#never standing in the right order with their letter shields..

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

another drawing based on something I saw on pintrest, this time with Team BEST! also featuring my first time drawing skizz

(base/template/reference thingy below the cut)

link to it on pinterest

[kelstey]

get him back!

mattheo riddle x reader

warnings : none

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

i met a guy last summer and i left him in the spring

"hey," you shielded your eyes with your hand from the sun, squinting at the figure in front of you.

"hey," you replied. you allowed your eyes to adjust, realising that a literal god of a man was standing in front of you.

"i'm mattheo," he brung his hand out in front of him for a hand shake.

"i'm y/n."

he argued with me about everything he had an ego and a tempter and a wandering eye

"you're such a dick! you were fully undressing her with your eyes!" you shouted at him, heated, absolutely enraged he was gaslighting you.

"staring at who?! you're making things up," mattheo ran his hand through his stupidly soft, brown hair.

"oh making things up?" you laughed at the stupidity that was coming out of his mouth, "i have eyes! i could see you checking her out as if i weren't right next to you!"

"yeah, whatever," he scoffed and walked away

he said he's six foot two

"and i'm like dude nice try," you giggled to pansy, gossiping about all the juicy drama to her.

"you love tall guys, he seems perfect," you blushed at her words, knowing she was right.

but he was so much fun, and he had such weird friends

"why do you have a ferret?" you questioned mattheo.

"it's just draco, i'm taking him back to snape to see if he can fix him," he chuckled and handed the white animal over to you.

"and how exactly did he get in this predicament?" you giggled as the little thing tried to bite

and he would take us out to parties and the night would ever end

another song, another club, another bar, another dance

you were pressed up against mattheo, grinding on him as the music deafened you. his hands were glued to your hips, gluing you to him.

"another drink?" he shouted in your ear.

"fuck yeah!" you shouted back, heading over to the bar to order another 10 shots.

and when he said something wrong he'd just fly me to france

"c'mon darlin, drivers here and he's taking us to my family's villa," you stepped off of the plane in paris, feeling like some sort of royalty.

"i can hardly speak french," you giggled, heading over to the personal driver who was parked, awaiting your arrival.

"i'll speak it for you, sweetheart," he winked, opening the car door for you.

so i miss him some nights when i'm feeling depressed

you laid on your side, mascara smudged all under your eyes as you continued to stare off into space; your mind on one person, and one person only.

you rolled onto your back, staring at the still ceiling as you reminisced the times he held you in his arms, the way his soft lips felt against your lips - and everywhere else on your body.

til i remember every time he made a pass on my friend

your eyebrows furrowed, frustrating growing through your body when you remember the one time mattheo hit on astoria right in front of you.

"hey," you watched as his hand was placed on the arch of her back.

"hey mattheo," she smiled and you frowned.

"you look gorgeous tonight, mind if i get you a drink?" be was now dangerously close to her and you felt as if steam was coming out of your ears.

do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it's up and down

if i had to choose, i would say it right now i wanna get him back i wanna make him really jealous wanna make him feel bad oh, i wanna get him back

cause then again i really miss him and it makes me real sad

oh, i want sweet revenge and i want him again i want to get him back, back, back

so irerite bim all these letters and i throw

them in the trash

"dear mattheo,

i hate you, but i love you. and i hate you again. you're a piece of shit. i never want you to speak to me again but i don't want you to ever stop trying to reach out. you confuse me so much. i know we're bad for each other but you're the only one i want. cause i miss the the way you kiss, and the way you make me laugh."

yeah, i pour my little heart out but as i'm hittin' send

i picture all the faces on my disappointed friends

"you did what?!" pansy screeched in the middle of the hall.

"girl shut up! pineapple might hear! plus, i only wrote it in my notes. merlin, do you really think i'm stupid enough to hit send?" you scolded her.

"i wouldn't put it past you," she began walking again and you rolled your eyes, knowing she was right.

because everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do

"he's not the type of guy you should be with, y/n,"

theo spoke to you, his thumb rubbing circles over your hands as you told him the things he did.

"he said i was the only girl but that just wasn't the truth," you felt your eyes water, theo giving you a pitiful look.

and when i told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me i was trippin'

"you keep giving me mixed signals, mattheo," you were now beyond exhausted of the arguing.

"you're trippin'," he couldn't even look you in the eyes as he knew what you were saying was factual.

you titled your head, "you're a fucking cunt." you poked your index finger into his chest, pushing past him as you headed to class.

but i am my fathers daughter, so maybe i could fix him?

your fingers were tangled in his hair, calming him down as he had yet another argument with his father.

mattheo was laid on your stomach, his body between your legs, hands wrapped around your back.

"i just hate him so much," warm, salty tears fell from his face to your stomach.

"i know baby, i know. i'll do my best to help you."

i wanna get him back

i wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad

oh, i wanna get him back

'cause then again, i really miss him, and it makes me real sad

oh, i want sweet revenge, and i want him again

i want to get him back

i want to get him back, back, back

i wanna key his car

"c'mon, hurry," you waved pansy over, the two of you disguised with all black, baggy outfits, and balaclavas as you hopped over the riddle's manor.

"which one is it?" pansy pulled out her endless assortment of keys.

"that one," you pointed over at the black mercedes.

"posh twat," pansy muttered and tossed you some keys.

"i wanna get him back," you smirked. you carefully went over to the parked car, trying to make as little noise as possible.

quickly you began to run the keys across any surface area of the sleek black car, ruining it as much as possible.

"this is for making me listen to y/n rant about you 24 fucking 7," pansy mumbled to herself.

i wanna make him lunch

"hey love," you gave mattheo a sweet kiss on the cheek as you handed over the bowl of pasta, his absolute favourite of yours.

"you truly have my heart," you fake smiled at his

comment.

i wanna break his beart

you straddled theo's lap, his large hands going under your skirt as he massaged away at your ass. his lips were hungry for yours, the kiss was rough but it was everything you wanted and needed.

you had thought because of the dark lighting, and crowds of people, that mattheo wouldn't see. but oh he did.

his heart shattered, dropping at the sight of you with his best friend. he downed the rest of his drink (aka straight whiskey) before heading over to the two of you, ready to fuck some shit up.

you moved your hips against theo's, grinding on his boner, his lips still eager for more of you. he knew it was bad - betraying his friend. but you wanted to get mattheo back, and theo was only there for some very 'moral', moral support.

you were ripped away from theo, landing on the foor with a thud, you looked up to see mattheo going ham at theo, punching him over and over as the fight broke out.

you stared in horror - enzo pulling you away from the horrific sight.

then be the one to stitch it up

"hey matty," you walked into mattheo's room. he was sat at his window ledge, head in his book which he was reading intently.

"what do you want?" he didn't even glance up at you.

"i'm sorry about last night," you made your way to him.

finally, mattheo looked up at you. his heart nearly bursted out of his chest seeing you in his hoodie - the one you always wore when you stayed over.

"baby," his voice was now softer, his eyes staring at you in adoration as the memories of the nights you spent together came back to him.

"i'm really sorry," you pouted your lips, knowing it was all so fake.

wanna kiss his face

you held mattheo close, his face rested on your chest. you leaned down, peppering kisses onto his face 'lovingly'.

you smiled down at him, "i love you."

"i love you too," you said, he put his face back in your chest. you looked up, the smile wiped immediately off of your face.

with an uppercut

wanna meet his mum

just to tell her her son sucks

"hi mrs riddle," you smiled at the older lady as she opened the door.

"hi, and who might you be?" you tried your hardest not to let the disappointment take over as you realised mattheo clearly had never talked about you at home.

"i'm y/n, and i'd love to tell you all about mattheo. i suppose he's clearly not mentioned me then?"

oh i wanna key his car

"what the fuck?!" mattheo yelled, his arms flailed up as he stared at his car, freshly bought and freshly keyed.

"what are you - oh," his father stepped out of the house, face dropping at the scene in front of them.

wanna make him lunch

mattheo was crouched over the toilet seat, uncontrollably puking over and over as draco rubbed his back.

"mate what the fuck is wrong with you?" draco was both disgusted yet trying not to laugh.

"y/n made me lunch. think she's poison-" he threw up, yet again into the toilet.

"suppose she's got to get you back somehow." mattheo shot draco a glare. "apologies," draco held up his hands in defence.

i wanna break his heart

"hey tom," you wandered into mattheo's older brothers room.

"what?" he turned around from his desk.

"oh nothing," you held your hands behind your back, innocently walking over to tom. "just wanted to see you, is all."

you sat on his lap, fixing his loose tie. tom's hand supported you on his lap, a slight firm grasp on your thigh too. you finished sorting his tie, your eyes flickering up to his eyes.

"have i ever told you how much hotter than mattheo you are?" tom smirked at your comment.

"my very own brother, hm?" his face was close to yours, millimetres away from each other.

you nodded, looking from his eyes down to his lips. "i do prefer older guys," you closed the space between you and tom.

as if on cue, mattheo walked in.

stitch it right back up

"mattheo, i don't know what got into him! he just pulled me onto his lap and you just walked in," you explained to mattheo.

"do you promise me?" he looked up at you, sadness in his eyes. you felt bad, but he felt nothing when you were depressed over him for months.

"promise, sweetie, you know i'd never," oh yes you absolutely would.

wanna kiss his face, with an uppercut

"oops!" you covered your mouth with your hand as you accidentally 'nudged' mattheo's arm as he was mid falling asleep in class, his face hitting off of the table.

"want me to kiss it better?" you asked him.

"please."

i wanna meet his mum, and tell her her son sucks

"oh he did not," his mum was appalled, hand covering her mouth as you told her about the year long situationship with her son.

"oh he did, and then, he had the audacity to be like "you're trippin',", ugh the cheek!" you took another sip of your tea.

"oh and don't get me started on the time he was flirting with my friend in front of me! but then he got upset cause i kissed one of his friends as payback."

i'll get him, i'll get him, i'll get him, i'll get him back

get him back

i'm gonna get him so good, he's not even gonna know what hit him

he's gonna love me and hate me at the same time

he didn't know wether to hate you or love you. but what he did know, was that he was undoubtedly obsessed with you.

"please, y/n, i'll do anything," he was on his knees in front of you, begging for your forgiveness.

you really wondered how he even had feelings towards you - you keyed his car, made him lunch that was poisoned, broke his heart by kissing his best friend and brother, told his mum all the shit he did and how he sucked.

but here he was, willing to give up anything and everything for you.

you had finally got him back.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

[seawitchkaraoke]

I still have so many emotions about Azula, specifically 11 year old Azula, who gets left behind by her brother and her uncle and is then, for the next three years, entirely alone in the palace with her father.

Like sure, the servants are there and she has Ty Lee and mai (though both of them must have left at some point in those three years, we don't know when), but that's not what I'm talking about. She is entirely, entirely without any protection from her father - not that she ever had all that much.

Here's the thing: Imagine you are Azula. You grow up and you know your mother loves your brother more than you (''my own mother thought I was a monster''). You know she cares about Zuko, she will comfort Zuko, she might even protect Zuko. You are certain she will not protect you (is Azula right about this assessment? It doesn't matter. Ursa's actual intentions aren't relevant in the face of what Azula perceives as true).

Your uncle isn't there and in his letters and gifts he shows that he too, does not care about or understand you. He sends Zuko a knife and a thoughtful message. He sends you a doll, that you burn.

Your father is ambitious and cruel and will not accept less than perfection. Luckily, you are a prodigy. Luckily, your brother is not. In contrast to him you can shine, you can burn so bright, you are safe as long as Zuko falls behind you. You are two years younger but you have to be better, you can never allow yourself to make a mistake where your father can see. It's okay though. Zuko is really bad at bending and even worse at lying. He should hide his mistakes if he can't stop making them. He's an idiot,, so he doesn't. You convince yourself you are happy about this.

Your father miscalculates and your grandfather orders your brother killed. You could let this happen. But if you do, you'll lose your shield against your father plus you like seeing him mess up. You pretend that's the only reason you warn him. It's not like you actually care about him.

Your mother does Something and the next day she is gone, your grandfather is dead and your father is on the throne. It's fine. She was useless anyway. She killed Azulon to protect your brother. You try not to wonder if she would have done the same thing for you. You are 9 years old.

Iroh comes back and does nothing. You continue to be perfect and Zuko continues not to be. It's going great. You are a prodigy and your father loves you. As long as you don't mess up.

Zuko is an idiot. Iroh is a worse idiot. Your uncle let's your brother into a war meeting and of course Zuko can't keep his mouth shut.

When your father burns your brother's face, your uncle looks away. Your brother, who is kind and thoughtful and liked by the servants and loved by his uncle gets half his face burned off and no one steps in.

Your uncle looks away, but you can't afford that kind of weakness. You look and you smile. This is good. You want the throne. With your brother disgraced, no one will stand in your way.

Your brother gets banished and with him goes your only protection against your father. Your uncle leaves too, but it hardly matters. He didn't care enough to protect Zuko, he wouldn't have protected you anyway. You'll just have to be even more perfect to make your father proud of you.

You are 11 years old and you are alone.

[verybadatwriting]

Winged One 3

Summary: The rest of the First Avenger play out more or less the same as they would have without Reader.

Warnings: self blame, falling, broken bones, heights, plane crash, guns

Notes: Gefahr, nicht drücken= danger do not push

Gn!reader

Word count: 4,481

Cool air streamed across your face, arms, legs. Flying high up through the clouds, you could almost forget what was going on below. Almost. You dipped through and eventually caught a glimpse of the buildings below. Between the streets, soldiers streamed.

Hydra had taken a small town. A very, very small town. It was barely a cluster of buildings. There were fortifications strung up loosely between a few of them, but not super heavy-duty. A few soldiers were scattered about, on raised platforms standing watch. The others were milling around, moving boxes, giving orders.

None of them seemed to be in a hurry, good. 

Before they spotted you, you swooped back into the safety of the cloud cover and wheeled around. While flying back, you pulled out a small notepad, and jotted down troop numbers and defense placements. 

A few minutes later, you landed back at the Howling Commandos’ temporary camp. Unlike the base you’d just surveyed, this one was bustling with purpose and last-minute preparations. 

Bucky met up with you as you made your way to the command tent. 

“All’s in order?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you didn’t look up from the notepad. He peeked over your shoulder and smirked at the wobbly letters.

“You sure you’ve been practicing?”

True, your handwriting wasn’t the best, but in all fairness you’d only just started learning this script a few months ago.

“I’d like to see you try to write while flying,” you teased. “Oh wait, you can’t fly!”

“I'm actually impressed with how quickly you picked up English writing.”

“I'd say I have a pretty good teacher.”

The two of you kept up your banter the rest of the way. Like most times you spoke with him, you and Bucky used a mashup of English, German, and your people's language, which didn't have a name. Even if it once did, that knowledge was burned with the rest of the village.

Bucky tried. You knew he did. He was the only other living person who even knew any basic vocab in your language. He was your best shot at keeping it alive. And yet, every time he couldn't describe something, every time he didn't have the words and had to revert back to English, a little part of you broke. Sometimes you wished he didn’t even try. Then it would only be your fault that your language was dying. 

“It's looking good,” Bucky reported to the others. You were now standing underneath a tarp, huddled around a table strewn with maps, scribbled notes, and little figurines to plan the attack. 

It was going to be fairly simple, just storm in, overpower the Hydra forces, and take the  foothold they so kindly prepared for the Allies. You were used to this kinda mission, and it didn't scare you anymore. After learning that your wings were bulletproof, you actually felt rather confident.

The truck ride there was fine, a lot of loud conversations and a few jokes, nothing out of the ordinary. Everybody sobered up when y’all neared the launch point. 

“L’kan kwe nor’c,” Bucky called to you as he dismounted the truck. “Did I pronounce it right?”

“Yes, and good luck to you as well,” you replied in English, smiling at him. 

Now, you had to focus. Despite having bulletproof wings, both shielding you and making you easily recognizable, the Howling Commandos insisted you have armor and a uniform. Easier said than done. 

First issue, you were a teenager, not a grown man. The army uniforms didn’t allow for much variation in body type, and none accommodated wings. To get around some obvious issues, you altered the uniforms so that the shirt could be put on like an apron, but with a button up part covering your lower back, and a string tied behind your neck.

