#it's both a terrifying and wonderful feeling to look at the uncertain future without being dragged down and drowning in the past any longer

[thingwithfeathers]

you wait twelve tormenting years for something and then it's over in a moment.

[thefanficmonster]

Beyond Death

Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Death, Loss, Grief, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst

Summary: After fighting triumph over Lady Dimitrescu in her dragon/monster form, Ethan thinks he’ll have to face one last threat before leaving the castle but said threat happens to be nothing but a hollow ghost carrying a broken heart.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful and extremely heartbreaking request! So sorry that it’s taken me so long to write and post it but I still hope you’ll come across it and give it a read. If so I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

It’s over. It’s finally fucking over.

Ethan Winters lets out a heavy but shaky sigh of relief that practically deflates him as though he had been holding it in - was holding it in during the entire duel against Lady Dimitrescu who is now nothing my an ashy corpse on the floor, leaving behind only a crystal sculpture to her name - the nine foot tall vampire lady that reigned over the village with a reputation stronger than the village’s actual ruler - Mother Miranda.

And now her and her daughters remain a memory - quite an unpleasant one - for the villagers, leaving one less Lord for them to fear yet remaining a figure they cower in fear just by thinking about her.

Pushing past the cloud of confusion, relief and disbelief, a soft sound that appears to be footsteps approaching reaches Ethan’s brain, kicking his heartbeat up and forcing him back into a fight-or-flight mindset. Of course he’s gonna choose fight, of course this fool is gonna see this all till the end.

But what if it’s not a fight the person approaching wants?

What if all they want is to have made it there a few minutes earlier?

What if they are no threat now and they never have been? What if that’s why the Dimitrescus kept them safe in the hidden chambers and quarters of their castle, places not even Alcina’s dear Miranda knew nothing about.

Y/N L/N Dimitrescu, Alcina’s one true love.

They were a neighbor of Alcina’s prior to the experimentation process. The two got along nicely - well, more than nicely. Pleasantly enough for Alcina to develop feelings for them along the way. Feelings that the pain and suffering of the experiments never managed to wipe away, ones that still resided with Alica even years later and only flared up stronger when Y/N recognized her on one of their ventures into the outskirts, near the Dimitrescu Castle.

“Alcina?“ They had said, their wide and confused eyes meeting the vampire’s terrified ones.

The typically fearless Lady Dimitrescu found herself at a loss of words, her throat dry, her stomach aching and her chest tight at the sight of the one last connection she has to humanity - her feelings for Y/N. But she was left on the fence, suffocated by the suspense of how Y/N would continue onward with the interaction. How they’d react to her drastic change? How they’d address her?

“Y/N...“ Their name was barely a shaky whisper on the tall woman’s lips, trembling hands clenched in tight fists to prevent from letting her emotions show.

“I missed you.“

That was what hit Alcina the strongest. That one single sentence had her assuming her true form - a pile of shard of the past, present and the many possible futures ahead. A pile of shards glued together with a weak glue threatening to give at any moment, collapsing the tough, graceful and untouchable façade of Alcina Dimitrescu. That’s how the woman knew she still had something human in her. Or rather with her as long as she had Y/N.

And so she kept them like a precious pearl in the palm of her hand and they never once neglected showing their gratitude for all she did for them. They never once hesitated to show their love and appreciation in return to all they received from her. But, the most important gift Alcina was keen on giving was the presence of her true self around Y/N. She never bothered with an act around them. Never lied, never put on a show. She was more human than ever around them. She was fragile, vulnerable, honest and bare before them. And they never made her feel any less than the feverous Lord she was despite her human side.

“It only makes you stronger.“ Y/N would say, referring to Alcina’s human side, “As a human myself, I can confirm we humans aren’t that bad and incompetent. Not all of us, at least. I remember you aren’t, that’s for sure.“

“Who are you?!“ Gun pointed at the pale figure moving barefoot across the room to crouch down next to the ashy corpse of Alcina Dimtrescu, Ethan can feel his blood starting to boil again. It’s not real fear but it’s most definitely a feeling of hostility fueled by massive adrenaline that seems to have taken complete control of him and has him in a death grip, leading him to do and say crap he normally wouldn’t. This behavior of his would be enough to get even Chris Redfield to take a step back but this person doesn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence let alone be intimidated by him.

Focusing their complete attention on the mess of crystals before them, they gently run their fingertips over the creature’s wing but sadly even their light touch manages to crumble a small bit of ash from it, the dust falling to the floor along with Y/N’s heart.

“Hey, answer me! Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here? Are you...are you like them? One of them?“ His voice becomes more and more uncertain, decreasing from an angry shout to a shaky whisper.

“You killed her. You took her from me.“ Is the response he eventually gets, spoken by a monotone flat voice that doesn’t go with Y/N’s appearance at all. Their eyes remain fixated on the tiny spot on the wing they touched seconds ago as if their gaze will bring it back to live.

Bring her back to them.

That on its own is enough to get Ethan to keep his mouth shut, gaining a vague idea of what’s going on here and who this person might be. What the deceased means to them. In his eyes, she was nothing but a monster, but in theirs, it’s obvious she was a lot more.

And so, when he approaches them and and tries to communicate with them one last time, he says and does the only thing he sees as even moderately right in this situation: he sets the crystal remains of Alcins Dimitrescu by their side. “Have this, I believe she’d want you to. It’s all that’s left of her that you can keep.“ He knows their face is emotionless and still but something about that stillness is the exact reason why he doesn’t want to look at them while he says those words. He can’t find it in himself to apologize, not that an apology would help him much in this situation anyway, so all he can attempt is pointless. All that matters to them is gone - that’s the price of him gaining a stronger chance at getting his daughter back before it’s too late. 

And just like that, without another word, the blonde man walks out of the castle, leaving the broken heart and soul that used to be a complete human being behind him. A complete human being in love with someone extraordinary. Their love for her knew no bounds, and not even death as they sit there by their lover’s remains, refusing to leave their side even when they are not both present in this world.

A lover’s true love and devotion is shown when tested - unfortunately, Y/N and Alcina’s love was faced with the ultimate test: death. And it hasn’t faltered, nor will it ever as it seems.

[ramonadecember]

100 prompt list:

4, 17 for inquisitor Nikka and Cullen

still taking prompts.

slowly picking away at these! the oc ones are harder 😂 I know I already 'apologized' to you about this, but this one got long because I had to include enough background information that you already know but another reader would need for this to make sense lmao.

Nikka Trevelyan (also of twitter fame), bitter old circle mage. dilf energy without the kids. him and Cullen did NOT used to get along, understandable since they've known each other since Cullen's first assignment, but have since clawed their way into respect, and trust, and something special

4. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

17. “It’s pitch black and I can still see you blushing.”

--

It was supposed to be different now.

Cullen hadn’t been able to take the state of Nikka’s and his ‘relationship,’ whatever that even was. They’d at least moved past the constant animosity-verging-on-hostility, and even the stage that followed where they still clung to the act for the sake of appearances and lying to themselves about true feelings, but even after that was a constant back and forth, hot and cold battle with Nikka. Any time Cullen thought they were progressing toward actually being something, Nikka would pull back, shut him out, only to come around again when it was convenient for him or he was looking to crawl into Cullen’s bed. Cullen could have said no, should have said no, but he never turned Nikka away.

Until he did.

After another bout of being on the ‘cold’ end of Nikka’s moods, with Nik either coming up with excuse after excuse to not be around, or flat out ignoring Cullen, the Inquisition found itself in Halamshiral at the Winter Palace. As if their being there wasn’t spectacle enough, Nikka decided to create more of one.

Cullen acquired quite the gaggle of nobility around him in the ballroom, those looking to chat, to schmooze, to harass. Nikka still swore it was strictly the last part that had him stepping in and coming to Cullen’s ‘rescue,’ but Cullen knew it for what it was. There was concern in the action, yes, but also a possessiveness over Cullen, and mostly it was for Nikka’s own amusement.

Nikka had swooped in, placed a hand at the small of Cullen’s back, and leaned in close with a murmur of, “There you are… I’ve been looking all over,” before apologizing to the semi-circle of bodies around Cullen, because, “I need to borrow my Commander for a moment,” with a very pointed ‘my.’ He led Cullen away after that, and once they were somewhere more private Nikke decided he could spare a few minutes from his sneaking about to push Cullen into a shadowy corner and do to him what all those sniveling Orlesians only dreamed they’d be able to.

It took all of Cullen’s willpower to tell Nikka to stop, and once a reluctant Nik did, that’s when Cullen finally cracked. This wasn’t fair. Nikka didn’t get to come around then after weeks of barely giving him the time of day now that it was convenient or humorous or scandalous or however else one wanted to describe it. It may have been foolish, ill-advised at best, but Cullen was honestly falling for Nikka, and it wasn’t okay for Nikka to be screwing around with his feelings like this, particularly in front of an audience. So Cullen finally told him that Nik needed to figure out what it was he wanted and stop messing with his heart. Until then… Cullen couldn’t do this anymore—whatever ‘this’ was.

They’d figured it out eventually. Uncertain futures both of self and world had a way of putting into perspective what was really important, and to Nikka, that was Cullen. He’d apologized, acknowledged the shitty way he’d been treating Cullen and how right Cullen was to call him on it, and said he wanted to fix things. Nikka assured Cullen this was what he wanted—that Cullen was what he wanted.

Now, Cullen wondered if he was a fool for ever believing it.

It’d been going good for a while between them. Once Cullen was reassured that they were on the same page, it was a lot easier to be patient with Nikka, knowing this was unfamiliar, uneasy territory for him, but that Nik was actually trying now. But then Nikka started to pull away from him again, and Cullen even tried bringing it up, thinking that maybe if he pointed it out, they could address it, figure out what was causing it, and move past it. No such luck. Nikka refused to acknowledge it was happening.

It wasn’t entirely like the way Nikka used to pull back, though. Something was different this time. Sometimes, it seemed like Nikka was on the verge of telling him. Around the war table, after discussions in Cullen’s office, or even lying in bed with each other… sometimes Cullen would catch a look, or Nik opening and closing his mouth like the words were right there, but then he seemed to think better of it, and if Cullen ever tried to nudge him about it, Nikka would shake his head, say he didn’t know what Cullen was talking about.

Each time it happened, it seemed to take Nikka a little bit longer to shake the funk that followed, each time it seemed to take a little bit longer for them to get back to normal. Cullen didn’t like to think the worst, but there was one explanation for Nikka’s behavior that stuck in his head more than the rest.

Nikka wanted to end it with him.

The thoughts nagged at Cullen. Nikka thinking the relationship had run its course. Him having given the relationship an honest shot, but just not feeling that way about Cullen anymore. Not every relationship was meant to be forever, and Cullen didn’t doubt that what they had was real while it lasted, but now Nikka’s heart had moved on and he was looking for a way to tell Cullen. He tried telling himself it was okay—heartbreaking, but still okay—but it hurt no less to know it was over.

Cullen knew he was nearing the end of his rope when it came to waiting for Nikka to finally say something, but he willingly let the frayed ends slip through his fingers one night in Nikka’s quarters. He’d had enough.

It’d become the usual for Cullen to slip into Nikka’s room at the end of the day, and that night was no different, but as we walked in, it was to Nikka sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. Cullen might have teased over the sight, wondering how many times Nikka had breezed into his office and done the same, asking if he was starting to rub off on the Inquisitor, but then Nikka lifted his head and there was that look again, the one Cullen couldn’t quite parse. It pinned Cullen in place. This would finally be it, this is when it would happen.

Cullen decided there was no time delaying it. “Well, let’s hear it then,” Cullen prompted, trying not to sound as hurt as he felt.

Nikka’s expression turned confused then. “I’m sorry?” he questioned.

“You’re leaving me,” Cullen said. “Isn’t that what this has been about?” All Nikka’s behavior lately… The sad looks, the avoidance, the shutting Cullen out… It’d been leading up to this moment, to Nik saying they were through.

Nikka’s eyes went wide and he stood from behind his desk, but like always seemed to be the case lately, words failed him, mouth opening to say something then snapping shut before anything fell from it. Cullen’s suspicions seemed to be confirmed, Nikka’s fumbling, Cullen assumed, a product of being caught out, not expecting Cullen to broach the subject before he could.

Cullen gave a nod of his head. “Right, well…” A thick swallow. “Can’t say it’s not a shame—” an understatement “—but, if that’s the case…” Cullen wasn’t going to beg Nikka to change his mind, he had a little more self-respect than that.

He turned to leave then, feeling heat climbing up his neck into his cheeks and a lump forming in his throat, but he was stopped by an urgent, “Cullen, wait,” as Nikka rounded his desk and crossed the room toward him.

Nikka got the effect he wanted, Cullen stilled, turned back to him, but there was then the issue that he really didn’t know what to say next. A part of him had said that he should let Cullen walk away, that this would solve the whole problem he’d been warring with, but a louder part had screamed at him on repeat to tell Cullen don’t go, don’t go, don’t go. If Cullen did, Nikka never would have forgiven himself. Even he wasn’t so cowardly as to let go of such a good thing just because it was safer.

“Really, Inquisitor,” and didn’t the use of the title at that moment sting, “I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said. I’ll take my leave—”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified,” Nikka blurted all at once. “Okay?”

That was… quite the opposite of what Cullen expected.

Nikka let out a frustrated noise before scrubbing his hands over his face. He knew he needed to get out everything he needed to say before he second-guessed it, lost his nerve, took it all back, but it was hard.

It wasn’t that same fear that held Nikka back from accepting how he felt about Cullen in the first place. That was all about how Nikka thought of Cullen as representing everything he hated. Loyal to the Chantry to a fault. Too naive when they first met to see the errors in the ways of the Templars, actually thinking he could do some sort of good in a position like that. Too under the thumb of his Knight-Commander later on to acknowledge those same errors, leaning even harder into his role and what he thought his duty was. And then came meeting once more through the Inquisition. Nikka had originally been reluctant to cooperate with Cullen, but it was hard to maintain when for once, they were actually on the same side, and that was even before they started to find things about each other they respected, liked.

Now it wasn’t so much agonizing over what was building between them, but what all could now be lost, and that’s what Nikka told Cullen. Nikka had grown… rather attached to Cullen—don’t, Nikka warned, this was hard enough without that little smile pulling at Cullen’s scarred lip—and now Nik was terrified of losing him, and the more he felt for Cullen, the more he felt that great, looming fear.

And it wasn’t just that. No one’s future was guaranteed, this he knew, but people like them, people at the heart of the conflict who kept throwing themselves headlong at it, they stood even less of a chance of coming out on the other side of everything unscathed. In particular, Nikka had never been optimistic about his making it out alive, not with his being the main target of an elder god, not with the glowing, green pain-in-the-ass anomaly in the palm of his hand. He didn’t want to put Cullen through the same thing he was so worried about either.

Nikka tried to quickly add, “Not to presume you feel the same—” but cut himself off as Cullen stepped forward and wrapped him in his arms.

“You’re not leaving me.” Cullen said it with as much surety as he had the opposite only a short time earlier, but this time he wasn’t limiting it to their relationship. Everytime Nikka marched off to what could very well be his demise, he always came back to Cullen, and Cullen had to believe the same would continue to be true.

“How can you be so sure—”

“You’re not,” Cullen said, all the more adamant. He tightened his hold around Nikka.

Nikka didn’t have the same conviction, but for now he could let it lie. That was… quite enough for one night. He didn’t know how Cullen could be both the one who cause so much turmoil in him, and the one who could so easily take it away again. Nikka sucked in a deep breath and pulled back from Cullen, if only just enough to say, “You really thought I’ve been trying to find a way to break this off with you?”

The blush that Cullen had been trying to fight off earlier now fully colored his cheeks. “I may have jumped to some conclusions,” Cullen admitted. “But you have to understand how it looked…”

Nikka did understand, and he apologized for how he’d been acting, telling Cullen that he really would try to come to him when he was freaking out instead of spiraling all on his own. That was agreeable to Cullen and all he really asked for from him—for Nik to try—and anyway it was hard for him to continue stressing when Nikka was then kissing him, asking him if they could go to sleep. Nikka was very done with the day, ready to really bring it to an end.

As they lie together in the dark, Cullen went back and forth on whether he should open his mouth once more, but there was one thing he realized that he hadn’t said, that he should say. “You know I feel the same right?” In both regards, the lover and the terror, but mostly the former.

Nikka only grumbled something noncommittal under his breath and tightened his hold on Cullen, and Cullen couldn’t help himself, he teased, “It’s pitch black and I can still see you blushing.” It’s not something Nikka would ever admit to, but Cullen had seen it happen, the ruddy flush crawling across Nik’s cheeks, usually at times like this when Cullen knew all the talk of feelings had flustered him.

“Cullen…” Nikka growled in warning.

Cullen let out a quiet laugh and tucked himself closer against Nikka, but otherwise he remained quiet and it earned him a kiss pressed to his temple. He wanted to say the words, wanted to repeat them over and over again, but for the night it could wait. Nikka knew, and that’s what was important. Besides, Cullen wanted to wait until he could fully see that blush when he told Nikka in no uncertain terms ‘I love you.’

[missdawnandherdusk]

That Would Be Enough

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

Look at where you are

Look at where you started

The fact that you're alive is a miracle

Just stay alive, that would be enough

Chapter 1     Chapter 2    Chapter 3     Chapter 4     

Chapter 5     Chapter 6    Chapter 7    Chapter 8    

Chapter 9     Chapter 10

Summary: Dumbledore is dead and the pieces start to fall apart or in to place...

A/n: Okay guys, this is a great chapter because you get to look into the past and into the future and also you get to see the loose ends start to tie themselves... who’s ready for this to end soon? Not me, but at least I’m figuring out how I want to end it. Also, my postings will be a bit more sporadic because I’m in college and have a job and so writing, though still fun takes energy that I rarely possess...

I stood and Draco was beside me. I looked to him frantically, wondering what was next. What would be next for the two of us?

There was hardly a moment to think for ourselves because beside us, Snape apparated into the foyer, causing my to jump in panic, into Draco’s arms. The professor seemed to take the sight of the two of us in, and something soft and sad was in his eyes before he recovered.

“Are you to unharmed?” He asked curtly. We nodded mutely.

Then the thought ran through my mind, or perhaps I had finally allowed myself to think it.

The man in front of us was a murderer.

The man in front of us saved Draco’s innocence. Something that I couldn’t even do.

My mind begged the question: was Snape good? All I could find were grey answers.

“Is it done?” Narcissa’s voice caught all of our attention.

“Yes,” Snape retorted. “And I expect the Dark Lord to be here any moment, so if you’d like to flee Miss Y/n, now would be the time,”

“I’m not running,” I declared defiantly—foolishly.

A loud crack sounded through the large Manor, and the air grew cold and foreboding. Draco registered what was occurring before I did. He protectively pushed me behind him as many more Death Eaters appeared around us until black flooded the green marble floors. They were all shouting in victory. They were all laughing and grinning. Even behind their masks, it wasn’t hard to understand their pure joy about the death of Dumbledore.

My fingers gripped Draco’s cloak as I went numb, by choice or perhaps not. My mind shut down and had gone to autopilot. One look in Draco’s eyes and I knew that he had as well. His hand still found mine, however. That was one thing, even numb, that would never change. Narcissa came behind me, holding my shoulders—comfortingly or defensively, I wasn’t sure.

One thing broke Draco’s perfect mask and made Narcissa gasp in terror. The sight of Lucius. I could barely make out a clear image of his father, only the long silver blond hair that I knew well. On the cold ground, Lucius looked desperately to something—someone.

The Dark Lord.

I could not mistake this being for anyone else. The creature that haunted my dreams and plagued my reality. Not meters from me. His cruelty revealed everything.

I had never seen the Dark Lord happy, but a gruesome smile distorted his ghastly face. My grip on Draco’s hand was so tight that my nails dung into his skin. If I had control, I would have lessened the pressure, but the control no longer belonged to me. Instead it belonged to the beast in long dark robes with blood red eyes.

Words left his lips, but I had no power to listen. It wasn’t until other people acted upon me that I had any reaction to the events around me.

Draco held firmly to my arm and Narcissa to my shoulders, refusing to let me go. To let me be pulled into the circle of Death Eaters next to Lucius.

“Ah, ah,” The Dark Lord refuted gently. “Come, bring the girl,”

Narcissa’s hands left regretfully and Draco met my eyes, terrified before he let me go too.

I was shoved into the middle of the circle of Death Eaters, wand gripped tightly in my hand. Before me, I could finally see Lucius—looking more ghostly than I had ever seen him, frail and defenseless. A storm of emotions overwhelmed me. Anger overpowered the others. He had hurt so many of the ones I loved. Not fifteen years ago did he kill me father in the same room.

Maybe I’d have the pleasure of vengeance after all.

“A gift for you my dear,” Voldemort purred, as if to read my thoughts. “I heard you were marvelous in using the Cruciatus Curse on Precious Potter, and I wonder if you’d like to display you skills again?”

My eyes flashed from hallow grey eyes to vivid red ones.

“You want me to...” my voice wavered. My anger fizzled out.

“Well of course, you did aid dear Draco in his mission, and were quite marvelous, I thought it might only be fitting to reward you,” His false kindness eerily swept through me, leaving me in uncertain ground. “Just think of all of the hurt Lucius has caused you. He murdered your father, abused the one you love for years and still he kneels there on the ground loathing you,”

In my mind I saw the death of my father again. The fruitless pleas that fell from his lips. The bright green flash that ended his life.

Tears stung my eyes as my gaze fell upon Lucius again.

Then I saw a shade of Draco in those troubled grey eyes: The night of the third trial and the absolute dread in Draco’s eyes. The night of the ball as this man spoke coldly to him. The breakdown Draco had not a month later. The need for healing potions to be on hand. All because of the man before me.

My lip quivered as the tears fell silently. But then my memories shifted.

To Draco chasing after me at the ball. Or the day we first kissed that summer. Seeing him on the train. The day he defended me from Umbridge. Every smile and every tear. The nights when he broke and the days when he was put back together.

That was so much more valuable than my hatred for Lucius.

Then my eyes met Narcissa’s. They were frozen in shock and fear. I could see the desperate pleas in them to spare her husband’s life. A woman who went through two wars, desperate to keep her family together. Losing one sister to insanity and another to disownment. Losing a husband to hatred and a son to darkness. A woman who welcomed me with opened arms because she believed that I could pull her family back together, even for a little while. She had faith in me. In the kindness and goodness in me.

That was so much more valuable than my hatred for Lucius.

“Crucio,” I whispered, the spell taking no effect on the man before me.

“Like you mean it my dear!” The Dark Lord encouraged. “Let out all of your hatred and anger! Every wrongdoing, every lie, every injustice!”

“Crucio!” I called out louder and still there was little effect. The circle of Death Eaters around me snickered, mocking me.

“She has had a long day My Lord,” Snape spoke up. “Perhaps she will be better suited in the morning after a night’s rest,”

Voldemort’s blood red eyes peered at me, but I was at peace. There was no thought for him to have. My mind was plate glass. A reflection for him to gaze upon.

“Perhaps,” The Dark Lord echoed. “Take her out of my sight,”

Again, I was grabbed and thrown hastily out of the circle and into not Draco’s arms, but Narcissa’s. There were tears in her eyes and a kind smile on her face as she led me upstairs to Draco and my shared room.

