees and it became ✨so much more✨. This is now my first little Hanyo no Yashahime ditty!

I wanted to hold off on writing for HnY until the show started airing and we could get a better understanding of exactly what’s going on but 🤷🏼‍♀️. I did some adlibbing on Moroha’s motivation and fears, her childhood “alone,” and the OG crew being alive somewhere (🤞🏻) but hopefully you can run with this and enjoy it while we wait for October 3rd to finally come around.

This fic is titled “From Now On” and it’s a little sloppy by my own standards so I’m not sure if I would like to post it on AO3 or FF right now but it is still pretty solid and I wanted to share it with all of you!

“I...” It’s not like Moroha thought she had to practice this speech. She’d never spent a day of her life preparing for anything like this, but her surroundings were swarming with unfathomable gadgets–smells and sounds–and there were three pairs of eyes tracking her every breath. She felt cornered, like prey before the slaughter. “I... I don’t remember my parents very much,” she confessed. The sentence was one she’d uttered countless times in the past. It came with having no family but needing teachers and money. But now, Moroha had a family–three strangers who knew her parents better than she ever did–and having to admit it left her palms sweaty.

Brown eyes stayed low, finding comfort in the familiarity of red gloves until the sound of something breaking had her whipping her head upwards. The woman, her grandmother, was gasping at the confession. She chose to clutch at her chest instead of hold steady to the tray of tea she’d been bringing to the table. “Wha..?”

It was her great-grandfather who managed to bark out an entire sentence. “How on earth can you say such a thing!?”

Still, Moroha had trouble shifting her focus. She couldn’t continue, too preoccupied by watching her grandmother slowly bend down to gather the shards of glass. Hands. Her grandmother’s hands looked delicate, as if they shouldn’t be placing the broken glass back onto the serving tray. Moroha had been there before, so many times. She wondered for a moment when she'd finally picked up her last pieces. She couldn’t remember.

“That means ‘Sis is...” her uncle trailed, combing his fingers through his thick, black fringe. “And what about InuYasha? The guy’s an unstoppable force!”

Moroha swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Her grandmother stood up, walking away from the table to grab a few towels. “So your mom...”

Moroha nodded solemnly. “The night Towa went missing, there was a big fire caused by a demon. My old man left me this,” Moroha briefly motioned to her crimson cape. It had lost its magic years ago, but the sensation of her dad draping it over her head–the way he squeezed her shoulders before walking out of Kaede’s hut with her mom–that was a magic all its own. She could still see his two amber eyes gleaming; in her memories, they were always brighter than the flames. “My mom told me to stay in the village with the other kids but they were gone for a really long time. Everyone was worried and Towa, Setsuna, and I decided to go looking in the forest. That’s when we lost Towa and... and that was the last time I saw my parents.”

The air yielded to a pregnant pause. Moroha saw how words were hiding carefully behind closed lips. She could only guess that everyone wanted to speak but their sentences were paralyzed from the news. It was a lot to take in, after all. That was something she’d finished experiencing already. Clearing her throat, the quarter-demon chose to keep talking instead. “After it was over, we all searched for them. Even after the village stopped, I kept going. I didn’t think I’d ever return.” Return to Kaede’s village, see Setsuna, find Towa, be in the future, see her mom’s old world, be with the family she didn’t know she had.

Her great-grandfather was the one to break the silence again. He’d thumped his fist onto the table, two teeth peering out, strengthening a disgruntled scowl. “It’s all that demon’s fault! He was always so reckless. I mean, how many things did he break around the shrine? It’s no surprise that—”

“Father!”

Uncle Sota had risen from his chair, choosing to slap his palm against the table instead of copy the motions of his grandfather. Moroha clutched onto her robe of the fire-rat. Had Towa explained anything to them? Did they know that her parents were still...?

“Don’t you remember when the well disappeared? Without InuYasha, Sis never would have made it back. Whatever happened, I’m positive InuYasha protected her.” Hearing an uncle talk up her old man was a totally new experience.

“Besides, how can you say such a thing when his daughter is here?” Her grandmother asked, walking over and placing a supportive hand on Moroha’s shoulder. Her touch had the quarter-demon’s back straightening like a rod. “This is my granddaughter—your great-granddaughter.”

Moroha wasn’t one to gaze up while her chin hung low, but she was nervous. Would a family member hate her because of her heritage? She wasn’t a stranger to the discrimination—her fangs and claws had gotten her into a fair amount of sticky situations in the past. But the longer she stared at her great-grandfather, the warmer his features grew. Wrinkles retracted, his frown straightened out, shoulders drooped, and he eased back into the chair, crossing his arms over bright white robes. “I suppose that boy did bring something good into my home,” he muttered. Moroha couldn’t stop a small smile from forming.

“Moroha Dear,” Her grandma began with a tentative squeeze to her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry!?” Moroha nearly shouted, springing up from her chair and banging her fists onto the table. She was beginning to think that “hand banging” was a signature Higurashi family move. Shaking her head a few times, Moroha recalled the matter at hand, the reason she’d objected in the first place. Her grandma was apologizing even though Moroha was the one who’d failed to realize that her parents could be saved. It had been an entire decade and instead of dedicating it to finding them, she built a life without them.

It wasn’t long before two arms surrounded the quarter-demon, leaving her struggling to abandon them. It wasn’t that this woman felt untouchable, as a matter of fact, her yellow shirt was softer than most of the clothes she’d ever come across, but she didn’t understand why it was happening. “What are you doing?” Moroha finally asked as she stilled in her grandmother’s fierce embrace. She wondered if her own mom had been in this exact position before. Moroha chanced leaning into the touch.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the legends about the Bone Eater’s Well,” Her grandmother began, taking a deep breath. “That’s how your parents were able to meet. I still remember the first time Kagome came home, it was the one time she considered staying with us for good. Of course, she’d only been home a few hours before InuYasha burst through those doors and made a big scene. He always was so spirited and passionate; it wasn’t any surprise that Kagome started traveling between our two worlds shortly thereafter.

Their journey wasn’t easy, but they learned to support each other and fell in love. Afterwards, the well took InuYasha home to his era and Kagome remained here. We all missed your father but I was able to find peace just having Kagome near. She was restless, unable to find that same peace and when the well opened up for the last time, I gave her my blessing. I’ll never forget how she jumped into the well without looking back at me.” Moroha found her shoulders being pushed back so the two could look at one another. Her grandmother reached forward to caress her cheek. The bounty hunter swore she spotted pieces of her mom in her grandmother’s smile. Maybe the way the light from the ceiling lantern reflected in the older woman’s auburn eyes was the same too. It was all blurry. Moroha anchored herself to the floor, tucking those thoughts under her toes. That’s when her grandma started up again. “Since then, I chose to believe that your mom found the happiness she was searching for.” Tears like the teacup fragments glistened in those eyes now, adding a depth that Moroha’s mom simply couldn’t understand. “You’re my proof that Kagome lived a good life. The idea that she could–that InuYasha, too–it never crossed my mind. Moroha, things were very different for you.”

“Grandmother...”

Her grandma wrapped her back into an embrace quicker than Moroha could think. She couldn’t fight it off this time even if she tried. “It must have been difficult for you, I’m sorry.” And there it was, the sentence that left the so-called destroyer of lands a sniffling mess with hot crocodile tears and warm snot marring her ferocious features. “Even though your mother is gone, you’re our family and you are always welcome in our home.”

“But that’s the thing, Grandma! We can fix this! Aunt Kagome’s not dead, she’s still alive,” Towa exclaimed, effectively reminding Moroha that the others were still here. It left her tears drying up quickly.

“But how can that be?” Grandpa asked. “I fail to see how my precious granddaughter would just abandon her own family.”

“She hasn’t! Not really. She and the others have been trapped and now we know how to save them. We’re going to get them all back.”

Sota stood up from his chair again, abandoning his spot to make his way over to Moroha and her grandma. He placed his hand atop her head, ruffling her hair and stirring up a bunch of flyaways from her ponytail. “If there’s a way to save my sister and InuYasha, too, I’ll do whatever I can to help!”

“Really, Dad?”

“You realize this isn’t the first time the Higurashi family has dealt with a time traveling daughter,” he all but deadpanned, eyebrows pointed sharply at Towa.

Moroha felt her grandmother’s laughter as it echoed against her frame. “Yes, we’ll certainly be falling into an old routine.”

“At least the first-aid kits have gotten better over the years,” Sota offered with a shrug.

It was all so casual the way her family handled the situation. In the past, Moroha chose to stay away, but things had changed. There was new information, there was hope. If there was a way to resolve an issue then she’d face it head on. The thought guided her trademark smirk back to her face. A familiar determination began spreading through her veins. “From now on, we’ll do everything we can to find my mom and dad! We won’t let you down!”

#hanmajo writes #about InuYasha!#and his family!#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #inukag #kagome #Moroha #Setsuna #Towa #Mama Higurashi #Grampa Higurashi #Sota #InuYasha fanfiction #hanyo no Yashahime fanfiction #also I usually do a keep reading bar but I’m not at home and don’t have my computer #sorry fam ☹️.

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mamabearcatfanfics · 4 years

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Instinct - Part Two

You can read Part One here - I’ll post the whole thing on AO3 and FF.net when it’s complete. Still another part to come...

She awoke with a start, her breathing heavy and laboured. A nightmare of cruel eyes and a voice in the darkness that mocked as she was being burned alive still lingered, but when she opened her eyes she was alone, and the laughter was gone. There was still a crackling snap of flames, but it was accompanied by rolling thunder and the sound of trickling water nearby.

She blinked in the firelight, the dancing shadows making her vision spin even though her body was still, her cheek resting on something soft. Water spilled down the dark rock wall in tiny rivulets, its downward course highlighted by the crackling fire. There was a yellow backpack nearby, and something was still restricting her movements, just like in her nightmare.

She fought one arm free from the soft fabric of the sleeping bag, swiping clumsily at her sweaty face. She had too much hair, it felt heavy on her neck, damp with perspiration. Why was she in a cave? She tried to remember, but any coherent thoughts besides heat and thirst refused to come, like she was dragging to them to the surface through endless treacle, and she abandoned the struggle as too much effort. Looking out into the dark night, there was nothing to see but rain. A lightning flash illuminated the surrounding forest, the glistening leaves bending under the weight of heavy rain drops. Her throat burned with thirst.

Pulling her other arm free with an effort, she sat up, trying to ignore the worsening dizziness and thumping headache that accompanied her change of position. The sleeping bag felt restrictive and hot and vague memories of being trapped in her dreams seized her, making her panic. She had to get out. She struggled out of the sleeping bag, hands pushing clumsily at the shiny polyester, each movement costing precious energy, but felt relief once her legs were free. So tired.

Her hair was still sticking to her face, and she felt clammy and sweaty, so she shrugged off the weight of the thick red jacket wrapped snugly around her, her fingers fumbling with the knotted belt. Too hot. Too heavy. Even her shirt felt like too much. She tugged at the light cotton fabric, trying to pull it away from her body. And she was so thirsty. There was a water bottle near by, but when finally managed to twist it open and tip it towards her mouth only a few meager drops spilled out onto her tongue. She looked longingly at the rain outside the cave, wondering if it was cooler out there.

Staggering to her feet, she took a tottering step forwards, then lurched towards the cave wall to stop herself falling face first into the flames. Flinging her hands out to stop her fall, she landed against a large boulder, her knees scraping against the sharp edge. The horizon tilted, and she rested her forehead against the cool dark stone for a moment, heart beating fast after the shock of her almost fall. A sudden urge to cough overtook her body, and she lay against the boulder, her shoulders shaking with the effort, the dragging ache between her shoulder blades almost unbearable.

Turning her head when the coughing fit finally eased, she watched the rain falling, listening to the calming noise as she took deep rasping breaths. The world was going topsyturvy, the cave entrance seemed to be moving away from her, but she was determined. Staggering upwards, she leaned her shoulder against the cave wall, using it like a crutch to stop her downward descent. So hot and thirsty. The rain would make it better.

Finally she made it through the opening, her bare feet slipping on the damp moss covered rocks. Taking a few tottering steps out into the storm, she stood shakily, an inner voice warning her not to move too far away from the light of the fire, and raised her face up into the rain falling from the sky. Cooling water soaked into her clothes and her hair, and she opened her mouth to catch the raindrops, drinking them in eagerly. Shaking legs refused to carry her weight any longer, so she sat down with a sudden thump, uncaring of the sharp sticks and rocks underneath her bare legs. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the rain again. It felt so much better out here than in that hot sticky cave.

She was so focused on the sensation of the rain running down her heated cheeks, she didn’t even hear the low growling noise as it approached, not until the growl suddenly turned into words.

“What the fuck do ya think ya doin’ Kagome?!”

Inuyasha stared down at the girl, who he’d left sleeping, safe and dry in a cave he’d found to protect her from the storm while he went out to hunt for something for her to eat. Now she was sitting in a mud puddle, her hair and clothing soaked, the faint scent of her blood being washed away by torrential rain. Kagome opened her eyes, which rounded in surprise as if she hadn’t heard his approach at all.

Inuyasha tossed the dead rabbit into the mouth of the cave to be dealt with later, then picked Kagome up, carrying her limp unresisting form carefully down the slippery rock surface. He plonked her down at a safe distance away from the heat of the fire, then moved back towards the front of the cave so that he could pull off his own soaked undershirt and shake himself mostly dry. His hakama, made of the same fire rat fur as his suikan, would dry quickly on their own, the water beading on the tanned surface and dripping off onto the cave floor. He turned to survey his wench again, a grumbling growl slipping past his teeth. What on earth did she think she’d been doing?

She was sitting exactly where he’d left her, her head nodding like she was almost asleep where she sat. The once untamed waves of her dark hair were lank, water dripping down from her head to continue saturating her thin cotton shirt, which was already sticking to her pale skin. The usually leaf green skirt was dark and heavy with mud and rain water, and there were bloody scrapes on her legs where she’d grazed them on rocks and twigs.

Dammit. He took deep breaths, trying to calm the sudden surge of fear that had risen up to choke him when he’d returned to see her sitting in the rain with the scent of her blood in the air. He shouldn’t have left her, even for the short amount of time it had taken him to catch the rabbit to roast over the fire.

Keeping one eye on Kagome, in case she had any more crazy ideas about going back out into the rain, he rummaged through her backpack to find the towel she used to dry herself when she bathed. Finding both it and her hairbrush, he dropped the cloth over her head unceremoniously, ignoring the unhappy noise she made.

“Yeah, well, shoulda thought a that before you decided to go sit in a puddle while you’re sick”, he muttered, rubbing the towel over her head, squeezing to try and get most of the moisture out of her thick hair. She was worrying him, even more than she usually did. On a normal day if he did something like this she would be fighting back, threatening him with sit commands galore, but she was just slumped there in the same position that he’d placed her, her eyes looking slightly unfocused. He pulled the towel off her head and examined her glazed expression anxiously. “Why on earth were you sitting in the rain wench?!”

“Hot”, she managed to croak out. “Too hot.” Then she coughed, the fit seeming to last forever before she could take a wheezing breath inwards.

Inuyasha’s hand moved from where it had been rubbing her back then moved to her forehead.

“Tch. You’re burnin’ up.” He brought over the medical kit and placed it in front of her. “What medicine were you takin’ for the fever Kagome? You need to take some more.” Kagome blinked at him blearily, as if she didn’t understand the question. He opened the pack to find the little packages of pills. There were two, both of them opened. “Kagome which one?”

Kagome coughed again, the attack wracking her small frame. He supported her as she coughed, then cupped her face in his hands. “Listen Kagome, this is important. What medicine were you taking?” Kagome’s head pulled backwards, trying to escape his grip.

“No, don’t”, she moaned. “Too hot.” A thin sheen of sweat coated her face now that he’d dried away the rainwater, and she tugged listlessly at her shirt, as if looking for a way to pull it off her body.

Sighing in frustration at the situation, Inuyasha picked up both boxes. They were still at least another days journey away from the village, as he’d had to stop and find shelter when the storm began, even though he’d planned to keep going until late into the night. He needed to get her back to Kaede’s – she would have the right herbs to help with her fever, but until then he would have to do the best he could.

He glared at the little boxes, as if staring at them would make them submit to him and give up their information. He only recognised some of the kanji on the shiny paper boxes, the rest were totally illegible to him. Cautiously, he held each paper box under his nose and sniffed - one smelt extremely bitter, with a slight trace of vinegar, and the other smelt vaguely plant like. But on the bitter one, the overlaying scent of Kagome was a little stronger, meaning she had handled it more recently. He opened up the package, noting that there were only four of the little white pills left. Damn.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if Kagome took one or two of the pills. He was pretty sure it was two. But was he sure enough?

Kagome tried to lurch to her feet again, and he dropped the box to catch her gently by the shoulders.

“Oi, where do ya think you’re goin?”

“I’m thirsty”, she whispered. He leaned over to her backpack to grab her water bottle, keeping one hand on her in case she decided to get up again, and then realised it was empty. He took the water bottle and held it out under a rivulet of water running down the cave wall close by – the rock was sandstone, so the water should be filtered and clean.

“Kagome, here’s some water. But I need you to swallow these as well. They’re medicine.”

She raised an arm as if to make an eager grab for the water bottle, but then dropped it listlessly. “So tired.”

“You can sleep again as soon as you’ve taken your medicine. Open up Kagome.” He popped one of the little pills out of the shiny package as he’d seen Kagome do, and pushed it into her open mouth, then tipped the water bottle until she swallowed. “That’s it. Good girl. Just need to take one more.” When she’d swallowed another tablet and the last of the water, he stroked her damp hair, trying to get most of it away from her face.

“Kagome, ya can’t go wandering off when I’m not here, okay? You’re too sick. Somethin’ bad coulda happened when I wasn’t here to protect you. ”

“Huh?” She blinked slowly.

He sighed. “What am I gonna do with you wench? C’mon, I’m gonna put you back in bed while I cook us somethin’ to eat.”

He picked Kagome up, and carried her back over to her sleeping bag. Her clothes were still dripping wet. Damn, he’d have to take them off her. Shit.

“Kagome. We need to get you out of these wet things alright? I know you’re not feelin’ well, so I’m gonna have to help. I’ll do my best not to look at… well, you know…” He went back over to grab the damp towel, trying to work out the best way to do this while preserving Kagome’s modesty, then grabbed a soft shirt from her backpack, one he’d seen her wear for sleeping. “Alright Kagome, arms up.” She blinked at him, then coughed, doubling over while he tapped on her back.

“Fuck it, let’s just do this fast.” He tugged the shirt up off over her head, keeping his eyes averted and then shuffled around behind her. This was not what he’d invisaged the few times he’d longingly daydreamed about taking off her underclothes, but there was no room in his brain for lustful thoughts right now. He was too worried. Her skin was pale and clammy, hot to touch. The fever seemed to have escalated quickly, and she didn’t seem to be too aware of what was going on around her. It took a few fumbles before he could get the fasteners undone on the underclothes that covered her top half, but he managed, only bending the little metal clasps slightly. He pushed the t-shirt over her head, trying to be gentle, then managed to feed her unresponsive arms through the holes. Now for the bottom half.

Taking a deep breath, he unzipped the back fastening on her skirt, and was relieved to discover that the skimpy underclothes that covered her lower half weren’t as wet. He decided they could stay on. Lifting her up, he let the damp skirt fall to the cave floor, then dried her legs with the damp towel, scowling at the scrapes and scratches marring the pale flesh on the backs of her thighs and her knees. They weren’t too bad, and had already stopped bleeding. He would deal with them in the morning, before they set off to the village.

“C’mon Kagome, back into bed.”

“Nooo.” She pushed at him listlessly. “I’m hot.” She blinked up at him, her eyes focusing on his face for the first time. “Inuyasha?”

He sighed in relief that she’d finally shown some sort of recognition as to what was going on around her. Worrying about this small slip of a girl was going to be the end of him. Gently tucking a wayward lock of damp hair behind her ear, he smiled softly at her.

“Keh, yeah, it’s me. Who else would be looking after your clumsy ass Kagome? Look at you - I can’t leave you alone for ten mintues without you scraping yourself up.”

“I’m sorry”, she sighed, her head nodding forward, as if it were too heavy for her to keep it upright. She rested her forehead against his bare chest as he pulled the weight of her damp hair off her neck, twisting it up into a sloppy bun and securing it with a stretchy band he’d found wrapped around the handle of her hairbrush. It didn’t quite look the way it did when she did it herself, but it would do.

“N’yasha, I don’t feel… so good” she coughed.

He stroked her back. “You’ve got a pretty high fever, so I’m not surprised. You took some medicine, so now you need to lay down and get some sleep and let it work.” Her hands wrapped around his back and she shook her head, the damp hair on her forehead rubbing against his chest.

“Wanna stay with you.”

His own arms wrapped around her, his heart thumping at her request to stay close to him. Every time she said she needed him by her side made a longing rise up in his chest, one that he couldn’t explain in words. He’d almost forgotten his initial reasons for pushing her away. Maybe it would be okay to let her sit up for a while until the medicine took effect and her fever cooled.

He stroked his hand up and down her back soothingly, ears focusing on her rattling intakes of breath now that she was mostly dry. He didn’t think it was much worse, but it definitely wasn’t better. They needed to get back to the village.

“You wanna sit by the fire then? I need to put the rabbit I caught on to roast.” He looked up towards the mouth of the cave, just in time to see a small fox wrap his jaws delicately around one of the dead rabbit’s back legs and begin dragging it slowly backwards. “Hey asshole, that’s mine! Go get your own!” Grabbing a small rock, he threw it to land right near the fox, smirking in satisfaction when it backed off with a small yelp. “Damn foxes. Even with Shippou left behind I gotta deal with their sneaky shit.”

Gently unwrapping her arms from around his torso and making sure she was sitting safely upright, Inuyasha moved over to the mouth of the cave, using his claws to skin and gut the carcass quickly then threw the skin, head and entrails out into the darkness, figuring that would keep the fox satisfied and away from any other food in the cave. He pushed the meat onto a stick and set it above the flames to cook, then stretched out both his damp kosode and Kagome’s wet clothes on some dry rocks near the fire. Hopefully they would be dry by morning. He sat back down next to Kagome.

“You feelin’ any better?”

She managed a small smile for him, no where near her usual cheesy grin, but a smile, nonetheless. He’d take it.

“I don’t feel so feverish now. But I don’t know if I really want to eat anything.”

“Just try a small bite, you haven’t eaten anythin’ all day. It’s a shame we left the tea kettle behind with the others, or I’d make you some tea too.” She rested her head against his arm, and he reached out to grab his suikan, draping it around her shoulders again.

“Inuyasha? Why aren’t I wearing a skirt?”

“Because you went outside and sat in a puddle wench, when I was off catching dinner.”

She blinked at him blearily. “I did?”

“You don’t remember that?” He waited for her anger, her revulsion at his removal of her clothing without her consent when she was ill and vulnerable, but she merely shrugged, shaking her head, then slumped against him, yawning.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can stay awake for the food.”

Inyasha touched his hand to the back of her neck. She was still warm to the touch, but her fever seemed to have receded a little. Sleep was probably what she needed more right now.

“Then go to sleep Kagome. I can always find you somethin’ else later.”

He reached out to snag her sleeping bag, then stretched his legs out, so she could lay down with her head in his lap, a sudden memory pulling at him of when she had done the same for him. She gazed up at him, a thoughtful look on her pale face.

“Why do you take such good care of me?”

“Can’t help it.”

“Am I that pathetic?”

He snorted. “No. I just… I feel good when I take care of you.” His eyes flicked away from her steady gaze, and she settled down with her head in his lap. After a few moments, he stopped trying to resist the urge to run his clawed fingers through her damp fringe, doing his best to ease out the tangles that he’d created when he’d dried her hair with the towel. Maybe he had been a little rough.

“Tha’s nice”, she murmured sleepily, and he felt that strange tugging sensation in his heart again. “G’night N’yasha.”

“Goodnight Kagome.” He eased them both back a little so he could lean against a convenient boulder, then looked down at the girl fast asleep in his lap, the darkness of her hair and her pale face such a contrast to the deep red of his hakama. So trusting. Had anyone else ever trusted him with their life the way that Kagome did? He didn’t think so. No one else saw him like Kagome did. She was special. A precious light in a world that all too often held darkness and pain.

