#did they swallow the hate down to survive did they mourn their past inside

[thaliajoy-blog]

Are Irri & Jhiqui's mothers in the Dosh Khaleen ? Did they see each other when Drogo's Khalasar stopped there in AGOT ? Will they ever see them again ? Will they go back. I wonder.

[pumpkinov]

Where the Dust Settles

I will probably move this to Ao3 when I have a way more solid idea of my plot, but for now, it goes here. Mostly so I don’t lose it.

Portia Collins, the sole survivor of Vault 111 has lost more than most. With the Institute defeated, she sets her sights to the next big jobs - unification of the Commonwealth wastelands and the large warship docked at the Boston Airport. More work for the General of the Minutemen, who is finding herself increasingly alone as her companions move on with their lives. John Hancock, the Ghoul Mayor of Goodneighbour is struggling to find his footing in the new political climate of the Commonwealth, and is finding a surprisingly vocal supporter in his local Minuteman General. 

 Chapter 1. Why do you only call me when you’re high?

Portia observed the Third Rail with a headache forming. Her and Preston had arrived around midday, greeted by Fahrenheit. The relationship forming between the Commonwealth Minuteman and the settlement of Goodneighbour was a point of pride for the General. They were welcomed warmly, and their brief meeting with the Ghoul Mayor who ran the town had been pleasant, if frustratingly shortlived. But as the weather soured, most of the town had gathered in the bar. And it was cramped.

Ensuring that Preston was indeed distracted by Magnolia, Portia slid a cigarette out of a pack someone left on the table and headed to the door, abandoning her coat for the sake of an unobserved getaway. She nodded at Ham as she headed up the stairs, and slipped out the door.

She instantly regretted leaving her coat behind, the wind was frigid and there were clumps of watery snow on the ground. She could see her breath as she dug around in her pockets for a lighter. She came up empty, and was about to head back inside, defeated, when a weight hit the wall next to her. Hancock twisted the wheel of his lighter and held it in front of her, rolling his cigarette between his thin lips as Portia drew the smoke into her lungs.

He lit his cigarette, and flicked the lighter closed, sliding it into his jacket in a movement so fluid it had to be practiced. They smoked in companionable silence for a moment, Portia leaning her head against the brick wall. She eventually rolled her head to the side, fixing her eyes on her silent companion. His face in the portrait was familiar now, dark eyes, noseless and scarred.

“I wish you’d change your mind about joining us in Diamond City.” She commented. “You’re the only leader of a settlement not coming. And the Minutemen could use you.”

He slid her a look, a smirk twisting across his face, “There’s not enough caps in the whole Commonwealth that would convince me to go inside the Great Green Jewel again.”

“Nothing could convince you?”

His eyes slid down her frame, and the smirk widened “I’m sure something could.”

Portia rolled her eyes, and elbowed him. He laughed roughly, and took another deep drag of his cigarette. “Besides Sunshine, I’ve already built my personality around one hat. I don’t think even a ghoul with my kind of charisma could make those minuteman specials work.”

Portia smiled around her cigarette for a moment, “Don’t let Preston hear you say that. He’s very proud of his hat.”

“And yet the General doesn’t wear one.” Hancock breathed a plume of smoke out, tendrils escaping through his exposed naval cavity.

Portia didn’t reply, just smiled and watched a handful of small snowflakes begin to fall around the streetlight. Another freezing night.

“Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t come to this meeting in Diamond City.” She said, flexing the fingers that weren’t clamped around her cigarette. Her fingertips were turning red. “I’ve seen your diplomacy in action, Mayor. I’ve stepped over the dead body of your diplomacy.”

He laughed deep in his throat at the comment. “Don’t flatter yourself General, Finn was on thin fucking ice before he decided to shake you down. I didn’t stab a man for a woman I’d just met.” He finally turned his head to meet her gaze, his black eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, smugly. “I’d strongly consider stabbing a man for you now, given the right incentives.”

Portia took her final drag of her cigarette, and dropped it onto the ground, crushing it beneath her heel. She looked back at Hancock, and breathed her final lung full of smoke out.

“Let me guess, Mayor Hancock, would that incentive happen to be wildly inappropriate?”

His eyes flashed. “Not wildly. Perhaps not for polite company.”

Portia rolled her eyes again, and stuffed both her hands under her armpits. She glanced back at the metal door leading into the Third Rail. She really wasn’t ready to return back to that crowd yet. Hancock seemed to sense her hesitation, he tucked his hand back into his jacket and produced another cigarette. She accepted it, stamping her feet a little to get warm.

“Is there any polite company in Goodneighbour?” She busied herself with lighting the cigarette with Hancock’s proffered lighter, waiting for his usual flirtatious quip. Instead, when she looked up to return his lighter, she saw him watching as Daisy appeared around the corner, wrapped in a scarf and jacket.

“There’s some.” He said quietly.  Portia hummed in agreement, waving as Daisy approached.

“Quittin’ time?” Hancock asked her, offering Daisy his arm. “Would you do me the honour of letting me buy you a drink?”

“John Hancock I’ve told you a million times, I’m too old for you.” Daisy laughed. He groaned in response, placing his free hand across his heart, closing his eyes dramatically.

“And I’ll keep asking, let a ghoul dream!” He pitched his cigarette butt and opened the door for her with a flourish, then glanced back up at Portia. “Same again?”

“Mayor Hancock I told you, we can’t be out late, Preston and I are due in Diamond City early in the morning.”

He grinned at her. “So, same again?”

“Hancock!” Portia smiled despite herself. “This happens every time! I’ll take a bourbon and Nuka.”

“For Pete’s sake Hancock!” Ham called, “In or out man, the wind is friggin’ freezing!”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses!” Hancock called through the door, before looking back at her.

The playful, flirtatious grin he usually held was gone. His face was serious, his eyes still. Portia felt her stomach lurch up as she recognised the look as straight lust. She stared back at him, heart all of a sudden pounding in her throat. She snaked her tongue out, to wet her all of a sudden dry lips. Hancock’s gaze dropped to her lips for a moment, before catching himself. He pulled the smirk back, but his eyes kept their intensity.

“I’ll give you a second alone.” He rasped, “feels like you might not get much of that these days, General.”

Despite the heat rising from her core, Portia grabbed ahold of herself, and smiled.  “Bourbon and Nuka, remember?”

Hancock nodded and closed to the door, leaving her to the whirling wind, and her thoughts.

She crushed the half finished cigarette beneath her heel and headed back into the crowded bar, finally defeated by the snow now lightly falling. Preston was at the bar, talking animatedly with Magnolia. The place was crowded, and she had to squish herself past several people. They all turned and stared at her as she passed, and the heat was rising in her face again. Portia never quite felt comfortable in crowds like this. She finally reached Preston, who turned and beamed at her. “General, did you need a drink?”

“No, thank you, I think the Mayor -” She was interrupted as Whitechapel Charlie slid a glass of bourbon and nuka in front of her. “Oh, thank you.” She wrapped her fingers around the glass, and swirled the liquid around.

“I’m just going to freshen up” Magnolia drawled, draping an arm across Preston’s shoulder’s as she rose from her stool. “Don’t go anywhere.” She drifted off in a cloud of perfume, leaving a rather dazed minuteman in her wake.

“You still in there Garvey?” Portia smiled against the glass as she sipped her drink. God bourbon was so sweet. She didn’t really know why she drank it.

He smiled rather bashfully, shaking his head. “She’s really one hell of a woman.”

“Yeah, she has that effect on people,’ Portia dropped her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to turn in after I finish this - do you need anything else before I go?”

“You won’t stay until she finishes singing?”

“No, I’m beat.” She took another mouthful, just trying to get rid of it now. “But you stay out, just don’t be too hungover for our council meeting tomorrow.”

He grinned at her, “you really don’t trust me, do you General?”

“Preston,” Portia fixed her eyes on her friend, raising an eyebrow, “I trust you to the ends of the earth. I would walk through fire for you. I would, and have, trusted you with my life. But I do not trust you not to get carried away drinking with a pretty woman.”

He laughed out loud at that, wrapping his hand around the neck of his beer bottle as he threw his head back. “Honestly, probably a wise choice.” His eyes sparkled a little under the light. There was a joy she hadn’t seen on his face … ever.  Preston had been by her side every step of the way, from the day she thawed out to now. He’d helped her find her son, and destroy her son. He’d helped her mourn her husband, and helped her survive in this new, strange world. Portia would sooner have set herself on fire than quash the happy, slightly drunken glow he was developing across his face.

“Have fun, Preston.” She squeezed his shoulder and moved away, taking a large mouthful and wincing as the far too sweet alcohol burned her tongue. God, why did she always ask for Bourbon, she fucking hated bourbon.

She reached the coat racks at the back of the bar, and started looking for her coat. She drained the last swallow of her glass, and without looking plonked it down on the nearest table.

“Sneaking out without saying goodbye, General?” A familiar rasp came from her left. Portia bit her lip, and pulled her attention away from the overstacked rack of coats. “As if anyone could leave without saying goodbye to you, Mayor.” Hancock was leaning against a chair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, grinning like he always did.  “Do you need another drink?”

“No, thank you but I have to go.” She finally spotted her coat, and yanked it out of the tangled mass of fabric. She slipped it on over her shirt, and turned to face him. “Thank you, though. For meeting us, and hearing us out.”

His eyes softened a little. “I appreciate the invitation General. What you and the Minutemen are doing is impressive, joining the Commonwealth together like this. But I can’t go back there.”

Portia tightened her jacket around her, as Hancock swallowed the last of his drink and straightened up. “Come on, I’ll walk to you to the Rexford.”

“You don’t have to -”

He cut her off, offering her his arm. “It’s part of the Goodneighbour hospitality.”

The soft snow was swirling in the wind now, and Portia braced herself against the chill. It seemed to have no effect on Hancock, whose arm she clung to. He was so warm, even through the fabric of his jacket. Portia had to admit it was pleasant - the square was completely empty except for two of the neighbourhood watch, who nodded at them as they passed. The fresh air was refreshing after the stale smoke and beer they’d been breathing at the Third Rail. They reached the doors of the Rexford, and Portia turned to face him.

“Last chance, Mayor.” She brushed the hair out of her eyes as the wind whipped his jacket around his legs. “Are you sure you won’t come with Preston and I to Diamond City for this meeting? Every settlement group is sending a representative. It’s important.”

The wind had picked up now, and she had to lean in closer to him to hear his response.

“General, you really keep pushing this. Are you sure you don’t just want my company?”

She rolled her eyes, a smile bubbling to the surface despite her annoyance. “Hancock, really. Goodneighbour deserves a voice. Your people deserve a voice. You deserve to be there. If you’re not there, then Goodneighbour; your people? They stay disconnected from the rest of the Commonwealth.”

He fixed his eyes on her for a moment. “You really want to have me in Diamond City?”

She touched one of the buttons on his jacket, just needing a moment without his strange, black eyes boring into her. “It’s only fair, after everything.”

He shifted slightly closer, and her skin prickled. “OK, fine. I’ll come.”

She glanced up at him, a smile breaking across her face. “Excellent-”

“But,” he interrupted, his face still serious. “I will not be coming as part of your Minutemen. I respect your organisation General, but Goodneighbour is for the people, by the people, and I will not come shackled to your cowboy hats and holier-than-thou ideologies.”

She blinked, a little taken aback at the roughness under his usual rasp. “Of course, Mayor. The only shackles will be ones you attach yourself.”

A smile spread across his face at that comment, and Portia cursed herself. She shouldn’t have said that. It was just very hard not to flirt with him, despite his radiation ravaged face.

“I feel like the Minutemen and I may have very different ideas on the best use of shackles,” he murmured, now reaching a hand up to brush against the fingers she’d left on his button. His hands were so warm, and she resisted the urge to melt into his touch.

“Sorry to disappoint Mayor, but I leave the shackling to Preston.” She desperately tried to wheel it in, the air was too intimate now.

He was still looking at her, his eyes hungry. He moved to kiss her, and Portia put a hand against his chest. He stopped, still smiling down at her. The heat coming from him was insane, her fingers spread against his chest.

“Mayor, I don’t mix business with, well, thirty seconds of staring at the ceiling.”

He tilted his head back and laughed at this, heartily. It eventually turned into a cough which took a few seconds to get under control. When he finally regained composure and looked back down at her, there were tears in his eyes. “Oh, Christ Sunshine.” His tone was of amusement, he seemed completely unfazed at her rejection. “I only do business with pleasure. As for ceiling staring, it’s not something I’ve personally experienced, but I’m sure I could find some referrals if you’re concerned.” He wrapped his hand around her wrist, lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips against the back of her hand; before stepping away from her. The cold wind rushed in to fill the spot where he’d stood, and Portia felt a chill wrap across her.

“Goodnight, General.” Hancock slid a cigarette into his mouth, and turned around. Portia called out to him as he disappeared towards the Third Rail.

“See you in the morning, Mayor!”

There was no way he’d show.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Destiny (RotJ AU oneshot)

“Thank the Force, you’re safe!”

Leia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she flung herself into Luke’s open arms, his face concealed by the darkness as the soft full moon rose like a halo behind his head. She breathed out a sigh, holding him close as she let the tension that had been bearing down on her go. The gnawing ball of anxiety at the pit of belly faded, as relief flooded her senses.

“We won,” she added in a rushed tone, barely able to believe her own words as she realized the freedom they had fought for was now within their grasp.

“We did,” said Luke, soft spoken as he returned his sister’s embrace; his prosthetic hand coming up to gently envelope the back of her thin neck. “But there is more that needs to be done.”

Leia shook her head, knowing he was right but refusing to let the long road still ahead of them spoil this moment of euphoria in the wake of their victory. With eyes closed, she smiled softly.

“Let’s not think of the future. The Death Star is destroyed. The Emperor is destroyed.”

Luke didn’t need to tell her, for her to know he had fulfilled the task of ridding the Galaxy of its dictator. She could feel the responsibility of the act weighing heavy on his conscience.

“He is,” her brother said either way, but Leia was surprised to find the words didn’t bring her the calm she had expected.

Instead, Luke’s tone seemed flat, solemn. It seemed uncanny, unnatural for him. Leia decided to dismiss it as nonsense. Instead, she focused on Luke’s arms around her, and the tender kiss he placed against her forehead. She had always known they belonged together, that there was a connection between them. 

It had taken some time for her to realize what exactly the bond was, but as soon as she realized she had fallen in love with Han, she knew Luke was the brother she’d always been missing. The brother she’d sometimes see in her dreams, a twin she’d never known. She had assumed her possible lost brother had died in the womb, that the ghost was a figment of her imagination. Now, she knew better.

Still, another question was begging to be answered. She felt the hatred and disgust well up inside her, before she even uttered the name on her mind. She sensed Luke’s reluctance to discuss it, knowing he heard her inquiry before she said it. Its taste bitter on her tongue.

“Is… where is Vader?”

“Our fath--”

“Your father,” Leia interrupted sharply, and she swore she could have heard Luke snort in annoyance if it weren’t so out of character for him to be intemperate. “Your father, my sire.”

“Father has changed. When we first spoke, I was afraid of his words. I was afraid of his intentions, of what he might do to me - and to you. But I’m not afraid anymore,” Luke said after a moment, but this time Leia didn’t imagine the cutting edge to his voice. “He asked me to relay a message. To you.”

“I want no part of his last wishes.”

“I know.”

Leia hated the tension that had formed between them, tainting the air and making it almost oppressive. She had no intentions of forgiving the man who had fathered her, who had stood dumbly by as her home planet and her adoptive - her real - parents were murdered. Her people turned to dust in the blink of an eye. Vader was nothing to her, and much as she knew Luke had been entertaining the idea of forming a bond with Vader as a parent, she had no such notions.

Biting her lip, Leia clung to Luke. For a moment, she feared he would back away. She feared he may be upset, despite the fact that she had never seen Luke be anything but calm and serene since he first became a Jedi Knight. She stroked his back, the rough fabric of his robes a familiar presence. Hiding her face against Luke’s chest, she shut any thoughts of Vader out but she was still hyper aware that Luke hadn’t confirmed whether the Dark Lord was dead or alive. 

In the distance, she could hear the chattering of ewoks mingling with Chewbacca’s cheerful yowls, and if she strained her ears she could make out Han’s gruff tone as he conversed with Lando over a glass of whatever the Ewok equivalent to liquor was called. They would be alright.

But when Luke spoke again, interrupting the pleasant background noises of celebration, the mournful aura he was emanating could not be ignored.

“That’s why I must be the one to do his bidding.”

“What are you talking about?” Leia said, tilting her head slightly upwards to attempt to catch his eyes.

Before she had the chance, the hand at the back of her neck guided her confounded face away as he pressed her tightly to her chest.

“I didn’t understand before, but now I do. The Emperor was seduced by the darkness inside of himself, not by the Force itself. The Force is neither light nor dark, you cannot know it if you do not walk the line between the contradictions.”

“I don’t understand.”

Leia wasn’t lying, Luke’s words made little sense but she couldn’t keep the tension from pouring back into her weary bones ever so slightly. Something was amiss, but she allowed Luke to squeeze her as she returned the embrace with the same fervour. It seemed desperate, as if Luke was stalling something inevitable, something momentous. Perhaps, she already knew where he was going. Perhaps they were both buying themselves more time.

“Father knows. About you,” Luke finally breathed, the admission of guilt filling Leia’s heart with dread and fear. “I tried, but I couldn’t keep it from him.” 

“You let him live.”

It wasn’t a question, and when Luke offered no reply, Leia knew it to be true. She dug her fingers into his back, but forced herself not to lash out. She wanted Vader dead, she wanted to see him suffer as a punishment for all the atrocities he had committed. As she struggled with the battle between her love for her brother and her disdain for her biological father, she could sense Luke’s sorrow growing in magnitude. It became palpable, until it overpowered even her vivacious, volatile emotional turmoil.

“You are too good, Luke,” she finally murmured, relenting for now despite the simmering disappointment and anger beneath the surface.

“Yes. I have been. And I remain to be, but it can be remedied.”

Leia flinched as the durasteel fingertips of her brother’s cybernetic hand dug into the side of her neck - a neck she became ever so aware of, reminded of its frailty. She reached out with that unknown, premonitory, invisible hand to search his feelings. She sensed no malice, only grief. She simply couldn’t grasp what he was mourning, or who, if Vader was still alive.

“There is so much more that I don’t yet understand, but I can learn. But so can you,” he continued, and shivers of unease ran down Leia’s spine at the spiteful way in which he brought her into the equation - so unlike the Luke she knew.

“I don’t want to learn about the Force,” she said, in an effort to reassure herself as much as Luke.

“No. Not now. But you will, eventually. It can’t be helped. Your potential will draw you towards it, as it did me. You can fight it, or embrace it as I have. It won’t matter, it takes you either way. You have no choice.”

“I don’t believe that,” Leia scoffed, the sinking feeling in her belly foreboding.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, nor does it matter what I believe. It’s the truth.”

The conviction of those words was irrefutable, and for a second Leia feared Luke could actually foresee the future and was speaking with an unearned wisdom regarding what was to pass. She found herself dreading the fact that there may be a predestined path for her.

“You sense it too, don’t you? You have felt its call, you have felt it beckoning to you. The Force.”

Leia wavered, about to reply when she remembered something she had overheard in the past. Luke communicating with an unseen figure, its voice eerily similar to the late Obi-Wan’s - its warning prodding at her subconscious until she had no choice but to reiterate it aloud.

“The Force doesn’t beckon. The Dark Side does.”

“But it has called you, hasn’t it?”

Luke didn’t falter, and Leia didn’t deny him. Her silence was all the compliance he needed, and she felt another chaste kiss pressed to the top of her head. Again, the durasteel prickle of his cold, harsh fingers buried themselves a little farther into the tender flesh of her nape.

“Then it has already been decided. Father was right. You are too much like him.”

Leia jerked back, trying to rear away as hurt, rage and disgust rushed to the surface in a flurry. Instead, she found herself trapped by Luke’s powerful hold. Heart sinking, she realized the dread she had been feeling wasn’t merely caused by Vader’s survival. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came forth. She tried to yank her arms free, but the unseen hands keeping her firmly put were too strong. She wanted to scream, wanted to kick, and writhe, and punch, and claw her way out. Instead, she stood paralyzed as Luke’s fingers grew painfully tight around the back of her nape; tips pressing against her hammering pulse point.

“There can be only two; one master and one apprentice. You have an inherent rage. You would make the perfect Sith, but if you become Father’s apprentice…” Luke trailed off, and the meaning behind the unspoken intent was enough to suck the air out of Leia’s lungs.

Swallowing had, she found it difficult to breathe; and the vice closing around her neck was getting ever tighter. She could feel the sharp sting as unforgiving durasteel pierced her skin, and the rush of warmth that could only be blood spilling down the front of her dress. As her mind grew foggy, Leia realizing the welcoming darkness was likely of Luke’s doing to ease her into the eternal sleep, she picked up on his voice close to her ear. Despite the haze as life faded, her brother’s words were crisp and clear and haunting.

“This is the only way. It is my destiny,” he said, with an evident choked tremor to the delivery. “I’m sorry.”

Head tipping backwards, the last thing Leia noted was the irony in the lone tear that slid down Luke’s pale cheek juxtaposed with the predatory, greedy glow of his now bloodshot golden eyes.

***

Because there aren’t enough Dark!Luke AUs out there, so have my take on an alternate ending to RotJ where Luke falls and Vader lives. Enjoy!

[schrijverr]

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 2 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: mourning and Aragorn's bad coping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Can’t Promise You Kind Road Below

Aragorn did not want to think about the dying face of Boromir, how he had clutched to his clothes in desperate regret, nor how he had looked as if their doom was impending and there was no stopping it.

He hated how when he recalled the image of Boromir, he could only see that Boromir, chocking on his own blood, confessing his sins. He wanted to see Boromir in the flickering light of the fire, his eyes when he talked, but he could not.

Through Rohan, he ran himself ragged trying to find the little ones Boromir had died to protect and when even that task was his no longer, he worked to ensure that the world of men would not fail.

As they rode to Helm’s Deep, he was aware of Éowyn’s eyes on him, but he knew it was not love, for he knew what love looked like. She loved him for the things he could bring her, not for his tales of mischief or his tracking in the wild, just war and valor.

He would not engage with her meaningful looks hoping that they would go away, before he had to deal with them. His soul was smarting still and the affection in her eyes instead of his, hurt more than he could have thought.

When he went over the cliff edge, a small part of him hoped that he would see Boromir again, but instead he saw but an image of him, kissing his forehead as Aragorn had done on Amon Hen, before pulling him up, urging him to fulfill the oath he had made.

Brego trotted slow enough to not jostle him, but it would not have mattered for his mind was consumed by his empty arm and the shadow a smile long gone.

Arriving he heard Gimli through the crowd: “Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way! I’m gonna kill him!” Then he saw him and hugged him close. “You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew!”

Aragorn hugged back, but he did not have the time for this. His mind had been made up, he needed to save Rohan and then Gondor, for Boromir. It was a truth he had already known, but seeing Boromir in his mind’s eye, pleading with him again, made it a reality once more. He could not give up now. “Gimli, where is the King?”

Legolas also stopped him before he could reach Théoden King, however. “Le ab-dollen,” he frowned and scanned him over. “You look terrible.”

It was a relief, somehow, to have Legolas there, insulting him as of old. The Elf with his long life had more familiarity with grief than most and he tried his best to keep Aragorn on his two legs. A smile broke out on his face.

Then something leathery was pushed into his hands. Boromir’s bracer. It had been torn off during the fight with the Orc and he had felt its absence ever since, holding it in his hands once more made swallowing harder than it needed to be.

“Hannon le.” It was not enough to express all the thanks he had to his friend for saving and protecting this object while he could, even if he did not know whether Aragorn had made it and even if there was no one to return it to. Yet, he hoped his face showed all the gratitude his soul held.

After that he walked on to the King and so he stood and fought for Helm’s Deep, for mankind.

It was a pity that the Elves send to their aid were from the Western border of Lothlórien, instead of the Eastern, which had collected Boromir, since now neither knew that Boromir lived still.

Gandalf prevented him from marching directly through to the White City once the battle was over and the warning had to be brought, while Aragorn’s heartwas eager to march on.

Waiting was more agonizing than Aragorn had expected. When there were no longer marches that lasted days on which the silence was oppressively present or battles that went through the night, the emotions he had tried to hide from crept into his mind once more.

There was no description in any of the tongues he knew for the way his heart hurt. No words for the way it was hollow yet so heavy, nor for the way his mind replayed that day and all the things he could have done differently, if he had only seen.

He spend days sitting alone with his pipe.

Legolas understood. The Elf would sit next to him in silence, watching over the plains for someone, who would not appear on the horizon. Gimli, as well, would hold him company, on the long nights wherein sleep seemed the enemy more so than the darkness.

This night he was alone, however, gracing the halls of Edoras with his drunken mumbling filled with grief. His mind had called upon him to write a song for the loss and glory of Boromir, something he had been turning in his mind for many days.

There were reproaches to himself also for not giving him some sort of ritual send off that he had deemed as too time-consuming, if he was to fulfill his promises, and had regretted ever since. He should have bore Boromir to one of their boats and let the Anduin take him home, yet he had not.

Softly he swished the ale in his mug, looking into his reflection that looked more pitiful than a King should look. But he was no King here, just a broken man and quietly he murmured:

.

“Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes "What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?" "I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey I saw him walk in empty lands until he passed away Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor" "O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar But you came not from the empty lands where no men are" . From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans "What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve" "Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie On the white shores, on the dark shores under the stormy sky So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me" "O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea’s mouth" . From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls "What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away" "'Neath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast" "O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days"”

.

“That was beautiful, my Lord. I knew not that a lament had been written for the grievous loss of Lord Boromir.” His private sorrow was interrupted by Éowyn, who could not know how deep the grief ran in Aragorn’s heart.

“It is not,” said he. “I wrote it.”

“Did he go down the Anduin, my Lord?” she asked. “We heard fairly little of the demise of our trusted ally of many years, only that it had happened.”

Aragorn’s teeth clenched, a steady breath leaving his nose at her innocent question. “He did not. We had not the time and I have regretted it ever since I turned my back to the place where he fell. He deserved more honor.”

Éowyn fell silent, then gently sat beside him. He knew not whether to be grateful for her company or upset at the intrusion, which it could hardly be called inside the public halls of her home.

She laid her hand on his arm. “You cared for him,” she observed. “He was not just your brother in arms, I can feel the grief in your voice and I see the bracers of Gondor upon your arms. Though it might not be a comparison, Théodred is a soul dearly missed by me. He rode into battle with Éomer, but it was me he comforted in the night when the nightmares got too strong. He was my brother more than my cousin.”

He heard the pain in her voice and while it was not a lover she had lost, it had been a loved one. She had not looked at him before with the compassion born of something other than love and in that moment, he appreciated the understanding she brought him.

“I promised I’d protect him, that we both might live to see the end of our quest.” His gaze wandered to a far off place that was unseen to other eyes. “I found him too late and save him, I could not. For all the Elven healing I have learned, I was not enough. I failed him.”

