#the guttural scream i let out when i realized he was going to sacrifice himself

[infinityinakiss]

every single one of you fuckers that predicted that the season finale of loki was going to be as devastating as the good omens finale, go stand in the corner, because you somehow manifested this shit and now i'm crying.

#the guttural scream i let out when i realized he was going to sacrifice himself #god why can't i get a break #why can't my ships be happy? #loki #loki series #loki series finale #loki spoilers #lokius #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #ineffable idiots

[sleepyjuniper]

Ghost Stories - A Bugsnax Short Story

Hey guys, so this is a little thing I was suddenly inspired to write after watching Vinny's playthrough of Bugsnax, which I whipped up and left in the comment section of the campfire cutscene video. I figured people would come across it there, but I'm not so sure now, so I'm posting it here for anyone who cares. (It's not going anywhere else because I'm so embarrassed by my extreme inexplicable obsession with these characters that I can't bear anyone I know to read it fhdhdhsjsj) either way, it's just a fun first person practice piece that takes place in the canon game where everyone is telling scary stories around the campfire! It's under the cut, because I ain't a barbarian. I hope you enjoy!

There's funny moments in life sometimes, where you notice things that would normally go unnoticed unless paid close attention to. This was one of those moments. As I sit gathered around the campfire with these other grumpuses I hardly know nor do I particularly care about, the soft flicker of the campfire warming only my face and a bit of my limbs but doing nothing for my cold back, I simply stare into the licking flames and get lost in a trance. I notice how the dry logs glow and curl into themselves where the fire touches them. I sit mesmerized by the bright colors, while around me the grumpuses chat about the island and swap conspiracies. Gramble's nervous voice is mostly lost to me as he lays claims that something lurks beyond the woods at night. 

Triffany's story about disappearing ancient grump bodies helps to drag my attention back to the current moment, and as she talks, I look around the rest of the quiet village. I almost thought I heard something walking around behind me, but when I looked, there was nothing. 

I turn back to the campfire, and just then, a cold breeze picks up, and the fire dies out. The demeanor changes drastically, instantly, as everyone seems to get a bit more nervous in the dark. Filbo tells me to get some more firewood, and as I'm shuffling away from the campfire, I definitely hear something walking around. I turn on my heels to look for the source of the noise, but again see nothing. Before I go to the mill, I quietly tip toe around the houses and look in every crevice, but there's no grumpus, bugsnax, or alleged monster to be found. I find the wood and return to the campfire so everyone can continue chatting. 

As everyone starts talking again, Beffica stands up and launches into a theory so wild and disturbing that it keeps me from drifting off again. Wambus is the first to contradict Beffica, saying grumpuses couldn't possibly cannibalize each other, and Filbo suddenly looks uncomfortable (or nervous, I'm not sure) and excuses himself. I watch him go, regretting that the most tolerable out of the colorful group of grumpuses is leaving, and force myself to endure and listen to the conversation. Yet another argument begins, and I can't help thinking that this is getting old. Beffica claims that not only is someone cannibalizing grumpuses, but that it's Floofty, and she saw them eat a grumpus with her own eyes. I share Gramble's anxiety for once, and then everyone stops talking at the sound of Filbo's far off scream. Everyone looks to me, and I think, what did I do to deserve this? 

Clearly no one else is getting up, so I reluctantly rise from my seat again, and head off cautiously towards the bathroom. 

I approach the outhouse, and there's a split second where I hear a noise and think oh it's just Filbo, and also ewwww, and also this is way above my paycheck. But then the noise gets louder and more guttural, and I don't think I've ever heard that noise come out of a grumpus before. Something about it is unnatural. Despite myself, I inch closer, feeling my fur begin to stand on end, feeling cold dread pooling in my stomach. Then Filbo's voice sounds behind me, and I swear I could've leapt three feet in the air from how much it startled me. 

"Oh, hey buddy!" He exclaims with a friendly wave, then looks somewhat abashed. "Uh, sorry, I uh, I got a little too spooked and I came here to calm down." 

I look from him to the outhouse, my fur once again standing on end, as I realize he was never in there in the first place. 

"Wh- who's in the bathroom?" I question him, and he looks confused. 

"Huh? I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, Buddy. Are.. you feeling okay? You look like you've seen a ghost!" He concludes with a chuckle, and I get the sense it's because my own nervous state is making him nervous, and he's trying to lighten the mood with jokes. I don't respond, so he clears his throat and speaks more decisively. "Well uh, let's keep it together and get back to the fire!" 

I start to follow him, feeling distraught, but then I stop and decide to hang back for a minute. I turn around, walk back to the outhouse, and after a brief moment of collecting myself, I open the door, prepared to clear my conscious about the weird sounds I'd heard. 

But when I do, there's nothing there. 

I look all around, but I don't see anything out of the usual. I finally lean forward and look into the ominous hole, but it's too dark to see into its depths. And I feel pretty stupid after I do. I'm literally looking for clues inside a toilet. Frustrated, I leave the door open so nobody mistakes it for being occupied, and find my way back to the group. 

After that ordeal, I simply don't have it in me to tolerate Wiggle's singing monologue, and it's all that I can manage to stay quiet and not explode while this ridiculous grumpus with a pineapple for hair sings about a supposed 'Queen of Bugsnax', while everyone miraculously listens in complete silence. 

Just as she's finishing, there's a loud crash that has everyone jumping to their feet and staring in the direction of the noise. All except Wiggle, who STARTS SINGING AGAIN for some GRUMPING REASON. Everyone is too occupied to even notice. 

After there's no further noise, everyone turns back to look at each other and figure out what to do next. I'm itching to figure out what the grump is going on, so I listen carefully as they debate. Filbo takes the lead, assuring everyone not to worry and that we'll check it out. 

"If something goes wrong, sacrifice Filbo first." Is what Beffica says before we set off towards the mill, and also what I ignore. 

I take the lead, and we make our way through the fog, to the millhouse, which now has a huge and jagged hole in the side, like a spuddy rammed straight through it, leaving it in splinters. 

We step inside, and then venture up the stairs, and I stop short at the sight of a random green grumpus standing in the room. Filbo continues towards them. 

"Chandlo?!" I hear him exclaim in disbelief, and I realize oh, this is just another one of Filbo's 'friends'. 

So that explains some of it.. I think as I notice the extremely muscled nature of this grumpus, and recall the state of the millhouse's doors. Kind of barbaric to just barrel through it, though. 

Apparently this grumpus is another of the pre-Lizbert-dissappearing villagers, and he introduces himself to me before him and Filbo continue talking. Apparently his name is Chandlo, and I gather that this is where he used to stay before Lizbert vanished. He's only come back to grab something he left in the house. Plus he mentions someone named Shelda? Then he reveals he's taking the stuff he came back for to someone named Snorpy. 

My mind starts trying to piece together information about these new grumpuses he's named from the way he talks about them, while Filbo tries to convince him to come say hi to everyone else.

Chandlo rejects the invitation, saying if he does, they'll want him to stay, and promptly leaves with a cheerful "Catch ya later, bros!"

"But I- but I DO want you to stay!" Filbo yells after Chandlo, but the mysterious grumpus is already gone. "Oh, darn it!" He mumbles dejectedly, before turning back to me. "Oh well, let's get back and tell the others." 

Back at the campfire, everyone is waiting for us. "Don't worry folks, I'm fine!" Filbo announces with a light-hearted chuckle. This is met with silence, until Filbo says "Oh, and the noise was just Chandlo." Everyone responds with a sigh of relief, and begins chattering again.

"But wait," Gramble says, "what if Chandlo WAS the Queen of Bugsnax?" Aaaaand there they go again. I slump into my seat again with an exhale, letting the chatter continue on while I rest my chin on one paw and zone out. As they talk however, I remember the whole bathroom encounter, and realize something.. doesn't quite add up. The noises hadn't been Filbo, but they couldn't have been from ANY grumpus. And on top of that, I hadn't heard anyone leave the bathroom afterwards. Whatever it was had simply.. vanished. 

Unnerved, I try not to think about it, and for the first time, I'm comforted to simply be surrounded by these other grumpuses and just listen to them go on and on about their silly feuds and wild conspiracies. 

Either way, there's definitely more to this island than meets the eye. And I'm going to get to the bottom of it. 

#bugsnax #fanfiction #bugsnax fanfiction #bugsnax fandom #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist #beffica winklesnoot #triffany lottablog #wambus troubleham #gramble gigglefunny #wiggle wigglebottom #chandlo funkbun #snorpy fizzlebean #shelda woolbag #campfire stories #ghost stories #first person pov

[obeymeluv]

Random Spooky Thing

Something spooky I thought about. I don’t know what really got me thinking about it besides spooky season and the fact that the boys are 5,000+ years old and have probably made secret friends/lovers with a few non-RAD humans over the years.

This is pre-RAD program, post-fall. Boys are still probably at odds with their new demon instincts or have just barely settled into them.

Trigger warning for scary situation. Namely: almost being a legit sacrifice for a demon summoning. 

I also have personal headcanons that the bros used to be Avatars in heaven, but for the trait opposite of their sin (Lucifer would be humility, Mammon would be charity/giving, Asmodeus would be love (I guess?), Satan doesn’t count because I don’t think he was in the Celestial Realm when it all happened (based on where I’m at in the game). Beel championed a good harvest/abundance. and Belphegor had the blessing of reinforcement/encouragement/inspiration/productivity)

Lucifer’s got unexpectedly long so this part will have Lucifer and Mammon only. I have to study for exams and stuff TT_TT

Lucifer:

The concept of being summoned by dark magic is very foreign and forceful. He hates it, and he hates that this is what his life is now

There was a certain beseeching vulnerability to humans when they prayed - it was soft and glowing and he misses it

This is a rough yank, like he’s nothing more than a petulant child that needs to be dragged around. Or worse, some dog. 

He spills out into the human world and it smells of smoke and brimstone and ground ingredients he’s starting to get familiar with 

Lucifer’s used to being intimidating in an angelic way, but he can feel the magic spill off of him here. He can feel his aura manifest into something dark and terrifying.

His eyes now glow in the dark; he can see a reflection of them in the humans’ eyes.

They give a very archaic, overdone address (”O’ great Lucifer...”) and he doesn’t even let them finish before he’s scoffing.

The fall may have broken his wings and shattered his reality, but he’s still fairly arrogant and ready to lash out

There’s a beautiful smell that makes his stomach ache something ungodly now that he’s a demon, and Lucifer realizes with abject horror that a wounded human is somewhere in this room

Celestial Realm or not, his eyes still have the ability to see human souls and intentions. There seems to be a lamb among these idiotic wolves

He sees that dagger rise, the muffled wail enough to pierce his ear and Lucifer snarls as he snatches that hilt in an iron grip

It’s enough to break the human’s grip and send his hands down the dagger, spilling rancid blood

“If you wish to summon me, do it with your own blood. Lay yourself before me and beg.” he says in a voice that is so grating and booming that it makes him flinch a little

His voice was never like this in the Celestial Realm and it makes him angry that it will never be angelically velvety again. Just something semi-twisted and possible of corruption

Perhaps because of the blood or the injustice, Lucifer throws out his wings and punishes the mortal for their insolence. Then the others who try to dogpile him and throw their books at him and shout words that have no meaning.

His grip now crushes things, and he forgets. Pinching is basically stabbing. A shove is basically a fracture.

You’re sobbing uncontrollably when he approaches where you’re being held and Lucifer realizes that he looks a sight. Truly frightening. He never had these murderous impulses as an angel and still surprises himself when he falls to them. They’re still so new!

“Be not afraid,” the words are comforting but fuzzy. They feel foreign on his tongue. He pets your hair. “I shall do you no harm.”

He has to remind himself that he’s so much stronger in this form, tugging and ripping at the rope while trying not to break your little limbs.  

You have this resigned trust, this hope, this faith that he will keep his word and it makes him miss humans. Makes him miss Lilith and how he’d catch her and Belphie sneaking around to watch them.

You ask him if he’s really Lucifer, like that Lucifer. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is. Instead he says, “I am the Morning Star.” and insists on taking you home.

He will guide you home, the bringer of light.

You hug him and it’s the first burst of warmth--genuine warmth--he’s felt since the fall. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

He’s called back by a greater force--Lord Diavolo--and prefers to forget the whole thing happened. That he ate people. That they almost hurt you.

He secretly checks in on you from time to time but doesn’t have the courage to talk to you again. 

Every time he looks at you, he’s emotionally drained for the rest of the day. He’s starting to understand what Lilith felt so strongly about and it just makes that gaping wound that much deeper.

He drowns his guilt in Demonus and damns his hypocrisy. 

Mammon

He hates being summoned because it burns like when he fell

It reminds him of his body screaming in pain as he adamantly tried to hold onto his Holy Weapons during the fall. His body converted during the fall and Holy Weapons are sheer agony for demons.

The burns on his hands were deep and tender and took days to heal. He doesn’t even remember how he broke his wing, but he knows it drags and its lame. It can’t unfold as well as the other one.

Being summoned just leaves a bad taste in his mouth because he disagrees with being cast out, in general. Seems like some of those angels were morally corrupt, not them! How could what he and the others did be considered wrong?! 

Mammon hates the fact that turning into a demon really ripped the veil off his eyes. He used to be a symbol of charity and giving, bringing joy to people, and now he just sees how nasty they are on the inside. Scummy, scummy people.

“What’s your business with the GREAT Mammon, hm? I’m a busy guy, ya know.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks disinterestedly around the room.

Dull souls, the lot of ‘em. Not a nice smell in the bunch! Some shiny bits and bobs he might take for his time, though.

Sometimes he bites his own tongue to try and fight off the demonic powers that converted him. To get his brain back on track. He doesn’t WANT to be so blunt and careless, so trained on shiny things. but it’s like he can’t help it!

It burns in his soul and sometimes he can hear his old self, his old ways, fizzling out like his wings as they disintegrated not long ago

The dumb humans start ranting about sacrifice and exchange and Mammon stops them cold, louder than them. It’s mostly the ‘older brother’ voice but he forgets that a demon is just scary to humans.

“Not really interested. What else ya got?”

No one expects that. He can tell. They take the thing off your head as if that will change his mind and something about the shininess of you catches his eye. Makes him feel kind of like a puppy.

Is it your soul? Your earrings? The genuine innocence of a human? How glittery your tears look?

He knocks them aside with his wings, stomps over to you, and picks you up (chair and all). 

They start yipping about how he technically accepted the deal and how he needs to do their bidding or grant them a favor. “Hang tight, sweets,” Mammon sets your chair down before pointing out every technicality on how the deal wasn’t finished and the terms weren’t agreed upon.

Technically they just summoned him; they didn’t complete a pact ritual

“I’m takin’ that--he points to you--just because I can!” Mammon laughs at the dumb little humans. “You guys didn’t do your homework! I’m the Avatar of Greed!”   

One of them tries to sneak around behind him and stab you (like that will change anything?!) and Mammon notices. He grabs the one in front of him by the face, throws him into the one by you, and just starts swinging

He doesn’t kill them, but he DOES raid their pockets of shiny things and interesting things. 

Mammon takes the knife, the weird clasps off their ensembles, and breaks the chair to set you free. Debates on taking the screws, but tosses them over his shoulder (not good enough)

As an act of good will, you’re recruited to pillage this lame location they picked

He gets you home with a spell, some kind of homing magic, and just stands there looking at you quietly. He didn’t really look after humans like Belphie and Lilith did so he’s not sure what to do

The urge to comfort is strong but the genteel pat is corrupted by the desire to feel your earring between his fingers. Some guttural demon noise of glee comes out of him and it makes him embarrassed. He never used to make noises like that...

You unhook your earrings with a tentativeness that reminds him of the humans who left offerings at his alter, fretting over if they were good enough and wondering what they would bring.

You fold his big, tan fingers over the earrings and Mammon holds onto them for a while after he finds his way back to the Devildom. It’s his first gift as a demon.

He ignores getting yelled at and the little brothers pestering him about why he smells good, telling him that they’re hungry. and all their other little gripes. 

Mammon never goes looking for you after that, trying to fill the ache in his soul with time and money and fame (oddly?) but he thinks of you often. He keeps your earrings in a special box at the front of his magic-locked hoard room. On his bad days, he’ll go sit in that empty room of knickknacks, open the box, and stare. 

He picks up the little things, careful not to break them with his nails or strength. “You’re one silly human, aren’t you?” he smiles at the twinkling jewelry.   

#Obey me! #Obey me! x Reader #Obey me! Lucifer #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Obey me! Mammon #Lucifer #Mammon

[living-dead-parker]

I wanted to maybe request something? Tony x daughter reader where she sacrifices herself instead of Tony during the battle vs Thanos :3

I got really inspired by this one, so I did get slightly carried away w it. I’ve always wanted to tackle this but never could until now, so thank you for requesting!! I hope you enjoy!

Sacrificial - Stark!reader

Warning: angst, cussing I think

Word Count: 1.1k

The battle was a long one, grueling, and tiresome. Nonetheless, everyone gave it their all, ready to end this once and for all. Especially the battle to get the stupid glove to the end and keep it away from Thanos' minions. Realistically, you only saw one outcome. Strange said nothing, and you were scared of this being the wrong one. But if it was, then why have the opportunity?

Not just that, but who was everyone expecting to pull off this last stunt? Your dad? The one who's supplied his team with only the best that money could buy? The man who just got his life back again? The one who just had a kid, a five-year-old waiting for him? A sister? You can find that in anyone. But a biological dad who genuinely wants to be in your life, who treats you like the world? Who looks at you like you put the moon and the stars in the sky? That's something a lot of people wish they could have. No one should take that away from a kid. Especially not from Morgan.