“Thank you,” She wrapped me up tightly in a hug. “That was a kindness I didn’t deserve,”

“My love for you and Draco outshines any malice I have towards Lucius,” I whispered. “You’re my family, and family sticks together,”

She pressed a kiss to my forehead and cradled me close. Tears fell down her face as soft sobs wracked her frame. There was a knock on the door causing us both to jump. Narcissa wiped her eyes quickly and composed herself opening the door only to meet Snape.

“They’ve gone, he requires medical attention,” His voice was soft and curt.

Without hesitation, I rushed to Draco’s bathroom grabbing three vials: healing, thoughts, and anxiety. I brushed past Snape and Narcissa, heading down the stairs to where Draco was cradling his father, unshed tears in his eyes.

“Here,” I knelt beside him, uncorking the first vial.

Draco and I worked like a well-oiled machine as the potions took their affect onto his father. Some color returned to his deathly face. Snape and Narcissa both had their wands drawn, casting healing and protection spells of their own. Lucius’ breathing became steady and no longer did he look like a corpse. Though he looked aged, he looked human.

“Thank you,” Narcissa murmured, stroking Lucius’ hair from his face. “You two get to bed,” she ordered softly.

“Y/n,” Snape called before I ascended the stairs. “The Dark Lord will be waiting for you to torture Lucius. He will not let you fail in this attempt.”

“I... I can’t do it. I never wanted to do it in the first place to Harry,” I confessed, my voice rasping.

“You must.” Snape rose. “For the sake of your life and for Draco’s. This is a different game now.”

I nodded and took Draco’s hand, rushing up the stairs and into the safety of our room. Like his mother had, Draco wrapped me up into his arms and only then did I realize I was shaking rather violently. I didn’t feel panicked, but my body said otherwise.

“Thank you,” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You were kind in ways that I never could have been,” It seemed that the only even that either of us could process at the moment had been the past few minutes.

“I couldn’t do it. Not when I looked in his eyes and saw you,” I whispered into his shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” He asked. “You... the Dark Lord isn’t going to...”

“I know,” I sighed. “I don’t know what to do. But I won’t cast another Unforgivable.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to leave,” his words held a softness as he cupped my face. “To keep you safe.”

“I can’t leave you here, Draco,” I refuted. “I won’t go. I have to show them I won’t be broken. I won’t let hatred win,”

“Do you understand how dangerous this is?” His words became curt. “You could be killed for showing any disloyalty.”

“I know, I know,” I dismayed. “But I won’t run. I won’t be a coward... and I have nowhere to go...” There was nowhere that I could go that I knew wouldn’t be a target or a suspect for hiding me.

Draco huffed and ran a hand through his hair anxiously.

“Okay,” He gave in. “We should get to bed,”

“Dray,” I groaned. “This is my path as much as it’s yours. Please don’t push me away.” 

“I’m just trying to keep you alive,”

“My life isn’t my own anymore. I’ll willingly die for the good,” As soon as the words left my mouth my thoughts flashed to my father. “That’s why he did it.” I marveled mostly to myself. “That’s why my father wasn’t afraid of death,”

Draco stroked my cheek softly, the warmth in his grey eyes proving that Lucius would never be the man that Draco was.

Silence fell over us. Our minds, in sync, went mute. The phantoms of last summer guided us tonight. The warm silky water of a bath in his porcelain tub. The comforting scents of florals and memories. A trail of cloaks, robes, and clothes followed us to the bathroom and into the tub. My locket laid beside his family ring on the marble counter. His hands draped the water over my chilled skin, massaging away the tension in my muscles.

A year ago, there had been one mark on the two of us, now it seemed that there was no end to where our damage and scars were. And yet I didn’t feel shattered. I didn’t feel broken. Silent streams of tears trailed down our cheeks. They weren’t just of fear and anger, but perhaps also of relief and hope. What we dreaded had been done, now there were pieces to pick up. There was something to do. It wasn’t the brightest direction, but it was direction.

The shine of the moonlight reflected off of Draco’s eyes as we laid together in the comfort of clean cotton sheets. My fingers carded through the silver gossamer of his hair. I slipped into slumber in the comfort of the storms of his grey eyes.

My dreams were vividly bizarre. Trails of what ifs. Of almosts. Of what could have been.

A bright green flash coming from Draco’s wand. Coming from my wand. Draco dead in my arms. The last glimpses of life as I laid in Draco’s arms. Harry staring us both down, defending Dumbledore. Pinnae flying away in the night to a small home in the Grecian countryside and never looking back. Pinnae falling, falling, falling, flightless. Down from the Astronomy tower and to the cold unforgiving ground below.

A soft unintelligible mumble pulled me away from the free fall down. I was steadied. I was wrapped in comfort. I was draped in soft blankets and warm arms.

“Just a dream,” Draco slurred sleepily, his eyes not opening. “You’re okay,”

I hummed a response and curled back onto his chest, settling back into sleep.

___________________________

“He’s not going to forget her,” Severus huffed, pacing the room. “Y/n will have to prove herself,”

“I know,” Narcissa sighed, sitting beside her husband.

Lucius had not yet woken since he had been healed, and though Narcissa knew that he was not on the verge of death any longer, his health was still failing.

“She’s just a child,” Narcissa insisted hopelessly. “She has no business in all of this,”

“She doesn’t have a choice anymore Narcissa!” Severus declared. “She chose this path. She chose to stand beside Draco, and this is where that road leads!”

Silent tears fell down her cheeks, lost in a memory.

~~

“It’s not safe for you Cissa,” Lucius’ voice was quiet and urgent. “Go now, before it’s too late,” 

“I’m not leaving you,” Her stubbornness might kill her one day, but she wasn’t giving up on him.

“The Dark Lord will kill you, and I can’t lose you my darling,” Lucius stroked her cheek softly, “You’re too important,”

“Then you know why I must stay,” She closed her eyes leaning into his touch. 

“Please,” Lucius begged. “If not for your life, then for Draco’s. He’s just a babe.” 

“This family will stay together,” Tears stung her eyes. “He needs his father as much as he needs his mother,”

“You’re not going to like who his father becomes,” The whisper was barely heard. “Please Cissa,”

She shook her head, tears running down her cheeks and into his hands. 

~~

“She knows that,” Narcissa answered softly. ���More than anything she knows the consequences of her choice.”

“And how can you be so sure?” Severus demanded.

“Because she was me,” Her fingers trailed down Lucius’ face gently. “I never thought I’d have to live through another war—to walk through another one with him,” She paused and turned to Severus. “But Y/n knows what she’s doing.”

“Then why are you so adamant on protecting her?” He demanded.

“For the same reason you are,” It could have been an accusation, but it wasn’t. It was sad and soft. Hopeless in a way.

“We can’t protect her in a desperate chance to change the past, Narcissa,” It was just as hopeless. 

“But we can try, can’t we?”

Lucius’ hand was ice cold in hers. His body was still riddled with Dark Magic and his time in Azkaban had not aided it one bit. There used to be an inkling of warmth in his skin, but now, it had vanished.

“You’re welcome to stay,” She offered. “The invitation is always open,”

A quiet beat passed.

“I will.” Severus answered. “He’ll need more looking after. And so will she,” 

“She will make it Severus,” Narcissa pressed as he went to exit the room. 

“That’s what he said about Lily,”

In the morning, Narcissa found you and Draco curled up together in bed, still sound asleep though the hour was becoming closer to afternoon than morning. She didn’t dare to rouse you two. If you could manage to sleep, she’d let you.

When you were finally awake and presentable, both eating in the kitchen, Narcissa could see the determination and uncertainty in your eyes as well as the familiar unease in Draco’s. You two were having the same disagreement that she and Lucius had. Draco no doubt wanted you to hide away, to be safe. And Narcissa knew that leaving was the last thing that you were going to do.

“When do you think he’ll be back?” Your voice was small as you cradled your mug in your hands.

“It’s hard to say,” Severus answered. “Time doesn’t work the same for the Dark Lord. It could be hours; it could be days.”

You nodded and leaned against Draco. It made her heart soar when she watched the two of you together. Draco’s comforting and protective nature that came out for you. And the trust you had in her son. It made Narcissa believe that she might have done something right after all these years to see her son this contented.

“Come,” Narcissa smiled softly, offering her hand to you. “You should learn how to heal Dark Magic,”

Wide-eyed, you followed Narcissa up the stairs, Draco shadowing you both, and into her bedroom where Lucius was still sleeping. Leading you beside the bed, Narcissa drew her wand.

“The easiest is medicari,” She instructed. “It will heal any physical wounds. The deeper the wound the more times you should repeat the spell,” You two nodded softly.

“To cleanse dark magic from the bloodstream or body—expurgatio” Narcissa turned to Lucius and brushed a stray lock of hair from his face as she cast the spell. Under her wand tip drew forth an inky blackness from his chest.

“A lighting charm, my dear,” Narcissa instructed.

You drew your wand and cast the charm, drawing it near to the darkness at the tip of her own wand.

“Dark Magic, after drawn from the body and exposed to light—” you watched as the ink vanished. “—has nothing it can do but run and hide,”

Draco’s face held an air of thought as you remained quiet in thought for a moment. Narcissa could see that you were trying to form your words in such a manner that they made sense, and that they didn’t draw you into a breakdown. Draco’s hand slipped into yours. Your thumb gently traced the scar that ran along the back of his hand.

“Snape...” You began, “He—he used a spell. It sounded like song... when he was healing Draco,”

“The Song of The Lost Soul, yes.” Narcissa sighed softly. “It is not an easy feat to cast such a spell. Whereas many spells are one or a few words, The Song of The Lost Souls requires perfect cadence and pronunciation to be of any aid. If not, it is rendered useless.”

“But if it works?” You asked, curious, hope in your eyes and voice. “It’s one of the most powerful healing spells known to wizards.”

“I want to learn it,” Your determination didn’t surprise Narcissa in the slightest. A smile graced her face at the sight of your eagerness.

“In due time, my dear. For now, why don’t we begin with expurgatio,”

Slowly but surely, with each time you cast the Cleansing spell, your wand gripped more and more of the dark magic that plagued Lucius blood stream. Draco would touch a Lighting charm to the Dark Magic, and it would flee every time. After a while you paused and went quiet.

“I don’t want to have to hurt him,” the confession was soft from your lips. “But if I don’t...” Your eyes met Draco’s a hopeless expression on your face.

“I understand, my love,” Narcissa comforted. “I’ve walked in your shoes before. I know the sacrifices and choices you must face.” She took your hand and smiled softly. “You have a kind soul. A strong soul.” With a soft breath in she continued. “I taught you these spells, not only to aid you in your oncoming battles in this war, but also to let you know that whatever is done, may be undone.”

You processed the words, your eyes growing in realization. “You mean... you want me to...”

“Mother,” Draco’s brows furrowed, surprised himself.

“I don’t will it, no.” She confessed. “But I understand why it must be done. Stars above know the things I was forced to do to gain the respect I have among the Death Eaters...” She looked down at Lucius, “Though I do not think you are aiming for their respect nor should you, I do believe that it will be a comfort to know you won’t be killed.”

“I... I don’t even know if I can,” Your voice broke as your gaze dropped to Draco’s hand in yours. “All I see when I look at him, is you two... and I can’t... I can’t imagine hurting either of you.”

“That is not what the Cruciatus Curse entails, Miss Y/n,” Severus spoke, spooking you a bit as you jumped a bit and Draco’s arm wrapped around you protectively on reflex.

Severus stood from the armchair accompanying the window and neared the bed.

“The Cruciatus Curse was originally meant as a way for a wizard or witch to alleviate all of their anger and frustrations. It was a spell directed at the stars, never at a soul, never at another man. Of course, it became distorted over the year unto what it is now, but I digress,” The tone was familiar to Narcissa, and it seemed to you two as well—a formal teaching tone.

“So... I don’t... I don’t have to hate the person I use the Curse on?” You squeaked, your eyebrows drown in confusion and revelation.

“Not particularly, though it does help.” Severus took a tight breath in. 

“But... in the bathroom... I used it on Harry,”

“And you were scared and angry,” Narcissa comfortingly placed a hand over yours. “All of your frustrations and fears that had been growing over those months were let out on Harry. Not that you loathed him specifically, but he was on the receiving end of your fury.”

____________________________

“So, I can cast the Curse with no intention of wanting to harm the person I’m casting it on?” Disbelief colored my tone. “How is that in any way safe? Or fair?”

“It’s not my dear,” Narcissa replied. “Which is the reason the ancients deemed it Unforgivable.”

“And I think you’ve seen that first-hand,” Snape remarked. “Though he is quite loathsome at times, I don’t truly believe that you hate Potter,”

“Debatable,” I muttered, causing Draco to chuckle beside me.

“You don’t,” Draco murmured in my ear. “Because I know you. You’re too kind,”

“He probably hates me,” My voice was weak and small. “You should have seen his face...” Worrying my lip, Draco pulled me in closer.

“Potter is very hot headed and impulsive,” Snape tried to comfort. “And he has no authority over you either,”

“But he’s the chosen one,” I protested, miserable. “Everyone cares about his opinion and what he thinks,”

“I think you’d find a few flaws in that statement,” A smile barely touched Snape’s lips. “You were quite the leader yourself in school. The students were just as willing to follow you as they were Potter,”

“Me?” I squeaked, my mind reeling. “But I’m just me. I’m not special. I’m not the chosen one. I’m just a bloody Hufflepuff for Merlin’s sake!”

“And that’s what everyone adores about you,” Draco interjected softly. “Though I’d like to go on record saying you’re extraordinarily special,” A smile played at his lips. “But things aren’t handed to you like they are Potter. You never had the advantage, and when you did, you used it to rescue the underdog,”

“Draco is right, the Slytherins are quite fond of you,” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Sometimes I wonder why you weren’t one,”

“Anything’s better than Slytherin,” I muttered without thinking.

Draco laughed beside me, pressing a kiss to my temple. “There’s my Y/n,” He murmured softly. “I was getting a little worried there,”

The day was spent nursing Lucius back to health as best that Draco and I could. My trial of the Unforgivable forgotten for the moment. And I prayed that it would never come. 

When Lucius’ cold grey eyes opened and landed on me, fear gripped my heart. But it was in vain. His hand reached out and covered mine as he nodded once, before closing his eyes once more in rest. Amity fell between us, knowing that there was forgiveness somewhere in my heart for him. Maybe it was a forgiveness that mirrored in Draco’s eyes as I sought him for reassurance.

“Happy birthday, love,” I whispered softly as the hour passed midnight as the two of us stared up at the stars.

“Don’t remind me,” He grumbled, causing me to laugh softly.

“And why not?” I mused, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s not every day that you turn seventeen,”

“But you really wanna talk about it now?” He dismayed. “It’s not worth celebrating,”

“Look around Draco,” I pressed. “Look at how lucky we are to be alive right now,” Tears stung my eyes as I took his hand holding it tightly. “It’s more than enough to celebrate,”

He hung his head, closing his eyes, his shoulders rising with the deep breath that he took. Laying my head on his shoulder, I pressed to his side.

“It is enough,” He whispered softly, pulling me into his arms. “It’s more than enough,” His weak smile mirrored mine.

Draco’s hands came up and cupped my face softly, pulling me in for a calming kiss, sealing that us being alive was enough. That I was enough. That he was enough. That the quiet night with the fireflies and the stars watching over us was enough.

A letter came for me the next day from Prof—Lupin requesting me at the next Order meeting being held at Fleur and Bill’s cottage on the seaside not far from the Manor that night. The four of us debated whether or not it would be safe for me to go alone, knowing that I would be the only one allowed. And though Draco was hesitant, he urged me to go. A sadness lingered in Snape’s eyes at well, but he agreed. It was only Narcissa who had a qualm.

“They can track her Apparition,” She reasoned gently. “We need to keep the Order safe...” Her eyes met Snape’s, and something passed between them.

“I’ll fly,” I offered off hand. “No one will know that it’s me, and if they think I’m flying, then no one will be able to find me,”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Snape’s monotone voice seemed uninterested, but I could see that the questions burning behind his eyes.

“And that’s how it’ll have to be,” Draco took my hand, “Are you sure you can make the trip on your own?”

“You’re not coming with me, then we’ll be found,” I refuted the hope in his eyes. “I’ll have to go alone,”

And what Snape didn’t see was a white and bronze barn owl taking off toward the sunset, on her way to an Order meeting.

...............

“Lupin?” I gasped out, steadying myself from my transformation.

“Sirius said that you were able to do that... didn’t give much away thought,” Lupin mentioned offhand, almost talking to himself. “What took you so long?”

“Long flight,” I muttered, leaning against the door jamb of the little house. “They can track Apparition. At least mine, I guess.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised.

I nodded and fidgeted with my sweater. “They all hate me, don’t they?”

“It’s quite divided actually,” A smile ghosted at his lips. “Those of us who know you, we don’t, but those who got the story from Harry on the other hand...”

I groaned in defeat and rubbed my face. Then I held my head high and nodded. 

“Alright,” I concluded, “I’m not afraid to face the consequences of my actions.” 

Lupin smiled warmly. “I can see why Sirius liked you.”

“You miss him,”

“Yes,” He paused then continued. “But there is more to life. I’m sure you understand that,”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Do you think he would have been proud of me? My dad?” I was almost too afraid to ask.

“More than you could ever know,” Lupin appeased. “In fact, that’s why a lot of us are so divided about what to do with you, because your father was in the same situation with your mother,”

“My mother wasn’t a Death Eater,” I muttered. “That complicates things doesn’t it?”

Lupin stared at me like I had two heads. “Y/n, your mother is a Death Eater. Or she was in the first war.”

I froze. My eyes going wide. There must have been true panic or horror on my face because Lupin neared me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Y/n, breathe,” Lupin instructed. “I thought you knew,” A soft shake of my head declined his statement.

“Well, that changes things a bit...” Lupin muttered. “We need to talk to Moody,”

“Will you—give me a minute...” I squeaked out, sinking into a kitchen chair. I hung my head in my hands, wishing nothing more to find comfort in Draco’s arms. He would know what to do. He would know what to say.

“What is she doing here?” A snarled voice asked.

Lupin’s arm shot out, holding me back from going off on Harry. Or maybe he was protecting me from Harry. I didn’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I was too shellshocked.

“She is a part of the Order,” Lupin defended sternly. “She has a rightful place here,”

“So, we’re going to ignore the fact that she aided the murder of Dumbledore!?” Harry shouted.

Silence fell. 

“No,” I whispered softly. “I helped kill Dumbledore,” My voice was soft and broken and obviously not what Harry was expecting. “I helped kill Dumbledore. I’m in love with a Death Eater. I’m the daughter of a Death Eater. I’m the daughter of a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I’m the child of a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff. My father’s dead and my mother’s gone.”

I spoke mainly to myself, but loud enough for everyone else to hear. “And I know that,” My eyes met Harry’s. “So, what are you going to do about it? Berate me? Scream how I don’t belong here? How massively fucked up my life is? Is that what you’re here to tell me?” My voice stayed soft and calm. “Because believe me, I already know,”

My words sapped all of the anger from Harry and caught the attention of the other members of the Order as they filed into the small kitchen. “It’s not about what I am, or where I come from, or who my parents are. It’s what I’m going to do from here on out and what I’ve been trying to do all along.” Again, I met stubborn green eyes. “I’m going to save Draco Malfoy. I’m going to fight for good. And I’m not going to let anyone, or anything stop me,”

There was something I realized about Harry in that moment where we differed immensely. He had no restraint and he never hesitated. He was hot headed and made rash decisions. He took everything that was offered to him and then some. The game he plays he takes and raises stakes without anyone else’s consent. He had an endless uphill just as I did. He had something to prove and almost nothing to lose.

I had everything to lose. Everything that I fought to keep. Everything that I fought to have. If he could thrive in the middle of the struggle, then I’d wait for my time to thrive.

I was willing to wait for it. 

________________________________

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing!?” He roared, near tears. Remus placed a hand on his shoulder and Sirius held James back. “What would you do for Lily, Potter?” He straightened, shaking off Remus.

“My wife isn’t on the wrong side of the war!” James spat.

“It’s easy to love those who love you isn’t it? It’s easy to love the good, isn’t it Potter!?” The words held ice shards. “You think you’d understand. You’re a father as much as I am in this hell, you think I don’t want what’s best for my family!? What will keep them alive!?”

“Boys!” McGonagall shouted reprimanding them. “You two are acting like children. We are on the same side of the war here and unless we work together, we’re not going to survive.” Her stern look silenced them both.

“Walt,” Alice reached out as he went to leave, shifting a small bundle of sleeping blankets in her arms, “Please, we do want you here,” Frank came up behind her, reaching out for him.

“She’s right, Walt.” Frank affirmed. “You deserve your place here with the rest of us,”

“Thank you,” He nodded. “But I need to get home to Elizabeth and hope Y/n hasn’t been giving her too much trouble,” The fire had left from his voice and weariness remained.

The Longbottom’s nodded as he set out into the night, apperating back home. The small farmhouse in the outskirts of town welcomed him home more than any consoling word from the Order ever could. He knew that the two people he loved more than anything in the world were inside that farmhouse. The two people who never questioned him or denied his loyalty.

“Walt?” Elizabeth’s voice chimed up from the nursery.

“Yes, it’s me,” Maybe he didn’t hide his weariness well enough because a soft concerned look was on her face as she met him in the hallway.

“Maybe her and I should...” Elizabeth trailed off. “You wouldn’t have to...”

“You think I’d walk out on you? On our darling girl?” Walter shook his head and pulled his bride into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. “You two are worth more than a war,”

“I love you,” Her voice was broken as she clung to him, unshed tears in both of their eyes.

The soft cry of a babe broke their moment. Walter neared the crib to see a little pouting face start to snivel.

“Oh, now what is the matter?” He cooed softly gathering the child into his arms. “I’m right here sweetheart,”

Rocking her softly, her cries quieted, and large innocent eyes stared up at him. It was those eyes that made everything that James said, or Sirius muttered worth it. Those deep and trusting eyes that held wonder and love in their naivete.

Elizabeth placed a soft hand on his shoulder, and he turned, for the first time seeing the exhaustion on her face. He knew that no matter how harsh James was or how many times he came home feeling defeated, his love had a harder battle to fight. One that wasn’t built on love, and trust, and goodness. But wickedness, cruelty, and evil. He loathed having to see her bare that burden on her shoulders.

“I’ll put her down for the night,” He whispered softly. “You go on to bed. I’ll be there in a moment,”

Alone with his child in a quiet room on a peaceful night, he began to hum softly. He sang of sunshine and happiness in the midst of grey stormy days. When he looked into those eyes he knew for sure that no amount of Dark Magic would affect her soul that was laid bare in her gaze.

And her eyes went from wonder and awe to peace and slumber. Placed in her crib and warded by protection spells and charms and talisman, he headed to his Elizabeth.

She was combing through her long hair, sitting at the mirror in the bathroom. He came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“How are you feeling?” He murmured softly.

“A little drained, but since having Y/n, and because Narcissa has her little Draco now, they seem very adamant to protect the two of us... you should see Severus stand up against him. He knows that Narcissa and I shouldn’t be doing Dark Magic... then Regulus backs him up and...” She went quiet, lost in the memory.

Curled up in bed, an amity fell over the house.

“Narcissa’s little Draco is just a darling,” Elizabeth spoke softly, curled up into his arms in bed. He could smell the florals and spice of her shampoo linger still in her long damp hair. “Such bright blue eyes. Just turned three months today,”

The days were gentle and calm, though fear came at the on every side. Some nights Walter would be left alone with his little girl, sometimes Elizabeth would. It depended on who had a meeting and where it was safe for their baby girl. And despite her kind nature, even barely a year old, there was worry underneath about what would become of her. It was new generation of Dark Magic, and branding. Two babes had been born from a parent with a Dark Mark, only little Y/n grew inside her mother who was riddled with Dark Magic. The other nurtured by a mother loyal to family.