“You have not failed him, for if Boromir was to be failed, he would be failed by no one but his own,” Éowyn spoke fiercely. “I knew Boromir for many winters passed and he was proud and bold. He knew his sword better than his body, leading the charge and ending every fight he fought. He was a great warrior and I will not have his name tarried by your claim that he needed your protection. If he fell, he fell with the honor of a Soldier and a noble man, fighting until he could do so no more to protect what he held dear.”

Aragorn fell silent.

While Legolas and Gimli had many times told him to not carry the weight of Boromir’s death on his shoulders, it was Éowyn that defended Boromir in removing his guilt.

Boromir valued his honor and he had told him that he had kept it. It would not do to take those words back in his mind, to carry the guilt of Boromir’s death that was more Saruman’s fault than his own. Still it was easier to speak the words than to take the message to heart, yet it eased his mind, for he had felt he could not grieve that which he had caused, allowing himself to only feel the pain when colored by blame.

“You are not responsible for Théodred either, my Lady. Saruman’s magic lies in his voice and his arm reached far, do not blame yourself for there is not blame to be laid,” he said, not knowing how else to respond to the kindness she had shown him.

There was the same shock of the confirmation that it was okay to rest that had been upon his face moments before. She swallowed, then stared ahead: “I still have to atone for not doing more, for taking one of our greatest Captains in times of war when he could have been saved.”

“You do not have to replace him, my Lady. Dying in honor is not worth it to repay a debt that isn’t owed. Why should you atone for Gríma’s and Saruman’s crimes? Who will be here to protect the home that Théodred died for? If we fail, who else will hold steady here?” He knew her urge to fight, but he hoped she would see that times of peace were more valuable and that everyone had their own part to play in getting there.

She did not take kindly to his comfort, nor his advice. For all her wisdom to Aragorn, she had little for her own heart, little to soften the blows she dealt herself. Her lips pulled into a thin line and her hands clenched, before she swept out of the room, leaving Aragorn once more with a mug of ale as his only company.

Aragorn was still churning their words in his head the morning after. Both trying to find the right words for the ones that had been misplaced by her mind the day before as well as trying to come to terms with hers.

On the horizon a light flickered.

He rushed up many stairs and through the town he flew into the great hall of Edoras, where he panted:“The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

The hall fell silent in awaiting Théoden’s answer and while Aragorn had already decided that no matter the word of the King, he would ride, taking whoever was willing with him, he still longed to know the King’s answer.

“And Rohan shall answer,” the King decided. “Gather to Rohirrim.” The words loosened the weight inside Aragorn’s chest. An army would do more for Gondor than a lone man.

He would come to Gondor’s aid, he would not abandon Boromir nor his home. There was a little hope for Gondor now and Aragorn found himself eagerly awaiting the return to his Kingdom, even if there was a chance he would find it in ruins.

In the end his return alongside Rohan would not come to pass. Seeing Elrond was a respite he did not know he needed, but when the older man shed his hood, Aragorn’s knees nearly buckled as a sense of safety and home consumed him.

“Estel?” he questioned when he saw Aragorn. “You are not the man that left Rivendell. You have lost something, a part of yourself. Where is the Evenstar brooch?”

“I- I gave it away,” Aragorn confessed, voice less steady than a hut during an earth quake.

“To whom?” Elrond wore the face that he often did when the human character of Aragorn managed to baffle him, even after all the millennia he had walked this earth.

Aragorn knew not whether he wanted to confess to the man, who had been like his father, to whom he had given the star of his daughter, but it felt unfair to keep it from him and yet it was hard to speak the name. “Boromir.”

“The brooch was not all you gave to Boromir.” The statement was an inquiry, but it might as well have been a knife. There was no judgment in Elrond’s voice, just a quiet understanding that came with all the losses he’d had.

He nodded in reply, for there was no more he could say to Elrond, save: “I swore to him that I would not see Gondor fail, Ada. Yet, my heart tells me Rohan will not be enough.”

“Your heart speaks truth, you ride to war not victory. Sauron’s armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know, but in secret he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They will be in the city in two days. You’re outnumbered, Estel. You need more men.”

At Elrond’s words, Aragorn’s heart sank. He had known this was a futile attempt to stem the tide of the darkness, thatthey would need even more men, men that did not exist or could not be spared. The promise he made to Boromir, was an oath he could not keep. “There are none,” it was a desolate fate to realize there in the night.

“There are those, who dwell in the mountain,” Elrond’s suggestion was one they could not count on and he wondered when the counsel of the Elves had turned to hopeless last efforts that would not be fruitful.

“Murderers, traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing, they answer to no one.” Did Elrond not see that it would be his end?

“They will answer to the King of Gondor. I am here on behalf of someone that I love, Arwen begged me to bring this to you healed before she left to the Grey Havens,” said Elrond, revealing a sword that had been concealed in his coat. “Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.”

With near reverence Aragorn took the sword, by whose shards he had first seen Boromir so many nights ago. The rhyme that foretold his duty came to fruition as a tale from old.

It seemed poetic that it came to his hands now that he marched on the City he had sworn to protect in name of the man, he had met next to that very same sword. How it came to him healed, only after Boromir had named him King and he had proven himself in battle.

“The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.”

While he knew his duty, he could not easily do so without the entire encampment knowing. He made his goal clear, but all thought it a foolish quest that would rob them of a leader in the battle that was to come. “Why are you doing this? The war lies to the East. You cannot leave on the eve of battle, you cannot abandon the men.”

“Éowyn,” for that was who had spoken and Aragorn hoped that his tone would convey all that he tried to say to her, knowing that she was not susceptible to listening.

“We need you here.” Everyone seemed to need him, but he knew where he was needed and it was not here, it was with a deadly army marching on Minas Tirith from the South.

“Why have you come?” he asked instead of all he wanted to say to her. He knew her reasons, but he needed her to understand that what she wished could not come to pass, for he did not think he could ever fully heal from the grief of Boromir. He was not right for her.

“Do you not know?”

“It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek.” The glance she send to his bracers told him she understood, yet she did not want to believe and the blunt rejection still hurt her as she backed away.

Aragorn knew that he should have felt more guilt about hurting the maiden, but he could not find it in him, for he was hurting too, yet there was no one right for him either, except the dead. He would find company there.

He also found company in Legolas and Gimli, glad for his friends that had been a steadfast presence by his side.

There were no finer companions to march with, for they had been there through it all, not once leaving his side and trusting him with their life, even when his judgment had cost them one of the Fellowship’s. They had not blamed him and stood by his side with more understanding of his conviction than he could have hoped for.

A dark path later, he finally gazed upon the White City. It stood high and mighty still, yet the magic with which Boromir had described it fell flat as the lower levels burned and the streets were overrun by Orcs and Trolls.

Boromir’s words in Lothlórien echoed through his mind: ‘Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin.’

Had he known then the omen of which those words spoke, he would not have thought so lightly of them.

Yet those were demons for after the war was won, for the end was only staved off and the Houses of Healing were filled with people, who did have a chance to see their home restored, should they live through this.

Aragorn worked tirelessly, remembering Boromir telling him off the time he had ended up here with a broken arm after he had fallen of a horse as a youngster. Boromir had recalled how the nurses had more resembled a beehive and how the busy hands had distracted him from the pain.

It was strange how his memories came alive amidst the dying soldiers of his City. He tried to work through it and many citizens saw him there, working so tirelessly as to be the hive Boromir had told him off by himself.

His people spoke, rumors of his deeds in the Houses of Healing spread through the City. Yet, no one spoke of the King that had wept at the sick bed of Faramir, Son of Gondor, now herCaptain and Steward, who resembled his so brother closely.

For days he found himself beside Faramir, looking at the man with an aching guilt. He wondered if he knew his brother was dead, if Pippin had told him, if he knew that Boromir would never again hear the silver trumpets call him home.

He knew not how Boromir had carried so much upon his shoulders for the many years he dwelt here and he felt deeply how the burdens he had seen in the eyes of Boromir, were the burdens meant for him. So, he set to work again, trying not to think of it more.

And it was in the Houses of Healing that Legolas found him, gently washing Faramir’s wounds with athelas water. He laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You need to stop, Aragorn. You will not save Boromir by saving his brother. He is in safe hands here, you can do no more but rest.”

Aragorn tried to ignore him and went back to what he was doing, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were drooping. He knew Legolas to be right, yet it was hard to tear himself away from caring for the family of the man that held his heart.

“We have a counsel about our next move come morning. You cannot protect Minas Tirith if you’re exhausted. Please, sleep.”

The fact that Legolas spoke truth made it all the more frustrating. Faramir looked so much like his brother that it was sometimes easy to pretend that he had been on time to save him. But he had not. Every time he glimpsed features that were not Boromir’s that revelation came to him again.

Still, he knew that Boromir had cared for his brother, with many tales of their adventures both as young lads and soldiers proved that. Aragorn would never forgive himself if Faramir died under his care. He would do anything to protect Minas Tirith.

Slowly he stood up, vision going black for a moment as Legolas steadied him. Gratefully, he leaned on the Elf and let himself be led to a bed. He could not remember falling asleep, but it was the first full sleep he had in weeks, through virtue of pure exhaustion.

The debate for their next move had gathered in the Citadel and Aragorn walked the halls where he was meant to rule and where Boromir had grown up. He should have been there as well, to decide the fate of his City and people, but he was not and Aragorn would try his best in his stead.

He deeply understood Gandalf’s fear and blame of himself, when he talked about Frodo and the heavy shadow in the East, as he stated: “I have send him to his death.”

“No.” Aragorn would not let Gandalf fall into his own mistakes, he would not let the Wizard give up when he had just hardened his resolve to do what he must. “There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that.”

“How?” asked Gimli and Aragorn explained the plan that had been growing in his mind: “Draw out Sauron’s armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms,” Éomer rightfully critiqued, but he did not yet see the full picture. The real goal.

“Not for ourselves,” Aragorn agreed, “but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron’s eyes fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves.”

“A diversion.” It clicked for Legolas and he saw in the Elf’s eyes that he thought him mad and genius at once. He knew then that he would have Legolas by his side.

“Certainty of death, small chance of success,” Gimli summarized and Aragorn hoped the Dwarf would be on his side as well. The three of them had journeyed so far and it would hurt to see his friend abandon ship at the end. Yet, his heart knew that Gimli was more stouthearted and loyal than that, which was confirmed by the Dwarf himself: “What are we waiting for?”

“Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait,” Gandalf voiced what Arargorn had also realized, but he had an idea. He grinned and said: “Oh, I think he will,” before explaining what he meant to do.

Before he could do so however, Pippin stopped him. He looked at the Hobbit curiously, it was not the same Hobbit whom he had left Rivendell with. There was a weight on his shoulders and a wisdom in his eyes.

“Promise me I can come with you to the Black Gate,” he asked. “Boromir gave his life for me and Faramir has shown me great compassion despite my involvement in his brother’s death. I would be ashamed to not protect their home.”

“It is not up to me to decide who goes,” he said and he saw Pippin’s face fall, so he added, “It is up to the heart of every man. I will not force anyone to come with me, but every man is welcome. Still, you should not feel like a debt is owed, because you were the bringer of the news of Boromir’s death to his kin.”

He knew how Boromir cared for the Hobbits – Merry and Pippin especially, since they reminded him of the youth untouched by war and he had hoped to save them of the harsh, dark hands of violence. Another place where Aragorn had failed him. Boromir would not want them to unnecessarily endanger themselves.

“That is not why I want to fight, Aragorn. I want to help Frodo and Sam, I hope to see my friends again and I wish to fight for their good fortune,” Pippin said. “And it was not me, who brought the news.”

“It was not?” Aragorn frowned. He did not know how else the news could have come to the White City.

“No, it was his cloven horn that was found in the river, which told the people that Boromir would not return, I merely confirmed the loss already felt,” Pippin explained.

A cold hand gripped Aragorn’s heart. How had the horn ended up in the river when last he had seen, it had been next to it’s bearer far from the water of the Anduin, lying on the forest ground? Who had moved the horn from it’s resting place?

“Aragorn?” He had been quiet fortoo long and Pippin’s brows formed a concerned look. He failed to smile reassuringly as he said: “I’m sorry, Pippin. I was distracted. It is a noble cause to fight for your friends and your blade will be welcome.” Then he quickly left.

The fear and guilt in his heart was a familiar mix and he had not the time to examine the revelation too closely, for there was something he had to do. Though his mind kept straying.

Looking into the Palantír, he saw the dreadful eye that had haunted them through their journey across Middle Earth. It writhed and hissed in Black speech, things he could not understand. He unsheathed his sword and told Him: “Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more! Behold, the Sword of Elendil!”

Immediate was the reaction of the Dark Lord, who showed him the body of Boromir, defiled and dismembered by a pack of Orcs. His fair face was no more, his horn tossed into the river with all that was left of him. The Evenstar trampled and left in the dirt.

Aragorn felt sick as he dropped the Palantír.

He knew not whether the stone spoke truth or if the Dark Lord had looked into his heart to confirm his deepest fears. Yet a part of his mind could not help but think that it had come to pass and that his actions had led to Boromir being desecrated like that after death.

When he had decided to leave Boromir there, it had been purely selfish. He wanted Boromir to be given the chance to be buried as the Kings of old as he had deserved. He had not wanted to dishonor Boromir as well as giving himselfthe chance to be buried alongside him. But the had not been the time to dig a grave with the trail of Merry and Pippin growing cold every second, he could not fail what Boromir had started.

So the body had been left and now he had a broken horn that should not have been in the river and an all seeing eye that confirmed what he had feared.

The bile rising in his throat felt almost as bitter as the taste of regret that coated his tongue. It seemed like he was only failing Boromir. His city lay in ruin, he would march her last soldiers to their death by the Black Gates and now the decisions about the death of Boromir felt foolish and was causing an anguish and doubt in his heart when Gondor needed it least.

He could not let this stop him, however. Boromir had turned his back on helping Frodo for a moment and it had led him onto a road of ruin and Aragorn had swore to do better by him. He could not abandon Frodo, not now. No matter if his heart wanted him to hide and cry.

Thus it came to pass that he marched steadily on the Black Gate with too small an army and a sun rising in the sky that he might never see setting again.

Aragorn spoke to his troops, to the brave men that had followed him in spite of knowing the foolish quest that it was. “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and all bonds of Fellowship.”

Even as he spoke the image of Boromir haunted his words. His attempt to take the Ring colored his mind, yet Boromir had the courage to turn back, to not forsake his friends and neither would the men in front of him. “But it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!”

He saw encouragement in the eyes that looked up at him as he heard the voice of Boromir: ‘I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command,’ and he hoped that if Boromir could see him, he would be proud. That he would have provenhimself worthy of the throne that lay waiting for him, should he return.

“By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!” Around him weapons were unsheathed as men readied themselves to fight with Aragorn joining them on his horse.

No one could stop him, he had to fight. Fight for Frodo, for Gondor, for Boromir and the promises he had made to him. He would fight for the memory of the Elves and the legacy of men in the new age. He might perish on the field of battle, but he would do so with honor. For if he fell, he wanted to join there were Boromir dwelt.

~~

A/N:

Shout out to me for using a bazillion (9k) words for FOTR only to breeze past the rest of the franchise in record speed (5k). Well, maybe not record speed, but pretty fast if u compare.

Also I adore the Lament for Boromir (and I cry every time, very hard and long, lets not talk about it, anyways), but that does not just come to you and I wanted to explore writing it for Aragorn, so it had to be included and is straight from the books. I am quite sad that Legolas didn’t get to sing his part though :/

In the movies more so than the books, I feel (which is up for interpretation), Aragorn’s journey is shadowed by the death of Boromir. It is Boromir that convinced him of the courage of men and how Gondor needs him, who accepts him as King first and shows Aragorn what his absence has caused. So, I really wanted to explore all the places where Aragorn would meet Boromir’s shadow when he thought him dead and was mourning.

[godkilller]

@shirenui144

A more sombre question, but had me wondering... Has Gin ever cried / what would it take to make him cry? I imagine it would be verse dependent, but could a man this guarded ever visibly show such emotional hurt?

          out of character.  Why must you hurt me.

          But it’s an excellent question, and as you say too -- Gin has become such a guarded, numbed, and twisted man. He has, for lack of better wording, killed off that part of himself long ago. He is also one of the topmost guarded characters in Bleach, even Ichigo’s little trick of ‘reading his opponent’s heart’ during battle did not work on Gin. Gin was empty. Gin wasn’t even ‘looking at Ichigo’ with his heart when fighting. They did not reach each other. Gin is so utterly closed off from others and himself that there’s an eerie absence of self present in him, a swallowing abyss, intimidating and oppressive. Gin has also spent his entire existence isolated, he joined Aizen extremely young and thus his centuries-long otherness began. He cannot show emotions akin to Toshiro, who is often used in ways alongside Gin to show what happens if one shows emotions and weakness to Aizen Sousuke via childhood friends. Renji and Rukia, too, are used in ways that contrast Gin and Rangiku subtly in the background. Gin’s interactions with Rukia about Renji, and his interactions with Toshiro about Momo are to make Gin more of an other. He is removed, unlike them.

          So Gin does not despair openly like they do. He doesn’t shout or cry for the audience to see. He’s a villainous cold-hearted bastard.

          This is on top of the potent sense of cultural toxic masculinity and military way of avoiding / “dealing with” emotionally charged moments, not speaking of trauma, and the whole nine yards of suppression which channels into self-worth issues and a tendency for violence. Most characters in Bleach, and especially male characters, aren’t allowed to really stop and think about what they’re feeling, doing -- Ichigo being able to do a decent amount of that, yes, with his protagonist badge, but even then ?  It’s pathetically insufficient, barely a taste of what Ichigo actually should be experiencing, and no other characters are allowed to mourn losses or suffer long-lasting consequences for their actions, for injuries, for mistakes, for harmful words or acts. It’s an action / fighting series, the audience is here for big flashy swordfights and cool abilities, not emotions. Certainly not darker topics of PTSD and the like.

          You can slice it any which way, but Gin grew up as a child soldier. It can be contrasted by the fact that the majority of the Gotei 13 / Shinigami characters are shown, in flashbacks, as entering the Academy whilst in adulthood, becoming Shinigami once adults, with the exception of people like Toshiro, Momo, Hiyori, who all look / are perpetually young.

          Gin is a little older than Toshiro, for context, by the way -- and he is younger than Byakuya. Because Tite doesn’t know how the ages of his own characters work, it can be argued that Gin and Hiyori are possibly within the same ballpark in terms of ages. But like. Look at her. What the fuck. ANYWAYS, the point is ?  Gin’s young, and his trauma is fairly fresh. From the Winter War -- and then 110 years into the past to the Turn Back the Pendulum arc -- Gin spends the majority of his childhood either playing caretaker for Rangiku, who is actually a little older than him, and then killing; first, the three Shinigami that attacked Rangiku, then the Third Seat of the Fifth Division, and then many more likely during his career of observing failed projects at Aizen’s side, witnessing horrific Hollowification experimentations, and many more things. The crucial period of development for things like higher level empathy  ( Gin showcases it by sharing his food with Rangiku, a stranger, and then we see the absolute absence of it from then on )  and Gin swiftly enters into the midst of Erikson’s industry vs. inferiority stage of development; what does he have to offer the world ?  What can he become ?  Will he be good enough ?  This is the stage in which Gin makes the connection as well as makes peace with becoming a monster; this is what I’m offering, this is what I’m becoming, this will be good enough.

          He flipped a switch. It’s questionable whether or not Gin has the ability to cry once he’s an established Third Seat. It’s gone, it’s been swallowed down a hole so deep and dark Gin doesn’t want to go searching for it. He doesn’t want to cry. Gin already has a negative connotation connected to crying given his quote “I’m gonna become a Shinigami, change things for ya, so that you don’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku.” Not crying = good. Not crying means better. Rangiku crying over what was done to her was what embedded into Gin that he needed to be stronger. No crying allowed. None. In his mind, obviously, Gin doesn’t actually make that connection that ‘because Rangiku did this, I’ll do this’ no, he’s not so meticulously aware yet, but there’s certainly an imprint left on him from those earlier years in the Rukongai, dreading her tears, hating them, hating those men, and so crying = murderous intent. Crying = anger.

          If Gin cried as a child, he didn’t realize he was doing so. I can see him crying in his sleep from a dream, a nightmare, a jam-packed series of emotions hitting him whilst vulnerable, whilst unable to smile and swallow it all down. I can see him waking from it and wiping at his face, feeling utter detachment like an ache in his chest, an otherness, like that wasn’t even him crying, that wasn’t him. Gin wouldn’t think more of it, he wouldn’t dare linger on the thoughts. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.mp4 and all that jazz.

          Gin is more likely to lash out in anger than let himself cry. I have a headcanon / drabble somewhere of Gin screaming into his inner world, clutching at his hair, feeling so terribly close to crying but he can’t, it literally will not happen. He’s too bottled up and frustrated from that that when he actually has an opportunity to cry and it doesn’t naturally happen because he’s become so suppressed, it just outright angers him. Because he has latched everything up, lock and key, by the time Gin’s an adult -- if he were to cry as an adult, it’d be during a flurry of explosive emotions. He cannot just casually let loose, no, that door’s jammed shut, it’s been coiled tight in him. A pit of despair by the time the Winter War rolls by. Gin admits to feeling anxiety, dread, during that conflict -- a sign of slowly coming undone, no longer able to keep himself from hesitance, doubt, insecurity, and anticipation hovering around him like a dark cloud. Gin cannot cry, though, not now. Not when he’s so close to making all the pain worth something...

          So it’s no surprise that Gin really only starts getting the actual opening to properly cry in my canon divergent verses. But the catch !!!!  Gin has failed so thoroughly and so brutally that he feels he doesn’t deserve to weep about it. That this is merely a fraction of the karma he deserves. He experiences suicidal ideation, daydreaming of how it’d simply be easier if he hadn’t survived at all. He feels too hollow to cry, then, at the start. He feels too heavy, too much, it’s too much to cry about. He ruined himself and Rangiku for nothing. He did all of this for nothing. And now Rangiku wants answers, still waiting, watching him, and he can’t cry in front of her. IT’S STILL INGRAINED IN HIM FROM CHILDHOOD: she’s the one who cries and he’s the one who comforts. The audacity of him to cry in front of her after everything he put her through, as though he were the victim and her the one needing to comfort him. Gin may be morally gray, but at times he truly sees the world in black and white. No moderation, no give and take.

          It’d hit him later, when he’s learning to become more vulnerable. When he’s trying to open up to Rangiku about something he has to rip from himself, his heart holding onto this sorrow for so long Gin has to surgically remove the truth from himself. AS A CHILD, WITNESSING WHAT HAPPENED TO RANGIKU COUNTS AS A TRAUMATIC EVENT. Not talking about it for 110+ years does a number or two on you when you at last, FINALLY, tell her the fucking scoop. Gin repressed what happened to Rangiku because he recognized that Rangiku did not fully and properly remember, recollect, what happened to her. He knew. Gin saw.

          Compartmentalizing her trauma on top of his own, as though a keeper of it, a sin-eater, Gin would feel absolute despairing relief at finally telling her. Despairing because he’ll be inflicting upon her something he’s been holding back, holding that door shut, for the entirety of their knowing of one another, and to finally let go of the door and let that beast of trauma go charging at her undeterred ?  There’s immense guilt attached to this entire affair. Gin feels childlike guilt; why her, and not me ?  I wish it could’ve been me, we could’ve traded places and I’d be fine, I’d live, we could live happy together.  Akin to survivor’s guilt, Gin wishes those men had found him and taken a piece of his soul rather than Rangiku’s. The ‘why’ of it haunts him. Why her. Why didn’t I stop them. Why didn’t I show up sooner. I could’ve bitten at them, kicked and hit, we could have escaped together -- or at least you could have. Gin also feels guilt at a base adult level: why am I keeping this from her ? No, it’s too late to tell her, she’s happier now, there will never be a good time to tell her.

          There are so many things, feelings, thoughts, that Gin has never shared with Rangiku due to it all being tied to the unspoken secret he’s let fester inside of him.

          SO WHEN GIN FINALLY TELLS RANGIKU WHY HE JOINED AIZEN, WHY HE TRIED TO KILL AIZEN, WHY HE SAID THOSE WORDS TO HER DURING THAT BLIZZARD AND BECAME A SHINIGAMI ... GIN’S GOING TO BREAK DOWN.

          The truth is tied to vulnerability in Gin’s mind. Telling it means ripping himself apart at the seams. Everything he crafted himself out to be was made around this secret. It’s going to be bloody, it’s going to hit him like a fucking train. Gin’s going to feel it coming, rumbling on the tracks, he’ll hear it even, that approaching storm, he’ll know by the prickle at his eyes and the closing of his throat, but still nothing’s ever prepared him for the absolute choked finality of the truth, and he’s going to do his best to hold it back -- it’s instinctive, it’s in his blood by now to mask it, stop it, divert and drawl his way out of it. But this time he can’t just stop halfway and distract her, talk about something else. No, Gin’s cornered himself and it’s high time Rangiku got the truth from him, he can’t run away any more. He’ll have to grit his teeth and talk through it, swallow it back just enough to speak, to tell her what he’s done to them both and for what, for why, it’s the worst possible conversation they could ever have, but one they need. And Gin’s going to find himself incapable of holding back a sob the more he discloses, the more that slips out and escapes him the more the emotions tied to that sunken anchor come up too. He will feel simultaneously lighter and heavier for it.

          There are numerous ways Gin’s thought about wording it. He’s thought about the numbed approach, MISSION REPORT style: Aizen Sousuke harvested souls from the 64th Rukongai District, they took a piece from you. Perhaps not, no, not like that. Maybe... back when y’were a kid, there were three Shinigami assigned to the 64th District to collect souls to fuel Aizen Sousuke’s Hogyoku. They took somethin’ from you. I saw it. I saw them hoverin’ over you, I saw it in their hands. I saw’em offer it up to Aizen in the forest, collectin’ firewood. I saw him.

          WHY DIDN’T I STOP HIM, WHY DIDN’T I ATTACK THOSE THREE MEN THEN AND THERE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT WITH YOUR COLLAPSED FORM A FEW FEET AWAY, MAYBE I COULD HAVE TAKEN THEM ON AFTER ALL. I COULD HAVE CRUSHED A SKULL IN WITH STONE, I COULD’VE STOLEN HIS SWORD BEFORE THE LIFE FULLY FADED FROM HIM AND MADE IT VANISH, I COULD’VE CARVED THROUGH THE SECOND, SLICE THE TENDON AT THE THIRD’S ANKLE AS HE ATTEMPTED TO FLEE, WARN OTHERS. SLIT HIS THROAT AS HE CRAWLED AWAY. YOU’D HEAR IT, OFF TO THE SIDE. YOU’D SEE ME COME UP TO YOU WITH BLOOD SPLATTERS. YOU’D SEE ME LEAN OVER YOU WITH NOT A PERSIMMON OFFERED, NO, YOUR OWN FUCKING SOUL THEY PLUCKED FROM YOU. SHAKY HAND. BLOODIED HAND. TAKE IT, TAKE IT BACK. I FIXED IT --

          Just tell her. JUST TELL HER.