His previous fears somewhat allayed now that her fever had settled and she was warm and dry, he couldn’t help the contented grumble that emanated from his chest. It was a sound that he didn’t make very often, it only came unbidden when he was calm and content around her. He wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but that wasn’t important. It felt good to make it, in the same way that feeding her, protecting her, keeping he safe felt.

He was so focused on the precious girl in his lap, listening to her breaths and the way her heartbeat slowed and steadied as he continued the rumbling vibration through his chest, that he didn’t notice the fox creeping into the cave, not until it had successfully grabbed the stick and absconded with his half cooked dinner.

PART THREE

#Instinct #mamabearcat fanfics #inukag fanfic

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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TLTNL- THE DEATH EATERS

Sirius had lived through a lot of crap in his life, some real life shattering moments, but the act of forcing himself to read about the return of Voldemort, when he technically hadn't even fallen yet so they'd never even been allowed to live in that lifespan of peace like Harry had, really was doing something to his psyche as he got started.

Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining himself. His hands were like large, pale spiders.

Harry almost longed for Sirius or someone trying to crack a joke during all of this, it would make what he was hearing feel even slightly better, his first thought that someone could have made a mention of how Ron would hate Voldemort just for that fact alone, but humor was going to be hard to come by until Harry was out of this danger.

All his other features were as inhuman as well, pale and more serpent like than ever. He took no notice of Wormtail continuing to sob at his feet, still bleeding from his stump.

'As much as he deserves, he's got a fate worse than Quirrell's coming up,' Remus viciously thought to himself.

The large snake from Harry's dreams wasn't given much notice either as it continued slithering across the ground.

Voldemort put one of those unnatural hands into his pocket and came back with a wand, which he caressed with his new fingers.

Lily gathered from that act that this must indeed be Voldemort's own wand, the one with the phoenix core he shared with Harry's. It took a moment for Lily to even push past her disgust at all the cruel things that wand had done to her, James, and what felt like everyone she ever loved, to even try to guess where it had even come from, until she remembered who'd been tending to Voldemort this whole time. Lily couldn't help but wonder for the first time if that rat had possibly made an appearance at their house that fateful Halloween night as well, if he'd come across the body of Voldemort and taken possession of his wand for safe keeping, or perhaps even a level of power, and then hid it away before he went underground as Scabbers. It didn't even seem that far fetched, as he hadn't a wand on him that night he'd been confronted by Sirius and Remus, so he'd held this one as a backup all these years. At the same time as she realized that though, it also meant he would have had to cross James's body, and she hoped in the blackest way possible that had hurt him. To see what he'd cost in deceiving a man who still didn't want to believe the worst in him after everything.

The first act he performed was to point it at Wormtail, who sailed back into the headstone

James held a remarkable look on his face as he heard that, somewhere between demented humor that this was Peter's reward from Voldemort himself, and still some grains of wondering when he'd finally show regret for his decision.

and again crumpled in pain, begging his master to help him, to keep his promise.

Voldemort indeed asked for his arm, but when he held up the stump hopefully, Voldemort pushed that aside and instead tried to snatch the other one. Wormtail again whimpered and pleaded his Master to help him,

Sirius got through that exchange like an executioner reading out the final charges. It really was easier to think of this cretin as some corpse going through these motions rather than someone he'd once put such trust in, put his own life in those hands, one of which was now gone in a willingly given gesture for these actions to be occurring.

but Voldemort ignored this and pushed back the sleeves of his unbloodied sleeve. There Harry spotted something branded into the skin, the same image that had hovered in the sky the night of the World Cup, the Dark Mark.

Voldemort pressed one of his long white fingers into it, and Harry's scar imploded with pain again.

Remus' mind flashed back through all the mentions of Snape and Karkaroff talking about something on their arm, and then to find the same thing now on that foul little rat, it couldn't really be a coincidence. But what was it exactly?

Voldemort straitened with satisfaction, murmuring to himself that now he would know the brave to return,

Lily had not a clue what was going on, what Voldemort was doing, nor where on earth that tattoo had come from. What she did gather was the fact that it seemed to be some sort of calling symbol, and that meant even more bad news was about to arrive.

and those foolish enough to stay away.

Harry was rubbing at his forearm thoughtfully, some lingering thoughts floating just beyond his conscious mind of how he felt about those questions.

Voldemort began pacing across Harry's field of vision, his ruby eyes again falling on the gagged teenager as he informed him that Harry stood upon the bones of his late father. Much like Harry's mother

James had already grown up hating Voldemort through his life, but in that moment where he actually referred to Lily, James wanted to see him dead more than ever. No one got to talk about his wife like that!

both had died but held their uses.

"Uses?" Lily spat in disgust. "I lived trying to protect my son, that's more than he'll ever understand."

Lily Potter had died defending her son,

Sirius would forever hate himself for having to say that, and still having even the slightest bit been involved in that happening, but then he conjured back the image of telling his wasteful parents that their precious Voldemort was in fact a half-blood with parent issues, and it gave him enough breath back to keep going.

and Voldemort had killed his father,

"So it was Voldemort who killed Riddle and his own grandparents," Remus marveled, wondering why he was even shocked. There were some questions in there he was curious about, like why, but this was Voldemort he was thinking about, he'd never really needed much of a reason to kill anybody, especially Muggles, certainly ones he was related too would be eliminated at Voldemort's earliest convenience.

and look how useful he'd been in his death.

Harry rubbed at his forehead a bit at that, there was a significance to what Voldemort had said about a father being useful in death...his eyes flickered to his own and away, he didn't like to think of his dad as dead in any sense even if it might have been helpful to him in his past.

Voldemort gave a soft laugh again as he continued his pacing, that snake still circling in the grass below mimicking his movement.

"I want to know what's with that thing?" James muttered of no one, anything to keep the feeling alive that they were hearing of this in the room rather than having to think about Harry living it. "They were only using its weird venom to keep Voldemort alive, yet he named it didn't he. What's so special about this snake?"

"I'm not really that surprised," Remus shrugged, "Voldemort claims to be the descendant of the Great Salazar Slytherin, I can easily picture him with some snake for a pet now."

"I can't picture him with anything resembling a pet," Lily disagreed, "he doesn't have the capacity to take care of a goldfish."

"We should just be thankful it's whatever this is, and not a basilisk," Sirius muttered.

Harry wasn't that grateful for his dad's comment, that annoying feeling cropping up again of an answer that should have been there. There was indeed something very significant about Nagini he just wasn't remembering.

Voldemort began telling Harry his story, how his own father had lived just over on that hill. His mother had lived in the village and fell in love, but Riddle had abandoned her when he found out what she was, his father hadn't liked magic.

"Oh joy, just what I always wanted, more Voldemort backstory," Sirius groused.

Lily on the other hand couldn't help but picture someone else saying this, someone who was now in Voldemort's ranks himself. Snape had made many of the same comments about his own father from time to time. It never failed to sadden her just how much alike her old friend and Voldemort seemed to be, far more than Snape and her had ever had in common it seemed.

He'd abandoned her while pregnant and not looked back, and she'd died giving birth to him, leaving him in an orphanage with the foul name of Tom Riddle, of the very same man who he now vowed revenge on.

Remus shook his head in disgust the longer this dragged on. "While no one's arguing the guy's an arse for trying to abandon his kid, I'm still struggling to wrap my head around how this turned him into the greatest evil in our world. And now I'm even wondering why he was named after his father, did the orphanage find out about that name through the mother before she died and gave it to him, because it's not like that Riddle seemed to have a say in it."

"You are reading far too much into this," Sirius sighed. "Just hate him and start plotting ways to stop this from happening like the rest of us."

Voldemort seemed to catch himself as he realized he was becoming sentimental,

"There's one thing I don't think anyone in the world's ever called that megalomaniac," James rolled his eyes.

recounting his life story for Potter, but now his real family was arriving.

Sirius sneered at the word family, absolutely convinced that Voldemort had no clue what that meant any more than the pathetic rat he employed.

The air was filled with the swishing of cloaks in long black attire and all faces covered as they Apparated as one. For a moment none moved, frozen in shock, until one finally shuffled forward, and flung itself at Voldemort's feet, kissing the hem of his robes.

Remus was flickering through all the known Death Eaters he'd heard about, and any one of them were considered so full of themselves it really was laughable whichever one it was groveling like that, making it all the more unbelievable they bowed to anyone, even Voldemort.

Soon they were all doing it, until Voldemort waved his hands that was enough, and then they all backed away and formed a circle around them with some noticeable gaps. Leaving Voldemort and Harry in the center, and a sobbing Wormtail still curled on the ground.

James wanted to ask Harry exactly how many there were, but he was honestly already faint at the idea of just how outnumbered his son was. The question had only occurred to him because he was pissed of how many free Death Eaters were out there. They'd known of some numbers, but this felt ridiculous that the Ministry hadn't been able to get so many of Voldemort's inner circle.

Voldemort didn't seem to be expecting anymore, as he began addressing them all by reminding them of how long it had been. Thirteen years, and they came to his call as if nothing had changed, still united.

Then he inhaled deeply, those blood-red eyes taking in all those around him as he stated he smelt their guilt.

Sirius had the mad desire to laugh. The way Voldemort was speaking to them, it all felt as theatrical as possible. He'd had a sense back when he'd been dealing with that odd diary that Voldemort had a grandiose idea of himself, but to be speaking like this really did just put a spin on how ridiculous the man sounded.

Voldemort stood before these men, healthy and free, and Voldemort asked himself why none before him had aided their master before this night.

Remus made a thrumming noise in his throat of deep curiosity as well, while not in the same light as Voldemort he did wonder the same. Like Sirius, he did wonder what exactly drew these people to Voldemort, if it was all to gain a bit of power than they should have been actively looking for the man who could give that back to them. Yet it had been a rat to find him and make this possible. This either meant he wasn't hard to find by Death Eater standards, or more likely since Dumbledore hadn't been able to find this husk, the rat had simply been the dedicated one to figure it out. His thoughts went back to that Pensive, of that deranged woman screaming about how Voldemort would reward her for being so loyal, and he was starting to wonder if in her own twisted way she'd been right. Voldemort was surely ticked at all of these that had been free and not spent every waking hour before now to make this moment happen.

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.

Every time that was mentioned Sirius somehow still managed to add an extra layer of menace into his voice, even listening to all this Voldemort crap he still managed to somehow hate this most of all.

Voldemort answered his own question, how his followers had believed him broken and gone. They'd slipped back to society pleading ignorance and bewitchment.

"I'd make a joke about how talking to himself has made him go as mad as Crouch has, but I guess we already knew that ship has sailed," James huffed.

"There's still a chance he's gone even more up the ladder," Lily reminded, "getting blasted out of your body most likely does something to your mental health as well."

"I'm so sure Voldemort cares deeply about this," Remus rolled his eyes at the pair even if he did manage a smile, they're comments really did seem to be helping Harry as a constant reminder that they were here for him.

He returned by asking himself why they would believe such a thing? When he'd shown them all the steps he'd taken to defeat mortality.

Sirius narrowed his eyes curiously at that, hoping that if this monologuing was going to continue, at least Voldemort could go into details about this part. Sirius wanted to know what exactly those steps were, they'd clearly been the thing to keep him alive against a rebounding Killing Curse.

They'd seen his proof of becoming mightier than any alive being.

"I can not get over how full of himself he is," Lily shook her head with a twist of her lips. "I'm now grateful that in the times where he's fought our side he's never tried to monologue during it."

"Though if he had, we'd have this problem nipped by now," James pointed out, "so maybe that's how we get rid of this guy, try to get him talking about himself."

"I'll make a list of conversation starters," Sirius rolled his eyes at the pair.

He again answered himself that his loyal followers could have perhaps traded allegiance to that of their enemy, Dumbledore.

His circle shivered as one, some even murmured this not to be true, but still they were ignored as Voldemort continued speaking to himself about how disappointed he was.

"First bit of good news I've heard all night," Remus grumbled.

"Wish he'd stay that way," Sirius agreed.

One man collapsed to his knees again, begging his Master to forgive them, forgive them all.

Voldemort's response was to use Crucio on him.

The Death Eater writhed on the ground, shreking in agony, while Harry was left silently begging for someone nearby to have heard.

Lily's arm kept tightening around her baby all the time, sure she'd never gripped anything so tight in her life to assure herself Harry was right here beside her now, not being forced to live through this again any more than he had to. Pity didn't quite define what she felt for her baby. She completely understood his desperate desire for help to arrive, but she had no doubts that not a soul actually knew where he was, and no Muggle could do a thing for him.

Voldemort lifted his curse, and commanded Avery to get back to his feet. Voldemort would not be forgiving anyone until they repaid their thirteen years of service owed.

"I'm hoping you won't live past the next thirteen minutes," Sirius snapped, "so Avery's not going to get his chance."

Another high pitched sob drew Voldemort's attention back to Wormtail, admitting to himself that at least this one had already started on that path. Reminding him that he deserved this pain-

James was trembling, whether in rage or despair no one was sure, for that being so irrevocably true and he still wanted more than anything for it to not be.

to which Wormtail moaned in agreement even while still begging his Master to help him.

Remus was starting to get concerned about letting Sirius continue like this, it just couldn't be good for his health, or throat, to keep reading about that in the most violent way possible, but as it was the only release Sirius could find instead of murdering that rat like he deserved, Remus wasn't going to be the one to stop him.

Voldemort nodded to himself, saying that while worthless, Wormtail had been of service, and Voldemort rewarded that.

Lily already realized that rat had broken her list of people who needed to be purged from her life, but now every time she was forced to see the reaction it gave James it was still somehow made worse every time.

Voldemort gave another flick of his wand, and something silver materialized in the air, which sunk down to Wormtail's level and developed into a fist over his stump. His sobbing finally ceasing, Wormtail sat up and inspected the now gleaming metal, flexing his fingers in surprise.*

The fact that he was actually being rewarded really did somehow feel like the worst part. Like their friendship, this family, all the times they'd shared over the past years of their life hadn't been enough for him, and he'd gone crawling to everything they'd ever stood against, and somehow he actually still hadn't shown an ounce of remorse for his choice.

He remained on the ground for a moment longer as he began kissing the hem of his Master's robes, thanking him for such a thing.

Sirius didn't care how long he lived, that image would forever be branded into his brain and he couldn't ever peel it away no matter how much it hurt, how much he still didn't want it to be true and still wanted to end his life before any of this could begin.

Voldemort told Wormtail that this was a sign Wormtail would never again question his loyalties, to which was instantly agreed.

For some reason something of what Dumbledore had once said tried to come floating back to the surface of Harry's mind, something about how Harry actually would one day be thankful that Wormtail was so heavily involved in all of this. Harry believed that now more than ever as he heard about this hand.

Wormtail finally got to his feet and entered the circle, while Voldemort began addressing more individuals, starting with Lucius.

"Wow, so we were right, Malfoy is part of the inner circle," Lily huffed, her own mind still distracted, caught on the never ending realization they'd all been suffering through that one of their own was now a part of the same thing.

Voldemort began with reproach, asking how someone who had made it so high in the Ministry's rankings had never come to his Lord's aid.

Malfoy swore he'd always kept a watchful ear out, if ever he'd heard the slightest sound of his Master's return he would have been there-

"Is it wrong to say I'm actually enjoying listening to him beg like this," Sirius got out through gritted teeth, the opposite of looking like he was enjoying any part of this.

Nobody responded, they weren't entirely sure how much of a joke that was supposed to be, as well as Sirius could find his own pleasure in whatever he needed right now anyways so they wouldn't tell him off for it regardless.

Voldemort cut him off by reminding he'd fled when the Mark had been cast in the sky.

Mr. Malfoy instantly stopped his speech.

"I can not get over the fact that Harry's referring to him as Mr. Malfoy," Remus directed at Lily, hoping the friendly reminder of when Harry had first met Hagrid would make even one slight worry line disappear from her face.

Voldemort told how disappointed he was in this, and expected more faithful service in the future.

Harry wondered why he thought he should have a feeling about that, some sense of something telling him the Malfoy line and Voldemort's service could hold something to him...

Voldemort moved on from him then, where a double space could have housed two people. Voldemort stared as if he still saw them there, murmuring to himself about the Lestranges.

Sirius' hard face managed to give an extra spasm of hatred at the reminder of his family. He already knew what had become of one of his cousins, Narcissa had married a Malfoy and he was honestly surprised she hadn't been mentioned right along with Lucius, and he'd heard rumors of what Bellatrix had become, if he wasn't mistaken this was in fact her new last name. Only Andromeda had made anything good of herself, at least he hoped she'd stayed that way in all these years.

He knew of their life in Azkaban, how they were there because they had not renounced their ways, and Voldemort swore when Azkaban was broken they would be honored for this.

Remus shook his head in disgust, thinking back to that Pensive and that woman who had believed this same thing. Guess she had been right, though with any luck she was long dead, it would certainly serve her right. They had no confirmation if Crouch's son had been involved in what happened to the Longbottoms, but she certainly hadn't done a thing to make it seem she hadn't otherwise, so Azkaban was a rightful resting place for a wretched being like that.

Then he mentioned how easy this would be with the dementors joining their side,

"I believe that," James shivered, "Dumbledore's always said it's a miracle they haven't deserted us already, the majority of them have. I keep hearing fewer numbers are keeping their prison in check all the time."

"Well we need a new prison anyways," Lily snapped, "so good riddance to them."

as well as the giants and all manner of dark creatures.

Remus gave a particularly vicious shiver at that, it really wasn't his favorite job he now had to be helping keeping tabs on a select group of those fearsome monsters, he among them.

Voldemort moved on to face Macnair, speaking of his job in the Ministry as a beast executioner.

Sirius had an individual hatred for that loon, the one who'd tried to kill Buckbeak, the same creep who'd walked around with an axe the whole time around children. It really didn't surprise him in the slightest he was among these high ranking, he was the kind you had probably found burning live kittens in his youth.

Next he addressed Crabbe and Goyle, only sparing enough words to gain their promises of further loyalty.

"Wow, and here I thought their kids were just meat suites without brains," James said nastily. "Turns out they're as trollish as their own dad's."

Lily hummed without comment that time, etching all of these into her own mental list, some of the worry for her son finally lessening just slightly enough she was realizing how useful all this information could be to the Order, they were getting a handpicked list of the elite after all, many of which were indeed still active in the Ministry now. She'd worry about details on how to nail them all after Harry was out of there, she'd still rather have the ignorance of not knowing than how she was learning this.

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

"That about describes everything they do," Sirius snarked.

After Nott was next named, Voldemort stopped in front of the largest gap, where he claimed six should stand. Three had died, one was clearly too cowardly to return, and another had long since left his service and would pay with his life. The last of which Voldemort already knew of and still remained his faithful servant.

"That was mentioned once before too wasn't it?" Lily muttered to herself. "Someone faithful who'd been helping him out along with- the first one we heard about." Her throat wasn't quite able to swallow all of a sudden it was so dry, and she trailed off from there with nothing more to add on. The one name Voldemort hadn't given, the one they really wanted to know.

Remus was keeping his own running list in his head, and realized that at least two of those most likely referred to Karkaroff and Snape, though he had no clue who was who. He didn't really think that was giving them too much credit anymore, not the way they'd been speaking all year about something like this happening. All he was left wondering who the third was. Could it be one of those two who were his most faithful and had been helping him out as well, or someone else altogether they hadn't even heard about yet.

Voldemort informed those around him his faithful servant was at Hogwarts, and was the reason they were all here tonight.

James made a demented noise. He somehow had found a new level for hate on either Karkaroff or Snape. His money was on Snape, but since it really had been either of them to put his son in there, they were going to suffer for it in the worst way he could conceive.

All attention was turned back on Harry now, some would even call him their guest of honor.

"Well I'm certainly not that some, and you need to not ever say that again," Lily snapped to no one, knowing she couldn't stand Voldemort taunting Harry being there much longer without blasting down a wall of her house in anger.

Voldemort let the silence continue until Malfoy spoke up again, craving his Lord to tell how this miracle had become.

Voldemort agreed he'd share the tale, which all began, and ended, with Harry Potter.

Aside from the abundance of information regarding names they were being force fed from his meeting, James wondered if he'd get something even more important to him. Would Voldemort finally divulge the very reason he'd started with his boy in the first place?

He began by recounting this boy as his downfall, all the while Harry was only just managing to follow along every word with his scar in agony.

Lily was mouthing her anger that on top of all this Harry was in fact in pain this whole time, if being in close contact to the essence of Voldemort had hurt Harry, then she could only imagine how that had increased with his own body. Her only saving grace for now was that it wasn't happening to him now, he still kept himself still as possible, one hand curled securely around her, the other hooked into James. James had been randomly patting it this whole time as a reminder to himself as well, thankful beyond words their infant had never been brought back down to be any part of this.

Stating the fabled tale of how his mother had died to save him,

Lily's touch seemed to warm Harry all the more. Not that he'd ever forget that for a moment in his life, nor ever be able to find happiness in the act of her life being cost, but there was still something he could never put into words of the magic of the act that went beyond any spell.

and how she'd unwittingly given him life that night, something that had not been foreseen. Voldemort could not touch him.

Remus was starting to get a bad feeling about this, his fingers already tightening around his wand as he remembered the last time Voldemort had tried to act on that and had nearly choked Harry to death. Why was Voldemort even keeping Harry alive now? He'd played his part in the resurrection potion, was it all really for gloating now?

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek.

Harry had to beat back the impulse to lean away from those touching him now, that horrible ingrained pain still trying to remind him it had once existed in his scar, soon to be even worse though he wouldn't have believed that possible.

Voldemort whispered and still all heard that the sacrifice of old magic had been overlooked,

"You make that mistake a lot," Sirius snapped cheerfully, "and it's put a hole in your boat so many times I hope it never stops."

"Sirius, I don't think that's actually a saying," James sighed more than joked back.

"Well it is now," Sirius replied like that was obvious, and for a moment as the two best friends met eyes something felt normal even for just that second before Sirius forced himself to resume.

but in the end, all in vain. Harry Potter could now be touched.

He placed the tip of his finger against Harry's scar, who screamed harder than he had in his life, now convinced his head was being cleaved in two.

Voldemort hissed a laugh in his ear, but pulled away to continue.

"Wha-How!?" Lily screeched, her arm starting to shake across Harry's shoulders. The thing she'd been able to leave him with, a sliver of protection she'd lost her life for, and now even that was gone. She felt like a failure as a mother, nothing she'd ever done had been enough for him.

Lily looked as likely to burst into tears of frustration as murder someone in that moment, so Remus felt like he was poking his own death as he reminded, "the potion that resurrected him Lily. He used Harry's blood, that makes them as connected as their wands now." He'd thought the others had realized this, it made sense when you went back and realized why Voldemort had wanted to use only Harry for this when that rat had been right, it would have been easier to get a hold of another other than Harry for this.

Apparently not as the others lost an extra shade of color, all false bravado of pretending this was okay falling out the window. Stupidly, Harry had felt a teensy bit safer with at least the knowledge Voldemort couldn't lay a hand on Harry, now even that was taken from them!

Sirius was looking from the book, to each of them in turn, like he was waiting for someone to actually offer some good news, something that would make this bearable for him to keep going. No one was, that ship had long sailed, and instead Sirius just wanted this chapter to end with Harry getting out of this place already.

His fault had been his downfall, and he was stripped from his body with pain he could not begin to describe. Still he did not despair, as some of the measures he'd taken for immortality had seemed to take effect, but not in the way he'd hoped. He had no body, and no way to use a wand,

James could feel the powder he was grinding his teeth to in frustration. In all this talking and posturing and making his life a living hell, Voldemort was still holding back on the important details, like an example of those bleeding experiments so they could make sure this didn't happen when James removed this snake's head!

so he'd been forced to exist in that state of being as he snuck away to a safe forest he knew of, waiting in vain for the help he should have expected from one of his loyal followers.

Those around him all shivered again in fear, and Voldemort let the silence linger for emphasis before continuing.

