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waynes-multiverse · 3 months ago

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Time After Time – Chapter 1

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, Soldier Boy being an insufferable ass, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), post S3 alternate ending, enemies to lovers & slow burn, set partially in 1942

Word Count: 6.0k

Posted on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Weeee, so excited to finally share the first part of this series with all of you! From mortal enemies to classic romance, crazy and angsty time travel theories, and a glimpse behind the green suit (in both ways), we're gonna have a lot of fun with this one 😉💕

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Chapter 1: Of All the Gin Joints...

“Move, or I’ll move you.”

Annoyed, you huffed a sigh and lifted your feet off the coffee table, shifting a few inches to the right, so Soldier Boy could pass by with a deep grumble. You rolled your eyes back slightly when he plopped down next to you on the worn, old couch in the office of the Flatiron Building.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt you every once in a while,” you muttered with a glare at the supe.

“Disagree,” he huffed.

When Butcher and his team tracked you down and recruited you almost a year ago, you surely hadn’t signed up to spend your days with a fossil from the past century. All they had wanted you to do was find the weapon that could destroy Homelander. That weapon turned out to be Soldier Boy.

And you had found him, freed the man from forty years of Russian torture without receiving so much as a ‘thank you,’ and helped the team take down Homelander, who was currently powerless and safely locked up in a CIA black site. Now, you were still here – as was Soldier Boy.

To your dismay, he wasn’t just the most powerful supe on the planet, especially after his own son’s steep fall from grace, but he was also the biggest motherfucking asshole that ever walked the earth.

Soldier Boy was obnoxious, loud, rude, sexist, racist, lazy, arrogant, selfish, cruel, deceitful, complacent, vindictive, inconsiderate, paranoid, ruthless and unsympathetic. Honestly, you’d need a whole dictionary just to get through every single character trait you hated about that man.

This morning he’d been particularly belligerent as soon as he had set foot inside the office and Hughie bumped into him, causing Soldier Boy to spill his iced latte. To be fair, the guy had just been standing in the doorway like a moron for a full three minutes – he’d stared at you the whole time, probably thinking of new ways to torture you.

Today marked your 30th birthday of all things, so it was only natural your over six-feet playground tormentor would be present for the occasion.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?” he noted with an arched brow, eyeing your choice of outfit. You mostly wore band shirts from tours you’d been to from your time traveling adventures.

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions,” you told him with a smile.

In some rare moments, it was actually possible to have a normal fucking conversation with him. You hoped it was one of those. Aside from his grumpiness in the morning, maybe he’d decided to give you a break on your birthday.

“Oh, yeah, right…” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

“That is so sweet of you, thank you,” you replied wryly.

He knew what you were doing. His smile rose – and then morphed into a provocative smirk. “So, thirty, huh? How’s that feminist bullshit working out for your biological clock, sweetheart?”

“Don’t kill him,” Annie reminded you of the office mantra with calm in her voice as she sat behind you at her desk, causing Soldier Boy to snort a laugh.

“Isn’t it time for your nap, gramps? You’re sundowning,” you retorted instead with a teasing smile.

You took his taunts lightheartedly. After all, you didn’t think you’d have to worry in that department – much like him. For some reason, you didn’t age… a lot. At least, it was slower than the average supe and human. You figured it might have to do with dropping in and out of wormholes. You had aged just fine as a kid but it progressively began to slow around your sixteenth birthday – the first time you’d traveled through time and jumped to Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged show in New York of December 1993.

You remembered your parents had been fighting behind the broken and yellowing partition slider of a trailer you had called your home. You’d lain on the pull-out bed with your headphones on and a Walkmen, trying to drown out their screaming. You listened to that record and wished you could be there – and then you were.

You’d found your ruby slippers.

To this day, you still got ID’ed at every bar, club, and liquor store alike. Soldier Boy had never been carded. He’d once claimed it was because he was famous, to which you’d almost spat out your drink and told him the wrinkles didn’t lie. Least to say, that little joke hadn’t flown well with the supe.

“You know, doll, if you ever need that tension to disappear from your shoulders, I’m right here.” Soldier Boy smirked cockily at you and spread his legs a little further apart. Not a day passed by when he didn’t hit on you either – or anything with tits, really. “Just say the word, and I fuck it right outta you. I do like ‘em older, you know, so I don’t give shit. But if you wanna get cracking on this baby thing, we better fuck on this couch right now.”

“Please don’t,” Hughie pleaded in a high-pitched sigh, glued in his spot next to Annie.

“No, thanks,” you scoffed and scrunched your nose in disgust. “You’re a fucking pig.”

“Hey, c’mon, I know you want to,” replied Soldier Boy without an ounce of self-reflection, his smirk only widening as his hand crawled up your thigh. “Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You slapped his fingers away, huffing in frustration.

Not even your kindergarten bully had been this fucking annoying – and that kid threw a dodge ball at your face and broke your nose.

Fortunately, while your own powers were on the fritz, you still had some superhuman strength. Sure, not as much as Soldier Boy, but if he shoved, you could at least push back enough for him to leave you alone.

For, like, five seconds.

Soldier Boy laughed loudly at your rejection. “I do like ‘em feisty,” he murmured with a sultry voice, invading your space even more as he shifted closer on the couch. Lion king on the prowl. “You know, you’d be less useless if you spread your legs every once in a while.”

Jumping up from your seat, you rounded the table to bring space between you and face him properly. It was always smarter when he was in your view at all times and you could watch his brazen hands with an eagle eye – the same hands that currently began to roll a blunt on the coffee table.

“Hey, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be frozen solid in a box in Russia,” you bit.

“Well, we’d like to think we would’ve found him eventually, love,” Butcher threw in from across the room, the sly grin on his face telling you he was enjoying the show.

“See?” Soldier Boy sneered complacently. “Fucking useless.”

“You’re fucking useless!” you yelled, anger surging through every inch of your body. “No one fucking likes you! You don’t have friends, you don’t have family, and everyone in this room fucking despises you – just like your old team!”

Slowly, he rose from his spot on the couch, nostrils flaring, his sheer height imposing as he towered over you like the Empire State. A part of you was glad there was still a piece of furniture between you – even though that wouldn’t stop him in the slightest.

“You take that fucking back,” he snarled, one hand balling into a fist by his side while the other pointed a warning finger at you.

However, you stood your ground, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a challenging look in your eyes but a subtle swallow in your throat. “No,” you said defiantly and bristled. “I’ll drop you into the fucking Jurassic era where you belong, fossil. Watch you become a T-Rex’s fucking chew toy.”

Soldier Boy’s grin boldly widened, green eyes shimmering daringly. “Do. It.”

“Oy, simmer down, kids,” Butcher assuaged but didn’t even bother to glance up from the newspaper in his hands. Instead, the Brit leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the desk, settling into a more comfortable position.

Soldier Boy threw him a dismissive look, annoyed at the interruption, before his attention turned back to you with a spiteful sneer. “You know, if I were you, I would’ve used those powers properly. I would’ve gone back and fucking killed baby Hitler or some shit.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, not surprising you would’ve killed a fucking baby,” you retorted dryly.

“See, this is why you’re a fucking failure,” he taunted and stepped closer, his face only inches away from yours now. You could feel his hot breath against your skin. “Those powers were clearly wasted on you, doll. Women are too fucking soft.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You didn’t even know why you still argued with that asshole. He’d never change. And you sure as hell couldn’t say shit like:

What d’you know? You’ve never seen a war zone from the inside, you fucking bigoted coward.

“I’m not soft,” you insisted instead, narrowing your eyes to a glare.

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

At this point, you wouldn’t. You really wouldn’t fucking mind at all.

However, Soldier Boy only laughed in your face like you were the bug about to hit his shield. “Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart. But you can’t, can ya? ‘Cause you’re fucking broken. Like I said, useless,” he reiterated harshly, his sneer widening when his hand reached out and clasped your chin between his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some good use for you. Especially for that mouth.”

Furiously, you thwarted his advances once more. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”

“Yo, Soldier Boy, c’mon! Leave her alone now,” MM warned, finally getting fed up too. He usually avoided the supe to the best of his abilities, only snapping every once in a while when the asshole took it too far.

This time, MM only got involved because Hughie kept sending him frantic looks of panic during your heated exchange, probably worried you’d antagonize the supe so much he’d detonate the whole building.

“Mind your own fucking business, punk,” Soldier Boy dismissed the intervention, his venomous eyes still fixed on you.

The anger was storming through your body and closing your throat with a tight chokehold. You could barely breathe as your chest heaved and your ears rang. It was always worse when you got angry. Unfortunately for you, Soldier Boy had a way of pushing your buttons and setting off your triggers.

Your superpowers had the ability to control and bend time – or at least they used to. You had mostly used it to stop the clock and get an extension on your homework deadlines. But technically, you could also travel through time.

Once you had found out how that worked, well, you quickly became addicted. You went to concerts of bands that didn’t tour anymore, you’d shamelessly make money on Wall Street and placed bets on football games, and sometimes, you even ate dessert twice.

It was all about the little things.

But that all stopped when you accidentally cast yourself into the Middle Ages and almost got burned at the stake for witchcraft. For some reason, your powers wouldn’t work until the last second – you figured extreme distress had been a factor.

When you closed your eyes at night, you could still feel the scorching heat underneath your bare soles and smell the smoke reaching your nose and lungs.

Afterward, you didn’t want to use your powers any longer – not that you could. PTSD was a real bitch sometimes.

You had lived quietly and alone in a cabin near Montréal for years. After your parents found out they couldn’t make money off of you, they kicked you to the curb. And when you knocked on Vought’s doors, asking for help, they told you not to use your abilities – before they tried to kill you. That was the moment you’d realized you might be more powerful than you’d initially surmised. Until then, you had only used your powers for your pleasure and the occasional personal gain.

So, maybe, Soldier Boy was right when he said you had never used your gift wisely.

After your flight from Vought, you lived under a fake name and took up online college classes in physics and history to understand your abilities better and avoid grave mistakes.

And boy, time travel was a fucking bitch.

Years of study could be summarized to this, however: If you even so much so as killed the wrong fly in 1783, the whole world could go extinct.

Or in Vought’s terms: If you accidentally fucked up history, it might fuck with their business and money.

That was the reason why they had been trying to get rid of you for the longest time – until Butcher showed up on your doorstep. You had no idea how the Brit could’ve found you or even known about your powers in the first place. After your escape, Vought had kept your existence quiet. They knew if the wrong people found you, it would end direly for them.

Wrong people like William Butcher.

At first, he wanted you to go back in time and, in his words, “kill the chubby, little cape cunt.” Needless to say, you had declined. Even if Homelander was the worst creature to ever walk this earth, excluding his sperm donor, you wouldn’t kill a baby. You wouldn’t kill anything or anyone, really.

If anything, you could be classified as a bit of hedonist – or “a fucking hippie,” as Soldier Boy once had put it. Which, granted, was probably a trait you both shared. Although, Soldier Boy took the whole fucking cake and ate it, too. At least all you ever did was steal a tiny slice every once in a while.

In the end, you had never asked for these powers. You were just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

But when Butcher then asked you if you could at least “hop back” to retrieve the weapon that had neutralized Soldier Boy in 1984, you finally told him you were essentially useless.

A part of you wanted to help, though. While you had closed yourself off from the rest of the world, you had still followed the news. You knew it had gotten bad out there. You could see Homelander spinning out of control and threatening to burn the world. You knew soon enough your house would burn, too.

You knew the monster needed to be stopped.

So, you offered Billy Butcher the only thing you could – a glimpse into the past, so he could find the weapon in the present.

And you did. You saw how Soldier Boy’s own team had despised him so much they handed him off to the Russians during an ambush in Nicaragua – but they hadn’t killed him.

The diabolical smirk on Butcher’s face had scared you. You knew he’d realized in that moment that you could be valuable after all. So, naturally, he threatened to give up your location to Vought if you didn’t join his team.

And well, here you were.

You’d traveled to Russia, you’d freed Soldier Boy, and you’d defeated Homelander. But even after the job was done, you stuck around.

Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and even Butcher – they had all sort of become your friends. And they protected you, even though Vought had sworn they were done hunting you. No one trusted Stan Edgar, and you knew he would probably still rather have you buried six-feet-deep if he ever got the chance.

So it was nice to know the whole team stood behind you. Well, all but one.

Part of the deal with Edgar had been a request to keep Soldier Boy away from Vought’s business. The guy was smart enough to know he wanted nothing to do with the ticking time bomb, either.

“And what are we supposed to do with that wanker, huh?” Butcher had asked as all of you stood in a very breezy office at Vought Tower – which had still been under heavy construction after the fallout.

“Let him play hero, keep an eye on him, and I’m sure we’ll have no issues, Mr. Butcher.” Edgar had smiled cunningly, his eyes flickering to you.

Afterward, you had decided to pack up like Maeve and finally live your life. You’d even applied as a physics professor at a small college. But then Soldier Boy made his own request: Either you’d stay, or he’d walk. And if he had walked, your deal with Edgar would’ve fallen through.

Soldier Boy was a bully. In fact, he could teach master classes in it. You didn’t think there was one good bone in his body. So far, you could count the times the guy had actually been nice to you on one hand – two fingers to be exact.

The first time had been the very first night you’d spent together in that rundown motel after he’d killed Crimson Countess. You took over the nightshift of babysitting while Hughie and Butcher took a snooze in the adjoining room. That night, Soldier Boy had shown you a glimpse of a human being.

“Well, currently, there are two working theories on time travel: The closed loop theory and the alternate timelines theory,” you’d explained after he had asked you how actual time travel worked. Most people gave up after a minute, but he had still been in it after five.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Well, lemme see…” Musingly, you had pursed your lips and thought for a moment. “Terminator came out in ‘83, right? You’ve seen it?”

His lips had slowly risen to a smile. “Yeah… Actually one of the last fucking movies I watched before the fucking Reds got me.”

“Right.” You’d nodded. “Still remember what happened?”

He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes a little. “I’m not that old…”

“Well, it’s been forty years since you’ve seen it…”

“Schwarzenegger comes from the future to kill that blonde chick,” he’d summarized with a cocky smirk that should’ve proven to you he wasn’t demented.

“Yeah, remember the soldier who came back to save her, too?”

“Oh. Yeah, that guy…” His nose had scrunched slightly. Of course he’d be rooting for the killing machine. “What about that fucking wimp?”

“The Terminator was supposed to kill Sarah because her yet-unborn son would defeat the robots in the future, but the soldier who came back to save her is actually the baby’s father.” There had been no way you could’ve explained it any simpler than that. “So, the Terminator actually created the circumstance, which made him go back in the first place. That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

He’d nodded slowly, his brow creasing heavily in concentration. “Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

For hours, he’d asked you questions about your powers, and when he was through all of that, he even asked you about your life, what you did for work, and how you ended up here. And you’d figured he was trying to schmooze up to you to use you for his gain – or maybe he’d just been coming down from all the drugs he’d taken that day.

Either way, after what you’d seen the Russians do to him, you could understand why someone like him might want to turn back time and get a redo. The unpleasant images, the inhumane torture he’d endured, actually caused you to have sympathy for the supe.

For a second.

When you’d tried bringing it up and be his friend, he had quickly shot you down. He’d been an even bigger dick since then, as if the sheer thought of someone seeing his weaknesses scared him.

Yes, a little, gray mouse like you apparently fucking terrified the biggest and strongest elephant in this world.

Honestly, you didn’t know why the supe had insisted on your presence. Maybe he just needed the perfect victim to antagonize as he passed the time. Sometimes, you did feel like the new Black Noir of Payback.

There’d only been one other incident where he’d shown something remotely resembling kindness:

He’d complimented you.

A real, sweet compliment – and he’d actually meant it – and he hadn’t hit on you in the same breath.

One night, a few weeks ago, Annie and Frenchie had dragged everyone of you to a karaoke bar to “decompress.” Even Soldier Boy tagged along and seemed in somewhat good spirits all night – there’d been no heinous taunting, only the usual flirtatious teasing.

One of those flirtatious attempts had been a dare for you to sing.

“Oh, c’mon! One song,” he’d begged and shifted closer to you on the small leather sofa in the corner of the bar. “How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

“What, you want me to sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’? Really? You?” You’d arched a brow at him.

He’d chuckled, and it’d been a sweet sound instead of a mocking one. “Hey, look, I’m all about the girls having some fucking fun,” he’d said coolly before a lick of his lips turned him a bit more serious, mysterious even. “How about something a little slower… Time After Time!” He’d grinned proudly and raised his expensive whiskey glass to your cheap beer. “That’s fucking perfect for you!”

And then you actually went on stage and sung. You weren’t a bad singer, either, but you were by far no Mariah. However, you could see Soldier Boy watching you intently the whole time with that strange look he sometimes carried whenever he was staring at you – something he did quite often.

In fact, he’d stared at you pretty intensely when he’d first walked out of his cryo-chamber, too. It gave you the creeps the same way that naked homeless man had once done in a subway after 1 AM. And then, he had fucking detonated, which had freaked you out so much you’d accidentally disappeared back to New York with a five minute time difference forward – the only time you’d actually managed to travel into the future.

But after your performance, Soldier Boy had passed you on your way down from the stage and intercepted you by placing a tentative hand on your arm.

“You have a really beautiful voice,” he’d said and even gifted you a small but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

Sweetly, you’d even mirrored his smile after no other insults or advances followed. You’d been practically baffled. As you had glanced at him more carefully, though, you’d noticed something gleaming in his eyes, almost melancholic. You’d supposed after 104 years, he had probably been experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

“You okay there, gramps?” you’d checked with a bit of a teasing smile, and maybe that’d been your mistake.

“‘M fucking fine,” he’d huffed. He’d suddenly turned cold again, the hard lines on his freckled face crestfallen. He’d spun around, marched out of the bar, and ditched you there on the spot.

So, that was what you had done for the past few months – babysit Soldier Boy and keep the bomb from exploding. Which brought you back to this exact moment:

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Seriously!” you snapped, feeling the fury overtaking you. “What the fuck happened in your life to turn you into such a miserable, toxic, overbearing, narcissistic, insufferable piece of shit?!”

“Insufferable?” He scoffed as if your words didn’t affect him, but you could see it was starting to get to him. “You’re the one who’s fucking insufferable, doll. Probably because you haven’t been fucked in a while by a real man.”

Exasperatedly, you gripped your temples. “Oh, it all trickles down to that, doesn’t it?” you deadpanned. “You sound like a fucking broken record, gramps!”

“Oh, you wanna fucking jump on me badly right now, don’t you?” he gritted through his pearly-white teeth, a challenging smirk playing on his plush lips as he leaned closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Please, it’s not gonna fucking make me like you more. Your dick’s not a magic eraser,” you bit sharply, your voice low and poisonous. “God knows you fucked your last girlfriend for years, and she still fucking hated you.”

Growling, he bristled, his jaw ticking. Mentioning Crimson Countess always hit a nerve. You knew as much.

“You’re just a drug-addicted loser with daddy issues. Nothing more, nothing less,” you nonetheless continued bitterly. “No one likes you! And believe me, asshole, I fucking hate you!”

As you looked up at him, you could tell he was close to exploding. Kimiko even desperately tugged on your arm to drag you out of the blast zone – not that it would’ve mattered.

“Butcher…”

Hughie’s panicked voice and wide eyes reached the Brit, who finally got out of his chair and slammed the paper on the desk.