The tiny babe wrapped in a soft pink knitted blanket had been cradled in Walter’s arms as the next Order meeting went on. Not that he paid much attention. His attention was divided between the warmth his darling offered, rocking her so that she stayed quiet, and then he gave half a mind to Dumbledore speaking about the Dark Lord. And in focusing on his babe, his mind wandered back to the innocence of his own childhood, of meeting his beloved Elizabeth.

~~

She was draped in flowing green, looking as if she belonged in some high-end party, not a dance for grade school. It made his heart skip a beat when his eyes caught hers. Those eyes that held mystery and passion that he adored. They held secret study sessions in the library and elusive nights in the Astronomy Tower, desperate to keep their love a secret from their Houses and the other students.

“Go and talk to her,” Lily nudged his arm.

“You know why I can’t,” Walt sighed. “She’s a Slytherin,”

“Not all Slytherins are so bad...” Lily argued softly. “There’s hope for her too. For both of you,” 

“You really think?” There was hope in his voice.

“Trust me,” Lily smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll love you being you.” Her eyes drifted to the crowd, finding a face that meant nothing to him but everything to her. “Go before you miss your chance. You’ve waited for her long enough,”

He heeded her words and made his way across the grand hall that was dressed for the holidays. She was standing with the Black sisters, two of which moved from his way, and one blocked him.

“What’s an ickle Hufflepuff doing here?” Bellatrix cackled. “You’re not wanted little badger,”

“Bellatrix,” Walter greeted politely. “I’m not here to entertain you, but rather ask for Miss Elizabeth to dance,”

The sisters turned to their honorary sister of House. Her cheeks flushed pink, but there was hope and joy shown in her eyes as she took his outstretched hand.

“Are you sure about this?” She whispered under her breath as he led to her to the dance floor.

“I’ve waited too long to show the rest of the world that I love you,” He affirmed, holding her close as the next waltz began.

Though he knew all eyes were on him and his love, he paid them no mind. Instead he focused on the scent of perfume that was mirrored in Amortentia. He focused on the sound of her pretty laugh and the way she threw her head back in joy. And more than anything he focused on those eyes that held his entire world.

~~

“How long have you known?” Walter asked softly, stroking Elizabeth’s cheek.

“About a month,” She smiled, her hand cradling her stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come home,” There were tears in his eyes.

“I wrote to Dumbledore, but I know you my love, you’ll fight until this war is over,” Tear fell down her cheeks softly. “I’m not sorry,”

“Neither am I,” Walter let out a hopeless laugh as his tears fell, holding his bride close. “How are we supposed to raise a child—”

“Just stay alive, that would be enough,” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. “And if this child has a fraction of your smile... of your heart... that would be enough,”

“If they had a fragment of your mind... look out world,” Walter smiled, pressing his lips to her forehead. “That would be enough,”

~~

“Walter?” Frank drew him from his thoughts, from the eyes of his baby girl. Alice mirrored his stance, a smaller bundle of blankets cradled in her arms.

“Will you be our Secret Keeper?” Frank asked with a solemn tone. We need to hide, we need to keep Neville safe,”

Walter nodded; determination mirrored in both father’s eyes. 

________________________

~

My Dearest Andromeda,

I hope that this letter finds you well, and I hope that you will give me the time to read it. I have much to tell you and much to ask that I know I am not allowed nor owed, but I beg of you anyway.

I know that your daughter is now married to Remus Lupin, and to which I congratulate the union. I know that Lupin will be good to her. But that is not why I have written.

My Draco and Y/n are now in very deep with the Death Eaters and I fear for them as I feared for our lives through the first war. And perhaps you understand because you managed to erase yourself from our family and flourished regardless. And for that I apologize and esteem you for.

You remember as well as I do how much our Elizabeth loved Walter, and now by some miracle, their child has been placed in my care after Elizabeth carried out her orders from the Dark Lord to keep her Y/n safe from him. She writes to me even still, asking about her child and is comforted by my words of her success and prosperity, knowing that she can never come back to her daughter while the Dark Lord is alive.

Which is why I beg of you to offer a place for dear Y/n to come and stay. I have offered my home, but the Dark Lord has demanded that the Manor be the base for his Death Eaters, and I cannot allow Y/n to be drawn under such an influence. She is good and I know it in my heart, and you can see it in her eyes, but I fear greatly as to what should occur if the Dark Lord manipulates her any further. She is powerful and has potential and power for great good and evil.

Please dear Andromeda, for the sake of Walter and Elizabeth and the second chance that they both gave the three of us. For their child who was marked from birth as was mine.

Your sister,

Cissy

~ 

______________________________ 

~

Narcissa,

Remus and Nymphadora have told me much about Y/n and the fire she possess in her heart just as her parents did. I have fallen in love with a girl I have not met yet and still I feel as if I am responsible for her as I am for my own Nymphadora.

With a heavy heart I mourn the years lost between us, but I can rejoice that the legacy of Walter and Elizabeth change and alter your heart even still. My heart goes out to Elizabeth as it goes to her daughter, as it goes to you and your son.

She is welcome in my home while school is not in season for her. She will be safe and protected here from the Dark Lord and his claws. I have no doubt that Bellatrix is also a reason for fear in your heart as much as the Dark Lord is. I pray that you come to see the light, and though I know there is barely a hope, I pray that for Bellatrix as well.

Send her at first light my dear Narcissa, 

Your sister,

Andy

~

____________________________

“I have another aunt?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” Narcissa sighed softly. “She was disowned by our parents because she was a blood- traitor, much as Sirius Black was.” A quiet moment. “You also have a cousin, Nymphadora Tonks,”

“Tonks is his cousin!?” I gaped. “Hufflepuff, Auror, Metamorphmagus, Tonks?”

“Yes,” Narcissa nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “It seems that you two have quite a bit in common now that I think about it,”

“And...she’ll be safe there?” Draco asked hesitantly, taking my hand.

“She’ll have a home while she isn’t at Hogwarts,” His mother affirmed. “Now that your father is feeling better and the Dark Lord has decided to make the Manor his headquarters. There may also be a chance that she can escape her fate with Lucius...”

“I can’t stay,” I murmured the realization.

“No, I’m afraid not, but not for the main reason you think my dear,” Narcissa consoled, piquing my interest. Draco and I exchanged a glance and turned back to her. “Whether you knew it or not, you and Draco and connected, since you were born,”

“I’m sorry, what?” We both demanded, looking at each other once more.

“It is quite amusing how fate played out, having you two come together like this but... yes. During the first war there were two babes born with parents holding the Dark Mark that survived. One was paternal, one maternal.” She gauged our reaction.

“But...that doesn’t mean anything... does it?” I asked timid.

“No one knew and no one still knows. It simply means that you two were both destined for something beyond the ordinary,”

“If... we were both born marked,” Draco spoke like he would while walking through a complex spell or potion. “And I have the Dark Mark... wouldn’t that mean that she’s marked for it as well? That fate...” He trailed off, his grey eyes holding fear and discomfort.

“I’m fated for the Dark Mark,” I understood what he couldn’t bring himself to say. “And if I stay here...”

“Your fate would be sealed,” Narcissa sighed softly. “Which is why I need you to go to my sister, and stay away so that you might avoid this,”

I nodded and took Draco’s hand in mine

“I love you,” I whispered softly, just for him. “And I’m not afraid. I know who I chose,” 

“As long as you come back to me,” He nodded.

Wrapped up tightly into his arms, I breathed in deeply, the last time I would be comforted by his arms until September. The beginning of the first chapter I had to write on my own until I found my way back to him.

Epilogue:

“Thank you, for your hospitality,” My voice held a soft tone, already missing Draco’s warmth. 

“Of course, my dear,” Andromeda smiled. “Come,”

She showed me to a spare room that I assumed used to be Tonks’ because even cleaned up, I could see the chaos of her style linger still.

And though I thought I’d never make it through a night alone, let alone three months, somehow, they passed. Like the slow ticking of a clock that didn’t bother to mock me. Instead there was something reminiscent about the summer. Of writing letters to Draco and waiting for his to arrive. To be in a small home filled with happy memories and warmth of muggle books and films and music. It left me in tears more than I cared to admit, because it was something that I never thought would be mine again.

Something I didn’t know that I was waiting for, nor longing for.

Something that made three months seems like mere months, not an eternity waiting.

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Chapter 12

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masterlist

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more like this:

gryffindor series

hufflepuff dating hc

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[isagrimorie]

Spyfall 2

Commentators: Jodie Whittaker, Sylvie Briggs (Ada Lovelace), Chris Chibnall

Much like the Doctor doesn't like being alone, Jodie also isn't keen on doing scenes alone.

Chibnall actually did consult with his brother in law, who is very knowledgeable in aviation, about landing planes without a cockpit. And it is possible to do so remotely, people will be surprised how a lot of modern planes are actually flown by a computer. I'm not surprised, my dad's a pilot and he told me a lot of modern aircraft are actually flown more by the computers than the pilots. It's a two edged sword tho because then the pilot becomes too over reliant on the autopilot, and that's when accidents happen.

The scene with Ada and Thirteen meeting in the Kasaavin dimension was actually Sylvie's (Ada Lovelace) final day. Her first day was waking up in 'Paris' with Thirteen.

Interesting comment about how the Doctor's rhythm and speech changed dictated by the period of time she's in. It's modern but enough to sound period.

The hall the Doctor and Ada are in is a school, the dining hall.

The Master and his Top Hat! Jodie and Sylvie are both admiring how Sacha commanded the room and how genuinely terrifying he was. 'He (Sacha) rehearses in a way physically you kinda know what he's gonna do but emotionally its different.'

Jodie: "We're the same height, well you can see it 'cause we are but what is really ace is bein' able to eyeball somebody, because very often when you have a standoff with someone there's usually one's looking up, one's looking down or whatever but to be absolutely--"

Sylvie: "Because that changes the power dynamic."

Jodie: "Yeah."

Chibnall: "I never clocked that."

[snip]

Chibnall: "But I wonder if that's what makes it feels so much like your Master, your antagonist, your nemesis. It's like... that's interesting about the eyeline."

Jodie: "Cause in the scene obviously with Lenny outside like this (does something we can't see) and I like doing that thing of scrunching up and kind of, y'know, I suppose the.. doing that thing that kids do headstrong where the body leans forward. But with this two its (growls)."

Chibnall was uncertain about writing the kneel scene, Jodie agrees and didn't like it, Sylvie mentions that it feels epic to her. Chibnall:"There's something about your perfromances that makes it feel epic. But it's just that two-hander."

In the kneel scene, when they were filming, to keep the secret of the Master's identity, Jodie called Sacha 'Myka' instead of Master.

Jodie: "I like my bowtie." Chibnall: "Are you angling for the return of the bowtie?"

Jodie: "Every set, I try to knick something." LOL.

I love how Jodie compliments Sylvie, and I agree she fits the era very well. And an instance where costume (corset especially), and the hair all tied back helps get into character.

Ada really had episodes of paralysis, and one of the jumping off points for Chibnall's story.

Sylvie and Jodie comment on how lovely it was to have scenes with three women and not about 'Hey three women! Let's talk about being women! It's (their gender) is absolutely irrelevant to it but it is really lovely to have just three women. The kind of craziness Doctor Who brings with Ada in period clothes, the Doctor in a tux, and Noor in her period appropriate clothes.

They go on to discuss the Master's SS uniform and how it makes them (Sacha included) shudder because of what the uniform represented. And it's more of a reflection of the Master because he just treats wearing the SS uniform as a dress up without accounting for the implications and history of it. An alien tourist playing dress-up. [ED: I think the optics of this is still problematic I think it's something we need to acknowledge..]

There really was a point where Jodie and Sylvie were under the floor boards with people walking above them, and they held each other's hands because that experience was awful. On page it was very cool, but in execution. (Ed: I love that scene the whole way where there's a tense standoff between Noor and the soldiers, and the Master. And the steeliness of Noor just staring them down even with the soldier strafing the floor.) Chibnall wants several films with Noor Inayat Khan.

OMG. There was a point in the shoot where the Doctor was supposed to speak in perfect French, and Jodie joked that she already didn't speak English very well, and so she practiced speaking her line just to get the accent perfect... only for it to be cut for time. I WANT DELETED SCENES NOW.

Scanning through the Spyfall 2 script there's no mention of the scene where the Doctor speaks in French which really just confirms my suspicion that the scripts are not the shooting scripts, or at least the copies the actors use.

So, Chibnall gave the production several possible locations hoping to bring the budget to manageable scale and then he started writing and he got to the scene where the Doctor and Master spoke and the Master asked where they'd meet and then the Doctor answered; "Where d'you think?"

And Chibnall goes: "Oh they've got to meet in the Eiffel Tower. Production is going to kill me!"

Also, by this it confirms to me that Chibnall, like all of the showrunners is a Doctor/Master shipper, which I should've known already because Jack and Captain John were very much Doctor/Master lite.

Jodie loves doing duologues and is hoping for more two handers in the future, and Chibnall is taking note of that. Two handers where the other person has more of the dialogue... LOL. I guess Jodie really loved The Timeless Children.

[ED: Ada and Noor were such good companions. I want a historical companion for Thirteen next please. Thirteen, Yaz, and a historical Companion!]

Sylvie is so fascinated with the Doctor and Master's relationship, about how complicated it is.

One of the advises RTD gave Chibnall is that 'you can save anything in a line.' LOL. Apparently some of the Master's trauma across 77 years involved tailoring.

Jodie comments on how exciting it is being involved in the costuming, between herself and Sacha, they get to build their Doctors and Master's look and shape them. Also Jodie really loves cropped pants.

Jodie and Sylvie love the power walk, the big iconic, backlit smoke walk. The Big Exposition speech.

The scene where the Master arrives in Kasaavin dimension, same day filming for Jodie, and Sylvie too.

Jodie loves all the engineering and carpentry work, and any practical work.

They did do a shoot where they moved forward to a scene where Noor died, but in the edit found a better ending in the one that was broadcasted, and IMO, that was the right choice. Chibnall wants it more that Doctor Who will inspire people to read up more on Noor Inayat Khan and same Ada.

Chibnall didn't want to rob Ada of her agency, that the Doctor helped her discover computers or suggest that she didn't come up with it, everything Ada did she came up with herself.

The scene where Thirteen is alone and contemplating what happened to Gallifrey, Jodie comments how this was one of the few times where she's just very still.

Chibnall: "This is second series Thirteen, the place you take a character once you've done the first act, done in the beginning of your Doctor's second act."

Jodie and Sacha made sure that they're there in person for the scene in the TARDIS because having a stand-in would change the energy and performance of the scene.

Chibnall: "That performance from Sacha, the layer he brings to the Master there, of emotional truth and pain is so fantastic. It's a gift for a writer, and opens up the Master as well. And opens up your Doctor, I think, the trauma's so personal."

Hang on. Chibnall: "Is that the first appearance of the jumper? [ snip] They've come in this second series, its the first jumper. Little tiny changes you and Ray figure out." Are they implying there were more Doctor wearing only her long sleeve jumper we didn't get to see???

Chibnall: "And you got your Doctor theme but also it's the first time you [speaking to Jodie], it's interesting, I deliberately kept them back in the first series so that when you say them here, it's like you're saying 'Gallifrey', 'Kasterborous', 'Master for the first time."

Jodie: But its good that it ends with a: [using the same steely, angry voice]: 'Questions?' Like: 'Back to business, c'mon.'

Chibnall: (watching Thirteen's face subtly change when Yaz asked if they can visit, and it changes from a broken void to a forced smile). "Ohhhh. Why won't you tell them?" (LOL a writer asking his character.)

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 15 of 26

Title: Tehanu (Earthsea Cycle #4) (1990)

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Third-Person, Female Protagonist 

Rating: 8/10

Date Began: 6/24/2021

Date Finished: 6/30/2021

Decades after The Tombs of Atuan, Tenar decided to settle down and live an ordinary life on the shepherding Isle of Gont. Now a farmer’s widow, she adopts a disfigured and horrifically abused child, who she names Therru. When a giant dragon deposits a grief-stricken Ged at her doorstep, Tenar finds herself in a strange situation as she cares for her old friend and her adopted daughter. But threats from Therru’s past and a malevolent force on the island soon threaten Tenar’s small family. 

Despair speaks evenly, in a quiet voice.

Content warnings and spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Violence and death. Mentioned murder. Severe child abuse. Descriptions of traumatic injury and disfigurement. Mentions of r*pe, including of children. Trauma, sexism, and ableism are explored in depth. 

Tehanu is a much different book than the trilogy that precedes it. Perhaps this is unsurprising, considering the 17-year gap between this book and The Farthest Shore. I’d describe the Earthsea series as “grounded fantasy”. While all of them take place in a magical world, the thesis of each book is universal; the fantasy always comes second. Tehanu takes this idea to an extreme. The story is about everyday life as a common woman in the Earthsea world, with fantasy barely factoring in. The pacing is intentionally slow and introspective, which is something I normally don’t like, but Le Guin is a consistent exception. 

Key characters from the previous books make an appearance. Obviously Tenar is the biggest return, absent since The Tombs of Atuan. The Tenar in this book is older and much more mature, having decided to live a simple life in spite of her adventures and accomplishments. Ged returns, but he’s a shell of his former self, as he mourns the loss of his magic and the man he used to be. Even King Lebannen (formerly Arren, the main character of The Farthest Shore) makes a brief appearance, and is quite a palate cleanser after the horrible men throughout the rest of the book.  

Probably my favorite aspect of the novel is the fact that these characters stand well on their own without magic to prop them up. Tenar explored the terrifying freedom she won in The Tombs of Atuan; got married, settled down, had kids — but still finds herself at a loss on what to do with her life after her husband dies. Ged is in a similar boat; he’s gone from an almost mythic character to an ordinary man, and like Tenar finds himself at a crossroads in life. Other characters embody this idea of transformation and uncertainty; Therru’s escaped her abusers and now has a loving mother, but what does the future hold for someone with her appearance? Stuff like that. 

The idea of metamorphosis and new beginnings is well-trodden. But what makes Tehanu interesting is Le Guin primarily examines this with the middle-aged characters. Tenar and Ged are legendary figures in the world of Earthsea, but life has taken them to an uncertain future. The thrust of the novel lies in finding a purpose and becoming someone new. I also like that Tenar/Ged is endgame; I got Vibes from The Tombs of Atuan, but neither character was in a position where it would work. Seeing them form a romantic relationship much later in life is touching and cute. But it’s not the reason that either of them grow as people; finding one’s purpose is something one has to do on their own. Their relationship only develops once both parties have done so.   

My main complaint about A Wizard of Earthsea, the first book, is the sexism inherent in the setting, which is never examined below the surface level. Perhaps Le Guin’s outlook changed, or perhaps the publishing environment did, because often Tehanu reads like a response to this criticism. The central theme of the book is misogyny, the patriarchy, and its debilitating effects on women. Le Guin examines everything from micro-aggressions (“common wisdom” that happens to paint women as inferior) to domestic issues (“women’s work” and how much that actually is) to outright sexual assault (both in threats and actual acts; it is heavily implied this is part of the abuse Therru endured). She even goes into how powerful women are only considered as such because a man gave them that power. 

While I appreciate the fact she addresses these issues in such a frank, blatant way, at times reading Tehanu felt like reading a basic feminism primer. These subjects are all things I’m familiar with, and I feel like anyone who’s studied key feminist ideas would be aware of them also. Maybe 1990 was different? Le Guin doesn’t add any insights to the bleak reality of patriarchy and sexism, which is a little disappointing compared to previous books. That being said, this book is aimed at young adults despite its dark subject matter. Tehanu could be the first exposure to these ideas that many children receive; looking at it that way, it makes sense that the analysis comes off as basic. 

I also found the book’s examination of gender to be very cishet-normative. That’s definitely not surprising, considering the book was published in 1990, but to a 2021 reader this hasn’t aged super well. There’s a lot of discussion about the relationships and differences between men and women--whether there are any or not, how magic differs between them, the ability to bear children, and so on. There’s a weird sexual component to this, like how wizards (who are exclusively men) have to remain celibate in order to… keep being wizards? But women who are witches don’t have to do that, and that’s an advantage women have? (There’s mentions of male witches too, iirc, but it’s not expanded upon— do they have to remain celibate? Who knows.). I found this whole bit pretty odd and unnecessary, although I realize a lot of my perspective on the matter comes from a modern view of sex and gender (and, y’know, being trans). Not all the gender takes in the book are bad, but they are limited. 

I found Le Guin’s exploration of trauma and ableism through Therru to be more interesting. There’s a lot of examination about how society treats Therru, a survivor of unspeakable abuse. Her trauma is visible due to severe burns along part of her body, leaving her with a missing eye and disfigured hand. Tenar spends much of the novel wondering what future Therru has; no matter how capable she is and how much she acts like any other little girl, strangers gawk at her, or assume she “deserved” what happened to her. Therru becomes happier and more independent over the course of the novel, but relapses into a traumatized state when she encounters one of her abusers. As a survivor, it’s heartbreaking and distressingly realistic. As much as I like Tenar, I almost wish the novel was from Therru’s perspective (other than the brief jump at the end), but I realize it would spoil the ending.  

I’m torn on the ending because, while I thought it was cool and had some interesting revelations, it’s a jarring tonal shift. As I mentioned, Tehanu is a slow novel with a heavy focus on everyday life, and the trials and tribulations both Tenar and Therru experience. There’s even a climactic event a few chapters before the end; the only thing left is a persistent loose thread from earlier in the novel. That subplot explodes to the forefront a bare chapter and a half before the end of the book, and a lot of action-y fantasy stuff happens. It doesn’t come out of nowhere; it’s set up throughout the novel, but it is sudden. 

That being said, I do like that the subplot with dragons vs humans is hinted at as early as The Tombs of Atuan. When Tenar tells the legend about the origin of dragons early in the story, my mind immediately went to that one room from the Labyrinth with the sad winged humanoids painted on its walls. I’m curious if there are hints elsewhere in the series. I also figured out Therru’s true name and how she relates to that subplot based on context clues. While it’s not a shocking twist, it is a satisfying one. Though parts of it gave me a “magical destiny” vibe which is counter to much of the series so far; I do wonder how the last two books will address this. (Also… did Le Guin imply Kalessin is Segoy? AKA God? What did she mean by this. So Ged literally like… hitched a ride from God, who promptly yeeted out of the story until the end? That’s kind of funny. Maybe I misinterpreted something.) 

I probably sound critical of this book, but I did genuinely enjoy it. It just didn’t speak to me the way the previous two did. The next book is a short story collection before the conclusion to the series, so we’ll see where it goes! Tehanu set some stuff up that I expect will be expanded upon in these volumes.

[airiervessel]

When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More with logince?

also combining this with an anon’s request of 57 and logince! // prompts are open! (list)

67. When one stops the kiss to whisper “i’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more 57. Breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that they’re murmuring into each other’s mouths

Word Count: 2241 Pairing: Logince Content: high school au (i’m imagining them as juniors or seniors? so they’re both 17 or 18), childhood best friends, asexual logan, so much pining, healthy discussions of feelings

Logan and Roman are best friends. Logan always acts awkward around their friends who are couples, and he has an asexual pride patch on his favorite jacket, alongside the various NASA and other nerdy patches he has all over it -- many of which Roman helped him sew on. Once, a couple of years ago, during a sleepover when they were staying up late talking about everything, he told Roman that he didn’t think he could ever see himself in a committed relationship. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to do it.