So, this seemed like the right move. It is the right move.

You manage to slip by as your dad takes the stones from Thanos, ultimately taking them from him. You watch as they have a moment, and as your father attempts to make a badass moment of himself, you feel a little guilty for taking that moment from him but even worse for what you're about to do. As your father realizes nothing is happening, a loud guttural scream leaves your mouth. Screams of pain and, God you wish this was much different. You wish you weren't screaming because that'll make Tony feel worst. Not only that he let his daughter sacrifice herself, but that she was feeling pain throughout all of it.

"Y/N!" he screams, his eyes blown wide and his heart racing so fast. That catches the attention of everyone as they all stop. The silence is deafening as your screams stop and you finally snap. "NO!"

A bright flashing light and suddenly, aliens are turning to dust. Pepper is the first to catch you as she was the closest to you and she takes you behind some large debris. Tony flies over, going as fast as he can. He keeps repeating the word 'no' over and over, hoping the more he repeats it, the less true this reality becomes. Finally, he arrives, to see everyone standing around you, Pepper and Peter hugging you, holding you so close. However, the two pull away when they see Tony arrive.

"Y/N," he calls out. He kneels next to you, pulling you into his arms. "Come on princess," he sobs as he feels your breathing become labored. You look up at him, way too lifeless to say anything. This is it. So, with any energy you can muster, you smile up at him.

"I...love...you."

Tony nods, repeating the three words and not a second later, the girl's lifeless eyes shut, pulling her into an eternal sleep. Tony sits down, pulling your body onto his lap. He rests his head on yours, crying, pleading for something. He doesn't notice, but the first person to do anything is Clint, and he kneels. Followed by T'Challa, then everyone else begins to kneel until Peter, Rhodey, and Pepper are kneeling in front of Tony.

The sound of the wind, fire, and Tony's quiet sobs fill the space. The moment so daunting, it's ingrained in everyone's mind. Playing on a loop, filling everyone with guilt. It could have been anyone else. It should have been.

Tony lifts his head, looking around and finding the person he sought after. And they knew because they looked right back at Tony. A pained look on their face. "Was this the way it was supposed to happen?"

The man nods, a single tear escaping his eye. Doctor Strange wasn't one to show emotion. Especially not to someone like Tony Stark. But this pain was so immense, it far outweighed his need to hide the guilt. Tony, instead, rests his head against the slab of building he sits against and continues his crying.

Much like Strange, Tony isn't one to openly show emotion like this. But for christ's sake, he just lost his daughter. When it was supposed to be him. So he cries and screams. He curses and feels the pain. He loses it. Even if you weren't the baby, you were still his baby. He watched you grow into the exceptional young woman you were and now, that's all gone.

The days after seemed to go by slowly. They felt long and Tony remained hidden from the world for that time. He was in his lab, constantly battling the ethics of bringing you back. But in the end, he knew he couldn't do that. Even if it was ethical, it didn't mean it would be the same. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. So he didn't. And then, the funeral came.

Everyone was there, it was a beautiful ceremony. You'd been cremated, your ashes split into two small lockets. One to be taken to your mother's grave, the other for Tony to keep. The rest of your ashes to be spread in the lake right behind the lakehouse. Everyone took a turn to say something.

"She didn't like me much at first," Steve said, making everyone laugh because everyone knew that you really did not like him much at first. "And then when things went bad, she really hated me," he continued, making everyone laugh again. Then he continued on with how she still cared about him, how she was still such a great person. Everyone's story was sort of similar. An anecdote followed by praise.

Tony wasn't sure how to feel. But he wasn't going to say anything because he's not one to disagree with praising you. He would do it all the time. Then finally, as Happy finished his whole speech after Pepper and Rhodey, Tony took the time to stand up in front of everyone and look at everyone who was present.

"She's a gift. One that can never be replicated. Something and someone money could never buy. She made me human, made me learn to love. She changed me and I will never be able to thank her for it. I wasn't always such a great dad, and I regret that. But she loved me with all her heart, and she's always had mine. She always will," Tony states, looking down. He's not his usual self today, but how can he be? His world is changed. Then, the wind blows exceptionally hard compared to any other gust of wind that day and leaves flutter on the ground, and Tony feels it. And yeah, he's not one for supernatural beliefs, but he just knows it's you. He knows you're present, and he feels the goosebumps all over his body and he feels tingly. Despite the slight chill, he feels warm. You're here.

#tony stark #stark!reader #leo answers #requests #daughter-of-stark #tony stark imagine #stark!daughter #tony stark x stark!reader #angst #tony stark angst #endgame compliant #endgame fix it #sort of

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts Fanfic, Epilogue

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo moves on from Radiant Garden.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Still, Ienzo was sad to see Destiny Islands fade from behind them. It was raining here, too, and despite his initial worry about visibility Riku seemed nonplussed. “I’ve flown through worse,” he said. “Try to relax.”

But it was nearly impossible. The thought of going to the basement had his heart beating hard, a slick anxiety chasing away the joy and freedom he’d felt the past month. Ienzo took slow, deep breaths. After so many days in shorts and sandals, his normal clothes felt constricting, and Riku looked odd in his adventure wear.

The flight was both too long and too short. He’d accumulated a small bag of things in his time there--mostly weather-appropriate clothing--but he’d also brought along a few souvenirs that Kairi had helped him pick in an attempt to placate the others of his absence. And some foodstuffs he couldn’t get here. He couldn’t help it.

The day was clear, though cloudy, when they landed, and, Ienzo noted with a strange irony, when he disembarked it felt cold. He scoffed to himself.

Dilan was standing guard at the entrance. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said dryly. “Wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again. With a bloody tan , too.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Good day, Dilan.”

The castle felt massive and brutal, though Ienzo noted Aeleus had made some more progress with the paint. Though he’d cleaned his bedroom before he left, it smelled a bit dusty. He set down his things.

Procrastinating wasn’t going to help.

Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Ienzo?”

“I’m… I’m alright.” He found himself glad he hadn’t eaten much at breakfast. “Right. If you would just… give me a moment to change.”

“Change?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “I’ll be right outside.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. Took two. He went over to his wardrobe, took out the black slacks, the white shirt, the sweater vest. The boots, the ascot. With shaking hands he took his lab coat off of its hanger.

The apprentice garb felt heavy on him, and its fit was different; he must’ve gotten more exercise on the islands than he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror. “Right,” he said softly.

Riku appraised him when he came out. “Ready?”

“...As I’ll ever be.”

The walk down to the lab felt long. He realized he hadn’t even checked to see if Even or Ansem would be down there, but when they got down it was empty, the computer asleep, the room in semidarkness. Ienzo didn’t realize he was almost gasping for air until Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

Wearily, Ienzo nodded. He approached the keypad. He typed in the default password, and the door slid open.

He wasn’t sure what he expected--darkness rolling out, running at him--but nothing happened. “I don’t smell or sense much,” Riku said. He drew his Keyblade. “Stay close, just in case.”

They walked down the long, long ramp to the second lab door. The air smelled musty, stale, but not much worse than that, the lights flickering unevenly down the hall. Ienzo felt shaky, weak, already choked up. At first he wasn’t sure if he were seeing things, shadows flickering. Riku surveyed the space warily.

He took slow, shaky steps. The offices were all the way at the end of the corridor, past all of the cells. Their doors were open, unoccupied, but the whole place was in disarray; mattresses torn to shreds, gouges taken out of the floors and walls, sinks and toilets ripped from their joints. “You kept people here?” Riku asked, in a neutral voice.

“...Yes.” He swallowed. “It takes some a long time to fall to darkness.” He imagined, not for the first time, how his subjects might have felt. Dazed, terrified, in pain. He did remember them screaming out--either in anger, in fear, or in grief. He remembered himself giving them psychological profiles as a child--some had thought he, too, was a victim and tried to save him, only for their horror to grow that much more when they realized he was apart of it.

The pain he’d inflicted echoed heavily around the room as the memories poured in. Xehanort, or Even, or Dilan gently nudging him to do this, that, or another awful thing. Wanting to do it without their prodding as well. Seeing his family members do so in turn.

“How many?” Riku asked.

Ienzo swallowed. “A little over a hundred. But… what we wrought here… spread across the world--the seeker of darkness’s artificial Heartless--”

Riku rested a hand on his back. “You were a child. If you were anything like me… they used you.”

Somehow Ienzo made it to the office. It was a large space, with filing cabinets to one side, a few computers to another, a printer in the far back. Chemistry supplies, glassware, and a fume hood were to the center right of the back wall. Black-topped worktables were also towards the back, a Bunsen burner left out connected to the gas line. In a lot of ways it looked untouched, like it was that hectic and horrifying day they’d been turned. A coffee cup sat on the table in the center of the room, its contents long evaporated. Papers were still spread across the desk, someone’s old, moldering lab coat on the back of a chair.

Ienzo’s knees gave out.

“Ienzo!” Riku cried.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was all so… casual. Mundane.

This had been his normal. School days spent here, torturing other people, other kids, because he thought it was for the greater good. What were a few sacrifices for knowledge? To understand human nature?

He made an odd, guttural noise. “I’m sorry.” He sounded like a wounded animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Ienzo?” Riku knelt next to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Look at me.”

The tile floor was cold and dusty under his hands. He wanted to rip the file cabinets from the walls and destroy everything--

“Look at me.”

Ienzo did so, breathing through his teeth. Despite it all, there was still somehow tenderness in Riku’s eyes.

“Apologizing can’t help them now,” he said. “But what we can do to help is to preserve the memory of who they once were.”

He felt so incredibly heavy. “I killed them.”

“Xehanort and the darkness made you. Weren’t these guys your only family? If you hadn’t listened, what would’ve happened to you?”

“I’d be alone.” His chest hurt. “I’d be an orphan.”

“It was all you knew. What happened to the Zo who forgave himself on the island?”

Ienzo looked down.

“Huh?” he prompted.

“Do you think I deserve forgiveness?”

“Yes. I do. I think you were a victim too. Just like I was one of my Ansem’s.”

Ansem had said the same thing. The pain bled out of him. Riku let him cry, and mourn the person he could’ve been if not for all this. “Alright,” he said at last. “Alright. Alright.”

Riku helped him to his feet and wiped the tear from his face. “Better,” he said gently. “Where are these files?”

“Over… over here.” His knees were still shaky. He pulled open the drawer. “Help me…” He hefted them over to the scanner. “Digitize them. So they never get forgotten.”

“Right. Of course.”

It was a tedious, annoying task, but seeing the images, the people , get uploaded into the system, Ienzo felt something like relief. Once it was all--finally--done, he checked with his phone and the network that the data was safe. “All these years,” he said softly. “We kept the results, the data, but this was all left here to rot.”

“Easier to forget the price that way,” Riku said. “We can do something with this.”

“I’ll talk to the others. See how they feel. But seeing as all this--” He spread his hands, “Is due to my influence… I think I can guilt them all into agreeing.”

“For some reason I don’t think they’ll need much persuading.” Riku kissed him once, lightly. “Are you ready to leave?”

He looked around the room. He noticed a document on the table with his childhood self’s handwriting. He touched it once, turned it over. “I think so,” he said. “I think so.”

---

“Ansem? Can I speak to you?”

The man looked up from his writing desk, startled to be called his name. “Oh, Ienzo, it’s so good to see you,” he said. “I feel as though it’s been ages. You look so wonderfully well. Did you have a good time?”

“I truly did,” he said. “There was a lot I learned. But I’d…” He exhaled. “I realized something.”

Ansem gestured for him to sit in the opposite chair, so he did.

“I recall you telling me I am one of the victims of what happened here,” he said slowly.

“Yes. I believe that is true.”

“Staying with Riku’s family… seeing what type of life he used to have, what I could’ve had… it… so much of it shifted my perspective.” Ienzo cleared his throat and knotted his hands. “I think I’ve started to forgive myself, but moreover… I… I want to do something to honor those we destroyed.”

Ansem’s face slackened a little.

“Riku helped me digitize the personal files of the victims. I feel like… by accepting responsibility openly… we can give the townspeople closure. Ensure their memories aren’t lost. We can’t bring them back, but using what we’ve learned… we can help the people here move forward. Help heal their hearts.” He spoke quickly, not at all encouraged by his expression. “Please, master. This is because of me. I want to do something--even if it is so simple as a memorial.”

A long pause. Ansem tapped the tips of his fingers together. “That is very wise, Ienzo,” he said at last. “I think it’s a good first move. I think myself, and the others, agree heartily.”

He took a deep breath. “Moreover… I think I would like to leave Radiant Garden.”

Ansem’s eyebrows shot up.

“I know it probably seems selfish--” He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “I have so much to atone for. But being there, in Destiny Islands, I… I just need time, I need time to figure out who I can be, before I’m truly emotionally able to do all the work here that I need to. I’d like to move there and attend university.” He bowed his head and realized he was asking for permission. “I want to heal, and experience normalcy, and in order to do that in any meaningful way I have to leave. The memories are too painful. There’s too much unsaid.”

Ansem smiled kindly. “Ienzo,” he said. “Why are you trying to convince me?”

He looked up.

“I think that would be wonderful for you,” he said. “I always thought you were so young to be weighed down by so much. I’m your father. Of course I’m going to support whatever you think you need.”

“Thank you.”

“I just have to ask…” He chuckled a little. “This isn’t just because of the boy, is it?”

Ienzo blinked. “I do love him, but no,” he said. “I’m not going just to be with him. ...Though that will be a perk.”

“You have no idea how much it soothes me to know you’re beginning to move on,” Ansem said. “For the longest time I felt like I’ve damned you. Whatever I can provide--money, an official letter, name it.”

“I still have to figure it all out. They just barely know of other worlds. How would they deal with an immigrant? I don’t think forged papers would be good enough.”

Ansem sat back. “I seem to recall a good friend of your beloved has sway with the mayor,” he said.

“Kairi,” he said. “I completely forgot.”

“You may want to start there. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to introduce you.”

“...Yes.” Ienzo was dizzy. “Yes. That’s a good place to start.”

---

“You’re what. ” Even’s nostrils flared.

“I’m leaving, Even,” Ienzo said. As much as he’d braced himself for this conversation, he was still not looking forward to Even’s reaction. “I just… I need time. I need space. I need to learn how to be me… and I can’t do that here.”

Even sniffed. “The boy’s been too much influence on you. All of the tenderheartedness, the ideas… Life won’t be easy, Ienzo.”

“But it will be normal,” he said. “I think that’s what I need in order to begin to heal. A… controlled environment. A vacuum.”

This made him soften a little.

“ I need to have control,” he said. “And if I stay here, for now, I’ll only be reminded of when I didn’t have that. It’s not forever. Or maybe it is, that is yet to be determined.”

Even sighed. “I see,” he said. “Ienzo… child… there’s so much I have to do to make up to you, and you’re just leaving ?”

Ienzo smiled. “Then support my decision,” he said. “Moreover, with the phones… it’s not as though I’ll never see you again. And we can still work together, as well. I think… one of the things you can help me do is spearhead the memorial with me.”

Even took a breath.

“I know you want to atone just as much, if not more, than I do. Help me accept their pain, Even, and make sure they don’t get forgotten. And that nothing like this happens again.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” He turned to leave, but Even spoke.

“It is… easy, to get caught up in the guilt and the grief,” he said, “And let it paralyze one. So often I feel as though I’ll never have enough time to even begin mitigating the damage I’ve done to this world.” His green eyes were sharp, reddened at the edges. “My mistakes were mine more than yours were yours. Yet…”

“In the end you chose to give up everything in order to stop Xehanort,” Ienzo said. “You deserve to be here. You deserve life too, Even.”

He chuckled. “You have gotten soft, child,” he said. He squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “It suits you. But don’t let go of all that bitterness just yet. Use it. Build your new life just to spite us all.”

Ienzo nodded. “I likely shall.”

Even sighed. “I will miss you,” he said. “But I understand.”

“And I you, I think,” Ienzo said.

“Though if you’re going there we must come up with a way to protect your complexion,” he said, snapping into brightness, though Ienzo saw his eyes watering. “I’ll get to it at once. We can’t have you end up with… moles, or worse, you’re so fair.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, Even.”

“You’ll… you’ll take care of yourself?”

“I will if you will.”

Even smiled.

“Truly, Even, you lecture me for working too hard, yet I’m not sure you sleep.”

A beat, a moment. “Take care, Ienzo,” Even said. “I do hope this new life treats you well.”

He nodded. He nearly left, but acting on impulse, he hugged Even once, quickly. “I’ll be back to collect that sunscreen, I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll see you before I leave.”

“Yes, yes, leaving me with more work, as always.” A smile.

---

The apartment had come pre-furnished, but was cramped. The sink leaked. Most of the microwave buttons did not work, and the electric stove heated unevenly. If Ienzo was not quick to shower in the morning, the other flats in the building used up all the hot water.

It was run-down, but it was his, and he loved it.

Riku groaned a little when he got up. “Why,” was all he said.

“I have to get to work,” Ienzo said. “I told you last night I’d be getting up early and if you wanted decent sleep to go home. I warned you.”

He sighed heavily. “To be fair, after what we did, I didn’t think I could move.”

He rolled his eyes and went to go shower. He’d made it for the hot water, though under the wire. When he came back out to get dressed Riku had pulled the blanket over himself, like a burrito. “Don’t you have class to get ready for?”