“Oy, you two! Fucking stop it!”

And somehow, that had miraculously seemed to work. Soldier Boy managed to snap out of his temper tantrum, his breathing steadying, his smirk reappearing.

His lips twitched as he dipped his head and whispered into your ear, “You’re not fucking worth it.”

His thick fingers trailed up your hips before he grabbed your waist and pushed you closer to his body. You tried to shove him away, but this time he used his full strength on you to keep you caged.

“Get off of me!”

“Butcher!”

“Oy! What did I fucking tell you lot?!”

Kimiko tried to pull you away harder, but that only made Soldier Boy chuckle more.

“I said stop it! Get the fuck off of me!” you yelled louder, and he finally let go with a cunning laugh.

“Alright, you’ve had your bloody fun, mate. Why don’t you take a bit of a time-out now, huh?” It was the most Butcher could do as far as an intervention went. Everyone in the room knew Soldier Boy couldn’t be stopped.

“Fine,” the supe relented with a roll of his green eyes, but then his gaze landed back on you.

You hated to admit that he had gotten to you, but it was hard to deny when your whole body was trembling and tears stung your eyes.

“Fucking Christ on a cross, are you actually gonna fucking cry now?” Soldier Boy snorted condescendingly.

“Fuck you. Leave me alone,” you snapped with what little strength you had left and wiped the burning tears out of your eyes.

“Exactly why I said you’re fucking useless. This is the problem with women. Can’t even take a goddamn joke,” he ranted. The more he got to you, the more pleasure he took out of it. You could see it by the vicious twinkle in his eyes. “You keep talking how everyone hates me, but what about you, huh? You’ve got fucking no one, too. Your own fucking parents didn’t want you, and I don’t see an army of men lining up to take care of you, either.”

“Shut up!”

“Wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re a broken, useless, stupid, weak–“

“Stop it!”

But he didn’t. You couldn’t even hear the words properly anymore as they strung together into one explosion of abuse. Your vision blurred, and the ringing in your ears only got stronger.

“C’mon, fucking show me what you can do! Prove to me you’re not fucking useless! Do it!”

“I said fucking stop it!” you screamed loudly till he fell silent.

And then, poof. You were gone.

Soldier Boy blinked at the suddenly empty space before him. Knitting his brow, he shrugged your disappearance off only a second later and plopped down on the couch with an exhaustive groan.

“Fucking finally… Took her long enough,” he commented dryly and stretched out on the small two-seater, sighing blissfully.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Hughie threw in, the anxious expression on his face only causing Soldier Boy to roll his eyes once more.

“Relax, squirt, she’ll be back,” the supe quipped, snickering. “Probably.”

“Y/N’s got PTSD, okay? She can’t control it,” Hughie argued, placing his hands on his hips in upset, his gaze scolding. “You know, you’d think you of all people would be a little more sympathetic to that.”

Soldier Boy’s eyes glowered darkly. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have that shit. I told you.”

“You know, kid’s right,” Butcher chimed in, catching the ancient supe’s attention. “I’d be a little more worried if I were you.”

“Why? Not my fucking problem. And like I said, she’ll be fine,” he reiterated with a careless grumble.

“I’m sure you’re right, mate,” Butcher replied with a conniving smirk and a casualness that made the supe wary. “Let’s just hope our little Y/N doesn’t take your advice to heart about the proper use of her abilities. But if I were bloody you, I’d hope old-me watches me back.”

Soldier Boy snorted a laugh of amusement. “Oh, I’d like to see her try,” he replied arrogantly and stretched his spine with a yawn. “Well, anyways, I’m taking my fucking nap now. Just wake me when she gets back. I’m not fucking finished with her yet…”

Hughie and the others hurried around Butcher’s desk, their voices only whispers as not to disturb the grumpy supe, and the Brit knew by the worried looks on his team’s faces that he’d have to deal with this bloody problem now.

“Butcher, what are we gonna do?” Hughie asked, eyes still wide and kind heart surely beating a marathon on his sleeve.

“Yeah, how are we gonna get her back?” Annie agreed, calmer than her boyfriend, questioningly folding her arms and arching a brow.

“Mon dieu, what if she changes the timeline, Butcher? I don’t want to wake up speaking German,” Frenchie threw in.

“And I don’t want fucking slavery back,” MM added.

“Oy, calm down,” Butcher spoke with placating hands. “Y/N’s a smart girl. She knows more about this shite than anyone of you. I’m sure she’ll fucking figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t, Butcher?” Annie pressed.

“Well, then, let’s hope worst she does is kill the snoring cunt over there.” Butcher smirked devilishly and gestured to Soldier Boy fast asleep on the couch as if he were hoping for that outcome. “God knows I’d be bloody fine with it.”

It took less than a second, a blink of an eye, but you felt it immediately, knew instantly what had happened as gravity itself stretched out its tentacles and wound them around your limbs, tearing and tugging until you ripped at the seams and atoms spilled out of you.

There was a stark drop in temperature – that was the first thing you’d noticed. Goosebumps formed within a beat on the bare skin of your arms, the biting cold making you not only shiver but fear for your life.

Please don’t be the Pleistocene... Death by saber-tooth? No, thank you.

But to your relief, you heard a strange, but familiar set of sounds around you – animated chatter, chiming bells and closing doors, and the occasional low rumble of a car. Your heart was pounding a furious and relentless rhythm in your ribcage as your eyes fluttered open and warily scanned your strange surroundings.

You’d landed on a street, your feet safely planted on a sidewalk. Glistening white snow covered the pavement in a thick veil, the sky a dull gray blanket above. Icicles hung from lampposts with patriotic banners flying in the chill, proclaiming messages to buy war bonds and save scrap metal.

Huh…

Powdered flakes swirled around you as a streetcar clattered past you on a cobbled street, the sound muffled by the snow. Storefronts and shops lined both sides of the road, shoppers bustling by you in coats, hats, and scarves. Your brow furrowed softly at the row of parked, snow-covered cars that looked a tad… old.

Oh no…

You had definitely traveled back a smidge, but luckily not as far as the Middle Ages again. Judging by the moderately busy street, you assumed you were at least still in New York City. A paperboy was shouting loudly further down, but you couldn’t understand him from the distance. The only word that was plastered everywhere was war.

World War I or World War II, maybe?

Wherever – or whenever – you were, you couldn’t get stuck here. Your short-lived fascination with your new environment was then quickly replaced by a rising panic in your throat.

You had to get home somehow.

Squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could, you tried to wish yourself back – unfortunately, you didn’t possess your pair of ruby slippers anymore that you could simply click. The more you tried and failed, the more anxious you became, and you knew a full-on panic attack was just waiting for you around the corner.

“Whoa! Hey, careful…”

With your hands on your knees, you bumped backwards into a man, your lungs constricting so much they barely let any air pass. You spun around, eyes wide and body trembling as a set of hands landed gently on your shoulders and waist for support.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

What little breath you had got caught in your throat as you stared into an all-too familiar set of outlandishly green eyes.

Soldier Boy.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

It was a reflex at this point to slap his hands away and keep them as far from your body as possible. Of course the guy couldn’t leave you alone in any era.

Admittedly, he was hardly recognizable, though. While he was just as tall as his 21st century counterpart, he wasn’t as broad. Instead of the signature green outfit, he wore a long, black wool coat over a three-piece suit and a checkered flat cap. His hair was maybe an inch shorter, his beard replaced by a clean-shaven face. And while Soldier Boy surely didn’t look a 104, he didn’t look as young as the guy in front of you either. No furious lines from decades of anger management issues decorated his freckle-dusted face yet.

Maybe your reaction was ill-advised, considering the power he wielded. You figured any past version of the supe was even more ruthless than the current one you’d gotten to know. Moreover, you didn’t have the advantage of being spared because you had saved him from an ice box.

To your surprise, however, there was no detection of malice or offense on his features. To the contrary, he seemed strangely taken aback by your aggressive response, his hands swiftly shooting back as if your very skin was made out of scorching coals. They raised in surrender.

Surrender.

Well, that was new. He had never, ever, ever done that before. Did you land in some alternate timeline where Soldier Boy was a nice guy?

“I-I’m so sorry, miss. Please forgive me… I was just checking if you were okay,” he stammered and forced a reassuring smile, his hands still held high in good faith.

“Just stay away from me. Leave me alone, okay?”

You backed farther away from him, your eyes desperately flickering around for an exit. Your voice jittered in sync with your body before you bolted down the street and sought shelter in a dark and quiet alley.

“Miss! Wait!” he called after you, his hands picking something up in the snow that you’d dropped during your flight. “You’ve lost your–”

His brow furrowed as he twisted the thin, rectangular device in his hand, his thumb wiping bits of melting snowflakes off the sleek, black glass. As he glanced more closely at it, it lit up brightly and vibrated in his hold. He startled at the unexpected tremble, almost dropping it into a pool of mud by his shoes. Fuddled, his gaze lifted down the busy street in search of you.

“What the hell…”

▶️ Chapter 2: Is This the 40s?

I think his curiosity is piqued lol... What did you think of his 1942 version vs. the, uhm, less nice future dickbag? 👀

Coming Up:

Ready to fend him off, you were surprised to find his grip wasn’t strong by any means. It was barely a brush before he dropped his hand again and looked at you remorsefully.

“I’m sorry! I just-… Please let me help you,” he reiterated with imploring green eyes. “Look, you clearly seem lost. Just tell me where you live, and I can get you home safely, okay? C’mon, you can’t do this to me.” He tried to loosen you up with a charming smile and a puppy dog look. “If you leave like this, I’m going to be up all night, worrying you’ve died of hypothermia out here.”

And my God, he seemed sincere! No wonder he had gotten attention from women like a goddamn bunny in a petting zoo.

Musingly, you then chewed on your lower lip and assessed the man in front of you. The people who strolled by you threw you the occasional weird looks – you’d chosen a bad day to wear a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Admittedly, you could use a little help here. Maybe if you were being careful with the timeline – and him – you could risk it.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @little-diable @kr804573

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vulpixisananimal · 2 months ago

Text

[A: 4 C: 83] - Future

[{Nostalgié}]

[{. . .It’s over. They’re all gone. You’re gone. For real this time. No time fuckery, no second chances. All gone, except you. Oblivion, ready to embrace them like an old friend. The black hole that consumes even light itself. The never-ending darkness even stars bow down to. . .}]

[{But now, it’s over. It’s done. And now, there is nothing.}]

[{All is silent once more, just to spite one man.}]

[{H a . . . . H a . . . . . .}]

[{You. . Didn’t think it would. . . Be. . So. . . .}]

[{. . . . . . . .} . . .]. . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . .

. .

. . .

No. No, it can't be over. After all of this? No. You refuse to die, refuse to just bow your head and take it. And if you have to personally wrench control of your body from your dying brain, then so be it.

You reach around your heart, and can feel it thrum with power. You need to get your blood flowing. You focus your will onto the stuttering organ, and with a blinding flash, it's beating once again. Good. As long as you're focused, it should keep beating.

Keeping one limb on the heart, you pull another down to your diaphragm. A beating heart is no good without any air. In. And out. In. Out. You focus on your breathing, making your lungs keep pace with your heart. Good, heart and lungs working in tandem, thanks to your will.

With another limb, you reach further down. You'll need your metabolism back sooner rather than later; you need your liver. You focus on the filtering, feeling the blood pumping from your heart bringing air from your lungs, reviving the organ. Good, that's three major systems down, all in your grasp.

Your last limb crawls upwards, through your spine and up to your brain. This will all be for nothing if you fade away and lose control. You focus on the synapses, the blood from your heart carrying air from your lungs and sugars from your liver nursing your neurons back to action. Your neurons spark with activity as your body comes alive. Good, as long as you can keep this up, you'll survive.

Parting your lips, you mutter your mantra. Your prayer. Your lifeline.

Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.

[<Your eye bolts open, you reach for the stick next to you, grab it, and strike at the looming figure of Perci. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>]

“BLOOD AND IRON-” [<He stumbles back, your vision is blurry. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>]

“S-SAF!!!” [<Nille cheers, standing up.>] “W-what the crab?!?! You scared the HELL OUTTA ME!!!!”

[<No time to talk. Your enemy reaches a hand out to you, and you feel the creeping vines of that damnable plant encroaching on your mind once again. But you can’t lose focus, you can’t give up! Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. HEART. LUNGS. LIVER. NERVES.>]

[<Your talons rip into the remnants of the mint in your treetop, having long since infested the beaches below. A vine so impossible to weed out, but you can do it! Just enough so he can’t stop your heart! Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>]

“H-How, are you-”(D . . IN. .G TH. . . A) [<The little weasel is walking towards you, trying to get control again! Quickly, you must find the source; SMELL the source! Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. You dive from the tree, wings spread, looking upon the sea of dune-grass- T-THERE!!!>]

[{A RABBIT?!? You charge at the invasive pest, watching it bolt down a rabbit hole hidden in the dunes!!! HA!!! You strike, destroying the whole dune! Oops~ Did you need that Perci- oh! Oh how silly of me, YOU CAN’T EVEN HEAR US NOW!!! HAHAHHA!!! How pathetic.}]

[<Now you just, need to focus on keeping your own heart beating and, fight!!! You swing the stick in a panic as he steps closer, but he must have grown used to reading your mind, as It bangs him on the side of the head and makes him stumble. You take the chance, and run past him, finding your pristine blade in a tree and claiming it.>]

“I-” [<He puts a hand to his temple then looks at it. Blood. He glares at you. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>] “You, you ripped out my backdoor! Who by blood are you?!?”

“I-I’m Kyros!” [<You croak, voice clearly different than before. The name somehow comes effortlessly to mind. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>] “C-can you be quiet, I’m, trying to not, die!”

“You are?!?” [<He pauses, studying you.>]

“What the hell is going on?!?!??” [<Nille brandishes her hammer, standing with Percival right between the two of you.>]

“Blood. . . Well, if I’m guessing correctly.” [{Percival grumbles, much like a child.}] “Some part of Siffrins brain split someone new, Kyros, specifically to deal with me! And I’m assuming Kyros is using mind craft to directly control their organs in order to keep them functioning.”

[<You bite your lip and nod. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>]

“Incredible!” [<Perci turns to you, mouth bloody, but smiling.>] “Every day you all amaze me. It’s wonderful to meet you, Kyros, but how long can you keep this up.”

[<Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>]

“As long as they want~” [{You say mockingly.}] “Unlike him, this little bird brained headmate of ours actually decided to amount to something! Even if it’s a useless little endeavor like keeping this meat sack alive.”

“And who are you!” [{He hisses, oh! How spicy~!}] “And who is him!”

“He doesn’t even know I’m talking to him! HAHA!!!” [{You giggle until it evolves into a maniacal cackle.}] “Nostalgié is its name, like the nostalgia of how this is so similar to how Percival and Siffrin met! That wonderful day in the rain, where he almost killed them!”

“I wouldn’t have!!!” [{He retorts in ignorance.}] “I needed the memories!!!”

“Oh but he would have.” [{You grin, a shadow once again casting over your face.}] “It’s in his nature! He could deny it, yes, but everyone heard what that shadow saw in him. His father, friends, teachers, even the UNIVERSE has bent its knees to make him the perfect killer!” [{You look deviously at Merlon with that last remark.}]

“Quiet!” [{Merlon snapps back.}] “Perci, let’s leave. We gain nothing more from fighting.”

“W-what?!? B-but all that work. . .” [<He shakes his head.>] “Ah, no, you’re right, sunk cost fallacy and all.”

“THAT’S what you’re crabbing worried about?!??!” [<Nille stomps her foot in frustration. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>] “You NEARLY KILLED Siffrin and THAT’S what’s on your mind?!? Jackass?!?!?”

“I didn’t-”

“Oh what a fiend!” [{You cut him off.}] “Ha, HAH! For once the guide star was right! They should have left him and his trophy of a partner to get killed!!! HAH! That would have been heroic~”

“ENOUGH!!!” [<Merlon snaps. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>] “I’ve had enough. We’re leaving now. Percival, your experiment. . ?”

“. . . Ah! I see.” [<He nods in seeming agreement>] “I think. . . Yes, it will work.”

“Good.” [{And with that, that cursed Astronomer nods and points a finger up to the sky. A blinding flash of light flies from their finger high, high into the sky. It’s so bright it’s blinding you! You can hear Perci running, and Nille gasping.}]

[<M-mint! MINT!!! You smell mint!!! You pull your cloak up over your nose! W-where, what’s going on?!?!>]

“N-no--” [<Nilles pained voice reaches your ears. Rub the light from the eyes rub it out out out Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>] “Hh-help--”

“N-NILLE!!!” [(You choke out her name, she, f-find, FIND! HER!!!)]

“Sorry about this.” [{That SNAKE. You blink the light from your eyes, and looking up to where his voice is, he’s already got his pack on, and about to leave!!!}] “But I can’t have you following me, so. . .”

“W-what did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!?!” [<You’re panicking, PANICKING!!! Your head bolts to the stars, that bright red light looming far above you. I-it’s almost like a marker???>]

“Malheur, under no circumstances kill Siffrin or his party, this I command upon you.” [<You could smell the stench of mint on his words b-but, but who is he, talking too?!?! He turns from looking behind to, to looking at you.>] “Your companions should see the light, I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“What do you MEAN!?!” [< Panic, PANIC!!! You turn to Nille who’s, w-who’s doubled over in pain?!?! You look back to Perci!>] “W-what did you DO!?!?!?”

“She’ll turn into a sadness soon.” [<He looks away.>] “But I’m sure you can fix it, you’ve done it twice before.”

“S-she, she-” [<You start, but a crack from Nilles direction cuts you off.>]

“Goodbye, Siffrin.” [<He turns, joins Merlons side, and walk away.>] “May we never meet again.”

“What a disgusting perpetual pupa!” [{Your eye is wide.}] “Look at him, an abhorance to all things he worships and admires! All rot at his touch, all his work to be forgotten! Only remembered as a beast who used his bondeds heart to temper his blade! Her blood staning his hand, her brain crushed underfoot!!! It’s a wonder he could pretend to love for so long~”

[{You see him wince, but he keeps walking! Ha, HA!!! He’ll have his day, you’ll make sure of it! HA! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! OH YOU CAN TASTE THE METAL IN YOUR MOUTH ALREADY!!! You should chase him down and rip out his throat with your TEETH!!! OH HOHOHOHOOOO YOU SHOULD YOU SHOULD YOU SHOULD IT’LL BE SO! SO! SO USEFUL!!!}]

[<TURN. AROUND. HEART. LUNGS. LIVER. NERVERS. HEART. LUNGS. LIVER. NERVERS.>]

[{You spin on your heels to face that carpenter of yours and. . . . . . O-oh, oh my who is THIS~}]

[<HEART. LUNGS. LIVER. NERVERS!!! You stare at the beast in front of you, a shattered spherical head, a lightless cloak with giant fists to match. Those sharp talons it stood on, it reminded you of, something.>]

[{Oh what a beauty! What a delectably MURDEROUS sadness!!! Oh do we need to fight her?}]

[<OF COURSE!!! W-WE NEED TO THAT’S OUR FRIEND!!! F-FRIEND!!! You step back, and It takes a step forward, the infinitely sharp pointed legs cutting deep into the land itself. W-What do you do, S-STARS WHAT DO YOU DO!!!>]

[<It looms over you, and lets out a scream of clicks and laughter! It’s something that travels through your nerves and threatens your concentration. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.>]

[{You leap into the air far from the darling sadness and land with grace. Oh please just look how beautiful it is! Ah, fine~ If you REALLY want to save your friend then let’s focus on not dying like that idiot Saffron, yes~?}]

[<YES!! Please yes we must focus!!>]

[{Good! You raise your dagger and deflect the swipe from one of the legs, and dash underneath the beast. How do you propose we fix things then, hmm? Because last time I checked, this idiot body is about to collapse under its own weight!!}]

[<Y-you, you don't know!!! Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves- >]

[{You strike at the sadness with the dagger, but the worthless thing doesn’t even scratch it! HAH!!! Oh darling, what gets under your armor I wonder~}]

[<S-STOP! FLIRTING! You stumble back as a leg swipe catches you and sends you flying. You’re able to land safely, in the end only suffering light bruises Heart. Lungs. Liver-- >]

[{Harder please~}]

[<You stumble trying to get up, vision failing for a moment, feeling your heart flutter! Please! This is not! Easy!!!>]

[{HAH! What, getting embarrassed by me?!? Oh this is nothing! You worthless little bird, ignore me and keep our heart GOING!!!}]

[<J-just make sure we live! That thing will kill, and it’ll hurt! Just, focus!>]

[{I AM focusing you half-witted-}]

“SIFFRIN!!!!” [<The shriek pierces the woods around you.>]

[{Housemaiden?!? HOUSEMAIDEN?!?! How?!!? How is she here so FAST!!!}]

“SIF!!! SIF WE’RE HERE!!!”