          DO YOU REMEMBER THE DAY WE MET, RANGIKU ... ?

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Prologue

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

A/N: This series is based off a prompt for the You x Idol drabble game I have almost completed. The prompt, “Why did you spare me?” is within this prologue.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

The heavy smoke still consumed your lungs even now that you were far from the village. You couldn’t see where you were going and this made the ride in the back of what you presumed to be a wooden cart disorientating.

Why had you survived when so many others hadn’t?

As you were jostled about, laying crumpled on the jute sack that was the only physical comfort to your predicament, you mourned the loss of all you knew. Of the people you had known for as long as you had lived with your Grandmother. Despite the blindfold, you saw each of them clearly in your mind, their smiles vivid and their laughter ringing in your ears. You choked on your emotions, and the lack of breathing given how much smoke you had inhaled during the fire now made it harder to swallow back the heaviness in your chest.

It was still surreal. One moment you were listening to the birds chirping in the trees and the kids from next door playing out in the courtyard as you hung out the daily washing. In an instant, the morning light had succumb to dark plumes of smoke arising from the multitude of homes going up in flames, the cries and sounds of fear tugging at your chest.

You should be back there now, ruined, gone from this Earth.

When you weren’t racked with guilt and sorrow, you contemplated that of your survival. From what you had heard from travellers passing through your village to the main city of this land, the power struggle and chaos that ensued was not something you simply walked away from. Those riding out under the army of the enemy took no prisoners with them. They plundered and destroyed all that stood before them, time and time over. You were not of noble birth; there would be nothing worth of a bounty over your head.

Especially with all those who knew of you now facing the afterlife.

After what felt like several days of travel, the cart jerked to a final stop. You heard voices, orders from the men you had come to listen to along your journey. They had been far too cheery for cold-blooded killers and it made your stomach turn, any desire to eat now long abandoned.

You felt items being pulled out from around you, the only miserable companions you had on this journey so far. You were part of that they plundered, the rare items of worth found in your village equally jostled around on the ride to wherever you were now.

“What about her?”

“She’s been awfully quiet, sure she ain’t dead?” another crooned, receiving a couple of sniggers in response.

You didn’t even have the energy to fear them, your disgust merely rolling out with a short scoff. And then a firm hand landed upon your shoulder. “Don’t worry of her. She’s mine.”

You were pulled from the cart then by that hand, your body weaker than you realised. It was all too easy to slump against your captor’s side, his arm now around your waist and holding you up as he walked you inside. You felt the air change, along with the light, though you were far too tired to decipher anything distinctive about the place. A door opened and closed behind you, and another, until you were certain you were in the farthest part of the building. And then you were placed upon a bed, much softer than the jute you had laid upon until now. You hated that it made you sigh in relief, relishing the comfort you had been thus stripped of so far.

It didn’t take you long to fall into a dreamless state. When you eventually stirred, you clamped your eyes shut instead of opening them. A tear slipped down your cheek, guilt racking you from the immediate selfish thought you had possessed. For as long as you had slept, you hadn’t once been triggered by the loss of your friends, your neighbours, your ailing Grandmother.

Now that you had realised this, the remorse was far greater than you expected.

“You’re awake.”

His voice startled you; your energy now returned enough that you could shift back with fright into the wall, your eyes snapping open. It surprised you to see what was before you, given the entire ride here in the darkness. Now, he had nothing to hide, his small room on full display to you.

There was a large desk across from you, adorned with stacks of books and trinkets, some in which looked out of place in the otherwise masculine space. There was a sink and mirror on the wall by the door and a chest of drawers sat next to the small table beside the bed. It was devoid of emotion, of any personality except for that desk.

He sat in front of it, his back to you. Angling his head to the side, you saw the corner of his mouth curl up ever so slightly. “Do you feel any better?”

“Better?” you echoed in disbelief, shaking your head. “I am meant to feel better right now?”

“Well, you ran a fever for five days; it seems as if you’re better since you have woken, don’t you think?”

You frowned, watching the man until your head hurt. His voice, his back, everything about him felt as if it belonged in an old dream you once had.

You shook your head. That would be impossible.

“Should I thank you for helping me break it, perhaps?” you spat, noting the saucer and damp cloth beside you on the small table. “Should I praise you to the Almighty for saving me after what you did to my home?”

“Was that really your home?” he wondered, causing you to tilt your head to the side and narrow your gaze upon his back.

You squashed the building glimmer of hope within you as you looked at the shape of his ears, his neck. Inhaling a shaky breath, you tried to exhale with more confidence. “Why did you spare me?”

“Once upon a time, I asked someone that same question,” he mused darkly, his hands stilling from the task they had been working upon. “Why did you save me?”

“What answer did you receive?” you breathed, your hands clutching at the shirt you wore. You tried to shift along the bed to gain better access to his face, yet he turned and stood up, moving in the opposite direction.

“It was a foolish response. One in which I was equally foolish to believe in.”

You swallowed roughly, edging closer, your bare feet now touching the cool stone floor. “Still, foolish as it may be, will you tell me it?”

He didn’t answer, merely staring into the mirror for an immeasurable moment. You rose to your feet, padding closer, reckless with your own thoughts. You clung to the fabric at your sides, uncaring that these weren’t the clothes you had arrived in. You were convinced a ghost now stood before you.

Just out of arm’s reach.

It took you a further minute of deliberation before you reached out for his arm, his reflexes snapping into gear as he threw you roughly into the wall, his forearm now pressed to your throat. Eyes wide, you stared back at your captor, tears sliding down your face.

“It’s really you.”

_________________

Part 1

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[lo-55]

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 9

Maul was getting seriously sick of this Force Forsaken journey to Bandomeer. 

“I’m beginning to think that you’re cursed,” he told Kenobi faintly. Even on his most dangerous missions for Sidious few things had gone so randomly wrong. What did go wrong was planned to test his abilities. This was just testing his patience. 

“I’m not sure you’re wrong,” Kenobi smiled grimly and swung his ‘saber down to slice through the draigon that got too close. It fell with a shriek. 

Something had stirred them into a frenzy, Maul thought it might have been a whiphid or one of the few remaining hutts with Offworld, and the whole flock had descended onto the cave that the Monument passengers had decided to shelter inside of. The tide had swallowed the ship and a storm had opened the skies above them with water and lightning. Thunder crashed through the skies. 

Kenobi, Maul, Jinn, and Fett stood at the mouth of the cave, shooting and striking down each draigon that came too close. Further in the whiphids and humans with blasters sheltered, ready to shoot any that managed to get past the quartet. The arconan’s were further inside, singing a long, mournful song in their strange hissing language. 

It made Maul’s skin sprickle and his heart race. There was something mystical in their singing, a shadow of stone and darkness. It felt familiar some how, and foreign in the same turn. 

“Eyes on the draigons, boys!” Jango called loudly over the roar of the storm and the blaster fire. He shot twice, one hit a draigon in the chest, and another through the wing. Jinn drove his ‘saber through its head to finish it off. They may have been natural enemies, but Maul would be lying if he said they did not make an effective team. 

Maul huffed and lifted his blaster to shoot another draigon through the head. Maybe it was suspicious that every one of his shots was a headshot, but there were too many of the beasts for him to consider that right then. Jinn was thrown violently back into the cavern by a massive wing. 

Useless Jedi. 

His irritation at their circumstances only fueled his anger, and each passing moment his accuracy increased with the Force. 

Maul had come too far to let himself be killed by animals on a nameless, backwater planet surrounded by jedi! Maul’s will to live had kept him going through being cut in half, driven to madness, and losing his only brother. It had kept him going through the rise of the Empire and the years that came after. He would survive these creatures too. 

That didn’t change the unsettling fact that he was fighting side by side with someone he had spent half a lifetime trying to kill. 

 They moved together, Kenobi cutting while Maul fired upon their assailants. More and more draigon corpses were piling up in front of them, preparing to block the entrance of the cave they sheltered in. That was the plan, but it was growing harder to fight with the closed spaces too. 

Maul fired furiously, anger coursing through his veins and burning through him just as surely as a the blaster bolts burned through the dragons. His crystals hummed at his hip, hot and burning against his skin. 

By his side Kenobi was ice, his blue ‘saber cutting cleanly. There was no anger from him, nor hate for the draigons. There wasn’t even fear. Only a heavy sense of duty and necessity. Through teeth and claws there was only survival. 

The Force twisted around the pair. They were light and dark, united by the simple goal that all living beings shared. 

Survive. 

Maul was good at that if nothing else. They both were. Apparently Kenobi had almost as much experience as he. Or he would, eventually. 

At this rate it was almost certain. 

They had to start new fights several times. Sometimes Jinn was with them, sometimes he was not. Each cave entrance had to be defended, and when those became scarce the draigon’s tried to dig their own. Those they left to the miners, who knew rock like no other. Clat’Ha joined and vanished at times. Jinn disappeared so long Maul thought he might be dead. 

Once or twice it was only Maul and Kenobi. Sometimes it was just Maul and Jango. Once it was Maul and Clat’Ha, who was a decent shot herself. 

The Darkside curled around Maul’s hands, guiding his blaster where it needed to go. With each small victory he grew stronger. 

Maul lost track of how long they fought, he and Kenobi. 

Jinn wasn’t dead, but he only reappeared to Maul by the time pink light was spilling through the last of the cave openings not blocked by draigon bodied. 

By that point they could scarcely see what was happening beyond the piled up bodies of draigons, but when the last of their enemies fled violet dusk lit up what little of the cave it could reach. 

Night had come, and the draigon’s were done. 

By then it was evident even to Maul that the arconans were not the cowards he had assumed. They took the path of least resistance when it came to saving their own lives, but they fought when they had to. They were creatures born to caves and darkness, and when it came to time to fight in their own element, they proved themselves to be ferocious and cunning.

No draigon that tunneled through a cave‘s roof caught an Arconan by surprise. Maul could respect that much. 

Smoke rose from the draigons‘ mouths as they let out their piercing cries in the dusky air. But the cries had changed from war cries to signals. Maul let out a breath. What were they-  

Without warning what was left of the flock roared and leaped into the sky, their wings beating viciously through the air. The draigons circled the island twice in a horrible flock, then flew off in defeat. They were down over half their members. 

Maul watched them go. Slowly, the roaring in his ears started to fade and he slumped onto the stone. His blaster was loose in his hand and hot to the touch. Jango sat heavily beside him with a dull clang of beskar. 

A ragged cheer went up from the surviving Offworlders, whiphids and humans shouting and crying fat tears of relief and joy. Maul watched one of the great whiphids make his way over to Kenobi and smack him hard on the back. He laughed about something, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d nearly knocked Kenobi over completely. Other’s started clapping, and laughing. 

Maul scoffed quietly. Their former enemies cheered for the Jedi, while he and Jango sat in the shadows. It was only when the battle fire was fading from his veins that he realized he’d been slashed across the forearm at some point. It bled sluggishly, not cauterized like a blaster bolt or lightsaber would have left it. 

“I don’t know where you came from, but I am glad I found you,” Jango said quietly. 

Maul elbowed him. It didn’t do much against the beskar. 

“You talk too much, old man.” 

“I’m twenty two!” 

Maul nearly choked. Twenty two?! He would have put money on Jango being older than that. 

“... Right. Old man.” 

“Can’t you call me something else?” 

“Like what? Buir?”  Maul eyed him speculatively. 

Jango tilted his head. “I would like it if you called me that.” 

Maul hunched his shoulders. “You’re still on about that?” 

“On about it? Did you think I was joking about wanting you for my ad?” Jango asked, turning his visor towards Maul. After a moment, he pulled the helmet off entirely to lay it on a rock nearby. The blue paint was chipped. 

His dark hair was sweaty and stuck plastered to his skull, and he could use a good shave. 

He looked the same age as most clones did during their war. 

Maul touched the pocket that held his crystals, idly. They were warm under his touch. A small comfort. 

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be. You barely know me. And I have tried to kill you at least once.” 

“Maul,” Jango said slowly, looking amused and saddened all at once, “You leak mandokarla like a broken faucet. Any Mandalorian in their right mind would want you in their aliit. Their family.” 

Maul studiously ignored the way his skin heated up. 

Without the helmet getting in the way and muffling his emotions, Jango was practically projecting affection and hope towards Maul. It made him dizzy. 

It wasn’t like the fondness of Kilindi and Daleen, or protective care of Savage. It wasn’t the loyalty that came with Kast and Saxxon. 

Maul’s head spun. 

He looked at the dead draigons. Some heads still steamed faintly with blaster bolts. The night had fallen, bringing with it the safety of the darkness that wrapped around Maul in a familiar cloak of safety. 

“You barely know anything about me. You don’t even know where I’m from.” 

“You don’t know where I’m from either,” Jango pointed out. He angled his body towards Maul. “I was born on Concord Dawn, in the Mandalorian sector.” 

Maul’s gaze flicked up to Jango’s. He was waiting, patiently. His brown eyes were impossibly warm. His pupils were wide in the dark. Humans couldn’t see as well as he could, but Jango didn’t look away for a minute. 

Finally, Maul swallowed. 

“... I was born on Dathomir. In the Quelli sector.” 

Maul didn’t know why it felt like he was giving up so much. It was easy information. He was clearly a Nightbrother to anyone who knew how to look for it, even if his tattoos were technically Sith in origin. If Maul focused long enough he could feel them hum faintly with the Darkside. 

Jango smiled at him. 

“Su cuy’gar, Maul of Dathomir.” 

Maul nodded at him reluctantly. 

Slowly, the arconan’s humming a song of grief, everyone made their way out of the caves. Maul stopped by one of the felled draigons and ripped three of its razor teeth out of its head. The water was already receding. The ship, already sealed up, was still where they had left it. Soon they would be off this damnedable planet, and then- 

Well. 

Maul didn’t really know what was going to happen then. 

He picked his way down the cliffside with Jango at one side and the five moons shining down upon him. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Qui Gon was glad to be rid of the planet of the draigons and the sea. 

They were only a short hyperspace jump to Bandomeer from here, barely an hour at most, and the ship was completely repaired. As much as one like the Monument ever was, in any case. There were still missing wall panels, and lights tended to flicker in the kitchens. Even with the assistance of the Mandalorian and his young charge, a child called Maul of all  things,  losses had been heavy. The arconans and the Offworld company had lost much, a good percentage of their people, and Clat’Ha had used the situation to buy the contracts of the Offworlders from the human who had taken command of them after Jemba and Grelb’s deaths. Now they were free. So some good had come of the bloody business, he supposed. 

Clat’Ha was courageous, and a pragmatist in her own way. She had Qui Gon’s respect, even if he didn’t like all the company she kept. She was the one who had invited the Mandalorian, Fett, along for the ride. There was bad blood between Jedi and Mandalorians, especially after what had happened on Galidraan. 

Qui Gon hadn’t heard the full story before he’d left, and what he had heard was certain to be gossip, but he knew his former Master and sister Padawan had been present for the incident. Qui Gon hadn’t spoken to them much after he’d renounced his own Padawans in their entirety, both Xanatos and Feemor. Perhaps it was time to change that. 

It might do good to be more aware of incidents where Senate information was faulty and Jedi were nearly massacred. 

Qui gon sighed. He needed to meditate on the matter, but he didn’t have much time right then. 

It had been a long journey, even for him, but more so for Obi Wan. 

Qui Gon knew when to admit he had been wrong. He had underestimated Obi Wan Kenobi.

Qui Gon looked outside of the ship to take a last look at the great sea that swallowed most of the planet. He needed a moment to consider all that had happened.

The surf pounded the rocks beneath them as he gazed at the planet‘s five multi-colored moons, already beginning to dim with the rising light. They had seemed smaller from the surface, but the Monument would pass by one of the blue ones on their way out of orbit. He was glad not to be able to see the cave where so much death had occurred from here. They had had to climb across so many dead to get free of the caverns. The joy of surviving had been swiftly squelched with the reminder of what they’d had to do to win their lives. The crash landing was a horrible accident, as most of the crew saw it. 

A Jedi saw it differently. 

“By chance alone we do not live our lives.” Yoda had told him, barely three short days ago in the temple he called home. He’d been upset with Qui Gon for not taking on a Padawan, even though he had refused all other options since Xanatos- Well.

“If take an apprentice you will not, then, in time, perhaps fate will choose for you. Hmm?”

At the time it had sounded more like a threat than anything else. 

Qui Gon still wasn‘t sure if fate had appointed Obi Wan as his Padawan, or if it had just thrown them together for one odd adventure.

He‘d thought it coincidence that both he and Obi Wan were going to Bandomeer. After all, Yoda had sent the boy to Bandomeer, while Qui Gon‘s orders come from the Senate. From the Supreme Chancellor himself, in fact. There was no way that Yoda and the Supreme Chancellor could have plotted this together. Right? Qui Gon didn’t think the Supreme Chancellor was even very familiar with the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. 

But here they were.

Both of them were going to Bandomeer, and Qui-Gon had an uneasy feeling about this assignment.

And there was a further matter. It was not a simple thing for one Jedi to touch the mind of another. It was an intimate thing, the kind of thing usually only done between the closest friends. 

Or between a Knight and his Padawan.

For the first time in a long while, Qui-Gon didn‘t know what to do.

“When the path is unsure, better to wait, it is,” Yoda had told him many times.

Now he would use Yoda‘s advice, even though he suspected Yoda would want him to take the opposite position. He would not ask Obi Wan to be his Padawan. He would wait and trust in the Force to guide him forwards.

And he would watch. They had separate missions on Bandomeer, but he would keep any eyes on Obi Wan. One mission was not enough to test the boy. There would be more to come. Only then would Qui Gon be able to tell how true Obi Wan was to his Jedi purpose. Bandomeer would test him, for Obi Wan was unhappy with the mission he‘d received. Would he accept his position as a famer with the grace and dignity of a true Jedi? Or was he only a dreamer of glory? 

Qui Gon smiled. He had to admit, the boy was no farmer. He was meant for different things. But whether his path would intersect with Qui Gon‘s, he still didn‘t know.

Until he did, he would not choose. The boy would have to be strong to dispel the shadow of the one who had come before. And Xanatos cast a long, deep shadow across Qui Gon’s very being.

Xanatos was not the only one casting a shadow on this voyage. 

Qui Gon’s smile vanished. 

The Mandalorian’s charge, Maul. 

He unnerved Qui Gon. 

It was not just the way he had killed without hesitation or remorse, nor the way his accuracy seemed super human. Zabraks were known to be warriors, Master Eeth Koth was proof enough of that, and he was being escorted by a Mandalorian of all creatures. If it was anyone else Qui Gon might have feared for his safety. 

Clat’Ha said that the child was something called a ‘Foundling’, and that he was safe with Mandalorians. Qui Gon was not so sure, but he got the distinct feeling that Maul was not fond of him. A shame, Qui Gon was normally quite good with younglings. 

While the matter of killing Jemba and Grelb was not one to take lightly, there was something unsettling about Maul besides that. He looked at the world with the eyes of one used to combat, and he didn’t flinch even when he’d been injured fighting the Draigons. He spoke harshly to Qui Gon in a way that he had never had a child do. Jedi children were taught better manners, and how to respect Masters.

When they’d fought at the mouths of the caves Qui Gon’s mind had touched Obi Wan’s. The boy did not fight with fear or anger in his heart. He had already accepted that he might die, and that he was only doing what must be done. 

Yet there was something more. 

Qui Gon had barely been able to feel it, so steeped was it in the swirling fear and rage of the miners, but he swore he felt the whisper of the Darkside from Maul. 

It was not unheard of for Jedi Seekers to miss Force Sensitive children. They did their best, but they were not infallible. Sometimes those children grew to use passive abilities. Untrained they might have quicker reflexes, or strong intuition, but little more than that, and that too faded with age. 

Maul couldn’t be older than ten, by Qui Gon’s estimate. He would grow out of his powers, if he did not train them. 

It was probably better that way. 

The boy had already touched the Darkside. He was angry and unafraid to kill if it seemed like the easiest move to make. He had no patience and he looked ready to stab a man if given a moment provocation. 

A worrisome being, to be sure. 

Perhaps if that were not the case Qui Gon would consider taking him back to the temple, if only so the council could decide what to do with a dangerous Force sensitive child like him. Yet, the idea of bringing him back to the Temple filled Qui Gon with uncertainty and fear. 

He let those emotions go into the Force, and sought clarity, but none came. 

Nothing was certain with Maul. It was like a thick mist floated around his future. 

While one Bandomeer, Qui Gon would try to keep an eye on Maul, and on young Obi Wan as well. 

He had a feeling the fate would give him no other choice.

With that settled Qui Gon turned away from the window just as they made their jump into hyperspace. The ship shuddered faintly and lurched but the repairs held all the same. The Monument was stubborn. 

Qui Gon walked through the labyrinth of the ship‘s corridors until he reached Obi Wan‘s cabin. He knocked on the door twice. He could sense the boy inside. 

“Come in,” Obi Wan called.

The boy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring out at the blurred stars of hyperspace. It was hypnotic, in its way. 

“I‘ll be glad to leave this place,” Obi Wan said by way of greeting. “I saw too much death here.”

His gaze fell from the window to his hands in his lap. 

“You did well,” Qui Gon said kindly. “I felt the Force move in you.”

“It was . . . astonishing,” Obi Wan said quietly. It was disheartening to realize that only a few short days ago any praise from Qui Gon would have been enough to have the boy beaming with excitement. Now he only looked mildly pleased. “I thought I understood its power. But I see that I had only glimpsed one corner of what it could do. For years, I thought myself worthy of it. But it was not until I recognized my own unworthiness that the power began to fill me.” Obi Wan turned to Qui Gon. His eyes searched his face. “Do you know what I mean?”

Qui Gon smiled. 

“You are learning. And yes, I know what you mean.”

Silence grew between them, but it was a comfortable silence. Always before, Qui Gon could almost hear the pleading Obi Wan was holding back. Now he felt only acceptance of Qui Gon‘s feelings, and his own fate.

Another victory for the boy. He was impressed.

“We should reach our destination very soon,” Qui-Gon remarked. “I fear there will be nasty business on Bandomeer.”

Obi Wan met his gaze. His once bright blue eyes were dark and troubled. Yet underneath it, Qui Gon sensed his strength.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said. “I feel it, too.”

“When we get there you should be careful,” Qui Gon warned. “Careful of your work, and careful of your friends, too.” 

The boy, Maul, could be trouble. 

Yet Qui Gon had faith that the Force would decide what to do with him. 

[sserpente]

Another chance (SPOILERS!)

Synopsis: Five years after Loki’s death, your life in New Asgard is all but miserable. You miss him. You mourn him. And you would do anything in your power to get him back. So when Rocket and Bruce suddenly show up at Thor’s doorstep to recruit him for a mission to undo the damage Thanos has done, you take your chance and join them. You travel back in time only to come face to face with the man you love so dearly--back in 2012. Back when he was still alive. And when things go wrong and you suddenly find him snuffling the Tesseract, you selfishly throw all of your plans overboard. You cannot lose him. Not again. So you jump out the moment he opens up a portal, disappearing and taking you with him. You had only one last shot at bringing the man you love back. Now, you have one last shot at convincing him not to kill you. You have one last shot at saying your goodybe. You have one last shot at telling him you love him. Only what will happen once the Avengers have defeated Thanos and return the Infinity Stones where they belong? Will you stay trapped in the past, with a different Loki who does not know you yet? Will the man you were going to marry be lost forever? Or will there be another chance?

Pairing: Loki x Reader Chapter: 1/1 Words: 5842 Warnings:  SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME, angst & fluff

You hated the sun. Hated how hopeful it looked when it crawled over the horizon and filled your surroundings with light and warmth. You longed to rip it out of the sky and drown it in the sparkling water to your feet.

Five years. Five years had passed since Loki’s death and your heart still felt like it had been crushed only yesterday. Not one night passed in which you did not wish for him to be back by your side, to wrap you in his strong arms and let you fall asleep against his chest, listening to his soothing heartbeat. Never again would you hear that calming sound. Never again would you hold his hand, kiss his lips and see that mischievous and playful smirk you had fallen in love with.

Your lips parted when the first tear drop escaped your eyes and united with the sea. You watched it draw circles on the surface. Over the last years, you had cried so much you were surprised there were any tears left in your body at all and yet here you were, getting lost in your undying grief and mourning once again.

Back when you had decided to come to New Asgard, as Thor had named the small village the remaining Asgardians settled down in, you had hoped it would help you feel closer to Loki. Your Loki. Your fiancé. Your almost-husband.

You had picked a wedding dress already. A green, strapless piece of silken fabric sparkling with one thousand golden gems—a ball gown fit for a princess. And a princess was what you would have become upon laying down your vows.

Sobbing quietly, you glanced down at your left hand, fondling the golden engagement ring with the green jewel and the tiny diamonds Loki had given to you.

Valkyrie had suggested you took it off. The ring held a promise Loki would never be able to fulfil now and it would be pointless, cruel to keep wearing a reminder of what you had lost, holding you back and keeping you from seeing a new future.

But there was no future without Loki. You had known the day you had stood on the edge of the pier, only a week after his death. The ring had felt heavy in your hand when you had attempted to toss it into the sea, angry at the man you loved for leaving you behind. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t move on. You never would.

Thor was no help. He only ever made it worse and you avoided him as best as you could. The strong, brave and self-righteous man you had once known was gone. And ever since he had chopped off Thanos’ head, he had turned into a shadow of what he had once been, drinking too much ale and playing silly video games with Korg and Miek. Loki would have laughed at his appearance.

You lazily turned your head when heard the truck approach. While you expected it to be another delivery of goods for the village, you were all the more surprised to see the Hulk jumping off the load area, accompanied by a raccoon carrying a gun. A courtesy visit?

Frowning, you stood, following the two inside. It took you a moment to realise they were looking for Thor. Your heart sank to your boots once you were close enough to listen, leaning against the threshold of Thor’s door.

Quantum realm. Time travel. Infinity Stones. Thanos. One more chance. What you picked up made little to no sense at first. You had never understood all that science talk Tony Stark regularly turned your head with. But you didn’t need to. All that mattered was one more chance—and that you would have a shot getting your Loki back.

“I want to come too.” The words came out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop them, let alone consider what you were getting yourself into.

“Who’s this?” The raccoon threw in, earning him a dismissive glance.

“(Y/N).” Hulk… or was it Bruce… greeted politely. You nodded.

Thor only glared at you. You hadn’t exactly been on good terms lately. Loki had laid down his life for him, sacrificed himself for his only brother and he repaid him by getting drunk, threatening nerds online and refusing to remember him at all. One month ago, you had thrown a glass bottle at him.

When Thor still didn’t respond, Rocket shrugged. “We can use all the help we can get, (Y/N) whoever-you-are.”

Good. Because if Thor had already forgotten Loki, that was the least you could do. You owed it to him.

“Thor. Thank you for coming. What the hell happened to you?” It was Steve Rogers who greeted him first, pulling him in a friendly hug. You spotted Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff as well as Clint Barton in the room.

“Who’s your friend?”

Your smile was restrained. There was at least one thing Thor and you had in common. Your emotions were no longer in your control.

“I’m (Y/N). I am… was… Loki’s fiancé.”