"If only he'd kill them all and save us the job," Sirius snarled.

The only temporary solace he'd found was when a young, foolish wizard had found him, and in luck's favor, had even been employed in Dumbledore's very school.

"What do I have to pay this guy to make him stop already," James moaned. He was sick with worry every passing moment Harry was there a second longer, and now they were having to hear about all of this stuff again they'd already had to live through. Harry didn't need this in his life repeated a third time, it had already nearly killed him the first two!

His goal had been the Philosopher's Stone, but again he'd been thwarted by Harry Potter.

"Did we ever congratulate you for doing that?" Remus sighed as he tried to usher back to a time where Voldemort popping out of Quirrell's head was the worst part of their day.

He didn't know what kind of answer he was expecting, but Harry not answering wasn't an encouraging one. He was still acting distant to the world around him. This night in the graveyard, what he'd already witnessed happening to Cedric, it was enough to drive anyone mad the first time around, now he was being forced to hear it all again. The one and only thing that seemed to be keeping him here was whatever response he got from his parents.

That struggle had ended with the death of Quirrell, and he was left as weak as ever.

"Please don't tell me he's going to start recounting your second year as well," Sirius groaned.

"That's actually an interesting question of if he even knows," Remus reminded. "We never even understood how a bit of his soul got into that diary, and Harry killed it with the basilisk fang. I can't imagine why Voldemort would know anything about it, considering it was aged so many years before the body he's in now, so the most he'd say was a passing comment about Harry doing that when he felt a bit of his soul die." Remus kind of wanted to keep going, that old intriguing question of what exactly would be happening if that Voldemort soul part had succeeded and come back to life. Would it have merged with the rest of this body, or stayed two separate entities? He was clearly the only one thinking on this, and knew the others were long since done with this whole night and wanted it to be over. Remus didn't even really care for finding answers to this, it was just easier to postulate ridiculous ideas like this than have to keep thinking of Harry tied to a headstone.

Voldemort had returned to his hiding, giving up hope.

James released a torrent of sounds as he begged this to end there no matter how much he knew otherwise. The next part, the bit where he had indeed gotten exactly what he wanted, was still the worst part of all.

Even he hadn't expected the change to come, when Wormtail had been driven out of hiding by once friends and forced to seek out his old Master.

Harry again felt the burn of Trelawney's prophecy tormenting his life, now complete and in the flesh. What he would give to go and take back his part in this coming true.

This had been accomplished through his curious affinity with rats.

"One that he thankfully can't retain in death, so look for some silver lining," Lily hissed under her breath.

The rodents had whispered of the forests of Albania where their kind sensed evil, and Wormtail had made his way there. All had almost been lost before it even begun, as Wormtail stumbled into Bertha Jorkins. Showing a spot of intelligence none would have guessed from him, Wormtail had continued to work this in his favor and a wealth of information was born from that woman.

Sirius hated himself for somehow still finding new ways to despise that miserable bit of existence. He just wanted to have him dead already and be done with that part of his life, this continuing to be dragged out always managed to find new ways of torturing him along.

Through persuasion, she'd told of the Triwizard Tournament, and even after a Memory Charm had been broken, divulged of a faithful Death Eater willing to go to Voldemort's service. Once she'd shared all she knew, her mind and body were damaged beyond repair.

Harry couldn't even imagine what Bertha's last few moments of life had been like, but he could understand a small bit of her pain. He felt it every time a powerful memory was returned to his own mind after some kind of Memory blocking had been put on him. He was going slow, relearning this bit by bit, and he still felt like it was slowly driving him mad. He couldn't imagine someone being forced to have it all come back at once, that really would drive a person out of their own skull.

Remus shook his head in disgust at himself, this was all so clear in hindsight. Bertha had worked in the Department of Magical Cooperation, and would have known about the Tournament before hand like every other employee there. When Voldemort had previously mentioned how useful her information had been, that had been what helped put this whole plan into action. The reason her memory had gone from so good in the way they remembered to this way was because she'd had a Memory Charm placed on her, and then broken in the worst way. Now the only thing he was left wondering was who was the servant that had executed that plan, and who'd placed it on her in the first place, what had been hidden that revolved that secret?

Voldemort shown his scarlet eyes on Wormtail, admitting his own shock at such an ill adapted wizard accomplishing all that.

A distant part of James absently noted how even Voldemort kept downplaying Peter's skills when they'd been the very things to get Voldemort where he was now. It seemed everyone constantly mocked and laughed at him, and yet the Marauders never had, but instead encouraged and helped along what he was good at. What had they done so wrong that had forced their friend away?

A plan had been formed from Bertha's information, and while Voldemort had been nursed back to health using Nagini's venom, the potion was being prepared that gave Voldemort the body he now possessed. They had the first ingredient of unicorns blood, but still needed the rest. The flesh had been provided, the bone would detail the setup of where this would happen.

Lily hadn't believed she could be any more shocked tonight, but still she managed to utter in surprise, "so, his Death Eaters know he's not a pureblood?"

"I, um, guess they do," James wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that, but he knew at some point in the future when he sadly would go back thinking to this he'd be disappointed. They'd been planning to spread this information around, hopefully discredit Voldemort's top people in hopes they'd desert him, and now that plan seemed as useless as anything else they'd ever tried to do.

The blood of the foe had been the tricky part. Wormtail had been happy to use anyone, but Voldemort knew the one he must have. To share Harry Potter's blood, so that the lingering magical protection would now be in his own veins.

Lily looked beyond disgusted at the idea. She'd thought it repulsive to share anything with Petunia, but this was just as bad! How dare the very thing that kept trying to hurt her son somehow manage to house his very protection!

The boys were suddenly aware of a way to kill Voldemort, release Lily on him. She looked so fearsome in that moment if she'd actually had her target present, not even a puddle would be left of him.

The question of how to reach Harry Potter was the issue, as the boy was so well protected in ways Dumbledore had planned from the moment this started.

That question made something occur to Remus for the first time, but it was such a small thing making a blip in his mind as compared to the other more pressing matters he knew he couldn't be bothered to question that until he had the much better knowledge of hearing Harry be free of this nightmare.

Ancient magic was invoked to ensure the boy's protection as long as he was in his relations' care.

James' brain felt like a broken record, all he'd been managing to due for ages now was utter, "wait, what?" Always feeling one step behind now.

Lily's face squinched up in pain as she processed this, muttering, "I've never heard of that."

"I can believe it though," Remus said sourly. "It doesn't excuse what Dumbledore did in even the slightest bit in not checking in on Harry with those abusive excuse for people, but it still always blew my mind of why he'd been put there in the first place when neither of you ever even mentioned Petunia's existence."

Sirius wished that at any time Harry had ever demanded of Dumbledore why he had to keep going back there, if Dumbledore would really use the excuse Harry was safer there than out because of some protective magic. No magic was infallible, and safe was the last thing Harry was at the hands of those Dursleys.

Harry watched them all with fascination, surprised he'd finally been dragged out the recesses of his mind to focus in on them muttering about the Dursleys again. He supposed if there was someone to rival their hatred of Voldemort and Wormtail, it was Vernon and Petunia, not that this was at all comforting. Harry at once wanted to sink back into not having to listen to anymore words, if he kept trying to understand past that to those around him he was going to suffer even more pain for the realization he was living through all of this because the scene around him would never happen in his own time. Sadly, now that he'd been snapped out, he couldn't find the distance to go back.

Then there had been the Quidditch Cup, where his body had still been too weak to attempt a kidnap around so many, but then more of Bertha's information had been of use. Voldemort had placed his faithful Death Eater at Hogwarts, who'd ensured Harry's name would be placed in the Goblet of Fire.

"Holy Godric Gryffindor!" Sirius yelped.

"We are complete morons," James gasped as that was slapped into his face.

"This whole bleeding time, we were thinking they were actually two unrelated- Merlin's pants are we something stupid," Remus snarled as he nearly ripped the sleeve of his robe off he was pulling on it so hard in agitation.

That one really should have clicked together when Harry had appeared here, but in between Cedric dying and the appearance of that rat, it had been hard to think past anything else. Now they realized that in fact, this whole year had been one big set up to this end, and they all felt like fools for not grasping this sooner.

Harry wasn't going to let them wallow in their misery for long, failing to come up with an encouraging smile in his search for something to say, but still getting out, "if it makes you all feel any better, no one else figured this out either. Really, how could anyone have known that Voldemort's ultimate plan was for me to win some competition."

Lily supposed when he put it that way it did sound ridiculous, but it still didn't erase how bleeding frustrating it always was to find themselves lost amongst all these plans around Harry until it was too late. Still she forced some chipper into her voice as she agreed with him, if anything just because it was the first time he'd spoken in ages and she wanted to encourage that as much as possible.

Sirius forced himself to keep going at this point just because he saw an end in sight of this chapter.

His faithful Death Eater had ensured Potter's first place, and transformed the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey so that they could all be here now, far from Dumbledore's protection.

None of that was helping narrow out their two suspects, both had access to all of that.

Now here he was at their mercy, the one who everyone believed to be Voldemort's downfall.

"And will be again, and again, and again, until you learn to stay the hell away from him," James snarled, his own arm tightening around his wife and son possessively which would stay that way until Voldemort was gone.

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand,

Harry recognized what was coming a moment before he watched Sirius utter that spell.

and used Crucio.

When the memory of that pain surged in his mind, but didn't actually make a comeback on him, Harry forced himself to slowly relax back into his parents grip, trying to insist upon his brain that wasn't happening to him now, but it helped nothing when he couldn't convince himself this still wasn't the most painful part of his night.

This was pain beyond anything imaginable, his eyes were rolling in his head, he knew the only relief he'd ever feel again was the blackness of death.

Sirius felt tears stinging at the edge of his vision as he forced himself to read of that happening to his pup. He could hardly imagine the idea without wanting to throw himself in front of Harry now. The infant in the crib, the fourteen year old suffering through this for the first time alone and helpless, or even the adult now cushioned between his parents. Absolutely none of it could ever be comprehended in any way other than the worst torture in the world to imagine that happening to Harry.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, and if Harry hadn't been bound in place, there was no way he'd be upright.

Voldemort looked pleased as the night rang with laughter from his followers.

Whatever the opposite of laughter was, Remus could hear himself making that, but forcing himself to do it as privately as he could, he didn't want Sirius to stop now, he was to desperate to hear of the something else, anything else happening than Harry torture until he got out of there which wasn't happening soon enough.

Still, Voldemort swore that while it would be easy to dispose of this child, he wanted no one in doubt of his own true power. Harry Potter would be killed now, with no Dumbledore protection, and no mother to die for him.

There was not a shadow of a doubt in anyone's mind that Lily would make that call over and over again, but it didn't explain why something came over Harry's expression when he heard that. In fact Harry had looked the same way every time one of his parents had come up for a while now, what was it about this night that had him feeling so much for the two. Was it possible Voldemort would start taunting their last moments again, Harry had looked much like he was now when that had happened before.

Instead, Harry Potter was to be released, and handed back his wand.

"That was the stupidest thing he could have done," Remus sneered, "as I finally figured out the way you're going to get out of there, putting Voldemort in his place."

"I think you lot have far too much faith in me," Harry whispered, still keeping a tight hand on each of his parents. "No, whatever did save me from that place, it wasn't my doing, it was Voldemort's own fault, again."

"Well whatever the case, let's be done with it," Sirius pleaded, of whom even he wasn't sure.

HPHPHPHP

*Did anyone else first read this moment and think, 'oh my god he's going to kill Remus!' I mean, I'm happy I was wrong, but come on, the silver hand, he'd already been a hand in killing one Marauder and trying to kill another, (yes I consider leaving Sirius when he did was as good as a death sentence.) Remus was the only one he hadn't personally had a chance at yet...

#The Life that Never Lived #Harry Potter #HP #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #Marauders #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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thehltwoghosts · 4 years

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Adore You - The Story of Two Lovers

‟In all the seas, in all the world, there has never been a land quite like the isle of Eroda. Shape unmistakably like a frown, it is home to an all but forgotten fishing village that has had perpetual cloud cover for as long as anyone can remember.”

Eroda is an unique island. But still it’s like any others, can be seen by everyone, can be visited by people who want to discover and maybe someday the one who embraced the beauty can find themselves in it.

However people chose to not acknowledge it, they closed their eyes, extinguished the candles, shut the doors… Just to run away from a thing that is buried deep into their hearts. Even If lights are out or they can’t see anything or hear anything, it is still going to enlighten their darkness, fill the blanks with whispers, assemble the hearts that are too weak to be encountered.

That’s why the island is covered in clouds. Forgotten by anyone but still there, exist.

Eroda isn’t an island, it’s a feeling. Feeling that at first tried to be covered but no matter what, it was released to space for exploration. To find a place to settle or a person...

‟An isle where some still that it’s bad luck to mention a pig in fisherman’s pub.”

In a fisherman’s pub, you should find seafood not a pig. It is irrelevant, weird, inappropriate.

It’s like a snowflake on a sunny day. Different... and for them difference is something bad, something brings bad luck.

‟Where seeing a minister in the morning meant you should go home immediately.”

Religion is so venerable that it makes the person employee about unapproachable. Which causes people to behave from hearing but not from learning and when they don’t try to learn, there’s nothing that can be done.

‟Some fishermen still wore a single gold earring for luck, some say it’s to pay to have your body buried If you die in a strange port.”

"Most commonly in the 80′s, wearing an earring in your left ear was a statement showing that one was oriented towards the opposite sex. Less known, perhaps, was the symbolism of having an earring in your right ear, which meant you may have been attracted to the same sex. The motto was, ‘left is right, right is wrong.’ "

The man is wearing an earring from the left sight. Specify himself as ‘normal’ to bring him good luck, to be worth burying. For people to not misunderstand him or indeed misunderstand him.

‟It was also frowned upon to be caught whistling in the wind, in fear you might turn a gust into a gale.”

A single word, whisper, whimper can turn a gust to a gale. Can enlighten your own truth to yourself like a wave, just a blow of wind can cause tornadoes.

One person can make you who you are.

‟And If you ever leave Eroda, avoid doing so on odd numbered days...”

This is coming from fear. They can’t be left in too odd numbers, they can’t act too manly or girly, they can’t style their hair too unusually… Too isn’t something you shouldn’t do and that brings gratuitous fear.

‟Everyone was always frowning which they referred to as Resting Fish Face. But then… well something peculiar happened… or I mean… someone peculiar happened. The Boy was… peculiar… from the moment he entered the world. No one ever meant to be mean towards him but in town grown used to how the things were, no one knew what to do with something… different.”

Instead of others who don’t admit themselves as a whole and covered the parts they don’t want to feel with dreary frowning, the boy embraced himself. With every part that belongs to him as any other, with every feeling he has, he smiled to an island.

In an island that doesn’t know the light but dark, doesn’t know happiness but sorrow, doesn't know equality but disparity… They wouldn’t know how a smile could make a difference, so they wouldn’t.

‟They did their very best to ignore it… hoping it would go away… and eventually so did The Boy. He had lost his smile and without it the world grew darker, the wind colder and the ocean more violent.”

They ignored him, his feelings and his smile as always. They hoped that it’d go away or he’ll go away ‘cause in here, these are the things you have to be covered. They were scared of him, of the lightness he brought with himself, bright as sun maybe brighter than the sun because he can bore into clouds and eliminate them.

However the boy was lonely. He needed somebody to share his weight with. He couldn’t do it on his own, his luminance was so bright, either he had to keep it as a secret or explode the world that didn't have the ability to keep him alive.

So he chose...

‟The Boy tried to ignore the fish but he was not alone in his melancholy. Loneliness is an ocean full of travelers trying to find their place in the world. But without friendship we are all lost & left with no hope, no home, no harbor.”

He collected jars of disappointment, masks of suppression, rocks of desperation and decided that the world doesn’t deserve his smile or him completely. He didn’t want to be seen by others. If he existed for the last time in this paltry earth, he had to be remembered by his smile, his difference from the frowny faces.

What he didn’t expect was to see someone like him. Someone traveled through the oceans to find himself but eventually gave up with understanding that loneliness is an ocean and the only way to get out will be landing hard rocks and watching himself disappear slowly into the shallow.

The fish was lost while trying to find himself, he was left on a hard surface with no hope to accompany him, no home to settle in, no harbor to keep him alive...

‟He wondered what cruel twist of fate brought them together and If fate was involved, what did she have in store.”

He threw up fish to a place he thinks the fish belongs; however fish was tired of trying to find a piece of him in an ocean that represents loneliness. The fish came back with hope that he’s soon going to survive from his melancholy but the way he’ll survive was not expected.

The boy wanted a partner to share his weight, his difference, his loneliness with. The fish wanted to be a part of something, accepted by others that didn't need him, got rid of his lonely state of multitude.

So they found themselves like they’re two missing pieces of an incomplete puzzle. They were meant to be but fate was holding a twist, they were going to learn that soon...

‟Walk in your rainbow paradise. Strawberry lipstick state of mind. I get so lost inside your eyes, would you believe it?”

The fish found himself survived by a person who tried the same way as him to handle voidness. By dying down to oblivion. He would never conjecture what’s waiting for him but it just kinda happened suddenly, fortuitously...

He has been lifted and carried away in a closed space. But darkness after meeting with the source of light was so appalling, he wanted to escape from it and he over flowed. He came face to face with the surface again, the same emotions were going through inside of him. That was the place he belongs, a hard surface, an abandoned island. Nevertheless he felt foreign to cold after warmth touched his skin.

The familiar warmth welcomed him again, with a face full of apprehension. Maybe the boy’s scared of people to see him because the fish was gleaming in the form of golden skin. Maybe the fish’s scared of being seen by people, encounter with frowns that not just formulated but effectuated a demeanor towards difference.

In any case, the boy was so lost inside of an ocean that he was captured with fish. Would he ever guess that someday in a place where everything finally becomes an end, someone was going to be his new beginning? No, he wouldn’t. Would you believe it? He ran away with fish from the censorious eyes in a hope that they would never meet them again.

‟You don’t have to say you love me. You don’t have to say nothing. You don’t have to say you’re mine, honey.”

At the beginning the fish was tiny, the boy could find a place for him to live, where he would keep fish next to him. He was infatuated with him from the moment they’ve met, he wanted to keep him alive and close. He's paid attention to little things that make a big difference; the water was hot, it could burn fish’s skin, make him uncomfortable, however he would never let him suffer at least with pain that comes from his hands.

There were people who have been watching them. The quantity was low, the ones who perceived a sparkle and found the source affected differently. Some of them haven’t changed; same frowning, same coldness, same obstruction that restrain the truth from coming out, same eyes that were looking but couldn’t bother to see.

Some of them have changed, they brightened from the sparkle which was going to be a flame. Empty eyes comprehended a sign of vividness, sun rose above the hazy minds and made them clear, souls embraced themselves as whole. Without distinction, contempt, shame.

The boy made them realize who they really are by dint of light that was actually buried deep into their hearts. He helped them through their journey. And at the end they found themselves, their lightness, their eroda. That was the beginning of the regeneration, a reborn.

‟I'd walk through fire for you, just let me adore you. Oh, honey. I'd walk through fire for you just let me adore you. Like it's the only thing I'll ever do.”

When he’s scared people away and left alone just by himself, when there’s no reason to go outside because there is no one out there for him to talk to, he would go to his secluded place. He would spend his time here, get away or suppress his feelings that want to come out then come back to his hiding place, his bedroom.

The bedroom was inside the doors, surrounded with walls that are like a fine line between him and the others, closed and open… Bedroom’s aura has been capturing the feeling of cloudy weather before the storm arrives. Dark blue walls mixed up with baby blue and white, sheets are turquoise, ceiling is sky blue. Before the dreams had appeared in the air, he would look at his handmade sky and wonder about days which he will see the natural sky in daylight, hot and full of life.

There are jars of his sorrow on the shelves, traces of his pain in the corners. This room is a concrete form of his emotions, a shelter for his wishes, a part of his heart and now he brought the fish to his hiding place. The very first step of him to a heart that has never been loved.

First feeding each other (or the boy’s feeding the fish and himself), first love stares throwing one and another, first taste of sweet feeling in the air which collapses shirts when the boy adores the fish like it's the only thing he'll ever do, first glimpse of colors appearing on the faces. A form of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple...

With each of these; the connection between them is becoming stronger, the reality is dreamier and their existence that encountered with a new hope is bigger. So does the fish. He’s bigger now, more noticeable but not bright enough for people who didn’t want to see, to notice.

He wanted help from another boy. An opportunity for the boy to see his journey and his new beginning through the light he came into. Another realization...

‟You wonder under summer skies. Brown skin and lemon over ice, would you believe it? You don't have to say you love me. I just wanna tell you something, lately you've been on my mind honey. I'd walk through fire for you, just let me adore you.”

His hiding place became a gate for his own heart that opened up a short time ago to someone who is going to change its ownership. His secluded place became a location for the biggest crime, robbery. When you stole something, the one left behind was never going to be the same ‘cause his one part was captured by someone and the only way for him to be whole again is finding his missing part.

The fish stole his heart at this spot, now his heart doesn’t belong to just one soul but two. This is a place where two souls complete in one body, two hearts in one beat.

Once he was filling the jars with desperate screams; now his disappointment, suppression and desperation is creating melodies into the sky that welcome each other with echoes. Once he was keeping his head low, now the sky can’t contain his smile which widens with each breath and heightens to the sky he’s been dreaming about. Once the air was misty, full of clouds; now the sun shows its face slightly, opens the thick air with light.

The source of his happiness is next to him. Listening his thoughts, hearing his screaming without him formulating it, looking at what he’s showing to him, seeing his effects on other people, dancing with him under the daylight without fear. They’re alone but it feels more crowded than when people are around. There’s something that wants to be vocalized, out and loud. It creates shivers down the boy's spine, "Lately you’ve been on my mind, honey." "I adore you."

He helped another soul who chooses love instead of hate. He gave him a hint, the rest was in the hands of fate and the boy…

‟Oh, honey. I’d walk through the fire for you, just let me adore you. Like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do. Like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do.”

The boy's knitting second skin for fish. Like fish’s skin this is multicolored too, a reflection of his rainbow paradise that he found with fish. But this skin is showing the fish more apparent, more certain to anyone and boy’s making this for him. He wants to be obvious to people who saw them together, thought that maybe they’re ‘normal’ but no, boy wants to say "I’m who I am, open and proud. Colorful and cheerful. I am me with all of the things that make me who I’m today, with my skin. I’m wearing myself on my skin." This is a way of expressing without the needs of words.

When darkness comes with the arrival of the night, their eyes are still continuing to shine through each other. Each look is another indication of fondness, each blink has maden is a waste of time when all the world is lying in front of you. The fish is mesmerized by him, those two eyes he had found are captivating. Capture the seconds he's had, capture the feeling that brings him somewhere he hasn't been in before, capture the moment that deserved to be frozen, capture his eyes that settled with continuity, capture a part of him.

A heart had been shining from inside but was lost in the darkness. Another heart had been trying to find his home without any compass to guidance. Somehow the light of the heart shined through the dark to a road that another’s been trying to find. It’s guided to home where you don’t find familiar faces but familiar souls. Home became not just a place but a person, heart found out that everywhere you’re loved, you are home. A decision has been made, two hearts were each other’s home and they wanted to be each other’s forever too. The infinity was impossible and death was inevitable but their bond was unbreakable. They exchanged their most precious part, most fragile... Once lost heart split its loneliness in two, once excluded heart split its needs of belonging in two and they made them one in the end. Forever and ever...

The news was telling that others like him need a new home but the fish has already found his, hasn’t he? He doesn’t want any home while his home was here with him, sleeping with peace, unaware of everything. He kept thinking throughout the night, maybe their forever has to break at some point ‘cause he needs to go.

Once his happiness was a reason for him to grow, now the sadness filled him and became a part of his growth. With every passing minute, he’s getting bigger and bigger and the boy’s hope to keep him away from censorious eyes is getting tinier and tinier.

Another person who looked at them and really saw them. Who figured out their bond with each other and how they’re too close and important to one another. She’s one of the people who have changed and found their eroda.