[<The voice of the strong one! Defender! You want to look but you’re too focused on your heart and the sadness! You stumble through the snow, only to land in the arms of another.>]

“I Gotcha, Siffrin.” [<The voice of the trainee- n-no, the gambler! he’s holding you firmly, and looking up you could see her analysing you. They put a hand to your head..>] “Scared us half to death, idiot daredevil.”

[<You feel a tingle in your head, dizzy, too much, so much, so many! F-focus, focus focus focus heart lungs liver nerves heart lungs liver nerves heart lungs liver nerves heart lungs liver nerves. You finally feel your heart pumping under its own strength, and your vision returns in ernest. Isabeau and Mirabelle faced down the sadness, and Altiare held you in their arms. A-and, and where were Odile and-- >]

“‘FRIN!!!!!!!”

[<You snap your head around to see Madame and, a-and Bonnie just joining the rest of the group- AH!!!>] “D-DON’T KILL THE SADNESS!!!”

“AH!!!” [<Mirabelle jumps and turns to you.>] “W-why not?!? Where’s Nille!!!”

[<Your silent response was all she needed. Her expression drops.>]

“Oh great!” [<Altiare helps you stand and gets their cards ready.>] “I was just thinking we hadn’t gone through enough pain already!”

“Gems alive, Siffrin, what was so important that you drugged Isabeau.” [<Odile asks flatly.>] “You’re lucky he was giving you a much lighter dose than normal.”

“I-I- it’s-” [<N-nononono you can’t tell them right now!!! I-it wasn’t you it wasn’t, o-or, n-no!>]

“Not now!!!” [<Isabeau yells. Looking back to the fight, he was dodging the large sadness’ strikes.>] “I-I don’t care about the sleeping pills right now we gotta fix this! S-so, what happened?!?”

“N-nille- a-and the, t-t-the--” [<NONONONO CALM DOWN Y-YOU CAN’T, CAN’T-- AAAAAAA>]

‘F-frin. . ?” [<Bonnie, Bonnie’s walking to you, and, a-and, staring at you! And you can’t look at them! Y-you, you can’t, look, at, them!!!>] “I-is, is Nille, the, t-the--”

“YES!!! STARS DOES IT HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT!?!?” [{You snap, and instantly regret it? Huh! What a new and strange feeling! Anyway.}] “The blinding Monets did something to her and now she’s like THIS!!! Isn’t that WONDERFUL?!?”

[{There’s a silence in the air for a few seconds, doubtless at your outburst. You don’t care about what they think. Not even the child. Not even the child. Not even the child. Not. Even. The. Child.}]

“. . . . We’ll deal with it, ‘kay?.” [<You could see Bonnies expression change, and you could swear it was like their voice got a tone deeper.>] “You did something REALLY stupid so just, stay back, okay?!”

“I-I. . .” [<You hesitate, dizzy.>] “I-I, don’t know. . .”

“IT’S NOT A CHOICE!!! BLINDING CRABFACE!!!” [<They retort, taking out a hammer from their cloak.>] “So! Let! Us! HELP!!!”

“You should stay back too, Boniface.” [<Odile suggests.>]

“No!” [<Bonnie ignores her and steps forward to be next to the others.>]

“B-bonnie?!?” [<Mirabelle exclaims.>] “P-please! It’s, it’s not safe for a kid-”

“I KNOW IT’S NOT, OKAY!?!?!” [<They snap, voice echoing through the woods.>] “I KNOW I SHOULDN’T BE DOING THIS!!! I KNOW I SHOULDN’T NEED TO CRABBING WORRY ABOUT THIS AND JUST MAKE FOOD AND JUST DO KID STUFF!!! I MISS KID STUFF, OKAY?!? HAPPY?!?”

“‘S NOT FAIR THAT I HAD TO GO BE AN ADULT!!! ‘S NOT FAIR I HAD TO LEARN HOW TO FIGHT!!! ‘S NOT FAIR THAT I DIDN’T GET TO BE A KID ‘CAUSE NO-ONE LIKED ME ‘CAUSE I WAS THE WEIRD ONE WHO JUST WASHED UP ONE DAY!!! ‘S NOT FAIR!!!” [<You could feel the tears in their eyes.>] “BUT LIFE’S NOT CRABBIN FAIR!!! ‘M NOT A KID ANYMORE AND I MISS IT! SO LET ME BE A CRABBIN ADULT AND THEN WHEN WE GO HOME AND EVERYONES SAFE I CAN AT LEAST PRETEND TO BE A CRABBIN KID AGAIN!!!!!”

“. . .”

“. . . Boniface.” [<Odile is the first to speak up. Even the sadness had paused for the dramatics.>]

“. . . . What, O’dile.”

“I’m, proud of you.” [<The researcher steps up side by side with Bonnie, battle ready.>] “I don’t think I could have ever asked for a better member of the ‘opposite side of the age spectrum alliance.’”

“. . . . Really?” [<The not-kid asks, voice wavering.>]

“Really.” [<Odile chuckles.>] “I’ve never been more proud. Of anyone.”

“. . . . . CRAB YEAH!!!!!!!"

“Welcome to the frontline, lil’ moth!” [<Altiare chuckles, before dashing around the sadness, letting their cards fly.>] “Plan time! We can’t kill it, but maybe I can undo the mind craft!”

“M-maybe, b-but Perci did something to her!” [<You bite your lip as you watch them dance around the sadness attacks.>] “W-will it, still, work?!?”

“One way to find out. Isa!!!”

“I got it!!!”

[<Isabeau strikes the sadness legs, taking its attention and making it swipe at him. He’s able to block the blow, giving Altiare the chance to nimbly jump off its floating fist and touch its head. You wince at the stench of mint, and see Altiare grit her teeth in agony. She jumps back, and stumbles.>] “Fffff--”

“A-alt!!” [<Isabeau’s distracted by his friends pain, and that gives the thing time to strike at him next, making him stumble too.>] “C-crab, what happened?!?”

“No good, Perci you sneaky-” [<He grumbles and stands.>] “Mental traps. Too many to count. ”

“W-what if she has a charm we can break?!? Like the one he used on you???” [<Mirabelle smartly adds.>]

“I don’t think she has one.” [{The card counter glares at the sadness.}] “He’s still close enough to puppet her manually, so doesn't need a charm to extend range.”

[<The sadness charges at Isa and Alt, but Mirabelle casts her shield in time to block the devastating blow.>] “C-can you, break through?” [<Isabeau asks.>]

“He’s expecting it this time.” [<They’re shuffling their deck.>] “Last time Alex was able to because it was a surprise.”

“We either need to wait or get lucky.” [<Odile grumbles, casting her slowdown craft.>] “Once Nille’s out of his range then his grip should dissipate.”

“WE CAN’T WAIT THAT LONG!” [(Bonnie yells from the side.)] “Nilles in trouble! What am I supposed to do!!!”

“I-I, I don’t know, Bonbon!” [(Mira backs up, trying to calm them down.)] “I-it’ll, it’ll be okay it’s just, just, j-just--”

“CRAB THAT!!!” [(Bonnie pushes past Mirabelle to stand up to the looming sadness.)] “NILLE!!!!”

“B-BONNIE?!?”

“GET BACK, MOTH!!!”

“BONIFACE NO!!!”

“B-BONBON-!”

“SHUT UP!!!” [(They snap, before talking to the sadness again.)] “LISTEN HERE YOU BIG STUPID SADNESS!!! GIVE MY SISTER BACK, OR I’LL CLOBBER YOU!!! GOT IT!!!”

[(The sadness just roared, or even laughed. You watch in horror as a fist looms over Bonnie and-)]

[(Bonnie dodges to the side, and whacks it with a meat tenderiser, yelling.)] “I! SAID! GIVE! HER! BACK!!!”

[(The second fist came in, but Bonnie moved around it like water before stabbing its hand with a dagger, and jumping onto its cloak! W-wait- You reach for your own dagger to see its missing! Oh that sneaky little-)]

“YEAH! YOU GET EM BONNIE!!!” [(Isabeau cheers?!?!? [WE! WILL! WIN!!!])]

“. . . HA! YEAH LIL’ MOTH, GET EM!!!” [<Altiare joins in, sending cards at the sadness, pushing it off balance.>]

“W-WE’VE GOT YOUR BACK, BONBON!” [<Mirabelle runs in, casting her shield over Bonnie. W-wait, that, that rhythm. . .>]

“As the kids say, DITTO!” [<The word is VERY wrong in Odiles mouth but, it feels right!!! She uses [Craft Break Δ] And- Y-yes! There! You could feel it all around you! Sugar! STRONG sugar!!!>]

“. . . B-BONNIE!” [(You swallow your fear.)] “Y-you. . . YOU GOT THIS!!!”

[<Can’t you feel it? Hear it?!? Can’t you SMELL it?!? That song, that music, it’s, i-it’s familiar! It’s, IT’S!!!>]

[(Bonnie. Brave, loud, amazing, helpful Bonnie climbs up the sadness until their level with its head and single staring eyes.)] “S-SIS!!! SIS I, I’M GETTING YOU OUT!!! I’M-”

[(The sadness shakes its head, roars, and flings Bonnie from its body! Y--y-you, you-!!!)]

[<THAT. HOLY MELODY!!!>]

[(Everything was moving in slow motion, almost like when Null did his focusing thing. Craft energy was shimmering all around Bonnie. It cushioned their landing, and flowed up, under their feet, up, and into their pan. The sugary smell made you want to take Bonnie and run, made you want to beg the Universe to not harm that child.)]

[<But harm did not come! Instead, the energy gathered in the basin of the pan to calcify into. . . A piece of calamari? The teen looked down at the morsel of seafood, then tossed it into the air, reared their striking arm back, and ,as the snack flew up then down, they smacked it with all their might!>]

[<There was the sound of a thunderclap as the piece of calamari striked the sadness’ head. It shot back at the impact, and was still. . .You awaited for what happened next with baited breath, begging that this fight would be over before there can be any more pain.>]

[<The silence is killing you, yet it only lasts about eight seconds. Cracks start appearing all over the sadness, the sound of ice under tension piercing the air.>]

[<That’s when you notice the smell of mint. Or, the lack thereof.>]

[<The sadness shattered into eight clean pieces that quickly dissolves in the air, and a very unconscious Pétronille tumbled into the snow.>]

[. . . Bonnie learned STARDROP INKANTATION!!!]

[When Bonnie uses Stardrop Inkantation, a party member is healed to full HP, and is cured of the “controlled” condition.]

[{You watch as the others all rush to Nilles aid, not jealous at all. . . . . Oh fine you are a little jealous. Tch, fine. You stand and LIMP over to the others to see what’s going on.}]

[{Isabeau, Mirabelle, and Odile are all gathered around Nille, while Altiare stood a few feet away next to Bonnie. You couldn’t help but look up at them.}]

[{A gasp and a cough draws your eye back to Pétronille. She’s doubled over, coughing up. . . Water? Fascinating! After a good few minutes of hacking out her lungs, she takes a deep breath, and collapses back. Mira, Isa, and Odile talk in turn.}]

“N-nille!! A-are you alright?!? D-does anything hurt?!?”

“E-easy, take your time, alright? Do you need anything???”

“Let me check if she is in shock or has a concussion. Pétronille, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“. . . . .” [<Nille looks at them in a stunned silence, before finally talking.>] “. . . N-nothing hurts, three fingers and a thumb, and all I need is to throw myself into the sea.”

“. . . .” [<If she expected a laugh, there wasn’t one. Odile, at least, was able to say something.>] “Let’s. . . Shelve that idea.”

[<Nille looked down, silence closing in once again. Isabeau was able to help her sit up. You go stand next to Bonnie and Altiare. Alti gives you a nod and walks to Nille.>]

“Here, let me check.” [<She says in a tired tone, raising a hand. There weren’t any protests as she gently touched Nilles forehead. A few seconds later, they took the hand away and put their hands on their hips.>] “. . . Well guess I’m out of a job, since there’s not a hint of mind craft in there.”

“O-ohthankChange.” [<Mirabelle breathes a sigh of relief.>]

[<You flinch at the feeling of someone touching your hand, before looking, only to see it’s the teen. They were holding out a hand to you. . . . . You took it. They squeezed.>]

“O-ow-” [<You flinch.>]

“S-sorry.” [<They soften their grip.>] “. . . . .”

“. . . . Told her, about, your loops.” [<You can’t keep your voice together. You squeeze their hand for a second. They squeeze back. A silent agreement.>]

“Okay. . .” [<You see them take a deep breath, and squeeze your hand one more time before letting go and walking over to their sister.>]

[She must hear the crunch of snow as Bonnie approaches. She looks up, then back down. The others give each of the siblings space for. . . Whatever is about to happen.]

“. . . . .” [Nille takes a breath, and opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. She pauses, then tries again.] “. . . . Y-you deserve a better sister-”

“Stop.” [The stern voice surprises you. It doesn’t feel right coming from Boniface. It's wavering, but strong, with eyes full of a fire to match.] “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“B-but, I. . .” [Nille finally looks up into her younger siblings eyes, and she trails off.]

[And then, you see Bonnie undo the ties on their cloak, then, drape it over Nille.]

"That’s my sis you’re talking about, dummy.” [They bonk Nille on the head.] “. . . Y-you- you’re, my sister. A-and I love you, b-but. . . But, you killed Siffrin.”

[You could barely hear Nilles sharp inhale.]

“A-and, and that REALLY CRABBING HURT!!!” [Bonnie’s, crying. And bonking Nille on the head again and again.] “I wanna hate you!!! I want to so badly but I DON’T! OKAY!?!?!”

She doesn’t respond.

“It hurt Sif, it hurt Mira, Iza, ‘Dile, and Ramos!! It hurt you, a-and, and it hurt me!!! I-I, I died! okay?!? The King killed me! A-and I got myself killed by stupid blinding sadness! And it REALLY, REALLY HURT!!!” They grip Nilles' shoulders. “B-but, But you're my big sis, okay?!? I-I was worried, and, a-and I thought maybe we wouldn't see you again, or you'd die, or, o-or. . .”

“. . . .” [Nille’s crying, looking right up at Bonnie as they’re crying right back.] “. . . I-I’m, sorry. . .”

“Sure.” Bonnie sniffs. “Just, sure. Now apologize to Siffrin.”

“. . . I-I’m, sorry Siffrin.” She says after turning to you, her face is a mess. “A-and, I’m sorry, everyone.”

“. . .” You gulp, and nod your head. “I-I. . . Y-you’re, okay. . .”

“. . . I-I’ll, I’ll be angry about it later! I’m just glad you’re okay!”

“Yeah, it sucked, and we’re gonna have a talk eventually, but, yeah.”

“If I were in your shoes, Pétronille, I might have done the same. I understand.”

“. . . Eh, I’d be a hypocrite if I got on your case about it. Welcome to the “got turned into a sadness” club.”

“Look at me.” Bonnie shakes Nilles shoulders to get her attention back, and looks her in the eyes. “. . . You’re my sister, and you’re gonna screw up, but, b-but you’re family, okay?”

“B-bonnie. . .” They’re both starting to cry again.

“A-and, and I love you and if anything happened to you I, I’d never forgive myself!!!” They’re sobbing. “S-so, so just don’t do that again! You CRAB!!!”

“I-I won’t, Bonbon!” She’s sobbing. “I, I-I promise! I super promise! I super, duper promise!!!”

They hug, crying really hard into each other's arms. A moment later Mirabelle, Isabeau, and yourself join in the group hug. It’s. . . Nice. R-really, really nice.

Eventually you all pull back, giving the siblings a bit more space. They’re still sobbing, but, better. . .

“. . . B-bonnie. . .” Nille tilts her head. “. . . Is, is your voice deeper?”

“HUH?!?” [They jumped up.] “W-WHATDYAMEAN?!?”

“Huh. Now that you mention it, yeah!” Isabeau agrees.

“N-NUH UH!!!”

“O-oh! Yes! And I think they’re taller, too!!!” Mirabelle says, sparkly eyed.

“NUH UH!!!!”

“Ha, here comes the growth spurt.” Odile chuckles.

“N-NUUH’ Uh-!!!”

“Oh your voice deffinatly cracked on that one.” Altair laughs. “I’m sorry Bonnie. . . It’s puberty. . .”

“NO!!!!!!!!”

“Puberty. . .”

“NO!!!!!!!”

“Puberty! Oh congratulations Bonbon!!!”

“NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!”

Everyone was laughing, and, at this moment, you couldn’t help but laugh along with them.

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bluerhapsodist · 5 months ago

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As an experiment, I decided to come up with a rewrite of the Jedi Code. The change is structural, not thematic, and I hope this version provides others some insight into Jedi philosophy.

The Force speaks, and a Jedi listens. A Jedi seeks peace beyond attachments. A Jedi seeks knowledge beyond ignorance. A Jedi seeks compassion beyond fear. A Jedi seeks harmony beyond chaos. A Jedi seeks hope beyond destruction. The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force.

My line of thought is that, first and foremost, the power of any Jedi is rooted in finding the most clarity between themselves and the Force. By listening to the Force, they can find the peace and knowledge they need in order to act out of compassion, harmony, and hope.

Second, I also was never a huge fan of the line "There is no emotion; there is peace." I understand what it means (not letting emotions rule your decison-making), but I never like how easy it is to misinterpret (i.e., Jedi can't have feelings ever). But when it comes to losing ourselves in our emotions, we're losing ourselves in attachment. Anakin chooses his fear of losing Padme over seeing through Sidious's lies. Dooku chooses his need for power and despair of the Jedi's future over standing up for his brethren or honoring his fallen former Padawan Qui-Gon. Even Luke gives into his anger in his final duel with Vader, overwhelmed by his need to save his friends at all costs and terrified of what might happen to Leia if he fails.