“Yes, and if I don’t go now I’ll be late.” Still, he didn’t move.

“The last thing I want is for you to become a ne’er do well on my watch,” he said. He grabbed his apron from the closet door handle.

“ Fine. ” He got up and started putting on his discarded uniform. “As long as I can be the first customer. You’re not going to make me wait outside until open again, are you?”

“The last time I didn’t my manager was unhappy.”

“You are the worst sometimes.”

Ienzo smirked. “You still keep coming back.”

The left the apartment together, down the rickety narrow staircase. The sun was just starting to rise. The days, lately, seemed long; but they were full, and Ienzo no longer dreaded them. He found the keys in his bag and unlocked the cafe’s door. “See you in half an hour,” he said breezily to Riku, who just rolled his eyes and sat at one of the outdoor tables.

Most days he didn’t mind this work. Opening the cafe meant he got out of work early, leaving the day open for his classes, or seeing people, or simply existing in this strange city. It wasn’t forever--he had reason to believe he’d be offered a student research position at university, and that would cover most of his living expenses. Ansem had given him money, but he didn’t want to touch it unless he had to.

Sometimes admittedly if he was having a frustrating day--if customers were awful to him or the espresso machine was on the fritz yet again --Ienzo felt his genius was being wasted being a barista. But most of the time, he liked the work, baking and making coffee the most. It was objective, harmless. I wanted normal, he’d think.

He counted in the drawers, put the breakfast pastries in their displays. Warmed up the machines and made coffee. He’d been promoted to keyholder when the manager saw how efficiently he was able to work, and that meant opening shifts. Sometimes on breaks he’d sit with a book and watch the people go by.

He hadn’t realized life could be gentle.

He saw Riku making faces at him through the window, and though he knew it was unnecessary, Ienzo waited until it was six on the dot to let him in.

“You’re a horrible boyfriend,” Riku said.

“Sure I am. Your usual?”

“You’re bankrupting me.” He placed a note on the counter. He made Riku’s latte and handed him the usual buttered croissant, and before the morning rush, sat with him to have his own breakfast. “So, later,” Riku said. “Couple of us are getting together at Sora’s. You in?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’d love to, but I have to finish that paper. I’ve procrastinated enough.” He seemed to be angling towards a degree in psychology with a minor in literature. He could use this to help people--he was trying to help Sora, who seemed to at least be more willing to open up. It was a start.

“Come anyway.”

“Then I’d have to stay up all night.”

“...Like you haven’t done that before.”

“Anyway, don’t you have a test to study for?”

“So?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’ll come, but I’ll be late.”

Riku leaned over and kissed him. “I should try to grab the ferry. Looks like you’ve got customers.”

---

There were already a few people over at Sora’s by the time Ienzo had done enough schoolwork to justify going. “Oh, you made it!” Sora said.

“And I brought snacks.”

“Yay, snacks!”

“Easy to please, as always,” Ienzo said, and Sora stuck out his tongue.

All of this wasn’t easy, but it was slowly getting easier. Sometimes Ienzo felt he was living a lie, not disclosing his past to everyone he met. As he made true, real friends here, it became apparent that this would be something he had to figure out how to deal with. Darkness still poked out from time to time.

There was some kind of movie playing on TV; Sephie and Tidus were arguing over what to watch. “But this is the good part!” Sephie said.

“I don’t care, it sucks.”

Someone had put on music, an upbeat pop song. Only Riku and Ienzo were of age to drink, but somehow someone had brought some wine. A normal Friday. His phone chimed with a text; a file from Even. Call me. Ienzo sighed and went onto the balcony. “Do I even want to know what time it is for you?” he asked, as prelude.

“This is what we’ve come up with,” Even said. “Can you let me know what you think? If it passes your muster?”

“Even, you know it’s better if these things are symbolic. It’s more meaningful that way.”

“I know, I know, I know, I’ve heard enough from your father.”

“I do look forward to seeing it,” he said. “The notes from the committee were helpful, at least. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Out and about, are you?” Even asked.

“Ah--quite.”

A pause. “You’re eating well, and all that?”

He smiled. “Yes, Even.”

“Because you know I raised you to--”

“I promise I’m getting all my fruits and vegetables.”

“Right. Ah.”

“Go sleep, Even. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“As long as you do.”

He hung up. The moon was full, and it was glinting on the ocean. Ienzo heard the back door slide open. “What are you doing here, all alone?” Riku asked.

“Even called me. He has a new draft of the memorial.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

Ienzo smiled. “It’s alright. I think we’re getting close.”

He offered him a glass of wine, which Ienzo took. “Are you glad you came after all?” he asked him.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I just… I dunno. I want to make sure you’re happy.”

“Well, I am.” He chuckled a little. “As much as I can be. It’s just that… sometimes the darkness still… comes out.” They both nightmared, occasionally. Sometimes Ienzo heard Riku cry out in his sleep for Sora or Kairi.

“It… does.”

“Are you happy?”

“As much as I can be.”

Ienzo nudged him. He rested a hand on Riku’s waist.

“I’m just glad to… have time,” Riku said. “I think I’m understanding that… it’s not all gonna get snatched away.”

“Good. I told you as much, though I know why…” He sighed. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m going to wake up in that… stark white castle. But then I wake up with you.”

Riku kissed him. “I can’t wait to figure it all out together.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

The door opened again; Kairi was smirking. “Alright, lovebirds. Do you want to want to play dominoes or what?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ienzo said, “I’m going to wipe the floor with you all.”

“Easy there, killer,” Riku said.

And they went inside, to the rest of their lives.

#give/take #ienzoku #ienzo/riku #ienzo #riku #ansem the wise #even (kingdom hearts) #ienzo is trans

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW: All I Ask - Chapter 2

NEW CHAPTER: JUNE 20, 2020 

There’s a crackle as Steve’s body collides with the ground, but whether it’s from the gravel he’s landed on or his bones cracking from the force, he’s uncertain. Between the pain radiating from the gash on his leg and the deafening ring in his ears, he’s unable to focus on anything other than how heavy his body feels. The desire to stay down and succumb to the darkness that’s lurking in his periphery washes over him suddenly, becoming far too tempting as he struggles for breath, and as his eyes begin to fall shut, it’s almost irresistible.    

But staying down isn’t an option. He knows it’s not, even when it feels like he has nothing left to give. It takes a Herculean effort, so much so that he can’t stop the wince from breaking out across his face, but he wills himself to roll ungracefully to his side.

“In all my years of conquest… violence… slaughter,” he hears Thanos say from yards away. “It was never personal.” The Titan takes a pause, and when Steve looks up, the smile on the monster’s face is nearly audible as he continues, “But I’ll tell you now… what I’m about to do to your stubborn, annoying little planet… I’m gonna enjoy it very, very much.”

The ground rumbles with the force of thousands of footsteps approaching, of ships landing, and weapons being drawn. His gaze sweeps across Thanos’ army filling the other side of the terrain, and he swallows hard at the sight. On his flanks, Tony and Thor are still out cold, and he can’t bring himself to think about what else has happened to everyone else. Whoever else they’ve lost.

He lets out a groan, loud and guttural, as he forces himself to his feet. He huffs out a breath, gritting his teeth as he fastens the strap on what’s left of his shield and begins to limp towards the fight. He’s all alone, all that’s left. One man with nothing more than half his weapon and his will to fight.

And it’s going to have to be enough.  

“Steve,” he hears a voice whisper, soft and saccharine. “Can you hear me?”

He pauses, letting out a tired chuckle. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth must only be the tip of the iceberg as far as his injuries go. His mind must have gone long before, because there it goes, the one voice he wants to hear, drowning out the ruckus of the battalion before him. Perhaps this is a kindness - a gift from the world he had given his life to save once before, and, as it stands, again in this moment. If its demise is here, then so be it. But at least let this voice be the last sound he hears before he perishes along with it.

“Steve, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

A smile grazes his lips. You’re all I hear.

“Turn around, Steve.”

A spark cuts through the gloom of the battlefield when he looks back, growing bigger and glowing brighter by the second as he stares in astonishment. A figure emerges from the light, slowly and torturously so, and vaguely, he’s aware that the portals have multiplied, lighting up the field as if the sun has shone over them. But as he focuses on the shadow coming towards him, his heart stammers in his chest. Neither pain nor delirium could keep him from recognizing the poise and confidence in its gait. And as it moves forward, revealing itself, he’s filled with something he thought he’d never feel again – relief.

In the midst of the ruins of what was once their home, Natasha’s onyx suit gleams, and the light of her batons is as fiery as the one illuminating her emerald eyes. She turns to him, her smile as sweet and mesmerizing as the one she had sent his way before this nightmare had begun. “Hey, soldier.”

Steve bolts up in bed, his chest heaving as cold sweat drips down his temple. He feels around him, and when his hands land on nothing but the softness of the sheets, he inhales deeply in an attempt to get his breathing in order. It was just a dream. He repeats the words in his head, mouthing them silently. It was just a dream.

When his breathing slows, he takes in his surroundings. Even in the dark, he makes out the fading yellow of the walls, and the pictures in the frames littering the shelves before him with the faces of three young children remind him that he isn’t on the battlefield, but in the guest bedroom of Clint’s home. With a sigh, he rises to look out the window. The light of dawn lingers low in the Missouri sky, painting the landscape of the Barton family farm in tones of rich purples and oranges. But in spite of the impending sign of a new day, he feels his hands clench into fists at his sides, and before he can let his emotions get the better of him, he finds himself dressing and swiftly making his way out the back door.

The barn is empty, and he searches frantically for something – anything – to do, as if what’s left of his sanity might just slip if he keeps still, and he doesn’t even think twice when he sees the axe on the workstation. He picks it up, heading towards the pile of firewood on the side of the room, and as he strikes the blade against the wood, he can no longer keep his thoughts from running amuck. Now more than ever, he feels like there is a heartless irony to his existence. When they’ve come as close as they have to not witnessing another day, the opportunity to live a new one shouldn’t bother him and make his heart feel like a weight in his chest, but they do. And it’s without a scintilla of a doubt that he knows that it’s all to do with the costly price they’ve had to pay to forge this reality.

The end was supposed to justify their means. And in many ways, it does. Families are reunited. The Earth remains in orbit. Half of the galaxy’s life has been restored. But even so, their losses haven’t felt minimized to any degree. The world could sympathize with the fact that Tony would never see Morgan grow up or that Natasha would never get to live the life she fought arduously to deserve, but they won’t hear Pepper’s sobs at night. They won’t hear the anguish in Clint’s voice when he reminisces with Nathaniel about his namesake. And they most definitely won’t hear his screams when he dreams of the life he and Natasha could have had, only to have it ripped away time and again by morning.

The last thought causes him to grip the axe more tightly. It’s been days since their time heist and since they’d defeated Thanos and his army for good, and though sleep has been difficult to find, on the off chance that he did, he’s been haunted by this recurring dream and the subsequent affliction of waking up to find that it was indeed just that. The sacrifice hadn’t been undone. Natasha hadn’t come back to them, to him. And in a world where stealing time has become a possibility, it’s a cruel, twisted joke that just having another minute with her, is not.

Tell me after. When we get our family and friends back. When we’ve restored half the universe. When we’ve won.

Her words from that night echo in his mind, her voice as sweet as it is in his dreams. But it only fortifies the bitterness coursing through his veins, intensifying the effort he exerts as he brings the axe to the wood over and over again. They were foolish to think they could leave the words they wanted to tell each other for a better time – as if they knew for certain that they had more than what they had at that very moment. And now here he was, back in his own fresh hell, alive if only to relive the vicious cycle of losing the person he loves. Though this time, he’d lost much more than the promise of one dance.  

A pained groan slips from his lips as his restraint crumbles, and he sends the axe flying towards the wall, the blade embedding into the wooden panel. He brings a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

“Might just be me,” he hears someone say, “but that’s looking a little too fine for the fireplace now.”

He looks down at his feet, and he has to blink away the tears he hadn’t realized had filled his eyes to see that he had turned the log into mulch. With the back of his hand, he wipes his tears away before turning to find Clint lingering by the work bench, his sweat-drenched shirt a reassurance that he’s not the only one that sleep has alluded. He sighs. “You can’t sleep,” he says, watching as Clint stares at him for a second, unsure if he should be surprised or impressed that his words had come out as a statement of fact instead of a trite question, but he only shrugs. Preamble meant little to him now.

“Every time I close my eyes…” Clint says, “I see her falling.”

He looks back down at the ground. He knows better than anyone what that’s like, to have a horror movie play in your head repeatedly without the power to shut it off. The image of Bucky falling from the train haunted him for years, and some nights, even when he knew his best friend had survived, it still did. But he doesn’t dare offer Clint any advice - damn if he knew how to make it stop.

“I think I’d be better off with nightmares,” he says, his voice steady even when his gut feels anything but. “Because at least they wouldn't be a lie. But all I keep getting are dreams that she’s not really gone.” He does not even look up to see Clint’s reaction as he adds, “I can deal with the pain of reality. I think it’s all I’ve ever really known since I came out of the ice. But this… hope? This feeling like there’s got to be some way to bring her back and I’m just missing it?” He shakes his head. “It’s a demon I don’t know how to slay.”  

“It can’t be undone,” Clint says softly. “You know it can’t, Steve.”

“Do I?” he says heatedly. “God, what do I know? What do any of us really know? Every goddamn thing we thought was impossible turned out to be possible!” He steps forward. “So, tell me, Clint, after everything we’ve been through, everything that’s happened, what do we really know anymore?”

“I know she’s not here,” Clint says, throwing his hands up in frustration. “My best friend isn't here!” He scoffs. “She didn't choose to become what they made her, didn't get a say in any of it… But she atoned for those sins all the same.” His voice falls to a tormented whisper. “She deserved this win more than anyone I know."

His expression softens at the agony that pains Clint's face. "She fought to own her choices,” he says. “You couldn't have stopped her. Even I know that."

"Yeah, she fought for it,” Clint says, his chuckle devoid of any humor as he looks back at him. “You're right, maybe we don't know a fucking thing anymore, but what I do know is that she is not here."

“It had to be her.”

His head whips in the direction of the barn’s door, as does Clint’s, and they both share a look when they find Stephen Strange leaning against the frame.

“But I have reason to believe there is more to her sacrifice than previously thought,” Strange says.

Click here to read Chapter 1 on AO3. 

#romanogers #all i ask #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #natrogerfics #endgame fix it

[killervibe]

Killervibe fic - Favourite Season (Day 3 of the 30 days of Killervibe)

~ I am posting these way out of order I know and I’m sorry. 

~.~

Caitlin holds her breath in his cluttered workshop. Her pristine white lab coat covering over the stolen cuffs tight around her wrists. She knows she lied and has disappointed him when she places them with a thud on his desk. The glass she overturns expands into solid water and she sees the fear he feebly masks behind his eyes. Senses his trepidation. She begs with a crack in her voice for him to tell her the truth. Yes, she told him she never thought gaining powers would make them evil, but that was last year. Last timeline, a different reality, for all she knows the versions of themselves they once were are now strangers. She's scared. She clings to him and she feels him shake, she just wants to hold him and bring this moment to a standstill. Nobody needs to know. Just Cisco. Only Cisco. Somehow she knows he's the only one who would never leave her. She can't lose that now.

Maybe she's indulging herself by jutting out her lip and fluttering her eyelashes at him when his invention blinks incessantly in the space between them. She feels powerful when he caves. It feels good to know she can do that, she only discovered it a while ago. She could pout or hold his hand and he'd stutter, red in his cheeks, eyes wide and soft and yearning. Maybe it's cruel to use him like that, but it lights a spark in her chest, to know she can sway Cisco's mind with a single pleading.

HR's relentless all morning about the opening of the Star Labs museum. Cisco texted her a few hours back that it was best they go along with it. Maybe things are tense between Wally and Barry, but Cisco is dressed up beside her and HR is right, he suits up nicely. She bites her lip when he offers her his arm like a gentleman, and the butterflies flutter in her stomach again. The walk from the cortex to the Star Labs museum isn't very long. Caitlin treasures all of ten minutes of it, the experience of arriving at events together. Together, she thinks and hides her blush behind the coffee cart HR is implying she should be working. Cisco dismisses it, now his hand on her back. She could get used to this.

It's true that Cisco deserves happiness. That he should want someone. Caitlin smiles tightly, watching Cisco prepare for the battle with this inter-dimensional bounty huntress. Ten minutes into his spectacular blow-up of a practise session, she grits her teeth, clenches her palms and stalks away. She's outside, alone in the deserted parking lot in her heels. It's not that she doesn't believe in Cisco, that he could defeat this woman, unlike Barry's belief. She knows he can. But what happens then? Will he flirt her into staying on this earth? Is he looking for her replacement? A woman who can do what he can, but better? See what he can see, but clearer? It's a tempting pairing, dying to be matched, that's for sure. Caitlin 's pendant feels heavy over her chest. She picks it up, studying it as her bottom lip trembles. Savitar has spoken. One will betray. She thinks about the piece of the philosopher's stone locked away in its hidden compartment.  The necklace glows in her hand as if absorbing energy. Would her eyes have gone blue and hair gone white right now without it? Maybe her jealousy is all it takes.