Logan and Roman are best friends. Logan isn’t interested in dating. Neither of these facts stopped Roman from falling head over heels in love with him. 

He reminds himself every time he finds himself staring at Logan’s face, every time he realizes his heart is nearly beating out of his chest whenever Logan laughs. He pinches himself in the thigh when he feels Logan’s shoulder brush his, or when Logan’s hand passes over his as he reaches for a certain book or pen. He acts as normal as he can, flopping down dramatically onto the sofa next to Logan and throwing his legs over his lap like his stomach isn’t full of butterflies, and tries to ignore the way Logan’s fond eye roll and careful adjustment around Roman brings warmth to Roman’s cheeks. 

Everything Logan does makes Roman’s heart sing, and he wants nothing more than to confess his feelings because this is the one thing Logan doesn’t know about him, the one secret he’s ever kept from his best friend. 

They promised, once, at Logan’s ninth birthday party, never to keep secrets from each other again. Roman had helped Logan’s parents and brother plan a surprise party for him, and he had been so excited to see Logan’s face, to see his reaction when he walked in his house after school to find everyone gathered there, ready to celebrate with him. But Logan had been scared by the noise and the number of people and had run off to their treehouse in a panic, and Roman had followed him and helped calm him down from his first-ever panic attack. 

After, when Logan was sniffling into Roman’s shoulder, he asked Roman to always warn him about parties in the future. “I can act surprised,” he whispers, his voice thick from the tears. “But you know I need to prepare to spend time around a bunch of people.” 

Roman had pulled back and offered his pinky, his expression serious. “I promise to never keep a secret from you again, Logan,” he said, and Logan smiled and hooked their pinkies together. 

“I promise too,” he replied, his expression so trusting and open, even after Roman’s surprise had hurt him so much. 

Thinking about that exchange now makes Roman roll onto his back in his bed with a dramatic groan, covering his face with a pillow. Guilt burns in his stomach -- they’d promised never to keep secrets from each other, and here he is, two months after realizing he has romantic feelings for Logan, and he’s kept it to himself. He hasn’t told anyone, not his parents, not his other friends, not even his cat. The first person to learn important things about Roman has always been Logan, and it makes the guilt boiling in his gut even worse to think about sharing this secret with anyone besides his best friend. 

He rolls onto his side, tugging the pillow down off his face and frowning at his stuffed Winnie the Pooh on the other side of his bed. He has to tell Logan. He can’t keep going like this -- the guilt is already eating him up inside. It rises like bile along with the butterflies that appear every time he looks at Logan, the confession burning at the back of his throat before he clamps down and swallows it back. 

Roman is terrified of ruining what they have, of losing his best friend. But he can’t keep breaking their promise, either. 

---------

His resolution to confess to Logan turns out to be much easier said than done, as so many things are. He comes close several times over the next week, when they’re at lunch in their favorite spot in the courtyard, when they’re hanging out in Logan’s room studying, when they’re leaving math class and Logan laughs at something Roman says. Several times a day, the words burn his mouth, but his tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth, and his vocal chords feel as though they’re tied into knots in his throat, and he can never say it. 

It’s Friday evening, over a week after Roman’s decision to come clean about his feelings, and still he hasn’t done it. He and Logan are in his bedroom, Logan reading a chapter in their history textbook aloud as Roman works on his current cross-stitching project. He focuses on the needle in his hands, on poking it through the fabric over and over again, the mostly-mindless work with his hands and eyes helping him process the information Logan’s lovely voice is reading. 

Logan stops, apparently having come to the end of the section, and Roman smiles even as he doesn’t look away from his stitching. “Alexander the Great sounds pretty awesome,” he says. “He actually listened to his men when they said they were ready to go home. That’s a pretty good leader, if you ask me.”

Logan usually argues with him on points like this, usually brings up some horrible thing the person did or the stupid way they died to counter Roman’s point, but he’s silent this time. Roman knows he’s not entirely right, knows Logan must have some kind of argument to make, so he looks up, turning his head to look at his best friend, tilting his head to the side in concern. “What’s up, Sir Nerds-a-Lot? You don’t usually let me admire historical figures without bringing up their flaws. Is anything wrong?”

Logan opens his mouth, then closes it, his eyebrows furrowed. Roman lowers his stitching to the bed and turns to face him fully, really concerned now. It’s rare that Logan is at a complete loss for words, and Roman is already running through the events of the afternoon, trying to find something that could have upset Logan. 

“Specs? Are you-” he begins, but he’s cut off by a mouth on his -- by Logan’s mouth on his. Logan is kissing him.

Roman is so shocked he can’t even respond, his eyes wide open as his hands flutter uncertain over Logan’s shoulders. He can see one of Logan’s eyes squeezed shut, and just when Roman is about to melt into the kiss, Logan pulls away, already rambling. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking, I-” but Roman cuts him off as well, taking Logan’s face gingerly in his hands and capturing his lips in another kiss. 

And oh, is it amazing. He always wondered if the books were exaggerating when they described fireworks, but it really is like fireworks are going off in his chest, like bright spots of color are dancing behind his eyelids, like he’s never done and will never do anything as wonderful and amazing as kiss Logan Sanders. Logan’s arms wrap around his neck, his hands wrapping into Roman’s hair, and he hums into the kiss, feeling Logan shudder in response. 

He finally pulls back slightly, though hardly puts any space between them, his lips still brushing Logan’s as he whispers into the small space between them. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now,” he breathes, and his stomach does a flip when Logan chuckles quietly in response. He presses another kiss to Logan’s lips, and the other returns it for a moment before pulling back, further this time, and stroking his hand through Roman’s hair as he meets his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you?” He asks, his expression open and so clearly happy that Roman has to look away, his eyes drifting to the side as something that feels suspiciously like shame crawls up his back, settling on his shoulders like a lead weight. 

Logan’s thumb traces back and forth over his cheekbone, though, and he brings one of his own hands up to cover Logan’s closing his eyes and smiling slightly at the sensation. “I thought….you have the ace pin. You told me that one time that you didn’t think you could ever be in a relationship. I thought you weren’t interested.” He turns his head slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to Logan’s palm before opening his eyes, his lips still brushing Logan’s skin as he continues. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

Now it’s Logan’s turn to look away, looking sheepish. “When I said that….” he clears his throat, and Roman squeezes his shoulder where his free hand is resting on it. Logan looks back at him and smiles, seeming encouraged. “I didn’t mean that I did not want a relationship. I have, in fact, wanted one very badly for several years. With you, specifically.” 

Roman lets out a gasp at that, tightening his grip on Logan’s hand. “Lo…” he breathes, amazed that Logan’s felt that way about him for so long. 

(Then again, Logan has always been a genius, has always picked up on things faster than Roman, or anyone else, for that matter.)

Logan strokes his thumb over Roman’s cheekbone again, looking amazed that he’s being allowed to do it. “When I said that, I was actually speaking of my belief of my own inability to properly perform in a relationship. Being in a relationship with someone...it requires a great deal of emotional intelligence, which we both know that I do not possess. And…” he trails off again, looking away and pulling his hands away from Roman, who ardently wishes he would do anything but that. 

“And as you said, I am asexual. I would be….unable to. Perform. In that capacity. If we were to date.” Logan looks at his lap, clasping his hands together there and looking as if he’s about to cry. 

“Logan,” Roman chokes out, leaning forward and taking Logan’s face in his hands once again, tilting it up gently and stroking it with his thumbs as Logan just did for him. “Logan, I-” his voice breaks, and he leans his forehead against Logan’s, feeling the other’s hands resting lightly on his waist as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to sift through the roiling emotions in his chest. 

After a moment, he opens his eyes to meet Logan’s, one of his hands moving to brush his hair back, cradling his head as he leans back slightly, just enough so he doesn’t have to go cross-eyed to maintain eye contact. 

“I love you,” he says finally, his voice and heart barreling forward even as his mind struggles to catch up, as usual. “I love you just as you are, and all that you are. I would never-” his voice breaks again here, and he shakes his head, stroking Logan’s hair back again. “I would never make you do anything, anything, that you’re not comfortable with,” he finishes in a whisper. “I would love to be with you in any way that you’ll have me, whether it’s as a best friend, or a boyfriend, or a partner, or...or if you want to--to never see me again, that’s okay too,” his voice cracks once again, and this time tears spill out of his eyes and down his cheeks. 

Logan’s hands fly up to wipe them away, and his head is already shaking in Roman’s gentle grip. “No, no, no, I--of course I want to see you again, you idiot, you’re my...you’re my Roman.”

Roman can’t help but laugh wetly at that, and Logan surges up to kiss him again, and they fall silent for a few moments. When they pull back, Logan resumes wiping at Roman’s face, his expression soft. “I love you too,” he whispers. “And I’m yours. In any way you’ll have me.” 

Roman laughs and kisses him again, pecking him three, four, five times on the lips, then all over his face, drawing giggles out of Logan as Roman moved down to blow a raspberry on his neck. 

Later, they’ll order a pizza for dinner, and sit on Roman’s bed eating it and talking about everything they’ve always talked about, and everything they’ve never talked about. They’ll discuss their own boundaries, and who they want to tell about the relationship, and who’s going to plan their first date. Roman will joke about celebrating anniversaries weekly, and will immediately resolve to do it when he sees how the idea makes Logan blush. 

Later, Roman’s parents will come home and find Logan there much later than usual, and they’ll see how the two of them smile at each other and know that they finally worked things out. 

Later, they’ll fall asleep with Big Hero 6 playing in the background, snuggled close together under Roman’s comforter. 

But that’s all for later. For now they laugh, and kiss, and tickle each other, and bask in the glow of the new step of their relationship. 

Logan and Roman are best friends. They both spent a long time believing their feelings for each other are unrequited, that saying something would ruin their relationship forever. They were both wrong.

[notes-from-sarah]

Feel You There

Link for Archive of Our Own

Link for Fanfiction.net

Rating: G

Summary: Kanan and Hera have been working together for a while now, living day by day and feeling closer to each other than ever before. Hera invites Kanan to help her fix Ghost which makes their growing attraction impossible to deny. Kanan/Hera. Set pre-Star Wars: Rebels. One-shot. Canon compliant.

Whenever she entered the room, he knew. He didn’t have to see her, or hear her to know. The hairs on the back of his neck would stand up and a small shiver would race down his spine. Every time.

He had tried to ignore it. He had told himself to keep it cool, play it safe and take it easy. Easier said than done. The harder he tried to ignore her, the less it seemed to work. Act natural, he told himself, but behaving naturally around her didn’t come, well, naturally. Kanan had never felt like this before, and he kind of liked it.

It had taken Kanan a while to get used to having Hera around. It had been a long time since he lived and worked in such close company with another person. Really, it hadn’t been since he was a boy. On board Ghost it seemed that he and Hera preformed some kind of strange dance where he was in the way and Hera needed him to move, a lot. It wasn’t easy learning to work closely with another person.

“Kanan,” Hera’s voice came from the cockpit area, “would you get me down a medium size hydrospanner from the top storage.” Hera lay head and shoulders inside an access panel under the dashboard.

Top storage referred to a series of cabinets that lined the walls in Ghost’s storage closet. Hera had found that Kanan was tall enough to be handy when it came to fetching things from high places. Kanan sometimes wondered what she did before he was around to reach high shelves for her.

Nimbly retrieving the tool, Kanan handed it to Hera, trying not to act weird when her hand brushed his as she accepted it.

“Thanks.” Hera leaned up flashed him a smile before crawling deeper inside the panel.

Kanan smiled back, feeling foolish as he did so. He sat down next to her on the floor of the cockpit and pretended to watch what she was doing.

She was always so mysterious to him. She was so strong, and fierce, and well, she was just good. She was a good person and she made him feel like a better person just by being around her. She never tried to figure him out, or solve him, she just let him be who he was. She had never even asked about who he was before they met, she was okay with him just being him.

“Do you want to see what I’m doing here?” She indicated to the panel she had open and the wires and pipes that lay in a tangle inside. “I’m doing some rerouting and I thought you might want to know in case you need to fix up Ghost sometime.”

“You would let me fix Ghost? In what universe?” Kanan didn’t know why he had to be so obtuse.

Hera gave him a look. “Yeah, you can fix Ghost, but I’m going to teach you the right way first.”

Kanan felt a little chastened, but he also felt a surge of hope rush through him. If Hera was planning to teach him how to fix Ghost, Hera was planning for him to be around for a long time. Hera was planning a future, and it included him.

Kanan shifted to kneel next to her. “Okay, what’ve you got here.” Even if she hadn’t invited him, Kanan would have probably hung around and watched anyway, unless she chased him off or something.

Hera started explaining what she was doing, pointing to various boards and switches. After a moment or two she must have realized that Kanan wasn’t really paying close attention because she thrust a pair of wire cutters into his hand. “So now you can try, I need you to divert power from the running lights to the shields, I’m making a power bypass that will keep Ghost in the air longer if we fall under attack.”

Kanan swallowed a bit. He knew his way around basic ship repair, but Hera was magic at it. She knew every inch of her ship, and could manipulate it like no other. She scooted out of the access panel allowing Kanan to slide in where she had been laying. Looking at the array before him he scanned for something that seemed like a running light power source. Seeing no obvious contender, he decided to take a gamble and start with the purple wire that crisscrossed the underside of the dashboard.

Hera sucked in her breath but didn’t say anything. Kanan paused. Glancing out at Hera he moved his wire cutters from the base of the purple wire, to a blue one. Again she didn’t say anything but the concerned look on her face told him enough. Kanan’s hand drifted away from the blue in an uncertain direction. Now he really wasn’t sure. He was also beginning to regret volunteering to make a fool of himself.

“Try the yellow one.” Hera laid a comforting hand on Kanan’s leg, her tones reassuring.

Kanan’s heart skipped a beat at her touch. “The what?” he said dumbly.

“The yellow wire, not the blue one.” Hera gestured with her other hand.

Kanan looked at Hera for a long moment, then it clicked for him. “Oh yeah, the yellow wire.” Looking back at the array of wires the yellow one seemed so obvious now. Trying to ignore Hera’s hand, Kanan deftly cut the wire and began rerouting it to Hera’s specifications. Seemingly less concerned now, Hera sat back and folded her hands in her lap as she watched Kanan work.

Kanan felt the pressure as he worked on establishing the bypass. He didn’t look at her, and she didn’t say anything, but her presence so close to him was so loud it was almost deafening. The seconds ticked by tortuously slow. Sweat beaded on Kanan’s brow, trying to think only of systems bypass and not at all about the gentle touch of a delicate hand. He wasn’t having much luck.

Abruptly, Hera rose, breaking the tension. “I need to get some tubes for the bypass, I’ll be back in a minute.” Kanan, pretending to be focused on his work and just nodded as she went to the storage closet.

***

Inside the closet, Hera paused behind the door and fanned herself with her hand. Breathing deeply for a moment she tried to calm her thoughts. “I’m being silly,” she told herself as she began rummaging through her supplies, trying to clear her head. Kanan was great to have around. He was helpful and charming and easy to get along with, but it could be very hard to be around him. She had realized shortly after they had started working together that she was aware of him. She tried not to let on, but it was difficult. She could feel the energy in the room shift when Kanan entered. He was distracting to say the least. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed like they were always in each others way. Sometimes she felt as though Kanan could see right through her. A small part of her really liked it.

Hera opened one bin, then another, trying to remember what she had come in here for. Mostly, it had been to get away from Kanan. Having him close was great, but lately it also felt kind of terrifying. She was so good at being in control, so good at being a mystery, a sort of phantom that came and went without restriction. She was ephemeral and no one could catch her or pin her down. Except Kanan, well, he grounded her. He saw her, really saw her. When he looked at her he wasn’t seeing an optimistic green Twi’lek, or a hotshot pilot, he saw her. Hera.

Closing the bins, Hera looked up at top storage. Maybe what she wanted was up there. Opening the cupboard door, she grabbed hold of the bottom shelf and hoisted herself up, placing her feet on top of the bins she had previously pawed through. She stood on her toes as she peered into the cabinet.

“Get it together, now is not the time to be distracted.” Hera could never remember being in a situation quite like this before. She had worked side by side with many beings over the years, and not a few of them were handsome and charming and magnetic. None of them had so much as made her take a second look. Yet, here she was. Smitten like a schoolgirl. All because of that dopey smile and those searching eyes.

“Did you find the, uh, tubes yet?” Kanan stood in the doorway ending Hera’s respite. Oh yes, she had been looking for tubes.

“Yeah, I have some here somewhere.” Hera glanced down from her position to see Kanan looking right at her. “They aren’t in here, though.”

“So this is how you get to top storage when I’m not around.” Kanan looked at her precarious perch. “I always wondered how you managed it.”

“There’s nowhere on Ghost that I can’t get to.” Hera looked away from him, leaning back so she could climb down off the bins.

“Let me help you,” Kanan offered, reaching out to help her.

Hera hesitated, she didn’t need his help. He knew that, of course. But he wanted to help her, and she wanted it too. She smiled a little and took his hand. She hopped from the bins, guided by Kanan’s helping hand.

As her feet hit the floor she suddenly realized just how small this closet was. She could feel her heart racing as she stood inches away from Kanan. Her fingers clasped in his. Her eyes locked on his. “Thanks.”

A long, awkward moment passed between them before Kanan suddenly dropped her hand to rub the back of his neck. “So, tubes.”

“Tubes,” she echoed, crossing her arms just to have something to do with them. She turned back to the bins and opened the one she had searched through earlier, except this time she remembered what she was looking for. It took her only a moment to locate the tubes. She always kept things neat and organized, never a bolt or screw out of place. She couldn’t believe that he had gotten so far under her skin he had made her forget what she even came in here for.

“Need anything else?” Kanan asked, looking around the closet.

“No, this is everything.” Hera held up the tubes trying to act normally. “Let’s go.”

Both of them tried to exit from the small room at the same time, but that just resulted in a two-person traffic jam in the doorway. Hera looked at Kanan a touch exasperated. “Kanan you’re-”

“-In the way,” he finished with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” He stepped back allowing her to press past him and exit the closet. Kanan followed after and the two of them headed back to the cockpit. Hera felt like the air between them had somehow grown thick and heavy. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the present moment again.

Entering the cockpit, Hera was about to take her place in the access panel when Kanan brought her to a halt with a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be doing this.”

“Okay, no problem.” Hera sat back from the access panel, allowing Kanan to take his place on the floor once again. “Just do what I tell you.” That was simple enough. This bypass wasn’t anything difficult, she could do it in her sleep. Explaining it to Kanan wasn’t going to be difficult at all.

Kanan picked up a hydrospanner. “Is this what I need?”

“Not exactly,” Hera said as she took it from him. She pressed a better tool into his hand trying to ignore the heat that flushed through her. Normally Kanan wasn’t so dumb about which tool was for what, something must have come over him.

Kanan accepted the new tool, and following her instructions began to install the tubes to finish the bypass. Hera leaned close to make sure he was doing everything to her liking. Ghost had to run at peak efficiency, neither of them could afford a screw up. Their bodies being in such close proximity, however, sure made it really hard to think straight. Hera closed her eyes for a second trying to re-focus herself, but it wasn’t any use. She didn’t have to see him to feel his presence all around her.

“There, is that it?” Kanan asked, interrupting her thoughts. Hera opened her eyes to see Kanan gesturing at the installed tubes.

“Yes, that’s great,” she said, without really looking at them. She’d come back and take a closer look later when she wasn’t so distracted.

Leaning back she let Kanan out of the access panel. “Should I close it up?” Kanan asked, crouching on the floor opposite her.

“I’ll clean up and put everything away later.” Hera reached out to take the tool he was still holding so she could put it back in her small toolbox. Her hand rested on his, all thought of the tool erased from her mind. The pair looked at each other in silence for another long, awkward moment.

“Hera,” Kanan said, breaking the tension.

“Yes,” she replied, not exactly sure what she wanted him to say...or do.

“I’m glad you wanted me to help you.”

[guoxinghe]

Sosuke Yamazaki x Reader - The Departure

Something I wrote long ago

The silence woke him.

Cold silk sheets wrapped around Sosuke as sunlight filtered in through the blinds. Nothing stirred in the small suburban home.  Even the coffee maker failed to run which was highly unusual, considering how you could never function without the bitter substance.  Heavy solitude weighed on his shoulders.

After all, you were gone.

Rubbing the sleep away from his weary eyes, he stood and prepared to get ready for another day.  Like every other morning, Sosuke got dressed, brushed his teeth, ate breakfast, drank his tea, and made to leave.  His routine didn’t change.

But you still held his heart in your hands.  You clenched it in a steel-clad grip without mercy.  Usually, you’d attempt to make breakfast and fail miserably at this new recipe you just had to try.  That’s when you two would fall back on toaster waffles and cereal as dirtied pots soaked in the sink.  You’d kiss him goodbye before rushing out the door to work.  

When did those little moments begin to end?

His phone rang with a text message.  “Hey, buddy.  How’s it going?”

“Still hurts.”  His mouth contorted into a grimace as he continued to type.  “It doesn’t feel right.  It’s so quiet now.”

Rin texted back, “It’s gonna be okay.”

 Instead of responding, he opted for switching his phone to silent and pocketing it. He couldn’t bring himself to believe everything would be okay after your departure.  Not much time passed, so of course, the raw pain’s intensity didn’t abate. Would it ever though?  Or was he doomed to be miserable, stewing forever in his despair?

  Hell, he hoped, with every fiber of his being, that you’d walk through that door, saying you still loved him and had changed your mind.  There’d be no hesitation to scoop you up in his arms, kissing every inch of your beautiful face, apologies spilling from his lips like his unbidden tears.  He’d bare his heart with every word of endless affection as he made love to you. With every touch, your body would be worshipped by him because you were his everything.  Afterwards, he’d lay there in contented silence with you engulfed in his strong embrace.  Never again, he’d take those moments for granted.

  The day progressed as always.  When he arrived at work, he didn’t miss the flashes of pity in his coworkers’ eyes. They could see his change in demeanor by the way his shoulders slumped slightly and the permanently knitted brow. His jaw remained clenched as the gears turned in his head.

Where did everything go so wrong?

He’d always been scared of losing you.  He was terrified of waking one day to not see you next to him anymore.  To wake up with the realization that you left him. Now that it was reality, it pained him even more because he could’ve prevented it.  If he hadn’t been so stubborn, he would’ve worked less hours. But his own pride kept him from giving you more attention.  

“Hey, Sosuke,” Rin greeted.

 Sosuke nodded in acknowledgement.  “Anything new pop up?”

The shark-toothed man shook his head.  “Nothing serious, but I guess Gou is back for a visit.”

A dark brow quirked in surprise.  “How long’s it been since you saw her?”

“A year.”  Rin rubbed the back of his nape and sighed.  “I guess she met with [name] last night.”

His best friend debated even bringing it up, but he figured that keeping him in the dark would be worse.  Besides, Sosuke always had a way of finding out.  His intuition was certainly uncanny.  

Sosuke shifted his gaze to the floor.  “How is she doing?”

 “She seems to be doing okay.  She’s staying with a friend.”

“I see.”  A bitter smile ghosted his lips as he mused, “I hope that whatever she does, she’ll be happy.”

Rin tentatively asked, “Have you tried talking with her?”

“No.”  His response was immediate.  “It wouldn’t change anything.  She was pretty adamant when she left.”

The scene played in his head like an endlessly looping film.  