Third, I changed the line about "passion" versus "serenity" to focus more on compassion versus fear. I see it as a key point to follow the need for knowledge over ignorance, as ignorance can fuel fear, whereas the effort to learn more about others (and about oneself) can foster compassion in a Jedi's choices. The original line in the Code always seemed to me to be about developing good judgment in any situation, and so the reminder here is that a Jedi cares for others, even when faced with danger and uncertainty.

Fourth, I changed the original final line of the Code to refer to hope and destruction over "death" and "the Force." The Jedi represent hope to countless beings across the galaxy in almost every age of history (especially in the reign of the Empire). I thought it would work as a reminder to a Jedi who follows the Code that their ultimate goal is about preserving and defending life, not destroying the enemy no matter the cost. Whereas the Sith define victory by who they crush and how evident their power over others is, the Jedi see victory in the lives they save and the peace they bring to those who suffer. The rise of the dark side's power during the Clone Wars prevents the Jedi from fulfilling that latter duty since there's seemingly no end to the suffering and chaos spreading across the galaxy, so all they can do is lead the clone army and try to save as many lives as they can.

Finally, I just really, really like the mantra of the Guardians of the Whills, and it seemed like an attitude that they and the Jedi Knights have in common whether they can use the Force or not.

tl;dr I took a stab at rewriting the Jedi Code for clarity and for my own personal tastes.

#star wars #jedi philosophy #jedi code #pro jedi #star wars meta #star wars legends #my commentary

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fourgods-nobrakes · 2 months ago

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Anyway, I have read Fulgrim: The Perfect Son! I hear opinions are mixed, which seems unavoidable when the stakes are so high. My opinion is that it's a really solid, enjoyable addition to the canon and the choices Reid makes fit well into the rest of Black Library's established 41st/42nd millennium. I liked a lot of things abut it: the parallels drawn between Imperial and Chaos, the grimdark getting on everyone and not just one side, the language delighting in sensual experiences, Fulgrim's presence as a dangerous but incredibly compelling liege, the way Reid doesn't seem interested in the "beautiful yet repulsive" framing previous authors have done with EC and Slaaneshi characters and just talks about the beautiful (if you're repulsed by that it's on you, buddy). The things I didn't like are largely things I don't like about Warhammer books in general—the repeated use of betrayal plots, the grimdarkness that makes victories hollow and defeats brutal. Still, it feels silly to claim those elements shouldn't be there, because Warhammer 40k has EVERYTHING SUCKS HERE stamped all over the timeline. I knew what I was getting into and had a lot of fun before things came crashing down. More specific thoughts under the cut, with spoilers.

Tamaris honestly charmed the hell out of me, with his repeated insistence that the Black Templars he fought were his brothers, and his deep desire to have knightly etiquette and honorable duels with them. I have no idea where he got that idealism in this era but it's adorable. The fact that he refuses the label "traitor" and points out he stayed loyal to his lord and sire is something I want far more CSM to do. Also adorable, the way he stops repeatedly to get distracted by something he's witnessing/experiencing, like a VtM Toreador who's enraptured by the sunrise or the sound of noise marines playing or the rhythm of a battle.

Also, seriously, the repeated parallels! Tamaris and Berengar both being champions with a divine mandate to face each other, both the same kind of impatient with a siege that doesn't give them the glorious single combat they crave, both fucking up through their glory-hunting with an enemy champion near the start (and holy shit, Berengar losing it in a sadistic and decidedly not-heroic way as his anger got the better of him with the kakophonist). But also the parallels around them -- the guardsmen repeating "Cadia stands!" as they died until it was as empty as a cultist mantra. The "winnowing" of the EC by Mauvais* compared with the colonel's insistence that the militia find heretics to burn or she would take them from the militia's ranks.

*I have to assume this name is Reid just having a nerdy chuckle about how silly Warhammer names get. I have to.

More generally I'm very grateful that she's more even-handed about SHOWING that everyone is bad guys than a lot of books. The defenders of the city are impatient with civilians for being in the way and being scared. The militia team, on their heretic hunt, corner and harass a small child even though we know they don't want to be doing this at all. The Black Templars intend to massacre the civilians when the city falls (and regret not doing it earlier) and poor Sekunder knows this and doesn't find comfort in a free ticket to the Golden Throne.

And then there are the cultists that Tamaris meets early on, who are helpful at the time and then save him when he's almost destroyed later. They get to be gentle and kind, bathing his wounds and offering him sustenance, and I love that we get to see that. Warhammer gonna Warhammer, ofc, and what happens to them breaks my heart, but before then we got a tiny slice of a balm I really needed.

My big question at the end is what this is going to do to the Black Templars' ongoing attitude toward the Emperor's Children, because I feel like this has to result in the declaration of a crusade. You can't just take a chapter's holiest relic as a battle trophy! I mean you CAN, clearly, but it seems like a plot hook for somebody to grab.

I am apparently still really incoherent about this. But what a fun book.

#black library book review #fulgrim: the perfect son #jude reid

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aramguru · 1 month ago

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Lord Murugan is not just as the God of War, but as the divine embodiment of wisdom, courage, and divine grace. Known as Skanda, Kartikeya, or Subramanya, He is the eternal youth, the fierce warrior who destroys ignorance, and the compassionate guide who leads devotees to spiritual victory.

Why Worship Lord Murugan?

1. Victory Over Obstacles – Murugan wields the Vel (divine spear), which pierces through ego, illusion, and life’s challenges. Devotees who pray to Him with sincerity find strength to overcome difficulties.

2. Wisdom & Clarity – As the Guru of the Devas, He bestows Jnana (knowledge). Students, seekers, and those facing confusion pray to Him for sharp intellect and clear judgment.

3. Inner Strength– Murugan’s veeram (valor) inspires courage. He teaches that true victory is not just over external enemies but over one’s own weaknesses.

4. Divine Protection – Chanting His mantras ("Om Saravana Bhava" or "Vel Vel Muruga") invokes His protective energy, shielding devotees from negativity.

5. Spiritual Growth– Worship of Murugan, especially in sacred spots like Palani or Swamimalai, accelerates spiritual progress, burning past karma and elevating consciousness.

How to Connect with Murugan?

- Offerings: Light a kuthu vilakku (lamp), offer red flowers, honey, or panchamritam.

- Chant: Recite the Kanda Shashti Kavacham or Subramanya Bhujangam.

- Fast: Observing Skanda Shashti (six-day fast) pleases Him greatly.

- Serve: Help the needy, for Murugan loves selfless action.

Murugan is not just a deity to be worshipped; He is a living force who walks with His devotees, guiding them like a loving elder brother. Call Him with faith, and He will answer with the swiftness of His peacock.

Om Saravana Bhava!🚩✨

#hindu #hinduism #dharma #spirituality #lord shiva #lord Murugan

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skxrbrand · 1 year ago

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PREV / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐒 - 𝐈𝐈

"You cannot mean it."

Idonea strained. She struggled in the mighty paw she had found herself caged in. Beneath the voice of the woman warbled the god in truth who had taken possession of her body, creating a dissonance of tones-- one feminine and one deeply masculine. Both both were certainly angry, panicked, biting and fighting the beast holding them. Khade only glanced down at himself, trapped in that pathetic mortal shell, in annoyance.

"𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓, 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍-𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅." The Red God responded with a rumble. He put his other paw overtop of her, completely muffling her angry protestations. "𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆." Khade flicked his ears, twitched his whiskers, and shifted his eyes as if he could see the to-and-fro of the battle from deep beneath the cobbles. The dark, spacious under-chamber he had called his cathedral had been emptied of supplicants. They had all taken up blades and axes, spears and shields, and joined the City in it's defense against the Khornates. They had been eager to spill the blood of the enemy, from the newest acolyte to the most senior and mutated of the Red Cults.

Bloodshed. Copious amounts of death. Enough that Idonea could've manifested should he let her sup of it. Certainly, it would spell the doom of all of them: The Two Bloodthirsters and even the Mighty GoreQueen herself. Khade's lip twitched. GoreQueen. He would have never expected his brother to look at another being and not see a skull-to-be-taken.

Let me drink of this slaughter! Let me grow and swell and we can take this city together! We can destroy all of Khorne's wrenched spawn!

Idonea had needled into his mind, but it availed her not. He had woven magics into his very hands to keep her from doing just that and had shook his great head.

"𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄, 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒. 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐈𝐓? 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋…𝐇𝐈𝐌?"

Khade's skin twitched in the manner of large, anticipatory feline. Yes, he had looked into the tales of his sister-through-bonds. Valkia. The Queen of Skulls, Keeper of Khorne's Heart and magnet for his eyes. And she was here. Kharneth was too. He could feel the heat of his brother's gaze in the air, leeching through the stone, snapping in the air all around him. Good. Let the Blood God see how strong and vital he had become!

The battle had shifted, power swinging towards Khorne's brazen warriors and away from the defenders of Myrmidens. Khade shifted his weight, and his horns, just so, bunching the muscles in his legs.

And then, he launched himself.

---

" You fought well, Neophyte. Perhaps a sliver of Khorne's fury burns within you yet." Va'rrick hissed, speaking around the blood coating his teeth and tongue. Much of it was hers, but not a little of it was his own-- it was hard to tell the soupy, black mess apart. He had her held aloft by the throat, near-spent. Exhaustion was creeping up on him as well, wrought by the battle and by the insidious wrongness housed in her very talons.

For her part, Sābon was little more than a rabid animal, one making a ruin of whatever flesh she could grab, in this case the arm holding her. The battle had taken them from the battlements to the ground, through several builds, and back up the tallest and grandest of the City's towers. Among the corpses, Sābon spied her champions-- Kruall and Thyrr had foolishly tried to assist her, thinking they could make any difference against the red abomination locked in a deathmatch with her. For this stupidity, they had paid with their lives.

Va'rrick's fist tightened. Sābon choked on her own blood. " You will make a fine skull for the throne." The Bloodthirster chuckled, holding his prize to be high for all the lesser daemons to see. And then he roared the Skulltaker's Mantra, "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

And his guttural proclamation was answered in kind, Bloodletters pausing in their butchery to chant in equally harsh tones and tongues, "Skulls for the Skull Throne! Skulls for the Skull throne! All Glory to Khorne!" As if summoned by the clamor, he could feel his Lord's eyes on his back and held his prize to the swirling, bloody sky.

But then the chanting had stopped. It had been stopped and abruptly, a louder and altogether more destructive force drowning out the fervor of the Blood Daemons. The ground itself seem to explode outward and a massive figure lurched from the Heart of Myrmidens with a mind-shredding roar. Red forms once caught in the throes of bloody celebration had been strew about as if tossed by a massive hand. The creature pulled itself through in it's wretched entirely, crimson hooves grinding to dust.

A shadow fell over Va'rrick, massive and bright vermillion, a cold hatred more chilling the depths of the arctic washing over him and extinguishing his fury in an instant. The face was felid and foreign, but furious and familiar all in one. It was Khorne, just as much as it wasn't, and that fact alone drove Va'rrick to drop his weapon and even his prey, both clattering to the ground as the Storm Rage seemed to stumble with the depth of his own terror.

The Red God reached out. The Bloodthirster didn't move. Couldn't move. It seized it's hand around Va'rrick's armored form, then lifted him up ponderously before it's cerulean gaze. All around, the Bloodletters, Blood Knights, Khornate servants of the warp and womb alike, looked on and watched as the Storming One, the Deluge of Rage, was crushed in the hand of the God-Creature like an overripe fruit. With one flex of it's muscular digits, Va'rrick was no more, and his gore dripped between the Felid Deity's fingers into a gory mess upon the ground.

Only then did the Daemons lose heart, even with their Queen still watching and fighting. They began to waver, their grip on this reality overcome by sheer fear. Glyphs on his horns and feathers, and whiskers glowing with the foul magics of Unmaking, the essence of the Red God rippled outward. Only the GoreQueen and her remaining Bloodthirster did not shudder and perish then and there and to them, the Red God looked with glittering eyes. To her he reached, arm outstretched, claws outstretched, still slick with Va'rrick's blood and flesh.

And then he heard it, as he suspected he might. The Roar. The Furious Wrath of the Blood God, a scream almost, of challenge and incense. And to his brother, he answered with his own challenge and his own rage. A second roar, this one louder than the first, and woven into the concussive sound was his hellish breed of magics. Daemons melted. They lost form, but they did not return to the Aether, instead their bodies slipping into the very ground. The stones, the soil-- all was red before Khade's power, suffused by corruption. Mortals died and buildings rung to the two deities, crumbling before the combined fury of the Blood God and the Unmaker.

But even through the noise, even if he hadn't heard it, Khade knew reprisal was coming. Khorne would not entertain such a threat without a direct response and the reply was as direct as could be. A sword, which could have only been thrown by the Blood God's own hand, screamed through the heavens. It tore at the very seams of reality, aimed for the upstart Godling that had angered Kharneth so. But Khade was quick, and more importantly, he had predicted this.

The Blade of Khorne slammed into the City's Heart where the Red God had been moments before with an explosion of sound to dwarf even Khade's roar. The earth split and cracked and bunched up around it, waves sent through the ground and turning whatever buildings remained into mere piles of rubble. Daemons, mortals-- all who tread the land were obliterated. All but Khade, who had slipped the attack and endured the aftershocks. He eyed the blade and reached out his talons, wrapping a hand around the pommel of the godly weapon.

And it cried out and fought him, for it was consecrated to Khorne and not this usurper, but Khade's will was more than iron or steel. He was firstborn, prime, apex, Unmaker, and the fell runes Kharneth had set into the weapon to ensure none would wield it but him were swiftly undone. Khade pulled the weapon from it's crossguard-deep tomb in the earth; a blade from Khorne's own forge, by the Blood God's own hand. His now, for his fell and evil purposes.

And with this victory, with this plunder, he left the city, blade in one bloody hand and Red Sage in the other.

#KHADE.#warhammer fantasy #plot point #longpost #GUEST MUSE; VA'RRICK #GUEST MUSE; SĀBON

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matabaglamukhi · 28 days ago

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Maa Baglamukhi Havan: The Sacred Fire Ritual to Destroy Negativity

In the sacred realm of Hindu spirituality, Maa Baglamukhi stands as a powerful force of silence, victory, and divine justice. Known as the eighth Mahavidya among the ten powerful forms of the Divine Mother, she is worshipped especially for her ability to neutralize negativity and paralyze enemies. One of the most potent ways to invoke her blessings in this age of Kalyug is through the sacred ritual known as Baglamukhi Havan.

Whether you are facing legal battles, mental unrest, financial instability, or hidden enemies, performing a Baglamukhi Havan can serve as a transformative solution. This fire ritual, rich in Vedic mantras and tantric procedures, channels Maa Baglamukhi’s energy to burn away negativity and obstacles from your path.

What is Baglamukhi Havan?

Baglamukhi Havan is a powerful fire ritual dedicated to Maa Baglamukhi, where sacred offerings (ahutis) are made to the fire while chanting her mantras. This ritual aims to harness her shakti to silence enemies, protect from black magic, resolve disputes, and bring inner peace.

Baglamukhi Havan ensures that the spiritual power being invoked is deeply connected to the core intention of the ritual — the destruction of negativity and restoration of balance.

Baglamukhi Havan is not just a symbolic act, but a living spiritual process that invokes divine intervention.

Why Perform Baglamukhi Havan?

In today’s chaotic times, people are constantly battling unseen forces — jealousy, false accusations, business rivalry, toxic relationships, and spiritual confusion. Baglamukhi Havan is especially powerful for:

Victory in legal cases and court matters

Protection from hidden enemies or black magic

Control over speech and harmful gossip

Peace of mind and emotional stability

Breaking cycles of failure or misfortune

According to scriptures, performing Baglamukhi Havan under the guidance of trained priests with correct pronunciation and devotion yields immediate spiritual benefits.

The Spiritual Science Behind Baglamukhi Havan

The sacred fire, known as Agni, acts as the divine messenger that carries your prayers to the goddess. During a Baglamukhi Havan, mantras are chanted such as:

“ॐ ह्लीं बगलामुखि सर्वदुष्टानां वाचं मुखं पदं स्तम्भय जिव्हां कीलय बुद्धिं विनाशय ह्लीं ॐ स्वाहा।”

Each mantra is followed by the offering of ghee, herbs, or yellow flowers into the fire, symbolizing the destruction of negativity and the planting of positive intentions. The repetition of “Hleem,” the bija mantra of Maa Baglamukhi, activates her presence within the fire of the Baglamukhi Havan.

When Is the Best Time to Perform Baglamukhi Havan?

While Baglamukhi Havan can be performed on any auspicious day, specific timings amplify its effects:

Amavasya (New Moon) – Most effective for removing black magic and evil energies

Chaturdashi or Ashtami – Recommended for legal victories and mental clarity

Thursdays or Navratri – For overall spiritual elevation and blessings

Devotees often book a Baglamukhi Havan during these tithis to maximize spiritual returns.

Where to Perform Baglamukhi Havan?

Though you can perform it at home with proper guidance, it is best done at a sacred location like the Maa Baglamukhi Mandir in Kangra, Himachal Pradesh. The temple provides an energized spiritual environment, experienced purohits, and all required samagri for the Baglamukhi Havan.

Many pilgrims prefer this location because of the goddess’s active presence and the centuries-old tantric traditions followed here. Booking a Baglamukhi Havan at this mandir ensures purity, accuracy, and spiritual potency.

How to Book Baglamukhi Havan Online

With the increasing number of devotees who cannot travel, Baglamukhi Havan can now be booked online through official temple websites like maabaglamukhiofficial.org. Here's how you can book it:

Visit the official website

Choose Baglamukhi Havan from the list of rituals

Select the purpose: court case victory, enemy protection, spiritual upliftment, etc.

Choose your date and preferred location (online or in-person)

Provide your details (name, gotra, sankalp)

Make a secure donation/payment

After booking, the temple priests will perform the Baglamukhi Havan on your behalf, and prasad or video footage may also be shared.

What to Expect During a Baglamukhi Havan?

During the Baglamukhi Havan, the atmosphere becomes spiritually charged. The fire burns away negative karmas, the mantras calm the mind, and the presence of the goddess becomes palpable. Devotees often report feeling:

A sudden sense of mental clarity

Relief from stress, anxiety, or fear

Resolution of disputes or conflicts shortly after

Greater spiritual awareness and control over their surroundings

By participating in or even simply witnessing a Baglamukhi Havan, your aura is cleansed, your energy centers realigned, and your intentions purified.

Things to Keep in Mind

Always perform the Baglamukhi Havan through knowledgeable priests

Maintain purity of body and mind for at least three days before the ritual

Wear yellow clothes or offer yellow flowers — symbolic of Maa Baglamukhi’s color

State your sankalp (intention) clearly before the ritual

Follow up with mantra chanting or Baglamukhi path for continued blessings

The repetition of Baglamukhi Havan creates a spiritual loop of protection that stays active long after the fire is out.

Conclusion: Light the Fire of Transformation

In a world full of negativity, deception, and emotional chaos, Baglamukhi Havan is the sacred weapon you need. It is not just a ritual but a divine technology to transform your spiritual and worldly circumstances. Whether you seek protection from enemies, victory in court cases, or simply want to grow spiritually, the blessings of Maa Baglamukhi will shield you.

Book your Baglamukhi Havan today, and let the fire burn away your fears, doubts, and limitations. Let Maa Baglamukhi guide you with her divine mace and silence every voice that stands against your peace and truth.