The cold was the only problem. Frostbite’s something you never wanted to get again. Especially not between your wings, which was so hard to reach. Instead of freezing that chunk of your back, you fastened a length of warm cloth over it, using four shiny metal clasps. 

The rest of your clothes were normal. Pants, gloves, hats, those would all fit just fine, if they had your size. You did remove anything causing unnecessary weight, and typically had your pockets sparsely filled. The army issued boots were too heavy to wear while flying, so you stuck to a lighter pair of shoes. They weren't as protective or warm, but they allowed you to fly for longer without tiring, and they didn't hurt to run in.

All that said, you were wearing the least amount of body armor Bucky would let you, and a heavily altered uniform. You carried a small gun in a holster on your hip, a knife and canteen on the opposite side. A couple of grenades and extra ammo cases were stashed in a bag slung over one shoulder. 

For most of the battle you'd stay in the clouds, cutting down just to take note of troop movements and maybe deal a little damage. Things were going well. The Howling Commandos had already taken two of the buildings, since Hydra had essentially abandoned all defenses and was scrambling to evacuate.

You dropped a grenade, prayed your aim was true, and swooped back up for a single breath above the clouds. A small explosion told you that it'd found its target. You savored another moment before you dropped back through. The dew stuck to your skin, making it feel even colder than it was. Still, you swooped around, picking off targets one after another.

The whole while, you were unaware that someone on the ground was tracking your every move, and now he'd figured out the pattern. As you cut through the clouds, he adjusted his aim, and fired. 

If this has been a normal gun, you would've been fine. Simply wrap your wings around yourself as a shield, perhaps free fall for a moment in hopes of avoiding it, then back to business as usual.

But this soldier had not fired a normal weapon. What sailed towards you unfurled as it flew. Within a second of it making contact, you found your wings bound. No matter how hard you tried, the thin cords wrapped around you wouldn't budge.

Hurtling towards the ground, you caught a glimpse of where you'd land, an empty clearing on top of a hill to the south of the battle.

You braced for impact and hit the ground hard. You felt your arm crack and snap beneath you, but luckily the fall’s adrenaline overpowered the pain. For now.

A moment passed before you regained your senses and continued struggling against the net. It was futile. Bound too tight for you to reach your knife, you'd simply be unable to cut your way out. 

Footsteps came running towards you, and you prepared to fight as best you could. To your surprise, the man dropped to his knees right beside you, and began slashing away at the ropes with a knife.

He has a sniper rifle slung across his back.

“Bucky?” You ask. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“You landed near my sniper's nest,” he replied without looking up from the net. He finally tore apart the last cord, and said “You've gotta hurry.”

“Hurry where?”

“Fly. Go! Get out of here.” He gestured vaguely to the sky.

That's when you noticed the Hydra soldiers closing in from every side.

“What? No!” You said, “I'm not leaving you here! I'll… I think I can lift you and get us both out of here.”

“No. We both know that's not possible,” he glanced at your arm, which was hanging at a strange angle by your side. “Especially with that arm.” 

The soldiers were a few yards away, approaching fast. They'd be here in a moment.

“Go!” Bucky yelled. He rarely raised his voice at you. You turned and fled into the sky. Behind you, you heard a few short orders barked in German, and the sound of a body hitting the snowy ground.

You swirled through the clouds, careening – you hoped – unpredictability. The last thing you wanted was to get caught again, and have Bucky die in vain.

Your heart felt like it was in your head, it was beating so loud. When you finally perched in the highest hidden branch of a tree, you found your balance was a bit off, and you nearly slipped off. The lid of your canteen slipped out of your shaking fingers, and landed somewhere far below.

Despite the increased risk of being discovered, you allowed yourself to cry. A few minutes of sobbing, albeit quietly, was enough time for someone to approach.

You fled before they saw you. The tree shook, shedding some of its snow onto whoever was below.

After the battle, Steve insisted that you at least put your arm in a sling before allowing you to lead him back to the clearing you'd nearly been captured in. It was empty, besides for a mush of slushy footprints, some blood, and a tiny shiny piece of metal. 

They'd taken his body.

The only thing left, the only way you knew he'd been here, was the delicately crafted leaf necklace that you'd given him on the first day of spring.

You picked it up, the silver metal dulled by now dried blood, still managing to glint faintly in the sunlight. You stared at it for a moment longer, then closed your fist around it.

Steve had seen the necklace, too. He knew what it meant. 

“Y/n,” he started, but before he could say anything more, you cut him off.

“It's fine. I've been through this before.” You turned to walk back to the now empty battlefield. “We’ve gotta wipe these bastards off the face of the earth.”

From then on, you were different. You took your meals in solitary, preferring a treetop to a dinner table. You barely knew these people, Bucky had been your only link. With him gone, killing those Snake Worshippers was your only goal. In an attempt to reconnect with you, Steve gave you a book, Oliver Twist. It was slow going, but most of the words made sense.

Before Bucky's death, you'd been hesitant to be the boots on the ground. It was partly due to some of the adaptations that came with your wings. To decrease the weight you had to carry, your bones had turned hollow, which led to fracturning more easily. 

Now, however, you fought hand to hand with a ferocity that put even Steve on edge, ignoring any splintering of bones.

Off the battlefield, you were constantly training. You pushed yourself further and further, getting stronger every day. Each night, you collapsed into your hammock – the tent held too many memories – and went out like a light.

In the mornings, you rose before the others, although that didn't matter, since you rarely interacted with them outside of tactical meetings anymore. Every waking moment was dedicated to training. Physically, you could lift more than ever before, fly for longer, and move faster. Your punches carried more weight than they'd used to. 

Mentally, you sharpened your skills as well. You'd taken to reading Steve's book during meals, or in the truck heading to or from battle.

Your English speaking skills stagnated, though. Fewer interactions meant fewer chances to practice. That was fine by you. No use keeping some random language spoken by people you would never see again after this war was over. It was comforting to know that you hadn't gotten too used to the new language, that you still held fast to the language you'd grown with.

The weeks flew by. The weather warmed. The icy spring finally melted into summer. Countless missions blended together. Kills, which you used to keep track of with a notch on a tree near camp, now numbered in the hundreds. If you'd carved all of them into the tree, it would look like a beaver attacked it.

Jaw set, eyes staring dead ahead, you sat in the truck, tucked in the corner. Your spine was so straight, rigid almost, that your posture was impeccable. Waves of quiet rage radiated off of you, and everyone seemed to know to stay away.

The plan was for the Commandos to raid yet another underground base and retrieve whatever “powerful device” Hydra had gotten its grubby claws on. Today, it was a ridiculously powerful source of energy, which Red Skull had harnessed for evil, as he usually did.

The truck had barely shuddered to a halt before the Commandos jumped out. They swarmed the building, going fast yet thorough, each move carefully practiced. You darted above, hoping to spot any targets. Instead, you saw something that made you zip back down to meet up with Steve.

“Captain,” you said. “Hydra’s abandoned everything else but a defensive position around the loading bay.”

Within minutes, the Howling Commandos broke through the door, just as Red Skull was scaling the ladder up into the most massive plane any of them had seen in their lives. The soldiers launched a spray of gunfire, but it was too late. The giant thrusters roared to life, letting out a burst of flame.

The plane turned to the left, towards the hangar exit.

Steve saw where it was heading, and battled his way through the remaining horde of Hydra soldiers. They were all armed with the glowing blue weapons you’d first seen what felt like so very long ago. Steve’s shield easily deflected the blows. 

Despite his superhuman strength and speed, the jet pulled further and further ahead of Steve.

Through the mayhem, you saw a black, open top car swerving so expertly that it could only be driven by Colonel Phillips. You sprinted after it, and ducked into the backseat next to Agent Carter.

“What in the–?” The colonel started to ask.

“Drive,” you cut him off.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” He sped up, engine growling, then came to an abrupt stop once he caught up with the now stationary Steve. 

“Get in!” He yelled. Immediately, Steve obeyed, and you were off again.

Faster and faster, Colonel Phillips pushed the engine to its limits and then some. By some miracle, you were gaining on the plane. But would it be enough? The light at the end of the runway, the opening to the outside world, grew infinitely closer each second. 

As though hearing your doubts, the colonel flipped the cover off of a large, red button, labeled “Gefahr, nicht drücken” and pressed it. Jets of flame propelled the car forward as Steve readied himself to jump. 

“Keep it steady!” He shouted.

“Wait!” Peggy interrupted. She grabbed the strap of the holster fastened across his chest, and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Go get him,” she said as they leaned apart. 

“I’m not kissing you,” Colonel Phillips added, glancing up from the road briefly.

Steve fastened his shield to his back, and carefully navigated around to the front bumper of the car. Though he tried to navigate between them, the colonel simply didn’t have enough room to avoid all the propellers. The spinning blades sparked as they striked against the shield and the hood of the car. Everyone in, or on, the car ducked as low as they could go until you were in the clear.

There. Only a moment away, twenty seconds at best, was the outdoors. The plane’s wheels began to lift off the ground; if Steve didn’t jump now, he’d never make it. He propelled himself forwards and upwards as hard as he could.

It wasn’t enough. His fingers grazed metal, but couldn’t find purchase. He started to fall, and in that split second, you made a decision.

Scrambling over both Peggy and the colonel’s seats, you ran across the hood, beating your wings as hard as you could, and you, too, jumped. With all the might in your body, you wrapped your arms around Steve and brought him just a little higher, so his hands could grasp the slick metal. The moment he had pulled himself up and gained his footing, he reached back for you, yanking you onto the wheel next to him. 

The ground below vanished, replaced with a thousand foot drop into an icy ravine. You could only hope that the colonel had swerved so as to avoid plummeting over the edge. You dared a glance backwards, and saw the car, a small black smudge against the white, snowy background. They were safe. 

Navigating through the pistons and gears, all the intricate yet massive machinery was surprisingly similar to weaving through tree branches. You led the way, seeing as you were familiar with navigating such high, complex spaces. You found a walkway, and ducked under the railing. 

Steve, the showoff he always was, placed both hands on the rail and swung himself over.

“You could’ve easily fit underneath,” you noted.

“Oh God…” Steve said, but not in reply to you. He was looking past you, at the rows and rows of single-pilot jets, with bombs large enough for a child to crawl inside. They were pitch black, with a red loop of paint and a series of symbols painted in clear white on all of them.

“Ch-eek-ag-oo?” You sounded out quietly. “What does that mean?”

“Chicago. These are all names of American cities. This one,” he pointed to the one nearest the walkway, “that’s where I grew up.”

Many pairs of feet rattled the walkway towards you. Hydra pilots, faces concealed and goggles on, sprinted towards their bomber jets. Steve hurled the first one over the railing, down into the machines below, while you lunged at the second one. One drew a knife out of thin air, and started towards Steve, but he didn’t make it very far. A few quick jabs, and the knife was in Steve’s hand. He hurled it with precision, stabbing another in the back as he ran.

The final one climbed on top of the bomb destined for Chicago in an attempt to escape. You quickly found a control panel, and released the hatch. The floor opened beneath both man and bomb, which quickly fell into the ocean miles below. 

The fight continued, more waves of Hydra went down to the launch bay. You two continued dispatching them as quickly as they came. That is, until a pilot managed to weasel his way past and into the cockpit of the bomb bound for New York.

Steve jumped on top of the jet, whaling on it with his shield. It made a dent, and perhaps he could have broken through, had another pilot not jumped on Steve from behind and knocked the shield out of his hand.

The floor beneath the jet opened up. The jet dropped, leaving Steve and the Hydra pilot to hang on for dear life. There was nothing you could do now besides hope he came back.

You turned back to the fight, unsheathing your knife. You held it backwards, a trick you learned early on in hand to hand combat. If they’re expecting a slash from one angle, a different grip could be the difference between life and death. This hold allowed you to take out one man fairly easily, which gave you enough time to get to Steve’s shield. 

He’d needed it if he got back. If he didn’t… Why let perfectly good vibranium go to waste?

Fighting felt good. Letting out some of the anger that had built up for so long only made you more powerful. The minor bone breakages you sustained were easily ignored. Bones were fragile; if a few had to snap for you to win victory, so be it.

This is why, when Steve ‘expertly’ piloted the jet back into the bay, he found you waiting there, surrounded by the bodies of countless Hydra soldiers. 

“You dropped this,” you said, passing back his shield. He looked down at it. A red smear stained one edge, which he wiped off before motioning for you to follow him.

After winding through the corridors, you came to the control room. Steve opened the door slowly, cautiously, so as to not alert anyone inside. A great window took up most of the wall in front of you. It was segmented into squares, no more than a foot and a half wide each. Outside the familiar sight of clouds stretched out before you. 

Your view was obstructed by a few things. A large, permanent-looking chair sat before the windows and in the middle of the room there glowed a strange blue contraption. Obviously the powersource the Howling Commandos had been tasked with retrieving.

You and Steve entered further, cautiously, though the room appeared to be empty. You were right to be cautious, because not a second later, a man missing the skin from his face shot a giant blue laser gun at you from behind. Steve blocked it with ease, although the sheer power reverberated around the room for a moment afterwards.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Red Skull said.

“Nope!” Steve replied, charging at him head-on. After deflecting two more shots, he whacked the gun out of Red Skull’s hands. They traded punches for a bit, with Red Skull managing to disarm the Captain and knock him to the floor. You yanked the German off, sending him tumbling across the blue contraption, and handed Steve his shield back. 

Now the upper hand was back where it should have always been. Steve shoved, then snap kicked Red Skull so hard he went crashing into the control panel. The plane started to dive. Gravity seemed to reverse, throwing the three of you to the ceiling.

Red Skull managed to free himself from Steve, and scurried down a column, trying, and succeeding, to get back to the controls. The plane leveled out, and threw you and Steve back onto the floor. The landing wasn’t too hard, but still enough that you heard a crack against the floor.

“You could have the power of the gods!” Red Skull sauntered down from the controls, waving a small pistol. Despite its appearances, it packed quite a punch. One shot, perilously close to Steve’s head, bore a hole into the metal of the wall.

“Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations!” Red Skull continued, voice rising above even the howling winds ripping through the room. He fired again, once more too close for comfort.

“I have seen the future, Captain!” He yelled, firing off another shot. “There are no flags!”

“Not my future!” Steve yelled back, barely dodging another shot in time. He rolled across the floor, to where you and his shield were. He pulled it up in a pitiful attempt at protecting the both of you.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you grunted shortly, holding your side. “Broke something. Be fine.” 

“Good.” 

He flung his shield at Red Skull, slamming him into and partially through the blue apparatus. Power surged, whirling through the room. It almost looked like lightning. 

“What have you done?” Red Skull hissed, dragging himself to his unsteady feet once again. He reached out to a now exposed cube. 

“No…” He said, holding it up to his eyes. A few sparks leapt out, streaking towards the ceiling. A tapestry of color and dust appeared, stagnant, in the air above him. A column of flame grew from his palm, eating away at his flesh, his bone, spreading across every inch of his body as he screamed in agony. The fire grew into a spire of light, stretching into the tapestry and beyond forever, temporarily blinding you.

Suddenly, the light was gone. All that was left was a glowing blue cube. It burned through the metal grate beneath it, the metal floor beneath that, until it fell into the clouds below.

Steve crouched next to you.

“Can you walk?”

“Think so.” You only needed to grip his arm to raise yourself to your feet, after that you were good enough to walk unaided. It wasn’t pleasant. You suspected you’d broken a rib or two. 

“What do all these do?” You asked, examining the controls. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment. He started out the window. 

“Can you still fly?”

You tried lifting your wings, only to be met with a wave of pain, nausea, and overwhelming weariness all rolled into one.

“No, not in this state,” you shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “And definitely not at this altitude.”

“I don’t see any way out of this,” he said, reaching for the radio. “Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”

“Captain Rogers, what is your–” Jim Morita started from the other side.

“Steve, is that you? Are you alright?” Peggy interrupted.

“Peggy! Schmidt’s dead.”

“What about the plane?”

“That’s a little bit tougher to explain.”

“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

“There's not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try to force it down.”