 Sosuke returned from work earlier than usual.  When he entered the house, he noticed the packed bags tossed onto the couch.  You didn’t have a lot of stuff, so there were only a few filled duffel bags and a backpack.  

When you strode out of the bedroom, you only spared him a glance before zipping up your coat. Sosuke blinked hard, clearly in disbelief at what he was witnessing.  His uneven breathing was only a small indicator to the pangs of anxiety rushing through his blood.  

Swallowing hard, he asked, “What are you doing?”

Your response was toneless with a face void of emotion.  “I can’t do this anymore.  I’m leaving, Sosuke.”

One by one, you slung the bags over your shoulder and walked towards the door.  Still, he couldn’t just let you go.  Before you passed him, Sosuke gripped your shoulder, but you didn’t even look at him.

“Wait… [name]…”  He glanced down at you carrying everything on your shoulders like the god, Atlas. You’d shouldered everything by yourself.

Yes, you shouldered everything.

Blinking slowly, you exhaled sharply through your nose.  “Let go.”

He started warily, “I know I haven’t been around much, and I’m so sorry, but I swear, I can fix that – this!  Please, just…don’t go.”

His teal eyes were cast dolefully downwards at your stiff frame.  You looked so small like that.  

“I made my decision.” You shrugged off his hand and looked him in the eye.  Your words were cold and biting.  “It’s too late for you to start caring now.”

With that, you stepped out of the house and his life.

 Once he returned home, Sosuke shucked off his coat and dumped his keys into the little wooden bowl on the rack by the entrance.  The whole house remained silent save for his heavy footsteps as he trudged into the bedroom.  When he flipped the light on, he glanced at his worn-down self in the vanity mirror. It’d only been a couple days, but it’d already took its toll on him.  His posture lost the trademark confidence and authority that he always carried.  Now, it was broken and frail.  

The two of you chose this house.  It was supposed to be for you and him to live in and grow old together.  This bed was meant to be shared with you and you alone. The idea of lying in it with another woman was unfathomable.  

You had always been there to support him ever since high school.  When he wallowed by himself because of his uncertain future in swimming, you lent him your shoulder no matter how heavy the burden.  You wrapped him in warmth before his shoulder surgery, whispering reassurances that he’d be okay.  You helped give him that future.

But when you two married years later, everything began descending at a barely discernible pace. It started with him picking up an extra shift here and there.  Here and there became once a week.  Once a week became four times a week.  The shifts grew longer, and the time he saw you grew shorter.  Even when you asked him to spend more time at home, it crashed down as he denied you.  All the pleasant moments turned to ash that fell between his fingers, and so did his relationship with you.  

Sosuke grew more cross with you, delivering short and curt answers to your simple questions. He shrugged off your affections, barely reciprocating them.  Little did he know, the nights he returned after midnight, you often cried yourself to sleep, wondering why everything had gone so wrong.  He never noticed the tears staining your dried cheeks or the way your hands clenched the sheets as you bit back the sobs.  

After your departure, he couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why didn’t he change before it was too late?  Did he think you’d stay no matter what?  That you’d stay to support him when he failed to reciprocate?  

He’d wasted your love.

Regret was all you left him with.

 Years passed.

The divorce was actually finalized within a year of you leaving.  Honestly, there wasn’t anything to dispute about since you didn’t buy anything together except the house.  You were content to leave everything except your essential things behind. Sosuke stayed in that home, always waiting for you, but he knew it was in vain.

Since then, he hadn’t heard from you.  You didn’t really have a reason to contact him in the first place considering the fact you didn’t have kids or pets you needed to keep tabs on.  Still, he heard about you from Rin and Gou since you remained in touch with them.  You’d finally gotten that job you always wanted and strove toward since graduating high school.  You entered another serious relationship with this one guy a couple years after leaving Sosuke.  Gou was reluctant, but she told Sosuke that you were happily engaged to the new guy a couple years after dating.  

A couple days after she brought the news, a wedding invitation was mailed to your old house. It was addressed to him, and he vaguely wondered if you just wanted to rub salt in the still raw wounds.  He knew you didn’t bear that kind of malice though.  At the same time, the same scenario began playing in his head over and over.

You were standing at the altar, ready to begin saying the vows.  When the officiant asked if anyone objected, Sosuke would bravely stand amongst the crowd and declare his love for you.  Overwhelmed with emotion, you’d cry as you ran into his arms, returning to him.  As for the one sobbing hysterically, it’d definitely be him.  Yes, it was like one of those cheesy romantic dramas he hated.

When the occasion finally arrived though, no protests left him as he watched you stand at that altar.  You were in another man’s arms, and part of him desperately wanted to pry you away. That was impossible though.

Because you looked so happy.

The way you looked at your new husband was the way you used to look at Sosuke.  Your new husband returned the loving gaze like Sosuke used to.  That’s when Sosuke knew.  He knew this man would love you unconditionally for the rest of your days. He wouldn’t fail in being a pillar of strength for you.  He wouldn’t let his pride go unchecked and wound you with calloused words and actions.

During the wedding reception, Rin approached Sosuke.  “Hey, buddy.”

“Hi, Rin.” Both of the men turned to watch you dancing in the arms of another man.  With a solemn smile, Sosuke remarked, “She looks happy.”

What else could he say?

Your eyes sparkled in the dim light as you swayed back and forth with your husband.  Your grin exuded relaxed contentment.  When was the last time he saw you in such bliss? At least a year before you left.  

Mustering up the courage, after you finished dancing with your husband, Sosuke approached you.

He asked you to dance, and you smiled warmly.  “I’m glad you made it.  It’s been a while.  How’ve you been, Sou?”

“Okay.”  His arms wrapped gingerly around your waist. Both of you rocked back and forth to the slow music.  “He seems like a good guy.”

Giggling, you mused, “I never thought I’d be so blessed.  It’s amazing he puts up with all my troubles.”

Pangs of guilt caused his chest to ache.  Swallowing down the mounting lump in his throat, he murmured, “I’m glad.”

“What?” Sosuke didn’t miss the hitch in your breath.

He offered the most genuine smile you’d ever seen.  “You’re happy, and that’s all that matters.”  He left a chaste kiss on your cheek.  “That’s all I needed to know.  It’s enough.”

Warm tears trickled down your face.  “Thank you, Sosuke.”

After the song ended, you embraced him one last time in a final goodbye.  Yes, he could let go now.  So long as you were happy, even though it wasn’t with him, he could finally let go.  You watched his back retreated into the crowd, and you wished him the best because he’d always remain your first love.  Nothing could replace that.

Sosuke’s departure only signified a new beginning for both of you.

[callme--starchild]

Half of What You Think of Me

Donald felt this could be one of the most uncomfortable rides of his life as an adventurer. Curled up in the seat and wrapped in seat belts, his gaze wandered around the plane.

Della was piloting and chatting with Launchpad, who sat in the adjacent seat — since when had the two of them become so close? — while Scrooge stood between them, serving as the lookout that clearly both pilots were failing.

Goofy was more discreet in the seats across from him. The children were huddled around the dog, bright eyes filled with curiosity as he told them the story behind each photo in his wallet. He could actually perceive the way they waited for a photo that included him to know the memory — possibly shameful — that it possessed.

But if he knew his friend like the back of his wing, Donald knew that those images, as well as Mickey's, were in the oldest part of his cellphone gallery, far below many photos of Max. It was not something that particularly offended the duck, he understood very well what it was like to be gushing over the photos of their respective proteges.

(Feeling watched, Goofy looked up for a moment as the four ducklings admired the photos he had taken during the Powerline’s concert years ago, appreciating the soft gaze his old friend had on the children, the same loving gaze that not only seen when he looks at his.

If he hadn't known Donald since they were both younger, he wouldn't have hesitated to think of him as the biological father of the kids. He could be the uncle, it's true, but having triplets under his care for ten years was worthy of admiration, especially when counting and accepting without hesitation one more girl.)

"You are pretty quiet."

But a British accent snapped both parents out of their reverie, causing Donald to discover Goofy's gaze on him for a second before continuing to tell stories, this time about a prom.

"Oh hello Mrs. B." Donald greeted the housekeeper as she sat next to him, surreptitiously glancing at the four children. Needless to say, he did it in a very strange way by being with the belts around him. A sad smile decorated his face.

On the other hand, Beakley's expression remained neutral, with a glint in her gaze that Donald didn't quite know how to describe; preferring to focus again on the kids to perceive the way her features softened.

"You know they're not upset, right?"

Donald looked up; he hadn't noticed the moment when he lowered it and, ignoring the damp burning that was beginning to appear in his eyes, he looked back at the housekeeper. Despite the severity that was commonly woven into her face, the sailor managed to perceive the small, almost ghostly smile on her face.

It was almost hilarious that they initially got along as well as oil and water. And look at them now, bonding like a pair of confidants.

"If it was them, I would be," he confessed feeling himself shrink in his seat, his feathers clinging to the seat’s leather as if he might rip it apart.

Actually, he could; that is, he had faced greater threats for a fifth of his life, an airplane seat would be a piece of cake.

"After all, I took away from them a part of their life that currently makes them happy," and it was not the same to give it up on your own free will than to have it disappear like sand between your fingers, he knows. And it was better to think about that than the anger that tickled through his veins, all against himself “just because I was looking for an idealization of normality worthy of a  sitcom .”

Involuntarily, Donald grunted the last word. Even if it had been fun to feel on a TV show, he knew that sooner or later his trick would end up being discovered because those kids were smarter than he liked; he also did not feel happy to lie to his family — and to know that it was not the only lie he has made, the house of cards that he created with so much effort would collapse. Maybe it was better to keep the low budget and the recorded laughs on a show.

Even if he kept thinking about the life he left behind, it didn't mean that they were calm leaving theirs because what he was doing was more dangerous and it was certainly hypocritical and—

“Even if the method you used was unorthodox, I can see why you used it." Beakley's voice was the light that Donald's darkness needed, and he clung to it like a lifeline. "You love your family and you just want to see them safe and sound. I can say that I share the sentiment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the gleam of amazement in Webby's eyes, leaning her elbows on an armrest as she listened to Goofy. He had never bothered to get to know the housekeeper better even if he lived on the pool at her house, and the fact that this was their longest talk planted something in his heart.

"And even if that fantasy were possible, I think we both know that they would not be happy with it” yes, leave the fantastic situations to cartoons and other kinds of programs for children to see “and it's incredible that I say this, but it seems like Scrooge knows what he does to keep them protected.”

There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, and the sailor stifled his laughter. To tell the truth, even he was surprised; in the adventures he engages in, he has not seen any of his nephews being pushed into a portal, shrunken, or into a block of magical ice.

It didn't hurt as much as it seemed.

“You're right.”

"Of course, I’m always right," and they both laughed, like a couple of old friends who haven't seen each other in years.

How things changed in just a few months.

"By the way," of course, they couldn't stay on the same topic of conversation, Donald himself didn't feel so comfortable talking about him, "what did you ask the genius for?"

"Oh," a smile crept in, and the duck wondered if the spy had noticed the instant his feathers turned scarlet, "I just asked for a small, big detail. You will see it arriving at the mansion.”

And oh, Donald won't be able to forget the happiness on Beakley's face at the sight of the family photograph. The photograph that included her.

One more lie.

The young duck's footsteps echoed across the silent 151st floor, one hand on his chin as he narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful and distant expression.

"Sooner or later, you'll make a mark on the ground, Old Cape," being pulled out of his thoughts by a small orb that appeared beside him, his reverberated voice playing with the superhero's nerves in an almost impossible way, "you've been like this since you returned from your mission in the 21st century, do you want to talk?”

But Uno was so worried, so nervous that Donald forgot that he was not a biological being but a machine. A  machine that acted, thought, and spoke in such a human way that it burned, that Donald wonders at what moment hearing that voice had become the most important part of his day-to-day life, prompting him to keep putting on his kevlar suit to go out on a new adventure from which he does not know if he will be able to return alive.

When had he been so lucky to meet Uno that the mere thought of something happening to him in the 21st century terrified him?

"I saw myself there," he murmured after a few seconds of silence, listening to the buzz of a chair appearing behind him and feeling a pair of hands supporting his shoulders with such care that it made him uneasy, sighing heavily as he removed his mask and his fingers fiddled with the texture, "apparently I'll be a secret agent in the future."

"Sorry to interrupt you PK, but…" Sure, Uno was concerned. He had foreseen temporal paradoxes before leaving with Lyla.

"It's all I know, he— I didn't agree to tell more. You know, the current of space-time and all that paraphernalia” but his voice gave away his anguish, and a dull sound gave away the way he let his back hit the back of the chair “but…”

But. There was always a  but.

"The Ducklair Tower wasn't there." No, his voice hadn't cracked, and Donald fought the urge to rip the hood with the voice modulator off because it was the only thing that kept his identity  secret when he's Paperinik.

Silently, Uno made his companion's sailor suit appear, letting another buzz roar in the newly silent secret floor.

"Something is going to happen, Uno, something is going to happen to  you and I don't know what it is." He squeezed his hands, applying so much force that his trembling knuckles paled more.

"It's probably not that bad, Hero." But even if Uno was an AI, he managed to hear the uncertainty in his own modulated voice. Odin Eidolon peered into the recess of his database.

Donald dropped the mask onto his lap, slowly rubbing his temples. He looked exasperated, he felt terrified.

Paperinik had never been terrified, but under that mask, he was still Donald Duck, and Donald Duck had to act on his fear more than once if he wanted to continue his life.

"He said he missed you," and maybe that's what dismayed the superhero since his return to the 20th century, staring at the ceiling and feeling smaller than usual.

He knew that the seconds were scarce before they found themselves back home, the skyscraper that was the Ducklair Tower would cease to be a non-existent point to remain the base of Channel 00 as well as the defender of the city’s; but even so… he— Donald from the future—  Double Duck had used them to dedicate a few words to the artificial intelligence, even if he had been very specific in that he would not shut up facts.

Perhaps that was what kept Donald uncertain, not Paperinik, and it is that the very idea that something was happening with Uno unsettles him.

For the first time, Uno does not know what to say to lift the spirits of his partner, not even a one-liner. But it was impossible, the artificial intelligences did not waver, not even one as advanced as he — modesty aside. That did little to reassure Donald.

It could be the first time that something had alerted both the hero and the civilian.

"Do you really think something will happen, PK?" The AI questioned empathetically as a pair of hands helped the superhero remove his suit. His system did not allow him to believe, Uno was logical; and while the Pangea project proved that even he could be wrong, it was further proof of the influence that the biological duck has had on him.

But Uno didn't believe, he  knew something had to happen for Odin to emerge, especially considering Donald couldn't connect the dots and figure out what took him a few minutes.

"I don't know," Donald growled, pulling on his sailor shirt with the help of Uno's arms — changing in front of the AI was already absolutely normal for Donald after months of doing it, often too hasty to even notice.

Still, that only demonstrated the confidence both partners had. So why did Uno feel he was lying to the sailor by hiding the truth about the billionaire businessman of the XXIII century? Why couldn't he tell him that he would never leave him alone — or how impossible it would be to get rid of him, even though clearly neither of them wanted that?

Why did the thought of losing Uno, and not by aging, terrify Donald so much?

That conversation felt very distant to the retired hero. But now that he was aware of the reason for his doubts, he wanted nothing more than to have a hint of tachyon that would allow him to travel to the moment when Uno was deactivated to avoid it.

And maybe hit Everett, who knows. He would literally have all the time in the world at his complete disposal.

But Uno was there, face to face. And Donald couldn't believe it,  he barely  could do it, but the last thing he wanted was to blink and have the intelligence— android in front of him disappear into thin air.

"H-How?" He whispered, feeling his voice harsher than usual. He was supposed to go to the abandoned Ducklair Tower to see the result of his wish. Instead, a robot perfectly built to match the appearance of an ordinary mallard stood in the middle of his door.

At this, Uno laughed. Donald didn't know how to feel; his voice did not have those reverberations that made it robotic, but one that could be heard in any duck that no one could suspect, the absence of walls causing no echoes that were familiar to the sailor to be heard.

It generated a strange feeling in his chest, but he didn't want it to fade away.

"The first piece of information that comes to my system is to be reactivated in the Tower "Uno confesses, and for some reason, he does not dare to say that among these are Donald's memories, those that he had managed to record and save in his database because well, those were personal “but this body had been in the planning for… a long time.”

His voice becomes distant as well as his gaze, and the sailor does not dare to inquire; the mere idea that his best friend had this project planned without him even knowing since before he was deactivated, left a knot in the pit of his stomach. And he prefers to focus on the lump that rested rather in his throat and left him shaking.

"It's still a bit unstable, but what else could I do? I've missed you, Old Cape…” And hearing that old nickname again felt like a lunge, and Donald couldn't help but laugh sadly as he felt moisture running down his cheeks and the edges of his beak, rushing into the android's arms before he could even prepare himself, backing out of reflex.

As Donald cradled his face against the opposite chest, concentrating on the hum that was so familiar and strange at the same time, Uno couldn't help but smile wistfully as his arms wrapped around the smaller duck's body. The AI was already aware of the size of his old companion, but now that he could see it directly, he looked much more fragile than he might have thought.

The plumage felt soft, and though he could perceive the knots and some messy feathers, the delicacy of those that grew again could not be missed. Uno was no stranger to the ducks’ molting, he had witnessed some from his partner back in the tower, but he had never realized how silky they could be.

Donald's sailor suit was now a gloomy black, had the occasional wrinkle, and exuded a faint stench of sea salt, sand, and dirt. He wasn't sure how he could identify the smells, but it must be his vast knowledge.

But the duck was trembling, sobbing in a shaky, broken voice. Or a voice more broken than usual. Not that he was critical.

"I missed you too," he confessed after a few seconds of silence, tentatively breaking the hug as he wiped his eyes. Only then could he notice that the eye bags had intensified, looking darker than he could remember “more than you think, old friend.”

And even though One couldn't age, he recognized the symbolism behind the Peking duck's words and was beyond grateful for it.

—

“So… this is the new Donald Duck?" His wing scanned one of the framed photographs on the boathouse’s stairs, and being able to feel was a feeling he didn't want to lose now.

And he was not able to stop smiling — not that he wanted to — when he appreciated the affectionate happiness on his partner's face when he kept the nephews he had heard so much about tucked in, detecting a newspaper that read blizzard in its headline.

It seemed like yesterday that Donald walked into the secret story, with a smile more radiant than he could remember, shouting from the rooftops that he would be an uncle. What he would give to go back to those times when everything was simpler and their only concern was facing Evronians and time pirates.

"It's true that a lot has changed since you left." Rubbing his arm in a nervous habit, Donald refused to leave his partner's side. Occasionally he could be heard sobbing bitterly, betraying that he had cried previously, "I would have been fascinated you were here, you would have experienced as much as I have."

However, the android had years of knowing the sailor to know that, despite the nuance that had colored his voice, no signals or double meanings were detected that directly blamed him. Donald was better than that, and they both knew it was neither their fault that he found himself disconnected and cut off from his side when he had no say in the matter.

But the would not exist. The damage had already been done and the wounds were already scarred, and with the presence of Uno Donald felt as if those scars were being treated despite being carved into his skin for ten years. It was as if the android was able to heal them almost automatically, and he was more than grateful for that little detail.

The bond between them was that strong.

"But I'm here now," he murmured, hugging his partner by the shoulder. And the sensation was so new that it was surprising to both of them, yet it didn't bother either of them, Uno's hand settling as if it had been made to be there — and maybe it was. After all, the body was built by Uno himself. “And I have no intention of leaving again…”

And it's not that the smallest duck wanted to, chuckling softly as he leaned his body against Uno's, an almost comical sight given the difference in height.

“I am glad to hear that.”

Uno's gaze continued to roam the photos, realizing that neither Scrooge nor Della was in them — except for a framed photo, prior to the hatching of his friend's nephews.

"He's Huey," Donald spoke suddenly, pointing to the red-clad triplet, and in an instant, the android had already registered that data, "he's Dewey, and he's Louie. Is more like their nicknames, but it is how they usually identify themselves.”

The intelligence said nothing, but he knew he didn't need words to show how grateful he was that he took the trouble to help him identify the triplets. It was easier and faster to search the system for them, but it was not as detailed as hearing it from his best friend and taking into account the way his voice softened when talking about them.

"And it seems that the family has grown," he added, pointing to the new family photo, seeing that in addition to Donald, the children, Scrooge and Della — who now had a leg made entirely of metal, were a girl and two ducks, the latter stout.

When the other duck followed his sight he made an affirming sound, gently taking his arm to lead him in front of the photo.

"Yes, she is my honorary niece Webby." He pointed to the duckling, and of course, Uno smirked. The hero had always had a soft spot for children, he could leave him one on his care and it wouldn't take him long to spoil them “and they are Launchpad and Mrs. B. She may look a bit strict, but she's nice; something tells me you two will get along very well.”

Of course, it hadn't taken long for his tone to turn to mock, and though the android didn't fully understand what he meant, he couldn't help but laugh with him. Like the old inside jokes they both used to have, and the fact that they will escalate now that they were together again filled him with satisfaction in an inexplicable way.

"In that case, I'm looking forward to meeting them, Old Cape."

[charliehops]

what is love? / owen, charlie, jane + nate

The last time Charlie had seen Owen at the party was when he was telling her to fuck off. Despite herself, she had actually looked for him. She had never previously felt the need to look for him at a party, as he would come to her whenever he needed her, but with everything that had happened this past week with him being arrested, her having to be his alibi and the mind games they had played with each other, she felt she had to look for him. It wasn’t like she had any idea what he was going to do, but that was the thing with Owen – you never knew what he was going to do.

As she walked around the party, she realised the only thing that connected her to these people any more was Owen. She suspected he had gone for the night and wasn’t coming back, so her purpose at this party was not needed. She felt alone. Not lonely, never lonely, but she noted that without Owen, she would always be alone at things like this. She didn’t need to be here.

She had crept out the back door to have a much-needed cigarette. A group of people stood smoking, so she went out the back gate to get some peace. Midway through the cigarette, she could hear footsteps and as if thinking of the Devil caused him to appear, it was Owen. He was storming through the alleyway as if he had a mission. Despite herself, she smiled. Only briefly.

“I didn’t think you would be back, mi amor.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got business to attend to.”

He went to open the gate, but she applied a pressuring hand to his chest, stopping him momentarily. She searched his eyes and knew he was angry. Angrier than she had seen him in weeks, maybe months, and so she needed to know what was going on and if it affected her in any sort of way.

“What business?”

He sighed quickly, as if her very presence was inconveniencing him. She usually felt like an inconvenience to the people she kept around her, like Owen and her family, but this was different in some way.

He removed her hand in a pain-free, but forceful manner all the same. His eyes fired bullets into hers.

“You know when you told Amelia all about Nate… He’s fucking beats her up and she’s now covered in bruises.” His voice rose louder and louder with each word, so he was eventually yelling at her. “You and your fucking games.”  

She flinched ever so slightly, feeling flecks of spit flying at her.

She hadn’t known about Amelia and Nate when she told her. She wouldn’t have done it if she had known, of course she wouldn’t, but her head could only process one simple thing as he told her this. He had gone to see Amelia tonight.

“Oh my God…”

It was all she could say as the realisation dawned on her. Owen was still in his fucking fit of rage, so he wasn’t noticing that Charlie’s eyes were glossing over. She was listening and the words were hurting just a little, but the thing she was realising was what was making her about to cry.