The room went silent so fast you could have heard a needle drop. Rocket, the raccoon, had no idea what was going on, yet out of the people in the room, it was only Thor and Nebula who remained unsurprised.

“This is awkward. What’s happening?” Rocket said.

“Nothing except for she was the fiancé of a war criminal and murderer.” Clint shot back, eyeing you down angrily. You sighed. You had expected this reaction. The Asgardians had come to terms with you already. The Avengers would take a while longer. “Why are you here? If you expect we’re going to bring him back of all people, you’re really wrong.”

“I know him. I met him. Loki didn’t attack your planet deliberately,” Nebula interrupted suddenly. “Thanos threatened to kill him if he didn’t comply. My father can be very convincing.”

Nebula. You knew her, Loki had told you about meeting her and Gamora when he was with Thanos. You were the only one he had told about the horrors and tortures he had gone through after his alleged deadly fall from the Bifrost. He had told you he had survived and come back as a different man and in return, you had told him that you loved the man he was now, that you would love the man he would one day become and surely, that you would have loved the man he once was. You almost smiled fondly at the memory. Without expressing it in words, you knew Loki could not quite believe he had found you.

You didn’t nearly spend enough time together before he had to die. He didn’t nearly experience as much happiness as he deserved. Nebula’s words brought tears to your ears—a gesture the Avengers did not fail to notice.

Natasha was the first one to lose her ice-cold demeanour towards you.

“Clint, if we want to do this, we need all the help we can get.” She repeated what Rocket had pointed out already. “Whatever it takes.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly to scare away the tears. “So what’s the plan?”

The past doesn’t change the future. Was that what Bruce had said? Your hopes collapsed in on themselves like a house of cards and still, you refused to curl up and believe he was supposed to be gone. Five years was not a long time then. He was Loki. The Trickster. The God of Mischief. There had to be a way. Somehow.

Your suit was tight. Scott had attempted to explain to you just how the quantum realm worked and why you had to dress like a domina in order to travel through time but you had shut down after two sentences. As long as you made it back and… back… alive and preferably, with Loki by your side, you would accept feeling like head cheese.

It was Natasha who had suggested you did not team up with Thor. Instead, just so both Tony and Steve could keep an eye on you, you were to go with them. Back to 2012 when Loki had attacked New York. Back to when Loki and you hadn’t met yet. Chewing on your lower lip nervously, you took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to stay calm.

Regardless. This was your one shot—and if Thor thought the same, he did not show. You wondered whether the idea of bringing his only brother back even occurred to him. For years now, you had thought you knew him—now, you were not so sure anymore.

Next thing you knew you flew. If you had to name the odd feeling cursing through your entire body, you would compare it to travelling by Bifrost—yet at the same time, it was completely different, like being sucked somewhere you did not belong. A different time.

And as fast as it had started, it was over again. It felt no different, like nothing had happened at all. You opened your eyes, not realising you had closed them in the first place only to come face to face with the streets of New York City—destroyed, full of debris and destruction. Loki’s work.

Swallowing thickly, you breathed out audibly to calm your rapid heartbeat.

“You know what to do. Let’s split up.”

“And don’t forget we have only one shot at this.” Scott brushed against your shoulder when he walked past you, ripping you from your paralysis. Stark Tower was close, too close. Your heart was aching at the very thought of the man you loved being safe and sound in this reality, this time.

Did you have a plan? Yes. But not in 2012. If you were going to bring Loki back, you would have to distract them just long enough to steal one of their magic vials to travel through time on your own. Was it sneaky, selfish and would you risk the entire universe crumbling to pieces, with billions mourning the loss they had to endure because of Thanos? Yes. But so were you. You were not going to live without Loki any longer. You could do this.

So, arriving at Stark Tower, you sat down and waited, knowing that the man you loved was only a few floors above you.

“You alright there, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid, Stark. I am (Y/A) years old, for Heaven’s sake.” Truth be told, however, you did not care what the billionaire called you. All you wanted was to distract yourself from a panic attack—or an emotional attack—or whatever the hell you professionally described travelling to the past to meet your now dead fiancé when he did not even know you yet. You doubted somebody had already invented a term for that tragic phenomenon.

And then the elevator doors opened and out of the lift stepped much younger Avengers than those you had met only a while ago. Your lips parted when you saw him. Shackled and muzzled, Thor dragged him along through the vast lobby past security guards and employees. There was only a hint of defeat in Loki’s blue eyes—the rest was mischief, triumph and undying arrogance.

It was the tiniest of smiles forming on your lips, for no matter how many setbacks he received, he never lost his confidence, at least from the outside. Behind closed doors, it had been your shoulders he had, for the first time in decades, cried on.

Your heart was beating so fast it physically hurt and skipping beat after beat all the same. You wanted to jump, rip that muzzle off his mouth and kiss him, wrap your arms around his strong body and hold him, telling him that everything would be okay, that you would fix this. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t, for you did not know what consequences such actions would hold and you couldn’t because Loki, in this very moment, had no idea who you even were. Your lower lip was shaking. Fuck. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to come after all.

Tony took action when Alexander Pierce stopped the whole lot of them to hand over the Tesseract all the while you turned around panicking, desperately trying to stop the hot tears worsening your sight from streaming down your cheeks. Suppressing a sob, you pressed yourself against the stone pillar.

“Stark… I can’t do this.” You choked out, glancing back to Loki.

“What? Of course you can.”

“No… No, I can’t, I thought I could but I can’t. He’s right there, Stark. Loki is right there and I can do nothing and it’s fucking ripping me apart from the inside.”

“Do it!” He whispered into his ear piece, turning his attention to you only reluctantly when Scott began wreaking havoc among the young Avengers. “Stay where you are, I’ll come pick you up, alright?” Surprisingly, Stark sounded a lot more understanding than you would have assumed—perhaps because by now, you were breathing heavily, sobbing relentlessly.

It was just then that Scott kicked the suitcase with the Tesseract in Tony’s direction, catching Loki’s attention. You immediately retreated even further, eyes darting back and forth between the suitcase and your fiancé right until Stark grabbed it and marched straight towards the elevator—that was until the Hulk burst through the door and knocked the billionaire off his feet.

Flinching, you stumbled back, hoping the green idiot would fail to notice you. Selfishly, you didn’t care about Tony. Instead, your eyes frantically searched the slippery floor for the Tesseract. You gasped when you found it, right at Loki’s feet who was looking at it promisingly.

You knew him well enough—and you were very well aware of what he was going to do next. You were not going to lose him again.

Next thing you knew you had already sprung into action and started at the man you loved, clinging on to him the moment he opened up a portal and disappeared. And you with him.

Stark had blown it but so had you. You were selfish, stupid and too impulsive for your own good. And don’t forget we have only one shot at this, you recalled Scott’s words. And you had wasted it, wasted it because you could not get your own, numbing emotions under control long enough to save Loki’s life. Because you wanted to be with him no matter the cost.

All air was knocked from your body when you collided with the hard ground, rolling over quickly to avoid any major injuries. You winced at the pain cursing through your limbs, yet it subsided rapidly when you realised what you had done.

Panting heavily, you turned over only to face a suspicious and mistrustful Loki glaring at you quizzically. The Tesseract had disappeared—most likely he kept it hidden inside one of his inter-dimensional pockets—you would never understand this kind of magic, after all.

It took you a moment to comprehend he was puzzled not just because a stranger had latched onto him during his sneaky escape but also because you were still crying. It only got worse when your eyes finally met, filling your belly with excited butterflies.

“Who are you?” He had gotten rid of the muzzle too. Abandoned, it lay on the ground, leaving only the shackles a problem. Well, you could help him with that. And yet, it felt like you had lost your voice entirely. Your lips parted in a desperate attempt to reply but what would you say? You couldn’t possibly tell him you were from the future… or could you? Would he believe you? You knew that this Loki right in front of you was a different man, more vulnerable and weary and you knew that he would not hesitate to kill you. You had to be careful. You had to try and elicit those feelings he had for you in your time right here, right now. Only one shot. And you would do what Loki always did—draw an advantage out of the situation presented to you.

“I-I… I… I shouldn’t even be here.” You finally uttered breathlessly, pausing briefly to take in your surroundings. You were in a forest. Dark, with rich trees and evergreen grass to your feet. “W-where are we?”

“Asgard.”

Under different circumstances, you would have smiled. Loki had always wanted to take you to Asgard. Before it was destroyed, he had raved about the library and the secret pathways he had found. He had raved about the beauty of the golden realm—some of the few memories he was still fond of.

“Tell me why I should not just kill you now. Your fellow agents would never find you here, after all.” He was right, they wouldn’t. Trapped in a different time, you were lost to Stark and Scott pretty much forever unless you found a way back on your own. But that was not the point.

“I’m not… I don’t work for SHIELD. It’s… it’s a long story.”

Sobbing once more, you rubbed your eyes to stop the tears to no avail, realising only now you were still kneeling on the ground. By now, Loki was towering above you—just like the first time you had actually met. It hurt incredibly, knowing he was right there in front of you and yet so far away.

“You will have to convince me with the short version, I’m afraid.” He mocked. Only because you knew Loki better than you knew yourself did you overhear the almost gentle undertone in his smooth voice. Loki was many things but he had never been cruel. His threat was but empty as long as you, alas involuntarily, showed him how broken you were.

From somewhere, you took the energy to nod submissively and stand, daring your knees to support you. No broken bones, no sprains, no blood. That was at least something.

“L-let me help you with those.” You said, pointing at his shackles. Loki frowned, not moving when you took a step toward him without showing any fear and reached for the Asgardian metal cuffs. You had been taught how to open them by none other than the man in front of you himself. Loki’s frown deepened when they fell off his wrists and onto the ground.

They had distracted you from your tears for a bit—but now that you were standing this close to the man you loved, meeting his stunning blue eyes and that flawless profile, you were taken instantly by another heart-breaking wave of grief, mourning and affection. The most painful combination of them all.

Crying silently, you studied him, meeting his still confused gaze.

“Loki…” You couldn’t help it, your body would not obey you. Your hand, trembling slightly, came up to cup his cheek, your thumb caressing his skin. Loki did not jerk away but neither did he lean into your touch the way he did in the future. No. The way he used to in the future. He froze when you leapt forward and buried your face in his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his middle. For a few both painful and wonderfully soothing seconds, he let you hug him—then, effortlessly, he pushed you away firmly but meekly.

“Who are you?” He repeated, more intently this time.

Again, you hesitated. But if anyone could help you figure out a plan, it was Loki himself. Yes, you decided quickly. You would simply tell him. “I… I’m from the future. Now… now I know this sounds crazy but it’s true, look. Stark, he gave us this device—“ You pointed at the little gadget on the back of your hand. “—and… and we used it to travel back in time. He… he did it, Loki. Thanos. He found all the stones and he snapped his fingers and…” Holding back your tears, you recalled, reluctantly, how Loki had faced the cruel Titan one last time. How his dead body had dropped to the floor, broken. Another sob interrupted you, making your words nearly incomprehensible. “We… whoever’s left… this is our only chance so we came back here, to different time periods, collecting the stones before he can to reverse it all.”

Loki must have known by now you had lost someone as well, that you were grieving and hurting. But not in the way he thought you did. Or maybe he did. Loki had always been so incredibly perceptive he had figured out you were in love with him before you had done so yourself.

For an agonising moment, he said nothing, pondering. Then, eventually:

“If I let you return with the Tesseract…” You shook your head before he could even finish, albeit almost dazed by his words, but then again… Loki knew Thanos only too well. Like hell he would try and find him again, hence this lonely Asgardian forest. “I am stuck here. Now that I got separated from the others.”

“Then why did you hold on to me in the first place?”

Your lower lip wouldn’t stop shaking, your eyes never stopping to spill tears like heavy rain drops to water the earth. “Be-because I’m selfish,” you choked out. Once again, the God of Mischief frowned. Slowly, it appeared to dawn on him.

“When will I meet you?” He asked quietly, all hostility now vanished from his voice entirely. But what scared you about his question wasn’t if you were going to do any harm by telling him—it was the fact he must have known by now that he would die and relinquished to learn how and when it would happen and instead first asked at what point in his life he, out of all people, would find love and for once, be truly happy and feel cared for and secure.

You smiled despite your tears. “We meet on Earth. Five years from now.” Loki let your words sink in. Then, he nodded.

“There is a cabin not far from here where an old friend of mine resides. She will let me take shelter.” You nodded mutely. Angrboda. It had to be her. The sorceress was as stubborn as she was cunning which was why Odin had a long time ago banished her and young Loki, curious and mischievous, had then one day found and befriended her. The tricks he had been taught by this woman went beyond even Frigga’s capabilities. Loki had told you about her once.

He asked you several more questions about the future, about Thanos, the stones and what you knew about time travelling on your way to the cabin. His injuries had healed completely by now, you had watched them all disappear slowly. Your heart was beaming, your cheeks burning red. How could you convince yourself that this was not your Loki when he was as mischievous, charming and intelligent as yours? This Loki… he was merely a little more restrained, a little more scornful and simply… younger. Your both sad and relieved smile faded away quickly when you remembered that this Loki had no knowledge of his mother’s death. No knowledge of his own brother and father locking him up in the dungeons to rot in chains. No knowledge of how he was going to sacrifice his life for a man who now refused to even speak his name and acknowledge his fiancé.

Where were you, right now? No, that was the wrong question. When. When were you? If what Bruce Banner had said was true and changing the past would not directly affect the future, then what would happen in this reality, in this time? Now that Loki was here and far away from a cruel trial and verdict by the Allfather, how would his story continue? What if you… stayed with him?

Loki had fallen in love with you once. Could he possibly fall in love with you again? Could you be happy in this time, hiding away on Asgard? What would happen once the Avengers had reversed the snap and returned the stones to their original time periods?

You winced in pain when you felt the headache coming, both from all the unanswered questions tumbling through your head as well as all your tears. Loki noticed every move you made. One look at you sufficed to tell what was wrong—and he didn’t even need to know you yet.

Finally, the bedraggled cabin came in sight. He opened the thick wooden door without knocking, startling a beautiful woman whose human age you would estimate to be around forty. Still, she was breath-taking, her long black hair framing her face and falling over her shoulders like black gold.

“Loki. You’re alive.” Angrboda simply whispered, her grey eyes widened in shock. “I heard the queen was mourning. You fell from the bridge.”

Loki lifted his chin. It was clear to both of them that this was not the time to explain. “I need a place to stay. Odin, or anyone else for that matter, must not find me.”

“You are always welcome in this house. As is your mortal companion. It is (Y/N), am I correct?”

Your lips parted. You did not care how tear-dimmed you must have looked. “How do you know how I am? We never met. I mean… Loki hasn’t…” Angrboda raised her black eyebrows, stopping you mid-sentence.

“Take the room upstairs. Oh and… you both look like you need some strengthening potion. I will have some brewed for you.”

Mutely, the God of Mischief nodded, heading straight for the stairs. You hurried to follow after him.

You would never get enough of watching him. And as long as he was alive, you could live with the fact you were a stranger to him. Loki had barely acknowledged you ever since your arrival in the cabin but mainly because he had gone back downstairs and talked to Angrboda for what had felt like hours. You had attempted to eavesdrop but given up quickly once you realised she had cast a spell on the room.

Now you sat there on the huge double bed and black bed sheets, drinking your strengthening potion the sorceress had poured into a cup of tea. It tasted horrible but you gulped it down anyway, feeling better with every sip. Loki had returned ten minutes ago.

Silently, he stood by the window with his back turned to you and stared outside, pondering. You knew he could look into your mind if you let him, only now, however, were you desperate to touch his forehead with your palm instead.

Your tears had dried for now. There were boiling just underneath the surface, ready to drown you in a sea of pain and loss once more. You would speak quickly before they came to overwhelm you again.

“Loki.”

Slowly, he turned his head. Your heart almost stopped when he looked you straight in the eye. During all the time you had spent with him, you had learned to read his emotions through his eyes. This Loki was no different. But was that really appreciation sparkling in those blue irises? Was it longing and affection?

“I… I don’t know what’s going to happen. If I can just… stay in the past without doing any harm but I just…” There they were, betraying you. Hot tears burning in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks. “When I joined the Avengers on this mission, all I wanted to do was find a way to bring you back. I wanted to save you. Loki… no matter what is going to happen to you in the future, please know that none of it will be your fault and I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I was too fucking selfish to take my chance and bring you back to me. I…” You paused, shaken by a heart-breaking sob. “I love you so much.”

Loki seemed frozen in place but you could tell he was touched by your words, even if he could not possibly understand what they all meant just yet. The moment you broke out in tears was the moment he sat down on the bed and pulled you into his arms. Awkwardly. Like he did not know how to deal with your affection for him. But right now, it was all you needed.

“Did I give you this ring?” He asked quietly, glancing down at your nervous fingers playing with your engagement ring. You snuffled, nodding.

“It held a promise,” you responded. Loki seemed to understand immediately. A few seconds passed.

“How will I… how will it happen? And when?” He inquired then.

You swallowed. “Thanos. Six years from now.”

“I see.” Loki took a deep breath. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow is another day and Angrboda might just find a way to send you back to your own time.”

Oh. He did not want you to stay with him, then. Of course not. Why would he? This Loki didn’t love you. This Loki knew you had spoiled your chance to save his life and disappointed him just like everyone else.

He had left. When you opened your eyes the next morning after an almost sleepless and terrifying night full of bad dreams, fear and mourning, the other side of the bed was made and tidy. He was gone. You knew that your Loki would never leave you behind. But then again this had never been your Loki, after all. It would be unfair to blame him. He deserved freedom. Happiness. If in this reality, timeline, whatever Stark and you had created, he would find it, you would let him. Even if he found it without you. You should be grateful. Thanks to the Avengers, you had been able to talk to him again. You had been able to tell him how much you loved him.

Fighting hard not to start the day by crying yet again, you threw back the covers and frowned.

Angrboda had not owned any carpets last night. Where did they come from? Frowning, you took in your new surroundings. The blinds were still closed, it would be too dark to make out where you were until your eyes had gotten used to the almost-blackness around you.

You gasped when you bumped into someone’s solid body, stumbling backwards but a few steps—and then biting back your tears of both joy and grief when you recognised Loki standing right before you.

“I thought you…” You shook your head quickly. “Where are we, all of… a… sudden?” He did not need to answer you. You blinked, finally getting used to the lack of brightness. This was your little house in New Asgard.

“What happened? Where is Angrboda? Did you… did you bring us here? But… New Asgard was after…”

Loki smirked, letting you ponder for a few more moments.

“I am offended. Do you not recognise me, my sweet?”

“L-Loki? M-my Loki?”

“In the flesh…” Explanations did not matter, nor did letting him finish. Sobbing uncontrollably, you wrapped your arms around him and held him so tightly your muscles started to shake. It took him some effort to lean back a little to press his lips against yours—a gentle kiss which soon turned into a passionate, desperate battle of love.

Only when you were out of breath did you pull away reluctantly, still grasping his shoulders and looking into those blue eyes you could get lost in.

“You’re back… you’re alive… Loki… I’ve missed you so much…”

“I have missed you too, my sweet. I must admit, I do prefer Midgard over Hel.”

“But… but how? How can you be back? How can you be here?”

Loki smirked once more. “Come. Sit down.” Quickly, you obeyed, impatient for him to explain to you what in the nine realms had happened. You couldn’t stop touching him. Desperately, you reached for his hands, fondling them tenderly as he spoke.

“Angrboda explained it to me like this. I must admit, the Avengers have outdone themselves. When they took the various Infinity Stones from different moments in the past, they created separate timelines, one for each stone—and one in which I… or much rather… another version of me… could escape—with you.”

You nodded, eagerly. You loved the way he explained things. Loki’s voice was incredibly soothing. Even more so now that he told you the story of how he had cheated death yet again and come back to you.

“They succeeded. Thanos is gone.” He went on relieved. “But they had to return the stones to their respective timelines. Now… when they did that, each of the created timelines, including the one you had gotten trapped in, re-converged with the one you came from. The one in which I… died. And since the timeline was altered and I got away instead of being taken back to Asgard, I existed… twice.”

“But… you were dead.” You breathed.

“That I was. But I am also a god, my sweet. I continued to exist in Hel.” Only now did his words sink in. Loki did not go to Valhalla despite his heart-breaking sacrifice for Thor. He had been damned to spend his afterlife in Helheim. Quickly, you blinked your tears away.

“As there cannot exist two versions of one person at the same time—not in different time periods—when the timelines re-converged, so did I.”

“W-what does that mean?”

“My two timelines melted together. It means I lived two different lives. I have memories of meeting you that day… and I have memories of being sentenced by Odin. I died but I also… didn’t.”

“B-but… but how are you here? In New Asgard? I mean, you couldn’t have known where I was or… and how am I here? How did I not remain stuck in 2012?”

“Thanks to Angrboda. She indeed found a way to send you back when the timelines re-converged.” He paused, letting you recall how she had known who you were. “I knew we were headed to Midgard before Thanos attacked our ship. I knew where Thor intended to settle down. All I had to do was find you. You never left this place.” He said, knowingly. Still crying, you leaned forward and pulled him into another kiss.

You had missed him. You had missed him so much it physically hurt. His touch, his presence, his scent, his mischievous smirk. Sighing, you enjoyed his hands rubbing your back soothingly. Your Loki… you had your Loki back.

“I love you, my sweet (Y/N)…” He breathed into your mouth. It was one of those rare, cherished moments Loki voiced his feelings for you—he did not do so often. Not anymore. But he did when he was with you.

“I believe I gave you a promise.” He mumbled when he pulled away, caressing your cheek and smirking naughtily as he did. You grinned through your tears, realising with a start that you were going to be a bride. “And I want to marry you right now.” That you could be happy again. That everything was fine.

A/N: You remember Tom’s words? That everything’s fine? Honestly, I’m not sure how logical my time travel theory is but that’s something I’d love for to happen. I hope this “little” story helped a little. ♥

If you liked this story, I would be flattered if you supported me on KoFi! ko-fi.com/sserpente

[azwriting]

The Last Jedi (Forget Me Please, Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader) - Chapter One

A/N: Okay so here is my mini “What if” series about Forget Me Not! Hope you guys enjoy ;)

Summary: What if the reader never forgot her past, what if instead of eleven years its only been seven, and what if Palpatine is on the rise.

Warning(s): Mild violence, me retconning the fuck out of TROS, unedited because it’s three in the morning and I just want to post this

Word Count: 2353

“Endor?” General Organa’s voice boomed through the cockpit of the Falcon. Rey sighed, nodding even though her Master could not see her. The young Jedi in training was still deeply buried underneath the debris of shock that had caved down on her only hours before. Her chest was still tightly wound as it had been in the hangar of the Star Destroyer, standing across the man who delivered a revelation. Her heart began to race just as it had then as her mind replayed his gentle words over again.

“I never lied, your parents were nobodies, but you’re not. Search your feelings, you know it’s true.” Rey shook her head in protest, tears gathering in her eyes as she was unwilling to admit the truth to herself. Her eyes drifted over to the stormtroopers that had gathered around them, weapons drawn and aimed at her. How had her life gotten here? She was once a simple Scavenger, lonely and lost, and now she stood before the Supreme Leader of the First Order, the only person who unfortunately seemed to understand her. Rey heard the gears of his mask unlock and involuntarily she winced, looking back to his face. The face of the long dead Ben Solo, the man she had hoped would turn. Yet, the pain that she could feel tearing him apart held onto him with a menacing grasp. She could feel the torment that wreaked havoc onto his soul over what he had done to his father and she could feel the most unbearable white hot pain that burned his heart over the unknown. It was too painful to pry into and he had buried it so deep, Rey could never see what had broken him.

“Think about it Rey, you were born the year I went off to train, the dark already manifesting inside me.” Rey turned away from his words taking a step back, she did not want to hear this. “The Force knew others would not be able to balance me and the only one who could…” He paused and the young woman could see him trembling, bottom lip quivering as he tried to hold it together. His eyes began to gleam and Rey involuntarily felt a surge of empathy over the unknown that was causing him to break down before her eyes. “... would die.” His jaw clenched and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the thump in his throat. Rey felt his mourning as if it was a fresh wound, oozing fresh blood, never healing. Who had died, that had left such a gaping hole in him? Someone who was attuned to the Force? She knew better than to believe it was Luke, although Kylo did not hate the man, she knew he hated what happened.

Over the roaring wind coming from just behind her, Rey heard the familiar creaking of his leather gloved hand clenching into a tight fist. Whatever agonizing memories had surfaced were vanishing, leaving a cold and hostile Kylo Ren in its wake. “Admit it.” He snapped suddenly and Rey felt a tear slip down her cheek. 

“The Force created me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Kylo nodded stiffly in response. The words felt foreign on her tongue: unfamiliar, wrong, but also true. 

“You and I are equals in the Force, join me and we can destroy Palpatine.” His gloved hand extended out towards her and Rey’s eyes drifted down, uncertainty clawing at her. “You know what to do.”

“That’s what the translation of the dagger said, the coordinates were for the moon Kef Bir.” Poe responded tying a strip of fabric over his injured arm. Rey broke away from her memory, eyes lifting back to the view of hyperspace in front of her. Over the past year she had accepted that her parents were no one, that she was a nobody, but she had learned that she had a rightful place in this story. But now, with the confirmation that she did, it was a little unsettling. The Force had created her to bring balance, balance that was in disarray from the fall of Ben Solo and the emergence of Emperor Palpatine. While pondering the balance of the Force, Rey’s thoughts drifted to who Kylo’s original balance was, the one who died. He had to have known them, for it to have such a heartbreaking impact on him. Rey thought of someone strong with the Force, strong enough to get underneath Kylo Ren’s skin, someone strong enough to balance him. What had happened to them? Rey sighed, there was no use in worrying about someone who could not help. She was now the balance and Kylo was right, she knew what to do.

“Before you go to Kef Bir, stop on the Forest moon. We have an ally there who could be of great help.” Leia’s voice instructed through the radio. Rey turned around to face Finn and Poe, the three sharing a look of surprise. An ally? Was another former General hidden away on Endor? Chewie gargled in return and the General’s laugh bounced around the Falcon. “No, it's not the Ewoks, this time, but our ally is hidden amongst them.” The young former Scavenger smiled to herself, imagining what it must have been like all those years ago… She could envision Han jumping into the not so beat up pilot chair and dictating a string of orders to Chewie. She could hear Luke running down the halls of the ship heading for the quad laser access tube, while Leia retaliated to something Han said with a quick whip of sass. All of them young and in their prime, together and hopeful.

The Falcon stuttered out of lightspeed as Rey questioned, “How do we find this ally?” Her voice was full of curiosity and confusion, wondering how exactly this ally could be of help. They were short on time, they could not risk wasting any of it. 

She could almost hear the smile that was no doubtedly on Leia’s face as she answered, “Oh don’t worry, they’ll find you.”

Exiting the Falcon, the group of Resistance fighters were greeted by towering thick trees and a refreshing brisk breeze, the perfect neutral after the blistering hot deserts of Pasana and the biting chill of the rough and rocky terrain of Kijimi. “Stay here and rest big guy, we’ll find the village ourselves.” Finn chuckled clamping a hand down onto Chewie’s upper arm. 