The line went dead, and for a split second Steve seemed to think they’d lost connection already.

“I’ll get Howard on the line,” Peggy suggested. “He’ll know what to do.”

“There’s not enough time,” Steve shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading to New York. I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don't do this,” Peggy asked, although it sounded like she already knew he would. “We have time. We can work it out.”

“Right now we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Steve said, looking over the radar. “If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice.” He took the cut out that he always kept close, a picture of Peggy, and placed it on the board. He started to lower the controls, dipping the plane down, down, down. You held onto his chair, sinking to the floor to avoid falling.

“Do you want to say anything?” Steve asked you.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

“I don't have anyone to say goodbye to,” you shrugged. He nodded in a sad, understanding way. 

“Peggy?” He said to the radio.

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

“All right…” She hesitated. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot,” her voice started to grow staticky around the edges. “Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

“You know, I still don't know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.” The signal cut out completely.

You replayed her words over and over again. Just be there. Hoping that wherever you went after this your dad was waiting. 

“Just be there,” you whispered as the plane hit and cold, cold water flooded in around you.

Tag list!

@arctrooper69

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[17.59]

― pairing : Jeongin x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst with a happy ending, royals au, reader is an assassin, Jeongin is the cutest Crown Prince, no but really he’s super precious, medieval settings ― word count : 3k

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

👑 ROYALS! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho // Felix part one | part two // Jeongin

Contrarily to the expectations you had when you first joined the assassins guild, you became quite good at climbing walls; actually, it was only because you learnt pretty quickly that it was a fundamental requirement, unless you wanted to be hanged as a direct consequence to your actions.

However, this time, you had the authorization to walk in and then walk out directly through the front door of the Crown Prince’s fancy summer estate. At the beginning, the singular request surprised you but Seonghwa – the town guild’s boss, quickly explained you that it was pretty common for nobles, especially the Royal family, to try and kill each other.

«You’re becoming the best assassin I have,» he explained back then, «So, get used to it: more money they have, more money we get.» you nodded, happy with the unexpected praise, and without questioning any further detail, you started studying the maps of the residence, even if it was a pure formality. 

You have been an assassin for at least ten years, thanks to the guild recruiting kids in order to think about smaller crimes without the fear of being caught; orphans were the most common recruits, and with the promise of gaining a good wealth and never starve yourself again, you accepted without thinking further, mostly blinded by your hunger.

Even in your childhood days, you have never been particularly emotional, a quality that definitely helped you the more years passed. During all your missions, you always killed men much older than you, all of them begging for sympathy or mercy but, needless to say, their pleads never shook your soul, since the money you were promised once you completed the mission was much more valuable. This time, your target was the Crown Prince – the illegal son of the King, and you thought out he would have been added to the list of ugly, semi bald men that begged you to spare their lives.

Even if you were authorized by the Queen herself, you thought that hiding your as soon as you were close enough to the mansion’s gates would have been a wiser thing to do; after carefully hiding him behind a large oak tree thanks to the natural shield the night provided, the guards let you in as soon as you showed them the letter you received, and with careful steps you walked in, your identity safely hidden under your hood.

The fact that literally everyone in the mansion was aware of your mission made you furrow your brows; was the Prince so evil for everyone to want him dead? For sure, there must have been a further reason beside him being an illegitimate son, right? You shook your head, adjusting your cape as you quickly walked through the corridors; you were an assassin, therefore, you weren’t paid to question people’s morality.

By now, you knew by heart the path you had to take in order to reach the Prince’s private chambers; your hold tightened around the knife’s helm as you unlocked the door right before closing it behind your back without making any noise. The moonlight was illuminating the bed, and by the silence and laboured breathing, you figured that Prince Jeongin must have been asleep, making your work even easier.

«You’re here, finally,» a young and sweet voice startled you as you were now standing at the feet of the bed; the Prince slowly uncovered himself, just to stand up next to it with a quick move.

“He’s still dressed formally,” you thought, quickly examination his figure, “did he know?”

«Where do you want to do it?» the innocence and resignation the boy’s voice held made your blood ran cold, and for the first time in your life, you hesitated. The boy was young, he was around his twenties - you could have been the same age, his hair was black and it reached his shoulders. You knew the people who hired you wanted him dead, but he was just a boy.

Unexpectedly, your heart picked up speed at the realization; you have never killed anyone so young.

«Please?» the Prince interrupted your train of thoughts, opening his arms wide and tilting his neck so that you could choose where to stab him and with a rapid and swift movement, you lowered your knife in horror, looking around in order to see if it was some sort of trap.

«What are you doing?» you asked, dumbfounded, not even bothering to force your voice to come out a little rougher so that it would have been less recognizable.

«Oh,» Jeongin looked at you once again with his brows furrowed, his arms falling on his sides, «you were doing so well!» with rapid steps, he inched towards you, grabbing your wrist, «It’s just a stab, I promise!»

To say that you were shocked was an understatement; your heart started to hammer in your chest and you threw your knife on the bed; with a quick movement of your arm, you reversed your positions, shifting behind Jeongin while keeping his arm behind his back.

It was paradoxical; you - an assassin, forcing Jeongin – the Crown Prince, to confess why he was yearning for his own death.

«I was waiting for it,» Jeongin explained with a small and resigned voice, «how can a bastard be the heir to the throne?» he said, and the way he spat those words made you quickly understood that probably, he had been hearing these words his whole life.

A wave of pure concern washed over you, and you kept hesitating on what to do; aware that the more you hesitated and talked with your target, the more you were screwed. Talking led to emotions, and emotions led to hesitation: a feeling which you clearly didn’t need. Assassins weren’t paid to have emotions, and even less, to have conversations.

«Okay, listen to me,» you set free Jeongin from your grasp, and he obediently sat on the bed hearing your harsh tone; his big eyes looked at you carefully, and you momentarily felt your heart clench at the sadness you saw in them. Truth was, you weren’t sure on what to do, but you were driven by the instinct of keeping him safe; you never felt like this, you never felt anything while doing your job but this time it was just… Different, in a way you could not understand.

The only thing you could make out from the whirlwind of thoughts in your head was that Jeongin had the same empty, dejected eyes you had when you met Seonghwa, before you both joined the guild. «I’m going to take you out of here, and you’re gonna be fucking silent until I say so,» you said, before reaching for your knife and sheathe it back.

Jeongin was puzzled with your actions – and you were too, but nonetheless obeyed as you instructed him to get up, only for trying to lift him over your shoulder. Thanks to your constant physical activity, you were more built than the girls around your age, but even so, you didn’t have super powers and Jeongin was definitely a bit too much light weighted for your taste. With another quick movement, you put him back on the floor, looking at him in the eyes with a serious and inquisitive gaze.

«Unbutton your jacket.» you ordered, aware that the sentence didn’t came out in the way you wanted because Jeongin blushed furiously and started stuttering on his words, before complying with trembling hands. Truth was, despite the fact that the Prince was so incredibly innocent and attractive, the first things your hands checked as he opened his expensive blue and silver jacket were his sides; with innocent and confident touches, your hands caressed his waist, his chest, and your eyes flew into his once again.

«Jeongin,» you said, not minding about formalities with the boy you were supposed to kill but most of all, worried about the fact that you could easily count his ribs under your gloved fingertips, «Do you even eat?»

«I-» Jeongin adverted his gaze, unsure what to answer, «Sometimes I… forget.»

“Lies,” you thought, and your instinct had the best of you; quickly, you buttoned his shirt once again, before mimicking him to stay silent. Jeongin nodded, and you lifted him over your shoulders, keeping him in place with one hand on the back of his thighs.

The walk back to your horse was quick – you mentally praised yourself for having hidden your horse and utterly felt disgusted with the people that complimented your job on your way out.

«Finally, the real Prince can claim the throne,» one of them said, and you had to refrain from throwing the poisoned blade – originally destined to Jeongin, to his throat.

The realization that you didn’t know what to do hit you full face as soon as Jeongin was standing next to your horse, looking at you with a lost expression; he was playing with his own fingers, looking around as if he had rarely seen the world outside his mansion’s walls.

Jeongin was alive, and therefore, you had failed your mission; in ten years this was definitely the first mission you’ve ever failed, but deep down, you knew you had done the right thing. With a quick movement, Jeongin covered his rumbling stomach, hoping that you didn’t hear the fact that he was still hungry at a such unholy hour of the night.

The moment your eyes locked with his and all you could see was sadness and utter innocence, you knew what you had to do.

«Come, I’ll take you to a safe place,» you said as soon as you climbed on your horse, offering him your hand so that he could climb up as well, sitting in front of you.

Jeongin was unsure whether to trust you, but after all, you just saved his life; he thought that it probably couldn’t get worse than one of his usual days, and so, he took your hand with all the strength he had before helping himself up on his horse.

That night, you took Jeongin back to your small apartment, cooked for him, and let him sleep on your bed, aware that as paradoxical as it sounded, Prince Jeongin was safer in the company of an assassin rather than his entire guardhouse.

The fact that you created a scandal among the assassins guild of your town was a euphemism.

«What did you mean you couldn’t do it?» Seonghwa almost shouted in disbelief, and that’s how you spent a solid hour of your day: in utter silence, with your eyes locked on the floor. You patiently listened to Seonghwa’s outburst, knowing that he was right; you weren’t paid to have emotions.

«I sent you on the job because I knew I could trust you, and what do you do?» Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair, somehow relieved that, at least, you decided to get rid of any evidence of him being alive.

«I’m sorry,» you tried, your voice weak and your heart full of sadness due to the fact that you disappointed him; Seonghwa was few years older than you, and he always saw you as a little sister, helping you out with your training when you were still a rookie on the job. As soon as Seonghwa was chosen to be the new leader of your city’s guild, you were happy, since you firmly believed that no one could be better than him. «He was so scared, I saw myself when I first joined.» you confessed at last, and Seonghwa’s eyes somehow softened.

Seonghwa sat on his chair, his head thrown back and his hands massaging his scalp, thinking about what he could do to resolve this mess; you couldn’t stay in town, and neither could the Prince.

«I’ll write a letter to Chris,» he said, few interminable minutes later, his words muffled by his hands still on his face, «He’ll hire you for sure.» he explained that Chris was the leader of another assassins guild in another realm.

«Pack your things, you have to leave tonight.» you nodded at his words, and for the first time in ten years, you received actual affection in the form of Seonghwa gently hugging you close to his body, whispering a soft, «I promise I’ll come and visit.» for a moment, you let yourself go, sighing against his chest and hugging him just as close, as you felt some tears at the corners of your eyes.

«I’m sorry.» you admitted, the fact that you had to definitely leave the city where you’ve always lived in finally started to sink in.

«It’s okay, little monkey.» Seonghwa caressed your hair, and you smiled at the nickname he gave you when you were still kids, learning how to climb on the city’s walls without getting hurt.

«Innie, where did my cape disappear?» you called from the bedroom, before hearing a quick shuffle of steps walking towards where you were. Immediately, you smiled at the sight of Jeongin – which now lived under the name of “Innie”, walking towards you with a cute pout.

«It’s still drying under the sun,» he mumbled, his arms snaking around your waist and his chin delicately resting on your shoulder.

«What am I supposed to wear now?» you sighed, faking annoyance and looking at the boy while tilting your head, watching as he giggled at your reaction.

Two long years has passed since the night you saved Jeongin, and he seemed a completely different person; his hair were now shorter and he wasn’t as thin anymore. Jeongin grew taller, his body looked way more toned and healthier, the innocence in his eyes was the same, but the sadness was now completely replaced by kindness and happiness.

Jeongin had so much love to give it was unbelievable, and he addressed all of it towards you- his best friend, and your group of friends – the élite members of Chris’ guild. For the first time in your life, you weren’t scared of having emotions, and it was all thanks to Jeongin’s natural talent of bringing people together.

«You could always use mine!» Jeongin smiled, and you shook your head.

«We’re meat to go together.» you reminded him, but he still insisted for you to wear his cape instead of him.

Despite the fact that both you and Jeongindefinitely felt more than simple and chaste affection towards each other was kinda obvious – especially to your friends, but you’d always find a way to avoid the topic. Both you and Jeongin had just started a brand new life together, the least thing you both wanted to do was to ruin an opportunity to be happy.

You were sure that eventually, one day you and him would become a couple, but you didn’t wanted to rush it. Things as delicate as love need time, after all.

The meeting was informal, you and the others were meant to meet at Chris’ house and eventually talk about business after you all had dinner; evenings like this were definitely not rare, and you realized that that night, sparing Jeongin’s life was the best decision you’ve ever made. You were most definitely happy; you had friends, you had someone who loved you and always waited for your return anytime you went on your missions.

Technically, Jeongin worked in the guild as well, but effectively, Chris accepted your plead to keep him in the shadows, leaving everything regarding the accountability to him.

At first, Chris was confused but accepted nonetheless, only to find why you were so worried about him going around and killing people. Jeongin was the most innocent, clumsiest boy you’ve ever met, and slowly, both you and your group of friends started not to trust him around anything which was too sharp or looked threatening.

«What do you mean there are blades that come out of your sleeve?!» Seungmin chimed in the conversation you were having with Jisung, Minho and Hyunjin, and you immediately referred him about a new creation that Seonghwa told you about in one of his letters. 

«Oh, cool,» you heard Jeongin say, noticing in the corner of your eyes that he was leaning towards Changbin in order to hold one of the knives he had placed on the table as he was talking to Chris and Felix.  

«Jeongin, no!» eight different voices echoed in perfect synchrony, startling the poor boy which petrified with his eyes wide and a knife hanging in mid-air. Jeongin put the knife back on the table with a pout, quickly going back to sit on his original place next to you. 

Jeongin spent half of the night cutely glaring at everyone with an adorable pout – his chin on your shoulder, until eventually your fingers interlocked on your lap.  

It was a mid-summer afternoon, the sun was burning bright in the sky and you were quietly humming to a song you’ve heard at the tavern few nights earlier as you were washing the dishes in the small house you were living in with Jeongin.

It happened naturally, one moment you were focused on cleaning a spoon, and the other you felt Jeongin’s fingertips tilting your head towards the left just to place a quiet and chaste kiss on your lips, mumbling a soft, «I like you a lot.»

At first, you stared at him as if you have been struck by lightning, wondering who turned your cute and innocent Innie into a smooth and sneaky boy – it was probably Hyunjin, but then, you acknowledged your constantly growing feelings for him.

«I like you, too.» you admitted, and immediately Jeongin walked behind you in order to hug you while you finished your chores.

«Wait,» you tensed up, moving just enough to side-eye him, «Wasn’t it your turn to wash the dishes today?»

«I… forgot… I have to talk to Chris about very important matter!» Jeongin chanted, and you watched with an incredulous amused expression your boyfriend running away from his own duties. 

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

↳ BACK TO NAVIGATION 💫 ↳ BACK TO MASTERLIST 🔮

[mercysought]

[ FINAL ]:     a letter written in the aftermath of the recipient’s death, where the writer knows they’ll never get the chance to read it. / for Brasidas from Maxima for maximum pain 😭

letters / accepting / @mindsmade

There had been a ceremony, after the news arrived to all widows, to all families to all of the government. Maxima truthfully, did not recall much of the day, only that the sky seemed to be akin to her own mind: threatening to collapse don't other earth and disintegrate into a thousand fractured pieces. She didn't. Her responsibilities were many and great and if the Gods were watching they had been the ones to make sure that one such as her never got a moment to rest or mourn.

So she had gone to the ceremonies, she had attended any and all events that she rightfully should to protect her place and that of her children. At least, for now, while she made arrangements, while she considered their options. Without Brasidas she could feel the vultures circling in and Sparta would not have her children.

For the first time, she had made her way to the temple of Hera and she had brought a promise with her.