“You just fucking used her in a stupid game with me. You didn’t even think that your actions have fucking consequences. You act like I’m fucking evil, but look at you, you’re a cold, heartless bitch -,”

“You like her.”

Charlie cutting off Owen in the middle of his sentence caused them both to just stare at each other in sentence. Owen was shaking his head at what she said, but Charlie knew. She knew before Owen even knew it himself.

He would think back to this moment as a ‘of course he did’ moment. He wouldn’t have done this for anyone else. Charlie knew that. Owen would eventually know that.

Owen was currently here yelling at his girlfriend for indirectly causing pain to a stranger. He would have been congratulating her on being a cold, heartless bitch if it was with anyone else.

Charlie nodded once, before looking upwards to blink a hundred times to stop herself from crying.

She was alone and lonely. It was a feeling she could allow for just a moment.

She looked back at him and turned her lips upwards to distract him from her teary eyes. He was probably just shocked that her tear ducts apparently worked.

“Oh, mi amor, how does it feel?” She asked, cupping his face in her hands to search his eyes again, finding they had immediately softened since she told him what he didn’t know yet. “To like someone? It must be very strange.”

Owen opened his mouth and closed it a few times. No answer was coming. She kissed him instead, realising she didn’t want to know about how she was so different to Charlie and why she could be loved in a way that Charlie would never know from him. It was better not to know the answer to some things.

Pulling away, she smiled in a way that only lovers coming to the end of their time would know. It was full of bittersweet memories and uncertain futures.

“I think it’s time for me to go.”

She removed her hands from his face, but at the last second, he caught one of her wrists.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but it felt like the right time to say something completely ridiculous. Something about love.

But he stopped himself.

“I guess this was always going to happen, right?”

Charlie nodded, blinking a hundred times again for good measure.

In a moment of softness that didn’t feel forced, he kissed the hand he was holding onto before letting it go. She thought, that’s what loving someone else does. It teaches you to be soft. Her monster had softened and she wondered whether she’d ever understand the word.

She walked away then, knowing she was finally walking forwards, not backwards, and there was nothing stopping her from doing what she wanted now. She didn’t blink anymore, she let tears fall.

She was free.

                            ______________________________________

Jane was having a cigarette outside with some people she knew from college when she heard the yelling from just outside the gate. Everyone in the group giggled at the awkwardness of the situation, but Jane quickly realised who the voices belonged to.

Owen and Charlie.

This was most inconvenient for her and JJ. She needed them to remain on good terms. She considered things she was capable of doing to try and fix the situation. She could send Charlie flowers and pretend they came from Owen? That would work. In a world where Owen, of course, gave flowers out to people.

Never mind, back to the drawing board. It would probably be better to think about this when she was sober, she decided.

She waited until the voices died down, before tip toeing over to the gate and opening it just a peek to see who was there.

“Everything okay?” She asked, in a loud, overbearing voice, as if she was a Mum overhearing an argument between her daughter and their friend and just wanted to know what had happened.

Owen turned to little Jane’s face in the gate and shrugged.

“Yeah,”

He pushed open the gate, therefore discarding Jane to the side, and began to walk into the house.

Owen was about as easy to talk to as talking to a collection of rocks and Jane used to collect rocks when she was a very small child and sometimes talked to them, so she was talking from experience. She would need to be more annoyingly direct.

“Uh… I mean, you and Charlie are fine, right? Everything’s okay?”

Owen turned around in annoyance.

“We’re over. It’s over. Is Nate still there?”

“Nate?” Jane asked, unable to keep up the conversation. “I think so, I mean, yeah? But you and Charlie… over? What do you mean?”

But Owen was hardly listening now and was opening the back door. Jane screamed.

“Owen!”

He stopped and sharply turned around, balling up his fists.

“Charlie said as long as you’re together she won’t do anything with what you told her about JJ. You… you just have to get back together with her. Until JJ is in the clear. Otherwise she’ll fuck everything up, she already knows a lot. Imagine what else she’ll find. Owen? Owen, please?”

Her head went back to what Keira had said to her about fighting your own battles and Jane was doing a lot for JJ. Here she was again, pleading on his behalf. She felt pathetic, she felt like JJ’s life was just as important to her as her own life was and it exhausted her. He was exhausting her.

Owen took just one step closer to her.

“Look, I don’t give a shit. Charlie and I are done; I’m not changing that for JJ. I’m doing what I can, but JJ needs to start doing his own shit to get out of this, right? You’ve already done enough; I’ve certainly done more than fucking enough.”

He stomped away into the house and Jane wished she could walk away from all this now. She could have an easy life, flirting with a girl she liked, or trying to flirt, and just be done with all this, but she knew she couldn’t. She was too far in this now, too far in love to turn away from it now. How much further past exhaustion could she go for JJ? She was about to find out.

                                        __________________________________

Owen confirmed Nate was still at the party and then went out the back, found a shovel in Jane’s garden and went back out the gate. He texted Nate to say he had gear and had a special discount tonight for loyal customers. He waited at that gate for him to arrive.

His head was less full of rage directed at Nate after the distractions of Charlie and Jane tonight, but that should maybe terrify Nate a bit more, because now he was going at this with a calculated anger.

Charlie told him the reason he was doing this tonight and in a way it made sense. She didn’t even know about the kiss, so what would she say about that? He wanted to tell her that if this was him liking someone, then it felt like whatever he did for Amelia, it would never be enough. He didn’t know if that was it was supposed to feel like and he couldn’t even be sure this was because of him liking Amelia or if it was just the fact that he couldn’t deal with any other women getting hurt by men, but what he did tonight would never be enough for her.

Something still tinged at him about Charlie. It was always heading down this path and if he didn’t have the confusion surrounding Amelia and what he needed to do with Nate, then he knew he wouldn’t have just let her walk away. She wasn’t supposed to be allowed to walk away, but maybe he had experienced some weird sense of growth?

It was a weird question to even have as held a shovel in his hand.

He heard footsteps coming towards the gate and he gripped onto it a little tighter.

“Hey, hey,” Nate said, shutting the gate behind him.

Owen pinned up against the gate with the point of the shovel, pushing all his weight and energy into it.

“Woah, woah, what the fuck is going on?”

Owen smiled without humour, pushing a little harder with his shovel.

“I know what you’ve done… been doing to Amelia, your girlfriend?”

“What? What are you talking about?” He had panic in his eyes and Owen liked to see it. He pushed harder so it was more effort for him to speak. “Whatever she said, she’s lying, you know -,”

“You beat up your girlfriend.”

“No, I would never hurt her, that’s – that’s -,”

Owen pushed harder and higher up his body, so he could barely hear what Nate was trying to splutter out.

“Sorry, Nate, I can’t quite hear you?” He said, cupping one hand to his ear for comic relief.

“I – I…”

“Now, I want to make it very clear to you what’s going to happen.” He pulled the shovel down, so it was still shoved up against Nate’s chest, but so he could stand incredibly close to Nate’s face. “You’re never going to touch Amelia again, you’re going to be done with her. If I see you near her for anything other than ending it with her, actually, no, you can do that on the phone, you don’t go near her. If you do, I will find a way to publicly list you as being one of my clients, I will make sure you are done for possession, I will make sure you never go to fucking university, I will make sure your parents know what a fuck up you truly are. And if that doesn’t sound like much of a threat, I would look over your shoulder every time you’re walking home at night, because I’ve got guys who’d want to beat a cunt like you up for fun. I don’t even have to pay them. Does this sound fair to you?”

Nate was spluttering and spitting, unable to answer the question quick enough.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Owen hummed.

“I don’t know if I believe you, so let me give you a taster.”

He removed the shovel only to hit him hard with the back of it to his side, so he fell to the floor. He grabbed the front of his shirt in a balled up fist, so he could punch him in the face, making sure his face would bruise. He then threw him down and kicked his chest a few times so he was wheezing on the floor.

“Am I clear?”

Nate coughed up blood and nodded weakly.

“Good. Let’s see how you like being the bruised one.”

He walked over Nate’s body and started his walk home.

Nate would be found there fifteen minutes later when two partygoers decided to make out in the alleyway.

Rumours went around about who got Nate in this state and some people said they saw Owen come back to the party for a strange few minutes and it was around the time Nate got hurt, but it was just a rumour.

Owen loved rumours.

[dedicatedseeker]

Monochrome Week 2020 Day Two: Fairy Tales

A/N: @monochromeweek Here’s my belated entry for day two. I’d just like to say in advance that this is only marginally related to the prompt, but I hope it’s still enjoyable nonetheless.

Blake Belladonna, who was next in line to rule Menagerie, was on the run. After running and hiding for hours-she’d stopped counting after the third-now, she was sure that the only reason she still managed to keep moving forward was sheer willpower. Well, maybe the presence of her personal knight in quite literally shining armor helped to bolster her too.

Still trying to catch her breath, Blake kept as close to the ground as she could, amber eyes closely following her knight’s movements as she carefully scanned the area. Normally, she’d help with the inspection, but exhaustion was weighing her down. Plus, the familiar tresses of white hair were fun to track as Weiss’ hair swayed each time she moved. Truthfully, the knight’s mere company was a comfort, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on those thoughts, especially given how professional she always acted towards her. Her romance novels may have included such forbidden relationships, but Blake couldn’t dare to hope that her affections were returned.

When she returned after deeming the area acceptable for rest, Blake smiled at her in an attempt to reassure the knight. It grew a bit more once she saw how tense shoulders loosened slightly, the expression mirrored on Weiss’ face. The distant sound of voices getting farther away and the sky gradually darkening reassured her of their safety, at least for the night.

Now that they were able to let their guards down, Blake decided to take a breather. The cool grass felt refreshing on her back as she used the ground as a makeshift bed, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the shattered moon. If her mind weren’t so addled right now, then she’d probably make a quip about how its cracks represented her life right now. Was it perhaps an exaggeration? Sure, but it’d likely elicit a retort from her lovely knight-

The Faunus groaned and dragged a hand over her face. She definitely needed to take her mind off of this-her-and peeked through her fingers when she heard soft footsteps approach. Her breath caught when she saw that Weiss had taken the time to clean her armor and weapons, the woman only clad in an undershirt and pants now. Concerned blue eyes locked with her own, and Blake could already see the question about to be asked. Not wanting to needlessly worry her, she quickly stood and shook her head. “I’m fine; it’s just been a long day, and my thoughts were spiraling again.”

The knight quirked her lips fondly, blue eyes glinting with mirth, the slightest touch of concern, and something else Blake couldn’t make out, and Weiss merely bowed her head before extending a hand. Without hesitation, Blake allowed herself to be led to the small fire that was just started for their meager meal. She silenced another apology by squeezing the calloused hand still gripping her own and held her ground against the searching blue eyes currently roving over her face. Blake knew that if Weiss detected even the slightest hint of unhappiness on her face, the knight would try anything in her power to make her feel better. She’d like to think that it was for romantic reasons, but that just seemed to be wishful thinking…

At the uncertain dip in her lips and furrowed brows, Blake sighed and squeezed her hand again, a bit more firmly this time. She met that searching gaze with an unwavering look of her own, and Weiss relented with a sigh and shake of her head. The knight was about to pull her hand away, but Blake’s firm grip stopped her. In the back of her mind, Blake knew that pushing the boundaries of their relationship was risky for both of them, and maybe other people would see it as selfish. 

Except, she reminded herself, there was no one else here. And as they settled down to eat while still holding hands, Blake realized that this was the first time she did something for herself in a long time. For so long she existed for her people, but she’d never felt more alive than now. Despite being pursued by terrifying opponents, Weiss’ steady presence made her pulse pound, her heart ache, and her hands shake in a way that reminded her that she was a person too, like everyone else whose lives she was bound to protect.

The knight raised a brow, eyes crinkling in concern at their shaking hands, and Blake wasn’t sure if she should let go-no, never. Instead, she made a choice for herself. Years later, Weiss would refer to this very moment as the riskiest decision she ever made. Now however, the knight’s blue eyes merely widened at the quiet declaration, Blake’s voice not once wavering. Though Weiss didn’t repeat those three words back, she did raise Blake’s hand to her lips and kiss it. Her blue eyes seemed to shine in the night, and Blake was glad that her own eyes were able to make out the blush rapidly spreading across pale cheeks. With the shattered moon being their only witness, Blake felt whole despite her fractured parts and resolved to make it through this trial to return to her people, not only for herself but for the future she shared with the woman before her.

A/N: This was personally the hardest prompt for me this year, if only because I had no idea what to write. It’s also shorter due to that. I can definitely tease that the rest of the week will be fun, and I’m excited to see what everyone else comes up with too! If you’re wondering why Weiss has no dialogue in this, who knows honestly? Since I already switched who people usually depict as the princess, I decided to switch it up even more by having Weiss be more silent. Truly a smooth silent protector. No wonder Blake fell for her.

[keladryhawklight]

The Scourge

Sometime during the Night, Kel & Sandor’s Apartment

The low whistle of a blight-barrel sounded as it soared through the air, impacting with a low boom against the barrier of the Hollow. In the dark of night, battle cries rang from the shadows as the hundreds of Forsaken soldiers emerged from the once-quiet forests of the Hinterlands; the men on duty sounded the alarm, ringing throughout the Hollow. A pair of fearful violet-eyes snapped open in the silence of the militants quarters, startled from sleep by the low rumbles and panicked screams.

“All civilians to the tunnel!” A mans voice thundered outside.

 The bells rang, loudly and urgently in the darkest part of the night. Kel came awake in an instant, sending cat, dog and crab tumbling every which way in her moment of fear. A scream strangled in her throat as she looked left and right around the room to discover the source of the noise. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she fought to catch her breath in the face of such a fright. Sweat beaded on her neck and in the tendrils of hair around her face. In an instant, she had forgotten where she was, and whom she shared her bed with. Instead, she had been cast back to another moment in time when such horrors had come in the night. The Light within her returned in an instant, wrapping itself around her hands, as they clutched at the blankets pooling in her lap. For weeks it had been strangely dimmed, something she could only attribute to the mysteries of her pregnancy; it had pained her somewhat, but the true touch of it's warmth had never left. It had simply been as if she had expended it all. It weaved, flickering on the air, sparking off her hands as she fought for control of it, and herself.

On and on the bells pealed incessantly. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Shouts rang outside, shouts of the guards she knew who patrolled this hour. Of people in the streets. Screams of those innocents who happened to be about at such a late hour. Launching herself out of bed she almost collapsed as the blood rushed back to her. White-knuckling their footboard, she stood for a moment and simply breathed while her vision whited in and out. Come little child, her thoughts whispered to the tiny being she carried. Now is not the time for this. Standing there dressed in naught but one of Sandor's shirts, she fought against the pressure put upon her in that moment by their child. Their child. She had to move. But her feet refused to. Refused to face what horror had come to their door. For once, she was terrified beyond belief. It was not just her and Sandor anymore. It was her, Sandor, and their child.

 What in the name of the Light do I do? her thoughts whispered to her silently. What do I do?

 Beside her, Sandor slept. His brow furrowed as he dreamed. He too, shared the uncertain world of dreams, and was often visited by memories past.

He was back in the Cathedral. The massive church with its vaunted ceilings was lit with innumerable torches and candles. Around him were Crusaders; Clerics, Priests, and Knights. At the alter stood a tall, slim woman. Her face was obscured in reddish shadow.

 "BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN OF THE SCARLET CRUSADE!" She called, her voice echoing in the marbled halls. "WHAT IS OUR PURPOSE?" "TO CLEANSE THE LAND OF SCOURGE AND RECLAIM IT FOR THE LIGHT!" "THAT'S RIGHT!" She responded, extending her hand. "NOW GO FORTH! PURGE THIS LAND OF UNDEATH, UNHOLY, AND ALL HERETICS THAT STAND IN OUR WAY!" The assembled host turned, revealing Sandor - not the young man as he had been when the Crusade fell, but as he was now - amongst the Crusaders. There calls of battle soared as they approached the massive doors of the Cathedral.

 Sandor sat upright, and startled, seeing Keladry gripping the side of the bed. His breath quick, he rose and moved quickly to her side. He pushed the bells and rising screams from his attention as he knelt by her, placing his hands on her stomach.

"My Lady-... What-..." He looked towards the window, a faint orange hue growing. Was that fire? "We must get you to safety. I fear the Scourge has finally made it's way to Stormwind."

It didn't take a Gnomish engineer to realize what was going on. He didn't have time to wonder how the Scourge had made it south so quickly. What he needed to do was act.

 Her eyes found his, hers wide and wild with fear. Her hands clutched at his desperately as she struggled to pull herself and her racing heartbeat under control. In his hands, she trembled like a leaf, her body shaking as the memories of a night past washed over her and the uncertainties of the future grasped at her tightly. Light came off of her in wisps, sparking in the air of their bedroom erratically. For all the control she normally had, in this moment it was gone. Her breath came in quiet pants, as she struggled to separate the world of dream and memory, from the disaster of their reality. Her gaze landed on Sandor as he suddenly appeared before her, his hands gentle as they cradled her stomach. Her thoughts raced as she regarded him, spilling over one another in no planned manner. He had been sleeping. They had been sleeping. The Hollow? Their home. They were home. Stromwind, they were in Stormwind. "What is going on," she beseeched him softly after a long moment. Her voice was thready, higher pitched from the emotions racing through her. "Sandor, what is going on?!" His words echoed in her mind. The Scourge. She knew the Scourge. They had come for them once again. First it had been the Hollow, and now it had found them again, nestled in their Stormwind apartment. Their safety, their nest that they had so carefully, so meticulously carved out in the safest of areas within the heartlands of the Alliance, had been in an instant shattered once more. "How can they be here?!" she questioned him. "How? How? We were supposed to be safe here. I-" Her words ceased abruptly as the realization sunk in, and reality hit her like a stone. Once again, when their world was about to turn upside down, they were going to be separated. The colour leeched from her face at the realization. "I.. We.. You.. you must see to the Enlisted, and the defence of the city. And I.. must see to the hospital. To the soldiers coming in for immediate assistance."  

 Sandor shushed her as her questions raced; reaching a hand up to stroke her face. His voice was calm, steady, despite his racing heart. He wouldn't fail her. No here. Not tonight. For almost a decade, he had run from the teachings of the Crusade. The brutal, singular-minded drive that had been instilled in him to seek out and purge Undeath. The training was harsh, and by the end, the Crusade had been manipulated and twisted into a shadow of its formal self. He had long ago rejected those teachings; but if the Scourge had made it to the home of the Alliance, to their home, he couldn't afford the luxury of being discerning in his methods. He nodded at her words. He took her hands into his, uttering a prayer to the Light. Keladry would feel herself enshrouded in a barrier of the Light. It would provide her with some protection against the Undead. "I will do as you command, my Love. Prepare yourself for the battle to come, and trust in the Light."

 Stealing the briefest moment in time they could ill afford, she nuzzled into the hand that stroked her face, bringing the smallest modicum of comfort to her racing heart. His voice was quiet as he shushed her, his demeanor calm. *How can he be so steadfast?* her thoughts questioned silently. *Our home..* Her eyes searched his frantically, searching for the answer to his calmness. Her heart continued to race erratically as she sought to pull herself under control.

 The scourge had come to the city. First their king had vanished, plucked out of the skies by the banshee's valkyr. Their songs haunted her dreams-- ever since that fateful day in the Plaguelands where she had fallen from the arms of one to the earth below, she had never forgotten that haunting, keening wail that heralded the arrival of the creatures. They too had come, plummeting into the very heart of their lands to take from them their leader. The act had, in instants, plunged them all back into darkness, back into uncertainty, and back into fear.

Her stomach rolled, their child making itself known. Her hand shot to her stomach instinctively, cradling the spot that had just been kicked. She knew they could not dally. Not this time. She reached for her hospital clothes, loose linens that would allow her to work without restrictions. It was going to be a long night indeed, so she knew. In moments, she was pulling on her boots, buckling her medical bags to her waist. "Duke, come,"  she crooned to the little pug who darted left and right. He didn't understand the excitement. Didn't know what was going on. To him, his owners were simply up and about, and that was his concern. She grabbed a spare medical bag, bigger than the rest. Scooping him up, she tucked him deep within the confines of her medical bag. It was a heavier bag, and could easily contain the both of them for a little while. Bacon could ride in his spot between her shirt and shoulder, his little claws hooked into her underclothing quite well. But Duke and Yenafur.. "My love, corral your cat. She will have to share a place with Duke until we can reach the hospital. I will let them run free in my office-- they will be safer there, surrounded by the hospital guards, and the city watch who will no doubt be on site."

 Sandor nodded; taking stock of the situation. His heart was pounding; but he kept his breathing even; slowly through the nose, and slowly out through the mouth. He glanced around, searching for the shaggy grey cat. Yenafur had pressed herself into the corner, meowling in protest to all the activity in the bedroom. Sandor scooped the cat up, scratching her chin and neck. The cat immediately began to calm down as he passed her over to Keladry. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Take your communicator; let me know when you make it to the hospital, and if there are any issues." He peered into her mismatched eyes, trying to impart as much calm and resolve as he could. "I'll be in touch when I reach the enlisted quarters. With luck, the Corporals have begun to mount a defense." He pulled her close, kissing her. He didn't want to separate himself from her, but they had jobs to do. He pulled back, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Go with the Light, my Lady."

 A grimace crossed her face  as she tucked the pair into the medical bag. One of her bigger ones, it would allow them to wiggle about just *barely* before settling down. If she clipped it, but didn't zip it shut, then they would have more than enough air and light to prevent instant panic before she reached the Cathedral. Hopefully, they both settled as they often did, and curled up for a quiet trip. She lifted the bag carefully, settling it across her shoulders, clipping it into place. She could feel them through the bag, pressed close against her bag. Their family. As for Bacon, he soon settled in his normal travelling spot; tucked into her shirt between the curve of her neck and her collarbone, his tiny claws holding him securely.

 As Sandor's hands came down on her shoulders, she stilled. His words were solemn. She knew he had the same pressing concerns as she at the front of her mind. His green eyes searched hers, and she found calmness, strength, resolve, *love*, all hidden within those depths. He kissed her once, imparting all the words they hadn't said between them in that one single gesture. There was so much they had not said to each other, so many adventures they had not yet lived. Her hands crept up around his neck, and she pressed herself close, clinging to him in that moment, hugging him for all she was worth.

 "This is not goodbye," she whispered to him. "This is not. I refuse to acknowledge it as a goodbye. It is a see you soon, do you understand me?"

 Sandor let himself melt a little into her embrace. He could feel his heart beat faster as she held him close. After a moment, he nodded at her words. “I will see you soon, my love.”

 At his words, she nodded, and stepped away. Affording one last look, she took in every detail of his face before she left. Her hand came up to clasp his for a brief moment. Memorizing the lines in his face, the colour in his eyes. Feeling the warmth in his touch, and in his gaze. Light flashed between their touch in an instant, her own returned blessings of safety and protection to carry him through the night. Pausing at the door, she picked up one last item; her longsword, well honed, and etched with the runes of the Light. It would serve her well, if worst came to worst. She did not want to consider such a thought. The Cathedral and the hospital were not far, but she could ill afford to take a risk. Not when she guarded their family with her life. As she departed their apartment, she paused, staring up at the suddenly bleak looking façade. Her eyes welled as she considered what was and what might be. It was too difficult a thing to comprehend, the magnitude of loss this would be to either of them. If she were to lose him, she couldn't imagine the pain in simply breathing with him gone. And if he were to lose her, it wouldn't be simply one loss. It would be the loss of two. Leaving him was the hardest thing she had done thus far, and it wrenched her heart to not know what the coming days would bring to them. They both had duties, and they both understood and knew what was expected of them. But the dull ache of 'what if' burned deep down.