The Wookie protested mildly before finally relinquishing at Poe’s addition. “You have to watch the droids too, Threepio doesn’t remember anything and we don’t need to deal with that right now.”

As the trio trudged through the thick forest, Rey smiled up at the tree line, enjoying the shift in scenery. After years of scavenging on Jakku, she was always thrilled to see the different climates. The lush greenery that surrounded her made her regret leaving Jakku sooner, but she reminded herself to be content with the fact that she never had to set foot on a desert planet again. After all the hardships she faced on Jakku, fighting to survive everyday, why would she ever want to face that again?

With every step she took, Rey felt a great swell in the Force. She could feel the energy flow through each and every living thing with an intensity unlike anything she had felt before. She had not felt so consumed by the Force since Ahch-To, yet this was not a planet connected to the ancient Jedi. No, this was a planet from an old war, no tethers tying it to the Force Sensitive. Yet there was no denying what she felt. It was as if the Force had manifested itself onto this quiet deserted planet with great energy at the center of it, drawing her in. It was overpowering, almost blinding her senses in its wake. Rey glanced around at her surroundings searching for the allure, her eyes catching ahold of Finn’s. He stared back at her, looking just as perplexed as she felt. Her lips parted, mouth opening to question if he felt it too, but the sight ahead caused the words to die on the tip of her tongue.

Ahead of them hidden up in the dense branches of vibrant green leaves were small huts and a plethora of wooden bridges connecting the tiny civilization together. Rey and her fellow Resistance fighters all marveled at the view, unaware of the observant eyes.

With an almost silent thud, a figure flipped down off of a hovering bridge, and landed before them. It was a woman wearing various shades of brown, dark green, and white seemingly blending into their surroundings. A faded grey mask covered her face besides for the open visor where sharp eyes glared back at them. She crouched down, eyes locked onto the three of them as if they were her prey. Yet, it was not the most startling sight, oh no, it was the two lightsabers secured tightly in her hands. A vibrant blue in one hand and a violet purple in the other. Rey gulped lowly she had never seen a purple saber before, the Jedi texts only referring to the color as exceedingly rare. The masked ally, radiated pure Force energy, as attuned with the Force as Kylo and Master Skywalker. 

“Rey…” Finn whispered and the young woman focused back onto the mask in front of her. She could sense that any moment she would spring and in response she pushed Poe and Finn to the sides. They had no part in this.

The woman was quick, lunging forward with a ferocious attack. Rey ignited Luke’s saber in record time and lifted it up to deflect. The three sabers clashed together with an odd screech and Rey winced at the noise. The cold determined eyes peered down at her through the visor of the helmet, each eye reflecting the vivid hues of blue and purple. The sight made her want to cower in fear, deep down her insecurities rising. She had always felt strong willed when going against Kylo, but this was different. It was not a fight, it was a competition. Rey jabbed her shoulder into the masked woman and swung her saber forward, only being met by the quick flashes of the opposing blue and purple. The woman was obviously highly skilled in combat, in lightsaber fighting techniques, Rey noted as the woman swung her sabers forward, spinning into the assault. Rey could not help but find a sense familiarity in it. In the way she moved, it was almost feral, unhinged but strategic.

In her distracted daze, the woman’s sabers came crashing down onto her, this time locking her saber in place. The young Jedi tried to pull her saber free and attack, but it was secured tightly in between the two sabers. Before Rey could put an end to all this, tell this “ally” why they were here, a swift kick to her abdomen sent her to the ground. Luke’s saber was kicked to the side as the woman dropped down onto her with disturbing and mildly aggravating fluidity. The purple saber hovered a mere inch above her throat while the blue one was stretched backwards: a barrier for Poe and Finn, with their blasters already raised, not to step any closer.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep and modified through the mask, transfixing (Y/E/C) eyes glaring down at Rey. 

“We’re with the Resistance! General Organa sent us!” Rey spit out, eyes wide with a sense of fear she could not deny. She had not feared for her life since the throne room, where Kylo had saved her. Who would save her now? The woman blinked harshly, surprised by her words, yet Rey could easily sense that she was searching her face for any sort of lies. 

“Why?” The question was curt, voice lower than it had previously been. 

“We need your help, Leia said you’d help us.” Poe cut in, taking a cautious step forward, eyes gauging the proximity of the blue lightsaber. Rey watched as the woman seemed to slip away from the present, eyes clouding over as she disappeared deep into thought.

Suddenly the two sabers were turning off as the woman glided back up into a standing position. She tucked the lightsabers into her black belt and outstretched a hand for Rey to grab. Rey hesitantly accepted the offer standing back up as well. She quickly released her hand and went to brush off the dirt on her clothes, eyes watching the peculiar helmet. Who was behind the helmet? Who wielded the rare purple saber? Who had dominated her with such ease?

“Who are you?” Finn beat her to the question, the trio all gawking at the unknown and unanticipated ally. The woman ignored him, her hand outstretching as her eyes closed for a brief moment in concentration. Rey’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion, what was she doing? She could feel the Force swirling around them before something sped past her. Rey jumped, scanning the area for whatever flew by, eyes landing on the hands of the ally. Cradled in them was Luke’s lightsaber, the one Rey used until she completed building her own. The woman turned the black and silver hilt around in her hands, letting out a half amused hum. Rey looked up to the helmet in shock, lips parting at the glimmer of amusement in the focused eyes.  

“I’m no one.” She finally answered, handing Rey back the saber. In a state of utter confusion she accepted it and clipped back onto her belt.

“Come, let us discuss.” The masked woman turned swiftly on her heel and headed into the center of the treetop village, leaving the three Resistance fighters stunned. They all shared a look, more so the two men looking to Rey for answers as to what just happened. Rey could not give them an answer, deep down one they all knew already. Her eyes followed the camouflaged figure, admitting the painfully obvious truth to herself.

The woman before her was the last Jedi.

Taglist: 

@2heures​ @thephantomwriter​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @carol-chann​ @gambitsqueen​ @pancakefancake​ @zaneholtzwrites​ @moonmama03 @siren-queen03​ @dixonsbugaboo​ @keithseabrook27​ @sporkedloser​

[margoshansons]

Desperate Measures: 4/?

Bellamy Blake x Reader

Summary: After the death of one of her best friends, Y/N’s feud with Murphy gets out of hand and Charlotte betrays her.

Warnings: death, violence, gore, swearing, hanging, suicidal thoughts, suicide

Notes: buckle in, because this is a rough chapter, my dudes. Based on 1x04 “Murphy’s Law”

Wells was dead.

She had done nothing but ignore him since they landed on the ground, and now he was dead. Gone. Forever.

She would never get to see him again.

Never get to play chess with him again.

She couldn’t even remember the last thing she had said to him. 

She couldn’t even feel the grief that ran through her body. She was numb, sprinkling dirt on the mound that represented his burial site. 

The mound that represented all seventeen years of his life.

“May we meet again.” Y/N whispered, a small tear streaking down her grimy face. She stood up, turning around to see Bellamy standing there, arms crossed, his gaze soft.

“I’m sorry” He murmured, trying to reach out to her.

Y/N swallowed, gulping down her grief into her gut, pushing past the soldier and heading for the dropship, a head of blonde hair collapsing into her shoulder before she could enter. She wrapped her arms around Clarke’s mourning figure, the two girls silent as their emotions transferred over to each other, relishing in the comfort they gave each other.

“It wasn’t him” She whispered, pulling away and wiping the tears from her face. “Wells didn’t turn us in. My mom did.”

Her heart continued to rip, the numbness spreading further as Y/N offered her sympathies, “Clarke, I’m so sorry.”

The girl bit her lip, her voice thick with anger, “My own mother killed my father. How does someone do that?”

Y/N knew exactly how. “They see no other choice.”

“There’s always another choice.” Clarke’s anger radiated from her, mixing with grief over losing her best friend. She held her head high as she walked away, encouraging the others to continue building the wall. Y/N threw a look around, watching as the camp began to devolve into chaos. Octavia mostly sat with her thoughts, sharpening the makeshift weapons, while Murphy continued his tyrannical reign, abusing Connor as he struggled to lift a log. 

Y/N exhaled, resigning to her circumstances as she joined Monty in the dropship, helping create a form of interspacial morse code. 

She picked apart Octavia’s fried wristband, examining for any components that could help the two of them. 

“Y/N” Monty called, stretching his way across the workbench, “Can you hand me those tacks?”

“Yeah” she responded, leaving her tools at her work station as she went to meet Monty’s demand, handing him the small bolts leftover from the crash. “How are you doing?” She asked, hovering as she watched him push the small tack through the hole he had created, trying to forget about the events of the morning.

“I should be asking you that question.” Monty responded, “But I’m doing okay, would be better if I could find some way to keep the bracelets alive for longer than five seconds.”

Y/N chuckled, the first smile that day. “I’ll keep checking my book and Octavia’s bracelet for anything we need. I’d love it if we could find some kind of solar transmitter.”

“On the ground where the biggest technology is spears?” Monty brought up, twiddling with Clarke’s freshly removed wristband, “Not likely.”

Another chuckle escaped her, turning around as she heard boots clang against the metal floor, meeting Bellamy’s cold gaze. The stoic leader was back. “How’s the radio coming?” He asked, hands on his hips.

“It’s coming.” Y/N responded coldly, crossing her arms. She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now. “What did you need?”

“You” He spoke, catching her off guard. She stumbled backward at the news. “Jasper and Octavia found something, they wanna brief us in Clarke’s tent.”

Y/N nodded, grasping her jacket and slipping her arms through it as she passed Bellamy. 

“Franco, wait--” He called, running after her so they were walking side by side. 

“What do you want Blake?” She returned the favor, since he refused to call her by her first name. At this point, she’d honestly prefer the nickname, but he hadn’t used that since their fiasco in the cave.

“I wanted to say sorry” That stopped her in her tracks, his big brown eyes softening as he gazed down at her, fiddling with his thumbs. “For the cave, for Wells. For everything really.”

Warmth stirred in her chest, the gesture meaning more than she expected it to. Her stomach flopped, the hairs on the back of her neck stirring.

“Thanks” She choked out before heading into Clarke’s tent where Octavia and Jasper stood holding a knife.

Clarke’s eyes flickered as Y/N entered the room, grief still present in both girls as she examined the silver and yellow weapon.

“This knife..” Clarke realized, her blue eyes widening. “It was made of material from the dropship.”

“And that means?”

Y/N inhaled, insides threatening to collapse. “Someone in the camp killed Wells.” There was a traitor among them. A killer. 

They had been sent down with a murderer unafraid of the consequences.

“We need to keep this quiet,” Bellamy responded.

“Why?” anger laced Y/N’s voice, something dark swirling in her chest at the thought of Wells’ killer going unpunished. 

“So we’re just going to let a killer walk among us? Without punishment?” Clarke echoed Y/N’s sentiment, desiring the same thing she was.

Bellamy stared at the two women, eyes growing wide in fear as he caught the madness stirring behind both of their eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying Clarke,” He defended, “Believe it or not, letting the others think the grounders killed Wells is good for us. The fear of grounders is building that wall. It’s keeping us safe.” He let out a sigh, “besides there’s no way  we can even tell who did it.”

“I can” Clarke bragged, holding the knife at an angle so the initials carved into them shone in the natural light. 

JM. John Murphy.

“The people have a right to know.”

Clarke pushed past Bellamy’s protests, straight toward Murphy, brandishing his knife, accusing him of killing Wells. Y/N shot a look at Bellamy before following after her, desperate to gain some kind of closure for her friend.

“I didn’t kill Wells, the grounders did.” Murphy protested, trademark sneer written all across his face. 

“Liar” Y/N called, unable to stop the visceral reaction pouring out of her. “You’ve hated him since he first stepped foot in this camp.”

“Yeah, a lot of people did Franco,” Murphy continued, defiance written across his face.

Octavia spoke up in her defense, “He tried to kill Jasper too!”

“What?” the younger kid traded a stare with Y/N, who shrugged before Jasper gulped down his nerves and faced his almost killer.

Murphy scoffed. “I don’t have to answer to any of you.” He spun to face the rest of the group, “I don’t have to answer to anyone!”

“Come again?” Bellamy asked, crossing his arms. Murphy met his gaze and a fearful look crossed his face. The first time any of them had seen Murphy so anxious since walking into this camp.

“Bellamy, please, you have to believe that I didn’t do this.”

Y/N watched as Bellamy refused to submit, uncertainty flashing in his eyes as he let out an exhale. 

“Do you all want to live in a society with no rules?” Clarke asked, pleading to the people’s ethos, “Where people can kill without consequences? Where the guilty can go unpunished?”

“I say we float him!” Connor called, murder in his eyes. 

Y/N moved forward, “We are not the Ark.” She reminded him. Even if Murphy did kill Wells that didn’t mean they had the right to choose who lived and who died.

“It’s justice!” he called, rallying the crowd behind him.

“It's not justice it’s vengeance!” Clarke announced.

By the time she voiced her protest, the crowd was already atop Murphy and Y/N became a bystander, breath hitching, chest heaving as they dragged his body through the mud, his face unrecognizable. 

The numbness persisted, only replaced by anger as she imagined Murphy’s hands on Wells’ throat, the blood pouring over his hands while he sneered, Wells taking his last breath with Murphy’s victorious face looming over him. Suddenly, she couldn’t find a shred of sympathy remaining in her. 

Her eyes met Murphy’s helpless ones, darkness spreading through her as the noose tightened.

“Bellamy should do it!” Connor called, ushering the leader forward, the crowd chanting his name, Clarke trying to appeal to the softer part of him. His gaze locked with Y/N’s. He was waiting for her approval.

She nodded, the same thought existing in their mind.

Attachment is death.

He turned around to face the accused, rushing forward and pushing the crate from underneath his feet. No hesitation. No attachment. 

They would survive.

“What the hell are you doing?” Finn called from the treeline, moving forward to cut the rope, stopped by the mob underneath them. The madness continued, camp devolving until there was nothing but anarchy left in its wake. 

He deserved this, she told herself. 

He killed Wells.

He tried to kill Jasper.

He wanted to kill her.

“Stop it!” A small voice called, pulling her from her thoughts. A voice she recognized. “Murphy didn’t kill Wells!” 

The crowd went silent. 

“I did” Charlotte’s confession hung in the air, the pointed edge of the emotional dagger slipping deeper into Y/N’s heart as she struggled to look at this girl--this killer, with the same eyes she did only days before. 

Bellamy brought her into the tent, asking the question on everyone’s mind. “Charlotte, how could you do this?”

“I was just slaying my demons, like you told me.” She defended. 

Y/N spun to face Bellamy. What had he told her? What had happened in that cave while she was asleep? What could he have said to make her a murderer?

“She misunderstood” Bellamy explained, breath quickening. “Charlotte that is not what I meant.”

The girl shook where she stood. “Please don’t let them kill me.”

“We won’t,” Clarke promised, underlying anger lacing her voice, “But you need to understand. You killed someone Charlotte! Ended his life!” Charlotte met Y/N’s gaze, pleading with the woman she had grown so close to. “Please.”

“I told you to talk to someone!” Y/N scolded, disbelief coursing through her, “I told you Wells was there for you and instead you killed him!” She shook her head, stepping away from the younger girl, “This is your mistake Charlotte. You have to deal with the consequences.”

“Charlotte!” Murphy’s voice rang out, “Come on out here! I just wanna talk.”

Bullshit, Y/N rolled her eyes, storming out with Bellamy to face the tyrant, their presence comforting each other as a smirk drew itself on Murphy’s face. 

Even if Charlotte had killed Wells, did that mean she deserved to die? Murphy did, she knew. But Charlotte was twelve, a child. Couldn’t they offer her mercy?

“Looks like the king and queen have decided to grace us with their presence,” Murphy quipped sarcastically, “I hope you’re not expecting me to bow down.”

“Go float yourself, Murphy” Y/N shot back, anger fading to the familiar emptiness she had been feeling all day. 

“You already did that, remember?” His sneer was gone, replaced by the darkness Y/N had seen earlier. “Who’s gonna hang me this time?”

“I was just giving the people what they want” Bellamy justified, his own words tasting like ash in his mouth. 

Murphy chuckled darkly. “Right, let’s see what the people want then.” He turned around, facing the group as he yelled out, “Who wants to see the real Murderer Hang?!”

Silence. 

He chuckled again, “I see, so all of you are ready to string up me for nothing? But when this bitch confesses, you want to let her free?”

The fight that broke out hit Y/N by surprise. She brandished her knife, swiping at the people who approached her, her hand reaching around before lodging the blade deep into one of Murphy’s cronies, pulling the weapon from his thigh as he screamed, collapsing to the ground. 

Her foot slammed into his face, knocking him out cold. 

“Bellamy?” She asked worried, shaking the leader until he woke, promising her that they were going after Charlotte. His eyes fluttered open and Octavia helped pull him to his feet and Bellamy turned toward Y/N’s worrying figure. 

“We’ll go after her,” He told her, “I promise.”

She nodded and the two grasped their pack, following Murphy’s tracks deep into the forest.

The trees offered no comfort this time, knowing Murphy was using it as cover from the others, and Charlotte was trapped with Clarke and Finn somewhere they couldn’t find her.

She had done this.

She had blown up at the girl.

She had hanged Murphy.

“Hey,” Bellamy grasped her arm bringing Y/N back to reality, “We’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

She nodded, her response cut off by a scream.

They sprinted.

By the time they found Charlotte again, the girl was feeling self-sacrificial and Murphy had found them.

“MURPHY!” Charlotte yelled over Bellamy’s shoulder, “I’m here!”

Y/N gave an apprehensive look back, “He’s gaining” She warned, picking up the pace.

They broke through the tree line, the threesome skidding to a stop before the edge of a cliff, the ravine stretching into the depths below. Her chest heaved up and down and she twirled her knife in her hand, spinning around as Murphy broke into the clearing.

“Give me the girl Bellamy,” Murphy ordered, a sick smile across his face.

Y/N stepped forward, placing herself between the two men, ready to protect Bellamy and Charlotte from his wrath. “She’s a child.”

Murphy's eyes flashed red, “So was I.”

In a flash his arm was around her neck, the sharp blade of the knife held against her throat. The trees rustled, Clarke and Finn breaking through, horror widening their eyes as they gazed upon the scene in front of them. 

“Hand over the girl, or Sparky here dies.” He gestured toward her, the knife digging further. 

“No!” Charlotte called, sobs awakening, “Please don’t hurt her.”

Bellamy scanned the situation before him, grip still tight on Charlotte’s arm. Clarke stepped forward. 

“Murphy, come on, we can talk this through” She pleaded, not wanting to lose another one of her friends. 

“I’m done hearing you talk.” He tightened his grip, knife breaking through the layer of skin, “Ten seconds.”

“Bellamy don’t!” Y/N called desperately, clawing at her throat.

“Ten” Murphy threatened. 

Bellamy’s pulse quickened, breathing shallow as he began to loosen his grip. He couldn’t lose her too. Not now. 

“Nine.”

“I’m not worth it.” Y/N choked out, her windpipe close to getting crushed.

“Eight.”

“Please don’t!” Charlotte pleaded, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, please I’ll come with you just let her go!”

“No!” Y/N urged, “Charlotte don’t. It’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be okay.” 

The little girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face as Murphy continued the countdown.

“Seven.”

Charlotte paused, “I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.”

“Six”

A breath.

“Five”

A beat.

“Four”

Charlotte ripped herself from Bellamy’s arms, throwing herself off the edge of the cliff, body plummeting into the ravine below. Murphy released Y/N in surprise. 

“NO!” Bellamy called down as Y/N fell beside him, staring down into the abyss.

“Charlotte!” Y/N called down, grief shooting her through the chest, cutting through her endless numbness and setting her body aflame. 

Her mom. Atom. Wells. Charlotte. 

She was a bomb, lying in wait until someone came too close and then...boom.

Clarke sobbed beside her, Bellamy staring down in shock. 

Her mouth grew slack, eyes unable to tear themselves away from the ravine until Bellamy stood, the sound of skin against skin pulling her upward. The soldier was atop Murphy, his fists pummeling into the delinquent's face, his screams ringing through the air. 

“Bellamy stop!” Y/N called, reaching out.

Finn reached him first, pulling the older boy off of Murphy, “You’ll kill him.”

“He deserves to die!” Bellamy raged, anger ablaze in his eyes, face alight with an untapped rage that Y/N had never seen.

“No!” Clarke reprimanded, “We don’t decide who lives and dies. Not down here!”

“I swear to god if you say the people--”

“No” Clarke shook her head, “I was wrong. But we need rules! We can’t just live by whatever the hell we want.”

Bellamy snarled, “Oh yeah, and who makes those rules? You?” He threw a pointed look their way. 

“From now on we will.” Y/N offered, calmly stepping forward. “All three of us.”

“So what?” Bellamy asked, still seething, “We just let him back into camp? After everything he’s done?”

“No--” 

“Then what?!”

Y/N stared at Murphy, bloodied and covered in mud, barely able to stand. “We banish him.” She replied, catching the arguing leaders by surprise. 

“And if he refuses to leave?” Bellamy’s pessimistic attitude was really starting to get to her again.

“Then we kill him.” Clarke offered, sending a cold look toward Murphy. Bellamy sniffed, his eyes latching onto the fresh cut on Y/N’s neck, the newly drawn blood sending him flying toward Murphy, dragging him by the collar to the edge of the ravine. 

“I see you anywhere near here, and you’re dead.” He snarled, pressing his knife deep into his neck before throwing him headfirst into the ground, storming away. 

Y/N shot a pitiful look his way, throwing her blunt knife to the ground, giving him more than one weapon. 

His hoarse voice called after her, “You’re not like us. I saw your blood, you can’t hide your secret forever.”

She leaned down, hand squeezing a clump of his hair as she responded darkly, “I’ve kept this safe for eighteen years. If I get any ideas about you even thinking about breaking that streak, then I’ll hang you myself.”

She pushed his face deep into the mud, striding back to camp.

***

“You wanna do the honors?” Monty asked the newly recovered Jasper, a smile on both of their faces. The radio was finished. The would soon be able to contact the Ark. Some good had come out of this day after all. Y/N watched eagerly as Jasper plugged the cord into the port.

The device sparked, drawing electricity as the wristband fell dark. 

A jolt of pain distracted her and she watched as her wristband clanged against the metal of the dropship. 

Dark.

She leaned down, hands gingerly clenching the silver device, blocking out all sound as she retreated into her tent, the wind howling outside. What was she going to do now? Her family was up there. Her friends were up there. How many of them would follow down if they thought she was dead?

Her hand ran itself through her hair, a visceral scream exiting her mouth as she threw the useless piece of metal against the ground, hanging her head in her hands. It didn’t matter anymore. Her survival didn’t matter anymore.

She should’ve let Murphy kill her back there. What else did she have to live for?

Saltwater burned her skin as the tears fell.

The dam was broken. Her wall was being torn apart piece by piece. 

“Hey Franco, Miller’s--” Bellamy stopped when he saw the state she was in, “--looking for you.”

Y/N turned away, trying to wipe away the tears as they came. “Go away Bellamy” She requested, not wanting to see anyone at all. 

He didn’t move, hesitating instead. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.” He advised, settling in next to her. “No one expects you to.”

She laughed mirthlessly, “Everyone expects me to.” She breathed, voice hoarse, “It’s why I wanted Murphy to kill me back by the cliff.”

Whoops, there it was. Her secret was out. 

“I’m a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any minute” She explained, the numbness returning as she stared ahead. “People would be better off if I just...disappeared.”

Bellamy gulped, “That’s not true. You had the option to float yourself and you didn’t” He reminded her, catching the engineer by surprise, “You chose Earth. Something in you wants to live Franco, and it’s time you listened to it.”

She smiled at the encouraging speech, the newfound warmth pushing back the emptiness as she watched Bellamy stand, his hand lingering on her shoulder before making his exit. 

Her wall crumbled.

We getting some quality time! The pairing is coming together my people.

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[croatian-nt]

Mafia au-Part four

Summary: When an unassuming artist saves a man’s life at the shooting at the gallery, he ends up in the midde of the war between two mafias and as he gets dragged deeper into the whole thing, he soon learns the line between the sides and right and wrong blur more than he expected.

Pairings: Luka Modrić/Šime Vrsaljko, Livi/Bruno mentioned

Word Count: 

Warnings: mentions of past murder, blood, making out

Notes: Soo it’s finally here, sorry for the delay, online classes started this week and the whole earthquake situation kind of *shook* me(get it? get it? okay, I’ll stop now). As usual big thank you to @lovren-la-vida-luka for editing this. Anyway, enjoy :)

Šime

 Šime had a very strong dislike for hospitals, to say the least. The smell of antiseptic, the white, sterile walls, and the general sense of dread they always seemed to give off. His dislike was so strong the word hate was on tip of his tongue whenever he set foot in one, or even thought about it, but he couldn't afford to have such strong feelings about anything in his job. 

 Deep down, he know that perhaps it was partly because it seemed that every time he walked into one, someone died. And he didn't mean the people he killed. Šime was long past the point when he would regret slitting someone's throat. Especially not someone who wanted to hurt Luka.

 He swallowed. The drum of reckless energy was still pulsing through him. The urge to hurt, maim, kill everyone involved in this. He silently vowed that when this was all over, he was going to strangle Luka himself. Why the fuck did he go there – or anywhere, for that matter - without a gun?

 He walked casually into the first room he found, unfazed by the way the nurse paled at the sight of him. He could only imagine how he looked, his body and face splattered with blood. He took a gun out, lazily pointing it at her.

 "It's in both of our interests that you survive, and that I don't have to use this thing. So, I am looking for a friend. Short, slim, with longish blond hair. Sounds familiar?"

 She nodded, and only then did Šime notice that she must have been an intern. Something like regret passed through him, but he pushed it away. Every second longer it takes for him to find Luka is a second spared for someone else to get there first. If the girl was smart, she'd listen to him and it would go smoothly. If not... well. This whole thing couldn't become much messier than it already was.

 "Lead the way. If you scream or try to run, I am going to shoot you and show you as an example to the second nurse I'll find to help me. Got it?"

 She paled even more, looking like she might faint, but thankfully she didn't. Šime hated hysterical people. They gave him a headache.

 "Yes sir. He is in room 206, if I’m thinking of the right person."

 Šime signaled her to exit the door. As promised, she quietly led him through the corridor and to the room 206. Šime relaxed a bit, reassured that he wouldn't have to kill her.

 She opened the door, and there he was. Luka. Šime's heart squeezed in his chest. The harsh fluorescent light only made him look paler, sicklier. The gauze on his should was soaked with blood, and Šime clenched his fists as he looked at it.

 As if he sensed Šime's presence, Luka's eyes blinked open, immediately focusing on him. He blinked once again, and then frowned.

 "Well, this is a weird one. You aren't usually covered in blood in my dreams."

 Šime took a sharp breath, biting inside of his cheek. Luka's face held such a honest, vulnerable expression it made him wish for impossible things.