My heart, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you. Truthfully, I almost started this letter off calling you the most vile of names. It would be deserved, but my rightful rage does not change your place within myself. When the philosophers spoke of the heart betraying the mind, I never thought it would be quite so literally. Despite my best attempts and arguments, despite having lowered myself to begging you — you followed your orders and left. You have abandoned me and your children. I begged you before the eyes of all the Gods and still you denied me. You cannot understand the shame that I have carried since that day. I have found myself unable to explain your death to our children without this awful fury boiling over. I have told them the truth, but I do not have the strength to explain why I do not have a body to bury or a shield to give them. How can I explain that in an attempt to protect this place, you chose it instead of us? I will never forgive you, Brasidas. I promise this to you here as I have promised it to the Gods in their temple. I might not believe their stories, but I hope my words are written in stone as their tales were. My words are as true as theirs when they reach the masses' ears. If I ever speak them they will sound as loudly as the prophecies from Delphi and consume the world in flame. When I was younger I used to have these dreams. Strange, that left me in pitches of fever and malaise. They were not prophecies for they never happened. I am no oracle. They have always felt closer to memories. They had grown dull for a while, but I have started having them again. In them, I see you fighting still on a battlefield with soot falling from the sky and I cannot stop myself from shaking. I know we will see each other again. I will make it happen while I still draw breath and I will return once that is done to our children. I will stand before them as a reminder: while their father chose a piece of land that will erode with time and forget him once his usefulness comes to an end, my love for them is eternal and unmoving. We will see each other again, and it will be you who will beg for me to stay. — M.

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

18 for the spotify wrapped game, please and thank you!

#18 - "Black No. 1" by Type O Negative

For the Spotify Wrapped Snippet Game

This is definitely an Ollie song/band (though, actually, she doesn't dye her hair fyi). I don't have her "voice" figured out yet, so this also made for a fun way to give it a try. Thanks for sending the prompt in!

Dysthanasia Taglist: @thecyrulik @theimperiumchronicles @k--havok (Sorry, I forget to do this so often that a couple of you might have no idea what's going on in this ^^;)

Words: 1,008

Content Advisory: Swearing, (mostly) joking references to violence

“Ollie?”

She was pretty sure she’d never heard Mergus shout before, actually. It was impressive he could make himself heard over the aneurysm-inducing volume of her stereo at all.

“Ollie!”

She kept ripping the stupid sticky notes from her bedroom wall, wadding them up and hurling them to the carpet, but with only a fraction of her attention.

“Oleander Blume.”

Oh, well, golly gee. Guess she was really in for it now. Smirking, she turned and spotted Mergus standing in front of the stereo set-up, hands shielding his ears. He’d lived through the Black Death, Industrial Revolution, and the Break, but couldn’t find the pause icon on a control panel. She strolled over and slid the volume bar down until only the tinny ringing of temporarily damaged hearing remained. With a sigh, Mergus lowered his hands.

“How on Earth could playing racket at that level be enjoyable?”

“Oh, what, you never cranked your hurdy-gurdy as hard as you could just to forget about the world for a while, old man?”

For that, he looked up at her with his Fledglings These Days Face. Though she rolled her eyes, Ollie pulled the hood of her sweatshirt back and swiped stray wisps of blonde hair away from her cheeks.

“Fine. I’m listening, okay?”

Rather than come right out with what he wanted, Mergus went and perched on the end of her bed. A vision of order and dignity in his flawlessly pressed suit against the backdrop of her tangled pentagram-pattern bedspread and a pile of black and red laundry she still hadn’t hauled to the washer. He plucked a pair of ripped jeans and a fishnet shirt out of the way so he could pat the spot next to him. Damn, it was going to be that kind of night then. Ollie dragged her combat boots as she walked, but parked her ass where told to all the same.

“Whatever it is, just say it. That fucking ghost got into my room again, so I’m not in the mood for a long fireside chat.”

His gaze flickered over to the remaining collage of sticky notes that had spelled her name out in spiky, three-foot high letters. “I thought one of Hawthorne’s aides warded your suite recently.”

“Well, that crusty ass zombie obviously didn’t send one of his best or brightest because the stupid haint made a mess.” Added to it. Whatever.

“Ceph only acts out for attention. They’d leave you be if you acknowledge them once in a while.”

“They’d be out of my hair permanently if I torched their room too.”

He didn’t dignify that with more than a raised eyebrow. He didn’t have to. Not when the memory of Wes Mayer attempting to do the same thing was still a household punchline. Of course, the ass-dragging mutt didn’t have enough brains or subtlety to fill a thimble either. Ollie, on the other hand, made a living on sneaky strategy.

“I stopped by,” Mergus said, “because I have an assignment out on the coast for you.”

“With who?” She already saw it coming, of course. The second he mentioned where they’d be going she knew.

Ollie still let out an agonized groan and flopped back on the bed, arms straight out to the sides as if she’d been crucified, when Mergus answered, “Renato.”

“Why don’t you just send a fluffy little dog along with me instead? Would be about as useful.”

The fine lines gathered in the corners of his eyes and lips deepened with the onset of his I’m Really Quite Serious Face. “I’ve considered the requirements carefully. This is the best way to meet all of them.”

“The best way to finally drive me bugfuck, you mean.” Sweet Satan on a stick. She could already imagine it. Having to watch him preen in the visor mirror every thirty seconds. Controlling her gag reflex while he flirted with every stranger from there to the Pacific. Listening to him bring up that goldfish for the billionth time. She’d beat his perfectly-shaped skull in with a tire iron before they got halfway to their destination.

“I already took into account your history together,” Mergus said. If bloodborn could develop gray hairs, his neat curls and close-cropped beard would’ve had new streaks. “You’ll be taking separate cars, staying in separate accommodations for the most part—but you will work together if it comes down to a fight. Is that understood?”

Ollie lifted her head enough to meet his stern gaze, her eyebrows and curiosity raised. “Who are we fighting?”

“If all goes well, drastic action won’t be necessary.”

“Is it Grandpa Ghoul or Muttley Mayer? Or both?”

He surrendered with a sigh. “Hawthorne and I have…not yet come to an agreement on how to best handle the matter.”

She grinned. “So, keep our heads on a swivel and chainsaw any ouroboroi that get in the way in half.”

Fledglings These Days Face made another cameo. “I’ll stress again that violence is a last resort. And you are not packing a chainsaw.”

“Fine.” She stuck her tongue out.“Spoilsport.”

“Can I rely on you to be civil in a meeting with Renato when I give you both your instructions then? Say, nine o’clock, my office?”

Propping herself on her elbows, Ollie made a show of considering it. “I’ll try to keep the biting and stabbing to a minimum. Sure.”

The smile that made his eyes glitter was worth any future headache. Mergus patted her knee and stood, smoothing his jacket and tie into place. “It means a lot, coming from you, my girl.”

Once alone again, Ollie glanced over at the small hill of laundry. With only a slight scowl, she got up and started stuffing it into a bag to take to the wash room. She was going to need clean clothes to pack soon. Good thing ninety-nine percent of her wardrobe consisted of black. When she made a mess with that chainsaw she planned to buy on the trip, the stains would never show.

[themculibrary]

Happy/Pepper Masterlist

Accountability (ao3) - roboticonography pepper/tony, happy/pepper T, 13k

Summary: In the wake of the events of the first movie, Pepper deals with the shift in Tony's attitude towards her.

a single lie discovered is enough to create doubt in every truth expressed (ao3) - lavenderlotion T, 9k

Summary: With a determined breath, her eyes continued to scan the endless rows of information, pulled from the web and compiled into neat data and then placed into organized files by F.R.I.D.A.Y. Pepper—along with a hand-picked team of intelligent, hard-working women from both Analytics and Legal—had been combing through anything even remotely related to Stark Industries, Tony Stark, herself or the Avengers.

A gentle knock sounded against the glass that lined the right wall of her office. Standing at the open doorway into the connecting conference room was one of the girls she pulled from Analytics, but what had Pepper immediately on edge was that it was Sheila, and Sheila was in charge of files relating to Natalie Rushman.

“Ms. Potts, I think there’s something you need to see, ma’am.”

Chitauri Apocalypse (ao3) - Del_Rion M, 96k

Summary: Iron Man never fell back through the portal. The Avengers must deal with the loss of their comrade and move on – until Earth once again comes under an attack from the Chitauri and their new-found weapons that decimate everything in their path with unmatched power and intellect. As cities and nations collapse around their decreasing resistance, the heroes of Earth must find a way to defeat their enemy before there is nothing left to avenge.

Enemy of the World (ao3) - Del_Rion T, 27k

Summary: After a war that lasted for ten grueling years, Ultron has finally been defeated. However, when Tony Stark reappears – presumed dead at the dawn of Ultron’s war on mankind – a frantic struggle begins between those who want to restrain him in order to protect their hard-won peace and Tony’s quest to comprehend how his actions could have allowed this alien future to be born.

Happier (ao3) - Shi_Toyu G, 395

Summary: Pepper tells Tony some big news.

I've Seen You In The World (ao3) - skyline steve/tony, happy/pepper M, 40k

Summary: Pepper's getting married.

Tony's dealing with that about as well as everyone expected.

I Would Put Them Back In Poetry, If I Only Knew How (ao3) - Bam4Me G, 3k

Summary: Moving forward is the only possible option, but sometimes Happy forgets that he can do more than just sheltering Tony from what could go wrong anymore.

And sometimes he forgets that the people they live with aren't exactly enemies anymore, and he should learn to relax a little, and allow life to happen.

Love and the Wedding Industrial Complex (ao3) - Neverever T, 32k

Summary: Tony Stark is quite put out at the disruption to his working life when Pepper Potts announces her engagement to Happy Hogan. And when she hires an attractive wedding planner named Steve Rogers, that's the final straw. Tony has an immediate aversion to all the wedding planning and especially to the wedding planner.

Well, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Next Time (ao3) - MagpieWords T, 7k

Summary: Five times Toni Stark looks for her soulmate, and one time her soulmate finally looks for her too.

Old Time Romance for the New Millenium (ao3) - tzzzz steve/tony T, 10k

Summary: Steve writes letters (among other things), Tony gets over his breakup with Pepper, JARVIS keeps secrets and Gary Busey does not appreciate living down the road from Tony Stark.

Pieces of Echoes (ao3) - geekymoviemom steve/tony, happy/pepper T, 334k

Summary: When weapons designer and SHIELD consultant Tony Stark and his son are kidnapped following a routine weapons demonstration, newly defrosted World War II hero Steve Rogers is sent to find them.

But what begins as just another mission, a way for Captain America to reintegrate back into society, quickly warps into something more as betrayals are discovered, harsh, long-buried truths are finally brought to light, and Tony and Steve come to realise that their biggest allies are each other.

Tend My Wounds / Avenge My Broken Soul (ao3) - TheFinalOtp G, 1k

Summary: An overview of Rhodey and Tony's lives after the Civil War and what happens when the Rogues come back.

(Team Iron Man, read at your on risk if you stan Team Cap.)

Tony Family (ao3) - Azarielisadragon T, 1k

Summary: Tony considers his past and his family.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream (ao3) - ImpalaGirl42 G, 1k

Summary: Happy just wants to get some sleep next to his new wife. He was having a good dream of a vacation with Pepper, which is itself a dream, but he'll take what he can get.

Tony has other plans.

Pepper wonders why they work for an insane man. Happy thinks they were probably cursed.

(Happy centric)

Vacay (ao3) - Ehtar loki/tony, background happy/pepper, implied clint/natasha T, 21k

Summary: Superheroes, gods, and shapeshifting children go on holiday. A family vacation is meant to be relaxing. Right...?

Wedding for Christmas (ao3) - nepenthe_writer bucky/tony, happy/pepper G, 12k

Summary: When Pepper and Happy become stressed planning their Christmas Wedding, Tony offers to hire an event planner to help them out. By the time the wedding comes around, they might not be the only ones feeling the love of the season.

With Magic and Money enough, many Things are Possible (ao3) - Weaselwoman loki/tony, loki/pepper/tony, happy/pepper T, 10k

Summary: Tony's happy family life.

[carewyncromwell]

“Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day. Once we've begun, if we stand as one, Someday becomes somehow, And the prayer becomes a vow, And the strike starts right damn now!”

~“Seize the Day” from Newsies (musical)

x~x~x~x

referencing a code later used by the Phoenix Resistance @kathrynalicemc​

x~x~x~x

On June 19, 1996, Hogsmeade village was notably quiet. No one seemed to have the heart to do any shopping after the blockbuster Evening Prophet reporting the true state of affairs, and truly, none of the Flumes had much heart to push their wares that day either. Mia had never seen her parents looking so pale and withdrawn in her life -- all she could do was quietly mix up some spiced hot chocolate for them, in an attempt to bring some color back to their cheeks.

Mia wrote dozens of letters over the course of the next week. Most of them were to Florean -- they’d mutually agreed to write to each other every morning and evening, just to “check in” and make sure the other was safe both before going about their day and going to bed.

Dad “forgot himself” again today. Fortunately he was back to himself in a few hours, after sitting with Mum and me on the couch listening to Callie’s broadcast on WWN. He said hearing Callie’s usual sign-off -- “Until next time, keep your head up, a smile on, and your hand on that dial” -- helped bring him back to earth.

Diagon Alley was very gray today here as well. I can hardly recall a time when my neighbors looked upon me with so much distrust. But then again, even during the First War, the Ministry merely tried to urge calm, not actively promote disinformation. It’s hardly a wonder that people don’t know who they can trust now...

Mail-order sales of chocolate have been skyrocketing lately. I suppose people want something sweet to distract themselves from everything, even if they still feel too unsafe to come into shop themselves.

Your old “friend” Jacob Cromwell stopped into my shop today for some chocolate chip ice cream. I know you dislike the man, but truly, he seems to have really grown up since you knew him at school. He even suggested I could use Muggle glow-in-the-dark ink to write letters in, if I was afraid about my letters getting read by the wrong people.

The other person Mia received lots of letters from, though, was Olin. With the removal of Umbridge, his mail wasn’t being actively watched anymore, and Olin took full advantage of it, writing more emotionally charged letters than ever to his aunt.

Dumbledore came back as Headmaster today! Oh, Aunt Mia, I’ve never been more happy to see him in all my life!

That rotten toad Umbridge has been stuck in the Hospital Wing for the last few days, supposedly in a state of shock after a confrontation with the Forbidden Forest‘s centaur herd. Given her disgusting attitude toward “half-breeds,” I’d be tempted to say she had it coming, if it weren’t for how much I know Mum wouldn’t approve of me saying so.

First of all, to reassure both you and Mum, no, Dumbledore’s Army was not an actual army. (How anyone could really think that is beyond me!) It was an organization Potter and his friends made so that we could really learn how to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts, since Umbridge wouldn’t teach us anything useful in class. “Dumbledore’s Army” is just the name Ginny Weasley suggested for us, kind of as a backhanded joke against old Minister Fudging-the-Truth. We never thought Dumbledore would use it as an excuse to shield Potter from getting expelled or arrested!

As for Umbridge’s quills...yeah, it’s true. Please don’t tell Mum and Dad, though -- I don’t want to upset them.

Aunt Mia, I hate to ask this, but could you send along some murtlap essence, with your next package? My hand is still hurting from the last detention I had with Umbridge, but I really don’t want to worry Mum and Dad.

I’ve always loved school, but...Merlin, the end of this term truly can’t come soon enough! Not being able to talk with you openly, or talk to Mum, Dad, and Skylar...it’s been so hard.

It was this sentiment especially that worried Mia. Sure, with Umbridge gone, Olin wouldn’t have anyone actively censoring his mail at Hogwarts anymore...but like or not, anything they tried to send each other could still be intercepted. This was made all the more clear to Mia when Callie fumed to her later that week about one of her WWN broadcasts being halted before it could make it to the airwaves.

“I sent in a report about Brockton Bridge being blown up specifically to try to warn the public, but our oh-so-wise Ministry leaders apparently decided that it’d be best not to discuss it until they could put out a proper press release about it!” Callie said heatedly. “‘Proper press release,’ my foot -- they just wanted to protect their own image by making it look like they’re doing something -- ”

In the past, Mia might’ve tried to defend such a decision with the justification that the Ministry didn’t want the rest of the Wizarding World to panic. Now, all the knowledge did was make her angrier and more worried than ever.

She needed a way to make sure any more sensitive messages she might send would get through, to the people she cared about. But how?