#maa baglamukhi #mata baglamukhi #havan #puja #donations

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vaibhavmaheshwari · 2 months ago

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How to Seek the Blessings of Baglamukhi Mata: A Spiritual Guide

In the vast spiritual landscape of India, temples dedicated to deities offering protection, peace, and prosperity have always attracted devotees. Among them, the Baglamukhi Temple Nalkheda stands as one of the most revered places of worship. Devotees flock to this temple with hopes of invoking the divine blessings of Baglamukhi Mata. This goddess is known for her power to remove obstacles, grant prosperity, and bring victory in difficult situations. In this blog, we will explore how you can connect with the divine through various practices, such as Baglamukhi Anushthan and Baglamukhi Aarti.

The Power of Baglamukhi Mata

Baglamukhi, one of the 10 Mahavidyas in Hindu tradition, is often depicted with her divine strength to defeat enemies, both physical and spiritual. Worshiping her is believed to bring peace and help in removing negative energies, conflicts, and struggles from one's life. Whether you're seeking protection from legal battles, obstacles in your career, or financial difficulties, Baglamukhi Mata is considered to have the power to bless her devotees with the strength to overcome these challenges.

Baglamukhi Temple Nalkheda: A Sacred Place of Worship

The Baglamukhi Temple Nalkheda is located in Madhya Pradesh, India. This sacred temple attracts thousands of devotees, especially those looking for divine intervention in solving their problems. People visit to seek blessings for protection from enemies, success in court cases, and even to remove Pitru Dosh. The temple is known for its unique rituals and the spiritual ambience that allows worshippers to connect with the divine energy of Baglamukhi Mata.

Visiting the temple is not just a form of worship, but also a pilgrimage of spiritual cleansing. Devotees often seek the Baglamukhi Anushthan, a detailed ritual that is believed to amplify the divine energy and bring quicker results. The Anushthan involves chanting sacred mantras, performing Havan (fire rituals), and other offerings that invoke the goddess’s blessings.

What is Baglamukhi Anushthan?

Baglamukhi Anushthan is a highly revered spiritual practice performed to please Baglamukhi Mata. The rituals generally include the chanting of mantras, havan, and making offerings of flowers, sweets, and other symbolic gifts. Many believe that performing this anushthan helps in solving problems related to enemies, legal matters, financial issues, and even personal relationships. The anushthan is not just about reciting mantras but about wholeheartedly connecting with the goddess through devotion.

A Baglamukhi Anushthan is typically performed over a period of days, with the individual or family making daily prayers and offerings. It is said that a proper anushthan can lead to a quick and permanent resolution of life’s challenges. While it requires patience and consistency, many devotees have reported experiencing profound changes in their lives after completing this ritual.

Baglamukhi Aarti: Invoking Divine Blessings

One of the most effective ways of seeking the goddess’s blessings is through the Baglamukhi Aarti, a powerful prayer that praises the goddess’s strength, wisdom, and ability to destroy evil. Reciting the Aarti is believed to invoke her divine protection and to rid oneself of negative influences.

The Baglamukhi Aarti is generally recited during the temple visits or during special puja ceremonies, and it’s especially powerful when performed with full devotion and sincerity. The rhythm and energy of the Aarti are believed to strengthen the connection between the devotee and the goddess, ensuring that divine intervention comes in times of need.

Conclusion

Whether you are dealing with legal battles, financial constraints, or simply seeking peace and prosperity, the Baglamukhi Temple Nalkheda offers a divine sanctuary where devotees can turn to Baglamukhi Mata for help. By performing the Baglamukhi Anushthan and reciting the Baglamukhi Aarti, you can invite her blessings into your life and remove obstacles that hinder your progress. Remember, the path to divine intervention requires devotion, sincerity, and the willingness to trust in the divine power that surrounds us.

May Baglamukhi Mata bless you with her divine grace and help you overcome every challenge in your life.

#god #maa baglamukhi

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narrowroadblog · 1 year ago

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Is Christianity Exclusive?

Is Christianity exclusive? Short answer yes…..and no. Let’s talk about the “no” part first. Christianity welcomes everyone. You need not come from a family of Christian believers nor live in a particular part of the world. Your skin color or any other attribute of who you are does not matter. Jesus welcomes all as John clarified in John 3:16. In this aspect, Christianity is not exclusive. However, Christianity is exclusive when it comes to the truth. Consider this verse in the Gospel of John: John 14:6 (ESV) 6 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Exclusivity in a Postmodern World If you are a Christian and read this verse, you would hopefully come away believing that there is one single way to God, and that is through accepting Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. However, in a recent Pew Forum study, 57% of self-professing Christians believe there is more than one way to heaven, despite the verse above that undoubtedly is in their Bible as well. How could this be? Unfortunately, the religious landscape has changed dramatically over the past couple of decades and quite a few pew sitters today have adopted a postmodern view that is built around tolerance and relativism. These individuals and church leaders do not want to offend anyone and build their message around acceptance and universalism. The message from the pulpit becomes a watered-down feel-good message instead of proclaiming the truth of God’s Word. After all, we do not want to seem out of harmony with the world, do we? We might lose some members of our church…… In our postmodern world, being too harsh and judgmental is an affront to society. Those who say Christianity is the only way to salvation feel it is not fair or it’s too arrogant to make such a claim. Relativism, the belief that truth is merely the opinion of an individual and can be different for others, is the mantra of today. Truth is Exclusive However, truth by its nature is exclusive. When one says they have the truth, they are also saying all other contradictory claims are false. This is the basic tenet of the Law of Non-Contradiction. Either A is true and B is false or vice versa, but not both. For example, both Christianity and Islam claim exclusivity to the truth. Only one of these claims is true. Given that the population of non-Christians in the world is at approximately 70%, Matthew 7:13-14 seems extremely prophetic: 13 “Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. 14 For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” If you hold fast to believing the Bible is God’s Word and that Jesus Christ is the only way, then you must stand against the majority of the world. We cannot and must not alter this message to appease the sensitivity of the postmodernists. This also means we should not remain silent when asked to defend our faith. Silence can easily be perceived as acceptance. I think many of us have a fear of losing friendships if we take a stand, and thus take the easy way out by simply tolerating the individual, which in essence, affirms their belief. Nowhere in Scripture does it say we are to be tolerant to a message in contrast to the claims of Christ. We are to love our enemies (Matthew 5:44), but not a message that clearly is against Scripture. Judgment on our part, however, is reserved only for a fellow believer, and not for the rest of the world (1 Corinthians 5:12). Christianity is being attacked from all directions today, just as it always has been. While we focus much concern on the external forces trying to destroy the church of Christ, we must not overlook the internal efforts within our own congregation that attempt to alter the Word of God so that it fits in today’s postmodern world. This can be particularly devastating, especially in a church that does not practice biblical discipline. John MacArthur said this, “We need to regain our confidence in the power of God's truth. And we need to proclaim boldly that Christ is the only true hope for the people of this world. That may not be what people want to hear in this pseudo-tolerant age of postmodernism. But it is true nonetheless. And precisely because it is true and the gospel of Christ is the only hope for a lost world, it is all the more urgent that we rise above all the voices of confusion in the world and say so.” Here is a great article for further study. Shop now Read the full article

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hypersonicjd · 2 years ago

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I honestly couldn’t have put it better myself. This is incredibly well thought out and when I read: Sonic is already peak, I felt that SO much. THAT is why I love Sonic. He’s already what he was meant to be, just a chill guy that you meet one day, he changes your life forever and he dips to another adventure. Funny enough, Sonic has a few similarities to Nights in terms of their main principals and ideals.

Nights is a character who happens to appear in the life of a boy and a girl who have begun to struggle with mental situations, both of them being related to anxiety and starting to develop nightmares. He happens to help them through those dreams to finally face the last enemy (even needing the help of the kids at one point) only to then leave the kids be and face their fears, thanks to their newfound peace, understanding and hope that Nights brought them.

Sonic is a character who happens to appear in the life of many characters that are going through rough patches (Blaze carrying her burdern as the guardian of the sol emeralds and the princess of her world, Shadow having been brainwashed and influenced to destroy all of humanity for a corrupted promise, Knuckles having been tricked by Eggman, Silver struggling with his moratility and being deceived by an evil force to do a horrible act) and thanks to his way of living life and how he treats other people, he’s able to change them by his actions and his mantra.

“I’m just a guy that loves adventure, I’m Sonic The Hedgehog!” That’s all there is to it and I absolutely love the simplicity, yet depth that it is able to carry. I will always despise IDW for having ruined all of that with Sonic having some sort of moraility. Not every character needs to go through an arc, not every needs to change to make an impact in their world and ours.

It still hurts to see people beginning to generalize Sonic into a mold because “it’s easier to understand” and “why don’t you want a character to change and grow and become better!?” Because they WERE ALREADY PEAK.

Thank you for your post. It really means a lot.

My opinion on IDW being canon to Sonic

I watched a video by GamesCage on the topic, who I've been watching a long while on YT before subscribing to him recently on Twitch, and it reminded me of my own thoughts on the matter as well!

But first some preemptive notes because I am entering Sonic discoursespace:

This is just some guy's opinion about a little blue dude! That's it! If you hate it or me personally because of it, I refer you to this image:

I won't ever go into using insulting or uncivil language. But because this is an opinion essay and I got opinions up the wazoo, I'm also not trying to word things in some neutral, disinterested way to appeal to all audiences here

That being said, game-story-wise, we don't fuck with meta-era shit here. I Do Not See It

I'm all for chats and discussions about the topic, agreement or disagreement alike in response to this essay—things just ought to stay civil and respectful. Think of WWSD (What Would Sonic Do?) and the image above

Sonic's morality and what IDW misunderstands of it

Though I respect what the IDW team does (I fondly remember following Evan Stanley's Ghosts of the Future on Deviantart back in the day), I don't prefer their characterisation of Sonic, and that alone is enough to have me a little chagrined as to IDW's integration into the games' canon. I think it's because, ultimately, it detracts from what makes Sonic's character—specifically his morality—unique and appealing to me. Though he isn't nearly as anti-hero in nature as characters like Shadow, Sonic still has moral tendencies that are atypical for characters that occupy the hero role as he's been avowed to have in the games, e.g. being labelled Team Hero with Tails and Knuckles multiple times

To give some sense of signposting, here are the headings of this essay:

Sonic distinctive moral thinking - The games' simple, reactive Sonic - IDW's merciful, principles-first Sonic: on freedom and oppression - Sonic's self-centred in a way, though, right? The mascot problem - "What's your idea then, genius?" – the reader reading this - Why keep things static - Examples of peak Sonic Conclusion

Sonic's distinctive moral thinking

To contextualise my judgement of Sonic as distinctive in his moral thinking, I think there is a tendency in Western media to give heroic characters very merciful streaks. Think Superman or Batman—codes of never killing or always offering mercy, often with backstory or informed moral reasoning behind it. While these streaks are understandable, they appear often and thus don't ring as special or particularly unique to me. Sonic has always been interesting to me because he explicitly does not entertain such clear moral principles. His attitudes embodied in his SA2 theme "It Doesn't Matter," Sonic Unleashed, or the Storybook Series (Black Knight being my favourite), show that he just does what he thinks is right and shows no qualms using considerable force (lethal in the case of Black Knight) if he has to against those he thinks are doing wrong—even against people who he would be friends with, like Merlina. He does not barter or reason; he takes action, moves before he thinks, and follows his heart

The games' simple, reactive Sonic

From my interpretation of Sonic regarding mercy, examples from the games show how he isn't interested in rehabilitating or looking for threats to neutralise like some Miguel O'Hedgehog. These tendencies become most apparent when his friends are involved. A standout example is when Amy protects E-102 Gamma from Sonic, convincing Sonic that he isn't like the other badniks. Another, more indirect example is Gemerl, where Sonic fights and subdues him from causing more harm but Tails is the one who reprograms and rehabilitates Gemerl, who lives happily with Cream and Vanilla with his more peaceful disposition. Sonic doesn't go out of his way to help Gemerl post-defeat, but he doesn't doubt or attack him further after his integration either

At heart, I find Sonic to be a reactive, not proactive, hero. He won't go out of his way to check if the day needs saving—he's not a dutiful guardian doing patrol like Knuckles or a principled fighter for an organisation like Shadow—but if Sonic sees someone in need, he won't just pass them by. And I find Sonic's moral judgements to be simple, instinctual, and self-centred in the most literal sense. They come from his bias towards his friends' judgement and what he believes to be right, regardless of how others may judge his actions. I've only mentioned some examples, but they highlight to me that Sonic is neither healer nor hunter. His main priority isn't rehabilitating or reasoning with his foes—he will do what he feels he needs to do, even if that means destroying something or someone for good. But, as Amy for E-102 and Tails and Cream for Gemerl show, he won't go out of his way to make sure threats are dealt with through violence if his friends vouch for them.

IDW's merciful, principles-first Sonic: on freedom and oppression

In IDW, the topic of him showing so much mercy and espousing freedom as an ideal he thinks everyone, even his enemies, deserves makes him much more merciful and deliberate in his mercy than I like him to be. I want to discuss this by briefly expanding on oppression and freedom, a topic that comes up in Surge and Sonic's fight and Surge angrily questions why Sonic wouldn't just end her. Sonic essentially answers it's because he values freedom for all, including his enemies', because he can exercise his freedom to stop them. It's representative of why I think some fans take issue with Sonic's characterisation because it warps how much Sonic might believably value freedom versus oppression on two flops: on philosophical concepts and characterisation.

IDW's concept flop, to me, shows a fundamental misunderstanding on the nature of oppression and freedom, assuming some inherent ranking of freedom above oppression. The two are different things: freedom is a kind of instrument, a means of doing things, a concept that has no content in and of itself. In other words, you have the freedom to do X; having freedom is only meaningful insofar as it enables to do what you want. Oppression, however, is not an instrument in the same way; it makes far less sense to say 'you have the oppression to do X' or 'you are oppressed to do X' like you could for 'freedom' and 'free'. Freedom, precisely because it is an instrument, enables far more flexibility—both good, evil, and neutral acts can arise from it. Oppression is a state of being with an inherently negative core, predicated on suffering and the oppressed being harmed.

Quick and messy take from me on this: freedom for all and oppression for some is worse(!) than freedom for some and oppression for none. But here's something that has a source, leading to the characterisation flop: according to Sonic Adventure's DX Director's Cut manual, the only thing Sonic hates is oppression (for, presumably, anyone). Honestly, you don't even need a game manual to tell you that. I think IDW writers make the mistake of assuming the inverse to be true of Sonic as well: that the thing he loves most is freedom (for, presumably, anyone).

Oppression being the only thing Sonic hates does not mean freedom is the only thing Sonic loves.

It may be notoriously slippery to insist on consistency in the Sonic franchise (or maybe franchises, plural), but this philosophical gloss on freedom and oppression starts to explain why IDW's characterisation strikes me as inherently contradictory to Sonic's preexisting values. Namely, it shows how IDW commits a false equivalence between the two and assigns it to Sonic. Sure, Sonic likes freedom, but that's different to showing mercy and second chances. IDW ends up conflating the two. As a result, IDW has Sonic care more about the principle of freedom than about the feelings and suffering he knows he or his loved ones have gone through. Put another way, it makes little to no sense why Sonic would prioritise freedom for all, even his enemies, when he has been shown to much more consistently put the most weight on what his friends feel and what he himself thinks. IDW does little to no detectable work establishing why Sonic would have such priorities either

Also, not a real argument—just taking things to the extreme in a throwaway thought—but could you imagine Sonic in the beginning of Unleashed actually considering Eggman's pleas saying he's changed and telling Eggman he...values his freedom? Like. c'mon

Sonic's self-centred in a way, though, right?

How about that self-centred angle, though? Sonic's way of thinking is highly independent—he will do what he thinks is right, first and foremost. It would be easy to claim that IDW's characterisation is just a mindset Sonic just holds in the comics, and that alone passes muster; his brand of ethical egoism admittedly does a lot as writerly cover to justify nigh anything about him. Looks like a hedgehog, smells like a hedgehog; chances are it's our hedgehog, right?

I disagree. One: if IDW is considered canon and yet is just so different to what's appealing about Sonic in the games, then the decision to make IDW Sonic canon, to be frank, kinda sucks. That ain't my Sonic—that's some Marvelised-DC version of him trying to moralise that I don't find compelling, distinctive, or endearing.

Two: even if you try to adopt the angle that upholding freedom for all would just be what Sonic believes to be right, it would still be the same as saying Sonic cares more about philosophical ideals than what he sees right in front of him. He's famously poked fun at Knuckles for being gullible before—why is Sonic himself showing that same gullibility and benefit of the doubt towards hostile enemies or those who have notably wrought so much damage to the lives of those he loves?

The trouble is that IDW builds no meaningful narrative foundations on top of which to stake this claim on Sonic's mindset when the games exist. Like, I don't even privilege the games just because they've been around first and for longer (even though, hey, that is true)—he's just cooler in them. Sonic is no philosopher; he's repeatedly shown it's genuinely not that deep when it comes to his moral thinking in the games. All it is is that he has a good heart. As a result, it comes off as a considerable mischaracterisation to show his enemies mercy mostly in the name of freedom or hope for their change (i.e. lofty ideals) compared to something actionable he can do (i.e. kick their ass and break their tech so they don't hurt anyone he cares about again).

The mascot problem

GamesCage mentions a worthwhile point which he calls the mascot problem. Sonic, as a mascot for Sega, has certain narrative lines he cannot cross or change for good. Like with Mario, there is a clear status quo to maintain; for one, Eggman cannot ever truly be vanquished. However, unlike Mario (with the one exception of Super Mario Galaxy), Sonic routinely has narratives that he and his friends undergo. There has to be this delicate balance that Sonic Team, IDW, and anyone writing for Sonic must contend with as a result. You have to write stories—events and plot where characters grow and change and are affected—but maintain the status quo where many fundamental things cannot change

In other words: how do you explain that Sonic never gets rid of Eggman or his other enemies because he, as a company mascot, cannot ever do so?

IDW does this one way by assigning Sonic an inadvertent little philosopher's cap, which I've already opined is a mischaracterisation. It also just generates another kind of untenable narrative problem that's even harder to reconcile: how do you justify that Sonic, hero with a heart of gold, just lets his enemies keep on going for freedom's sake? Arguably, all that does is dress up the mascot problem but with worse consequences—it makes Sonic less likable. It casts him as someone who essentially ends up condoning his enemies' actions, which has already led readers to question his judgement and whether they would even want to root for a character like that when you have an alternative and contradicting blueprint that the games have already provided for him. Like, my boy embodies direct action and IDW turns it into direct-ish-but-hey-do-what-you-want-who-am-I-to-judge action. Dress it up however you want; it's a nerf on who he is

"What's your idea then, genius?" – the reader reading this

In my eyes, what could work for the mascot problem is falling back on the static nature of the characters that have already been long established. The basic formula is there: Eggman is tricksy, proactive, and two steps ahead, but Sonic is always good-hearted enough, reactive enough, and fast enough to catch up by the end.