 It made him wish for a calm breeze on his face from an open window, the smell of coffee in the morning, and being able to just walk through a few rooms to find Luka at any time. To kiss him, right this second, first thing in the morning and any other time he wanted, without having to look over his shoulder.

 Šime's insides recoiled as he snapped out of his fantasy, and he mentally slapped himself. What kind of wish is that? He should know better.

 "You are not dreaming," he said, trying to make his voice sound as sharp as it did earlier.

 He turned to the nurse again.

 "Give me the key to this room. And you” - he glanced at Luka - "get dressed. We are leaving."

 Šime could feel Luka's burning gaze on the nape of his neck when he turned from him. He didn't have the time to talk to him properly, and it was for the best. For the first time, Šime didn't trust himself to keep his cool. He was one step away from starting a shouting match.

 "What the fuck do you think you are doing?! Who are you, and who are your friends, actually? Jesus Christ Ante, you just killed someone!"

 By the sound of it, the kid from the gallery shared his sentiment, but not his self restraint. Which was another reason they needed to hurry.

 Luka put his torn button-up on, and Šime quietly mourned the loss of it. It was such a nice shirt, and before it was torn and bloodied. it looked amazing on Luka.

 The nurse gave him the key and Šime fished out a small bottle from the pocket of his jacket. The nurse swallowed audibly, digging her nails into her palms. Šime smirked, but managed to stifle his laughter.

 "Calm down. It's chloroform – but it's not for you. I'm just going to lock you in this room for a bit to buy us some time. Give me some gauze or something to put this on."

 She walked over to a first aid box in the corner, never taking her eyes off Šime, and handed held out a thick white dressing without a word. Without breaking the silence, Šime took it with a hint of a smile, and Luka gave him a look. Šime knew that look, it was his "what-the-hell-are-you-doing-now" look. Well, perhaps if Luka didn't consistently prove that his plans sucked, maybe Šime would tell him about his.

 Taking the key in one hand and the gauze in another, he exited the room, Luka trailing behind him still looking bemused and more delicate than usual. Šime locked the door behind them, and stared at the key for a moment. Then, after a moment of consideration, he walked over to the first open window he saw and, with a lightning fast flick of the wrist, he threw it.

 "Did you just throw the key out of the window?!" Luka asked, raising an eyebrow.

 "No, Luka, of course not, you must be hallucinating from the blood loss,” Šime replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I actually swallowed the key. Now that's cleared up, let's move."

 Luka rolled his eyes but followed him through the corridor. Šime opened the door and slipped inside silently, a skill he had perfected over the years. He braced himself and walked over to the gallery kid, grabbing his shoulder. The boy - or well, the man, he supposed, processing for the first time that he was actually slightly taller and broader than Šime himself - flinched, but Šime didn't ease his grip.

 The need for violence burned through him again and he resisted the urge to just knock the kid out with a precise hit on the head. He saved Luka, and that was worth something.

 “I am really sorry I have to do this, but we already gained too much attention without you making a scene and shouting Ante's name. Let's hope nobody heard that part.”

 And then he pressed the chloroform-soaked gauze to his face. The guy struggled, but it was nothing compared to what Šime was used to, and after a few moments his body went limp in his arms.

 Šime didn't miss the way Ante clenched his fists and was obviously resisting the urge to stop him and defend... what was his name again?

 “Since you seem so keen on protecting him, you can carry him to the car,” Šime said, almost tossing him towards Ante, who caught him, scowling at Šime.

 Šime rolled his eyes.

 “And don't think you're getting away without explaining that mess. I am just in a hurry to get out of here. But there will be plenty of time during the ride to the safe house.”

 “Safe house?” Luka asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

 “Yes. We can't afford to be potentially followed to the main house. And you-” Šime sharply swept his gaze from Luka's pale face to his injured shoulder, and torn clothes, “need to be somewhere safe. That's the number one priority here.”

 With that, Šime turned and walked towards the exit, not checking if they followed him. If they really wanted to die in this stupid hospital, then fine. Šime wasn't about to hang around and join them.

 When all three, or, well, technically four, of them finally reached the car, Šime was already nervously glancing around the parking lot. They had been here for way longer than he would have liked.

 Livi was waiting for them, of course, his fingers anxiously tapping on the steering wheel. His shoulders relaxed a bit when he caught the sight of Šime, and his eyes widened when he saw Ante carrying someone. Šime should really teach him how to hide his emotions better.

 “How do you plan on all of us fitting in car, with Tin unconscious?” Ante asked sharply, but Šime didn't even turned towards him.

 “Put him in the trunk, hell, tie him to the roof for all I care. As long as you do it fast.”

 He could see the way Ante's jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Ante was known for his lack of reaction, but for some reason he was slipping... that was the most emotion Šime had seen in his notoriously stony face since he met him five years ago. Interesting.

 Šime took the front seat, which left Ante and Luka in the backseat, with Ante arranging... what had Ante called him? Tim? to sit between them, with his head leaning on Ante's shoulder. It looked almost domestic, forcing Šime to bat away his own daydreams once again.

 As if he'd read his mind, Luka caught Šime's gaze in rear mirror, his honey eyes trapping him for a moment. Šime pursed his lips, pushing the worry, the anger and everything else back down. There will be time to talk, but it wasn't now.

 “Drive. You know the way,” he told Livi flatly, tearing his eyes away from Luka's and looking ahead.

 When the car started and they left the parking lot without another incident, Šime turned his gaze towards Ante.

 “So... care to enlighten us as to how you and Tim know each? And why he freaked out earlier?”

 Ante shifted, turning his eyes to the side window, obviously uncomfortable with Šime's prying. This was nothing new, if they really thought about it no one truly knew anything about Ante, but there was something different about it this time. Instead of cold and indifferent, he seemed... cagey. His look was one Šime had seen dozens of times on the faces of people he was seconds away from forcing a secret out of.

 “His name is Tin, with an N, not Tim. And we went to the same high school. But that was in another part of the country. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years, and I genuinely have no idea what he’s doing here.”

 Šime shrugged. That really wasn't the part he was concerned about. Tim- Tin - was just at the wrong place and at the wrong time. With too good intentions. Šime glanced to his unconscious face and felt himself warming to him, just a little.

 If he wasn't there, Luka would probably be dead.

 Šime shook his head, chasing that thought away. He really shouldn't think of that. He couldn't, not if he was to keep up his professional facade while Ante and Livi were around.

 "It looked a bit more personal than that to me."

 Ante crossed his arms over his chest, and Šime knew he hit a nerve. It was like poking a bear with a stick to get a reaction. Ante was such an enigma because he never talked about anything from the past. But when someone just waltzes in like this... well, things get a little harder to hide.

 "Look, while it's great that Tin here saved Luka's life, if you think I will hesitate to put a bullet through his brain if he is the faintest bit suspicious, you are gravely mistaken. So if you want him to live, you better start talking."

 Ante swallowed, and Šime let the silence stretch, knowing Ante would break under pressure. If he felt better pretending he actually weighed up both options, Šime wasn't about to break his illusion. But since a big part of his job was to read people and find their weaknesses... he knew he had him the moment he said Tin's name.

 "Fine. We used to date. Back in high school. But everything I said is true, I haven’t seen him in years, and he isn't dangerous by any means, I swear. He's just a fucking artist, for God's sake!"

 Šime raised his eyebrows.

 "That artist of yours knocked out two trained men with guns, without even giving them a chance to fight back. Maybe you want to try that again."

 Ante chewed on his bottom lip, deciding how much he could say.

 "That's because I trained him in self defense, okay? But there is a reason he didn't try to fight them. If he was any kind of threat, don't you think he would have been able to fight you earlier?"

 That was a fair point. To be fair, Šime didn't really think Tin was dangerous, but after all that had happened today, he wasn't about to let any potential threat slide.

 "Alright, I trust you, and that means I trust him. But for now, he won't be able to leave the safe house. He saw our faces and until I am certain he won't go straight to the police, he isn't going anywhere."

 Ante nodded, but he didn't relax. Šime supposed he was aware he’d be the one responsible for keeping Tin from getting out. Šime glanced to Luka again, the way the setting sun painted his face and hair into red tones and he felt a pang in his heart. He quickly averted his gaze. He definitely wasn't envious of Ante's task.

 Livi was quiet during the entire ride, his eyes fixed on the road. Despite the fact that his baby face usually made him seem a few years younger than he was, the look in his eyes was that of a man four times his age.

 The rest of the ride was spent in loaded silence, and when the car finally stopped, Livi jumped out as if the thing was about to explode, but Šime stayed in the car a moment longer, just watching the way Ante gently eased Tin out and scooped him up.

 Luka would never let him do that, no matter how injured he was. Because his reputation was more important.

 No, because he doesn't want anyone to know about you, how he feels about you. Because he doesn't love you. At least not as much as you love him.

 Šime grit his teeth and exited the car, making sure he doesn't glance in Luka's direction. He knew Luka would struggle to open the door without jostling his shoulder, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing that Luka wouldn't see as an implication of weakness, anyway.

 Ante was already at the door, with Tin in his arms, and Luka wasn't far behind. Livi went to joining them, but Šime stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

 "I am not going to ask you how you knew Luka was going to be in danger, because I keep my word. But if I find out you had something to do with this... believe me, you'll have far bigger problems than Dalić finding out about it. Got it?"

 Livi held his gaze, unwavering. Sometimes Šime let himself slip and forget exactly who Livi was, but in moments like this, he would be sharply reminded with perfect clarity of just who he was dealing with... and who raised him.

 "Got it. I mean, you were pretty clear. I just find it insulting that you think I would be dumb enough to plan Luka's assassination and then tell you about it beforehand."

 Šime snorted, the weight lifting of his shoulders a bit. He was really starting to like Livi. He really didn't want to kill him.

 "Okay, you can go see your lover boy now. Ante and I can handle it from here."

 Livi gave him an honest smile, and the ancient look in his eyes disappeared for a brief moment. He actually looked 23, young and carefree as he should be. Not that Šime knew anything about that from personal experience.

 As he climbed the stairs to the door and made his way to Luka's room, he let his mind wander back, to when he was 16.

 The air was crisp and cold, the wind sharply making it's way through people's coats and making them tremble. Šime liked that kind of weather.

It meant people were walking quickly, and paying less attention to their surroundings, eager to get away from the cold. That made his job so much more easier.

Stumbling or colliding into people was his specialty. Supporting them with their right hand a apologizing profusely, making it seemed like an unfortunate accident on his part. A misstep. Nobody ever payed attention to his left hand.

Nobody before Luka.

Šime collided with a short boy with blond hair. He was nothing special from afar - he looked around Šime's age, maybe a few years older but it was hard to be sure, considering his height - but his clothes were nice enough for Šime to try to get his wallet. Or watch. Or both, if he had enough time.

What he didn't expect was for the boy to move frighteningly fast as soon as Šime fished out his wallet, tightly gripping his wrist. Šime's breath caught in his throat. Nobody caught him stealing before.

He stared at the boy, his honey eyes reminding him of the light of a candle. Lighting up a room if used properly, and burning down the entire house if you got too careless.

"I plead not guilty?" Šime whispered, his voice trembling.

The other boy let out a startled laugh, shaking his head a bit. He gave Šime a long, calculating look, before letting go of his wrist.

"Would you like a job? One that could use your... expertise?"

 Šime came back to the present, grounding himself with the feeling of a cold steel knob in his hand. He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

 Luka was sitting on a chair next to the bed, trying to change his dressing himself. Šime watched him fumble with the gauze for a moment, and then stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

 "Let me," he said, and Luka flinched.

 He didn't hear him. That was unusual - Luka was always aware of the smallest sounds and movement. It was a rare occurrence for Šime to sneak up to him even when he tried.

 Šime pushed away his worry and stepped closer, slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

 "I am not some scared animal," Luka snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and immediately wincing in pain.

 Šime didn't answer. He stopped behind Luka, and their eyes met in the mirror. Šime carefully brushed Luka's hair to the left side, so he could take a better look at his injured shoulder.

 It was more or less a clean wound, or rather two, where the bullet passed right through the shoulder, but the marks were still startlingly red next to Luka's pale skin.

 "No, you are not. But that doesn't mean I can't be careful with you. Really, it says more about me than you."

 Luka swallowed and kept quiet and Šime took that as his agreement to change his dressing. He wrapped the bandage in silence, even making a conscious effort not to breathe too loudly in the stillness, and when he was almost finished Luka spoke.

 "I got distracted. I should have noticed that man sooner, but I didn't. I got distracted, because of you, and it almost cost me my life."

 Šime finished wrapping the gauze and made sure it was secured before taking a step back.

 "Then tell me to leave."

 "What?" Luka asked, sitting up straighter in the chair. 

 Šime met his eyes, amber and brown opal clashing.

 "Tell me to leave. If I am really such a burden, such a threat to your life - then tell me to leave. I can promise you, I will walk out of that door without another word and you'll never see me again. I won't make this hard on you, if that's what you want, say so and I'm gone."

 Luka stared, swallowed. Šime almost caved when he saw his lost, desperate look he gave him. 

 "You know I can't do that." 

 Šime closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before opening them again, catching Luka's eyes once again.

 "Then ask me to stay. Just... just for God's sake, Luka, make up your mind already. Because I feel like I'm trying to reach for smoke here and as much as it would hurt losing you... I feel like I already am. So just make a choice. For both of our sakes."

 Luka turned, opened his mouth and closed it. And then nodded.

 "Do I... do I need to make a decision now?"

 Everything in Šime wanted to scream: YES! We have been dancing around this for years, how much more time could you possibly need?! Just tell me what you want already!

But he bit his tongue, and smoothed his face into his usual calm, collected facade.

 "No, of course not. But you should do it soon. Especially considering…" Šime paused, sweeping his eyes over Luka's shoulder and then back to his face, "…these new developments. I'd imagine things will get quite messy soon."

 Luka pursed his lips and nodded once again, and Šime turned on his heel, ready to leave.

 "Wait!"

 Šime spun back around, finding Luka on his feet now. Before Šime could ask what was wrong, or say anything at all, Luka stepped closer and his lips were on Šime's.

 Šime gasped, and Luka got even closer, tangling his hands into Šime's messy curls. His breath was warm in Šime's mouth, and unlike this morning he tasted of blood. Šime chose to ignore that, and kissed him back, hard.

 It was as if a dam had been broken, and they couldn't stop kissing each other. Even when they parted for breath, one of them would press smaller, quick kisses to the other's lips. Šime because he wanted to make sure Luka was alive, and breathing and okay, and Luka because he wanted to make sure he didn't waste his chance this time around.

 Finally, they stopped, their foreheads leaning against each other, and panting for air. The silence was different now – still charged, but no longer uncomfortable. They didn't have to say anything to understand what the other was thinking.

 "I don't want you to leave. But I... I don't know how to do this either. I don't know how to keep you safe, hell, apparently I don't even know how to keep myself safe. And you are putting yourself at a higher risk now, just by being around me."

 Šime sighed, playing with a lock of Luka's silky hair as he considered the answer.

 "Nobody is promised safety, especially not in our line of business. And we'll figure out the rest. As long as we are together."

 Luka opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Šime kissed him again. It was a quick, bruising kiss and Šime smiled against Luka's mouth as he gasped.

 "You need to get some rest. You almost died. Trust me, I'll find out more about what happened by the time you wake up. Okay?"

 Luka still looked uncertain, unused to not doing everything on his own. Even when others did things without him, he knew exactly what they were doing. This required trust. Both Šime and Luka trusted very few people, but they both knew that if this was going to work, they needed to trust each other completely.

 "Okay."

 Šime kissed Luka's forehead, and left without another word. Right before he closed the door, he glanced back at Luka and found him still standing where he left him, looking right back at him. When Šime closed the door with a soft click, he felt as if he lost something precious.

 Which was ridiculous. Wasn't it? Well, it was, until Šime's phone rang.

 He didn't have the number saved in his phone - that would be stupid for a multitude of reasons - but he memorized that number long time ago. It usually showed on Luka's phone though, not Šime's.

 "Vrsaljko," Šime answered, his voice cold, almost robotic.

 The person on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly, and the hairs on Šime's arms stood on end. There was something about that voice that never failed to make Šime shudder and make something cold and heavy settle in his stomach.

 "Yes, I am aware. I just heard about Luka's... incident. I assume he is alright, since you answered the call?"

 Šime hated the fact the other man knew that, if Luka died, Šime would already be on a killing mission. Šime was very much used to being the reader, not the metaphorical book, and it made him uncomfortable that someone could so effortlessly read even the chapters he made an effort to keep glued shut.

 "Yes, he's alive."

 "Good. I also presume you don't have any information other than what I heard from Livaković and Rebic?"

 Šime's breath caught in his throat. Lying to Dalić was never wise. But hell if Šime was going to break his promise to Livi.

 "No."

 "I need you to do something for me," Dalić continued, brushing off the previous topic, "now that Luka is injured. I am sure Luka won't be out of action for long, but while he is, you are one of few people I trust to be... discreet."

 Shit. This couldn't be good.

 Šime knew something was very, very wrong. He knew that Dalić was doing this behind Luka's back for a reason far more important than him being injured, even before he said anything.

 "I am listening."

 "I need you to arrange a hit for me... I just found out who ordered the shooting at the gallery."

 Šime could barely hear anything over the static in his ears. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and the gentleness and suspicion bled out of him. Only rage was left. He gripped the phone tighter, until he thought the screen might crack.

 "Who?" he hissed through clenched teeth. He knew that Dalić wasn't the type for dramatic pauses, so the eternal wait for the other man to answer was probably, in reality, a split second. Finally, he spoke.

 "Danijel Subašić."

 And in that moment, as he remembered stories of Luka's stories from his childhood, and him and Suba saving each other's lives before they join opposite mafias, Šime was certain of one thing. Things would never be the same again.

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[lilixloveswriting]

Shell

Whumptober 2020 Day 19 (Prompt: Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt)

Fandom: BNHA (This is an AU for my Next Gen...AU...😬)

Characters: Hitoshi Midoriya (OC), Mitsuko Midoriya kinda, she’s dead (OC), Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo, Saisho Kirishima (OC), Eijiro Kirishima mentioned, also dead, Kayda Todoroki (OC), Hisao Todoroki (OC), Akio Todoroki haha...you guessed it (OC)

Word Count: 4582

A/N: This may be a mistake since y’all don’t know these characters yet but it just fits all the criteria for today’s prompt and I just couldn’t pass it up. Umm so I wrote this in the car when I couldn’t sleep on a road trip from 2 am to 9 am. I never acctually planned on posting it anywhere, so...idek what I’m trying to say. It’s the darkest thing I had written at that point (and imo, still is my darkest piece) so...yeah. Buckle up, it’s a sad one also please note canon Hitoshi is not this mean

TW: swearing, dissociation, suicidal ideation, child whump (Hitoshi is 13/14), survivor’s guilt (obvi), grief (obvi), family member death, past death of minor (Mitsuko - age 17), emotional detatchment, blood, ptsd flashback (nightmare), panic attack mention, vomiting mention, eventually Hitoshi has a well deserved emotional breakdown

The pencil spun around Hitoshi's knuckles in sync with the second hand of the clock. He stared at it, waiting for it to hypnotize him so that he didn't have to be there for the rest of his session. It wasn't anything personal, his therapist was fine. Today was just a bad day. Not that his days were ever good, but today was a particularly bad one. One where he felt like running out into traffic, just to see what would happen.

"Hitoshi?"

His voice seemed so far away in his dissociative state. It was nice, kind of comforting actually. More so than the unbearable ringing that would occur sometimes when someone spoke to him. The accident fucked his hearing, that's what the doctors said. The accident fucked a lot of things.

56, 57, 58, 59, 4:00

Hitoshi snapped into action, catching his pencil in his hand and slipping it into his bag as he lobbed it over his shoulder.

"Who's coming to get you today, Hitoshi?"

"My dad." He responded with a grumble, not that it was any of his business.

"Okay. Is he here, or would you like me to wait with you?"

Hitoshi shrugged his shoulders, biting back a sarcastic remark as he turned the door handle to exit his therapist's office and enter the hallway. He knew the way back to the waiting room all too well by now: a left, then two rights, down the elevator, and straight down the hall. Hitoshi heard muffled sobbing as he passed one of the doors, sparing it a glance before continuing. He wondered what her problem was. He was a little bit envious, for whatever it was, at least she could express how she was feeling. Hitoshi never felt anything but anger. Sometimes he never felt anything at all.

He made a beeline for the stairway, not too keen on sitting in another silent room with his therapist.

"Getting your steps in today?"

Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he swung himself around the flat bit of the stairwell. Their session was over, couldn't this guy shut up?

He arrived at the waiting room soon enough, tucking his thumbs into his backpack straps as he scanned the room for his dad. Not here yet.

"Not here yet?"

"No, dingbat. Do you see him?"

"Hm. I've got some time before my next appointment. I can stick around for a while."

"Fuuuck me."

"Hey! Sorry, I went to the bathroom." Hitoshi turned towards the cheery voice he knew so well, a small sigh of relief escaping his lungs. "Hey, kiddo-" Izuku placed his hands on Hitoshi's shoulders, faltering as he moved and shoved the front door open. "Hey, hold on!" He called after his son, and Hitoshi did slow down, but he didn't stop. He left the building, then walked a few steps down the sidewalk, perching himself on the ledge of the window sill, his back to the building.

"Uhh…" Izuku sighed, "bad day?"

The therapist gave a vague shrug and Izuku frowned.

"What did he say? Did something happen at school? Did I do something? His mom?"

The therapist smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Midoriya. You should talk to your son."

Izuku bit down on his lip. "Please, just…tell me something. Anything." The words begged to escape his throat, but he swallowed them down and nodded. He understood doctor-patient confidentiality, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

He bid Hitoshi's therapist goodbye, then joined his son on the sidewalk.

"Hey, kiddo." Izuku's voice sounded far away too, and Hitoshi wasn't sure if he wanted it to this time. He continued to stare at the curb of the sidewalk, the whizzing of tires lulling him off into another dissociative state. His father's voice was muffled and he didn't remember the walk from the sidewalk to the car.

"What's wrong, Hito?" Izuku turned to him, and he couldn't will himself to look away from the dashboard. 

He didn't know what was wrong. Nothing, nothing was really wrong, but everything was wrong at the same time. He felt so fucking numb but ached all over at the same time. It was exhausting, he just wanted everything to stop. He wanted everyone to stop trying to fix him; he couldn't be fixed.

Hitoshi took a deep breath, willing all of his effort to move his tongue. "Nothing, I'm just tired." it was silent in the car, nobody moved and a wave of guilt washed over Hitoshi, though he wasn't sure what for.

"Survivor's guilt is a common occurrence. It won't be unusual for Hitoshi to feel as though he did something wrong for surviving the crash. Getting him into therapy sessions now is probably the best course of action."

"Can we go home now?" Hitoshi inhaled again as he reached for his seatbelt, jerking it over his body and clicking it into the buckle.

His dad put the car into drive and Hitoshi rested his head on the window.

"You wanna get some ice cream?" Izuku asked. Hitoshi shrugged and ten minutes later he had a chocolate ice cream cone in his hand. He had grown to hate the taste, but he ate it anyway because it made Izuku feel better. 

It still felt wrong not to pass any napkins to Mitsuko to get it out of her hair.

Izuku flipped on the lights to his apartment; the "bachelor pad" as he called it. He had turned Hitoshi on to the idea of a man den when he was ten. They both knew this wasn't what he meant.

"Do you wanna-"

"I've got homework," Hitoshi said, heading straight to his room and shutting the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and told himself that he didn't care enough to put them away, but the way they were scattered across the floor was a little too much like her, so he picked them up and lined them up against the wall.

He fell back onto his bed, exhaling deeply as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling. His room here wasn't too bad, it was a decent size and his dad even bought him a desk and helped him decorate it with figurines and pictures. He put the pictures away though, they made him feel uneasy. 

"Hey," There was a short knock at the door and it slowly creaked open. Izuku stuck his head inside. "I know you want to be alone right now, but keep the door open, yeah? Just a crack, okay?"

Hitoshi sat up a bit and nodded at his dad, who gave him a weak smile in return.

"Okay. Thank you." He said, and Hitoshi appreciated that he didn't pry, even though he knew his father was worried. "Uh, is there anything you want for dinner?"

Hitoshi shrugged and Izuku sighed.

"Okay. Think about it and let me know, okay?"

Hitoshi nodded a little, knowing he wasn't going to decide on anything. He really didn't care.

"Okay. I'll leave you alone now. I love you," Izuku said and Hitoshi gave him a small smile, then he left, pulling the door closed with about an inch to spare.

Hitoshi let his head fall back onto the bed, exhaling in a puff as another wave of guilt crashed over him. He always saw the look in his father's eyes. 

"Please give me something. Anything."

But he couldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to. He didn't even know what to say. His dad had always been emotional, he wondered how many nights he spent crying because Hitoshi couldn't even manage an "I love you."

He wanted to cry. He couldn't really remember what crying felt like, but he knew he used to feel better after he did. Now, he just felt bad all the time. He was tired of it.

Hitoshi flipped over onto his stomach, trapping his pillow between his arms and his face as his eyes fell on his bag. He had homework, but he couldn't convince himself to do it. The mere thought of it was exhausting and Hitoshi turned his head the other way, towards the wall. 

The blood coated his fingers like syrup, making an awful squelching sound as it mixed with his tears. He applied pressure, he heard that somewhere, a tv show, he thinks. It was supposed to make the bleeding better or something, but it kept leaking and it soaked into his jeans and shirt and skin. He must not have been doing it right, maybe he was pressing too hard because Mitsuko kept gasping for air. Maybe he was choking her. 

She turned to him and took in a shaky breath, eyes wide and bloodshot and she whispered in a spine chilling voice, "Help me, Hito."

Hitoshi gasped and in the moment of fear, loosened his grip on Mitsuko's neck. She screamed as the ground caved in, swallowing her whole, and Hitoshi couldn't do anything but scream her name as he reached in after her.

Hitoshi opened his eyes and lifted his head from his pillow, blinking a few times before looking around the room. He sighed, realizing it had been a dream. He wasn't sure which reality he would rather be in.

The faint smell of food caused him to sit up fully, and he looked at his nightstand to see a plate of pizza waiting for him. His dad had to eat alone again. Dick move, Hitoshi.

He rubbed his eyes as they fell on the window, the sun had already set. How long had he slept for? Hitoshi yawned and swung his legs over the side of his bed, taking a second before standing up and opening his door. He went to the living room, a short walk in the small apartment. His dad turned his head from the tv as Hitoshi stepped into the room, greeting him with a small smile. 

"Hey. I don't know if you saw, but I left you some pizza. But if you don't want that then I can see what else I can make you."

Hitoshi shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's fine." He whispered, and if you weren't listening for it you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Okay. Mom called. I told her you were sleeping. You want me to call her back?"

Hitoshi shook his head and Izuku tilted his head to the side.

"Sweetie, you should call your mom." He said, prompting a sigh and a bit of an eye-roll from his son. He nodded in the end, though, so Izuku counted that as a victory.

"Later."

"Not too late. She probably has a shift in the morning, she'll be going to bed soon."

Hitoshi didn't respond to that. Instead, he walked around the couch and sat down next to his father. "What are you watching?" He asked, and Izuku was thrilled to be getting this many words out of him.