Mia contemplated this matter for a long time while mixing some murlap essence into the Cauldron Cake batter she was working on for Olin. Sampling it off the mixing spoon, she frowned and added in a cup of milk and some sugar. 

Florean had brought up glow-in-the-dark ink in his letter -- admittedly because of an interaction with Jacob Cromwell, Mia remembered sourly. Even so, though, the idea of hiding a secret message inside a fake one sparked an idea in her, all the same.

It’s a lot like these Cauldron Cakes, she thought, glancing down at the cakes she was making. They look just like ordinary, delicious Cakes on the outside -- but in truth, they’re mixed in with murtlap essence, to promote quick healing alongside the invigorating benefits inherit to chocolate.

Some gears started turning in Mia’s brain as she considered the Cauldron Cake molds she’d left beside her on the counter. Then, very slowly, her mouth curled up in a broad smile, and she summoned a new mixing bowl, partitioning out some of her batter so that she could then change it a bright shade of red with a flick of her wand.

When Olin unwrapped his aunt Mia’s package of eight Murtlap-Essence-spiked Cauldron Cakes the following, he was startled to find -- when he bit into each one -- a word, or fragment of a word, hidden inside each one in bright red letters.

See. You. At. Hogs. Meade. Sta. Tion. Mia.

And that was how Hermia Flume started hiding messages in custom-baked treats.

~*~

Mia didn’t think about Jacob Cromwell’s out-of-place “gift” again until her father actually came across it one evening, while stuck in dog form. He’d been trying to reach a glass jar of peanut butter brittle on the kitchen counter when he’d knocked the book over, only to decide to pick it up and dutifully carry it over to his wife in his mouth when Jenie caught Ambrosius in the act.

“I reckon he thought to apologize to me, for trying to eat something he shouldn’t,” Jenie said through a faintly miffed smile as she shot Ambrosius a significant look.

The gray-and-brown whippet merely bowed his head, wagging his tail lightly. With a sigh, Jenie handed the book back to Mia.

“Anyhow, best get that back on your shelf before your father decides to tear it up...”

Reluctantly Mia took the book and headed on upstairs to bed. Feeling too restless to sleep, she instead collapsed down onto the bed, idly rifling through the pages of the pretty blue-covered book.

DEMETRIUS

O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?

Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

HERMIA

Now I but chide; but I should use thee worse,

For thou (I fear) hast given me cause to curse.

Mia gave a faintly irritable sniff, recalling Jacob’s pointed words while giving the book to her.

“I would hope you’d have seen this on stage, given your name...”

Mia had in fact not seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream on stage. How could she, when it was a Muggle play that would have no reason to be put on at Hogwarts, or the Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else within walking or Floo distance of her home in Hogsmeade village?

I’m not the sort to abandon my family for a night, just to go see a play, Mia thought resentfully.

That resentment was curdling into something much more like envy, though, despite herself. Stamping that feeling dead before she could dwell on it too long, Mia made as it to close the book.

It was as she flipped through the pages, though, that she suddenly noticed a faint glow peeking out from under them.

Blinking in surprise, Mia quickly brought up a hand and brushed the pages aside. Etched into the inside front cover was a cluster of strange letters scrawled in shiny ink, framed by a messy half-circle --

Mia’s eyes widened.

Glow-in-the-dark ink! Muggle glow-in-the-dark ink!

Of course -- she’d used a Revealing Charm before, but that was designed to reveal messages hidden by magical means. That was probably why Jacob had suggested glow-in-the-dark ink to Florean that one time -- because a non-magical method of hiding a message wouldn’t be so easy to crack!

Mia hated to admit it...but Jacob Cromwell really was brilliant.

The chocolatier stared down at the letters for a long while, trying to make sense of them. She tried to find some pattern to them, but there wasn’t one that she could easily see. They certainly didn’t seem to be an anagram for anything...

Thinking to check this, she got out of bed and headed over toward her desk next to the window so she could take out some spare parchment and a quill. She then wrote the letters down on the parchment and set about trying to rearrange the letters into something decipherable, but sure enough, it wasn’t an anagram.

Undeterred, Mia tried out to find a correlation between the letters on the page and page numbers in the book. But if there was a key anywhere in the text, she couldn’t seem to pinpoint it. Before Mia knew it, it was morning, and she was forced to work an entire shift at Honeydukes after not sleeping a wink.

The following night, Mia sent a note to Florean asking if he knew any codes she could try. He suggested the Caesar cypher, which the famous Roman emperor had apparently used to send covert military messages. Unfortunately, even after shifting the alphabet backwards and forwards multiple ways, she still couldn’t seem to crack it. Feeling at a loss, Mia sent a note to Callie, asking for her advice, before setting about skimming through a book of codes Florean had sent to help her.

The following day, Mia received Callie’s response.

Mia,

Why didn’t you TELL me Jacob had given you something?! Merlin, Mia! If I’d known he was sending you messages too, I would’ve come clean about him AGES ago!

Oh, Merlin, just forget it! You really are impossible! Anyway...

Yes, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Jacob was the one who told me about Umbridge using a cursed quill on Potter. He sent it to me in a coded message he’d Transfigured into a record, so as to avoid prying eyes. I forget the name of the code he used -- I think it’s something Transposition? Whatever it’s called, it involves writing out a word; writing numbers under each one that correlate to the order they fall in, in the alphabet; and then writing out the letters you’ve been given under each number based on that order. He doesn’t always use the same word each time, though -- the last word he gave me was “Hogwarts.” Maybe you should try that!

Mia...I am sorry I didn’t tell you about Jacob being my informant -- but with how hostile you’ve always been toward him, you can hardly blame me for not wanting to tell you. I doubt you would’ve believed a word he said, if I’d told you...and well, he did turn out to be right after all, didn’t he?

I know you hate him, but...please, if you find out what Jacob was trying to tell you, just hear him out.

Love you,

Callie

Mia read and reread Callie’s letter several times, her frown creasing her features a bit more each time.

‘Something Transposition...’

“Accio,” she said, waving her wand toward her bed.

Summoning the book of codes Florean had sent her into her lap, Mia cracked it open and brushed through the index. When she did, she found something very promising --

Myszkowski Transposition Cipher.

Flipping through the page in question, she read up on it.

The Myszkowski Transposition Cipher is a variant of Columnar Transposition in the way it deals with recurring letters in the keyword. It was proposed by Émile Victor Théodore Myszkowski in 1902.

The same methodology as for Columnar Transposition is used, where the plaintext is written out in rows under the keyword. The only difference is that when there are repeated letters in the keyword, rather than number them from left to right, all letters must receive the same number. One would then read across columns which have the same number in the keyword.  

Start by writing out the keyword, and the alphabetical order of the letters, remembering to give repeated letters the same number. Next, divide the length of the ciphertext by the length of the keyword to work out how many rows you need to add to our grid. Then insert the ciphertext back into the grid. Start at number 1, and continue to the highest number. If the number only appears once, fill down the column. If the number appears twice, move from left to right across the columns with that number heading them.

The description matched Callie’s explanation -- this must’ve been the code Jacob had used!

But if it is, what’s the keyword I need to read the coded message?! Mia thought irritably. Damn it, Cromwell -- you put a code in this book, and then you make it bloody impossible to crack it!

With a loud, aggravated sigh, she glared down at the inside cover of A Midsummer Night’s Dream again. She moodily poked at the letters etched into it with her wand, trailing it along the half circle at the bottom.

There’s got to be some sort of clue about the word somewhere, she thought stubbornly. Could it be part of the title? ‘Dream?’ Perhaps ‘Night?’ These markings only appear at night...

It was as Mia trailed her wand along the half circle at the bottom that something clicked in her brain.

This wand movement... she realized. It’s just like the one for Reparifarge -- the untransfiguration spell!

Callie had said Jacob had transfigured his coded message to her into a record. Was this book actually -- !?

Feeling a strange burst of energy she could hardly explain, Mia pointed her wand right at the book.

“Reparifarge!”

In an instant, the book was tossed up into the air with a flash. It snapped shut, dropping back to the desk with an odd thunk -- more like a wooden box, rather than a book.

Her brows knitting together, Mia tried to open the book...and instead found that it was a faux book, with a folded letter inside its interior chamber.

Deliver the message to Hogwarts as soon as you can. Send it to the proper recipient through a third party, if you have to -- I believe you have at least one.

The word needed to unlock the message is “Phoenix.” C can explain the proper method to you.

If you want any more book recommendations in the future, I’ll pass them along.

JC

Mia’s heart was pounding against her chest. Pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, she sketched out a grid and immediately set to work on the code --

P H O E N I X

6 2 5 1 4 3 7

T E L L P O T

T E R T O N O

T G O T O H A

L L O F P R O

P H E C I E S

Mia's heart stopped.

“Tell Potter to not go to Hall of Prophecies.”

~*~

The following day Mia sent an owl to Callie, telling her to tell Jacob that she needed to talk to him about his “book recommendation.” She was not expecting him to show up to Honeydukes within the hour, looking faintly disheveled as ever in his ripped jeans and birkenstocks.

“You knew,” she confronted him as soon as he walked through the door.

Jacob offered her a cheesy grin.

“Not to brag or anything,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I know a lot of things...”

Seeing the lack of amusement in Mia’s face, Jacob immediately turned serious.

“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” he said under his breath. “I’m not the only one who thinks your chocolate’s incredible.”

He glanced significantly over at the witch wearing the balaclava in the corner, who immediately looked away so as to not be caught eavesdropping. This time, though, Mia wasn’t sure it was just for the potential gossip material -- with the truth of the Dark Lord’s return coming to light, everyone suddenly seemed more suspicious...

Mia pursed her lips, but nonetheless gave a clipped nod.

“Come on.”

She led Jacob up the stairs and then up a ladder into her family’s flat above the shop. Once she’d closed the trapdoor securely behind her, Jacob pointed the left of his two wands at it.

“Muffliato.”

A puff of light yellow light burst from Jacob’s wand, dissolving away like smoke into the wood.

“There,” he said. “Now we shouldn’t be overheard.”

He turned to Mia as he slid the wand back into his left pocket. “I suppose you got my message, then? Surprised it took you so long...”

“Well, I didn’t exactly know that you were my sister’s ‘secret informant,’” Mia said accusingly.

“Hey, I didn’t tell your sister not to tell you!” said Jacob defensively.

He strolled over to the window so he could look out, his hand sliding halfway into his pocket as he went.

“Not that I’m not touched she thought to keep my secret, mind you -- I wasn’t exactly following Dumbledore’s orders, when I leaked that stuff...”

“Dumbledore?” Mia recurred, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Wait -- so that’s where you got your information from? You were working with Dumbledore?”

“Somewhat reluctantly,” Jacob confirmed with an airy sigh. “But as much as I hate to admit it, that shady old geezer is the only person who could stand toe to toe magically with the likes of Voldemort.”

The sound of the Dark Lord’s name made Mia flinch.

“Don’t say that name,” she said tersely.

Jacob raised an eyebrow as he considered Mia through the glass.

“What? Voldemort?”

Mia flinched again, glaring at him. Jacob, however, merely crossed his arms as he turned back around to face her.

“It’s just a name -- nothing more,” he said simply. “No more than Bob, or Jane, or Rick, or Sandy.”

“No one named Bob, Jane, Rick, or Sandy has slaughtered hundreds of people and threatens to kill even more,” Mia shot back.

“No, but I reckon old Moldy Shorts had a name just as plain and unremarkable too, before he set about terrorizing people,” Jacob said coolly. “And as much as I’ll respect anyone who prefers to be called something other than their birth name, his name is still just that -- something to be called. If he didn’t want anyone to call him Voldemort -- ” Mia tried to fight back another flinch, “ -- then I’m sure we’d still be calling him Ike or Joe or whatever the hell he was before.”

“It’s not about what he wants,” spat Mia. She was fine with Florean using the Dark Lord’s name, but he at least did it sparingly -- Jacob’s flippant repetition, as well as his open mockery of the most dangerous Dark Wizard in the world, was grating on her. “People are afraid of him and his name...so stop being such an insensitive clod and respect other people’s feelings, for once!”

Jacob frowned, looking faintly bewildered. He couldn’t conjure up a proper response before Mia railroaded him.

“Why did you give the message to me? Why not just leak it to Callie, like you did before?”

“Because Callie isn’t working in Hogsmeade village, favorite gathering spot of both the Hogwarts school staff and its students,” Jacob said plainly. “I figured you’d be much more able to sneak a message into the school itself than Callie could -- if nothing else, I gather your nephew and you are close, and he was one of those rounded up with Potter as part of Dumbledore’s Army. I just thought we’d have more time to get the message to Potter...until the end of term, at least. I mean, it took me years before I was able to use my Legilimency to connect to someone mentally inside Hogwarts’s walls...and the only reason I was able to do it was because it was my sister’s mind I’d connected to. Plus she had strong Legilimency as well. And even then, I could only keep contact with her for a very short amount of time...”

Mia did not know what Jacob was talking about. Rather than going down that rabbit hole of questions, though, she decided to stay on topic.

“But how did you know that Potter would try to go to the Hall of Prophecies?” she demanded.

Jacob’s arms tightened a bit around his chest as he once again turned to the window, his eyes drifting away up toward the cloudy sky.

“Because it’s what Voldemort -- sorry,” he added quickly, upon noticing Mia flinch again, “it’s what that mad bloke wanted Potter to do. Only he or Potter could’ve fetched what he wanted down there...and regardless of how valuable it might’ve really been in the end, old Voldie saw value in it...and he was ready to do just about anything, to get it.”

Jacob’s jaw clenched, making his expression that bit more righteously angry.

“That’s why Dumbledore, and the people he’s recruited to help him, worked so hard to try to protect it, this last year.”

Mia’s eyes widened. “...So that’s how you knew what was happening in the Ministry? You were helping Dumbledore guard whatever You-Know-Who was looking for, down in the Department of Mysteries?”

Jacob nodded. “Pip -- my little sister, I mean, Carewyn -- was able to keep me out of trouble a lot of the time I was down there. She works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you see. We used to touch base with our Legilimency throughout my ‘shifts,’ so that she’d know I was okay. After what happened to Sturgis and Bode, we couldn’t be too careful...”

Mia’s ears perked up. “Sturgis Podmore, you mean? The man who got caught sneaking into a secret room at the Ministry?”

“The man who got caught while trying to break into the Department of Mysteries under the Imperius Curse,” Jacob corrected grimly. “Just like Broderick Bode was, not long after. Lucius Malfoy’s doing, most likely -- at least, in the first’s case. The second’s, I’m not sure, though Pip said something about Rookwood once being an Unspeakable...maybe it was his idea...”

“But Dumbledore expelled you,” Mia pressed him, forcefully rerouting their conversation to where it had been, rather than letting Jacob get too off-track. “Sure, he let you take your NEWTs later, but he still expelled you. Why would he want you to join him? Why would you choose to join him, when you clearly don’t like him yourself? Why would you believe him, when almost nobody else did?”

“Why wouldn’t I believe him?” said Jacob.

His gaze drifted up onto the sky outside the glass.

“Dumbledore and I might not see eye to eye on a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice very serious despite the marked detachment in his eyes. “Quite frankly I think it’s disgusting, how he seems to think he’s in any place to make life-altering choices that affect so many people without their consent or knowledge. That’s why I wanted to tell Potter not to go to the Ministry -- because I know first-hand how hard it is to make good choices, if you don’t know what people want from you. But as soon as he said Voldemort -- sorry -- that old loser was back, I knew he was telling the truth. For all of his machinations and concerns about ‘the greater good’ over individual lives...Dumbledore would never lie, about something like this. And if old Morty was really back...well, I’m old enough to fight him this time. May as well.”

Mia was left stunned. Was this really Jacob Cromwell -- stupid, cheerful, arrogant, airhead scholar Jacob Cromwell -- talking about going off to War against the greatest Dark wizard of all time with such conviction in his voice?

“You...you really mean that when you dropped everything to return to London last year,” she said slowly, “it wasn’t just to reconnect with your family, like you told Rosmerta...it was because of this? Because you immediately knew that the Ministry of Magic had to be lying to all of us, and that You-Know-Who had to really be back?”

