#I mean that man is a monster and he still can reunite a broken family | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boytouya · 3 years ago

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

taglist:

@ryoukuna @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @rinkindaugly

#💕.sukuna #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #anime x you #anime x reader #anime x male reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #sukuna imagine #sukuna angst #sukuna au #sukuna oneshot

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years ago

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Miss American Pie

Chapter Five: This Will Be The Day (Finale)

Warning: this series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing.

Summary: Everyone has returned but the battle for humanity against Thanos wages on.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You wake in a coughing fit, the rubble surrounding you sears your lungs. “Natasha.” You call into the rocks and flickering lights. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Natasha!”

“Here, I’m here.” Her voice is rough, pained.

You push yourself toward the sound, through the dust you can make out her hair. “You ok?”

“Mostly.” She’s laying face up, a few scratches visible.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I can’t move.” She nods at the piece of collapsed cement. “My leg is broken, you should go.” Nat says, staring up at the sky.

“I should’ve never let you go to Vormir. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You try uselessly to budge the blockage over her leg.

“What is Vormir?” She asks.

“Doesn’t matter.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you remember?”

“The red room.”

“Do you remember getting out?”

“No one gets out.” She shakes her head.

“We did.” You inform her. “Yelena did.”

“Yelena?” Her gaze finds yours. “You know Yelena? Is she here?”

“Yes, I know her.” You press your lips together. “She’s not here though.”

“The rest of this building is coming down. If you were really trained in the red room you have to know that.” Natasha frowns. “You need to leave.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t be a hero.” She whispers. “Let me go, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” You argue. “I won’t do it again.”

“What about Yelena?” Natasha gives you a pointed look.

“She’ll understand.” This is what she would do.

“Hey,” Natasha pushes herself up on her elbows. “Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if a giant man in a metal suit carrying a smaller man and a raccoon appeared behind your head?”

You turn toward the man in question. Scott Lang. “It would be a good thing.”

———————————————————————

Natasha is taken somewhere safe. She can’t fight.

As the strange doctor and his disciples start opening portals you see that you’re not alone. Through one comes Alexei, Melina and Yelena.

Her white suit is pristine, dirty blonde hair held away from her face in ponytails.

On shaky legs you move toward her, taking your rightful place at her side. Facing what lies ahead together.

Yelena catches your hand, “this isn’t much of a welcome home.”

You can’t help but laugh, “pretty cool way to die though.”

“Very,” she agrees. “Natasha?”

“She is a little worse for wear.” You warn her, “but alive…and safe.”

Yelena gives you a watery smile, squeezing your fingers. “And you?”

“A tower fell on me.”

“Of course it did.”

Thanos’ army is nothing to scoff at. Giant airborne creatures hover over his troops. Larger monsters stand in their ranks, space ship overhead ready to destroy.

Steve is almost unrecognizable, covered in dirt, his shield battered and broken. But you know it is time when he gives the order. “Avengers, assemble.”

Fighting is easy, it’s what you know. What you were trained to do. Fight to stay alive, fight for what you believe in, fight with Yelena; for Yelena.

The two of you move together like a well oiled machine. Like riding a bike, even after all this time you could never forget.

“We’ve got company to the left.” Yelena says through gritted teeth, kicking at the alien creature beside her. Dropping an empty cartridge to the ground and reloading her gun seamlessly, firing several shots.

Despite everyone’s best efforts they just keep coming. “Do we have a plan here?”

“Getting there,” Steve replies. “Anybody have eyes on the gauntlet?”

“Yeah!” Clint rushes past you with the glove in hand. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Get it out of here!” Tony insists.

“What’s happening?” Alexei shouts over the chaos. “I still don’t have ear piece.”

“Just keep their army away from that guy in the tank top.” You grunt, falling backwards from the force of one of Thanos’ soldiers colliding with you.

“We have to get the stones back where they came from.” Rhodey reminds everyone.

“The time space tunnel is completely collapsed.” Tony points out.

“That isn’t our only time machine.” Lang cuts in.

“Does anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Captain America’s voice hums through the ear bud.

“I do,” a female voice chimes in. “But you’re not going to like where it’s parked.”

After grappling for far too long, you manage to knock the creature from you. Using your knife to dismember it.

“Next time, we get the cool laser guns.” Yelena yells loud enough to be heard by everyone on the network, as she hauls you to your feet.

“Friday, please add laser guns for the ballerinas to my grocery list.” Stark gives his smart ass remark.

“What’s the word on the van?” Rhodey wonders.

“Working on it now.”

The ship at Thanos’ disposal begins raining fire, no regard for their own troops.

“We’ve got people going down!” Rocket hollers.

“Clint,” you call into the microphone. “How’s that gauntlet?”

“Moving down the field.” The archer replies, “I’m alright too, thanks for asking.”

“Good.” You bite back a smile.

Hell continues breaking loose around you. Glowing circular orbs unfold in the air above, providing coverage from the missiles. You’re not sure if this is winning or losing. It feels like a bit of both.

———————————————————————- Thanos and his army are dusted away. Leaving you surprised and still swinging as the shock wears off.

You won. You. Won.

And you lost.

You lost Tony Stark. The man you’d barely known, but offered you clarity that will stay with you forever.

You lost the Natasha you’d come to know over the five years that Yelena was gone. Some parts of the redhead stripped away for the price of the stone.

But she’s still here. Waiting in the wings to be greeted by Yelena and their little makeshift family. You share a look of understanding when your eyes meet over the blonde’s shoulder.

Others come, Banner refuses to leave her side. Despite the fact that Natasha doesn’t remember him.

Clint falls to the ground at her feet. Breaking down at the sight of his friend, his family alive and well. She doesn’t remember him either, but welcomes him into her arms somewhat awkwardly.

Her expressions flicker from happy to overwhelmed. Hesitant to open herself up to the possibility that she is wanted, needed and loved.

Too confusing for the girl who only remembers the red room. Adjusting to this life will take time.

Everyone begins clearing out, their jobs finished. Rushing home to reunite with their loved ones. Tomorrow will bring about new challenges. The world is in shambles, and so are you.

Steve decides that he should be the one to return the stones. His goodbye tells you that he has a bit more in mind. But this is his life. His choices, not yours.

“Well, I guess we should head out too.” You say after a while. Your car is gone, lost in the wreckage from the explosion.

The setting sun is eclipsed, causing all of you to turn your gaze upwards just in time to see the ship’s door open.

“Is that a raccoon?” Melina asks, pointing toward Rocket.

“Do you want a ride or not?” Rocket shoots back.

“Not the avenger’s super jet, but it will do huh?” Alexei smiles, this is his dream.

“This is better!” A man’s voice carries down from the interior.

“Well,” Yelena shrugs, “if you say so.” She leads the pack up the ramp and onto the ship.

“Fanny and the pigs will be expecting dinner soon.”

“How are they?” Melina asks, “have you been taking care of them.”

“That was me!” Alexei says proudly, bending at the waist to gather Natasha into his arms. “Aye honey,” he grunts, hoisting her up. “You are only little girl in my heart.”

Nat pushes against his chest in retaliation.

“Do you mind if I hitch a ride too?” Clint asks.

“The extra stop will cost you,” Nebula stares blankly at him from her seat.

“They always do.” He remarks, trotting up the ramp.

Bruce paces at the foot of the metal grate, watching the rest of you load up. “I gotta hang back, make sure Steve gets there in one piece.”

“After what happened with Scott the first time I’d say that’s probably the best bet.” You agree, standing near the entrance.

“Yeah,” he smiles, kindly. “Keep me posted on Nat, will ya?”

“I will,” you return the smile.

“I’ll see you around.”

You nod, “I’ll see you.”

The captain of the ship introduces himself as Star-lord, and after a moment without response, Quill.

“Any requests?” He asks, finger hovering over the control panel.

Alexei creeps over to the younger man, quietly relaying a message.

“Alright,” Quill nods. Stroking the keys until a familiar set of notes ring out.

“A long, long time ago-“ The singer croons.

You let out a chuckle.

“I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance. And maybe they'd be happy for a while.”

“We’re really doing this?” Yelena puts a hand to her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

“But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step.” The melody carries on.

“It’s your song.” Natasha turns to her sister.

“I can't remember if I cried. When I read about his widowed bride.” Melina’s eyes are far away, carried back to their years in Ohio. Before the world had been so cruel.

“Something touched me deep inside, the day the music-“

“Died.” Yelena joins in, lulling her head to the side to gage your reaction.

You sigh, all of this beyond surreal. But you allow yourself to live in this moment, because you might not get another. “So bye, bye Miss American Pie…”

“Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.” The roaring chorus of voices fills the silence you’ve grown used to. Fills the parts of you that were empty for so long. “And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye. Singin', “this’ll be the day that I die.”

“This’ll be the day that I die.” Yelena sings, her face alight with a childlike glee.

——————————————————————-

Melina, Natasha and Alexei stay with you for a while. A few weeks as Natasha heals and becomes acclimated to her life.

She claims to hate the attention, but deep down you know she’s full of it.

The Ohio house is bursting at the seams with five adults, nine pigs and one dog.

That isn’t enough to keep visitors at bay. Namely Clint, his wife Laura and their three children.

Things feel a bit off when everyone begins moving out. Alexei, Melina, and their pigs return to the farm outside of Saint Petersburg.

Natasha finds herself drawn to New York, with Bruce and the makeshift building he’s using as a lab.

You adjust to the steady thrum that is daily life, with Fanny and Yelena.

After dinner you load the dishwasher, drying your hands on the nearby tea towel before selecting a cycle.

“So how does it feel?” Yelena asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hmm?” You turn to face her.

“Being a hero.” She clarifies, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m not-“

“Oh cut the crap, Y/N. You saved the world.” Yelena narrows her eyes at you.

“I did it for you.” You say simply, because it’s true.

Yelena closes the space between you, “why?”

“You know why.” You whisper as she cups your face in her hands, gently stroking her thumb over your cheek. “It’s ok if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“I’d do more for you, and worse.” She assures you. “But do you really want to spend the rest of your life fumbling around feelings in the dark when you could have someone who-“

“I want you. I only ever want you.” You beckon her closer. “Anyway I can have you, that will be enough for me.”

Sometimes wires get crossed and you want things you never have before. And she provides them before you have a chance to ask. You give back to her tenfold, so that neither glass is ever empty. That is love. True love, the only way you’ve ever known it.

“I am yours…in every way a person can belong to another.” Yelena breathes, “and then some.”

Series taglist: @jeyramarie @freeshavocadoooo @ilovewinter101 @3and30aresoultwins @yelenabelovv @miphas-trident @1800-fight-me

If you loved this series as much as I did, you can check out the prequel here!

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader

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deltas-writing-corner · 4 years ago

Text

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand.

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job�� or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are.

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day.

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation.

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human.

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation.

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable.

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?”

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place…

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!”

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night.

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness-

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then.

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet.

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely.

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts.

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down.

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated.

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior.

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated.

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

543 notes · View notes

dawnwriterimagines · 4 years ago

Text

"At least somebody's happy to see me.": Vanya Hargreeves

Summary: When the Umbrella Academy finally reunites in 1963, an amnesiac Vanya reunites with her sisters, happily, especially Number Eight, who Klaus actually makes visible, after her death by Vanya's hand.

Warning(s): Fluff, light angst, etc.

- - -

You could still remember the way Vanya's sound wave had cut straight into your body, slicing messily through your clothes and across your chest. Vanya was dragged away by Leonard, or Harold Jenkins, sobbing and screaming out her frantic apologies when you felt yourself slipping away.

Allison had been next to you, having used your power to block Vanya's accidental attack, but it only caused the energy to bounce off your materialized shield and into you. It cut off, slicing the nape of Allison's neck, she stuttered out a painful "I heard a rumor..." to no avail as Harold Jenkins escaped with Vanya in tow.

Your sister held you tight as your family came to rescue you both, and she didn't let go, even when you quickly passed in Luther's arm's during the frantic car ride home.

Later, Vanya came home, to the Academy but by that time, Luther was fully aware of what his sister could do, but he would soon see for himself. Blinded by loss, he was quick to isolate Vanya until he was sure of what to do with her, in short, it didn't work out.

Meeting the enraged Vanya at her recital theater, with the commission's lackeys on their tails, the group of siblings banded together to take her down. During the battle against gun wielding agents of the commission, Klaus unleashed his hidden power, a magnificent display of his growing abilities.

Luther's eyes were wide in disbelief as you came to view in an ominous blue light as well as Ben Hargreeves, their long deceased brother, having grown up apparently in his ghost form. The siblings couldn't believe their eyes as you and Ben made quick work of taking down the agents, their bullets flying straight through your intangible bodies while you sent them flying and Ben's monsters ripped them apart.

Exchanging a glance with Klaus, you looked away to turn towards Vanya, who's eyes were squeezed shut as she focused deeply on the resonance of her violin, holding tight to the bowl of her instrument as she glowed with a pure white light and the wood draining of color with her clothing. You began to walk down the aisle, towards your sister, your siblings finishing off the agents behind you.

A violent wind consumed the theater as Vanya went on, her music as beautiful as it had always been, tears slowly manifesting along the corners of Vanya's eye's as she remembered her sister, how she had dreamed of seeing you in the audience, embracing you off stage when her performance was finished. The memory of you pulled her to continue, her sorrow pouring into the strings of her violin, the sound growing and energy rising all around her.

"Vanya..."

At the sound of your voice, Vanya's brows furrowed, her Boe pausing, missing a chord in the song. Was she imagining your voice now?

"You play so beautifully," Vanya felt your hand on her shoulder. She gasped harshly, her eyes bursting open, her tears finally falling like raindrops, she sucks in a breath as she looks over to see you. Her eyes are wide, her core filled with energy she had unconciously built up, the sound of the violin chords still floating through the air despite not a note being played. "You always have," you continue, a soft smile upon your lips.

Vanya stares at you in shock and disbelief, she can see the blue hue to your skin, the ominous light that surrounds you but there is no mistaking your presence, it was you. "(Y-y/n)?" She stutters with a small, fragile voice. Reaching her hand out to touch you, gasping and flinching back as she can feel your hand in hers, so cold, yet as comforting as you had always been.

"It's me," you wrap your arm's around the broken woman, who quickly drops her violin and bow to return it with a desperate embrace.

Vanya releases a choked cry, shaking as her body quickly racks with sobs, the light surrounding her soon begins to diminish. She holds you tight, crying with a stuttered, "I-i'm s-sorry! I'm sorry!" Repeating brokenly while you squeeze her tight to you, feeling Klaus's power fading.

"It's ok," you pull away to wipe away her tears. "It's ok." You smile, leaning forwards and pressing your lips upon her forehead, "Don't worry anymore, Vanya. It's ok."

The moment her hands slip through you, your form suddenly vanishing, she breaks down, clutching her chest painfully, before feeling the build up of energy within her quickly taking shape, she gasps out as Allison behind her, fires off a shot behind her that startles her senses. A large beam of light and paralyzing sound leave Vanya and shot out of the circular window atop the Icarus Theater, hitting the moon and destroying it.

It doesn't take long for the siblings to realize their fucked. Five quickly devising a plan to go back in time to evade the apocalypse.

Obviously, he fucked that up.

The siblings find each other after a year and/or more of being apart, all separated between 1961 to 1963. You and Ben stuck with Klaus, who somehow found himself becoming a cult leader. You had found Diego a while back, having declared himself a psychotic and sent to an asylum for trying to save the president from his future assassination. Klaus found Allison later on, or she found him, she had married and became a civil rights activist. Luther was found by Five, who was last to teleport to 1963, he became a body guard for a big shot mob boss, you were actually pretty surprised to find that out. Vanya...well, you weren't sure where Vanya was, Five did say he saw her, she's supposed to be a nanny now, on a farm?

Five found Klaus and Allison, eager to finally get the group back together, meeting up at the hideout he had with a alien theorist, this family can never even say the word 'normal'.

Vanya sat on the couch, facing Luther and Diego, horrified to find out about the evil deeds of her asshole adopted father. Keeping her drugged up on pills to suppress her powers? Keeping her isolated from her siblings? Jeez, now she really had to meet this guy.

"Hey! Get down here already!" Vanya perked up, upon hearing Five's voice, the three siblings getting to their feet and walking over to the railing to view.

"Is it just me...or did we all get hotter?" Klaus wondered aloud.

Your eye's widened upon seeing Vanya, you smiled to yourself in relief, "Vanya," you hummed to yourself.

"I can't believe I have a sister," Vanya laughed excitedly before skipping down the steps, a smile on her face, looking at Allison. You raised a brow before recalling what Five had told Klaus of Vanya's memory.

"Klaus," you nudged the seance. Klaus looked at you before back at Vanya.

"I mean, won't she maybe, freak out?" Klaus wondered, glancing at Vanya.

She shuffled in front of Allison, recalling how pretty unwelcoming her brothers had seemed when they found her, none of them seemed to had missed her. She hesitated in embracing the only other woman of the many siblings, wasn't she told that she had 2 sisters?

"Vanya," Allison breathed, smiling softly as her sister came waking down the steps to her, brightly. Allison stood there, almost awkwardly, "I missed you." she couldn't help herself when she walked forwards to finally embrace her sister.

"Thank god, somebody did," Vanya joked half heartedly, stiffly welcoming her embrace before relaxing and hugging back, relieved.

Klaus couldn't help himself as he aww'ed at their sisterly reunion, "Aww! This is precious," he wrapped the both of them in his arms before giving a loving kiss to Vanya's forehead, "Finally, Vanya! Where have you been?"

Vanya blushed at the love she was suddenly receiving from her siblings. "Around, I guess."

You frowned, shoving Klaus's arm, "Klaus!" You warned, Klaus flinched lightly before sighing.

"Ok! Ok, I got it!" He raised his hands in defeat. Then, turned to Vanya and Allison, who raised a brow confused. "Hey, um, Vanya, come with me, please."

Klaus dragged Vanya away from Allison, who gave her brother a confused frown, before he pulled Vanya into a corner as everyone began to go upstairs to discuss Five's plan.

"Hurry it up, Klaus," Five sighed as he straightened the collar of his uniform, looking over the balcony before turning to head to the couch.

He waved the old man in a child's body off. "Yeah! Yeah, I got it!" He then turned to a nervous Vanya.

"Did I do something wrong?" She wondered, her fingers pull down on the end of her shirt, anxiety filling her.

Klaus raised a brow. "No, no. Why would you say that?" He then realized what it seemed like, dragging her secretly over from everyone in attempt to have a private conversation that may have to do with telling her off. "Oh, no! Haha! Don't worry, I just wanted to talk to you, Vanya." He smiled, the girl laughed lightly, her shoulders relaxing visibly. "Well, I mean--" he glanced over at you, "Not me. But, another member of the family."

Vanya titled her head to the side, her brows furrowing. "I thought we were the only ones left?"

"Well, yeah...but--she wanted to see you again. She's kind of bugging me about you." Klaus let out a small 'ow' when an invisible force seemed to jab him in the ribs. "Alot."

Vanya's eye's widened before she began to grin widely. "Wait...I have another sister? Really?!" She questioned, happily. "That's great, no offense, but there's way too many boys in this family," Klaus shrugged his shoulders, nodding at the fact. "So, where is she?"

He looked over at you, "You ready?"

Vanya glanced at the empty spot before assuming he were talking to her. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Always."

Klaus stepped back alittle, taking a deep breath, shaking his hands out to prepare himself. Vanya pursed her lips, blowing out a low breath, "What're you doing?"

"Just a sec!" His hands begin glowing an ominous blue, that makes Vanya step back in surprise. Klaus leans over into himself, concentrating his ability to conjure up a misty figure beside Vanya, she notices, jumping back to the side with a loud gasp.

"Woah! Hey, what's happe--!" Vanya presses herself against the side wall as the person comes into view, illuminated with the same blue light coming from Klaus's hands. A beautiful woman her age, (h/c) hair and leather pants with a fitted top under a loose jean jacket that steps towards her. "W-what?"

You smile widely, "Vanya!"

The small woman's eyes are wide in disbelief before she pushes herself lightly off of the wall, taking a hesitant step. "W-who are you? Do I know you?" She looks over at Klaus, who's already begun to sweat faintly along his brow. "Is this--is this my sister?"