All fishes who immigrated to Eroda, are travelers trying to find their place in the world. They all wanted to discover themselves, wanted to finally find a hope, a home, a harbor so they ended up at Eroda. The ones who embraced the beauty found themselves in it but the consequences were bad. People killed them from outside and inside and that became a reason for others to hide in dark oceans that far away from those censorious eyes. And that was the reason for the fish’s departure…

Also another person who witnessed their hard times and learnt from it. To smile.

The boy doesn’t want to be left behind by him when finally this place’s beginning to feel like home. But sometimes you need to sacrifice your wishes for the person you love the most in this entire universe. His person saw others who are just like them but with one difference, they were open. And he saw them get punished for their honesty and for their courage by people who are ready to judge and destroy them just with words, simple words of a complicated story. He saw them getting disgusted glances, loud whispers and endless judgement by others. He saw that they were discriminated against for something that should be normal...

And he got scared to be treated like them, like you’re something that should not exist. He’s scared something is going to happen not just to him but to his lovely boy too. That’s why he wanted to leave even If that causes him to worlds.

The boy was desperate about how he’s going to handle the heavy weights he has to carry around. First he needs to let go of him, that’s the heaviest of all and he was alone. But through the moments he’s spent with him, they’ve affected lives more than once. His light that brightened with his arrival, changed people. Give them a chance to find themselves, be aware of who they really are. At the end they’ve found themselves, their own light and their own eroda. The boy helped them through their journey and now they’re helping him with sharing his weights. So the boy isn’t actually alone anymore, there are people who will always support him for who he really is.

With all friendship, dedication, importance, love he’s received from the boy, he grew with happiness; with all aversion, disgust, judgement he’s received from people, he grew with sadness. His emotions are him, the more complicated they got the more he wanted to hide them. He comes to a state where he can’t hide his feelings anymore because they’re too big and heavy to hold. But then he wanted to protect his lover too so he did what he had to do, leave to a place where he could be away from judgmental eyes.

At first his skin was golden, he’s shining like the boy he’s encountered with. Then he shared his skin with other colors because every color, every person, every love deserves equality. At the end he wore his colors with fear ‘cause even the colors could change people’s opinions about you. His colors faded but never disappeared. He’s proud of who he is, he found his eroda here, his love… But first he needs to learn what’s really important to him, people’s opinions about them or his lover’s presence next to him. He needs to learn what he has now but maybe at first he needs to lose it to find it.

‟At that moment, with the entire town united in putting a fish back into the ocean, the clouds broke, the sun shined down on the isle of Eroda, melting every frown into the unmistakable shape… of a whale’s tale.”

The boy lost him because of people who are too afraid to smile, too afraid to embrace themselves or others as a whole, too afraid to look in the eye of bravery. He was heartbroken but then something peculiar happened. The ones who have changed are still standing next to him and smiling. Big and bright. Open and free. Brave...

The sun shined down on the island. A feeling once forgotten by anyone released to space for exploration.

And now the island knows how a smile could make a difference.

‟Maybe one day you’ll see one of Kieran’s paintings in your motel room...”

At first in her painting the sky was misty, the colors were dark and pale, the road which led home was deserted. Then with the boy, her light came alive and dwell in her paintings. Now her painting is reserved, the sky looks so blue, colors are bright and vibrant. The road is full of plants, lush greenery spreading around her with every step she’s taken to go home.

She’s learnt to be bright.

"Kieran means; little dark one or little dark-haired one, produced by appending a diminutive suffix to ciar (black, dark). It is the masculine version of the name Ciara."

Kieran’s representing a person who is dark-haired and good at paintings.

‟...or read an obscure yelp review about diner with the most curious menu...”

She saw two lovers that have gone through a lot of troubles, heartbreaks, break-ups. Also she saw how two people can love each other under pressure, how two souls can line up and complete in one, how one person can make a big difference in your life. And she learnt from these, she learnt and chose to smile to the world. Now she’s happy with what she’s doing, the job she’s loved. And she smiles whatever happens ‘cause at the end the most important thing is her happiness nothing else.

She’s learnt to smile.

She’s representing a person who is always smiling and loves food.

‟...or pass someone in the street in the haircut and think, where on the earth did they get that?”

People were designing their hair styles according to others. Everybody in the town was the same. But sometimes a person’s differences can make a change in others' lives. The girls have listened to whispers that came from the deepest place in their souls. "I don't need all the answers. Feeling good in my skin. I just keep on dancing."

They don’t need all the answers to the questions that are thrown at them, they’re just feeling good with themselves in their skin, body, hair. Because all of these belong to them and the one who has control on it will be them too.

They’ve learnt to embrace difference.

They’re representing a person who changed his style through the years but still proud of who he is.

All of them are the representations of one direction members; Zayn, Niall and Liam. Also his fans, his supporters. The people who have changed with the light of the boy and found who they are, helped the boy to feel safe in return. They created a safe place where the boy just spread his smile wider. And now the boy has a family, a family will always be supportive towards him. He’s feeling loved and safe.

‟Maybe you’ll be invited to a wedding between two neighbors whom it took an ocean to bring together.”

One lover had been searching gold treasures on the ground. One day he came across an invitation, he took it and decided to learn what life will bring to him by this. He went to a place that has written on the paper then met with the person who he’s been searching for from the beginning. He’s found his treasure he had been searching for a long time, a golden. It was like a twist of fate had been made and brought them together.

His lover was too bright, so golden… That made the boy brighter, with his lover’s light, he shined too. His lover was a sun that radiated everywhere and he was a crescent moon that had an insufficient brightness. Day by day he’s been approaching his full form with the power of something bigger than the existence of them, the moon and his sun. When he took its full form, his lover was distant from him like never before. The moon was shining with his full energy meanwhile the sun was fading away from the lack of resistance. It took some time for them to come back to each other again but they’ve never given up on that something bigger. Love. Love won like always...

They’ve learnt to love.

They’re representing the boy and the fish.

"We don’t need no piece of paper from the city hall."

A approve that coming from a person who represents the fans, their supporters is enough for them. They don’t need anyone else’s opinion because the ones who have seen their love, will always be there for them. That’s enough, their love is enough.

‟And who knows maybe one day you’ll find yourself in the isle of Eroda, for each night the local bartender still pours a glass of ale to appease the celtic water spirit shenandoah.”

Someday when you’re ready to shine, when you have the courage to smile, when you embrace your difference and when you understand the definition of love, you can find your own eroda.

It is already in you; on an unexpected day, in an unprecedented location, with peerless semblance it’ll appear to you. And when the appearance’s been made, your ambiguous thoughts will be sweet melodies to an ear that only hear for you.

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."

‟The Boy decided to find out what other wonders awaited him in the world however, he sailed on an odd numbered day, which caused everyone in town to lose their hairs but that’s another story.”

The boy’s purpose had finally been concluded. A regeneration has happened, a reborn of the isle.

No longer, difference isn’t something bad, something brings bad luck. People don’t try to specify themselves as ‘normal’ to bring them good luck ‘cause there isn’t such a thing as normal. Everybody is normal in their own special ways. They aren't afraid to be left in too odd numbered days or act too manly or girly or style their hair too unusually. Now too isn’t something they will be afraid of.

From now on; the island doesn’t know the dark but light, doesn’t know sorrow but happiness, doesn't know disparity but equality. Also they know how a smile could make a difference.

Nevertheless the ones who don’t want to change and showing the same frowning which is referred to as Resting Fish Face, are still here too. However these old-fashioned people lost their hairs like any other things they’ve lost; empathy, courtesy, respect, kindness, heart…. There will be difficulties that they’re going to encounter with and like the people they’ve judged, there will never be a choice for them to choose.

But that’s another story...

And now the boy’s mission is completed. He’ll sail on an odd numbered day or with new understanding on a normal day.

The boy found his eroda and the heart that he completed with. He tasted a sip of love and got drunk by the pleasant flavour. This time two souls got lost but in each other. They’re swinging at the edges of the rainbow; a day with desire red, with enthusiasm orange, with lightness yellow, with acceptance green, with peace blue and with imagination purple. Then stormy weather finally arrived, the sun disappeared from the sky and left his brightness to the moon to enlighten people’s life in the absence of itself. Sentences have been made with bitterness before their separation, "We don't know where we're going but we know where we belong. Wherever I go, you bring me home. You'll bring me home..." With that sun left.

So did the boy, he has got a long journey in front of him. Thousands of lives he’ll be affected, hundreds of cities he'll shine over, tens of friends he’ll have fun with but just one heart he'll belong, forever and ever...

THE END

Thanks for reading, take care yourself xxx

#harry styles #louis tomlinson #harry and louis #adore you #love is equal #love is love #larry is love #larry stylinson #larry #larry theories #larry theory #larry analysis #larry narrative #larry is real #hl

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Good Omens - “Saving Face” (Rated PG13)

Summary: A gang of bullies use Warlock to trap Adam on Halloween night, herding him towards a big, old, haunted house where no one goes ... and few who enter are ever seen alive again. (3904 words)

Notes: This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)

Read on AO3.

“Warlock … man,” Adam implores, backing away, hands raised in surrender “... come on. You don’t have to do this.”

Warlock grins at Adam’s trembling voice, his eyes wide with fear reflecting Warlock’s triumphant grin.

“Yeah,” he says, taking measured steps forward, eating up this moment. “I do.”

A pack of five boys in costume creeps up behind Warlock like the jackals they are. They’re not standing with him. They’re there to ensure their plan goes off without a hitch. This initiation into their gang will not only provide them with a minion in Warlock, whose father’s money and connections make the boy more valuable to them than Midas. But it will knock precious prince Adam Young off his popularity pedestal - a position he’s held on to for far too long.

Adam looks from Warlock to his cronies closing in on him, taking their time since they know he’s at their mercy. Talking will not help him, and he can’t fight his way out. Six against one? The odds are not on his side. So he does the only thing he can do.

He runs.

He turns tail and bolts, feet inside his battered trainers pounding the pavement, lungs burning from the strain he’s putting them through. But he has no illusions that he’s getting away, even when he gains a considerable lead. He knows how this gang operates. They’re herding him to one specific place: The Parsons House - an abandoned house at the end of this deserted lane; a monstrous, crooked, ramshackle nightmare overlooking the largest cemetery in their village. It’s the oldest house in this corner of the countryside. A worn, wooden sign attached to a single post that no longer stands upright proclaims it to be so.

No one ever goes there, regardless of the fact that its last known owner, Emily Parsons, lived for over eighty-three years inside, all alone, until the day she died of old age. But it’s been said that her frail body can be seen hanging from a noose in the upper attic window, leading to speculation by local townsfolk that the story of her dying peacefully in her sleep may be nothing but a tall tale.

This gang of boys (sans Warlock) have done this before - chased some poor, frightened soul that they hate to the house and forced them inside …

Kids that never came back to school, who were never heard from again.

In an act that could be described as simultaneously brave and stupid, Adam heads for the house, leaps over its rickety fence, and runs straight for the stairs.

All six boys crow when they see him skid to a stop at the base of the porch.

He’s right where they want him.

Whether he goes in himself or they grab him by his arms and legs and toss him in, he’s going in that house.

“Go on then!” one of the boys yells. “Get yer bony arse in there!”

The boys cackle, lending further to the impression that they are hunchbacked, sharp-toothed predators.

“And what if I don’t?” Adam calls over his shoulder, not fully facing them. Keeping his back turned to this lot is just as foolhardy as seeking safety inside this house, but he can’t turn his back on the house either. It has an essence - something he can feel deep inside his body, into the marrow of his bones.

“I don’t see you have much of a choice,” a different boy yells. “One way or the other, yer going in there. It just depends on whether you’re walking in or crawling in on two broken legs!”

Adam looks at the boys, stopped by the fence, with a slight smirk and a furrowed brow.

“How on earth am I supposed to crawl anywhere on two broken legs?” he asks.

“I …” The boy who made the original comment chokes on the rest of his sentence, realizing then how much that threat doesn’t make any sense. “I don’t know! You’re just gonna!”

“Adam … buddy …” Warlock grips the pointed tops of the fence posts and leans over “… my friends here are going to make sure you get into that house one way or the other. So you might as well get it over with.”

Adam answers Warlock’s comment with a hard swallow. He doesn’t honestly believe those boys are going to grab him up and toss him into the house. They’re too scared to even come past the fence, standing just beyond the splintered pickets, dressed in an array of stereotypical monster costumes – a werewolf, a vampire, a mummy, Frankenstein’s monster, and a ghost – each one blocking Adam’s escape.

Warlock is the only one among them not wearing a costume, opting for slate gray trousers, a white button-down, and the thick, navy wool coat he wears for school. With the exception of being only twelve, he looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s going on a job interview.

Just an everyday average Joe.

That’s because, he’d explained, serial killers blend in, look like everyone else.

In reality, Adam has the upper hand. He should run inside and hide.

It’s a good plan.

A reasonable plan.

A solid plan.

So why doesn’t he make his feet go?

He searches for a weapon since it seems that fighting might become an option.

The house shifts on its foundation when a particularly forceful breeze passes through it. Adam eyes the graying wood slats falling from the siding, dusty windows clattering while shutters swing off their hinges, smacking dully against one another.

A rock flies in out of nowhere and strikes Adam on the shoulder. He stumbles forward onto the first creaky step. He glares at the house, as if of all the people there meaning to do him harm, it’s the house that decided to throw the first punch.

But it wasn’t the house.

He knows it wasn’t.

And the stakes in this game of cat-and-mouse have just gone up a notch.

“Go on already!” the boy dressed as a mummy yells, tossing a second rock straight up and catching it as it comes down like he’s warming up for baseball practice. “We haven’t got all night! We still have egging to do!”

“Well, why don’t you go do that and come back? I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Adam ducks in time to miss the rock whiz by his head, coming close enough to nick his left ear.

“No more jokes, Adam!” werewolf boy growls. “You either go inside and take your chances, or we pound you into the dirt!”

Adam looks at the faces around him – mean, unfriendly, shrouded by masks and makeup, which makes these boys feel braver.

It also makes them more dangerous.

But they’re far from anonymous. Adam knows who the boys are underneath their masks. The vampire is Vince: the leader of the gang and the eldest, having retaken two grades twice. The werewolf is his younger brother, David. The mummy is Troy, their best friend from birth. Frankenstein’s monster is Leroy, and the ghost, in his thin white sheet, hiding him from absolutely no one, is Devin.

Yes, Adam knows them. He knows an awful lot about them, really. They’ve lived in the same village together their entire lives. They’ve been to each others’ houses at one point or another, hunted for eggs in the courtyard of the church every Easter till they were ten. But he doesn’t appeal to them. Because somewhere down the line, they changed. Rumors about them run rampant all over town. Outlandish rumors.

Still, Adam is far from impressed.

But Warlock … Adam had had high hopes for him. But Vince and his merry band of delinquents got their hooks into him.

Now, it might be too late for both of them.

Adam looks at the four short stairs leading to the porch. He knows the devils that wait for him if he doesn’t go up those stairs. He might as well try his luck contending with the unknown.

As a former Antichrist, a murderous spirit might be easier to reckon with.

He climbs unsteadily to the second step, ticking it off in his head.

Three more to go.

Somewhere above him, a shutter slams, causing him to skip step three and fall face-first onto step number four.

In the space of a second, he went from starting to nearly done.

He lifts a foot and plants it on the stair beneath him, raising himself up slowly as the plank bends in the middle. He brings his other leg up to the fourth step.

One more, and he’ll be standing on the porch.

Another breeze blows. The front door swings open, making all the kids present jump. Adam finds himself at a crossroads.

Whether he likes it or not, there’s only one way out of this.

He can’t make it past. He has to go through.

Adam flies into the house, the front door slamming shut the second he’s inside, as if receiving him.

Or swallowing him.

Then … everything grinds to a halt.

The wind ceases to blow.

The shutters hang limply, no longer bang.

The house stops its listing.

And from the pits of the boys’ stomachs to the tips of their toes, the earth stops spinning.

“What … what just happened?” David asks in a hoarse whisper.

“I think he went in there,” Leroy says.

“Went in, or was pushed?” Troy asks.

“Who would have pushed him? We’re all out here! Not a one of us has moved!”

“Maybe it wasn’t us,” Devin offers.

“Who was it then? Who was it!?” Troy asks, becoming unhinged. “Tell me!”

The sound of Adam screaming silences their arguing.

“Help! Help me! Vince! Troy! Devin! Warlock! Help me!”

“A … Adam?” Leroy says. “Is that …?”

“Yeah,” David answers quietly. “Yeah, that’s …”

“David! Leroy! Please!”

The boys have heard kids scream in this house before. And they’ve enjoyed it. It’s part of what they live for, why they do this every Halloween. But something about the way Adam is screaming is different. He isn’t just begging for help.

He’s calling out to them, each one by name.

Not only is it unsettling to hear Adam’s fearful voice calling for them, the thought of this house knowing their names sends chills up each of their spines.

Except for Warlock, who looks bored out of his mind.

Silence falls over the house again. A silence that drags on by the skin of its teeth and goes on for far too long.

Right when three of the boys summon up the courage to organize a search party, they hear another scream, this one worse than the last.

Adam again, but his screams have changed.

He’s beyond asking for help, gone from panicked, to bloodcurdling, to strangled, as if someone is pouring cupfuls of sand into his mouth. Above the sound of Adam choking for air comes a hollow, evil laugh, rising in volume and pitch, echoing around the walls and shaking the whole house.

“Vince!” it mimics, chuckling in between. “Troy! Devin! Warlock! David! Leroy!”

The boys stand up straight when they hear it, stepping back as the sound grabs at their insides and squeezes tight.

“We … we should go check on him … maybe?” Devin suggests.

“Yeah,” Leroy agrees. “Why don’t you go ahead and check on him, Vince?”

Vince glares at the boys flanking him side-to-side. “Nu-uh! I’m not opening that door for shite!”

“This was your brilliant idea!” Devin argues. “You’re the one who wanted to bring him here, despite the fact that we could end up dead! Or worse!”

“What’s worse than dead?” Vince asks.

“My mum could find out! I could be grounded till I’m married!”

Vince’s eyebrows snap in the middle. “B-but … you’re gay!”

“Marriage equality exists, Vince!” Devin crosses his arms. “Don’t be an arse, all right?”

“Point is,” Troy intervenes, “this was your plan from the start, so you should go check on him! Man!” He kicks at the pebbles beneath his feet. “I just want for one year to get some tricks or treats! I’m so tired of this shite!”

“Same here!” Leroy chimes in.

The five boys bicker back and forth. Warlock watches, gaze bouncing between them like he’s at a football match - a dull football match, one destined to end in a stalemate. He rolls his eyes.

He’s definitely done with this.

“Oh, I’ll do it!” Warlock says, blowing through the lopsided gate and trudging up the steps. “Ya bunch of pansies …”

“Yeah,” Vince says, visibly relieved. “Yeah, Warlock should go. It’s his initiation.”

“Oh, shut the eff up!” Troy says, unamused.

Warlock stomps up the stairs without a care, daring whatever is in the house that grabbed Adam to grab him as well. “Adam!” he yells, hand cupped to the side of his mouth to ensure he can be heard. “Adam! Where the hell are you?”

When Adam doesn’t answer, Warlock does the unthinkable.

He knocks on the front door.

The gang takes another step back.

“A-dam!” Warlock calls in a teasing, sing-song voice. “Come out here, ya coward! You trynna pull one over on us? Well, it won’t work. I’m gonna count to five, and then Vince is gonna come in and beat the crap out of you!”

“What!?” Vince yelps, his next step backward twice the size of the rest. “Oh, heck no! No no no no no no no!”

Warlock stops knocking. He puts an ear to the door. The boys watch, completely engrossed but prepared to run if anything else should happen.

If anything should eat him, then come for them next.

“Well?” Leroy calls up after a minute. “Do you hear anything?”

“I hear … something,” Warlock moves his ear from the center of the door to the seam. “It sounds like a …”

“Like a what? Like a what?” Troy screams, one creaky floorboard away from losing it entirely.

“I don’t know,” Warlock says, “but it sounds kind of like a … a …”

“A …?”

“... a … burp.”

The boys stare at one another, expressions wasted underneath their disguises.

“A burp?” David says. “Warlock, man! I’m gonna …”

The door breaks off its hinges and flies over their heads. The five boys duck down to avoid being beamed. When the coast is clear, and the cacophony of the door cartwheeling down the street dies down, they stand back up and look to the spot where Warlock had been standing, hoping to get an answer …

… but he’s not there anymore.

Not a scrap of him.

The gaping doorway stands open like a giant mouth breathing in the twilight air.

And Vince can’t stand it anymore.

“Warlock! Adam!” he bellows, then waits for an answer. When he doesn’t get one, he leaps over the fence and storms up to the house. “WARLOCK! ADAM! Come on out, all right? This isn’t funny anymore!”

Vince isn’t necessarily concerned with whether or not Warlock or Adam is alive or dead. He’s much more concerned with his sanity. He’s been to this house dozens of times, and nothing even close to this has ever happened. They have to be making this up. They had to have gotten together before tonight and planned on pranking him, probably hoping to see him mess himself.

Well, that’s not gonna happen!

He makes his way to the doorway with none of his gang behind him. He leans in, looks left and right.

“Warlock?” he calls out. “Adam? Where are you guys?”

He turns back to his crew, all of whom have migrated further down the walkway, preparing to run for their lives.

“They’re not … they’re not in there,” Vince says.

“You’re going to have to go inside then.”

“No way! Fuck that!”

“Vince …!”

“Don’t Vince me! They went into that house on their own! Ain’t no one to blame for that!”

“Adam went in because we threatened him!” Leroy points out.

“He wouldn’t have even come here if Warlock hadn’t invited him,” Vince counters.

“We helped! That makes us accessories!” Devin argues.

“Accessories?” Vince snickers. “What? Are you a solicitor now?”

“Just get in there, Vince!” Leroy says. “Or are you chicken?”

“I’m not chicken! I’m smart! I’m not gonna go in there and die because of fucking peer pressure, and not a one of you can make me!”

A tortured howl shakes the loose boards on the house, pulling the boys’ attention. But it doesn’t sound like Adam this time.

It sounds like Warlock.

“H-holy shit! Holy shit! Vince!” David yells, pointing at the house.

Pointing at Adam, standing in the doorway, two feet in front of Vince, his shirt front drenched in blood. None of the boys can tell if that blood belongs to him or not. Not even Vince, looking him dead in the eye.

But he doesn’t look too much worse for wear.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Vince cries, stumbling backward, missing the stairs altogether and falling straight off the porch onto his tailbone. He lands with a resounding thud, sprays of liquid hot pain shooting up his back.

“What … what happened to you, A---Adam?” Leroy asks.

“I was given a choice,” Adam growls in a new voice as he steps out onto the porch. An inhuman voice. “To submit … or die. And I chose …” He lifts his arms and his body follows, rising into the air above the boys’ heads as Adam grins down at them “… to conquer.”

“Wh-where is Warlock?” David asks.

Adam laughs. “You mean him?” With a sweep of his arm, the limp body of a young boy flies out one of the windows, landing on the ground inside the fence. The five boys scream, staring into the open and unseeing eyes of Warlock Dowling, his face ashen, his mouth opened wide, locked in a horrified scream so that the only conclusion they can come to is that he was literally scared to death.

“L-let’s get out of here!” Leroy yells.

“Oh …” Adam chuckles “… you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here … with us!”

“U-us?” Troy whimpers. “Who’s us?”

A fist busts through the floorboards of the porch, then an arm clad in rags and the shredded remains of what was once a flannel shirt. Another hand emerges, clawing through the wood to hoist up the rest - the head and torso of a corpse tearing themselves from the earth to do Adam’s bidding. Adam’s eyes - blistering red orbs glowing in their sockets - stare down at his tormentors, so frightened for their lives, they can barely scream. Vince scuttles backward to avoid the eruption. A hand explodes through the dirt beside him, grabbing hold of his ankle, and Vince launches to his feet. He manages a shrill wail as he flips over the gate and sprints off down the street, his four compatriots hot on his heels, one urinating noticeably.