Was this berk really that brilliant that he could see through it all, right away? Even though this is someone stupid enough to think the best way to get me to help him smuggle a message into Hogwarts was shoving a Transfigured book into my hands and walking away?

Jacob shrugged. “Well, sure. I couldn’t leave my Pip and Mum to deal with all this on their own. I reckon you’d do the same thing, if you’d been in my shoes.”

Mia’s lips twitched with a frown.

“If I’d been in your shoes, I wouldn’t have left my family’s side at all,” she said bluntly. After a pause, she added, “...Even so...you’re right, I wouldn’t have left my family to deal with all this alone.”

Jacob smiled at her through the glass.

“I figured. Well, if you want me to keep sending you more ‘books,’ I’ll be happy to do it. We are kind of on the same side now, in all this.”

Mia crossed her arms with a huff. “Hardly.”

Even as she thought this, though, Ambrosius’s words from before Valentine’s Day came back to her.

“I’m not sure…but, well, we can’t be the only ones, to not believe the Ministry’s narrative. Who knows? Maybe if we can find those other people who see the dark clouds overhead and want to do something about it, we can put our heads together. Then maybe we’ll find some way to be of use.”

Jacob Cromwell had pointed out how much bigger the War was, compared to all of them as individuals. It was truly massive -- terrifyingly so. It had thrown Mia’s whole peaceful world out the window -- thrown the entire Wizarding World’s, sense of safety into chaos. Even Florean had said it himself, in one of his letters --

It’s hardly a wonder that people don’t know who they can trust now...

And yet Jacob had told Callie about what Umbridge had done to Potter, which also ended up being what she’d done to Olin, as well. Jacob had tried to give Mia a message for Potter himself, warning him not to go to the Department of Mysteries -- even if Dumbledore apparently hadn’t wanted Potter to know about it or about Jacob and his other supporters guarding it...

“That’s why I wanted to tell Potter not to go to the Ministry -- because I know first-hand how hard it is to make good choices, if you don’t know what people want from you...”

Mia couldn’t fathom how strange of a world she had to be in, to be in a position where she’d have to trust the likes of Jacob Cromwell...but she had to admit -- even at his most pigheaded, obnoxious, annoying, violent, and clueless, he was smart, and he was never a coward. Not like Fudge. 

Jacob did see the dark clouds overheard, and he did want to do something about it. Just like she did.

“So? What do you say?”

Mia looked up at Jacob. His posture was faintly stiff and uncertain, but his eyes were locked on his face through the glass, despite the odd tilt of his head. He seemed to be watching her with a bizarre kind of interest.

Mia's lips curled up in the very slightest, cynical smirk.

“...All right. I’ll accept your ‘book recommendations.’ But don’t think that means I like you anymore than I did before.”

Jacob grinned, thoroughly unfazed by this, as he turned around to face her properly.

“Hey, at least I won’t have to worry about you chasing me out of your family’s shop anymore!"

[spiritsoulandbody]

#DailyDevotion Only The LORD's Promises Keep & Strengthen Us

#DailyDevotion Only The LORD's Promises Keep & Strengthen Us Psalm 119 113I hate two-faced people, but I love Your teaching (torah). 114You are my Hiding Place and my Shield —I wait for Your promise (dabar). 115Go away from me, wicked men – I want to do what my God orders (mitsvah). 116Help me as You promised (imrah) so that I may live, and don't let me be disappointed in my hope. 117Strengthen me so I may be saved, and I will always respect Your laws (choq). 118You reject all who leave Your laws (edah) to go wrong with a lie they deceive themselves. 119You get rid of all the wicked on earth like dross, but I love the truths (edah) You wrote. 120My flesh shudders in fear of You; I stand in awe of Your judgments (misphat). Two-face, some translations are half-hearted or double-minded. Such are people who say they worship the LORD but they really put their trust in other things or people for every good. Hate is a pretty strong word. Are we supposed to hate? St. Paul tells us to stay away from people who call themselves Christians but who live unrepentant lives. We can't avoid unbelievers though without leaving the world. (1 Cor. 5:11ff, Rom. 16:17) We on the other hand should love the LORD's teaching. We see His teachings in the Gospels and the letters of the Apostles. The LORD Jesus Christ is our Hiding Place and Shield. We turn to Him from protection against all evil thoughts and actions. We are called to wait for His promise. Peter tells us in his second epistle, "4Thus He has given us His precious and very great promises, so that after you have escaped the corruption that lust brought into the world, you might by these promises share in the divine nature." Bad company corrupts good character so it is right for the psalmist to expel wicked men from his midst. It's tough enough dealing with our own flesh in wanting to do what God had commanded us. We don't need to hang around false Christians who tempt us into do evil. A promise we can look to is from Isaiah 45, "22Turn to Me to be saved, all you most distant parts of the world, because I am God, and there is no other." We need to remind the LORD of His promises not because He forgets but because we do. Sometimes it seems long in coming but He will and does fulfill all His promises. His petition to be strengthened so he may be saved reminds us that we need to continually be strengthened by the LORD to remain faithful and be saved. He has given baptism, the Supper, absolution and the preaching and teaching of His Word to keep His promise of preserving us in the faith unto life everlasting. By His strengthening we keep all that He tells us. Verses 118 and 119 should be terrifying to those who pick and choose what parts of God's Word they are going to keep and not keep. True, many of the particulars of the Mosaic Law are no longer in force. They were for Israel as a nation state. Jesus has fulfilled it all for us. Yet, there remains in the New Testament His moral law which we keep by the Gospel. We should not dismiss the holiness Jesus has called us to through His holy apostles. We should not be like those who abuse God's grace in Christ Jesus in order to sin. They will not remain with the LORD. He will get rid of them all in the Lake of Fire on the Last Day. We love all truths the LORD has given us through the apostles and prophets. Our flesh should indeed shudder at the LORD's commands. It never keeps them. It will be purified by fire and a new glorified body will be given us at the resurrection. We indeed should stand in awe of all the LORD has given us. In them we find the power, wisdom, might, grace, mercy and peace of the LORD our God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Merciful Father, grant us Your grace through Word and Sacrament to uphold all You have given us so we may shun those who reject Your teaching but call themselves Your people and live according to Your will. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen. Read the full article

[campmurderparty]

lauren & astrid.

The world was jamestown. That was what lauren had learned after the outbreak. The world had given him a thirteen year long reprieve from the cult that he grew up in, allowing him to return to england for a few years before he left for washington and its comfortable rot. It allowed him to flourish in his career, particularly unctuous to the right and the wrong people. It allowed him to be married for a few years, it even allowed him to be (somewhat) happy, before he was reminded of the world’s true nature. Though the circumstances and the scenery had changed, the dead now walking, it was just like jamestown. A prison. James crone was no longer around for lauren to follow, but he could make a god out of his camp leader. He made gods out of senators before, hadn’t he?

A part of him wondered if perhaps he should’ve made a god out of himself—it would be within his birthright, wouldn’t it? He was the first son. He was set to inherit Jamestown if his father were to ever be destroyed by their enemies (though their scripture soon changed to James crone never being harmed or dying at all, a few years before Lauren had escaped). Sometimes he had to wonder if that was what the world had been trying to tell him: it was time to take up the mantle. Surely his father had died. Lauren hadn’t believed that his father was a god anymore, though he occasionally had moments of doubt, so it was likely that his father was dead. It was likely that Jamestown had fallen. Or perhaps there was a small chance that it was still standing, remote enough that the members of the compound truly believed America and England had destroyed each other with nuclear bombs, yet not a bit of ruin befell them. The point being that sometimes lauren felt the urge to be a god.

Not yet, though. Maybe not ever. Though he was always worried about his own self-interest, willing to fuck anyone over in order to get ahead, lauren preferred someone to hide behind. He liked to be able to blame his deeds on someone else, whether good or bad in nature. It was nice to have that sort of shield since his childhood of growing up in a cult didn’t lend him a lot of sympathy anymore. Not since people had mostly lost interest in his family’s story. True crime was a hungry creature that could never be satiated, eternally growing bored with its latest repast and searching for its next. The public used to gawk at and pity the crones that escaped, but they couldn’t do much with escapees; they wanted the cult they came from. Documentary crews occasionally traveled to the bolivian jungle only to be chased off by cult members or the locals alike, or podcasters that would routinely reach out to lauren for a comment on their investigative series on cults as if there was still any meat on the carcass. He would return their request for comment with cease and desist letters, but some new podcast or netflix documentary would pop up and he’d have to send another, repeating his refusals all over again. A cycle that never seemed to end.

Well, it sure ended eventually. Society fell shortly after the dead rose. Washington held on as long as it could, but sank into darkness quicker than lauren had expected. It might’ve been luck or coincidence that Lauren was out of the capital when the outbreak hit, but he was thankful all the same. He had originally been irritated that his wife had moved out and returned to her parents’ house in wyoming, but it worked out for the better when he had flown out to try and convince Candace to come back to him (the high society folks in d.c. were starting to notice he was showing up to events and dinners dateless) just as Armageddon came. It led to him walking down the street that day, careful to weave between cars and avoid attracting the attention of any undead. It led to him being suddenly assaulted with the sound of someone banging on the window glass to his left. Instantly, his head snapped to the source, only seeing a flash of blonde hair and fists flying. That was certainly… odd. Lauren looked around, assuming the person was alerting him to a horde or some other danger further ahead, but found nothing of consequence.

Standing there, one foot hovering slightly in the air in the abandoned practice of walking, he gave a quizzical quirk of his brow before he simply walked to the storefront and opened the door. “What are you trying to do, attract the attention of every dead and living thing in hearing distance?” Lauren asked, though he made sure to keep his tone somewhat jovial and friendly, like an older brother chastising a wayward sibling. The girl seemed like she had seen a ghost, however, staring at him as if she recognized him—unlikely unless she was obsessed with cults or American politics. Proper cakey, he thought.

[daddycephalopod]

The Great War

Rex x OC

Summary: A war erupts between the Jedi and Separatists, but you already know that story. This is a tale of love, loss, and growth. Two individuals brought together in the wrong place at the right time. Jedi aren’t allowed to form attachments and it’s forbidden for them to marry…right?

What will become of our heroes? Who will win? Who will survive?

Chapter 1: A General and A Captain

Warnings: Violence and mentions of violence

Song: The Great War by Taylor Swift

A galaxy divided by war.

The Jedi were peacekeepers, seekers of balance and yet Aurora Steele found herself wielding her yellow light sabers against droids. Separatists.

She was 8 when she discovered she was force sensitive, a late bloomer of sorts in comparison to her peers. Coruscanti, living in poverty with her father in the lower levels. Her father was ill, not able to walk well when a group of criminals went to rob him. The stress of the situation caused her to force throw them off of her father, although it seemed too little too late. He succumbed to his injuries. Qui-Gon Jinn was the one sent to retrieve her, feeling her sadness and anger immediately.

“You must find balance, Rory. You will never face the light if you continue to turn your back on it.”

He would tell her that a lot. Aurora was not perfect, she wasn’t a Sith by any means but she certainly wasn’t a proper Jedi either. The world was cruel, broken, it cared not for her as a child but the Jedi did. The temple was her home now, had been for years, and she found herself with many she regarded as brothers and sisters through the Force.

Aurora stood with two of them now, around a map of the next planet they were going to as they explained the plan to the clone army. The Kaminoans really put their all into these soldiers and it showed, the council was very impressed. When they had originally joined her squad, they were only numbers. Letters. She didn’t allow it after a while when she saw the effect having real names had on them. Whenever they’d start to introduce themselves by their trooper number she would stop them and say, “No. We’ll find you a name too.”

Some came with names already, which was easier than trying to name a bunch of clones. She wouldn’t have children of her own, which always pained her slightly. It wasn’t an inability, she was just very dedicated to the order and they didn’t allow attachments. She also was not a fan of the emotionless detached one night stands she had a few times. It was better to silence that part of her, she had decided.

Although, the clones were certainly handsome. She had never met Jango Fett but she and a few of the others were certainly appreciative of the genetics he passed on. She was particularly fond of one clone but wasn’t going to even entertain the idea. Besides, he was a captain and she was a general. It was a recipe for disaster.

She slashed two more droids in front of her, focusing on the task at hand.

“I’m up to 28. Are you falling asleep over there, Anakin? Wouldn’t want you to lose too many credits, Skywalker.” She teased over the comms as she slayed more droids

“Credits? You’re betting on how many droids you kill?” Obi-wan asked, trying not to sound amused but she knew better.

They had lost Qui-Gon together, although she was not there to see it happen. She would have lost herself to the dark side without Kenobi at that time and she knew it, having experienced too much pain and suffering. He pulled her away from it before it was too late, he was almost like an actual brother to her. The order was concerned with the attachment but it was apparent it wouldn’t interfere with their Jedi duties. Allegedly.

“I actually have 35. You better catch up. I think your age is starting to show, Steele.”

“With age comes wisdom. Not that you would know, since you’re so young.” She quipped back as she ducked behind debris.

There were suddenly a lot of droids in front of them and a handful had those annoying shields. She only had two of the bombs left that rendered their shields useless. Soon three clones had slid behind the debris with her. There he was, blue and white armor. She held the bomb in her hand now as she looked at him.

“Any of you boys got extras of these? I’m low and there’s a lot of shields out there.”

Suddenly, a ton of them were deactivated by a barrage of the bombs, a knowing smile on Aurora’s face now.

“I don’t know about Skyguy, but I’m up to 45 and I’m about to get into the 50s.” Ahsoka said over the comms now.

There was suddenly a ton of shields going down as Ahsoka ran up.

“You have the padawan in on this?” Kenobi asked, that dry and unamused tone coming through clear as day now.

“The kids are just having fun that I’m also joining in on.” Aurora replied as they moved forward with blaster fire.

Both her and Ahsoka were now basically leveling the droid army in front of them, with the help of the clones.

“This was literally your idea, Rory.” Anakin responded.

“One of us has to be the fun one and it’s not Kenobi.” She could practically feel the look Obi-Wan would be giving her at that.

All attention went back to the task at hand. They were pushing forward with force, taking back a base originally owned by the Republic. This would help turn the tides of war, especially with the amount of supplies inside. All she really wanted was a cup of caf and five minutes without the sound of blaster fire. Her and Kenobi were both regarded as the insomniacs of the squads, whereas Anakin snored. A lot. Loudly.

“They’re retreating.” Cody said over the comms, “how are the rest of you holding up?”

Aurora had been taking on too many, wanting to push through and also protect Ahsoka. She had shoved Ahsoka out of the way when one of the droids rolled out to tackle her. She was pinned and shoved her light saber into the skull of the droid, dragging it down before slicing off the head. She pushed it off of her and ignored the pain shooting through her side. One of the claws on its arm had definitely done damage but she would assess later.

The firing seemed to stop suddenly, the army retreating just as Cody said and suddenly the exhaustion crashed into her like a tidal wave as she felt her robes getting sticky by her side.

“Aurora’s hurt.” Ahsoka said, “pretty badly.”

She looked scared for her. Aurora smiled slightly at Ahsoka.

“Dear, I’ve suffered worse things. It’s going to take a lot more than a droid basically punching me with his claws. I should definitely sit down though.” She said, swaying a bit.

A gloved hand gently touched the side that wasn’t bleeding steadily as an arm wrapped around her. The other hand placed her arm around his shoulders as her blood began to smear a bit against the white and blue.

“Sorry for bleeding on you, Captain.” She said as he escorted her to where Kix and the other medics were tending to the wounded.

“You’re possibly bleeding out and you’re worried about getting blood on my armor?” He asked, tone hard to discern right now.

The world was getting a little fuzzy and she started to feel woozy.

“Your armor is pretty.” She remarked as he laid her down carefully on a makeshift gurney.

He removed his helmet and there it was, freckled skin. Beautiful brown eyes. Lots of concern etched into his features.

“Your eyes are pretty too. I know a majority of the clones have brown eyes but yours catch the sun just right….”

What the hell was she even saying? He looked slightly amused now as she was injected with something.

“Get some rest, general….”

Sleep took her from the sedative Kix injected her with.

“What was that about?” He asked

Rex shrugged, “probably in shock or something. Not the first Jedi to say something like that. I’ll go report to Skywalker and Kenobi about the situation.”