Klaus grin's, nodding. "Vanya, this is our sister, (Y/n) Hargreeves."

You can't wait any longer and quickly rush up to Vanya, she's shocked when she feels your arm's wrap around her, a warmth she's never felt before enveloping her upon your touch. You held onto her, running a hand down her hair as her hands come up to wrap around your waist. "I've missed you, sis."

Vanya can't help the smile that spreads across her face, she let's her head settle into your chest, she wonders if the heartbeat she hears is from you or her. "I have another sister..." she breathes, you chuckle.

"Yeah, you do," you pull away, keeping your hands on her shoulder's. You then look at her eyes, they're different, "So, you don't remember us, at all? The academy? Me?" Some part of you hoped she would've, when she saw your face.

She shook her head, tilting it down, guiltily. "I was hit by a car, I lost my memory, I don't remember anything..." her eyes then narrowed before she glanced up. "Well...I think I remember something...but I'm not really sure. It's a fragment of a memory if anything," she sighed, alittle frustrated. "It's just a song. Not even a lyric...just the name, I think. But I've never heard of it, and it doesn't exist here, I guess it's one from the future. Our future, I guess."

Your eye's widened, before you asked her. "What...what's the song called?"

Vanya paused, looking at you now, fully. The glow of blue around you reminded her of a black and white movie, she wondered if she could remember the color of your hair if she tried, did you have highlights, maybe two different colored eyes? "...she told me her favorite song was (f/s)...I...it's like listening under water, it's not very clear...but I can still feel a hand around mine throughout the entire thing..." Vanya's lips tug up, recalling all the nights that the memory had comforted her, knowing someone out there was waiting for her to come home.

You would've cried if you could've, but you could only smile, sorrowful and relieved at the same time, "I'm glad to know you still remember...you used to hate that song...so much!" You chuckled at the end, Vanya's eye's drifting upwards, her heart doing flips and her eyes going red as they burned. "But, you put it on the record like clockwork, every Sunday night. We'd lay on the rooftop and watch the stars until the sixth flicker of the low brook street lamp. The city never got that thing fixed," you recalled fondly.

Vanya sniffled softly. "...b-but...but how could---how'd this happen to you? I remember you. I remember you like....like it was so recent. How did you die?"

You shook your head. "It doesn't matter, Van," you rough your hands up to her cheeks, wiping the tears that began to fall down her cheeks. "It doesn't matter. It matters only that, I got to see you again. And I've missed you, so much, Vanya. So much," you brushed her hair to the side cupping the side of her face as Vanya breathed a sad laugh, taking your hand in hers. "I love you, Vanya. Always know that, okay?"

Vanya couldn't speak, biting her lip to hold the sob creeping up her throat, she hasn't heard those words in years, and she could feel every emotion that you carried in that single sentence and it made her want to hold you and never let go as she sobbed her heart out. She nodded, vigorously, "I-i know. I know," she sniffled harshly, she could hardly believe she was breaking down right now. She hardly remembered you, she didn't know why she was crying but a part of her was just falling apart and she didn't know why.

Klaus placed a hand on your shoulder, "(y/n)..." he whispered, softly. Not wanting to break up the two of his sisters, he guiltily spoke, sadly nodding towards the spirit of his dead sister, "I'm sorry, I can't keep going..." he apologized, before you shook your head.

"No, Klaus," you reached out, holding onto his hand, "This was more than enough," you leaned up, placing your lips along her cheek. "Thank you for giving me this time. You can rest now."

Klaus nodded, before letting you go, briefly. Turning to Vanya, who's grip on your hand grew tighter, "Vanya..."

"P-please, just give me...give me alittle more time," she begged. "I don't know why but...I'm just so...I'm so scared to let you go!" She wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you tight as she sucked in a shuddering breath as she sobbed into your chest. "Please, don't leave me."

You closed your eye's, wanting so badly to cry, to shed even a single tear but everything felt so bottled up, thrown into a pit so big it would never be released, it hurt. You hugged her to you, she held you tighter, "I'm always with you, Vanya. I won't ever leave you," you breathed, kissing the top of her head as Klaus's power began to fade, you felt her touch begin to slip, your body be coming intangible once more. "It's ok. I'm right here, for you."

Vanya collapsed to her knees as you slipped through her hands, silently wrapping her arms around herself as Klaus tiredly walked up to her, going to his knees in front of her, he sat there, laying a hand on her back. Before the young woman leaned forwards to wrap her arms around him, her head against his shoulder. Klaus encircled her shoulders, pulling her to his side as she began to slowly calm.

A few days later, Vanya's memory returns. She remembers everything about her family, about you.

And as she stands, walking out of the FBI building, she wipes away a stray tear as she remembers the last time she had seen you. You had forgiven her, loved her unconditionally, embraced her and welcomed her despite what she had done to you.

Today, she'd save the world with her family, for you. And she knew that you would always be by her side through that and the future ahead.

#vanya x reader #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella acedmy #umbrella academy klaus #klaus x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader

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typinggently · 3 years ago

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I have never watched that show. How much background info I should look up to enjoy your Sam x Dean fiction?

Dearest, that’s so sweet ahhh 🥺🥺 Honestly, I’m so honoured that you’re willing to dive into unknown waters for me 🌹🌹🌹 I wrote up a short introduction! ✨

The basics are as follows: Sam and Dean are the sons of John and Mary Winchester, with Dean being 4 years older. After Mary’s supernatural death when Dean is 5, John sweeps his children into his car and leaves the burning corpse of their normal life behind, with a sweltering pain inside of him. Driven by fear for his sons and the burning need for revenge, John raises his sons as hunters and in motel rooms. There is, and that is crucial, no resemblance of a normal life for any of them after Mary’s death.

If we’re speaking in very basic terms, Dean is the daredevil womanising Marlboro Man, complete with muscle car and leather jacket, and Sam is the more soft-spoken smart one who eats salad and has glossy-soft hair. (However, of course, Dean is fiercely family-oriented, protective, good with children. Sam started out with a rebellious streak and is still capable of great violence when he doesn’t keep himself in check. Also Dean’s the type to gaze dreamily into his girl’s eyes and hold her hand as she rides him and Sam’s one night stands are mostly of the ‘rip off your shirt and hit it from behind’ kind.)

~🖤~

Considering there are 15 seasons to choose from, people have (naturally) picked up certain elements that they find most enjoyable. There’s a good deal of people who watch it as a (romantic) comedy.

I personally enjoy the American gothic horror, the way those two are entangled beyond comprehension and, at times, indistinguishable from the monsters they hunt. Even if my fics have different topics or are lighthearted and honey-dripping, the base note is always this: their relationship, due to nature and nurture, is incredibly obsessive. Their world has been reduced to the two of them in the confines of the car or the ever-changing motel rooms, ever since they were little. Dean’s purpose in life was to protect and care for Sam, Sam’s purpose in life was to let that happen. There’s some resentment in that, sometimes you can feel them rebelling against this tangled, claustrophobic mess, but even if they fight and snarl and break up, they always return to one another and heal those cuts in their bond, which, in essence, only means that they settle back into their entangled, Janus-like double soul.

~🖤~

I’ll give you a brief summary of the first five seasons (the core of the show, at least to me), just to illustrate my point. Despite all else that happens, I think that is the foundation of the show, and thus, probably all you need to know to understand what I have in mind while I write.

🔥.1.🔥

The story begins with Sam at college, trying to establish a life away from the road and, in essence, Dean. That attempt of normality burns on the ceiling in the person of his girlfriend Jessica, repeat performance of when his mother’s body lit up his room 21 years ago. Dean picks him up and he goes back to the car, to the life he tried to leave behind, and, essentially, to Dean. They follow a trail of breadcrumbs and coordinates John leaves them to eventually get back to him. They find John, find the demon that killed Mary, and, as the turn of a new chapter is right at their fingertips, get bulldozed by a truck.

🪦.2.🪦

Season two has Dean dying. John can’t let that happen, so he finds the demon responsible for taking everything (his wife, his life, his son) from him to trade his own soul and the only thing that could kill said demon for Dean. John dies, Dean lives, and has to live with that guilt. Just like John, he turns to hunt down the demon responsible for taking everything (his mother, his life, his father). Sam starts having visions, a power grows inside of him that he can’t begin to understand and is incredibly frightened by. The demon sweeps in to steal him away, and Dean comes just in time to catch Sam, powerful and dying, in his arms. Just like John, Dean goes to trade his life. He’s promised one year on Earth, eternity in hell after. Reunited, revived, they find the demon responsible for taking everything and with the help of their father’s soul, kill him. John goes to heaven, Sam goes on living, Dean knows he’s going to hell.

⏳.3.⏳

In season three, Sam lives and has to live with what Dean did. He desperately tries to find a cure, a solution, anything. He finds Ruby, instead, a demon who promises him all three. It doesn’t work, the overly-powerful demon Lilith who was promised Dean after one year, comes and gets him. Sam watches helplessly as Dean is torn apart, then holds him, warm but cooling, in his arms.

🩸.4.🩸

Season four finds Dean finding himself breathing underground. He digs himself out of his own grave and finds Sam and has to find out that Ruby found him first. It’s now that we learn who found Dean and raised him out of hell: Castiel, unkillable, unfathomable, unbelievable. Dean, who never believed in God, now has to learn that there’s a biblical plan laid out for Sam and him. Meanwhile, Castiel, who always believed and is starting to doubt, tries to find God, who’s responsible for it all, but vanished. Meanwhile, Sam is drawn closer and closer to Ruby, by Ruby. While Castiel raised Dean out of hell, Ruby found Sam on Earth and wrapped herself around him, offering a shoulder to cry on and a wrist to drink from. Sam, who wasn’t strong enough to save Dean, quickly gets addicted to demon blood, which makes him stronger than humanely possible — and, in Dean’s eyes, less human. He falls for Ruby and falls for her scheme, which leads to him breaking the seal that kept Lucifer contained, starting what will lead to the end of everything. Ruby’s life ends with Sam’s arms wrapped around her, holding her still as Dean sinks her own knife into her.

⌛️.5.⌛️

Season five leads to the end of the world, with Heaven and Hell trying to convince Sam and Dean to follow the plan written for them: Sam is destined to be Lucifer’s vessel, give over his body to him, while Dean is meant to do the same for Michael. They are meant to fight and kill each other, and thus decide the fate of everything, heaven, hell and earth. They refuse. Dean refuses to let Michael enter and use him, forcing heaven to manipulate their half-brother Adam to step into his big brother’s shoes. Sam invites Lucifer in, but refuses to do as he’s told and breaks the Devil’s hold over him to sacrifice himself and Adam and save everything. It ends with Sam, Adam, Michael and Lucifer trapped for eternity in the cage Sam broke the seal of, and Dean, on Earth. Alone.

(Not quite, of course. Following Sam’s wish, he finds a life for himself, a woman and a child that isn’t his but close enough that Dean can pretend. Outside, in the dark, Sam watches.)

~🖤~

Voilà, that’s it. Sam and Dean kill and die for each other, sell their souls and humanity to save one another or repent for the fact that they couldn’t. There are many, many other stories interwoven there, for example the story of the amulet Sam was meant to gift their father when he was little, for protection. When John doesn’t show up to receive the gift, he gives it to Dean. For decades, the amulet is kept right against his heart, until it stops beating and Sam takes it off, to keep it warm and safe against his own chest. When Dean returns from hell, Sam, who was never able to believe that Dean was really gone, gives it back. Its journey ends where it began, in a motel room with Sam and Dean, when Dean, who finds his faith and hope to save them and the Earth crushed, takes it off and throws it away.

(And a quick look at s6: Dean has the orange juice for breakfast, scent of freshly cut grass life Sam wanted for him for one year, until Sam comes to collect him again. After spending an eternity in the cage with Lucifer (and Adam and Michael, who presumably sat in their corner and made out while Sam was being skinned like Marsyas), Sam was lifted out (by Castiel), but lost his soul and the memories of his torment in the process. What does it mean for one to lose one’s soul, what happens to that person? Sam stops sleeping, he stops caring what other people think, he stops caring for other people in general. He’s an incredibly efficient hunter and spends most of his (limitless, sleepless) time hunting, exercising, or having sex. Despite this empty, cold shell his brother has been reduced to, Dean drops his life of dinner at eight and slow morning sex to join Sam, and gets broken up with over the phone for being too attached to Sam.)

~🖤~

This got quite long after all, but I hope this got the idea across! Those two are very fascinating characters and I love them dearly. Twisted little clowns.

#this got long even though I tried to be brief u.u #clown boys #wincest

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hei-ch0u · 4 years ago

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Oh boy. Here goes... Shingeki no Kyojin Final chapter (139) thoughts and analysis ✰

Well, where do I even begin to accumulate my thoughts on the final chapter of Shingeki no Kyojin? Even after some time to reflect and read the chapter many times, over and over - I’m still going to struggle to form this analysis. But, alas I shall try my best despite this.

I appreciate anyone who takes the time to read this and understand my own views of the final chapter. Proceed with caution - ⚠️ spoilers ahead ⚠️

This chapter and ending overall has left me with a love/hate relationship with the overall tale in full. I’d even go as far as saying it has tainted my view slightly of the entire series in one way or another and I will never look at it the same way I did - as much as I wish I could. My reasoning for the love/hate relationship I have will come, but, I want to start off by saying that despite it’s ending I will always appreciate this story and Isayama for his work, even if I myself don’t approve of his steering towards the ending.

It is just like I said in my theory, the thing we all need to recognise with this story is that the characters we love and have cherished, were never going to get exactly what they desired and if anything this chapter is a clear indication of that fact. It has been a story that was paved for a bitter, somewhat ‘bittersweet’ ending (yes, I hoped it wouldn’t be in the form of ‘that’, but it was). It is just as Mikasa said - “The world is cruel and merciless, but it is also beautiful”. This tale became the typical embodiment of humanity and how ruthless it can be.

Again, like I said in my theory, it was heavily foreshadowed that Eren was playing devil’s advocate and might have to sacrifice his freedom in this life to save the ones who meant the most to him. We heard hints in OST’s such as My War, Red Swan, Vogel Im Kafig, among others…

“Angel playing disguise with Devil’s face”

“I’ll cry for you in a dream”

“All of my kingdom, for your return, I’d let it burn!”

“Spread your wings, which are dreaded in blood”

“And eternity as you, fly to heaven”

“Like a fallen angel”

“Looking down from above I feel awful”

“Every living being dies someday, whether we are ready to die or not”

“Is that the angel who flew down from the twilight sky?”

“Is that the devil who crawled out from the crevice?”

“Tears, anger, compassion, cruelty, peace, chaos, faith, betrayal.”

It was foreshadowed, all of those things in the last example is humanity in a nutshell. The use of birds to symbolise the dead was shown on multiple occasions. Hell, even in the Levi ova, his friends are shown as 2 birds above him as he continues forward. It didn’t shock me that Eren’s soul was represented or “reincarnated” in the form of a bird - simply because birds are the most free creatures on our planet, they can fly over land, sea and maintain the air around them. Realistically, we should’ve analysed the birds presence more (it was even implied in the opening trailer for season 4. Falco awoke to a bird flying above him, we saw the bird present many times in even past seasons and don’t get me started on how many times it was present in the manga). Our Angel was Eren. He was a fallen angel - a slave to the story and what it means to be human, to feel deeply and make sacrifices. He was never a monster, just a pawn in a wicked game.

For a split moment of initial shock, I let the “judging a book by its cover” ideal kick in. After calming down and having access to proper translations, again I can’t say I love this ending or hate it - it has the bittersweet notion that was intended, but it was also lukewarm. It is not perfect by any means, there are some plot holes and loose ends that could have been tied up by extension. However, Isayama maybe intended for it to remain open for interpretation. Something of which, I’ll reveal what I personally took from the ending.

One thing I am surely certain of, is that I can hold my hands above my head and say this chapter 100% embodied my love for my favourite character - Eren Jaeger. He had such a tragic outcome, he did it all for his friends and loved ones. He was never free, not in life and partially not in death. He was a broken child, in a broken world with a broken fate of shouldering mass amounts of responsibility with no idea of how to change or control the past, present and future. To witness your best friend talking of all the things he was going to see, yet knowing you wouldn’t be there to see it yourself. To know the girl who was there for him forever and always, could never be his to cherish. He had no freedom to do so. To live the life he wanted to, he would have died anyway. If he had ran off with Mikasa, he would have damned his friends. The life he wanted was not feasible, therefore he chose to sacrifice his desires so his friends could live long lives, unlike the one he was damned to. He was a character who was torn along all sides of the coin. Torn between his desires, his duty and his self - all while experiencing memories from all angles. He was not a monster or a psychopath and I won’t let others spit on his name due to their lack of analysis and empathy. He is human. He is allowed to feel. He isn’t pathetic for wanting to live, for wanting to be with his friends or the girl he loves. He is 19. Can you really say you wouldn’t feel the same? It is natural to be frustrated at your life being ripped from under your feet at such a young age. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Look at his face in paths when he talks with Armin, he is devastated and he had no solution.

However, I do believe he will be reunited with his friends once more. After all, the scouts were reunited in death, so why shouldn’t he? His friends will not live in vain, his sacrifice will mean something. They will live their life to the fullest and find peace in life and then in death - they have Eren to thank for that. Another misconception I want to pick out of the fandom is that they did not condone genocide, they did not thank Eren for ridding the population of 80%. Armin states it as an “error”. What they did do, was acknowledge Eren’s sacrifice for them to live and that they understood it’s not what he wanted himself, but that due to unseen forces. - did he really have a choice? It is not by any means perfect, but it gives them freedom to live out with the walls - was this not Eren’s dream? To be free, not confined within the walls by Titans. He did exterminate all titans, that is one goal Eren Jaeger accomplished. We don’t know the full extent of the power of the attack titan or the founding titan, this is one of the open plot holes. Eren himself explains this, he himself has no clue and his head is a mess - is it any shock that his head is a mess? People would go crazy over less. He was a pawn in a story with no happy ending. At least not for him.

Even in the bird reincarnation theory, I hope he is happy and free. Free to roam the skies, perch upon the tallest mountains, titter along the grass banks of the world and watch over his comrades, his friends, the ones he loves deeply… The tragic protagonist I will always remember. (Especially as one who was done so dirty by his author)

There was so many routes this manga could have taken, fan theories proved this and I do think the ending could have been executed better. We were not getting a happy ending, it is not happy by all means. Those characters left have to live in the aftermath, aware of their friends sacrifice and all he had to put himself through for them to live the lives they themselves desired. My favourite quote will always be:

“Don’t pity the dead. Pity the living”

Mikasa lost her family in more ways than one, she has to live a life where she didn’t get the one person she desired more than anything, but I believe she will move on and Eren will be by her side the entire time until they are reunited in death. Levi is the same, he lost everyone and whoever his love may have been - Erwin, Hanji, Petra (who knows). Either way, he didn’t have those loved ones around in the end. But, he no longer has to fight for survival and can spend the remainder of his time resting until the day in the future he can be reunited with his comrades, friends and even kick Eren a big one, ruffle his hair, tell him its okay and tell him all the things he wanted to tell him like he said. Armin lost his best friend, he held the burden above his head that he himself killed Eren and not Mikasa. However, he has an abundance of friends, he has Annie and he can travel the world like he desired - like Mikasa, he will have Eren by his side for the remainder of his time.

Jean can meet the woman of his dreams and have the children like he desired, knowing that even in their silly quarrels - Eren was loyal to him always. Connie can have his mother back, his family and move on. Reiner can live, not die like he once desired and live on knowing of Eren’s sacrifice, that he wasn’t a monster himself. He is free from the curse, as is Annie, Pieck and Falco. The warriors have their families back. Gabi and Falco can be together unlike their comparisons, sad, but fitting. They are in Paradis, a place we never expected them to be in the end, advocating for change alongside Onyakapon looking after their elder, Levi, alongside them. On Eren’s death anniversary, it is implied they all return to his grave to be together, none of them are alone like we initially thought. Mikasa is not alone in Paradis since it is implied that Levi, Onyankapon, Gabi, Falco, Historia even… still live amidst the walls - I think it would be wasteful to assume such a strong character secludes herself after the love of her life’s death. She does not have to love another man, she can choose to live her life for herself, a long one alongside her friends. This manga has never necessarily needed to have love stories, they are implied, but not needed. For life itself is the embodiment of their freedom.