"I don't know. The news. Nothing special."

"Pro Heroes Ground Zero and Chargebolt work together in EPIC villain take down!" Izuku cleared his throat, switching the tv off before standing abruptly.

"Alright, it's late. Call your mom and get ready for bed, okay?" Izuku ruffled his hair and planted a kiss on his head. "Goodnight, I love you." He said, then went to his room.

Hitoshi stared straight ahead at the switched-off tv. He should get to bed soon so his dad's sleep didn't suffer. Izuku always waited until Hitoshi had gone to bed before actually sleeping himself. He sighed, staring at the phone on the coffee table. He didn't want to call his mom; calling his mother actually involved talking, and she was much more thorough than his father was. He didn't want to deal with that today. Still, if he didn't call her then it'd be his father who suffered and Hitoshi didn't want that.

She picked up on the third ring.

"What, Izuku?"

"Mom." Hitoshi said, leaning into the phone as it rested on his palm.

"Oh, hi honey. What are you doing on Dad's phone?"

Hitoshi shrugged, sighing in frustration as he realized she couldn't see him. "It was closer than mine."

His mother laughed. "Lazy butt. How was your day?"

"Fine."

"How was your meeting with your therapist?"

"Fine."

"Okay…how's Daddy?"

Hitoshi sighed as he looked over the top of the couch to his dad's room, door open and light on. "I'm slowly killing him."

"Fine."

"Okay, can you give me more than that, please? I miss you. Pretty please?"

Again, Hitoshi sighed. "He's okay. We got ice cream."

"Oooh what's the occasion?"

"He's sad that I won't speak to him." "Just…guys being dudes."

Ochako laughed, which provided some type of relief, even if it was only temporary. "Alright, did you guys get your homework done?"

"Yeah," He lied. He didn't want his dad to get reprimanded for his own destructive tendencies.

"Did you have a lot?"

"Not really."

"Any you struggled with?"

Hitoshi cursed silently, looking for a bullshit answer. "Algebra." Mitsuko was good at algebra.

"Oh, ummm, well did you two get it? If not you could snap a pic and send it to me and I can help. Or you could ask Kayda, I'm sure she'd love to help you."

"We figured it out."

"Of course you did, you're so smart." There was a pause when Hitoshi didn't respond. "Your dad is pretty good at algebra, huh?"

Hitoshi sighed. "Yeah." That's where Mitsuko got it. 

"Okay, well it's getting late. As much I know you love talking to me, you need to get your rest."

"Okay."

"Okay. I love you, bubba. Goodnight."

"Night." He said and hung up the phone, letting it sit idly in his lap before he moved. He went to his father's room and peeked inside to see the bathroom door closed. He must have been showering. Hitoshi left his phone on his bed, then went back to his own bedroom. He laid down on his bed, not bothering to get under the covers, figuring he'd just get up and shower when he'd inevitably wake up again in two hours. Everything felt heavy, especially his eyelids, and he let them fall closed as he drifted off into the night.

✱✱✱

Hitoshi kicked at the ground as his hands gripped the sides of the chair. His cousin sat in the one next to him, resting her chin on her hand.

"He doesn't need whatever the hell this is, Katsuki-"

"I don't have anything to do with this, don't start with me."

Hitoshi sighed and bent down to pick up his backpack just as Katsuki and his mom burst through the door to the principal's office. His mom rushed over to him, cupping his face in her hands and repeatedly asking if he was injured. Hitoshi pushed her off and started towards the door, scoffing when Ochako blocked his path.

"Hitoshi, what happened?"

The brunette glanced at his cousin who rolled her eyes as she picked up her bag. "Nothing."

"Obviously, it's not nothing if you're both here-"

"Okay, would you shut up and let me parent my own kid?" Katsuki spat, and Ochako scoffed.

"You're not doing a very good job-"

"Mom," Hitoshi whined. Nothing good was going to come from this.

"Saisho, what the hell happened?" Katsuki asked and the girl rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare roll your eyes at me, do you know how many strings I had to pull to come get you?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause it's my fault, right? It's always my fault." She pushed past her dad, ignoring his angry shouts and walked out of the door. Hitoshi slipped around his mother, following Saisho's lead. He just wanted to go home.

"This is the third call I've gotten this month. Saisho, whatever the hell this is, you need to get it together because I'm sick of it."

"What do you think, I like you coming to my school and screaming at me in the halls?!" Saisho whipped around and shouted right back at her father, a few spikes growing on her arms. "Yeah, it's the highlight of my freaking week!"

"Watch your mouth!" Katsuki scolded her but she was ready to fire back with more sarcasm.

"It wasn't her fault, she had a panic attack!" Hitoshi shouted over them, grabbing both of their attention as well as his mother's. Quieter, he continued, "They pick on her, they wouldn't leave her alone. So I stepped in and then her quirk was all…you know and then…"

"What…is this true?" Katsuki turned to Saisho, who's breathing had picked up as she stared at Hitoshi. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you don't listen! It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters. How could you even think that? You're supposed to tell me stuff like this-"

"She was just scared-" Hitoshi started, but was quickly stopped by a wry cry.

"Oh my GOD!" Saisho wrung her fingers through her hair, pulling at her scalp in frustration. She turned to Hitoshi, "Would you FUCK OFF?! Stop fighting my battles for me!"

"Hey!" Ochako stepped up next to Hitoshi, offended for her son who simply sighed and cast his gaze to the floor.

"Hey! Not okay!" Katsuki grabbed onto her wrist and she growled, yanking it away with all her might but still not able to get free.

"LET GO! Don't touch me! Stop!" She cried, clawing at Katsuki's hand. "Ugh! None of this would be happening if Dad was here!" She yelled, and that was enough for Katsuki to loosen his grip in shock. Saisho immediately ripped her hand away, stumbling backward in a fit of tears.

"I'm here! I'm here, sorry I'm late!" Izuku threw open the double doors, slowing down at the sight in front of him. "What…what's going on?"

Saisho let out one more frustrated sob and stomped forward, shoving past Izuku to the parking lot. 

Izuku gave Katsuki a look, which he ignored and started after his daughter. Izuku grabbed him by the arm before he could get passed. "Hey-"

"Don't touch me!" Katsuki yanked his arm away, whipping around to face Izuku. "You're not the only one who lost someone in that accident, you know?! And that's what it was, an accident! It was an ACCIDENT! I'm sorry! You know I'm sorry! And you can punish me all you want, but don't you fucking drag her into it because she lost a parent!" He pointed out at the parking lot, tears welling up in his eyes and Hitoshi realized this was the first time he'd actually seen his uncle cry.

Izuku didn't stop him from leaving after that, and the broken family watched the blond storm out of the school.

"Okay…what the heck did I miss?" Izuku held his arms out to his sides as he approached his son and ex wife. 

"More like why the hell did you miss? Izuku, where were you? I know they called you after they called me." Ochako stepped towards him, arms crossed over her chest. 

"I was working-"

"So was I."

"I was all the way across town!"

"What happened to your super speed, Mr. Full Cowling?" 

"Okay, I'm not doing this with you right now. Hitoshi-"

"No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to dodge my questions like they aren't important."

"I am trying to check on our son!"

"He's fine! I already checked, because I was here."

"Well I am here now and I would still like to know what happened."

"He was in a fight!"

"You were in a fight?!" Izuku echoed, turning to Hitoshi with a shocked look on his face.

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows and his mouth dropped open in surprise. "What?! No, it wasn't a fight-" He started, but was interrupted by his mother before he could finish. 

"Maybe you could have done something to prevent it if you actually talked to him."

Izuku recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth morphing into a scowl. "I do talk to him."

"Oh yeah? What do you talk about?"

"We…Ochako, this isn't fair-"

"You want to know what isn't fair? What isn't fair is that I'm stuck being his mom after you decided to be his friend! Let me guess what you had for dinner last night: whatever he wanted?"

Izuku frowned. "Actually, we had pizza."

"Oh, pizza! Even better!"

Hitoshi shut his eyes, scrunching his nose up as they continued to bicker. He was sure the classrooms down the hall could hear, and he didn't need to add anything else to his souring reputation. "You guys, can we please go home-"

"Shush!"

"Not now!"

This was how they'd been since the funeral. They argued constantly; over why the dishes weren't done (Mitsuko always did them), about who's turn it was to buy groceries (Mitsuko did most of the shopping), about whether they were going to keep Mitsuko's door open or closed.

The last one didn't last long because Izuku moved out a few months after. He wanted her door closed, but now Ochako could keep it open. 

They argued over Hitoshi a lot too, and he remembered when he first saw the headlines: "Pro Heroes Deku and Uravity Messy Divorce After Loss of Child!"

He threw up after reading it.

Things were better after they separated. Well, not better, but at least they weren't fighting all the time. They had gotten better at communicating, but he still hated being in the same room with both of them at a time. It was times like these where he wished his sister was still here, or at least that Saisho didn't hate him. 

He guessed this was the type of stuff he was supposed to tell his therapist. But how was he supposed to say it when it felt like talking about her was forbidden? Her name was like a lit match, waiting to be dropped on a stick of dynamite embedded deep inside of the Earth's core, ready to blow his world to pieces. He lost himself in these thoughts, spiraling down and down and down until he'd forgotten what reality he was in.

His dissociation was dangerous because he would sometimes wander without realizing it until someone woke him up. This time, it was Hisao.

Hitoshi blinked as Hisao shook his shoulder, staring at him with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay? Here, come in." He ushered and Hitoshi listened realizing his clothes were damp. He must have walked there in the rain.

"KAYDAAA!" Hisao shouted, and from the annoyed look on his face it didn't seem like it was the first time. "I don't know where she is. Damn, I've got a thing to go to, I just stopped by to pick up some tools. Here, uh-" He flipped the switch to the fireplace and it lit up. "I'll go get you some dry clothes."

"What do you want?" Kayda came down the stairs, her irritated expression faltering as she laid eyes on Hitoshi. "Hito-chan…what…?" She started and looked to Hisao who shrugged, bounding up the stairs to get clothes for Hitoshi.

Kayda finished down the stairs and jogged over to Hitoshi, who was shivering now. "What are you doing here?"

Hitoshi shrugged. "I don't know." He truly didn't.

She frowned and grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Mom and dad were fighting." He mumbled and her shoulders slumped. He felt bad for unloading onto her like this. Mitsuko was her best friend after all. 

"Okay! They're gonna be pretty big, but it's better than what you're wearing, so," Hisao appeared next to them, handing Kayda the dry clothes. "I'm late to meet with Jisoo, so are you guys okay? Should I…?"

Kayda shook her head. "Go on, we'll be fine."

Hisao muttered a quiet "kay" and quickly left the house, leaving Kayda and Hitoshi alone. 

"Here, why don't we get you changed?" Kayda helped him stand and led him to the bathroom, handing him the clothes before he closed the door.

About fifteen minutes later, he was curled up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. 

"You know," Kayda sighed, picking at the blankets they were curled up with, "When Akio died…I wanted to die too. Well, not literally. I just couldn't…grasp the concept of living in a world where he didn't exist. I was so mad at him for…leaving me behind."

Hitoshi stared down into his cup. "It's not the same."

Kayda looked at him, then swallowed and nodded, sniffling. "I know."

Now he made her cry. When was this ever going to get any easier?

"I guess what I mean is," She sighed once more, allowing her hands to fall into her lap, "I've lost two important people within the last couple of years. So if you ever need someone to talk to…"

Hitoshi nodded. Kayda was nice, she had always been nice to him. But if he couldn't talk to his therapist, someone who his parents were paying to listen, how was he supposed to talk to his dead sister's best friend?

"Why didn't I wake up sooner?" Well,he's done it. Kayda raised an eyebrow and he, somehow, continued, "If I had…" He stopped, an involuntary sob bobbing in his throat, "She was just…lying there. She was all alone." He whimpered and his vision went blurry before he felt a warm wetness on his cheeks. "If I had…if I had woken up…s-sooner-" He coughed in his own tears, bringing a hand up to cover his face.

It had been a long time since he cried, and now that it was finally happening he didn't like it. His face was hot, and his head felt like it was going to explode from the sheer effort he was putting in to keep his tears from falling. Effort that didn't matter, because they were falling anyway, like a dam that had been patched up with gum, water spurting out of every crack, every crevice it could find. And to top it all off there was this sharp pain in his chest and he couldn't stop his lungs from seizing as he gasped for air, choking on his sobs and coughing when he couldn't get enough of it.

Warm arms restricted his shaking and he pressed his head into Kayda's chest, her hug providing some sense of security as he cried until his eyes swelled. Mitsuko would have made fun of him for this, and the thought only made him cry harder, pleading to some sentient being for the past year to have been a nightmare. Unfortunately for Hitoshi, said sentient being must not exist, because his desperate prayers went unheard. 

She whispered little reassurances, and though he didn't believe them, they made him feel a little bit better. His breathing slowed and his cheeks dried, though his head still pounded like a drum. He would have fallen asleep if he hadn't pulled away, hiccuping as he wiped at his eye.

"I should tell my parents where I am." He mumbled, taking out his phone and struggling to type in the pass code with his shaky hand.

"They don't know?" Kayda inquired, to which Hitoshi shook his head. He hadn't told him he was leaving, and they had been too caught up in their argument to notice. 

He shot them a text, nothing fancy or anything more than an address. He didn't want to talk to them. He was tired. 

But he did feel better. Even if it was just a little bit.

[willows-adventures-in-words]

For anyone who hasn’t read the brief character ideas/info I posted forever ago about this AU I will summarize. This is the scene I mentioned in Anti’s information. John is Anti before he stopped using his name.

word count: 1478 Content Warnings: character death

____________________________

He ran pulling his brother along with him. They had to get away. They had to get away from the stand-off. “I ca- I can't. Give me... a minute.”

John stopped and turned to face his brother. His eyes widened. “Sean...”

Sean gave a strained smile. “I'm okay. Just... just give me a minute.” He held a hand to his side but the blood was clearly visible.

“Shit. Fuck. We gotta find you a doctor.” He hurried over. “Lemme carry you.”

“You don't-” He stopped and groaned at the pain as John moved to pick him up. “I-I can walk.” His voice was laced with pain.

Both brothers were stubborn. Especially when it came to the well-being of the other. Sean let out a small whimper as his brother hurried off. “I swear I'll find someone. We'll get you patched up and find a place to take shelter so you can heal.”

“...Most of the doctors left,” Sean mumbled as he leaned into him.

John was determined. “I will find someone.” He ran as carefully as he could out of the danger zone. Once out he found a place for them to rest, John carefully set his brother down before shrugging off their backpacks. All he could find after digging through them that would help was one roll of bandages and some medical tape. He was quiet for a moment. Turning to his brother, he saw him watching him. John smiled. “I'm gonna bandage you up, but then we gotta keep going.” Sean swallowed, already knowing it was going to hurt, and told him okay.

It was as bad as he had thought, if not worse. He hated this. He hated seeing him hurting like this. And he hated that he was the one making him try not to cry out as he tried his best to bandage his wound. Apply pressure, wrap it tight. Bandaging him up took longer than he wanted it to. But once he was finished, John stuffed what little was left of the bandages back in one of their bags before turning back to Sean. His brother had his head rested back against the wall of the collapsed building with his eyes closed. “You're going to be okay...”

“I know,” Sean said, his voice strained, as he opened his eyes. He turned his head slightly to look at his brother. “It just hurts.”

Pulling both of their backpacks on his back, John told him, “Come on, let's find you some better help.” Sean sucked air in through his teeth as he was lifted up again.

A half-hour past. John had tried a dozen houses but either no one was there or they were too afraid to open the door. He was getting really worried. The blood had soaked through the bandages. “Aren't you getting tired..?” Sean asked quietly.

With a shake of his head, John told him no. “How are you holding up?”

Sean rested his head against the others chest. “...Not great,” he mumbled. He groaned as John picked up his pace. A couple minutes later he was kicking at another door before cursing when no one answered. “It's alright. You'll find someone.”

Finally, after another fifteen minutes past, John was at another house kicking at the door. This time someone actually opened it. It was a woman looking to be in her twenties. Once she saw them she gasped. “Oh my god. What happened? Is he okay?”

“We were caught in the skirmish. Please, can you help my brother?”

“I... No, I'm sorry. I don't know the first thing about taking care of an injury like that,” she told him.

John spoke up again. He was starting to sound desperate. “Please, can't you...”

“It's okay.” John fell quiet as he and the woman looked to Sean. “You'll find someone...” he mumbled.

“...I think there was a clinic down a ways.” She pointed down the road. “If I remember right it was three blocks down then turn a right. I'm pretty sure it was down that road.” As John turned to leave, she told him, “I don't know if anyone is there, but hopefully you'll find what you need.” John thanked her before hurrying off.

Those three blocks took awhile to travel down. A good twenty minutes at least. As he turned the corner he looked around for the clinic. “We're almost there Sean.” When he didn't get a response he stopped and looked down. “...Sean?”

“...Yeah.” John sighed, relieved. “Almost there...” Picking up his pace, John searched more urgently. Finally, he found it. Just as she said. And it still looked in reasonable shape if you compared it to some of the other buildings. The entry consisted of a set of double doors. The first was of glass and was broken while the second, likely replaced, was wooden. John rushed over and gave the door a couple kicks. “Hey, is anyone here?!”

Sean listened as his brother called out. Though it was getting harder to focus on things. He hardly felt the pain from his wound anymore. Fear tugged at him. He wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and rest, but he was afraid. Because what if he wouldn't wake back up? He couldn't leave John. They were all each other had.

When there was no response from inside, John twisted and reach for the door handle. To his surprise it wasn't locked. With a bit of difficultly, he managed to push it open. He was momentarily startled when a man warily greeted him from behind a desk. The man looked tired and his short brown hair looked messy, like he may have just woken up. He looked a good few years older than the two brothers. “Thank god...” John muttered. “Did you work here?”

“In a sense...” he shifted his gaze to Sean.

“Can you help my brother? We got caught in the skirmish a distance from here. Please.”

The man almost seemed to relax. He stepped around the desk and over towards them. Though once he got a good look at Sean he said, “Come with me. Quickly.” He ushered John to follow him down a darkened hallway and into one of the rooms. The man moved to turn on the flashlights around the room. There was even one duck-taped to the ceiling above the table that sat in the center of the room. “Lay him down. I need space.”

“You're gonna be okay,” John muttered quietly to his brother as he laid him down on the table. There was no response as John was ushered out of the way. He bumped his back against the wall and watched the man, who he assumed to be a doctor, tend to his brother. But when the doctor cursed and rushed out of the room, John slumped down to the floor. He remained there, staring off, as the other man hurried back in the room. After checking on Sean again the doctor stood quietly in front of the table. “...We were too late.” Everything felt like it was stopping. He stopped hearing what the doctor was saying. It felt like his mind was shutting down. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't deserve this. Sean was supposed to survive. Supposed to live. The doctor knelt down in front of him. He said something but it didn't register to John what was said.

Slowly, John turned his focus on him. His expression seemed mostly vacant, like he couldn't fully accept what happened. But his eyes showed such pain. His hands shook as he lifted them to his head. “This wasn't supposed to happen...” The other man remained quiet. “He was a good person. Always- Sean was always positive. He didn't...” John pulled his knees up. “It should've been me. It should've...” his voice cracked. John fell quiet.

“I'm sorry...” He didn't expect a reaction and continued. “I can not begin to understand how difficult this is for you, but take what time you need to mourn. Do not push yourself.” John remained quiet. The doctor didn't know if he was even registering what he was being told. It was likely he was in shock. “I suggest staying here awhile. I will prepare a room you can use.” He rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment before getting to his feet and heading for the door, pausing briefly to look back at the younger man and his deceased twin, before leaving fully.

John looked up at the table Sean laid on. He swallowed hard then buried his face in his arms.

_____________

Just as an extra note, I don’t usually use the name Sean when adding him in stories. But I had it in my head that if Anti survives the war then he will use the name Jack (Since Jack is a nickname for both Sean and John).

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Her eyes, the stars - Bucky Barnes x Reader (Steve Rogers x Reader)

[I know, I am a ghost. Sorry guys. Enjoy.]

The reminiscence of a rose - the single flower that’s so impossible to hate, delicate and pretty, even when it stops blooming. Her voice could calm even the most chaotic oceans, always soothing with soft notes of comfort. Even her eyes could mesmerize the most soulless creature; her sweet face left him dreaming in heartache. On the nights his loneliness stung him harder than cheap liquor; he was always thinking of her. For he reveled in the memory of her heart placed on his hands. As he tried to get drunk on other people’s skin. Yet all that regret still burned his chest. And he realized that he once had the best. Since she loved his highs and lows. He thought about what he once held. He regretted leaving her. But she deserved more than his pettiness and demeanor.

She begged herself to stop loving him.She hated herself for all the mistakes she had made, all those wrong decisions - she blamed him for he made her vulnerable. He was the sun, never really committed to one planet, always dancing around the universe, with bright colors revealing themselves, leaving her in awe. Her heavy blues of night opened to reveal the chariot of the sun lighting up the sky with various shades of yellow and gold. The feeling was almost theatrical and the dramatic intensity was palpable. How could they end up in the same sky, when he was the sun and she was always so fond of the night? They were just celestial objects, trying to find the one perfectly still moment, so they could co-exist in harmony without worrying about nature's balance. That moment had passed them by, ignoring their desperate attempts to escape the chaotic force.She was a whole universe in motion - he had guessed that was why she seemed so tired lately...It must be an exhausting, yet beautiful thing to brush the orbits of all the universes she walked by. He had tried to stop thinking that he made her so unhappy. He couldn't. Instead, he tried to understand her a bit better than before, to get close to her, without hurting her. Again. She was no pawn in his game, she was clever and cunning - but just to hide her true self.

"You think you can define me, that I am a tick in just one box. Like my being is a door that a single key unlocks. But let me tell you something - something I figured out after you broke me. I have the universe inside, I hold an untamed ocean with a constantly changing tide. I'm home to endless mountains with tips that touch the sky, flocks of grand migrating birds and deserts harsh and dry. Please, don't tell me that you know me. That "this right here is what you are", trying to get an old and very dead version of me back. I am the universe in motion, for I was born from the stars" she was talking to him, trying to make a point, to seem sure about what she had become - but she was scared of her heart. Oh, the things it made her do. He wasn't taken aback, which surprised her. He was looking into her eyes, watching the soft colors of the sky fooling around with the dark strokes of her irises. It was true, her eyes held the stars. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the swirling feelings inside her. She felt every single cell of her body begging for her to forgive him - there was nothing to forgive, really, for he had done nothing wrong. It was her that could not - would not - handle things. She never saw herself in a relationship - so many obligations. She was not made for ballgowns and parties but for battlefields and saddles.

"I am yours, forever yours… and when the last star of the universe blinks silent, I will still be yours", his answer came naturally to him. It was the most sincere thing he had ever said. He knew her as a sea breeze, but now she met her as a hurricane. So he knew, she needed to be alone. She had been craving freedom so long and he had been blind. He was a liar- he lied to her, to the entire world, to his own self. He wasn't the Golden Boy, people made him to be. He had hurt her in ways he couldn't have imagined before. She softly smiled to his words, because she knew he was being honest. Once upon a time, everything was magical and they were found themselves walking through a chaotic paradise. The entire multi-universe had changed.

"I might have been too harsh, Stevie. Truth is that this, us, has turned to dust right after we were defeated. Five years now, we have been foolish enough to try and make things work. We have been lying to everyone, we want them to move on and be alright when I know that all those sleepless nights we have been thinking of a way to make everything as it was. I also know, and please do not try to deny it, that you are not mine. Not really, not entirely, not ever. For you, it's always gonna be Peggy. Accepting that, was the hardest thing I have ever done". His face twisted in a guilty way. Everything she had experienced for the first time, had been with him. It hurt her but she would move on, find someone else to make her feel alive again.

"I... I am sorry. I love you, you should know that. It's just. I can't shake the feeling… I am so sorry" he calmly apologized to her. He couldn't control his heart.

" And I love you. You can't unlove someone. You can, however, become just friends with them. I wouldn't want to lose you from my life. So... Hey dude" she tried to change the dark and painful situation into something less... 

It all happened so quickly and slow at the same time. It was a disaster and a triumph. Everyone came back - well, not everyone. Once she laid eyes on Bucky, she ran like hell and almost knocked him down as she enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. How she had missed him - her best friend, companion and well...it would take her a while to admit it but there were butterflies, even though she did push them away every time, convincing herself that it was nothing more.

"I missed you Jay, so damn much" was all that she managed to say before Steve called them to assemble. 

They won. And they lost. All thanks to the amazing Tony Stark. After a horrific scene of Thanos wearing the gauntlet and snapping his fingers - only to realize that Tony had stolen them right on time - everyone's heart fell and crushed and burnt. Yes, Tony defeated Thanos but at what cost?

He had always been the only father figure she knew- if she thought that standing against him with the Sokovian Accords was devastating, this was torture.

When things slowed down, Steve looked at her for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. Her porcelain-like skin was bruised, stained and twisted forming a pained mask, her hands were trembling and she was leaning against his best friend- why was this the first time he was noticing the look on Bucky's face? Why was this the first time he felt that his friend craved to be more than a friend to her? 

Life has a strange way of revealing her secrets, a dark sense of humor. It goes on, like a circular river, never-ending, never resting. After the simple ceremony to honor Tony's memory, she took a step back, asking for a few weeks off of the team to help Pepper and Morgan. All she wanted was to feel normal again. One more task before that though.

Seconds before Steve stepped into that platform to be teleported back in time, she called for him. He knew it and so did she. She had seen it in his eyes after they had mourn Natasha. In all honesty, she understood why - he deserved the life that was taken away from him, without asking him if he liked the alternative options. Bucky knew it. He knew it when he saw him on the blood-stained battlefield. He felt it in their hug. He also knew that she knew- he was the one both her and Steve had asked for help before Thanos. He was the one who swallowed his feelings for her and gave her a friendly shoulder to rest her head. "Thank you" Steve mouthed to her. She smiled, eyes covered in tears threatening to spill. "Go".And he was gone. Bucky gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she turned to face him. Unknown him, she had become aware of his feelings. And her own, slowly but steadily. "A soul that carries empathy is a soul which has survived enormous pain" she softly whispered as if she didn't want to be heard. He felt that she could read his mind. All those years ago, another Bucky had existed- one who flirted shamelessly with everyone. He had to get in touch with him if he wanted a chance with her, he thought, only to be proven wrong after a while. He just had to be himself. 

She had finally realized that Steve and her were exactly like the moon and the sun- and their time together was an eclipse, a breathtaking phenomenon, a glimpse of what it could have been. A moment. And that was okay. She regretted nothing. It was perfect in its imperfection.

She found herself knocking Bucky's door, not knowing why. All she wanted was to see the stars but somehow when she was greeted by sliver blue eyes, the stars seemed inefficient. He was the night, she thought.