It's not that Cisco wants to die. Certainly not to prevent the threat of demise by the hands of gorillas. But every hero makes his eventual sacrifice, right? That's a universal explored in every comic arc he's ever read. If Cisco's blessing is his ability to connect a dimension to a dimension, or past to a future, now earth to another earth,  then he refuses to be the bridge that brings upon curses. One will fall. If Cisco dies now, maybe Iris will live. If Cisco dies now, maybe Caitlin 's fate will be redeemed. Whatever it is the British fool mutters under his breath in this cage beside him, tracing random symbols into the sand with his finger, Cisco is thankful for his sudden second nomination. They may not see eye to eye or have remotely similar motives, but at least Julian gets it. Maybe Cisco's too powerful to live. And Cisco doesn't have to think about his request too hard, his red beanie wringing in his hands as he pleads with her through the cell bars. It wouldn't be too bad, to be killed with a kiss. Not if it were hers.

"Just so you know, Julian and I are just friends." Maybe it's selfish that she's so relieved the woman Cisco had his eyes on is out of the picture. It's not selfish to keep a distance from Julian. Maybe he's a self-centred ass with an arrogance that may rub Caitlin the wrong way, but at this point, she's just as bad, no, she's worse. But Julian is away, and there are hearts littered all around the speed lab, and Cisco's lamenting about his lack of love in his life and maybe, just maybe, Caitlin can take this chance.

Caitlin asked him if he could put on the scrubs and help Julian with the emergency surgery. His heart hammered and hands shook, unable to even knot the blue smock around his neck. Caitlin's gasping and the flowing crimson burns tears in his eyes. Iris takes one look at him and pulls the scrubs off his back, already tying the string around her waist. They don't speak anything between the three minutes it takes, there's no time, but she knows. She knows the impossible task Caitlin asked of him. He can only stand frozen to the ground two feet away, arm still stained from the time pressing on the wound, as he watches them operate. His other fist is in his mouth, his jaw tense, and he recoils every time she lets out a guttural scream. The monitor beeps faster and faster, he forces himself to breathe, reciting the stats. One will fall. It was supposed to be Iris. He never realized the terrible comfort that false pretense had brought him until now, bile creeping up his throat.

Caitlin is dead. Something cracks in his soul.

Julian is unable to shut his mouth with his little "comments" about his inability to keep his head straight. No, he hasn't slept in days and hasn't touched his hair in longer. Everything she's ever touched Cisco's got his hands all over, desperation turning him into a mad man. He has to find her and he has to bring her home and he doesn't know how to do either. If she'd even want the option.  The woman who let her mascara smear into his skin as she fisted his jean jacket after that first disaster would have never wanted this. That woman, his Caitlin, had begged him to never leave her. And how could he? Julian and his little "comments", he's still going on with them now. Cisco slams his hands against the white keyboard in the cortex, startling the room into silence. He's going to lose it.

She says to herself she's only here because she needs to get Savitar's memories back. She doesn't care about Cisco's sob stories from their past and she doesn't care that Barry is staring at her with a blank face and she doesn't care that HR looks at her like he's pissing his pants and she doesn't care that Julian even thinks he has a right to try and tell her what's right. She doesn't care and she certainly doesn't love. She tells them this in the hallway but when the elevator doors shut in their face, she sees the glint of Cisco's crushed tears. Caitlin remembers herself for the briefest moment.

She likes fighting him, she thinks. She doesn't know why.

He hates fighting her. Even Julian could see why.

They're in the forest just like his vibe that felt so long ago. Cornered against the roots of a tree in a leather skirt and boots, she tries not to cower. He looks at her like she's the scum on his shoes. She bites out for him to end her if he hates her so bad. For a second, it's almost like he wants to. They know he doesn't want to, dropping the serum at her feet. He won't force her to take it. Won't even give her one of his speeches. Just looks at her void, exhausted. Finished. The other breacher is back, watching their interaction warily. Of course, she thinks, delusional to believe for a moment to be granted a second chance. She deserved this.

Hidden in Savitar's empty, leaking lair. She stares at the antidote vial. She drinks it.

Clarity comes a few days later. Her thoughts are her own, not overlapped with a stranger's, and the calm saves her from the brink. In sunglasses, hair stark white and ugly, she had no intention to catch their attention. Cisco puts his hand on her arm, just like he did ages ago, ushering her into the Star Labs museum.

Somehow, she's still affected.

#tkv fic #killervibe #s3 #killervibechallenge20

[writtingfiction]

Now to put aside some fluff, I think its time we rewind to where Lucina is actually losing Robin after he kills Grima. Because Robin became her newest and most greatest reason to save the world, Lucina losing her husband hits her harder than losing Chrom in her time, not to mention she begged for him to not take the final blow so that they could find another way. He did accept, only to break his promise as he knew there was no other way. Lucina can't bear the pain when this happens, nor Morgan

You are absolutely right, let’s bring in the angst train in, with a sprinkle of a happy ending. I did more of an immediate effect, so I hope this pleases you! I had fun writing it. However, I feel bad putting them through this. (゜▽゜;)

pairing: Lucina x Robin

words: 1.8k 

All he can really do is stare, whether in fear or defeat. He knew Grima, the Fell Dragon was large, but he would not be able to personally have realized just how large they were. The far-off shouts of the Shepherds morbidly reminding him of how much time is left. Naga left him, him with a choice. Let Chrom take the final blow so Grima would be left to sleep again for who knows how long, but he would still stand with them; or let himself take the final hit, sacrifice himself so Grima would cease to exist and never harm another being again, but he would also lose as well. He would not stand beside his family and friends, but instead fade just like the corrupt God. Why does it have to be him that makes this choice?

There was a soft hand on his shoulder, his attention turns from the screeching God to see Lucina. A smile appears on his lips, a shaky one. They share a moment and an understanding gaze but it’s not quite enough.

“Robin…” Lucina speaks, her confident tone wavering. “Promise me… Promise me that you’ll let my Father take the final blow.” Robin eyes widen but a fraction.

“But, Lucina—”

“I could not bare to lose you.” She states firmly. Eyes looking to the ground, silence over taking them. “I’ve lost my father once, and I don’t want to see him perish along with you.” Robin frowned. He could understand not wanting to lose her father in this timeline, and him? He just so happened to be the unlucky soul with Grima’s blood coursing through his veins. “I fear, I fear that losing you will be harder on me than losing my father.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. We will all make it home; I promise you that.” Robin says, clearly. Washing away any uncertainties she may have had. However, there was still an army he needed to address and make them believe they’ll all make it home safely.

“Father…!” A cheery voice called for him. He could almost laugh, it truly would be a family moment. “Father, did you promise Mother…?” Morgan trailed off, her own apprehension clinging to her. Robin gave her a small smile.

“I promised her I would get us all home safely.” Robin said, opening his arms to welcome his daughter into a hug, but she stood firm.

“That includes you, right?” Morgan said quietly. The sorrowful look in her eyes as she begged, pleaded that it meant him as well.

“Of course, Angel.” Robin said, however, he could feel guilt slithering around him like a snake, waiting to bite. Morgan then conceded, falling into her father’s arms. She may not have remembered losing her father the first time, but to know and to see it happen a second time… She would not dare to think about it. “Now, come. Both of you, I’m sure everyone else is waiting, we’ve got a God to put down.”

-----  

Oh Gods, here he was. Exhausted, hurt and lungs burning. The battlefield was Grima, Risen coming from all sides as he and Chrom pushed through, along with some others. The sword he had brought broke a while ago, breaking into pieces into the Risen that tried to lay a hand on Chrom. Now, now all he had was Thoron in his left hand; book open, pages turning at a fast speed while his right hand hovered over the fast turning pages. Chrom was just on his left side, sword at the ready, glowing brightly, ready to have the chance to strike Grima down.

Grima was weak, now was the time to do the finishing blow. He heard Chrom shout out to him, telling him what his orders were. To strike the God down or wait for another blow. The overhanging of the promise he made, to Chrom, to the Shepherds, to his family, almost feels suffocating. As if the snake of guilt had finally wrapped its way around his lungs.

There was a single twitch in his finger, his brown eyes glaring hard at the perfect copy of himself. Grima could barely stand, blood pooling at the edge his clothing. But, he still had the wicked smirk across his face. Gloating, knowing that he would be back, time didn’t matter to him. Time was nothing to a God, but it was everything to him. Electricity began to spark, singing the edges of the book, showing signs that this would be its final use. The markings of the spell began to swirl around his right hand as he brought it away from the book. Hand stretched out towards Grima as he gave a guttural shout.

“THORON—!!!”

The bright flash of lightning appears from his hand and shoots straight towards the God. Piercing through the body and having Grima collapse to their knees. To finally see the fear in the God’s eyes made Robin feel only slightly better about his decision, and only for a split second as he heard the screams of his family call out to him. The book turned to ash, as Grima shouted at him.

“You fool!! You’re going to die as well!! We could have ruled the world.” Grima growled out, but he faded quickly. Leaving him to slowly fade, a purple light starting at the edge of his coat.

“Father…!!! You promised!!” He heard Morgan cry out. Robin turned to see Lucina, Morgan and Chrom run towards him.

“Robin, you promised!!” Chrom growled out, more in sorrow than in anger. Robin felt tears gather in his eyes. A chuckle left his lips in disbelief, hands raising welcome his family into his arms. Morgan practically fell in his arms, tears pouring down her face. Chrom could only stand, feet planted where he stood. He lost his best friend.

Lucina. She had tears falling down her cheeks faster than her mind could register that her husband, the man who promised he wouldn’t sacrifice himself, did. He had promised, told her that he would not. How could he lie to her? How dare he make the promise when he would fall back on it. Her feet shook as they drew her towards him, trying to comprehend why exactly he decided to break their promise. She told him, she told him that she could not bare to lose him. It would break her; she was sure of this. Lucina now had a limited time with her husband before he disappeared from her eyes.

“Robin…” She said in a whimper. “You promised me… You said you wouldn’t…!”

“I’m sorry…” Robin said, eyes filled with sorrow as he looked at her. Cradling their daughter in his arms. “It was for the best, Grima won’t come back, ever.”

“But I’ve lost you in the process…! Morgan, Father, all the Shepherds! We’ve all lost you.” Lucina sobbed. Robin collapsed to his knees, the purple light taking his feet from him.

“Don’t leave, Father! Please!! I just got you back, I don’t want to lose you. Not again…!” Morgan wept. Robin’s tears fell faster as he held her tighter, trying to at least, as the light took more, and more of him.

“You haven’t lost me. Our bonds are strong enough, I’ll be back. That I can promise.” Robin said, looking to his family as they all cried out to him in pain and sorrow. There was nothing he could do to stop them from crying. Nothing to stop the pain they felt aching in their bones. Naga said, that if their bonds were strong enough; he would come back.

Lucina shook her head, refusing to believe that this was his choice. She was now starting to wish that this was all a dream. That they were back at camp planning the best way to rid of the Fell Dragon. Just coming to know that Naga would help them tear down the monstrosity that Grima was. Yes, Robin would come back, but how long would she have to wait. How long would she have to suffer, her and Morgan. She lost her family in one timeline and to lose it all over again, her heart couldn’t take it.

“I love you, Morgan. Lucina…” Robin said, the fading purple light taking a hold of his hair. He was going to be taken away soon. Her fingers intertwine with his fading ones, his cold hands leaving her to hold the air. Their foreheads briefly touch as he whispers out his last words. “My love, I love you…”

Lucina could barely get her own words out as he disappeared into the air, the purple light staying just for a moment longer before fading into the setting sun. She let out scream, Morgan sobbing into her hands. A warm light surrounded the Shepherds, Naga was taking them back to the ground. Growing brighter, before teleporting the Shepherds back down on the ground.

Lucina crumbled to the ground, sobbing loudly as whispered no’s left her lips in a begging mantra. Morgan barely keeping herself sane with her loud sobs. Chrom, finally, finally moves towards his daughter and granddaughter. Pulling them into his arms to sob freely, their hearts all breaking. Hiding his face among his daughter’s hair as he too, sobbed for the loss of his friend. He may come back, but right now, right now everything hurt. Lungs burning as their hearts ached. Robin’s broken promise swimming through their heads like a sick repetition. He had to come back now. He had something to fix, something to get rid of. He couldn’t just leave when there was still something to do.

--- --

Lucina held Morgan’s hand. She breathed in deeply, trying calm her breathing. Her heart was racing. After 2 long years, 2 achingly long years without Robin, he was finally here. Just across the field he was there, breathing, blood pumping through his veins. He was alive.

“Mother… What if he has amnesia?” Morgan whispers, a silent fear she had been holding inside her the moment she saw him. It was the thought of her father this time, not recognizing her after all the time they had finally spent together. The year they had spent fighting the Risen and defeating Grima. Had he forgotten it all? Lucina squeezed her hand.

“He won’t.” Lucina said firmly. “He wouldn’t break his promise. Not this time.” She was confident, she was sure that he wouldn’t forget his family, but the small inkling was hard to ignore. What if he did forget her? Her father? Their own daughter? Lucina wasn’t sure she could handle another heartbreak.

However, when Robin had shifted his body towards the rest of the Shepherds, all he could focus on was Lucina and Morgan. The joyful tears fell from his eyes, blurring his vision slightly as he called out to them. Immediately washing any fears, they had. Lucina and Morgan ran towards him, laughing as they called back to him. Morgan and Lucina jumped into Robin’s arms, making him lose balance and fall back onto the ground. Joyful laughter’s and cheering were all Robin could hear.

“I’m home, girls.”

#sammrz320 #request #angst #angst and fluff #Robcina #robin fire emblem #robin x lucina #lucina fire emblem #Lucina x Robin #morgan #morgan fire emblem #angst train

[otobabe]

Humanity (Heisuke & Sano)

Hakuouki, Sanosuke + Heisuke SFW, Hurt/comfort, Platonic Bromance, Some Angst

Summary: Heisuke has something troubling him and decides to open up to Sano. Sano really cares for his friend and tries to talk it through with him in this fic <3

After a night of drinking, Heisuke and Sanosuke sit, leaned against the wall near the cherry blossom tree. Heisuke’s long coffee-colored hair whips in the wind as he sighs. His electric blue eyes hide under heavy lids, and a frown ages his youthful face. Harada can see the worry in his friend’s expression, watching as Heisuke’s eyebrows scrunch down and together.

“Spit it out Heisuke. It’s unlikely I haven’t been in the same headspace you are now.” Sanosuke says with a soft, bittersweet quality. 

“Eat dirt, Sano, you’ll just gossip to Shin and I’ll never hear the end of it.” Under normal circumstances, Heisuke would be saying that in jest, beginning a back and forth with Sanosuke. This night, however, the words were half-heartedly whispered, a somber tone had snaked it’s way into the pauses between his words.

“For God’s sake, Heisuke, a good man wouldn’t deepen his friend’s pain for a punchline,” Sanosuke huffed out, his tone serious as his eyes narrowed at a distant tree in frustration.

Heisuke let Sano’s words sink deep into his heart before deciding to speak. “Sano, I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know what purpose a fury’s life can hold. Sanan, a man I admire, keeps reminding me that we furies lack humanity. But what makes someone human, how do you describe what humanity is and isn't? I know I ain’t a saint, but I’ve never really wanted to be a devil.” The deep sigh that released from Heisuke’s chest marked the beginning of heavy tears streaming down his face. 

Sanosuke’s eyes moved from the faraway tree to peer at Heisuke. He thinks to himself that he’s never seen Heisuke look so desperate before. Never when going into battle, not when he left the Shinsengumi. His tears didn’t fall this hard when he risked his life for Chizuru, his hands didn’t shake involuntarily with such vigor even as he accepted the help of the Water of Life in his dying moments while drenched in blood. This was a different kind of pain. The type of hurt that overlays like a filter upon your life, darkening even the brightest of corners.

“Sano, I-I drank that poisoned shit  because I.... I-I was scared to die, but..... Sanan says we aren’t really alive now, anyway. I was willing to sacrifice a lot to stay alive, I don’t mind staying in the shadows much. I can manage the bloodlust for now.” Heisuke’s shoulders begin to heave. His body curls forward and his hands reach up to cover his face. “B-b-but.... I c-can’t.... handle my l-life... being worthless, just living waiting to d-die for another man’s cause.” A hurt, guttural sound escapes Heisuke’s throat and his fingers push deeper into his face. His tone becomes enraged as his voice sounds like a stifled scream, “and, I don’t want Chizuru to look at me and see nothing but a monster! I’d rather die than make her see me like that, to have her see me thirsting for blood, madness having overcome me!” 

Sano’s heart hadn’t throbbed from pain like this in a long while. Seeing his friend, one of his best friends, the young and energetic Heisuke himself, speaking words eerily similar to those Sanosuke had thought himself during a time long ago. Sano mindlessly reaches for his stomach to trace where his large scar lays under his clothes. Then, he looks at the shattered Heisuke, who looks like a shadow of the boy he’s known for years. Sanosuke knew he’d never forgive himself if he couldn’t be the person to Heisuke that he, himself, had needed when he tried to commit seppuku. 

Heisuke felt calloused fingers pulling his hands away from his face, then they gently wiped the hot streams from his cheeks. A futile effort as newer, hotter tears took place of the old. Sanosuke’s large muscular arms reached around Heisuke’s smaller frame, grabbing his shoulder with force and shoving the two of them closer together. 

With his arm still wrapped around Heisuke, Sanosuke moved his hand toward the long brown hair on top of Heisuke’s head. Sano ruffles the ponytail lightly.