This above is the rosy way of looking at it and it’s what I personally will take from it. I overall think it is terrible writing and use of dialogue - there’s no denying it. I myself as a writer and artist would have done it differently. Isayama has created a manga with a tragic story that reveals the raw, tainted feeling of what it’s like to be human. We all want things, we all have desires…but we don’t always get them, no matter how hard we try, some will slip from our grasps. That is life, no matter the universe. Yes. But, I do think in ways Isayama did taint and obliterate Eren as a character. This I am disappointed in. It is a typical author ideal of damning his protagonist and the sad thing about being a stories protagonist - you risk being ruined due to being written so complex initially that the author loses sight of how to conclude your arc respectfully. I believe from what we have been shown, he would not have accepted his death that easily and would fight for another way. Although, I cannot blame him as I myself would have felt defeated, suicidal and depressed at learning everything he did after his contact with Historia at such a young age. Remember, how you are brought up in an already cruel world is key - he didn’t stand a chance. But alas, I still feel he would’ve fought. This Eren is not the Eren we saw the majority of the manga, but then again he did change and I feel so sorry that the Titan power had that effect on him.

This is the character development true Eren stans are enraged with. TATAKAE! Fight the attack titan, fight the founding titan, fight against your cruel fate - don’t succumb to defeat. There is always another way. I don’t accept this version of Eren, due to the development we saw built by Isayama of his character, I can’t. It leaves so many gaps among other plot reveals. I don’t see what was accomplished. Eren’s being, his life, was a ploy to keep the other characters we care about alive, but at what cost ? If I was Eren’s friend, I would go forward like he wanted me to, but I could never forget the burden he bared and what he had to go through and what he did to achieve that outcome for me. I would forever be sad. I would be living in a world much like this one, lacking in peace and serenity and above all is that not what we all desire in one way or another? He did not necessarily know the Dina titan would go for his mother, but he had to direct it away from Bertholdt since in the timeline it was not his time to die. Always remember the theory of time, one thing changed, drastically changes the outcome. He did not want civilians or people within Paradis to die, it became collateral damage and no one would be able to fight for some time because of the 80% notion. He gave them time to live, time to change things to the best of their abilities and experience all they possibly could. They became the ‘heroes’, but again, at what cost?

Now, to the plot holes and answers I feel needed to be present for the story to knit together in a better way. This will be less “paragraph” based and more pointed, since…well these things were not explained. Majority of potential foreshadowing was swept under the rug like it meant nothing to bring about the lukewarm feeling I was talking about.

The alien like hallucigenia, what exactly was its purpose? It’s reason for being? It disappeared and ceased to exist. No mention of how it came to be. Even Ymir just vanished. Everything ceased to exist and Eren himself couldn’t understand Ymir’s reasoning other than being able to witness love. This seemed to be cop out on Isayama’s part.

Historia’s pregnancy was heavily implied and emphasised on within the manga, making readers think it meant something (when a creator zones in on these things, its usually for further plot reveal) Her character development was destroyed and she deserved better. She sidelined herself and stayed away till the final moment where it is implied she and Armin will become the negotiators of a new world, all while housing tyrants (Jaegerists). Again a further implication of Shonen manga and its poor interpretation of women.

The conclusion to Ymir and Eren’s particular character arcs was shocking and this can’t be dismissed. We needed both their sides of things to explain more. It lacked real conclusion and didn’t match up to past events or character development. This chapter should have purely been an Eren POV with the ending moments of how the scouts moved on. Of course this couldn’t have been done in 1 chapter, hence the recognition that this manga needed ‘more’ and it wasn’t enough to tie it all together. Another flaw in Isayama’s writing and continuity.

The Ackermans? Don’t get me started. My theory again will entail my rage about this one. Did the Ackerman power cease to exist like the titan curse? What is their origin story? To imply the Ackerman blood concept in all its parallels and foreshadowing to not even have the 2 remaining characters from said bloodline talk about their shared experience in thorough detail is such an abysmal hole in plot. Especially with it being heavily emphasised throughout the entire manga.

I barely saw any signs of Eren being in love with Mikasa? If this was the case, then it should have been shown in the manga and emphasised like isayama did with many other things that eventually had no meaning. I always viewed their relationship as very toxic to both sides and needed amending. So for Eren to suddenly turn round and say he doesn’t want her to be with another man....I find this a very bad continuation and completely disregards how Eren has been the past 138 chapters. Why was it so hard for him to say these things even before he made contact with historia and unravelled it all? Was it the power of the attack titan preventing him?.... (below)

The attack titan and founding titan, explain how it works. Why does Eren himself not fully understand yet he embodies them? Why could he not have flipped the switch? Why could he not ask for help? Explanation is needed.

All the time loop links diminished to nothing other than Eren’s past, present and future…yet its implied in many characters even in their childhoods mentions of things they could not be aware of. How can it merely be coincidence?

I wholeheartedly believe that this was not the initial ending of Shingeki no Kyojin, specifically because I and a few others I’ve seen noticed the shift in the story around 10 or so chapters ago. It seemed to be going in the route of a few particular fan theories and then suddenly (quite drastically I’ll add) shifted into this ending. I can only theorise that Isayama changed his original ending along the way to please editors and readers in different ways. In interviews past, he has completely contradicted things he has said about the manga and its ending with what he has produced in the final chapter. When you look at it from a marketing point of view as a selling point, if Isayama had killed certain characters like “Levi” for example or left the ending dark as it possibly could have been (something I wouldn’t have put past yams to do) it would be bad from a marketing point given the likes of Levi is the targeted favourite of the series (even with being a side character) and editors would heavily warn him of this.

People are saying that it’s Isayama’s story and editors won’t have influence - you’d be heavily surprised how much the editing team can have influence, especially when a story of this magnitude becomes so popular. I do think in ways, Isayama gave up. As an artist even myself, its very abundantly clear when a fellow creative loses drive and how the concept of something becoming popular can influence you to become bored and look for a way out. Hence, the clear signs of the story coming out as rushed, its all there, the loss of continuity, the holes in plot and even though Isayama’s art can be inconsistently coherent - some parts of the past few chapters weren’t at the full potential we saw previously. We watched him get better to suddenly somehow revert? That to me seems like a creator who had just had enough and maybe in the end chose to veer off his original plan.

Alas! As I said, I will always love Shingeki no Kyojin despite its ending and loose ties, it holds a place in my heart and has been a favourite of mine since my school days. Being an adult now In her 20’s and experiencing the many troubles of what its like to be human and a creative can sympathise with the struggles and stress Isayama would have been under all these years as his manga gradually became the phenomenon it is now. As it is our favourite characters time to rest and move on, it is his also. Although the story is not where I and many others hoped it would go, I still thank him massively for giving me characters like Eren Jaeger, Levi Ackerman, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert… the list goes on. Thank you for embodying why Eren was my first and last favourite character. Goodbye Shingeki no Kyojin.

#snk 139 #aot 139 #I've put a read more so proceed with caution #eren jaeger #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #armin arlert #if i tag all of them itll go on and on #snk final chapter #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk manga #snk analysis #snk theory

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alyssaallyrion · 3 years ago

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Title: teeth so sharp, eyes a bliss

Rating: T

Written for ShisuIta Week 2021 Day 2 Prompt: Darkness

ao3 link

Each one of Itachi’s days is a study in suffering. Endless grueling missions take a toll on his sickness-riddled body, leaving him tired and aching to his very core. Burning cough rattles his chest – his lungs seem full of broken glass, making him claw at his throat, struggling for a breath. His vision dims with every passing moment – the consequence of overusing his power. He cannot show his weakness, of course – in this life he lives, weakness means certain death, and he cannot die, not yet, no matter how much he wants to. Not until Sasuke has had his revenge.

The nights are worse. Itachi lies in his bed, watching darkness pool in the corners of the room, dread rising in his chest. It is not long until he hears them – the voices of those he’d slain on that fateful night.

“Murderer…Monster…Clan-killer…” they whisper, voices growing louder with every passing moment.

Itachi listens, his guilt and shame draining the remainder of his strength. The faceless vengeful shadows of the dead swirl in the corners of the room, chanting their curses. They stretch their taloned hands towards him, seeking to sink their claws into his flesh. He wants to scream that everything he’s done, he did for the village, for Sasuke, but not a single word falls from his lips. After all, what good are his excuses to those long dead and gone, whose angry ghosts want nothing more than tear him limb from limb for what he’s done? Some nights, Itachi wishes that they would.

Their voices pound in his ears, the unbearable weight of his regret pinning in place until the sunrise. He wants to put his hands over his ears, to hide his head under the pillow, but he doesn’t – after everything he’s done, he deserves every bit of this torture and more. And so he must endure.

Some nights, it’s still too much to bear, and Itachi runs.

He runs through the corridors of the hideout to the one place he knows the voices will never reach him. The sprits follow close on his heels, like hunting dogs chasing their prey, but Itachi’s faster.

Shisui always seems to know when Itachi will appear in his doorway. Itachi steps inside Shisui’s room – it’s always brightly lit, and not a single shadow swirls in the corners. The spirits wail and roar in the corridor, trying to follow Itachi inside, but they cannot – it is as though some unknown power is guarding the threshold of the room. Slowly, their voices fade.

Shisui looks at him, and corners of his mouth tilt up – the predatory grin upon his lips looks nothing like his once sun-bright smile, and Itachi’s heart aches. He doesn’t want to see it, so he steps closer and buries his hands in Shisui’s hair, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Shisui’s warm against Itachi and smells overwhelmingly of forest, death, and someone’s fear. Itachi tries to stop the bile from rising in his throat. This is all his fault.

He’d waited until the day Shisui had left on a long mission to carry out the order to exterminate the clan. Itachi knew, of course, that the order was to kill all his clansmen, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt Shisui – not Shisui, never Shisui. Only, things didn’t go as planned, and Shisui returned too soon, catching Itachi in the act. Itachi would never forget the look in Shisui’s eyes as he glanced between the red ruins of their clansmen corpses.

Itachi fully expected to die at his hands that night and often found himself wishing that he did. But, instead of fighting him, Shisui simply embraced him and held him close until Madara appeared before them. Itachi tensed, preparing for a fight, only that wasn’t what Madara wanted. He’d told them of his goal – of starting everything anew, of creating a world free of pain and suffering and war.

“And you can help me,” he concluded.

Itachi – the blood of his kinsmen still fresh on his hands – hesitated. Achieving a goal like that without fully steeping oneself in the darkness seemed impossible, and he didn’t want to do that. But, more than anything, he didn’t want Shisui to have to do that. Not Shisui, who was always so full of light and love.

Unlike Itachi, Shisui didn’t waver.

“Very well,” he said, looking at Madara, “I’ll help you.”

Itachi could hardly believe his ears. Pulling at Shisui’s sleeve, he leaned close to him.

“What do you think you are doing?” he almost hissed.

Shisui turned to him, studying Itachi’s face for a long moment. A smudge of blood along his jaw looked hauntingly bright in the pale moonlight.

“What I must,” he replied calmly, taking Itachi’s hand into his, “I swore to you once that I’d do anything to protect you, to make you happy, to give you the life you deserve – so here I am, doing just that.”

“I’ve killed our entire clan, how could you still…Why would you…” Itachi’s voice broke.

“Because I love you,” Shisui answered simply.

And then Shisui smiled at him, slow and wide and anguished, as he brought Itachi’s fingers to his lips, making Itachi wonder if that’s what madness looks like. But he had lost so much that night and could not bear to lose Shisui as well – and so, Itachi didn’t fight him.

Why didn’t he? How could he be so selfish?

They left the village with Madara that night to never return. While Itachi was reluctant to do Madara’s as had ordered, Shisui stepped into the darkness without hesitation. Itachi hardly recognized his Shisui in this man who lied and killed and used Kotoamatsukami to force others to do his bidding with such ease.

“I’d do anything for you – for us,” Shisui would whisper in Itachi’s ear as they lay down together in bed, “Soon enough, we’ll be able to leave the pain and suffering of this world behind, and you’ll be reunited with your family, and we can be happy.” Itachi could never bring himself to answer.

His illness only fanned the ardor with which Shisui worked. The smell of blood – whether the blood Itachi had coughed up or that of their opponents’ – constantly lingered in the air, making Itachi wonder if it would ever stop being familiar between them.

Shisui pushes him against the wall, distracting Itachi from his thoughts, and breaks off the kiss before leaning closer to press his lips firmly against Itachi’s neck. Itachi gasps, feeling the teeth against the skin, knowing that Shisui is leaving marks on him - he always does. Heat rises in Itachi’s chest and spills through his veins as he desperately tries to focus on sensations, to stop himself from thinking.

Itachi hates himself for not pushing Shisui away, for not saving him from all of this when he had the chance – all because he was selfish. All because he loved – and still loves, despite everything – Shisui too much to ever let him go.

And Shisui loves him back, much more than Itachi could ever hope to deserve, which is why he’d never leave. He’ll do Madara’s bidding until the bitter end. He’ll do anything – anything at all – to make sure that Itachi doesn’t have to suffer the consequences of his actions.

A sad smile blooms upon Itachi’s lips – they have become each other’s cage. Yet, even knowing that, he never wants to leave. Shisui’s lips find the curve where Itachi’s neck meets his shoulder, and the axis of Itachi’s world shifts ever so slightly, his entire existence reduced to a single sensation of dizzying warmth of Shisui’s body against his.

He doesn’t know what the future holds – he would hardly be surprised if their lives came to an abrupt and very brutal end on their next mission. Deservedly so. Still, as he rests in Shisui’s arms and his sight is filled with him, Itachi cannot help but feel grateful that this moment, at least, is given to them.

#itachi uchiha #shisui uchiha #shisuitaweek2021 #shisuita #shiita

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gofancyninjaworld · 4 years ago

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OPM Manga Chapter 140 Review: Stones and Diamonds

Story

Who goes there?

We open with King and Tareo going down the broken and deserted streets, only to find a strange, translucent barrier. On the other side, they can hazily see a black-clad figure, who is also puzzled about what he’s looking at. They warily creep around the object to find... more heroes. It turns out that the armored carrier bringing Sekingar and Waganma out of the abandoned zone got cut off from the rest of the convoy when the road collapsed. With no possibility of calling in a helicopter lest it be shot down, they opted to camouflage themselves and sit tight. Impressive!

Tareo and Waganma are reunited and are in tears over seeing each other safe and well. Tareo loses no time in asking Metal Bat to rescue Child Emperor, who went back in exhausted and without weapons to try rescuing Tareo. Tareo in turn, asks King to please go back and save Garou, without mentioning him by name.

Pineapple and Mohican grovel before Metal Bat, ashamed that they weren’t able to keep Waganma safe and thus failed the charge they were given. Metal Bat, after reassuring them, asks what they’re doing out of hospital. It seems that their humiliation didn’t end there: after coming out to try rescuing people along with other heroes, they themselves needed rescuing because they got trapped under buildings.

Thankfully, Sekingar interrupts them by telling them that it doesn’t matter if they’re not as strong as S-Class heroes, what matters is doing what one can with what one has. He briefs Metal Bat and King on the continuing existence of the cadre and bids them to find a spot where they can observe the battle without being seen so they can step in and offer support when most opportune. He asks the other heroes to stay with the carrier and protect the children. Very nice point of attention from Murata that Sekingar has to keep holding his arm above his heart and keep as tight a tourniquet as he can safely do in order to not bleed out, as his continuing to sweat. He may only have come to the door to give orders and see the heroes on their way, but this is costing Sekingar dear.

Metal Bat decides that continuing to negotiate the broken city will just take too long so... he jury-rigs a slingshot out of old tires, a small crane and two narratively convenient poles. As you do, of course! King gets snagged along for the ride and we leave off with them disentangling themselves from the bushes they land in.

Onward ho!

Meta

At 18 pages, this is a very short chapter (I wonder if it’s part of a longer one), but it’s so full of humanity.

Responsibility

The personal sense of responsibility heroes feel is so strong. Metal Bat forcing himself out of hospital because he feels a sense of responsibility for having failed to protect Waganma and thus enabling the Monster Association to enact its evil plans. Pineapple and Mohican prostrating themselves before Metal Bat in having had the kid snatched away from them. Mohican is out of hospital himself despite having a broken arm, ouch.

I really loved Metal Bat’s sensitivity in not letting them abase themselves before the children and also exhorting them to make amends not by trying to rectify the past (impossible) but do better in the future. It’s a good way to go.

Diamonds and Stones

Talking about what one can reasonably take responsibility for, Sekingar’s speech about diamonds and stones is really fantastic. I think it looks at just why heroes as a whole are so successful: monsters may be strong, but overall, every monster that has come to the heroes’ attentions has been a dead monster walking. Because collectively, heroes take on whatever they can shoulder. Sekingar making the point that no hero doing their fair share of work in an appropriate manner need feel ashamed nor insignificant is so necessary. The world really does need them all.

Position Authority vs Personal Authority

I’ll let the heroes speak on this one. They don’t mince words when it comes to what they think of individuals. Pro-heroes are very much their own persons! If you’re an obedient person, you won’t be long for hero work -- it requires too much independence and willingness to cut across the grain of what’s comfortable. If I remember, I’ll make reference to this when I come to review webcomic chapter 138.

Feather giving his assessment of what he thinks of getting orders from Sekingar, going into the battle.

Metal Bat, giving his assessment of who he sees giving him orders now.

Damn straight, Sekingar’s earned every bit of it.

Character Revelation vs Character Development

This arc has been giving us a lot of character revelation, which is not the same as character development. With character revelation, the character is who they are, but our view of them changes drastically as we get more information about them, see them in new contexts, or see them facing challenges different from the usual. Character development, the character does change (which doesn't necessarily mean we'll notice).

This is the first time we're seeing Metal Bat when he's actually deployed of his own free will. All the other times, we've seen him when he's been pressured to take valuable time away from his family responsibilities to attend to some emergency, a thing he really resents. In other words, this is the first time we're seeing Metal Bat when he's not irritated. We’re seeing a more thoughtful, socially sensitive Metal Bat than we’ve previously seen.

On the other hand, I think we’re seeing the rudiments of character development for King. He’s still the same coward he always has been, but he’s been reflecting on the value he had in luring Elder Centipede to Saitama because the monster misunderstood his power and seeing if it’s something he might use again. As long as he has faith that Saitama will show up, maybe he can stand to be a bit braver. May he build on that!

Don’t Bully Him!

Man, Tareo knows how to make me cry. The reason this boy will grow up to be extremely brave is that even in the midst of his fear, he is still able to be concerned about others. Most of us are more like Waganma! He’s not just asked King to please rescue Garou, but has also been concerned that King not maltreat him.

He was watching

and now in turn, he feels that someone needs to put in a good word for his uncle and keep him safe.

What a good boy.

Tech note: Invisibility

I like the depiction of the cloak as being translucent and allowing a distorted version of light through as opposed to perfect invisibility; it’s a nice nod to the thinking about what metamaterials capable of funnelling light around objects will look like in practice. There’s a nice lay rundown here.

#OPM #meta #review #long #manga #Metal Bat #King #Tareo #Waganma #Sekingar #Pineapple #Mohican #I loved this little chapter -- really good to reaffirm who characters are and how they work #also good to see the children

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elizabeethan · 4 years ago

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The Days We Defend (Will Turn To Gold)- Chapter 7

Everything is perfect, until it isn’t. Killian and Emma have spent months building a life together after finally defeating Neal and Gold, but when the Dark One dies and his power becomes untethered, everyone in Storybrooke is at risk, and some decisions may have lasting consequences.

Sequel to Walk With Me (I Think We’ll Find A Way)

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Read on Ao3

A/N: get ready for some smut my pals. Any predictions on what’s to come???

Thank you to my good pal @the-darkdragonfly for being an amazing beta!

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

“No need to feel threatened, Savior,” the old man says. “I am a friend to you and to your family.”

She steps away, closer to Killian, Corrine, and Henry, and says, “If you're a friend, then why don’t we know you?”

“A very good question indeed. You may not know me, but I assure you, I know you. Or at least, I know of you.”

The man begins walking down the path that leads to the street, away from Granny’s and towards their family, and Killian holds Corrine tighter and reaches for Emma’s hand. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“Wait,” Henry says suddenly; apparently the pieces are falling into place in his mind. “I know who he is, mom.”