Not until the boys are out of sight does Adam begin to laugh in earnest, his body lowering to the ground, carried gingerly by angelic power. He looks down as the glamour fades – the stain withdrawing, his eyes returning from the spell that made them transform. He pulls at the hem of his shirt, watching as the last remaining blood disappears from the fabric.

Warlock climbs up off the filthy ground. He was never really hurt, helped out the window and through the air by demonic intervention. “That was fun.”

“Better than what we did last year,” Wensleydale groans, clambering out of his hole in the porch.

“Hey!” Brian yelps, pulling off his sweaty mask and sucking in a breath of fresh air. “Last year’s costume contest was epic!”

“That’s because you won it!” says Pepper, pulling off her own oppressive mask.

“Yeah. And that was because your mum was one of the judges!”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t have the best costume!”

“Don’t you children think that was a little much?” Aziraphale asks, walking out on to the porch from where he and Crowley had been hiding in the living room, peeking out through a downstairs window. He’d disapproved of this scheme from the start, back when the Them found out what those bullies were concocting for Halloween night, how they had strong-armed Warlock into helping them. “Wouldn’t it have been better to approach their parents about their brutish behavior?”

“Nah,” Crowley says, slipping an arm around his husband’s waist. “Woulda done no good. Most of the time, the parents are no better than the kids. Who d’ya think the blighters get it from?”

“Isn’t this all going to be moot when they find out that Adam hasn’t been possessed by the devil, and Warlock did not, in fact, get devoured by bloodthirsty zombies?” Aziraphale asks, grimacing at the absurdity.

“No,” Adam assures him, “because no one is going to find out until school on Monday after they’ve already called everyone they know and told them about it. I can’t imagine the amount of trouble they’re going to get into!”

“Yeah!” Wensleydale agrees. “Look at all of the rules they’re breaking! Bullying, assault, trespassing. With any luck, they’ll get grounded for life!”

“Or at least three months.” Aziraphale shoots his husband a significant look that takes Crowley a moment to catch.

“Oh! Yeah, right.” Crowley snaps his fingers, performing the truly demonic miracle of making sure five bastards get their comeuppance.

“Besides, something good is coming out of all this,” Pepper reminds them. “Mrs. Parsons’s grandniece will have a brand new house after we help get this wreck fixed up. It was nice of her to let us borrow it for the night. We must have sounded bonkers when we asked.”

“Not at all. She understood,” Aziraphale assures them. “She was glad that after years of people using her great aunt’s house to scare people that someone asked permission for a change.”

“I think things turned out exactly the way they were meant to,” Pepper says.

“Yup!” Brian concurs. “Let the punishment fit the crime, I always say.”

“When do you say that?” Wensleydale asks, beating dirt and cobwebs out of his ear.

“All the time,” Brian argues.

“I’ve known you my entire life, and I’ve never once heard you say that!”

“Then you haven’t been listening hard enough!”

“Pepper? Have you ever heard him say that?”

“Don’t know. I tend to ignore every third word that comes out of his mouth.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“You were right, Warlock. Go big or go home,” Adam says over the argument ensuing.

“Yeah.” Warlock smiles at his new friends. They were never angry at him for the part he almost played in conspiring against their leader. They offered to help him out with no arguments given. It was Pepper's idea to pretend to turn into the undead. Brian got their costumes together. Wensleydale found out about Mrs. Parsons's grandniece and suggested they give her a call. Then they spent most of Halloween night hiding out in this creepy old house when they could have been roaming the neighborhood begging for candy.

But the best thing they did was let him join their group even though he probably didn't deserve it.

“We went big." Warlock smirks, watching the five boys clamor down the street and, unbeknownst to them, to a two-hour lecture and three months in solitary confinement. “Let’s go home.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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rochiomaru · 3 years

Text

Writing a story inspired by the song My Demons by Starset. It's basically a string of head cannons that I think about when listening to that particular song.... I think Doffy is cruel, but had a lot of layers underneath that fuel his actions. Just wanted to share.

MY DEMONS

I can’t see anything because the villagers are too cowardly to look us in the eyes. They blindfolded us when they took us from the shack we have been staying in. I can’t see them, but I can hear the violent and hateful words they scream at us.

I can feel the heat of the fire from the villagers burning my skin. The rough stone is digging into my back as I hang against it for, god knows, how many hours now. My arms hurt so much from the ropes that are cutting into flesh. I’m bleeding and aching from countless cuts and bruises all over my body.

Why are they doing this? Why are they so mad at us? We haven’t done anything to any of them. I can hear them yelling about things they said we did, but it’s not true!

I’m crying. Crying for so many things. For the things I lost. My home, my security, my status, my mother… MOTHER!

I can hear my baby brother crying and I want to reach out and save him so much, but I can’t even save myself. I’m so tired of the pain. My stomach hurts from hunger, my body hurts from too many beatings to remember anymore, my heart hurts from missing my moth… I don’t want to think of her anymore.

My head hurts from the emotions and thoughts that constantly swirl and tell me to do things. To get back at them. I was born better than the scum that is doing this to us. Do they not know their place? We were born as gods and they are mere humans! I hate them! I hate my father for doing this to us! He is the one that brought us here. He is the reason my moth… He is the reason she is not here!

I don’t want to hurt anymore…

Suddenly I feel a burning sensation in my stomach, but it is not bad. It almost feels alive. The sound of the vermin is fading into the background as I can hear an electric humming in my ears and I concentrate on the sensation growing within me.

Then a sound breaks through. My brother screams as one of their arrows pierces him. I can no longer control myself and I begin to scream at the filthy garbage. I will kill them all!!! I will paint the walls with their blood and dance on their graves! The feeling within my stomach consumes me and overflows.

I now understand it is power. I can feel it lash out at the villagers, and their angry shouts become screams of terror and pain. It feels so good and I love it!! I delight in their horror. I begin to laugh while the night becomes filled with the smell of blood and sound of death.

************************************************

The next thing I know I can see again, but where am I? Where’s Rosi??? Is he ok? Where are the villagers? I can’t breathe!! All of the pain is gone except for the pain in my chest. I keep gasping for air and just can’t seem to calm myself. I look around and realize that I am in my study, and have been dreaming. I must have dozed off while reading again.

I am covered in sweat and still can’t breathe. I rub my eyes with the palm of my hand and after a couple of seconds realize my glasses are gone! Oh, god! Where are they? No one can see me without them! They’ll know if they see me!

I begin to frantically search for my sunglasses. I knock everything off of the desk and tip over the chair looking for them. No one can know! The thoughts continue to attack my mind until I finally find the glasses where they had fallen under the chase lounge I keep for guests.. I place them back on my face, and only then do I feel as though I can begin to breathe.

I feel my heart begin to slow back to a normal pace and the pain in my chest slowly eases. My head is still filled with the sounds from my dream and I can feel the rage building in my soul again. I realize that I am drowning in my own madness, but I don’t know how to stop the descent.

There are days that I step into my role of god and king that I was born to be. I can close my eyes and remember Mariejois. I have heard the words of “family” members like Trebol and Vergo over the years. I was born better than everyone else. I am destined to be king and am divine.

Though, there are other times as I listen to them and it’s just a facade. I know that my family benefits from me, and I just adore having them close to me. It is these times I have to wonder who is truly pulling the strings among us?

I know that I have imperfections, and should a god be allowed to have any? When I was younger, I would ask Trebol about this and he would tell me not to worry. I know that if he saw my eyes, he would see that I am a monster. Would he still claim I’m divine? Or would he know, as I do, that they are proof of how ugly and imperfect I really am? They are part of why I was cast down from heaven.

The other reason I was thrown into the utter darkness with the vermin of earth is that man I once called my father. I still hate him. Trebol gave me the power to claim vengeance for this betrayal, for the atrocities committed to Roci and me, for my moth…

I still cannot fully bring myself to think of her, or say the word even in my own head…

Once I took my revenge, my beloved brother left me too. I could see the hatred for me in his eyes. Could he not see that I did it for our family? He left me because I killed that man for causing us so much pain. He caused my brother to get hurt and he needed to die! Why couldn’t Rosi understand? Why did Rosi love him more than me? Why didn't Rosi love me?

I blinked a couple of times because the dust in my eyes, I'm sure it's just dust, is making them burn.

It is days like today I think of this and the insanity threatens to swallow me whole. The voices scream in my head for blood and violence and death. However, I know that there are vultures circling and waiting for me to slip. To abandon my true self, so they can pick at the carrion of my soul. They want me to lose my colors, so they can crush me forever and finish the work the villagers started. I know in my heart, if I fully break and lose control, I will die or be killed.

I just want a family. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I want the dreams to stop. I want to be safe, but there is no safety for a monster. I must be a monster, or else why would I be so alone? My “family” says I am divine, but I know the truth.

I pause at that thought, and look at my reflection in the window behind my desk. Only the reflection of the sunglasses look back. Slowly the last of these troubling thoughts fade away until they are locked back into the darkness. I silently hope the dreams stay away, so they can remain sealed forever.

A cruel smile finds its way onto my face as my mind falls into place. I can feel that power rolling in my core again and I turn from the window with my rose colored glasses in place. I take my feathered coat and place it on my royal shoulders before heading out of the study to meet with the executives to discuss business for the day.

I am no longer a Celestial Dragon, nor a broken child. I am now a Heavenly Demon here to bring sweet destruction to the world. I will stand atop of everything and rule with an iron fist, as I was born to do. No one will ever hurt me, or those I love again. If they try, I promise to rain such torment and chaos that the world will be consumed in flames, and I will simply laugh in the pyre.

I am Donquixote Doflamingo, and I am god.

#donquixote doflamingo #my Demons #drabbles #song fic

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sabraeal · 4 years

Text

Age of Reason, Part 1

Obiyuki AU Bingo Sleeping Beauty AU

The moon hangs swollen in the night sky, a bloated corpse in the river of the heavens. Fitting for a night like this, for the job he’s about to do.

Salt is thick on the air; a strange taste for a path in the middle of a wood, so tangled and choked with briars that he can hardly pass. As it is, they catch on the wool of his shirt, pulling snags in the pile. He huffs, plucking one from the shoulder seam. By the end of this little excursion, he’ll need a new wardrobe.

His mouth curves. Good. With the mountain of dir he’ll get from this job, he can afford an upgrade.

That is, if he ever gets there. The canopy looms, branches criss-crossing in a messy tangle, blotting out the sun. They said the village was only half a day’s walk, barely an hour over the border but--

That’s the thing about borders in these parts: there’s nothing to mark them.

The brush rattles, soft as a snake’s warning. His feet slide beneath him, supporting his crouch, legs coiled tight to pounce--

“Ah! Hail, traveler!” A man slips out from the bush, his hair a sloppy thatch of mouse brown, a basket perched high on his back. “Not many on these roads, of late!”

He straightens, yanking his boot away from where a briar has latched around its brim. “Can’t imagine why.”

The man smiles at that, but it’s a faint, bitter thing. “Ah yes, well, the plant life is certainly aggressive.”

He frowns down, plucking a bramble off his shoulder. “Can you tell me if it is far to Clarines?”

“Clarines?” His lips part in a friendly flash of teeth. “Why, you’re already there. Or at least close.” He hunches, squinting into the undergrowth. “There should be a marker, oh-- ah! There!”

There-- a small statue, nearly swallowed by the forest, shoulder-high. He steps toward it, gloved hand pushing aside the briars.

“What’s this?” He tilts his head. “An angel?”

“To guide us,” the man says, hushed. “Or guard us. I hardly know any longer.”

He lets out a bark of a laugh. “I thought the Clarinese were above superstition.”

The stranger’s smile wears thin. “So did we.”

The man next to him is large, tall and wide as a mountain, dwarfing the stool he sits on. Still, there’s something delicate about him, almost hesitant, holding this breath like he’s taking a plunge off the world’s edge.

“There’s a place,” the man says, his voice a deep rumble, like the way rocks move beneath the mantle of the earth. “In Clarines, just over the border. A manor.”

He leans in, on the hook. A manor means money, whether the people in it are alive or not. “Clarines? I thought they didn’t brook with the supernatural anymore. They’re--” he pauses, for dramatic effect-- “enlightened.”

The man’s mouth rucks into a smirk. “That they are.”

“And you’re telling me this manor is cursed,” he asks, dubious. “In this great land of reason.”

There’s gravel in this man’s laugh, the sorta of rasp that only comes from experience. “A man’s only reasonable if he believes what he sees with his two eyes.”

“And you’ve seen this?” he presses. “A cursed manor right in Clarines?”

“I have.” His teeth flash in the tavern’s dim. “And if you have any sense, you’ll see it too.”

“Where are you headed?” The man bobs along beside him, the mousy haystack of his hair ruffling in the breeze. “Down on to Wistal? I hear it’s nice this time of year. Prince just had a baby too, I heard. Holding a big party just to name the thing.”

He sighs. Clarines might be a land of reason, but they still clung to their royals. “No.”

“Eurikenna isn’t half bad either, if you don’t mind sticking to your own skin,” the man offers amiably. “They’ve got a festival of their own going on, least so they’re saying.”

He knows persistence when he sees it; this man has no intention of letting him walk in companionable silence. “I’m headed to Laxdo. Just across the border.”

The man’s brows hike to his hairline. “That so?” He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Seems as though we’re headed the same way. The name’s Shuuka.”

“Ah.” His mind whirs. “You can call me Kage.”

“Well, Kage--” he hitches the basket higher on his back-- “what brings you out to Laxdo?”

The gate, in theory, shouldn’t be a problem. Those royals like to make them high, make them spiked, make them out of wrought iron to keep the riff-raff out. He’s no stranger to being kept on the outside.

Boosting over a fence is no trouble, no matter how high they make it. But the briars, well-- those are a problem.

It’s the first part of his night to disappoint his expectations, but oh, it’s far from the last.

“Business.” His hands flex at his side, even as he smiles. “And maybe some pleasure.”

Shuuka’s smile stiffens. “Ah, well, there’s not much of either in Laxdo. Though if you’ve got something to trade, there’s always a few itching to buy.”

The man gives his pack a cursory look, but he assures him, “I’m no merchant.”

“Huh.” Shuuka’s mouth purses, thoughtful. “What else might bring you out this way?”

“KUREI!” A band of men raises their tankards as they catch sight of him in the corner, cheeks ruddy with drink. “The savior of Oberwald! You have a drink?”

He raises his own stein, nearly empty, but they’re all too far into their own to notice. With a raucous cheer, they turn back to the bar, wheedling for another pint.

Good. Now when they remembered that name, they would talk of the man who drank drink-for-drink with them, who told them just what they wanted to hear. He wouldn’t, of course-- but this night would be a blur to them, and a conversation with the man of the hour would be a lie that was safe to make. After all, he wouldn’t be around to gainsay them.

The big man is steady as he pours, the bottle comically small in his meaty hand. “Ah, so that’s what you have them call you.”

He watches his cup fill with dismay, smile plastered onto his lips. Now this-- this wouldn’t do. He could drink any of village men under the table, but this stranger--

Well, he knows when he’d be beat. “All the villages between here and Altenrode.”

“Quite a ways,” the giants says, shifting on his stool. “Thought I recognized the name they were shouting when I came in.”

“Many a tavern lifts a glass to me.” And he’s sure more than a few toast his eventual demise too. “But about this manor...”

The man’s mouth slides into a dangerous curve. “Ah, right, the cursed manor. Used to be a royal residence, you know. One of the ones built by the old king.”

A king’s manor. All the more promising. “Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t,” he agrees, “it was barely been finished before he died. The prince took up with it though. Kept a mistress of his there.”

He’d never much cared for Clarines-- too learned, and too suspicious in all the wrong ways-- but he did know something of their royals. At least, the younger ones. “The prince?”

“The same.”

His finger taps at the tables. “But none of this explains the curse.”

The man’s mouth splits wide, teeth flashing white in the dim. “Why do you think you’ve never heard of it?”

“I heard a rumor,” he says, casual, “that there’s a manor in Laxdo that used to belong to the royal family.”

Shuuka’s step stutters beside his. “Still does,” he manages after a moment. “On paper.”

Ah, now that was promising. “So it’s true.” He slants a sly look at him. “It was abandoned.”

A blunt-fingered hand ruffles through his mop of hair, anxiety entrenched at the corners of his eyes. “That it was.”

“The prince’s mistress used to live there, did she?” He doesn’t need to wait for Shuuka’s answer, it’s writ across his face. “Some say she still does.”

It’s silent for a moment, only the crunch of their shoes on the path to fill it, until Shuuka croaks, “Who says that?”

“So you mean this is a ghost situation.” He takes a quick sip of his ale and wishes he had more. “A haunting. Maybe a poltergeist.”

“No.” The man’s smile grows thin. “She’s alive, by all accounts.”

Alive. Now that’s a different sort of request. “I’ll admit you’ve got me intrigued, mister, but I exorcise spirits, not ex-mistresses.”

His mouth twists wryly. “Is that what you call it, then?”

“It is.” He settles back into his chair, balancing some of his weight on his toes. His knives dig comfortingly into the arch of his back. “I may make a name for myself for ridding folk of unwelcome guests, but those are the ones who have lingered, and need to pass on. By all accounts, a living mistress, well--” he winks-- “she’s done her job, and I’m not the sort to pry her from her hard-earned reward.”

The man shifts, the light of the lamps skittering over the hard planes of his face, and he grins. “Glad to hear it.”

Ever so slowly, he slides his feet down, so his soles touch the floor. “Still think I should go see this manor?”

“More than ever,” the man admits, and in the light, he swears he can see red glittering among the gray of his hair. “You see, this mistress, she’s not dead--” he hesitates, lingering at the edge of another drop-- “she’s asleep.”

Shuuka lets out a long string of air. “Wouldn’t think they’d talk about all that, even out in Tanbarun.”

“Ah, you know how it is.” He shrugs. “They love a good story. Even better if there’s a pretty girl with a curse.”

Shuuka grunts, casting him a measuring look. “And that’s what brought you here?”

He grins. “Who could resist?

The man shifts next to him, hesitant. “Just what was it that you do again, Kage?”

The brambles wrap tight around the bars, thorns as sharp and thin as needles. He places a hand over it, and-- ah, yes, that’s not smart. Not gonna be able to climb that way.

Not that he has many other options. Forewarned is forearmed, and someone hadn’t seen the need to tell him about the thicket of thorns tangled around the only entrance. Besides what could hang off his belt-- a few of his finer tools and a couple of his favorite knives, and a handful of nuts for good measure-- he’s shown up empty handed to a pruning party.

Still, if she had gotten in, he could too. He’d just have to get creative about it.

He stares down at his hands, leather giving a soft squinch as he flexes them. His teeth clench at the feel of padding against his palm.

Or he might just have to do this the old fashioned way.

His mouth hooks into a smirk. “I didn’t say.”

Shuuka’s eyes narrow. “Is that how you got that bruise on your cheek?”

The salt is rough against his palms, stinging where cuts haven’t yet become calluses. This hasn’t been the easy job he signed up for, but-- it’s fine. All this ends tonight.

He cranes his neck, squinting at the fattening moon in the sky. It’s not as full as he wants it, but that’s par for the course on this misadventure. It’ll do.

Stretching out a toe, he scratches a circle in the dirt. This isn’t how he likes to do this-- most villages have at least cobbled stones at its center, some sort of central pavilion around the town well, but-- not here.

He grimaces, pouring the sand into the trench he’s made. His payment here is more likely to be greens than guilder, but-- he knows better than to turn his nose up at a good meal. Not when he knows there’s no guarantee of his next.

“Kurei,” the mayor hisses from his doorstep, not daring to take a single step from its frame. “Are you sure--?”

“Stand back!” he warns, holding out his hands. Outstretched, they just fit inside the circle. “When I call the curse’s spirit, it will be violent! It longs for a life, and if any living being stands in this square besides myself, they risk becoming its next host!”

The townsfolk murmur worriedly at their doors, and one by one they close, even as shutters peep open. Eyes peer curiously out from slender cracks, all of them fixed on him. As they should be.

“I shall now call out the incantation.” He raises his arms, hands grasping beseechingly at the moon. “Protect me now, O Mysterious Maiden, for I call forth a power both vengeful and unknowable!” He takes a breath, and projects the words, “Veni! Vidi! Vici!”

For a long moment, there is only silence. He glances at sky, frowning as a cloud leisurely passes.

He clears his throat. “Veni. Vidi. Vici!”

A wind picks up, sudden and urgent, blowing at the salt in his circle, and pricking at his hair, but--

The moon shines down, unimpeded, and the circle around him softly begins to glow. Perfect.

A grunt saws from the rooftops, followed by a savage snort and a dangerous growl. He turns, a moment too late--

And catches a beastly elbow to the face.

His lips part in a grin. “Well now,” he drawls, casting his companion a sly look. “If you want to hear about that, you’ll have to buy me a drink.”

#obiyukibingo2020 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #sleeping beauty AU #my fic #age of reason #this is supposed to at LEAST have a second part #but it didn't make sense to keep it all one chapter #since the frame shifts #and this was enough to get me through bingo #MORE LATER i guess #but enjoy the idea of obi as a supernatural monster hunter #OR IS HE?#>:3

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dante-vergil64 · 4 years

Text

A Ballad of Spring and Winter

Rated T

It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.

It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours. Like the sun rising in the morning dawn as it showers the earth with its warmth and light, and the wind blows the air through the sky unaware of all that’s below, dancing both gently and violently, and beautiful, and free.

One late November night, as she is seating in her large office quietly reading an old tattered scroll, a shadow makes presence before her with a message on her Hokage’s behalf. She is requested to lead the efforts in negotiating an economic treaty with a village in the far west on the snow country, a part of the alliance’s plan to spread out and welcome more vulnerable communities in their wide net of protection.

Her role as ambassador is an unexpected if not humbling one, she is not ignorant of the significance endeavors like this one hold to the people who live in small and remote environments lacking defenses against bandits and rogue assassins.

She accepts After all, she is no longer stranger to diplomacy and performing tasks relying on leadership, her responsibilities in providing and taking care of her people slowly drowning the echoes of voices and phantoms that haunt the depths of her mind.

It is to be a long, perilous journey and Naruto informs her he’s arranged a protective detail to escort her during her mission. The blow to her pride is not insignificant yet she’s not nearly as arrogant as to put innocent lives in danger believing herself invincible. She has a grave she visits every Saturday at nine thirty in the early mornings as a perpetual reminder.

She bows in understanding and leaves his office to begin preparations.

Her departure is a bittersweet one as she bids farewell to the many members of her family, the compulsion to watch over them and ply for their safety and comfort temporarily rooting her in place before she embraces the young ones and assures them of her safely return.

Her little sister has gotten so big, and mature, and reliable her heart aches with pride and love when she holds her petal-soft face and kisses her forehead before turning around, walking away lest the tears she felt slowly building into her eyes escape free of her control.

She parts from her family estate accompanied by three of her trusted retainers, hard-working, and graceful, and so very Hyuuga that it doesn’t feel too much like a good bye.

When they arrive at the gates, their carriage is already placed waiting to depart at her command, the guards Izumo and Kotetsu bowing to her in respect as they bid her farewell.

She does not notice at first, his tall, intimidating figure shrouded by humble robes that seem more fit for a travel through the harsh rays of the sun desert than the blankets of gelid ice and below zero temperatures proper of their current destination.

His name is one she has not heard of in more than nine years, his existence a shallow recollection as if the voids of time had swallowed everything that he was.

For but one single instant, she wonders what his purpose is in being there, doubts of his role as her escort, but then… just as easily she understands. Of course Naruto would entrust her safety and that of her companions to that man, her leader’s blinding faith in this silhouette of a fallen star something that would never be disputed.

It is a strange meeting, if only because he is but a perfect stranger, a man whose story has been nothing but wiped out of their walls in its entirety. As far as the world is concerned, he does not exist. Whatever feeling of pity this fact evokes from her is quickly dismissed. There are enough ghosts inside her head.

She approaches and greets her temporary guardian with a solemn bow that her retainers replicate. She is the only one privy to his identity.

He responds with a slight but polite nod in her direction before gesturing for the carriage to begin their journey.

“It will rain by nightfall” he says as he closes the door next to her, his eyes sorted on the pigments of blue in the skies as if he could see something nobody else can.