“Heisuke, sometimes we don’t have all the answers, man. And I sure as hell don’t know what your purpose here is supposed to be. But I do know two things that might help. The first thing I know is, Chizuru has stayed by us with the Shinsengumi for a long time now. Not a man here would force her to stay anymore if she asked to leave. But she doesn’t, and that’s partly because even when all of Kyoto thinks we’re devils, thinks we’re wolves, Chizuru has always seen the best in us. She sees us as the warriors, the protectors we’ve always wanted to be. And that ain’t going to change just because you drank that toxic crap Kodo made.” Heisuke’s tears had visibly slowed, his head nodded along in solemn agreement with Sano’s words, his eyes closed in sincere concentration.

“The second thing I know is that those inner demons of yours aren’t sneaking in because you’re a fury. You can’t fool me. I know these thoughts have lingered under the surface longer than that, I’ve had them before, too. Those thoughts don’t make you who you are. Just like Sanan’s words don’t make you a devil, even if his adamant conviction rings through his tone as he says it. He’s got his own voices in his head that he’ll have to come to terms with one day soon. As for me, it’d be pretty hard to convince me that you’re a devil. No devil would give a rat’s ass about any of these things stressing you out right now. So, to me, you’re still just that scrawny little punk always pulling me into trouble with Shinpachi.” The smile on Harada’s face is mixed with equal parts grief and endearment. His red hair mussed by the wind, small pieces escaped his low ponytail and framed his face.

Staring straight at that same isolated tree from before, Sanosuke’s hand caressed Heisuke’s cheek before guiding his face towards Sano’s hardened chest. Sanosuke’s long fingers wrapped themselves in Heisuke’s hair as he yearned for the days when Heisuke’s smile wasn’t filled with regret. 

Then, suddenly, Heisuke chuckled. Shocked, Sanosuke glared indignantly at the boy within his arms. “Alright, you little shit, I just put it all out there so what the hell are you laughing at?” Sano snarled, gnashing his teeth but still keeping his fingers wound in Heisuke’s hair. 

“Nah, it ain’t a big deal. I just realized why all those women love you, Sano,” Heisuke whispered lightly. He took a deep breath before continuing on with a wistful grin, “I think Chizuru would be lucky to marry a man like you one day.” 

Sanosuke looked at Heisuke with surprise, before his face twisted back into a look of pleasant longing. With a whisper so quiet, only Heisuke could’ve heard, Sano said “Thanks, man. I’d be happy if she chose to spend her days with someone like you, too.”

#hakuouki #hakuoki #hakumyu #hakuouki sano #hakuouki sanosuke #hakuouki harada #hakuoki sano #hakuoki sanosuke #hakuoki harada #hakuoki heisuke #hakuouki Heisuke #hakuouki toudou #hakuoki toudou #heisuke x chizuru #harada x chizuru #heisuke x harada #hakuoki baka trio #hakuouki baka trio #hakuoki fanfic #hakuouki fanfic #anime fanfiction #otobabefic #anime fanfic #otome fanfic #otome #otobabeoc #otobabesfwfics

[parseemizuhashi]

I sat at the shores of the Uji river, scratching my head in desperation and with the mood of the weather that was hitting the bridge over and over again, even if the structure stood strong, like if nothing could put it down.

Just like I felt like if nothing could put me down, either.

No matter how much it was raining, or how wild the flow of the river was, I wouldn’t get wet for too long; the anger that built in me so strongly since I became a monster has been keeping me from ending that way. Even the fires of the candles were burning with no intention of dying off! It was an unnatural willpower...but one that expressed the emotions of my very soul really well.

Standing up after not being able to sit for too long, I walked closer to the water and clenched my fists, then, took a deep breath while the wind made my now blonde hair and white robes to flow in the same direction it was going.

How long has it been now?...will my curses take effect on the man I used to call my husband? I wanted him dead...but I wanted to do it myself. Such a punishment could only come from the woman that got so hurt over his actions; myself.

To think not all that long ago I had all I wanted, needed, and more, and the same way it came, it was ripped off my hands like if I never deserved to have it in the first place. How could fate be this cruel when all my life I made sure to be a good woman, someone deserving of respect and love?...now all that was left was a shattered heart guided by jealousy that was ready to hurt the one that took it all away.

...then, it happened. Just as I was feeling myself drown in my desperation and envy, he was there, approaching under this storm with that woman that he promised to love.

Bah!...no! The sight of the two of them being together made my blood boil, but at the same time, a sinister grin widely accompanied my now unnatural green and glowing eyes. For a long time I’ve been wanting to bring misfortune to this man...no, this pig that thought of himself as a man.

“We should get out of here! The weather may not be in our favor, but we will do it...quick!”

He was going around with some kind of luggage, and his new wife. While they didn’t personally pass by here in the last weeks, it was obvious that they’ve been preparing themselves to leave.

To where? That, I didn’t know, but if I knew something, is that they weren’t going to leave. I won’t let them.

Just as he passed by the bridge, I was quick to appear in front of him; candles still burning around my head and green eyes guiding him in the darkness of this angered night.

His new wife? Let out a small scream when they both noticed that I was there, but he looked at me with more confusion than horror...did he recognize me or...not?...

They could feel that who was standing in front of them wasn’t human, or at least, their energy and aura was completely supernatural, eerie, but even if they tried to ignore and get away from me, I didn’t let them.

It’s then when he finally spoke to me.

“Who are you?...do I know you? Do you work for the shrine or something?...look, the weather is horrible and we need to get to our caravan!”

Who was I?...who was I?! Did he really not know who I was? Did I change just that much? Or perhaps I really meant that little to him?...as much as his words and presence angered me, I tried my best to stay calm as my eyes did the work of piercing through his soul.

“Do you really can’t remember me?...oh, my dear husband...the love of my life...” As I stood in their way, and with a simple gesture of passing my hand by the front of my face, my appearance changed to the one of the woman I used to be.

Dark haired, with eyes the same...a gentle expression of an innocent girl that didn’t know what was going to happen to her.

It was all an illusion to cover up the kind of monster I turned into, a temporary change so this stupid man could realize who was the one in front of him now. To make him understand that he should be scared to death.

“M-Mirana?!...it can’t be!...I heard rumours...some say they saw you drowning yourself in this same river!-...you’re supposed to be dead!...”

Supposed to be dead...my older self was dead. It’s just been a few months and my memory couldn’t even remember who I was before all of this aside of the events that made me end up in this situation to start with.

My name used to be Mirana...not from this land, that, I know, but at this point, that didn’t matter much.

An invisible force passed by my side, anyone could’ve tried to imagine that it was something emanating from my own being, but aside of a brief green glow, nothing could be seen aside of me, and the couple.

My jealousy and anger was just so strong that I learnt how to manifest all those emotions into a whole new being; a serpent-like monster that would only appear to those I wanted to, but them? They didn’t deserve to even witness my strength.

At much, I would use it so they wouldn’t leave.

“L-Look...Mirana...I’m sorry. I already told you what I thought back then...we’re finished and I will get out of this hole so I don’t have to keep seeing you around here!...”

His choice of words?...the worst. In a simple and swift movement, I took the wood hammer on my waist, supported by the ribbon around the robes I was wearing, and in my free hand, long iron nails materializing out of thin air that I later chose to hold between my teeth except for one.

Before the man could react, the invisible green-eyed monster was holding the two of them so they wouldn’t move, his wife and him, closer to myself, and that way...

Crack!...

The iron nail, in a single hit, went to impale the forehead of my ex-lover; between eye an eye. Then another hit...and another, so the nail could get as deep as possible as an expression of my anger...and my sadness.

Nothing would come out of the betrayer other than guttural sounds from the back of his throat- his eyes almost rolling back completely at the same time that life left his body rather quickly.

Of course, it was to expect that the new wife would start screaming after witnessing something like that, but it wasn’t long until I let the corpse of the horrible man to fall to the floor before my envy...my jealousy, would then devour the woman with its big jaw and teeth.

But I couldn’t just leave it at that. Now that the man I wanted revenge on was in front of me, now empty of any life and on the floor, I sat on top of him and started picking the rest of nails that were waiting between by clenched teeth...and one by one, I would nail them down his body pretty much like I did with the straw dolls on his name before.

My ex-husband was no more...the other whore, was no more.

When I managed to calm down, I was covered in blood, and panting.

Now that I was done...was my revenge worth the sacrifice I made?...maybe it was...or maybe it wasn’t...

I just knew I was going to retire to hide under the bridge I was now tied to. To finally rest...

...or not.

#Drabble #I COME BACK FROM GROCERY SHOPPING AND GIVE YOU THIS

[theghostofashton]

“i can’t do this without you.”

39. “i can’t do this without you.”

i had an idea. i saw that this was the next prompt.

it broke me.

it’ll break you too.

trigger warnings - depression and anxiety

"So this fuckin' asshole thinks he can just fuckin' do that? I was like hell no dude, this isn't just another fuckin' song. I put so much of myself into this shit and they think they can fuck with it like that? Hell fuckin' no. So I just-"

"Aws, hey, take a breath." Geoff moves the arm he has around his shoulders to the middle of his back, between the blades of his shoulders. "It's our day off. We said no band stuff."

He rolls his eyes. "You said no band stuff. I didn't say anything."

"I meant it for both of us," Geoff mutters. He begins to move his hand in circles. Awsten pulls his lip in with his teeth and closes his eyes, leans into Geoff's touch and lets his body weight shift onto Geoff's side. "You needa day off, love. You're too stressed."

"It's an important song," he manages. "I need them to hear it the way I wrote it. The way it was meant to be heard."

"They will." Geoff's hand stills on his back and snakes around to wrap around him. His fingers curl around his torso and Awsten stumbles and almost falls, as Geoff pulls him into a hug. He feels the tears burning at the corners of his eyes as soon as his face hits Geoff's shoulder. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he inhales heavily and presses his nose against Geoff's collarbone.

"Do you wanna go home?" Geoff's breath feels warm against his ear. "We can see the movie another day."

"Mmmm."

"We just left off on the season six finale of The Office, remember? We can start seven." Geoff keeps rubbing his back. "And we still have some of the cookies your mom dropped off on Thursday. C'mon baby, let's go home. You need a day in bed."

He needs more than just a day. He needs a week, a month, maybe an entire year of dreamless, restful sleep, unhindered by the sharp claws, the talons digging into his back and ripping at his skin, tearing and scooping, hollowing him out until he wakes, cold, breathless, sticky with sweat and unable to separate the images his mind conjures from you're in bed you're with Geoff you're safe it was just a dream you're okay breathe.

He lifts his head off Geoff's shoulder and looks down, slips his hand into Geoff's and curls his tiny fingers around Geoff's bigger ones. "Let's go home."

Geoff smiles at him and leans in to kiss his cheek. He closes his eyes, breathes in, uses his other hand to cup Geoff's cheek and press their foreheads together.

Some days he wonders how this happened. He remembers the blurry lines and faded edges, the darks and lights blending into one to form a greyed out mess, the ache, like someone poked a hole in his heart and then stuck their finger in it like a curious child, ripping and tearing until it finally split.

He remembers the headaches, crying so hard he couldn't lift his head off his pillow the next morning, the hand on his back and the voice next to his ear, feeling the bed dip and being intoxicated by a scent that now feels like home. He remembers Geoff's hands; feeling liquid warmth seep into his veins, plant flowers where she'd grown weeds, become the glue that held his broken pieces together.

Some days he wonders how he got this lucky and thinks of the version of himself a few years ago, the one that stared up at the ceiling with achy eyes and a knot in his chest, the one that wondered if things would ever get better.

And he wishes he could tell himself it would.

"I love you," he whispers. He moves his head back so he can connect his lips with Geoff's.

"I love you, too," Geoff says when they pull away. "Never forget that."

He swallows again – goddamn Geoff for turning his sad tears into happy ones – and turns out of Geoff's embrace to look at the street in front of them. He starts walking forward and the grip on Geoff's hand becomes a pull and that's when he realizes Geoff isn't walking with him.

"Geoff?"

"The walk sign's not lit up Aws, we gotta wait."

He turns back to the street. The road is clear. He can hear cars in the distance but they sound far enough that they can make it across the street. "There's no one here, relax."

"Aws, I really think you should-"

"It's fine!"

"Aws, watch out!"

"AWSTEN!"

Someone pulls the ground out from under him. He's in the air for all of two seconds. He feels pressure against his back and he flies forward, tumbling to the concrete in a tangle of limbs. The pain stings. It's sore his knees are stinging what the fuck just happened who the fuck was that what the-

He hears the screeching of tires and whips his head around, just in time to see Geoff's body roll up onto the hood of the car and crash to the ground with a loud thump.

...

His heart is racing.

It feels like his lungs are going to eject out of his throat. The nausea has settled in and made a nice home for itself.

He's never run this fast in his life.

He practically hangs onto the receptionist's desk when he gets to it, white-knuckling the edge and panting heavily. He puts one hand on his chest and inhales a heavy breath. There's nothing slowing down his heart. It's impossible. It's been racing since Awsten's flurry of frantic texts came in.

otso

gedeji

hfibgr

hospiewpsa

geodk

nenewn ydou

"Sir, may I...help you?"

"Geoff Wigington." He lifts his head with another gasp.

She nods, still looking a bit hesitant, and types for a bit. The keys clack loudly. He feels like he's suffocating when did it get so hot in here why.

"He's still in surgery, sir," she says. "But they brought someone else in with him, an Awsten Knight? Do you know him?"

"Y-Yeah," He chokes out. "He's my best friend."

"Alright," she replies. "He's in the emergency waiting room, if you'd like to go wait with him. Make a left at the end of your hall and it'll be on your right."

"And...Geoff?"

"I don't have anymore information right now," she tells him. The smile on her face looks sympathetic. He bites down on his lip. "But if you come back in an hour or so, I might. Either that or his doctor will come out and speak to you guys. Someone will find you when there's an update, I promise."

"Thank you."

He doesn't wait to hear the rest of her rehearsed 'I hope your friend is okay' spiel. He's already received a ton of dirty looks for running, so he tries his best to speed walk down the hallway.

GeoffGeoffGeoffAwstenalonegogogo.

And then he's running again, skidding to a halt when he gets to the waiting room and Awsten comes into view.

He's sitting sideways in one of the chairs, completely secluded in a corner. His knees are pulled up to his chest and his arms are wrapped around them. He's not looking up so Otto can't see his face, but what he can see of his cheek is red. His hair is messy, sticking up in clumps. He's wearing – holy fuck is that blood? – Geoff's hoodie around himself like a blanket.

"Awsten," he breathes, stepping forward so he's in Awsten's line of sight.

Awsten whips his head around so fast.

And seconds later, he has his arms full of boy. Awsten lunges for him and koala-clings to his body, arms so tight around his neck that he's giving him a physical reason, along with emotional, not to breathe. He wraps his arms equally as tight around Awsten's torso and pulls him in as close as he can possibly get.

His heart feels like it's cracking just as fast as it is racing because the sobs Awsten is letting out are guttural and choked. His voice sounds absolutely wrecked. He's borderline screaming. Otto can feel the spot on his shirt already soaked through. "H-He pushed- and then he- I saw- h-hit- I-"

Otto rubs his back and swallows against the lump in his own throat. Tears are burning at the corners of his eyes and sliding down his cheeks. "I know. It's gonna be okay, Aws, I promise. He's gonna be okay."

"No." Awsten lifts his head up and stares at him. He's chewing on his lip. His cheeks are swollen and tearstained and his eyes are bloodshot and red.

"Yes," Otto emphasizes. "He's going to be fine. I promise you."

"You don't get it."

"What?"

Awsten's voice cracks heavily with his next words, "it's my fault."

...

It doesn't feel real.

He saw the blood pouring from Geoff's head and heard himself screaming his name and tasted nothing on his lips when he kissed him, but it still doesn't feel real. He sat in the ambulance and watched them hook Geoff up to every wire in existence, saw them attach him to a heart monitor, kept his eyes fixated on how damn slow the beeps were, stared at Geoff's unmoving body, the barely-there rise and fall of his chest.

It's not real.

Geoff didn't push him out of the way of an oncoming car. He didn't get hit himself. He didn't sacrifice himself for Awsten. It didn't happen.

Except that it did.

Geoff pushed him out of the way of an oncoming car.

And then got hit himself.

He keeps trying to tell himself that, trying to make sense of it in his brain, but the words aren't clicking. It won't register. 'Geoff got hit by a car for you' is a sentence his brain refuses to process. It sounds like a movie, one of those heartbreaking romcoms where the guy gives up everything for his girl and it ends in tragedy because the universe isn't always so kind.

Geoff told him.

He said the walk sign wasn't lit up, he said to stay back, he said not to cross the fucking street.

He did it anyway.

He tried to cross the street and a car came out of nowhere, and Geoff, being the fucking hero he is, took it upon himself to make sure he didn't get hurt. Geoff sacrificed himself for him.

Geoff could be dead right now, because of how stubborn he is.

His chest feels so tight. His throat is closed. He can't swallow without tears stinging his eyes. His arms are sore and his mind is racing and his heart hasn't stopped running the marathon.

He could be dead.

Because of you.

If he dies it's your fault yourfaultyourfaultyourfuckingfault.

He's going to throw up again. He spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom after they first got here, having watched them rush the bloodstained stretcher into emergency surgery.

Having watched them rush the love of his life into emergency surgery.

It feels like a dream it's not real nothing is real Geoff is safe they're home they're watching the Office they're eating cookies Geoff's okay everything is okay everything'sokayeverything'sokayeverything'sokay.

This is all your fault.

Yourfaultyourfaultyourfault.

He's going to throw up again.

...

"Alright hun. You're listed as his emergency contact, so you're able to stay the night with him. I'll bring you in a cot a little later if you want one, okay?"