“I’m sure you do, young man. Go on and tell her what you know.”

Emma turns to her son and looks at him expectantly, obviously still confused about what the bloody hell is going on here, until Henry says, “he’s the Apprentice. We need his help to remove the Darkness.”

The bearded man chuckles as he finally reaches them, extending a hand to Henry’s and shaking it kindly. “Very good, son. You’ve a clever boy here, Emma.”

“I know…” she says suspiciously, as if still not trusting this stranger. “How are you supposed to remove the Darkness from Regina?”

“Why, with your help, of course.”

~~~~

Emma’s been through a lot in the past few hours.

Breaking a curse with True Love’s Kiss, when she struggled to say the words aloud mere weeks ago, was weighing on her.

Knowing her daughter had been cursed and living in a convent, cared for by several strangers for weeks, was weighing on her.

Seeing the lengths to which her son’s other parents would go in order to reduce the time she spends with him, simply because they were upset with her, was weighing on her.

The confirmation that her son’s father would continue to attempt to destroy her life and the lives of her loved ones, despite being stopped from doing so several months prior, was weighing on her.

And being told that her magic, which she’s barely begun to hone, was what was going to solve all of their problems and remove the Darkness for good was the icing on the metaphorical cake.

All things considered, Killian thinks she’s handling things rather well. Corrine is sitting happily in her lap, hugging her mother close as she used to do after Emma had a long day at work, and he can see the stress melting from her shoulders. He hears her say, “I’ve missed you, Coco,” to which their daughter responds with a giggle, and Killian thinks all is right in the world.

Until the old man opens his bloody mouth, of course.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, your majesties?” he says to Emma’s parents, and that makes her ears perk up.

“You know each other?” she asks, stiffening visibly in her chair.

Her parents are silent, turning to each other with looks of horror in their eyes before they look back at their daughter. Queen Snow has tears trailing down her cheeks as she bounces baby Oliver in her arms. “Mom?” Emma asks, her voice breaking and her grip on her daughter tightening before she looks up at Killian desperately. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head unhelpfully, as if he were to have any information on why her parents suddenly became so mysterious. “Grandma, Grandpa, what’s he talking about?”

Upon being called by Henry, David shakes his head and turns back from his wife, then takes a seat across the table from Emma. Snow sits beside her husband, and Emma turns towards Killian, holding her hand out to him to request that he sit as well. Once he does, Snow and David take a deep inhale and begin to speak.

They tell Emma of a time before she was born, when they found out about their unborn child’s potential for great darkness. They tell her about how the Sorcerer's Apprentice was able to cast a spell in order to remove the potential for darkness from Emma. They tell her about how they did this at the expense of another.

Through their conversation, Emma is silent, holding onto Corrine for dear life until she wiggles away and fetches some of Oliver's toys to entertain herself, calling for her brother to play with her. When Killian chances a glance at Emma, the emerald in her eyes is shimmering through the tears threatening to fall, and he has to stop himself from wiping them away. But much to his surprise, she looks away from her parents with betrayal painted across her face and takes his hand again, squeezing it tightly as she sniffles.

“You… you did this… at the expense of someone else’s soul?” she curses out as a tear falls.

“Emma, we did what we thought we had to do to give you your best shot at goodness,” Snow tries to rationalize.

She holds his hand tighter. “All my life, no one has ever believed in me. I thought you were different, but you’re not!”

“No, no honey, it isn’t like that! We just wanted to do what we thought was best for you!”

“And you,” she says, turning in her seat and nearly dragging Killian to the ground as she goes. “You expect me to trust you enough to help us after what you did to me?”

The Apprentice nods somberly and says, “I understand your anger, Savior. But you must know, everything your parents did was by design.”

She scoffs, releasing Killian’s hand and standing as she shakes her head. “You may have removed my potential for darkness,” she says bitterly, “but you certainly didn’t remove darkness from my life. I still got screwed over more times than I can count. Endless abuse, horrible foster placements, Neal...” she trails off, then shakes her head again. Their faces sour at the reminder of their daughter’s turbulent past. “At least when I found you, I thought that everything you did was to protect me and to do what was best, so I could save everyone! Not so that you could save your own selves from having to deal with a monster of a daughter.”

“Emma—”

“Maybe you guys are the monsters here.”

“Emma!” Snow tries again, but she’s met with a raised hand silencing her.

“Killian, I'd like to go home. We can figure this all out tomorrow, but for now, I need to be with my family.”

He clears his throat awkwardly at her insulting snub, scratching behind his ear as he stands and barely making eye contact with Emma’s broken-hearted parents before calling Corrine. “Time to go home, love.”

Corrine stands, bounding over towards her parents happily, reaching her arms out to her father before even getting close. Killian picks her up, grunting as he stands, before she asks him, “monsters are here, duddy?”

Emma’s face goes white and her body stiffens before she puts her head down and turns towards the door.

~~~~

It takes hours for Henry and Corrine to settle down. Killian’s almost proud of his daughter for her resilience and her resistance to her obvious exhaustion as they sit on the couch watching movies in hopes of distracting from everything going wrong in their lives. Truthfully, they should be coming up with a plan to deal with the Dark One, but he, Emma, and their children need time to reconnect and cope with all that has happened today and during the curse. But despite Corrine’s pirate-like behaviors, he must admit that he’s quite exhausted himself, and wouldn't mind some time with Emma separate from his toddler daughter and teenage stepson.

He tries not to rationalize how their house magically became livable again once the curse was broken and instead revelled in the comfort he felt at finally being reunited with his family. With both children asleep on the couch, he plants a kiss to Emma's temple and feels her melt just a bit more into his touch despite Corrine taking up extensive real estate on her lap. “I missed you,” she whispers into the soft glow from the television set.

He chuckles lightly and says, “you didn't remember me,” jokingly. She shrugs, and before she could argue he says, “I missed you too, love. More than I can even put into words.”

“You didn’t remember me,” she flirts back, causing him to tense his arm around her shoulder. He sighs and presses his nose into her hair a bit as he considers how to break the news to her, the scent of her familiar shampoo finally back in his nose and comforting him.

“I did,” he tells her. “And I missed you every moment, even though you were still here.”

She stirs, trying to keep Corrine still on her lap as she snoozes away, and turns just slightly so that she can look at him more directly as his left arm slides down her shoulder. “You did? You mean you were awake all this time?”

“Aye,” he nods as he scratches behind his ear. “I was awake.”

Emma says nothing in response, pinching her brows close together and glancing back down at their daughter before she begins running her fingers through her ever-thickening curls. “Can we,” she whispers, “can we put them to bed? I want to… talk.”

He smiles softly at her ability to even consider opening up to him despite her hesitation to do so just a few weeks ago, and ponders how much one curse can change a person. Perhaps this has more to do with the people who cast it, he thinks. “‘Course, love. Let me wake Henry and we can meet in our room in a few moments?”

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head and reaching her hand out towards his wrist. “We can do both together, it’s okay.”

He finds himself grinning at her openness and willingness to show vulnerability with him, though he curses the fact that it took a traumatic event to drive such behaviors. He knows this is probably a response to learning such horrid things about the people she loves, and while that’s concerning, he chooses to focus on the joy it brings him to feel so close to her.

Henry wakes easily, slowly tromping up the stairs behind Killian and Emma. He would have carried the lad if he was a bit smaller, but he’s growing like a weed into an all out teenager and Killian is getting old, though he’d never admit it. He brushes his teeth without being told by Emma to do so as she rocks Corrine gently in her antique wooden chair, holding her close to her heart and humming softly rather than reading a story. The lass is asleep already, comfortably snoring away in her mother’s embrace, but Killian suspects that Emma can’t put her down. He watches them from his place in the threshold, leaning against the archway of the door and smiling at the fact that his family is finally, finally back together and—

Well, they'll worry about safe tomorrow.

Henry clears his throat from behind Killian and he turns to look at the lad, noting his height and recalling just how mature he was during this curse. The time that past wasn't much, but Killian feels as though Emma’s son has aged endlessly. “Ready to turn in, lad?”

“Aye aye,” he responds with a cheeky grin that could rival his mother’s. Killian smiles at the boy and playfully elbows him, letting him know that he and Emma will be right in to say goodnight.

“And Henry,” he calls after him once he’s walking towards his door. He turns and cocks his head. “Thank you for your help, lad. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Henry rolls his eyes, though Killian catches the hint of a smirk as he turns back around. “You were right, you are more sappy in real life.”

Emma looks up at him with a confused smile, continuing her slow and gentle rocks before she finally stands and heads towards the crib. He walks towards his loves and wraps both arms around the two of them, Corrine sandwiched between her parents, and he presses a long kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. It’s hard for them to put her down, but she hardly stirs as Emma places her on the mattress and steps back.

He can tell that leaving her alone in her room is as hard for Emma as it is for him based on the way she curls into his hold once the babe is out of her arms, but they both come to a silent agreement that they must try and get their lives back on track after the horrors they've been through, and ensure that she sleeps soundly in her own bed despite how much they want to take her into their room. “Come, love,” he whispers against the top of her head, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. “I’m very much looking forward to sleeping in our bed again.”

She nods and squeezes her arms around his waist and sniffles, releasing herself from him and brushing her cheeks with her hands before she steps quickly out of Corrine’s room and down the hall towards Henry’s. By the time Killian catches up with her after ensuring that Corrine’s night light is working correctly and her door is propped open just right, he finds Emma sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed and encasing him in a tight hug. “I’ll talk to you about everything tomorrow, kid,” she promises. “Just try and get a good night's sleep, okay?”

Once they’re ready for bed, they crawl in together and Emma immediately curls up against him and presses her lips to his bare chest, just above the heart she returned to him last year.

Although, he would argue that she actually kept it.

“So,” she starts. “You were awake, huh?”

He nods and runs his hand up and down along her spine, feeling her shiver against him. “I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault, Emma. Please don’t—”

“I know,” she cuts him off, and he’s honestly surprised.

“You know?” he asks her hesitantly, stilling his hand in shock for a moment.

She nods against his skin, running her hand from his stomach, up his chest to his shoulder, then down his arm to his naked wrist, drawing a shiver from him. “I know what you're gonna say,” she tells him, picking up his arm and kissing the damaged flesh. He has to remind himself to not pull away from her; that he feels more comfortable with her than he ever has. “It isn’t my fault, I shouldn’t feel guilty for not taking that damn dagger, I can’t control what Neal and Regina do. I’m a mother above being the Savior.”

He hums. “Aye, that about sums it up,” he laughs lightly, picking up his movements along the dips between the bones of her spine.

“And I guess… I guess you're right. I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself over all of this. Things may have turned out better if I had taken the Darkness, but they may have turned out worse, too.”

He moves his head so that he can kiss the top of hers and nods again. “Too right, my love.”

“And all things considered, the curse completely sucked and was, like, pure evil, but no one was hurt.”

“Aye. Though I did swear to Henry last year that I wasn’t going to let Bae cast his curse and hurt anyone he loves.” She hums again, kissing against his chest.

“I guess now it’s my turn to tell you that this isn’t your fault. We couldn’t have predicted any of this. Who would’ve thought Regina could be capable of this?” He knows she’s saying this to try and convince herself. Of course Regina, the Evil Queen, would be capable of this, but he knows that Emma is trying to see the best in her and her attempts to change. “Anyway, it’s been hard for me to admit that and accept it, but I really am trying, I promise.”

“I know you are, darling. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

“Right,” she says, continuing on as if she feels she may stop if she doesn’t get it all out at once. “And I wanna tell you something now, while we’re not in danger, and we haven’t just broken a curse, and we didn’t just have mind numbing orgasms. When things are just… normal.”

“And what’s that, Swan?” he asks with a chuckle. She’s silent for just a moment before she props herself up onto her elbows above him, one arm on either side of his chest so she can look in his eyes. He gives her a soft nod of encouragement and she smiles softly, glancing down from his gaze.

“I love you,” she says once she meets his eyes again before her smile blooms into a wide, bright grin.

He breathes out a soft laugh before reaching his hand up to cup her cheek and pulling her close to him, touching their foreheads together then capturing her lips between his for a sultry kiss. It doesn't break as she collapses back down against him, her shirt a poor replacement for the feeling of her skin against his own. It hardly breaks at all when he mumbles, “I love you,” through their kiss.

It doesn't break when she pulls him towards her until they're rolling over, her back to the mattress and his arms enveloping her in a safe, warm hold. It only breaks for a moment when she reaches down to the hem of her— his— t-shirt and tugs it over her head, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze in a way he hasn’t realized he’d missed so much. He looks down at her chest, then back up into her eyes and kisses her once more on the mouth before trailing his lips down the column of her throat.

It’s been too long. Considering the fact that they had a toddler and often a teenager living under their roof, they had a fairly healthy sex-life before this curse, and he isn’t ashamed to admit that the past few weeks have been torture for more than one reason. He’s missed her in so many different ways, and the way that her body feels under his own is certainly high on that list.

He’s missed the way she whimpers when his mouth finds her hardened nipple and sucks on it gently, his fingers giving attention to the other. He’s missed the heaviness of her breast against his palm. He’s missed the scent of her skin as he drags his nose down her stomach. He’s missed the way she shivers when his fingers dance along the hem of her underwear, already nearly soaked through by her want for him. Her desire matches his own and he pushes his hips against the mattress.

“I love you,” he whispers hotly against the dampened fabric, and he’s missed the way she thrusts her hips enthusiastically towards his face, a heady sigh escaping her parted lips. “I’ve missed you so dearly, my love.”

She moans at the hot breath hitting her still covered flesh, and he’s missed the way she reaches down and curls her fingers into his hair when he’s in this position. “I love you,” she breathes, before commanding, “touch me.”

He presses his lips to her covered center and hums thoughtfully, causing her to throw her head back and moan in the most deliciously sinful way. “I’ll have you know,” he begins, and he wishes he had his hook in place so that he could drag the cool metal against her burning skin. He’d missed the way she mewls when he does that. “That I haven’t been with the woman I love in weeks, and I damn well intend to make this last.”

She groans when he drags a finger down her slit and smirks at her when it dampens through the cotton. “Make it last for you,” she insists. “No need to bring me into your sick torture fantasies.”

He laughs a bit too loud and notices her sitting up just slightly with a grin plastered across her face before he tugs her under garment down to expose her flesh, breaking the string of arousal with his tongue. That shuts her up quite effectively as she throws her head back and moans. “Fuck, god dammit, you are so hot,” she says.

He hums appreciatively once he gets the piece of clothing off her ankles and tosses it to the ground playfully, torturously lifting her knees up towards her chest and making as though he’s about to dive into her core as he so badly wants to. But instead of licking a thick strip through her folds like he normally would, he dips his head and slides up gracefully until he can kiss her mouth, careful not to make contact with her trembling heat.

“You're the worst,” she breathes out against his mouth, hardly even kissing him back as she pants and pushes her hips towards his for friction. “Would you please take your damn pants off? This is seriously unfair.”

He laughs lightly as he continues to peck kisses against her. “Quite demanding, aren't we?”

“I haven’t gotten any in weeks,” she rationalizes, and although he knows her tone was light, he can’t help the thoughts that suddenly spring into his mind. The memories that, during the curse, she and Bae were living together.

“Uh,” he says, suddenly overcome with a feeling he can’t quite put into words. He’s frozen, wanting desperately to continue touching her but also wondering if anyone else has. He knows it wouldn't change his feelings towards her, or his infinite desire to be with her, but it would certainly increase the likelihood that he puts Bae’s head through a wall. “I’m sorry,” he stutters out, lifting himself slightly off of her so that he can regroup.

“Woah, Killian, what just happened?” she sits up, forcing him off of her until he’s on his back to her right and she’s on her side. He notices her quickly squeezing her thighs together and the sight alone is just about enough to bring his head back where he wants it to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I just thought… for a second, I thought about—”

“Hey,” she says, taking his face in her hands once she gets herself up onto her knees. “Nothing happened, okay? I swear to you, nothing happened between me and Neal while we were cursed.”

He meets her eyes with his, surely looking pathetic as he sadly worries about her once again. He can hardly even revel at the fact that she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Aye, love,” he says. He knew of course that she wouldn't want to be with Bae, but it’s difficult to control one's actions when one is placed under a Dark Curse.

“I love you, Killian,” she insists firmly, still holding his cheeks against her palms. “Even while we were cursed, I never wanted anything to do with him. I wanted you from the moment I… met you… I guess.”

He chuckles softly, leaning his face into her hand and kissing her right wrist. “I love you too, Swan. Sorry to bring the mood down.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a smirk, “I’m sure there are ways you could bring it back up.”

She giggles lightly at her own joke as he flips them so that she’s on her back again, then he’s kissing her fiercely as she runs her hands along the scars decorating his back. She moans when he squeezes her breast in his hand, and drags her feet up his thighs until she finds purchase on his rear, as if trying to slide his pants down with her feet. He loves how easily he can laugh with her while they're in bed together, and he bites her bottom lip when she finally gives up.

Killian decides that he isn’t satisfied with how he left things earlier, not even having a taste of what he’s been missing for so long, so he slides himself lower along her body, still stubbornly refusing to remove his sleeping trousers and drawing a frustrated but clearly aroused groan from her. “Touch me, god dammit,” she breathes out desperately.

“So demanding,” he chastises playfully, kissing her hot skin softly so that she bucks against him. “And so eager.”

“Someone has been torturing me for hours,” she nearly spits out, grabbing onto his hair again and attempting to push his head down against her.

He runs the tip of his tongue along her parting flesh, not quite reaching where she needs him, although it’s more than she’s gotten so far. “We’ve only been at this for about 15 minutes, my love,” he reminds her with a chuckle.

“Please,” she breathes, moaning when he finally dips his tongue in. He seems to have effectively cut her off based on the way her mouth hangs open and no sound comes out. He hums expectantly as if to ask her to go on with her thought, and that seems to send her into a state as she tosses her head to one side and cries out softly again. “I wanted,” she starts, barely able to get the words out as he licks her up and down, “I wanted to jump you the minute the curse broke.”

He laughs against her skin and she clamps her legs against his head, somehow tugging on his hair and pushing him down towards herself at the same time. He hums and nods in agreement, dragging his lips and tongue along as he does so.

She’s a wanton thing under him, panting and moaning with nearly each movement of his tongue and the suction of his lips against her pulsing clit. He’s missed this.

He has to hold his blunt arm against her lower belly once he finally dips his fingers into her, the first followed quickly by a second, because she can't seem to stop herself from bucking her hips against him for more friction. She continues to thrust into his hand and mouth and shortened wrist, the sounds coming from her far too loud and yet not loud enough for his desperate ears. When he finally feels her clamping hard against his fingers as they curl just so, he nearly loses himself inside his sleeping outfit at the sight of her breasts heaving with her pants and moans and soft curses of his name.

He lets her ride herself through it against his fingers, continuing to lave his tongue against her until she’s jumping at the touch against her sensitive flesh, before he slides back up her body, planting wet kisses along her stomach, chest and neck until he reaches her mouth. She kisses him back enthusiastically, if not exhaustively, and he nearly loses himself again at the knowledge that she enjoys the taste of herself on him as much as he does.

They continue to kiss each other passionately until it seems like she’s recovered enough to go again, wrapping her legs around his hips and probably ruining the trousers he still wears. Not that he minds one bit. “Love you,” he mumbles against her, and she nods in response.

“I want you inside me so bad,” she says darkly, her voice rumbling in her chest against his mouth. “I wanted you from the first time I saw you, even though I was cursed. I love you so damn much.”

“I want to be inside you,” he returns, and honestly, he thinks he may be outside of himself and looking on as he tugs his pants down and lines himself up to her, because this couldn't possibly be real. After such anguish in waiting to be back here, it feels surreal. “You have no idea how badly I wanted you, Swan. I just wanted to hold you and kiss you and fuck you.”

She moans against his mouth, insisting, “do it now, please,” in a soft whimper.