"Can I stay here for a while?"... because I am scared when I am alone? He opened up his door to let her get inside because he knew the part of the sentence that left unsaid. His room was warm with a serene view of the night sky. He knew that she loved to gaze the stars, how she would always complain that the moon was a hypocrite. But not tonight. She felt gravitated towards him which made him blush, thankful for the darkness. To say that he hadn't wished for a moment with her, it would be a lie. He was pulled towards her like a magnet and in all honesty, he didn't want to leave far away and get over her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked her in a hushed tone as he laid to his bed, eyes watching her every move. She let a tired chuckle and sat down next to him. He pierced her eyes and she felt naked - and she didn't mind. It was okay for him to see her in all her doomed glory.

"Jay, its past midnight and I’ve pretty much thought of all the words hoping to find something that can remedy this... I can try but my vocabulary falls short when it comes to describing the matters of my heart. My heart. Not yours - mine. I could fill pages about the likes and dislikes of your heart. What makes you tremble what softens you up. I know you like the back of my hand. I know your anger and I know your vulnerability. Vulnerability…. what does that even mean? I guess it happens when you finally take the leap to open up to one who might not ever see you the same again. I guess that your weakness is not supposed to be a different form of feeling when it comes to me. And it isn't. I guess that attachments don’t exist between the two of us. But it does. And I guess, well I guess, that I love you a bit more each day and bit less on the days you choose to ignore me. No, wait, that's a lie. And I know that this is way too forward and yes, he was, is, your best friend, and my ex, which can be a bit awkward -  but you know what? He made a choice, but not before I do. I had already fallen for you and if it's weird -" he did not let her finish. The words coming from hee mouth were burning fires inside his head, for years now. His lips were ever so gently upon hers. It almost didn't feel like a kiss.

In the end, everyone wanted to be like Icarus, hoping to fly high and soar far. Nobody was satisfied with their standing and kept pushing their limits. And that was human...  full of life, blinded, arrogant, wonderful... always falling in the end. But not every fall hurts. She landed softly on his lips, her hands caressing his face and his were holding her tight as if she was a dream and he would soon wake up.

He was the stars and she was the moon. Finally, it worked.

'From stars we came, to stars we'll return and in the middle is all we are'

[venusofthehardsells]

I’ll take my heart this time [one-shot]

Empath!ReaderxLoki Summery: After helping the Avengers save the world from an alien army, the reader must confront her life-long devotion to the God of Mischief. Warnings: angst, toxic relationship, mentions of past abuse if you squint A/N: This ended up longer and... very different than intended. What can I say, apparently this Reader does what she wants too. This was written for @connorshero s 2K Song Fic Writing Challenge (embarrassingly late, thanks tumblr for flagging my blog) and my prompt was the song “Better Than I Know Myself” by Adam Lambert, a song I love a little obsessively. Enjoy! _____ Thor stopped on the doorstep when he saw the state of the room.  "You're leaving?" The disbelief in his voice, the hurt, resonated within you, but you firmly kept folding the sheet you had taken off the bed. There was no need for an answer. Anyone could tell you were practically halfway out the door already.

You had donned your overcoat and boots, and your few belongings were stashed in a leather bag pack on one of the chairs. Every surface in here had been cleared of things and swiped down. There was only the bedding left, which you were now neatly folding and placing on the naked duvet. "Why?" Your stomach clenched, but you managed to get a calm answer out of the emotional slaughter still raging in your mind. "I promised to stay and help defeat the alien intruders. They are defeated, so..." You left the sentence hanging in the air. "Yes, but there is no need for you to go. My brother... I mean, we all hoped that you would become a permanent part of the team." "You know that I can't." Thor wore his feelings plainly on his face and the way his pale blue eyes now bristled with pity was as clear as day to you. "But you love him," he said quietly. You snorted to hide the fact that your carefully constructed indifference was slowly coming apart from his words. "It hardly matters..." Your voice was trembling now and it made you angry. Why couldn't you control your own damn feelings when it came to Loki? Even after all this time... "My dear, you wiped out an entire army because you couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Of course it matters!" "He used me!," you cried, feeling tears stinging in your eyes now. "He knew how I would react, how I would feel..." It was too much.You crumbled as you set a sheet of tears free down your cheeks and allowed yourself to sob. Thor was at your side at once and gently placed his large arms around you. "He also knew it was the only way we could win," he said reasonably and you were briefly proud your chaotic emotions weren't rubbing off on him. You kept sobbing in his embrace, wishing it was Loki's, wishing you had been a better guard of your heart all those years ago. "Please don't leave him," Thor mumbled after a while when the sobs had finally stopped raking your body and instead left you trembling and silently heaving for breath. "Loki is too proud to admit it, but he is better with you." "You're right," you managed, biting your lip. "He is too proud. And I am a fool for wanting the impossible." Slipping back into a frail shell of the control you usually wielded, you slowly detached yourself from Thor and went to pick up your bag. You grabbed one of the straps so tightly your nails cut into your palm and made little crescent indentations. The pain kept you grounded. "Farewell Thor, Son of Odin. It was an honour fighting beside you." There was something akin to mourning in Thor's expression now as he lightly shook his head but nevertheless he acknowledged your goodbye. "The honour was mine." You swallowed the lump that had built up in your throat again and turned to leave. You had taken less than two steps down the hallway when a shout made you hold your steps. "Wait!" That particular voice made your legs freeze up for about two seconds. Then you resumed your path at twice the pace. You made it halfway towards the lift before Loki's hand was around your wrist. "Please, stop." It was a mistake to turn your head and look at him. Whenever you did, you had to wonder if he didn't have the same powers as yourself after all. Those startlingly beautiful eyes that shone like a pair of bright precious stones always took your breath away. Even now, even hating him, you found yourself short of breath as his eyes bore into yours. "Let go of me, Loki." You were better at controlling your feelings than your voice and it didn't come out as coldly as you wanted it to. "I have a flight to catch." "Whereto?" "Does it matter? This world ought to be big enough for us never to have to meet again." You tore your wrist from his grip. "Is that what you want?" The fact that he had the audacity to sound remorseful beneath the calmness of his demeanour made a spark of anger flare up in you. Did he honestly believe, after everything he had witnessed, after everything you had done, that such a simple acting trick would work in his favour? "How dare you?," you whispered, feeling your throat constrict with each word and breath that left your mouth. "How dare you say it like that?!" "What do you mean?" Loki took less than half a step away from you, but his eyes never left yours. And they were searching. As if he truly couldn't fathom what made you look at him with such contempt. "You are unbelievable! After all this time... how can you possibly have to ask me what I want?" Tears stung in your eyes again, but you suddenly realised you were beyond caring. He had taken everything you could offer him: your love. Your friendship and your council, your unwavering support, your powers, your devotion, your body even, years and years of your life and, eventually, your very soul. Let him have your dignity as well. "I have given you everything, Loki. And you have shown me time and time again that it isn't enough for you. I killed thousands in your name... But I would have killed millions more if it meant winning your heart. I would have done anything. You have known that for as long as you've known me. Isn't that why you asked for my help? Because you knew? Even after what you put me through, when you called I came running. To you." Your insides hurt when you paused to breathe. Your cheeks were wet with tears that wouldn't stop spilling from your eyes and you cursed them to Hel and back for betraying your feelings so blatantly in front of Loki. "But it's over. I am done playing this wicked game of yours where I accept whatever scraps of affection you can spare at the time, like some loyal dog who still licks the hand that beats it. The next time you need help, Your Highness, call someone else." Your voice was in shambles by the time you finished speaking. Every word hurt to get out. From the tips of your fingers through your bones until they scratched their way past your tongue, they burned and seared inside of you, and once they were out they left you feeling empty and naked beneath Loki's silent emerald stare. The worst of it, however, was not how you felt.It was the bitter sting of heartache coming from him. Loki drew in a deep, almost careful breath as if the silence between you following your words would explode if he cut it the wrong way. "You're right," he said quietly, eyeing you with apprehension the way one might a feral animal. "I've always taken your devotion for granted..." You hardly dared move when he whispered your name. "I'm sorry." It felt as if your heart might stop right then and there. You let out a strangled little sort of gasp, clutching your bag pack close like a shield. The fact that you hadn't turned and walked further away from him seemed to reassure him a little. "I want you to know I truly mean it when I say I didn't wish to cause you any more pain when I asked you to come here. Quite the opposite to be honest. I also know you won't believe me..." Loki almost chuckled at that, though the anguish he was feeling was still clear on his face. "I have given you no reason to trust me in the past." You swallowed when he hesitated. "So I'm going to offer you proof instead." Then he held out his hand. Unlike almost everyone else, Loki had in time learned to conceal his true feelings for you or at least make it harder for you to read them. His emotions took a lot of effort for you to make out if he didn't want you to know them. Unless you touched him directly. His outreached hand to you was him baring himself of all defences. If you took it there would be nothing shielding him. He couldn't lie his way out of it; you could completely undress his heart. Your fingers trembled. It would be so easy to reach out and touch those long pale fingers of his and finally find out how he felt. Once and for all. "Please," he urged when you didn't move. There was a slight shiver in his voice that you were sure he hadn't meant for you to hear. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was growing more and more desperate with every second that passed without you moving towards him.You shook your head. "I can't." A hint of his panic reached you, but you made sure not to mix it with the chaos of your own. "I can't do this again. You've... you've broken my heart so many times, I don't think I'll survive it if you do it again." Your words were barely a whisper, but you might as well have shouted them for how Loki flinched. "I won't. I've been a fool in the past and I realise that you have already given me more chances than I deserve... But I am begging you for just one more. Please..." "Loki..." "Take my hand. I... I need you." His voice fell to a whisper. "I can't lose you." There was no mistaking that his eyes were glistening now. Your name lay softly and quivering on his lips and it felt as if your heart had stopped in your chest. If you hadn't known him most of your life and if you hadn't been in a disturbingly similar situation only a few centuries earlier, you would have leapt right at him with open arms.You couldn't hold back the sob that had been building up in your throat and grown so big it was hurting you. "Stop it," you whimpered, frantically shaking your head now. "It's over. The line between love and hate is the width of a strand of hair, Loki. And I've been stumbling along it for as long as I can remember... You never deserved my love." The words tasted acidic in your mouth. You fixed him with a long, hard stare that was probably not half as intimidating as you imagined given your current state of distress, but you might as well have stabbed Loki in the gut for how devastated he looked. "But the worst part is that after everything, after all you've done... after all you've endured..." Your voice quavered with pent up mourning for him that never seemed to stop. "You don't deserve my hate either. If I leave, you won't have any of the two. You can start afresh." Loki swallowed. Hard. At long last, you could feel him let go of the final shred of pride holding him back. He closed the distance between you and placed both hands tenderly against your temples. Over the past thousand years, you had touched each other more times than you could possibly count, and in much more intimate ways. But it had never felt like this. Despite the cold in his fingertips, rush after rush of warmth spilled from the places his skin touched yours, filling you with a serene sense of comfort and familiarity and, overwhelmingly, bliss. “Please, don’t do this…,” he intoned in a frail murmur, about to utterly shatter. “Don’t walk away. I’m not ready to let you go. I love you.” It felt as if all the air in the corridor was sucked out of your lungs and right out of reach. The tears turned to glass in your eyes. He really meant it. The words you had always longed to hear. He meant them with all his heart. The very thing you had never ever thought would cross his lips. He felt them with all of his being. I love you. I love you. Loki leaned in and the world fell away at the touch of his lips. You closed your eyes and pressed yourself into his gentle hold, into his desperate kiss, his quivering hands, his very existence. You were acutely aware of everything that was him. Hair, skin, bones, blood and the way his eyelids fluttered shut, the movement of his mouth against yours as he hungrily sucked on your bottom lip to press the heat of his tongue against your own in a fervent dance that a part of you never wanted to cease. Loki. Time stilled as you descended into the fabric of his mind. From the wide hallways of his ambitions to the darkest corners of his secret desires, his soul was laid bare to your scrutiny. Oh, the mind has mountains. In that moment, nothing moved outside the two of you. You took your time feeling your way through everything he in his candour offered up. You had never been this deeply connected before. In your youth, your powers had yet to blossom to their full potential and it had been a struggle to forge the control that you now wore as a second skin. Later in your years, you had mastered your powers, but so had Loki. And his magic and mental wards had been almost as formidable as your empathic abilities. Almost. You sucked in a deep breath as you broke away from him. “I believe you,” you said softly, grasping his hands tightly in your own. Your heart was beating evenly for the first time in days, but it was nothing to the clarity that rushed through your veins now. “And I’m sorry.” “What…” “I’m sorry that the first person you trusted enough to be vulnerable with is letting you down. You don’t deserve that either.” You lifted your clasped hands and gently kissed his knuckles without breaking eye contact. “But if I stay here… with you…” You shook your head with a sad smile and the burning agony that shot through your hands then would have made you crumble if you hadn’t felt it so many times before yourself. The feeling of his heart breaking almost made you waver in your decision. But unlike you, he didn’t have to bear it alone. “I don’t understand…,” Loki whispered. His voice felt like a shard of glass against your skin. “I love you…” “It’s not enough.” “Don’t say that. I want you. You’ve always been there for me, I… I can be better.” “I know you can. And you will.” As calmly as you could, you allowed some of your newfound clarity to flow into him and slowly, softly, ease his tortured mind. “If I stay, nothing will change. You forget that I know you better than you know yourself now.” You managed a small smile when you felt the edge crack off Loki’s heartache and leave a dull mound behind where before stood a steep and sharp peak. You were not going to leave him the same broken mess he had so often left you. “I think you always did,” he said quietly, a slight quiver moving his lower lip. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed your hands one last time, leaving several small indents in the shape of new moons on your skin, before you let them fall away. “Goodbye, Loki.” You left him standing in the corridor of the compound, not turning back once. Your heart was still tattered and torn beyond recognition, but for the first time in your life, it wasn’t beating for someone else. You were free.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 15 (Final)

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story. 

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Lying upon the cart, you wished to be dead. It was ironic that in the beginning, this very cart had transported you into this world as Jinyoung’s treasure. Now, he laid beside you, unmoving. Fresh tears soaked through his shirt, your head strewn across his chest, hoping for a glimpse of his heartbeat.

Tired eyes lingered at the body next to him and you reached out for Jackson, shaking as the wound continued to stain through any bandaging Jaebum had done. You wondered if Jackson’s body would ever dry up.

Jinyoung’s only seemed to maintain what blood he had due to the sword still embedded in him.

The remaining fight had ended once Argo was dead, his men looking between each other for guidance.

“Should we kill who remains?”

“Let’s say they’re all dead, they might as well be,” another decided, backing off and holding his hands up in surrender. They soon departed the battle site, leaving behind their fallen leader and men, and you to mourn your losses.

“Don’t remove the sword from him,” Jaebum said in all but a whisper, cutting Argo’s limb away and freeing him from the hunter.

You had been numb to the whole procedure, unable to help the three men pick up what you still had, merely stumbling along with Jinyoung’s body as they carried it to the cart now attached to Jinyoung’s horse. You had silently climbed up then, curling up beside Jinyoung and had laid there ever since.

You wished for something or someone to rid you of the excruciating pain that burdened your heart and mind. Flashes of your life shared with Jinyoung played out one by one, tormenting you further.

You already longed to see him smile again.

Eventually, you grew aware that you were no longer on land. The sea breeze was brisk and the waves choppy. You ignored all offers from the others to eat, and you lost count of how many times the sun rose and set.

You pleaded for an emptiness to overwhelm you instead of the constant memories, the ghost of Jinyoung’s lips upon your skin.

It was bittersweet when the cart finally stopped moving. You had no energy to get yourself down, Mark scooping you up and carrying you inside a small cabin.

You hated how much you relished the comfort of a bed, and the warmth of a blanket, soon drifting off into a dreamless state.

“It’s time to get up now,” Youngjae called when he finally found you awake, offering you food.

“I don’t want to eat.”

“Tough, I will force you if I have to,” he retorted, coming over to your side and holding up the spoon to some porridge. You glared at him yet he only shot one back. “How dare you not eat!”

You merely stared back at him.

“That’s what he would say, you know. He would scold you for being foolish.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you lowered your head. “He’s not here.”

“How do you know that? He’s always been in here,” Youngjae mentioned, reaching to touch your chest softly. “Can’t you hear him in your head telling you to get up and live on?”

“I’ve lived on without him once. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Have we held a funeral? No, now start eating or we’ll have to but for you!”

Glowering at Youngjae, you took the spoon from his grip and swallowed down a mouthful.

Your friend eased his stern expression. “There, that’s what you need to do.”

Days after awakening, you were pulling yourself up with the sun, helping Youngjae plant a vegetable garden and setting up your new home. You had no idea how you had acquired such a place but you were certain Jinyoung would have loved it here with you. It was a small farmstead, with two simple cabins. So far, you and Youngjae shared the one you had woken up in, whilst Mark and Jaebum set up in the other.

With Jackson and Jinyoung.

You hadn’t been brave enough to enter the place yet, unsure if you would be able to handle seeing his listless body again. You couldn’t seem to will yourself into death, no matter how much you had tried to. You missed Jinyoung and still cried yourself to sleep every night. Yet, you regained your strength, healing from your injuries well and soon felt back to usual self physically.

You wondered just how selfish a human could truly be to continue to survive in this world without the one person who you wanted to do everything with. You felt a coward, to still be breathing in the air that Jinyoung and Jackson should be doing as well. It bothered you when you stopped to think about it, which with your returning energy, you tried not to allow to happen often.

There was a lot to be done around the farm. Mark helped where he could, but it was Youngjae who you saw the most of each day.

Still, despite living, eating, and doing chores, you weren’t in connection with the world anymore. You hardly spoke, never smiled, and tried your best not to look too much at your remaining friends.

Each time your gaze lingered on their faces was enough to bring back the pain again, causing the air to be knocked out of your lungs and you struggled to breathe through.

“She’s having another panic attack!” Youngjae shrilled as you bent down in the garden bed, gripping at your chest with one hand and planting yourself in the soil with the other. You felt the wind brush passed you as Jaebum arrived at your side, trying to help you breathe properly again.

It was in these moments where you would see Jinyoung instead, his dark eyes etched with concern as his words of comfort fell into your hair, willing you to breathe for him again. You would watch him painfully, knowing he wasn’t there and yet your hopes would rise, all the same, your breathing returning. And then when you blinked after your ordeal, Jinyoung was no longer there, Jaebum sighing in relief that you were recovered instead.

He said it was part of the trauma you had faced with what happened that day. You wondered if that was why you started to see Jinyoung more often as well. Much as you had when living with your Grandmother, you started to talk to him as you did your chores, fond of the image of him helping you wash the vegetables you had fetched with Youngjae from the nearby village, or hanging out the washing and peeking around the corners at one another.

Even though you knew it was detrimental, you welcomed the visions.

Still, it was deep in the night where you realised just how alone you were. No image of Jinyoung could substitute the warmth of his arms that were lacking within this bed. You despised the night now, the moon and all the stars in the sky. They had lost their beauty the same time you lost the man who whispered sweet nothings upon them.

You willed for the sun to arrive quickly.

“Y/N, are you going to come in for breakfast?”

“I’m going to hang out the washing first!” you called back to a grinning Youngjae, the man looking at the cabin and then back at you.

You paid him no mind, picking up your laundered items to hang up and make the most of the drying sun. Reaching for a blanket, you struggled to hoist it over the line.

“Here, let me help you.”

“Jinyoung, don’t be silly, you’ve never hung out a single thing in your life.”

“There’s always time to learn, don’t you think?”

You smiled sadly. “It would have been nice to see you do laundry.”

“Let me try now.”

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” you replied, blinking back your tears. You stretched up on the tips of your toes and hoisted it over the line, cursing Mark for having hung this section of the washing line too high for you to easily reach. Once the blanket fell over the line, you let out a triumphant huff of air and then spun to grab the next, losing your footing and ending up in the arms of a man you hadn’t seen in weeks.

Jinyoung smiled. “Always falling for me. It’s a bad habit of yours. How would you be able to cope in this world without me catching you each time?”

You merely blinked, trying to decipher if you had truly gone mad. His grip felt too real around your waist and there as an unmistakable level of warmth that had never once come from your hallucinations.

Shakily, you reached up for his face, gasping when you connected with his cheek. “You’re alive.”

“Well, I sure hope so. How could I leave this world whilst you’re still alive in it?”

“But you … you…”

“Later,” he murmured, his lips curling up into a delighted smile. “We can talk later. Right now, there’s something I need from you.”

“What is-”

You knew he was truly back when his lips pressed into yours, caressing you right down to your soul.

“You all tricked me!” you exclaimed later over dinner, even glaring at the pale Jackson who merely shook his head at you.

“Now don’t go adding me in this, I think I really died.”

“Then how are you sitting at this table with us? Are you a ghost?!” Jaebum huffed, looking at his hands and then held them up at him. “I worked tirelessly on you both! Don’t underestimate my efforts to bring you back from the brink of death, brother!”

Mark chuckled as he pulled off a piece of the fresh loaf of bread you had made. “In all fairness, we did try to tell you, Y/N. You just didn’t want to hear anything about either of them.”

“She’s someone who needs to see things with her own eyes to believe in them,” Jinyoung mentioned, chewing on his food before grinning at you. “It was more effective that she found me alive than you telling her I was recovering when you didn’t know how long that would have taken.”

“I’m right here, you know,” you grumbled and Jinyoung nodded.

“And she’s really impatient so Jaebum would have gone insane with her hanging over his shoulder looking for new signs of life.”

“Enough!” you exclaimed, slapping your hands down on the table. Looking at each man to see if they dared to talk, you then nodded. “Let me get this straight. You discussed a plan like this?”

“It wasn’t one we wanted to take but if anyone got gravely injured we needed to put them into another world to heal.”

“You all acted like they were dead to me!”

Jaebum nodded. “They were close to it. But I gave them both a tonic to keep them going until we got here so I could start the treatment properly. You weren’t functioning no matter how often we tried to bring you back to the present so you didn’t realise I had purposely slowed down their breathing.”

“I was mourning the loss of the love of my life.” You turned to glare at the evidently healthy man beside you. Jinyoung sheepishly shrugged at you. “Clearly, I wasted a lot of emotions on you.”

“I’m touched, really.”

“Did you cry for me?” Jackson wondered as you rolled your eyes, now looking at everyone around the table. “Anyone?”

“I did, don’t worry,” Youngjae offered hastily, which made the men all laugh.

“I’m still ridiculously confused!” you announced and stood up, storming off outside.

Jinyoung joined you a moment later, reaching for your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Glancing at the wounded arm that was strapped to his body in a sling, you grunted. “Will you be lame in that arm forever?”

“You did a good job with that sword, I doubt I’ll ever be able to fully regain strength to it.”

Your annoyance eased and you spun to look up at Jinyoung worriedly. “Really?”

“I’m grateful to have been blessed with a spare,” he mentioned cheekily, holding up his other arm. You hit it as he laughed heartily and you stopped to smile, listening to the bright sound. It was the first time he had truly laughed with so much ease.

“You’re different.”

“I feel like I’m the same.”

“No, you’ve never been like this,” you told him, stepping to his side and gazing up at him adoringly. “You’ve always been looking for the invisible threat. You’re relaxed right now.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jinyoung beckoned you closer. “Jaebum gave me a very strong pain relief this morning. It’s still working its way through me.”

“You’re being very playful, so it’s not just the medicine. You’re not the same Jinyoung I’ve ever known.”

“I played with you when we were children!”

“Well, yes, but I mean even then you carried a hardness in your eyes. You never showed your emotions easily. All day long you’ve been laughing, smiling, and sharing everything with those handsome eyes of yours.”

“Do you not like it?”

“No, I love it.”

“Good.” Jinyoung kissed the side of your head. “Because I don’t have to hide anymore. No one is looking for me.”

“You’re free.”

Jinyoung nodded happily. “We all are.”

You finally got your wish. Every day, you woke up in the warmth of Jinyoung’s arms, soft kisses starting the morning before going off to prepare breakfast together for everyone. After that, you did chores on the farm, now raising your own animals to further live off the land. You were also building a third cabin since word had reached you that BamBam and Yugyeom were alive and were on their way to join you all.

Each day was full of activity, though you didn’t mind working hard. There was constant laughter and the youth you had all been robbed of from the Rebellion returned through playful water fights and endless teasing. And when you found yourself growing tired from being the only woman on the farmstead, you would go into town to spend time with your friends you had made there. In turn, they visited your home, though you were certain it wasn’t just to see you.

You hadn’t realised just how charming the men you lived with were until you watched them in action.

Looking at Jaebum sweet-talking a cat he had found hungry in the neighbouring fields instead of talking to Bethie who was interested in him, however, showed you that some of them had a long way to go before they could fully be free from the shackles of their upbringing.

But each day brought them one step closer.

Falling onto your bed exhaustively later that evening, you groaned when Jinyoung climbed in beside you and gestured for you to move. “I’m too tired.”

“You need to get under the blankets, it’s the middle of winter.”

“You know that being pregnant makes me feel hotter than normal.”

“Still,” he said with a warning tone and you sighed, picking yourself up only to pull back the blankets.

By the time you were about to slip back into bed, Jinyoung had extended his arm out for you and was waiting. You smiled, though took your time gently nestling into his side.

Not for your sake, but for his.

“You always offer me up this arm to rest upon.”

“Well, considering we go to sleep on the same sides of the bed each night, how am I meant to give you the other?”

“I’ve offered to swap but you never accept,” you pointed out, glancing up at him. “Why?”

“You freed me with this arm,” Jinyoung mentioned, shifting his head so he could kiss your temples. You closed your eyes with sheer delight that tingled throughout you from his soft gesture. “You see it as something awful.”

“I would never wish to harm you.”

“I see it as you setting me free from the Rebellion. Having you lay upon it is my way of showing how grateful I am.”

“But it hurts you.”

“A small price to pay to still be here at your side,” he reminded and you nodded, lifting your head to kiss him.

“You followed me here to Nowhere.”

He grinned. “There’s no better place than to be nowhere with you.”

“We have quite the adventure to tell this child that I’m growing,” you said, rubbing at your slightly protruding belly. “What should we keep to ourselves?”

“How about we skip the ten years we were apart for.”

“Why? That’s the best bit!”

Jinyoung balked a little. “How is that the best part of our story?! The best was obviously when I kidnapped you.”

“And I hated you.”

“You could never hate me.”

“I hated you until I saw your face,” you corrected with a giggle and Jinyoung shook his head.

“We really have been through a lot. Maybe we need to think about how we share this tale with our offspring in the future.”

“I’ll write a book!”

“If you do that then it will be greatly exaggerated.”

“Says the man who wrote an entire love letter about comparing me to the moon and stars.”

Kissing you to silence your teasing remarks, you soon fell into a heady embrace, parting when you were certain your soul was about to burst out of your body and jump into his. You smiled and Jinyoung kissed you briefly before nodding. “However we tell it, let’s make sure we do it together.”

“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“Anywhere might be nicer than nowhere,” he offered but before you could respond, Jinyoung was sizing up your lips again. “No matter where you go, I’ll follow you.”

“Of course, you’re mine.”

“Mm,” he hummed, a satisfied smile tugging his plump lips up. “I’m yours.”

_________________

Thank you for enjoying this series. There may be an Epilogue shared at a later date in 2020. 

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