He nods. He feels numb. The world feels like it's moving without him, like he's looking down on it from some outside place in the universe, looking down on his body and his life but not really living it.

There's a cast on Geoff's left leg and another on his right arm. Bandages are wrapped around his head, hair covering them messily. He's wearing a hospital gown that covers his legs down to where the cast begins. There's road rash on his uncasted arm and a plaster covering a spot on the middle of his (seemingly) uninjured right calf.

There's nothing left in his stomach to throw up. The pocket of tears is sitting right next to the nausea switch, pressing dangerously against it. All that's holding either of them back is a paper-thin membrane that's just about to rip.

He walks closer and reaches for Geoff's uninjured hand. He doesn't lift their hands off the bed.

Haven't you hurt him enough for one lifetime?

He's gonna break up with you.

If he lives through this, that is.

Who would want someone that did this to them?

"I-I," he forces out. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much and I am so fucking sorry. I should've listened to you. You were right." A choked chuckle tears from his throat. "Always are, aren't ya? My stubborn ass should listen more, huh?"

He leans over to kiss Geoff's cheek, right under his eye. "I don't deserve you. It always feels like that. You're just...you're so good to me and I'm so shitty and I don't know why you're still with me and maybe this is a blessing in disguise because now you have an excuse to leave my pathetic ass." His voice breaks on the next words, "I don't know why you'd wanna stay."

He squeezes Geoff's hand, biting down on his lip and tasting copper. He drops his head down and squeezes his eyes shut. "Please, just. Don't die. You don't have to stay with me. I get why you wouldn't want to. But I just-" Another sob. "I need you. I need you way more than you need me and it's pathetic and I'm pathetic I get it but I just. I don't know how to do this on my own, Geoff, I-" Talking hurts, at this point. His throat hurts so bad and every word feels like another knife. "I can't do this on my own."

"I'm so fuckin' stupid." He barks out another laugh. "Tellin' you you can leave me and then sayin' how much I need you. I'm too fuckin' dependent on other people 'cause I hate myself so much."

"I don't feel okay without you," he continues. "And it sucks. I know that's not how it's supposed to be. I know it's like, unhealthy and shit. But after everything last time...I would be dead without you. I don't know if you know that but it's true. I wanted to kill myself so bad after her and I. I didn't. Because of you. Because you made me feel like it was okay to be sad or angry or numb or anything, and I needed that. I needed you. You were the only person saying it and I needed it so bad."

"I've done a lot of stupid things." He forces a smile and looks up at the ceiling. "A lot of really shitty, stupid things that I know make me a bad person. But this...falling in love with him...this is the best thing I've ever done. It felt like all the bad stuff was finally over. Like I was finally healing. And fuck, I was so tired of being broken. And he heals me. So I just." He swallows. "Universe, god, whoever's fuckin' up there, I just. I know I'm shitty and only go to church on Christmas and Easter – and that's only when we're home which we usually aren't – but I need him. I can't lose him. I can't do it it'll kill me I promise it will he's too important for it not to."

"So please just." He can't stop crying. "Please don't take him from me. Please. Give him back. I need him, please, I know I'm horrible I know, just this one thing, please, I just." he sobs again. It feels like one giant ball of pain, expanding and sending out sparks. Each spark hurts worse than the last. It all hurts. Everything hurts.

"Please..."

...

Night comes and goes; dark blurs into light.

He doesn't register any of it.

The only time he moves from Geoff's side is to go to the bathroom. He doesn't eat, won't sleep, can't do anything but watch Geoff's rising and falling chest, make sure he's still breathing what if he stops what if it stops what if I watch him die.

His face feels stiff and everything feels like massive migraine.

It hurts so much. His eyes burn and his stomach growls and his limbs ache.

He ignores all of it. Otto knocks on the door, brings him food, sends Zakk and Travis and even Jawn, to try and convince him to eat something. He refuses.

And everything is silent.

He gets accustomed quickly. The beeping heart monitor and Geoff's breathing become a home, familiar. He settles into it.

"I love you," he mumbles, bending down to kiss Geoff's hand. "Come back to me so you can dump my sorry ass. It's okay. I know it's coming. I just- I needa know you're-" His voice cracks. "Alive. At least. Just that. I'll be okay. I knew this wasn't- wasn't gonna last forever."

"Are you planning on dying?"

He stops.

Someone hits pause on the world, and he stops.

His heart is racing hot cold hot cold hot cold there's fire burning down his back but ice swallowing all of it what the fuck what's going on fuckfuckfuck.

"G-Geoff?"

Geoff blinks at him. He squeezes his hand. "Are you planning on dying? Because I'm not."

"Wha- I don't- I-"

"This ends when one of us dies," Geoff says. "And it's not gonna be me."

"I can't-" The world is spinning everything's moving fuckfuckfuck this isn't real it's a dream he's dreaming he can't breathe what the fuck just happened fuckfuckfuck.

"Come here." Geoff holds out his good arm.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

He climbs onto the bed – as gingerly as possible, avoiding wires and tubes as best he can – and sinks against Geoff's chest. He buries his face in the crook of Geoff's neck and inhales.

It doesn't smell like what he's used to – the cologne, sweat, and vanilla. It's sterilization and antiseptic and his nose curls up at first, but he ignores it.

"We're gonna talk about this later," Geoff murmurs. His lips are buried in Awsten's hair. "After I get some pain meds hopefully, 'cause this fucking hurts. But sunshine, this isn't ending. No matter what. You've got me. Until I die, I'm yours, and even after. I promise."

"I love you," is all he can manage. The past two days have been the most exhausting of his entire life. His body feels so heavy. His head hurts so bad. Everything feels so thick. Heavy.

Possible.

"I love you, too."

The room dissolves into steady silence for a few moments. He tightens his grip on Geoff, tries to balance between not wanting to hurt him and wanting to squeeze him and never let go.

He almost lost him.

He swallows again and presses his lips against Geoff's neck. Geoff starts to rub his back again, and he sighs.

"I would do it again. And again. A hundred times over, even more, if it meant you never have to get hurt a day in your life. I love you, sunshine. You're the love of my life. This is never gonna end, okay? Can you say it? So I know you're hearing me?"

His voice cracks in the beginning, and more tears slide down his face by the end.

"This is never gonna end."

#im so sorry #i broke myself writing this #most painful thing ive written #probably #waterparks #waterparks fanfiction #awsten knight #geoff wigington #gawsten #gawsten fanfiction #neha writes #depression tw #anxiety tw

[fadefromthelight]

No. 9 - Ritual Sacrifice

Summary:  Wren needs June for everything to be complete. She’s her sacrifice. Her being his sister just makes it better.

Read on: Ao3

Wren twirls the flute in his hand, deftly keeping in between his fingers. The deep purple-filled cracks wink at him every time it passes. He can still feel the faint echo of Case’s magic, no matter how hard he tries to cover it. It patches the thin fractures threatening to spill the magic held in the flute. An emptiness rests within it, drawing him back to the shrine.

He always thought it was from the flute breaking. The crystalline exterior was cracked, it was easy to assume that some of the magic leaked out. But, even after Case’s repairs, this emptiness stays. It was only afterwards did Wren realize it was always there, only that he couldn’t perceive it before.

And now that he knows that it’s there, it consumes his every thought. It’s an ache that he can’t cure, a longing that never can be fulfilled. Unless he returns to the shrine.

It calls him in his every waking moment, begging him to bring the flute back. To summon its twin. His connection with the flute grows more and more unstable each day and he knows that this is the only way to fix it.

But it isn’t going to be that simple. He called forth this flute for a reason, it resonated with him. The other one won’t be as easily coaxed out, their magic less compatible but equally complimentary. He required something to call this flute to him.

He’s read the words on the walls. Even the blood of someone compatible—worthy as the writing described, but Wren through that was too crude of a word to use. Worthiness wasn’t something measurable—was enough.

Now, killing isn’t something that particularly compels him but it doesn't repulse him either. It is necessary and he leaves it at that.

“Wren!” June calls out, running across the small courtyard. She holds a small, wrapped basket in one hand and waves with the other. “You’re here early.”

Wren dissipates the flute with a spark of his magic—everything within him purrs when he uses it—and leans forward. “It’s been too long since we’ve spoken, I couldn’t miss a minute of it.”

June grins and sits across from him, setting the basket on the table. She unwraps the covering and sets out a few pastries. “The baker recommended these.”

“They look delicious.” He says. He couldn’t bring himself to care about whether the pastries tasted good or not, but he doesn’t let any of that show on his face. “Shall I get the tea?”

“Make sure to put sugar in mine.” She drops the basket on the floor beside the chair, straightening out her skirt with a simple flourish.

“You think I’d forget that?” He lets the easy grin rest on his face before turning back inside. He pours out two cups of tea and spoons sugar into June’s and honey in his. He glances over to the courtyard. June isn’t even looking in his direction, content with inspecting the pastries set out on the table or the flowers freshly planted.

Wren removes the thin vial from his pocket, the clear liquid refracting the light. He pours it into June’s cup, stirring it before adding another spoon of sugar. He’s heard that the drug is bitter and hard to mask. But it’s potent and that’s more important. He needs something that acts without the necessity of having someone drink the whole vial.

He slips the vial back into his pocket and grabs the two cups, purposely keeping his close to his chest. He doubts that he’d mess the two up, but the consequences would be difficult to recover from.

Wren places a cup in front of June and his cup beside him. She smiles and brings it up her lips. “Thank you.”

Wren sips from his own cup. June frowns, eyes narrowing and lips pressing together. Fractured alarm bunches in his chest. “Is something wrong?”

“Are you sure you gave me the correct cup?” June sips it again, the confusion spreading. But her hands start to shake. “It’s a little bitter.”

“I put honey in mine, it’ll be sweet regardless.” Wren shrugs, placing his cup onto it’s saucer. “I did use a new blend. Maybe it’s more bitter than expected.”

June practically drops her cup, it clattering against the saucer and tea sloshing over the rim. “Is yours—” She pauses, his eyes shutting. “—like that too?”

Wren stands and wraps his arms around her, stopping her from slumping out of the chair. She turns to look at him, barely able to focus on his face. “What’s wrong?” She slurs her words.

“Everything’ll be okay.” Wren tells her, running a hand through her hair. She leans against him and stops fighting. She falls limp. Wren adjusts her so she can sit without his support. He gets to work cleaning up their table.

He disposes of the pastries and tea, dumping the liquid over the grass. He breaks the basket under foot and throws it into the trash. There’s no point in him bringing it.

Just before grabbing June, he runs a finger along the hilt of his knife. It’s still there, resting out of view. It settles any remaining nerves, just as holding the flute does. He turns and picks June, carrying her out of the courtyard.

——

Wren lights the torches lining the shrine with a spark of his magic, the room bathed in a pale red gleam. June lays in the center of the room, still with the exception of the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her wrists and ankles are bound with a thick rope lined in his magic. She wouldn’t be able to break out using any normal means.

Wren sits beside her, gently holding in case she wakes earlier than expected. He can’t be certain how much of the drug she ingested but by his calculations, she should be waking any minutes.

The thin traces of her magic emerges first, flickering within her chest and spreading slow through her body. He removes his knife from its sheath and tilts her head back. The pale strip of her throat lays exposed, the faint imprint of bluish veins can be seen.

Her eyes flutter open before they’re blown wide. She glances at the room, eyes flickering between the walls and Wren. She whimpers and Wren rubs a hand against the base of her neck. The other rests the knife against her throat. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.”

He almost presses the blade down when a voice stops him.

“Wren!” Case calls out, vicious pain threaded through his voice. Edrea and Kit are a few paces behind him, their own magic flicking although they may not know it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Case was the other person he’d considered using, but he felt how his flute responded to Case’s magic. He couldn’t risk losing his flute to gain another. “You guys came faster than I thought you would.”

“You didn’t make it easy.” Kit shifts, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword against his hip. “But you forgot to not leave any witnesses.”

Wren hums. He thought that he covered all his bases. “That’s unfortunate.” He brings the knife back to June’s throat.

“You haven’t answered my question, Wren.” Case’s voice is low, humming with a dangerous energy. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t ignore it.” Wren finds himself admitting. The words tumble out his mouth, too bitter for them to comprehend. That’s why he didn’t tell them. They would never understand. “It was longing for it’s twin.”

Case glances over to the wall, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Wren imagines himself plunging his knife into it. “There’s another one?”

“It won’t come as easily to my call.” Wren continues stroking June’s hair. “But with her, it’ll respond.”

“You can’t do that!” Case shouts. Notes of despair and desperation tear through his voice. “She’s our sister!”

“That changes nothing.” Wren doesn’t bother listening for Case’s response.

He drags the knife across his sister’s throat.

Blood drips down her neck, a brilliant red. It glistens in the light of his magic. Her screams echo through the room, haunting and guttural. Wren just tears through her vocal cords and her screams turn to choked gasps as blood fills her lungs.

Case charges towards him but Wren summons his flute with a flicker of his wrist. He stops and Wren can taste his fear.

June’s blood fills the well, spreading through the room. Wren discards her body when it’s full, letting it collapse to the side. The room hums with power, volatile and entirely his own.

Wren shoves his hand into the pool and holds the flute above it. He reaches deep within himself and pulls. The room shudders and the three people before him stumble. He can sense their magic flowing through their blood beyond what he could see.

He speaks in a tongue lost to time. “Key from the divine, one that can unlock the way to Hell. Arise.”

Everything goes white.

#whumptober2020 #no.9 #ritual sacrifice #OC #writing #tw: blood #tw: injury #tw: drugs #tw: involuntary drugging #tw: character death #my writing #faded writing

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 27

[Summary:  Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

on FF.net/on AO3]

A tingling shot up the back of Demyx's neck. "In vain?" he repeated. He shook his head. "You mean… I'm going to die?"

Luxord's Somebody hesitated. "I cannot say exactly," he said.

"You can't tell me or you don't know?" Demyx was surprised at the sharpness of his own voice. He felt like he had been plunged deep into his body.

"You may be paying for more than you receive," Ten said. "That's all I'm at liberty to say."

"Then why tell me? Why let me know if I don't have a choice?"

Ten took a sip of his tea. "Who says you don't have a choice? Tell me, Nine. Do you believe in fate?"

His stomach was churning. He looked over the edge at the ground far below.

"Fate is mere a result of the choices you've made," Ten continued. "Should you change your mind, your future would change as well."

"Why?" Demyx repeated again. "Do you want me to run away? Is that it?"

"What do you want?" The Somebody asked. "Now that you've rejoined yourself."

Demyx thought for one tremulous moment. His mind was racing and his heart had started to ache. He thought of Yuffie, of the music he could make now that that part of himself was starting to grow again, of the friends or the people who could be his friends. The life was there, waiting. Did it matter if he hadn't earned it?

"Your heart has changed," Ten repeated again. "Remember that." The way his bright blue eyes bore into Demyx's told him that there was something obvious he wasn't quite grasping.

"What does that mean?" Demyx asked. The stress was starting to overwhelm him and he turned away from the postern edge. His pulse raced. "I am so sick of people being enigmatic—"

"I have already told you more than I should have—"

"Who makes the rules? What will stop you, exactly?" His voice rang against the stone.

"Nine—"

"If one more fucking person calls me Nine…" He trailed off, unable to complete the threat. The adrenaline was pouring through his body.

Ten's eyebrows shot up. "Wait—"

But Demyx was already gone.

He let his legs do the work, and ran.

All the training and work had paid off. It was a long while before he exhausted himself. When he finally collapsed onto the cool stone of the crystal fissures, it was starting to get dark. His lungs were positively scalding and he knew that his legs would be virtually unusable in a few hours. He lay on his back and stroked the rough mineral sand that gently coated the heavy blue stone.

There should have been stars starting to peek out now. There was next to nothing.

He forced himself to sit up. His muscles were trembling and he was soaked with sweat.

It was the first time that he had ever been forced to consider that this mission might kill him.

Violation, he had expected. Torture, sure. Some sort of grim, soul-reaping initiation? Of course. But death? And if he took what Ten said at face value, then if he left Radiant Garden, he wasn't coming back.

Demyx realized that he didn't want to die. He wanted to be human, to get to know these intense emotions constantly draining him, to make art. To love and to be loved. He'd never gotten to do any of these things before. Something, or someone, was always taking that choice away from him, at least until Sora's Keyblade struck him down. He doubted dying would be as easy as it had been the first time.

The tears started so quietly that at first he thought it was just more sweat. What was he supposed to do now? What would make him more whole? The nobility of self-sacrifice? Or this whole second life? And would any of it be worth it if he didn't live through it?

If he chose not to go on this mission, what would the others say? Would they be disappointed? Would they reject him wholly? And Yuffie? She was so committed to protecting her town. If she had the choice, he knew she'd go, and go out with a bang. He couldn't imagine starting over alone. The thought of having nobody again was too much to bear. Who would want him if he chose so selfishly?

By the time he was found he couldn't breathe. His lungs were shaking but there was no sound, only a curious silence. A light shone down on him and he squinted to see who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Lea asked. "Oh, god. What did he tell you?"

Demyx couldn't speak. The fact that he had let himself get into this awful sniveling state was bad enough. He struggled to get to his feet but his calves were already screaming. He stumbled and Lea caught his elbow before he fell.

"Are you hurt?"

His sides were aching.

Lea shook him. "Talk to me," he said a little more forcefully. He held Demyx out at arm's length, studying him through the soft light of the fire in his palm. "What did he tell you?"