He does, growling at her fervor and nudging himself against her until she spreads her legs even wider in acceptance and he slides home. They both groan at the sensation of him filling her, and it’s as he feels her clenching herself around him that he finally finds the wherewithal to start moving. He thrusts gently at first, trying to keep it slow and torturous because he doesn't want this feeling to end, but as she moans in his ear and claws at his back intoxicatingly, he’s suddenly unable to control himself as he rocks against her faster and harder. The sounds she makes are the fuel he needs to keep going, telling him that she needs it as hard and raw as he does. Telling him that they’ll get to that point of slow and steady and soothing soon enough, but for now, they need the rough-and-tumble to further confirm that this is real and that they’re back in each other’s arms.

He tilts his hips just slightly so that he thinks his pelvis is striking her clit in the way she likes it, and he kisses away the tear that escapes her left eye and whispers against her cheek, “so good for me, Swan. So tight and perfect, I love you so much.”

It’s reminiscent of the night they spent together just before the curse was cast, only this time she says, “I love you, Killian,” as she stares into his eyes.

The combination of the emotion he’s feeling and the fact that he’s been so close to her and yet unable to go near her catches up to him, and he has to put in far too much effort to ensure that she’s brought to that place of ecstasy before he spills himself into her. “Are you close?” he asks desperately, feeling like a teenager who finishes too quickly.

“So, so close, baby, please don’t stop,” she pleads. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

He uses his hand to grip her hip, tilting her up just a bit so that his angle is deeper, and at that he feels her fluttering and clenching her walls around him with a force that tells him she’s about to cascade towards the rapture that they've been chasing. The soft, high pitched cries barely escaping her throat give him the permission he needs to let go, and she’s falling with him as he wraps his arms around her and holds her as close to him as he can as they fade together into a blissful state of euphoria.

She’s wrapped her arms around him too, squeezing him as her orgasm ripples through her but letting go once her body goes limp, letting her elbows drop to the mattress and keeping her hands weakly on his sides. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “My god.”

He chuckles and kisses her cheek. “Killian will do,” he says with a smirk that he knows she can hear in his voice.

She smacks his rear playfully, eliciting a yelp from him in response to the sting, and then kisses his cheek tenderly.

“Can I get you some water, my dear?” she hums in response, nodding against his face and giving him one last squeeze before letting go.

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

When he returns, she’s cleaned herself up and curled under the blankets, but he’s pleased to see that she hasn’t bothered with getting dressed. He smirks at her as he hands over the glass after taking another swig from it, then removes his own boxers and crawls in next to her, placing a soft kiss on her temple once she lies back down. “That was pretty good,” she says playfully.

“The water or the sex?”

“Both, I guess,” she shrugs.

He hums out a laugh, equal parts entertained and exhausted, and wraps his arms around her so that her back is planted firmly against his front. “Should we talk about your parents?”

She snorts. “We’re both naked.”

“A fact that I very much appreciate,” he quips. “I just meant what happened earlier. It’s been quite a trying day for you and you learned something new about them.”

“Trying for all of us.” He hums. “I don't know, it sucked. I wish it never happened, but then I wonder what my life would be like if it hadn’t. Probably could've been a lot worse, I guess.”

“Aye, I suppose that’s possible.” She nods. “I’m sorry.”

Emma shakes her head, taking his forearms and pulling them tighter around herself. “It’s something I'll just have to deal with.”

“Right.”

“But you’ll be here, right? You’ll… I won’t bear it alone?”

In response to her repeating his own words back to him, he chuckles. Then, he nods against the back of her neck, placing a kiss there and grinning as he says, “precisely. Always.”

She pulls away a bit and he instantly misses the warmth of her skin against his and fears that she’s closing herself off, but instead she rolls over to hug him close and hitches one leg between his two, kissing his throat. “‘M tired.”

“Aye, love,” Killian agrees, running his hand along her back. “We’ll sort everything in the morning.”

She nods. “We've got to come up with a plan for dealing with Regina and Neal. They can’t get away with this.”

“We will,” he assures her in a whisper. “We won't let them.”

Just as he’s sure she’s faded under the blanket of sleep, she whispers, “love you,” into his skin, and he sleeps soundly.

#the days we defend #walk with me #sequel #days we defend ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #cs smut

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moons-and-stars-and-shit · 4 years ago

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Hi, I love your blog! Can I request a cake, if you’re still doing them? It’s fine if you’re not though.

If you are, can you do it for a boy? I’m generally considered tall (I’m 5’7”) and I have really curly brown hair with green eyes and really pale skin. I’m Irish-American and I’m an Aries. My hobbies are; photography, reading thriller or historical fiction novels, writing fanfiction, and listening to music (specifically punk rock or really obnoxiously loud Irish rock). I’m quite shy when it comes to new situations or places and I have an anxiety disorder, so I’m usually quite anxious and generally considered quiet (which makes my music choices ironic). Before people get to know me, people think I’m a b*tch or that I’m cold because I tend to stick with the same people and not generally talk to others unless I’m forced. Even my friends have said they thought I was mean before they actually met me. I can be pessimistic at times, but I care about the people I’m really close with and I’ll defend them no matter the situation. I can be annoying, I overthink everything, and I am insecure about literally anything and everything about myself (from my body to my writing)

I’m generally considered one of the smarter ones in my friend group, usually my friends come to me when it comes to writing essays or having to read a book for class, since I’m good at analyzing things. I’m the friend that usually everyone tries to protect from things, from fear that I might “break” or something like that, which can be annoying but I know it means that they care. Though I would prefer that people be straight forward and honest with me instead of walk on eggshells or keep secrets, because contrary to popular belief, I can defend myself just fine. My friends say I have a hard time letting people in since I don’t want to end up hurt, so I have a tendency to keep people at arms length because I’m afraid to have my heart broken.

I don’t know if that’s enough information or if I over-shared (I have a tendency to do that), but if you are still accepting these kinds of requests, I hope this is enough.

🍰 for @lifewouldbebetteronmars

Hello my Aries sister!!!!

Romantic Matchup

Tsukishima Kei

How yall met

Ok be prepared to be shocked

But Tsukki needed a tutor

He was having a difficult time understanding the new topic they were doing in class

So the teacher recommended you as a partial tutor

At first he didn't really like you

It really wasn't anything you did

He just hated that he needed someone else's help

And he was kinda embarrassed about it

But as time went on he started to warm up to you

Some could even say he looked forward to your tutoring sessions

So when he didn't need you to teach him anymore

He tried to find excuses to hang out with you

He's just too prideful to say that he likes you and wants to hang out with you

And even though you knew that was probably the case

You didn't want to call him out like that

So you would just hang out with him whenever you could

And the bond between you two grew with every passing day

And eventually you guys started dating

What they love about you

He loves how intelligent you are

Tsukki is pretty smart himself

So if he thinks that your smart

Bb you're a genius

And although he resented your smarts when he first met you

He's come to realize it's one of your most admirable traits

He loves how you care so deeply for your loved ones

He knows you would do anything and everything for him

But he also knows you would do the same thing when it comes to any of your friends and family

Like he's literally seen you telling off somebody for picking on one of your friends

He made a mental note to be careful who he picks on that day

He loves how straightforward you are

Ok so this is Tsukki were talking about

He doesn't really like overcomplicated people or people he can't understand

And you are anything but that

Tsukki can read you like a book

Maybe its because hes spent a lot of time with you

Maybe it's because he pays more attention to you than other people

The world may never know

What you love about them

You love how he doesnt try to “protect you”

Now don't get me wrong

Tsukki would take a bullet for you if it ever came down to it

But he knows for the most part you can take care of yourself

So unless you specifically ask for help hell leave you be

You love that he understands your limitations

Tsukki knows you have anxiety

So he tries to make social exchanges as comfortable as possible

If he notices that your uncomfortable talking to someone

He’ll swoop in and remove you from the situation

However...

He tries to get you to step out of your comfort zone from time to time

He knows just as well as you do that being social is just apart of life

And he doesn't want you do always be dependent on him when it comes to being social

So he just gives you little nudges

Until eventually its like your anxiety never even existed

Favorite things to do together

STUDY DATES!!!!!!

Ahem anyways

Mans loves to have a good study date with you

It's really just you two doing homework and reading together

But he loves those little intimate moments with you

Late night walks

You guys take late night walks ALL the time

Once again it's nothing more than just walking round and listening to music

But Tsukki finds comfort in your presence during these times

Random Hc

The team was very very shocked when they found out you were Tsukkis gf

Like Tsukki + a relationship = error

Definitely got bombarded with questions when you met the team

He keeps some of the photos you've taken in a little box in his room

He proofreads all of your fanfics

One time it was your turn to pick the music for a study date

He was very shocked when hard core irish rock started playing…

When you guys first met there were a lot of moments when you just stared at eachother like

Because you didn't know how to talk to each other

Sometimes he acts like he doesn't know something just so he can be around you

Astrology

Aries + Libra

Compatibility 62%

However difficult it might be to reconcile these two natures, remember that this is a primal opposition that represents partners by signification.

Aries and Libra are the couple of the zodiac, as much as any other opposing signs, for they are each other’s seventh house, house of relationships.

Even more so if we acknowledge the fact that Libra is the sign of relationships in general.

Any problem they might have with each other is something to be worked on, because it shows what their personal problem with any relationship is.

When they are madly attracted to each other and fall in love, there is almost nothing that could separate them, no matter the differences.

Wouldn’t we all like to find the middle ground with our loved one? They need to work on their bond, that’s a fact, but their relationship is a promise of a perfect fit of two souls meant to be together.

Friendship Matchup

Tendou Satori

How yall met

You guys have been friends since middle school

You saw how other people treated him and you just didn't think it was right

So you befriended him!

You guys were attached at the hip all throughout middle school

Then he left for highschool while you stayed in middle school

Then when it was your turn to go to high school you had went to karasuno

So you guys lost touch

But then one day you saw a familiar head of red hair at one of your boyfriends matches…

It was Satori!

You were so excited to see him again that you practically sprinted over to him to reunite

He was so happy to see you again!

Ngl the entire Karasuno team was very confused on how you knew the guess monster of Shiratorizawa

Why you became friends

Like I said you saw how people treated him all throughout middle school…

So even though you were 2 years younger than him

You decided to befriend him

He was shocked by your kindness

And honestly a little hesitant

It wouldn't be the first time someone pretended to be his friend just to stab him in the back later

But for some reason he thought you were different

So he became friends with you

He was super sad when he lost contact with you :(

He always thought about how you were doing

But hey fate decided to bring you two together again

And it was like nothing changed

You both still had the same strong connection you had way back in middle school

What yall love about each other

He loves how out there you can be

Like there was a time where you two just blasted music in a park and just were dancing and vibing

He loves how your able to channel your creativity into your photography

He compliments every picture you take

Even if it's not a good one

He loves that how you look vs how you act are two totally different things

He won't lie to you you definitely have RBF Syndrome

(resting bitch face syndrome)

It almost reminds him how ushiwaka looks

But the difference is behind you rbf is a generally warm person

You love how fun Satori is!

Moments with him are always filled with laughs

Never a dull moment with that one

You love that he does not allow what others say get to him

Oh and on the days they do

Your right there to pick him back up and get him back to normal

Overall you guys love that you can depend on each other

Random Hc

Tsukki felt a little intimidated when he found out satori was your friend

Their rivalry during their game may or may not have had something to do with you…

You guys had homemade friendship bracelets as kids

And he kept his in his room even after you lost touch

Ironically enough he WILL NOT allow you to be insecure

He's like Insecurities we don't know her ❤️

Astrology

Aries + Libra

A friendship between an Aries and a Libra brings in the inherent polarity of the Zodiac itself.

The constellations of Aries and Libra lie opposite to each other in the Zodiac, at an angle of 180 degrees between them.

This polarity is displayed in their characteristic traits as well. Each sign has qualities that the other sign lacks.

Add to it the fact that Librans have a natural desire to be harmonious, and Aries and Libra form a relationship of great equilibrium.

The polarity of Aries and Libra could be described as self versus other.

But the differences go much further than that. Aries are impulsive, excitable, and willing to jump into things immediately.

Libra are indecisive, peace loving, and prefer a calm, quiet view of everything.

Star signs with opposite polarity often share a zealous relationship with each other.

In general, polar alliances turn out awesome when they are good, but rather challenging when they are bad.

Polarities could twist and knot together if the signs didn’t understand each other well.

However, Aries and Libra are a well balanced pair.

Libra are charming, well cultured, and have pleasing manners that could compensate for the brazen nature of Aries.

On the other hand, Aries are strong willed and decisive, which could compensate for the irresolute nature of Libra.

Aries could help Libra reach resolutions more easily and make them more spontaneous.

Libra could, at times, show Aries that they are not always as right as they think they are.

#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu matchups #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima headcanons #tendou headcanon #tendou x y/n #tendou hcs #tendou satori

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madraleen · 3 years ago

Text

Any Way The Wind Blows (Rainbow Rowell) – 4/5 stars. More arbitrary stars under the cut, and jot-it-down-as-it happens commentary.

5 stars for Simon, Baz, and SnowBaz. 5 stars for the Salisburys, would recommend for a long lost family. 4 stars for Penny and Shepard. 3 stars for friendship shenanigans. 2,5 stars for Agatha, my sweet summer child why. 2,5 stars for the non SnowBaz-related conflicts, because huh? 2,5 stars for plot, because how did we get here? ??? stars for pace.

Commentary

-Lady Ruth!! We have an uncle! Simon, let’s find Jamie! -Simon, for fuck’s sake, answer the man’s texts, he deserves that much. Break my heart with unanswered texts, why don’t you. -I know this must happen. I know they must separate and breathe. I know. But it hurts. -Where is Agatha? I need her and her not giving two shits about any of this, I’m overwhelmed. -I don’t want Baz to find Simon. Somehow, I think that’ll be worse. Leaving him with a note is the worst thing (well, second worst next to saying nothing, I guess). -Lmfao, never has art in a book scared me so. A wand? Is it Baz’s? Why is it bent? WhAT DOes It ALL MEaN! -SIMON. I love you so much, Simon, please, use your words, even if it’s to give him closure, a reason, something. It’s hard, but Baz deserves it and you deserve it, please, love. -This is exactly how I’d pictured Baz reacting to Simon breaking up with him. -“Use your words,” he sneers. (That’s right, that’s my boy). SIMON, you’ve just cut out my heart and stomped on it, ey. -I understand Simon, but I also stuttered out cries when he said it’s not working between them because he’s not a magician. Baz, I’m with you, I support you, I love you. -I love that Baz’s brain works sharply even as he is in distress. - I do believe they’re endgame, so I’m super excited to see HOW, after all this. -“I never thought I’d be the first thing you ever gave up on.” Bazzzz, my man, the shade, I love you! -I expected the breakup in the beginning so that we’d have time to build up to being a thing again, but oh man. I understand Simon looking at Baz and only seeing who HE isn’t and what HE lost, but oh man. -Agatha is the best, yes Agatha, bring us relief! -Oomph, I’m so sad. How do we fix this, Baz is completely broken and Simon completely lost and overwhelmed. -Is there an overarching plot? There’s so many things – the goblins, Fiona’s rummaging, the curse, missing Jamie, maybe NowNext. Who’s the main antagonist? -Honestly, I just want to read about fierce Agatha and splendid Shepard rn, everything else hurts. -Please remind me henceforth to refer to vampires as “sexy bedbugs.” Thank you, Baz, I’m with you, I love you. -I absolutely adore Baz’s relationship with Daphne and his siblings. I’ve loved it since the glimpses in Carry On. -I think Fiona is seeing Nicodemus, I’ve believed so even before picking up the book. -Simon Snow is on our door?!?! What’s happening, what is happening! I’m getting whiplash! I was not prepared, wait, help! -“This is our soundtrack now.” Omfg, I love Baz. -But damn, I love Simon, I love his voice. If it all goes well, I can’t wait to reread the book with the necessary peace of mind to soak it all in in its proper context. -Lmfao, Simon says, "I came to tell you something" and I am honestly scared to turn the page and see what it is. This is going splendidly. -Baz slams the door on Simon’s face?! I fucking gasped and clutched my peals!!! Oh M Y GOD. -“I never believed in us”??? I understand what he’s saying, but oh my God, why have you come, Simon, why are you here, this hurts! -The way they CRY differently, Baz more restrained and Simon just letting the tears fall and licking them as needed, I absolutely adore it. -Where is this going, Simon, we’re all crying, are you happy now? (I know you’re not, I’m sorry, I love you, this is just hard). -This part is really just me hitting the book and biting my hand and muttering, “We’re fine, we’re fine, we’re fine,” with the occasional cry of “RAINBOWWWW.” -Simon is saying I love you Simon is saying I love you Simon is saying – AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. I gasped. So hard. Deep breaths. We’re fine. It’s fine. -I love this “trying” so much. I love my boys so much. -My heart is whole, my crops are watered, flowers are blooming, birds are singing, Simon and Baz are sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. -Simon is relieved that he’s still with Baz, I’m relieved that he still has wings, all is right. -“I just want to be with you,” I say. “And this is where we are now. I’m a broken-down mess, and you’re a rat-drinking monster.” Poetry. POETRY! -Shepard, you’re all I

need, these people are too much for me. -Reading fanfiction of what. Reading fanfiction of what, Penny. -Oh shut up, Shepard saved her chalks. -We should go to the Mage’s estate. -I love Simon. He has this pureness. -“Simon took the napkin, then licked the butter off his arm.” Yes, Simon, I love you. -Catch me at 1am making love oaths to Simon. Really, I can’t blame Baz, it’s just a Simon thing. -Omfg hold me, we’re going to Lady Ruth’s! -Low-key loving that the Salisburys and the Pitches are on good terms already. Love that the boys are hitting it off with Lady Ruth. -Smith-Richards is promising people magic? Oh. Oh, this took a turn. I have zero idea where any of this is going. -Okay, hello, I love Lady Ruth. -Obviously I’m more invested in Baz and Simon than in anyone else, but every time there’s a Baz or Simon chapter, I’m actually petrified at what might come. -Smith is shady, I don’t like him. -Baz really be serving looks in this book. -“I would have liked to have had you for a friend here.” Oh my bb boy Simon, that is so soft. -Oh shut up, Baz left a rose for Lucy. -WILL there be an emergency? Will Baz drink Simon’s blood? Why are we dwelling? -Simon, talk to Penny, my love. I know we’re doing the thing where you’re both recovering from your co-dependency, but seriously, love, talk to her. -Come on, Shep, kiss the girl!! Oomph, they’re so cute. -Oooh, we’re doing the deep cut, we’re doing Philippa, we’re tying off threads, nice! Also ouch. But nice. -NICODEMUS, called it. -Yayyy, the gang is reuniting. But who are we fighting? Who’s the antagonist? Why are the goats leaving? -Baz has a key?! Whoa, Simon! -Well, fuck indeed about your magic, Simon, but did you try calling the sword? -"So no one is cursed…” “Just you, babe.”Ahahahahaha! Sorry. -Will a goblin attack the flat? What was up with the goblin back at the beginning? -“Mmm,” he mmms. POETRY! -I’m sorry, Simon, you have a key to a hidden waterfall?! Care to elaborate? -Baz, my love, let Simon take care of you for once, it’s okay. He wants to do it. He can do it. -“I love you,” he says. “It’s good.” Awww, my bb Simon. -What do you mean immune to magic? What’s happening? -Oh wait, he’s culling the less powerful mages? Is that it? -I see you lying, Simon Snow. -Wait, but why is Simon immune? Is it because he’s a dead spot? -It IS a culling. -…What, that’s it? We’re just arresting Smith on a rooftop? That’s it? -IS Simon a dead spot? And if he is, does that mean that the magic will return? What does it all mean??? -But how did Lucy die??? -“y” S I M O N you’re a texting icon, I love you. -Baz, my man, I’m with you as usual, I don’t want the wings and tail gone either. -I have ten pages left and I’m hysterically hopeful and scared, with the amount of threads that are still loose. -But... a family sword? -Kinda disappointed that Simon didn’t get his magic back, but it’s a bold move, I respect it. -Agatha gets the epilogue?? That’s a choice.

#any way the wind blows #any way the wind blows spoilers #snowbaz #simon snow #book commentary #spoilers

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years ago

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GF - How A Star Is Born ch.XI

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. This is the last chapter, so I truly hope you all enjoyed this fun AU, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support!

(Also, a small cameo for @lemonfodrizzleart is in here, so I hope you enjoy!)

ch.X

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan could feel the familiar pressure on his chest when Dipper and Mabel defeated the monster. He did everything he could to keep it at bay until the kids left; they would have stayed, and Bill would have won. Ford might get hurt, so Stan made sure they didn’t know and that they left him.