She does not see him for the rest of the day, not as she stares out of the small room she rented in Tanzaku’s inn into the falling rain harshly ahead nor the next morning as they embark to resume their travels.

But he is there, she knows. It is a feeling she cannot quite explain. She cannot feel him, he’s too adept at concealing himself, nor can she unveil him with her all-seeing sight. His skills are as sharp as they were, a lifetime ago back in the war. But he is there. Like a prickling sting in the back of her neck that does not allow her to forget this fact.

It’s unnerving, and in a very strange way it is also reassuring.

She finds his figure again when they are first ambushed ninety kilometers away from the village hidden in the leaves, on the second day on the road.

She sees them before she feels them, the blessed eyes of her family lineage and her prowess as a sensory ninja allowing her to detect them well before they actually make contact. Her mind is calm, almost eerily serene as she continues to monitor them like a sentry, and she isn’t sure when this becomes quite so simple. Like the very act of drawing breath. Despite her many years off the active roaster, years she spent leading as the head of her clan, her fingers tingle with barely suppressed energy. The tenketsu of her attackers are in her line of sight as she waits for them to enter her range, a procedure so deeply ingrained into her system it feels like she is not entirely in control.

The killing arts still flow through every pore of her body, yet it is a muddled guilt and something akin to sorrow that hum dully around her heart. Like a spill on the rivers of her tainted spirit caused by time and experience, a wound that invites the whispers to come closer. She frowns, and she breathes.

The carriage stops, and he is there.

standing, waiting, his form tall and straight and so nonchalant she almost wonders if he’s aware of anything. But that is a silly thought, because not even she herself saw him arrive.

They come, sharp weapons at the ready, fully intending on inviting massacre, and red, and death and then… they fall.

And it is anti-climactic, because once again her eyes managed to miss it. One moment they had the vehicle surrounded, and then the next they were motionless at his feet.

Often times, when she has to collaborate for missions with the interrogation and torture department, she hears the word monster thrown around by the worst kind of creatures this world has had the disgusting disgrace of spawning, a collection of human waste whose fitting fates should have been to serve as food to the worms beneath. It is spoken with dread, and terror, and repugnance. And It is a testament of the power the name Naruto Uzumaki exerts on those who would threaten the world he protects. Their abhorrence for the Hokage aside, she can see it. The might of those who could flatten countries with but a flick of their fingers. Entities not at all entirely human. Beacons of hope, unreachable to all in this mortal ground, envoys of change and revolution. The ones called monsters.

And perhaps this too, is something only the two of them share together. As she sees him standing there, his figure alone, and stoic, and still before the unconscious murderers, his image casts the perfect contrast to that of the warm inviting individual who leads their people in the leaf.

And so this stranger, this benevolent monster just like one within the center of the sun, becomes unreachable.

Or he should have.

But then he crouches down and lifts one of the attackers with his single arm before placing him gently against the trunk of a tree, and something like curiosity and confusion robs her of her senses.

They are alive. He did not kill them, any of them.

She is not happy, and she is not angry or sad or disappointed. It is inconsequential wether they live or die, they are merely enemy attackers. With their actions they have become criminals against the hidden leaf. She had been ready to kill them to defend those in her care.

And maybe this, this complete control over the lives and deaths of others is something only monsters understand. Because she does not. It is uncomfortable, the visceral knowledge that she had decided to take the life of someone else in a struggle to keep herself and her retainers alive and this man is not tied by those mortal conventions.

She wants to believe it was the arrogance of a giant as it stared down an ant, but his eyes tell a different story.

One of freedom, and peace, and mountains and seas. And she is sure then that his eyes can see farther than hers.

It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.

It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours. This stranger becomes an acquaintance, he is a man who does not kill, a blend of man and monster.

She wants to ask, to clear her mind of her confusion. She wants to know the reason why this man who was once regarded as the ultimate ninja weapon behaves like anything but.

Her answer comes in the covers of the night, a small campfire illuminating his face after a meal shared between the travelers. It is now only him watching over them, and her casted away from Morpheus’ world.

“I…am tired. Of seeing it I mean, blood”

And she can tell, it is the truth. She understands, the feeling of that viscous liquid spreading on her hands as corpses fall impetuously. Wether her mission is to kill or to heal the seeping red never stops, the voices never quiet. The smell of rust lingers in the air, reminding her, poisoning her, she feels her head ache and her vision distort. That is the life of a ninja.

A life she abandoned years ago. Either out of cowardliness or prudence she threw it all away, simply unable to handle the remnants of death dragging through her skin, suffocating her slowly, painfully until the only thing in her mind is the glint of that kunai knife standing inertly in her weapons pouch, and how easily it would be to just make it stop.

This man, is like her. At least…in that respect

They arrive safely to a place enveloped in vastness of white. Snow falls like delicate petals in the chilling wind. And the citadel, an enormous structure of crystallized ice is so beautiful and magnificent it exceeds any expectation she could have had.

For the time being at least, she grits her teeth and the whispers stop. she follows the guards to meet the feudal lord. There is work to do.

Weeks go by in meetings with officials, discussions and platitudes. It is tedious, and difficult yet distracting enough. She frowns, and she breathes.

They are discussing the merits of opening up transport routes that connect with Suna when loud distant giggles reach her ears.

She turns, her gaze searching past the wide crystal windows of the main palace into the city plaza on the streets below as people go to and fro around the square.

The sun rising from the east illuminates a tall ebony building marked with the word bakery above its long thick window frame. The warmth from within is palpable as streams of thin steam escape the edges of the door. The smell of baked goods invigorating the townsfolk with enticing richness and sweet aromas.

Directly in front of it, a burly stall of trinkets stands as a man in a fur coat invites passersby animately.

The giggles repeat like Christmas bells and her gaze falls on two young girls dancing to their hearts content with what appears to be a little marionette.

They shout in glee and hold hands with the wooden toy but her eyes drift away onto something else.

Just beside them, sitting in the snow-covered steps of a closed for maintenance laundry place, the man she has barely paid attention to since arriving in the village hidden in the snow looks on with with a faint display of joy. It is but a slight uplifting of the corner of his lips, a barely-there smile, yet all the same, it is an image she has never seen.

The fingers on his right hand move with deft prowess and its like she can see the threads connecting to the little wooden figure without having to call upon her birthright. The marionette dances overjoyed, spinning and bowing and its like he’s bringing to life a little piece of happiness for those little girls to have.

She feels wetness on her cheeks and her fingers lift to find drops of salty liquid descending from her eyes.

She clears her throat and calls the meeting up before standing and turning away to wipe away the evidence of her lapse in emotional control.

Her attendant Takagi approaches concerned but she smiles at him and requests some time to herself. The conference room is wide and exquisitely decorated, the furniture composed of solid crystal with masterful engravings and details carved into them.

Alone, in that room of winter and starlight it almost feels like she could forget, like the chains on her heart and the scars on her mind could drift away, like falling snow.

Her eyes return to the place outside, the girls are waving good bye as they hold the hands of an older couple as they are walking away, to the warm and safe place that is their home.

The man moves his fingers and then the toy waves one final time before it vanishes into the pages of a book. He remains there, seated in the cold, freezing temperatures. And yet…his eyes of night and stars and space are so warm she feels her control falter once again.

“I didn’t know you could use the puppet master jutsu”

“A few years ago, during my travels in the land of the wind, I met this orphan boy. His name was Akito Miokotsu. He used to sculpt these little toys every day and gave them away for free. He wanted to become a ninja so he could use puppets to make people laugh. His little brother was killed during the war, a kunai pierced his right lung. He was poor, had no money to feed himself, he was thin and yet he was always smiling. i… wanted to help him. Just make sure he was able to accomplish his dream. I took him to Gaara, bought him some food, took him to the hospital. I thought…”

“He gave me this, before he passed. He said…it was his greatest masterpiece” ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

She cries. Once she’s in the privacy of her room. His words repeating as the image of the girls dancing happily overlap with the tale of the little boy. It disconcerts her. The fact that she hurts so much for a boy she has never met, will never meet.

The world they live in is filled with tragedy, she knows that. She knows it so well it sometimes feels like there is nothing else but tragedy. And yet…it hurts. That this world is still so cruel to people who have already suffered so much. She tries to focus on her work, of balancing the budget for construction projects, the logistics of stationing military presence, meeting with third party officials, discussing trade with the merchants, and fulfilling the role she was given by the village.

But the voices are so loud. She can barely hear what transpires around her. Her head feels like it’s being crushed under pressure, her skin burning as if it was set on fire. Breath enters and escapes laboriously out of her lungs and she feels like finally collapsing.

It is midnight when she wakes. Her room dark and empty save for the falling snow across the window. She feels marginally better and then notices her state of dress. Stripped of her previous clothes and in a robe made of silk but safely tucked under the fur covers of her bed.

It is surprisingly quiet and she opts to lay there, staring at her reflection in the ceiling.

The door to her room opens and her gaze drifts to that man bringing a silver tray that he deposits on a table made of crystal just beside her bed.

She turns away, seeking to escape his observant gaze in such a vulnerable state. He does not leave. His form sets beside the looming window, endless white flowing like petals drawing his eyes into the darkness.

“You should eat that before going back to bed. You need the energy”

“I’m not hungry”

“You haven’t eaten anything the past two days. It’s why you collapsed so suddenly. You haven’t been taking care of yourself”

“I’m fine”

“You’re not doing any favors to your aides by behaving in this way”

“stop”

“At this rate, the mission will have to be extended and you’ll take longer getting back to your family”

“I said stop! Just stop it! Please!”

She cannot hold the tears from slipping down her cheeks, everything finally coalescing into this moment of release. The cries and screams of those that fell, those she killed and couldn’t save finally breaking past the walls she had built trying to push them away. The unrelenting work no longer allowed her to tune them out of her head. Her hands sparkled with blood with every blink and any semblance of nourishment produced nausea.

A piece of damp fabric making contact with her neck snaps her out her spell and her eyes connect with a pair of serene obsidian ones. She does not notice his approach, yet the erratic movement of her lungs slow down to normal. The cold feeling of the water wiping away her sweat feels oddly relieving.

“You will be okay”

He says it softly, as if he was taking to himself. But his gaze rests on her. And it is said with such conviction, so sure that what he is saying is the truth, that she has trouble dismissing it as just another empty statement.

“How do you make them go away, the ghosts of your past that drag you to a place of suffering. That drown you with guilt and sorrow until you feel like you are dead yourself”

“You don’t. You face them, and smile, and you ask for forgiveness, and then you move. Step by step. Even if you stumble, even if it hurts, you smile anyway. And you say thank you, for being with me, for saving me. That is all we can really do.”

“How is it, that you can believe so blindly so certainly that I will be okay?”

“You are alive, just like me. Happiness, and peace, they are just past your fingertips. You only need to try and reach them”

He leaves, only after making sure she’s eaten her fill. Somehow it tastes better than what else she has eaten in a long time.

It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.

It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours. This acquaintance becomes a friend. He is a man who does not lie. A little rough around the edges but always willing to lend a helping hand, a little more man than monster.

The mission concludes in the next few days, all the details and negotiations handled successfully, another ally to their efforts in the betterment of the world.

The snow is whiter, somehow less cold and her smiles, they are not quite so forced any longer.

Their return trip is a quiet one, the changing weather from snow to blooming flowers bringing warmth and color all around them.

He lays atop the carriage as he would a bed, no longer concealed from her eyes. It makes her smile, how alike a cat he is.

All too soon they have arrived, and she has to go back handling her clan’s affairs. There is work to do. She turns around and he is there.

His form tall and straight and so nonchalant she has to wonder if he’s aware of anything.

“Will you be departing soon? i want to hear about all the other places you’ve been to. All the sad, and happy things you’ve experienced.”

“Not for a little while, I have time for one more story. There used to be someone I admired with all my heart, someone greater than the stars and more brilliant than the sun. The story of my big brother…”

It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.

It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours. This friend becomes something more. He is a man who learns to laugh, after having struggled for his happiness and peace just like everybody else. A man who loves and that is loved, a ballad of spring and winter.

#SasuHina #Sasuke Uchiha #Hinata Hyuga #sasuke #hinata

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another-sonic-blog · 4 years

Note

a possible prompt for you: "I cannot offer you sanctuary; but if you would ever ask it of me, I would find a way to build it."

Sanctuary

ShadAmy (You didn’t ask for a specific ship, so I thought you want ShadAmy lol)

There was something about her that intrigued him. It was her small acts, her personality and that strange side of her that he couldn’t quite decipher.

They didn’t talk, he doesn’t remember the last time they shared words. It was probably six months when everyone believed that Sonic was dead.

“I’ll start my mission now.”

Shadow had gotten his mission report and as soon he finished it reading, he was ready to leave the Resistance.

“Shadow, wait-”

Shadow felt something soft get a hold of his hand. He would have pushed her away immediately but the look in her face made him doubt. His attention went to their hands and back again to Amy.

“Please … be careful,” Amy said in such a pleading manner that it made Shadow remember about a certain blond girl. “Come back to me … ok?”

They were in silence for a few seconds in which they only looked at each other’s eyes. Emeralds were lost in rubies and vice versa.

Shadow moved his hand away in an abrupt manner and turned his body to walk away.

He reached the door to exit the room but he stopped himself. He didn’t look at her, but he said something to her loud and clear.

“I will come back,” Shadow said. “ … I promise.”

He kept coming back to her. In different ways, on different days, in different presence.

After the war with Eggman was done, he passed by the Resistance once in a while just to make sure Amy was fine. Of course, he made sure she didn’t know he was there. He didn’t know why, but Shadow just didn’t want Amy to know he was there.

Shadow could recall different situations where Amy needed help and he gave it to her.

She couldn’t find a file? Shadow will stay up the whole night to find it and placed it in front of her room.

She felt sad because there weren’t flowers around? He planted a small garden a few meters away from the Resistance.

Was she angry at Sonic for leaving without giving her a previous notice? Shadow would find him and start a fight with him only so he could hit him for Amy.

Even with all of that, that didn’t feel enough.

He didn’t know what it was.

But he was completely invested in her.

“Shadow!”

"Walk away, Shadow"

“Shadow!”

“WALK. AWAY.”

“Shadow, please!”

"Dammit.“

Shadow’s job was done. He had defeated Metal Sonic along Sonic and Knuckles and he didn’t want to stay any longer than he needed to. He wasn’t one to celebrate the victories but when it came to Amy …

"What do you want?” Shadow turned around facing the pink one. They were away from the crowd which was good for him.

“Where are you going?” Amy asked in her cheerful self. Shadow looks to the side, he just couldn’t look at her face. He was just acted differently whenever he was with her.

“I don’t know, I’ll find out in the way.”

“Then follow me!”

Amy once again did the thing. She held his hand but he didn’t mind. He will never admit it, but he enjoyed the gesture.

They were in Angel Island but after going down and reaching the ground, Amy still took him to a place he didn’t know. They walked through the woods and after a few minutes they reached a place where the sun touched the ground.

Shadow noticed a small wooden cabin, the sunlight illuminated it. Flowers surrounded the cabin and a little farther from it, pine trees surrounded the area.

“Do you like it?” Amy asked as she looks to Shadow.

“Does it matter?” Shadow responded

“Of course it does! It’s your birthday gift!”

“What?”

“I know that you usually don’t have a place to stay, so I thought that building you a small place to stay would be a good birthday present,” Amy said. “Everyone in the Resistance helped-”

Amy stopped talking as he realized that Shadow’s expression had changed.

Shadow didn’t know what it was. Maybe her nice gesture or the fact that they were still holding hands. However, Shadow felt different. Like something inside of him had exploded like he had sparkles inside his stomach as if his heart was beating faster than usual.

But it was more than that … it was all of those feelings and more.

“Shadow, are you … alright?” Amy asked. Seeing that he wasn’t responding, she began to panic. “You … You don’t like it? I am sorry, I knew I should have gotten you a bike. It’s just … I thought this was better I wanted you to have a nice place to call home but … I am sorry, I will give you a bike! Yes, that would be better right? You really like them and-”

“Today is not my birthday,” Shadow said. He didn’t know how to respond to her and he told her the truth.

“Of course it is!” Amy said. “Today was the day you put your past behind you. Today was the day you saved the Earth from the Black Arms … Today is the birthday of Shadow the Hedgehog!”

He just couldn’t stay away from her. Before he was intrigued, but now he was completely fascinated.

There was more to Amy than just being Sonic’s fangirl. She was smart, strong, independent and pretty although he will never say that out loud.

They were peaceful times although Shadow senses weren’t still 100 percent sure. His instincts were telling him that there was something wrong. Nonetheless, he sometimes liked to slow down a bit. To enjoy the times Amy would visit him in his new home.

He trusted her and it got to the point in which he gave her a key to his home.

Sometimes the scene was too perfect.

Shadow would get home after a mission and when he opened the door a sweet smell met his nostrils. It was the delicious smell of Amy’s cooking and her sweet scent.

She never liked her own voice but to him, her ‘Welcome Home’ was a delight.

She didn’t do it often due to her tight schedule but whenever she did, he greatly appreciated it.

He expected this day to be one of the days Amy visits him.

The peaceful days in which he doubted himself, Shadow usually didn’t need anyone. But having Amy there was a friendly reminder that he made the right decision.

Sonic convinced Shadow of letting Eggman staying alive and Shadow decided of letting Eggman live a peaceful life in Windmill Village.

Because if Shadow could have a peaceful life just like right now, then Eggman could too.

He arrived home, excited to share today with the pink one … but she wasn’t there.

Days passed and still, no sight of Amy. He tried hard not to care and he tried to convince himself that he didn’t need her. That they weren’t that close.

For Chao’s sake, they weren’t even friends.

Not they weren’t, so he shouldn’t care. No, he shouldn’t.

So, how did he find himself here?

He walked through the halls of the Resistance HQ as the other agents passed by him. Whispering between each other, thinking he wasn’t able to hear them.

“What is Shadow the Hedgehog doing here?”

“Maybe he wants to meet with Captain? Something wrong must be going on?”

“Well, something must be really wrong if Shadow the Hedgehog is looking for help from the Resistance.”

Shadow felt relief by those comments. Shadow preferred for the agents to think that he was here for a mission than to think that he was there … just to see the Captain.

He finally reached the Main Room. Amy was up and down the room, looking for files, typing in her computer and communicator through her earpiece. Shadow didn’t think he was going to get this far. What was he supposed to do now? Stop her from doing her work and ask why wasn’t she visited him?

“No, Shadow, you are not even friends! Not even work buddies … She cooked for you sometimes just to be nice, you can’t expect her to do that every day-”

“Shadow?”

Shadow’s thoughts were interrupted as he recognized her voice.

“What are you doing here?”

“SHIT-”

“I am here to get information regarding … Eggman.”

Amy looked at him confused. It has been a while since they last saw each other and talked about the matter. It surprised Amy that Shadow even went to the length of coming to the Resistance for such reason.

“Sorry Shadow, I can’t offer you that information right now. You can talk to Lanolin about whatever information you need,” Amy said. “I am going to head out to a mission soon, so I won’t be able to attend you.”

“You are going to a mission?” Shadow facepalmed himself mentally.

“Of course she is going a mission, genius. She just said it.”

It was a surprise to Shadow that Amy was doing a mission, especially since she was so busy at the moment managing the Resistance.

“Yes, I am. I will be going with Sonic but we will be back soon.” Amy said. “We are going to an abandoned mine-”

Shadow didn’t hear anything else. There was a certain feeling rising within him. He wasn’t sure what it was but it wasn’t nice.

“I don’t need that information,” Shadow said. “I am taking my leave.”

Shadow began to walk away. This was a waste of time, this is what he gets for caring for others. He gets … disappointment.

“Shadow!” Amy once again caught his attention, Shadow stopped walking. “I am sorry … I haven’t been able … visit you.”

How could Shadow ever stay away from her when she has only shown him kindness? When she has shown him her vulnerability and strength?

How could Shadow ever stay away from her when Amy has always been … there.

“It’s my fault Shadow … I should have known better. Sonic is infected and I couldn’t do anything.”

Amy had gone to Shadow’s cabin to inform him of the current situation. The Zombot virus, something that could threaten Mobius. He didn’t know if he should be angry at Sonic for letting Eggman on the go or at himself for letting Sonic convince him so easily.

Shadow didn’t know how to react to that. He knew that she was looking at some type of comfort in him but … how?

They were seated at his sofa, Shadow looked around his room and to his lamp. He took a deep breath and with all the courage he said,

“It’s not your fault,” Shadow gave Amy three pats on her back. Exactly three, no more and no less. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

Amy looked at Shadow who’s head was pointing at the ground. Amy knew that he was trying really hard to comfort her and although he only gave her three pats on her back, that was all she needed.

“Thank you … I needed that,” Amy said. “Shadow … thank you, for everything.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Shadow replied.

“That’s what you think … but I appreciate every single thing you do.”

Amy smiled at Shadow. She knew everything. Amy was aware of Shadow staying up late at night to find a file she needed. Of Shadow’s secret flower garden that he made for her because she was sad there weren’t any flowers at the Resistance.

Amy knew that Shadow will fight Sonic only because he made her angry.

She will never tell Shadow that she knows. Amy didn’t want to embarrassed Shadow and most importantly she didn’t want him to stop.

“You are strange,” Shadow said seeing that no one was saying a word. “But I guess that’s good.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment.” Amy looked to the side, pretending to be hurt. She clearly wasn’t, she was only acting this way to tease Shadow and she thought she had made it obvious.

On the other side, Shadow was panicking. He didn’t mean to be mean to her nor hurt her feelings. He had to fix things quickly.

“What I am trying to say is … that I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” Shadow said. “But meeting you … I don’t think that was a mistake.”

When those words left his mouth, Amy turned to look at him. She was extremely touched by this. Shadow, was really trying to open up to her, to explain his feelings. Amy was just really touched and happy at the moment.

“Shadow …” Amy looked at him. She was speechless, a few tears wanted to escape her eyes and Shadow noticed this.

“Shit. She’s crying! What did I say wrong?”

“What I am trying to say is that I cannot offer you sanctuary,” Shadow said. He instinctively grabbed her hands in a pleading manner. “But if you would ever ask it of me, I would find a way to build it.”

He was like a lost child looking for forgiveness. Amy had never seen Shadow display such vulnerability. At first, Amy didn’t know what was what intrigued her so much about Shadow. Maybe his hidden kindness or his strong sense of justice that she admired. Either or … Amy was happy that her nonexistence bond with Shadow had grown into a friendship.

“Shadow, I will never ask you to build me a sanctuary …” Amy softly caressed Shadow’s hands. “Because I already have one … you are my sanctuary.”

“Alright, so Team Dark needs to go help out Sonic at Sunset City? Rouge asked. Omega, Shadow and her were at the Resistance’s Main Room along with Amy.

"Yes, there are civilians there who need to be evacuated,” Amy said. “I am counting on you three, you are the best team that we have.”

“Rouge and Omega will go first,” Shadow commented. “I will arrive as soon as I can with my truck and help the civilians evacuate.”

“Very good! Also, yes you three are the best team that we have but you can be reckless as well.” Amy said. “Your mission is to only help the evacuation, do not interact with the Zombots.”

“We have everything under control,” Omega said, trying to calm down Amy.

“I know but still … ” Amy said. “Just be careful please.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Rouge and Omega were the first to leave the room, leaving Shadow and Amy alone. They shared a knowing look. It was starting to become more common between them. To know what the other was thinking without speaking a word.

Shadow turned to his body and began to walk away.

“Shadow, wait-”

Shadow knew this was coming. It was an unspoken ritual between them. He turned to look at her, she smiled.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Amy said. “And come back to me … ok?”

Shadow smirked at her. A few seconds passed were they only stared at each other’s eyes. Their strong friendship was unknown to others but that didn’t matter to them. They were each other’s secret sanctuary and they didn’t want it any other way.

“I will come back to you …” Shadow said. “I promise.”

A/n: First of all, I want to say that I really enjoy your art! It’s amazing. Second, thank you so much for the nice prompt! I hope this is somewhat what you wanted.

Thank you for reading!

I will keep working on the next prompts!