It sat with him heavy, in a weird way. Jedi weren’t allowed to form attachments and he knew it would severely complicate things so he also kept his feelings to himself, completely unaware of the storm of emotions inside of his general.

Aurora was kind, always and above everything else. She was compassionate, funny, and she wasn’t afraid to put her two cents in where it wasn’t asked for when required. He also wasn’t blind, she was beautiful. She had a slight tan starting from being out in the sun with the rest of them, brown hair always braided one way or another, and her eyes were green with flecks of brown. Not that he had been paying attention.

It would be a disaster. The Galaxy was at war, there was no time for forbidden romance. They had a war to win.

[mistralxsoul]

Flynn remained standing there, watching Yuri as he turned to leave and remained standing there a long while after he was gone. He waited, almost as if someone would come out and tell him that this was some cruel joke. He waited, letting reality settle, letting his breathing fall back under control. Then with one giant breath, he turned and slammed his fist into the brick wall that rested behind him.

It hurt and he wasn’t sure if the armor on his glove was enough to shield his hand from the damage but it was enough to ground him and enough to get some of the anger out of his system before he returned to his knights. He would have to take care of his hand at a later point, already knowing that if Yuri had seen him even attempt such a stupid stunt, he likely would have stopped the fist before it could connect to rock.

But Yuri couldn’t be there anymore because of the damned system that judged him without so much as a trial. He had been mercilessly judged by those who had no right to be a part of his sentence. Judged by people who didn’t know him, who only took the crime at face value. Everyone, every single human in the entire world, deserved fair judgment for their crimes. And if Yuri had committed a crime, it should have been investigated. He should have been questioned.

That was the world that Flynn wanted to build. He never wanted to use his vision orb and he knew that decision would come back to bite him. But he had to stick with his word. He had to be the one to begin the change. Be the one who showed the world that a fair judgment could be done under their hands. That the justice system could deliver an accurate judgment on those who deserve it and protect those who did no wrong.

As Flynn returned to his knights, the sting of his eyes and burning of his hand served as that reminder.

…

It would be a few months before Flynn would see Yuri again. He imagined that Yuri likely traveled far away from Zaphias after that day, to avoid getting caught for the crime of destroying Vision Central and, as much as Flynn hated to think about it, to avoid being associated with Flynn in any way. It was probably in their best interests of course, but that didn’t mean that Flynn had to like and accept that.

The only one from the Lower Quarter that he told about Yuri had been Hanks. As much as Flynn wanted to tell everyone that Yuri was alive and as well as he could be, it was much too risky to talk about. If someone caught wind that Flynn not only knew a Transgressor but also associated with one with no intention of trying to capture or kill him, then Flynn’s career– and most importantly, his life– would practically be forfeit.

Hanks reacted about as well as Flynn expected. He was quiet, his eyes watered but he kept as calm and collected as he could have possibly been. As upset (but relieved) as he had been, though, he didn’t seem too surprised that Yuri was still alive somewhere. Any boy that was raised by Jiri wouldn’t let himself die so easily, Hanks had said. Flynn silently agreed. They didn’t talk about it beyond that… for their own safety.

Life continued as normal for the next couple of months before he had been given another order to leave Zaphias and travel back to the Outside world. Their world and the Kingdom of Medagal within the Outside world had entered a kind of (Communication?) (Alliance?).... something that seemed to be a secret to almost everyone in the world aside from the close circles within both empires. Flynn wasn’t sure if he should feel lucky or unnerved that he was considered important enough to know of this. Regardless, he was tasked to deliver a letter directly to the king as discreetly as possible. Leaving the safety of the Lower Quarter to a small handful of knights that he knew he could trust, Flynn departed on the mission immediately. Being away from the prying eyes of the empire made Flynn feel like he could breathe once again.

But, he should’ve known that his status as a knight could never escape him. It seemed like if someone pinned him as a knight, they would never be shy in requesting assistance in some shape or form and usually, Flynn was willing to help, so long as he kept interactions brief and simple. After all, it was safe to assume that people just saw him as a knight from Medagal and he was more than happy to let them continue thinking that.

So when a young woman flagged him down in the middle of a forest, frantic and distressed, Flynn couldn’t bring it in his heart to turn down her plea for help. Of course, he could feel his heart twist when she began rambling about running into a Transgressor in this forest and how her father and his friend were currently fighting with the criminal to try and apprehend him.

He shouldn’t assume… but…

Uneasiness settled in his chest as he let the young woman latch onto his arm and pull him deeper into the forest towards where she had left her father and his friend to fend off the Transgressor.

“Did this person attack your party? Was anyone injured?” Flynn asked as he was tugged along. If whoever this was didn’t attack, it was possible that the transgressor that they were facing was just an innocent person but… he couldn’t just assume. But the woman’s next words had practically confirmed it.

“No, Ser Knight but– my father was a knight before he had to retire and– we were traveling through the forest and we spotted the man. At first, we thought he needed assistance but then we saw the Stain of Guilt and my father– He wanted to arrest the man and take him in for his punishment, you see– I told him to just call for the Enforcers but–”

Flynn gritted his teeth. It was sounding more and more likely that the person in question was just minding his own business. Flynn began to assure the woman that he would handle it but yelling was heard just up ahead and he barely got a word out before the woman gripped his arm tighter and dragged him along. As they approached the brief clearing in the trees, the yelling became clearer and the familiar barks of a dog shot fear straight into Flynn’s chest.

“Just bloody surrender, will ya?! Your kind doesn’t have a place in this world, you know! Y’ shoulda long been snatched up by the enforcers! You should be paying for whatever crime you did!” The older man yells out, hand gripping tightly onto a rock, hand tilted back as if he were wanting to throw it.

Flynn bit his tongue upon hearing the words. ‘Whatever crime you did’ he says… He doesn’t even care what the crime was! But as the woman drags him over, his annoyance quickly turns to anger upon seeing the familiar face of said Transgressor, standing not too far away. The familiar face of his best friend, a face that he was starting to accept that he would likely not see again for a very long time.

His best friend, a transgressor who was now being harassed by these two men. Gritting his teeth, Flynn practically peeled the girl off of his arm and put a hand on the hilt of his blade as he stepped forward. As much as he wanted to yell at these men to back off and to stop acting so foolishly, he knew he had to proceed with this carefully. In order to get Yuri out of there.

Repede stands nearby, standing defensively next to Yuri though his growling stops when Flynn appears on the scene. With a deep breath, Flynn calls out to the men, choosing his words carefully.

“Please stand back! Sir, If you could, please leave this to me!" Stop it. Stop yelling at him. “You shouldn’t confront a Transgressor like this on your own, retired Knight or no. It could be dangerous.” Yuri didn’t do anything wrong to warrant this!

He wished he could explain. Wished he had time to warn him properly. Even for Yuri, it was almost insane how quickly everything in the world just went completely haywire. Things were normal for a while at least, aside from the constant fear of never know who was next on Vision Central. That was just the norm though. Other than that, Yuri's life had been normal. Average. Things were fine until... Van happened.

When Repede nudged him, he looked back at him for a moment, a small sigh leaving him and he nodded. Repede was right and he knew that, but walking away like this was just... difficult. He knew Repede understood, but they all knew Yuri getting noticed here did none of them any favors. Rather, it could just end up getting them all killed.

Flynn's apology could have broken his heart though if it wasn't already basically broken. Yuri had already lost so much of himself that was hardly recovering around Kanata's group. It was nothing compared to what he was before. Flynn probably noticed it too... how everything about his demeanor had reshaped itself for survival and reality.

"It's okay. All of this has been... a lot." They both knew why he cried. Yuri might have felt the same way if he had as well, and eventually he would, even if only out of frustration. Their entire situation just felt like... a lie. In some way, it almost felt like it was just there for people's entertainment. To watch some supposed criminal just try to keep living and struggling all the time. To see who else suffers in the meantime who knew him.

Maybe he did need to leverage with Jade. Not only was he important in his military, but he was also technically in opposition to the side that was... rampant with these things. Yuri didn't know much about Gadel, but he was at least aware he was to blame for Aegis' sin being completely made up. For all Aegis insisted he had committed at least a sin of sorts, it was nothing worth the lie he was being put through.

Even if Flynn was partially joking, Yuri still gave the smallest nod in understanding. He was still right. If they met, Flynn couldn't risk his position or his entire life by associating with him in front of others. Some soldiers might be understanding if they knew he was an old friend, but most of them would only give him so long to "steel himself" and "get over it". They would likely only leave him to a grieving period - not a chance to explain the truth.

Still, he knew he had to go and sighed again, almost as a means of bracing himself to be able to leave. Being condemned was difficult and painful, but taking him away from his life - Flynn and the Lower Quarter - was even worse. His hand reached for Flynn's as he leaned back toward Flynn for another, this time brief, kiss. "I love you too. Always." It had taken everything left in him not to choke on his words. It was too late for that. He had to leave.

He gave the longest glance he could before turning around, patting Repede's head to let him know it was time to go. Repede answered with a quiet bark and followed Yuri down the alleyway. Yuri stopped only briefly to look back at Flynn, not saying a word; no expression on his face that remained before he rounded the corner.

He wasn't sure if he was angrier than he was sad. Angry that this had to happen in the first place. Yuri had been angry enough to kill before, but seeing the effect a single condemnation could have on so many others was a lot more than aggravating. Yuri's life hadn't been the only one ruined and nobody cared. None of the masses cared about the others who lives were in danger now just for associating with him. Just for knowing him.

This all started because of Kasque, didn't it? No matter how much he blamed Van, if Van was just working for Kasque, he needed to skip right over Van's head and go for her. Kanata and the others were doing that, but they weren't strong enough yet. None of them were. They needed to be. If Yuri was going to kill anyone, it had to be her. If Van got in the way, he would just have to go down too.

[mc9798]

My Little Fire

Chapter 10

First < Previous > Next

Azriel: 

Rhys, Feyre and Amren had been at the Summer Court for a few days and had returned the previous night with the other half of The Book of Breathings, that was in Adriata. Cass and Mor had stayed to take care of the city and I helped them when I wasn’t at the human side of the wall. Cass had gone to visit my mate and her sisters this morning, so then I could sleep more, since I would return to work at nightfall. He had still to return and I had no doubt that my mate was involved in his sudden disappearance. 

I laughed at the thought. Her, pushing him inside to answer a bunch of questions. A burst of jealousy erupted at my chest, inevitably, even knowing that my brother would never do anything of this kind, the bond affected me dearly. Even with her being human.

A few minutes later I heard the front door opening and Cassian’s footsteps. He came into the dining room where I was having breakfast and I observed him with an arched brow. He understood my silent question. 

“I also didn’t want to be rude.” I smiled, knowing that my mate had offered something that he would never refuse.

“She made pancakes, didn’t she?”

“How do you know that? Have you been spying on us? Are you jealous brother? 

I looked at him with anger. Cass still wanted to annoy me, even knowing that the bond had an effect on me. 

“You smell like flour and your clothes and hair are white. I don’t have to spy on you to know things, I just need my eyes.

Cassian shook his shoulders and sat across from me. Some minutes later, Rhys and Mor came in and sat to eat with us. They both looked at Cassian and laughed.

“Did some kind of cake monster attack you on the way home, Cass?” Asked Mor between giggles.

Cass made an angry face, but didn’t answer, so I said: “It’s more like a pancake monster.” 

“No, who made pancakes for you? Poor criatura, they don’t know where they got themselves.” Said Mor. 

Cassian looked at me then, with a grin on his face. For him. Then, I understood why he was making that expression. My mate had cooked for him. Alright, not for him, for the both of them, and it wasn’t even that important, but still, it made me angry. Not at her, never at Aideen, especially because she didn’t know anything about the bond. But with Cassian, because he wanted to annoy me.

Cassian noticed that he was making me angry. He knew what I was thinking. And kept smiling. 

But he wasn't a fool. As soon as he saw the shadows that were hovering above my shoulders, ready to attack if he said the wrong thing, he swallowed, knowing that I wouldn't hesitate. 

I loved my brother, but I would punch him until he begged me to stop and apologized. With my shadows he and rage as fuel he wouldn't stand a chance. 

Rhys, who knew what was happening, got in my mind. He caressed my shield with his claws and I opened a crack for him. He retreated a little when he felt the pure rage burning inside me. 

Calm down, Az, he said in my mind, you know that Cass only wants to tease you. 

How you'd you feel if it was Feyre?, I contested in a growl. 

He was confused, he didn't know I had this piece of information. But he answered nonetheless.

If it was Feyre I would be mad, but I would not hurt Cassian for that, even if he deserved for irritating me. 

I knew he was right, I shouldn't be this mad over some teasing. But the rage was still raw under my skin. 

Calm down, he ordered. His tone, the High Lord's tone, made me a little better. Enough to stop the desire to to send my shadows across the table.

When I came back to my senses Cass noticed and his shoulders relieved some tension. Mor, thank the Gods, hadn't noticed the exchange between us and was still eating. 

"It was one of Feyre's sisters. She offered as thanks, for bringing the letters she wrote." Said Cassian. 

The letters, Aideen had written more than one.

Feyre entered at that moment and sat beside Rhys.

"What are you talking about?" She asked. 

"Your sister, she asked me to bring a letter for you." Cass took two envelopes out of his pocket and handed one to her. "And… one for Az." 

My eyes widened, just like the other's. I took the letter and instantly knew that Cass hadn't read it, since the wax was untouched.  

"She said she had some questions and that you had agreed to answer. And since she didn't know if you'd be visiting the next time, she wrote this." Explained Cassian and the tension on my shoulders lightened. 

Fayre didn't say anything, she just looked between my letter and hers. Until Mor butted in. 

"Az's letter is thicker than Feyre's. I think we already know who is your sister's favorite Fae." She said, elbowing Feyre.

I had to find a way out of this without any suspicions. 

"Aideen is just curious. I told her a little about our lands and, as it seems, I just made her want to know more. So I told her that I'd answer any question she had."

Then Feyre laughed and I almost fell from my chair from relief. 

"It's really like her. She had always been curious. And, by the way, she fooled you Az. I'm sorry to say, but she'll never cease from asking tons of questions. You're in her hands now."

But, what she didn't know, was that Aideen already had me in her hands way before I accepted to end her curiosity. And she would always have. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

I've spent the rest of the day searching something that might help me at work in Velari's library. I hadn't seen anyone after breakfast and was avoiding Cass, because, if I saw him, I might throw him in the Sidra.

That night I went in the human realm's direction once again. I spent the whole night searching for any kind of information. Until dawn. Until my stomach growled and my wings hurt.

But even in that situation I changed directions to pass in front of the mansion. 

To see my mate. 

I hovered above the house unseen, thanks to Rhys' magic. 

But when I saw her, sitting by the window with her knees tucked in close to her chest, wearing a cobalt dress - the same color as my siphons - and with a book in her hands, I almost hit a tree. 

She was so beautiful that I got distracted to this point. 

I left before she saw me. Since Aideen and her sisters could see through Rhys' spell. 

I arrived at Velaris and went straight to Rhys' house, to inform him about the investigation. Not successful at all, again. 

After leaving, I went to the House and took a shower. Then I sat at the table in my room to read Aideen's letter. 

I was delaying this moment as much as I could. I wanted my head clear to read it. And now was the best time. Before I went to sleep and had to go there without answers to questions I didn't know.

So I broke the seal and opened the letter. 

Dear Shadowsinger, 

I wrote this letter to ask you some questions. I hope you don't mind, but I didn't know if it would be you to visit next time. And, as you might have already noticed, when I'm curious I can't wait too long to find the answers. I didn't want to ask Cassian, even knowing that he wouldn't mind, I'm still afraid to be a nuisance. So I wrote to you, Azriel.

I'd like to ask especially about the traditions that one day we, humans, shared with your people and after the wall was built no more. I've already read a little about the matter, but every book that I find is either too old to be able to be read or in Fae's ancient languages. I wasn't successful at all in my research. 

I also have another purpose in writing this letter. I dare say, and I hope you can agree with me, to a friend. I came here to ask how you have been and how things are in the Night Court. Since I don't know how much time we won't be able to see each other. Because that's what friends do, they care for each other. And I hope, in my heart, that you accept my friendship. 