The second they were gone a powerful wave of pain flared his chest and he sank. Pacifica helped him lie down comfortably against some smooth boulders, unsure if it was safe to move him, and held his hand as he had to endure another heart attack.

Stan’s mind was hazy, but he reminded himself that he was okay with this. He was okay. Dipper and Mabel were gonna in. They got to see each other face to face! Dipper would get to meet Ford, and one day he would get to be with them forever. Heck, Stan even got lucky enough to meet his niece, who he already loved just as much as he loved Dipper. And Ford… he might have been a huge jerk, but he would have liked to see him again. Oh, well. It’s not like Ford would want to see him again.

The old trainer winced and groaned as he could feel his breath being taken away.

Mabel had Gompers go as fast as he could back to Thebes. She, Ford, and Dipper were terrified of what they would come to, but they had to see him again, they had to!

Gompers stopped right where he had picked the young pair of twins up for battle and were distributed to find Stan lying down, he never lied down! Pacifica turned to them, shaking her head and moving aside so they could see how deadly still and pale Stan was.

Ford instantly collapsed onto his knees by his brother’s side. He shook his head, refusing to believe it, and carefully took his hand. “Stanley,” He muttered quietly. “Stanley, it’s me, your brother.”

Mabel was on her knees next to Ford, trembling like a leaf and already crying. “G-G-Grunkle Stan… please…”

The ruler of the gods scooped his brother up and was distraught when his head fell limp to the side. Ford helped his head lay on his strong arm, tearfully begging and holding his twin close to his fast-beating heart. “Come on, Stanley. P-Please! Wake up! Stanley!” He sobbed and bowed his head, cradling his brother and distraught to find him already cooling down. Ford had never been there for his brother when he needed him to be.

Mabel took Stan’s free, limp hand and kissed it through her tears, then rubbed Ford’s back as he cried freely. Stan appeared much more pale in comparison to the gods that held him close, who shined and glowed like gold. Ford freed an arm to bring her niece closer, and the two held the family member they had so desperately wanted to be reunited with and now would never have a chance to.

Dipper was standing right behind them, shaking with his fists clench. He turned away and sniffed, trying to keep it together, a tiny toxic voice telling him to keep it together and be a man. But the fact that the ruler of the gods was sobbing his heart out behind was enough to help Dipper shed a tear or two, but he couldn’t help but cover his eyes with a hand.

Pacifica hesitated, and then patted his shoulder. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Dipper.” She croaked and glanced back at the broken family. “There’s… some things you just can’t change.”