#Shadamy #shadow the hedgehog #shadow and amy #shadowxamy #shadow #Amy Rose #amyrose #amy #sonic fanfiction #sonic fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #romance

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novamm66 · 4 years

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From Earth to Sky - Chapter 2

Arriving in Haven & Working to Close the Breach

The sun had just dropped below the horizon when they rode into the village of Haven. Cullen and his soldiers dismounted and immediately began setting up their tents outside the village walls. As Cassandra dismounted, the gates opened, and Sister Nightingale descended the steps to greet them.

“Welcome back, Cassandra,” Leliana said, “I hope your trip was successful.”

The two women clasped arms in greeting before Cassandra replied. “I couldn’t find Hawke, but I did find us a Commander, and hopefully, Divine Justinia can get answers where I failed.” Cassandra glared over her shoulder at Varric, who was watching the camp set up with interest. “Also, we were delayed by an ambush by soldiers from Tevinter,” she continued.

“On Ferelden roads? That’s unexpected.” Leliana’s eyes narrowed.

“I agree. The timing is too close to the Conclave not to be suspicious.” Cassandra shook her head. “How did the first day go?”

Leliana sighed. “Everyone is posturing like peacocks, trying not to show too much of their hand. You would have hated it.”

Cassandra snorted. “I guess I should be grateful then.” Her fingers traced the barely healed scar on her face.

Leliana laughed then gestured towards the path leading to the temple. “The Divine is waiting to speak with you and the Commander. Shall we…”

Cassandra gripped Leliana’s arm as every hair on her body stood on end. She recognized the feeling of magic being drawn together, but she had never felt anything on this scale before.

“What...?” Cassandra’s question was interrupted when the magic was released. A column of energy arched from earth to sky, followed by a cloud of fire. Then the shockwave hit. Glass shattered, horses and people screamed, and everyone was knocked to the ground. The sound that followed, of the very mountains moving, drowned out all the rest.

Cassandra clawed her way to her knees, a ringing silence in her head. Her eyes were blurry, unable to focus. When they cleared, she was barely able to process the world around her. As she climbed to her feet, her hearing returned. People were shouting, calling for help, but all Cassandra could see was the vortex of fade magic that had swallowed the sky.

The temple. The Divine.

Without another thought, she broke into a dead run up the valley.

—

Varric wasn’t even pretending to clean Bianca anymore. His crossbow sat armed and ready on his knee as he watched the restless crowd outside the Chantry. All they needed was a spark, and an angry mob would be born.

Things had gotten worse in the days since the Breach opened. Everyone who could stand and hold a weapon fought the tide of demons that kept appearing from the fade rifts. But the number of able-bodied fighters was dwindling, while there was no end of demons.

Fear permeated everything.

Varric’s presence was largely ignored. He spent his time fighting alongside whoever was going up the valley or helping with whatever he could in the village. The Seeker, Curly, and Nightingale were simply trying to keep peace in the town and to stem the tide of demons that threatened to wipe them out. If something didn’t change soon, they would fail.

The Chantry door opened, and Cassandra stepped out into the sun. Varric watched the crowd break up as her eyes swept the square. No one wanted to risk the wrath of the Seeker. Varric relaxed his hold on his crossbow when she crossed to the fire, where he sat and collapsed next to him. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in them with a groan.

Varric stood and filled his empty bowl from the pot over the fire, cleaned his spoon off in the snow and then sat back down next to her. “Here. You should eat something.” He said, holding the bowl out to her.

Cassandra raised her head and stared at the bowl a moment, her eyes hazy, before finally accepting it. Varric sat, watching the people milling about in the square as she ate. Neither spoke as she finished and handed the bowl and spoon back to Varric, who cleaned and stowed them away.

“Why are you still here?” Cassandra asked. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared into the fire, and while the question was blunt, her voice was soft, almost sad.

“Are you sick of me already?” Varric chuckled, retaking his seat.

“I am sorry, that wasn’t…” She sighed, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “I simply mean that you are free to go if you wish.” her eyes drifted up to the hole in the sky. “It would be wiser to be as far from here as possible.”

Varric chuckled, “Wiser, yes, but I’ve never been known for my wisdom. And anyway, if I left now, someone else would get to tell this story, and I couldn’t live with that.”

His reply startled a laugh out of her, and Cassandra’s voice was light. “Yes, that would be tragic.”

Varric’s heart gave a sideways thump. He would have to be dead not to admire the strength and beauty of the woman next to him, and sarcasm was something he always found attractive. Before he could pursue that line of thought, the Chantry doors opened with a bang, attracting Cassandra’s attention. A messenger paused on the steps until his eyes found the Seeker, and he hurried across to where they sat.

The messenger saluted, then spoke. “Seeker Pentaghast, the prisoner is awake. Sister Nightingale is waiting for your return before speaking to her.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra rose quickly to her feet. “Master Tethras, would you inform Solas and accompany him to the first rift? I will bring the prisoner to meet you.”

The moment Varric nodded his response, Cassandra was turning away, but she paused and turned back. “Andraste, protect you, Varric.” She said. There was something in her eyes that Varric could not pin down, and it disappeared before he could get a handle on it.

Then she was gone.

—

Varric’s reputation as a storyteller made him immensely popular in the village of Redcliffe. The mages were preparing to move to Skyhold, but until then, Redcliffe was busting at the seams. Their party’s’ fireside was always filled with people hoping to hear news and stories from Varric himself, and they were rarely disappointed.

But tonight was different. Varric had disappeared after Kiaya had woken up. Kiaya was finally past the worst of the poison from the knife wound she had sustained. Once awake, she told them more details of the future she and Dorian had been thrown into against their will.

Cassandra had noticed that when they spoke of the spread of red lyrium, Varric had gotten quiet. Every time they came across the stuff, Varric would withdraw, and it was always a while before he would join in the fireside banter again. But tonight, he had simply disappeared. Now it was getting dark, and Cassandra was growing concerned.

Her feet carried her towards higher ground and eventually up towards the abandoned windmill that overlooked the village. As she got closer, she started to hear the thump and crack of someone chopping wood. Rounding the last bend, she saw exactly that.

Varric was wielding an axe expertly as he split logs. His shirt and coat were tossed over a stump, the sheen of sweat on Varric’s skin gleaming in the light. It was the expression on his face that gave Cassandra pause. Varric was furious, a deep scowl etched into his features. He swung the axe with more force than was necessary, burying it deep into the block with each stroke.

She didn’t interrupt him. Instead, she sat down. The tension in Varric’s back eased a little, but he didn’t say anything and continued his work as the light faded. When it was fully dark, Varric buried the axe head into the block with a loud curse. “I should have dropped that shit down a deep hole when we found it. For that matter, I should have spit in Bartrand’s eye when he told me the plan for the expedition. He might still be alive if I had.” Varric angrily snatched up his shirt and dried off while pacing across the clearing.

“All the pain and suffering that that shit caused in Kirkwall, I could have prevented it. It was just too easy to let things lie after Meredith got her hands on it. I thought that it ended with her. I was a fucking fool.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “However long it may take, I’m going to fix the damage I have done.”

Cassandra had never been good at offering comfort. She couldn’t disagree with anything he said, but her heart ached at the defeat in his voice. Cassandra missed the joy of life that he always seemed to have, and for the first time, Cass wondered what it cost him. Right now, she simply wanted to make him smile again.

Varric sighed and spoke, the rare uncertainty in his voice wringing at her heart. “You never did tell me why you dragged me to Haven, Seeker. I mean, what could I have told the Divine that you couldn't say yourself?”

“I thought she needed to see your chest hair for herself.”

Varric’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at her. Cassandra was starting to regret opening her mouth until his face split into a wide grin. He burst into laughter until tears formed in his eyes, and he was gasping for breath. “Maker. Think she would have been impressed?”

Cassandra answered his grin with one of her own, although it felt rusty. “Certainly. I also knew she would ask you to help us.”

“Me? Help the Inquisition?” Varric said, wiping his eyes.

“A crazy thought, I know, yet here you are. The Inquisition has done great things, and you have been a large part of them. Don’t forget that.”

Varric’s grin melted into something softer, warmer, and Cassandra got lost in the hazel of his eyes. Whatever was happening, Cassandra wasn’t ready, so she looked away, swallowing, her throat suddenly very dry.

“It is getting late. We should return to camp.” She said, her voice only shaking a little.

Varric’s usual expression had returned by the time she looked back at him, but something had changed, and Cassandra needed time to think.

“You’re right, Seeker. I am suddenly starving,” Varric said as he put on his jacket and picked up Bianca.

“You may regret saying that. Dorian is cooking, and he raided the Alexius’s foodstuffs. I expect it to be interesting.” Cassandra said as she stood and stretched.

“Oh, I hope it’s spicy.” Varric laughed. “It’s been ages since I’ve burned out my stomach lining.”

Chapter 1

Thanks!

#fanfic #Varric x cassandra #Cassandra Pentaghast #Varric Tethras #dragon age inquisition #nova writes

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stahlop · 4 years

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Once Upon a Time 3x02 “Lost Girl” Review

Reviews 1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04 1x05 1x06 1x07 1x08 1x09 1x10 1x111x12 1x13 1x14 1x15 1x16 1x17 1x18 1x19 1x20 1x21 1x22 2x01 2x02 2x032x04 2x05 2x06 2x07 2x08 2x09 2x10 2x11 2x12 2x13 2x14 2x152x16 2x17 2x18 2x19 2x20 2x21 2x22 3x01

This episode is all about knowing who you are. We have Emma who still feels like an orphan, despite having found her parents, Snow White who almost gives up her kingdom because she’s lost her way, and Rumple who feels like he’s still that coward from years ago. They all have to go through something to move past that hurt and shame inside of them and become a Savior, a Queen, and a hero. Unfortunately, the whole storyline is really slow.

Summary: Pan gives Emma a map to find Henry, but warns her that only she can unlock the map when she admits who she really is. In the past, Snow White is having doubts about taking back the kingdom, until Charming takes her to an enchanted weapon that helps her injure the Evil Queen.

Opening: Sword in the Stone

Character Observations:

Gold: He immediately cuts off his shadow and gives it his dagger to hide so that even he can’t find it. I guess if you’re magical you can have your shadow taken from you without risk of death? Or maybe it’s different for people from the Enchanted Forest then from Earth? Not sure. Either way, Gold no longer has his shadow or his dagger. Gold is looking at the doll when he hears rustling. A hooded figure steals the doll and it turns out to be, Belle? Gold is confused about how Belle is there, and she doesn’t really answer his questions about it, just asks her own about his wardrobe. She thought it was his past, he tells her it’s now his future so he can save Henry. She tells him that there’s still hope and that he would never go completely dark again. He almost kisses her before he realizes that something is amiss. At first he asks her questions about Storybrooke, but then thinks that she’s a trick of Pan’s. She tells him he conjured her. Gold is understandably confused about that, because he seems to think he has everything under control, so Belle asks him why he conjured her. Belle brings him to a ledge overlooking the ocean. Is this the same place Henry and Pan flew from? It looks like it, but they may also only have one cliff and have to dress it up differently each time. They argue about why he’s brought Belle to the island. He claims he doesn’t know why he’d imagine her there and she insists he does (is he literally arguing with himself right now if Belle is a figment of his imagination?). He finally admits he’s a coward just like his father. He finally admits that Pan wanted him to leave Henry and Gold would get to live. Belle says he’s afraid he’ll make the selfish choice because he knows Henry will lead to his death. Belle reminds him how he spent most of his life looking for Bae after he abandoned him. He wouldn’t do the same to Henry. He needs to let go of the past. We finally find out that the doll is the last thing Gold’s father gave him before he left. So that’s why he’s so sentimental about it. Belle tells him to let go of the past so he doesn’t make the same mistakes. She leaves and Gold drops the doll over the cliff’s edge. Except the damn thing keeps coming back like a bad penny. It falls from the sky back at Gold’s feet. He sets it on fire and crushes it beneath his foot, but there it is, completely unharmed, just behind the next bush. Gold decides it’s probably best to keep it on him after that. But he looks really worried, which is not a look we normally see on him.

Emma: While Gold is busy trying to move past his past, Emma is being forced to relive hers in order to save Henry. Hook is leading them to a ridge to be able to see the whole island. Emma defends him when Regina is being a bitch again. Emma thanks Mary Margaret for some water and Mary Margaret asks her to call her mom instead. Emma is not comfortable with that. Only in life and death situations. Do you not know your daughter yet, Mary Margaret? They reach the ridge and find the Dark Jungle has grown more than when Hook was last there. Emma worries that it will be too late when they find Henry. Mary Margaret assures her that it’s never too late. Um, if Henry is dead then it will be too late. Emma is woken by the sound of the Lost Boys crying. She ventures away from their camp (though she does try to wake the others, but they’re all sound asleep). Emma finally meets Pan and she immediately puts a sword to his throat (good job, Emma). He tells Emma he’s there to help her find Henry. He’ll give her a map that only she can open if she stops denying who she really is. Regina wants to use magic to unlock the map, but Emma is determined to figure it out herself. She also doesn’t want to risk ruining the map. Emma tries naming things about herself to unlock the map with no success. Mary Margaret and David are trying to help her, but they are so overeager that Emma is clearly uncomfortable with them there. And while Mary Margaret tells her not to hold anything back, it’s very obvious that she doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Everyone thinks Emma saying she’s the Savior will unlock the map, but it doesn’t. Regina decides to use a locator spell on the map to find Pan’s camp. Emma does not look convinced this is the right decision. Way to be a leader, Emma. And then Regina tells Emma to be a leader and lead them into the Dark Jungle after the map after Emma said she didn’t want to use magic to find Henry. WTF! Regina snarks at Emma if she’s ready to thank her yet. Emma says she will, but then the map stops. The gang goes on ahead convinced that Pan is there, but Emma looks very uncertain about everything. They do come across a camp, but no one is there. Emma sees someone who she thinks is Henry, but it’s actually Pan dressed in Henry’s clothes. She wants to know where Henry is, but Pan tells her she broke the rules, she doesn’t care, she wants Henry. Pan tells her cheaters never win, so the Lost Boys attack. Emma has a little freak out when she gets the upper hand on one of the Lost Boys. Pan reminds Emma that the map will only reveal itself when she stops denying who she really is. Mary Margaret and David try to lift Emma’s spirits, again, but she rebuffs them, again. Mary Margaret goes to talk to her privately, but Emma doesn’t want to talk to her. She is too afraid of hurting Mary Margaret’s feelings about how she felt when she was fighting the Lost Boy. Emma claims that she stopped fighting him because he was just a boy, but Mary Margaret keeps pushing her. Eventually, Emma says the boy reminded him of her when she was in the foster care system; a lost girl who desperately wanted a family and couldn’t understand what she’d done to make her parents give her up. On Neverland, she feels like an orphan. Bravo to Jennifer Morrison and Ginnifer Goodwin on this scene. I know it made me cry. The map finally unlocks. Emma apologizes to Mary Margaret, but Mary Margaret knows it’s the truth and that its her job to change the way Emma feels. They tell the rest of the group that the map is unlocked and they make preparations to leave. Hook flirts with Emma, but in a sincere way, and she seems slightly uncomfortable about this new dynamic. Pan comes by while Emma is alone and picking berries and she tries her best to ignore his taunts. But then he says she never forgave her parents for abandoning her and Henry hasn’t forgiven her either. Which, I call Bull. Shit. Henry has told Emma numerous times he knows why she had to give him up. And he didn’t have a hellish childhood like Emma did. Pan says by the time she gets to him, Henry will never want to leave the island. Emma’s not buying what Pan’s selling and walks off, but not before Pan gets out one more quip about her leaving the island an orphan.

Snow/Mary Margaret: Snow has just been woken by Charming and proposed to and wants to take back the kingdom. She has now gone to a village in her kingdom and makes a passionate speech about fighting the Evil Queen, but the villagers are too scared to fight with her. Then the Evil Queen comes to threaten them some more. Snow and Charming both grab their swords, but the Evil Queen ties Charming up while she offers Snow a deal. She wants Snow to give up her claim to the throne and exile herself. She wants Snow to live a life where she sees everything that should have been hers taken over by the Evil Queen. She wants Snow to get down on her knees and swear on her father’s grave that the kingdom belongs to the Evil Queen. Snow wonders what happens if she doesn’t, so the Evil Queen grabs the nearest villager (a young girl) and starts magically choking her. Snow runs after the Evil Queen with her sword, but the Evil Queen poufs away leaving Snow sprawled on the ground. The Evil Queen gives Snow a deadline and says she’ll start killing a loyal subject a day if Snow doesn’t take the deal. So this is different from the way things currently are, how? The Evil Queen tells her she may have been a princess but she’ll never be a queen. Snow is pretty much done at this point. Her confidence is shot and she wants to take the queen’s deal. Charming says the Evil Queen will still menace the people but now they’ll have no one to protect them. Snow doesn’t think she did such a great job protecting them today. Grumpy says as her friends, the dwarfs will do whatever she decides. David reminds her that she’s Snow White, but she’s not sure who that is anymore. This is an interesting dichotomy here, because Charming only knows her as the Bandit Princess who tried to rob from him. He doesn’t know the innocent Snow who had everything her heart desired from her father and who grew up with Regina as a stepmother. So when he calls her Snow White he’s referring to the strong woman he met in the woods, whereas Snow doesn’t know who she is anymore, bandit or princess or both. Snow makes up her mind to take the exile deal since they’ll all be alive and can live together. Snow is working off some anger by doing target practice, but she hasn’t hit a target yet. Charming tells her he made a deal with Rumplestiltskin to find a weapon that can help her defeat the Evil Queen. She wants to know how the weapon can help her defeat the Evil Queen. He tells her by showing the Evil Queen who Snow really is. He then helps her with her stance and she shoots the arrow into the bullseye. They get to the weapon and it’s Excalibur, the sword in the stone. Charming can’t remove it from the stone and offers for Snow to try, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to if he couldn’t get it out. Charming tells her the legend states only the true ruler can get the sword out. Snow is able to get it out, and she is shocked! Snow is chock full of confidence when she sees the Evil Queen. Snow is not taking the deal. This time the Evil Queen starts choking Grumpy. Charming reminds her that she can defeat the Evil Queen because she pulled the sword from the stone. This time when Snow goes after the Evil Queen and she poufs away, Snow is smart enough to swing behind her and she ends up cutting the Evil Queen’s cheek. Snow is in awe of what she’s done, the Evil Queen is now shocked. Snow tells her this is her kingdom and she will fight for it. The village rejoices. Snow calls upon Rumplestiltskin to pay the price for Charming, but he tells her he didn’t help her prince. She doesn’t believe him since she’s holding Excalibur, but Rumplestiltskin tells her it’s a fake and the real Excalibur is in Camelot. And I’m not sure what’s up with Ginnifer Goodwin’s acting in this scene, because she’s really hamming it up. She reminds me of how Bailey Madison plays young Snow. Which is great for a child, but not for a grown woman. Snow is adamant that the sword must be Excalibur because she was able to strike the Evil Queen, but Rumplestiltskin’s not having it and he takes the necklace from her neck for wasting his time. Snow comes back to Charming and the dwarfs, pissed as hell. She wants to know why he planted a false Excalibur. He just wanted her to realize that she has the strength inside her. They kiss, all is well.

Mary Margaret is now trying to get Emma to realize who she is, although she won’t like it in the end. We start with her trying to get Emma to call her mom, like she did in Storybrooke. Emma’s not so comfortable with that when they’re not about to die. Mary Margaret says she gets it, but the second Emma walks past her, her face falls in disappointment. When they realize they can’t see Pan’s camp from the ridge, Emma worries that they’re going to be too late to save Henry, but Mary Margaret, in her hopeful manner, tells Emma that it’s never too late. After Emma gets the map Mary Margaret reminds Emma that Pan is playing a game, so that means they can win. Emma is trying to unlock the map and Mary Margaret and David are acting like cheerleaders. It’s actually really annoying. Like they’re literally sitting across from her cheering her on and giving words of encouragement, but they’re also trying to get her to admit to being the Savior, which is not the answer Pan is looking for because the map is still blank. Regina uses her magic to find Pan’s camp and when they get there, no one is there and Mary Margaret thinks maybe Regina’s magic didn’t work. Regina gets pissed that Mary Margaret is blaming her for something going wrong, again. I think Mary Margaret has every right to blame Regina, it’s not like her magic is usually used for good. And usually when she uses it, things tend to go wrong. Anyway, Pan has the Lost Boys attack and David gets his jacket ripped by an arrow possibly laced with Dreamshade while saving Mary Margaret. She notices that Emma is kind of freaking out over one of the Lost Boys after the fight ends. Once again, Mary Margaret starts spouting off platitudes and Emma is just not having it. She follows Emma when she goes off by herself and tells her they need to keep fighting. Emma thinks they’ve already lost because saying she’s the Savior hasn’t revealed anything. Mary Margaret realizes that Emma isn’t who she thinks she is, or at least tries to hide who she used to be, and asks why she freaked out with the Lost Boy. Emma is really trying not to delve into the past to upset Mary Margaret, but she keeps pushing her. Eventually, Emma blurts out about feeling like an orphan and wanting parents and crying herself to sleep at night and all the things she knows Mary Margaret doesn’t need to know, or Emma didn’t want her to know. And Mary Margaret is crying and feeling guilty the whole time. Luckily, this revelation opens the map. Emma doesn’t understand why, but Mary Margaret does. Emma finally admitted she still feels like an orphan, despite having found her parents is what she’s denied about herself. Emma tells Mary Margaret she’s sorry for feeling that way, but Mary Margaret accepts that it’s the truth, and it’s her job to change the way she feels by being her mother.

Charming/David: Charming is all about empowering his love to do what he thinks is best for her. She’s scared (obviously) of the Evil Queen, especially since no one wants to help her fight, so he has to convince her that she’s still the feisty bandit he met in the forest that didn’t take any guff from anyone. But she doesn’t know who she is anymore. Snow decides to take exile. Charming isn’t happy about that. Grumpy accuses him of only wanting to be with Snow for her kingdom, despite that he woke her with True Love’s Kiss. Charming is offended. They tell him that if he wants to change Snow’s mind they need to do it without their help. Charming goes to Rumplestiltskin for help. Rumple can’t help him. Charming knows he must have something, just name his price. Charming goes to Snow who says she won’t change her mind about exile, but Charming tells her about a magic weapon that can help her defeat the Evil Queen by showing her who Snow really is. Snow eventually agrees. They ride to the weapon, which happens to be Excalibur. Charming can’t get the sword out because he’s not the true ruler of the land. But Snow gets it out easily, and Charming reiterates it’s because she is the true ruler of the land. The Evil Queen comes to exile Snow, but when she refuses she starts to choke Grumpy. Snow doesn’t know what to do, but Charming tells her she can do this, and helps give her some of her confidence back. Snow manages to nick the Evil Queen and she tells her she will fight for her kingdom. Charming couldn’t look anymore prouder or turned on by that. They all rejoice when the Evil Queen poufs off. Charming is staring into the lake looking like a proper prince when the dwarfs apologize to him for calling him a gold digger. They drink, but then Snow comes back from meeting with Rumple and is pissed because she found out Charming lied to her about Excalibur. Charming looks like a husband who’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing when Snow confronts him and it’s hilarious. He tells her he needed her to believe in something he already knew. Snow’s freaking out about having stood up to the Evil Queen, but Charming tells her she did that all on her own. The lie about Excalibur just gave her a little push. She kisses him and they’re all good now.