 No, Kel. You must stop, her thoughts chided softly. Do not fall to such thoughts. Do not give into such thoughts. Be strong now. You may cry later. Giving her head a shake, she blinked away the tears, and drew her sword from it's scabbard. Light flashed along the blade as the runes lit up the dark night.

"And 'lo, I walk through the valley of darkest shadows, I have the Light as my shepherd," she whispered softly. "It is my strength, my rock, my shelter from the storm. In it, I place my most sacred of trusts."

 As the words faded, she moved. Darting down the dark streets, towards the orange glow. Towards the Hospital.

 After she left, Sandor hastily tucked his tunic into his trousers. Finding his leather boots in the corner, he pulled them on. From a drawer he produced two studded leather bracers. In a pinch, the hardened hide could hold back the bite of a ghoul, inadvisable as the tactic was. He grabbed his 7th Legion sword, ornately decorated with eagles and lions, and slung the scabbard over his back. From the closet, he fetched his shield and warhammer, before finally letting out a sharp exhale. “Time to go to work,” He grimly uttered before making his way downstairs. Checking his grip on his hammer, taking a few steady breaths to prepare himself. He pulled the door open, being greeted by the sickly-sweet smell of undeath, the tolling of bells, the distant screams and accompanying moans. His eyes quickly scanned the street, several blocks from the Cathedral square. A family down the street was standing on their stoop, huddled together. His first instinct was to approach them, have them come with him to the enlisted quarters. He strode in their direction, his pace quickening. From the alley a pack of ghouls, perhaps three or four, shambled, spotting the family. The mother shrieked, dragging her two small children inside. The father brandished a steak knife, shakily shouting at the ghouls to get back. He quickened into a full spring, swinging his hammer into the skull of one of the straggling ghouls in the pack. It immediately crumpled to the ground, it’s body broken and mangled. The man, spotting the action, smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, just before the first ghoul made it to the stoop, grabbing the man's arm and biting into it. Rivulets of blood flowed outwards, towards the man who screamed, attempting to push the ghoul away. The skulls of two more ghouls crumpled under the weight of his blows, before he swung, bringing his hammer to bear against the remaining ghoul's knees. The ghoul dropped, releasing his grip on the man. Setting his hammer back down, Sandor grasped the man by the shoulders, giving him a brief shake. The man's eye's frantically searched Sandor's. "T-Thank you, ser-.."

Sandor shook his head answering quietly, "There is no time for that. You've been bitten, which means you are likely infected. Tell your wife to board up your home, and make your way to the hospital. They will do what they can for you there." The man's eyes widened. "W-What?? Can't you take me?!" Sandor shook his head. "I am needed elsewhere. Now hurry. You don't have long." The man frantically nodded, before knocking on the door. Turning, Sandor began his journey once again, heading in the direction of the Dwarven District.

[jeaniegreysummers]

phoenix three || jean, scott & erik

SUMMARY: jean uses the phoenix to bring scott back. she freaks out thinking how to explain this to the others. she finds herself on erik’s doorstep. the three plot a revolution. that’s the jist.

WHEN: the day jean brought scott back from the dead (happy valentine’s day, go visit your father in law)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: grief, death, murder mention, violence

FEATURING: scott summers, erik lehnsherr

JEAN: Emma said Jean lacked control. She said she was bitter, and immature, and that she lacked a true understanding of what was needed to preserve the lives of their people and to push them into the future. Jean agreed with most of that. She died. She missed out on years of her life, spent months in a room filled with nothing but white fire that wasn’t hot to the touch because she was the nuclear bomb in the room, and came back to a world divided and a family split. But Emma was wrong about one thing.

No one had any idea how much Jean kept control.

They would begin to understand, she knew. The truth of what occurred on the Raft would come out, and they would know what she was capable of. They would know that Jean lost it for a single fraction of a moment, and that a wave of her hand extinguished dozens of lives. They would know she allowed them to slap cuffs around her wrists so she would be brought right to the place where she could suffer, and then failed to stay in her self imposed punishment.

They would know, the second they saw Scott by her side, exactly what she did to bring him back. Everyone knew the bird was still there, everyone but Jean. Everyone knew she’d never be rid of it. Now, she knew it too. She knew it, and she still passed it on to one of the people she loved most in the world despite her best intentions to push that affection down so far she couldn’t feel it anymore.

The second Scott slipped on his shades, the moment they caught their breath, she thought about the man she’d fought against, the man she trained with down by the Hudson, the man who came for her when she didn’t even realise she wanted him to come — and Scott knew. He had to. . Jean’s hand shook as she raised it to knock on Erik’s door. Once the sound rang out, she moved back to hold onto Scott’s arm, her other hand already clasping his. The door opened, and Jean could feel the rush of energy, the low simmering threatening to boil over, as they stood.

“I did something,” she said, voice thick but strong, stronger than it had been in over two weeks. She pulled lightly on Scott’s arm, bringing him into the doorframe. “I asked for a favor, Erik, and I …”

How did she start with this? How did she even pretend to be sheepish about the consequences that were sure to follow?

“We need your help.”

ERIK: Ever since he'd realized there were other people like him, other people with gifts, Erik had been terrified of telepaths. His whole life, he'd been trying to get out from the control of others, restraining parts of himself to keep himself alive and sane. The idea of a telepath, of someone getting inside his head, influencing his thoughts, controlling his actions--that was the stuff of nightmares, compliance forced from the inside.

It'd been a relief to find himself resistant to that particular gift, though not immune--certainly not to telepaths of the calibre of Charles and Jean. He'd grown to enjoy their presence in his head, after he finally stopped throwing walls up when it became apparent that they had no desire to be in his head without permission, to do anything but understand.

The Phoenix was different. It wanted control, wanted Erik to lose his own, to yield to those dangerous whispers that had always been in his mind but that the bird amplified and twisted. It was already inside his head, and intent on keeping people he'd found a comfort in, like Charles, out. He could feel things changing, when he'd wake up in the morning, would have the distant sensation that his brain was being quietly shuffled around, searched through, edited oh so quietly.

Like the fear. He couldn't bring himself to be terribly concerned about the Phoenix, now, couldn't hold any thought like that without it slipping away like water through a sieve. Jean had said it was fine. That he'd be safe. He trusted Jean.

They were fine. Him and the bird. If he couldn't quite draw the dividing line, well. No one was asking him to. His apartment had changed, since the Raft--the curtains were drawn constantly, and where paintings had once hung, the wall space was increasingly occupied by various schematics.

The New York City power grid. The United Nations building floor plans--hand drawn on top of what was publically available, thanks to a painstaking day of using the bolts in the walls and the flow of bioelectric traffic to form an accurate mental schematic. A map of all the ways into and out of the island of Manhattan.

War was like chess. He would see that mutantkind did not squander their next move. There was a way to checkmate, and he was getting there. Slowly. Lots of pieces from the other side would be lost, but that was the game.

( They took his kids, his family, his freedom, time and time again, and they would pay in blood. )

He's got a fresh cup of tea steaming on the coffee table in front of him as he regards the images pinned to the opposite wall when the knock comes. The familiar warmth from the other side of the door, the other piece of the same stuff that runs in his veins, now, calls to him and tells him he needn't worry before he even opens it.

But then he sees her face, and concern wells. And then she's tugging something from behind the doorframe, something likewise warm and alive, and Erik feels the world tilt briefly on its axis.

Jean had brought Scott back. The Phoenix had brought Scott back. ( What else could it do? Who else, he thinks selfishly? )

Jean looks like she's worried, but Erik is stepping forward to wrap his arms around both of them in the next moment, squeezing as if he can keep them here, safe, alive, through sheer force of will.

( Can he? )

"I-- anything. You know that. Anything for you. Both of you."

SCOTT: He was alive. The word repeated in his mind over and over again, echoing with each beat of his heart. Alive, alive, alive. It sounded more and more foreign every time, made nonsensical with the repetition. It shouldn’t have felt as strange as it did. He’d done this before, after all, come back from the dead into a world that felt infinitely different than the one he’d left behind, but… this was more distinct. This fire burning in his chest, this strange power that mingled with that familiar anger… It hadn’t been here last time.

And neither had she. Coming back to a world with Jean Grey in it was much better than coming back to one without her, Scott thought. He’d prefer it this way every time, want this more than anything. His hand gripped hers like a lifeline, fingers intertwined with hers as if she was doing what gravity couldn’t and keeping his feet on the ground. He didn’t have to ask her where they were going when she lead him out the door. He didn’t know if it was their psylink, the Phoenix, or simply the fact that he knew her better than he’d ever known anyone, but he knew where they were headed. Part of him wondered if he ought to be surprised by it, but… He wasn’t. Standing outside of Erik’s door after dying in the war Magneto had always warned them was coming… It made sense.

He was quiet as Jean spoke, uncertain as he stood just out of sight. Jean wouldn’t have brought him here if she didn't want Erik to know he was alive, but Scott was still hesitant. There was a lot of explaining to do with his resurrection, a lot of things he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say. But Erik would understand. He could feel the power burning in Erik, matching that fire in his own chest. Jean had said a piece of the bird went into him, too, and that probably made Magneto one of the only two people alive who knew what was in Scott’s head now. That scared him less than he’d thought it might. . Scott ducked his head as Jean pulled him into view, looking almost sheepish at Erik’s wide eyes. Scott opened his mouth, ready to say something (and the only thing that came to mind was hi, which was, all things considered, incredibly anticlimactic), but he didn’t get the words out before Erik’s arms were around them both. Scott relaxed into his grip, feeling suddenly less tense, like something had been unwound, like a screw had been untightened allowing him to loosen up just a little. “It’s good to see you, Erik,” he offered quietly. He wanted to say more, wanted to say you were right, wanted to say I’m sorry I wasted so much time fighting you, wanted to say I understand it now, but he couldn’t quite find the words for it.

Glancing to Jean, he nodded. “They don’t know yet,” he said, and he didn’t have to say who they were. The people who’d shot him down in that park, the ones who’d gone on television to frame him as the villain of the story, the one who used his death as an inciting incident to prove just how violent mutants truly were, they didn’t know he was back. He didn’t have to say just how bad things would be when they found out. “When they do…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang. When they knew, things would get worse, for all of them.

JEAN: Growing up, Jean never had a shortage of safe places. Her parents, her siblings, her school and her best friend. Charles and Erik. Scott, when she sat down beside him on that park bench. Warren and Bobby and Hank, always pulling her from the fire when she needed it, watching her back. The older she got, though, the more experience she had with losing that stability. John and Elaine would speak to her only if she pretended to be a different person. Her sister was dead. Jean ripped her old middle school from its foundations, causing damages they were still paying for years later. Annie was hit by that car. Charles, Scott, everyone couldn’t stop Jean from falling on that battlefield, and even as she was lying in Scott’s arms bleeding out she felt entirely, achingly alone.

And Erik had left. The memory of it was still bitter, sharper in her mind than she would ever admit to. Scott knew, of course. The link between them meant that they couldn’t keep secrets if they wanted to, and they never had. Erik had left, and every day since Jean had tried to maintain the initial anger she felt at going downstairs and realising the Institute would be going on without its lifeblood.

They’d found a way to cope, her and Charles and the team they formed, but it would never be the same. Jean said she would never forgive him for that, for changing things from how they were supposed to be, for altering destiny because of his dedication to one never-ending cause.

Sometimes, though, forgiveness came from the strangest places. The fire brought Scott back from the ground, and immediately the only person Jean wanted to tell about it was the man standing in front of her now, the man putting his arms around both of them. Jean found herself buried easily between them, one hand clutching to the back of each of their shirts, breathing in the feeling and wishing that it would never end. . But things always ended. It was what you did between the beginning and the final page that mattered. She knew that now.

Scott’s voice came low beside her, and Jean turned her head only for a moment so she could wipe at her eyes with the heel of her hand. When she met Scott’s gaze through his shades, she was solid once more, or at least could appear that way.

“No one knows,” she continued, turning to meet Erik’s eyes. “I don’t know how to … We’re going to need to explain it. All of this.”

Charles would know before long. He would feel the Phoenix splitting the first time he went to search for Jean’s mind, and he was doing that more often than ever before after Scott’s death. The three of them were tied in this secret now, but there was only so long before the fire burned through the self deception like it always said it would.

She swallowed thickly, one hand going for Scott’s, the other reaching for Erik’s. “Whether Scott is alive or dead, they’re going to come for us,” Jean said. “This is what you were talking about, wasn’t it?” Erik had been claiming humans would come to fight them for years. He had a plan. Jean knew that. She knew she needed that.

ERIK: Scott and Jean were in his arms, and a bit of the world repaired itself. He wondered distantly if Scott had checked his voicemail. If he'd heard the apology that would never be enough, even now that the man is back.

It doesn't matter. Here, in this moment now, the three of them and the shared fire between them are one. They're all in the same boat, now, and Erik had meant his promise to the ghost on the other end of the phone. He would not fail again to keep his people safe. They would not fail.

Erik's hand tightened around Jean's, and his other hand wrapped around Scott's shoulder. "Yes." He'd long ago learned to prepare for the worst when it came to humans. He could say that he told them so, told the world so, but there was no point to that, now.  So instead, he smiled, and there was something angry and cold in that baring of teeth, even as warmth towards the two of them is practically shining from him.

It would be unsettling to him, too, if he could think about it. . "Let me show you. I just finished putting on a kettle."

He opened the door, released his hold on the two of them, and stepped aside to let them come in. Two metal teacups and saucers flew across the room to join his on the coffee table, the kettle lifting to fill each. At the same time, Erik melted the metal edging of the doorframe down over the door, sealing it far more securely than a deadbolt ever would.

The Phoenix made splitting his powers to focus on different tasks child's play.

"The things on the wall are for... later. We can talk about that. But we need to plan for breaking the news about Scott. About us." He settled into one of his armchairs, stretched his legs out in front of him, and waved a hand to turn down the music drifting through the apartment.

"The humans used your death to inspire fear. Your resurrection should terrify them. Mutants are holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, one way or the other. You've always been well-liked, Scott. Those who've found me too militaristic still respected you. I've been warning of war for years. You have the ground to tell them that it is here and that we must fight it."

They needed to break news about the Phoenix, too, at least to certain people, but that was going to be a far trickier conversation. Jean didn't know about the... difficultly reached equilibrium he and the bird were slowly coming to.

He didn't especially want to talk about it.

SCOTT: When he’d died, he’d died angry. Rage had flowed through him like fire through his veins, ignited at the sight of children with guns pointed in their faces, unquenchable even as the blood filled his lungs and drowned him on solid ground. The anger had not died when he had, hadn’t left him during his brief exit from the mortal plane. Scott was still angry. There was still fire in his veins, even if that fire was a little more literal than it had been when he was sputtering and wheezing in the grass, begging Logan to kill him.

The people standing with him now, they understood that fire. They understood him, maybe better than anyone else ever had. Scott had tried all his life to be like Charles, had fought to be optimistic, to believe in a resolution that would find humans and mutants living side by side in peace. He’d tried, but he’d never succeeded. Not really. Deep down, he’d always been a little too much like Erik. He’d always been a little too angry, a little too ready for a war. Nathaniel Essex had seen that. So had Jack Winters. So had Erik himself. And maybe Charles had, too. Maybe the only one who was only just now realizing the inevitability of this partnership was Scott.

His eyes darted from Jean to Erik, and the discussion of his recent death didn’t bother him the way it probably should have. It felt senseless mourning a death that had already been undone. (Or, he told himself it did. If his heart continued to pound, if his chest ached with wounds already healed, no one had to know it but Scott. He was allowed to be senseless in the privacy of his own mind.) What mattered now was what came next. That was where his focus needed to be, what he needed to keep his eyes on as they moved forward. They needed to come up with a plan. They needed to find a way to keep what had happened to Scott from happening to anyone else.

They needed to save their people. . Nodding as Erik spoke, Scott trailed behind the older man, following him into the entryway. He felt the door shift behind him, knew that Erik had locked it in the way only he could. Not long ago, that might have made him nervous. Now, it was a comfort. Erik was not his enemy --- he never had been.

His eyes settled on Erik’s, and that familiar anger burned in his chest. The people who’d killed him had used his death. They weren’t hiding what they’d done --- they wanted people to know. They wanted people to be afraid.

Scott could make people afraid, too.

That was what Erik was asking of him, he knew. And it was a good plan. Their people were already angry. Their people already wanted to fight. All they needed to do was organize them. Good people would fight where they were needed, would do what was necessary. All they had to give them was a little direction. “I’ll make a statement,” Scott said, speaking for the first time since the discussion of the plan began. “In the Bugle. They’ll publish anything that sells papers and…” He trailed off, smiling tightly. “This will sell.”

JEAN: She walked into the apartment slowly, sticking close to Scott’s side until, paradoxically, the door was bolted closed and Jean felt some of the tension loosen itself from between her shoulder blades. Logically, she knew trusting Erik was a mistake. He’d burned her once before — but did that compare, she wondered, to the hundreds of times he had the opportunity to but hadn’t. At any stage down the line, especially in the early days when they were teenagers going against a man who had refined his powers for decades, they could’ve been knocked out of commission. Jean and Scott in particular were tested by Magneto, but never significantly harmed.

Now, she couldn’t help but wonder if their faces had ever been tacked to a board like this, if that overwhelming focus from one of the most feared mutants in the world was less about tactics and more about him knowing that one day, they would arrive on his doorstep and they would be having this conversation. Was that manipulation, or foresight? At this point, Jean wasn’t even sure if she cared.

Erik moved the kettle to pour out some tea, and it was only then that Jean realised she’d never been in this place before. It didn’t feel that way, not with Scott and Erik talking, not with the easy familiarity of a cat she’d never seen jumping up onto the arm of the couch to rub its head against Jean’s hand. She scratched behind its ears, whispering, “Hi,” softly to it as Erik and Scott spoke, before turning her attention back to the board.

He said not to worry now. He said to think of it later. But Jean’s eyes narrowed nonetheless, her attention flickering from photo to schematic, piecing it together. It was easy, relatively speaking — she’d always had a special understanding with Erik, and under the fire and anger she knew she was intelligent. She also knew this was something she had to expect. . “You think telling people about us is a good idea?” Jean asked, turning from the board to look back at Erik, a frown remaining on her face. “In my experience, people don’t react particularly well. They never … they thought it made me angry. They thought it turned me into something else. We bring the flames out into the open, and we’re allowing everyone to start shooting at us instead of the enemy.” Calling them revolutionaries, doubting their sanity, thinking their emotions were taking over when they should be impartial. Jean had seen it all before, and she doubted it would be any different for Erik and Scott than it was for her.

It was selfish to be grateful for the fact she was no longer alone in this. It was selfish, but this past month had proven Jean was pretty firmly in that camp already.

Fifteen years ago, Jean finally managed to pin down why, exactly, she loved Scott Summers, why she admired him, why she wanted him to look at her more than she wanted anything else in the world. That list of reasons had only grown over the past decade, but in the beginning, one of the main reasons was that he didn’t speak unless he had something to say. He weighed up his options. He spent most of the time in the safety of his own mind, ticking things over until he was ready to put his thoughts out into the world.

When he agreed with Erik, Jean looked over at him, keeping his gaze for a long moment. Her heart was pounding loud in her chest, there was a creeping dread in her gut, but there was no other option. There was no turning back.

She lifted her hand, causing one of the cups of tea to come towards her. As soon as it was in her hand, she settled down in one of the chairs, crossing her legs as she settled back. “Glad you two are getting along,” she commented, taking a sip. “I don’t think everyone else will be so easy to convince.”

ERIK: Erik was a selfish man.

His entire life, he'd wanted only one thing: safety. For himself, for his family, for his people. He was infamous for his singular focus on his goals, and there was no denying that he would--that he had--run over the desires of those very same people he wanted to protect in that pursuit.

Charles' peace. Jean's stability. Lorna's family.

Each had been sacrificed at the altar of his own goals. And despite the pain of doing so, he didn't regret it. He was sorry for the damage caused, but he would not apologize for the things he'd done, would do them again in a heartbeat.

When he'd left, he'd hoped that Jean would come after him. He knew she shouldn't, knew that she was better off with Charles, with a man who could give her all of the attention she deserved without reserve, who could teach her how to navigate her powers in a way that Erik couldn't. He knew that she was safer in the Institute.

He also knew she wasn't content to stay inside the bubble of safety, which meant that he needed to make the requisite arrangements. His fights with the X-Men had always been carefully considered, a mental calculus of how far he could push the children, how much damage he could do without putting them in true danger but still get them to push their powers. It was manipulation, put simply.

But one day, they would be facing people who didn't hold back like he did. . And perhaps he'd hoped that on that day, they would know what side they belonged on. Who was right. Despite the reasoning, despite what had brought them there, Erik was selfishly pleased that finally, they were here in his apartment, here and safe at his side and ready to fight the war he'd seen coming for decades.

Jean got what she needed from Charles. Now was the time for Erik to give her what Charles never could.

Her question earned a wry twist to his lips. "Schätzen, they already think I'm angry. Unstable. A warmonger. Growing aware that I have the Phoenix won't make them call me anything different: but it will make the humans as afraid as they ought to have been from the beginning. You're right, it will paint a target on our backs--but we can take it, where others cannot."

Scott agreed with him, and something made Erik certain that in the aftermath of the Park, Scott would find himself agreeing with far more of Erik's ideas than he would have before. ( And if he felt grateful for that, too: well, he was a selfish man. )

Erik took a sip of his tea, watched Mischa stalk over to settle on Scott's lap with a small meow.

"The Brotherhood has had hundreds of mutants coming to the meeting places I indicated in the radio show in the time since the Park. A spike after the Raft, as well--even if the government hasn't released details about what happened, the mutants we freed have been talking about it. Sure, there will be some who refuse to wage the war for survival that has been thrust upon us, but most simply need organization. And they need to see that even those who once advocated peace have realized the futility of peace through words. They need to see that we can form a united front against a common enemy."

He glanced between Scott and Jean, raising a brow. "I'm certainly open if you have any suggestions as to other ways to ensure this united front. The X-Men trust you more than they trust me. If you talk to them..."

SCOTT: They were safe. It was an odd realization to come to, for a number of reasons. Primarily, if you had told Scott years ago that he’d one day find safety in the home of the man he’d spent the better part of his teenage years actively fighting against, there was no part of him that might have believed you. Magneto had been more concept than man back then, too big to be considered a person in any sense. Things had changed over the years. Scott hardly ever even thought of him as Magneto anymore, not even in a fight. No, more often, he was simply Erik. Erik, who Jean loved like a father. Erik, who Scott trusted with the safety of his people even when he didn’t trust him with much else. Erik, who was the only person he’d ever feel confident coming to with something like this.

It wasn’t only the person he’d found safety with who was surprising, of course. Feeling any semblance of safety after something like what had happened in Central Park was laughable. When he’d been laying in that grass, his life bleeding away into his fingertips, Scott had been sure he’d never feel safe again. Safety, he’d thought, tore out the barrel of a gun and ripped through his chest cavity. Safety bubbled up in his throat and pooled into his lungs with every beat of his heart. Safety died when he did.

But he was alive now. And maybe, maybe that safety had been resurrected with him.

And maybe it would not remain alive much longer. (Maybe he wouldn’t, either.) . Jean was right, of course. If Central Park had proven one thing, it was that the Accords had never been designed to protect people like them. The enforcers there had been willing to aim guns at children whose only crimes were anomalies in their DNA they hadn’t chosen, had killed Scott for daring to stand up for them with a flicker of too much anger in his eyes. To them, mutants were threats long before they were people. They were little more than vague concepts, ideas to be squashed. That, Scott thought, was where they had royally fucked up.