With love, 

Aideen.

With love, friend, care. Those were the words that passed on a loop in my head when I finished reading. She wanted us to be friends. She wanted to be my friend. And that took my breath away. It got difficult to breathe and there was a knot in my throat.

I never had a lot of friends. They were the Inner Circle and nobody else. To know that she wanted to make part of this small world of mine warmed my heart. 

I had to fight the instinct to go back flying to the mansion and kiss her senseless. 

I wouldn't write an answer. I would see her in a few hours. So I went to sleep as fast as I could, to go find her as soon as I woke up.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

@mis-lil-red @minnie-mitzel @crimsonandwhiteprincess @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @notquitehero @miamoomoo76 @a-mexican-waffle @mossy-fool @attackontitn @opheliashifts @awritingtree @toobsessedsstuff @whoever-you-choose-to-love @little-ms-awkward @asexual-booknerd @the-godofmischief-blog @anjavuk591

[hxlyhead-harpies]

Don’t Call Me Kid (G.W.)

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: When her soulmate’s name appears on her wrist on her twentieth birthday, (Y/n)’s heart stings with betrayal when she finds out who it is.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst

As the clock slowly ticked towards midnight on the eve of your twentieth birthday, you couldn’t help but feel edgy. Your nerves were tingling and your stomach churned at the thought of what would be revealed on your wrist the moment you turned twenty. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to find out who your soulmate was; you just had no idea who it could be.

There was no one in your life who you felt a strong connection to. No one that gave your stomach the little tug that your parents so fondly described when they told you the story of how they met. And no one had revealed to you that you were their soulmate. You had always hoped that your soulmate was older than you. And that they would find you before you had to anxiously await for a name to be seared into your flesh. But no one had come forward yet. So you went with the assumption that you didn’t know your soulmate.

Of course, there was one person who you had always hoped it would be. It was your best friend’s older brother, George. It was a schoolgirl kind of crush, one that had you writing his last name on your school work and blushing every time he merely looked your way. As a child, you had followed him around like a lost puppy, fantasizing about your name adorning his wrist. But it wasn’t the case. His twentieth birthday had been years ago. You remembered the day very clearly.

You were spending the Easter holiday with the Weasleys, rooming with your best friend, Ginny. She was in your year and you had become fast friends the moment you sat next to each other on the train first year. You and most of the Weasley clan were eating breakfast, anxiously awaiting the twin’s arrival at the table. Fred had been up early, a wide smile informing you all that Angelina Johnson was his soulmate. Molly had clapped and pulled her son into a bone-crushing hug.

Eventually, George had stumbled down the stairs. The bags under his eyes were evident, displaying his lack of sleep, and his hair was disheveled from repeatedly running his fingers through it.

As he stepped into the kitchen everyone froze. Ron’s oatmeal dribbled down his chin as he stared at his brother, impatiently waiting for him to reveal his one true love. Molly’s hand was over her heart and her breathing was shallow as she anxiously awaited for her son to tell her the name of her future in-law.

George looked up to see everyone staring at him and just shook his head, tugging his sleeve farther over his wrist. Molly gasped before pulling her son into a comforting hug and you felt your heart break for him. George’s behavior let everyone know that he didn’t have a soulmate.

It was rare for people to have a blank wrist, though not impossible. Some people were meant to be alone. But you had never imagined that George could possibly be destined for loneliness.

You pushed the thoughts of your old infatuation and focused on the present. It was impossible for him to be your soulmate, the universe had already decided that, so there was no reason to even think of him.

Soon, your wrist began to burn. It wasn’t a terrible feeling; from the descriptions you had heard you assumed it would burn like placing your hand on a flame, instead it burnt like firewhiskey running down your throat. Your eyes watered as the name was carved into your skin, the gravity of the situation finally settling in. You were about to find out who your other half was, the person you were meant to spend your life with. The moment couldn’t be more daunting.

You screwed your eyes shut, not wanting to catch a glimpse of the forming letters until the burning subsided.

When your wrist cooled your eyes fluttered open. You took a deep breath before lifting your wrist up to your face. You read the name. Your world stopped. You couldn’t breathe.

George Weasley

Your mind ran over all of the possible explanations, confused as to how his wrist was blank but yours adorned his name. You came up with only one answer.

Your name was on George’s wrist. But he wished that it wasn’t.

Why else would he go through the trouble of hiding it? Why would he accept the years of pitying looks when he told people that he didn’t have a soulmate? Because he’d rather belong to no one than belong to you.

Hot tears rolled down your face as came to the realization. A moment that should have left you euphoric with happiness, only made you feel emptiness.

It was unfair really, that you had spent years pining after him and years feeling sorry for him, only for him to have been lying to you all along. You had been there when his mother cried for her son and cried for his life of loneliness. You had rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him when he sulked on the couch for a week. You felt like a fool.

As your mind began to remember all the moments where he had the opportunity to tell you the truth, you only became angry.

Because how dare he keep this from you. You were supposed to be his other half. You quickly wiped away your tears and apparated to the front of his shop.

It was a few minutes after midnight and the shop had been closed for hours. But you knew that he was up there in his flat above the store. You just hoped that he’d be able to hear you bang on the door from all the way up there.

After a few moments of relentless pounding, the door flung open.

“Bloody hell do you know what time it is?” Fred asked as he swung the door open. He caught sight of you and his mouth dropped.

“(Y/N)!” he said, a stunned expression on his face. You crossed your arms.

“Go get George,” you said, letting a small amount of anger to seep into your tone. Fred cast his eyes to the floor. The look he gave you let you know that he knew exactly why you were here. He had been in the same room as George when their soulmates had been revealed. He was probably the only other person in the world that knew about you.

“(Y/n) don’t be mad at him,” Fred said quietly. You scoffed and shook your head.

“How do you expect me to not be angry,” you asked incredulously. Fred just sighed and opened the door wider to let you in.

You hadn’t been inside the shop in years and under better conditions, you might have been able to appreciate the beauty in the chaos of it all. Even in the after hours inventions whizzed past your head.

“I’ll go get him,” Fred said before squeezing your shoulder and climbing up the stairs.

You nervously waited for him, suddenly regretting your decision to show up so abruptly. You hated that you could be so rash at times.

“Happy birthday,” a soft voice called out, interrupting your thoughts. You turned to see George staring at you from the top of the stairs, an unreadable expression on his face. You stiffened at the sight of him, instinctively wrapping your arms around your body as if to shield yourself from him. But that didn’t stop yourself from feeling drawn to him, as if the universe was tugging you towards him.

He slowly descended down the stairs, stopping a few feet in front of you. You stared at the floor, unsure of how to begin.

“(Y/n)...” he whispered softly, coaxing you to meet his eyes. You spoke instead.

“How could you?” you asked, your voice shaking. George let out a sigh.

“You have to understand. I couldn’t tell you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“What is that even supposed to mean George?” you asked, “I was right there in your kitchen that day. You could have said something.” George shook his head.

“I had my reasons and you just have to trust that,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“Am I really that horrible?” you questioned, “so horrible that’d you rather lie and say that you didn’t have a soulmate than admit that it was me.” Your voice cracked. George shook his head and stepped closer to you. He lifted his hand as if he wanted to reach out to you, but he retracted it at the last second.

“That’s not why,” he said softly.

“Then why?” you pushed, angry that he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to know.

“You were just a kid, (Y/n)!” he said, desperation filling his voice. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What does that have to do with anything?” you asked softly.

“(Y/n) you have to understand… You were sixteen! You were my little sister’s best friend and you were still in school! And I was older and I had the shop!” he explained. You shook your head.

“You still could have told me,” you whispered. George groaned.

“No, I couldn’t! I was out fighting with the order and you weren’t even old enough to use magic outside of school. You were a child,” he explained exasperatedly. You felt your face harden.

“What about now?” you asked bitterly.

“Huh?”

“What about now,” you repeated, “I’m not a child anymore and after everything that happened, I haven’t been for a while. You could have told me at any point over the last few years and you didn’t. Why?” George froze, clearly unsure of how to answer. You felt tears rise to your eyes at his silence, taking it as confirmation of his rejection. You took one last look at him and stormed out.

Two weeks later you’re standing outside the Burrow. Ginny and Harry’s engagement party was in full swing but you had no desire to be there. Sure, you wanted to be there for your best friend, but you knew George would be there and you weren’t ready to face him. He hadn’t attempted to contact you in the time since you’d seen him and the rejection stung. So you stuck to the same lie that he had; you told everyone that you were soulmateless. You took a deep breath and fiddled with the leather band that covered George’s name and stepped inside.

The Burrow was loud and bustling with people. Family members and school friends filled the space, leaving barely any room to breathe. People shot you sad smiles as you pushed through the crowd, all of them having heard of your predicament. You ignored them as you searched for Ginny.

Eventually, you found her near the kitchen, leaning against Harry, his hand on her waist. Your smile dropped for a moment, jealousy rippling through your body. It was the kind of quiet intimacy that you wanted with your soulmate. With George.

Ginny looked up and caught your eye, making her way over to wrap you in a hug.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, “it’s not like you to be late I was getting worried.”

“Sorry about that!” you apologized. Ginny just shook her head and dragged you over to where she had been standing. She snaked an arm around Harry’s waist, jumping right back into the conversation.

Harry was talking to Fred and Angelina about quidditch when you arrived. You sent them a quick wave and Angelina sent you a warm smile. Fred sent you an apologetic look which you ignored. You tried to immerse yourself in the conversation but you kept catching yourself scanning the room for George. You felt Ginny nudge your shoulder.

“You alright?” she whispered just loud enough for you to hear. You sent her a quick smile and a nod, hoping to convince her that you were fine. You subconsciously pulled your sleeve down farther.

As the party wore on you couldn’t seem to spot George. You didn’t know why you kept looking for him, it was obvious that he didn’t want to see you anyway.

You made your way into the kitchen, hoping you could pour yourself a drink. As soon as you stepped in you froze. There he was, leaning against the countertop, a glass in his hand. His eyes met yours and his body tensed. He seemed to be in just as bad of shape as you; he had evident eye bags under his eyes and his clothes were rumpled and unkempt.

You sent him a polite smile before grabbing a glass from the cabinet. You walked across the kitchen to where the bottle of firewhiskey was sitting, which was, unfortunately, very close to George. You reached for the bottle but you were interrupted by him grabbing your wrist. You looked up, shocked, only to see him staring down at the leather band that covered his name, running his fingers over it.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, his breath fanning across your face. You pulled your wrist back.

“Whatever George,” you replied, “it’s in the past now.” George screwed his eyes shut and ran a hand over his face.

“But what if I don’t want it to be in the past,” he whispered. You stared at him, your mouth agape.

“What?” you whimpered. He reached for your hand again and you let him hold it.

“I don’t want to pretend that it never happened,” he said breathily, “I don’t want to pretend that we aren’t made for each other.” You scoffed slightly.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” you asked, bitterness seeping into your voice. George lifted your hand up so it was resting on his heart. You could feel it hammering in his chest.

“When I first found out that we were soulmates I didn’t tell you for all the reasons that I said. We were at different stages of our lives and I didn’t want to spring that on you. But then… But then as you got older I just- I didn’t know what to say. How could I tell you something like that after hiding it so long? I spent so long trying to figure out how to tell you but then time just caught up with me and it was too late,” he said, a new intensity in his eyes.

“George…” you whispered. He shook his head and spoke.

“Let me finish. Please,” he pleaded. You nodded your head. “Every time I saw you, you became more and more beautiful and more and more as I had always imagined my soulmate to be. You laugh at my stupid jokes and you always know what to say and you’re so much smarter than me… I couldn’t hope for a better other half than you,” he finished. You stared into his warm eyes, trying to decipher if he meant what he said. You could still feel his heart racing under your hand and his eyes were slowly filling with tears.

“Please forgive me,” he breathed. Without thinking you leaned up on your tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. You stepped back, removing your hand from his heart and wrapping your arms around yourself. He stared at you, shock written all across his face.

“You’re my soulmate, George,” you whispered, “I can’t stay mad at you forever.” George smiled widely before stepping forward and scooping you up into a hug.

“Thank you,” he muttered into your hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment. Your body flushed against his, his hands wrapped around your waist and yours slinked around his neck. When you pulled back you spoke.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me at first,” you admit, “I was just a kid.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“But you’re not anymore and I should have told you sooner. I’ll never forgive myself for the years I wasted without you,” he said softly. You smiled shyly at him, seemingly returning to the schoolgirl crush that you had harbored for years.

“I’m glad it’s you,” You said. George smiled at the ground.

“I’m glad too.”

[bestworstcase]

hm.

well, kind of, in the sense that the glare is emotionally motivated and seems to be triggered specifically by protective fury or desperation to protect a loved one—so it’s more effective to wield it defensively. but i think describing it as a shield that cannot also be a sword is a matter of semantics more than anything; a shield can be a weapon and a sword can be used to block or parry as well as strike. also the glare effects protection by destroying things, so its essential mechanism is offensive (and destructive) in nature.

my sense is that maria’s point when she scolds ruby for thinking about it in terms of “laser-beaming monsters with her eyeballs” is more about guiding her focus inwards, because the glare is fundamentally emotional and spiritual in nature. it can’t be used frivolously. it’s not some magic button ruby can push to explode grimm with her eyes. it won’t work if ruby isn’t in tune with her feelings.

frankly i think the core reason ruby struggles with it so much is she’s super repressed; notably every time she tries and fails, it’s because she flinches away from memories that make her feel sad or scared, even though those feelings—that understanding of loss, that pain—are what galvanizes the desire to protect what hasn’t been lost yet. (see also, ruby’s letter to yang at the end of V4.)

and i think there is also probably something in the glare coming easier to ruby when she’s in close proximity to her friends—when she faces the leviathan in V6 and when she tries and fails to glare at the megoliath, she is standing alone. with the leviathan, the only reason she succeeds (or survives, for that matter) because she had somebody to turn to for help, who chose to help her out of fondness. when maria coaches her earlier in V6 she begins by telling ruby to focus not on the people she loves but rather on the people who love her and how their love makes her feel, and later describes silver eyes as “[shining] like mirrors, reflecting the light of the world into darkness.” i think the use of that particular metaphor is deliberate and probably pretty crucial—a shining mirror does not give light, it reflects the light it’s given. i think the glare is empowered by the feeling of being loved and reciprocating that love in turn, and that ruby’s self-sacrificial streak and her feeling that she is needed but not loved contributes to her struggle to master the glare.

…all of which is somewhat tangential to the actual thought i had in mind when i jotted down the op, which is that maria is quite clearly incorrect on at least one major point (silver eyes do work on people) and there is a degree of explicit narrative mystery built up around it. i don’t think “grimm and people corrupted by grimm” is the correct answer (because cinder’s resistance to the glare increases even as she becomes more grimm) and this is one of my perennial windmills because i think silver eyes are going to play a key role in persuading the brother(s) to ascend.

V9 introduced an interesting wrinkle here in that the glare has been attributed (i think incorrectly, or at least incompletely) to the god of light and its mechanism of action evokes his annihilative approach to dealing with conflict (<- jabber) but has also been very strongly implied to transcend that; it turns grimm to dust but also petrifies them, it only works on grimm except when it doesn’t, and so forth. so my sense right now is that the narrative is building up to a refutation of light’s ideology in general and his treatment of jabber, salem, and remnant itself more specifically.

his driving motivation is preservation and maintenance of order, through the annihilation of anything disruptive, which dovetails neatly with maria’s philosophical understanding of silver eyes (preserve life through enmity with destruction) but has been overtly stated to be wrong (“balance is not two forces locked in never-ending conflict”) in combination with how ruby’s most successful uses of her eyes have all been, at best, imperfectly explained by what maria told her.

the only times ruby has been able to glare without somebody else [maria, jinn] helping her, it’s been against a person. cinder in V3, V5, and V7, the hound in V8. silver eyes “only work on grimm” but ruby has consistently found it easier to use hers against people, to the point that her two successful glares against pure grimm were required maria’s coaching or a second chance from jinn.