David, on the other hand, is being an ass and a liar, when he’s not being Emma’s cheerleader that is. If you are on a strange island that you’ve never been on with someone who has been on that island and lived there, shouldn’t you listen to them and not fight them on every single little thing? Because that’s how David is acting toward Hook, and it’s really annoying. I’m really confused as to why David is leading the group when he has no idea where he’s going. Then, Hook pulls his arm back as he’s about to machete his way through some Dreamshade, and David barely listens to the reasons why he shouldn’t hack through the thorns. Hook gives his suggestion about which way to go, and David decides to go a different route, and everyone follows him! I get that Hook is the ‘bad guy’, but do they all really not trust him enough that they’ll follow David who has no clue what he’s doing? They eventually make it to the ridge but they can’t see anything so they bed down for the night. After Emma receives the map from Pan, Regina wants to use magic to unlock it, but everyone is against that, including David who agrees with Hook about not breaking Pan’s rules. Wow! David is actually agreeing with Hook! Who’d have thunk it? Emma is trying to figure out who she is to unlock the map and Mary Margaret and David are cheering her on. Okay, they’re lending moral support by building her up positively, but they’re just really annoying when they do it. David thinks using magic on the map is a bad idea and Hook agrees with him. David doesn’t like agreeing with Hook. Regina uses magic to find Pan, David once again takes the lead. But Pan isn’t happy they broke the rules so the Lost Boys attack, and David ends up getting sliced by a Dreamshade laced arrow. Except he tells Mary Margaret it just sliced his jacket and that’s it. Apparently, keeping the truth from his wife to ‘protect her’ is something he hasn’t stopped doing. David and Mary Margaret try to talk to Emma, but she’s not up for their cheeriness. David attempts to go talk to her again, but Mary Margaret stops him to talk to her instead. Later on, after Emma unlocks the map and they camp down for the night, David goes off on his own to reveal that he did indeed get sliced by the arrow, and we can see that his veins around the cut (which has also stopped bleeding) have started to turn black due to the Dreamshade. Looks like David is in real trouble.

The Evil Queen/Regina: The Magic Mirror informs The Evil Queen that Charming has awoken Snow with True Love’s Kiss. She doesn’t seem that angry, just upset that her plan didn’t last that long. The Evil Queen interrupts Snow’s speech to the villagers about taking back the kingdom, noting that they don’t seem too enthused to help her. She offers Snow a deal: declare her queen and put herself, Charming, and the dwarfs into exile. She tells Snow that killing her cursing her everlasting sleep hasn’t worked, and the better punishment would be to make her live in exile knowing that the queen has taken everything that was supposed to be Snow’s. That’s actually growth for the Evil Queen at this point. She’s looking at the bigger picture instead of right in the moment. Too bad it doesn’t stick. If Snow doesn’t take her deal, someone will pay the price. And to prove her point, she starts choking a young girl with her magic. Snow tries to go after her with her sword, but the Evil Queen just poufs away and tells her she has until sunset the next day to make up her mind or she’ll start killing a peasant a day. She also tells Snow to stop denying who she is; she may have been a princess, but Snow will never be queen. The next day the Evil Queen goes to Snow to ask her what her decision will be. Snow doesn’t take exile so The Evil Queen starts magically choking Grumpy. Snow once again goes after her with her sword, but the Evil Queen poufs behind her, and Snow manages to scratch her cheek with her sword. The Evil Queen is stunned. She wasn’t expecting Snow to be able to hurt her. Apparently, this makes her change her mind about killing a villager a day, because now she’s talking about an all out war. Hey, Evil Queen. You are right up in Snow’s face right now. Grab her heart and crush it. No one could stop you at this point. Or send a fireball to kill the entire village or even Charming. I don’t understand why she has all this power and she’s really just all talk. Anyway, she poufs away probably to go lick her wounds.

Regina is all about not listening and whining this episode. Seriously, she’s just so annoying. First she complains about traipsing through the forest when she could have just magicked them all up to the ridge they’re headed to. But Hook points out that she doesn’t know where it is because of the thickness of the jungle. Then she follows David instead of Hook, who actually knows the island. She even throws Hook a look that basically says David will never trust him, and it’s weird. When they get to the ridge and see the Dark Jungle has grown more since Hook was last there and they can’t see the camp, Hook suggests bedding down for the night and Regina is outraged that Hook would suggest sleeping when her son is in danger and possibly suffering. Notice that Regina always refers to Henry as her son and acts like no one is serious about saving him. They are all on Neverland to save Henry! Hook tells her they need rest if they want to save Henry. Regina is not happy about this (spoiler, she’s never happy). When Pan gives Emma the map she immediately wants to use magic on it to unlock it (what happened to the magic is like a drug arc she was going through last season to prove she had changed for Henry? Is magic no longer considered a drug now that Emma has it?), but Emma is adamant that she can figure it out and unlock it herself. Regina also thinks the map is a distraction for them to not look for Henry. No one wants her to use magic on the map, because they think she might hurt the map. She says it’s a risk she’s willing to take (she’d rather blow up their only way of finding Henry just to prove she’s right by using magic?), but no one else agrees. Regina looks annoyed the whole time Emma is trying to unlock the map. When Emma admits she’s the savior and that doesn’t work, Regina takes the map and puts a locator spell on it. It leads them to the Dark Jungle and even though Regina put the locator spell on the map, she makes Emma lead since Emma had insisted on being the leader. So petty. As the map leads them deeper into the Dark Jungle, Regina starts getting smug and asks Emma if she’s going to thank her for her help. Really? You don’t think for one second that because you used magic you might be headed into a trap? They reach an empty camp and because no one is there Mary Margaret comments that maybe Regina’s magic didn’t work right and Regina gets upset that Mary Margaret is blaming her for something again. Regina, grow up!! I swear she gets worse with every subsequent episode. She had some good growth last season and then Cora made her get off track, then she almost sacrificed herself for Henry, and now she’s bitchy Regina again. During the fight with the Lost Boys Regina uses her magic against them (even though Pan just said using magic was cheating, but whatever). Emma finally unlocks the map, and they decide that they need to stop playing Pan’s game and make Pan play theirs. Regina questions this, but eventually agrees. I don’t understand why she’s questioning this or wants to work on her own. So far everything she has tried has failed, while Emma has been the one to actually get things done. I’m really not liking Regina this season. She’s whiny, and bitchy, and has lost any growth she had from season 2. Last season I actually cared about what happened to her, now she could fall off a cliff and I wouldn’t care.

Hook: Flirtatious as ever with Emma and David (although, mainly to get under David’s skin which is hilarious). He’s the only one in the group familiar with Neverland, yet David doesn’t trust him so no one else does either. David fights him when he tries to cut through some brambles, but Hook knows it’s Dreamshade, which is the poison he used to try and kill Gold. I don’t understand why David is fighting him so hard when he knows nothing about Neverland and Hook lived on the goddamn island! Hook knows he’s a villain but takes offense at Pan not being one when Emma explains that Pan is the hero in all the stories in her world. Hook wants to know how handsome he is in Pan’s books, but Emma thwarts his preening by telling him that perms and waxed mustaches are not handsome. Once they get to the ridge, Hook is disappointed to find out that the Dark Jungle has grown so much they can’t see Pan’s camp. He suggests sleeping for the night to gather their strength. Despite Regina’s protests, everyone actually agrees with him this time. Hook and Regina argue about the map Pan gives Emma. Hook talks about how Pan likes his games and when Regina thinks the map will lead them into a trap, Hook reminds her the whole island is a trap. Regina wants to use magic but Hook tells her breaking Pan’s rules would be unwise. David actually agrees with him and Hook quips about winning him over. Later, when Regina steals the map from Emma to use magic on it, David says it’s not a good idea to use magic and Hook agrees with him. David can’t believe he and Hook agree again and Hook says he’s winning him over. I smell a bromance blooming between these two. Hook is not happy that the map leads them into the Dark Jungle, since he told them never to set foot in there. When they get close to Pan, Hook warns Emma to be careful because while Pan looks like a boy, he’s actually a demon. The Lost Boys attack them and Hook warns that the arrows are tipped with Dreamshade. Hook ends up fighting with Felix and reminds him of Rufio and that it will be a far worse fate for him. Eventually, Pan calls everyone off. Emma finally manages to unlock the map. Hook congratulates her on her patience with Regina and tells her that patience will help her defeat Pan, and then he offers her some rum. She quips about rum being the solution to everything and he says it doesn’t hurt. He’s interested in how she unlocked the map and in getting to know her better. It’s one of the first times he’s truly sincere with her, and you can see how uncomfortable Emma is with it. Not because it’s creepy, but because that might mean Hook is a real person and not just someone she banters with.

Pan: He’s a lot of talk. He talks and talks and talks. And he makes threats, but, with the exception of the Lost Boys attack, he doesn’t actually do anything. He’s more annoying than anything else, because he also says the same things all the time. This time it’s that Emma needs to stop denying who she really is, over and over. Then he threatens that Emma will be an orphan again by the time they leave the island. I mean, at least he’s not villain monologuing, but repetitive monologuing is just as bad. Maybe he and Bell should hang out with the whole, repeating the same thing over and over dialogue.

Questions:

Why did Gold’s shadow change from one that looked like him to the generic shadow that Neverland boasts?

Still wondering how the magic mirror works. Why can she see through to places that obviously don’t have mirrors or reflective surfaces, but Rumple felt it was necessary to cover his mirrors in Skin Deep so she couldn’t spy on him? If she doesn’t need a mirror, then covering his mirrors wouldn’t matter.

Why are we back to Snow’s hair looking so awful? Are they spending all the stylist money on special effects?

Why are Mary Margaret, David, Hook, and Regina still wearing their jackets when Emma has taken off her turtleneck and is traipsing around the hot jungle in her tank top?

Okay, I get that David does not like Hook, but he’s the only one with knowledge of Neverland. Why won’t he listen to him?

Where was Hook when everyone was sleeping? We saw everyone at camp but him. Was he keeping watch? Because he didn’t do a great job seeing as Emma wandered off and Pan found her.

Would Regina really risk blowing up the map with magic?

Who’s the sheriff of Storybrooke now that both Emma and David are in Neverland?

Why is Emma still wearing her false eyelashes in Neverland? How is Regina’s hair still flipping when it’s obviously humid out?

After the scene in the village, the front of Snow’s white bodice was covered with dirt and mud. How is it perfectly clean the next time we see her? Actually, how has she kept her white, leather outfit so clean? Why white? Did the costume designer decide she needed to wear that because of her name?

How did David get to and from Rumplestiltskin’s castle so fast? We’ve seen in Skin Deep that his castle is in the mountains and not in a location that is just easy to pop in to for a quick favor.

Didn’t David need a potion from Gold to pour over Jefferson’s hat to locate him in We Are Both? How does Regina do a locator spell just using magic?

If the sword is from Camelot, shouldn’t the person who pulls the sword from the stone be the ruler of Camelot? Not the Enchanted Forest.

Is Belle really conjured from Gold’s head or is she something more? Neverland does run on imagination, so it’s not a stretch to think your thoughts could manifest as reality.

So, since Snow didn’t take the deal with the Evil Queen, is someone going to die everyday still?

Where did Snow’s mother’s necklace come from? It only shows up on her neck when she and Charming go to find Excalibur. What does Rumplestiltskin want with it?

Observations:

Considering it’s only supposed to have been maybe a week or so since Charming woke Snow, his hair goes from the short cut he had in season one, to his current longish cut.

Love that Charming and Snow both unsheath their swords at the exact same time. They’re already so in sync with each other.

Dreamshade is the poison Hook used to try and kill Gold back in The Queen is Dead.

What Emma says to try and unlock the map: Her name, being Henry’s mother, she used to be a bailbondsperson, she’s currently the sheriff of Storybrooke, she’s the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, she’s the product of True Love, she was born in the Enchanted Forest, she’s the Savior.

Hook mentions Rufio to Felix. In the movie Hook, Rufio is the new leader of the Lost Boys and Hook kills him.

The Evil Queen has quite the interesting wardrobe this episode. She goes from an Elizabethan style dress to what I can only describe as an 80’s hair band inspired form fitted gown and headpiece.

I finally realized what’s been bugging me about Mary Margaret’s hair. It’s too fluffy. Maybe it’s the humidity of the jungle, but it looks more like a teenage boy cut rather than the cute pixie cut she’s been sporting.

Sorry this review took me so long to get out, but I was really bored with it. Mary Margaret and David seem to be very out of character with their over-cheerfulness when it comes to Emma. Regina is just whiny and bitchy. Gold seems to be having some sort of mental breakdown. Pan is not as dastardly as Hook is making him out to be. Hook and Emma seem to be the only people in character as we get more hidden feelings exposed from Emma and more flirting from Hook.

Please leave comments and reblog! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future reviews.

@searchingwardrobes @thisonesatellite @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @laschatzi @profdanglaisstuff @mariakov81 @lfh1226-linda

#once upon a time #once upon a time review #once upon a time rewatch #once upon a time 3x02 #once upon a time lost girl

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slashersrus · 4 years

Text

Loki x Reader - She Wolf

A/N - This is a crossover with The Originals but it's pretty self explanatory so you don't need to have seen the show.

A lone wolf, forgotten and abandoned, ran through the trees, leaping over fallen logs and dodging branches. This wolf, so alone and broken, was no normal wolf. This she-wolf was so much more.

Her name was Y/N Mikaelson.

When Loki arrived on Earth, having been away from it for 1000 years, he knew it would be different to what it was and she would not be there, yet his heart still ached. Leading the attack on New York was almost therapeutic for him, to destroy the beautiful city that his beloved could never lay eyes on, out of bitter resentment. Going back to Asgard, being torn away from her resting place, he didn't argue. He saw no point in arguing, no mortal could live 1000 years and survive. He had said he would return, she had said she would wait forever. The bitter thought of her waiting her entire life for him to come back, only to die alone tormented him daily, he knew logically it wasn't his fault and yet he still took the blame. Her love had left his heart empty, the guilt could help replace the sour emptiness.

Running through the woods, her messy hair hit her face as she spun giddily, her arms spread as she danced in the freshly fallen leaves. He stood watching with a wide smile, a genuine smile, as he leaned against a nearby tree.

"You're going to make yourself dizzy, Darling." Loki spoke gently, an air of humour in his voice as he watched.

"No I'm not!" Y/N giggled, spinning faster as he shook his head amusement, "see! Perfectly not dizzy!"

"Perfectly not dizzy?" Loki laughed, the mocking gentle and kind unlike his usual harsh behaviour to his brother.

She hummed in agreement unconvincingly, her eyes shut as she stopped spinning, clearly wobbling on her feet. He raised an eyebrow at her, moving from the tree just in time to catch her as the dizziness took over and she fell into his waiting arms. Scooping her up bridal style, he grinned down at her as he began the walk back to her village.

Loki raked his hand through his hair, trying to block out the memories that assaulted him as he watched his adopted brother talk to his team mates. Memories of Y/N never left him, always reminding him of what he had lost. Flicking his eyes up to see the group in front of him, a weary sigh fell from his chapped lips as he watched them discuss and strategise for the next mission. He didn't feel remorse for his actions, he couldn't when his bitter resentment still resided in his heart, but he did feel guilt that lives had been lost and so joining the Avengers helped to right his wrongs, Thor called it 'redemption'. He didn't want redemption, he only wanted her.

Klaus Mikaelson walked through the forest, his eyes keen and ears alert as the bushes rustled and wildlife fled. He was in her territory , her terrain, the she-wolf. With practiced, slow movements he continued to walk. He didn't bother searching, she would find him.

A beautiful, white wolf stepped out from the bushes, her fur a shocking contrast to her burning golden eyes. Stepping closer to him, she lowered her head to show she meant no harm, he was pack.

"Hello, love."

"Loki!" Tears stained her red cheeks, her dress had multiple cuts and gashes, the fabric torn beyond repair. Blood red clung to the bottom of the dress, leaving a crimson trail behind her as she ran towards him.

"Y/N? Y/N! What happened?" As soon as he saw her, the state she was in, he dropped the book he was reading and dashed towards her. Catching her as she collapsed in despair, he shushed her and he gently stroked her tangled hair. Sobbing, she buried her head into his green tunic as he held her close.

"I-I killed him! I didn't mean to! I j-just he was..I-" her voice was muffled by his chest, her words barely legible through her hiccuping and stuttering.

"It's alright darling, shh." Loki shushed her softly, his voice low and calming as he rubbed her back in comfort.

"I triggered it." She barely managed to get those words out, but he knew exactly what she meant. Her curse, the werewolf genes, she had triggered it by murdering someone and by doing so would become the monster she feared. The wolf.

"I'll be here, I can help." A frown was clear on his face as he felt pity towards her, it wasn't her fault that she had these genes.

Every full moon since they had met, she would curl up to his side and whimper as the wolves howled and snarled. Her father, Niklaus Mikaelson had been a werewolf before his vampirism, meaning she had the genes within her and had always know it was a possibility. The thought of losing her humanity terrified her and in that moment, Loki promised her that he would never let that happen.

"Loki? Loki, are you even listening?" Stark sighed in annoyance at the sight of Loki sat gazing out of the window, his eyes glazed over as he remembered the past, "Thor, I think your brother is broken."

"Brother?" Thor frowned, watching the far away look in Loki's eyes as he shook his shoulder, a bit too roughly.

"What?" Snapping out of his own head, Loki glared at the Avengers around him, all staring at him.

"We asked if you had any information that could help on this mission. We've never encountered anyone with these abilities before." Steve spoke up when Tony narrowed his eyes at the God.

Looking to him expectantly, Loki raised an eyebrow, "well?"

Seeing the picture on the big screen, Loki felt his heart stop. The others were speaking again, but he didn't care, his focus solely on the man in the photo, impossible.

"This man, he's been in hundreds of photos dating back centuries, he's not human. We can link him to multiple mass murders, death seems to follow him. Most recently seen in Mystic falls and New Orleans."

"Brother, is that?" Thor trailed off, his eyes wide in shock.

"Niklaus."

Only one thought ran through Loki's head; if he was alive, could Y/N be?

"We must leave, SHIELD have already caught wind that we are residing here, we all know of your reputation with them." Elijah Mikaelson, clad in his familiar suit, stood over looking the bustling streets of New Orleans.

"We are not running from those humans, have some self respect Elijah." Klaus chuckled, shaking his head at his brother as he took of sip of his bourbon.

"If they involve the Avengers, we will no doubt get press. Do you really want paparazzi stalking you, brother dear?" Elijah didn't turn to look at Klaus as he spoke, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

"Ah the Avengers! Worlds mightiest heroes!" Klaus raised his glass in mock toast, "oh how scary."

"This is serious Niklaus." Rebekah spoke from her spot on the luxury sofa, rolling her eyes at her brothers mocking tone.

"I know, but it always fun to annoy stuck up Elijah." Klaus smirked, finishing his drink before speaking again, "you saw the news, what happened in New York, Loki. If he's here on Earth, then by all means let him come to us, I can finally murder him for abandoning my daughter."

Loki stood in the dense forest outside of the village with Niklaus, watching as Y/N completed her first transformation into a werewolf. He hated to see her in pain during the transformation , but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Where Y/N once stood, now stood a magnificent white wolf, eyes like the finest of gold. She was beautiful.

Once seeng her through the transformation, Niklaus smiled proud before leaving the pair alone. She whined slightly, moving unsteady on her new paws as she walked towards Loki and brushed up against his leg. Loki smiled, rubbing her head before stepping away. Hearing her whine again, he quickly reassured her by using his magic to take the form of a midnight black wolf.

The white wolf yipped happily, bumping her snout into the black wolf who seemed to be smirking before turning and running off into the trees. Loki followed after her immediately, he said he would be there for her, and he would, even if it meant taking the form of a wolf. This way, he could make sure her wolf mind didn't hurt anyone, he vowed to not let her lose her humanity.

Loki stood on top of a building in New Orleans, scanning the crowd for enemies as the Avengers dispersed into the parade to find the people they were looking for, their mission, the Mikaelsons. It was no surprise to him that Thor had easily told them about the family and their connection to the Asgardians, this meant he had to find them first. He needed answers. Was she alive?

Hearing footsteps behind him, he spun to come face to face with an angry Klaus Mikaelson. He was shocked, he knew of their vampirism, but he never expected them to survive so long.

"Is she alive?" He didn't bother with manners, instead asking the question that had been eating him alive.

Klaus snarled, his eyes burning golden and his fangs coming out as his anger grew, "I've been waiting for you to show your lying face again, it will be a relief to finally kill you."

Loki's eyes widened, ducking as Klaus swiped at him before moving backwards with his hands up in surrender, "what?"

"You left and it destroyed her." Klaus spat with venom, using his supernatural speed to rush at Loki, grabbing his neck in a grip which would kill a human.

"I didn't have a choice!" Loki gasped, the grip surprising tight, so tight even he couldn't break out with his Asgardian strength.

"Niklaus, put him down." Elijah spoke from behind them, a quick rush of wind being the only thing to announce his arrival.

"Why should I?" Klaus tightened his grip, watching with sick pleasure as Loki fought to break free. Once upon of times, they were friends, but his fatherly insist to protect his daughter beat friendship.

"She would not want you to." Klaus froze, his grip loosening as Elijah spoke calmly, "do not be the one to take him from her again."

A growl rose from his chest before he dropped Loki, letting him breathe. Loki didn't bother retaliating, he believed he deserved it for leaving her.

"Odin made sure I could never return," loki coughed once, rubbing his throat as he stood up straighter, "please, I need to see her. Is she alive?"

"Her life is tied to mine, so long as I breathe so does she, so I would call of the little Avengers search party if I was you."Klaus backed away as he spoke, allowing Elijah to walk closer.

"If memory serves, you have magic." Elijah spoke, drawing Loki's attention, "she could really use it."

"Y/N Mikaelson, will you marry me?" Loki was knelt on the ground, his hands clasped around hers.

"Yes!" Y/N squealed in delight, hugging Loki close as he smiled, "oh my gods yes!"

"What's wrong with her?" Loki spoke with urgency, his eyes panicked as he took in Elijah's words.

"It would seem even from the dead our mother continues to haunt us." Elijah's voice was calm, collected as usual, hiding the true anger he felt.

"The witch cursed her." Klaus spat at Loki's confused face, "linked her to me, granted her immortality and permanent trapped her as an animal."

"What?" Loki's voice was quiet, disbelief in his tone as he realised what Klaus meant.

"She is stuck in her wolf form, we have tried countless witches and none can break my mothers spell. I hope your magic may be able to break the curse given you are not from here." Elijah started to walk away, Klaus and a shell shocked Loki following him.

"How long?" The sentence was nothing but a broken whisper as Loki clenched his fist, he wasn't there to protect her.

Seeing the glance Elijah and Klaus exchanged, his worry grew, "How long?!"

"A thousand years, give or take."

"I must return home, I intend to tell my mother about you. Thor, the giant oaf, has already met you but I would love for my mother to meet my fiancé." Loki spoke softly, they lay curled up in the darkened, peaceful room.

"Will you be long?" A frown graced her blissful features, tilting her head to gaze up at him from her place laying on his chest.

"No more than a day my love, I promise." He cupped her cheeks, placing a gentle kiss on her lips as he made the promise.

Klaus and Loki walked through the forest in tense silence, sadness seemed to penetrate their beings. They stopped at a clearing, at which point Klaus silently nodded and walked away. Standing in the centre, Loki called out her name, his eyes flashing around him frantically.

Hearing movement, hope blossomed in his chest. Turning to the bush that the sound had come from, he slowly kneeled down on the grassy floor and called out to her again. Seeing her white snout peer through the bushes, he had to stop the tears from flowing out. He lost the internal battle as she stepped out of the bushes, the tears flowing freely as he smiled at her, she was alive.

She sniffed the air a couple times, hesitant as she carefully walked towards his crouched form. She stopped a couple feet away from him, her head titled to the side in confusion. To her animalistic brain, he smelled like pack, he smelled like her mate, like Loki. Seeing the hesitation and confusion, Loki very slowly raised a hand towards her snout, stopping inches from touching her and letting her cautiously sniff his hand before nudging into it with a low whine.

"It's okay." A grin broke out onto his face, no matter the circumstances or the past, she was here in front of him and alive and that's all that mattered.

She let him wrap his arms around her wolf body, his hold gentle as he buried his face into her fur and cried.

It was much later when they broke apart, both content with the contact. She was sat on the ground, rubbing her head against his side lovingly as he stroked her fur.

"I promise, I'll free you." Loki spoke softly, the forest dead silent as the lovers reunited for the first time in one thousand years, "I'll give you your humanity back."

He made a promise, and he intend to keep it. He would free her, no matter what.

#fanfic #loki #marvel #avengers #tom hiddleston #the originals #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #wolf #thor

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