A thick, guttural animal sob escaped his throat. He pressed his hands over his mouth. Lea eased him back down to the ground. The fire he held in his hands cast strange shadows on his face. The heat pressed against Demyx's skin.

Once the tears stopped, there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. A new shade of numbness had filled him. He looked down at his own hands, warped in the firelight. "I'm going to die," he said.

"…What?" Lea asked.

"Luxord. Ten. He told me that I'm going to die."

A weak, hot breeze stirred the flames in Lea's palm. Demyx couldn't read his expression, but it looked harsh. When he finally spoke, he didn't offer comfort or even show surprise. He simply said, "I know."

That was the last thing Demyx expected to hear. "Did everyone know?"

Demyx could see Lea struggling to respond. The length of time it took told him everything he needed to know.

"They knew," Demyx said to himself. The numbness flooded him like lead.

"It had to be your choice," Lea said.

"Why?"

Lea hesitated.

"Tell me why." His breath hissed through his teeth and he tensed, ready to stop the flow of blood to Lea's muscles.

Lea raised his hands. The fire played along the left, perilously close to his shirt. "Easy. Easy, alright?"

"Fuck you," Demyx said. Something inside him was collapsing. "How long have you known?"

"These things don't get finalized," Lea said.

Demyx reached with his consciousness. Before he could even get at Lea's vascular system he was already in a headlock. The flame had been snuffed, leaving them in near perfect darkness. Lea's bony arm crushed his airway and he choked. Demyx pushed harder, feeling the veins in Lea's left arm. A pair of fingers struck a certain point next to his neck, and he blacked out.

His ears were ringing and there was something wrong inside his body.

Demyx struggled to push through into alertness, but something was keeping him from it. It tasted sweet, and sickly. It was hard to move or do much more than slit open his eyes. The room he was in was bright, and the ground he was laying on was wooden and a little dusty. His wrists hurt. He heard voices, one loud and yelling, the other quiet and measured. All the sound was muffled, as were his powers, which draped over him like a musty carpet. It felt like someone had reached into his consciousness, ripped it out, and paralyzed it. Which, he realized, someone probably had.

The jolt of adrenaline didn't quite shake whatever he had been drugged with, but it did help him open his eyes. His wrists were bound with a soft purple cloth and, strangely, someone had put a pillow under his head.

He didn't recognize this room. There were huge pieces of furniture covered in white sheets, and the smell of mothballs was overpowering. It was hot, too. Demyx wiggled his wrists. The binding was too tight to give much motion, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. He recognized the knotting right away. He'd been taught exactly how to get out of this hold in the Organization.

It took a while, in his drugged state, and judicious use of his teeth. When he finally had his hands free he had gotten over the worst of the sedation, though his ears still rung and his mind was still foggy. He spotted a wastepaper basket and groaned, mostly because he knew a way that might shake the rest of the drug, and it wasn't pleasant. There was practically nothing in his stomach when he forced himself to throw up, and his hands tasted like sweat and dirt. It must have been hours, if not longer, because the light streaming through the window was bright.

Standing was even worse than the vomiting, and he nearly blacked out again. Someone had taken his knife, leaving him with an empty holster. His legs were still brilliantly sore, and each step was agony. At least his hearing was starting to work again.

What the fuck was going on?

He crossed over the door of the room. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. He searched the room as quickly as his compromised state would allow for something that would allow him to get out: to break the lock, or lift the hinges. He debated just breaking the door down, but his legs were too sore for kicking, and there was nothing in the room he could lift that would do the trick. Besides, it was a solid, old wood, and it would take too much force.

He approached the window. This whole situation had awoken in him something dark, something Organization-y. He'd never had to use these skills before in this castle. He wondered if it was a part of the real Demyx, if he'd always had to struggle like this. He had a feeling that was the answer was yes.

Before he could start calculating his options, the lock rattled. Demyx snatched the piece of purple cloth. It was the only possible weapon he had. He wasn't sure he would be able to go through with… whatever it was, but he needed the option.

In walked Ienzo. There was a rather tense moment where Ienzo looked at him, the trash can, and the cloth in his hands. Ienzo shut the door.

"Yes," he said. "I told them this is what would happen. Even insisted on disabling your powers. I said it was barbaric."

Demyx squeezed the cloth.

"You must be disoriented," Ienzo said. "The sedation doesn't help, but neither does the shock." He took a step closer.

"Don't fucking move," Demyx hissed through his teeth.

"Alright. I'll stay all the way over here." Ienzo made a big show of his empty hands, but Demyx knew he didn't need a single thing to incapacitate him. He'd already done that with Demyx's own memories.

"I need answers," Demyx said. "No more lying. No more averting."

"I'm afraid I don't know much," Ienzo said.

"Bullshit," he spat. "Lea told me you all knew from the beginning I was going to die."

"If I'm correct, so did you," Ienzo said. He looked so small standing there, but Demyx doubted he could overpower him. He was already starting to tremble all over; probably some stupid side effect of whatever medicine gagged his powers. "Your deterioration, Nine. This was a long shot from the beginning."

"That's not what this is about," he said. "Ten told me that if I went on this mission that it would kill me."

"I thought you had accepted that risk," Ienzo said unwaveringly.

His head was already spinning with confusion. "I thought that they would try to break me, or put a bit of him inside me," he continued. "Not that I would…"

"Did you think the stress of that would have no effect on your condition?" Ienzo asked calmly.

"I thought I was getting better." The anger was cooling. The cloth slipped in his hands. He waited to feel Ienzo's grip on his mind, but none came. How had he been so stupid? How had he not realized… "Lea said this had to be my choice."

"Survival was your choice," Ienzo said. "All along you've fought your deterioration. But this isn't something that can be fought. The fact that you decided to go on this mission is somewhat irrelevant."

"So if I don't go… the result is the same," he said. "What about Sora's light, and Yuffie? Didn't that help at all?"

"I can't say," Ienzo said. "As much as Even and I like to believe it's slowed things down, we can't know for sure. While I was highly skeptical, part of me hoped that, should you return to the Organization, they really would be able to undo what they had done to you. As impossible that must be. Why should Xehanort really care about his pawns?" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Nine. I'm sorry for this miscommunication. I can only imagine what you must be feeling."

"…And the others?" he asked. "Are they getting worse too?"

"Not as drastically as you," he said. "But yes."

He felt like he was drowning. "Can I sleep?" he asked Ienzo. "Please."

"Of course," Ienzo said. He brought him all the way back to the same familiar room, to the same hard bed. He didn't lock the door, didn't even sedate him again. Demyx slipped under the covers and let sleep come.

#nocturnal memory #demyx #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3d #fanfiction

[r3nb1rd-blog]

Chapter 2

           Nye startled awake, head bumping on the top bunk and hand grasping at his galloping heart. With a small curse, he rubbed the developing knot on his head and slouched over, kicking the thin, tangled blankets off his legs. The nightmare which plagued him faded into his subconscious, its only reminder being his labored breathing and the ghost of a scream lodged in the back of his throat. He grasped at the shadows of his mind, wondering if he had forgotten something important with the nightmare. As the bitter cold air of the cell filled his lungs, the patient-turned-prisoner started to calm down. Though, the whisper of panic never left entirely. They knew he was Norrian. The best he could hope for at this point was a quick death and give up on any further attempts at salvation.

           He almost felt like laughing. He had woken up in the hospital bay four months ago with blood-caked bandages around his head and ribs and a giddy relief as he looked around for his comrades. In his drugged haze, he only barely registered the cuff securing his wrist to the gurney. Only barely registered the nurse, eyes filled with unveiled disdain, saying that his comrades all perished. That they had drawn his blood. Already found the subtle genetic differences which distinguished a Surlian from a Norrian. If anyone ever asked, he planned on blaming his pointy Norrian ears on a birth deformity. The Surlians beat him to the punch. After a decade of hiding in this country, of being mocked for his fear of needles and refusal to part with his hat, he had been discovered.

           It seemed a cruel twist of fate that he had escaped one death just to experience another far harsher end. Today, he thought, I will finally leave this cell for good. He looked around, taking in the dull, windowless cube, its solitary exit a magnetically sealed door. Unescapable, something Nye had never understood until now. He swung his bare feet over the edge of his cot and onto the chilled floor. Suppressing a cringe from the contact, he launched diagonally, a careful trajectory to avoid hitting his head again.

          After the doctors released Nye with the blessing that he healed enough to die, the guards took no time moving him to his current confinement in Lapa Prison. The capitol’s penitentiary held some of the most dangerous criminals. As they shuffled him through the gloomy corridors that starkly juxtaposed the glittering white city outside, Nye had some hope. The wealth of the Surlians surely reflected in their prisons, right? And the sacrifice for beauty was functionality. He could escape. When that solid metallic door slid open with the whir of magnets, Nye’s hope faded. The cell contained two bunks, an unconcealed toilet, a sink, and an obscured overhead light. He didn’t find any vents and could only assume the walls were porous. The pipes wouldn’t be large enough to squeeze into; though Nye swore that crawling through sewage would be worse than death. No, for three months Nye had been mocked by an unescapable room.

          He shuffled to the tarnished mirror which stood over the sink and took a deep breath before he faced the slightly distorted reflection. Months in a hospital and then months again in this cell had done nothing good for his appearance. Bones which should not be seen were poking out of places he didn’t realize they could poke out of, and his skin had taken on a pallor that was almost translucent. Even the golden ring that pierced his earlobe – which, to the annoyance of the guards, could only be removed if they cut off Nye’s ear – seemed dull in this surrounding. Rustling his dark red hair and poking the dark bags under his green eyes – once vibrant – he sighed. How is one supposed to look for their death day? At this rate they’re more likely to think me a chupacabra, forget a Norrian. He chuckled at the idea of them sticking an iron stake into his chest.

           He wondered who would come to his final sentencing. He worried that someone else would go down with him. He could picture them dragging in a girl with raven black hair, her caramel skin contrasted by one of those flowered sundresses she always wore. ‘No! She didn’t know anything!’ He would yell valiantly. ‘I tricked her into everything!’, and she would look up at him with big brown eyes filled with tears and gratitude. He knew his fantasy would never come true. She would have shown up at the trials or the endless questionings. Even if they did find out how she helped him become a Surlian, her father was much too rich and too powerful to ever let her take the fall for it. And to be fair, she never realized he was Norrian, she just thought he was your average orphan.

           “Nye.”

           Nye studiously avoided the soft call which interrupted his self-pitying. It was his death day, after all. He wished he had been moved into solitary. He was undeniably a Norrian. Didn’t the Surlians believe we could read thoughts or something? Wouldn’t they respect a Surlian prisoner’s rights in the face of a Norrian? The hatred between the two countries ran deeper than any other tradition held by either, but Blare didn’t seem to care.

           Nye didn’t know how to handle his cellmate. At first, he couldn’t get the boy to talk. Now, he couldn’t get him to shut up. His behaviors were erratic at best: Sometimes smugger than the Norrian King and sometimes as uncertain as a kitten. Proud but incredibly shy, he insisted Nye never look whenever he removed even the most innocent of clothing. At fifteen, he must have had some powerful magic to have gone to the Battlefield. From what Nye gathered, it appeared to have something to do with speed. Surlians and their magic, he cursed. He knew there had to be an explanation to everything they did, but the Surlians insisted it would insult the Gods to reveal the secrets of their powers.

           “Nye,” the voice was annoyed now. The young boy had a face like a doll’s and his voice had that bitter snap in it that reminded Nye of a tiny yapping dog. He could see him in the reflection of the mirror; sitting up, with an alertness which told Nye he had been awake for hours. Good, Nye thought, I didn’t wake him when I hit the top bunk. Not that he cared. He was miffed that Blare’s appearance didn’t seem affected by imprisonment, especially on a day like today. His flawless skin had paled from its original light brown, but his straight black hair never appeared greasy.

           “What is it, Blare? I’m trying to celebrate my death day in peace.” He returned to poking the skin under his eyes, as if that would revive it. He wished they wouldn’t let him die looking like the grave. Though, he supposed it wouldn’t matter in a few hours.

           “You’re not going to die today.”

           “Yes, I am. It’s the first day of the fifth week of the season. My last trial. I’ve finally outlived my use for Surl.” Nye sighed, as he had grudgingly repeated his fate. “I just hope they wait until we leave the courts to carry out my sentence. It would be a shame to get blood on the tiles.”

           “You’re being interrogated again.” A shiver slid down Nye’s spine. ‘Interrogation’ and ‘torture’ mostly meant the same thing when applied to a Norrian. He spun around to face the boy, irritated at the younger one’s nonchalance. His eyes narrowed on the thin screen in his hands. For some inexplicable reason, his cellmate had managed to convince the guards to give him a datab. He deduced that he couldn’t have smuggled it in, since Nye himself had been forced to strip upon first arriving at the prison. And how the device functioned in this escapeless room, Nye could only imagine. No matter how much he goaded, Blare refused to part with it or explain why he had it.

           “Is there a report about it somewhere?” Nye inquired cautiously. Information in Surl was a privilege on a need-to-know basis. Receiving unauthorized, classified reports involved exchanges of favors and having friends in the right places. Neither of which a convicted murder had access to.

          But if he learned anything about the boy, it was that his information gathering techniques were unorthodox. He could hack any system he wanted; Nye suspected he could even find his way into the Norrian databases. Apparently the guards didn’t know about his skills, or they would have had some reservations before giving him the tablet. Either that, or they underestimated his resourcefulness. His teammates certainly did and that got them murdered in their sleep. The only common ground between the two was their death sentences and their claims of innocence.

           Blare smiled. “Something might have popped up. Enjoy the outside.” An evil grin stretched wide and he leaned forward. “Or an even more painful death.”

           Nye let out a guttural yowl and wrung the air in front of him with his fists, picturing what it would be like to strangle the boy. He couldn’t have been more than five feet. Easy, right? He did get some satisfaction about the startled jump that rattled the top bunk. “By the Gods Blare, do you ever get tired of being such an ass?”

           “You tell me.” Blare said, composed from his original wave of shock. “Are we talking the Gods of Surl or the gods of Norr?”

            “What do you think?” Nye said through gritted teeth, already knowing the answer. Not that he wanted to talk to the brat, but he didn’t have much else as forms of entertainment. And he seemed endlessly curious about the ways of Norr.

           Blare cocked his head to the side. “Norrians want to kill every Surlian. If you worship the Norrian gods, you are a Norrian.”

           “Norrian, Surlian, does it matter what Gods someone worships?” Nye shook his head. “I already told you. They all say the same thing when you get down to it. And you have yet to murder me in the name of your Surlian gods.”

           “So you admit to being a Norrian spy?”

           “I didn’t admit to anything!” Nye threw his hands up, never knowing why what remained of his Norrian beliefs always incriminated him when it came to Blare. “I don’t need this from someone who murdered their comrades in cold blood!”

           Blare’s arrogant smirk washed off his face, replaced by complete misery. Nye felt tempted to take back what he said. He remembered what it felt like when they had first tried to throw the blame for the death of his teammates on him. Instead, he huffed and spun back to his reflection. He didn’t renounce his Norrian Gods. That’s all he had to do. Worship the Surlian Gods. Then they would not doubt his intentions. Why couldn’t I just pretend? If I praised the Surlian Gods, they might have some doubt about loping off my head.

           The fuming silence carried on for what seemed like hours. Until that quiet voice spoke again, all hints of pride washed away with uncertainty. “I never thought you were a spy or a murderer.”

           Before Nye could react, the magnetic whirring of the door started. The mirroring click of the magnetic braces that chained the two inmates sounded. The light from the corridor spilled into the cell temporarily blinding the inhabitants. After several moments, Nye found himself staring at three guards: They were part of the group in charge of his war crimes. The foremost man cleared his throat:

           “Nye Bohr. You are accused of being a Norrian spy.” Nye snorted. As if that needed repeating every time. “New information has been acquired. You are to follow me to the interrogation room.”

           Nye blinked in surprise. He didn’t notice stepping out of the cell until he was already in the hall. As the whirring of the door signaled its close, Nye spun around to face his cellmate, ignoring the cries of dismay from the guards. Instead of a last glimpse, all Nye heard was a tittering laughter that normally made him grit his teeth. However, when he turned to face the impatient guards, a wide grin was on his face. “And I was so ready for my execution.” 