Elaborating on that formula, you have enough of Sonic's existing characteristics to justify why bad things keep happening despite his presence. He's not like Iron Man, who takes it upon himself to leverage his resources and power to look out for the world when no one's really asked him to. Again, Sonic is a reactive hero; he's not a ruthless hunter and he likes his peace and quiet as well as his adventure. He'll do what he can to fight what's right in front of him but may miss the bigger picture or potential traps by going in too fast. That happened in the beginning of Sonic Unleashed and it made sense. Even in Black Knight, you had him try to whale on King Arthur armed with just a decreasing number of chilli dogs. In an extended or episodic storytelling format, this allows other characters to shine—Tails's powers of analysis, Amy's ability to connect with others emotionally, Knuckles' sense of duty—by contributing to plans and helping Sonic because he has persistent, character-defining flaws. Highlighting his non-proactive and chill nature allows for arcs with more breathing room, too, where the characters aren't going up against some world-ending force or they all hang out. On that front, I'd say IDW has done well giving other characters that spotlight

Briefly touching upon Eggman's characterisation and how that might address the mascot problem, his tried-and-true tendencies should be relied upon, too. He is incredibly intelligent but also a massive narcissist—it makes sense that he has his own sense of short-sightedness where he prioritises and secures his own well-being above all else and underestimates the importance or wrath of godly and natural entities he frequently exploits and disrespects. Because of how strong and distinctive Eggman's brand of narcissism and villainy is, it is honestly fitting that he will never change; that alone explains how often he will cause trouble and will never fully succeed. And that also justifies why Sonic will always be the one to fight him. Both have their imperfections and flaws and that has them in a deadlock.

Why keep things static?

Now, this might bring up the question of static-ness. It might seem like an odd solution to mascot problem to just lean into it. Surely, there has to be greater justification or some potential for change for things to stay interesting, appealing, and compelling for Sonic and his stories.

In response, here's my hot take: ya don't need any of that.

Here's a longer version of my hot take: in any given narrative, Sonic is at his best when he does not grow or change. Sonic is already peak. Others may flounder and oscillate, but he remains steadfast with his heart of gold. He is a pillar of strength. He is static. Think of him in the Sonic Adventure games, characters and humans' reactions to him in Sonic X, the knights of the round table's reactions to him in Black Knight, Chip himself remarking that Sonic has such a good heart that not even the powers of a fucking dark primordial god infecting and transforming him can change who he is on the inside in Unleashed. When unstoppable forces come about, lo and behold, he is the immovable object they meet!

Sonic always stays on the move—that's how you can justify all the amazing, different, wild stories he'll go through, because he is an adventurer at heart. You don't need to humanise a character and subject them to point-A-to-point-B arcs to make them enduring, beloved characters. Just because that's a common format for characters and stories and comics to take nowadays doesn't mean that it's a good fit for Sonic. He's never been one to do something just because everyone else is doing it anyway. I, no joke, think Sonic should be treated like a mythical folklore figure, never-changing and transforming the lives of those he meets before breezing on by—and what figures are more enduring in our consciousness than those of mythology?

And, to refer to IDW, there isn't any need to wax philosophical on top of that. Like I've repeatedly said so far, Sonic is no philosopher (and saying this as someone who did philosophy for undergrad, thank fuck for that). Leave the philosophising and podcast soundbites and video essays to the fans—in fact, I'd even wager the simplicity of Sonic's premise and character, or, hell, even the dissatisfaction that can come from that, is why his fandom even thrives (but that's definitely a separate topic).

Examples of peak Sonic

I forget which interview this was, but Sonic's characterisation was inspired off of Bill Clinton (aged like milk I know; this was before his scandal with Lewinsky), from the idea that actions speak louder than words for him. Obviously, Sonic does get in his quips with his friends and enemies alike, but he's not supposed to be Marvel superhero about it and isn't actually a massive braggart. Even the first episode of Sonic X shows his confidence and demeanour so well—he doesn't need to moralise or talk your ear off for you to know he'll fuck you up. And that's just so much cooler than what IDW accomplishes with their version of Sonic

Like, consider my beloved Murder of StH, which the IDW team had a considerable hand in! Sonic—while recognising that the train is more advanced than other badniks, exhibiting personhood and consciousness—still has the sole objective of destroying the train. Everyone shines and, granted, the format has it so that Sonic doesn't really appear till the end, but he's characterised pitch-perfectly there, instilling so much hope and forward momentum not only in his gameplay but in the heart of the player. Honestly, his late contribution arguably echoes Sonic X, where he often disappears or does his own thing, too

Even in a game or storytelling format where he should be front and centre, you could even explore some big themes with Sonic precisely because of his mental and emotional fortitude! The Storybook Series are so stellar in this regard—you got Sonic helping out Shahra, domestic abuse victim, on dealing with sadness, and him helping Merlina with existentialism and death of all the fucking things. And he doesn't flap his lips about it; he shows it through his actions. He's the protagonist but not in a traditional sense—he's the support and passing through and being unfathomably fuckin cool about it. Any lessons he ends up teaching you is not because he's out to teach you—it's because he's just living his own way and, wouldn't you know it, you just happened to be around for the ride

Conclusion

I'm not excited about IDW Sonic being considered canon because he comes off as an overeager philosopher's take on him when game Sonic is fuckin goated with the sauce. Though the story ideas and arcs in IDW seem cool, Sonic is the heart of the series, and if he's off, then the whole thing ends up a little wonky for my tastes.

To be clear, I don't have issues with different iterations of Sonic as some blanket rule—if the writers do the work to establish why and in what ways Sonic in a particular story is different, then that's just plain fun. Movie Sonic, Sonic Prime, and Sonic Boom are all examples of that. But, above all, the kind of Sonic I adore (and there are in fact many kinds) is the one who you meet and your life is irrevocably changed for the better as he hangs out for a while but never for long. In pivotal moments in the comics, IDW Sonic misses the mark on that for me

Though Sonic Team are making clear moves to integrate all the iterations of Sonic as canon regardless. I do wonder if that, as a move in itself, is the meta-narrative equivalent of Sonic Team changing game-mechanic tacks every game after '06 and Unleashed—a well-intentioned but misguided way to try to appease everyone which I've always thought is the most anti-Sonic thing you can do, but that's just the mascot problem in corporate as opposed to story form.

I was fine with Sonic Twitter just saying 'Everything is canon' as a non-starter – I'll just see how they do what they're intending to do and if I don't like it, then I always got an AO3 account handy

#sonic the hedgehog #idw sonic #nights into dreams

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babaji12 · 6 years ago

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#Mantra to destroy your enemy #How can I destroy my enemy #How to punish enemy by black magic #reverse black magic on my enemy #how to destroy enemy through mantra

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imekitty · 2 years ago

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Danny finds his clone in the Fenton Works lab.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

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It couldn't be true—

It couldn't it couldn't it couldn't be—

Danny denied it over and over like a mantra, a broken record stuck in a painful loop as he flew home as fast as he could.

Because he didn't want to believe any of it. Vlad had to be lying. His parents wouldn't do that to him. His mom wouldn't do that to him.

But all the clues, the scattered bits and pieces that were at first perplexing and nonsensical were now falling into place.

Don't you know what they've done to us? To you?

His ultimate enemy's words had no meaning for him before but now they all rushed back into his head making such terrifying sense.

And then a second ultimate enemy, a number tattooed on his upper arm just like all the dead clones in that graveyard.

I was created to be used and then destroyed. To live a short time before she killed me.

She. She.

He did not want to believe that she could be his mother.

It had to be a lie. He would go home and down into the lab and there would be no clone there. He was sure of it.

He wanted to be sure of it.

Danny phased through the walls of Fenton Works and maintained his ghost form as he searched for his parents. He found them upstairs in their room with the door shut, their voices muffled as they spoke about something. Danny stood outside a moment before floating away, past Jazz's door and down the stairs, down to the basement. Taking the long way instead of just phasing through the floor because he was stalling, afraid of what he might find once he reached the lab.

The lab was dark. Danny switched on a light and went down the stairs, one step at a time, slowly, slowly, holding his breath.

God, he didn't want to keep going. He wanted to go back up to his room and hide under his covers.

But he gripped the stair rail and continued his descent, down into whatever hell was waiting for him.

He froze when he saw what was belted to the main examination table.

No, not what. Who was on the table.

Unmoving. Sleeping. Or perhaps unconscious.

Danny approached the table to get a better look, but even from a distance, he recognized that thick dark hair, the point of that nose, the curve of that neck, the jut of those eyebrows.

He had seen them in photographs. In mirrors. Every day for over sixteen years.

"Oh, my God," he breathed out, not even realizing he had been holding his breath.

He braced himself against the table, leaning and hanging his head, on the edge of hyperventilating. Gathering courage, he looked up again and studied the clone. On his back with his arms down by his sides, dressed in a hospital gown, wrists and ankles strapped to the table with anti-ghost belts pulled tight. No cuts or incisions, no signs of trauma. It appeared the experimentation had not yet begun for this clone.

A flash of memory. The second incarnation of his ultimate enemy pulled down his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of the number 26.

Danny shakily lifted the right sleeve of the clone's hospital gown. The number 26 was tattooed in black on the clone's upper arm.

One day you will see me again. I won't look like this, but you'll know it's me when you see this number. And then you'll understand.

Yes. Danny understood now. The past version of his second dark enemy looked very different indeed.

A small metal side table stood nearby, holding tools and a clipboard. Danny picked up the clipboard and leafed through the sheets of paper clipped to it. Notes written in his mother's handwriting, details and instructions for what was to be done with Clone 26.

Flay the skin away from the arm in one piece if possible so it can be restitched on, will see how quickly and how well it is able to reattach and heal—

Danny dropped the clipboard, which clattered back onto the metal side table. He covered his mouth and turned back to look at the sleeping clone, so peaceful and unaware of the horrors planned for him. No white hair, no ghostly complexion. His skin was warm and pink with blood, his lashes dark on his closed eyes.

His mother was planning on destroying him knowing full well he was her son.

She wasn't even going to pretend he was just a ghost.

Danny stood there. Motionless. Staring. Hell stared back at him.

An involuntary shudder jarred the return of his senses. His parents were probably going to come down soon.

He made a decision in just a split second and knew he had to act quickly. No time to think or consider his options.

He loosened each belt holding the clone to the table and lifted him, one arm supporting his back, the other beneath his knees. The clone did not wake as Danny jumped into the air and phased through the ceiling, up and up to his bedroom. He laid the clone on his bed and pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of his dresser drawers. He removed the hospital gown and redressed the clone in his own clothes, stepping back when he was done, watching as the clone continued sleeping supine on his bed, on top of the covers.

God, the clone really did look exactly like him.

He heard shuffling noises from his parents' bedroom down the hall. Still holding the clone's hospital gown in his hands, he dropped through the floor, all the way back down into the basement lab. He changed into his human form and quickly stripped out of his clothes, phasing all of them off and tossing them out of sight. He then slipped on the hospital gown, shivering in the frigid, sterile lab air.

He imagined all of the clones that had been here. That had died here.

Such a frightening place to wake up in.

He climbed onto the lab table and placed the four belt restraints around his wrists and ankles, loose enough that he could easily slip out of them. He then lay back on the cold metal surface and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to control the erratic tremors seizing his whole body.

Then he waited. And listened.

His heart began racing when he heard the basement door open.

Part 24

#danny phantom #danny fenton #planned au #imekitty writes #angst #horror

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ironwoodprotectionsquad · 2 years ago

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So I decided to actually go through and point out the flaws of the logic of the post I saw regarding Hero and how it foreshadows James’s fall because I just have a mighty need to discuss it.

I still am not positive how we’re supposed to perceive any part of the song as a threat to the person it is being sung to. The post never elaborates on this point so I just really have no clue what exactly they think makes the song a “threat”. Their is a section of the song I though maybe it was referring to:

Portrayed as cruel and heartless,

I am might I am power, I'm due process, I will smite

Our enemies destroy Mettle I'll deploy

But to me the lyrics are more of a threat to anyone who would cause harm not to the person being sung to. Again it’s hard to really argue with their argument as we don’t get much more then “Trust me I said so” so I am just kind of having to guess here for that particular part. But that section is what I would call the most “threatening” portion that feels very obviously directed towards Salem in his mind and the unseen threat to the listener.

Their is also an oh so convenient skipping over of what I find to be the most powerful part of the song: I would die Without regret, I'd offer up my life With zero reservations I would fly Into the sun, if that would keep our dream alive

Deliver you from harm Shelter in my arms The fear will surely fade Know right now the plan I made will guide us home We'll survive this storm

It is also important to note that this section is where the song start off in Gravity. The very first words of Hero most people heard where “I would die” we see James fighting Watts and a song that is James’s song declaring his willingness to die if it meant keeping people safe. Those are the first words we see from the song meant to be a gateway into James’s mind, a willingness to die for the dream, and an assurance that he will keep you safe and that somehow they will make it through the darkness and find the light again. Somehow you have convinced yourself that that is somehow a threat and mimicking the villains?

I- I have no words. You literally acknowledge this section is the damn chorus, the section of the song that is supposed to repeat and are now trying to insist it is an obsessive mantra. Trying to argue the chorus is an obsessive mantra makes no damn sense at all. It’s taking something that is in most songs and trying to make it into something it is not. Here is how the chorus is defined: Chorus. The chorus is the big payoff and climax of the song. It's also where the verse and pre-chorus have been reduced to a simple repeated sentiment.

So in this case, the climax, the payoff and sentiment the song wants you to walk away with can be broken down to Ironwoods strong desire to protect people, a willingness to put himself in extreme danger and suffer extreme harm to do so, and an assurance to hang in their a little longer. Which reads as they initially correctly pointed out, a comforting gesture meant to reassure the listener that no matter how bad or scary things seem, they will survive, they will make it through and be okay. That’s not an obsessive mantra, it’s an assurance, a promise.

This is truly a gross misreading of the text in volume 7 it’s actually infuriating. It wasn’t about just “Keeping Atlas afloat” Salem, the person hellbent on ending the world whom he just discovered is immortal was heading straight for Atlas and they had no plan to deal with her. He was traumatized and triggered and terrified what happened to Beacon would happen to Atlas and knew she wanted to end the world. Yes, he was going to leave behind those trapped on Mantel but them dying? Is still Salem’s fault. She is the one killing people. She is the one who is willing to do anything to get what she wants and what she wants is to end the world and Atlas is currently housing literally half if the items she needs to do that. Trying to make sure she doesn’t get those items isn’t him focusing on just trying to keep Atlas afloat its about trying to keep the whole damn world from dying.

Yes,, James does some horrific things in volume 8, I won’t pretend that is not the case, the issue is it happens far to quickly and in a way that is not only extremely out of character but also is extremely ableist and harmful. But reassuring someone who reasonably would be terrified and unsure if they can survive the storm that they will make it is not an obsessive craze to “protect”. No one accuses the mains of being obsessed with being Heroes, people just say they are trying to protect people. So trying to twist James into some man obsessed with Atlas just really doesn’t work especially given the lyrics of the song.

This section is an odd one because that line is literally a callback to a comment James made back in volume 2 towards Ozpin asking him if he thinks his children can win a war and Ozpin sadly saying he hopes they won’t. It was an ideological conflict wherein James has faith in his Atlesian Knights taking over the battlefield, Ozpin seems to be more content with the status quo. James recognizes how dangerous being a hunter is and sees a lot of people dying from it and thinks they need a new way of dealing with the Grimm that minimized people on the battlefield. We also did see in volume 2 James is willing to listen to other people and follow their plans instead. James wanted to send his army to investigate Mount Glenn, Ozpin wanted to send team RWBY and James follows his lead and lets him send team RWBY which leads to a complete disaster. The WF just moves their plan forward and invades Vale and sends everyone into a panic and leads to a lot of destruction of the city. But also, this section is kind of trying to be miseading, “I’ve made my plan” is the ending of the verse that goes:

What if it's true as they say That I don't have a heart That I'm more a machine than a man? What would that change Would it matter at all? I've made my plan

The I’ve made my plan section is referencing back to the section where James is wondering, am I a monster? Am I just being heartless and cruel? Before disregarding the fear and reminding himself more then anything that he has a plan, he knows what he’s doing and regardless of what people say that won’t change his course of action because he believes it can keep people safe.

I actually sat down and listened to Sacrifice for this post and I just am not seeing what they are implying here in Sacrifice. With how many people I’ve seen say it I imagine their is something that is just not clicking lolz and I’d love to hear other peoples thoughts on this. The only thing that maybe would work is this little section here:

What if all the plans you made

Where not worth the price they paid

That section I can kind of see, in Hero it mentions having a plan and Sacrifice questions if the plan is worth the price which again, I do think Volume 7 introduced a trolley problem which both sides had a high price, one that should not have to be paid but one Salem was going to take no matter what any party did and the decision came down to more what was the least awful price to pay which is not an easy question to answer nor a rabbit hole I intend on exploring in this post.

Back to the point I really really do not understand how they could walk away from Hero thinking James is mimicking Salem, the person responsible for his severe trauma. The song has brief mentions about how emotions can get in the way of doing what needs to be done which in some ways is true. Emotions can cloud peoples judgement and keep them from seeing clearly. You can’t completely ignore your emotions like James toys with in volume 7 but that scene always read to me as a traumatized person trying to emotionally work through everything that happened and kind of wishing he didn’t have to feel all of those complicated feelings he’s dealing with which....I honestly get. I imagine most of us have things in our lives that cause us pain, things we wish we didn’t have to feel and wish we could make go away. That doesn’t make us, or James, like the villains for feeling those things.

The whole “Casting doubt on RWBY + JNRO thing is a continuing problem within the FNDM. They simultaneously insist we can’t be too critical of them because “they’re just kids” while also trying to insist they are the only ones who can save the world and we shouldn’t doubt them because they aren’t kids. The narrative can’t seem to make up its mind on what it’s trying to say about them in regards to whether they are adults who can be trusted to handle these things or if they’re just uwu sad kids and its oh so sad they have to fight. We cannot have it both ways, either they are kids who shouldn’t have to fight a war, or they are adults who can make their own choices. The arc we see James go on is one wherein he does see the students as kids who shouldn’t have to be fighting this war but also recognizes they have to and seeing how RWBY has grown and all that they have endured and recognizes they can handle the heavy responsibility of being huntress’s when he gives them their licenses. The line is just a callback to volume 2 and you my dude are reading way to much into it lolz. (also I hate to break it to you but the rabbit hole is not that deep. CRWBY just is constantly throwing spaghetti at the wall and praying something sticks and the FNDM is falling for it.)

The point being, it is so frustrating seeing people not taking Hero, a song which James declares he is willing to die to save people, is willing to suffer extreme pain and harm to stop Salem followed by him willingly searing the flesh off of his own arm to stop Watts, and say it shows he is a villain.

We can see here how much pain he is in as he is doing this. He has to stop and he grabs his arm in pain because it hurts so much and understandably so. It’s agonizing but he tries.

Some people think here he’s even starting to go into shock from the shear agony of what he is trying to do, but he does it anyways. He pushes through the unbearable pain because he knows what will happen if he doesn’t. His song is called Hero because in this moment, he was being a true hero in a scene that none of the mains have come even close to matching. Hero is about a man fighting to try and keep the world from ending and reassuring the people looking up to him that they can do it, they just have to hold on.

#RWDE #Pro Ironwood #Pro James Ironwood #General ironwood #General Dadmiral #Dadmiral Ironwood #James Ironwood

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writer-of-various · 2 years ago

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Ghost/Rudy – Fire

Beginning of Hurt/Comfort or Hurt/No Comfort week!!! Send in those angsty prompts!