Scowling and determined with fire in his eyes, Dipper lifted his head and dropped his hand from his eyes. “Yes I can.” And he and Pacifica were gone before Ford or Mabel could realize they were going and they were too busy to notice their disappearances.

~~~~~~~~~~

“WE WERE SO CLOOOOOSE!”

Bill was on a rampage. Now completely alone with no allies and only a sad underworld for his lair, he released his fury by blasting everything in sight with fire. Gideon was well hidden and letting his boss let his anger out, getting fed up of being under the triangle’s thumb and looking for a way out of this; If Pacifica can get her freedom, maybe he can, too.

Bill floated to a window overlooking the underworld, cooling down, but still furious. “We were so close, we tripped at the finish line, WHY?! All cuz that worthless conartist had to teach that twerp a thing or t-...”

The doors crumbled at the punch of the young hero, accompanied by his little tour-guide, Pacifica, who scowled at the demon with a gleam in her eye. “Where’s Stan?” Dipper growled.

Bill smiled at his visitors. “Ah, Pinetree and Llama, underworld’s a great place for a date, isn’t it?”

“Let him go.” Dipper demanded, charging at the demon and grabbing him by his stupid black toga.

Bill rolled his eye and plucked the human’s hands off him. “Get a grip, kid. Here, lemme show you around. C’mon.” And he had a hand on Dipper’s shoulder and walked with him out of Bill’s study, with Pacifica and Gideon curiously following them.

Bill took Dipper to a river of green death, with hundreds of thousands of souls swimming around. Towards the top, was Stan. Peacefully sleeping in his armor and cape, his soul torn and war-worn, but there he was.

“Stan!” Dipper called and reached for him, but the green liquid made his hands burn and age.

“Ah ah, you can look but you can’t touch.” Bill laughed. “You see, Stan’s got a new place here. He’s gonna be in this river, floating for eternity.”

Dipper did some quick thinking, watching Stan float farther away, and an idea came to him and he glared at Bill. “You like making deals. Take me in Stan’s place.”

“Hm.” Bill poked his face as he mockingly gave it some thought. “The great-nephew of my hated rival trapped forever in a river of death.”

“Going once…”

“In exchange for an old man who’ll probably die again next week.”

“Going twice…”

“Okay!” Bill interrupted. “Okay, okay, okay. If you can get him out, he can go, but you have to stay. Good luck, hero.”

Dipper looked back at the river he could easily step into. Stan was farther away now, almost around a riverbend, so the brave young man took in a deep breath and cannon-balled into the River of Death and swam for his uncle’s soul.

“Oh, you know what slipped my mind, you’ll be dead before you can get to him.” Bill called after him. “That’s not a problem, is it?” He cackled.

Dipper knew Stan was right, but if this would give Ford and Mabel a chance to be with him, if only for a short amount of time, so be it. Twins shouldn’t be separated forever.

The instant he jumped in, Dipper began dying rapidly. Not even aging, having a moment’s peace of being in his thirties, forties and fifties. His body seemed to instantly jump to his sixties and then slowly crawl upward. Stan was still so far away, but Dipper kept pushing, thinking of his family crying over Stan’s body. He had to do this. This had to work. Now aged to a hundred-year-old man, frail and at the brink of death, he reached for his uncle’s hand, just as they turned a corner on the river, hidden by a cavern.

Bill grinned at his victory, but his joy was short lived. Bright golden light shined. Bill’s eye was wide with horror and he watched as a true hero walked on the River of Death, carrying his trainer in his arms. “This… This is impossible! You can’t be alive, you’d have to be…”

“A god?” Pacifica and Gideon asked.

Bill roared in fury as he turned red, small and child-like as he kicked and screamed in the air.

Dipper’s skin now glowed golden, like his great-uncle and twin sister. He was sure and determined, clever, and healthy and youthful. And though he was grateful to have his godhood restored, he was still focused on getting his family together.

“Dipper, stop! You can’t do this, you can’t…” And Dipper punched Bill so hard in the face that his eye fell inward into his triangle body.

Bill recovered shortly, popping his eye back into place and chuckling nervously as Dipper walked away. “Okay, I deserved that. Pinetree, can we talk? Your uncle, Sixer, he’s a fun guy! Y’know, m-maybe you can put in a good word with him and we can just blow this whole thing off, huh?” Not seeing any reassurance, Bill went for his last desperate attempt to save his bricks. “Eh, Stan. Stanie, c’mon, talk to your kid.” And he cupped the soul’s cheeks.

At that, Dipper lost his patience and punched him so hard that Bill flew right into the river. Souls instantly latched onto him, and at his annoyance, he was dragged into the depths of death.

“Oh, he’s not gonna be happy when he gets outta there.” Gideon fretted at the edge of the river.

“You mean,” Pacifica gently elbowed her old working buddy and asked slyly, “If he gets out of there.”

Gideon lit up and grinned. “If… If is good.”

“You know,” Dipper said coolly, and the two looked at him. “I think this place is gonna need a new ruler of the underworld. But I think it should be someone who knows just how important life is, so death becomes more comforting.”

Gideon gasped and had an idea, so excited about it he swatted Pacifica’s arm and yelled, “OH! Oh oh oh oh OH! C’mon, c’mon!” And he dragged Pacifica to a special section of the underworld.

Dipper followed behind with Stan still in his arms and Gideon took them to the throne room. Years ago, Gideon watched Bill press a stone on the left side of the door to reveal where he kept a small amount of poison to turn gods mortal. Today, Gideon felt around for a stone on the right side of the door that could be pressed. After a few seconds, he found it, pressed, and a door opened to reveal a cave much like the last, except for oozing purple poison, a bottle of golden elixir awaited them.

“I knew it!” Gideon grabbed the bottle and held it out to Pacifica. “Here! Take it! Be the new god of the underworld!”

“What?!” Pacifica pushed the outstretched bottle back. “No, not me…”

“I think you should.” Dipper reassured. “You helped save my family twice today. You helped those kids. You clearly value life the way you should. I think you’d make a great goddess.”

“And I’ll be there to help you!” Gideon volunteered. “I know a lot about this place, I just… erm, let’s just say I’ve proven to be an awful boss in the past, k’?”

Pacifica played with her hair nervously, still unsure, but the smile from her friends was just enough, and so she snatched the bottle and took a swing before she could change her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper carefully walked back to Thebes with Stan’s soul in his arms. He was reminded of so many times when Stan would pick him up from the dining table full of work and take him to bed. Stan had been his family for so long, that to know they were blood was actually very exciting. On top of which, if Dipper understood the rumors correctly, Stan was once a god, ubt lost his godhood, too. If Dipper can get his back, there must be a way to get Stan’s back. Even if he was a god now, Dipper was determined not to leave Stan’s side until he also earned his godhood. Family sticks together.

Mabel and Ford were still holding onto Stan, just as Dipper left them. Mabel was the first to notice the footsteps, to look up, and to gasp at not only Stan’s soul, but the fact that Dipper glowed like gold, like she and Ford did. She squeezed Ford’s shoulder and he finally took notice, gasping at his nephew.

Mabel scooted back a little bit to give Dipper some space, but Ford refused to let Stan go. He merely loosened his hold so Dipper could gently place the soul down onto the body, and then they waited with Dipper on one knee and Mabel scooting closer again.

It only took a moment. Stan took in a deep breath and let it out far easier than he had in years, and his color returned far brighter than before. Dipper gasped at how he sparkled and shined, and Ford and Mabel grinned to know their hope was proven correct.

Stan blinked once or twice, confused, but beyond amazed to see his entire family surrounding him. He quickly noticed the tears and sat up a bit, concerned, “Whoa, hey, is this an audience or a mosaic?”

“STANLEY!” Ford cried out and threw himself into his brother so hard they both fell into the ground, but neither cared. Stan chuckled nervously and tightly hugged his twin while Ford began to cry again. “St-Stanley! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! I should’ve…”

“Aw, c’mon, Sixer,” Stan rubbed his shaking back. “It’s okay, it all worked out.”

“I almost lost you…”

“Well, you didn’t.” Stan loosened his grasp to better look at his nephew, and Ford turned to grin proudly at him as well. “Thanks to that knucklehead. HEY! Wait a minute! You jumped into the River of Death?! That was stupid, don’t you dare lemme catch you risking your life for mine, kid! I’m old! I go first!”

Dipper laughed and gestured to Stan. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Stan looked down at himself and flexed his arms and hands, his eyes wide. “Whoa hey! Kid, you did it!” He looked back up at Dipper, finally noticing that he was also glowing, and he jumped to his feet and cheered. “YOU DID IT! You’re a true hero! I trained a true hero! We’re gods again!”

Mabel jumped into Dipper’s arms and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you guys! I KNEW you could do it!”

Ford chuckled warmly and helped his twin up to his feet. “Come, let us go home.”

Mabel whistled and Gompers lowered himself so the family of gods could ride the giant goat back to Olympus.

At the mountain top, just inside the newly repaired gates, the gods and goddess awaited to congratulate the newcomers. Fiddleford blew his trumpet loudly with joy; Hazel, the goddess of spring, tossed flowers every which way; Jackie, the goddess of Summer and Romance, winked at Stan, who ran a hand over his gray hair and threw her a sly smile; Pacifica and Gideon were there, too, Pacifica glowing a peaceful light-blue color to go with her white tiara and baby-blue dress with white sash. Dipper couldn’t help but smile at Pacifica; maybe someday she could earn his trust.

The gods entered their new home and Mabel caught something happening to the night sky. She gently elbowed her brother and pointed up to the sky, and their uncles also looked upward. The Faiths had manipulated the cosmos to tell the new story, and they all watched as the stars formed into the shape of a dipper, the exact same shape on Dipper’s forehead. Beside the new constellation, a shooting star graced the dark inky sky.

“Hey, that’s Stan’s boy!” Hephzie, the goddess of autumn and harvest pointed out.

Stan blinked his eyes dry and let Mabel hug him around the neck from behind, patting her hands. Ford put a hand on his left shoulder, and Stan pulled Dipper into a soft noogie. Together, the loving family watched the beautiful sky.

Just remember, in the darkest hour, Within your heart's the power For making you A hero too!

So don't lose hope when you're forlorn! Just keep your eyes upon the skies! Ev'ry night a star is, Right in sight a star is, Burning bright a star is born!

#GF #gravity falls au #fanfiction #hercules #dipper pines #mabel pines #grunkle ford #grunkle stan #death #just kidding #stangst #happy ending #gift #Thanks for reading!#seriously thank you all!!!#I hope you liked it!

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swanslieutenant · 4 years ago

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a place in time - chapter xiii

Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen. For now.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12

Read on AO3

Note: *shows up nearly 2 years late with a Tim Hortons hot chocolate* - apologies for the length it took for me to get this updated. It has been a hard/chaotic two years for me and this fic is a hard one to write, but things are settling a bit, so I will try not to leave it for that long again.

thanks to all the folks over at the @captainswanmoviemarathon discord channel for welcoming me in and helping me get this finished with the many many writing sprints it took!

___________________________________________________________

Neither Killian or Emma speak as they march back to her office, their steps quick and staccato against the polished floors. The world seems to be on a tilt, like Emma is walking through a funhouse with slanted floors, with the glass doors of the offices lining the hallway like the twisted and bendy mirrors of the carnival house, warping and distorting reality all around her.

Emma supposes she should be used to this feeling by now. After all, her entire world has been on a tilt since that night down at the lake, with the sudden appearance of thousands of people.

But this time it feels different. Like her normal life, or what has been her new normal at this point, has been shattered once again. What she thought to be true, who she thought she could trust and rely on – broken, once again.

I know him from my time.

When they reach her office, after unlocking the door, she gestures Killian ahead of her. He hasn’t said a word yet, and his face is solemn, the utter shock now an icy grit. His jaw is set, his eyes steel, the cold-hearted pirate that lurks beneath his charming veneer returned full force.

“This is his doing.” His voice is shaking with rage, the words more a growl than a sentence.

“This is crazy,” Emma says, swallowing the growing bile rising in her throat as she shuts the office door behind herself. She grips the side of her desk, her knuckles turning white, as she falls heavily into her desk chair. “How – are you sure that it’s the same guy?”

“Absolutely.”

He is still sanding by the door, hands curled into fists at his side, almost vibrating with fury. There is clearly some history here, and Emma remembers the vile that Gold spoke of Killian with when the returnees first arrived, how he had demanded for him to be locked up and kept away from the others.

“Who is he, Killian? How do you know him?”

“He’s a monster.” He spits the words, and then lifts his left hand, shaking his sleeve up his arm and rubbing at the scar that encircles his wrist, ragged and rough. “See this scar, Swan? He did it to me.”

She has wondered about the scar ever since she first saw it weeks ago, and now the shadow that had darkened his expression when she mentioned it then makes sense. She is truly sick now, her stomach twisting at the thought of her boss, the man she has sat across from in meetings and who controls this entire goddamn situation, literally attacking someone to the point of leaving such a horrific scar.

“He – dear god, Killian. That looks like he tried to cut your hand off!”

“It was no mere attempt,” Killian replies hollowly, eyes darkening. “He did cut it off.”

Emma blinks at him, and then stares at his hand, clearly attached to his arm. Now fair enough, she doesn’t know a lot about surgery or how re-attaching a limb would work, but Emma sure as hell knows there is no way Killian would have had his hand re-attached or be able to use it with 1700s medicine.

“He – what? I don’t understand. But your – your hand? How was it … fixed?”

“Magic.”

Emma’s heart stutters at the word. She leans back in her chair, stunned as if she’s been slapped.

“What?”

“A witch,” Killian continues, oblivious to Emma’s reaction, and he waves his right hand airily. “Or a fairy or some other manner of creature. I suppose I never actually asked her. My crew and I had come across her once before ever meeting Gold, and we retreated to her after his attack. She was a bit prickly, but she re-attached it for me after my crew begged her to. She had only a little magic left after running into trouble of her own, and she was no expert, hence the scar, but she did her best.”

Magic, witches, fairies. Her superpower remains silent, indicating Killian is telling the truth as he sees it, but Emma can’t believe it. Abruptly, Emma feels on the edge of tears. A hand re-attached by magic?

What?

Killian seems to finally notice her thunderstruck expression. “To you, Swan, magic is a myth. In my time, it was as common as your light switches. And clearly,” he adds, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers, “it worked.”

Seriously, what the hell is her life these days? Magic? Fine, she has no explanation for why Killian is standing in front of her, two and a half centuries after he should have died. But magic? No way. Aliens or scientific advancements in time travel make more sense than magic. But then she thinks of the video Anna had shown her of her sister controlling snowflakes as naturally as could be, and well, hell, magic at this point may make as much sense as anything else.

“I don’t understand,” Emma manages finally, wrenching her mind away from the literal concept of magic to the problem in front of her. Gold, Killian, time travel, his hand. “How – why did Gold cut your hand off?”

“I stole something from him.”

… Of course he did.

Her mind starting to burst at the seams, she can only gape back at Killian as he explains his history with Gold, utterly lost for words. In Killian’s time, Gold had been a powerful landowner in England, who ventured to the New World after making a bad deal and losing his fortune. He didn’t know how long Gold had been in America before Killian heard of him, but he did know was already successful and rich in his new surroundings, a dangerous businessman who no one dared cross.

Except Killian.

“As you may remember, Swan, at that time I was a wanted man by the English Crown, having stolen and burned many of their ships. They had done their own damage to me, and it was my utmost desire at the time to ruin them in any other way I could. So, when I heard rumours of an enchanted object that Gold had brought over from England, the last of his previous fortune and a gift from the king and royal family themselves, naturally, I wanted it. Besides, my crew and I hadn’t had a good heist in months. It was a hard, cold winter, and the stormy weather had kept many ships trapped in European harbours, and my men were itching for some action.”

Even amidst her shock at this whole situation, Emma has to resist the urge to roll her eyes – pirates.

“My crew and I were moored in a town called Newport, near where his new estate was. We were restocking the Jolly Roger when I heard he’d left the town for business and would not be back for a fortnight, leaving his mansion unprotected.”

“So, you of course just waltzed in and stole it. What even was it?”

He flashes her a devious grin, a glimmer of his charming, mischievous self breaking through his dark demeanour. “I’m a hell of a pirate, love, even on land. It was only too easy to sneak into his manor. We took everything we could get our hands on, and then I found this object, the king’s gift.” Killian cups his hands, as if he was holding several apples in his palms. “It was roughly this size. I couldn’t tell you what it was called, for I’ve never come across anything like it before. I thought perhaps a music box or a small chest at first. It was circular, with the sides plated in pure gold leaf. The top of it was beautiful, no doubt painted by the finest artist to represent a dark indigo sky with white stars emblazoned upon it. I wondered if it was only the case for the true treasure within, but I could never get the damn thing to open. My crew and I tried everything we could think of – prying it, smashing it, hammering it. Nothing. It seemed empty inside, too, for when you’d knock on it, it was hollow. After all the efforts for seemingly nothing, I thought about simply selling it. But, then I heard Gold was desperate to have it returned, that he had ripped his manor apart looking for it, so I knew it was something valuable indeed.”

Emma is trying to picture the object Killian describes, and she has no idea what it could be either. Sounds to her like a little box, like something you’d find in an old antique or knick-knack store. “Okay, so what did you do with it then?”

“I buried it, somewhere safe where I knew Gold couldn’t find it.”

The entire tale is the most Killian has spoken about his past as a pirate since appearing in this time, and Emma supposes she shouldn’t be surprised it ends with a tale of buried treasure. Typical.

“Besides that,” Killian continues slowly, and he rubs one of his upper arms absently, as if recalling a past chill. “My crew didn’t like it. Once we realized we couldn’t do anything with it or allow Gold to have it again, we needed it off the ship as soon as we could.”

“Didn’t like it?” Emma echoes, her skin rippling with goosebumps. “What do you mean?”

Killian frowns, and he rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I know you don’t believe in magic, Swan, but if you saw this, you would. Even though we couldn’t get it open, the damned thing seemed to suck the energy of the area around it. People were grumpier near it, more prone to anger, and more likely to need hours upon hours of sleep after being around it for a long time. As if it pulled their energy into itself and made them weaker, less honourable versions of themselves.”

He’s right, she doesn’t believe in magic. The thought of a strangle little box, gifted to her boss in the 1700s that caused hardened pirates to want it out of their sight, is something out of a movie. But … after all Emma has seen and all she’s heard, even just in the last few minutes, perhaps she better start believing.

“In any regard, we buried it and forgot about it for a few months until we returned one day to Newport. Gold knew my ship – hell, everyone knew my ship, then – and he was watching for it. He surprised us and thought to kill me and my crew, but realized rather quickly if we were all dead, he’d have no way to find out where the object was hidden. So instead … he thought to teach me a lesson.” He holds his left hand up again. “Hence, this.”

Emma leans back into her desk chair, sinking into the old cushion and letting out a deep breath. She’s starting to get a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest she gets when she’s becoming overwhelmed, the feeling that usually spurs her to run, run as fast as she can.

But there’s no running from this. This, this twisted world with time travel and now apparently magic, is her reality.

Killian falls silent, finally taking a seat opposite her instead of standing, fuming, by the door. But Emma doesn’t know what to say back to him, so they sit in silence for several long minutes. After all, what do you say back to someone who is telling you about their adversarial meetings in the 1740s with your boss, who was the one to cut off his hand that was then re-attached with magic?

Emma has always been a logical person; she’s had to be. There was no room for whimsy or belief in the unknown during her childhood, not when she was burned too early by a world that only showed her its dark and cruel side. Her mind is so overwhelmed, she’s not even sure how to begin processing all this. If Killian wasn’t between her and the door, she may have started running.

“So, you buried this object,” she begins, forcing herself to focus on the tangible parts of Killian’s story, though it’s not enough to not notice the irony of discussing ancient buried treasure with a pirate. “Probably in a place built over by a parking lot, or so deep underground that its lost to history, or found by a random person and sitting on someone’s grandma’s shelf –”

“That seems unlikely,” Killian muses. “I would hazard a guess it has never been found. After all, that must be why I’m here, in your time. He’s after the object again. He couldn’t get it from me then, and for whatever reason, he’s brought me here to find it.”

Emma has come to the same conclusion herself now, but she shakes her head in dismay. “I just don’t understand. If he wants this thing back so bad, why not get it from you back then, not invent time travel and wait nearly three hundred years for it?”

He shrugs, but his eyes flash. “Only the devil himself knows what madness lurks in that monster’s mind.”

Emma sighs and rubs at her eyes. If ridiculous was a line crossed back when Killian first said he knew Gold from his time, this situation is so far gone, Emma’s not even sure what to make of it anymore.

“So where is it buried? The object?”

Killian doesn’t answer, idly tracing the scar around his wrist. She watches him, wondering if he’s simply trying to remember, but when the silence stretches on, she realizes he has no intention of answering her, and for whatever reason, that hurts.

“Killian … you know you can trust me.”

“I do trust you, Swan,” he says, and his voice softens as he meets her eyes. “It’s Gold I don’t. This object, whatever its value to him, has been safe for nearly three centuries. Its secret is safest with just one person.” He pauses briefly. “For now.”

Though still stung, Emma nods. “Okay. For now.” She lets out a deep breath, and runs a hand through her hair, combing out the tangles. “Well, if this object is really what Gold is after and you’re the only person alive who knows where it is, it makes sense why Gold wanted you arrested at first.”

“He what?” Killian’s voice is sharp, his eyes flashing with anger again, and Emma winces. She supposes she hadn’t told Killian that part yet.

As his expression darkens, Emma explains how Gold had first wanted Killian detained more formally than all the other returnees due to his reaction down at the lake where he first fought and argued with the Storybrooke agents, along with his past as a pirate and wanted criminal. How, now that she knows this history, it was most likely just a ruse for Gold to be able to keep a closer eye on Killian than the others.

“That slimy bastard.”

Silently, Emma agrees. She doesn’t know what Gold is planning, but she already knows whatever it is, it isn’t good. At her last meeting with him, when he’d asked her about ‘anything odd’ with the returnees, she’d left the conversation with a pit in her stomach, the root of doubt and suspicion that has now blossomed into fully fledged mistrust and, frankly, fear.

“We have to get you out of here. Out of Storybrooke, away from Gold. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

“I concur.”

But then Emma frowns. Regina is away today, attending meetings offsite in regards to the returnees’ release, and Emma knows there is no way she is going to get Killian discharged from here without her permission. Any other returnee, maybe, but not Killian the media magnet.

She could attempt to sneak him out, but if they are caught … well, it was bad enough that Emma was seen by the media near him during his previous escape attempt. If they are caught again when she’s aiding him in an escape attempt … she’d be re-assigned to another returnee at the very least or fired at the very worst, and Killian will be kept here, in Gold’s clutches, for even longer.

“I can’t get you out of here tonight,” she says, swallowing down the anxiety that comes with the thought. “We have to wait until Regina is here, and do it all by the books or … well, I don’t know what will happen. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Emma sighs, and rises to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the barracks. I think you may be safer there with the guards all around.”

They leave her office, walking carefully around the corner leading to the foyer where the media conference had been. But it’s over now, all the chairs and the podium cleaned up.

The walk to the barracks is mostly in silence, both of them lost in thought. When they reach the lobby, Emma grips Killian’s arm, pausing him in his tracks.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” she warns, her voice a whisper. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to talk to Regina about your release.”

“When have I ever gotten into trouble?” he replies teasingly, and he rests his hand over hers briefly before moving towards the staircase. “Goodbye, Emma.”

She watches him head upstairs to his room, until he’s gone through a door and out of sight. Emma should go back to her office and get some semblance of work done, but she pauses instead. The cafeteria is just ahead of her, buzzing with the hum of conversation. It’s lunch now, and the returnees are free to move about as the media are gone. An idea has occurred to her, and instead of heading back to her office, she walks into the busy cafeteria.

Near one of the wide windows at the opposite end, Emma spots David and Mary Margaret. As she’s walking over, Mary Margaret notices her first, brightening with a wide smile and shining eyes.

“Hi Emma!”

Their enthusiasm still makes her a bit uncomfortable, but she tries to smile genuinely as she takes a seat opposite them. They are smiling widely at her, clearly thinking she’s here for a friendly chat or at least a step in the right direction for their relationship, and suddenly Emma wishes that was all she was here for. A pleasant, light conversation with the parents she lost for 28 years, returned to her miraculously by (as it’s truly appearing to be) magic.

And yet here she is instead, a dark cloud of fear and suspicion hanging over her. She glances around before speaking, not really sure who she should be on the lookout for, but in any case, the other returnees and agents are pre-occupied with their own meal or conversation. And, besides, she supposes she has an excuse to be sat here talking with David and Mary Margaret – they are, after all, her parents.

“We’ve been wanting to tell you,” Mary Margaret starts brightly, before Emma can get up the nerve to speak. “Graham told us that once the first group of returnees start to be released, he thinks David and I will be allowed out for more visits. We were hoping, well …” she trails off suddenly, uncertain, and David grasps her hand tightly, squeezing it for support. Mary Margaret smiles at him, and continues, her voice much stronger now, “Maybe we could meet you and Henry somewhere for a meal one day?”

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback. “Um, yeah, that that would be great.”

They smile in delight, and Emma finds she does truly mean that. If they had said something like this even a few days ago, she probably would’ve scowled and made up some excuse as to why it couldn’t happen, but instead, she is already imagining them at Henry’s favourite restaurant, with him showing them his favourite dishes and desserts. “Um, Henry will be so excited to hear about that. And I want to hear more about it too, but first – I came here to ask you for a favour.”

They nod, exchanging a glance with each other, plainly thrilled that whatever this is about, Emma has decided to ask for their help. Their willingness makes Emma’s heart twinge; they’re so happy to have anything from her, even if it’s an indication of a grain of trust, that it lights up their whole expressions as if she just agreed to start calling them mom and dad.

She gives herself a quick mental shake, and focuses again. She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice so they can only just hear her. “There’s something … weird going on around here, I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I need your help in the meantime.”

David and Mary Margaret trade worried glances at her tone. “Of course,” David says firmly. “What’s going on? What is it about?”

Emma hesitates. She wants to tell them what Killian told her, but it’s not her story to share. Besides, the less people who know about Gold, the better. Instead, she says, “Can you keep an eye on Killian Jones for me for the rest of the day? Make sure he’s doing okay and keeping himself out of trouble?”

David frowns, and crosses his arms across his chest. “The pirate?” he demands, and Mary Margaret glares at him.

“It’s important,” Emma continues, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I – can’t really say much else, but it’s important.”

“Of course, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, and she elbows David, who, reluctantly, nods. “That’s no problem at all. We’ll ask him to have dinner with us tonight.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” She then gets to her feet, and disappointment flashes across their faces. She winces. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. But, I – uh, well I’m looking forward to that dinner one day soon.”

The disappointment fades a bit, and they say their goodbyes. Emma returns to her office for the rest of the afternoon, trying to get through her stack of endless paperwork, but it’s pointless. She gets nothing done, her mind on Gold and buried treasure and even when she gets home, she’s a nervous wreck all night, unable to focus on anything at all.

Henry is his usual chatty self, but Emma can’t keep focused on what he’s saying. She has no patience for cooking tonight either, so instead orders in pizza, much to her son’s delight. As he’s munching on his fourth piece of deep-dish pepperoni, Henry pauses mid-bite, glancing at Emma’s untouched first slice.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

“Sorry, kid,” she replies, and she forces herself to smile reassuringly. “Just distracted by work. Want to play a game tonight?”

He is satisfied with that answer, and playing Clue with Henry does help to pass the time, but her heart isn’t in it and she is soundly beaten in each of the three rounds they play. When it’s finally her son’s bedtime and he’s sound asleep, peaceful and warm in his bed, Emma herself gets ready for bed.

Sleep, however, has never seemed so far away. Her mind roils with the revelations of the day, her stomach turning with nausea and anxiety. With no wink of sleep in sight, Emma sits up in bed instead. She leans against the solid wood of her headboard, and hugs her knees into her chest, watching the tree outside her window sway with the cold wind.

It’s so simple, to watch the trees, illuminated by the street lights below. They are just as they were yesterday, unchanged by the revelation of magic such as controlling snow or re-attaching hands or transporting hundreds of people through time.

She watches the trees for a while, and at one point, Emma finally drifts off, her dreams a jumble of pirate ships and bright white light.

Those dreams, however, are abruptly broken by a shrill ring of her cellphone.

Emma jolts awake, and grabs the phone from the nightstand, answering it without reading the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Emma, it’s Anna!” Her colleague’s voice is frantic and harried, and Emma sits up, her heartbeat accelerating.

“Anna?”

“You need to get back here to Storybrooke right away. It’s – it’s about Killian Jones. One of the returnees was found dead and –”

Emma swings her legs out from under the covers, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, as icy as the shot of pure panic running through her. “What? Is – is Killian –”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Anna says hurriedly, as if just realizing the implication of her words. Emma’s heart stutters again, her emotions of fear and relief in whiplash. “Well, I mean he’s not hurt, he’s not quite okay as you would say, but –”

“Anna, what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – okay, like I was saying, I was staying here tonight with Elsa, and then – well, there was a commotion maybe an hour ago and when I went to see what had happened … well, one of the returnees is dead. It’s pretty clear they were attacked … like, with a sword.”