#a matter of perspective #paradigm shift #full chapter #book #chapter 2

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Melancholic Desire

JANJAAAAN~ HAAAAPPY belated BIRTHDAY @kashphia!!! heres a special lil otp present hehe. the reason i chose chrobin is because i saw youve been drawing chrobin so really part of this fic was an inspiration that came from you c: i hope you enjoy this oneshot and have your heart being ripped out into two fluttered in glee <3

 He couldn’t lose her.  White dust twinkled weakly in his shaking hands. Pupils shrunk to tiny dots. Lips paled and parted. Tears were heavy in each socket, yet none ever trickled and instead blurred his dizzying vision. Fingers shook and twitched violently. Hands trembled and stiffened all the way up to his bruised shoulders.  He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose her.  The sound of Grima’s deafening roar finally reached a silence. The force around them changing so suddenly, Chrom only felt his body being pressed downwards, elbows scraping the dead dragon’s back and forehead bumping against the cold, scaly ground.  He couldn’t…He couldn’t lose…her…

 He heard noises. He heard voices calling his name. Was it Lucina? Was it Morgan? He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t able to for all he could think about, all that was ever occupying, haunting his mind right now was the love of his life.  All that could ever rip his heart out into bloody pieces was the image of her disappearing into the abyss.  Drip…  His face felt cold. His hands felt colder.  He couldn’t lose her—He didn’t want to lose her!  And yet, Ro—Rob—in…  The hollow pain in his heart felt excruciatingly unbearable. ---  The corpse of the damned dragon seemed to taunt him.  Royal blue eyes were dead on the sight. His arms, though healed yet scarred, remained limp by his sides. His throat burned from speech that he made, and ached even more from the maniacal yelling that had pierced through the heavens. The Shepherds’ vows and promises bloomed a tiny glint of hope in his heart, yet it never once rid the sorrow, the agonizing emptiness that had scorched a hole in his heart.  The others had gone back to camp, immediately seeking healing and medical care if they wish to fully enjoy their victory.  Despite Lissa’s insistence, despite Frederick’s reassurance – hell, despite Tharja’s blatant threat – he only deafened his ears and didn’t move from the battlefield. Blood had long stopped flowing out his body, thanks to Lissa’s and Maribelle’s aid. The bones in his body felt like it had been joined back together. The scars on his skin didn’t seem to rip apart anymore.  He really wished he could say the same about his withering heart.  Royal blue eyes were frozen on the damnable corpse. It taunted him. It mocked him. As the dragon’s upper jaw plopped weakly in the hard, hot sand, Chrom could see the giant sockets were its eyes used to be. Its gaze was as dead as it should be, yet the great lord couldn’t help but gritted his teeth tightly to hear the faint, dastardly echo of Grima’s laugh.  It taunted him. It mocked him. The more Chrom looked, the more he wanted nothing more than to take anything that’s near to him and throw it at the rotting corpse—  “Father…”  Quivering pupils dilated slightly.  He didn’t turn immediately, though head turned just the slightest to the right.  For a second there, Chrom almost spun himself and tripped when all he ever saw was her.  Lucina and Morgan merely watched the emotionally empty carcass that was their father. Their eyes too were puffy and red, the royal children briefly held their breaths before slowly, carefully taking one step forward.  “F-Father…” Her voice was raspy. “I…Let’s go back to camp…” Tone brittle and shaky, Lucina curled her fingers into tight fists. “M-Mo…Mother wouldn’t want us—wouldn’t want you to stand here for so l-long…” She thought the tears were gone for today. She hoped that the façade of her strength would hold her on for so long for her family.  But alas, she was only human.  “Ple-ase…” Voice finally cracked from the gargled sobs, Lucina dropped her head down and clenched her jaw so hard.  She then flinched at the feel of her left hand being nudged and cupped.  Quickly she gawked to the side, only to gape in stupor at the sight of her brother staring forward.  “Please.”  Just like her, his heart too was broken and demolished into pieces. Just like her, his voice too was guttural and coarse from the constant screaming and crying.  Though, unlike her, apathy had flashed in the poor boy’s eyes.  “Please.” Again he pleaded. Hazel eyes focused on his father’s back, Morgan took a slow, shaky breath. “Let’s…go back to camp.” White teeth chattered poorly behind pressed lips. Cheeks flushed and eyes burned, the grandmaster raised his head and focused his gaze on Chrom.  He didn’t want to look at the dragon’s corpse. He didn’t think he could bear it if he did.  His right hand gently squeezed his sister’s left. “-ease…” His vision split into two. His breathing ragged inside a burning throat. “Father…” Apathy still clouded his eyes, through tears began to tear through right out of the corners.  He tore his gaze away, blurry vision now focused at nothing in particular. “H-ome…” The word shook between quiet sobs. “Let’s…h-home…” He felt his sister’s hand squeezing his fingers; her hand was warm.  Fury and guilt gloomed heavily in the poor boy. “Home…” His head shook. His body trembled. “Let’s—”  Tap, tap.  “L-Let’s…” Eyes squeezed shut, Morgan inwardly hissed at the tears that trickled down.  Tap…tap…  “Home—”  Words turned to silent gasps once he felt his body being pulled forward.  Both kids gawked and squeaked faintly at the sudden embrace. Her left cheek nuzzled something while his right cheek nuzzled what Morgan quickly realized was soft hair.  Their father was shaking terribly out of the two of them.  Chrom didn’t say a word, for broken cries and hitched breathing had stolen his ability to form words. So instead he tightened his hug, strong arms firm yet careful around the kids’ shoulders. Chin rested on a spot where their shoulders met, the Ylissean king gasped weakly and slowly shook his head.  His legs were shaking. His body was heavy.  Until finally, the moment Chrom felt their arms wrapping around his back, he had lost all energy and finally, shakily kneeled to the ground.  Their hugs never did break apart for Lucina and Morgan followed suit, their embrace tightened even more. ---  Months had passed since the Shepherd’s victory. Ylisse was celebrating. Ferox was in a bliss. Even Plegia and Valm, despite having a terrible history with Ylisse, were slowly picking up their pieces in order to form a better, more peaceful kingdom.    Celebration in the Ylissean kingdom wasn’t as grand as it should be, however, for the sacrifice of their queen took a great toll on them.  It took the greatest toll on their king; they knew. His smile was warm, yet pitifully forced. His eyes were gentle, though tainted with red. He rarely spoke to his people, but did manage an inspiring speech or two so that they wouldn’t worry too much. He rarely got out of the castle, but found it in his heart to meet his fellow citizens if they ever dropped by to either check up on him or give him their thanks.  Most of time, though, Chrom kept himself busy, kept himself occupied so that his heartbreak wouldn’t tighten its hold around his heart.  It usually worked. Usually.  He had sent a search party for her from the moment he arrived back to Ylisse. He wished to see her, to find her, to pull her into his hug and never let her go. But out of Lissa’s and Frederick’s advice, Chrom forced himself to stay in the kingdom, tending to the people and reassuring them that the war was over, that peace had finally been achieved.  Every nerve of his body wanted to go find her, wanted to go see her for himself so that he knew this horrible, hollow feeling in his chest was just a nightmare. ---  After almost a year since her disappearance, Chrom managed to convince his royal advisors that he would lead the search party, that he would go and find her even it took him to the far end of the earth.  Alas, every time Chrom came back, the Shepherds held back their tears and pity to see the despicable despondency that gloomed in his eyes. ---  Robin.  The sentence felt like a mantra that haunted him the moment he woke up.  Robin. Robin.  The bedroom looked big without her. The bed felt empty without her.  Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin.  Every morning he gazed at the empty spot in the bed. Every morning he reached out and felt the cold air that taunted his very touch.  Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin.  Her name echoed madly in his head. Her name torn and shred the very pieces of his dying heart.  Rob—in…Robin, R-Ro…Robin…  His right palm plopped weakly onto the cold, empty spot.  I m-miss you… He felt like barbed wires had choked around his throat. I…I-I need you…  His hand curled into tight fists, dull nails tearing through the little scars that marked his palm.  Robin…  Head weakly nuzzled into the pillow, Chrom only hardened his jaw and curled closer into a fetus position.  Robin…  Like all his mornings, he really wished he was dreaming right now. ---  Little Lucina was growing up to be a splendid child. Albeit her mother’s absence, she was never once strayed from the love of her father. The young princess was too young to understand anything properly after all, and Chrom was thankful for that.  “Who’s Daddy’s little girl?” he cooed sweetly to the little princess. Arms carefully holding her, Chrom bit back a laugh to see his daughter bobbing excitingly as she sat on his lap.  Words were unintelligible. Various bubbling noises burst from her pretty pink lips. Chubby arms waving up and down, Lucina then clapped once at the sight of her father.  He couldn’t help himself from laughing, after all.  “That’s right!” He leaned closer and kissed her forehead. “You’re Daddy’s little girl!” Teeth then nibbled the insides of his right cheek to feel her hopping on his lap again. Sitting up straight, Chrom carefully brought her closer until he lifted her to his arms.  Left arm rested under her butt and legs, he placed his other hand to the back of her head. “Daddy loves Lucina so much!” Body gently swaying left and right, he placed a soft, warm kiss to the left side of her head.  He was never tired of listening to her giggles.  “Mommy loves Lucina too…” Voice softened out of endearment and woe, Chrom briefly stiffened before exhaling through his mouth. His smile wavered. White teeth firmly nipped the insides of his cheeks. Thankfully, Lucina didn’t realize the sudden change of atmosphere, but she did calm down and now nuzzled her father’s shoulder.  “You miss Mommy, don’t you?” Head turned slightly to meet her face, Chrom pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Wanna go talk to Mommy, sweetie?”  The little girl didn’t give a proper reply, but her tiny smile and the endearing twinkle in her branded eye were more than enough to bloom his heart.  “Alright then.” His chest clenched. His smile stayed.  Slowly he turned to the balcony. From inside, he could spot that the stars that were a beautiful twinkle. The moon itself was a brilliant shine, and every step that he took felt like a hand – her hand – was reaching out for him.  One foot slowly stepping into the balcony, Chrom silently urged Lucina to look up at the night sky before looking up himself. “Hello, dear…” ---  He missed his wife dearly. Every second, every minute, every hour he thought of her, needed her. The middle of the year had reached its time, and Chrom bitterly knew it wouldn’t be long that the second year of her absence would arrive anytime.  His feelings for her never wavered. Not once.  Thankfully, he learned that the empty feeling in his chest was able to be healed with something else. It wasn’t much, but it was a good alternative. It wasn’t a replacement; Gods, he’d rather die than find a replacement for his missing half. But as painful as it may be, Chrom knew holding on to this despair would lead to nothing.  So he was thankful. As painful as it was to know that his beloved other half wasn’t by his side, he was thankful for the children who remained loyal and loving by his side.  “Do you love it?” Excitement gleamed in a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Arms carefully holding the younger version of herself, Lucina gave Little Lucina a gentle bob before looking at her little brother. “I and Little Lucina made the dress entirely from the clothing we found in the closet. It looked empty, so we decided to draw the decorations ourselves!” Pride swelling even more so than the toddler, Lucina cocked her head and let out a proud huff.  Little Lucina merely laughed in glee at her ‘big sister’s joy. The giant clothing – a dress, Lucina reassured many times – basically swallowed her body, yet it was an adorable wonder that she was still able to wave her arms up and down. The clothing draped down and down until it almost reached Lucina’s knees. A variety of drawings had been scribbled on the cloth, showing from faces of people – her family, Lucina convinced happily – to weird, incomprehensible drawings of what one assumed would be…an octopus?  Morgan was speechless, to be honest.  “Well…” Truly he was.  Hazel eyes looked up and down and up and down at the ‘dress’. Arms casually crossed against his chest, he then focused his gaze on the two versions of his dear sister. “It’s…something.” Laughter tickled his throat, but Morgan poorly bit the insides of his mouth to stifle it.  Sadly, he didn’t do a good job at hiding it.  “Morgan, don’t laugh at Little Lucina’s creation.” Though Lucina’s tone was blunt, her younger version couldn’t care less and bounced in her arms in sheer excitement.  That was the last straw for Morgan.  “Morgaaaan!” A whine finally broke out, cheeks then flushed in red at her little brother’s laugh. However, as mad as she was, she couldn’t be mad for so long especially when Little Lucina started laughing along.  From afar, Chrom only watched as his children bonded. A smile, so sincere and genuine, curled his pale mouth. His cheeks felt a tad warm at the sight. His heart ached so cosily in his chest.  He missed his wife dearly.  But he knew he always had them to help him in this excruciating time. ---  Two years.  Two years had long passed since her absence. Some had moved on with their lives. Some had literally moved on to another kingdom. His friends and family still stayed in touch with him, and some even helped him in search for his lost queen.  It had been two years without any good news.  In the morning, he would do his royal duties. He would tend to his people and have meetings with the councils. Other times he would play with the kids and have a chat with his fellow friends. Chrom started to smile more, laugh more. He started to get out of his castle more often, mostly accompanied by Frederick or his kids – who insisted to be disguised as knights so that they wouldn’t look suspicious by his side. Chrom started to see the brighter side of things. He was thankful for this glorious future. He was thankful for this beautiful moment of peace.  He wondered if the Gods might find him greedy if he wished for more.  At night, he would rather be alone. Though the dinners he had was never on his own, Chrom oftentimes excused himself early just so he could be alone in his room.  No matter how many times he entered, he always shivered to see just how empty his room was. ---  “I miss you…” Mumbles were faint through pale lips. He faced the right side of the bed, his own right hand still pressed to the empty spot. “I miss you so much…” Though eyelids getting heavier at each passing breath, Chrom tried to hold on what’s left of his aroused mind.  “Come back home, my love…” His eyes felt warm. “The kids really miss their mother.” His chest really hurt. “Your husband really misses you…”  Trembling fingers curled the bedsheet.  “Come…” A yawn broke out, “home…”  He wondered if it was a dream that he could feel something wet trickling his cheek. ---  It was a normal day for House Ylisse.  It was a normal day for the royal exalt to go through with his life.  Chrom spent time with his kids and sister. He spent time with his loyal second-in-command and sugar-loving thief. If all work were done, he would occupy his mind by either walking into the castle gardens or sparring with his fellow comrades. Time passed by quickly for Chrom. And before he knew it, night time had painted the sky.  It was like any other normal day for him.  “MILORD!”  Chrom actually jumped at the sudden shout of the great knight. Royal blue eyes widened so dumbly. Pale pink lips parted to a tiny ‘O’. Quickly he looked at the front doors of the throne room, his stupor only intensified to see Frederick kneeling and panting heavily right in front of him.  “F-Frederick?” Cautiously Chrom asked, right hand slowly reaching out for the still gasping great knight.  Before he could even reach the top of his head, Chrom stopped immediately when Frederick cocked his head in his direction.  Before Chrom could ask about his wellbeing, he instead fell in dead silence once Frederick declared, “We’ve found her.”  Deafening silence filled the entire room.  Turns out it wasn’t like any other day, after all. ---  Chrom had never ran so fast in his life.  His legs moved on their own. His heart was about to burst right out of his chest in seconds. Air was rapid and choppy in the king’s lungs, but he couldn’t care less even if he tried. Cheeks were flushed. Head was dizzy. If it weren’t for Frederick, Chrom would have tripped and hurt himself more times than he could keep count.  She’s here! That’s the only thing in his mind.  She’s here, she’s here! Those were the only words that echoed in his brain.  Finally, he arrived at the destination. He recognized the place; it was a meadow; the very meadow that they’d first met.  He spotted a band of Shepherds crowded around a single spot. He saw Lissa crouching next to someone – to her.  Her.  Robin.  He spotted a splash of hair that he missed to brush. He spotted a delicate hand that he missed to kiss. Though body mostly hidden by the small crowd, Chrom gasped – cried – at the sight of the body he missed – truly, horribly, truly missed – so much.  Robin, was all that sang in his mind as he took a staggered step forward.  Robin, was all that curled around his heart as he stretched out his right hand.  Upon realizing that he was approaching, everyone quickly make way. Finally, Lissa scooted a few steps back, her smile shining on her face and brown eyes twinkling in pure bliss.  Robin… His cheeks felt wet and his teeth chattered wildly behind quivered lips.  But hell, he couldn’t give a damn.  Finally, he stood in front of her. Finally, he fell to his knees by her side. Whether or not he had realized it, the Shepherds around had backed away slowly in order to give him space. Only Lissa remained close to him, though the distance was increased for his comfort.  It was her, Chrom awed. It was her.  Her chest was heaving calmly. Her cheeks were flushed with colour. Royal blue eyes then darted to her nose; oh how overwhelmed he was with relief to hear breathing slipping out of her nostrils.  Y-You’re home… A tiny, cracked mixture of a laugh and a cry slipped out of his mouth. You’re…Y-You’re h-home… Vision briefly blurred, Chrom quickly rubbed his eyes and gawked at nothing but her.  Robin… One shaky hand reached out for her, fingers twitching, trembling, hungering for the warmth of her body. Robin…  It felt truly pitiful to be gasping so loudly once he felt the soft, reassuring warmth of her right hand.  But hell, like Chrom cared.  Robin… He couldn’t lose her. Robin… He didn’t ever, ever want to lose her. ---  The throbbing pain in her head slowly roused her awake. A tiny, groggy groan slipped out of those pink, rosy lips. The corners of her eyes twitched. The clench of her teeth hardened. She heard noises. She heard voices.  But most of all, she heard his voice. Her eyelids weakly fluttered open. Sunlight peered through her eyes, making her groan again before slowly, heavily dragged her right hand to shield her eyes.  “I see you’re awake now…”  She swore her heartbeat had stopped for a second.  Eyes now wide as the sun above, Robin gawked to the direction of the voice. Though head now numbed with pain, she gasped silently once she saw the face of the man she missed so much.  “T-There…” His voice was shaky. “There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know.” His eyes were puffy.  And yet, Robin could perfectly see the beaming curve of his smile.  One hand was positioned right above her. “Give me your hand.”  Realization carefully sinking in, Robin slowly, eagerly, reached out for his hand.  And once she did, she felt as if her body was flying for the next thing she knew, she was already wrapped in a desperate, firm, loving hug.  “Wel—Welcome home, my love…” To hear his stammered voice, to feel the warmth of his hug, Robin broke out a tiny laugh albeit the growing tears in her eyes.  “I missed you…” END

#Chrobin #Chrom #My Unit #Morgan #Lucina #Fire Emblem #fire emblem awakening #im so proud i wrote like 3 things today lmao....... #the perks of being in a working environment bt no work #anyways JANJAAAAAN!!! #may your life be filled with joy and blessings my dear amin c: #oneshot #frederick #also freds there he said some words #lissas theres too but shes just smiling coz shes happy #her sister in laws back :')