How did this happen? They were so careful, so cautious, they checked every room and cleared every corner. How did they not hear the footsteps of one enemy soldier, the reloading of a SMG. Rudy wants to blame it on the ticking of a bomb that was nearing the deadline, Ghost wants to blame it on the stressful situation they were in. Civilians, enemies, terrorists, ticking bombs, snipers and helicopters and being separated from the others. Too much in only under an hour.

The round of the SMG goes off, and Rudy fortunately manages to disarm the enemy and kill him. Ghost took damage, his vest destroyed and about three bullets pierced through, surface level. One bullet lodged in his left calf, he fell from the attack and Rudy couldn't help. He had to disarm the bomb, they had 30 seconds. He listened to Ghost's grunts, fingers moving quick but still it was too late. It happened all so fast.

The explosion left their ears ringing, vision blacking out as the building they were in collapsed under the force. The ground shook and Rudy tried moving to protect Ghost but a light fell and knocked him out momentarily. When he awoke, Ghost was pinned down by a large wall of debris and Rudy knows he has a mild concussion; his vision blurred as he tries removing the debris on top of him. He does it though, crawling over to Ghost and trying to lift the large object off of him, his adrenaline wearing thin.

"Dammit" He whimpers, looking at Ghost and taking off his hoodie. He bunches it up and places it under Ghost's head, the man mumbling incoherently as he tries grabbing Rudy's arms. Rudy lets him, flinching when he hears yelling, the language Arabic, speaking too fast and low for him to understand. There was a shuffling sound before footsteps put distance between them and the couple. Heat suddenly fills the air, and Rudy catches the glimpse of dancing flames, taunting him and spinning closer. He's frozen, staring at the bright flames that would engulf him and Ghost any moment.

"R-rud....get out" Ghost coughs out, groaning as the pressure of the object crushed his body. Rudy is shaking, eyes wide and he's remembering Hassan, the house, the fire and pain from being hit so hard and left for dead. Alejandro came back for him, but can Rudy save Ghost? He has to, he isn't leaving until his lover is safe and away from harm's way.

He looks back down at Ghost and shakes his head, continuing his futile attempts of removing the debris. Smoked filled the air and it attacked his lungs, corrupting the fresh air he had stored and constricting his airway. He coughs, eyes stinging with tears as he strains his muscles, praying to whatever is out there that Ghost is going to make it. For the fire to take him and not Ghost, his Simon, the lieutenant who has more to live and fight for.

"Ru-rudy! Baby, look a-at me" Ghost orders weakly and Rudy stops, staring at his boyfriend with sad eyes. Ghost caresses his arm, eyes dull and dark and Rudy whimpers, screaming no like a mantra. He doesn't care that specks of ash are falling on him as the ceiling is consumed by the fire, as prices of rubble hit him– he just focuses on Ghost. He would die alongside Ghost, he would die protecting Ghost.

The roar of the fire mocked him, saving him for last as it consumed everything around him. Rudy feels his body give out, blood running cold and his hands growing numb but he continues his efforts to save Ghost. The wall manages to lift a few inches and Rudy is struggling to stand, to throw it off. The fire cackles, flames dancing as it bites into the wall, edging closer to him, arms length away and Rudy panics. He sobs, continuing to push until the wall slams back, the fire spreading to the floor and Rudy quickly grabs Ghost. He drags the man from the ankles, screaming for the others, screaming for anyone. If enemies appear, he'll trade his life for Ghost's, he would do anything to make sure he faces the barrel of a gun and not Ghost.

"Hold on, cariño, h-hold on" Rudy whispers, his brain wailing alarms and signals, his adrenaline increasing and suddenly his body is feverishly hot with energy as he drags Ghost outside the burning building. He stops when they reach the porch and picks Ghost up with surprising strength, stumbling down the plaza and wincing as the bright lights of abandoned emergency vehicles. He falls, making sure he's Ghost's cushion as he sucks in the air, his lungs burning and he knows he has to be dying. Everything hurt, his whole body was consumed by the fire but Ghost made it out, he saved Ghost.

"Rudy..." Ghost murmurs, forcing his eyes to open and his head to tilt so he can see his beloved. Panic eats at him as Rudy stares up at the night sky, his chest not raising and he looks so peaceful, so innocent and calm. "R-rudy, Ru-rudy! Rudy!"

Ghost is screaming, throat stinging and there's a coppery taste in his mouth, but he doesn't stop screaming his lover's name. Not when medics show up, not when he watches Rudy lifted and put into the back of an ambulance. Not when he's inspected and also put into an ambulance, not when Price begs him to calm down and claims that Rudy is okay. Rudy isn't okay, he wasn't moving, wasn't breathing! Why couldn't they understand? Rudy needed help, they weren't helping him!

He doesn't remember anything other than the feeling of a needle piercing through the skin of his wrist and his body growing tired despite the waves of adrenaline. His vision blacks out, and he falls into a deep, dreamless slumber.

____

When Ghost wakes up, he's on a hospital bed and hooked up. His left leg is in a cast and numbed of pain, his whole body felt tired and heavy. He tried sitting up, grunting at the sharp pain in his lower back. The door opens and Price looks up from the coffees he's carrying, whispering loudly to someone behind him.

"You bloody idiot, quit playing with the straws!" "Soap, stop!" "Ha!" Soap and Alejandro walk in behind Price, the taller man complaining as Soap poked him with a straw. Price looks over to the bed, smiling when he sees Ghost staring at them with mild amusement.

"Simon, how are you kid?" He asks, walking over as the two perk up once seeing Ghost awake.

"I feel like shit." Is all Ghost mumbles, looking at Alejandro expectantly and the colonel seems to curl into himself, frowning as he averts his gaze. Price and Soap notice this, sharing worried looks and Ghost pushes through the pain and sits up, glaring at the three. "Where's Rudy?"

"He's okay, he is–" "WHERE IS HE?" Ghost growls, already ripping off the IVs in his arms and Price quickly stops him while Soap presses the button beside the bed to call for a nurse. Ghost pushes Price away, struggling to get out of the bed and Alejandro rushes over, pressing his hands against Ghost's chest.

"Hermano, Rudy is a floor above, he's under watch. He's...not okay, he inhaled too much smoke and has a major concussion, as well as a broken ankle and sprained wrist. He kept going under, one of his ribs fractured and nearly penetrated his left lung. He had three surgeries, and is in a mild coma." Alejandro explains, voice dejected and Ghost freezes at each word. His Rudy, his only love, almost died because of him. Rudy did so much to protect him, selfless and resilient, and Ghost was the one awake and breathing normally.

"Can I see him?" He whispers, voice hoarse suddenly but he doesn't care about his reputation at the moment.

Price shakes his head, a heavy frown tracing his lips as he helps Ghost get back into his bed. "I'm sorry, son, but no one is really allowed to see him now. He has guards outside his door, and the best damn doctor and nurses to help him. He's going to make it, okay?"

Ghost nods, his mind in a turmoil as a part of him wants to believe Price, wants to believe Rudy would make it out fine. But his life experiences, the losses and defeats, the guilt and depression and anger– he knows better to hold false hope. He lets himself become empty, staring at nothing as the three men around him try conversing, trying to get him out of his head.

His Rudy...his beautiful Rodolfo.

#ghost x rudy #ghost x rodolfo #simon ghost riley #rodolfo parra #angst #wov works #cod modern warfare #mw22

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sweetesttorture · 3 years ago

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Silent Angel

(Fred Weasley x Clairvoyant!Reader)

Masterlist

Tags: Fred lives AU, post battle of Hogwarts AU, Shy!Reader, clairvoyant!reader, American!reader, dark!fred weasley, trigger warnings, whump, angst, so much angst, soulmates, childhood friends to strangers to enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, smut in later chapters, original villains, Adventures in America! AU, reader is an onion and she has LAYERS

Summary:

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You weren't supposed to even exist -- yet, you made a choice, and you were not going to let Fred Weasley die.

Every action has a consequence, you of all people knowing that Fate demands that everything you change demands an equivalent exchange. You've lived like a ghost, silent, watchful, risking life and limb for a boy you met once in the woods when you were nine.

Every action has a consequence. Will your heart be able to accept the unshakeable turn of Fate or will you fight against the tide?

Or. . . will you fall victim to the past you've tried to outrun in your pursuit of happiness?

A world without Voldemort is ready for peace — but in the cracks of its foundations, a new evil is ready to finally blossom … with you as its centerpiece.

———

Chapter 2

Where to Start

(5.9k words)

———

“W. . . Ere. . . Where . . . s . . . She . . ?”

It was the first words that slipped from Fred’s mouth when he awoke, snapping up and swallowing down his surroundings hungrily. He gasped for breath, chest heaving as his senses came back to him in bits and pieces. The air, heavy with the scent of smoke and iron, filtered into his nose along with the fine particles of dust floating in the air. Every muscle and bone in his body screamed at his every movement; he was vaguely aware of the tourniquet around his left calf.

Eyes. Lips. Nose.

When she laughed, it was like tinkling starlight — exactly how he had . . . dreamt.

Fred laid atop a blanket protecting him from filthy marble floors, his family – George, Ron, Ginny, Bill, his mum, Dad, even Percy – surrounding him with glistening eyes and gasps of delight at his awakening.

The Great Hall, or more accurately what remained of it, rushed with the aftershocks that came at the end of battle. Bodies – running, searching, lying underneath stained tarpaulin, mourning, grieving, laughing, rejoicing – weaved through the rubble of boulders and destroyed grand tables. It was blissful chaos, knowing that a decades-long war had finally come to a conclusion.

“Where . . . Where . . . is she?” Fred repeated, eyes darting between the faces. His senses were still disoriented, vision still frayed and blurred, but the urgency surging through his blood thrummed with an instinctual need to find–

“ Who ? What’s wrong, Freddie?” Molly cupped her son’s cheeks, forcing his crazed eyes on her own. George gently helped his brother sit up straighter, a sturdy hand on his back.

“H-Her– the girl —”

“The girl that saved him – us ,” Percy interjected with his signature cool tone. His jaw tensed as he turned away, not meeting Fred’s eyes. “He’s talking about. . . her .”

“Oh– oh . . . “ Molly nodded, suddenly wrapping her arms around her son’s head and stroking him like a babe. “Hush, don’t worry about that for now–”

“Where is she? Mum, Percy, where is she ?” Fred was like a broken record, this one mantra the only thing his mind could keenly focus on as he tried to stand. His legs were practically jelly, body screaming and jerking unnaturally as his family tried to protest and keep him resting. But Fred was Fred – and he was standing, eyes still searching for that girl who saved him.

“Freddie, take it easy, you got a nasty hit to the head,” George soothed. “Mum’s right, just take it slow–”

“Percy, Percy – where– did you see – where – where –” Fred was relentless, pouring every inch of his trembling strength into steadying his breath and muscles, nothing calming him as he turned to the elder Weasley. “Percy. . . please .”

Percy’s stare was hard, obviously weighing something behind the tense sternness that usually adorned his face – but this time it seemed genuine, something truly pressing upon his conscience and worn ethics.

Molly shook her head as she turned toward her older son, softly pleading, “Percy. . .”

“Take him,” Bill’s face was equally grim but resolved, holding Percy’s shoulder assuredly.

“He shouldn’t— not now ,” Molly still shook her head. “He just woke up for Merlin’s sake–”

“Mum,” Ginny grabbed her mother’s hand, calming her with gentle strokes of her thumb against her palm. Her voice was grounded, firm, the strongest sounding out of all of them. “He needs to see. Better now than later.”

Percy grabbed one side of Fred’s shoulder as he gestured for George to take the other, the two Weasley’s hoisting their brother between them. “You good to walk?”

“ Yeah , yeah– just–” Fred hissed as he tested his left leg – shit, definitely broken – bracing himself on his brothers. “Take it slow, yeah?”

“We’ll be gentle with you Freddie,” George teased, which earned a tired, half-baked smile from all the Weasleys – yet, that undercurrent of dread lingered, Fred’s stomach knotting with what they could possibly be afraid of.

Unless –

“C’mon, she’s–” Percy swallowed, Fred feeling the way his brother’s hand trembled ever so slightly. “She’s this way.”

True to their word, they helped Fred along at a snail’s pace, taking a breather every third step or so to stave off nausea from taking him back under. Fred refused to close his eyes again, would hate himself if he lost any more waking moments to his weakness, to his frailty; he bit his lip until it bled, doing anything to keep his eyes open and his mind awake. He felt the rest of his family trailing a length behind them, like they were ready to swoop in if Fred fell at any moment.

He took in both the familiar and unfamiliar faces that lined the great hall. Groups of huddled students cried and laughed as they embraced each other. Professors and Madame Pomfrey tended to the wounded as house-elves apparated in and out, bringing in wave after wave of food, medicine, and other supplies. It was lively yet grim at the same time. A contradiction. Even grouchy old Filch was extra peppy as he began the fruitless endeavor of sweeping the rubble.

But it was the faces of the first years that made his heart truly sink. First years – just eleven-year-olds – whose faces had hallowed over the torture of the past year. Where rosy cheeks should be, sunken eyes and darkened shadows took their place. Fred made a mental note to have a 99.9% off sale back at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes after things got cleaned up. Maybe even just a whole day of giveaways. Fuck it – what about a drive to clean up good ol’ Hogwarts too?

They neared the section of the hall concealed by darkness, sobs and cries beginning to permeate the air clearly like rain. Sections of tarpaulin and canvas lay side by side on the floor, lumpy masses hidden beneath stained sheets. Fred fought the urge to hurl.

Breathe, in and out. Fred focused on the excruciating pain in his leg that exploded like fireworks every time he even tried to bend his knee, the acute sting of all the cuts and bruises littered his body. Most of all, he focused on the memories – the girl – that had saved him and his brother’s life.

That face. Those eyes. Those. . . lips .

“Who is she?” George leaned imperceptibly closer, his voice hushed enough so Percy wouldn’t hear.

Fred shook his head, still wondering if the girl was real at all. If it was some sick joke his mind was playing on him – but it couldn’t be, not when Percy was there to see her in the flesh as well.

And her blood. The blood which had soaked his clothes to his skin, the cloth material sticking and still damp as his freckled skin moved against it.

Blood. Her chest, it was —

“It. . . it was her .”

“What?” the twin craned his good ear closer.

“ Her. ”

George’s confusion lasted only a minute before his brow widened in disbelief.

“You don’t mean–”

Fred nodded.

“That’s impossible ,” George struggled to keep his voice low.

“I know, I know . But it was her ,” he nodded, swallowing. “The girl – from those . . . dreams .”

“You’re joking,” George huffed incredulously. “Tell me that you are joking, Freddie, c’mon.”

But Fred wasn’t able to form a reply as the stench of death and decay became unbearable, filling his nostrils like a hot, wet rag suffocated his nostrils. He tensed his jaw, keeping the bile from clawing its way up his throat.

He was suddenly back beneath the rubble, blood — that girl’s blood — splattered on his face, dripping from her mouth in unnatural streams —

I’m gonna hurl. I’m gonna fuckin’ hurl.

“Don’t tell me that she’s dead,” Fred’s eyelids trembled with the weight of unshed grief and pain, the timbre of his words tumbling out of his mouth like dead leaves. “Don’t tell me she’s dead. Anything but that. Please, George, don’t— don’t tell me that she . . . died .”

‘Don’t cry.’

Those were her last words.

‘Please, don’t cry.’

His brother was about to reply – that is until Percy let out a confused, blunt expletive.

“. . . What the fuck ?”

They had stopped in front of a sheet at the very corner of an array of covered bodies as if it was the first one laid to rest. But there was nobody occupying it.

There were only a couple of rumpled blankets, still glistening red.

Percy unlatched himself from Fred as he crouched down and pawed at the cloth, as if the person lying there had simply shrunken and gotten lost in the materials.

“This doesn’t make sense– I put her right here. . . !” the elder Weasley hissed while searching. He finally gave up, yelling over his shoulder in his learned commanding Ministry voice, “ Madame Pomfrey! ”

The old witch came over quickly, the elder Weasley and the rest of his family starting a shouting match with the physician. It attracted a crowd, more professors and students and even elves starting to put in their two galleons on what had happened to the body that was lying there.

I put her right there! Percy would shout.

I have no record or name of anyone having ever been there! Pomfrey would retort with equal ire.

A body can’t just disappear! My family saw me put her here!

Well, obviously you made some mistake, didn’t you?

Arguments from his mum, Dad, Percy, of course, at the helm of the argument as Madame Pomfrey and other aides insisted that whoever was there was obviously not counted as one of the casualties. Both the Weasley’s and Pomfrey and her team began to set out a search for a missing girl – she had a piece of scaffolding through her heart for Godrick's sake, she couldn’t have gotten very far Percy insisted – leaving the Weasley twins alone, hovering next to the vacated bloodied sheets.

From their endless bickering, Fred only gleaned one thing.

That girl is alive.

“If she’s who you say she is, Fred,” George scoffed with a humorless laugh. “Then I think she really was your ‘ guardian angel .’”

Fred didn’t bother to nod.

—---

To explain, Fred would have to start at the beginning.

It was ten years ago– Fred and George both being only nine at the time – that the Weasley’s took a trip to the American Pacific Northwest, deep into the mysterious Redwood Forest. Percy was raving about starting his first year at Hogwarts while Bill and Charlie basically babysat their younger siblings; Ron was a snotty little seven-year-old, and Ginny, still the adored baby, at six.

At first, Fred and George anguished at the thought of having a holiday stuck in some “ hick part of America.”

“This is a learning experience, Weasleys! We’re going to experience life like those brave muggle American settlers! Isn’t that exciting?”

Fred didn’t bother to correct the historical inaccuracies in that sentiment, but both he and George eventually relented. Of course, they snuck a few (not so legal) fireworks and mischievous toys in their trunks just in case.

It was the first time Fred had traveled by the Floo network; he remembers it clearly. They were standing by a portkey, a tin pail, in some random part of the woods near the Burrow – then, all of sudden, they’re whizzing through the air like a tornado, one with air and clouds and rain.

And when his feet touched the ground, Fred wasn’t sure if he’d ever found a place more . . . enchanting in his entire life.

The Redwood Forest, ominous in its sheer age and even more intimidating with trees that stretched to the heavens, held dark corners and crevices where both muggle and magical creatures roamed and frolicked.

George was fascinated, sure, but apprehensive. He wondered what lurked in those shadowy canopies but didn’t care too much to actually find out.

But Fred?

Fred was ecstatic .

So, when night fell and the Weasley family had gotten ready for bed in their cozy collapsable cabin, Fred seized the chance to explore what the night had to offer. He forced George out of bed, pulling his twin along with him into the mystery of the nighttime Redwoods.

Then–

Fred!

It was so dark, and Fred was so excited and so reckless . He had run ahead of his brother, expecting the trees to open into a clearing but was met with the sheer drop of a cliff. It was too late, the nine-year-old already airborne, his twin screaming his name from the rocky ledge.

Fred doesn’t remember how long he fell nor the impact. He remembers nothing but blacking out, George yelling his name from the cliffside as he blubbered like a baby – and then waking up in the blinding light of noon.

Fred? Frederick? Oh my, darling Freddie, are you alright?

Son, Son? What in Godrick’s name happened to you? Merlin – look at you. . .

George went crazy looking for you. Where the hell did you go?