Emma’s heart sinks though she’s sure she already knows. If he’s not the one dead, and the victim was attacked with a sword …

“And what does this have to do with Killian?”

“He’s been arrested for the murder.”

_______________________________________________________

The drive back to Storybrooke is a blur. She’d woken up her neighbour across the hall and half-dragged her over to watch Henry and get him off to school in the morning, only telling her there was an emergency and she had to leave right now.

When she makes it onto Storybrooke’s grounds, she careens into an empty parking spot, half out of the vehicle before she’s stopped the engine. The main returnee barracks building is bright and illuminated, and Emma marches towards it, her heart pounding heavily with each step she takes.

On the steps leading to the building, outside the main doors, stands a group of several individual Emma recognizes as police and FBI officers from their emblazoned jackets. As she approaches, one holds her hand up to block Emma’s path.

“Hold up! No one is allowed entry right now. A federal investigation is underway.”

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her side, and she digs out her identification badge from her jacket pocket. She has no time to argue. “You don’t understand, I need to get in there.”

The officers’ frown at her badge, and she opens her mouth to furiously continue, when a voice calls her name from within the main doors.

“Emma?” The guards move aside, revealing Kristoff Reinsdyr, one of the guards at Storybrooke, looking pale and frazzled. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

One of the FBI officers scowls, and looks Emma up and down. “We have orders to not let anyone else in until Commander Hua says –”

“Emma needs to come in. She’s Jones’ agent in charge of his case here.”

Kristoff gestures her forward, and Emma doesn’t wait to see if the officers complain again, though they do move out of her way finally. She and Kristoff hurry inside, where the brightness of the fluorescently lit building makes her eyes sting as he leads her towards the back staircase.

“Glad you’re here, Emma. Anna told me she called you,” Kristoff says, as they take the steps two at a time up to the fourth floor to the isolation and interview area. Emma is reminded sharply of the first time she had come up here, when she’d met Killian the first night, when he’d been belligerent and thrown in here to cool down.

The thought sets her teeth on edge. “Kristoff, what the hell is this about? Anna said there had been a murder?”

He hesitates. “Yes, it seems like it. There was some commotion around midnight in the residences. We thought perhaps it was a fight, but when we got there to see what had happened …” He trails off, and shakes his head once. “It was awful, Emma. Truly horrific.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma decides she doesn’t want to know. “And – they think Killian did it? Where is he now?”

“In one of the interview rooms upstairs. He was with a few of the other guards for a bit, until the FBI got here about an hour ago. Now he’s in with their commander.”

They reach the top floor, and Kristoff leads her down a cold, empty hallway to the cluster of interview rooms at the end of the corridor. Kristoff opens a small side door, into a small observation room that faces the larger interview room through one-way glass. Three FBI officers are in the room already and they frown at her, but she simply flashes her identification badge in their direction before looking through the one-way glass at the scene ahead.

Killian is seated in a similar room to the one she first met him in, his face smooth and impassive, as cold as she’s ever seen it. His wrists are bound with handcuffs, chained to the table in the centre of the room. Mulan Hua, the commander of the Boston FBI who Emma recognizes from the lake, is seated across from him, watching him with a careful, quiet gaze.

“Let’s go over this again,” she is saying, her voice strained with patience. Emma isn’t sure how long Killian has been talking to her, but by his sour expression, she knows they’ve already been over this conversation several times. “Tell me exactly what happened this evening.”

“As I have told you a thousand times since I was dragged from my bed by your deranged guards,” he snaps, drawing the words out so they are each peppered with a near growl. “I have no idea what happened. I was in my room all evening, save for dinner. All I know is what you’ve told me: a man has been found dead, and you suspect I had something to do with it.”

“Murdered,” Mulan corrects, her face solemn. “He’s not only dead, he was murdered.”

Killian rattles the handcuffs pointedly. “Not by my hand. If I’d done it, I’d bloody well confess. I may be a pirate, but I’m no coward. I’ve committed my fair share of atrocities, but I will not confess to something I did not do.”

“How do you explain the fact that your sword was found discarded nearby, stained with blood?”

It could be a damning statement, but Killian laughs, rumbling and low. “You think me fool enough to leave a murder weapon lying about where any bumbling twit can come across it? Not to mention that I haven’t had my sword since I arrived in this bloody time when your guards confiscated it, so how, pray tell, do you think I managed to get my sword back?”

Mulan sighs, irritation flitting across her features. “Well, we know how you did it. We have evidence. Video evidence of you removing the sword from the Collection Room.”

Emma’s eyes widen, and she feels abruptly like she’s been punched in the gut. They have what?

Killian, however, isn’t fazed by this bombshell; after all, he probably has no idea what a video is. “I don’t care what evidence you say you have. It’s all false, I didn’t do it and I haven’t had my sword in weeks. So, either arrest me and throw me in a dungeon, or let me go for I have nothing more to say to you.”

And at that, he falls silent. Mulan tries to get him to speak again, but to no avail. Eventually, she sighs and gets to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor and making Emma flinch. “Okay. You think about things, and I’ll be back with something for you to eat and drink.”

As she heads for the door, Emma sees her chance to speak with her. She darts past Kristoff and the other FBI officers in the observation room, out into the hallway, catching Mulan just as she’s shutting the door behind her.

“Commander,” Emma calls. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, Agent Swan, I’m glad you’re here.” Mulan breathes out heavily. Now that she’s out of the interview room, she appears tired, her face pale, her eyebrows pinched together with stress. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. Do you have any idea why Jones would want to kill Henry Jekyll?”

“No!” Emma replies vehemently. “Killian wouldn’t kill – who the hell even is that?”

“He is another returnee. Or rather, was. He was one of Jones’s roommates when he was released from isolation. He was found dead earlier by his current roommate. He’d been stabbed several times.”

Emma stares back at her, lost for words, as Kristoff peers out of the other room, as if making sure everything is okay.

Mulan nods at him. “Officer, can you get me a sandwich and water bottle for Jones?”

He agrees, and disappears back down the hall the way he had come with Emma. Mulan turns back to Emma, and at her expression, lets out another deep sigh.

“Emma,” she says gently, almost understandingly. “I know you must have gotten close to Jones while he’s been here –” Emma inhales sharply, but Mulan doesn’t seem to notice “– since you’re his agent and all. Obviously, you don’t want to believe he could have done something like this. But you have to remember that he’s a criminal. He was an outlaw and a pirate, wanted by the British Navy at the time for treason and murder. And that’s just the recorded crimes. We really don’t know anything about him, or what he’s capable of. I’m not surprised something like this has come up, honestly.”

“I am,” Emma replies bluntly. “There is no way Killian killed someone, not when tomorrow – I mean, we are trying to get all the returnees out of here not keep them locked up longer!”

Mulan pinches the bridge of her nose, and gestures for Emma to follow her. “Come with me, take a look at what we found.”

Emma follows her into a second interview room, empty save for a steel table with a laptop on it. Mulan opens the laptop, entering her credentials to log in. It seems to take an exorbitant amount of time, Emma’s nerves fraying further with each passing second. The screen opens to a generic Federal Bureau of Investigation backdrop, and Mulan clicks on a video saved to the desktop, labelled simply ‘surveillance footage.’

“This is from back in early February,” Mulan explains, as the video loads up to reveal a room Emma recognizes as the Collection Room in the basement, where she visited once before to collect Mary Margaret, David and Killian’s belonging, with its shelves upon shelves of boxes and plastic containers.

“Security pulled it for us once we identified the sword. Watch.”

The recording is of the deserted collection room for several moments, blurry and shrouded in shadows, the time blinking in the corner of the video as 3:30 a.m. Then, grainy white light floods the room, the main door swinging open to let in the hallway light.

Through the pixelated footage, Emma recognizes Killian as he strides into the room, confident as ever. He walks to the back of the room without hesitation, to a small area behind a chain link fence which reaches to the ceiling. He disappears off camera as he steps into the fenced-in area, but he’s only hidden for a few moments before he steps back into view.

In his hands, is a sheathed sword, its handle black and simple, apparent even in the poor footage. He removes it from the sheath, and holds it up to his eye level, admiring the blade. He then re-sheathes it and slips out of the room, the light fading from the room as the door swings shut behind him.

The video stops, and Emma stares at it, dumbfounded. There it is, plain as day. Evidence of Killian retrieving the sword.

But she shakes her head as she remembers her own visit to the Collection Room more clearly. “No, no, that’s not possible. Listen, I know he couldn’t have gotten the sword. It was checked out, I remember because I went and got his other stuff and saw it on the list.”

“The list?” Mulan frowns. “What list?”

“There was a list in the Collection Room, a list of each person’s items which weren’t allowed to be checked out, but his sword had a note that it was taken out. So he couldn’t have done it, because you needed special permission to get those restricted items out. I remember because I was –”

Emma trails off, because Mulan is watching her with a skeptical frown. She clearly doesn’t believe Emma, and after all, why would she? There’s video proof of Killian getting the sword himself.

Kristoff knocks on the door to the interview room then, opening it to show the water bottle and wrapped sandwich in his hand. “Here you are, Commander.”

“Perfect,” Mulan says, closing the laptop and striding towards him. “Thank you, officer.”

She’s already back in the hallway, food in hand, marching down to the Killian’s interview room, before Emma, still stunned by the video, springs into action.

She hurries out into the hallway and, before Mulan can open the door to re-join Killian, blocks her path. Killian may be her … well, Emma’s not sure if she could even call him a friend, but whatever he is, he’s her responsibility. Returnees are always given legal counsel if they require it for any reason, including an active criminal investigation whether they are defendant or plaintiff.

“Does he have a lawyer on their way?”

“No, he declined one.”

Mulan says it calmly, but something about it is the last straw for Emma. The last twenty-four hours have nearly broken her – the video of Elsa, the knowledge that Gold is from the 1700s too, that magic is the most probable reason why all these people have shown up here, and now this: her … returnee arrested for murder and being questioned without legal counsel.

“He’s from the 1700s!” Emma shouts, and Mulan flinches in surprise. Even Killian glances over to the door, as if he heard her too. “Of course he declined one, I don’t know if they had lawyers back then. He has no idea about our laws or processes or anything. Killian doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, he needs a lawyer!”

Mulan regards Emma quietly, and she shrugs. “Well, I’ll speak to him about it again, but I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

She opens the door with the food, and as she does, Emma leans slightly around her, to peer into the room. Killian is watching Mulan enter, stony-faced, but for a moment, a single moment before the door slams shut behind Mulan, he catches Emma’s eye.

If only magic was real; maybe she could send him a telepathic message to ask for a lawyer. But, Emma’s no magician, and the door swings shut, the breeze catching her in the face and rustling her hair.

“Here,” Mulan says, her voice muffled by the door, and Emma hurries back to the other room, to the one-way glass so she can hear better. The other agents are glaring at her now with open hostility, but Emma ignores them, moving past them so she is standing directly in front of the one-way glass.

Mulan has resumed her seat, the water bottle and sandwich on the table between them, but Killian doesn’t move to reach for them.

“Listen,” she says, casting a pointed look to the one-way glass. “Before we talk anymore about this, I’m going to remind you one more time that you are allowed to have legal representation before speaking with me.”

Killian remains silent.

Mulan huffs a sigh. “Alright. Okay, so let’s go over this again, shall we?”

Killian leans forward, the handcuff chains jangling loudly against the steel table. “Commander,” he says, intently staring now at her across the table. His tone has changed, the defensive snarls replaced with a charming lilt, soothing and persuasive. “You are a smart woman, smarter than those oafs who were in here before you. You know I didn’t do this. Even if I was so idiotic to kill a man I had met only a handful of times on the eve of being released from this prison, you know as well as I that any criminal worth their salt wouldn’t leave a bloody murder weapon tied to them and them alone near a massacred body should they hope to get away with the crime. Whoever did this wanted you to find that sword, to know that it was mine so you would come to me right away and keep me locked up here.”

Mulan narrows her eyes, and she asks, only half-jokingly, “So what? Someone is setting you up?”

Killian’s gaze flicks over to the door, to where he had seen Emma, before he shrugs, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. But it’s enough to clue Emma in.

Of course. He’s right, he has no motive to kill Jekyll. But someone else does. Someone else, who has something to lose if Killian is released from Storybrooke with the rest of the returnees.

Gold.

He must’ve seen them at the news conference, must know Killian would’ve told Emma everything about their history together. Know that, of course, Emma would try everything in her power to get Killian out of here before Gold could do anything like lock him up like he had always wanted to. So he moved faster, found a way to keep him here, in his grasp where he hopes to get the location of the mysterious object out of Killian, once and for all.

“Emma?” Kristoff asks, reaching out a hand to her in concern, and Emma realizes he and the FBI officers are staring at her.

She waves them away, realization and horror roaring in her ears as loud as thunder. She is still trying to process this, when in the interview room, Killian leans back in his chair, his expression dark and cold.

“Perhaps it is time I speak with an attorney.”

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #ouat #cs fic #a place in time #hope people like this one!#it's been a long time so i'm grateful for anyone still reading

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kiruuuuu · 4 years ago

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Doc/Lion oneshot in which Lion suffers from the consequences of being tortured. (Rating M, hella angst + some comfort, ~3.3k words) - written for @renegad3spectre! Thank you a ton for commissioning me, I really really enjoyed this prompt, just took it and ran with it. It was a pleasure, all the love to you 🧡🧡🧡

Horrifically, it’s his grandfather delivering the blows.

He’s got fond memories of him, of sweets smuggled into his pocket, repeated stories ever-changing from one retelling to the next, quiet banter loud enough for him to hear but muffled enough that he suppressed his own laughter. He smelled of books and wood and old people, and that must’ve been it – the building had held a heavy, stale air which probably triggered the association, unwanted as it is.

So now the creature in his head, the remnant, the ghost haunting his mind wears his grandpa’s face like it owned it, like it had absolutely any right. It hurts more this way. It hurts to be called a disgrace, worthless, useless. It hurts to be disowned, it hurts to hear I have no grandson and it hurts to be accused of killing them, you killed them, your hand held the scalpel and this particular voice coming from his grandfather’s mouth is even more disturbing.

Who do you work for, he yells, unforgiving, merciless, and now his features shift, skin discolouring and eyes sinking into their holes to make way for nothing but darkness, and soon it’s the familiar sight of a brutal, faceless monster, concealed by a mask, surrounded by others looking exactly like him, supported by clones. Where are they, they scream at him in unison, who else. And he wants to answer, wants so desperately to reply to make it stop, is willing to give up anything, everything, if only it means this unbearable noise in his head quiets down. But his thoughts are made of tar, spread slowly and directionless, impossible to wade through. Words elude him, fade like smoke whenever he attempts to grasp them, endeavours to put this horrendous suffering into a single sentence.

Not like any expression he knows would be sufficient to describe this torture.

He doesn’t know what’s real. At times, he’s losing himself in a loud beat and a steaming crowd, coloured lights sweeping overhead and music seeping into his bones, and he knows he needs to reunite with his friends to keep partying, keep the night alive. It’s convincing enough he can taste the cheap drinks in his throat and feels naked, sweaty arms brush over his own on the dance floor – and the next second a blinding light pierces his skull and there are too many people around him he doesn’t know. They sound alarmed, eyes wide, and it sparks an instant, shrieking panic: something is wrong and he has no idea what it is. The strangers refuse to let him go, hold him down, and he tries to explain while the sterile stench they exude causes his stomach to churn and turn.

Most of the time, his ears are filled with accusations. The source is constantly evolving but what stays is the nauseating sense of dread. His heart races against the rest of his bodily functions and easily wins every time since his senses are sluggish, his perception unreliable and his thoughts wrapped in cotton. Grimaces of fury are persistent companions, and though he can’t put a name to all of them, their familiarity cuts deep. His mother, his former friends, his father, his sister. Alexis. Claire. The guy he met in Marseille who pretended to be his friend. Doc. Thatcher. An abomination from that cursed city Lion tries so hard to forget. Doc. The masked entity, omniscient, omnipotent, terrifying. Alexis. Doc.

He understands.

Why people would betray their loved ones, their country, their morals – he understands now, and the realisation is as chilling as the experience. He begged to be able to tell them. Begged for his life, begged for his life to be taken. Begged for peace as opposed to the chaos inside him, and he knows now most people have no idea what chaos really means. They humanise it, award it positive or negative qualities yet Lion would tell them it’s neither malevolent nor merciful. It just is. Against it, he is nothing, smaller than a speck of dust, utterly inconsequential and unimportant: in the face of true chaos, he’s meaningless. All he can do is hope he survives it.

The room is empty, his eyes tell him, and his ears tell him the same, but his brain is convinced of someone’s presence, just out of sight. Pitiful noises fill the barren, bleak chamber and they come from him, but at least they summon another human. A human with Doc’s face, and then with a mask, and then it’s Doc’s face again. Lion buries his fingernails so deep into his arm he tastes copper on his lips and pleads for him to stay. He sounds like a broken record, this voice isn’t his, the syllables barely intelligible among the dry heaving and the sobs. Music starts playing, a loud riff reminiscent of his teenager years, signifying rebellion and freedom and the worst fucking period of his entire life, and Doc says your hand held the scalpel and he’s gone again.

More, he implored as if anything he said would sway them, yes, please. And he looked at the needle and hated it, despised himself for craving it like this, abhorred the ones who turned him into this, and simultaneously he needed. He needed it so much. Without it, he was broken.

His throat is hoarse from screaming, so the visions morphed from atrocious to tragic until he had no more tears left to cry, and then they went for the very core of him. And this, too, he understands now: why anyone would go above God and decide existence isn’t worth it anymore. If he’s being tested, he’ll gladly fail as long as it means silence. If he’s being punished, he’s ready to receive eternal punishment for it can’t be any worse than this.

Someone is calling his name. The man – the men – knew it because he told them, it was one of the many things he told them, so he fights tooth and nail to continue drifting in this vegetative state, but it grows ever more insistent and strips away the layers of mud obstructing his consciousness, leaving him no choice. He can’t remember what it’s like, to have a choice, to choose.

Long words are being thrown at him. He deciphers none and yet an image forms below his eyelids, less blurry with every new description. The professional tone of voice pushes him gently back to his days of studying, a time filled with diligence and the hope to make a difference, and his despairing brain latches on to the information like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

Delirium, the familiar voice lists, agitation, seizures, anxiety, hallucinations. Too many syllables to fully absorb, and still he deconstructs them halfway. The mask wouldn’t know them. And if it did, it wouldn’t use them around him.

He’s safe.

He must be, it’s the only valid conclusion, but why does his existence still hurt this much? Why is the world shaking, why is he slowly drifting away from everything he ever held dear, from his life, this earth, himself?

They have Alexis. The realisation jolts through him like an electric shock. He needs to rescue him somehow, together with the people by his side, yet he can’t shoot at the maniacally cackling crowd running away from him because he’s not sure which one of them has him, and he can’t risk hitting his own son. Risk harming his most important footprint on this world. The masked grimace tells him he’ll be too late, and besides, it was his own fault anyway: Lion willingly told them about Alexis’ whereabouts in exchange for his next fix.

And he did do that. He did that. These are the consequences of his own actions, his punishment for complying with minimal resistance instead of staying strong, remembering his training. He sacrificed his son for something this trivial. Offered him up in exchange for complacency. Put himself first.

People are screaming, Claire, his colleagues, his family, and he knows he must interfere if his life is meant to be worth anything anymore, and there’s a small voice inside his head, an old companion. Full of vitriol, pulling at threads to make him come undone, scratching at scabs to cause scars, widening holes so he’s incomplete. It suggests a scenario and with petrifying speed, he’s there to live it.

He has a choice. On the one side is his son, gagged, tears in his eyes, struggling against his restraints. On the other side is –

There’s a –

It’s a syringe.

“-s alright. You’re alright. Take a breath, Flament. You’re safe, you have nothing to worry about. Do you need to throw up?”

Paying no attention to the words, Lion is flailing, sitting up abruptly and touching his legs to check whether they’re still there, touches his face and feels blind panic flare up the moment he spots the object in the crook of his arm. He’s narrowly stopped from ripping it out by an iron grip against which he struggles wildly, demanding to be let go, knocking something over and shattering it.

The vice-like grip never once wavers, and gradually his surroundings begin to sink in. He’s in a hospital, it seems, and the person by his side is none other than Doc, trusty (your hand held the scalpel) Doc who’d never let a patient suffer more than absolutely necessary. Bleeding heart Doc. Doc with his stoic face which barely contains the rage undoubtedly roaring in his chest (and is it directed at Lion?).

From one second to the next, Lion deflates and sinks back into the pillows, thoroughly fatigued. His adrenaline wears off quickly and makes way for uncomfortable nausea and the sensation of itching limbs. He needs to move, needs to shake off this horrible feeling of having slept a decade, but he doesn’t trust his body. The hand finally lets go of his wrist and leaves behind a print even lighter than Lion’s skin already is.

“Alexis is safe, too”, Doc assures him.

Lion jumps at this. How does he know? His throat closes and opens, produces a dry rasp and forces him to cough. Next to him, Doc is waiting patiently. “Where is he?”, Lion eventually gets out.

“At home. He never left.” He sounds composed despite the storm clouds visible in his expression, so Lion isn’t the intended recipient of his cold fury. “You kept calling for him, so I figured you must be worried. But there’s no need for concern.”

“What happened?”

Doc pauses for a few seconds. “We apprehended the ones responsible. Fortunately, we intercepted their outgoing messages, so what little information you gave them never reached anyone else.”

If this was true, Lion could exonerate himself. He also takes note of how Doc is silent about the before. He must guess Lion remembers being captured, remembers what they did to him. Bruises on his body are evidence for some of it, and the hellish trip tells the rest of the story. “How much did I say?”

“Doesn’t matter. We caught it.”

“How much?”

“You shouldn’t worry about -”

“Gustave!”, Lion roars, desperate to be either condemned or redeemed. He needs to know, must know so he can better assess his own mental strength. So he knows what to confess. So he can pray for forgiveness.

Doc’s lips are a thin line. “I don’t know. Grace and Mark had an agreement with Harry not to disclose any details. He says it’s standard procedure to prevent potential animosity.”

Not good enough. He’ll never be able to look Alexis in the eyes again if it turns out he did mention him. How much of his memories are real, how much were part of his nightmares? “What about my son?”, he whispers and Doc just shakes his head.

“As I said: I don’t know. Try to get some rest, Flament.”

Just as he exits the room, Lion spots the deep scratches on Doc’s forearm. Please stay, just please, he yells at Doc in his head, unable to bend his lips around the words. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t leave me.

He starts crying again.

So weak is he that the tears won’t stop, can’t stop, a broken silhouette in the shape of a man. Fragmented, just like his thoughts. He can’t remember ever feeling this terrible, hasn’t felt this frail and fragile in forever. His body doesn’t feel like home.

No time that night is spent sleeping. Restless, he crawls out of bed, explores the room that isn’t his while dragging his IV stand along, lets his eyes wander over pages not belonging to him, books left on his nightstand on accident probably, and doesn’t absorb a single word.

Once his thoughts are his own again, he utilises them with newfound fervour. He requests his phone and types until his thumbs hurt, types and deletes, corrects, amends, reinvents.

This is a theme in his life, an endlessly repeating circle: arrogance begets punishment. A boastful adolescent loses his innocence by nearly terminating an unborn life, by indulging vices too great for him to understand. A reformed young man deeming himself competent is burdened with death and riddled with blame (your hand held the scalpel).

A man, feeling invincible, having repaired bridges, full of empathy, is beaten bloody and broken.

He hasn’t updated his will in years – a symptom of a much more dangerous cause. Rainbow instilled a delusion of grandeur in him, promised him a future, coloured his life vibrantly and provided a new motto. Not me. He won’t be killed in the line of duty, not with these people by his side. He’ll be fine. Whatever happens, he’ll be fine.

This was a close call. Targeted and much more efficient than Six anticipated, or else Lion never would’ve been captured in the first place. If this is a sign, it couldn’t be any clearer: he’s not only not invincible, he’s delicate. This was just one weakness they could’ve exploited, Alexis obviously being another, his family as well. He won’t be as cocky when embarking on a mission from now on, and he’ll try to convey to the others how easy it is not to return.

It’s an earth-shattering wakeup call.

And so he types until the letters blur before his eyes, and says things which needed saying years ago. And he vows that this change in perspective will be a permanent one – he’ll never open himself up like this anymore. He’ll stay alert. He’ll fend off complacency.

And then Montagne is by his side and says a thing too chilling to be true. He’s gone, it drips from his lips like poison, and Lion knows with absolute certainty that it’s the truth. Doc accompanied him on the mission, Lion failed him, only he was saved. Endless protest is shushed by a sad shake of the head, a head with a face so ashen Lion can tell he’s not the only one filled with sorrow at the news.

There’s so much left unsaid between them, so much admiration and respect bottled up in order to show no weakness, and now he knows it’s useless to suppress emotion due to pride. Neither of them had managed to move on and now that Lion was willing to offer introspection and the admittance of possible mistakes in the shape of good intentions and the only course of action he saw, Doc would never be able to accept any of it.

Doc would never tell him he did a good job again. He’d never show him this grim smile again, the one he wore whenever he was satisfied with Lion’s work despite the outcome, laced with pride almost – or maybe this is wishful thinking, because after all they’ve lived through, a part of Lion still craves his approval so desperately that every positive word makes him glow from the inside, only he’s gone now, and Lion will never tell him –

“Olivier.”

Drenched in sweat, a pounding headache and with trembling limbs, he wakes up. Still in the hospital, still with Doc by his side. Of course: his demons have been depriving him of all things positive in his life, so why not him too? Nightmares know no bounds and refuse to accept Doc is sacred.

The other man is flushed slightly, dressed immaculately as always, but most importantly: alive. His gaze is turned downward to where Lion is gripping his wrist so tightly his knuckles are white. “I’m here”, Doc says gently. “You can let go. I’m here.”

Lion considers complying, though when it registers that Doc called him by first name, all he does is loosen his grip. “I dreamt you died”, he admits, staring up at the irregular patterns on the ceiling. He couldn’t ever convey this emotionless void Doc’s death caused in him, the utter emptiness – somehow, it was as if he’d lost his life’s goal. Which is insane, because his aim is to better the world. Not win Doc over.

“I could tell”, says Doc.

He must’ve been distraught, calling out in his sleep, reaching for his colleague. A question occurs to him which he should’ve asked sooner: “Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes.” Hesitation. “Ying has a black eye. When we came, they were currently depriving you.”

Lion figured as much. “I need to apologise to her.”

“You weren’t yourself.” Doc’s eyes meet his. “That wasn’t you.”

His relief must be palpable. Hearing it from Doc’s mouth doesn’t make it true, but it drowns out that malicious voice which never fucking shuts up. Giving up their secrets, thirsting for a meritless high, attacking blindly – even himself: he’s more than that, and knowing Doc is fully aware of this causes him to fight back tears of gratitude. “No. It wasn’t.”

After a moment of silence, Doc’s arm twists around and offers his hand, which Lion immediately accepts. For now, there’s no second-guessing motives, no long deliberation as to whether Doc is helping a co-worker, a friend, someone more than that, whether he’s volunteering support or understanding or something else entirely. All he knows is: the hand is warm, so warm it spreads a soft calmness all throughout him.

“I brought you music.” Doc indicates an old iPod on the bedside table next to the stack of books (which has grown), a vase with flowers and a few cards. Lion either failed to notice them before or they’re a recent addition. “Dominic helped with the selection.”

This is good news. Lion hopes for unfamiliar bands – he’s not sure what kind of reaction the ones from his youth might trigger in this state.

“And I spoke with Harry.” The segue is too casual. Lion has become proficient at reading between the lines with Doc, and he translates it as I gave him a stern talking to. “He said to tell you the information you gave was deemed ‘insignificant’.”

The wording doesn’t escape him: there’s no certainty in what -

“And you didn’t even mention Alexis.”

Lion takes a deep breath.

Between the constant pressure against his temples, the rolling stomach and nauseating dizziness, he’s felt better, but trusting Doc’s words to be true settles something inside him. Doc wouldn’t lie about this. “Thank you”, Lion replies and hopes his earnest gratitude is audible.

There’s so much to say between them his thoughts are going haywire considering just a fraction of it. All their arguments are ultimately the same as Lion’s treason: insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Something invisible connects them and it should be time to drag it to the surface, but not now. Not when he’s barely begun to heal from his outside and inside wounds.

Instead, he asks: “Will you stay a little longer?”

This time, Doc nods and remains where he is, a bastion of calm. And when Lion squeezes his hand, Doc returns the gesture and it’s all he needs for the moment.

It’s enough.

#rainbow six siege #doc #lion #doc/lion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #my internet search history is very suspicious now #they're tired of dancing after this #there's more important things than beating around the bush

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