People could be killed. It was an easy thing to do, a simple goal to achieve. A bullet here, a blade there, a blunt object swung at the right angle towards a head. People were easy to kill. It was more work keeping them alive, harder to make sure they didn’t die. If the government treated the X-Men as people, they would have made their jobs far easier on themselves, but they didn’t. No, instead, they saw mutantkind as an idea. And an idea was the one thing you could never kill.

“They’ll find out eventually either way,” he pointed out, reaching down to pet Erik’s cat absently as it climbed into his lap. “You might have been able to hide it on the Raft, but now…” He trailed off, shifting in his seat. People might not question how two powerful mutants destroyed a portion of the Raft. That was the kind of thing they could explain away, the sort of thing they could easily pretend was normal. But a man returning from what had been a very public execution? That was a bit harder to smooth over with logic. Unless Scott spent the rest of his life in hiding, people would realize something was up. Those with any sort of knowledge of the Phoenix and its relationship with Jean could make the jump to the correct conclusion with little effort. . Scott’s eyes flickered up to meet Erik’s, and he shifted in his seat. “I won’t ask anyone to fight who isn’t comfortable doing so,” he said. “People who want peace can choose peace, and I’ll fight for them, too. They all deserve to make that decision for themselves. But…” He trailed off, looking to Jean and Erik and back again. “I don’t think we can avoid a fight any longer. They want a war. I don’t see a lot of options that don’t involve giving it to them.”

Talking to the X-Men wasn’t something that would be easy. Just telling them he was alive would be painful, but adding in the fact that he’d joined forces with Erik and the Brotherhood? It complicated and already complex situation. But, just like they deserved the chance to choose peace… They deserved the choice to fight, if they wanted. “I’ll try to broach the topic with some of them,” Scott said, glancing to Jean, “if you think it’s a good idea.”

JEAN: They were talking amongst themselves, and in what was a rather uncharacteristic move, Jean was sitting on the sofa in silence, a cup of tea going cold in her hands and Mischa using her as a stepping stone to move onto Scott’s lap. It was rare that she didn’t attempt to become the centre of attention, even subconsciously. It was something she’d grown used to as the youngest of the Greys, then as the girl that ripped the school from its foundations, as an Omega level telepath at fourteen, as the woman who died and died and died and kept on coming back. There was a reason she clashed so vividly with Emma, after all, why she found herself immediately falling into step with the man beside her who wanted nothing more than to fade into the shadows when he wasn’t leading an army into battle.

She always had something she needed (something she wanted) to say. Jean thought best when she was thinking out loud, even if her domain was within the minds of others, sorting through their memories and working out where they stood, what experiences they were coming from. At this point, though, Jean was just watching the two men in the room beside her and in front of her, eyes flickering between them and back to that board on the wall, and then to the cat stretching out leisurely as if they weren’t discussing war (and how would the cat know? All Mischa knew of this world was that Erik would take care of things, and that was what Jean relied on when she showed up on his doorstep, too).

Taking it all in, turning it over, finally lifting the cool cup of tea to her lips only to find that the flavor was just as potent as it would’ve been boiling. It was the first time she’d had something proper to drink in the past two weeks. Her stomach began to curl as she realised she’d barely eaten in that time, either. . She’d changed, since Scott went down in Central Park. She’d changed since Erik came to her on the Raft, since they worked together to take lives and break collars and free their people, people that Lorna (a child, Erik’s child) had ferried across the border because she refused to step down when something mattered as much as this did.

She’d changed since she was a bitter, lonely little girl desperate for a place with the X-Men, desperate to prove herself, desperate for a father who loved her for what she was instead of what she could’ve been if she just missed out on that one little gene. She’d changed since Scott first met her on that park bench.

She wasn’t sure she liked the change.

Scott shifted beside her, and although her mind was still a thousand miles away, Jean’s hand still went instinctively to his leg, resting there for a moment as if her touch would be enough to ground him in a world void of anchors, void of meaning, void of justice. Jean chewed on the corner of her lip, trying to imagine how Logan would look at her when she said Scott was back, when she told Rogue how she dipped into that power that terrified all of them purely so she could have Scott under her hand again, could feel him breathe deeply beside her in contemplation, could feel as if her feet were on ground again no matter how unstable.

It was only when the room shifted into silence (she wasn’t sure how long they must’ve stood there, both of them, looking at her and looking at each other) that Jean realised Scott asked her a question. She searched his mind and the answer came easily. Talking to the X-Men. Asking them to join her in a war. Taking what Charles said about starting a fight or ending one on her own terms because she wasn’t a child anymore and turning it into a reality. . This was when she made her choice. This was her defining moment. She had no doubt that Erik would do what he thought necessary, knew he’d been doing that all along, but Scott …

Scott was asking what she thought. One word from her and they would leave. One word from her, and the allegiance would be sealed.

She set the cup to the side, pushing herself up off the sofa, hand brushing lightly against Scott’s as she moved. Her hand went to Erik’s shoulder as he sat in one of the chairs, squeezing gently on her way past to stand in front of the board. The plans stretched out before her, and she could touch them. She could feel the electricity under the city, how it called to Erik’s blood. She knew without looking back at Scott that this was something he needed.

War was never comfortable. That explained the feeling deep down in her gut, the feeling that she’d started them all on a path they’d never get off again -- but then again, wasn’t it better than death? Wasn’t anything, anything at all, better than the expanse of darkness or bright, blinding light, better than knowing you were never coming back to make another mistake?

“We’ll talk to them,” she decided, her voice stronger now, pulling from both men’s resolve to steel her own. “They can make their own choices, but we will give them the information.” Jean turned, slowly, and with the distance from the seats she could see both Erik and Scott without turning her head. “The humans won’t get the same luxury. We can’t keep going in circles. It’s time-”

Jean took a breath, and right on cue, she felt the flames in her veins, warmth curling in the palms of her hands that tightened into fists at her sides.

“It’s time to make a change. All of us, together. And those who don’t want to fight … we’ll change things for them, too.”

[himluv]

Peculiar

The Solavellan train keeps on keeping on. This one takes place a few days after Discoveries. I hope you enjoy it!

It had been another long day in the war room. Riallan appreciated her advisors, she could never head the Inquisition without them, but after more than eight hours standing around arguing about the future of Orlais, she could think of a million other places she would rather be.

The rotunda chief among them.

But first, she needed to eat something and take a bath. When they had first reached Skyhold she had refused the large tower room when Josephine had given it to her. She was just one person, what would she do with so much space? At least four aravels could fit in her quarters, and each of those housed an entire family! But now she was grateful for so much private space.

Few visited her here. Most would knock on the door and wait for her to come to them, where they would then inevitably move the conversation somewhere less intrusive. Six months ago she would have been lonely with no one to share her personal space, but it turned out she often needed the reprieve.

Being the Inquisitor was exhausting.

She lingered in the bath, luxuriating in the warmth and the aromas of the soaps. She still used the ones Solas had found for her birthday, but only occasionally. She wanted to make them last. But after the day she had, she allowed herself the indulgence.

Once she felt suitably relaxed, Riallan dressed in her usual casual clothes. Halla hide leggings, a loose linen tunic that had a habit of falling off one shoulder, and the worn loden wool shawl Deshanna had made for her journey to the Conclave. She wrapped her feet to the ankle for propriety’s sake; it felt strange to walk through the keep completely barefoot, and then set off down the stairs.

She reached for the first door, the one that led up into her room, just as someone knocked on it. It was unlike Josephine to call on her in the evening. Had something happened? She opened the door, her heart hammering in her chest, but it wasn’t Josephine who waited for her.

“Solas.” His name fell from her, breathy and relieved.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Lethallan,” he said. His eyes darted over her face, taking in her damp hair and casual dress. He glanced behind her, as if he might find someone there. “I hope I am not intruding.”

She almost laughed. The only person she wanted in her room was him, but she wouldn’t say as much. He had asked for time. Over two months ago, but still, she would honor his request. She opened the door further, gesturing for him to come in. “Not at all. I was actually just coming down to join you in the rotunda.”

He smiled at that, but the expression was fleeting. He marched up the stairs, giving her room a cursory glance before heading straight for the balcony. She followed him, confounded as to what would bring him to her room. And what could have him in such a preoccupied state.

“What were like before the anchor?” He asked. He seemed nervous, anxious. His weight shifted from foot to foot, and though he met her gaze, it was never for long. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your… spirit?”

She blinked. Usually she was the one with all the questions. She considered her hand, but for now the anchor was calm, and there was nothing to see but a faint, pulsing green scar in her palm.

“I don’t believe so,” she said. “But do you think I would notice if it did?” That seemed like the sort of thing that would happen so subtly and absolutely that she would be none the wiser. Which was terrifying.

“Ah,” he said. He sounded disappointed. “You’re right, of course.”

She smiled at him, laughter lurking on her lips. He could be so peculiar when his mind moved faster than their conversations. Lucky for him, she found it endearing. “Why do you ask?”

“You show a wisdom I have not seen… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” He shook his head once. “You are not what I expected.”

This time, she did laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not disappointing, it’s,” he sighed and tried again. She’d never seen him struggle with words quite like this before. What had flustered him so? “Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the words that came next. “If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours… have I misjudged them?”

Riallan thought about it for a moment. She thought about Deshanna, and Hawen, and the Keepers she could remember from the last Arlathvhen, Marethari and Zathrian. Out of all of them, the only one who didn’t harbor some sort of grudge against the world was her maela.

She ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe a little, but honestly Solas, the Dalish aren’t just one thing. They are clans full of individuals who have their own struggles and biases.” She shrugged. “I was lucky to have my Keeper. She’s… different from the others. She helped me be different too.”

“Your grandmother,” he said. “Deshanna.”

Her chest filled with warmth to hear her name on his lips. Not for the first time she wondered what her maela would think if she brought home a clanless man. Would she look at him like Hawen had, with pity and distrust? Or would she trust her dirtha’len and welcome him with open arms?

“You miss her,” he said, when her thoughts had run away with her for too long.

“I do,” she said. There was no point lying about it. “I’m learning that there are some downsides to clan life, but there’s a lot worth missing too.”

“Perhaps that is it,” he said. “Most people act with so little understanding of the world, but not you. You always endeavor to learn more of it.”

She blushed. Coming from him, that was high praise indeed. “What does this mean, Solas?” Why was he here and where was this conversation headed?

This time, when he spoke, he didn’t look away from her. “It means, I have not forgotten the kiss.”

Riallan held his gaze, searching his face for any hint that he still had doubts, but in this moment his eyes were clear. Hopeful. She stepped toward him, and he took a little half-step closer to her. “Good,” she said.

The edge of the sun descended behind the mountains, washing the balcony in pale gold light. When he didn’t say anything she stepped closer again and looked up at him, her hands clasped behind her back. It was a little joke, a mimicry of his usual posture.

And with her jaw raised, her neck exposed, and her eyes watching his face, it was a dare. The question was, would he take it?

For a moment she thought he would. Solas leaned in, just a little, but then he shook his head. Slow and uncertain, as doubt crept into his eyes once more. He turned his body away from her and stepped away.

She grabbed his arm,  the gesture quick but light. It was enough to stop him, but not enough to make him look at her. “Don’t go,” she said. Her voice was soft, but not pleading. Instead it held a promise. She was here, she had waited. She wanted him, if he would only let himself have her.

Why was this so hard? From where she stood it felt easy. Caring for him, with his quiet demeanor, his passion for knowledge, and his carefully controlled passion, that was easy.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he said. He still hadn’t turned to face her. “But losing you would…”

He turned, took a single step, and suddenly he was there. He was in her space, his body warm against hers, his hands finding her waist without hesitation. He pulled her to him, pressed flush against his chest, and kissed her.

She was inundated, overwhelmed, and utterly absorbed by him. His heat, the sharp cedar scent of his clothes, the jawbone necklace he wore a hard press against her belly. But above all the soft, yet demanding pressure of his mouth on hers.

In the Fade, there had only been his mouth, it had been all she could focus on in the way dreams were. Her world had zeroed in on his lips and how they moved with hers. But, here on her balcony, there was so much to hear and smell and taste and feel. Solas was everywhere and everything. His arms around her, a hand on her ass holding her tight against him, while he bent her back slightly to deepen the kiss.

Riallan yielded to him. She let him explore this moment however he pleased; she was just happy it was even happening. She had waited months to know if his kiss was as passionate by day as it was in the Fade. If he would taste the same, sharp and sweet and warm. He did, she realized, and let her tongue slide along his lips.

A little moan escaped him, and she thrilled at the sound and at the fact that he did not stop. He did not walk away. She clung to his shoulders as his thigh pressed between her legs, and still the kissing did not stop. And she didn’t want it to.

Finally, they did break apart, both panting as Solas bent his forehead to hers. His hands found a home at her ribs, his thumbs brushing perilously close to the sides of her breasts. Her eyes widened, lips parted, but he didn’t notice.

He brushed his nose against hers and said, “ar lath ma, vhenan.”

She froze, but he was already letting go of her. She felt as if the he had pulled the air from her lungs with those four words, and instead of pulling her up for air he was walking away. Before she could process, before she could even consider if she could return the words and mean them, Solas was down the stairs and out of sight.

The door creaked shut behind him, and the sound made her flinch. Made her breathe again. He had told her he loved her. Had called her vhenan… his heart.

She leaned against the wall of her room, the cold twilight wind whipping in off the mountains, and sighed. Now, in the fading light, her room looked barren. When she looked at the four-post bed, the one she’d chosen because the fabric overhead helped her pretend she was sleeping in an aravel, it looked massive.

Lonely.

If he had asked, she would have let him stay. She wasn’t sure she could return his love just yet, but she knew she wanted to try. Creators she wanted him, and if he was going to keep kissing her like that…

She covered her face and laughed. Had he just told her he loved her and then… ran away? Solas was a peculiar man indeed. But, she had reason to believe that he was her peculiar man, and that made it all okay. Riallan had a feeling she would forgive just about anything if he kept kissing her like that.

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 26 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

The Jotnar were tactical with their interactions with Nigel. They ensured they were never alone in his company and that those who were there as their buffers were not allied to his as personal friends. Thor ensured he was included in the group to assist the Jotnar when he was present.

Ella’s knowledge of Vanaheim assisted the Jotnar in what little talks they had with them. It was not the time for trade agreements, but celebration, though that did not prevent such talks. No sooner did the Vanir realise that Ella had informed her husband of their supplies and their worth, they ceased all pretences and spoke plainly, allowing there to be preliminary discussions and a further date set to address said trade better. Loki thanked his wife for her information, Ella elated to hear she had been of assistance.

The trip to Vanaheim was a successful one, the Jotnar had to agree. It was uncomfortable for them in many respects, the heat was something they had never had to endure before and had Ella not assisted them so diligently with her seidr, it would have been a horrific experience for them, far too hot and humid.

The different customs they learned whilst there were a shock for them also, especially as a lot of them did not make any sense. Loki did note the act of kissing more after Ella pointed it out to him, so too did he point it out to Helbindi, who found himself more intrigued than his brother by the act, even using the fact it was not a Jotnar custom to convince a pretty Light Elf not much older than himself to allow him to learn with her. Loki used the comments Ella made on the Light Elves liking the kiss on the hand to charm a Lord and Lady of Alfheim adequately enough for them to wish to discuss ice for their home with the Jotnar. He realised quickly his wife held information of great value to the realm, even on matters of other realms. He also noted her comments on being a stranger on a new realm rang true. It was harder than he would care to admit, trying to ascertain what was the correct thing to say to not offend, that was the most difficult, more than once Ella had used her seidr to whisper in his ear what would be deemed an impertinence to one realm was a compliment on another and when such was applicable. He also noticed that there was a never-ending stream of people who wished to introduce themselves to him. He never knew who they were, but they knew him and more concerning, they knew a lot about him that he was uncertain how they could know. But again, Ella was in his ear, giving names, titles and realms as they met them, all of them seemingly knowing her, and to his surprise, her knowing details on them, even ones that he would have thought inconsequential. He realised then that her comments on remaining quiet and listening to Thor were solid advice. She rarely said anything on herself, instead, permitting others to speak about themselves, something most seemed more than happy to allow. He watched as she soaked in their information, most of which he knew would never be of any relevance, but nonetheless, she did so. It taught him more of her character as he observed her.

She stood beside him throughout any formal event, the picture of a perfect royal wife in many’s eyes, his own included. He was not blind, he knew she was good at what she had to do, even if their marriage was a complex one. The few nights of sharing a room with her had not been entirely terrible either. She kept to her side of the bed, was quiet and respectful of his space and did not insist on taking over any particular part of the room as he had heard some women were prone to doing. Their shared rooms also had them talk more and in doing so, allowed him to learn more of the woman he was forced to call his wife.

As much as the trip to Vanaheim was good for relations and though they would most certainly be going back in the near future for true agreements and talks, Loki was elated when the day came to go back to Jotunheim. Being gone from his home realm for ten days was incredibly difficult when he had never done so before, it also came with the added strain of being on a new realm that was entirely too hot, the customs were so vastly different, as were the people and to add to his worries, he had a Vanir prince trying to cause issues for them throughout. It was, without doubt, more stressful than even having the Allfather on Jotunheim, at least with that, he was safely at home, here, he was entirely out of his element. Seeing everything be readied for their return to Jotunheim settled his anxiousness substantially. He noted that everything for Ella was readied and boxed before noting something on the top of her luggage. A letter with her name on it in writing he had not seen before. The only reason he had half an inkling whom it was from was because of the large embossed seal on it, showing two ravens and a horned helmet, indicative of Odin's seal. He wondered if the Allfather had truly been ill before the festival or if there was something more to his reasoning for not being there. He knew that the absence of the Aesir royals broke Ella's heart in some manner, she clearly missed her home and family, she confessed even missing Thor some bit through everything so if the Aesir royal had lied if his reasoning for not being there, he knew she would be severely affected by it. The seal had been broken and were he to be so inclined it would be easy for him to read it, but he did not wish to do so. He was trying to build something with her, as Ella had stated, all they had at present was honesty, he would not jeopardise it, not for a letter that he doubted had any importance. Instead, he turned away, thinking of what else he needed to organise for himself.

“Nigel is livid.” He turned to see Ella close by. “Warn everyone.”

“What happened?”  

“King Wilhelm found out he wanted to give us a less than pleasant parting gift.” She informed him.

“What did we ever do to deserve this?” Loki felt himself getting angry. “I understand the anger for the war, but this…”

Ella gave him a sympathetic look before gently putting her hand on his arm. “Some people are just asses.” He looked at her. “There’s nothing we can do about them, we can only deal with us. We do not start anything but ensure they rue the day they think to do this. It’s not fair that it is you but you are strong of mind, I fear if he were to go for one less mentally strong. Perhaps that is the only good thing in this.”

Loki eyed her carefully. For a moment, he thought she was glad to feel Nigel was bothering him, but he could see she was worried for him. Inhaling deeply, he nodded. “We keep composure and we go home, away from this monster.”

“Have you everything packed?” She asked.

“Yes, you?”

“Yes, I just need to burn something.” Loki’s brow furrowed at her comment. He watched as she took the letter with her father’s seal on it and it burst into flames in his hands. For a moment, he was terrified she would burn herself, but the flames did not seem to bother her. “It’s seidr fire, harmless to me.” She assured him on seeing his concerned face. “I burn anything with my father’s seal, if someone were able to place it on a document of note, it would cause terrible issues. That and I do not wish to allow people to see private matters between my parents and myself.”

“That is both wise and your own business,” Loki stated diplomatically. “So long as everything is alright.”

Ella gave him a small smile. “It is fine, thank you. Thor had a letter with him from them, simply explaining that they were sorry to not be here. Father is still getting his legs back under him and Mother is dealing with the realm in his sickness. Thor is good at doing it for short periods, but he is still learning, so they rather he does not see it too much now, he will realise it is not as fun as he thinks it is and would be at risk of abdicating.”

“There are days I feel similar.”

“Though you have your moments, you are far more mature than he could ever wish to be. You are ready to take the throne tomorrow, him….maybe in a millennium, with a lot of work on his behalf.” Loki raised a brow. “My father has not even got that left in him, I think, as does Mother, that he is holding on simply to prevent Thor from getting it too soon.”

“I can see his reasoning.” Was all Loki could reply, not wanting to insult Ella too greatly.

*

Loki felt relief surge through him as the cold winds of Jotunheim blew across his face. Beside him, Ella had removed the spell she had cast to not allow the Jotnar feel as hot as the Vanir temperature would otherwise make them feel while also casting one on herself to allow her deal with the Jotunn climate. Part of her was happy to be back also. With everything she and Loki had learnt of one another from their time off realm, she felt there was so much more could be achieved now they were back on Jotunheim. They all walked to the palace with purpose, Loki keeping in stride with Ella, understanding that her shorter legs made things difficult for her, though she never stated anything regarding it.

They made their way to the palace and to their rooms. Ella’s room was the first one so with an arrangement to meet for dinner, she bade farewell and went into her rooms. Loki walked to his own, not making any mention of the peculiar feeling he had as he did so.

He had barely placed his hand on the door when he noted a shadow to his side. “If you still have the energy to come see me on my return, you have not spent the last week well.” He jested as he turned to smile at his older brother. When Býleistr did not return his smile, he frowned. “What?”

“I need to speak with you Loki, in private.”

Seeing his brother look at him so coyly caused Loki to become even more concerned. “Father?”

“Father is fine.” The cold tone which Býleistr used was easily noted. “He and I had an argument this morning. With the manner in which he tore into me would suggest his health is fine.”

Loki sighed and folded his arms. “What did you do this time? Honestly, you are supposed to be the oldest of us yet you are so often the least mature.”

Býleistr glared at his brother for a moment before he thought about what he had to say again. “You know I love you Brother, don’t you?”

“Leist, cease dancing around whatever it is and just tell me.”

“My mate, my new one.”

“Yes, what of her? I have to say, I am a little hurt you did not introduce her to us before now.” His eyes widened slightly. “She is not some poor young creature barely old enough to even have a heat, is she? Please don’t tell me she is barely ceased being a child, ‘Leist, that is terrible. I cannot stand by you for that.”

“No, she is legal, I swear.”

“Then what, you stole her for another?”

“No, not exactly.”

“In other words, yes.” Loki shook his head. “Only you could get into these sorts of positions, Brother. Who was the man she was supposed to mate with?”

“You.” Býleistr could not look at Loki.

“Me?” Loki scoffed for a moment before he realised what his brother was saying. “You mean....?” He rushed passed his brother to his brother’s rooms, his head shaking at what he was thinking. He entered them to see alma, Býleistr’s first mate there, and beside her, not the least bit concerned, was Angrboða.

Býleistr rushed in after his brother. “Loki, I am sorry, Brother, I know it is an unwritten rule, but…”

“There is no ‘But’ for this. This is a betrayal of the highest order.”

“You decided…”

“To tend to the realm over my own happiness, that is what I decided, and this is how my own kin sees to thank my sacrifices for Jotunheim? Swoop in and betray me, like this.” He shook his head. “You are no brother to me, not after this.” His pain blatant as he looked Býleistr in the eye, his agony clear to see as his heart shattered like fragile ice in his chest. Turning to face Angrboða again, she seemed to note his pain too. “You really are the Bringer of Grief.” With that, he turned and left the room.