He had awoken in a heap of fallen leaves and pine needles, a cushion of forest bedding keeping him dry and warm, the faces of his family encircling his slowly returning consciousness. His mum was crying. And his dad. Percy, too, even if he tried to hide them. And, of course, George was the worst of them all, not letting go of Fred’s hand until they were safe and sound back at their own Burrow in England.

Ten days. Fred had gone missing in the Redwood Forest for ten days.

The Weasley’s had scoured every single inch of the forest, bringing in local MACUSA officers to aid in the effort; but every overturned stone revealed nothing other than more rotting plants and indignant creepy crawlies. Fred was lucky – if their search had continued to the eleventh day, the Weasley’s would have been forced to file an official missing person’s report with both the Ministry and MACUSA. Merlin knows what a mess that would’ve been.

Fred was completely unharmed, seemed healthily fed, his constitution as strong as ever. Not even a sniffle. All that seemed amiss were his feet, laden in a thick layer of soil and dirt.

His shoes had gone missing.

The Weasley family and MACUSA were all baffled as to how a small child survived from a fall that high or on his own for so long – Arthur simply reasoned that “Weasleys are built differently! As strong as giants in spirit, you see! .”

They pulled at his memories with charms and spells and all kinds of incantations but Fred could remember absolutely nothing. They went so far as to even get him checked out by the finest magical physicians (that the Weasley could afford), yet even they found nothing wrong with him.

“As long as he’s healthy, he’ll be fine.”

So, the Weasley family left it at that. And so did Fred. The trip became a memory that became a distant tale, one told in jokes and passing.

“Fred probably turned into a werewolf and hunted down every predator in that forest!” Charlie teased at the following Christmas, earning a round of laughter amongst the table.

Everything was fine. Fred’s life proceeded like how anyone would tell it – full of elaborate pranks, laughter, and one too many jokes at others’ expenses. He and George became notorious troublemakers around Hogwarts, only fueling the redhead’s already massive ego. Quidditch, games, and dreams of a joke shop of his and George’s own filled his days.

And the girls.

Fred learned early on that chicks dug bad boys. Knew it all too well when girls practically threw themselves at him once his confidence settled on his broad shoulders, his hardened build from years of Quidditch turning that impish smile into charismatic seduction. George was known for his brain, but Fred was known for his body.

The Weasley twins: infamous rabble-rousers. The people you called for a good time. But for a good time. . . Well, Fred was generously decorated in that department,

Everything was fine. Spectacular, even.

That is, until it wasn’t .

His sixth year. The Triwizard Tournament. By all means, what was supposed to be a blood-pumping, rip-roaring festivity became an international tragedy with Cedric Diggory’s death.

“He’s back! Voldemort is back!” Harry clutched Diggory’s lifeless body like a lifeline, both his and Cedric’s blood splattered on his uniform.

That’s when the nightmares started.

War. Death. Voldemort.

He would wake up screaming, icy sweat running down his back. Night after night after night after night . George and Lee practically dragged him to the medical wing when his wailing rang ceaselessly while they tried to sleep. But Pomfrey would only admit him for the night, giving him a tonic to knock him into a catatonic slumber, and send him on his way in the morning. Fred tried anything to get his mind off of it – pouring himself into increasingly grandiose pranks, concrete ideas of business, and carnal recreations in the filthiest of places. But it was like taping up a hole in a sinking ship. Useless.

Protect George. Ron. Ginny. Lee. Mum. Dad. I have to protect them. I have to protect them. I have to.

And that’s when it started,

He started dreaming of you .

Fred was running across the quidditch pitch, each tower engulfed in flames as dementors terrorized the trapped spectators up above. No broom, no wand, no George — powerless . He spied his family screaming for help in one tower, his friends and lovers in another, begging for Fred to save them. Then, plumes of black smoke began to funnel into the stands. Deatheaters cast curse after curse, killing and hexing until the stands went silent. And I had let them die.

“It’s not real.”

A voice. Mellow and smooth, clear but . . . echoing. Like a voice through a stretching tunnel.

“This isn’t real.”

From the flames, a ghostly figure emerged, untouched, unburned.

A girl.

“You need to wake up, Fred. Wake up. ”

And he did.

And so he did for every single following night after that – for he no longer woke up with hoarse screaming and sweat on his brow. Fred awoke with peace and rest because that girl – you – always appeared and made him remember that it wasn’t real, it was only a dream, and that the real world was waiting for him when he reopened his eyes.

“She’s kinda like a guardian angel then, ey?” George remarked after Fred had told him— and only him— about the girl he kept seeing in his dreams. “Sorta like your own good luck charm. Wish I had me one of those, ‘ya lucky bastard!”

Over time, he learned to recognize her features. The hair that flowed like a halo about her. The mouth that spoke soothing words of comfort, resonant and strong. The eyes that were clear, focused, undeterred by fear or horror.

You .

Fred tried looking for you among Hogwarts, if you were some girl he passed in the halls whose face stuck with him for whatever reason. But he found no one that matched your looks or your presence— Fred figured that you must’ve been some manifestation of his mind, a mental shield.

His nightmares, once monsters, simply became chores which became nuisances which became anticipation – because before Fred could even stop it, he went to sleep hoping he’d see you again. With you, his protector, having his back, Fred’s daring returned to him in gusto.

And then–

The scent of crisp pine. Rich earthen soil. The foggy mist kissed his face with chilly drops of freshwater. Creatures lurking amongst ancient rings of untouched trees.

Redwoods.

Fred was nine again, running through the thickets of branches and monstrous wooden logs as the night sky danced above him. His bare feet welcomed the soft impact of earth and grass with every step, the night air fresh with midnight dew and maple as he gulped down greedy breaths.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Hurry up!”

You were right by his side, looking about the same age as him. Your cheeks were flushed rosy with laughter, hair flying behind you like the streaks of an unstoppable comet. You were so fast , like you were born to run through brambles and pines; Fred’s blood pumped in exhilaration as he tried to keep up with you.

Your voices, howling with mirth, mingled with the calls of other creatures in the night. Fred wasn’t scared— you were there after all.

“Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you. Promise!”

The forest was these two kids’ oyster, the full moon high above the only onlooker that watched them sprint like wild animals through her forest.

And when he glanced, he recognized his lost too-small hand-me-down Weasley shoes fitting perfectly on your feet.

—--

3 Months Later. . .

“Thank you and see you again soon!”

George called out to the group of giggling children that exited his and his brother’s buzzing shop, the sounds of sparklers, bubbles, errant horns, and sirens filling the multi-storied shop.

With summer’s end and a new Hogwarts’ school year just over the horizon, the once again lively Diagon Alley was thrumming with the buzz of people aching to get some back-to-school shopping done. The same was true for the corner lot of Number 93, where Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was having another fundraiser sale for the sake of Hogwarts’ relief and rebuilding funds.

“Excuse me?” A tiny voice belonging to an equally puny child reached from behind the cashier’s counter, his eyes barely able to see over the ledge. His tiny fist held up a sleeve of Canary Cremes. “Will these really turn me into a bird?”

“Absolutely–”

“You bet,” Fred had suddenly appeared by the boy’s side, sliding up to the counter with a charismatic flair. “Of course, it’s not permanent. But you can fly and squawk and peck just like a bird for a few minutes. Nothing to make your mum and dad too worried, ay?”

“ Wicked ,” the boy’s face broke into a toothy grin, running off to probably find his parents and beg for their galleons.

“Glad to see you up so bright and early, Freddie,” George quipped, playfully nudging his twin’s arm. “Thought I’d have to wrestle you out at noon again.”

But his brother wouldn’t meet his eyes, George recognizing that hollow polite expression as Fred greeted passing customers.

“Couldn’t sleep that well,” Fred tried to casually laugh, leaving his brother at the till and going over to fix some stuffed toys on a nearby shelf.

“Don’t tell me you stayed up all night again,” George followed, his voice dropping the fake semblance of optimism he put on in the hopes his brother might actually reciprocate it.

“I clocked in on time today,” Fred ignored him, continuing to sort through the disorganized toys with a blank smile. The one he put on for the sake of customers and professionalism.

“That’s not the point.”

Though the Battle of Hogwarts had left scars and wounds on all the survivors, it was like the battle had taken a larger bite out of Fred’s soul. Their signature brightly colored suits hung awkwardly on his thinned form, contrasting unnaturally with his now pallid skin. Even that trademark fiery red Weasley hair had dulled, beginning to darken, turning into a more burnished shade of auburn. No one else has seemed to notice though— aside from George, of course.

“Listen, mate, I love that you’re here, really,” George gripped his brother’s shoulder, forcing the man to turn to him. He gazed into those empty brown eyes earnestly. “But you need to get some sleep. I’ll be fine down here–”

“The rush–”

“I’ll be fine ,” George smiled, hoping it reached his eyes. “I can just get someone else around here to help me. But you should be in bed–”

“ Don’t coddle me—”

“Freddie, c’mon, don’t be a big baby about this–”

“Just – just listen to me–”

But every protestation was met with indifference, George already leading his brother toward the stairs that led up to their shared loft at the top of the building.

“Just get some shut-eye, and everything’ll be fine–”

“ No !”

The outburst startled some nearby customers, George quickly apologizing and waving them along. He pulled his brother into a more secluded corner of the store, Fred’s vacant eyes and heaving breaths doing nothing to help his trembling hands which hung limply at his sides.

“Fred, breathe ,” George cupped his twin’s face, pushing out big huffs of air so Fred could easily synchronize. “That’s it. In– and out . Good.”

“I can – ‘t – I . . . I – can’t —” Fred stuttered, his eyes still wild and unfocused.

“Yes, you can, Freddie. Just breathe with me, it’s alright,” George held his twin’s hands firmly in his own, making sure that Fred’s fingers felt the plains of his palms. Customers were starting to stare but he paid them no mind. “You are in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Number 49 Diagon Alley. You just came down from the flat. Mum, Dad, and Ron and Ginny and Harry and Lee and everyone – they’re all okay. Safe. Ron and ‘Mione just sent us a letter from America yesterday. They said that we’d – you would love Vegas,” George chuckled, making a weak smile slowly lift his twin’s cheeks. “You are safe. You are. . . safe .”

George slowly enunciated that last word, watching as how the syllable made Fred’s shoulders roll back and relax, the quaking in his muscles abating to a manageable shiver.

Before Fred could say another word, George apparated the both of them back in their flat on the third floor. To his disappointment, Fred’s relief at being back alone in the safety and comfort of their loft eased the twisting of his stomach.

Like always, their loft mirrored the Burrow — controlled chaos and disarray at every corner, loose leaves of parchment and notebooks paper detailing half-finished jokes and toy ideas. At the center table of their living room, precariously high stacks of paper shadowed the room. Fred’s work — it was all he did in his spare time anymore.

“George, I should be down there with you,” Fred broke from his brother’s grasp, bracing his arms on their kitchen counter. “I can’t stay up here anymore. I can’t. ”

A beast of silence passed.

“… Is it those nightmares again?”

Of the girl?

Fred nodded solemnly, biting the inside of his cheek.

“They’re getting worse— changing ,” he shut his eyes as if that could stop the memories from flooding in.

Blood. A spear of rubble through her heart. Blood dripping onto my face, iron spreading on my tongue.

“They getting worse?”

“Yes, kind of, it’s— it’s hard to explain,” Fred breathed through his words, feigning strength. “They’re not just memories of the battle or the war or of anything Voldemort did anymore. It’s her, and it’s not just me watching her die—“

“She’s still listed as a ‘missing Jane Doe’—“

“It’s not just about watching her die, ” Fred grit his teeth. “It’s — It’s me. Me. She’s not there to save me from Rockwood, Percy doesn’t get to me in time, and I– I’m crushed by all that rubble. Or if it’s not me it’s Percy, or it’s you, or Ginny, or Ron— Over and over and over again.”

“But you’re not there,” George soothed a warm hand against his brother’s back. “You’re here and you’re safe. We all are.”

“I know, I know . . .” the elder twin shook his head dejectedly. “I don’t know – I don’t know why I feel this way. You’re right. You’re right . Voldemort is gone, Harry killed him, and everyone is alright. Safe. Damnit –” he laughed scornfully. “It’s like Sixth year all over again.”

George didn’t know how to respond to that, eyes sliding over the medicine cabinet beside their sink that held bottles of prescribed anxiety medication for his brother. Some unopened, some empty.

The brothers just let the silence stew over them as they each wondered what to say next.

Tap - Tap - Tap

“That Barney’s owl?” George mused as Fred unlatched the kitchen’s window, letting in a medium-sized screech owl. It held a simple scream envelope in its beak, handing it to Fred and then quickly flying away. “What’s it say?”

Fred opened it eagerly but deflated just as fast.

“. . . Nothing,” Fred refolded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope. “Hogwarts is still rebuilding so it’s hard to piece anything together between what’s new and destroyed. No sign of her from here–” he tossed the letter into the trashbin. “--To fucking Scotland.”

“Maybe she’s out of country?”

Fred scoffed. “I can’t afford an international PI, Georgie.”

The younger Weasley clapped his brother’s shoulder encouragingly. “She’s gonna turn up somewhere . I can feel it.”

“Yeah,” the elder twin managed a smile. “Yeah, me too.”

—--

Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

“. . . Shit.”

Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

Above the hearth, a chirping cuckoo clock rang out the hour.

Fred awoke on his couch groggily, slowly sitting up from the pile of paper strewn about him. His temples throbbed, body groaning in fatigue; a half-empty bottle of Fire Whiskey sat open at the center table in front of him.

Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

Night had already fallen outside the loft’s windows, the streetlights of Diagon Alley dimly illuminating their darkened flat. George had left him to sleep earlier in the afternoon.

Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

The clock above the mantle read twilight. That’s strange. George usually came up by ten at the latest.

Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

Despite it being the weekend before the start of Hogwarts term, the nightlife streets of Diagon Alley were silent as a mouse. The shop below, similarly, sounded equally still beneath the loft’s creaky floorboards. Not even the reassuring pop or bang of settling toys and tricks.

Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

“George?”

Fred’s call went unanswered as he apparated into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, the low murmuring whir of bubbles of nearby potions displayed at the window the only reply. The till was unmanned, the front door still unlocked and swung open wide for welcoming customers. Yet, the streets were absolutely abandoned outside. A few errant flyers fluttered past.

“You left the door unlocked, ‘ya stupid git!” Fred called out, going to lock the entrance. But his fingers stuttered at the sight of the doorknob – the jam was shattered, the bronze surface smeared in a rusty dried smear.

Fred’s stomach twisted.

His head whirled every which way as he sought for any more red stains, footprints, any signs of a struggle; yet, other than the doorknob, the shop seemed to have simply been abandoned.

“George? Where are you? George ?” but he knew his cries were useless. He was gone.

Then, footsteps. Loud and hurried, echoing furiously against the cobblestones of the alleyway.

“George?” Fred hastily unbolted the entrance doorway and ran outside, hoping to be greeted with his twin’s face. “S’that you?”

But he was suddenly breathless, all air knocked from his chest at the face he saw coming to a rough stop ten feet down the alley.

You .

“You’re–” your eyes were wide, brows furled and high, expression disbelieving. Sweat gleamed on your forehead, cheeks flushed rosy.

A memory flashed across his mind.

Running. A girl. Redwoods. Laughter. Running.

“—You’re . . . okay ,” For a moment, he saw the way your shoulders relaxed and an almost-there smile attempted to appear, but you quickly squared your jaw with a tick of your eye. “But I saw–”

Fred recognized the hypnotic resonance of your voice, those gorgeous, breathtaking eyes that swallowed starlight and gold dust like vortexes in space. The light from Weasleys’ Whizard Weazes shone in soft golden squares on your face, making your already angelic features look positively ethereal .

Fred curled his fist painfully tight, making sure his nails bit into his palm. Nothing happened.

“No . . . no fucking way,” he breathed, feet dumbly glued to the spot and gawking at you as if you had just fallen from the sky. Maybe she did? “Where did you–”

“No, no , I saw you–” you shook your head, not sparing the tall redhead another glance as you stormed past him and entered his shop. Your words came out quick and jumbled as you paced about the store, “I saw the – no – I saw them take you– but, you’re here , then–?”

“You’re real ,” Fred followed you like a lost lamb, still not believing his own eyes. In your wake, he smelled the faint scent of fresh grass and earth, floral and refreshing and sharp. “You-you're alive – but how —”

You didn’t pay him any mind, your eyes finally spotting that smear of dried blood on the door. You stooped down, scrutinizing it quickly, then pulled out your wand.

“ Revellio .”

Fred didn’t dare interrupt your unyielding focus as gold particles began to sputter to life and glide through the air. From the door, the particles dragged through the entrance to the till painting the scene of what had happened.

Three strangers: two men in thick coats and hats, and a woman leading them in similar attire. George, welcoming them with the trademark Weasley twin grin, was met with brutality; the three strangers grappled him, wands flying out and hurling hexes at each other. George put up a good fight, nixing one of the men’s faces; yet, their number overpowered the talented wizard, tying him up and hauling some sort of bag over his head. The witch cleaned up the mess, fixing up the place as if they were never there; but as they left, the injured one’s bloodied handprint on the doorframe was forgotten.

The particles began to dissipate, a final trail leading to something under the counter; Fred jumped over, snatching whatever it was pointing to.

“A postcard,” Fred held the cheap card stock in his fingers. On one face, he recognized the colorful picture as Las Vegas, USA, and in flowery calligraphy over its idyllic skyline ‘ Greetings from Sin City!’ Fred had barely enough time to flip it around before you had soundlessly snuck up and snatched it from his hands.

You didn’t read it aloud, your eyes scanning the single line of writing —over and over again— that he had been just able to catch.

Noon. 9/1. Medusa Royale. Empire Suite. Or, he takes your place.

“Who were those people? Why’d they take my brother?” the questions fell like a jittery waterfall from his lips. “Why’d they take him? Are they going to hurt him? Hey—! ”

You completely ignored him, eyes emptying as you placed the postcard in your back pocket and briskly walked out the door.

“ Hey!! ” Fred followed after you, not letting you out of his sight as you swerved through Diagon Alley. The streets really did seem abandoned, all the other shops similarly lit but devoid of life. Where the hell is everyone?

“Don’t follow me.”

Fred almost flinched at the harsh steel of your tone, your gait still unrelenting. The hangover fog had cleared from him enough to keep pace albeit with some labored effort.

“Some strangers kidnapped my brother, and you expect me to not follow the girl that seems connected to the bastards that took him?”

“I’m going to get your brother back,” your voice softened infinitesimally, pace slowing a step. “. . . I promise.”

I promise.

The words rang like church bells in Fred’s ears, familiar and echoing and calling to him.

“ Stop, ” he managed to catch your wrist, his fingers engulfing your hand. He ignored the way the unnatural chill of your skin, tried to ignore the electricity that trailed up his fingertips and arms at the single touch. The force made you stop and whirl around to finally face him.

His eyes bore into yours, begging for answers to questions he didn’t yet know himself.

“Who are you?”

You held his eyes for a moment — just a moment — once more taking on that soul-crushing depth , but you covered it up with that harsh statuesque expression of coldness.

“ Don’t touch me,” you spat like acid, pulling out of his grip like his hand burned you.

The world suddenly went slow-mo.

Fred saw the way your fingers felt for your wand, could somehow sense the silent incantation forming in your head. He clocked the tick of your eye; a tell he recognized in animals rearing to flee.

You apparated—

Oh, no you don’t—!

—But in the last wisps of your form, Fred threw himself at your figure and apparated with you.

——

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